When I opened the bathroom door I was shocked. It was brightly-lit, clinical, the sort you would find at a doctor’s office. The floor to ceiling tiles were regulation pale grey and the shining white sink had a mirror without as much as a crack on it. The toilet cubicle looked like a cut and paste job from a hotel management hygiene course textbook. The seat actually had, well, a seat on it. Worst of all, the whole damn room was clean.
My heart sank. This was not the BJ’s nightclub bathroom I treasured with fond memories. Where did the lewd graffitti and the familiar stench of urine go? Where was the paint peeling off the walls, which used to make it look like a sad woman with runny make-up after an evening gone horribly wrong? For God’s sake, unlike its glorious predecessor, the new and non-improved BJs bathroom no longer made you tick off a mental checklist of vaccination shots before venturing in. It was tragic. Life as I knew it was practically over.
As I stood over the disgustingly clean rose-scented urinal, I wondered what might have happened? Had Philip Fenech, the ever-present manager who kept the flame burning all these years, finally sold out? Had the last bastion of live rock, blues and jazz music in Paceville finally fallen to the enemy? How did the washed masses managed to take it over?
For a quarter of a century, this hole in the ground was the proud enclave of the sixties and seventies ethic: grungy, dirty, decadent, idealistic and blissfully oblivious to passing fads. On any night you could run into anyone or anything: From politicians to prostitutes, from druggies to university students in search of themselves, from veteran musicians, who had seen it all, to teenage wannabe rockers for whom BJs was the Wembley Arena. Old drunks falling off their stool recounted their stories for the millionth time to some middle-aged lawyer refusing to accept that (I can’t get no) Satisfaction was no longer in the charts. And now? How could these people survive in BJ’s new bathroom, or standing on the fake parquet floors or breathing smoke-free air?
I was out on the town with Vanessa, my 21-year old daughter, who was over from the UK for a few days. The visit to BJs was to be our walk down memory lane. It was here that I introduced her to live rock music. She was barely eleven when Philip allowed me to sneak her in. Now Vanessa is a woman and a graduate of Bristol University. Wisely, she had even avoided the Marxist garden path which had disoriented her father for a few years. Yet she was wearing a neo-hippy ankle-length suede coat with a fake fur trim. It was going to be a night of nostalgic celebration. Until the BJs bathroom waqqghatni down.
As we nursed a drink at the bar, protesting against the great interior design degeneration, Philip sheepishly gave us the explanation. It was all the EU’s fault you see. The old BJs bathroom was in violation of so many directives and regulations that an EU Commissioner had to be brought over to oversee the conversion. Indeed, Brussels originally toyed with the idea of preserving it as a European regional centre for disease research. In any case, the European future I voted for two years ago was erasing Vanessa’s rock baptism.
But I exaggerate just a bit and I am abusing my long standing friendship with Philip. Outside the Verheugen bathroom, the old spirit is still alive and kicking at BJs.
Tomorrow, in fact, the yearly music benefit marathon gets underway. For the next seven days, singers, musicians, duos and bands will be putting their time and talent at the service of a good cause. Once the first chord is struck in a few hours the music will go on 24/7. Literally.
This year’s cause is particularly appropriate for BJs. Wishing Others Well (WOW), is an initiative of the Millennium chapel which strives to feed Maltese men, women and children who quite simply have nothing to eat. At present they are handing out about 45 food hampers a week to people who have fallen through the social net.
The BJs music marathon has a 16-year history, raising a total of Lm96,000. Originally it was just one long night, then it grew to 100-hours until it settled into the current one-week format. Over the years, many voluntary organisations have benefited – Dar tal-Providenza, Caritas, Institute for Brain Injured Children and Eden Foundation to mention just a few. In addition, a small number of children who needed medical care overseas were helped.
What is endearing about the BJs marathon is its low key approach. Without much fanfare, year after year, the musicians do their bit, the punters chip in according to their budget and everyone has a good time.
This year there is another reason for making it down to the BJs marathon. It is associated with Jeunesses Musicales International, a Europe-wide musicians’ association dedicated to keeping live music alive and channelling young people’s energies away from drugs, alcohol abuse and vandalism.
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