“For three years, the greatest club in the world was above a carpet shop in Birmingham.”
Now for those of you who don’t know England, Birmingham is the second biggest city after London and is bang in the middle of the map. It’s known as, ‘The Heart of England,’ but truthfully, most English people seem to think that living in Birmingham is some kind of punishment. It’s the city that gets mocked for its accent and is made from so many motorways that even the sunshine here sometimes seems made from concrete.
So it might seem a bit of a reach to claim that ‘The Greatest Club in the World,’ once found its home in Birmingham.
But allow me to set the scene. It’s 1968. It’s the end of the swinging sixties but there’s still some swing in them yet. Harold Wilson is the Prime Minister, there’s increasing racial tension, and the far right are on the rise.
Abortion is legalised, freely provided by the NHS. Coal mining in the Black Country – an area not far from Birmingham – ends after 300 years. There’s protests against the Vietnam War, and women working at the Ford plant in Dagenham go on strike.
Censorship in theatres ends. The Beatles release the White Album. The UK hosts the 13th Eurovision Song Contest, finishing in second place with Cliff Richard’s ‘Congratulations.’
And above a carpet shop in Erdington, Mother’s Club is born. And for three years, Mother’s was (arguably) the greatest club in the world.
But why, you ask? And more probably, how? It was a small club in an average-to-failing city, with a ragtag team of employees, most of whom knew each other from being teenagers in trouble. Such is the story of the nightclub industry, no?
The club was essentially a single large room above a carpet shop on the highstreet, with a bar running along one wall and the stage at the back. Apparently, when the place got really packed, sweat used to drip from the ceiling.
And yet Mother’s reputation as ‘The Home of Good Sounds,’ was something of an understatement.
The first time I became aware of the club was when, as a six year old, I was playing in my grandad’s shed and found a drumstick. It was old, the wood a little greying with age. It had a pen scribble on one end, as if it had been used as a plant marker or something. But it wasn’t a scribble: it was the signature of Ginger Baker, the infamous drummer of Cream.
Cream – one of the greatest bands to emerge from Britain in the 20th century – had played at Mother’s Club. Cream regularly played at Mother’s, and my grandfather, a bouncer at the club, was regularly confused with Ginger Baker thanks to his carrot-red hair.
Mother’s was only open for three years. But in those three years, not only did Cream play there, but so did Jethro Tull and Led Zeppelin. And King Crimson, Free, and Fairport Convention. T. Rex played there! Imagine that: you’re a teenager in a sweaty, pulsing room on the outskirts of Birmingham, dancing to Mark Bolan as he sings, ‘Get it on.’ Incredible, no?
Black Sabbath, the infamous Brummie band led by the prince of darkness himself, Ozzy Osbourne, played some of their first ever gigs there. Other heavy metal bands like Deep Purple and Judas Priest played there too. Looking at the photos of the building back then, I’m surprised they didn’t literally bring the ceiling down.
Pink Floyd recorded Ummagumma at the club, and The Who performed their musical rock opera ‘Tommy’ there.
A very young Elton John even performed at Mother’s, earning the ire of my grandad when he demanded he carry a baby grand piano down the street and up the stairs to the club, unsatisfied with the sound quality of the upright that was already on stage. Apparently, Reginald Dwight was told to fuck right off.
But why would some of the best bands in the world schlep to north Birmingham to perform in what was ostensibly a grotty little nightclub? Why bother, when there were much better established clubs in London and Manchester and even elsewhere in Birmingham?
Partly, I think, for the love of music. Less care seemed to be given back then about reputation and more attention was paid to atmosphere and the enthusiasm of the audience.
And - I think this is one of the biggest factors - because there were very few divisions at Mother’s.
There was no separation of the performers and no hierarchies. This was a place where the ‘stage’ was barely a foot from the ground and sweat dripped from the ceiling like stalactites. It was a place where women were to be respected, or you were out, and employees received the same treatment as bands.
The ‘dressing room’ was just the back office, and performers would drink with the bouncers after shows. (And that is how my grandad shared a whisky with Bob Dylan, who was apparently at the club to watch Fleetwood Mac perform)
In some ways, the club was a representation of some of the best parts of Birmingham. We are a patchwork quilt of a city, and despite a history of quite brutal tensions, Birmingham is the UK’s most culturally diverse city: and we are proud of it.
Mother’s had two resident DJs. The first, a broadcaster born near Liverpool, later became quite well known. He had his own show on BBC Radio 1. The ‘John Peel’ stage at Glastonbury was named after him.
But the other DJ was true Birmingham. Erskine Thompson – or DJ Erskine T – was one of the figureheads of Black British music. The former manager of Maxi Priest, Chaka Demus & Pliers, and Carroll Thompson, he produced EPs with the Wailing Souls, Maxi Priest, and Lorita Grahame. In 1999, Erskine T won a MOBO for his Contribution to Black Music. And he was one of the regular sounds – and soul – of the club.
For most Brummies living in the city now, Mother’s Club has been forgotten. All that exists as evidence of its existence are fading memories and a small blue plaque where the carpet shop used to be (it’s now a Poundsaver).
Birmingham was the home of the industrial revolution. But thanks to incredible music, some working-class grift, and the will to dismantle divisions, for three years, Birmingham was home to one of the greatest clubs in the world.
‘Mother’s Club’ was written by Rebecca Took and performed by Amy Leigh Sandford for Episode 4 Series 3 of The Monologue Podcast.
The Monologue Podcast is part of the Orange Theatre Company: Amsterdam’s English Language Theatre Company. Hosted by Daniella Down and Sairah Erens, The Monologue Podcast is a short fiction platform for original stories, written by writers and performed by actors, to give you the intimate theatre experience from the comfort of your own earphones.