This is the first in a series of posts about the Exeter Cavern and we start with 1994 to 1999

Let’s get this out of the way early. I’m getting old. Very old. Part of writing this is for my own memories rather than the fact that other people might be interested.

When I finished university and returned to Exeter in 1993, I found that a small independent music venue had opened a couple of years earlier (1991 to be exact), nestled away underneath Queen Street. With a capacity of around 200 it was perfect to get up close to bands you didn’t know at a reasonable price.

Having discovered a passion for live music and alcohol at university, this was a very good thing. Even better was my friend from school still lived in the city and his interest in live music and alcohol matched mine. For over 30 years now, Marc has been my regular partner in crime for misadventures in the Cavern.

Of course, back in the nineties I made no attempt to keep track of who I saw or when I saw them. The idea of taking photos or keeping tickets just didn’t occur to my beer addled brain so details are sketchy but there are things I remember from those years:

1. The floor was sticky
2. It was dark
3. The toilets were grim
4. There was definitely a pinball machine there at some point

I was coming out of an ill-advised hair metal phase (leather waistcoat, cowboy boots and Jack Daniels) and reconnecting heavily with my goth roots so finding out that a local Devon band called All Living Fear played there almost weekly was amazing. A proper old school goth band with a drum machine and at least one song about vampires meant we saw them a lot. In 1994 they support Nosferatu and that at the time was the biggest goth gig I had ever been to.  

Back then gigs seemed to finish any time between 11 and midnight which always meant deciding whether to risk missing the last bus, pooling together enough cash for a taxi or a long walk. Having become friendly with Matt, the guitarist from All Living Fear, I remember on more than one occasion the band giving us a lift home afterwards.   

Musical highlights from those early years include John Otway forgetting how tall he was and how low the ceiling was before nearly smashing his head open on the lights whilst jumping in the air.

XC-NN rolled up a couple of times with Tim Bricheno after he departed All About Eve. I enjoyed it but the fact he was playing the Cavern suggested the general public weren’t as enamored.

I also saw the Australian Pink Floyd in 1995. This was probably one of the first tribute bands on the live music circuit and a curiosity at the time. Without a big light show or inflatable kangaroos, it really was four average blokes on stage trying to replicate the sound of Pink Floyd in a small space.

There were also China Crisis gigs including one with a string quartet of young ladies (ahead of their time), and another where we sat chatting to the band at the bar while they bickered over whether they had played the venue before.

Before we reach the highlight of those early years, I thought I’d digress on to question of tickets. As the internet was some way off being invented, you had to go to the local record store to buy a ticket or just turn up on the night and hope it wasn’t sold out. Solo Records used to sell tickets upstairs in their classical section which was always amusing to watch those buying Beethoven mingling with the scruffy youths looking for their next gig.

In 1998 the New Model Army played the Cavern, and I was lucky enough to be there. Packed in tight, they opened up with the gentle (for them at least) Fate. – “I’m crying out in fury to the gods of fate, come on and get me if you can”. By three songs in the shirts were off and the front of the stage was a sweating mass of bodies.  Everyone was singing and it was the first time I felt a gig to be that communal, that intimate, to have that shared feeling of belonging.

I’ve seen the New Model Army many time since, but nothing beats that moment