We Asked Fabric Regulars to Share Their Favorite Memories of Nights Spent Inside the Club

My memory is terrible. Like, can't remember my own PIN after a heavy weekend kinda terrible, and yet I can still remember pretty much every night I ever spent inside fabric more vividly than, well, my own PIN after a heavy weekend. Like it was for so many of us, the Farringdon space was the first proper superclub I ever visited. It was the first club I went to with genuinely incredible line-ups week after week, the first place I frequented with a proper system installed, the first venue where loved-up smoking area chats turned into lifelong friendships. The same might well go for you, too.

Back when I first started properly raving—legally that is, rather than the very much illegal forest, field, or warehouse raves, I frequented in my teens—fabric was a place I'd look to every weekend for the best in what the current dance scene had to offer. The safest and most fun environment to be in while tucking into wave after wave of wobbles and drops.

So you can imagine how bereft I am after the news of yesterday's closure. Islington council just went and killed the Mr. Miyagi of London's nightlife. It wasn't just a classic cultural icon, but it was a teacher as well. I learnt all I knew about how to rave inside its walls. And again, a bit like Karate Kid did from Mr Miyagi, I picked up some important lessons about life in there as well.

If you're going to grieve, it's better to do it with others than it is on your own, so I've been hitting up fabric patrons for their favorite memories of the club.

At about 2pm on a Sunday afternoon, halfway through one of his biannual 10 hour minimal odysseys, Villalobos scrapes the record he's playing to a halt, refusing to acknowledge the strangeness of what he's done. He then plays "The Imperial March" from the beginning. He plays it far past the point of being funny, then back to being funny, then not again—like nearly to the end. Then just gets stuck back into his set as though it never happened.

I was 18 when I first went. Me and a couple friends decided to go a RAM records night. I had no idea that in many ways it'd make me who I am today.

Fabric wasn't just a venue to us: it was a retreat. Fabric took us to other clubs like Cable, where we started photographing dubstep nights such as ERGH and Dub All or Nothing. I was there every weekend from 10pm-6am as a photographer. When the lights went up, I'd then pop off to Jessops in Charing Cross (where my money was earned). I did this for nearly a year, every weekend non-stop.

Fabric opened my eyes and its knock on effect allowed me to experience things I would never had dreamt of, met amazing people and led me to a career in photography.

For me, it opened up a whole new world when it came to the London clubbing scene. The anticipation of waiting in the queue for the first time, the walk up to the cloakroom, starting to hear the distant rumble of bass, stepping out into Room 1—it was an unforgettable experience. It transformed what I thought I knew about the drum and bass scene. It would just be the place to hear your favourite DJ to drop a dubplate you were waiting for.

The day I moved to London, I went to Fabric on my own. The most memorable night I spent inside would have been the club's 16th birthday, which Kurupt KM curated. A sold-out steamy night with a huge bill—Barely Legal, Chimpo, and Oneman were amongst the selectors—was topped off by a super-secret performance from Craig David. Who, as you can imagine, smashed it. Watching it from the side of the stage was an absolute blessing.

So I'm at Fabric's 12th Birthday and Moodymann, the Sunday afternoon headliner, is in typically playful form. He's chatting to the crowd, not mixing, and generally holding things down in a very "Sunday" style. From out of nowhere he cuts into "Come As You Are" by Nirvana. Everyone stops in their tracks. A few people start moshing. Some of the up all night squad vanish into the shadows. Everyone—headbanging or not—looks confused. Then Kenny Dixon Jr carries on as if nothing had happened. It had.

I've always been lost at fabric. For some reason I've never been able to move round that place with absolute certainty as to what room I'm in or stairwell I'm stumbling down. As much as I've been lost I've also felt in the right place. Be it hearing Dave Clarke playing "Way of Life" on that growler of a system in room 2 or stumbling into a Ben Klock drop in room 1, the feeling was forever the same: lost but always found.

For a decade I was a frequent patron to the club. I hold so many memories I made there close to my heart, no matter how hazy they may be. Bonding in the smoking area with a girl after asking her what time it was 'cos I was too fucked to see for myself and spending the rest of the rave with her, or clinging on to the nearest person coming out of the toilets and instantly falling in love with them. These are the moments I'll remember.

It sounds cheesy, but fabric changed my life. It opened up my eyes to the world of rave. Before I went to fabric, I was forced out to Leicester Square clubs where I had to dress up and feel uncomfortable, and be surrounded by lecherous knobs after only one thing. Fabric was a home for the music lover. It's heartbreaking that the kids of today have hardly anywhere to go to discover new music, let go and dance until 7AM with no worries in the world. I'm going to miss you fabric.

For as long as I can remember, fabric's legendary birthday weekend has coincided with my own. This year was a big one as they celebrated 15 years. Queuing to get in at 10AM on Sunday, we were tired and should have been heading to bed. Just as I wondered if we'd made a terrible mistake, one of the door security recognizes familiar faces and comes to say hello. My friend shouts, "It's her birthday!" After surveying my ID to confirm this, the security guard speaks to someone official and presents a free pass wristband. Maybe it wasn't a mistake. Beaming, we enter the club and descend down into Room 1's pulsating darkness. Around me a sea of familiar faces beam back. Faces of friends, colleagues and the familiar faces of people I see time and time again at fabric, but have not yet met. This was no mistake. These were my people and this was my place.

Tom Usher is on Twitter