The Chameleon

By day, a little tea room above Clinton Cards; by night, an explosive music venue. When the Chameleon comes out to play, the curtains of the thirty-odd capacity room remain firmly closed, and while high ceilings lend an air of faded grandeur, general grime overrides. Broken sofas and a 'stage' area marked out by sheets show off the disorder. When act is on said sheet (in what is effectively a bay window), audience members grope walls and peer over shoulders on their tippy-toes. Lack of natural light and proper ventilation make a gig here a humid endurance; it's so intimate that when the bass player shakes their shaggy mop, you'll be within splattering distance.

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