by In 1978, a former residential hotel was transformed into Melbourne’s hottest music venue: welcome to The Crystal Ballroom.
South of the city, beachside St Kilda was one of Melbourne’s first suburbs.
The first Europeans began arriving in 1839. As the land in the area was swampy, and so unsuited to agriculture, many of the first settlers focused on trade.
Boats moored directly offshore, early residents ferried cargo to and fro.
One of the boats even supplied the suburb’s name. ‘The Lady of St Kilda’ was a schooner that spent an extended period moored nearby, so long that people began to refer to the area as, ‘the St Kilda foreshore’ (read more about this, here).
In 1857, a train line opened linking St Kilda to the city. This immediately made the area more popular, especially in summer, when people flocked to the beach.
The train station was near the top of Fitzroy Street, the main road to the seaside.
To take advantage of the influx of visitors, in November 1857 a hotel opened opposite the station. Originally called the Terminus Hotel, this was a handsome three-story building with a striped canopy around the lower exterior, and columned balconies above.
Rooms for the night were available; beachgoers came for lunch, or had an early supper, before catching the train home.
On hot days, a spruiker outside called, ‘Ice! Ice! Ice!’. The ice, still a novelty in the colonies at this time, had been shipped all the way from frozen lakes in North America, packed in sawdust.
Through its early years the hotel changed hands several times, and was renamed ‘The George’. In 1905 it landed with Freddie Wimpole, who inherited it from his father.
Wimpole would oversee expansion and renovations, adding more guest rooms and a large dining room on the first floor.
Under his management the hotel became successful, and established as one of the best in the area. When he retired he passed the property to his son, as his own father had done.
Freddie Wimpole jr ran The George until 1950. When he sold the property, the new owners turned it into a live music venue, with the dining room converted to a ballroom.
During World War II, St Kilda transformed into the city’s nightlife district. Many servicemen were stationed in St Kilda, dance halls and bars sprung up to provide them with recreation.
When the war ended, many of the venues continued.
The war brought other changes as well. Afterwards, an influx of immigrants came to Australia looking for a fresh start; in Melbourne, many of these settled in St Kilda, which had a high volume of small apartments, uncommon at the time.
The cheaper accommodation also drew a growing number of artists, students, and working-class locals. The suburb developed a bohemian air.
But by the 1970s, St Kilda’s reputation was declining. The cheap, high-density housing led to overcrowding and increased crime, the streets were known for their high number of homeless people, and sex workers.
The George had also fallen on hard times. The dance hall patrons were long gone, and it was in a state of disrepair; a seedy dive, best known for its topless bar.
It changed hands again in 1976, this time taken over by Graeme Richmond, former President of the Richmond Football Club, and Kevin Shelton, a former policeman. They renamed it ‘The Seaview Hotel’.
It now functioned as a no-frills local boozer.
In the winter of 1978, local band ‘Secret Police’ needed a live venue at short notice. The band’s saxophone player, Peter Linley, was familiar with The Seaview and was able to secure a booking in the then disused ballroom.
The gig was a success, and the band signed a recording contract shortly afterwards.
Among the attendees: Dolores San Miguel, a young music fan and wife of another band member. She was thrilled by the show and saw opportunity in the fading grandeur of the ballroom.
Eager to try her luck as a music promoter, Miguel lobbied Richmond for a chance to run a regular band night. Initially reluctant, Richmond was won over by Miguel’s enthusiasm, and agreed to a trial run.
1978 was a pivotal moment in Australian music. The earthquake of punk that had shaken up the British and American music industries had made its way here, and a score of local bands set out to emulate the Sex Pistols and the Ramones.
For reasons that are still debated, Melbourne seemed particularly attuned to punk. Punk, and its close relatives post-punk, garage rock and new wave, took ready root here, and a lively scene developed.
Enthusiastic new bands began filling rooms across the inner city. Miguel’s launch in St Kilda could hardly have been better timed.
Rebranding the ballroom the ‘Wintergarden’, she began with a once-a-month showcase of local punk, garage, and hard rock acts. The night was immediately a hit, and quickly moved to once a week.
The crowds were large, rowdy, and exotically attired:
‘Dressed in everything from leather, studs and safety pins, to garbage bags and skin tight plastic garments, ballgowns and cocktail dresses, coloured hair, sixties retro shirts and skinny ties, that zombie office look with pallid tan.’
– Ash Wednesday, musician and ballroom attendee
Alcohol flowed freely, everyone smoked, heroin use became commonplace. The new venue was a place where anything went.
At the time, part of the liquor licensing requirements was that food be available after 6pm. Miguel covered this for the shows she promoted:
‘Every Saturday afternoon I’d roast a leg of lamb and make sandwiches, which I served with cubes of tasty cheese and crackers. Occasionally I made hot pastries, that I filled with mushroom sauce.’
– Dolores San Miguel
In her autobiography, she noted that this simple fare was enormously popular with the ‘ravenous, half-starved punters’, who wolfed down everything she brought.
The Wintergarden continued to grow in popularity.
When Miguel took over the ballroom for New Years Eve in 1978, she drew more than double the venue’s capacity. The crowd spilled out onto Fitzroy Street, the police eventually called to keep order.
On regular band nights there was often a long queue along the front of the building, up and around the corner onto Grey Street, waiting for the venue to open.
The gigs were so successful that Richmond offered slots on other nights to different promoters. Bands also played in the front bar, and a small room adjacent to the ballroom.
The pub became known by several different names, depending on the room, the promoter and the night. But the ballroom was usually ‘The Crystal Ballroom’, after the huge chandelier that hung from the ceiling.
The Seaview still had the trappings of its grander past, although these were well faded. But the crumbling stylistics were in keeping with the bands, and fans, that now congregated there.
The street entrance was a broad staircase, that led under a canopy to a pair of double doors. Beyond that, the ballroom was up a large staircase, on the first floor.
‘The room was enormous. The stage was flanked with red velvet curtains, and enormous mirrors in fancy gilt frames lined the walls. The atmosphere was electric.’
– Dolores San Miguel
Above was the enormous chandelier, symbol of times passed.
Other aspects were more contemporary. The toilets were notoriously seedy: heavily graffitied and frequented by the venue’s heroin users, who sometimes left sprays of blood across the walls.
There was also a fire escape that was used for entrance by people looking to dodge the cover charge… and for quick, impromptu sexual encounters.
The Crystal Ballroom’s slate was varied, and it was a great place for new bands to break.
From the local acene, one of the most popular was ‘The Boys Next Door’. Formed in 1974 by Nick Cave, Mick Harvey and Phil Calvert while they were at Caulfield Grammar School, the group originally dabbled in 60s pop and glam rock. Later they added guitarist Rowland S. Howard and adopted a harder, punk-influenced edge.
Their first single, ‘These Boots are Made for Walking’, was released in 1978, and they were one of the first bands to play the Crystal Ballroom, in September that year.
The band became known for their energetic live shows, featuring raucous music and Cave’s forceful singing. His theatrics brought the band attention; Cave would climb speaker towers, hang from the rafters, antagonise the crowd with taunts and thrown cigarettes, before jumping into their midst.
Scuffles sometimes broke out; the band developed a fervent following.
In 1979, they played a residency at the ballroom to support the their first album, ‘Door to Door’. The following year it was their venue of choice for their final show; in 1980 the band decamped for England, renaming themselves ‘The Birthday Party’.
Other notable local acts to perform regularly at the ballroom were The Models, The Primitive Calculators, Hunters and Collectors, and Dead Can Dance. Australian bands from the wider east coast also played there, including embryonic versions of INXS, Midnight Oil, Hoodoo Gurus, and Cold Chisel.
There were many others, a who’s who of Australian alternative music.
‘The Seaview Hotel (as I knew it) was a place of some adventure. It was central to the development of the local music scene, somewhere you could catch new bands, but also a regular gig and proper stage that allowed bands to develop.’
– Harry Howard, musician and ballroom attendee
As its peak in the early 80s, the ballroom also attracted international acts. High profile touring bands to perform included New Order, Iggy Pop, Simple Minds, The Psychedelic Furs and The Violent Femmes.
One of Dolores San Miguel’s all-time favourite bands, The Cure, appeared in August 1980. Touring their fêted album ‘Seventeen Seconds’, they were supported by Hunters and Collectors.
San Miguel was not the promoter the night The Cure appeared, but she attended the show, and was dazzled by their performance. Later, hoping to meet the band, she talked her way into the after party at a nearby pub.
Robert Smith and the rest of the group stood around awkwardly for a few minutes, talking to no one, then quickly left.
The Birthday Party returned in 1981, and played a number of triumphant shows at the ballroom to celebrate. Film makers John Hillcoat, Richard Lowenstein and Chris Kennedy were on hand to capture these gigs, and filmed other groups that performed in this period.
Bands now played most nights, the rawest and edgiest in the small underground bar, below street level. The number of gigs, bands and promoters, led to some friction behind the scenes.
Having clashed with another regular promoter, San Miguel left the ballroom in September 1981, one of several times she came and went. She ran other band nights across town, but returned two years later, when Richmond offered her sole control of the ballroom again.
In 1983, the ballroom was host to The Birthday Party’s final performance, on June 9.
Tensions between Howard and Cave had developed, the band were exhausted from their uninhibited style, and heavy drug use. They agreed to go their separate ways.
The final show was primal, with members of the group howling at the chandelier as they finished their set.
In some ways this was a precursor; the venue’s freewheeling style would catch up with it, as well.
Complaints about the hotel had steadily accumulated, and in 1986 the state liquor licensing authority launched an investigation. This would eventually find the owners culpable for a number of offences, including selling liquor to underage patrons, allowing the sale of illegal drugs, and numerous health and safety violations.
The hotel would subsequently lose its license, and close the following year.
San Miguel stayed until the end. Afterwards, she continued in the local music industry for more than twenty years, running band nights and one-off events, often to support worthy causes and former musicians fallen on hard times.
In the kind of neat symmetry that often populates history, 1986 also saw the closure of the St Kilda train station, across the road.
The line that had caused the Terminus Hotel to be built where it was, 130 years beforehand, was shuttered as a cost-cutting measure. It was replaced with a tram line.
The Seaview Hotel was bought by private developers in 1987, and extensively refurbished. In the mid 1990s it was sold again, and redeveloped into apartments, with a string of shops and cafes along the street front.
The underground bar remains, and retains some of its quirky charm. On the corner, a standalone pub operates; in a nod to the building’s history, it is called ‘Freddie Wimpole’s’.
The Crystal Ballroom, now known as The George Ballroom, remains on the first floor, used today as an up-market function room and space for hire.
I live two blocks away on Fitzroy Street, and often walk past the building.
Clean, modern and tidy, it is difficult to imagine it as a haven for punks and misfits, with crowds in crazy clothes, edgy rock thumping from the first floor, the cops watching on warily while future music legends mil casually about.
It is easy to mythologise the past, but I’m sorry I missed that era.
‘The live scene back then, it was electric, it was new, it was the beginning. No one was a star then, everyone knew everyone else.’
– Dolores San Miguel
Fabulous story of Old Melbourne