"The Duchess of York was Leeds’s best venue, a dark and dingy, strangely-shaped pub with a sticky carpet and a tone-deaf front-of-house soundman. The cider on tap was weak but it was cheap – as were ticket prices." - Boff Whalley (ex-Chumbawamba) in 'Faster! Louder!: How a punk rocker from Yorkshire became British Champion Fell Runner' (2021).

"Did you know, in Ireland you can be arrested for disseminating information about abortion? Think about that." - Guy Picciotto, at the end of 'Break-in'.

Delving into these (early) Fugazi live recordings fills me with ambiguous feelings.
On the one hand, these performances feel fresh, the songs having an undiminished sense of urgency. Case in point, the song Burning Too, opening the set, still applies to today's challenges, be it personal or global, as it outlines man's persistency in failing to act (or react) appropriately.
Yet on the other hand, I find it striking that this live performance dates from almost 25 years ago and traces back to a time when I was just a kid starting high school. As such, listening to it serves as an unmistakable reminder of all things ephemeral.
As has often been the case, the venue where this particular gig took place, is no longer, although a campaign has been launched (and seems to be still ongoing) to recognise the Duchess of York pub with an English Heritage blue plaque, according to a 2009 article by Dave Simpson, "In remembrance of venues lost".
Mr. Simpson reminisces: "In the late 80s and early 90s, I often spent four nights a week at 71 Vicar Lane in Leeds. This was home to one of the north's most legendary venues, the Duchess of York, which hosted live music every night. It seemed like everybody started there, from Radiohead to Coldplay. Oasis infamously played there in 1994 to no audience whatsoever. When Nirvana played there in 1989, Kurt Cobain spent a night upstairs on the battered sofa. In fact, I was there so often I used to joke about installing a tent. I was on first-name terms with all the staff, including JFK the promoter, Miranda the manager (affectionately dubbed The Ice Queen due to her Cruella de Vil approach with unruly bands), and the soundman, the notorious Deaf Jeff, who is sadly no longer with us. Neither is the venue. It closed in 2000 and the site is now occupied by a Hugo Boss boutique."
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And the venue triggers the experiences of others as well. In a 2012 article "Back in Time: The Duchess of York Pub", Andy Peterson recalls: "Formerly The Robin Hood (Supposedly a hangout for pimps and hookers in the Edwardian era) The Duchess began making a name for itself as a music venue in the 1980’s. Its design didn’t lend itself much to the endeavour – the L-shape meant that at its full capacity of around 300 (Or 200 according to the safety certificate!) you could get stuck around the corner in the ‘The Snug’ and end up trying to decipher each song via the less than brilliant sound. Toilet circuit? Bring your own loo roll, but its rock world alumni are spectacular."
Luckily, the intimate memories and personal experiences of both authors are not the only thing that will stand the test of time, as the first and only Fugazi live appearance at the Duchess has been preserved and now made available to the masses in the form of this digital recording.
However, despite such nostalgic musings, most of the good people attending this Fugazi show did not particularly seem to warm to the band or its music when it actually mattered. Or as Ian puts it right off the bat: "I have never seen such a glum bunch of guys", wondering what the problem is.
Still, it eventually does lead to a handful of spot-on assessments which clearly articulate the band's view as well as the meaning of certain songs. For instance, when someone in the audience refers to someone as "skinheads", Ian steadfastly retorts: "They're not skinheads, man, they're just people, that's bullshit. When you start talking labels, you start talking teams, you start talking opposing teams, you start talking about enemies, about war. So we don't believe in teams do we, we believe in human beings", before appropriately launching into Song #1.
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Also, when confronted by continuous requests to play something by Teen Idles or any other band he has been a part of in the past, Ian goes to great lengths to explain his immutable thoughts on the matter: "We don't do Minor Threat songs, we don't do Teen Idles songs, we don't do Bad Brains songs, we don't do Black Flag songs, we don't do Al Jolson songs, we don't do Lou Reed songs, we don't do Rolling Stones songs, we do Fugazi songs. Keep it in mind. I think there's a Minor Threat greatest hits record on K-Tel records, you might want to check it out in your nearby pharmacy. You want to get on something old, there's plenty of that, you want to get on something new, welcome."
Ian then adds: "This is 1988, make no mistake, one month from 1989, see you there" before bursting into his signature opening chords of Glueman, while Guy adds some oil to the fire, dedicating the song to "the man insulting [his] presence on the stage."
Even though this is one of the best sounding recordings of the 1988 European leg of the tour or maybe even of the 1988 tour as a whole, and Ian pretty much seems to have overcome the flu which significantly impaired his abilities the night before, I find the overall performance somewhat subdued or even sluggish in parts. The band seems tired, Guy's voice notably worn and strained.
Pressed for a highlight, I'd go with Suggestion, which is performed rather slow-paced, providing Ian with ample opportunity to elaborate on the meaning of the song, while he walks his listeners through the alternating perspectives of its lyrics. The live version of the song presented here actually has appeared before, as part of the unofficial We Are All Guilty 7" bootleg.

There with my brother , great gig , will never forget it