Nightlife brings people together - we can't let it die, writes Ali Miraj

That stat from Capital on Tap might sound like just another footnote in the city’s endless churn of change. But to me—and I suspect, to many others—it hits much deeper.

The Government has now released plans to reform licensing laws in an effort to protect these spaces. I'm pleased that developers will have to soundproof buildings they construct near pubs or clubs, to protect existing venues from noise complaints.

Because this isn’t just about losing places to socialise or dance. It’s about losing spaces where people come together, where strangers become part of something bigger, moving as one to a beat, letting go of the outside world for a few hours, and connecting in ways that can’t be replicated on a screen or in a Zoom room.

I’ve seen that power firsthand. I’ve played in clubs across the UK and around the world, from big rooms to intimate venues. I used to have a residency at Boxpark in Wembley. I ran my own night, “Decks and the City” in Shoreditch for several years, where 200 people packed shoulder to shoulder would lock in to every move, every track, every drop. There’s nothing like it. As a DJ, your job isn’t just to play tunes. It’s to read the room, to pace your audience, to lead them somewhere new—and then, when the moment’s right, to drop something that lifts the roof off. That shared experience is something you never forget. It’s a social phenomenon as much as a musical one.

Maybe I’m harping back to a bygone age—but I don’t think so. I think this stuff still matters. A lot.

My own journey into house music began while I was training as a chartered accountant. I had the surreal privilege of auditing Ministry of Sound and Defected Records—two of the most iconic names in dance music. Defected, in my view, is the eminent independent label in the game. That’s when I fell head over heels for the scene.

One night in the late ’90s, at Ministry, I saw Frankie Knuckles coming down the stairs after his set in the iconic “Box”. The Godfather of House. I was starstruck. Frankie, alongside Larry Levan in New York, helped invent the sound, pumping soul vocals through a Roland drum machine in clubs like the Warehouse in Chicago. So many people started asking for “the music they play at the Warehouse” that the genre got its name. House music. It was that simple.

That moment stayed with me. I trained at Point Blank DJ Academy in London, arguably the Harvard of DJ schools, and learned the old-school way: on vinyl, on Technics 1210s. My first gig? A Saturday night in Watford, warming up for Mark Knight in the main room of Area nightclub. I was running for Parliament at the time. The headlines practically wrote themselves: Ali Miraj brings Ibiza to Watford. The staff were dancing on the bar. That’s when my love of the scene truly mushroomed.

So yes, when I read that most of our venues could vanish in just a few years, I don’t see a statistic. I see a crisis. A slow cultural erasure. These spaces aren’t just for partying. They’re places to discover music, launch careers, meet friends, and make memories. They’re community, pure and simple.

Just this weekend, I was on the Tube heading west, and it was packed with Oasis fans. Same story the night before. That’s the enduring power of music. It brings people together.

We need to stop treating nightlife like an afterthought. The nighttime economy deserves protection, investment, and a place in our national conversation.

________________

You can listen to LBC's Ali Miraj on Saturdays and Sundays from 12 to 3pm on the new LBC app.

LBC Opinion provides a platform for diverse opinions on current affairs and matters of public interest.

The views expressed are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the official LBC position.

To contact us email opinion@lbc.co.uk