Where Melbourne’s Heart Still Beats Loudest
You don’t just go to The Curtin—you end up there. One minute you’re nursing a cheap pint in the front bar, debating politics under the watchful gaze of old union posters. The next, you’re squeezed into the upstairs bandroom, sweat dripping from the ceiling as some garage band you’ve never heard of tears the roof off.
That’s the magic of this place—it doesn’t try to impress you. It just is.
This Carlton legend has been a refuge for radicals, musicians, and late-night philosophers since the 1860s. Bob Hawke allegedly drank here (though, let’s be honest, where didn’t he?).
Union organisers plotted over parmis. Punk bands played to rooms so packed the walls seemed to breathe. And somehow, despite Melbourne’s relentless gentrification, The Curtin has clung to its soul.
The gigs here feel like secrets you’ve stumbled upon. The upstairs room—a glorified shoebox with a donut-shaped floor plan—forces the crowd into the action.
There’s no “back of the room” here. You’re in it, whether you like it or not. King Gizzard’s early shows here were chaos. Big Thief played to a room so quiet you could hear a beer cap drop. The sound isn’t pristine—it’s alive, buzzing with the energy of a place that’s seen it all.
A few years back, developers nearly turned The Curtin into another glass-and-steel ghost. But Melbourne fought back—unions, musicians, and regulars who refused to let this place become a memory.
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That’s the thing about The Curtin: it’s not just a venue. It’s proof that some corners of this city still have grit, still have stories, still have people who give a damn.
So go. Grab a beer. Stay for the band. Leave with a story.
The John Curtin Hotel
📍 29 Lygon St, Carlton
🎸 (03) 9663 6350
🔗 johncurtinhotel.com
