THIS week I received an invitation to have a final drink in the wonderful art deco surroundings of the Royal Court.

The theatre recently received the good news that it will be the recipient of just under £1m from the Heritage Lottery Fund, which will be used to renovate the famous old auditorium.

At this point I should declare a vested interest. Between 2003 and 2005 I worked at the Court in its final two years as a music venue.

It was a special time for an indie kid like me – in that short space of time I watched at close quarters musicians like Morrissey, Blur and the White Stripes.

Even Ryan Adams taking a tumble off the stage on my first night in charge couldn’t detract from what was basically a dream job.

Vital to this experience was the building itself. On a packed night, the Royal Court’s three levels swayed and sweated in that multitudinous way that Liverpool fans talk about the Kop.

Creaking and leaking to its very seams, the vast hall always needed care and attention and like a beached whale gasping for air, it was always touch and go whether she’d make it.

It made me think about how fond we music lovers get about the bricks and mortars that contain our early pop experiences.

For me that place was the Windsor Old Trout, a scruffy little pub on the banks of the Thames where I witnessed the likes of Oasis, Supergrass, Elastica and Aphex Twin, playing in a sticky back room for less than a fiver. So warmly did I feel about the Old Trout I have a piece of the rubble from when it was demolished in 1995.

Lots of people in Liverpool probably feel the same about the Royal Court but are we right to feel so nostalgic about places which are basically just rooms with a bar attached?

The thought crossed my mind following the recent news of the closure of the CUC and Masque venues and the decision by MOJO to drop their programme of live music.

I had a lot of affection for the Masque as it was where I cut my DJing teeth and I was hoping that the CUC would grow and grow after the success of Liverpool Music Week’s closing party. MOJO hosted some excellent gigs but always seem a bit confused about whether it wanted to be a bar or a venue.

But all three have closed now and the city’s music scene has to move on.

When legendary venues such as the Cavern and Erics in Liverpool or the Marquee and the Astoria in London can close is it really that surprising that lesser names fall by the wayside?

Already Liverpool’s promoters and bands have picked themselves up and moved on.

The forthcoming Threshold Festival is a perfect example of this attitude. Originally scheduled to take place in the CUC, the organisers have managed to secure a number of locations across the Baltic Triangle, with many promoters and organisations bending over backwards to help out the independent event.

Meanwhile, the Snub Festival has got over the closure of the Masque by moving, rather ironically, to a rejuvenated Lomax (proof if any was needed that classic venues can reopen as well as close).

So perhaps we need to stop looking back at the venues of our youth through beer stained glasses, move forward and support those venues we have right now – rather than pine for memories of sticky floors first kisses and running for the last train home.

They’re just buildings after all.