In the third installment of Living Rooms: Global Punk & DIY Venues, a series that looks at DIY clubs around the world, writer Laura Snapes and photographers Toby Keane, Sophie Harris Taylor, and Fresh to Death visit Corsica Studios, a venue in London.

The overground line from Kings Cross St. Pancras to Elephant and Castle traces the spread of London gentrification from north to south, as well as Corsica Studios’ various homes over the past two decades. The grotty railway arches that the club occupied early on now back onto the glossy Eurostar terminal, from which it takes 15 minutes to get to Corsica's current home; a journey that emerges on a platform adjoined to a shabby shopping center. Incomplete flats tower overhead, an omen of impending change in the borough of Southwark.

Regeneration has been on the cards for Elephant and Castle since the turn of the millennium. Back in 1965, this shopping center was Europe's first covered mall. Now it houses some chain stores and a bowling alley, along with a shop selling waist trainers, and a Polish delicatessen. The recession saved it from demolition in 2010, but it will soon go the way of its old neighbor the Heygate Estate, the sprawling 1970s housing project that was recently torn down to make way for a more modern development—one with a significantly lower social housing commitment.

The message is clear. As the Radical Housing Network points out, Fred Manson, formerly of the council, was open in his view that Elephant and Castle needed "a better class of people." According to the 2011 census, the borough is only 39.7 per cent White British; the area has strong Afro-Caribbean and Latin American communities. The regeneration of Elephant and Castle is social cleansing with a £1.5bn budget and a smile. And right in the middle of the council-defined "Core Area" for regeneration, between the shopping center and the Heygate's ruins, are the two railway arches that house Corsica Studios, regarded by lovers of dark sounds played at teeth-trembling volume as the best club in London.

Corsica founders Amanda Moss and Adrian Jones always knew this moment was coming. They met back in 1995, an art student and a musician in search for cheap studio space to fill with friends’ art and events. Work on the Channel Tunnel had begun in Kings Cross, meaning that properties frozen in preparation for the development were available cheaply. That’s how they spent their first three years experimenting in a former porno studio. "That wasn’t the thing that led us there," Jones clarifies, sitting between Moss and in-house promoter Chris Gold. It’s mid-January. Come Friday, Corsica’s two arches will be filled with the fog of sweaty bodies, but tonight they’re quiet, as the below-stairs HQ is busy preparing for their second weekend of 2016.

They adapted to instability, spending 18 months in nearby Highbury (on Corsica Street, hence the name), before moving to their first railway arch. That’s where the parties started, around 1999. "People would do quite large productions, but on an intimate scale—200, 300 people," says Moss, describing them as a backlash against the superclub explosion. Jones recalls a friend who created a winter wonderland out of UV lights, a crucified Santa, and mountains of polystyrene balls acting as snow. "It was completely extravagant. He lost loads of money on the invites—stickers on the back of fake ice cubes, which cost half the budget. But that was typical. It was all about doing something really special and extravagant; throwing an event, consequences be damned."

Giving their friends and collaborators creative license to make their mark would become part of Corsica’s ethos. "It’s a lot more work to reconfigure everything on someone’s whim," says Jones. "But at the same time it was important to us to allow that freedom of expression."

That there was a steady stream of empty venues for Corsica to move between now seems fantastical, in a London of stratospheric rents and massive gentrification. The short-term capitalist concept of pop-up shops didn’t exist in that way, says Moss, so there was little competition for the derelict buildings. But while London was their playground, Corsica demanded extreme dedication. "We had nothing, no funding, no money from anyone," says Jones. "We had to do parties to survive, to earn the money to do the space up, and before we knew it we would be told that we’d have to move out, and so it would go on again. It wasn’t really by choice that we had such short notice, but actually by having such low rents, we were able to take a few risks."

After nine months, they were evicted again. They decided to give Corsica one last shot, and spent three months in a moldy arch underneath Waterloo Station. Their landlord took pity, and led them to the Elephant and Castle arches that they’ve occupied since 2002. They knew that their new home might not survive the slated regeneration, but Moss knew that these projects tended to take a long time, so they took a gamble.

The space wasn’t legal, though it was among the least of Southwark police’s worries. Shootouts were so common, they weren’t even reported. "Once we were holding an event and people wanted to leave, and there was a full-fledged gang war going on in the street," says Moss. "We couldn’t let people leave the building. Every weekend there would be some sort of problem. Once we couldn’t get to our door because there was police tape around it."

"They’d found a finger," says Jones.

Having white proprietors in a multi-ethnic area with sometimes-violent nightlife undoubtedly helped Corsica slip under the radar. But community integration was vital to them: They offered local art students and youth programs free use of the space. When resident dance group Bruk Out had their funding cut, Moss and Jones helped them out. Under the name the Movement Factory, they’re now closely linked with Covent Garden’s prestigious Pineapple Studios.

Then-Camberwell College of Arts design student Chris Gold approached Corsica about using the venue for a second-year project. He got a taste for promoting, and started staging nights that capitalized on the city’s nu-rave and New Cross scenes, scoring early shows from acts like Florence and the Machine and Mystery Jets. When Gold graduated, Moss and Jones asked him to become their first in-house promoter, spawning their longest-running night, Trouble Vision, which started as a bass party, and now specializes in everything from American house to Nordic disco.

The space was still incredibly fluid, hosting art exhibitions, dance classes, iconic house/disco/balearic night Low Life, and nights that did a bit of everything. The effort required to constantly shift between different purposes made them realize they would have to focus. "You compromise one or the other if you’re trying to do too much," says Jones.

Streamlining coincided with going above board in 2006, after one too many mid-party visits from police demanding to know if Corsica was selling alcohol. They had been for four years, but they worked around licensing laws by acting as a private club, printing their own currency (which bore a dancing vagina), making sure everyone was in by midnight, not selling tickets on the door, and not putting prices on the tickets. Now legal, Corsica solidified its reputation as a destination club for discerning fans of techno, dubstep, deep house, some grime, and iconoclastic groups like Sunn O))) and Little Dragon (hosted by their in-house gig arm, Baba Yaga’s Hut).

Their old anything-goes ethos translated into a dedication to making every night as fully realized as possible. "It’s the difference between throwing a party with a venue or simply at it," says Frank Broughton of Low Life, which ran there from 2004-2015. Krautrock provocateurs Faust took the idea too far in 2006, throwing manure over the audience and setting off smoke bombs designed for a significantly bigger venue. The fog blinded everyone and set off the fire alarms in the shopping center. "That was the only time we’ve evacuated the building," says Moss, who nonetheless calls it a standout night.

Around 2007 Corsica installed a new soundsystem: the deeply heavy Funktion 1. "There was virtually no venue outside the big clubs that had access to equipment of such fidelity," says Toby Frith of South London underground dance night Bleep43, which started its Corsica nights in 2006. "When we did a party that March, Surgeon showed just what a paradigmatic change was possible."

"It’s the only venue where, when you’re DJing between sets at gigs, the sound man tells you you’re playing too quietly and turns it up so your drink vibrates like the cup does when the t-rex is coming in Jurassic Park," says The Quietus co-founder Luke Turner.

The club soared. In late 2010 it became Boiler Room’s first proper home. "Back in 2010, 2011, they were booking acts like DJ Rashad and Spinn, Kyle Hall, Objekt, the Haxan Cloak, and countless others years before any of them could be considered surefire draws," says Boiler Room editor-in-chief (and former Pitchfork contributor) Gabriel Szatan. "That quality and foresight has never faltered. It’s our go-to spot when we want to pull off something special." (Like 2011’s launch party for Radiohead’s remix album TKOL RMX 1234567, with Thom Yorke, Jamie xx b2b Caribou, and Lone.)

Jones’ standout night came in 2012. Not only was it Corsica’s 10th birthday, but Detroit techno icon Jeff Mills asked if he could hold Axis’ 20th anniversary at the club. They limited the event to 200 tickets, and Mills played from 10 p.m. to 6.30 a.m. "Grown men [were] in tears at how awesome it was," says Jones. "He himself was overwhelmed—he said a few words about how it was one of the highlights from his career, which, coming from someone like him..."

The likes of James Murphy, Hot Chip, Andrew Weatherall, Roedelius, Omar-S, and more helped celebrate Corsica’s first decade with a series of events that autumn. But despite the club’s increased pulling power, they endeavored to keep things intimate. "Once things get beyond a certain size then it changes, and it’s rarely for the better," says Jones. "That’s not the point for us."

That ethos has engendered a loyal following, and genuine community. Perc often holds his Perc Trax nights there, and praises its "rough, independent feel" in contrast with its professional foundations. "It’s the only venue in the world which I can go to on a night off and someone will come up to me and ask what time I am playing," he says. "It’s really rewarding that people associate me with the venue like that." Kode9, aka Hyperdub founder Steve Goodman, calls it "easily" the best club space in South London. "Room 2 is a very special room—one of the best rooms to dance in London. It’s just a small box with a banging system, goes really dark when you want it really dark, really smoky when you need to be. Shove a laser in there and it’s perfection."

It’s been going so long that there’s even the makings of a Corsica generation: music journalist Joe Muggs has friends that married and had twins after meeting at the I ♥ Acid night. "Since the closure of Plastic People, it’s without question my favorite venue: the one that cleaves closest to the vital understanding that the music really is paramount," he says. "It is the absolute example that when form follows function, all will be well."

"The sound is good, but mostly what makes it special is that the security is relaxed and the space feels free, so people feel comfortable and able to have fun when they are there," says Hot Chip’s Joe Goddard.

Journalist and Wild Combination founder Maya Kalev tells a different story. "I wouldn’t say it’s great: Ventilation can be awful, and harassment can be a real problem. All that said—and perhaps this is telling of the scarcity of good spaces in London—it’s one of my favorite venues in the city." (Corsica plan to advertise their anti-harassment codes of conduct more clearly this year, says Moss.)

There’s a wide range of established nights at Corsica, from Sunday daytime party Jaded to techno/electro/acid/bass night Plex, but Moss and Jones are dedicated to bringing in the new generation of promoters, though they admit that they’re choosy. NVWLS are staging their first night in February, with Kornél Kovács and Shanti Celeste. "We knew we couldn’t approach them until we had plans that were grand enough for Corsica’s high standards," says NVWLS co-founder Eden Cooke. "To say we were nervous was an understatement. It was really refreshing that they placed so much emphasis on the lineup. We told them our plans, and got the green light—this was back in July."

Which brings us to the future. Moss and Jones are cautiously optimistic about surviving the regeneration, and have established strong relationships with the council in the hope that their local contributions are recognized. Its survival is crucial, says DJ Andrew Weatherall. "As [mayor] Boris [Johnson] and his chums do more damage to London than the Luftwaffe and what’s left becomes a bland investment opportunity, Corsica is an establishment making a stand in the battle against property investment opportunities, luxury flats, and creeping urban homogeny. With a late license."

The cause is supposedly of strong importance to the mayor’s office, which has mounted a taskforce aimed at protecting London’s music venues, the number of which has declined by 35 per cent in the last eight years. (The figures are worse for the UK’s nightclubs, almost half of which have closed in the last decade.)

"What we pay may not be what Pret can pay, but what’s the extra value that we give that someone like that may not give?" Jones asks.

Chris Gold is more cynical. "They’re quite happy to use Corsica in the brochures to demonstrate the area’s ‘thriving social life and vibrant artistic community,’ and then they’ll be the first to bulldoze the space whenever’s convenient."

It’s important to consider Corsica’s own role in gentrification: Interestingly, their cache hasn’t attracted other cool venues to the area, so much so that it’s hard to get a drink locally before a night there. "I think the crowd who go to Corsica aren’t at the age where they’re buying flats, or even able to afford to rent the flats in the new Elephant Park," says Dan Hancox, who writes on music and gentrification. "So Corsica probably isn’t playing the same role that, say, a branch of Whole Foods would."

Just in case the worst happens, Corsica’s founders are looking beyond their front door. Last year, they established temporary outdoor space the Paperworks. Their festival Rituals travels around Italy, programmed in collaboration with local promoters. The Raw Power festival, an extension of the Baba Yaga’s Hut nights, started in house, but now in its third year, has moved to a bigger north London venue.

But the beauty of Corsica Studios is that they all happen under not one, but two dome-shaped roofs. "It’s church for all these disparate musical communities that keep London exciting," says The Quietus’ Luke Turner.

"You have these two rooms that are the center of the universe for so many Londoners," says Jaded’s Raymundo Rodriguez. "To me, the very walls feel like they are suffused with power from all the magic nights—and days—they’ve held."