James Dean Bradfield, Manic Street Preachers, on the Tramshed, Cardiff

I love the bit in John Niven’s book O Brother where he goes back to where he saw the Clash at the Magnum Leisure Centre in Irvine and only the foundations of the building are left, so he reimagines the gig by standing on the footprint. He writes about how concerts can have such a powerful effect when you’re young that years later you feel the vibrations, even after the building has been knocked down.

For anyone who has experienced that feeling, such places hold so many ghosts. I remember the Square Club and Nero’s in Cardiff or the New Ocean Club where I saw the Hoodoo Gurus and Siouxsie and the Banshees. They’re all gone, while St David’s Hall where I saw the Waterboys and Gary Numan is now closed because of deteriorating concrete.

I want to support the Tramshed because it’s replaced so many places which closed down. It is literally a former tramshed on the fringes of Tiger Bay. Before it opened in 2015, we couldn’t see it working, but I’ve got a lot of memories there already. I’ve seen Black Flag, Bernie Marsden, Gwenno, Peter Hook and the Light, John Grant, Kneecap, all sorts.

It is on the larger side of intimate – usually 400-500 people – but it’s well run, clean, has good sound and sightlines. If a band I like are playing there, I’ll go see them. We’ve used it as a rehearsal space for our tour and I’d love to play there at some point. We hear so many stories of failure or destruction around venues – it’s brilliant when something comes along and works. I’d be devastated if it went.

KT Tunstall on King Tut’s Wah Wah Hut, Glasgow

When musicians start out striving to get somewhere, they’re not thinking of the O2 or Glasgow’s SECC, which seem so out of reach. My experience would be: “Imagine if we got a gig at the Jazz Bar in Edinburgh or Stereo in Glasgow.” King Tut’s was the holy grail.

It is famously the place that Oasis got signed, so it gives you hope that someone will discover you. If there’s going to be a buzz, it will often start in a legendary little venue such as King Tut’s. As you go up the steps, it has all the names of people who’ve played there and I’m very proud to be listed. I first played there in the 90s in King Creosote’s band the Skuobhie Dubh Orchestra and my first gig there as a solo artist was in 2004.

I remember being nervous because you want to have one of those amazing gigs that everyone remembers. It was so hot that after the show I looked like I’d just come out the shower, but when you can see the eyes of every single person in the room you learn your craft.

Nobody runs a small venue to make pots of money. They’re going to have a life of pain, trying to keep the thing open or to stop it being bought by developers. They do it to give bands and musicians a chance. There are no bells and whistles or LED screens, and you’ve got to be humble enough to receive feedback. It’s: “Are your songs any fucking good?” If they are, they’ll let you know.

Jason Williamson, Sleaford Mods vocalist, on the Bodega, Nottingham

My history with the Bodega is more than just music. I worked as a glass collector there. I met my future wife when she worked there. For bands coming up it was always a mecca. I saw Coldplay and the White Stripes there. I played there in a band called Stone Cold Williamson, then I played an early incarnation of Sleaford Mods when it was just me, supporting a band called Mint Ive. I didn’t go down very well, but in 2014 we supported the Pop Group and after that we just took off.

Two months ago we did a tour of small venues and played the Bodega for the first time in a decade. All the gigs were up close and personal, with not a lot of space between the audience and the stage, which really threw me when we got to the Bodega because there were a lot of people I knew. It was like playing your parent’s birthday party, but it became like a campfire gig, really special and memorable.

We didn’t earn any money from that tour because it was so small but we wanted to give the venues some attention. If bigger bands than us did a tour every couple of years in small venues, it would give them all such a vital boost. The Bodega is so important to Nottingham. A lot of people that work there are in bands, and it gives people the opportunity to experience the thrill of live music. So if someone isn’t interested in being in a band and goes to the Bodega, that could change.

Chris Hughes, Fat Dog keyboard player, on the Windmill, London

I wouldn’t be in Fat Dog if it wasn’t for the Windmill. I went to see Fat Dog there three years ago before I was in the band, and after the gig I mentioned that I could play the viola. I couldn’t! But they suggested I audition. I bought a viola and my neighbour who was in the Penguin Cafe Orchestra hurriedly showed me the ropes. I failed the audition, but when they needed a synth player they asked me back.

Since then we must have played the Windmill 20 times. As we got more popular, our booking agent suggested we shouldn’t play there as much because we needed other shows so we started playing under secret names, such as Sad Boners or Crabby Woof Woof. One time we played the new music night as three different bands: Yes Sir, No Sir and Three Bags Full Sir. After a while people started to realise that if there was a daft name on the events list it would probably be us.

The place is always packed and with capacity for 150 people it feels personal. There is no dressing room or guest list, which means that artists have to interact with people and everyone pays their way, so there’s a real sense of community. I’ve seen all sorts of acts there. A rapper called Danny – not the D4nny on YouTube – turned up in a fur coat and did karate moves outside. He did a 12-minute set, left without talking to anyone and for ages afterwards the room, which normally smells of sweat, smelled of his cologne. Last year we played there on my birthday. Someone brought a cake out and the crowd sang “Happy Birthday”. It was magical.

Nova Twins on the Camden Assembly (formerly the Barfly), London

Georgia South (bass): I first played the Barfly when I was 15 and in a school band who played the underage night. It was so inspiring to see other bands there and think: “We could do this too.” You would have to lug the gear up lots of stairs but you really earn your stripes. There’s capacity for 200 people on each floor and it’s got a really high stage, so you feel elevated – empowered – when you play there.

Amy Love (vocals/guitar): We’ve known each other since we were 11, so when Georgia first played there, I was in the audience. When we started Nova Twins our first gig was at the Barfly, as the support act on a rock night. Seeing our name on a poster was such a big thing. Eventually we were able to put on our own night, which was carnage in the best way. It’s a very diverse place so there were women and girls in the mosh pit. That was the first time I didn’t straighten my hair, I just let it grow out in an afro. It was the biggest show we’d done at that point and seeing a capacity audience in front of us was a turning point: the moment we realised we could have an impact.

Gwenno on Clwb Ifor Bach, Cardiff

“Little Ivor’s club” started years ago as a Welsh language social club. I saw my first ever gig there aged six – my mum took me to see [singer-songwriter] Meic Stevens. I could never have dreamed that one day I would play my first gig there, standing in the very same spot as Meic, and I’ve since been in that exact spot again in different points in my life. So it’s been very central to my journey.

The list of artists that have been through there is incredible [including the Killers, Coldplay, LCD Soundsystem and George Ezra] but we’re not engaging with live artists like that as much any more. New artists are breaking through from their bedrooms to social media profile to a billion streams, which puts live venues in a precarious position. Yet people have been coming together to make and listen to music since neolithic times, and there’s something about a community of people committed to music that enriches it.

I’ve never been to Clwb Ifor Bach and not known almost everybody there. Ten years ago I had my baby, won the Welsh Music prize for my first album [Y Dydd Olaf] and a week afterwards Clwb Ifor Bach unveiled a mural of me on the side of the building, which is still there. I was in a complete daze of early motherhood thinking: “Oh my goodness.”

Clementine Douglas on the Alphabet, Brighton

All I ever wanted was to make a living doing music. I played my first gig in a “pub idol” competition when I wasn’t old enough to be in there. I was working as a dinner lady when things started happening for me as a singer [winning the 2022 BBC Radio 1 dance vocalist of the year award and scoring hits with Sonny Fodera and Chase & Status.] I’ve played countless small venues and had incidents such as scraping the hired van on the way in, writing off the money for the gig, but kept plugging away. Small venues teach you the value of persistence.

For my first solo tour last year I wanted to do something different, so I played two nights at Alphabet. It’s a really old school [established in 1867 as the Swan Downer school for poor girls] with no windows because putting them in was too expensive. The new owner has renovated it into a quirky hidden gem with an incredible sound system.

When I played, two scousers drove down from Liverpool and slept in their car to see me, and the crowd were really having it. In December, I sang at the O2 for the first time – a night with Sonny Fodera, then two with Pete Tong’s Ibiza Classics – and soon afterwards played a small venue with [production duo] Parisi. In small venues, there is nowhere to hide, so you’ve got to be on it. I was far more nervous singing to a hundred people than I was at the O2.

Jamie Staples, Wunderhorse drummer on the George Tavern, Stepney Green, London

The George Tavern is one of the oldest pubs in London. It’s a listed building and the vertical staircase down to the cellar from behind the bar indicates just how old it is [700 years old]. It’s very dark – even the furniture – dimly lit and moody. It’s tiny [180 capacity] but iconic, the perfect place to see a band.

I first saw a friend’s band there five years ago and have since been many times as a punter and in various bands including a five-piece that felt very intense because we were all crammed on to the tiny stage. Last year Wunderhorse played a gig there to road test our album, which felt really special. I always bump into people and the George’s music goes across the board so you can see great stuff in its rawest form. For anyone with the the courage to start a band, these are the places where it all begins.

• Independent Venue Week shows feature in various venues nationally until 2 February.