The gig was 'The Chateau Cells Out', one of Franz Ferdinand's early music and art performances, held here exactly a year ago.
A map for the evening is still pinned to a wall, detailing which artists occupied which cells on the night.
'We're intolerant of mediocrity.'They are fond of portentous pronouncements.
They have, for example, a declared interest in creating emotion 'on the level of Field Marshall Haig's tears that fell as he counted the statistics of the men he had sent over the top'. Franz Ferdinand gleefully reel off their debts to the Soviet-era magical realist author Mikhael Bulgakov, landscape painters, pre-war Hollywood choreography, and to the Chateau - a Glasgow artists' collective of which the band are founder members.
Lord knows what's keeping the huge, pendulous rose from succumbing to gravity.'When we did the gig we did worry about that coming down,' Alex Kapranos says, gazing upwards and idly kicking a semi-deflated football with the toe of his fabulously pointed Chelsea boots.
'It would have wiped out every ponce in Glasgow in one night,' he grins.
When the police chased them out of this squat HQ, Franz Ferdinand moved to the abandoned jail complex that is their current rehearsal and storage space.