Today

"As soon as anyone mentions music or bands or guitars, it's Denmark Street straight away," says Stuart Walsh as he tapes a "Musicians Wanted" notice to a wall, precisely as aspiring stars did when the Stones were recording their first album here in 1964.
Denmark Street thrums with tales from pop's golden age. Running between Charing Cross Road and St Giles High Street, it dates back to the early 18th century and the terrace shops on either side were the only ones left standing in the slum clearance of the early 19th century. It has been a haunt for musicians ever since. These days it is mostly home to guitar stores, but in the 1950s and 60s it was Britain's Tin Pan Alley, where songwriters and publishers set up shop - and if you're lucky enough to find an old-timer like Dave Wilkinson, he'll tell you how he and his mates could compose a tune in one of the basement studios, then cross the road and flog it for a fiver.
Girls screamed outside while the Stones worked at Regent Sounds Studios (a guitar shop now, but retaining its original signage) and Elton John's first hit, Your Song, was written here. Everyone from Donovan to Hendrix made their first recording in the street; Pink Floyd rocked London's first psychedelic venue, the UFO Club, and David Bowie slept in his camper van round the corner in Charing Cross Road.
At the end of the 70s, manager Malcolm McLaren installed the Sex Pistols in a basement dive, asking the future Haçienda architect Ben Kelly to smarten the place up and make it habitable. The designer recalls a sense of foreboding as he rang the doorbell for the first time, got no reply, then had drummer Paul Cook running after him in his underpants.
Most venerable of Denmark Street's present tenants was Andy's Guitars, which opened in 1978 and occupied the whole of number 27. Wilkinson still works part-time and over a coffee next door at the 12-Bar Club, he regales me with tales from the days when customers might pop into one of the instrument emporia to find Jimi Hendrix, who was ever-present then, twiddling with an amp. Wilkinson remembers the time a customer asked him to demonstrate a Gibson 335 in front of the then little-known American.
"I thought, 'I'm not going to play this thing in front of Jimi'," he explains, "so I said, 'Jimi, would you mind demonstrating this for me?' Well, he started playing and the customer's jaw dropped. The guy bought the guitar and ran!"
Outside, a Parisian couple are taking photos of their 16-year-old son, a Metallica fan for whom this is mecca; and Stuart Walsh, who moved to London with his band, advertises for a singer and drummer. In timeless fashion, Walsh tells me that while he works as a librarian by day, "there's lots happening for us", which may be why I later find myself giving his number to Caroline, an Italian drummer looking to play "funky rock music". In the end, nothing comes of it, but I go away buoyed by the thought that while our world changes constantly, certain fundamentals remain the same.