SF music gets pushed to the outer limits.
I'm sure all of you read the giant front page feature story in last Wednesday's New Mexican about the effect the closing of the Paramount has had on local DJs, especially those who manned the decks at Chicanobuilt's long-time Friday night gig.
The article brought up a few different aspects of what I like to call the Paramount Diaspora, in which a number of DJs who used to spin at the club have scattered around town and spread about through the city's dance scene, such as it is. They now occupy a number of spots, from Swig (135 W. Palace Ave., 955-0400) to Pachanga's Hideaway Lounge (416 Agua Fria St., 988-5991) to the south side, epitomized by the most unlikely place for late-night dance shenanigans: Osaka Restaurant (3501 Zafarano Drive, 471-6098), which is one of those Japanese grills where you sit around a giant table with strangers while a chef makes your stir-fry right in front of you and you chat awkwardly with people you don't know. I've been there, and it's fun, and nothing says "dance party" like someone juggling eggs inches from your nose.
Chicanobuilt's Joe Ray Sandoval and his crew have been wandering about town trying to find a spot that will work with the same chemistry and magic that Friday nights at the Paramount had for them, and so far it hasn't gone so well. The Garrett's Spot gigs petered out, and a few other places didn't shake out so well either, until they finally landed at Osaka and Chilaca's.
As a venue, Chilaca's had been picking up steam for a while, culminating in the establishment's booking of Love Gun, the once-or-twice-a-year KISS tribute band that is one of Santa Fe's best musical offerings, for last Friday's Halloween party.
The problem is, Chilaca's didn't exactly have a zoning license to exist as a nightclub-legally it's considered a restaurant. So the City Council, two nights before the Friday show, ixnayed the whole shebang, and for the first time in years, there was no Love Gun show for Halloween. Similarly, after finally finding a spot that seemed like it would work, Chicanobuilt's weekly gigs there had to end.
It was a relatively high-profile situation, one that's raised the ire of many musicians around town, and one that begs the question: Do we have a venue problem?
To some extent, the answer is "yes." In this column I have previously called for the city's help in establishing a decent mid-sized venue for things like the recent Aimee Mann show, which suffered despite FanMan Productions' best efforts because it was staged at a high school auditorium. I stand by that request to the city-if there's room in the Railyard for a 10-screen movie theater, why not a mini-Lensic?
It's clear, however, that the city is interested in only one type of development, and it doesn't have a damn thing to do with supporting local promoters and musicians and DJs. They're left to fend for themselves.
And the way they have been fending for themselves has, despite the Chilaca's situation, been heartening in its resourcefulness and depressing
in terms of what it says about the official treatment of the music industry here, and of the official treatment of certain parts of town.
The good part is, a scene is burgeoning, teetering on the edge of thriving, thanks to spots like the Hideaway, which hosted the slam-bang-place-to-be Halloween dance-a-thon of the weekend on Saturday night. Yep, I've been critical of some of the music that's played there, but you can't deny the spot's popularity, and every time I've been there, it's a wall-to-wall situation, with an energetic vibe and dynamism.
There's also the Southside Cantina (3011 Cerrillos Road, 424-0755), which has continued its policy of "if you bring them, we'll book you, regardless of what kind of music you play," resulting in a delicious, crazy-quilt hodgepodge of genre and theme. Once a month, for instance, the Southside hosts U-Haul, a queer-friendly night manned by DJ Phylli (a Paramount favorite) and new DJ Panic. Friday nights there you can catch the Brotherhood Sound System, Santa Fe's longest-running reggae night. The BSS has been flying under the radar for a while now, and its resurrection is a sign that maybe we're returning to a more healthy scene.
What's telling, however, is that more and more music collectives are heading down past St. Michael's Drive and into the hinterlands of Santa Fe. There's no doubt downtown and its environs will probably be OK-WilLee's Blues Club (401 S. Guadalupe St., 982-0117) is kicking ass, El Paseo (208 Galisteo St., 992-2848) is expanding to fit more music (catch the Charlie Sexton/Shannon McNally show there on Friday, Nov. 11, in the newly expanded digs), and it would take a nuclear bomb to dislodge the Cowgirl (319 S. Guadalupe St., 982-2565) from its throne of supremacy.
But there is also a southern migration occurring, to a part of town with a sprinkling of viable venues. It's like the exodus of creative types from Manhattan to Brooklyn a few years ago: When it gets too expensive or, more importantly, when it's clear you are no longer wanted, it's time to pack up and head to the outer boroughs.
And it's clear the city, officially, doesn't really care, and therein lies the problem. Even though it's a great thing the south side is busting through the ennui, I still contend a city needs a semi-centralized zone where music is the draw if there is to be a viable scene where DJs, musicians and promoters don't have to scramble to make a living, where they don't have to literally fight city hall.
Unless…unless we can use the Brooklyn analogy to our advantage. If we're not wanted, we can pick up and make do elsewhere. In the case of Brooklyn, that borough ended up a few years ago being a central point in a number of new and thrilling musical movements, with DJs, electroclash devotees, club owners and fans milling about in a fertile creative ground. Manhattan, meanwhile, suffered-its traditional place as the birthing ground of all that's new, important and ground-breaking rolled over so that Disney could move in, and the island's music scene has suffered for it.
The south side could prove to be a similar case. Both Osaka and the Southside Cantina could end up as central points in a widespread but essential scene, and if the city doesn't figure out how important that is until it's too late, so be it-there's always the movies.
