HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE THE CHAT ROOM
www.myspace.com/thechatroompub
By Ken Shimamoto
I loved the Wreck Room. It was my living room, three miles away from home. My sweetie ‘n’ I had our wedding reception there. I played shows with Stoogeaphilia there my last two birthdays. We even published a book about it. (The second printing was probably an ill-advised act of hubris, but it gave me lotsa copies to drunkenly push on people during the closing week.) Since it closed, I’ve felt kinda like a stateless person. When I ran into Kenny Smith at Malone’s (an incident recounted in my bar roundup a few weeks back) and he asked me, “So, where are you drinking these days?” the real answer was, “At home.”
Good news: I no longer feel like a stateless person. I think we might have found our spot. And as much as we love Brian Forella, Carl Pack, and Andre Edmonson, it’s not Lola’s. Don’t get me wrong: I see great merit to Spune Productions’ policy of bringing Gypsy Tea Room-level marquee talent to the Fort. If I can see a band like, say, Dengue Fever without having to drive to Dallas, that’s a bonusburger. Why, their website is even updated frequently (although the sign outside still says 6th Street Live). But as great as the sound and staging there have become with Andre’s continual improvements (for he’s a great production manager, is he), Lola’s definitely doesn’t feel like my living room. Now, the Moon has the same sorta neighborhood bar-with-music-policy vibe we like, and since Chris Maunder moved his stage, it feels even more like a rawk room. Problem is, the Berry Street location means that ‘twixt September and May, it’s gonna be full of obnoxious TCU frat daddies – the kinda folks I didn’t like being around even when I was young, stupid, and drunk.
The place we’ve been going is the Chat Room at 1263 West Magnolia in the historic Fairmount district – home to hip havens like Spiral Diner and Panther City Bicycles, not to mention Benito’s (my favorite place on Earth to eat), King Tut, and Nona Tatta’s (where we haven’t eaten yet but intend to once we can fabricate an occasion to do so). I first visited the neighborhood in the early ‘90s to fall by the veterans’ center there when I got out of the service, and a decade later, I used to rehearse there with Nathan Brown in Dave Karnes’ apartment on Adams Street in what I generally think of as “the Theater Fire house.” I recently learned that back when what’s now the Chat Room was still known as Club Nowhere, future Me-Thinks Ray Liberio and Sir Marlin Von Bungy used to live in what’s now Don and Aprell Feagin’s place. Lately you can tell that there are some development dollars flowing into the ‘hood; there are fewer empty storefronts and one can only hope that the strong neighborhood association will forestall 7th Street-like gentrification/yuppification.
I first set foot in the Chat last Halloween, when the Great Tyrant was playing and there were as many people on the patio outside as there were in the tee-tiny room inside. I was reminded of revisiting the Continental Club in Austin 25 years after I used to go there to hear the Explosives play and thinking, “How did those big times ever fit in this tiny room?” There’s no stage and the P.A. is minimal, but the crowd is hip and the vibe is right. (When Stoogeaphilia played our first show there, I was surprised that more of “the kids” seemed to know the music than they did at the Black Dog or even El Wreck. And that night was the first time I’ve ever had anyone in Fort Worth wanna talk to me about Glenn Branca.)
Chat Room owners Brad Hensarling and Brandin Lea are both musos who’ve toured nationally (with John Lamonica and Flickerstick, respectively) and so know first-hand how much bands appreciate a house that treats them well (a Wreck Room calling card in the old days, by the way). The Chat started out its forays into live music a coupla years ago with Cadillac Fraf, who’s still a regular there as a patron and performer. The Panther City Bandits cut their teeth there, and the room’s also a home base for the Tony Ferraro mafia of bands (Eaton Lake Tonics/Scene Girls/RTB2/etc.) – possibly because Tony shares digs with Ben Rogers, one of several former CD Warehouse employees around town who know me from when I spent a few years liquidating my collection to pay child support, buy food, etc. Ben books bands for the Chat – a mix of locals and touring indie acts -- and makes sure the trains run on time during shows there. My sweetie calls him “the Andre Edmonson of Magnolia Avenue,” and with good reason – he, too is a great production manager (and publicist). Ben and soundman Eric Ortiz do an outstanding job with limited resources.
But the Chat Room staff don’t just treat bands well; they treat everyone well. It’s been frequently remarked upon that every Chat Room bartender will introduce him/herself, ask you your name, and then use it a la Starbucks. Sure, it’s a customer service technique, but I like consideration that includes the observation of little social rituals like, um, greeting people and using heir names. And service at the Chat is always gracious, even when they’re slammed. (Incongruous in a rawk dump? Maybe. And I’ll admit that I miss getting yelled at by Carl Pack, but then again, you can’t get that anywhere anymore.) There’s a neighborhood-spot sense of ease about the place. Billy Wilson has even moved his Thursday night Lost watching parties there. I just confirmed my birthday Stoogeshow with Ben. This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.