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30
Years of The Backroom
The Myth, The Stigma, The Truth About The Mayhem
By Tammy Moore
There is a mysterious palpable energy than can be felt while
standing within the sacrosanct walls of The Backroom, even
if no one else is there. The space inside the structure has
played host to many memorable events in the lives of the employees,
patrons and rock stars that have graced the venue. Many have
heard the legendary tales, and some have actually lived them.
There are legions of stories of drunken debauchery, unruly
bikers, murders, riots, ghosts, and perhaps most importantly,
the musical revelry. To stand on the stage at The Backroom
would be to share some linear continuum of space with so many
notable artists that have played in that place before, and
some that have done so describe the experience as, well, a
little overwhelming. Oh, if only these walls could talk.
Now
located at 2015 East Riverside, when Ronnie Roark first opened
The Backroom it was housed in a small building on the corner
of Burton and Riverside where Riverside Liquor and Thundercloud
Subs now sit. It was famous for Bill Casher’s $1.25
oblong hamburgers. (They sold 200 to 300 burgers a day during
lunch, and years later when they quit serving food, the secret
recipe was sold to Abbey Inn, a now long gone sports bar.)
The room held only a small bar and three pool tables. In those
days, artists like Marcia Ball and W.C. Clark entertained
there on a regular basis. It was the artists, their acoustic
guitars, and a microphone.
In 1978, Roark made the decision to relocate up the hill and
purchased the building that modern day patrons would recognize
as “the band side.” What customers now refer to
as “the game side” was a pool hall back then called
The Copper Dollar. There was a beer garden between the two
venues and pool tables in both establishments, but the new
larger space gave The Backroom the edge where live entertainment
was concerned. They began to host bigger shows with acts like
Joe Ely serving as regular house bands.
It
was during this time that the biker community developed a
certain affinity for the club. You know those bikers tend
to be fools for blues-based rock, and that’s just what
The Backroom was serving up in those days. No offense was
or is intended, but being a biker bar was never what Roark
had envisioned for his venue. So, the bouncers were given
instructions to try to discourage the bikers from coming in
the bar. Notorious for not abiding by anyone’s rules,
the bikers didn’t exactly heed these subtle suggestions,
and the club was faced with what became an ongoing battle
for a while.
For several years they would ask the bikers not to park their
bikes in front of the club, but night after night, they lined
them up. They posted signs telling the bikers not to park
their bikes in front of the club. The bikers burned the signs.
Finally around ’81 or ’82, when Roark made a conscience
decision to turn the musical format of the club more in the
direction of commercial rock, it was decided that the bikers
would be refused admittance by enforcing a dress code (still
in effect today) where no biker attire was allowed.
Right
there is where the real trouble began. When told of the new
dress code, needless to say, there were some very unhappy
bikers who made it their personal mission to cause problems
at the club. There were fights with security and bomb threats,
like the one that came one night while Ball was playing and
the building had to be evacuated. (Although no one could ever
say for sure that the bikers were responsible for those threats,
the timing was questionable.) Finally, the police had to be
called in to help security deal with the problems. Eventually,
the bikers no longer cared to frequent the place, but unfortunately,
the stigma that came from their short stint there as regulars
haunts The Backroom to this day.
And speaking of hauntings, this might be the perfect time
to tell the story of “Shadowman,” one of The Backroom’s
resident spirits. There is at least one playful ghost that
inhabits the club. Every night, give or take a few minutes
before or after 2:00 a.m., near the area that the old beer
garden once stood, the sound of a cup of ice being thrown
into the trash can be heard, and employees have come to think
of the sound as a signal from “the other side”
that it is indeed closing time.
But Shadowman reveals different traits. He is a malevolent
entity prone to appearing in the mirror behind the game side
bar. Over the years many bartenders and barbacks have been
stocking beer only to notice a man in that mirror standing
at the back of the room. When they turn to address the person
they perceive to be a customer, there is never anyone there.
Shadowman has scared at least one employee into fleeing the
club late one night after he blew a chilling wind through
the man as he tried to light his cigarette and finally knocked
the cigarette out of the horrified man’s hands with
a force so hard that it flew the length of two pool tables.
The employee, a tough New Yorker who never seemed afraid of
anything, called the club the next day and quit his job, never
to return.
There is a theory concerning who Shadowman might actually
be. Of course, Shadowman’s identity can’t be proven
for certain, but he does stay localized to the back end of
the game side of the club near where, coincidentally, another
bar once stood during the days that the area was still The
Copper Dollar. While The Backroom was knee deep in problems
with the biker set, irony reared its head one day (bikers
weren’t allowed in The Copper Dollar) when an irate
family member of a young woman that frequented The Copper
Dollar walked into that establishment. Apparently, the bartender
there had known the young female customer in the biblical
sense, and the poor girl now found herself pregnant. This
particular family member thought that the bartender should
“do the right thing” and offer to marry the young
lass. When the bartender refused, he found himself looking
down the barrel of a gun. Shots were fired, and the unlucky
bartender died in pool of blood there that day. After the
murder, the owners of The Copper Dollar decided to close the
doors and leave town.
Ronnie
Roark, always one to recognize opportunity, offered to buy
The Copper Dollar. He intended to combine the venues and use
one side for music and turn the other side into a competitive
arcade and sports bar. The owners gladly sold him the building,
and it was then that Roark installed the entry foyer that
now connects the two sides of the now 10,500 square foot venue.
For a short time peace reigned there. And then Jim Ramsey
was hired to book the club. Ramsey began to scale back on
the folk and blues. His mission was to make The Backroom rock,
and that is exactly what he did. It was the beginning of a
new decade, which always signals the birth of a fresh era
of sound in rock culture, and the fast-talking Ramsey had
all the right connections. He was a promoter that knew people
at the major labels, he knew all the national booking agents
and the glam rock scene was beginning to explode. Roark was
willing to finance road shows in those days, and when mid-size
venue touring bands came through Austin, they played The Backroom.
Back then the club was renowned as one of the top ten rock
clubs in the world. Everyone from Eddie Money to Warrant to
Iggy Pop to Skid Row and Rembrandts performed there. The list
of artists to play on that stage is staggering, and space
does not permit listing all of their names. However, when
this writer says that everyone played there, she does literally
mean almost everyone, and those that might have been too big
to play there (say, arena bands like U2 or Mötley Crüe),
well, you could usually find at least one or two members of
those bands hanging out at The Backroom after their shows
at the Erwin Center.
This
was The Backroom’s hey day and it was something to behold.
There was a packed house and live music seven nights a week.
There were fifteen to twenty road shows a month. There were
lots of big-boobed babes in tight skirts, fishnets and stiletto
heels strutting their stuff, trying to catch the attention
of those spandex and leather-clad musicians that mercilessly
taunted the girly-girls with endlessly long instrument solos
and especially with all that hair. The decadence of the ‘80s
was in full in swing, and the building literally pulsated
with power and corporeal tension.
By now it was 1988, and a young college kid in the summer
after his sophomore year at The University of Texas walked
into The Backroom to apply for a job. He had never set foot
inside a bar before then and didn’t particularly care
which job they gave him. He just wanted to work. His name
was Mark Olivarez, and his arrival signaled the dawn of a
new standard of work ethic there. For Olivarez himself it
was literally the dawn of a new day (for more on Olivarez,
check out this issue’s THE ROAD TO ROCK STARDOM).
He was in awe of his new surroundings, and through hard work,
his quick wit, and more charm than should be legally allowed,
he quickly worked through the ranks of bouncer, barback, and
bartender until he was finally officially made the bar manager.
He had an innate sense of good management and parlayed that
into creating an atmosphere of camaraderie among his employees
and his customers. Before long, not only did people go to
The Backroom for the music and eye candy, they went to be
part of a “scene” that was emerging there. The
venue was used to develop some local artists like the Dangerous
Toys and Pariah, who went on to secure recording deals with
major labels.
Artists
and patrons alike were treated well upon entry into the club.
Though he could have been confused for one of the rock stars
that frequented the joint, with his full mane of long black
hair, Olivarez was gifted with something else…style.
He was well-spoken and took the time to personally meet and
welcome people to his establishment. He liked the idea of
an almost familial feeling among his guests, and before long,
that is exactly what happened. It seemed that everyone knew
everyone then. Many solid friendships that linger today and
fond memories were formed in those days.
But along with what seemed like a never ending party came
rumors of drug use within the club. For reasons that are still
unclear, the Austin Police Department issued a statement to
the Austin American-Statesman listing The Backroom as the
number one place to score crack/cocaine in Austin. Upon investigating
the allegations for themselves with the police and the paper,
Olivarez and Roark discovered that a police report concerning
drug use within the city had been filed stating that the 2000
Block of East Riverside was the number one location to score
these drugs, and interestingly, a still unknown person had
taken it upon themselves to change the address in the report
to 2015 East Riverside, which is what appeared in the paper.
Furious with the implications, they threatened to sue the
city and the police department, and within two weeks, the
Chief of Police for APD took out a full page advertisement
in The Austin Chronicle issuing a full retraction of the statement
saying that the entire mess was the fault of APD and in no
way was The Backroom meant to be implicated along with other
locations printed in the original report. The retraction stated
that there was no evidence to suggest that any such activities
had ever taken place there and, therefore, they owed The Backroom
and the community an apology. Still, another stigma found
its place.
It didn’t help matters when events occurred like the
lawsuit that was brought by an underage patron who claimed
he was served alcohol in the club and then chased and thrown
into a concrete ditch by security there, sustaining multiple
injuries. The story and allegations found their way to the
Statesman again. (What the paper may not have printed was
the judgment in the suit, which was that The Backroom was
found in no way responsible for what occurred.) The truth
was that the young man wasn’t being chased. He jumped,
and he ended up having to pay the club after they counter-sued
over the false charges.
And
then there was the now infamous 2 Live Crew riot, which did
actually occur. Cash registers were stolen, but no one was
hurt. The Statesman reported that shots were fired and chaos
ensued, but the truth was that it was a scam being run by
the band themselves. Luke Skyywalker would raise his hand
and prompt gang members already stationed in the crowd with,
“All right, ya’ll. Let’s get it on!”
It looked like a fight was erupting in front of the stage,
and within seconds, the “fight” began to expand.
Glass was breaking everywhere. Thinking quickly, Olivarez
grabbed one cash register and threw it in a cooler while telling
his employees to take cover at the same time. When he turned
back to the bar, he noticed two men unplugging another register,
and he instructed his employees to let them take it. He called
911 at that point and informed them of the situation. The
police showed up in riot gear within three minutes. By then,
however, the entire club was empty, and there had been no
injuries.
Though Olivarez is a big believer in civil rights, the incident
did prompt him to begin using metal detectors at certain events,
including punk and metal shows that might inspire concert
goers to wear metal spikes (which are not allowed) or carry
weapons. It’s an unfortunate but necessary precaution
that is taken to ensure the safety of all The Backroom’s
patrons, which is probably Olivarez’s main priority
along with ensuring that their experience there is pleasurable.
For the most part, though, Olivarez relationship with APD
has run very smoothly. He has made a tremendous effort to
run The Backroom in a professional manor and provide a safe
atmosphere for the patrons. The customers may be imbibing
the “spirits,” but while they do so, the security
force is forever watching their backs. If someone gets out
of line, they will be asked to leave and, if necessary, barred
for any amount of time that Olivarez or his managers deem
fitting, including the dreaded “barred for life”
sentence. Hence, there hasn’t been that much of a need
to call on APD since Olivarez’s watch began. With everything
else that APD deals with in East Austin, the fact that here
there is only the occasional small riot or accidental death
to contend with probably comes as a welcome relief.
Despite all of it, perhaps the greatest challenge that Olivarez
has faced yet in his fifteen years with The Backroom came
at the turn of the next decade when, again, the face of music
changed. Early in the nineties, Ramsey began bringing bands
like Soundgarden, Stone Temple Pilots and Pearl Jam to the
club. These fledging rock bands who were determined to make
music about music again, toured relentlessly in the year after
their simultaneous national record releases. They each played
The Backroom to crowds of 30 to 50 people the first time around,
300 to 400 the next, and by the time they trekked back to
Austin for a third run, their records had gone multi-platinum—they
were certified arena acts. Grunge Rock had arrived, and its
rise was meteoric. It was a movement that not only affected
music, but its attitude and messages of realism seemed to
flow into almost every aspect of the culture. Whenever any
musical movement is accepted by the mainstream population,
many bands follow suit and pattern themselves after the current
rock culture icons.
What
that meant for Olivarez and The Backroom was that the current
crop of glam rock bands that had been playing there for so
many years were quickly losing their social value, and yet
another stigma became attached to the club. All of a sudden,
it wasn’t cool to play there anymore, because that was
where the “hair bands” had played. The up and
coming crop of new artists practically had to refuse to play
The Backroom or be deemed hypocritical in their beliefs of
the new movement. Suddenly, Emo’s and other venues that
gave credence to indie rock were the hip places to play.
That was combined with the departure of Ramsey, whereupon
Olivarez was handed club booking responsibilities in addition
to his duties as bar manager and given the title of General
Manager. That was all well and fine, except for the fact that
he was a novice in the world of national booking, and probably
for the first time in its history, The Backroom fell on very
lean times. Local bands bent in the direction of glam rock,
like their brethren operating in the national arena were losing
credibility and their followings. Bands like that had been
the bread and butter of the club, and it was strange to witness
this “changing of the guard” occurring in rock
music.
Then
a new blow was struck and felt by all when Pariah bassist
Sims Ellison committed suicide. It was a very sad chapter
in the story of the once great venue and the people who had
experienced the scene there. Olivarez did what he could to
help encourage morale then, like the special tribute show
that he hosted at The Backroom shortly after Ellison’s
death. It was nice and very much appreciated by friends and
fans alike, but still, a dark cloud seemed to be looming.
By now, there was little more than two handfuls of local rock
bands willing to play The Backroom. Bands like The Guest and
50 Mission Crush were being used in constant rotation, and
it was tough to maintain audience attendance—just as
it is for any band caught in the phenomenon that is “overexposure.”
Always one to look for solutions rather than accept defeat,
Olivarez began to look for ways to keep the club afloat. One
cushion he had to fall back on was the games division of the
club. Roark, who by now had successfully built Roark Amusement
and Vending, a company that owns and services games to arcades
and Wal-Mart and H.E.B. stores throughout Texas, Arkansas,
New Mexico, Oklahoma and Louisiana, kept the venue stocked
with top of the line video street games. These constant upgrades
kept people coming back to the arcade time and again. The
game room today is ranked within the top five arcades in the
city according to Tommy Touchett, now a foreman at Roark Amusemments,
who has been an employee of Roark’s since The Backroom
was originally opened in ’73.
Opportunity was found again within the music division when
a friend of Olivarez suggested that the club go back to its
metal roots, but this time, dig a little deeper and host bands
whose sounds were darker and heavier than those that had played
there before. Bands like Inhabit, Pistol Grip Pump and Gash
were recruited to bring fresh blood into the venue, and they
did just that. Things were beginning to turn around again
on the band side of the venue, and as luck would have it,
these heavy bands were on the fringe of one of the next new
movements in rock—nu-metal.
Olivarez brought in Mike Boudreau at that point, an employee
of Music Lab here in Austin who, through his job, had access
to many local bands and who also seemed to have his finger
on the pulse of the new movement, being a musician himself.
Boudreau has used his booking position to develop bands like
Unloco and Riddlin’ Kids and expanded the musical format
of the venue to pop and commercial punk. Olivarez himself
learned the ropes of the road show game through trial and
error and has now succeeded in becoming a key player within
that realm. In short, The Backroom is back.
The story thus far might lead one to believe that Olivarez
has weathered these trials alone, but he would be the first
to admit that any organization is only as good as the people
within it. Olivarez places a very high value on all of his
employees. (Proof of that lies in the fact that The Backroom
has an incredibly low turnover rate as people tend to work
there for years). Olivarez normally works at night, and when
he is away he rests easy knowing the club is in the very capable
hands of Assistant Manager Eddie Vasquez.
It
is safe to say, though, that the one he depends on the most
is Day Manager Sean McCarthy. When the need for a day manager
arose nine years ago, McCarthy was the logical choice for
that position. He had worked the night shift for two years
already, and not only was he good with people, he had the
ability to think fast on his feet and stay level-headed in
any given situation. These traits were necessary as the daytime
position is a solo gig.
McCarthy is truly Olivarez’s right hand man. Every day
at noon the phone rings at The Backroom, and it is Olivarez
calling McCarthy to confer on what needs to be handled that
day. Together, they handle the day to day work load. They
are a great team, and their relationship is built on mutual
respect and similar values. Both men are extremely dedicated
to their wives (Melissa Olivarez and Jody McCarthy, respectively)
and families, and they share the philosophy that The Backroom
should be a place that might feel like a second home to patrons.
They have succeeded in their quest and there are many “regulars”
here. The Backroom is frequented daily by some people that
have been going there for years. Despite the size and activity
of the venue, it is the quintessential “neighborhood
bar,” and there is a real feeling of camaraderie among
those that spend time there. The bar is open 365 days a year,
and for those without families at holidays, the venue is there
to welcome them. Some patrons are so attached to the place
that they put in appearances on holidays simply because this
is a home away from home for them. They are attached to the
staff. Olivarez has smartly hired many colorful characters
over the years and some of them are somewhat famous in their
own right, but that’s another story. They are respectful
of the patrons and have a great rapport with them.
A celebration is brewing. On November 7 and 8, He Kill Three,
Rubberhed, Dangerous Toys and Junkyard, among others—bands
that represent the old guard and the new—will lay waste
to the old stage in tribute to the place where so many rock
and roll memories have been formed over the past thirty years.
The homage is fitting because, in the end, the story of this
historical venue is one of survival. Through great leadership
and loyalty, it has held steady in the face of trials and
challenges. While Austin has regretfully watched the fall
of many of its beloved live music venues over the past few
years, the thing that can be said about this club is that
The Backroom is still standing.
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