Every community has its signature hang out. For Deep Ellum during the 1990s and very early 2000s, that place was Insomnia, a place where you could throw up your feet and unwind during the day and socialize to live performances at night while loading up on coffees and cappuccinos and the shop's signature highly caffeinated espresso drinks. There were the regulars, who would hang out all day to one cup of coffee. There were the casuals, who stopped in after a night of activity to charge up on caffeine or to drown their sorrows in the café's (in)famous banana and chocolate shakes, perhaps jonesing for a pick me up after a hard night moshing at one of the neighborhood clubs. Then there were the one-offs, what I had been on that night in August. Other places, like Loose Change and the Deep Ellum Cafe, might come and go, but Insomnia reigned supreme for anyone looking for a coffee fix and a place to hang out. It was a safe environment for people from all walks of life, be they the businessmen and women and the Deep Ellum locals who frequented it during the workdays, or the teenagers who called it home during the mid-afternoons, or all the artists, musicians, and scenesters who might crowd into the place during its peak hours on open mic nights, Friday nights, and weekends. On an average Friday or Saturday night, things were boisterous and lively until the early AM, with many stragglers continuing to mingle well past then. And if you needed some extra pep to help keep you kicking for those late hours, Insomnia had you covered with its selection of caffeinated and and sugar-packed menu items ready to provide that extra jolt of energy. Some of them were the stuff of local legend. Among the standard selection of bagels, croissant sandwiches, and cookies on offer could be found Jolt Colas, chocolate espresso beans, and various large white chocolate and ice cream shakes. There was the Electric Chair, with its sweet cream and four shots of espresso. Standing head and shoulders above them all was the Reanimator, a caffeine juggernaut containing a full ten shots of espresso and an associated "Do not talk to the police, operate machinery or attempt to sleep for 4 to 6 hours" admonition.
Step inside the coffee bar during its mid-90s heyday, and you might be greeted by purple velvet Papasan chairs, video games in the front, black lights in the bathroom, and a red couch and bean bag chairs in the back. You might see art adorning some of the walls, and maybe even a candy dispenser with some of those chocolate espresso beans mentioned earlier. I don't personally remember any of this from my one visit during the '90s, but Insomnia veterans recall these and other things in their reminiscences about the hallowed place. There was no dress code, so you could come as you were. And the original owners were cool, with one of them remembered as having carried multiple brands of cigarettes to accommodate anyone who might need to bum a smoke. According to John Judy, who worked at Insomnia from 1994 to 1997, owners Chris and Brenda prepped sandwiches with fresh ingredients each day and strove for the best choices in produce and ingredients, a passion which manifested itself in the the quality of the food being offered (a 2000 Dallas Morning News review was very complimentary, and as I recall, Björn was very satisfied with his brownie on the night we stopped in).
They treated their employees like family. Brenda was in many ways a second mother to a lot of us. Chris was like an angry dad, but it's because he cared and loved us and had a grumpy way of showing it. They were truly truly wonderful people. The fact they trusted a few of us kids with the keys to the place, handling all the money, running schedules, opening and closing by ourselves was amazing. Many nights it would just be myself and one other employee to hold it all down by the elderly age of 17.- John Judy
In the later days of the café, when the weather was nice, you could take advantage of the outdoor seating, order some food, and take in the open air and whoever might be playing in the back patio area. Seating was limited on the inside, but out back was a performance space that often served up more intimate and acoustic acts. And even during the earlier, halcyon days of Insomnia, you could take in the sights and sounds of whatever might be happening on the main stage up front. The indoor performance area was to your right as you walked in, right in front of the glass block windows that faced Elm Street, and it was this spot that regularly played host to musical acts and even, in the words of John Judy, "randomly get weird on stage" type acts. Insomnia was a destination for Deep Ellum area musical activity in its own right. Star 69 and Jane Doe played various Friday sets there in the mid '90s. Dallas music scene veteran Mohawk Mike (Michael Timothy Cates) held model auditions for the front cover of his One Thing CD release there in June 1999. Maybe you could get your hands on a copy of a Zendik Tribe cassette while you were there, too (I remember a friend having one of these in 1995 during my senior year in high school). Musicians playing the Ellum scene that night might even stop in, as when Johnny Kelly of Type O Negative appeared one time for a visit.
And then there were the open mic nights. Despite the café being situated right in the epicenter of the Dallas music scene, Insomnia's stage wasn't just for musicians. The biggest regular event, and the one that indirectly ended up playing a pivotal role in my artistic life, was the Tuesday night open mics, particularly the ones successively hosted by Clebo Rainey, Lisa Cunningham, and ultimately Austin Smith. It was through these that I got my first exposure to some of the regular cast of characters whose friendship or acquaintanceship would end up shaping the direction of my interests, hobbies, and talents for years to come. But this isn't about that personal journey, it's about the café and the performances and the history. And Insomnia had quite a lot of both with its pulse firmly on the local Ellum arts community, providing a creative platform for scores of local writers and musicians as well as their entourages and hangers-on for many years. Some of these poets would later recall Insomnia as the scene of their best and happiest times as artists.
Unfortunately, no scene ever lasts forever, and eventually, the parade always goes by. By 2002, Insomnia had been sold to new owners with a markedly more religious outlook, and they quickly set about a heavy-handed crackdown on perceived "inappropriate" stage content. It was during this period that I made my entrance into the poetry/spoken word scene, just in time to catch the dying gasps of the once proudly independent coffee house arts scene. This censorship of the artists and performers at Insomnia led directly to the establishment of the original open mic at Bill's Records in 2002, which in turn led, several years later, to the successor Lost Art Open Mic in which I played a pivotal role. The famed Insomnia open mic would eventually die an inauspcious, whimpering death, followed a few years later by the end of the coffee house itself. There would be other places to get coffee in Deep Ellum, but none would ever offer the same mix of high intensity energy and bohemian vibe that the Insomnia Coffee Bar had boasted. Today, the Twilite Lounge tavern occupies Insomnia's former space, an establishment opened in 2013 in a bid to help re-energize the area while catering to a slightly older crowd of thirty and forty-somethings.
New owners came in and tried to "modernize" and make everything sleek. They got rid of all the comforts that everyone came to love and make it soulless. We had regulars that would hang all day and buy literally one cup of coffee, but it didn't matter. They were just a part of the Insomnia vibe. It was like a sitcom, or Cheers. Everyone knew everyone and just hung and chilled every day. The new owners kicked all that shit out.- John Judy
In May of 2023, as I was beginning to gather material for this blog series, I set foot inside the old Insomnia space for the first time in over twenty years. My memories of the old interior were dim, but I recognized the main layout from my brief time in its open mic scene: the old stage area, now looking completely different, the updated, more modern windows fronting Elm Street, and the old counter area, which was now much more an actual bar with tons of options for alcohol on tap. The menu that once lined the wall near the entrance and the old cigarette machine were long gone. I stepped out onto the back patio and barely recalled the old wooden stage in the back, now a more properly surfaced area replete with tables and outdoor seating, and found the porch light over the patio door where I'd once taken some extreme low light 35mm photos of an open mic habitué while learning to use my first SLR film camera. I'd never actually seen any of this in the light of day before. After a short stay during which I attempted to reacquaint myself with the old surroundings, and a brief talk with the bartender, my friends and I made our exit. It's no longer 1997, and the Deep Ellum of 2023/2024 is a very different place from the one I remembered.
There doesn't seem to be the appetite for an Insomnia Coffee Bar in 2020s-era Deep Ellum, or indeed anywhere else in this city, at least not that I've found. There was the City Tavern about a mile west in Downtown Dallas, near the Hilton Garden Inn, but it just wasn't the same crowd or the same kind of vibe (and it's chiefly a bar for alcohol, not coffee). And I've seen multiple other attempts at creating something similar come and go over the years - Borders Books & Music, Supreme Coffee in Irving, the Mochalux Open Mic in Arlington, and a host of others. All of these ultimately ended because the owners and/or showrunners didn't understand or couldn't create the right scene, couldn't draw the audiences, or wouldn't countenance the kind of corporate-unfriendly artistic freedom needed to underpin a truly successful open mic/open stage. With all of us now married to our cell phones and constantly consuming the internet and social media 24/7, we don't seem to seek out the type of community that allowed a scene like Insomnia's to thrive - at least not in the same way we once did. And so Insomnia and what it once represented will, it seems, remain a true ghost of DFW music (and arts) history.
Grateful acknowledgment is made to John Judy for his recollections of his time at Insomnia, which were an invaluable resource in the composition of this post.
If you have any reminiscences about the Insomnia Coffee Bar, please feel free to share them below!
I used to perform magic shows for tips there and do shows on the back patio (I still have flyers from those days). I now live in Las Vegas performing but there was nowhere like Insomnia I have ever found.
I ran across some info concerning magic shows at Insomnia while researching this post, so it’s good to hear from someone who was a part of it!
Chris and Brenda were not the original owners.
The original owner was John Cleaver
Corrected – thanks.
I worked there and took pics all the time.