The adventures and various works of a photographer, road tripper, former patron of the local arts, aspiring app developer, and late night coffee drinker and conversationalist.
Not counting open mic performances, I only attended 42 shows in 2010, down dramatically from my peak of 76 in 2008. My responsibilities with the Lost Art Open Mic were a factor in this, but they weren't the whole story. Over time, I had shifted my focus to shows featuring bands and performers with whom I had forged personal relationships. This would become more and more the norm for me in the months and years ahead, with exceptions becoming increasingly rare and eventually almost nonexistent. The closure of the Skillman Street Pub in 2011 played no role in this recalibration, as I had long since ceased to regularly frequent the venue by the time of its demise. Rather, I had reached the point of burn out with the parade of cookie monster metal bands and dollar store Pantera knockoffs which seemed to make up the bulk of its nightly offerings. The way forward – for a while, at least – was in the direction of smaller, more intimate settings with increasingly limited outings to the bigger clubs.
I kicked off 2009 with a truly incendiary show at the Vampire Lounge. Two nights later, I was back for a night featuring Severed Sol. I honestly don't remember why I went to that show, as the name Severed Sol conjures up absolutely nothing in my memory, and my only notable photos from that night were a few throwaway shots of model/photographer Amber DeVille posing with a lit candle. I continued to hit up the Skillman Street Pub fairly regularly, and I began to slowly broaden my circle of venues a bit. I had a new sometimes-companion to some of the shows now, the two of us spending quite a bit of time together. That person was the Cassie B. from my 2008 birthday party and the December 20th show at Lola's. Despite certain acquaintances' insinuations to the contrary, Cassie and I were never more than just best friends – I wasn't her type, and as for me, my affections definitely lay elsewhere, with a lovely lady in the scene who shall remain unnamed. Cassie accompanied me to performances by bands such as Red Pyramid, Sidekick Mafia, and the Opus Flux, and in March we made a weekend trip down to Austin during the SXSW festival. During the Austin trip we stopped in at Headhunters and saw a performance of the Blue Flames, a band which, I was pleased to learn, hailed originally from Dallas.
With the recent heavily researched, long gestating content I've put up recently (and with more still on the way), it's time to take a step back from high effort material. I've been thinking for some time that I should get around to recounting my days in the local music scene, specifically my nine-ish years spent as a photographer of local bands. There are references to those days all over this website, and curated examples of my work from that time period are easily accessible via my Live Photography galleries. But I've never taken the time to tell the tale in full and to discuss how I got into the scene, who my principal collaborators were while I was in it, and why I eventually ended up leaving it. I've decided that now is the time for that story to be told.
This is part of a continuing series of posts exploring locations of former DFW musical landmarks and the stories behind them.
Tombstone Factory show flyer, 1986
During the mid to late 1980s, the Fort Worth metal scene was on fire. While Dallas had its coffee shops, punk clubs, and new wave hot spots, a burgeoning rock music scene with its own distinctive identity was gaining currency on the west side. Of course, these two cultural movements did not exist in a vacuum, and as geography would suggest, there was indeed crossover between them which was evidenced by the existence of certain venues and a sharing of some of the principal players, fans, and musicians. But, broadly speaking, the west side of town was the more metal, a more welcoming place for headbangers and longhairs and for those interested in a more hardcore style of music. On the far westernmost edge of town there was Joe's Garage, but for those who were perhaps unenthusiastic about the long drive, there was the Tombstone Factory.
The story of the Tombstone Factory's origin has become legendary, repeated vigorously and vociferously in person, online, and via the printed page. It has been shared via anecdotes and reminiscences and secondhand accounts, circulated year after year both by word of mouth and electronically, echoed again and again in blogs and social media posts and print articles to an ever widening audience. It has found increasing legitimacy not only among those who were actually there, but among those who have since come afterward. Yet the full story of the Tombstone Factory – and its surprising antecedent – has never heretofore been told. Where the building came from, the reasons behind its construction and unique design, how it actually came to get its name, and what it actually was in its previous life – these are questions whose answers have until now been obscured by local mythology, conjecture, or even outright misinformation, for decades. The actual history is as surprising as it is unexpected, involving creatives and participants from very different communities with barely any connection between them save the one which resulted, indirectly, in the Factory's well-known name. That is the story that will be told here, and it begins in a most unlikely place.
One of my favorite pursuits, albeit one I don't speak about very often, is to search for "found footage" of local events and happenings from days past. These can be on VHS, Hi8, miniDV, 8mm, or 16mm film - in short, on any format I can view and possibly archive. It's rare that I actually find anything, but once in a great while I do stumble upon something interesting. I've decided to start uploading some of these to the YouTube channel as I come across them, and today I'm pleased to announce the first two of said uploads.
Continue reading "DFW music scene found footage"
