Yes, Rock Chick knows what month it is. All in due time. After all, one only needs twelve days to satisfy a nation. In the meantime, join the ol' RC as she journeys back to her youth, the salad days of DC punk and purple hair. Riding shotgun was fellow Fugazi fan, Jules, who was met through the unlikely auspices of John Mayer. And Sarah McLachlan thought she was building a mystery.
A little background: A Danish company, Yellow Arrow, constructed a walking text message tour of hardcore in DC called Capitol of Punk. Hit the landmark, text a message and they text back with the history of that venue. Or not. It was soon determined that if one had not been a frequent guest of these establishments in their heyday, one was lost and screwed. The Danes, not so handy with the directions thing.
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They paved paradise and put up, what else, a Starbucks. The jumping off point for the day was the site of the former dcSpace, a place where the weirdest of the strange in local punk played. Hardcore, screamcore and shoe gazers alike crowded into this performance space. To see a Starbucks there is to receive a shock to the system. The whole neighborhood is a shock - note the luxury condos across the street. Back in the day, one dared not walk alone in this neighborhood after dark. Now, you can get a venti vanilla latte while listening to Mayer and have a random patron lift her shirt over her head when you talk too loud.
A few blocks west of dcSpace is the site of the old 9:30 club, inside of whose walls a great portion of Rock Chick's misspent youth occured. If you were a band that mattered - or wanted to matter - this is where you played. The 9:30 club still stands, just not here. The shiny new 9:30 has balconies where Jen and Brad met cute and smooched their way through Prince. The old 9:30 had a large pole smack in the middle of the room, emitted an odor not of this earth and rats ran across your feet while Dischord bands reigned on stage. Rock Chick much prefers the old. Again, this was what could politely be termed an unsavory neighborhood after dark. Now, it has a business called The Cowgirl Creamery shilling cheeses that require a bank loan.
Traveling uptown to the Shaw neighborhood finds the Black Cat still standing in its original spot. This space hosted any number of seminal DC bands and like the best clubs, you'd walk right past it without a second thought if you hadn't a clue what has occurred behind that door.
Not everything happening behind that door should be advertised to the general public. Really, a dance party that pits New Order against Duran Duran should be left to travel the grapevine that will find those interested in their natural habitats. Namely, all white apartments with a Patrick Nagel print above the sectional couch.
While that nugget whirled in the brain, it was decided that alcohol was the appropriate ending to a day illuminating one's shattered youthful dreams. Where upon entering Cafe Saint-Ex, Fugazi bassist Joe Lally's mug sent greetings from the cover of the local alternative rag. Capitol of Punk come full circle. Great conversation, good food and liquor followed. John Mayer, bringing Fugazi fans together since 2006.
