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Authors: Jack Boulware

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BOOK: Gimme Something Better
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Julie Generic:
A lot of fuckin’ mopping. There were perks though, for sure. We all had carte blanche at the On Broadway and the Mab. All the clubs swapped out guest lists. Even if those clubs were past their heyday, it was still a lot of fun. We also used to get comp tickets for the York Theater. They would play classic punk movies, and we’d smuggle in beers. Like they didn’t know.
Andy Pollack:
The Farm was a legal place of entertainment for only three years. We probably did 300 or 400 shows. I stopped being the director at the beginning of ’87.
Dave Dictor:
I’m sad that the Farm only lasted as long as it did. We had some great shows and great times there. I remember just feeling awful when it went down.
Andy Pollack:
I knew that it had to be the coolest place in the whole world, but I didn’t go to other clubs, so how would I know?
27
Crossover
Wes Robinson has been putting on punk gigs in the Bay Area for
4 years now. He started with a little hole-in-the-wall in Berkeley
called Aitos, doing great intimate shows with the likes of the
Dils, Avengers, DI’s, Controllers, etc. For awhile he was a mainstay
in the East Bay chapter of Rock Against Racism, perhaps the
only one who did not lose his sense of humor during all the internal
squabbles. He later moved on to medium-sized shows at
Ruthie’s Inn and the Elite Club, but for some reason, as of late,
has been hell-bent on do-or-die (usually die) extravaganzas like
the Eastern Front, Summer Slam, and Discharge at the Oakland
Auditorium.
—“Wes Robinson—For a Good Time, Call (415) 841-2678,” Cliff Carpenter,
Maximum RocknRoll
3, 1982
John Marr:
Wes Robinson had the reverse Midas touch. In 1982 he had this bright idea to book this English band Discharge at the Oakland Auditorium. They weren’t the Sex Pistols. The Oakland Auditorium is like a 5,000-seat place. It was up on the marquee: “Thursday! Discharge!” You walked into this enormous room and waaaay at the other end was the stage with this tiny cluster of people. That was Wes Robinson.
Tim Tonooka:
But the first two Eastern Front shows were fabulous.
Kate Knox:
Wes Robinson started these. They were down in the Aquatic Park. It was just dirt fields back then. Now it’s a Frisbee golf course. They were a reaction to Bill Graham’s gigantic “Day on the Green.” We used to call ’em “Day on the Dirt.”
Jesse Michaels:
The first Eastern Front was DOA, the Lewd, Flipper, 7 Seconds, the Fix, TSOL, Sick Pleasure and a couple other bands. That was one of the first shows I saw.
Dust Bowl: Eastern Front at Aquatic Park
Wes Robinson:
Immediately after the first Eastern Front show I retired from music. Then I started getting involved again, and suddenly there was another one. Both shows lost money—but I only lost half as much money on the second show, ’cause everyone snuck in the first time. It was a big party, an expensive party.
Kate Knox:
The next Eastern Front was with Black Flag, Code of Honor, the Meat Puppets, the Dicks, Los Olvidados, Suicidal Tendencies and St. Vitus Dance. I think the third or fourth Eastern Front was sponsored by Miller or Budweiser. They had these trucks of beer. Somebody broke into the beer truck and wheeled away all the kegs on skateboards.
Dean Washington:
Twelve hours of music, outside, and trucks of beer show up just fit for stealin’. What could be better?
Kate Knox:
I didn’t have any money to get in and so I traded Wes Robinson a couple hits of acid and he put ’em in his wallet. Two or three weeks later, I saw him at Ruthie’s and he was like, “Oh, fuck you, Kate. I got arrested and I forgot that I had the acid on me until I started getting booked. So I pulled it out of my wallet and I swallowed it, and then they put me in jail for the weekend.” So he sat there and tripped in jail all weekend long, going, “Fuuuuck.”
 
 
Rachel DMR:
Ruthie’s started around ’83. That became the center of the East Bay punk scene. It was originally a blues club. I never understood how Wes Robinson convinced the owners that they could make any money. Most of us were underage. We didn’t have money to buy beer. We’d go steal it and go drink it in the parking lot across the street.
Dave Dictor:
East Bay was a little bit more like L.A. in that the kids actually grew up within ten miles. They knew each other in high school. In San Francisco, we were like immigrants. We were ready to move away from our hometowns and get far away from mother’s milk. It was a lot easier to keep that East Bay scene together because those people grew up together, they worked together, looked after each other. It was the nature of their tribe. That’s one of the cool things about the Ruthie’s scene.
Wes Robinson:
My first effort was a dynamic headliner from Washington D.C. called the Bad Brains. I had brought them to the West Coast to do a concert at the Elite Club and they were still in the area.
Rachel DMR:
People would drop through the roof instead of paying at the door.
Dean Washington:
I can remember a Suicidal Tendencies show. The place was just packed. There was no way to get in through the front door, but a few of my buddies remembered that skylight. My buddy broke his ankle. The cops got called.
I think that was one of my favorite shows at Ruthie’s, not only because I dogged my way up to the extra mic, but because the pits were really violent. You could kick the shit outta anyone and get away with it. Not that you were there to hurt anyone, but it felt so good after the show. Those really violent pits were probably the closest thing to having really, really good sex.
Wes Robinson:
Ruthie’s was another example of a unique social change that had taken place in many American metropolises, post- Civil Rights movement. Black communities and ghettos were delighted, captive support for nightclubs such as Ruthie’s Inn and the Elite Club.
Sham Saenz:
The first thing that always hit me was the smell of clove cigarettes. In ’83, ’84, you’d go to the On Broadway, the Mab, Ruthie’s Inn, and it always smelled like clove cigarettes.
Adrienne Droogas:
When I was 16 years old a friend of mine asked if I wanted to go to this punk show. I was like, “What’s that?” It was at Ruthie’s Inn. When we got out of the truck, she goes, “Oh my god, I’ve locked my keys in the car.” There were people with mohawks and studded jackets all around us, just completely punked out. I was wearing white moccasin shoes and some Lee jeans or something. I grew up in Pleasanton. I didn’t know what was going on.
We asked, “Who knows how to break into a car?” and every single punk said, “I do.” Within half an hour, we had 20 people surrounding the truck, five trying to break in, one of my friends was makin’ out with somebody in a bush. There was a beer bong, people were smoking pot. It was perfect, you know?
Paul Casteel:
You had to watch your p’s and q’s at places like Ruthie’s. It wasn’t like San Francisco, where you could get away with wearing a clown suit.
Wes Robinson:
The image switched from multi-colored hair and art school, thrift shop montages to T-shirts, jeans, and low-cut Chuck Taylors. The only hair worn by these freshmen carriers of the torch was a mohawk, occasionally seen amongst the shaved head. These kids brought new energy and vitality, and redefined the movement.
Cinder Bischoff:
The bathroom was just insane. Live sex acts. People shooting up. You name it.
Kelly King:
Black Flag came to Ruthie’s and Henry Rollins was singing. Everybody hated Henry because he was the new guy. I had a bad attitude and I was going up front and trying to spit on Henry. He just kept opening up his mouth and pointing in so I could make the shot. I had to respect him after that.
Noah Landis:
I saw some guy get his faced kicked in with a steel-toe boot outside Ruthie’s. It made a popping sound that I heard across the street. The kind of violence that was happening back then was scary and real. It will never be as exciting and creative, and innovative and original, as it was back then either. But it’ll also never be as dangerous.
Sammytown:
For awhile, Fang was the house band at Ruthie’s. We would play every week.
Jeff Ott:
I went one weekend and saw Teenage Warning with the Faction, Fang and Social Distortion. Mike Ness of Social Distortion was so high on heroin, he kept falling down. Again and again. It was totally sad.
Jason Lockwood:
Shammy lived a block away.
Sham Saenz:
I remember particularly one night Wes Robinson was like, “Look, man, if you want to hang out it’s totally okay with me.” I had to be like nine or ten years old. But I knew his son from school. He said, “Go across the street, clean up the parking lot and you can come in.” So that’s what I did.
Jason Lockwood:
The really young kids would hang out at Shammy’s house and drink, then go to the show.
Aaron Cometbus:
They got black light ink to keep people from faking the hand stamp and sneaking in. So we went out and bought black light ink. Actually, that made it even easier because as long as it glowed, they wouldn’t look very close.
Leslie Fuckette:
Wes loved the Fuckettes. We would go over to Ruthie’s on Monday or Tuesday night and he’d have plates of spaghetti waiting for us with garlic bread. He really loved the punk rock kids like they were his own kids. He hated all the hassles, but he really never gave up. He was a really, really good man.
Wes Robinson:
At the same time, I was dealing with these longhair metalheads. The lead singer of a local heavy metal band called Exodus came in to pursue bookings at Ruthie’s. They were no longer welcome at the Keystone because their fans were too rowdy.
Kate Knox:
Ruthie’s Inn was
the
venue that started crossover. That was the only place in the United States, as far as I know, where metal bands and punk bands actually played together rather than fighting each other. Wes was like, “Fuck it, let’s see what kind of money I can make off of this.”
Dean Washington:
Slayer didn’t have a place in L.A. to call their own. No one would book them in L.A. But Wes Robinson would put Slayer at Ruthie’s Inn. What Wes did was allow us to say, “Fuckin’ right, I love metal!” Because when there wasn’t a punk show goin’ on, you’d see those same punks at a Slayer or a Metallica show. It was violent, there was a pit, we were gonna listen to it all. Heavy hard, and fast.
Ray Farrell:
Wes Robinson was an interesting guy. I think he was in his 40s when he was booking those gigs. He had come from a jazz and blues background. He was into putting different bills together. He wanted the jazz experience, he wanted the black experience, he was interested in hip hop to a degree. If Wes Robinson could put Ornette Coleman and Crass on the same bill, he would do it. To him, all those audiences could be combined and he was taking a lot of risks. He genuinely seemed to like it for what it was giving to the people.
Wes Robinson:
Exodus was the number one band behind Metallica. Ruthie’s was suddenly a Mecca for this music, and every weekend the place was packed to the rafters with headbangers. Metallica moved to El Cerrito and were regulars at the club. Slayer and Exodus quickly became house bands. There was Violence, Forbidden and Heathen. Stone Vengeance was an all-black band. I was sure they were the only all-black thrash band in the world. They were true rockers from the Hunters Point ghetto in San Francisco.
Dean Washington:
I didn’t always like Wes over the years but he turned out to be a really good friend. There weren’t a whole lot of blacks that were involved in the scene. We had Darren, who came over from England who drummed with the Dead Kennedys for a period of time, Eugene from Whipping Boy, and of course, Orlando. There was basically a handful of us.
Kurt Brecht:
Yeah, Wes Robinson was kind of a shady character. He always owed us money so he let us in for free.
Kate Knox:
He was known for ripping bands off.
Hef:
When you walked in the front door, there was a ticket window on the left side. Wes was usually there selling tickets. It got to the point where my friends and I would just go there and stand at the window and stare at him until he’d say, “Okay, okay, you’re robbing me,” and let us in.
Rachel DMR:
Wes had his own demons to deal with. I’m sure there was many a time when he didn’t pay out the money he should have, but I think most people in the scene were guilty of similar things at one point or other.
Wes Robinson:
I was a hopeless methamphetamine junkie. What had been a weekend thing became a daily routine. By the time I got to sleep and recovered two or three days, I was ready to start the madness all over again.
Crack cocaine brought me to such a desperate low that one night I got on my knees and begged god to help lift me from the despair of depravity. God sent my youngest son. He came to my apartment and, looking deeply into my eyes, asked me to quit the drugs. I learned to stay away from bars and parties where heavy drinking took place.
BOOK: Gimme Something Better
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