12 beloved Austin haunts that didn’t survive the decade
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We’d never suggest that Austin’s best days are behind it, lest we incur the wrath of another foam-flecked Louis Black screed. But thanks to the inevitable sloughing-off process that enabled the city’s slow metamorphosis during the ’00s, certainly some of Austin’s best places are now behind it. Here we pay tribute to a few favorites that, for whatever reason, didn’t survive the decade.
The Black Cat Lounge
“I once went to a fight and a Flametrick Subs show broke out.” So goes a favorite quip of Buster Crash, frontman of the venerable psychobilly band who (along with Satan’s Cheerleaders, of course) enjoyed a longtime Saturday-night residency at the late, lamented Black Cat. Not that its demise wasn’t always in the cards: If you’d asked us a decade ago to guess which Austin rock club would inevitably burn to the ground, our money would have been on this brawling, snarling cavern of cool, the charred carcass of which still lingers like the Ghost of Sixth Street Past.
Las Manitas
No premature demise inspired more symbolic rending of garments or tearstained declarations of devotion than the closing of this Congress Ave. taqueria—probably because so many prominent Austin movers and shakers were hopelessly addicted to the Perez sisters’ mole sauce. In the end, not even a controversial forgivable loan from the city—which the Perezes ultimately rejected—could save it from the wrecking ball. But hey, we can always use another Marriott (that may never be built anyway).
Sound Exchange
When Tower Records took over the site of the former Varsity Theater in the early ’90s, music scenesters predicted doom and gloom for independent record shops on and around the Drag. That forecast turned out to be largely accurate—although few would have guessed that even the corporate behemoth itself would eventually collapse under the weight of millions of digital downloads. The scrappy, punk-centric Sound Exchange hung in there until 2003, when skyrocketing rent finally forced its closure, leaving only its famed Daniel Johnston mural to mark its final resting place.
The Original Alamo Drafthouse
As much as we love the Ritz and all the other Drafthouses in town, we maintain a soft spot for the scruffy charm and anything-goes vibe of the original Warehouse District location, where the local brew-and-view experience all began.
Einstein’s Arcade
When bemoaning the decline of the Drag, most mourn the extinction of its record shops, bookstores, and coffeehouses. But who weeps for the quarter jockeys who killed many an hour between (or even during) classes shooting zombies and racing crazy taxis in good ol’ Einstein’s? Like many an unsuspecting freshman who took one of those “Free stress tests,” Le Fun was assimilated into the Church of Scientology, and the Dobie’s Powerplay has long since faded away. When the hallowed Einstein’s succumbed to new economic realities (and of course, the siren call of the PlayStation), it was truly game over.
The Back Room
Who knows how many thousands of cigarette lighters were held aloft throughout the 30-year reign of this East Riverside haven for hair bands? Whatever the number, that flame was extinguished for good in 2006. In truth, the Back Room’s appeal extended far beyond the spandex-and-leather crowd: In addition to housing the biggest game room in town, the club hosted a wide variety of local and touring acts, ranging from Public Enemy to Warren Zevon to Pearl Jam. But in our hearts, we’ll remember the mullets.
Waterloo Brewing Company
Waterloo, how did we love you? Let us count the ways. As the first legal brewpub in Texas, you took the concept of drinking locally to a whole new level. Your all-day live music bashes on Halloween and Texas Independence Day kept the good times (and the Guytown IPA) overflowing onto the roof deck and into the parking lot. Soaring downtown rents hastened your demise and replaced you with a generic chain pub—which was in turn replaced by a vacant lot. And unlike your uprooted neighbor The Ginger Man (301 Lavaca St., 512-473-8680), you would get no second lease on life. There’s a tear in our beer.
Mars
For many young Austinites, the original Mars—a funky little red house tucked behind The Dog And Duck Pub (406 W. 17th St., 512-479-0598)—provided an introduction to fusion cuisine (which, as far as we could tell, meant tiny portions of exotic foods arranged in odd, geometric shapes). It was a cozy spot for a first date, but much of that allure was lost when ownership decamped for the supposedly greener pastures of SoCo. Not surprisingly it struggled, finally giving up the ghost late last year. Sure, it’s the delectable Perla’s (1400 S. Congress, 512-291-7300) now, but nothing will replace the memories of celebrating with friends over a baba ghanoush platter and a bottle of wine.
Steamboat
We’re still waiting on that new Liberty Lunch—you know, the one we were promised back around the time Seinfeld went off the air—but Danny Crooks’ live music fixture actually did rise from the dead after its Sixth Street location went belly-up, albeit ever so briefly. Alas, the East Riverside incarnation of Steamboat barely stayed afloat one year before joining its predecessor in Davy Jones’ Locker.
Room 710
This punk/metal enclave was an integral part of Red River’s emergence as our fair city’s premier live music strip, even as Sixth Street transitioned to a primarily Jell-O shot-based economy. Its lifetime exactly spanned the decade almost exactly, finally succumbing to—according to former owner Asher Garber—factors ranging from the smoking ban to a crackdown on free parking to a booking battle with neighboring clubs. Whatever the case, 710 Red River wasn’t vacant for long: The new Valhalla opened there in November.
Mojo’s Daily Grind
Though it didn’t actually appear in the movie—and, in fact, didn’t even exist when it was made—the spirit of Slacker permeated this campus area coffehouse as thoroughly as the aroma of brewing espresso. Like the much-missed Les Amis, Mojo’s was a laid-back hangout with a dedicated core of regulars who enjoyed its plentiful couches, cards, conversation, and caffeine 24 hours a day. Sadly, it closed its doors forever on New Year’s Day, 2006. It might be too easy to blame Starbucks for that—nah, screw it, let’s blame it anyway.
Gallery Lombardi
The mighty Electric Lounge didn’t survive the ’90s, but it did leave a beautiful corpse near the edge of the railroad tracks, one that soon became home to a unique arts space showcasing an eclectic array of contemporary work, primarily by Central Texas artists, with festive show openings often accompanied by live music, like one of Ghostland Observatory’s already-legendary first shows. Naturally, such a flagrant misuse of prime downtown real estate could not be allowed to continue, and Gallery Lombardi had to go in order to make way for—all together now—more high-rise condos. Viva Smart Growth!
