Exit Interview: Asher Garber of Room 710
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After nine years of providing one of the city's best incubators for local talent, Room 710 owner Asher Garber is calling it quits, shuttering his club and leaving to follow his own muse. (Part of that includes finally completing the book he's long been working on about his mother's murder at the hands of his stepfather, but first there's The Book Of Jonah, a semi-autobiographical novel about Garber's experiences living in L.A., Austin, and Israel.) Before Room 710's final weekend—a greatest hits of sorts that includes sets from regulars like Super Heavy Goatass and Pong, culminating in a subdued Sunday farewell featuring Twilight soundtrack singer Bobby Long—Garber sat down with The A.V. Club for a standard “exit interview,” much like one would receive at a job you were leaving amicably. (All questions come from the suggested “exit interview” template at About.com; in this case, Garber’s “job” is running Room 710, and “the company” is Austin's music scene.)
The A.V. Club: What is your primary reason for leaving?
Asher Garber: Money. [Laughs.] Not making any money. Having lost all the money.
AVC: Did anything trigger your decision to leave?
AG: Probably smart business sense—but that would have been if I’d done this a year ago. In actuality, the Teachers Retirement Service parking lot was a harbinger of doom. The weekend they closed that, we had That Damned Band on Friday and Sons Of Hercules and The Chumps on Saturday, and we did a total of $2,100 for those. That really triggered the soul-searching. But I contacted my partners the week before, knowing that things probably weren’t going to turn around. SXSW was good, but it was just on par—and you can’t keep doing things on par.
AVC: What was most satisfying about your job?
AG: Letting people play music and explore their art forms, and catering to people who enjoyed that—and especially doing it on the relative down-low, with mostly locals. Some of them became really great musicians. We could have done a better job, but most of the people employed here are musicians, so we helped keep people employed while they practiced their art form. As a writer, that’s what I was doing: Keeping myself employed, going home, doing my writing, having my grandiose plans for the future. That drove me, and I think it drives a lot of my employees.
AVC: What was least satisfying?
AG: Cleaning up all the vomit. [Laughs.] Realizing that America is a hard place for a small mom-and-pop operation to become successful. It sounds like a simple job, and when I started it was like a restaurant for dummies. You don’t have to worry about food, just beer and bands. Then everything else comes along—your federals, your property taxes. And the late hours, I’m not so into those. I’m more of a morning person. And the fact that in the end, it didn’t work out. After nine years, it’s a very draining experience.
AVC: Did you receive adequate support to do your job?
AG: Adequate, yes. Just adequate. One thing about this industry is you’re surrounded by people who are chemically dependent. [Laughs.] Late-nighters who don’t wake up until 4 p.m., and it’s hard to have a conversation with somebody when you’re getting done with your day at 5 p.m., and they’re just waking up, and you’re like, “Uh… You know we have a show tonight, right?”
AVC: Did you receive sufficient feedback about your performance?
AG: Maybe. I think a lot of people like 710, and they told me that. I’m sure a lot of people didn’t like 710, and I got some feedback on that—though not in an adequate fashion. Just in anonymous postings on the Internet.
AVC: Based on your experience, what do you think it takes to succeed at this company?
AG: Definitely more money than you’re willing to lose. Lots of connections. The ability to deal with people who are chemically dependent. And you always have to keep a frown upside down—which I’m not very good at.
AVC: Did any company policies or procedures (or any other obstacles) make your job more difficult?
AG: Yes, in terms of the city and state. A good example is this year the state decided that they’re going to renew liquor licenses for two years—and if you’re a lucky guy like me, you get to go out of business four months after paying for two years. That’s one of the economic issues that totally derailed us. An extra $1,500 doesn’t sound that insurmountable, but it is when you’ve got a bill for two years and you know you’re not going to be around for that.
AVC: How do you generally feel about this company?
AG: It’s definitely bittersweet. Any form of music business is pretty cutthroat. But again, you have the ability to work in an art field and set your own hours, and when you’re your own boss, you get to do a lot of things that make your life easier. I also learned a lot from Randall [Stockton, Beerland owner] and John Wickham [Elysium owner], and this little 700 block [of Red River] that we’ve got here is really tight. We all really like each other, and we never really wanted anyone to go out of business. It’s once you get beyond the 700 block that you come across issues. It’s a little more dastardly. In L.A., I worked at Creative Artists [Agency] in the mailroom after college, and the worst department was the music department. It had the worst reputation, and everyone said, “Well, you have to have that when you work in music.” I kind of understand what they’re saying now. It’s all about image.
AVC: What would you improve to make our workplace better?
AG: There’s a lot of stuff that the city could do if they were really interested in this “Live Music Capital” concept—to actually understand what live music is, to see the various forms of it, and to promote that from within. Controlling property taxes, for example. Understanding the business that’s generating the income for this area and accepting it for what it is. We’re better off entertaining people for lower prices, but when property taxes go up, it brings everyone down. I would encourage the city to be more cognizant of what Red River is—like the fact that it was always a drug den. It’s not gonna change with Red River Flats. You’re not gonna suddenly have people who want to pay $1,400 to live here.
AVC: Did anyone in this company discriminate against you, harass you, or cause hostile working conditions?
AG: Not really. I think there’s a lot of misconceptions about the bar owner that hurt after a while. Being called a “Jew” for not giving a good deal… A) I am Jewish, but it has nothing to do with my decision to make a $4 call shot. People find someone to blame, and it’s the owner. That’s kind of hostile.
AVC: Who called you a Jew?
AG: Actually, it was a friend of mine. [Laughs.] She called it an “Israeli shot.”
AVC: Do you have any tips to help us find your replacement?
AG: It depends on how long you want that replacement to last. What’s going to end up taking over here, they’re not going to need much help. But if you want someone like me—who runs four bands a night, seven days a week—you’ll have to be more open to the music. As it is, though, it’s going to turn into more of a “boozer” with music on the side.
AVC: Would you consider working again for this company in the future?
AG: I’d consider it. [Laughs.] But I don’t think I’d take it too seriously. I’d leave it for another trailblazer—not that I’m a trailblazer. But I think what we did definitely opened up the block. It helped bands get some exposure, and it was a stomping and proving ground for lots of locals. I’d definitely be interested in promoting art like that again.
AVC: Can this company do anything to encourage you to stay?
AG: It can’t. [Laughs.] It just can’t. It’s a weird position to be in: You’re successful, but you don’t have any money. People like what you’ve done, but you can’t keep it open. It’s part rock ’n’ roll, and it’s part America swallowing its own. I think Austin swallows its own, but really it’s just capitalism that swallows its own—this drive to make as much money as you can. Part of that drive, you’re taught, is competition, and I don’t think that’s really true. In the early part of Red River—before 2004, when it was really just the clubs on this block—we proved we could make a living and entertain people without trying to knock each other out.
No offense to Transmission [Entertainment], but we have a completely different philosophy on how to run a business, and I’m not going to congratulate them, necessarily. There’s a lot that would indicate that Transmission is in trouble, and I think it might be interesting to go back in six months and ask, “Did 710’s closing strengthen the other music venues?” Or, did it when Transmission opened, and all these other venues around Red River started taking the name Red River? I was upset when Mohawk and Red 7 called themselves “Red River clubs,” when to me Red River was this 700 block. You’re not playing Red River music at Mohawk. White Denim isn’t a Red River band, because they only play the Mohawk. Get them down here or across the street and I’d consider them more of a “Red River band.” You’re not a “Red River band” just because you play in one spot on this street. So it’ll be interesting to see what happens to this scene in six months.
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