club congress at twenty
As octogenarian Hotel Congress pushes toward nine decades of operation, its seminal club - which has been “inventing nightlife since 1985” - celebrates two decades of raucous rock shows and debauched dance nights with a three day shindig over Labor Day weekend.
Kicking off the festivities on Friday, September 2 and continuing through that Sunday, Congress – along with the Rialto – is hosting close to 40 bands with almost half of them reuniting for the event. The fête will encompass indoor and outdoor stages as well as daytime BBQs, “special guests and surprises.”
In conjunction with the anniversary party will be the first preview screening of Michael Toubassi’s/Upstairs Film’s Tucson rock documentary High and Dry. The four-year project uses 20 years of Old Pueblo musical footage and is the perfect complement for the celebration. As of press time, the screening location was still up in the air, but www.HotelCongress.com and www.HighandDryMovie.com will keep you posted on the latest developments...
There are a variety of ticket prices for the weekend, but the best deal is to snag a $32 wristband that will cover all events plus a viewing of High and Dry.
To commemorate this historic occasion, the Downtown Tucsonan culled together stories from folk who have been around since the club’s onset and times in-between. Thanks to Maggie Golston for the realization - What better way to tip the collective hats to Congress than to get the memories from the horses’ mouths?
— Jamie Manser
From the Front Desk – Al Perry
Working behind the desk at the hotel I’ve been able to snag tons of opening slots soon as they were booked - Davie Allan & the Arrows, Dick Dale, The Legendary Stardust Cowboy, Dave Alvin, to name just a few...
When I heard that Bo Diddley was coming, and knowing that he travels without a backing band, I insisted on getting that gig. The night before, we went through a tape and practiced along to his classic songs. His stuff is really easy, just that famous beat and one or two chords. I went to pick him up at the airport in a beat up VW Rabbit. As we were driving into town I told him we had learned a bunch of his stuff.
“That’s all old stuff,” he yelled, “I don’t do none of that any more!!!”
Okaaaaay.
We were kind of worried because a lot of these old guys are eccentric or bitter or both, plus we’d heard the horror stories about Chuck Berry and his pickup bands. When we got to the hotel, Danny Vinik introduced himself: “Hi, I’m Dan, I’m the promoter.”
“You got my money?” Bo blurted out.
When he complained about the hotel rooms not having TVs, Mary Ann, the manager, explained, “This is a historic hotel” to which he replied, “THAT’S NOT MY BAG, MAN!”
The show was sold out three days in advance and turned out to be really easy.
I never thought I’d get a chance to see my #1 guitar hero Link Wray. He ended up playing the club three times. The first time, we opened up for him.
Rob Alper, of The Fells, and another huge fan, was playing drums for me that night. We went down to the club to see if Link was around that afternoon. Of course we were terrified of meeting our idol, and we thought he might be some old grumpy bad-ass. Danny told us to go ahead and introduce ourselves, so we timidly approached Link and told him we were his opening band.
“Great, man. Do the kids like rock ‘n roll in this town?” was his reply.
He was a super nice guy, just a happy-go-lucky hillbilly. Despite a couple limp-wristed, ham-fisted clowns backing him, it was a great show. The second time he came, I volunteered to be his guitar tech. That was fun because I sat by the side of the stage with his guitar monitor just blasting in my face (he’s nearly deaf from all those years of rockin’) and he delivered the best rock ‘n roll show I’ve ever seen in my life.
The third time he played the club, I saw him during the day, and sat in the cafe with him and his wife Olive Julie. I asked if I could watch his sound check. He said sure, and when he was testing his mic, he kept making up these little songs with me in them, stuff about “Al Perry, the Tucson Desert Man...”
I wanted to sink through the floor.
Al Perry and the Sultry Heifers was the first band to play the Club. For his bio, Perry wrote – “If I gotta explain, you wouldn’t understand.”
Congress Chronicles – Maggie Golston
For 20 years, 17 of which I was present for, Club Congress, or “the Hotel” as we all called it, was dramatically cinematic. For most of those years, it was the only place to be. So I propose a movie, and I want in on the deal.
Because the stories run concurrently and coincidentally in that delightful pomo boho fashion, Jim Jarmusch is a natural to direct. (Not to mention that his best films were made in the heyday of my club years, so it all makes sense to me. As to casting, I am still working on myself (Lili Taylor, maybe?), but it’s a lock that Billy Bob Thornton would make a wicked Jack Veatch. David Slutes might want to be George Clooney, but I’m thinking more along the lines of Jeremy Piven (most recently of HBO’s Entourage). And unless Jarmusch wants to bring in John Lurie, Al Perry absolutely, positively must play himself.
My vignettes would all be about work, as I was lucky enough to put myself through school serving all you bastards. It wasn’t uncommon for me to announce last call from the Tap Room at 12:45 a.m., only to greet you the next morning at The Cup with a fresh face and hot coffee. Starting in 1991, Maggie’s Hootenanny brought acoustic music to the club, where I served as booker, sound slag, and frequent performer. Regulars included the Earl’s Family Bombers, Van Christian, Mr. Perry, and Caitlin Von Schmidt (an idol of mine at the time. Maybe still. Caitlin rules.) Guests like John Doe ratcheted the Hootenanny up a notch or twelve. And occasionally, we would all hoot for real, on “Dead Flowers” or “Long Black Veil”. Good times.
The heavier side of working the club involved cocktailing on Disco Night, which paid my tuition but made me sweat and cry and kick and scream. Thanks to Chris Carlone and the inimitable (but let’s give Scarlett Johannson a go) Tasha Bundy, the same thirty disco songs scored the Mondays of my discontent. The only thing that made it easier (besides the tips) was the presence of my sisters in sorrow, Kate Donovan and Ronne Grasberger, who kicked out the jams with me and ended the night up a load of cash with 8:00 a.m. or 9:00 a.m. classes to attend on Tuesday mornings. I loved everyone I worked with. And now, we all run the world–or parts of it, at least. Both coasts, baby.
I could block out any of a number of vignettes about the club performers which portrayed them in varying lights. My favorite? Dave Alvin, upon finding a weeping, harried, scantily clad Maggie in the Old Kitchen and drawling, “Don’t be sad, honey. You know you’re the prettiest girl in this place.” On a less sonorouos note, fellow waitress Amy Wilkins and I once talked Charles Barkley out of breaking a bar stool over the head of some guy wearing a Bulls t-shirt and taunting him.
Tell me that’s not cinematic.
Maggie Golston is a writer, poet, singer/songwriter and proprietor of Biblio –located at 222 E. Congress St.
Nude Awakening – Fred Mills
One night in 1991 my wife and I, living in Charlotte, NC, were sitting around our house drinking red wine and discussing whether or not it was time for a career and locale change. The Sidewinders –then our favorite band–were on the stereo. As “Get Out Of That Town” played we zeroed in on lyrics we’d heard a hundred times before but never really pondered: “Get out of those shopping malls –c’mon down!” Twin light bulbs flickered: Tucson beckoned.
By the next day we’d begun planning our fall vacation. On one sunny October afternoon we found ourselves wandering into the lobby of the Hotel Congress, and behind the desk was none other than Al Perry–another musical fave–who graciously helped us lug our bags upstairs to our room. He also tipped us to the evening’s entertainment at the Club Congress: The Fleshtones. Jetlag or no jetlag, this was not to be missed. And the Roman gods didn’t disappoint, by the end of the night leaving the Congress crowd in a sweaty, heaving, beer-sodden pile of bodies on the dance floor.
Awakened a few hours later by the call of nature, I got up from the bed and staggered towards what I thought was the bathroom door. It wasn’t. Standing there in the Congress corridor, rubbing my eyes and still quite groggy, I saw a very naked Peter Zaremba (The Fleshtones vocalist) and some unidentified, equally naked, individual doing what appeared to be a toga dance–sans togas–down the hallway.
The next morning, after convincing myself I didn’t dream the incident, I decided that this was a most unique introduction to both Tucson and the myriad treats of the Congress multiplex. And by the summer of ‘92 we had moved to the Old Pueblo.
Fred Mills is a journalist and editor for Harp, Magnet and other music publications. He lived in Tucson from 1992 to 2001.
Club Commencement – Fonda Insley
The first show I was involved in at Congress was in the 80s. It was a punk rock show along with a screening of some UofA student films, and a tattoo show. It was one of the first times the space now known as the Club had been used in years. The band I was managing, UPS, played along with some other local punk acts. We went in early in that day to help set up the room. At the time, the club area was about half the size of what it is today with a wall running north and south partially dividing it again into sort of a hairpin shape.
While some of the details are lost I just remember that night as magical, we were all so excited to have such a great space and people willing to showcase our art, from that night on it just seemed to get busier and wilder.
One of the things that set Congress apart then was the fact it was pretty run-down and rooms were dirt cheap. We frequently decided we would get a room rather than drive, often pick up some package goods from the Manhattan, always ask for a room on the inside so we could open up the windows, go up on the roof and climb onto the sign and have a drink.
Over the years I have seen way more bands there than I could ever count. Many of the best times of my life were spent in that building. No matter how much it seems to change, here I am over 20 years later and I can still walk in and find a familiar face.
Tribute - Larry Vance
Congress did a tribute show with local bands covering their favorite Stevie songs. The last song of our set was Voodoo Chile. Although this is a Jimi Hendrix song any Stevie fan knows that he did an absolutely amazing version of it so we decided it would still fall within the guidelines of the show.
Making a guest appearance with us was the late Paul Young of Blood Spasm fame. Anyone who knew Paul knew that two of the things he was well known for were biting fake blood capsules during performances and public nudity. This night was no exception. About halfway through Voodoo Chile Paul bit the blood capsule and dropped his pants. Fortunately, because he was a guitar player, his Fender strat was covering the goods...that is, until it was his turn to play a lead. In true Jimi Hendrix fashion Paul played the lead with his teeth thereby exposing himself to the crowd.
The attendees reacted with shock and awe. Additionally, I remember Jason Steed telling me that he hadn’t realized Paul had bitten the blood capsule. So, when he saw Paul’s goods covered in blood, he thought that some horrible mishap had taken place on stage.
Larry Vance has performed in local Tucson bands Greyhound Soul, Creosote, Star Crunch, Brilliant Fools, The Host and many other local bands that he’s too embarrassed to mention. He’s currently the lead guitarist for Great American Tragedy.
No Place Like Home - Justin Lillie
Club Congress feels like home to me. Full of familiar faces and many friends, some working and most drinking. There’s nothing funnier than seeing your best friend, on his birthday, being carried out arms flailing by another best friend, the bouncer, as a crowd of best friends are red in the face from laughing so hard!
It’s nice to catch up with Sweet Johnny T. as he hands over an ice cold Red Stripe. Or to talk with Robin the sound specialist about how cool the Cory Branan show was. We were floored, as I imagine the other ten people in attendance were. I’ve enjoyed stumbling into the lobby after playing a show and pretending to be smooth in front of that pretty girl behind the desk. What was her name? ...Hannah, I believe.
I’ve sang my heart out to Good Talk Russ, screamed my voice out to Gat*Rot, and danced my ass off to Spoon & The Dismemberment Plan. But my fondest memories always involve our local musicians rallying together for a greater cause. The annual Cover Up is one of the greatest times to be had in this city, period. All of the proceeds benefit The Brewster Center. How could one ever forget Ozlo performing a set of Neil Diamond songs? It was fantastic!
Another special time was when many bands and individuals joined together to ensure Mr. Bennie received a proper burial. Times like that really showcase how selfless our amazing pool of local musicians is - as well as the employees, many of which donated their tips for the night.
One night that will forever be with me was a show we put together in honor of our dear departed friend Matt Moore. All of the proceeds went to Humane Borders, a group he volunteered for. It was a magical evening. The air was thick with emotion. I remember worrying about us (Chango Malo) performing “Redemption Song.” Its like “Little Wing” or “Stairway to Heaven;” there are certain songs that can’t betouched, or shouldn’t be (unless you’re Stevie Ray Vaughn or Dread Zeppelin).
All of my worries ceased to exist as soon as we started playing it. I looked up to see something I’ll never forget. The entire crowd had their arm on the shoulder of the person next to them, swaying back and forth to the rhythm. Everyone was singing along so loud that it seemed to drown out even the music There were so many tears falling down smiling, singing faces. Just the sight of that brought me to tears instantly. It was absolutely beautiful.
Thank you for the memories and congratulations Club Congress on turning 20. Only one more year and you’ll be able to drink!
Justin Lillie is the bassist for Chango Malo.
