This article first appeared in the St. Louis Beacon, Aug. 23, 2012 - On Tuesday, Jan. 16, 1990, The Cult played St. Louis; specifically, the Fox Theatre. By all accounts, it was their first appearance in our city. By this point, the group had moved away from its beginnings as a gothic band known as the Southern Death Cult, dropping two words and adding the hit-making ability that was evident on its breaking-in-America album, the slick, hook-heavy “Sonic Temple.” By the time its rock show finally made it to St. Louis, this was a band in full, mainstream glory, bringing an impressive show to the Fox for a sold-out set.
What’s interesting is that the band’s official gigography site doesn’t note the existence of this show, suggesting that the group played Dallas on the 14th and Nashville on the 17th, with nothing in between. Other web searches show a similar gap, probably feeding from that same source information. But a run deep into the Post-Dispatch archives uncover an alternate reality.
Thanks to a David Surkamp review of the show, published on Thursday, Jan. 18, it’s proven that I didn’t imagine all of the above: There really was a gig here on Jan. 16, 1990! And The Cult did rock! (For the record, Surkamp enjoyed The Cult, but didn’t have much love for the opening bands, Dangerous Toys and Bonham. On this we agree.)
When The Cult’s concert ended, I found myself with a few hours to kill ‘til closing time, and being just a few months into legal, going-out age, I headed to the Hi-Pointe for my first visit. The setup’s so suspiciously similar to an earlier Second Set that I hate to even mention it: Some women I only somewhat knew from “the scene” invited me along, saying the Hi-Pointe was a club I had to check out. I believed them, aimed my car west, walked up the long flights of steps to the second floor and saw a band that’s long since left my memory banks. And no web search will help me on that.
The Hi-Pointe, only four years old then, was intimidating to me. Maybe that came from many, solo trips to the neighboring Hi-Pointe Theatre as a teen, watching foreign and oddball movies, then drifting past those long, side windows of the Cafe. I could see people enjoying their evenings in the booths; behind them, the pool players crouched over their shots.
The music, always played loud on both floors, drifted into the street. I wondered and wondered about what was happening in there, but I waited a few months to make that first commitment. This time, the doorguy didn’t need to turn me away; I was official. I planned on having a great time there that night, and carried that on for the next 15 years.
Total Rock and Roll
It’s no knock on the staffs of other clubs when I suggest that the crew at the Hi-Pointe might have been the rockingest to ever walk the slats of a St. Louis barroom. While I’m certainly leaving out a couple key names, there were characters around every corner: Devin Baker, Jason “Homey” Smith, Eric King, Matt Kelly, Tim Mize and riding herd over ‘em all, Lisa Andris.
During her nearly two-decades at the helm of the club, Andris brought in some of the best new music happening in America, from bands that were riding the wave to success, to those who’d peaked out, happy just to fill a room the size of the Hi-Pointe.
Though I saw dozens of bands in the venue over the years, the one night that really stands out was a gig with few people in attendance. That’s probably true for other folks who went there, too. Interesting, even magical nights could happen for all kinds of reasons, and a big crowd wasn’t always needed.
For me, good feelings happened when Veruca Salt debuted in St. Louis, playing to the couple dozen fans assembled, most of them friends of co-vocalist and -songwriter Louise Post, who’d grown up in Clayton. The band was poised on the cusp of something big, though it brought a set that wasn’t deep at all, with little more to play than the tracks off its debut album.
Soon thereafter, for a short period of time, Veruca Salt was the “it” band of alternative radio, with hits “Seether” and “All Hail Me” indicating that the group’s “American Thighs” would be the first of several hit records. Turns out that the band, in many respects, would never top the airplay or the buzz created by that first splash into the mainstream, though their second album, “Eight Arms to Hold You,” did have some commercial life.
But for that brief time, immediately surrounding the release of “American Thighs?” Gosh. They had the industry’s tiger by the tail.
On that night, it was playing to an empty Hi-Pointe, signed to Chicago’s little Minty Fresh Records. By the next time they played St. Louis, Veruca Salt headlined Mississippi Nights, a 1,000 seat venue, with major-label Geffen Records having bought out their contract. And Post was poised for stardom, with all kinds of supporters (and catcallers) found in the old hometown.
Catching a young band, with lots of promise ... that’s always the appeal of being young and just showing up at various clubs for a low-cover look-see. And the Hi-Pointe was a great place to do just that.
Of course, it was also a fine place to people watch, with activity not limited to the second floor.
Down on the first, a pool game, or two, was usually going on, and the window seating lent itself to looky-loo behavior. The bartenders were generally good for a laugh, if you were able to hear their jokes over the pulsating speakers. The regulars at the Hi-Pointe weren’t always around for showtime, often congregating there in the late-afternoon hours, then heading out when the music throng came in, the line sometimes snaking around the block for the biggest shows.
The bar had a definite visual ... “look and feel,” let’s call it. Certain things stand out more than others.
Because the place had “rock club” written all over it, the Hi-Pointe Cafe was also a popular place for photo shoots and moviemaking, any production that needed a little grit. In 2005, filmmaker Bill Boll shot a 48 Hour Film Project inside the second floor, starring notable St. Louis actors like Emily Haack, Joe Hanrahan, Michael Bowdern. He cast me, too, though that’s no reason to ban yourself from watching the film, as I’m only given two, enthusiastically delivered lines. As the afternoon stretched out, a huge rainstorm erupted, then dissipated, completely changing the lighting in the room. But looking at the clip a few years on, it’s unusual to see the room in any sort of light, as most of us wandered in well after dark.
And about a year later, though, the Hi-Pointe Cafe was gone.
More passings
In the last year, or so, of its existence, the Hi-Pointe added some wrinkles to the programming, including a night dedicated to the sketch comedy of the Non-Prophets, who ran the clever, popular Militant Propaganda Bingo Machine weekly. Downstairs, the closet-sized Food Hole provided a micro-kitchen for the venue, an amusing title for restaurant, if ever there was one. Things were still fun.
But word eventually spread that the building was going to be for sale and several boozy farewell parties were booked into September 2006, at which point the business shuttered for good. People grabbed a bit of this and a bit of that as the months went by, the glasses disappearing in incremental, but regular numbers. Virtually everyone through the door asked staffers if they could buy a chair, or poster, or ... anything not nailed down, really. It got a little glum.
When the venue closed, it stayed that way for a bit, until the first floor eventually re-opened as the completely-revamped Par Lounge. I went there once. It was OK. Had it not been in the Hi-Pointe space, maybe I’d have actually enjoyed it, though there was no way for a longtimer to ever view the room the same way, especially with the all-important upstairs sealed off. It was a one-and-done experience at Par and I’m not sensing any change in my attendance patterns. Oh, well, these things happen.
Recently, though, something else occurred, putting that place and time into a new, stark perspective. Just this past weekend, popular Hi-Pointe staffer Tim Mize passed, unexpectedly, at age 45. Those of us who remember him well surely have sent good thoughts to those who knew him even more, his family and closest friends. But there’s a selfishness that runs through us all, and surely all the folks who used to run around with Tim, or in similar circles, had this same thought, early-on: When our contemporaries fall, we can’t but be reminded of our own mortality.
In those selfish moments, we’re reminded that we’re not 21, walking into a place like the Hi-Pointe for the first time. We’re not 25, catching a movie and a drink on the same night, in two businesses with the same first name. We’re not even 35, listening to MU330 blow off the roof of the joint on a random Thursday night. We’re, instead, at an age when bad things can happen.
Those of us remaining, we’ve got responsibilities now. Serious lives.
And, hopefully, enough good memories to lift and sustain us.