Underground music scenes are synonymous with cities like Detroit, which during the early eighties was essential to the invention of techno music, or Washington D.C., which is widely thought of today as the birthplace of punk and hardcore, not cities like Phoenix, which for obvious reasons is not the typical breeding ground for an underground music scene.
And yet, underneath its harsh exterior, something exactly like that has been surfacing.
“I think that the drive to make things happen here is special in itself,” Phoenix-based musician and owner of Gilgongo Records, James Fella, says. “People who move here from other places or do not have context can easily write-off central Arizona as desolate. Truth be told, I can see why at times, but it's not too hard to find people doing things they are passionate about and making things happen.”
As someone who was born and raised in Phoenix, I can say that I was surprised when, a few years back, I heard about underground shows happening in the area because I, too, wrote Phoenix off as a creative abyss quite early on.
What is interesting is that for several years now, do-it-yourself venues have existed rather frequently in Phoenix, and though they remain open for only short periods of time before closing, they have been essential in what is evolving.
One of those places, Meat Market Garment Factory, was a storage unit in Tempe that no longer exists. It later changed its name to Luxie, which doubled as a music venue before closing in September of 2014.
Luxie’s owner, Cory Martinez, tells me over coffee in downtown Phoenix that her warehouse opened its doors for shows following a long history of punk warehouse and houses in Tempe and Phoenix, naming YOBS, Sound Kontrol, The Slurp, Linden House, The Tribe, Poop Haus and ICYC. Some names I did not even recognize, dating back one or two decades.
Martinez explains why Luxie and so many other DIY venues inevitably close after a short period of time, saying, “They cost money and all the people are doing at these shows is damaging the property, essentially. It’s messy and dangerous, and who wants to fork up the money for that?”
And while DIY venues are essential to underground music, they are not without their faults, which often are to blame for their unfortunate fate. Without the proper permits or licensing required to run a music venue, improper adherence to building codes such as readily available fire extinguishers, clearly designated exits or things like maximums on capacity, these DIY venues are one noise disturbance phone call away from being shut down permanently.
Specifically with Luxie she says, “The more exposure that the warehouse was getting the more I was afraid the cops were going to show up and shut the place down. There were definitely things happening there that were not considered legal.”
In 2012, Phoenix New Times awarded Meat Market Garment Factory, as it was called then, "Best Place to See an Underground Punk Show,” which Martinez tells me was not her ideal situation, explaining that she wasn’t thrilled by that sort of mainstream exposure.
My first memory of Luxie was driving down a neatly groomed suburban side street, wondering if Google Maps was leading me in the right direction, and pulling into the narrow driveway of a deserted industrial complex lined with rows of large warehouses. I had gone to see Ice Age and Milk Music, among several others, play that night and still remember it vividly.
As I got out of the car, I heard a murmur of voices, which I followed down the row of warehouses, stopping when I saw a group of people lingering at the far end of the asphalt separating two of the long buildings. As I neared the small crowd, I could see a garage door rolled-up revealing the inside of the dimly lit storage unit, which had an area rug placed at one end covered with instruments and various garments hung one or two feet apart from random areas of the ceiling.
Though it only existed for a short period of time, Luxie was the host to many great bands, whose members wasted time between sets outside the little space among the crowd of people who had come to see them.
Robbie Pfeffer, musician in Playboy Manbaby who runs Rubber Brother Records, also ran two all-ages venues in Tempe—a coffee shop on Mill Avenue called The Fixx and a warehouse called Parliament.
“I just fell into The Fixx because I met the people who owned the property and it ended because I was still in school. Parliament was started by a group of artists, and it ended because the neighbors were not fond of the amount of noise we were making. But in between the opening and closing we got to throw an amazing array of shows, and I got to meet some great people and see them try out really interesting and engaging artistic endeavors,” Pfeffer says.
There’s an indiscernible quality of DIY spaces like Luxie, The Fixx, or Parliament—differentiating them from conventional venues—which explains why new venues are quick to replace the ones that close.
“It caters to all-ages crowds and has a much more community-centric vibe than a bar or club. DIY spots are the real way to learn about what kind of music and art is happening in a city,” Pfeffer says. “They are really important to the development of an artistic community. It's very much a for the people by the people kind of thing.”
All throughout Phoenix and its surrounding suburbs, beneath the generalizations that characterize it, is a community of people doing something that entirely contradicts itself. And that does not make Phoenix the next Detroit or D.C., but it does make it something more than a hot desert filled with conservative Republicans, which is a lot more than people make it to be.
