by John Johnson, photos by Chaz Dykes of Chaz D Photography

I walked into The Factory in St. Pete this past Saturday and immediately felt like I’d stepped back into the sweat, smoke, and stubborn heartbeat of Tampa Bay area’s music scene from days past. This wasn’t a clean, polite, bougie gallery show, it was a scarred-up archive of survival, good times and great music. The walls were layered with four decades of No Clubs concert posters, flyers, and photographs, each one screaming from a different era when the scene had to fight for every inch of floor space and every pounding chord. The mostly 11×17, multi-colored memories all tiled together, in chronological order, were a veritable smorgasbord of musical diversity, that I consumed with voracity. You don’t just look at this exhibit (at least I didn’t), you feel it pressed up against you like a crowded pit on a Friday night. I saw many familiar faces, shuffling along the display, shoulder to shoulder, audibly gasping at times when they saw a show they attended or ones they regrettably missed. Present company included, as I saw so many I wish I would have thrashed at, ones I wasn’t even aware of occurring and luckily several I feel blessed to have attended. Personal favorites from the way-back machine in my mind, were Massive Attack at the Ritz, Chilli Peppers at LVC, Pearl Jam at Jannus, 21 Pilots at the State Theater, STP at Club Detroit and the pièce de résistance, The Ramones at the Armory. All thanks to No Clubs.

But No Clubs Presents isn’t just a promoter name slapped onto history—they’re the connective tissue. Started way back in 1985 by Tony Rifugiato and Dave Hundley, they set out to “shape the cultural landscape by producing premier concerts and events across all genres while maintaining it’s founding mission: to keep fans and the artists center stage.” I boosted that last part from the show’s press release, but I couldn’t have said it better myself, so I didn’t try.

The posters tell the story in ink and paper: bold type, cheap copies from Kinko’s, stapled corners, and designs made to be seen for five seconds under a streetlight before getting ripped down. Being a designer/illustrator myself, and a rabid live music lover, these creations stirred a mix of emotions. Whether it was because I thought I could have done a few better or differently or on another paper color, or more often than not, the “art” was exactly what was needed for that particular performance or event and I felt jealous. The photographs on display hit a bit harder though. Blurred shots of bands mid-eruption (a black and white of Chris Cornell at the Cuban Club stood out), rooms packed past capacity, faces lit by stage lights and bad decisions. These aren’t nostalgic glamour shots; they’re proof that something real happened here, over and over again. For the last 40 years.

After consuming the entirety of the show, I felt that I absolutely needed to speak with Tony or Dave. They had been milling about, in non stop conversations with other devotees and I never seemed to find my “in”. Thankfully I was connected with No Clubs Marketing and Social Manager Maddie and she arranged for a quick one on one with the delightful, cherubic Tony Rifugiato. The name evokes beefy Italian, but the demure gentleman, dapper in his tie and denim jacket, along with his British accent, said quite the contrary. Being aware that our time would be short and that he was a hot commodity (at least 5 people politely interrupted our ten minute chat), I jumped right in with the obvious and asked him where it all began. “December 20th, 1985.” He replied quickly and confidently, “Suicidal Tendencies at the Cuban Club”.

I let him know that it’s a memorable venue of mine and pry him for his opinion. “It was definitely a great venue. We did probably 20 to 30 shows there I believe. That was before other venues showed up. We started the State Theater, The Orpheum, The Ritz, Masquerade,” he continued “so we had better choices than the Cuban Club.” As mentioned, I knew our time was limited, so I asked him another softball question but one I couldn’t fathom being able to answer. Especially with the amount of performances, good or bad, that must be rustling about in his gray topped dome. “Do you have one instance that pops up first?” I asked. He answered rather quickly, all things considered. “Bad Brains always stands out. You know H.R., the lead singer…” (which stands for Human Rights btw) “when the band was doing a sort of instrumental part, he ran all the way around the club, then climbed on top of the band shell, jumped off and caught his microphone and started singing perfectly on cue. And I just remember thinking, ‘WHOA!’”, he exclaims, with an impish grin and a gleam in his eye from behind round spectacles. I agree that that feat must have been quite impressive to witness and point out that his accent gives it away that he’s not from Florida. “No. I’m from Burning Stump Arizona” he replies in jest. “I’m from South London actually.” We talk briefly for our love of London and Liverpool, and how one must be a Beatles fan to visit there. “I saw them live four times.” he claims proudly. Which he should, because in concert attending, it’s an exceedingly large flex.

My artists sensibilities tingling, I wonder if there is any creative that stands out in his memory. “Oh…I’m so grateful for all the work that our designers have put in…” he diplomatically replies, “we’ve had several of our designers who have been nationally known, artists like Goge”. (I believe he said Goge, I’m still researching.) He continued in regards to this mysteriously named artiste. “The thing about him is that he only does projects that he likes.” he says smiling, “so if you offer him something, and if he likes it, he’ll reduce the fee.” That’s a good position to be in I say, knowing that I too have bartered artwork for tix to a show that I dig. “Sometimes he’ll reach out and say, ‘I see that you’re doing so and so, can I do a poster’, and we say yeah, and out comes a poster.” I wrap by telling him how nice it was to be reminded of so many great shows I attended (and missed). “Great. You’re supposed to get that feel good memory. That, Oh man I was at that show and it was so awesome. Or, that’s the night I met my wife. Or DAMN, that’s the night I met my wife. One of the two.” he says with a grin. I thank he and Maddie for their time, and make way for him to press more flesh with the mass of adoring and appreciative attendees.

I traverse the exhibit one last time (for the evening that is, I’m going back). What got me was the honesty. No Clubs didn’t curate this to make the past look prettier than it was. The chaos, the DIY grit, the sense that everything could fall apart at any moment, it’s all on display. You can trace how the bay area’s sound evolved by following the paper trail on the walls, watching genres collide, scenes and cliques overlap, and generations hand the noise down whether anyone asked for it or not.

Amongst the glorious, floor to ceiling, poster displays are also showcases of other pivotal players like Focus Magazine and Daddy Kool Records. The latter of which being nestled in a room next store. Not to mention, or mention actually, the myriad of “cat’s from the scene” taking in the sites and reminiscing in awe as well. Some of the delightful scenesters I was lucky enough to chat with at the event were Copiously coifed artist Todd Bates, groovy guitarist Mark Warren, charismatic SPoT Owner Brian Schaffer, Crowbar’s bearded badass Tom DeGeorge and Belching Penguin allums, Ron Miller, Eric Blackmon and Jeff Jewhurst.

Interestingly enough, Belching Penguin was the first artist signed to No Clubs! Records. Of course in attendance was TBMN’s very own photog and bassist extraordinaire Chaz Dykes, whose band BLAK could be found in several posters around the gallery.

By the time I walked out, I felt the same way I do after a great show, ears ringing, head buzzing, a little wrecked and weary, but grateful. This exhibit isn’t for tourists or casual observers. It’s for anyone who ever stood in a dark room waiting for a band to come on, or staple-gunned a flyer to a pole knowing it might be gone by morning. No Clubs built the rooms where the music lived and breathed, and this show proves it. Myself, I’m going to go back a couple more times as a fan instead of on assignment for TBMN, because I’m sure I’ll discover something new buried deep in all the old. I also look forward to what Tony, Dave and the whole gang at No-Clubs has in store next, and maybe I can swap some art for tickets.

Go check out the Live Since ’85 art exhibit at The Factory in St. Pete., it runs until February 28th