People's Joy Parade

I missed much of the People's Joy Parade on Saturday by driving in the Cinco de Volvo contingent. Yet finding myself on a Monday morning wanting the parade to be never-ending, I am going to share a few photographs that I managed to take during the amazing event.

One of the best things about the People's Joy Parade was the route. We started on Cherokee, but with two blocks closed for the Cinco de Mayo program, we had to head north on Nebraska to Utah and then came back down Iowa. That means we went straight in front of the houses of many people who simply came out to the front porch with neighbors and friends to watch the madness. If only thsi could happen every weekend, all over the city!

There are more photographs here and I am sure more will be posted. But if all you have are photographs to show you what happened, you need to find a stoop or a curb next year and see the People's Joy Parade for yourself.

Cherokee Street Chronicles

Lindsey Scott and Jason Deem sent out news that there are two new websites chronicling the vibrant life of Cherokee Street, the city's most diverse and lively neighborhood commercial district:

Cherokee Street News, a blog.

Cherokee Street Photos, already featuring hundreds of photographs, including historic images.

An Obituary

by Jason Wallace Triefenbach, Special to Ecology of Absence

Last night was the final one for Radio Cherokee.

How was it?

Short answer:

After Bill Ward, Galen may be my favorite drummer.

Long answer:

I only stayed for five minutes.

I stay in a lot. I don’t go to shows much, even the ones that feature great inspirational bands I clung to in the abyss of youth, when life and death, joy and agony seemed to hang precariously between the second and third chord of any number of crunchy, mysanthropic punk songs. My friends later berate me for missing these and other shows, but lately I prefer a few bottles of beer or wine in the quietude of my own home to the hipster parade of rock clubs and dance halls. No matter.

The point is, my wife and I were on our way home from a small gathering of friends when I got a phone message from Galen, informing me of Radio Cherokee’s impending implosion. So we swung the car around and headed back the way we had come- back towards the tree littered darkness of Cherokee Street.

The music was good- inspired even- but I couldn’t help but concentrate more on my other senses. The smell of the room and the people around me- the sweat dripping down my leg... the whir of antique fans given a renewed lease by the proprietors of the establishment. The room was awash in memory. So I had my moment of reflection, repeated to myself a few words some might call a poem or a prayer, and departed.

I’ve missed, I’m sure, many great shows there. But I’m grateful for the many I attended, and even the mediocre or horrible ones.

You see, what is at stake here, what has for the time being fallen on the field of ongoing battle, is much more than just a hole in the wall hangout for lovers of obscure musical genres and weird pop. There is an invisible divide in American culture; one that runs much deeper than politics or religion. Whether or not you, friend reader, enjoyed the bands and performers you may have seen there, you were given, every time you stepped through the door, an opportunity much too rarified of late: moments of participation in what was once upon a time called The Underground. Radio Cherokee was a place where you would never see a Camel rep scanning your friends’ IDs. There were no beer baron logos flashing into the night, no Jagermeister Girls hawking plastic trash-trinkets through chemical tans; hell, there wasn’t even a sign above the door telling you where you were. And there were no restrictions on what could happen on that tiny stage. Just the music- some amazing, some horrible, some just numbingly mediocre- created not in pursuit of Making It Big or the hope of Cashing In, but for the sake of the creation alone- for the love of the creative exchange. Here was a place where Art was more than just a tool of Commerce.

There will be other places for this to happen- the landscape of Pop is subject to many temporary ruptures. Caves and ravines open for a while, attract a few dwellers and spelunkers, then return to rubble. Perhaps this is a good thing. Innovation and change rather than stasis.

May there be one thousand times one thousand permutations to come in the new night.

Until then, Thank You Dave, Galen, Bevin, Matt Gehlert, and all the rest...

-jason wallace triefenbach
7.24.06

Northside, Southside

Gone (last week): Empire Sandwich Shop building on Cherokee Street in south St. Louis. A vacant lot is in place.

Going: Cordes Hardware buildings on Salisbury Avenue between 11th and 14th Streets in Hyde Park on the northside. A gas station expansion is forthcoming.

Neither demolition was needed. In fact, both the Empire building and the Cordes buildings were in far better shape than many of their neighbors. One wonders what exactly is meant by a "building boom" in the city these days. The elimination of small old buildings with low rents perfect for small businesses cuts against the prevalent political rhetoric.