Advance: the Punk chapter!

From Raul's to Beerland, with Emo's and Bates Motel thrown in

PUNK /NEW WAVE Overserved

RAUL’S 1978- 1981

On Dec. 31, 1977, Roy “Raul” Gomez, Joseph Gonzales and Bobby Morales opened a bar at 2610 Guadalupe Street, formerly called Gemini’s, where they wanted to feature Chicano music. But the Sex Pistols made for other plans. Nine days after Raul’s opened, the British punk rock sensation played San Antonio, and every cutting edge music fan from Austin was in the crowd thinking “I could do that, if I only had the guts.”

Three who did were Kathy Valentine, her classmate at Greenbriar “hippie high” Marilyn Dean and Carla Olson, who started a band called the Violators. Future Go-Go Valentine wanted it to be an all-girl group, but they couldn’t find a bass player, so she enlisted her friend Jesse Sublett, who was also working with Olson’s boyfriend, guitarist Eddie Munoz, on a band called the Skunks.

Now, 2610 Guadalupe had been the site of many failed bars: Buffalo Gap, Hungry Horse #2, Sunshine’s Party and the Gemini’s all opened and closed in the six years before Raul’s, which was also headed to an early grave, as the target audience of construction workers just wanted to get the hell out of West Campus when the whistle blew. Opening a Tejano bar near UT was like a coffeehouse at BYU.

Raul’s booked a few of the holdovers from Gemini’s, including prog-rock band Project Terror, featuring former Electromagnets drummer Bill Maddox on guitar and Glenn Fukunaga on bass. Terror’s drummer Stevie Wilson was dating/teaching Marilyn Dean, so the Violators got the opening slot about two weeks after the Pistols ravaged the punk rock Alamo that was Randy’s Rodeo. Gonzales liked their desire- a quality key in his booking philosophy- so he booked the Violators and their brother band the Skunks as the first all-punk show in Austin, three weeks before the Ramones played the Armadillo with the Runaways.

Punk dives were sprouting all over the country, and Austin had its very own CBGBs, but because it was already a live music city with a standard of aptitude, the groups were good, not just drunks stumbling around onstage and taunting the audience, though there was some of that, too. The Big Boys and the Dicks, led by chubby queens, were like no other bands in the country. Then you had the art rock of Terminal Mind, F Systems and Reversable Chords, the melodic thrust of Standing Waves and D-Day, and the flamboyant singer- focused bands like the Next with Ty Gavin and Boy Problems of Billy Problem (Pringle).

“Raul's was Austin proving, yet again, that its local players can hold their own with the best music from elsewhere,'' summated Margaret Moser.

While Sublett was concentrating on the Skunks, the female Violators moved to L.A., and did what you do when you leave the Velvet Rut of Austin. “We were so homesick,” Valentine said, “we’d go out to see every Texas band that played L.A. — the Werewolves, Doug Sahm, Gary Myrick and the Figures.” Valentine and Olson were Texans lost in L.A., so they called their next band the Textones.

On a visit home, Valentine had a fling with Pringle: all our girlfriends did before they met us. And on the plane back to L.A. she wrote “Vacation” about how she couldn’t seem to get her mind off him.  

The Raul’s scene started gaining a national rep with “The Huns Bust” of Sept. 19, 1978, when overzealous cops mistook staged chaos onstage for real, and started busting heads. Six clubgoers, including bouncer Morales, future  Austin Chronicle publisher Nick Barbaro and Richard Dorsett from Inner Sanctum records, were taken to jail for defending themselves.

Punk rock in Texas?! That night revealed Austin on the map as a place where other types of music besides cosmic country and white blues were played. It also established Austin as a town that doesn’t take itself too seriously. “I saw a cop walk onstage and I couldn’t believe it,” Huns drummer Tom Huckabee said in the Daily Texan. “We said on posters, ‘No Police.'” A noted filmmaker, who passed away in 2022, Huckbee described the Huns as sounding like they had Sid Vicious on every instrument.

With Rolling Stone writing about the incident, Raul’s was on the radar, as touring acts like Patti Smith and Elvis Costello popped in to jam, and up-and-coming acts like Psychedelic Furs, the Cramps and Black Flag started getting booked.

Riots at punk shows were big news, as America wondered what the hell happened to white kids. One of those who read the Rolling Stone story was a high schooler in Del Valle named David Yow, who joined the growing number of Raul’s regulars after the bust. “It changed the way I thought about music,” Yow has said. There was something going on with rock and roll and lines were being drawn.

“If you cut your hair short, wore black and hung out at Raul’s you became a target for frat boys and hippie rednecks alike,” said Roland Swenson, the SXSW director whose entree into show biz was managing Standing Waves. “That bonded the kids in the scene in a way I’ve not seen since.”

Many stepped over to the Raul’s side four-plus decades ago and never came back. Or, like Phil Tolstead, they went the other way. The Huns singer and lead instigator became a soldier in Jerry Falwell’s religious right crusade in the mid-‘80s and a regular on The 700 Club.

I heard about Raul’s when I was living in Hawaii and an L.A. friend sent me a photo of Lux Interior writhing in the crowd. “This is TEXAS!” she wrote on the back. I remembered that Lester Bangs lived in Austin, but by the time I got here, the great, troubled critic had died and Raul’s was closed. One lived to be 33, the other just 3 1/3, closing April 1, 1981.

There would be other punk clubs- Duke’s Royal Coach Inn, Studio 29 at the former Rome Inn, the Beach, and that deathtrap Voltaire’s in the basement of a bookstore at 4th and Lavaca- but Raul’s was the first, and remains the most legendary.

The club, which couldn’t even afford a house p.a., closed the first time in Feb. ’80. Steve Hayden resurrected it two months later for one more year of anarchy in the ATX, with two new rules: 1) No cover songs because he didn’t want to pay BMI’s music licensing fee, and 2) More punk, less new wave. The Dicks, Big Boys, Stains (later MDC) and the Offenders were Hayden’s pets.

The punk scene wasn’t the first notoriety only at 2610 Guadalupe St. In 1965 it was Roy’s Lounge, owned by segregationist Roy Eazor, who refused to let Blacks into the club, defying the Civil Rights Act. Roy’s was hit with a code violation and picketed for a month, but Eazor stayed open and dropped beer prices 50% for those who  crossed the Student Interracial Committee picket line. Eazor opened the private Waterloo Club at 2610 in 1966 to legally prohibit Blacks.

The Pink Lizard, known for serving minors (a hand-written note from parents that you were of age was seemingly proof enough) at the future Raul’s in 1967.

EMO’S 1992- 2011

It’s 1992 and the alternative rock world of hardened white kids is looking for a place to show off their tattoos and listen to loud music. They didn’t have much reason to go to Red River Street if they were under 21 until Eric “Emo” Hartman opened up a new world in a building that was an auto repair shop- Raven’s Garage- for five decades.

To a generation of Austin clubgoers now in their 40s and 50s, Emo’s was their Armadillo World Headquarters. No nachos, but there also wasn’t a cover charge, except $2 for minors, in the early years. Opened as a single room that was usually too crowded, Emo’s doglegged the next year into the former Texas Money location, with a capacity of 1,100 and the raddest patio in town.

The club rush-opened with a catering license for SXSW 1992, then made it official in May. Before Emo’s the only rock at Sixth and Red River cost about $20 a pebble. If you were walking down Sixth Street and you saw the Red River street sign it was time to head back.

In July ‘92, L7 announced from the City Coliseum stage, where they opened for the Beastie Boys, that they were headed to Emo’s after the show. "It was packed,” Hartman recalled of that night’s pandemonium. “They borrowed some band's equipment. People were yelling out songs. David (Thomson) and I had to hold the sound system to prevent it from being pushed over."

Then there was the night Johnny Cash turned Emo’s into a country music palace during SXSW ’94. “There was a knock on the back door that afternoon,” said Thomson, “and when I asked who it was, he said ‘John Cash.’” Thomson opened the door and there was The Man In Black. “I’ll be working for you tonight, so I was wondering if I could come inside and see the place.” Thomson said it was the only time he was embarrassed by how Emo’s looked. Cash (followed by Beck that night) gave the club a legendary lift and one helluva souvenir. Hanging over the bar was a stool on which was written “Johnny Cash sat here.”

First impressions weren’t always good with the bands. “I can’t believe we’re playing this shithole!” Thomson overheard Robin Zander of Cheap Trick say on arrival circa ‘95. But neither could the 1,100 delirious fans who demanded encore after encore by the classic rockers.

“Emo’s was the home for misfits,” said Thomson. “I think we brought a whole different crowd to Sixth Street.” The high school cool kids were jamming to Little Sister at the Black Cat, but the dropouts lived at Sixth and Red River.

Cherubic redhead Frank Hendrix bought Emo’s in 2000 from his friend Hartman. Though he was never seen wearing anything besides an Emo’s bowling shirt, Hendrix had money, selling his partnerships in eight automobile dealerships to buy the club and, eventually, the lot it was on. Some regulars didn’t like Hendrix’s aim of turning the former “Freemo’s” into a concert venue- the new Liberty Lunch- than a cool hangout. Shows like New Found Glory packed the place, but the bar did almost no money. The last of the legendarily crusty original bartenders, Kevin “Kumbala” Crutchfield left in 2002 for the Longbranch, East Austin’s first hipster bar on E. 11th.

The original Emo’s closed on Dec. 31, 2011- three months short of its 20th anniversary- as Hendrix opened Emo’s East in the former Back Room location of East Riverside. It sucked. The energy was all at Sixth and Red. Hendrix sold the Emo’s brand to C3 Presents in Feb. 2013. They tore it down and put up a new building called Emo’s that is now part of the Live Nation empire.

BEERLAND 2001- 2019

If the 2000 Presidential election had been decided the night it was supposed to, garage-rock paradise Beerland might’ve never opened at 711 1/2 Red River Street. This is the story of a young couple who were so broke, so desperate to create their dream live music venue, that they scooped up early-run newspapers of the Austin American Statesman in November 2000 and sold them on eBay. They were paying $1,500 a month rent on a vacant building for a year, as they went through permit hell with the city, so cashflow was vital.

When Beerland finally opened in June 2001, it could’ve very well been named “GORE WINS!”

The “gore” part fit, with such savage bands as Riverboat Gamblers, Dikes of Holland, Eastside Suicides, Hex Dispensers. Cherubs, OBN’III’s, Golden Boys, Manikin, Crack Pipes, Apeshits, Ugly Beats, Harlem, the Kodiaks and A Giant dog practically ripping body parts from that stage during its 18-year run. Twas booked by Max Meehan, who posted brutally hilarious signs at the entrance.

If there was a crowd at the bar, musicians always got served first. They had to get onstage. One night the Dirty Sweets were playing and Randall handed the singer Penny a Tecate (they always knew what you drank) over three people. “How did she get served before me?,” one guy said. “I’ve been standing here forever!” Randall asked “Do you know who that is?” The guy confessed that he didn’t. “That’s why you didn’t get served yet.” At that point the band kicked in, and Penny was front and center, the star of the show!

That Beerland had a sense of humor was needlepointed “Please don’t do coke in the bathroom,” on a framed white doily in the graffiti-covered restroom. Beerland also occasionally had bands play behind chicken wire so fans could throw beer cans at them, which really boosted bar sales.

Every entrepreneur wishes they could be two people and that’s an advantage the Stocktons have. Middle school sweethearts from Elgin, they complement each other like oil and vinegar. “Before we got married (in ’98), we had to take a compatibility test,” said Randall, who got his degree in philosophy at UT, while Donya got hers in anthropology. The couple had tested higher than anyone ever, so much so that the family pastor who administered the test said they might have co-dependency issues. “No shit,” Randall laughed. “But there’s no way either of us could’ve done any of this without the other.”

The Stocktons started dating when she was in the seventh grade and he was in the eighth. They were the smart, arty kids at Elgin High (a small group), who listened to Daniel Johnston instead of Metallica or Tupac. On weekends, they’d come to Austin to see Glass Eye, Shoulders, Ten Hands and other norm-challenging rock bands.

Though Randall’s funny personality was the same, his interests had changed during college. He’d become a harmonica obsessive, in more of a “Rock the Casbah” way than Chicago blues, until a chance meeting on the Drag flipped the switch. Randall was blowing some harp, waiting for a bus, when a long-haired guy came by and listened. “Cool man,” he said. “I play some, too.” Then the guy pulled a harp out of a knapsack and blew Randall away. “Go out and buy two albums- The Best of Little Walter and Real Folk Blues by Sonny Boy Williamson,” recommended the guy, who Randall realized, years later, was Guy Forsyth. “They’ll teach you everything you need to know about playing the harmonica.” Stockton got off the bus at Sound Warehouse on Burnet Road.

The great Chicago bluesmen took over his life for the next couple years. Then a record he heard by obscure Austin band Jack O’ Fire, featuring Walter Daniels and Tim Kerr (Big Boys), gave him an example of how to infuse blues with punk, which led to the formation of the Headhunters, which became the Converters after Herbie Hancock reformed his old band.

OK, this is boring musician stuff, but it leads to the Stocktons entrée into the club world. After playing Joe’s Generic Bar on Sixth Street a couple times with the Headhunters, Randall got a job at Aaron’s Rock N’ Roll t-shirt and souvenir shop, which was also owned by Joe Bates of Joe’s Generic. Bates had opened an Aaron’s in Northcross Mall and when Randall pulled shift duty there the eccentric, low-rent entrepreneur would call him and talk for hours. Since Randall was a musician, his boss asked his opinions on players around town. When the kid seemed to know what he was talking about, Bates hired him to book edgier bands than the usual blues fare at Bates Motel, a Sixth Street dive that cleaned up later as Blind Pig Pub. Randall’s popular weekly show, featuring garage punks like the Chumps, Lower Class Brats, Kiss-Offs, Peenbeats and Sons of Hercules, packed the joint, so Bates eventually gave him the full-time booking job. “Yeah, I got hooked,” said Randall. “On a good night, when the band’s great and the folks are totally into it, you feel like, ‘wow, I’m the nerd from high school and I did this.’”

Blue Flamingo had just closed on Red River, so Bates Motel was the new favorite downtown punk dive. But after three gloriously chaotic years, rising rent had the club close in 1999, the year Austin also lost Liberty Lunch, Steamboat, Electric Lounge, Doug Sahm and its clubhouse, the Austin Rehearsal Complex. With one clubgoer swinging an ax, the audience demolished the interior of the Bates on it’s final night. Damages in the hundreds.

The Stocktons found their own club at the former Hurt’s Hunting Ground annex in early 2000 and naively expected to open in two months. They ended up having to sleep in the building because they couldn’t afford to rent an apartment, and took every publication delivery shift they could to supplement their full-time day jobs: Donya as office manager for a chiropractor and Randall on his vending route.

The Stocktons went to the Statesman the night of November 7, 2000 to pick up one of the publications the Statesman printed when they heard the order to recall some of the bundles that had already been delivered. It was determined that it was too early to call it for Gore. “We figured we’d help them get back those papers,” Randall said with a smile. The Statesman had printed three different front pages- “Gore Wins,” “Bush Wins” and “Too Close To Call”- and the Stocktons packaged all three in a set that sold to collectors for a couple hundred dollars each. They had bundles of them, and during the next month of recounts and court rulings the Stocktons made a bundle.

Beerland opened the day they got the OK from the TABC (finally!) and the Stocktons bought a case of Lone Star and a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon. The next day they used the proceeds to buy bottles of whiskey, vodka and tequila. From small things, baby…

The timing couldn’t have been better, as such bands as the Strokes, White Stripes, and the Hives were making garage rock hot again in 2001. Home to the aptly-named Sweatbox studio on East Fifth Street, where bands from all over the world would come to record, the town of Roky Erickson was an epicenter of this return to Nuggets glory. "They seek us out because of the live feel they hear on records made here," Sweatbox co-owner Mike Vasquez told me in 2002. “We’re not antiseptic. You can smoke and drink and play as loud as you want. It's really more like playing in your garage than at some state-of-the-art studio where time is money."

While waiting for Beerland to open, Randall had a job servicing jukeboxes and pool tables. Most of the old man bars on East Sixth, the ones the Stocktons and other gentry have moved into, were owned by two vending companies in town. If they didn’t own the building, they controlled a master lease. So after he left the vending biz to run Beerland, his old boss would tip him off about spaces that would soon be available. One of Randall’s favorite stops on his route was Rio Rita, a Tejano dive with character, which had just gone out of business. The Stocktons moved slow, thought hard, then took over the Rio Rita space, keeping the name. The deciding factor was a huge patio, as the smoking ban had just been voted in.

“The first few months we were open, nobody came in. I mean literally nobody,” said Donya. Randall opened at 7 a.m. every morning and Donya closed at 2 a.m. and they weren’t taking in enough money to pay the electric bill. “People were afraid to go to the East Side in 2007,” Randall said. But that would soon change, as the word got out that East East Sixth was where you went for more parking, less knuckleheads.

No occupation takes so much and pays so little as running a music venue in Austin. There’s a lot of stress you’re too busy to notice, but in late 2017 the Stocktons decided to slow down. They sold their seven bars and moved to Mexico, where Randall gives mezcal tours and Donya is starting a liquor brand called Sueños de Mujeres. They handed their first and last bar to enthusiastic regular customer Richard Lynn, owner of Super Secret Records, trusting that he would carry on the Beerland tradition. And he did, for about a year. But then checks started bouncing after SXSW2019. Employees went on strike and called in the Austin Chronicle.

Lynn abruptly sold Beerland to Stubb’s manager Ryan Garrett and Ned Stewart, drummer for Grand Champeen, who put a lot of money in remodeling and scrubbing the joint. The old regulars dubbed it “Wineland.”

Beerland reopened on New Year’s Eve 2019, but the backlash over Lynn selling the name he was given was instant and intense. This was the continuation of Raul’s for godsakes! After two months as “Beerland” and then the pandemic, the sign came down, replaced by one that says “The Green Jay.” The garage has been converted into an upscale cocktail/sports bar, with booking expanded to standup comedy, jazz, blues and, ever-so-occasionally, rock. Beerland is gone, never to return.

“I’d be surprised if it came off in one piece,” Randall said of the iconic wooden sign he installed with such pride. “We never intended it to come down.”

NEXT: The Brad First years: Duke’s, Club Foot, Cave Club, Cannibal