Red Blood Love

This weekend saw the departure of the Red Blood Club down in Deep Ellum. Yep, another one gone but hey, Dallas needs room for all the new condos that will eventually populate the area. Although, I’ll never give up that Starbucks in Ellum would be a good idea. When I was at my former job, I had a soft spot for RBC for some reason that I could never put my finger on. It seemed like a total underdog while all the bigger clubs got the attention. Yet, they had national touring acts coming through and at times, they even deviated from their punk/thrash band lineups to put on a hip-hop show or even a comedy bit. And not in a desperate way either. It just seemed like they wanted to do it.
But with all the SUP business going down as well as their tragic stabbing incident last year, the RBC struggled big time. And they gave it a good fight holding out as long as they could which added more to my compassion for this place that I had never been to. That is until just a couple of months ago. And so in honor of their closing, I’m offering my fun times at the RBC…even if it was only once.
It was a decent Friday night and I was all the way up in Plano checking out Love & War for the first time. Good kebobs, big beer and some not-bad country music was enough to have a good time. That was until my friend Shirley texted me that she was at Red Blood Club. My curiosity was piqued. The place I had always wanted to go to but was too scared to go alone. And now I had my chance. And so my trek down to the other side of the spectrum began.
I’m a wimp. I’m a chicken. And I will tell you that before anything else. And their rosters always sounded way too gory and bloody that I just opted against ever going because I had the innate feeling that my a$$ would somehow have gotten kicked all over the place. Silly paranoia I know but nonetheless, it was stuck in my head that I would be in the right place at the wrong time.
Shirley was an old pro at the place so when she mentioned she was seeing JFA, I rushed down their ASAP. A weirdly quiet night, I found parking quickly and walked toward the place with no obvious entrance. What’s more, I was in Plano mode and dressed way too preppy for the place. I remember wishing I had written out my will.
After paying a $12 cover in cash and cursing that I wouldn’t get that expense back, I walk into a patio of black t-shirts, lots of eyeliner, cliched mohawks and a coworker. We chatted a bit before I walked in to find my very short friend in a sea of taller punks. And despite the loud crass music and eerie videos, I was digging the place. JFA (80’s punk legends-Jodie Foster’s Army) took the stage and the place became a weird madhouse of slam dance/mosh pit action and the rest of us just watching. The funny thing was the amount of receding hairlines and wrinkles that were partaking in the melee.

All around me were a bunch of Gen-Xers who hadn’t completely forsaken their old punk selves. They screamed, whooped, slammed, rebelled but with a certain evolved appreciation of the band onstage. They were still hardcore but only mature about it. It was the most fascinating dichotomy to witness. And the young un’s there seemed only to be there to be out. I could almost see the division between the true fans of the band and old punk in general and the new kids on the block who were in a surprising limbo. Emo enough to stand still and watch, perplexed enough to not know where to fit in. It was probably like high school all over again for them.
The concert rocked despite the middle age pseudo-stars onstage. The crowd was no threat. The sound was good. And the place was kinda nice. The brick walls and actual decor totally went against the black sheetrock walls I imagined. It was an appropriate mess which it should have been. And best of all, no stabbing or a$$ kicking.
And ever since then, the place that I had a weird compassion for, lived up to it and has been one of my best nightlife experiences ever. Only now, I can never go back.
Salud, RBC! Ya did good.


