Schubas and Double Door anniversaries

Crystal and china are the traditional gifts for 15th and 20th anniversaries. Unfortunately, neither belongs in a rock club, unless we’re talking about the names of Warrant groupies. So venerable local venues Double Door and Schubas are celebrating their birthdays this year the only way they know how—with a string of special shows. This summer, big-name acts return to toast the two small spaces they’ve since outgrown. The Meat Puppets (May 30, 31), Art Brut (June 8–12) and the Wrens (July 24, 25) ring in Schubas’ third decade, while X (June 18–20) helps blow out candles at the teenage Double Door.

Thirty-five combined years of hosting punks, drunks, divas, folkies, flakes and icons have left the two music joints with thousands of stories; we hit up the people behind the bars and soundboards to spill their favorites—including the night Henry Rollins really brought the funk.

Photo: Jeremy Bolen

Double Door

Jesse Ewan, front-of-house engineer
I was doing monitors for Fountains of Wayne [2007], and the lead singer arrived wearing the same sneakers as me. When I complimented him on his shoes, he immediately went back to the bus and changed his shoes without ever saying a word to me.

When I ripped up the stage to rebuild it in 2003, I found three pairs of panties and a dildo underneath.

Andy Barrett, co-owner
I have rarely laughed as hard as I did the nig Henry Rollins reached down the front of his perspiration-soaked shorts and delivered a handful of crotch sweat to the unwilling face of a front-row heckler [1999]. The look of bewilderment on the face of the young man as he was escorted from the building remains incalculable.

I will never forget Liquors, the alley cat that hung around the club for two months during construction. Then, a couple of days before we opened, she was gone. I’d like to believe that she was a spirit, sent to afford us safety, peace and prosperity, who moved along when her job as counselor was complete. But the reality is she probably got a better offer.

Sean Mulroney, co-owner
Jello Biafra played an unannounced encore with the Melvins, a complete Dead Kennedys set [2006]. Afterwards, Jello was manically walking in circles by the walk-in cooler. I walked up and tapped him on the shoulder. “Mr. Biafra, I usually don’t bother anyone after they have finished, but I have to relate a story to you. My brother and I stole my parents’ car before we had our driver’s licenses and drove to the 9:30 Club in Washington, D.C., where we saw you play with the Butthole Surfers.” He merely replied: “I got a tape of that show” and continued to manically walk in circles.

Mark DeRosa, assistant night manager
Tom Verlaine from Television hit his head numerous times on our low ceilings in the office. We tried to warn him each time, but he was just too tall for the place.

Joe Shanahan, co-owner
The night that the Rolling Stones strolled up to the Milwaukee entrance [1997], amid police on horseback and news helicopters in the sky, was just a surreal piece of the club’s history and a night of pure musical joy for me. It was basically an unannounced guerrilla show. The marquee was set first thing that morning with a message stating ROLLING STONES TONIGHT $7. The first 300 fans that saw the sign on their way to work that morning got wristbands, all of them in complete disbelief and doubting the validity of the show. A Stones rep was there to assure them it was legit. From there it was a roller coaster of events. The image of Keith Richards asking me to share a cold beer with him is still one that I keep as a photo on my desk. I look at it for inspiration when I am having a bad day.

Nate Arling, talent buyer
When Lemmy from Motörhead was sound checking [2007], it almost broke all the windows in the neighborhood. I also fondly recall Dick Dale running into the middle of Damen Avenue, stopping traffic, to play a shredding wireless guitar solo [2007], and watching 72-year-old T-Model Ford almost stab his drummer, Spam, in the dressing room [2002].

Phil Kosch, talent buyer
We hosted the annual Bear Pride show about four years ago. I and a couple other staff members took our shirts off and ran around the packed room. We jumped on the bar waving our shirts. June, our front-door man, was taking tickets shirtless, and Joe Carsello was serving beer out of the tub in a cut-off tee.

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