If you loyal readers don’t mind, I’d like to take a day to flip my scorn’s “off” switch, and lament the impending loss of Tonic. For those of you who aren’t aware of the NYC club, it’s been a haven for avant-garde and experimental artists for nine years. Tomorrow night (the 13th), the final acts will grace Tonic’s stage (John Zorn and “dozens of special guests”) before the doors of 107 Norfolk Street close for good. The eyesore that is the blue condominium probably had something to do with this decision.
This isn’t the first time the club has faced adversity. Rising rent and insurance costs threatened to put the venue out of business, and as recently as 2005 there were fundraisers required to keep the venue operational. In the immediate future, owners Melissa Caruso Scott and John Scott will continue to put on shows at the Abrons Art Center (which they’ve been doing for a while), and they hope to reopen at a new location in the future, where the creative arts scene in the New York area can continue to thrive.
Tonic was by far my favorite place to see a show in Manhattan. This is due largely to the fact that it catered to my personal aesthetic tastes, but also because it was (usually) a quiet, unpretentious venue that nurtured like-minded musicians and fans. Without simply recounting all the acts I’ve seen there, I’d like to share a couple fond memories of the club. The first time someone witnesses the broad musical range of John Zorn, or the rhythmic and percussive genius of Chris Corsano, it is a life-changing experience. I was intrigued but slightly baffled after first watching Corsano with Ben Chasney (Six Organs Of Admittance), but given the opportunity to see him with Paul Flaherty cemented my belief in his greatness. During that Six Organs of Admittance show, Gary Higgins decided to make his first public appearance in over thirty years. From seemingly out of the nowhere, Higgins suddenly climbed upon the stage, took a seat with Chasney’s acoustic guitar, and proceeded to bring countless audience members to tears. Tonic was the kind of place where you arrived unsure of what to expect, but always returned home with a story, like the night Jackie-O Motherfucker passed a bowl around the audience in the middle of their set. Performances were not austere events, nor did you feel like you were at a scenester party. They were intimate gatherings of friends where P.G. Six or Nina Nastasia regaled us with song.
More so than any other club in the city, Tonic symbolized an alternative to fans of music. While other venues inflated ticket prices depending on the act, or shifted their focus to more mainstream acts, Tonic remained steadfast in their booking and business policies. It was $10 to see Aidan Baker and Sightings, and it was $10 to see Jim O’Rourke and Thurston Moore. Except for maybe The Stone, nowhere in the city provided equal opportunity for jazz, rock, noise, avant and psych fans to convene and discover something new and exciting. Tonic—even if it does re-open at a new location—will be missed.
Christian Marclay @ Tonic Feb. 16, 2000
