Kept at arms length, to the far reaches of stone beaches and safe places

A faint trace of tainted space, embraced the taste of surrender.

A pale faced portrait, of an artist, in a stalemate,

on a mission, out his mind, off his meds, up the staircase.

Through the window, down the hall, written on the wall in spray-paint,

it's a pain-staking process, to offset this great lakes weight.

Stop, nobody's leaving, nothing shocking anymore

amidst the shock and awe and rock and roll, sulking in a satin robe

sullen, stunned, stoned, the phone been dead since yesterday,

we can skip all the pleasantries, I'll just take my fucking severance pay

Every college campus has one. A disturbingly similar layout of CD re-sale shops, corporate burrito joints, and under-age bars line the 3 square blocks allotted to the 50,000 students enrolled at the University of Minnesota (Twin Cities). Welcome to Dinkytown, not your average campus adjacent land of markups. You can have a fine cocktail in the laid back, neo-Parisian Kitty Cat Klub, bask in the ornate decor and multi-level dining of the Loring Pasta Bar, or see national and regionally touring bands at the truly gorgeous (and notoriously hard to work with) Varsity Theater. White tablecloth dining has also arrived in Dinkytownwith the establishment of the quaint Kafe 421. I went on a lovely and endearingly awkward quasi-date to Kafe 421. We both had veal for the first time, our shared dark secret. The food was tasty, the service was good. The place has an air of class without pretension. Overall, a pleasant addition to the wealth of cool places to spend your hard earned financial aid.

A mere 10 years ago this was not the case. Cheap Chinese, and fast food prevailed. The only place to see or play music was the Library Bar, which catered mostly to the drunk and pasty.

Kafe 421 sits in the shell of the infamous Bon Appetit. “The Bone a.k.a. Bon App” was a campus institution for cheap eats. I nearly got them to put my regular order, “The Yoni Special,” on the chalkboard menu. I figured out I could get a veggie sandwich with fresh avocado and garlic sauce, fries and a small soda for $5.00 even, after tax. A steal for a dorm dweller like myself.

Pleasure Pause, Monday madness 1998

It was 1998 when the lovely and lanky counter-girl come drum + bass fanatic DJ Gilmer convinced the lovable, post-Rockwellian, Lebanese owner (and keeper of the secret sauce) to get a special permit to allow DJs to play records in the tiny smoke-filled backroom. “Musique Du Jour,” became the first weekly event, and the first step toward the triumphant and fleeting DIY music mecca to come. Soon came the hippies for funk/improv trio Pleasure Pause on Mondays and stoney mid-western  hippy-hoppers, 4:20 All-Stars on Wednesdays. Underground Hip Hop heads were soon to follow.

“Headspin Sundays,” at Bon Appetit was the longest running Hip Hop showcase of its time. This was well before the Hip Hop renaissance that befell Minneapolis in recent years. To give you an idea of the times, I attended a warehouse party that very winter where Slug of Atmosphere, and Eyedea of Eyedea and Abilities headlined for a whopping guarantee of $50! (–footnote– ***A friend recently offered Atmosphere $25,000 to perform at a music and camping event at Harmony Park, a private 3,000 person outdoor venue in southern Minnesota. They declined.***) Atmosphere, Brother Ali, E+A, Odd Jobs, DJ K-Salaam, and many more who would eventually grace the national stage used this as a proving ground to hone their skill and persona.

It ran smoothly for nearly a year, until a small scuffle that happened to  involve some younger people of color was used as the Dinkytown Business Association’s long awaited and undeniably racially motivated excuse to yank the cardboard from beneath Headspin.

These were the days of exactos and glue sticks, Kinko’s and Xerox. 3 dollar cover charges, and second-hand smoke. There was no twitter, no My-Face, no text message spam, I didn’t even have an email address. It was DIY, community built, grassroots fed….FUN! The cover charges barely paid for the Emcees (Rappers) drink tabs. It manifested organically, on its own volition, and was birthed out of necessity. We needed to Rap. We needed to listen to Rap. We needed a place to listen to Rap. It was that simple.

Now, there is everything from Jazz to Emo any night of the week, in every grade of venue. Inch thick layers of glossy color posters mummify every lamp post, cleverly designed to seem like they’re promoting a larger touring act.

Venues like the Dinkytowner (now R.I.P. as well) kept the underground vibe alive and it became home to many an Emcee on the “Come-Up,” as it were. Here is the paradox: I don’t want to hang out in a

divey basement with 7 foot ceilings when there are nicer places around the corner. Nicer dives even. Yet when I sit sipping a fine single malt and water, watching art-folk-electronica in my Euro-shoes, I quietly miss the days of yore. With so many options, what impetus is there to Do-It-Yourself?

Continued Reading:

~A great story from music journalism main-stay Peter

Scholtes, published in City Pages in 1999 on the sordid details of Headspin’s demise

Related Video:

A crap-tastic band I don’t remember, playing at Bon Appetit in 2001, at least you get a feel for the-one-step-above-a-garage-charm the place had.