Some buildings become so ingrained
in our psyche, returning to them after some time away can feel like rekindling
a storied friendship. I remember as an adult roaming the halls of my former elementary
school, feeling like I'd stepped back in time, as if absolutely nothing had
changed, not even the paint on the walls or the gum stuck to the lockers.
Maxwell's in Hoboken, NJ, is one of those friendships I wished to rekindle, if
just for one more night.
Being a struggling musician most of
my youth, I have the unique perspective to admire Maxwell's not only as a
patron, but a performer. You see, being a small-time songwriter in New Jersey,
Maxwell's was my Madison Square Garden. I had talented friends who performed
there, and my ultimate goal was to set foot on that stage and see my name
listed on their website's calendar. In August of 2008, after successfully
pestering the promoter, that dream became a reality. And despite 2/3 of the
65 people in the audience being our families and close friends, it was a
palpable thrill nonetheless. I’d made it to Maxwell’s. The same stage that
hosted Bruce Springsteen’s “Glory Days” video and where Nirvana performed in
support of their debut album “Bleach” was now permanently a fixture of my
musical resume. I was infinitely proud of myself. It was shortly thereafter
when I started a family and the time I normally devoted to recording albums and
performing in clubs became scarce. I felt, despite my inner urge to create
music and perform it, I had reached the top of the mountain, at least in my
mind. I don’t even remember how much I was paid that night. But I do remember
how I felt standing on that stage.
Three weeks ago, I’d spotted an
article on Facebook about the untimely closing of Maxwell’s, and my heart sank.
It was like hearing an old friend had been diagnosed with a terminal illness.
How could this happen? Maxwell’s was arguably the most popular hotspot for
nightlife in an already burgeoning Hoboken scene! But much like the dying
friend, fairness and logic don’t always prevail. There was little I could do
but reminisce, before making plans for one last visit. And as it turned out,
the reason for that last visit came shortly thereafter. An ex-bandmate of mine,
Josh, still performing in the area, managed to secure a set for his new band,
Secret Islands, two days before the club’s official close date. It was perfect,
I thought, so I did something I rarely do – I bought tickets in advance.
True to form, it took me roughly 35
minutes to find a parking spot in the always unnerving war for a space on
Washington Street in Hoboken. And when I finally did find one, it was 12 blocks
away from the club. After speed-walking those 12 blocks, I walked in the door
to Maxwell’s at the exact moment Josh’s set began. It was timing I had never
experienced before. And it was perfect. Thinking back to my days as a regular
performer, those were the kind of nights I lived for, when just about everyone
you had ever met had shown up, and the energy was so high and positive that
complete strangers started to gravitate to the front of the stage. It was a
joyous celebration of the club we all held so dear to our hearts. It was
intimate and communal, exactly what a show at Maxwell’s should be and always
had been. It was so intimate, in fact, that between songs, Josh spotted me in
the crowd and shouted, “Hey dude!” It spoke volumes of how informally personal
this club was.
I remember
seeing folk artist Ron Sexsmith and punk band Smoking Popes at Maxwell’s years ago.
And in both cases, they ate in the restaurant before heading over to the band
room to perform. And that’s what I’ll miss most about Maxwell’s. While it held
a certain degree of prestige to be on the bill there, the artists were almost always
unbelievably accessible, and the worst seat in the house was the best seat in
any arena. Put simply, Maxwell’s helped keep the performance of music as
intimate and affordable as it should be. Farewell, old friend.
Joe DeProspero
@JoeDeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com
