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Wednesday, Oct. 21, 2009
Ridglea’s fate uncertain, but its demise would hurt local music scene
With a metal-heavy marquee and too few butts in the seats, the Ridglea struggles to stay relevant.
By Preston Jones
Ron Jenkins
The Ridglea Theater on Camp Bowie Boulevard in west Fort Worth opened in 1950 as a movie theater and now hosts local bands. Ron Jenkins
Rodger Mallison
Wesley Hathaway and her husband, Richard Van Zandt, have operated Ridglea since 1998, when they undertook the lease to run laser-light shows. Rodger Mallison
Ron Jenkins
Morbosity performs at the Ridglea. Hard rock is the venue’s usual fare these days. Ron Jenkins
What do you think about the Ridglea Theater?
Just before 10 p.m. one recent Friday, Fort Worth guitarist Michael Lackey stands onstage at the Ridglea Theater.
A small knot of people gather near the foot of the stage, watching as his liquid riffs spill out into the cavernous, dimly lit space. The rippling, keening sound echoes off the elegant, aged stucco walls. Other audience members order shots from the bar, or smoke and talk or play pool.
There are perhaps 100 bodies milling around a venue that can comfortably hold 10 times that number, an embarrassing turnout for a Friday-night show in a city of Fort Worth’s size.
It was not always this way.
For the last decade, the Ridglea Theater, owned by the R.K. Maulsby Family Trust since 1976 and leased by husband/wife team Richard Van Zandt and Wesley Hathaway since 1998, has undergone profound change. Artists like Willie Nelson, Stereolab and, as recently as 2005, Death Cab for Cutie once populated a bustling concert calendar, often drawing sellout crowds.
Now, the stage frequently hosts little-known local hard-rock and metal bands, with a smattering of touring acts, country groups and local-boys-done-good like Bowling for Soup and Toadies.
What happened?
Plenty — the economy, which has body-slammed hole-in-the-wall clubs and gigantic arenas alike, made an already tight financial situation for the club even more unforgiving. Add to that the arrival of corporate competitors to the east, the tenants’ lack of resources, an ownership situation that could charitably be called FUBAR and persistent rumors of the theater’s imminent demise, and you begin to understand that the Ridglea’s rapid slide from relevance is no ordinary rough patch.
In September, the Maulsby Family Trust — which filed for Chapter 11 protection in July — was told by a bankruptcy judge that it has until Nov. 4 to sell the property or face foreclosure. Trustee Doug King told the Star-Telegram last month that a potential buyer, whom he declined to name, was willing to pay $1.75 million for the property, which also includes an adjoining two-story office building and ground-level shops. Sources say the sale is pending; King could not be reached for comment for this story. Legally, any new owners cannot terminate the Ridglea’s lease before it expires, but it’s unknown whether new owners would make any changes to the structure or leave it as is. Should King’s deal fall apart, it’s likely that one or more of the trust’s creditors will take control of the property — and then it’s anyone’s guess what would happen to the building.
Regardless of what turn this saga takes next, the Ridglea sits at a heartbreaking crossroads.
"[The] Ridglea has a lot of character and importance in Fort Worth’s musical culture but has lost the majority of its importance as shows have moved to smaller, more intimate venues," says the Burning Hotels’ Chance Morgan. "In the past, I enjoyed going to the Ridglea, but no one goes there ... unless it’s to see metal shows. It’s a venue of the past."
That’s an especially brutal assessment coming from the likes of the Burning Hotels, rising stars who might once have considered a Ridglea gig a major achievement. But Morgan is not alone. A number of musicians and local music promoters I spoke to about the Ridglea echoed these sentiments. No one wants the Ridglea shuttered, but some suggest that Hathaway and Van Zandt — who have two years remaining on their lease — should hand off the Ridglea to an entity that can better manage the space. Others point to the rise of venues like the Palladium Ballroom or the House of Blues, which can afford to take losses on shows without fear of missing rent payments.
"I’ve always hoped that it would one day put Fort Worth on the map for national touring groups — so much character compared to the antiseptic Nokia or the bland Palladium," says Chris Plavidal of Stumptone.
It’s a no-win situation: Fort Worth loses out on terrific bookings that go to other cities, and a historic venue struggles to keep its doors open by filling its calendar with less-than-inspiring offerings.
But Hathaway and Van Zandt aren’t exactly rolling over in the face of all these challenges.
"One of the things that keeps us coming back [is] we have become a home for so many wonderful people in bands," Hathaway says. "[There’s also] the wonderful audiences who are so loyal to the Ridglea. That is part of what keeps me going down there."
And yet, as sincere and even admirable as these sentiments are, it’s hard not to wonder: Is sentiment enough to restore the Ridglea to prominence?
Glory days
The Ridglea Theater opened on Fort Worth’s west side, on Camp Bowie Boulevard, in December 1950. First owned by the Interstate theater chain, the space went through several configurations (a first-run movie theater, a "movie grill," where patrons could order food) and numerous owners before tenants Van Zandt and Hathaway spent more than $100,000 in 1998 to mount laser-light shows and host the occasional rave.
A year later, spurred by the Fort Worth Weekly’s annual music-awards ceremony, Van Zandt and Hathaway enlisted Melissa Kirkendall to begin booking concerts at the Ridglea. For the next four years, Kirkendall, along with Robin Phillips (now with AEG Live) and others, brought everyone from Bo Diddley to Fugazi to the Ridglea stage. It was a glorious time for Fort Worth concertgoers; no longer forced to make the drive to Dallas or Denton, Cowtown residents could enjoy hip indie bands and legendary performers in the comfort of the 817. Kirkendall believes that Hathaway and Van Zandt succeeded by understanding their own limitations.
"They knew they didn’t have the connections to do it on their own," Kirkendall says, "so they were smart enough to surround themselves with people like me that did know."
Except the glorious run didn’t last very long. Dallas’ Granada Theater began booking shows regularly in 2002, steadily stealing away acts that might have played the Ridglea. Kirkendall moved on to become a filmmaker and briefly book other Fort Worth venues, like the now-closed Wreck Room, leaving Hathaway and Van Zandt to press on. In 2005, Lance Yocom’s Spune Productions hosted the inaugural Wall of Sound festival at the Ridglea, perhaps one of the last times there was a concentration of buzz-worthy local bands appearing at the venue.
Yocom hasn’t booked much at the Ridglea since then, but he, like so many others, feels that the theater’s potential has yet to be fully tapped.
"With some money and a little love, it’s possible all those assets could be successfully utilized and have the potential to be a competitor among the other midsized concert halls in D-FW," Yocom says.
Heavy on the metal
Van Zandt laughs ruefully as he tells of first-time visitors being amazed at the Ridglea’s existence. "Even though we’ve been there for 11 and a half years, we’re still one of the best-kept secrets in Fort Worth. There’s so many times people come in and go, 'Wow, this is the first time I’ve been here.’"
One of the reasons the Ridglea’s profile is so low, though, is because of the bands that have been booked there.
"We’ve focused on metal — that’s what keeps us open," Van Zandt says.
It’s an unfortunate catch-22: These shows may keep the place afloat, but they don’t endear a venue to a broad audience. By their nature, metal and hard-rock circles are practically hermetically sealed — very close-knit and supportive, but not exactly easy to dip into on a whim.
And while Kirkendall makes the valid point that Fort Worth and the surrounding region has a history of supporting heavy music (see: Pantera), comparable venues like the House of Blues and the Palladium Ballroom book a variety of artists, which can drive up attendance and also attract the curious.
"We do a big variety, [but] we do have a reputation for doing a lot of metal, and that happened because after 9/11, those were the only bands that people would still come out for," Hathaway says.
There’s one other factor preventing the Ridglea from raising its profile: the seemingly constant threat of closure. When concertgoers constantly have to ask themselves "Is that place still open?" before heading out on a Friday night, pretty soon they’ll stop wondering altogether.
Hathaway and Van Zandt stress that closure is not on the horizon. "[The Ridglea] pays its bills," Hathaway insists. But they do admit that the venue’s large overhead, along with the laundry list of fixes (largely cosmetic) they would like addressed, make it impossible for them to employ a booking agent.
And, as the vicious cycle continues, not having a booking agent makes it impossible to get new acts who might draw new crowds.
Rocking on, for now
Sadly, it appears that the status quo will continue, although some kind of transition will happen early next month.
Neither one of the Ridglea’s caretakers wants to see it disappear, and they don’t sense that the new owners — whomever takes control on or before Nov. 4 — will rush to tear down the historic theater.
"What I wish would happen — this is totally idealistic and I know it can’t happen — but I wish all the local bands would get together and buy the place and keep it forever, because it’s a wonderful place for music," Hathaway says. "It’s just fabulous, and it’s a beautiful building."
They’ve begun working with Fort Worth-based promoter Rock City Concerts to bring some shows to the Ridglea. (The highest-profile name to cross the stage in the next three months will be industrial rock band RevCo.)
But more needs to be done.
A city’s music scene lives and dies by the strength of the indie bands; if those acts have nowhere to perform, you can kiss visions of being like Austin; Portland, Ore; or Omaha, Neb., goodbye.
"Competition makes us as club owners or promoters do a better job, [and] the public and the bands benefit from it," Kirkendall says.
"I’d like to see more Fort Worth bands opening for these traveling bands," says Chad Sones, bassist for the Cut*off. "[The] Granada has done this for us, the Burning Hotels, Black Tie Dynasty and several others. This would expose these local acts to new, larger crowds and help to promote the local scene. Down the road, it would help to get some repeat customers when these same local bands play Ridglea."
That would be a start, which is all the Ridglea can do. Try something and see if it works, because no venue can bear too many more nights like that recent Friday.
For now, though, what Hathaway and Van Zandt might need most is a jolt of self-confidence: a belief that their club is something bigger, better and more important to the Fort Worth entertainment scene than they’re allowing it be.
Says Hathaway, "It’s a shame we didn’t know more about business and could’ve maybe found a partner who had more business sense than we do — and money. How we’ve ever stayed open all this time — it’s astonishing. It really is."
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