Double-Double Whiskey Coke No Ice

Double-Double Whiskey Coke No Ice

For those of you not aware, we lost a good one this week in Minneapolis.
Not a person, but a place. A place many of us called home. A place where fear
of judgment for being different was checked at the door along with any attitude.
The only attitude that passed in this place was reserved the bands onstage, or
for rude patrons that deserved it. This wasn’t a place to go into with hopes of
finding fucking Nickelback on the jukebox. This wasn’t a place for to ask for
7-Tequila Sunrises from the bartender at a sold-out show. (How about some
whiskey?)

This place made famous “The Minneapolis Pour” a large vessel
filled near the brim with whiskey. It is also home to The Minneapolis Po’ Boy -
A plate of fried potatoes, your choice of protein, a bun, and a pickle slice
too (veg/vegan friendly too!). This
Minneapolis Poor boy was standard pre-game fare in preparation for a night of
mosh pitting, stage diving into sweaty crowds, and drinking a shit load of
cheap beer (Or not, Straight-Edge is cool too). The show side housed probably the most bangin’
sound system for a club this size anywhere. Shows here range from
shoe-gazey-indy rock to blood drenched black metal evisceration to club banging
hip-hop and everything in between.

I speak of non-other than the Triple Rock Social Club. The
bar/venue combo started in 1998 as a punk rock dive bar in the West Bank neighborhood
of Minneapolis by Erik Funk, one of the members of Minneapolis based, Dillinger
Four, and his now wife Gretchen. This neighborhood has been known for its
ethnic diversity, some great bike shops, some killer Falafel, and the best
drinkers’ bars the city has to offer. Located across from one of those bars,
Palmers, the Triple Rock fit right. I was lucky enough to do my internship
there, and then work on and off for about two years. I met some lifelong
friends there. I met my band mates there. I met some bands that I thought I’d
never get the chance to meet there. More importantly, this place gave me an
outlet to do my work, and execute my passion. Rock and fucking roll.

Not to brag, but after working there for so long, you get to
build a substantial list of awesome bands that you got to see mostly for free.
For reference, here’s just a taste of some of the rad shows I worked/attended: Against
Me! Dillinger Four (like a million times), Skeletonwitch, The Bouncing Souls,
Red Fang, Lightning Bolt, The Locust, Nile, ISIS, Orange Goblin, Fu Manchu,
King Parrot, Converge, Off With Their Heads, Kvelertak, Modern Life Is War,
NoFX, the Riverboat Gamblers and many, many more too hazy to remember.

Right now, you might be thinking “Fritzenheimer, what in the
HELL does all this have to do with that sweet 4130? TELL ME NOW!” Well fair
reader, the parallels here although not bike related, are completely relatable.
Here in the good old USA, we are entering into a season filled with the
marketing bullshit of overconsumption and throw away-meaningless gestures. All the while, we have something of real
substance and meaning that is about to be laid to rest. A house of worship for
those who have nowhere else to worship. Does this sound familiar to you? Where
have you heard about local business going under because of the consumers being
brainwashed into thinking that the only thing that is important in a purchase
is the price tag? Where direct-to-consumer single click purchasing trumps
having to talk to and pay a professional to handle what you cannot. I don’t
know how to change my cars’ transmission. So, I go to a professional and pay
them accordingly. And you know what? They are just down the street, and I know
them on a first named basis. I like that, AND they do a kick ass job. Where
have we seen big box stores ruin local economies? How many frustrated tradespeople
have you met that are just trying to make an honest living at being the best at
what they do, in a world where anyone with a social media account can be a professional,
and influence thousands of people from the safety of their smart phone?

The circumstances regarding the death of the Triple Rock are
not entirely public knowledge, but I know that show attendance has been down
recently, and that coupled with necessary repairs coming due, I surmise it just
didn’t make financial sense to continue on. This is nothing new in the music
industry. Big-box music instrument “stores” have all but killed the brick and
mortar music store, and the digitization of media leaves very little incentive
for bands to tour anymore. (Other than the fact that touring kicks ass)

The Triple Rock really embodies the spirit of what is
happening in your local bike scene every day. Here you have a sect of
passionate people doing their work, and trying their damndest to bring you a
piece, a taste of that vision. The truth is, if you don’t use, you’ll lose it. I’ve
been on the road a bunch for work in the last few years, and have regrettably missed
a lot of shows at the Triple Rock. I’ve enjoyed friends’ social media photos
and videos from hotel rooms all over the US. I always knew that I could catch
the next one when I was finally back in Minneapolis…

One day you’ll be sitting in a bar in Raleigh, North Carolina
as you read about your favorite institution closing and you’ll feel like you’ve
never been so far from home. Hopefully that’ll be the last time. I ordered a
double whiskey from the bartender, closed out my tab and saluted the Triple
Rock from afar.

Does this mean underground music will cease in the 612? Not
a chance. Will it be different? Yes. Will it be better? We will have to wait
and see.

See, I’m starting to ramble. As I type this, I’m listening
to Dillinger Four’s Midwestern Songs of
the Americas as I’m preparing to leave work to see the last show ever at
the Triple Rock. I can’t help but feel like I’m heading to the funeral of a
good friend. I can’t really can’t do this post justice, so I’ll leave you with
some lyrics from my favorite Dillinger Four song and some pictures from the
final night at the Triple Rock.