Occupation, or Not

the last of the $5/hour jobs

Drag City, shipping department

With momentum from his sales experience at Kaleidoscope, Dan K. created Drag City records with then film editor, Dan Osborne. The label existed at Dan K’s third floor apartment on Erie Street, a few blocks east of Ashland, two doors down from the house my dad grew up in. I lived on Huron a couple blocks away, and would help Dan when he got product and supply shipments. Dan had good taste. Understatement. Dan was a visionary. Not only did he put out records by Palace Brothers, Gastr Del Sol, and King Kong, all from Louisville before it was on the indie map, he took a chance on a quirky band named Pavement. Smog. Royal Trux. Bands would just send him tapes, and he would say to me, “Rose, reach in and grab one out.” I don’t know how he did it, but he had a unique sense of low-fi brilliance. Split with the bands fifty-fifty. Handshake agreements. Pavement left for Matador, but look who stayed. None of them had to.

I started coming over once a week to take care of mail orders. Beginnings of computerized data base. Shipping label stickers. If you got a package from Drag City in the nineties, I probably packed it, put the label on it and took it to the post office. Hardest job was assembling the Shellac 7” with physical photo attached photo album style. Very labor intensive. Dan was growing as quickly as his decisions turned into the best records of the year. Operations moved to Peoria Street loft. Thank god, a freight elevator. It got to be too much for me. I was in school trying to get a teaching certificate and new career, working late at the Rainbo Club, and raising a baby. Once I got my first teaching job, I stayed on a while, but had to break it to Dan that I was leaving. Initially he looked at me like a mob boss who knew he would have to have me killed, but he understood. Working with Dan, and then Rian Murphy was not work, it was entertainment. I hated having to leave.

Being in the D.C. orbit got me some interesting gigs too. I toured the states with Will and Palace in 1997, and a group of shows with Smog in 2000. I played on a Smog record and a Plush single. I recorded twice with Edith Frost, finding myself playing bass surrounded by Jim O’Rourke, David Grubbs, Rian, and Sean O’Hagan. What? I was a scripted heckler at the Drag City Invitational. I played in Chestnut Station, best party band of all-time. Our pinnacle was the NYE Y2K party where we covered Prince’s 1999 at least three times. Met David Berman that night. What a label in a city of great labels. Well done Drag City.

1991-2001, retired

Rainbo Club bartender 1989-2002

I’ve written about my history with the Rainbo Club before, so I’m going to simply describe the actual job. I had been a customer for some years, but after returning from a long post-Nielsen trip to Europe, I needed to make money. Dee Taira, who pretty much only hired artists, gave me my first shift as a bar back on Friday nights. As the next baker’s dozen years unfolded, Dee would always let me come back from any length of tour to my Friday nights. Best. Boss. Ever. Eventually, I would bar back with Ken Ellis, he of the iron fist and quilting, on Sunday nights. I got my own night, Tuesdays where I got to spin records, ultimately the best job at the Rainbo because you could control the pulse of the room.

As the Eighties ended, the Rainbo became the epicenter of Wicker Park. My co-workers were musicians (Johnny and John) and label heads (Bettina), filmermakers (Braden and Stephen) and painters (Gary). The layout of the bar was like theater-in-the-round and the bartenders were on stage. It could be packed like sardines (and on Friday after ten it always was), but we had room to roam. Customers, also artists, musicians and restauranteurs, crowded three or four deep to get your attention for a one dollar tap of Leinenkugel. So many wonderful customers over the years. Mwah. I love you. I would someday meet my wife, Mary, who would come in with a group of film industry folks. Mary was a teacher. We got a lot of teachers. We called one group of beautiful ladies, “the Marms” (as in school marms). Kenny’s crew showed up for him when he was working. Occasionally, we’d host a concert on the original tiny stage behind the bar. Yo La Tengo, High Llamas, Mike Watt and Kira, my band, Palace Brothers, Smog, Neil Hamburger, etc. In the earlier years the old timers would be there at 4 p.m. and guys like Phil would hold court. These were legit contemporaries of Nelson Algren. Eventually, the nineties saw them fade, especially as the neighborhood became gentrification ground point zero. The Billboard article blew the place up. Urge Overkill and Liz Phair frequented the section of bar stage right, and their rocket to stardom brought a spotlight to the bar and neighborhood. Movie stars and luminaries were the norm. Cusack, Piven, Flea, Penn (sans Teller) were given the same rude bartender treatment as anybody else. For the record, I was nice to everyone. Unless, you tried “too hard” to get my attention or held your money in my face.

I loved this job. You had to hustle. There was not a spare moment. Sure, there were pre-rush opportunities to lean over the bar to chat up a crush, but as it got busy, your co-workers gave you the stink eye if you flirted too much. There were too many drinks to pour and ring up on that classic cha-ching register, too many dishes to wash, and too many kegs to change. To do the job well, you had to keep moving. The adrenaline made the hours pass like minutes. The air was stifling back then. Cigarette smoke filled the room like San Francisco fog. If secondhand smoke is a killer, ya missed me!

Eventually, as my teacher career started, I had to give it all up. I unplugged from the scene. I was going to miss the people and the money, but Wicker Park was quickly becoming overrun by yahoos. Go into the Rainbo Club today and it is exactly the same place. Dee is still hiring musicians and artists. It’s more than a bar, it’s a Chicago historical treasure

As a side bar, I also held down the Thursday nights for a few years at Rainbo satellite, The Bluebird. Much different vibe. Slower. One night that stood out: During the Bulls championship era, two guys came in who started chatting up two nurses at the bar. These guys quickly let it be known that they were bodyguards for Dennis Rodman. Classic “deez and doze, so he sez, he sez to me” guys flirting hard. “Nurses are da real heroes. Fuck firemen. Hey, I wouldn’t actually fuck a fireman, you know what I mean.” Rodman anecdotes got them nowhere.

Thirteen years, Bartender, retired

Empire Records part time clerk, Sundays

I have a letter I wrote to my mom in the early eighties where I tell her my best bud from childhood, Pat Daly, had plans to open a record store. At the time it was my dream job and I hoped that maybe I could work for him. Be careful what you wish for. The “rock star” years were over and I needed to supplement the Rainbo income. I was trying to put myself through school to become a teacher. Pat hired me to work Sundays at the Cicero Avenue shop. Although Empire had a heyday with the Wilmette store and great rock crit monthly, Sunday’s on Cicero sucked. There was one day when nobody came in. Usually a smattering of people, mostly wanting to browse and get warm before they got on the bus at the stop just outside the door. I mostly listened to records and read. I did have some memorable days of buying records. Vintage Buck Owens and Webb Pierce. A guy came in with a box of seventies Krautrock. This was an era when some people would sell their vinyl for nothing because they had either recorded their records to cassettes or they were replacing their collections with cds. Those records never made it to the shelves. Neu, Cluster, and Aamon Dul didn’t make it past the middle man.

One or two years of Sunday’s, retired.