Holy shit, it lives!!!
I drive by the site of the second (Marietta Street) Metroplex virtually every day going to and from work and while I don’t miss it as much as 688, it’s still one of those holes in my life I can never refill. At some point I’ll regurgitate a few more stories about the place but I’ll whet your appetite with two.
The first is late November of 1985, the second (and less impressive) Atlanta Dead Kennedys show. I parked down the street outside an African-American club called, I think, the Phoenix. I’ve always thought that was the only time I ever parked there but today decided I must have done it before that show because I felt ok about doing it. And the reason why I did it? To save the three bucks or so the guy charged for parking in the lot next to the ‘Plex. Needless to say, I rued my decision when I came back after the show to find it hade been towed. Save $3? Cost me probably about $100 to get it out. Plus, I had to find a ride home. My friend Todd couldn’t take me because he was going with Jello to the Red Hot Chilli Peppers show that was at 688 that night. (aside – the only words Jello Biafra probably ever heard me say was “They towed my fucking car”. That heartens me in some way.) Anyway, I drive by that place evryday as well. When I first started commuting to Centennial Tower I noticed the place had changed names to something Dance Club and had various country flags painted on it, leftover, I’m sure, from its proximity to Olympic festivities in 1996. Anyway, last night I looked over and they’d knocked the building down. One more old Atlanta structure gone to be replaced, probably, by a highrise of some sort.
The other Metrplex story I’ll regale you with today dates from 1986 or so, the first time Skinny Puppy played Atlanta (and the only time for several more years.) The end of their show seemed rather hokey at the time, with an “audience member” (aka band associate) pretending to shoot the lead singer (Ogre?) to death. It was actually sort of funny. Some guys from the band Flatbush were videotaping the show upstairs. As we knew the band would get a copy, we said loud enough to be on mic “At least Alice hung himself”. When some moron pulled this stunt for real on Dimebag Darrell, I could see why initially some audience members thought it might be part of the show. Bad life imitating bad art.
In the future I’ll bring up Arthur Davis getting clocked by a full beer can outside the club and other shenanigans that’ll make you think “damn…….”