Special F/X No More

Photo by Christopher Gardner

Man Behind the Marquee: Fil Maresca of F/X bids adieu to club-
goers with a final Halloween bash.

Downtown San Jose's F/X--

flash point of the SoFA District--

closes its doors

By Todd S. Inoue

My most cherished F/X the Club moment? Easy: April 25, 1990, the night the Beautiful South played downtown San Jose. As a big Housemartins fan and bigger Beautiful South fan, I was in full hero-worship mode. At the time, San Salvador and South First corner mates F/X and Underground Records would hold ticket promotions. I was going to see my favorite group, in a small club, in my own back yard, for free. I laughed myself to sleep for days about the positive turn of events.

The day of the show, my friend picked me up along with one of his work buddies, one Chris Landon from San Jose band Squeeze the Dog. Chris was vaguely familiar with the Housemartins but had heard nothing about Beautiful South. I proceeded to hold him hostage with a severe brainwashing session.

Arriving at a prompt 9pm, I was flabbergasted; the SoFA District club was empty. After the last note from the opening band (Pussycat Theater, named after F/X's previous tenants, I recall), more people finally started to filter in. I parked myself front and center; the band entered; the lights dimmed. The Beautiful South led off with "From Under the Covers"--and the show rocked.

Then, one of those F/X moments happened. The sound system was breaking up (surprise), and there was an extended pause in the action. Vocalist Paul Heaton asked the crowd to "say something American." My buddy Landon, a few sheets to the wind by now from too much Rolling Rock, yelled out, "peanut butter."

Peanut butter? It was perfectly stupid and stupidly perfect. Heaton let loose a coarse laugh. A chant of "peanut butter" swept the crowd, much to the bemusement of the band, and Heaton raised his arms and waved them like a conductor. The incident was immortalized two weeks later by a journalist from British rock mag New Music Express, who labeled us "exhibitionist loons." Anyway, I still have the flier, the ticket stub, the set list and the newspaper clipping.

I have always been thankful to F/X for that night. And for the past five and a half years, F/X brought many such moments to San Jose. You no longer had to travel to San Francisco to get that urban dance-club vibe or to see that exclusive show.

Arrested Development played F/X a month before "Tennessee" would turn the group into international stars. I'll never forget DJ Zero's turntable solo when Consolidated and MC 900 Ft Jesus played there in 1991. During the same show, a leather-clad fan walked straight up to the stage and stuck his middle finger in Consolidated's Adam Sherburne's face for the entire four minutes of "America #1."

I watched with glee as jubilant club-goers voraciously grabbed for fliers after San Jose Taiko rocked their world during a benefit show last February. Then there were Jellyfish, Gil Scott-Heron, the Roots, Congo Square and a molecular Spearhead, Robyn Hitchcock, the Mekons, Right Said Fred (whoops, scratch that).

A 1992 House of Faith benefit lined up 11 bands to pay tribute to recording guru Bart Thurber. The bands even bought a recliner for Thurber to sit in. As it turns out, the sound man hired for the evening had to attend a drunk-driving class. Thurber good-naturedly worked the sound board at his own benefit. On the tense evening of the Rodney King-beating verdict, the Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy unfurled a firestorm of beats and knowledge while L.A., and America, erupted.

I remember Aron Arno's bachelor party, at which a posse of local-music gadflies pulled up to the club drunk on cheap beer and riding cheaper bicycles (to avoid DUI). They dumped a mountain of twisted metal and rubber on the sidewalk and went inside the club to carouse. The cops, after staring at the pile for a good minute, raked the offending bikes into a van to the amazement of the front bar. One cop even tried to saw through the chain of a bike locked to the F/X pole but was dissuaded after pressure from the crowd.

On Nov. 1, the madness ends, but a new chapter for owner Fil Maresca and the Club Formerly Known As F/X begins. The keys will be turned over to new owner Paul Gerhardt, who promises a new club outfitted with a new name focusing on competitive live music after a month-long cleaning out. Maresca, meanwhile, goes full-time with his dream of helping San Jose transform itself into a big city, working with a consulting firm to help bring businesses downtown.

But for one more weekend, the registers will ring, dancers will twirl, bands will pass out unwanted fliers and someone will inevitably request Sisters of Mercy. The famous red couch in the front bar, the object of affection to many inhabitants, will be raffled away.

F/X was the kind of place you end up at, the place to meet friends after fulfilling earlier engagements, the place to drink, sweat and be yourself. F/X had an aura that other clubs couldn't duplicate. It was dark, smoky and smelly like an alleyway--just the way we liked it--at the flash point of SoFA, under the glowing marquee.

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Diatribe and the Torture King play Thursday (Oct. 26) at 9pm. The final night festivities happen Tuesday (Oct. 31) with guest DJs all night. F/X, 400 S. First St., San Jose. Call for ticket information. (408/261-9262 or 408/362-9118)


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