Surly Bikes
Original Words by: Aaron Domeier
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
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.
“The Great American Going Out of Business Sale”
We were raised to be just what we are in case you didn’t know
If I offered up to you some proof would you let your anger show
Or would you let your mind to sleep kept warm by simple novelties
A history that’s really not your own
Is freedom just a privilege of hatred guaranteed
Is compassion just a second thought of hope brought to it’s knees
Can dignity see fit to work past all it doesn’t want to see?
Seven guns for degradation
Three cheers for cruel tradition
Red, white and black eyes forever
Somewhere south of respect tonight
This tension’s wrapped up nice and tight
The static’s felt but never makes a sound
A man finds nothing left to eat
Another sells his body for a place to sleep
As klansmen flood a conference hall downtown
This T.V. has the answers, let fashion have your eyes
This job is your achievement, this bible your pride
Can dignity see fit to try and fix what it knows fear can’t hide
Seven guns for degradation
Three cheers for cruel tradition
Red, white and black eyes forever
I think of a story my father told me about a fella he knew in the army
The pentagon traded him checks for both his legs
“Fuck the States” was the last thing father heard he had said
Still it’s said that this war was won
Well, I refuse to be another dead nation’s bastard son
I have eyes that see, I have a mind that thinks
I have a mouth that speaks and god damn it will
Because I’ve had enough of all this shit about
“making do” “Playing ball” “the way things are” and “dealing with it”
Mixing pop and politics, he asks me what the use is
I’m not into making excuses
And I’ll die the day I find I’m fucking useless
Dillinger Four
D4
Victory
