Por Erin Goss
Reportero SDUN
“We got a call about this place which at the time was a lesbian bar and we came and looked at it and said yeah it’s perfect!” Mays said.
From there, the former lesbian bar began its transformation into what has become loved as The Casbah. With the help of a new liquor license (and henceforth a well of opportunities) and May’s passion for vintage décor, The Casbah was reborn as a home to an eclectic mix of objects as well as visitors.
“My partner, Bob, used to own a vintage furniture store so he was a huge vintage fan and I am too and that’s what we wanted. No corporate, no beer posters or stuff like that,” Mays said.
When asked about the stuffed beaver that looks over The Casbah’s back bar with an American flag held tightly in its stiff, cadaverous hands, Mays said, “It was given to us by Cargo Records for our 10-year anniversary.
“A stuffed beaver, it’s pretty awesome,” he said with a laugh.
But the venue has drawn a loyal crowd since its opening for reasons beyond its watchful rodent and quirky style. The Casbah’s welcoming atmosphere keeps bands and fans coming back.
“We still even after 20 years get great bands coming through that could be playing bigger places,” Mays said, “but for whatever reason, they’ve enjoyed playing here in the past or they just want to play a small place with an intimate setting.”
Yet Mays understands that a lot of the venue’s success boils down to the honest treatment of the musicians and patrons.
“When people come here I like to think that we treat people well. We definitely go out of our way to make sure the bands are well cared for because they could be playing somewhere bigger and so we go the extra mile to be square with them” he said.
As a result, The Casbah has seen some amazing bands come through and the venue’s line up has time and again been indicative of the next big thing.
“The Cult played here. Weezer played here. Death Cab used to play here. The White Stripes, Modest Mouse, The Black Keys. Pretty much all the bands in that indie genre of music that have gotten big have come through here,” Mays said.
As owner of The Casbah, Mays has seen his fair share of madness at the venue’s shows—including bands playing with fire onstage and audience members getting naked—but he said one story sticks out in his mind. It was when a band called the Extra Action Marching Band was faced with a plumbing issue.
“They had drums, baton twirlers, cheerleader guys and girls but it was kind of run in a tribal manner, not like a high school band, and they had so many people that they had to be stationed all over the club. So they were beating on their drums and playing their horns and we had a flood that night. In one of the bathrooms the sewer line backed up and the whole front room flooded,” he said.
Mays’ face lit up for a brief moment as he finished the story—and it quickly becomes clear why this story in particular sticks out in his mind.
“I mean it was literally pouring. There had to be water about two or three inches all over and nobody cared. Everybody stuck around because they were having so much fun,” he said about the audience’s devotion to the music, which is on par with his own.
May’s devotion to furthering good live music is a lifestyle that goes beyond ownership of The Casbah. Mays admits to often referring bands to his friend’s venues, such as Soda Bar and Bar Pink, when the Casbah’s schedule is too full too accommodate a band. He also tries to work some of his resident bands into bigger venues as their fan base grows.
“We send bands over to [other venues] if we can’t help them. It’s a healthy competition. I don’t think it’s bad at all, there are enough bands to go around,” he said.
“I try to develop a personal relationship and friendship with band members whenever I can,” Mays added. “You know bands that play here; we take an interest in their careers not just because it will benefit us but because we like to see them grow.”
For more information about The Casbah, go to casbahmusic.com.
