The
Foxfire Lounge is, or
was a
coffee house in downtown
Minneapolis. Needless to say, they served
coffee. More importantly, they served
wonderful sandwiches.
Wonderful. With
blue corn chips.
Even more importantly, they had a room in back for
music. It was a
small room, an uncomfortably small room at times, but I spent some of my
happiest hours there. I would stand sometimes with just 10 or 15 other
people listening to an incredibly
talented but
unknown and underappreciated band. Sometimes there would be nearly 100 sweaty, writhing, bodies in that tiny little space, and I would go home both
exhausted and at the same time
invigorated by the sheer force of it all.
This was no mere
building, but a gathering place, a
center for expression. Every single person who ever saw a
show there shared in something
special, and that special something brought us closer together. It was a
beautiful thing. That place was
hallowed ground.
And then one day it
ended.
The management ran out of money, ran out of loans, ran out of options, and they closed it down.
Forever. I cried with my fellow musicians,
scenesters, and fans over the death of an important part of our lives. No, not just a part of our lives, a part of
ourselves. Sometimes I think back on all the wonderful
memories and
smile. Sometimes I
weep. I miss the Foxfire.
And I'll always remember
blue corn chips.