I remember standing in the room some years after the Saint Vitus Bar’s reputation had been established, talking with somebody from out of town who’d heard that Black Sabbath played there in the ’70s. That wasn’t true, but it was emblematic of the kind of place Saint Vitus Bar was. New York has had probably more than its fair share of legendary clubs — from Studio 54 to C.B.G.B.’s to The Continental, which I still miss — but as it was tucked away in Brooklyn’s then-decisively-less-cool-than-Williamsburg Greenpoint neighborhood, and as it spoke and catered specifically to an underground audience in metal and all things heavy, it became more than just the place where the stoner rock shows went. It was a home.

Earlier this year, Saint Vitus Bar was shut down mid-show by the city of New York on account of some violation or other. The story emerged that some conservative headbanger with an axe to grind because Vitus had a rainbow somewhere or something decided to assassinate the gift horse by reporting whatever it was. By then, Saint Vitus Bar was nearing 13 full years of operation, having opened in August 2011 — the first show I saw there was Totimoshi and Pigs on Aug. 20 (review here) — which is more lifetime than many clubs and venues get before being eaten up by New York’s ever-present drive toward renewal.

Greenpoint had changed since 2011, too. Yeah, the bodega across the way still looked run-down, but just down the way from that is a luxury grocery store underneath about four floors of also-luxury condos, and there’s a wine store right next to where the venue (now) was. When I went there to see YOB in Feb. 2022 (review here) as my first show “back” from the pandemic — one of six times I saw the band there — I imagined the bottles rumbling off the shelves as the riffs shook the walls. Gentrification might not have actually killed Saint Vitus Bar, but only because some other asshole got in there first. This past weekend, after months of behind-the-scenes wrangling, the bar finally announced they were closed for good.

I have amazing memories of time and people there. Meeting friends. The way the sound in the room swallowed you. All the times I saw Kings Destroy. That release show they did with Apostle of Solitude. That time I got on stage to do vocals with Clamfight. Hell, in 2014 when I started kicking around the idea of The Obelisk All-Dayer, there was nowhere else I even thought of doing it. If I couldn’t have the date at Saint Vitus Bar, well, I’d find a different date. In the end, having Mars Red Sky, Death Alley, King Buffalo, Snail, Eye, Heavy Temple and the aforementioned Kings Destroy play, having Walter from Roadburn come just to hang out, was a landmark in my life, and I’ll never forget that Vitus hosted.

T-shirts in the back or the corridor right across from the bathrooms, between the barroom and the venue space. The booth seating they eventually had to take out so people could use that room to stand. The way they redid the front. It still felt like home the last time I was there. You’d see Frank Huang setting up a camera — a polite nod to the man responsible for filming so much of what went on; documentation that will prove all the more essential in the years to come in separating between the true and apocryphal — or maybe George Souleidis would be behind the bar or David Castillo would be in the crowd. You could say hi. Sure, they hosted the closest thing to a Nirvana reunion that’s ever happened, but, still, they weren’t jerks or anything. A lot of people would’ve been.

Saint Vitus Bar became New York’s “of course” venue. Of course that tour was going to hit Vitus. Acid King coming east for like two shows? Of course it’s at Vitus. Saint Vitus at Saint Vitus? Of course. I could go on here, but what it boils down to is that Souleidis, Castillo, Arty Shepherd and the myriad others behind the scenes in ownership and operation cared about what they were doing, about the music and the audience they were catering to. It wasn’t just a box with a P.A. It was the kind of place you tell stories about. The kind of place where you buy the shirt. An icon.

Thank you for everything, Saint Vitus Bar. You were bottled lightning. Something special. And of all the rooms I’ve stood in and watched bands — more than I can or have any interest in counting — you were far and away the most welcoming. I might miss that feeling most of all.

There’s talk of reopening in another space (move to Jersey!), and that worked well enough for Knitting Factory going from Manhattan to Brooklyn, so it’s not impossible that the brand could live on and a win could be pulled from the rubble of this loss. I don’t know the future, but if there’s a spark of hope in that regard I’ll hold onto it just to make the loss easier.

Saint Vitus Bar 2011-2024. Long may it reign.

 

Tags: Brooklyn, New York, New York City, Saint Vitus Bar

This entry was posted on Tuesday, August 20th, 2024 at 7:15 am and is filed under Features. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.