Up from the ashes

KOOP, Sweatbox studios, local bands face uncertain future.

By Joe Gross
AMERICAN-STATESMAN STAFF
Monday, March 06, 2006

Every member of the KOOP family tells pretty much the same story: They woke up — or were woken up — early in the morning Feb. 4 and couldn't believe their eyes and ears.

The building that housed their community radio station, the station they had poured blood, sweat and tears into for more than 11 years, was on fire.

Again.

"I got a call from Dan Knight at KVRX (the University of Texas station which shares the 91.7 frequency with KOOP), who saw it on the news," says Andrew Dickens, chairman of the KOOP board of directors. "I flipped on the TV while I was talking to him and said, 'Yup, that's our building.' I grabbed my boots and drove downtown. I was completely at a loss for words."

"It was about 5 or 6 a.m.," Amy Wright says. She's KOOP's general manager, one of two full-time paid positions at the otherwise all-volunteer operation. "I was getting ready to leave to go to the station because we we were about to start this fund drive. It was clear this fire was much, much worse." Worse, that is, than the Jan. 6 fire that struck the same location and did an estimated $600,000 in damage, knocking KOOP off the air for a week.

And it was worse. Far worse. KOOP's studio was destroyed, a space for which they paid a mere $690 per month for 2,400 square feet. Sweatbox, the dirt-cheap studio that had recorded nearly all of Austin's important punk bands since the early '90s, was totally gone, as were rooms used as rehearsal spaces by dozens of Austin rock bands and performing arts groups.

Fire officials eventually determined that a malfunction in a heating and air-conditioning unit on the first floor of the nearby Club Taste started the blaze. So $2.7 million in damage later, Austin was out a community radio station, a cheap recording studio and inexpensive rehearsal space, all of which are vital to Austin's thriving music community

The question for all concerned is: What's next?

Not just KOOP's loss

The list handed out at the Sweatbox benefit show at Emo's nightclub Feb. 24 was a grim one: Nearly 180 master tapes that had been rescued from Sweatbox after the fires have various states of water and smoke damage: Adult Rodeo. Black Lipstick. The Golden Boys. Peglegasus. And on and on and on. A roll call of Austin punk in the '90s and '00s, as well as plenty of out-of-town bands — the Fleshtones, Lungfish, the Make-Up — who recorded there. Many of these tapes house whole albums that were never released.

"The first fire was like a warning," Sweatbox engineer Bryan Nelson said the night of Feb. 4. "So we got most of our important equipment out of there. Before this fire, there was hope we might go back to that building. Now, there is no hope. A fireman took me through the building to look at our space. Those marble steps in the front? Looked like a waterfall."

The Sweatbox guys, Nelson and owner Mike Vasquez, are currently working out of Nevele Eleven Studios at 8801 S. First St., near Slaughter Lane. But this is hardly a permanent solution, and after all, KOOP was insured. Sweatbox was not.

But it wasn't all bad. Thanks to some helpful folks from the fire department and some sneaking around by Nelson and Vasquez, lots of master tapes were spirited out of the building. Miraculously, the masters for the upcoming album by Gorch Fock, the oversized noise rock band Nelson plays with, were found nearly undamaged.

The loss of cheap rehearsal space was also traumatic. According to Nelson, nearly 80 bands were displaced, some paying as little as $120 a month, including electricity, for the spaces. Suddenly, rehearsal space, never plentiful in Austin, is at a premium.

The Riverboat Gamblers were one band ousted by the fire. "We didn't lose anything, amazingly," Gamblers bassist Fadi "Freddy Castro" El-Assad says. "I got up in a panic and ran downtown, but our stuff was OK."

The band, whose new album is due April 4, moved to rehearsal space at Million Dollar Sound, 217 E. Alpine Road. Riverboat Gamblers now share a room with former spacemates Complete Control. El-Assad won't say how much more he's paying, but says, "but I haven't had any fire or floods at the new space, so it's worth it."

Nelson and Vasquez are trying to fill that void as well. "We're trying to work on getting a location for lockout space," where bands can leave their equipment rather than paying by the hour.

Rough roads traveled

KOOP was founded as a community-operated radio station in 1994, splitting time on 91.7 — the last available noncommercial frequency in Austin — with UT's student station KVRX. Focusing on an eclectic mix of music and special-interest programming, the station offered access to the airwaves for pretty much anyone whose ideas fit the station's mission.

Defining that mission has been a flashpoint throughout the years, with debates raging over access for minority voices and competing interests. The station was known by Austin music insiders as much for its infighting as its diverse and compelling programming. In 1999, the station landed in district court over board elections, which resulted inAustin's Nonprofit Center overseeing the next vote. The station seemed to struggle after Sept. 11, 2001, as donations to nonprofits dropped around the country.

Comparatively, KOOP is a model of stability these days, with a new board elected in 2004 and a can-do manager.

Andrew Dickens says that, even before the fire, KOOP has become a much better place to work.

"We realized a lot of the conflict came because policies and procedures were not very clear," Dickens says. "There's been an effort to clarify the bylaws, document policies and procedures so that when we do have issues come up, we'll have a way to vote on them and move on."

It doesn't hurt that disaster tends to transform debate into triage.

The days after the fire produced a flurry of activity for Amy Wright. As KOOP's manager, she was in charge of the effort to find new digs.

These days, KOOP operates out of much smaller digs at classical station KMFA, subleasing a room out of its building on North Lamar Boulevard. Most of the equipment is donated; where there were once five microphones, there are now two. Their CD and record library was destroyed, but many of their DJs brought in their own music anyway. And the air conditioning actually works all the time.

"It's a challenge," says Lonny Stern, host of the gay-issues talk show "Outspoken." "I do an interview show. It's hard to get a conversation going without at least three mics. But we're on the air and I'm proud of that."

As for permanent headquarters. Wright says any future location means at least a two- or three-fold increase in rent, especially since they want to stay central and go no farther north than U.S. 183.

"Wherever we go, build-out of a new studio will be necessary," Wright says.

In late 2005, the station received a $20,000 matching grant from the Public Telecommunications Facilities Program to buy an antenna, FM processor, audio console and associated equipment, purchases they were hoping to make in 2006. Then, after the first fire, KOOP was hoping to put off spending this grant money until the station would be able to match it. That, and the golden handcuffs of low rent and a central location put off any sort of relocation date until 2007. But now, after the second fire, that grant has to be executed immediately.

To date, Wright says KOOP has raised an additional $26,080, including such high-profile contributors as Charity Partners of Austin ($2,000), the Dell Foundation ($2,500) and the philanthropic comedy troupe Austin Babtist Women on behalf of the Texas Gay Rodeo Association Austin Chapter ($3,529.71). Benefit concerts are scheduled every Monday this month at Ruta Maya.

"It's nice to have all the support we've had from the community," Wright says. "It makes us realize there are a lot of people who depend on 91.7."

Station leaders would like to be settled at permanent digs inside of the next 90 days, Dickens says.

"It's a long process," he says. "You don't think lightning can strike twice, but it can."

jgross@statesman.com; 912-5926