In John Ford’s 1940 classic *The Grapes of Wrath*, a poor tenant farmer named Muley stands up to a man sent by property owners to nudge him off his farm. “I’m right here to tell you, Mister, there ain’t *nobody* going to push me off my land,” he shouts. “My grandpa took up this land 70 years ago!
My pa was born here - we was all born on it! And some of us was killed on it, and” - he squats to pick up a handful of dust - “some of us *died* on it. That’s what makes it our’n: bein’ born on it, and workin’ on it, and dyin’ on it - and *not no piece of paper with writin’ on it!” *

We aren’t exactly tenant farmers, but one suspects attendees at the
Richard’s On Richards closing event on July 19th would sympathize with the sentiment. When, between bands, longtime soundman Rob Fort tried to share an anecdote about the Aquilinis, who own the property, he was booed down. “Don’t be like that,” he tried - and got louder boos... because subjectively at least, some part of Richard’s on Richards belongs to those of us who have
seen gig after gig there, property owners be damned. Fill in your own
favourite memories - The Pointed Sticks, Art Bergmann, Daniel Johnson and Rocket From The Tombs rank up there for me, but I’ve seen so many shows there I can’t recall the first one. Indeed, the list of bands that have played Richard’s extends to the early 1980’s, when the venue, known as The Laundromat, ranked slightly below the Smilin’ Buddha in importance to the early punk scene (Bev Davies’ famous *Hardcore 81* picture of DOA was taken
there). It’s more than a building that’s getting knocked down.

Alicia Bell agrees that it’s a shame to see Richard’s laid waste. “There’s a lot of history behind the building, so it’s unfortunate they’re going to tear it down and build condos,” she tells me over the phone, a few days after the venue has shut. Alicia was the girl tending the beer barrel near the merch table at the last show; she’s been there almost a year, the whole time working under the knowledge of rumoured closure. For her, high points
of her employment include the the Necro riot last march. “He’s, like, some white hate rapper from New York, and he didn’t show up,” she says. “The crowd was all gangster thugs, chanting ‘Necro!’ and the poor little DJ who was on at first said ‘Necro’s not coming,’ and they all went crazy. We lost,like, the original disco ball at the top, because they threw a chair and it hit it. And they were throwing bottles and glasses at the DJ, and all the staff had to take cover!” Alicia giggles. “I knew it was bad when I saw the
head bouncer and another bouncer in my coat check.”

Alicia also got a kick out of Twittering news that the stars of
*Twilight*were making out at the club - which bit of gossip apparently is going to end up in People magazine. “One day, people even came in and asked us at the coat check, ‘Um, we saw that Robert Patterson was here last week. We were wondering if he’s here again?’ - like they were coming to stalk him down!” Alicia
kept her bottle opener as a souvenir of her short tenure at the club.

Ah, well: no point getting sentimental, folks: Richard’s is no more. At least it went out with a bang. Pastel-coloured groovemongers Star Captains did a fine job of warming up the crowd for the impassioned funky fire of Five Alarm Funk, who in turn made a joyous wake of the July 19th closing event. The night’s only major mishap occurred when Five Alarm Funk percussionist Karl fell off an inflatable couch being passed around on the backs of the crowd. I couldn’t reach the band for comment, as they were away for a gig in Vernon when I called, but FAF members Neil and Thomas Towers’
mother, Elizabeth Towers, assures me that - after a quick trip to the
hospital with a dislocated shoulder - Karl rebounded. “He didn’t finish the gig, but he made it to the afterparty,” she laughs, “so I guess he was okay!” Posted: Aug 5, 2009