Jim has covered Boston arts and events since 1978. In addition to this column, JimSullivanInk, he is a freelance columnist for the likes of the Boston Phoenix, the Christian Science Monitor, Search Boston and Hall of Fame Magazine.
There's a gathering of the tribes at Bill's Bar Saturday May 1. What tribes? Those of us still alive who haunted Spit/DV8 and Axis, starting back in 1979. I've got a "voices of/from Spit" story in the Boston Herald - www.bostonherald.com - Sunday April 25, which will give you some idea of what was and what's to come. The show, promoted by ex-Spit security guys Mario Taddeo and Jerry Colpitts, is approaching sellout status. Tickets are $25 and you can access them through www.spitboston.com. Robin Lane and the Chartbustes and Lizzie Borden & the Axes will play live. Oedipus, Albert O, Henry Santoro and Willie LeMay will spin. Now, I'll be posting some of the comments from various Spit people over the years on this site next week, bits that wouldn't fit into the Herald feature but will complement it. Right now, I wanted to post something written by old pal Jim Thompson. Jim was a bartender at Axis. He's now a best-selling crime novelist, based in Finland, with the grisly detective novel "Snow Angel." I asked him about his take on it all. The following is his work:
I wandered into Axis some twenty years ago. That seething cauldron of a nightclub and I took one look at each other, and it was love at first sight. I asked for a job that same evening, and the odyssey began. I was home. Our love was true. Every time I walked through the door, I left the real world behind and entered a separate universe, subject to its own laws of existence, and megalomaniacal youth made me believe that, like God, I could change those laws and alter existence at my will and whim. Who knows, maybe I could. The next years now blur together and reel through my mind like a movie. I work Bar 1, near the stage. The PA, as measured by Pete, barback, MIT student, and resident genius, rocket-blasts at 160 decibels. The bands blow me away. Rock is not dead. I stop selling booze and stand on the bar to commune with it during the unforgettable moments. Kurt Cobain angsts “Teen Spirit.” Eddie Vedder belts “Jeremy.” White Zombie grinds “Black Sunshine.” Clearly, the women that populate my Axis universe are demi-goddesses incarnated by Isis for my sole benefit: a parade of walking and talking wet dreams. The friendships I form with both my co-workers and customers are the closest I’ve ever experienced working in a club. And there have been many. This is the studio version of my mind movie, but outtakes clutter the cutting floor of my psyche. A pretty little blond girl, tanned, in a white summer dress. She cries and drools blood down the front of it. I scrounge around on the floor with a flashlight and gather up her teeth. Wrap them in a napkin and put them in her purse, so she can take them with her to the emergency room. Another pretty girl. A regular. Sweet, pleasant. Two psycho geeks follow her from the club to a gas station. They abduct her, rape her, beat her to death with a rock. Intervening in the attempted rape of a bartender. I get the rape-o off her. It’s not a matter of whether I’m going to beat him, just how badly. I scream at him. He laughs, says, “Hey, come on man. She’s my sister.” His utter lack of humanity shocks me so badly that I do nothing, just walk away. The bartender and I never speak of it. I still hear his laugh today. My fellow-bartender and housemate. He goes to work to sling drinks, but is stabbed and nearly killed by a drug-addled fool. His haunted face when he comes home from the hospital. The list goes on.The love between Axis and myself faded and died. The outtakes of my mind-movie killed it, and eventually, I had to leave. I sometimes missed the place, was occasionally tempted to go back in the time that followed, but never walked through the doors again, even as a customer. It took me a long time to understand why. The era was over, and there’s nothing worse than a warmed-over love affair.
JSInk again: Thompson has a point, does he not? And, yet, the tempation go back, or see long-lost familiar faces, that's there too.
Other voices:
Anthony Cianciaruso (doorman/manager): "I remember Tommy Nicoletti and I working the door and the line had to be almost to 9 Landsdowne. It was cold and we were doing our usual Spit card thing, talking to people trying to get the crowd in. There were several Chinese woman in line and when they got to us they explaliend through an interpreter who could hardly speak the language herself that they were from Communist China here for a short time and proceeded to pull out Asian birth certificates and other paper work that doormen dread. after a 15 minute exchange, Ilet them in. Hell, if I couldn't decipher it no one else could either. Tommy gave me that 'what are you doing?' stare and we just kept working. When I went in on break I saw them dancing, laughing unfettered and free from the oppression they probably had to go home to. Weeks went by and they came back. I let them in they only drank water and were always happy always smiling at the end. They told me they had to go back and one of them gave me a drawing she had done for me. It was of figures dancing in pen and ink. I hang it whereever I live. Seeing them enjoy what we took for granted was probably something I will remember for the rest of my life."
(Note: Nicoletti was in a near-fatal car crash late last year and left paralyzed. A Friends of Tommy Facebook page has been set up to help him out. Go to www.spitboston.com and join.)
David Messina: (busboybartender) "The funniest part of my first night was meeting the bartenders I was working for. First I met Dini Lamot from Human Sexual Response. Dini was dressed in some odd drag outfit if I remember but the first thing he said to me was "You wanna squeeze my tits?". Then it was on to Annie, the uniquely hot Asian punk rock chick who never really said much to me other than ‘Get the fuck away from me’ or ‘Fuck off.’ How could I not love her? The next bartender was Carmelita. Wow, I'm Carmelita the DJ's busboy..How cool am I? was what I was thinking. Damn she was pretty cute too. The doormen were all fun. All were good guys. I thought these guys were cooler than rock stars. There was Anthony always talking about the Jam, Tommy Nicoletti, cigarette dangling and girls flocking, John Tasse [the club complex’s go-to guy] always messing with me and Old man Jerry giving me a hard time. The funniest part of Spit. I was really straight looking and all the employees there would look at me like I was a freak. I guess I was. My Spit days lasted about a year and then off to all the other Lyons establishments where I bussed and bartended at Metro, Managed the Paradise/Stitches as well as bartended. 27 years later now I've become an inner city high school teacher in Houston, but I never lost my bar passion. I still work at a bar on weekends bartending, I give my customers plenty of that Boston attitude and they tip me well."
Paul Gaudreau: (employee) “Personal stories from when I worked there and others as a patron of the place. The ones that stick out the most, well at least come to mind at the moment, are the night that Black Flag played their first Boston gig there after canceling out the gig at the Rat. What made it memorable was that Black Flag and their fans posted up fliers all over Kenmore Square saying "Black Flag at Spit tonight and not the RAT cuz the bouncers SUCK!!!!!!!!!!!’ They even pasted a few on the Rathskeller’s door. This put Spit's security on high alert and everyone was prepped for action. Well this was Spit's first introduction to hardcore and the mosh pit that included stage diving. I was working the front of the stage just to make sure no Rat bouncers showed up and when the band started playing the pit got crazy. It took me about 2 minutes to figure out that it was dancing and not a riot when I noticed John Tasse, strangling Black Flag's roadie right on the stage as Black Flag’s bass player was spitting on him. I remember pulling on John's arm screaming ‘It's a part of the show, they're dancing they're dancing!!!’ as this kid was turning purple. John finally heard me, spit soaked from the bass player and a few other fans and turned to me and said ‘This shit's fuckin’ crazy!’”
Peter Grimshaw, aka Grimmbo (patron)" "We were there on the opening night, making the scenee like all good late-20s Cambridge 'intellectual hipsters.' What a place! Great memories include: The Devo concert After-party, seeing Suicide play. It was trendy and outre, ruined by greed, brought down by massive amounts of those twin evils, blow and ego ... still good times."
Lucy Ferandes (patron0: "I was married [to Ray Fernandes] by a Justice of the Peace onstage in this club, Sept. 25, 1982. 'White Wedding' was playing as I made my way down the stairs and through the audience to start my vows. My husband's band, Primary Colors, took the stage shortly after our ceremony was completed. It was simply a wild, unforgettable night. I'd met him in this club exactly one year ago to that date and it seemed only fitting that we be wed here, where it all began for us."
Efs Chromium: (security) “I was born in Boston and am married with two daughters ages 15 and 12 and now call my home in Franklin. My time is spent on several creative endeavors and my attitude has not changed much since the days of Spit. I am a freelance writer, poet, abstract artist, sculptor, and game designer. I've designed, and am now building, an 1800-square foot open space Art Gallery called Efs Chromium Gallery of Global Works in Franklin. At the time of my stint at Spit back in ‘84, I was attending Suffolk University and was one of the school’s DJs and did promotions for CBS Records through the school. I managed two local bands The Choir Boys the OR'FANS" out of Berklee. Working at Spit seems like yesterday to me. My job was security and Jerry Colpitts was the one to set me up with the night’s agenda. I walked the floor, making sure that people were behaving themselves and more times than not, they were. When a band was playing I had the best job there, so at least I though and that was watching upstairs back stage. I was able to meet and talk with many different band members that found their way down onto Lansdowne St. and onto the stage at Spit.
I remember one Friday night and yes I do remember it because it was Good Friday and Jim Carroll was playing. Earlier that day, I had gone into Harvard Sq. to the Coop and got a copy of Jims' book ‘The Basketball Diaries and brought it with the intentions of Jim signing it for me. So later on that night while watching the upstairs back stage and talking to the band and all the roadies I had asked them to send Jim upstairs to sign his book. Jim was trung out on the big H, but managed his way up the back stairs and his lanky body stood in front of me. I pulled Jim’s book out from my back pocket and brought it before his glazed eyes. The moment Jim saw the book, his face lit up like the proud artist that he was. For a short while seemed to be aware of his surroundings and with a great big smile he took the book from me and inside he wrote ‘To EFS Happy Good Friday Jim Carroll.’ That was the only time that I had ever asked anyone for an autograph and I still have that book today as a keepsake, it being one special moment in time for me at Spit."
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ddeo and Jerry Colpitts, is approaching sellout status. Tickets are $25 and you can access them through 
