The Condo-ization of Red River: A Eulogy for the Music Scene

The Grouch

Ah, Red River Street. The epicenter of Austin's music scene, where the sounds of the city's most innovative and subversive artists once echoed through the night. Where the likes of Willie Nelson, Stevie Ray Vaughan, and the Reverend Horton Heat once took the stage, and the likes of me and my friends would stumble out of the bars at 3 a.m., arms around each other's shoulders, singing along to the latest punk rock anthem.

But those days are gone. The Red River Street of my youth, the one where you could still hear the sound of a guitar being tuned on the sidewalk, where the smell of cheap beer and incense wafted through the air, where the only thing more plentiful than the number of tattooed arms was the number of broken dreams – that Red River Street is gone. Replaced by... well, by what, exactly?

By condos, of course. The same condos that are sprouting up all over the city like mushrooms after a spring rain. The same condos that are pricing out the very people who made this city great in the first place. The same condos that are turning our beloved music venues into upscale cocktail bars, where the only thing more expensive than the drinks is the attitude of the bartenders.

I mean, what's the point of even calling it a music venue anymore? When the last thing you want to do is actually listen to music, and the first thing you want to do is Instagram your artisanal cocktail and your bespoke, small-batch, handcrafted, locally-sourced, gluten-free, vegan, cruelty-free, environmentally-friendly, etc. etc. etc. whatever-it-is-you-drink? When the only thing more important than the music is the aesthetic of the place, and the only thing more important than the aesthetic is the Instagrammability of the place?

And don't even get me started on the "artistic" renovations they're doing to these places. The reclaimed wood, the exposed brick, the Edison bulbs – it's all just a thinly veiled attempt to make the place look like a hipster's dream, rather than a genuine music venue. I mean, what's next? Are they going to start serving craft beer and charging $10 for a pour of PBR?

But, I guess, that's the point. The point is to make the place look like a hipster's dream, rather than a genuine music venue. Because, let's be real, the only thing more valuable than a genuine music venue is a genuine hipster's dream. And if you can't get the hipsters to come to your venue, then you might as well just shut it down and open up a coffee shop instead.

And that's exactly what's happening. The Red River Street of my youth, the one where you could still hear the sound of a guitar being tuned on the sidewalk, where the smell of cheap beer and incense wafted through the air, where the only thing more plentiful than the number of tattooed arms was the number of broken dreams – that Red River Street is being replaced by a coffee shop. A coffee shop that serves artisanal coffee, of course. Because, why would anyone want to drink regular coffee when you can drink coffee that's been infused with the essence of small-batch, handcrafted, locally-sourced, gluten-free, vegan, cruelty-free, environmentally-friendly, etc. etc. etc. whatever-it-is-you-drink?

And that's the tragedy of it all. The tragedy of a city that's lost its raw, unbridled energy, its genuine music scene, its authentic, unpretentious, unhipsterized vibe. The tragedy of a city that's been replaced by a bunch of condos, coffee shops, and artisanal cocktail bars. The tragedy of a city that's been priced out of its own soul.

But, hey, at least the condos are nice. At least the coffee is good. At least the artisanal cocktails are Instagrammable. Because, in the end, that's all that really matters, right?