This past summer, a band called the Dead Weather sold out its show at downtown Minneapolis music club First Avenue. A side project of Jack White (famous in indie-rock circles for his regular band, the White Stripes), the Dead Weather drew the usual crowd to First Avenue: a mix of scenesters and music heads 1,500 strong, filling the Mainroom with de rigueur skinny jeans, American Apparel tees and tanks, and messenger bags. (A hallway away from the Mainroom is First Avenue’s smaller and rougher venue, the 7th Street Entry, which often holds concerts by lesser-known acts at the same time.)
The unbridled energy at a sold-out First Avenue show is palpable. Bodies are packed like sardines on the concrete dance floor, strobe lights flash across the stage, and oh yeah, there’s the music, too—be it the Dead Weather, rediscovered New Wavers the Pretenders, or the longtime purple-reigning king of the Minneapolis music scene, Prince. The frequency of sellout shows remains high, a testament to the fact that 40 years in, the club still rules as the top live music venue in the Twin Cities.
It was almost deposed on November 2, 2004. The club filed for bankruptcy and shuttered its doors to an overwhelmingly shocked and heartbroken following. But it reopened 17 days later—thanks to some help from a rabid and longtime fan, Minneapolis Mayor R. T. Rybak.
Five years later, First Avenue has come back from near-death by adjusting to the big changes in the music business, seeking ways to extend its brand, setting up a management succession plan, and becoming a top concert booker in the Twin Cities, and not just at its own venues. It’s more than a just a club—it’s a cultural legend. It’s also a business looking out for its future.
It’s true that the lore of the venue has played a large role in keeping First Avenue a viable business. Just this summer, media from Spin magazine to National Public Radio covered the 25th anniversary of Prince’s 1984 film Purple Rain, which included scenes famously filmed in the club. First Avenue milked the anniversary too, throwing a Prince dance party, where Rybak presented the venue with a purple key to the city.
The club was once derided by locals as “First Attitude” because its cooler-than-thou employees thought “they were doing the customer a favor by selling them a beer,” says Byron Frank, the former CPA who’s now the club’s owner and president. These days, Frank’s self-penned credo, “First Avenue Words to Live By,” is posted in the offices upstairs, and includes idealistic catch phrases such as, “We will do things only one way—First Class,” “We will treat everyone with respect,” and “We will dare to dream.” But the one that seems to resonate most with Frank and company is the final directive: “We will always try to be happy but never satisfied.” The subtext: We can always get better.
