On evenings when the DIY venue, located at Eastwood and Mayfield, hosts shows, there’s a table of foreingers greeting guests, taking donations and inviting new comers to join the e-mail list. After congenial chit-chat with the transplanted midwesterners, finding a seat on a couch or a conversation with a stranger isn’t too difficult either. But once the music begins conversation becomes an afterthought, if not simply impossible.
Hosting anyone from the noisome, Ann Arbor based Wolf Eyes to locals acts hasn’t granted the venue write ups in local papers, but due to word of mouth the Rookery is still able to attract national acts as well as some healthy crowds. “If one touring band plays here, they’re going to go home and tell their friends about it,” says Justin Caruso, one of the eight, tent dwelling residents of the space. “Word spreads pretty fast.”
Hosting shows for just over a year, the Rookery hasn’t wound up being the nuisance to its neighbors one might expect, though. “The liquor store guys are pretty jazzed,” says Caruso from a plush chair on the second floor of the bar where he works. “They’ve even gotten to the point where they’ll bring us two thirty packs and distribute one out to the people that are there.”
Shop keepers realize that there are upsides to a hundred concert goers milling around their businesses. Entering Red Star, the aforementioned liquor store, folks that are clearly headed to the Mopery are hailed with questions about the “party” that’s set to go on across the street and encouraged to return.
Prior to becoming just another part of the neighborhood, the midwesterners that run, maintain and book shows at the Rookery all lived in Dayton. “We moved up here separately,” says Caruso. “We knew each other to a degree…my band ended up playing shows with their bands – stuff like that.” There is an air of family at the Rookery, but the scent might just be whatever’s in the tents.
Either way, the initial motivation behind the Rookery wasn’t to found a venue, it was just supposed to be a place where the eight (and sometimes 12) residents of the space were able to play music. Upon seeing the bare walls, concrete floor and the shadowy tent city, it appears that playing music is really all the space is good for. “We saw it [the space] and said, this is fine – just put a shower and a refrigerator in there,” Caruso recalls while discounting all mod cons.
While the Rookery isn’t a thing of beauty, it functions in a sort of smooth, easy going manner. Shows are booked months in advance and the scant advertising is dispatched through the venue’s website. Its seamless operation can be attributed to the shared workload. “In the beginning it was kind of a free for all,” Caruso says. “But we’ve divided up the responsibilities and just rotate so nobody gets bored.”