When I first entered Gabe’s Iowa City, I was torn between the fear of getting stabbed and the hope of finding a refuge filled with like-minded musicians who embrace a healthy level of self-hate and a passion for heavy music. Thankfully, I discovered the latter.
I had just started my first year of college when I was graced by the dark, wearied, sticker-filled walls of the now 50-year-old bar steeped in Iowa City history. I had heard the stories of legendary bands like Nirvana, The Smashing Pumpkins, The Killers, and more who set foot in that very building. These stories seemed almost too incredible to be real.
As a freshman, I was still figuring it all out. I was fortunate to have had a love for music from an early age, and it prompted me on a journey that would eventually lead to playing on the iconic Gabe’s stage. I got my first guitar after playing in a concert band in sixth grade. I learned then — much to the chagrin of concert band lovers — that it just wasn’t for me.
After getting a firm grasp on the techniques of guitar, I dabbled in drumming and discovered the exhilarating power of rhythm. Then, I found the summit of all instrument coolness — the bass. To me, this instrument is a perfect combination of rhythm with melody, a truly exquisite work of art that could vibrate my chest at a pluck of a string.
It is addicting.
I was always a pretty awkward kid, which would sometimes overwhelm me, but playing music felt good. Soon, I was playing live shows. I always knew I liked heavy music, and I quickly learned that swinging my head so hard while performing that soreness perforated down to the base of my spine, making me feel like a doddering old fool the next day, was the signature of a successful night.
As college approached, I was working in a music school in my hometown of Cedar Rapids. That’s where I met the group that would endeavor to play on the Gabe’s stage. We called ourselves Two Canes, a play on the rapper 2 Chainz and the food chain Raising Canes — elaborate, I know.
I was the youngest in the heavy-metal-alternative quintet and was enthralled by my bandmates’ coolness. They had style, and I liked wearing polos — if that is any indicator of how stylish I was — and every moment with them felt like I was discovering a new element of life. Our drummer, in particular, Chloe Weidl, was a certified badass, commanding the drum kit with a skill that surpassed any I’d ever encountered.
Early on, our band shared the dream of playing on the Gabe’s stage. We started playing local open mic nights and soon booked our first show at Gabe’s, and my nerves started flooding in.
The idea that we were going to be playing in the same space as some of the greats in such a cultural staple of Iowa City was truly awesome.
As we arrived that night, the energy pulsated through the entire building — a dimly lit sanctuary, its battered bricks echoing the stories of countless electrifying nights.
When it was our turn to play, I had probably gone non-verbal, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. The crowd swayed, ready to hear some loud music, and I struck the first note.
We opened with “Colossus” by the Idles, a song about brutalism and the fear of not being enough — it was perfect.
Soon, the lights started flashing, I felt my body lock into the rhythm of the song, and we took off from there. Song after song, each of us felt the power of the speakers, and I was loving the hell out of every second.
It was as close to an out -of-body experience as I can describe. I was no longer an awkward kid; my body moved how I wanted it to, my heart synchronized with the bass drum. Stepping off that stage was heartbreaking, but then I remembered there were other bands waiting for their moment.
And we kept coming back.
Ultimately, I realized Gabe’s reflects a tapestry of hurt souls, yet it remains a place in which all of our burdens fade away. Truth be told, I’m still that awkward kid navigating life, but as long as I have music and a place to play it, I know I’ll be okay.