It was all working together.”Īccording to Peterson, the state of queer nightlife is still changing. If Powerhouse had a line, that was good for Hole in the Wall. “If The Stud had a line, that was good for Powerhouse. “The sex venues have adversely affected Powerhouse,” Peterson said. Changes in norms such as those in Mattson’s study, but more heavily the pandemic, have contributed to a sharp decline that is “most apparent” to Peterson in his district. At one point, SOMA was home to a hodge-podge of cruisy leather bars, dance clubs and sex clubs. Scott Peterson, manager of SOMA’s leather bar the Powerhouse, said that the hardest-hitting closure in recent memory is SF’s oldest queer bar - The Stud, which closed in Summer 2020.įor Peterson, the health of queer nightlife in his neighborhood is interdependent between the venues. A study conducted by Greggor Mattson, associate professor of sociology at Oberlin College and Conservatory, showed that as many as 37% of gay bars in the U.S. I think that’s why I’m so out of touch right now, because the places I used to go to no longer exist.”Īccording to a map created by Bay Area Reporter Richard Walters, several dozen venues have been gobbled up by time. “I feel like the places that catered to people of color went away. “Where people of color used to be is where I liked to go,” De Labra said. De Labra atavistically shared his off-campus undergraduate escapades in the early 2000s - when venues such as Esta Noche, Lexington and Pendulum still existed.Ī fan of venues that catered to queer people of color, De Labra did not mind “both waiting in line or finding a friend to cut in line with.” Today, he laments their absence from the Castro District. The irony of club and bar owners waiting in line for access is not lost on SF State alum Alfredo Kuri De Labra. “We’re all sitting here in this limbo just waiting,” Drollinger said. I think that’s why I’m so out of touch right now, because the places I used to go to no longer exist.” I feel like the places that catered to people of color went away.
In another relief program, from which “the money is coming,” Drollinger said that allocation details have not been decided. In one instance, Oasis was denied a California $25,000 grant. As more funding is made available, Drollinger said that challenges persist within relief programs, which further slow the process.
Oasis is among venues that applied and received assistance at the federal and state level, but those funds were only enough to get through the first few months of the pandemic. In contrast to Oasis - a venue that has the advantage of an established digital media platform loaded with content it can broadcast directly to its customer base, as well as a volunteer production team - there are smaller venues that must make do while they wait for bureaucratic gridlock to release relief funds. “I know that other venues have similar bills to pay.” “For me, it costs about $1,000 a day for the club to exist closed,” Drollinger said.
The haul is a huge win for Oasis and will help Drollinger stay afloat until more relief becomes available. It raised over $250,000 - more than double the original goal. įor Drollinger, the hope was to keep the scene alive beyond the last call of the pandemic, which is why Oasis hosted a fundraising event on Saturday to shore up mounting financial losses. Today, they are largely relegated to the Castro and SOMA districts - an erosion of culture and presence within a city known around the world as a gay mecca. From 1960 to 1980, scores of queer venues once stretched all the way from Ocean Beach to the piers. Without them, the tapestry of queer SF culture stands to lose more than it has in recent decades. Esta Noche, Trocerdo Transfer, Lexington, Universe, Pendulum - uttering these names of shuttered venues among queer circles in San Francisco is to uncan the history of a storied nightlife that began dwindling before COVID-19 arrived.Īs more queer venues perish, SF State alum D’Arcy Drollinger, owner of drag-show nightclub and cabaret Oasis, is among those who have become de facto stewards of both the myth of nightlife past and authors of its future.