Few people have more investment in the future of live venues than artists, so we asked 19 of them about their favorite spots to play. From a small pie shop in D.C. to a folk festival on a Texas ranch, here are their answers.
Check out more of Pitchfork's celebration of the past, present, and future of live music here.
La Cita Bar (Los Angeles, CA)
La Cita Bar isn’t a live music venue in the traditional sense (e.g. ticketed shows, doors at 7PM, large stage, professional PA system and lighting rig controlled by FOH engineers, etc). It’s a cantina that opens daily before noon, with a very narrow stage meant for DJs playing dance music (such as Nortenos, Cumbias, Reggaeton and beyond) but that DIY musicians can transform into a concert space if they choose to test their willpower by organizing and promoting such an event. Chicano Batman took up this task several times from 2011-2014 by throwing our own shows, at a time in the band’s history when—sans a booking agent and record deal—we struggled to get invited to play popular venues in Hollywood, Silver Lake, and Echo Park. So La Cita became our CBGBs. It was a place where we developed a fan base while honing our abilities at this small bar/nightclub tucked away between Grand Central Market and a parking lot across the street from Angels Flight in Downtown Los Angeles off of S. Hill St.
What kept us coming back to this space was that we felt welcomed, something most Latinx people working in the music and entertainment industry do not take for granted. We genuinely valued the autonomy the diverse staff and management entrusted to our band, whose early sound referenced psychedelia, soul, funk, cumbia and prog rock—not your typical La Cita entertainment up until that point. This was a space where we invited Ethio Cali, an Ethopian jazz group specializing in the music of Mulatu Astatke, to open the night, and asked its saxophonist, an upcoming jazz musician by the name of Kamasi Washington, to sit in on a song for our set afterwards. Genres and trends didn’t matter there; what did matter was sharing moments with the audience by opening your heart and baring your soul via the music. This was also the place where we were allowed to film our music video for “Cycles of Existential Rhyme” (without paying a five-figure licensing fee to the house like many traditional venues would charge). La Cita and its crew were and still are amazing to us, and it hurts us to see them struggle during the pandemic. A place this special, where organic community and culture is harvested, needs to endure, so that the next generation can witness the city’s unsigned local bands develop into professional touring and recording artists.
Pie Shop (Washington, D.C.)
Pie Shop, here in D.C, has meant a lot to me over the last few years. I like to eat, so off rip, they have the best pie you’ll ever eat. And for the bands, they give you a sweet one and a savory one FOR FREE. Plus, a fridge of beers, and the bartenders love good music. The spot is hella small, so it fills up quickly. D.C. is tough for venues that hold under 300 people, so this one serves a very special and specific world of players.
Some of my best times playing in D.C. have been there. Great sound, great backline, but it’s also just a dope safe spot to play in a very diverse side of town. Beyond the great shows, vibes, and food, I love this spot because they bring in musicians of all levels. I’ve seen bands do their first show there, and I’ve seen great up-and-coming bands pull up and wow 150 people who didn’t know what to expect. Not a lot of spots like that around these days in D.C., so shout out to them for keeping it as real as possible. Love ya, Pie Shop!
Pilot Light (Knoxville, TN)
Weyes Blood started in the catacombs of the American touring circuit. Basements, house shows, warehouses, trees. Real venues were a rare treat for me in those early days. But when you’re navigating a web of hostile venues that seem to hate you for being so small, so strange, and for not bringing anybody to their bar, you have to try to find the people in each city who “get it.” Who will create a welcoming atmosphere for my freaky music? I wanted to be treated like any respectable run-of-the-mill bar band, even though I didn’t sound or look anything like that.
Enter the Pilot Light. It’s in a strange part of Knoxville with little else around but a huge, ominous overpass that throws a dark shadow over the streets around it. The place is tiny, like a wormhole into another time. There’s a small, elevated stage with office carpet stapled to it, caked in the sweat of bands past. You could immediately sense people had played on that stage very loudly for many years to a sparse crowd. The backstage was a dimly lit cement zone with no chairs, and anyone from the show could just walk on back. The microphones were dented and sounded extremely fuzzed out through the speakers. Chaos frequencies spilled out everywhere. But they had everything you needed.
It felt good to a basement dweller like myself to play a real venue with a little bar and a strange clientele that always bought records and listened to whatever happened on that stage. I played one of my best sets there—my second or third show there—with a guitar, a four-track, and a microphone, through that fuzzy PA. It’s places like these where I cut my teeth and learned how to sound the way I do, against all odds. We need venues like the Pilot Light because everyone has to start somewhere. It’s a good time to protect small venues—and I mean exceptionally small—for the weirdest outsider music to have a place to present. Places on the outskirts of town, where you don’t need a manager, a website, a press photo, or any proof whatsoever that you are a “legit” band to play there.
The Hideout (Chicago, IL)
The Hideout in Chicago is one of my favorite venues in the U.S., for a number of reasons, but mainly because it’s a place that celebrates people trying out their weirdest and newest ideas, and it’s hard to imagine that ever changing. It’s one of the oldest bars in Chicago, starting as a speakeasy in 1919 and officially named the Hideout after Prohibition. According to Sully Davis, who booked the Hideout for 5 years, the first event at the Hideout was a funeral; at one point is was a watering hole for Irish steel workers, at another a gangster mob hangout; and in recent years it’s become a home for some of Chicago’s best music and comedy.
Part of the Hideout’s charm is that it just barely works. It’s pretty out of the way, and it’s small and disarmingly quirky, with a skinny shotgun space that feels familiar even if it’s your first time there. The stage is just deep enough to fit a band, and the bar is just wide enough for people to hang out. The size of the venue lends itself to acts that can play when they’re still figuring themselves out, and to nights that feel really special when the entire space is packed full of people.
My favorite show at the Hideout was when I was the musical guest at the quarterly Cosmic Country Showcase, which, despite its name is not a night devoted to country music, but rather a country themed variety show that aims to “get country music wrong.” That night I shared the stage with an alien in silver lamé drag singing Shania Twain, a larger-than-life raccoon heckling the audience from its trash can, a two-person horse, an astronaut, and a Roy Orbison tribute in a homemade denim/rhinestone nudie suit. The house band is composed of Hideout regulars Dorian Gehring, Spencer Tweedy, Liam Kazar, Sima Cunningham, V.V. Lightbody, Sully Davis, Andrew Sa, and Alex Grelle.
I arrived in Chicago with my guitar and best cowboy hat, not knowing what to expect, and when I met the band, they had already learned all my songs. I’ve never felt so at home away from home.
The Lot Radio (Brooklyn, NY)
For years, the Lot has been a space that creates so many possibilities for artists. Through their streaming radio station, you're able to listen to artists share their work—or you can watch them in person in the beautiful rectangular booth. I've had the privilege to DJ there and perform in their courtyard. I have very fond memories of the performance and how generous and accommodating the Lot was. On 24 hours’ notice, they were able to set up a one-off live-streamed performance by me and my band. It was one of those moments that makes me love New York City the most. The Lot is a place vital to the constantly evolving community of makers and seekers of the world.
Rhizome DC (Washington, D.C.)
As a musician who lives in northern Virginia, there’s a large pick of local, legendary venues to perform or attend shows, but Rhizome DC is one of my favorites in the area. It’s a house converted into an intimate, DIY music and art space, known for hosting fun concerts with experimental, unconventional musicians on the first floor and amazing art exhibits on the second. I love how the venue isn’t afraid to give smaller musicians and artists a chance to share their work with an appreciative audience. You can go to a punk show on Friday, a sound bath on Saturday, and an action painting class on Sunday. The venue also hosts workshops on electronics, video games, painting, and sound art.
I’ve played a few shows at the venue and attended others and have always had a great time. I played a show with two other instrumental guitarists, Eli Winter and Kevin Coleman, another show with guitarists Jon Camp and Pergola, and a livestream with Amadou Kouyate, a master kora and djembe player. I’m also involved in a roundtable discussion that Rhizome will be hosting on April 24, along with Eli Winter and Cameron Knowler. The events I’ve played have all been intimate yet lively, even during the livestream show. It’s always nice to go to a show and see the performers up close and talk to them afterward, and every show I’ve attended at Rhizome allows this. Every event fosters community and makes performers, artists, and the audience feel at home.
The Majestic (Detroit, MI)
The first time we played at the Majestic, it was for a DIY festival, and it was our second show ever with a full lineup. We played right before Charmer and were really impressed by them, so it was a little nerve wracking. The show was set up right in the corner of a dining area, and that was connected to a bowling alley (Garden Bowl) where bands would literally play over people bowling, a larger theater (Majestic Theater) for bigger bands, and the well respected Magic Stick upstairs—you need to have a national following to play up there. The fact that we literally started in the center of all of those locations with a very modest PA setup really felt like the most comfortable situation, coming from playing mostly people’s houses. Needless to say we made a great impact, and a year or so later we played a show in the theater area of the Majestic. I'll always remember that first show though.
Doug Fir Lounge (Portland, OR)
The first time I played Doug Fir Lounge, we were opening for Land of Talk. I remember sitting on a red vinyl couch in the green room after soundcheck, having a great conversation with Elizabeth Powell, and feeling so inspired. I felt really lucky to be there, playing with her, learning from her. A couple of years later, I was back at that venue headlining. My friend Aba had played there the night before and left a treasure hunt for me, with clues taped around the green room. Then a 9-year-old fan came to watch my soundcheck with her dad since she wasn’t old enough to attend the actual show. So when I think about Doug Fir, I feel the warmth of those moments. I think of it as a place of these memorable, somewhat mischievous, and mystical connections, all of us held together in that Twin Peaks vision of a venue.
Elastic Arts (Chicago, IL)
I discovered Elastic the year I took a leap of faith and left a job I hated to pursue what I love: Music! My good friend and Brothahood (one of my ensembles) bandmate Dr. Adam Zanolini knew all the golden spots to hear the juicy delicious madness and beauty of avant garde free jazz music, and we would go to show after show at Elastic to hear our favorite artists in the city. So when I had my first show as a full time artist — I was invited to do an Alice Coltrane tribute for a wonderful series curated by incredible composer/vocalist Gira Dahnee — I was beyond excited! The show was incredible, and afterwards there was this epic jam session. Little did I know that after all the millions of times we played there, and partied and danced my ass off there, and formed so many important musical and personal partnerships there, that Adam would be the Executive Director of Elastic and I would have a huge curatorial residency there called Mothership9. Elastic is a true community and beautiful space for the arts here in Chicago. A majestic photo of legendary Chicago musician Fred Anderson (RIP), who owned the historical Chicago free jazz spot Velvet Lounge, graces the office wall. Elastic is preserving that legacy and I am so grateful for all the years they have supported me.
La Respuesta (San Juan, PR)
Home to Puerto Rico's underground and independent artists, La Respuesta has always been a space for free thought and expression, where many amazing acts from the Island have launched their careers. The venue has been a catalyst for the contemporary Santurce art and cultural scene since it opened its doors in 2008, and it’s been especially resilient over the last couple years, through Hurricane Maria, the January 2020 earthquakes, and now the global pandemic. To survive the lockdown, La Respuesta launched Santurce Virtual, a series of virtual concerts by local bands, but we can’t wait for La Respuesta to open its doors for live shows again.
The Bug Jar (Rochester, NY)
I started my career by playing in Boston at places like O’Brien's and Great Scott (RIP), but also within the amazing morphology of the underground—at houses that would be operative for several years or more; or with booking collectives that were more amorphous, whose shows took temporary residence in bear cages and coffee houses and art galleries. When I moved to Western Mass, I felt like every show I saw or played was within that underground. Aside from a few places, like 10 Forward in Greenfield, most of the venues where I grew the most as a musician were not the fancy ones I’ve been lucky enough to play, but houses.
But of all of these small, strange, transitory places, I want to shout out the Bug Jar in Rochester, New York. I lived in Rochester in my earliest 20s and have not played the Bug Jar since. I was in a few rock bands in town, one of my own, and a noise project with Brian Blatt called A Victory for Upfish that played a cover of “Tonight’s the Night,” by Neil Young, there. I am sure many touring musicians have passed through the mystery that is Rochester and they have a different relationship to that venue than I do; many people cut their teeth there. I was just a kind of interloper, an occasional dancer. But I choose to talk about it because it was the first place I played in a band where I wrote all the music, the first bar I played when I was actually of age, the site of many performance things that have since moved from experiment into habit. I want other music-school dissenters, occasional dancers, fledgling writers, nascent freaks to be able to play there and places like it, too. Independent venues like that are inestimably important as small tour stops and home turf alike.
My first room in Western Mass was in a show house. It was the culture out there, which felt safe and dangerous like most valuable things. I feel it necessary to set my celebration of a particular venue in this kind of genealogy because I feel, even as we are forced to re-examine how to live more sustainable lives as musicians, the house shows and unconventional venue situations are where a lot of the most vital music and experimentation happens.
Lincoln Hall (Chicago, IL)
Lincoln Hall is one of my favorite venues in Chicago. I've seen so many great shows there over the years: Ibeyi, Ravyn Lenae, Jean Deaux, KAINA, and Sen Morimoto, to name a few! As an artist I loved having shows there because the sound engineers were always on point and the audience felt really close. One of my favorite memories was seeing one of my former students and brilliant songwriter Kara Jackson open up for KAINA's album release show in 2019. I love how the smaller and mid-size venues in Chicago create space for artists of various stages in their career to create really memorable musical experiences that feel so intimate.
Kerrville Folk Festival at the Quiet Valley Ranch (Kerrville, TX)
My favorite venue, and my second home, is the Kerrville Folk Festival, which has been held on the Quiet Valley Ranch in the Texas Hill Country for 18 days every spring since 1972. Songwriters from every corner of the world emerge from the woodwork to share their stories around campfires under that big sky, singing from sunset to sunrise. There are folk singers, hellraisers, real cowboy and cowgirl poets, acid hillbillies, bards, old-timers, bluegrassers, blues singers, rock and rollers, English folk historians, ragtime players, virtuosos, children’s musicians, child prodigies, carpenters and masons, and mechanics and doctors and accountants by trade who will sing you the best song you’ve ever heard in your life that makes you weep years later even thinking about it. I’m crying right now. What ties them all together is a need to share and mythologize the human experience through our voices, as part of some ancient living library.
Eighteen days is just long enough to simulate the feeling of an actual town, built of canvas and nylon and juniper and tin among the buffalo grass and live oaks—though short enough to push you back into the world with a new sense of purpose on your hero’s journey, to gather songs and return the spring to follow. It takes a week to adjust to singing until sun up every morning, and the days are too hot to think, so we sleep on the banks of the Medina River, in deep cypress shade, skinny dipping in the spring water between naps. I was honored to play the mainstage with Big Thief in 2018, after playing a lifetime of shows in the campground’s outdoor shower, in the meadow in a lightning storm, in a chicken coop atop a 1940’s International Harvester flatbed, in the staff kitchen scalded by the fryer, quietly in the Cureville massage and healing lean-to, and inside at least 500 RVs. I’ve shared bills with artists such as Dan of 1000 Songs, Slim Richey (“the most dangerous guitar player in Texas”), Lunchbox, Jalapeno, and Manky. Spider helps with security when he’s not culling wild hogs with a bowie knife for local ranchers. Writers such as Brian QTN, Steve Fisher, Steve Gillete, and Darlene Raven have helped raise me, with the patience and undying support that they show every writer who sits down at their fires. In the words of Carol and Ed Florida, “On the wings of song, newfound friends become family before long, we gather seeds to sow along the road we travel on, and fly to our harvest home in the spring.”
Kerrville is literally strung together with barbed wire, and after being canceled two years in a row due to Covid, they are completely broke and are on the edge of shutting down forever. If you have anything to contribute, please do what you can to save the Kerrville Folk Festival and the Quiet Valley Ranch through the donation page on their website. If they make it, we’ll see you there.
Cafe Erzulie (Brooklyn, NY)
Cafe Erzulie is a space centered in community and for that I’m grateful. I’ve spent many nights there, whether it’s to see jazz, shake ass to a fire DJ, or roll up in the beautiful backyard. It’s definitely a place that I can come and feel affirmed.
Hi Tone (Memphis, TN)
Before I was old enough to get into 18-and-up shows, I already knew about Hi Tone. It was the place for all the cool hardcore shows I wanted to see, and it’s a fixture in the scene, one of a handful of venues that remains consistent and hasn’t been repurposed or resold. What I value about Memphis music is its tenacity and resourcefulness, and I think Hi Tone embodies that in its own gritty way.
This picture is from a show I played with the band the Acorns, an artist from Memphis I grew up listening to and loving. Hi Tone hosts the yearly Pants Tour that Smith7 puts on, and they hosted the Za Fest early on. They make a space for Memphis bands to play music, and that’s extremely important to me.
Saturn (Birmingham, AL)
I grew up in Birmingham, and when Saturn’s predecessor venue, Bottletree, opened in 2006, it completely changed my life. For the first time in my lifetime, cool bands and artists were coming to town frequently. It sadly closed in 2015, but with that came the opening of Saturn. It’s space/atomic age-themed, with a famously good green room that any band who has ever played there remembers fondly. It's also across the street from Saw’s Soul Kitchen, which is probably the best BBQ in town. Tour can feel like such a grind, and they make it easy, exciting, and fun. They also did an amazing job of putting Birmingham on the map as a great destination for touring artists. I don’t personally have a picture of me playing there, but here’s me at soundcheck there in 2017 with my niece Lola.
Empty Bottle (Chicago, IL)
It’s hard to imagine any other music venue that’s left a mark as deep as the one the Empty Bottle in Chicago has left on me. I mean, I heard the Velvet Underground there for the first time. The place really feels like a second home to me. Since quarantine, I even catch myself getting nostalgic over that certain smell of secret-recipe chemicals that they used to wash the place down every night. Funny enough, a lot of my best memories at the Bottle have taken place within five feet of the front door, either killing time with the staff on a slow night or catching up with friends as they came and went for a cigarette.
I’ve caught sight of some real magic on that stage over the years, from Faust to Freak Heat Waves to Courtney Barnett and beyond, but through my years as an intern, then sound engineer, audience, performer, greenroom door-code seeker, and common barfly, I’ve learned that what makes the Empty Bottle truly special, the thing I miss most, is the people. (A big shout out to the staff past and present.) I could tell you about the time when the crowd pelted my old band with beers or the first time they had to tape a “sold out” sign on the door for a Dehd show, but the most meaningful moments for me have happened despite what was happening on stage — the little interactions on the way to order a beer, and the heart-to-hearts next to the pinball machine until last call. Empty Bottle has always had a staff that believes in making a space for cool things to exist, and for a time, I’ve been lucky enough to be a part of that world they’ve created.
Johnny Brenda's (Philadelphia, PA)
The first time I played Johnny Brenda's was in 2016 when I was still booking my own tours. We opened for Hamilton Leithauser there in 2017, then came back in 2018 after Historian came out for two shows in a night. In fact, the last truly great event that happened in my life before lockdown was our three-night stand at JBs to ring in 2020. My mom came onstage and sang harmonies, Mal Blum joined for a Bruce cover, and I made everyone in the crowd indulge in my friend group's annual tradition of listening to Dance Yrself Clean by LCD Soundsystem, the drop timed to midnight. All my friends got drunk on mezcal and champagne and blasted Caroline Polachek and 100 gecs through the speakers after the show, clueless about the year to come. I don't know what it is, but there’s something about the place that makes you feel like every show is a house show, like you're always among friends.
Zebulon (Brooklyn, NY/Los Angeles, CA)
Zebulon in Brooklyn was the first venue to give me a residency and let me curate my own shows. I felt accepted there, and the warm, inviting space helped me to feel comfortable to perform my songs for a community that was opening their doors to me. This was maybe 2005-2010? Unfortunately, Williamsburg changed at a rate where Zebulon wasn’t welcomed or appreciated by the newcomers to the neighborhood, and the owners felt the pull to move to California. (Yes, they actually moved the physical bar from the Brooklyn location to Los Angeles.) A few years later, my family and I realized that we needed more space and opportunity, and after touring my last album, we decided to move out west, too. It was comforting to know that Zebulon was waiting. I looked forward to visiting the new space… but before I was able to go: lockdown.
Obviously, it took months before we could all get a handle on what was actually happening in the world and in our communities. But as I found my drive to work again, I realized it was the tenth anniversary of my album epic. Zebulon was the first venue to come to mind that represented the beginning of my career and where I am today. It means the world to me that we have a live concert and a mini documentary coming up April 16 in support of the venue, which has helped me and so many artists find their voice. I will never be able to thank Zebulon enough.
