(Due to a computer glitch, I lost the end of this interview. My apologies.)

October 14, 1997
Peter's Diner, Chicago IL
Originally conducted for the Chicago poetry newspaper Tunnel Rat

Well, I was starting to lay out my questions for this interview, Thax, like I normally do, lay out a page full of questions to ask the person ahead of time. But then I realized that I'm friends with you and the things I wanted to ask you about are things that I've just naturally wanted to ask you about for awhile, so I am forgoing the written questions tonight and we'll see how that works.

Okay.

I'd like to start with a little background and a little history about how you got involved with the Chicago poetry scene in the first place. Did you go to school in Chicago? Were you raised in Chicago?

Yes, I went to UIC for awhile.

And were you studying English there? Writing?

I was auditing.

Okay.

Because I worked for the UIC Hospital, so I audited.

And were you writing for yourself at that time?

No, I wasn't. I wrote a lot in the '70s and then I quit in 1983 and was a born-again Christian for about three years. I stopped writing during that time. Am I talking loud enough?

Yeah, I think so... yeah, you're fine.

But I met this great writer, I think you've heard of him. Carl Watson?

I think I have heard of him.

Yeah, yeah.

And this was in the period where... during your born-again Christianity?

No, that was before. I met him in, like, 1981.

Okay, all right.

As the born-again phase was drawing to a close, I just thought of Carl and called him up out of the blue. I just happened to read somewhere that he was performing at a bar.

Okay.

And I called him up and asked to speak to him and he said, "Well, Thax, I was just telling someone about you!" and that made me feel pretty good, so we became friends and he was going to the Green Mill, so I started going there in July of 1987.

To the Green Mill?

Yeah.

And was that your first foray into the spoken word scene in Chicago? Or were you doing it beforehand in the '70s, also?

No, I... things were different in the '70s. There wasn't a spoken word scene, I lived in the suburbs. Up until recently, the spoken word scene was this little tiny underground thing that you had to go deep into the dark city to go to, so...

But you end up at the Green Mill in 1987, you say?

Mm-hmm.

And that had to have been the very beginning.

Yeah, it was just getting started.

Tell us a little bit about what that was like. What the Green Mill was like back in those days? And this is time I think Marc Smith [the host of the Green Mill poetry slam] has said that he was still drinking, before he quit drinking, and he's already said some stories about how crazy he used to be when he was drinking and about how he would get out of control sometimes. Did you ever see things like that? Just what was the atmosphere?

Well, it was a lot of fun, because it was new. It hadn't sort of found itself, it hadn't ossified into what it is now. It was a lot of fun. You didn't know what was going on from week to week, and the people were still going, even then.

Was there a lot of competition at this time? Other open mics? Or was it pretty much one of the only open mics?

It wasn't the only open mic, but a lot of the open mics were, you know, pretty deadly dull, and they weren't the sort of places you'd want to, you know...

Academic and stuffy, like that? Or just small and boring?

Small and boring, I would say. And so...

Well, I heard that sometime in that period, in the late '80s, you almost made the Chicago slam team. Is that correct? That you made it into the final round?

I might have, I forget. It's... at the time, the slam was fun. It didn't start getting annoying until the National [Poetry Slam], in 1991. That's when I stopped going. But it was exciting. It was an excuse to perform. So I do know that I used to slam every week, because it was a lot of fun.

And at what point did you decide that... what point did you start thinking, "This might be kind of fun to host something myself?" To put something together?

Almost right away.

Is there anything you can remember specifically, why that started being appealing to you?

I think it was, like, a thing like a lot of people have, where you just... no, I won't say that, 'cause that's not true. But I think basically what it was that I wanted to see people who I wanted to see perform. So it was like creating my own show -- I'd create a show I'd like to see. The first show was really dumb, because I had some musicians play throughout the whole night and I had five poets come out and read, one after the other, and the musicians were supposed to play in the background, Philip Glass or something like that. And it was Jackie Disler and Mary Shinbine and Patricia Smith and Lawrence Tyler and one other person. And it was at this place called "Batteries Not Included," it was like an old goth club from the '80s. And that was my first show, I guess it was 1989?

Mm-hmm.

And I guess I was...

How did you ever end up there? Did you ask the owner of the place about doing a show there?

Mary Shinbine knew the owner. I don't know if you've ever talked to her, but she goes back to the '70s. She knew all the pub readings and all of that.

And how did that move back to Estelle's? Was Estelle's your first regular week-to-week reading that you did?

Yeah, it's the only regular week-to-week reading I've done. (table laughs)

And when did you start at Estelle's?

June of 1992, and it was until the end of 1993.

So it was at a point where the open mic [at Estelle's] had already been up and running for a couple of years.

Mm-hmm.

And did the current host leave his position? Did he get fired and you were asked to come on?

I was in the mood to do it. And Chris Demonijin, who was running it at the time, was going to choose between me and somebody else. I really wanted to do it, so I just badgered her to let me do it.

Okay. So tell us what happened with that. It was until the end of 1993, you say. What was that like? Well, let's break that down into a couple of questions. First, what was it like doing a weekly reading, where it was a lot of people showing up who you didn't necessarily know?

It was a lot of fun, and I just really enjoyed hosting. It's something that just comes naturally to me. I'm a little like Shappy [the current host of Estelle's open mic], I'm a bit of a ham. It's fun to go up there. Although... no, actually, I wasn't that different from Shappy. He's more comic than I am on stage.

But you two definitely have more similarities than, say, you and a lot of other people.

Yeah.

I see that too.

Yeah.

And then the second half of that question -- tell us a little bit of what it was like... and I'm setting you up for another question later in the interview, but for now, just tell us what it was like, hosting at that time period, in the earlier part of Chicago's current poetry history. What were some of the readers like? Was it pretty much, in general, the same kinds of things we're hearing today? And also the same proportions of good poets to not-so-good poets?

There were a lot of fun things. There were, like, regular people. That was the dawn of the alternative age, so a lot of things that later became performance poetry were new then, so there were a lot of, like... slackers were new then, so all that stuff was new. So there were people like that, and then there were the people who are still there, like the "honored eccentrics," I guess you could call them, people like Joeffre Stewart and Leonard de Montbraun and people like that. And there were some other people, too, like actors, and... I think I will still going through that period where I was calling it "spoken word" instead of "poetry," I think it was still a word of shame then to say that you were a poet, so "spoken word" sounded better. So there was, like, actors and monologists and people like that, too.

And what happened at the end of 1993? Why did you stop hosting?

I was tired.

Did you have the spark of the idea at the time for Thax After Dark? Or was that after you had stopped hosting for awhile?

Actually, I've been doing Thax After Dark since 1990.

Oh, really?

At Club Lower Links.

Oh, oh oh, okay. Back in 1990 you started Thax After Dark. Was it monthly at that point?

No, it was pretty irregular.

Okay. And you started at Club Lower Links?

Yeah.

And what was that like? That was one of those places, I should mention for the benefit of my readers... there are a number of legendary, almost mythic poetry readings now from the early days of Chicago, that closed before I ever moved here. One of them is definitely Club Lower Links. Tell me a little bit about that.

Well, it was basically a performance art space, and the woman, Lee Jones, who ran it, wanted it to be like one of those little underground spaces in New York, where people could do performance art. Once again, in 1988, it was still really underground.

This was just when people like Eric Bogosian and Karen Finley were just starting to get their first big breaks. People like Laurie Anderson were just starting to get big...

Henry Rollins performed at Lower Links to, like, thirty people, so things were a lot different in 1989, 1990.

And [Club Lower Links] had a whole range of programs, not just a spoken word night. I know Greg Gillam used to host something there, and the Unofficial Soup Kitchen used to do work there, and you obviously started Thax After Dark there.

Yeah, they had a lot of jazz nights and stuff like that. And they had a hip-hop open mic for awhile.

And I'm assuming that it was when Lower Links shut down that you moved to Lounge Ax.

Yeah, it was.

And how did that happen? Were you friends with the owner of Lounge Ax at the time?

No, I did something that I occasionally... I'm not a very good schmoozer, but occasionally when I'm determined to push my way into a scene. And they used to host the Milly's Orchid Show, which is the same genre that I work in. So they kept doing what club owners do when I called, saying "Call me back, call me back, call me back." So I just went there and asked to speak to her in person and said, "I've heard that you're very nice." (table laughs)

And that worked?

Yeah. Well, Jim Carroll [the author of "The Basketball Diaries," among others] raised his fee [when he did a show at Lounge Ax], so they needed an opening act who would perform for, like, nothing, so I said I'd do it. Then I sort of like scammed my way in by saying that I was going to do a rock spoken word show with these rock people who did spoken word. And it wasn't really that way, there was only one of those people in there (table laughs). But luckily, she really liked the show, so she kept letting me do it.

And it's turned out quite well there. You've been running it there ever since.

Yeah, yeah. She keeps letting me do it.

It seems like a good relationship you have there.

Yeah.

Well, before we move on, let me talk with you a little bit about this. You may agree with this and you may not, and I'll just tell you stories that I've heard and my opinions on it and see what you have to say about it. Which is basically, one of the things that you're known for, basically, with your shows, with you being a fixture on the Chicago poetry scene as long as you have, is that you have a real gift at discovering a lot of people who have gone on, or are going on, to really make a name for themselves. I mean, just from your own mouth just a couple of minutes ago, that first show that you ever did, that's pretty impressive, for just deciding to put a show together. And I've also heard all kinds of rumors about the people you've had over the years... rumors that David Sedaris used to read at your shows, that was one of his first places, along with a lot of bands that have gone on to do fairly well. It's no secret that you're friends with Ira Glass, who does This American Life [on National Public Radio], things like that. What would your opinion be on a statement like that? Do you think you're really discovering people? Do you go out of your way to find people who you really like? And are the rumors we've heard true, also?

I wish I could say yes. If I was Bridget Murphy, I could, and I could just let you assume (table laughs). No, David Sedaris was never in my show. I'm really surprised that that's a rumor.

What about the examples that are true? A much higher percentage of the people who you pick and choose and who you really want to be in your shows have gone on to do rather big things, much more than the regular open mics or poetry events that you can point to.

Well, that makes me feel really good, but like you said, I'm the sort of person who, if I really like what they do, I just go up and say, "You're great, do you want to be in a show?" And I also have a pretty good second-sight about, maybe somebody who I've never seen their stuff but I meet them and think that they'd probably do something good, and they do. That's happened a ton of times. And I guess, you know, some of the people are so shy and uncertain of their talent, that just having one person say, "I think you're really great" really does a lot for them, really gives them the courage to do more stuff.

Speaking of the people who have gone on from the early Chicago poetry scene, including David Sedaris, Lisa Buscani, Milly's Orchid Show and all of those things, do you think that's a product of that time in Chicago? Do you think something like that can happen again in the Chicago poetry scene? Or was that indicative of that early '90s period and something that can't be replicated?

Well, how does magic happen? When I went to the Green Mill, it was very magical. And all of us that went there every week... and I went there from '87 to '90... that includes Lisa Buscani, of course Patricia Smith, Sheila Donohue, Cin Salach, Marvin Tate...

A lot of the Neo-Futurists too, right?

Yeah! There was definitely an adjunct to that. David Kodeski...

Dave Awl...

Yeah, tons of people like that. David Hacker, Karasha Lee who went by Ron Miles then, and did stuff about his family, his horrible family. And when he changed his name to "Right of God" he stopped writing about his family. But the point is, here it is, ten years later, and whenever we meet... I mean, it was really special, so it's like we went to high school together. There was something even more special than that. It was really quite incredible.

I guess that's my question. Every single person who we just mentioned, who you said were all regulars, are all people who have made a name for themselves, either in Chicago or nationally, even.

Yeah.

Do you think that's mostly because that all of these great people were attracted to Chicago and that it all happened because of the city we live in, or do you think it's more of a factor that it was a specific time and things were just starting to break in Chicago and a lot of people got those chances that may not exist anymore?

I would think so now, I mean, the Green Mill is a scene already, with its own rules and its own traditions, so it's just like any other thing. It's like, people are there, and people can either do what you've done, which is to adapt yourself to it, which is a lot of fun. Now when I think of people doing a Green-Mill type poem, I think of someone writing a sonnet which seems really charming or something like that. I don't know, if you want something magical to happen...

Do you think there's validity in the argument that there are new open mics, ones that have just been running in the last year or two, are running now, that are producing some of these "magical environments," these very unique, singular experiences, for a whole new generation of poets in Chicago? Do you think there's a whole group of poets right now who are going to go on and have the kinds of successes as this first wave did?

That'd be really nice.

What have you seen as you've continued to do your shows? Have you seen, still, a good amount of performers in Chicago who are new but still have that spark in them? Or not as much anymore?

Well, wherever I go, I see people that I like sometimes, and I say, "Do you want to be in a show?" And I guess I can go to an open mic and see twenty people that I'm tolerating and one person that I really like, and I just ask that one person to do the show. (Jason laughs) That's what I do. But there doesn't seem to be a scene in particular.

Not in the way there used to be, back in this first wave of Chicago poetry?

Well, is the Shappening really a scene? Or is it? I don't know, what do you think?

Oh... well... in my opinion, maybe not the Shappening so much. The main argument against the Shappening is that it's too wide a variety of poets who hate each other that go there regularly right now. But I've seen other things. Just from my personal experiences, I went to an open mic when I first moved here that was at Sweet Alice [ed note: Sweet Alice has since closed and has been turned into the bar Ten54]. Greg Gillam ran it for a year or so, and it has already turned out to produce several, at least two or three, if not more, published writers now, a couple of years down the line. So, just in my own opinion, I think there are some open mics going on in town that are new open mics. And obviously, I go to a LOT of open mics right now, and so I see these ones around town that seem to have their communities happening.

Have you gone to La Piazza?

I tried to go one week and they cancelled, the week I showed up.

Really?

Yeah. So I didn't get a chance to go. I read a really good article about them in the Reader.

Yeah, that's the article that really made it sound exciting.

And I haven't been back, and they charge, like, two or three dollars to get in, then it's a two or three dollar minimum, and I'm like, whoo, that's a lot of money to spend for an open mic! Especially when I don't know anything about it. So I'm going to try to make it down one week, spend the money, just to see what it's like. 'Cause it sounds like it's a good one.

To me, it's the same as, like, going back to the Green Mill and the way it was, a bunch of us went every week. It really was a scene. My shows are like a "one man" scene. I'm the only person there that makes it to every show! (table laughs) So it's not really a scene.

Well, your show, Thax After Dark, shouldn't really be compared to the open mics anyway, 'cause it's a very deliberate, you know, show...

Yeah...

...that you specifically put together. It has very little to do with randomness.

Yeah, you're right about that.

It's much more like a variety show that an audience pays to go to, more than a community of writers who are coming every week to read their new stuff for each other.

Part of that is this Chicago thing. Chicago has really tiny scenes that up and flare, like in the '70s there was...

Steppenwolf.

Yeah, with the theatre, and there was a group of punks and writers who were pretty well known, but they pretty much died down by the time the '80s rolled around.

I see. It seems like Chicago, more or less, has had this kind of history throughout the city's history. You can go all the way back to Carl Sandburg and the Green Onion, and all the readings they did, where they got on a stage and... read their work, just like the open mics right now. And they were very popular, and it seems like every ten or twenty years it swells down, swells back up... of course, Chicago was one of the first cities ever to publish the Beat poets, and they used to come in a lot, perform a lot in Chicago. Maybe that's a good question to ask you. Do you see these two different... we frame a lot of our modern discussions of the Chicago poetry scene based on only the last two waves, basically the rise of the Green Mill, and then a dip again, and now we're on this second crest, right now, for the second time in ten, fifteen years. Should we look at it more in the context of the city as a whole, or should we look at these two waves as two distinctly related waves that are bringing a LOT of newfound attention to the city, unlike any of the other waves?

I didn't know there was a lot of newfound attention to the poetry scene.

Oh, well, there's all these things going on, and 'love jones' came out and got a bunch of national attention, there's more and more Chicago writers who are on national tours and getting books published nationwide, and... yeah, yeah. I would definitely say that there's a newfound attention that wasn't there before. But should we look at that? Should we look at the last ten years as the rise of Chicago poetry? Or should we look at it as oh, this is just another upswing of the Chicago poetry scene?

Yeah, I'm going to assume that it's just another upswing.

Well, let's... oh, is the diner closing soon?

Yeah, about ten minutes. Plus I've got my show tonight.

Oh yeah. Shit. Well, we better... well, just a little bit more. Actually, I'm going to turn the tape at this point. (pause while tape is flipped over) Okay, we're running with Thax Douglas again. Thax, we're kind of running our time down of our time available, so let me skip around and ask you a couple of questions that I wanted to get to, and jump from subject to subject a little bit. First, tell me a little bit about your experiences with you and Ira Glass and National Public Radio. How did something like that happen?

Well, this is another great opportunity where, if I was Brigid Murphy, I would make the most out of it. But my best friend, John Connors, does music for This American Life, and I'm friends with this one Paula Killan I think you know of. Paula Killan?

I think...

She lives in L.A. now, but she's really great and she's always really liked me. But anything I have to do with Ira Glass is because of John.

He was the one who introduced you two. Did you become mutual admirers of each other, or how did you originally start working together?

Ira?

Yeah, Ira, working with Ira. Or was it just a situation where Ira had a space open and your friend John said, "Oh, I have a friend, Thax, he could come in and do something"?

Actually, I haven't had anything for him yet, for This American Life, because I don't think my style of writing would go over on This American Life, so I haven't tried. Like I said... oh, you were AT that show, right?

Oh yeah. [ed note: Thax is referring to the one-year anniversary of This American Life, recorded live at The Flat Iron Building in Wicker Park. Thax was a performer, as well as such notables as The Mekons and Dan Savage.]

How do you know Ira?

Uh, I don't (laughs).

You don't know him?

I don't know him as a friend. Actually, I met him at Thax After Dark! He was an audience member the month I performed "The Day I Turned Gay."

Oh yeah, that's right!

And I was already a fan of Ira's, and I saw him host a fundraiser at Steppenwolf. So I knew what he looked like, and I got really drunk that night at Lounge Ax...

Was that [Steppenwolf] show the show I was in?

Yeah, that was the show you were in, that also had David Sedaris, and Liz Phair... so I got really drunk at Lounge Ax and went over and said, "Oh, Ira Glass, you're so cool, I'm such a big fan" and I made a big fool out of myself and he thought I was stalking him (table laughs).

People love him. I mean, people go really nuts about him.

People literally go nuts about him, and I'm a big fan of his. So he had this 'Letters' show last year...

That's right...

And I went and performed at it, because it was an open call for people with letters. And because I performed for it, that's how I got the invitation for the one-year anniversary, and that's how John Biederman and I ended up there. I ended up getting cut from the show. Wasn't even actually on the show. But I still got the invitation.

So you got to see that show. That's pretty good.

So Ira... I definitely know who Ira is. I'm pretty sure Ira knows who I am. That's not necessarily the best thing (laughs). I'm not sure if he necessarily has a good opinion of me, because everytime I'm around him, I'm this big, doddering... idiot.

Wow!

I'm just like, everytime I'm around him, "Oh Ira, you're SO COOL and I LOVE your show and duh-duh-duh!" (Laughing loudly) Anyway, all apologies to Ira if he's reading this article (table laughs).

Well, if we're going to talk about celebrities, I'd rather drop a name like Steve Albini.

Yeah, have you worked with him?

Yeah, I made a spoken word album with him.

Really? Wow! I had no idea!

Well, it's with this noise guitarist named Alan Jones. And because I'm so incredibly lazy, it's just sitting there. Maybe the guy publishing my book will put it out.

Oh yeah, let's speak a little bit about that, since we're on the subject. Juggernaut Press, Daniel X. O'Neil, is... (to waitress) Are you closing up soon? Do you want us to get out of here?

WAITRESS: Uh, I closed twenty minutes ago, but...

Oh!

Oh.

Okay, just a couple more minutes and we're out of here.

Yeah, he just got married, Daniel, and he's on his honeymoon. So when he comes back, that's going to be his next project.

Did he just approach you? Did he just say, "I'm a fan of your work, I want to publish you"?

Yeah. He's someone I've known for a long time and I really like, because he'd always give me these pep talks about the entrepreneurial spirit.

He's constantly doing that to me, too. It's the whole reason I self-published my first novel, it was all Daniel going, "Jason, you GOTTA do it, you GOTTA!" (table chuckles) He's great, he really is.

And his books look so good!

I know! Fantastic.

So I was really excited. He first brought it up in 1995, and at first I thought he was just talking, but now I know he's really serious.

Will this be your first published book?

Mm-hmm.

So it must be exciting, after all of this time.

The only thing I can say is that by the time the book comes out, I hope you'll be sick of my name, 'cause I plan on getting as much publicity as possible. I'll be like Liz Phair in 1993. (Jason laughs loudly) I know you didn't live here in 1993...

No, no I didn't.

Or Tony Fitzpatrick in 1989, same thing.

Yeah?

Publicity blitzes.

And you're hoping for the same saturation!

Yeah, I'm going for saturation.

Well, Thax, you have a lot of friends and admirers in the Chicago press. I don't think that's going to be too difficult at all (laughs).

Oh, thanks Jason.

Well, the diner's closing up and we're going to have to cut this short, but I have so many other questions for you...

Isn't there a way to talk on the phone?

Maybe a little bit. I know John's clamoring for this and I'm behind deadline. And we've already talked way too much anyway, so much of this is going to get cut...

Oh, okay.

Copyright 1997, Jason Pettus. All rights reserved.