Cutting through the bull

I’m not sure where it got its credibility all of a sudden, but legendary illegal boozecan The Matador was slated to be razed for a parking lot. The ensuing media pile-on has been nothing short of a farce.

Even generally balanced sources like the Torontoist(read here) have managed to get this story at least partially partially wrong. CBC Radio has been running what seems like almost nightly blowjobs, culminating in an announcement today that the Matador has been saved from its fate as Toronto’s next parking lot.

I live across from the Matador and, from what you read anywhere else, would seem to be the only person who feels that to write passionately about a venue, you might deign to get within 500 yards of the place in, say, the decade or so preceding the publication of your article.

The facts in this case certainly seem to be getting in the way of a good story, so here’s a few things I’d like to tell you about the place. Here’s my refutation of the generally accepted wisdom that seems to be circulating out there:

1. The Matador is situated in an historic building, so it should never be torn down.

Ahem. Even assuming that it won’t fall down on its own (check the brickwork on the southern wall), the Matador is not situated in an historic building, but rather in an old building. Not incidentally, it’s also an ugly building that’s out of sorts with both the old Victorians on the block and the nearby YMCA and the formerly abandoned bank on the corner (now a Starbuck’s, where were our activists when that transformation happened last year?)

I believe in the preservation of buildings when they’re in some way memorable or exceptional. Calling for the preservation of the Matador on architectural grounds makes about as much sense as calling for the preservation of Regent Park or the Gardiner Expressway on historical grounds. It was built a long time ago. Now it sucks. Bye.

2. The Matador has hosted legendary music acts.

Hey, I like the Sadies and Neko Case as much as the next guy (as long as he’s a precocious indie-rock douchetard like me; otherwise they’re unknowns, which I will grant is a travesty). But walk by most days and you’ll see the billboard, er, chalkboard crowing about such music notables as The Iceberg’s (sic), Ann’s Favourite Band, the Star Rockers and my favourite, No Band Tonight. Yes, Blue Rodeo has played there. But they’ve also probably rocked the Loaf and Ale in Napanee. Who gives a shit? Yes, Leonard Cohen wrote about the Matador. But he’s also written about religion, isolation and heartbreak. Somebody hit the airwaves and defend those colossal pains in the ass.

3. The Matador is a nightclub.

The Matador is not a nightclub. It’s an after-hours illegal boozecan. None of the coverage I’ve heard or seen references this fact even obliquely, suggesting either disingenuousness, bald ignorance, or perhaps a tasty combo of the two.

Nightclubs have things like liquor licenses and are open during legal hours. This place opens at 2am on Fridays and Saturdays and is frequently raided by police. Its patrons vomit on my lawn on their way to their cars, which they drive home, drunk. Talk to the cops. Drop by at 3am. You’ll see what I mean. Even Jilly’s can wrinkle its nose at the legal infractions.

4. The owner, Ann, doesn’t want to sell it.

False, false, false. The owner, Ann, told my wife (a frequent patron in years past) and I in a conversation more than two years ago that the place just ain’t what it used to be, and that the cost of policing its current clientele is prohibitive.

The current clientele are mostly folks who have been booted from Richmond Street megaclubs only to arrive and find a honky-tonk instead of the rave they were hoping for. Hey, charge these suburban house music addicts $20 at the door, sell them a mickey of rye for $20 more, then bring on the rockabilly band — oh, and shit, is the E wearing off. What could possibly go wrong?

The fact is that Ann, the owner, doesn’t want to sell it at the insultingly low price of $800,000, which, as she points out, is considerably less than she’s paid in property taxes over the years. Let her hold out for more dough. Just don’t turn it into a political issue.

5. It’s a disgrace that they want to put in a parking lot.

Guess what, dickweeds? That part of Dovercourt is transformed into a parking lot every Friday and Saturday night that the club is open, because cabs are lined up waiting, with engines running, to haul another quartet of wasted, sexually frustrated fuckwits back to Pickering at 4am.

I wish the neighbourhood wasn’t congested. I wish more people cycled or took public transit. I wish people didn’t drive to go and exercise at the Y when they could walk or cycle there and stay half as long. But they do. Trust me, if you live here or even popped in for a visit, you’d know.

At the end of the day, nobody in the hood would be terribly sorry to see the place go, though we’ve all been there and can see its charms. I’d wager that most of the people who have been jumping up and down defending the joint haven’t popped in lately to see how it’s declined.

To those people, I’d like to propose that you get a clue and find a proper cause to throw your weight behind.

If nothing else, you’ll feel a bit less silly when Ann sells it for the fair price she’s holding out for.