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http://www.nytimes.com/2012/08/19/nyreg ... -pits.html
August 16, 2012
Playing at Shea, Not the Mets
By ALEX VADUKUL
IT’S the sort of street no one would miss if it disappeared tomorrow: a desolate stretch in an industrial zone of East Williamsburg, Brooklyn. But behind the unmarked metal entrance to 20 Meadow Street, at the summit of a claustrophobic stairway, hides Shea Stadium, a grungy apartmentlike space that is a pillar of the borough’s D.I.Y. music scene.
The main floor is not much larger than a living room. Raw performances occur on the sparse stage, which stands a mere 18 inches above floor level. Listeners sink into the dents of the worn couches, where band members will sometimes crash hours later. Others kick up frenzied mosh pits on the floor. There is a scratched-up fridge stuffed with cans of cheap beer. The balcony, where people converse and smoke, gets as cramped as a No. 6 train during rush hour.
The all-ages shows, which range in style from punk rock to more experimental forms of music, have the atmosphere of a lawless house party. Some regulars come just for the scene, not even knowing who will perform that night. At quieter shows, half of an act’s audience might consist of friends.
Shea Stadium’s name is intentionally outsize, said Adam Reich, 26, who runs the space. “I’m a lifelong Mets fan,” he said. The ballpark was being torn down as he decided to open in 2009, and the moniker seemed a perfect, winking fit.
On a Saturday night this month, Jake Martin, 25, worked door duty in the sweltering entryway, letting people into a record-release party for the band Guardian Alien. He dabbed passing wrists with a Mets logo stamp.
Onstage, a psychedelic trio called Rhyton brought a dissonant jam to a spiraling climax. Its mutton-chopped frontman noodled away on an electric mandolin that was heavy with distortion.
Guardian Alien took the stage next. Its shirtless drummer, Greg Fox, who is Mr. Reich’s cousin, struck a mallet against a gong, commanding the crowd’s attention. His band kicked in, creating a thrashing battery of sound.
Mr. Reich observed the show from a soundproof recording booth overlooking the stage. He spends most performances inside this dark room, moving the faders on the mixing panels. All the concerts are recorded, and many are uploaded onto Shea’s Web site, where the music streams free. Shea has now collected about six terabytes of music, said Mr. Reich — over 1,000 hours.
When the set ended, a street recycler arrived to collect cans and sweep up. Shea pays the man a small fee. “Everyone who comes here very often knows him,” Mr. Reich said.
Jon Garcia and Tia Vincent, who had performed earlier as the punk duo Queening, were relaxing in a graffiti-covered backstage room. A rusty, dripping air-conditioner worked overtime as they drank tall cans of beer. “Here there’s always a sense of possibility,” Mr. Garcia, 26, said of the place. “What’s going to happen?” He added, “It demonstrates that it’s possible to have a live music experience and community without worries about profits of the bar.”
On the main floor, Mr. Fox was speaking with fans. He pointed to a seven-foot marlin that hung, somewhat out of place, on a wall, drawing it to the attention of a reporter. He had caught the fish with his father when he was 14, and when his father gave it to him last summer, he instinctively decided to hang it at Shea.
As the space cleared around 2 a.m., a trio of teenagers lingered on the balcony. Silas Drewchin, 19, held forth to two 17-year-old girls sitting on either side of him. He mused on Shea. “Either you’re 21 or not,” he said. “That disorients people about what you can do. This venue is about that: showing you’re capable of anything. It shows you’re capable of what society says you’re not capable of.”
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