There’s a scene in the movie Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, where Hunter S. Thompson recalls an acid trip he experienced at a San Francisco nightclub in the sixties while Somebody to Love by Jefferson Airplane plays. The club did exist, and Thompson was a regular. In reality, it was a small club started by a young musician in an ex-pizza parlour to showcase a band he wanted to put together. The musician was Marty Balin, the band became Jefferson Airplane and the club was The Matrix.
As far as I can tell the club was never as big as it appeared in the movie even though it did go through a few renovations. Bands would perform on the 3 by 5.5 metre stage at the back of the club next to the kitchen and sound booth. It was an intimate venue, relatively speaking. Capacity was about 100 to 120 people. The hieroglyphs painted on one of the walls are visible behind the band on the cover of Jefferson Airplane’s Surrealistic Pillow. On another wall, the four horsemen of the apocalypse, each carrying musical instruments.
It was a musician’s bar above all else. They played there, they hung out there, they experimented there. The club opened in August 1965 and quickly established a packed schedule, featuring live music six to seven nights a week. Performances ranged from stripped back blues (Lightnin’ Hopkins had regular gigs) to early shows from The Grateful Dead, and Big Brother and the Holding Company. This eclectic mix of rock, folk, blues, and jazz performances was influential in cultivating the San Francisco Sound, a psychedelic fusion of the genres.
In 1966 or ‘67 Balin sold his share of the club to focus on Jefferson Airplane. But the live music continued. Performers included John Lee Hooker, The Velvet Underground, and an early gig from a then relatively unknown Bruce Springsteen. The club closed in 1972, amid some possible financial difficulties, but mostly because the times they were a-changing.
The club was so of its time that it’s fitting that it closed when it did. By the early 1970s, the San Francisco Sound that The Matrix helped pioneer was giving way to new genres and larger venues. Bands that once played intimate clubs were now filling arenas, and the demand for small, experimental venues declined.
Though its doors have long since closed, the club lives on through the many official and bootleg recordings that captured its unforgettable nights. Peter Abram, audiophile, and co-owner of The Matrix created the fairly sophisticated audio setup in the club. He included an Akai reel-to-reel tape recorder and almost all the gigs were recorded, though a lot the tapes were subsequently reused. The historic recordings are surprisingly clear and well-mixed and feature improvised jam sessions, unreleased songs and early gigs from artists who would later become legendary.
According to a newspaper article from 1965 announcing the opening of the club, the owners said that The Matrix means “a place where something of value originates and develops.” Marty Balin created a cultural icon that launched careers and helped create a new sound. Now a place that had such a big impact on music has almost become forgotten (no prizes for guessing what comes up when you google The Matrix).
On the day of publishing this article (18th July, coincidentally Hunter S. Thompson’s birthday) a new exhibition about The Matrix has just opened at the Haight Street Art Centre showcasing items from Balin’s estate. The gallery specialises in poster art, another thing The Matrix was influential in. Hopefully it’s the start of bringing this important piece of musical history back into the public’s attention. In the meantime, I recommend you put on Jefferson Airplane – Return to the Matrix. Sit back and listen to the ambience of the room. Hear Grace and Marty reminiscing about the club while interacting with the crowd. Close your eyes and pretend you’re back in time. I dare you to tell me you don’t get chills.