Oral History Transcript - Kent Finlay - November 13, 1986
Interview with Kent Finlay
Interviewer: Susan M. Gillis
Transcriber: Susan M. Gillis
Date of Interview: November 13, 1986
Location: San Marcos, TX
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Begin Tape 1, Side 1
Susan M. Gillis: Today is November 13, it’s a Thursday, and I’m here with Kent Finlay, the owner and head honcho of Cheatham Street Warehouse. And we’re going to talk about Cheatham Street and the history of it.
Kent Finlay: In the beginning, which was 1974, Cheatham Street Warehouse was a warehouse, and San Marcos did not have any music places at the time. There was a complete lack of music in San Marcos. I’ve always been a musician and interested in music—even when I was teaching school, prior to that. And so, we needed a music place. Or I felt that we did.
You can’t have a music place—a place without any soul, you know, and so I looked around. A friend of mine named Jim Cunningham and I looked for six months for the right place, a place with the right feeling. We drove by what became Cheatham Street Warehouse a thousand times and never dreamed that it was that old wood on the inside; we thought it was just an old tin building. It looked great on the outside, the most beautiful building in town. When we finally walked in and saw the inside, I knew immediately, That was it! [The sound is so great in there; it’s like an old fiddle, the wood has aged through the years, and it’s even shaped like a horn]. We immediately set out to get the music started.
It took us about four or five months getting the plumbing, dealing with the city hall, dealing with all the governments, and the idiots in all the governments that you have to deal with, you know. But we finally were able to get the doors open. If we’d been opening an ice cream parlor or something, we could have been open in half the time. But since we were going to have a beer license, they gave us a lot of run-around.
There was one particular man at City Hall who thought he was working for the Lord and thought serving beer was sinful and took it upon himself to give us a lot of extra things that weren’t in city code, just a lot of extra run-around. But finally, we were able to deal with him and come up with a music hall. The purpose has always been music and that’s the only reason we’re over there—to have music.
The first night we opened was June 1, 1974, and that night we didn’t have music. We just had everything pretty much done, and we decided, Well, why don’t we just open the door and figure out where everything is, and maybe a few people will drift in. We had a piano in there, and I play the piano, and I thought, Well, I’ll just play the piano a little bit, and we’ll just figure out where everything is and get our feet on the ground, because on the third of June we had Freda and the Firedogs booked. Freda was Marcia Ball, and that was the name of her band at the time. She’s gone on to bigger and better things now.
We opened the door and immediately four hundred people swarmed in. We didn’t know how much to charge, you know. I don’t think in terms of business—it was a music place, and so we hadn’t thought about how much [to charge] for things. Someone walked in and said, “Let me have such and such. How much is that?” And I said, “I don’t know.” (Laughs) So we discussed it on the spot and decided that we ought to charge for it. You know, we bargained and decided what to charge. It was a huge, huge night. Two nights later, when we had the grand opening with Marcia Ball, or Freda and the Firedogs, as the band was called at the time, we must have had 450; it was just completely packed with people. It was a Monday night, and it really was a magic night because she (Freda) was so good. She was just as good then as she is now. And everyone realized that, and it sounded great. It really got things off to a wonderful start, and it’s been going ever since. That was twelve years ago.
Gillis: Who has come from Cheatham Street?
Finlay: That first summer we had unknowns like Marcia Ball and Asleep at the Wheel and Alvin Crow and Willie Nelson and Jerry Jeff Walker, unknowns like that. Through the years, we’ve had a lot of unknowns come through Cheatham Street. George Strait and Ace in the Hole started October 13, 1975. And exactly ten years later, on the fourteenth of October last year, George was named male vocalist of the year, and again this year on the anniversary of the night they started, he got male vocalist of the year again for the second year in a row.
Omar and the Howlers moved from Jackson, Mississippi, in ’76, and they set up a gig at Cheatham Street before they even moved. And just as soon as they got here, they played at Cheatham Street. They were a fine band then—he’s gone through a lot of changes. Just a few months ago, he signed a major record deal with CBS Records, and so it looks like we’re fixing to have another really big star in the blues field.
Stevie Ray Vaughan used to play every Tuesday night when he was an unknown, back when he was known as Stevie Vaughan. He changed his name from Stevie Vaughan to Stevie Ray Vaughan while he was at Cheatham Street. A guy named Charlie Sexton, who was about eleven years old and lived in Wimberley, and his brother, Will Sexton, used to come and open for him every Tuesday. Charlie Sexton looked like a miniature Stevie Ray Vaughan, he wore the same kind of clothes, and he held his guitar the same way and played the same kind of music. And so, Charlie Sexton got his start there, too, opening up for Stevie Ray Vaughan.
We’ve had legends, too. Ernest Tubb played at Cheatham Street. Gatemouth Brown plays there on a regular basis. It’s wonderful that Ernest Tubb played there. He was such an influence on the honkytonk portion of country music. He influenced so many people.
Gillis: What’s a normal night like at Cheatham Street?
Finlay: There’s no such thing as a normal night. Every night is different depending on who’s playing. When we first opened, we had country music and progressive country and some folk, and we limited it to that pretty much. We’d have an “oompah” band every once in a while for a special event or something. We had very little rock and roll at that time.
About a year or a year and a half after we opened, another music-oriented place in San Marcos opened called the Too Bitter, and they had wonderful rock and roll bands. Christopher Cross used to play there, and I really regret that I never did have Christopher Cross at Cheatham Street, but that doesn’t make any difference. He did have a place to play in San Marcos, and that’s what’s important—that there be a place for music to develop.
They [the Too Bitter] basically did rock and roll, and they didn’t do any country, and we basically did country and didn’t do any rock and roll. And so we had our own little things there, and we worked together in that way. After about four or five years, they closed down, and at that time [in 1979], there were a number of rock and roll bands who were really good that were left without a venue in San Marcos, and so we opened our door a little bit wider and took those bands in, and now we have anything that is sincere music. [If it’s sincere] we’re open to it. We have rock and roll and blues and country and folk and reggae—anything that’s honest music. We never have disco. We try not to have any Top 40 bands, any copy bands or anything like that—any of that trash. We try to have people who are doing, hopefully, their own material, people who are creative because those are the people who are going to make it, you know. Those are the people who need the help. The Top 40 bands are basically doing it to make money, and we’re interested in people that are doing it because they have to.
Gillis: Do you think Cheatham Street will be here in ten more years?
Finlay: I have no idea. I’ll say this: it’s getting very, very difficult. In the past three or four years, it’s become more and more difficult for music-oriented places—for artistic-oriented places to survive because of a number of different things. And it’s a shame because Texas has always been probably the most fertile ground for new musical talent, maybe in the world. I mean, all the music centers are filled with Texans because Texas has had music halls—honky-tonks, if you will—for musicians to develop their music.
You cannot learn blues, you cannot learn country, you cannot learn rock and roll in a university situation. You have to learn it by playing it. If Hank Williams had majored in music at any school in the world, or if B.B. King had majored in music at any school in the world, I’m sorry, it would have destroyed them. It really would have. It would have taken the soul out of them. They would have learned all the rules, and then they couldn’t have broken them. If Louis Armstrong had majored in music somewhere, had had the opportunity to major in music and then done so, he wouldn’t have been the great influence in music, and schools of music today wouldn’t be teaching what he developed.
So we desperately need concert halls, honky-tonks, dance halls, this sort of thing. Now there’s sort of a movement, a witch-hunt, if you will, that has somehow involved music halls because most music halls [like the Metropolitan Opera] have alcoholic beverages—and somehow, a lot of people misunderstand what we’re there for. Some laws have been passed that really have hurt the music industry in Texas.
And then the oil thing is hurting the music industry greatly because most of the money that we use in the music industry for projects like albums, it comes from oil, and that’s all gone right now. Everyone’s broke. On all different levels, from the early development stages to the recording of albums by name stars, it’s hurting the whole industry.
The whole industry is in trouble right now; I’m not sure which way we’re going to turn. We have to do something; we have to get our music to the people. Some changes may have to be made. We may have to rely more on television than we have. That’s something I’m working on right now. It hasn’t come about yet, it’s something, I think, that probably will be happening in the future. Music will be taken into the home instead of people being brought to the music.
Gillis: Like “Cheatham TV” or something?
Finlay: Like “Austin City Limits”-type shows. There’s going to be more and more and more networks, and I think there’s going to be a lot more music networks. MTV even has been successful, and I can’t help but believe that a more honest approach to music could be even more successful. I don’t mean to sound negative about MTV, but sometimes, maybe, I don’t understand it. Sometimes I think MTV is music for people that don’t want to think. They do all your thinking for you. I would think there would be musical-type networks for people who like to think.
Gillis: If you could have any band or any performer in the whole world come to Cheatham Street, who would you ask?
Finlay: We’ve had all the ones that I would choose—Willie Nelson and George Strait are hard to beat, you know. George started there and has played there hundreds of times, and Willie has played there. Dan Seals is one person who is coming on really strong.
I think in terms of songwriters, too. Kris Kristofferson has never been there. I would love to have Kristofferson come and do a solo—a songwriter night with us. We do a songwriter night every Tuesday night, and it’s open to everybody. Some of us are professionals and some of us are amateur, [but] we’re all equals [on a Tuesday night]. It’s probably the finest night of the week. We don’t make any money that night—not a big crowd—but that’s alright. That’s not the purpose of it. A number of songwriters always show up, and we get to show everyone our new songs and tell each other what’s happening in the music business that we know about. It’s like a reunion once a week for songwriters.
Gillis: Has the drinking age shift from nineteen to twenty-one [years old] hurt your business any?
Finlay: Of course, it has. What it has done is made it almost impossible for bowling alleys and music halls and concert halls to interest people who feel like they’ve been left out by the law. So what’s happening is all those people from nineteen to twenty-one are riding around, drinking beer and listening to the radio, instead of going bowling and having a beer while they’re bowling and feeling like they’re part of it, or going to a concert.
We’ve never been there to get people drunk. We don’t do beer specials or anything like that. We’re a music hall. We want people to come listen to our music. But it’s a little hard for people to do that when it’s almost like they’re outcasts.
It’s hurting the music business all over the state of Texas, and that’s what concerns me. I’m not concerned with myself, I’m concerned with the music business, in general.
There’s at least as much beer [or drinks] being consumed by minors—people under twenty-one—than there was before the law changed. People are buying it at the grocery store and riding around. The purpose was to cut down on drinking and driving and, of course, any fool can see it would increase it, which it has done.
I talked to a highway patrol friend of mine the day before yesterday—I said, “I bet it increased your business.” And he said, “Yeah, it really has.” A whole lot more people riding around drinking and driving. We’re getting off history [of Cheatham Street Warehouse] here, aren’t we?
There have been some really great moments at Cheatham Street in the past. One night, Jerry Jeff Walker and Willie Nelson showed up together, unannounced. I knew they were coming, but I didn’t tell anybody—kept it a secret. Willie Nelson is such a wonderful, wonderful, soulful man. He walked in, and there was another band playing. They did one song, and Willie couldn’t stand it any longer—he was up on the bandstand with them. And played all night long. No one in the world has a much feeling as Willie Nelson. It was just a really fine treat. I heard someone say that night and it made me feel good, “Where in the world could you hear Willie Nelson and Jerry Jeff Walker, both in one night, for two dollars except Cheatham Street Warehouse!”
We do other things—other than music. We do plays, and we’ve had ATR shows there, we’re pretty much devoted to the ATRs and primarily to music.
One of the things we set out to do when we first opened—I made a promise that I would never close the doors on someone because they weren’t well-known yet. We’ve always made it a point that if they were talented, we’d let them play, although they may not draw a crowd. Drawing a crowd has never been the way I judge a musical group.
Anyway, in connection with that, when George Strait had his first album out, on the copy that he gave me, he wrote on the front, “Thank you for giving me a place to play when no one else would.” And that almost makes it worth it, you know.
Alex Harvey used to play there all the time. Alex Harvey wrote “Delta Dawn,” among other things, a super smash hit. Eric Johnson plays for me all the time. Eric Johnson is just idolized by most every guitar player in the world. He’s a regular, been playing there since ‘79. And he’s such a nice guy, really a nice person.
Gillis: South and Central Texas really have a lot of musicians come out of it.
Finlay: Well, Texas and Oklahoma and Louisiana have always had more than their share of talent. And the reason is, and I quote Bill C. Malone, who is the world’s authority on country music, “because we have honky-tonks.” That’s where the music is developed, you know. Blues is developed in honky-tonks. Country is developed in honky-tonks. Most rock and roll, the rock and roll with soul, comes from honky-tonks.
There’s British rock and roll, but if you’ll notice, the soul seems to be missing. They’ve been highly successful commercially. It’s hard for me to listen to the Beatles and be completely satisfied. And the Beatles were so wonderful—I’m not saying anything bad about them—but they just didn’t even touch the soul of Jerry Lee Lewis, who was one of the people they were copying.
We’re just in a very fertile area for music, and it hurts me to think we’re trying to eradicate our crop.
Gillis: What do you think about performers like Madonna?
Finlay: I’ve never been excited by music that’s been contrived to make money. I’m excited by music that comes out because it has to. I’m excited about songs that someone writes because they have to write them. I’m excited by Billy Joe Shaver, who writes songs that come from so deep down in his heart, he has to live them. Every song he ever wrote, he lived it. And he put his soul on a piece of tape when he records a song. I’m excited about that sort of thing.
Madonna is highly successful commercially because they contrived an image and a sound to sell records, but I don’t feel any sense of honesty when I hear anything that she has been associated with.
Billy Joe Shaver is one of the people who plays at Cheatham Street on a regular basis. He’s a wonderful, wonderful songwriter. He’s the Hank Williams of today. He really is. He’s so good, so honest; he will probably never be a very big commercial success. But all of us in the business sure know who he is. Waylon Jennings did an album—Waylon Jennings’ best album—called “Honky Tonk Heroes,” and Billy Joe Shaver wrote all the songs except one on that album. It’s a wonderful album.
By the way, Waylon Jennings has just recorded “Deep in the West,” which was written by Shake Russell, (who plays at Cheatham Street all the time) and it should be released soon. It’s Shake Russell’s finest song, I think. Ricky Skaggs recorded a thing that he wrote about a year ago, and I believe that Shake has signed with Warner Brothers. So maybe he’s fixing to take off. I hope so.
It’s really nice to watch an awards show now—the Grammys or any of the award shows. I get to see some of my friends on every one of them. It’s really nice.
Gillis: If you could sum up Cheatham Street in one phrase, what would it be?
Finlay: “The Classiest Place in Town.”
Gillis: A lot of people that go there, are they mostly students, or are they mostly people from around the area, or a mixture?
Finlay: Both, it depends on who is playing. Some bands tend to interest a different crowd.
When Eric Johnson plays, we have people from Dallas, Houston, San Antonio, Austin. We don’t advertise in Houston, but they know when he’s playing. They keep up with him. It’s a completely different crowd when Eric plays than when Omar and the Howlers play. They draw some of the same people. Omar draws a good crowd, too. Omar draws more heavily from San Antonio and Austin and of course, locally—it just depends on who’s playing on that particular night.
Gillis: To sum it all up—
Finlay: Cheatham Street was established for the perpetuation and the development and the enjoyment of, basically, Texas music.
I don’t judge success in terms of money because we scrape by, just to be honest. But I feel that we were highly successful, I feel so proud because George Strait started here and Charlie Sexton. They’re on completely opposite ends of the musical spectrum, and we’ve had people all in between. It feels good that we’ve somehow touched the careers of these people. I’m not saying we did anything, except having a place to play, and maybe I encouraged someone a little bit, made them want to stick with it.
To be quite honest, it’s hard to find a place to play if you’re [not a Top 40 band]. Some places want those bands that do that Top 40 stuff because they’re strictly there to make money. Sometimes it’s hard for a band who is really sincere about their art to find a place to play.
So that’s just what we try to be—a place where they can come play and the audience that comes to Cheatham Street—when they leave, they know who it was that they heard.
We don’t lure them in there with some trick. We don’t have any “everything for free” specials. We say, Tonight we have Eric Johnson playing, and that’s the special. People always call and say, You got any specials tonight. We refuse to have that kind of specials and I always just say, “Yes, tonight we have Lou Ann Barton,” and that’s just about as special as you can get.
End of interview