Interview with Wetlands Preserved Director Dean Budnick
"Wetlands
was unlike any music venue or any nightclub I had ever entered,
let alone one in New York City. I remember being blown away by the
use of space, in particular the downstairs lounge, which was something
of the ultimate chill zone."
Interview by Alexandra Bullen
Posted: April 4, 2008
If you lived in New York City in the nineties,
had an interest in live underground music, and were active in any
number of social and environmental causes, chances are you spent
a night or two at Wetlands, the downtown rock club/activism center
described by its founder Larry Bloch as a venue “built by
Deadheads for Deadheads.”
Wetlands Preserved, the aptly titled new documentary combining
interviews, live audio from seminal shows, and psychedelic animation
sequences, premiered at New York City's Cinema Village on
March 14th. Amidst chaotic premiere week activities, author, cultural
historian and now documentary-filmmaker Dean Budnick was able to
talk to IDT's Alexandra Bullen about the process
of paying tribute to a place and a time gone by.
What was the first show you saw at Wetlands?
The first show I saw was New Potato Caboose in the spring of 1989.
I was a law student at Columbia at the time and a friend of mine
suggested we hop onto the subway and head down to this new venue.
It was a rather remarkable experience because Wetlands was unlike
any music venue or any nightclub I had ever entered, let alone one
in New York City. I remember being blown away by the use of space,
in particular the downstairs lounge, which was something of the
ultimate chill zone, decked out with pillows and the like. It very
much reminded me of the basement in my parents' house.
Were you first and foremost a fan of live music, or was
it the club's social activism component that drew you in?
While it was the music that drew me in, I was always impressed
with the efforts of the Activism Center. Invariably, whenever I
entered the club I would first wander over to the Earth Station
(the locus of activism) to read about the Center's latest
acts of derring-do and pick up some literature.
How did the idea of a documentary about Wetlands come to
you?
It had always been in the back of my mind that I might relate the
story of the club but I had assumed I would do so in book form.
On the final night of music at Wetlands in late September 2001,
I drove my car down to the venue and spent the afternoon emptying
out the club's file cabinets and collecting material that
might otherwise have been destroyed. It was an interesting and rather
eerie experience as this was two weeks after 9/11 and there were
police officers blocking traffic into that portion of lower Manhattan.
I explained what I was up to and eventually they let my car through,
where I pretty much had the streets to myself. It was rather somber
and unsettling.
How long did the documentary take to complete? Was most
of your work done in the editing room, or did you have a solid idea
of structure and about which interviews would make up the bulk of
the film from the beginning?
We started shooting in March of 2004 and quite honestly, we made
one final meaningful pass earlier this month. Having said that though,
the film mostly had arrived in its current form by the spring of
2006.
As for the structure, Wetlands Preserved first came together
via a paper edit that I assembled in early 2005. While I was at
SXSW last year I heard Doug Pray talking about how he edited Big
Rig and his films in general. He mentioned that he arrived
at his first cut by focusing exclusively on the audio, which is
what I did as well.
We ended up with over 70 hours of interview footage. I transcribed
all of it myself and while I was doing that, I began thinking about
the structure. Speaking of which, I know many other writers and
filmmakers who leave transcription up to interns and outside services
but I take quite a bit away from the process as it allows me to
wrap my head around the material.
The film features a number of former employees, all of
whom seem to be eager to share their (for the most part) very fond
memories. There was one memorable mention of a bar manager driven
over the edge by a seemingly never-ending Disco Biscuits set. Were
there more stories like this one that didn't make it into
the film?
The ones that didn't make it into the film typically were
stories that we just couldn't edit to a workable length. There
was a great story of The Roots' Ahmir “?uestlove”
Thompson having a confrontation with P. Diddy, but it's over
five minutes in duration and ?uestlove really needs all five minutes
to tell his story. Thankfully, that will find its way our DVD Extras
along with many others, including [club owner] Larry Bloch's
introduction to Bob Dylan, which was proceeded by an immediate confrontation
with Jakob Dylan over song selection during a DJ set, as well as
something we call “Phish Averts a Group Puke.”
Was the decision not to include very much actual concert
footage an intentional one, or was there a lack of available footage
shot in the club to select from?
There simply was not enough high-quality video footage from the
early days of the club. The footage that did exist was on deteriorating
VHS tapes, which really allowed for only limited usage. What's
more, because of the nature of the club's layout, in particular
the tight space in front of the stage and the lack of a photo pit,
much of the video was shot through a jostled camera with stray limbs
occasionally obstructing the view.
How did the idea to incorporate the animation sections
develop? What were you hoping they would add to the viewing experience?
The animation sequences emerged as something of a happy accident.
They came into play to address the dearth of video footage. While
we didn't have much video, we did have the collections of
the club's two staff photographers as well as extensive audio
archives.
My intent with those sequences was to evoke the essence of experiencing
music in Wetlands. It would be a challenge in most any situation
to translate live music onto film. but all the more so in this instance
given our limited video resources. However, to my mind, the animations
do a better job of capturing the various colors and tonalities of
the Wetlands live music experience than simple introducing the old
footage. I think the results feel three-dimensional and the alternative
would have been flat and two-dimensional.
How involved were you in the animation component?
Typically what happened was I would give each animator the piece
of music that I wanted to incorporate, along with photo stills and
in a few rare instances, video footage. Then I offered some rough
idea of the context in which the sequence would take place and at
times I shared an idea or two.
In general, though, the animators retained their freedom of interpretation,
which added a richness to the film through the varied visual treatments.
The club seems to have been very inclusive, both in terms
of the acts showcased and the crowds of people these different acts
drew. There doesn't seem to have been very many clubs as successful
or resilient with similarly broad appeal. How do you think Wetlands
was able to last as long as it did, even amidst financial turmoil
and the fast-changing trends in the NYC music scene?
I very much believe at the beginning it was a matter of Larry Bloch
being a neophyte, who really didn't even know how much he
didn't know. He bucked any and all trends to pursue his vision
of what a music venue should offer. Such an approach is all the
more rare these days with corporate ownership and entities leveraging
multiple venues to land certain acts. It's become much more
of a numbers game.
Though the film touches on many artists spanning the different
genres that played at Wetlands over the years, it seems to devote
the most screen time to the jam-band scene. Do you think the jam-band
community was more heavily involved in the other, more socially
conscious branches of Wetlands work?
I think improvisational rock was deeply entwined within the DNA
of the club. Still, beyond the personal appeal of that music to
Larry, in terms of the club's programming, there burned a
deeper sense of righteous indignation that no genre of music should
be denied a forum. That's why Wetlands programmed hip-hop
in the early '90s at a time when few Manhattan clubs opted to do
so. The Sunday all-ages hardcore shows were another staple. As talent
buyer Chris Zahn describes in the film, even though most of the
patrons were drinking free water and many of them were scuffing
up the room, Larry remained committed to them on principle.
Frankly, Larry remained committed to any number of principles,
some of which some folks have suggested crossed the border into
eccentricity (paper straws, for instance).
I worked for a while in Tribeca at 99 Hudson Street, which
I now realize must have been only a block away from where Wetlands
was in Tribeca. Even though places like the Knitting Factory still
exist down there, it's incredible to think about how much
the neighborhood has changed over the years. How much do you think
the club's closing was a result of financial strain and how
much might it have been a reflection of the new wave of residents,
upscale galleries, restaurants etc.?
I think the two are inextricably linked. We touch on this a bit
in the film when Jimmy from Murphy's Law describes how a neighborhood
becomes desirable because of the presence of artists and musicians.
However, as a result of that process, many of these artists and
musicians are priced out of that neighborhood.
Why do you think it's important that the story and
history of Wetlands be told? Why now?
One of my goals in making this film was to demonstrate the Wetlands
business model, whereby a for-profit enterprise can support a nonprofit
venture. I am somewhat surprised that there haven't been more
entities created along these lines. Obviously it doesn't make
sense in all instances, but it does seem particularly well-suited
to music venues (as well as coffee shops, restaurants and a range
of small businesses).
In your director's statement, you mention that your
relationship with the club and Larry in some way specifically led
you to move away from law and towards an advanced degree in American
history. Can you talk about this a little bit?
I first attended Wetlands during a period in my life where I was
trying to decide what to do with myself. I was in the midst of law
school and while I enjoyed the intellectual challenges, I was fairly
confident that I did not wish to become an attorney. Thankfully
during this period I was living in New York City, which exposed
me to all sorts of cultural opportunities, including some rather
heady evenings at Wetlands. My experiences there were part of a
process where I decided that in terms of a career path, it was my
curiosities regarding American history and culture that really energized
and animated me.
How did you find the experience of making a documentary
film compared to your previous work as an author and editor? Do
you have any plans to do another one?
First off, making a film obviously is a collaborative art. So much
of writing a book or an article is isolated and internal that I
often found it quite liberating to get out of the house and play
with the other kids.
Another significant difference in this case was one of patience.
When you write an article for magazine you may see it run a month
or two later. When you write a book, after turning in the manuscript
you typically know that you'll be sharing it with the world
in six to twelve months. By contrast, particularly for an independent
filmmaker, there are just so many vagaries of the system. Along
with the search for distribution one can get caught up in the festival
circuit and the next thing you know, eighteen months have passed,
which is the length of time between our festival premiere and the
screening of Wetlands Preserved for general audiences in
New York and Los Angeles.
As for another film, I think I have a few in me. But now that Wetlands
Preserved is finally wrapped and locked, I'm just trying
to take a deep breath and enjoy the moment before charging into
the future.
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