The X-Ray Cafe (2 of 3)
Located near the geographic center of the city, the club's long hours and inclusive atmosphere attracted an amazing array of outcasts, street kids, and talkative eccentrics. Those familiar with the X-Ray invariably recall at least a few recurring characters who contributed their unique pathologies to the area's already rich pageantry. In time, some were given chores, and the chores eventually became unofficial jobs. Bands loading into the club for the first time would tread very carefully, unsure how to deal with these obnoxious patrons who seemed to move about with the casual confidence of long-time staff.
Frequent attendees were also a part of the X-Ray experience. Teenagers suspended in underage purgatory could be spotted in the crowd night after night. Like the "helpful" regulars, some of the most constant were eventually drafted into the staff. Familiar faces were such an important element of the X-Ray that when road trips were organized to Olympia and Eugene, a small army of regulars was enlisted to accompany the acts on the bill.
The jury-rigged environment, all-ages status, and enthusiastic crowd of frequently unstable regulars functioned like a filter. The X-Ray never felt "cool" like Satyricon felt cool. Hanging out solely to project an image was problematic at the X-Ray. Besides the fact that there was no bar and no alcohol, awkward (and often strongly scented) reality tended to intrude. It's hard to maintain aloof detachment when you've become the sole focus of a towering Elvis impersonator with a matted beard and dizzyingly thick lenses in his busted frames. The most studied, cultivated façade was no match for interpretive dancers flailing about on the floor two feet away. If you considered the X-Ray "hip," your definition of the word was necessarily broader than the fashionable, ironic, and smug.