The Rain Desert: A Cultural Oasis Faces Hard Times

If you take Furnace Street off of Main by the railroad track, and follow it to Cottage, you'll find yourself facing the Rain Desert. At its old location on Water Street, it was very popular. Musicians and music lovers came from near and far. Old rich ladies thought of it as that quaint little hippie bar. It attracted a huge, diverse crowd, and as I cross the creatively-painted threshold this evening, I have to wonder, where did everyone go?

At the new location, when you walk through the door, you walk into the bar. The owner, Jan Goldstein, thinks that without the separate café area, some customers may be intimidated from say, bringing their family in for lunch. "It's a little wilder and woollier than the original." But the new location is more open and spacious, they have their own large parking lot, and believe it or not, the food is even better than before.

This evening I order their famous spinach and artichoke dip and Oye Coma Va?, a spicy pork quesadilla. The portions are generous and I split everything with my husband. "Oh, I forgot to tell you," says Jan's pretty wife Evie (they got married on the stage here in May), "tonight we have corn chowder, too." I order a cup and she brings a bowl. It is absolutely perfect, but I wish I brought more friends to share it with!

Most affordable restaurants around here will call instant potatoes "mashed" on the menu and use too much salt in everything. The Rain Desert is an oasis of nutritious, soulful food. Their full menu is deliciously creative, but for the summer they found they had to reduce their options to compensate for slow business.

As I arrived, a booth of happy women were finishing up their meal, besides which there was only one other customer. Mark Pheriaque drinks a Bud Light. He doesn't mind telling me about how great the food is here, and how friendly the staff. I have to agree.

But it's not all smiles and daisies in hippie-land these days. Jan and Evie are worried. Times are changing. At this new location, they pay twice as much for electricity. "I'm at the front line of a crippled economy," says Jan. Due to inflation, the ingredients for their menu cost more, and fewer people can afford to commute to Danielson for live music.

"People are quick to blame gas prices," says Jan, but he understands his plight as more complex. "It comes down to devaluation of the dollar." He refers to the increasing cases of bankruptcy, the thousands of dollars of debt that most American citizens accrue so easily, the illusion of credit. Money no longer translates into work being exchanged for goods, but is rather conjured from what seems like nowhere. And now everyone who is working for a living must work harder.

The Rain Desert was built "from the stage out", evolving from a venue for the band Desert Rain, for which Jan plays bass. Jan's passions are art and history (and Evie). The walls are covered with original paintings commemorating famous musicians. The bar is a long collage of ticket stubs and colorful concert memorabilia. From a corner television right now an old Grateful Dead video plays "Don't tell me this town ain't got no heart..."

The Rain Desert needs the support of its local community. "Danielson is my home," Jan says. "I'm not going anywhere." His band has outlived many local venues, and Lord knows music will survive the Rain Desert. But the place offers something unique to bands that perform there: a chance to be filmed and archived for posterity. You can check out his video library at www.raindesert.com. The Rain Desert produces about 600 videos per year.

Economic changes often lead to reflection on the smaller community. Hard times force people to reprioritize, and Danielson needs to ask itself, "Is art important to me?" Music lifts the spirits. Jan excitedly describes how live music connects one with the spirits of yesterday, as similar sounds vibrated the bodies and emotions of our ancestors. He worries that these days more people play Guitar Hero than a real instrument, that gathering places like the Rain Desert may someday be obsolete.

Jan's new motto is "Because Music Matters". He points to my notebook, to be sure I write it down. But why exactly music matters is not something easily elucidated. Yes, studies have shown that learning an instrument improves students' performance in school, but it is more than that. Musical expression in some form is intrinsic to all cultures. It is in the rhythm of work and play, a natural part of being alive. It communicates on a level more honest than words. It has amazing powers to heal and to unite people in purpose. Perhaps I shouldn't be writing an article, but a song: Support the Rain Desert, cha-cha-cha!

On Thursday nights there is usually an informal acoustic sing-along at the bar. On Friday and Saturday there are scheduled bands. Monday is Trivia Night. Tuesdays there is a jam hosted by the Rectangle Club, and Wednesdays are an open stage. Events are updated on the website. There's a pulse to this community, which we can all get together and celebrate, if we can maintain a place like the Rain Desert.