Earlier this week, I attended a press screening of Dean Budnick’s Wetlands Preserved: The Story of an Activist Rock Club. The film is a lively oral history of this influential club. When I first moved to New York about 12 years ago, I went to see a lot of live music. Sadly, most of the places I frequented are no longer around: CBGB on the Bowery, Brownie’s on Avenue A, Tramps in Chelsea, the Cooler in the Meatpacking District. Located in the nowhere land of the Tribeca of the early 1990s, add Wetlands to this long list of music venues that fell victim to the forces of gentrification. I have to confess, however, that part of my curiosity in watching this documentary was that I never saw a show at “Sweat glands” (the unfortunate nickname acquired after the club’s inadequate ventilation system). This was due partially to my indifference for the type of music most often associated with it, hippie jam rock.

Through the film, I enjoyed learning that club owner Larry Bloch had a strong commitment to establishing a connection between the music he supported and his lefty politics. Specifically, that the for-profit arm of the enterprise (the music club) funded its non-profit Center for Social and Environmental Justice. Wetlands played host to up-and-coming performers that later became hugely successful, such as Pearl Jam, the Dave Matthews Band, Hootie and the Blowfish, and Spin Doctors. Blues Traveler played there so often that it was known as the unofficial “house band.” (They also played a benefit for the club when it struggled financially.) But the club was just as adamant about supporting grassroots multi-issue organizing in campaigns that ranged from indigenous people’s rights to fighting police brutality and racial profiling. A bulletin board held postings that allowed folks with minority views to voice their opinion. It housed “eco-saloons” that gathered between 20 and 30 like-minded people to plan actions, such as demos and letter-writing campaigns. Bloch was using Dr. Bronner’s soap and other earth-friendly products in his club because he was ethically inclined to do so, long before Oprah, the New York Times, et al., got “green.”

The documentary tells Wetlands’ tale through lead singers and musicians, their fans, DJs, music critics, activists, and bartenders and bar backs. There is footage of what is left of the club—a mural in the former women’s restrooms, painted by the late Ed Vega. Animation takes the place of actual footage of the bands, which works to a certain extent. Still, Wetlands’ is a fun, inspiring story. Damn, I wish I had seen Fishbone there!