Remember the Vulcan Gas Company? No, not the throbbing, brightly-lit EDM venue on dirty Sixth (although there’s an interesting story behind that). The original Vulcan Gas Company was one of the first psychedelic venues in Austin, open from 1967 to 1970 at 316 Congress Avenue. Managed by Houston White, Sandy Lockett, and Jim Franklin, the venue catered to all the long-haired weirdos that were otherwise not welcome in many parts of Texas. This was Austin before Austin was “weird,” before people were flocking to town in droves to sample food truck fare, and way, way before it claimed the title “Live Music Capital of the World.” The folks at the Vulcan didn’t even have a liquor license, and this unpretentious little hippie club was crammed into the aging W.B. Smith building, named for the dry goods store that originally inhabited the place in the early 1900’s.

Stories that come out of the mouths of former Vulcanites are entertaining, strange, and incredible. Jim Franklin, artist and Armadillo godfather, still speaks about the Vulcan like a far-off dream. He speaks of the eclectic crowd that would show up to see new, exciting bands play, of the dazzling shows that occurred on the stage, and, oddly, of the cistern in the club’s basement. By all accounts, it gave the venue an incredible booming sound, a favorite of recording artists and circle-drummers alike. Jim described the cistern to me in an interview once, poignantly likening it to Austin’s creative scene:

“I learned from those days how if you built up something, it becomes popular but that very popularity is what snuffs it. In the back of the building, we found a cistern… I’d go down there and make sounds, and chant, and make music. It was my great chamber. It became legendary, that cistern in the Vulcan. Johnny Winter got to know about it and when he got famous and came back to Austin, him and his band came down to the cistern. Just enough people down the ladder to completely line it… I’d never been down there with more than three people, that’s what was okay for the sound. But there were too many of us. We muffled the sound. That was the first time I realized that popularity snuffs out the attention. That’s what’s so incredible about this scene here… we’re maintaining it despite the popularity it’s attracting. We just need to make sure that flame doesn’t go out.”

Jim also clued me in as to why the Vulcan didn’t have a liquor license. Back then, the TABC was pulling liquor and business licenses from any club labeled as disturbing, countercultural, or rowdy. By not getting a liquor license, the Vulcan avoided unnecessary attention. Vulcan patrons would instead head next door to George’s Get-it-and-Go for a beer to sneak back into the party. I also learned about the Christian church next door that would try to convert the long-hairs while they waited in line for a show:

“This Christian group named Teen Challenge rented the space next to our office on 4th street… They’d try to get people from the sidewalk to come inside. No one would go to get saved, that would mean no more fun. But they would go in for the free coffee and donuts while they waited for the dope guy to come back. They didn’t have to pay $1.50 to get into the Vulcan and wait for drugs, they could just go in there for free.”

Jim’s memories of the Vulcan paint a picture of Austin’s creative scene before tattoos were standard attire. You may not know Jim by name, but there’s a pretty good bet you’ve seen his art. His armadillo illustrations have been seen on Lone Star Beer ads, music posters, and t-shirts. They’ve been appropriated to the point where the armadillo has become Austin’s unofficial mascot, going back to the legendary Armadillo World Headquarters, the Vulcan’s progeny and arguably the most important music venue in Austin’s history. Jim, along with several other Austin artists, would go on to form the “Armadillo Art Squad,” a group of beatniks that (sometimes literally) lived in the Armadillo World Headquarters, churning out incredible posters for events around town and generally keeping the place interesting. Before they were creating posters for the Armadillo, however, many of these artists were hanging around the back room of the Vulcan and creating some of Austin’s first psychedelic handbills. Throughout the US, shows were still largely being advertised with large block lettering and bright photographs. While psychedelic art was starting to become the norm in the San Francisco poster world, Austin had not yet gained a progressive reputation (remember, this was around the same time a group of UT fraternity brothers voted Janis Joplin “Ugliest Man on Campus”). The posters are a visual reminder that the counterculture in Austin was becoming more and more prominent.

While few of these posters remain, their trippy images and defiant art style continue to be a beautiful reminder that fifty years ago, in a shabby building next to a fundamentalist church, a group of people decided that it was okay to be a little different. Instead of hiding out in folk clubs that didn’t mind long-hairs hanging around, Austin’s counterculture finally had a place to call their own. The locals didn’t like the loud music and rowdy kids hanging around (landlord Don Hyde was pressured to evict the Vulcan Gas Company several times), but they couldn’t ignore them. The Vulcan, unfortunately, closed in 1970. The crew dispersed; some went to San Francisco, some remained in Austin, and plenty went on to work at the Armadillo World Headquarters. The W. B. Smith building would go on to house plenty more ill-fated businesses. Now, it’s home to the first Patagonia in Texas, which as of 2013 hosted a music series in the middle of the clothing shop. Brightly lit, airy, and clean, Patagonia is a far cry from the Vulcan’s heyday. Walking into the shiny, organized store, you’d barely be able to tell Jimi Hendrix’s guitar once wailed within these very walls.

Another casualty of the Club Wars, the Vulcan remains a bright star in the constellations of Austin legends. So here’s to you, Vulcan Gas Company. Thanks for helping make us who we are. And here’s to you, Patagonia. May your fleeces be merry and bright.

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Thanks to Jim Franklin for letting me interview him in March 2014.

Also, thanks to this guy and his poster collecting website for some interesting info. Check it out if you want to know more about Vulcan handbills:

http://people.missouristate.edu/dennishickey/vulcan.htm