The Slipper Room: a Quarter Century of Art in The Lower East Side
It’s the Lower East Side in the ‘90s… sort of the same and a whole lot different, too. As for people, you have your young artists, immigrant communities, and skateboarders among those drawn to the energy and accessibility. In social spaces, the air and aesthetics are filled with punk sentiments and symbols. You have a few dive bars where some of those people show their devoted loyalty. In its comparative quietness: a neighborhood. In nearly every sense of the word. It was like this still in 1999 when James Habacker had the idea of bringing a variety theater joint to the corner of Orchard and Stanton. It’s the Slipper Room, and it’s one thing in the Lower East Side that hasn’t changed in the 25 years since.
1) Ludlow St Photographed by Steve Butcher [via Daily Mail]. 2) hot sandwishes by Steve Butcher [via Daily Mail]
“We came down here because the rent was cheap,” The Slipper Room’s founder and creative director, James Habacker, told me over coffee at Black Cat LES. We were sitting on one of the vintage sofas in the back. Seemingly similar conversations in the living room-style cafe murmured under an early 2000s punk rock playlist. “We came down to the Lower East Side because basically, there was almost nothing happening. It was really kind of out of the way.” That’s one of the things that has certainly evolved in the area from the room’s inception. Weathering continuous storms of change (and city policy as rich as Cabaret Laws), The Slipper Room came out the other side as a sturdy haven of creative freedom.
Habacker, a native New Yorker, traced his own journey back to the early '90s when he studied performance art during his master's degree at Bennington College in Vermont. Stints dipping into the city's nightlife and performance scene eventually led to Plush, a dance music club in the Meatpacking District that Habacker opened with a group of friends. “I was doing some shows there just Thursday nights up in the lounge,” he told me. “My partners didn't like it… they didn't like the variety stuff and thought we were pretty much a straight-up house and dance music club. They thought it was too weird and they didn't want it happening. And I said: that's funny because I was gonna ask you guys about building a stage on the main floor.”
Meatpacking 2000. Photo by Teague Clements via NYC LGBT Historic Sites Project
So he forged his own. And in an area that seemed like a canvas in painting, Habacker seized the opportunity to transform three small shops into the eclectic space that would become The Slipper Room. Just like that, you had this ‘something new’ in the neighborhood. And different too: in Giulliani’s crackdown on strip clubs throughout the city… a show of another kind was planted in this place. The intrigue seems almost inevitable. But with it, came the captured hearts of curious downtowners.
“When we first started, people would come in and they'd be like, ‘What's this weird thing going on?’,” Habacker explained to me in reminiscence of those first shows, but it wasn’t long before, as he put it, “...it really caught on.” Which is to say, as I read it, the performances must have been quite good even then. It’s one thing to get people through the door as the next new thing, and quite another to keep them coming back. But the Slipper Room founder remembered a certain messiness of the shows in those days. “... They were much sloppier. Really a lot of messy stuff,” He said in a way that only an artist does when remembering their early work. “Now it's amazing how we have world-class performers. Whereas originally, it was much more performance-arty, sloppy artists who were just figuring out what they were doing… But it must have been good enough, people kept coming back!”
The Slipper Room by Francine Daveta via Time Out
One big takeaway when it came to bringing the vision to life is a point that I think, upon reflection, is behind so much creative success. Habacker leaned into the mentorship of the iconic nightlife around Lower Manhattan. And honestly, as he casually called them out, I felt a bit star-struck. “Hilly Crystal from CB’s was very good to me,” he started, “Don Hill, who had this place Don Hill’s … Arthur Weinstein taught me how to light the club. So I was lucky to have some of the older guys who took an interest in me. And those guys were all in it to have a creative place, to make a creative center, to make a scene. So that was always the goal: to be an art collective. A haven for creative people. And also a place that was open for anybody to come. That was one of our main things.”
Let’s run that back: they were all in it to make a creative center, an ‘art collective’. And doesn’t that feel, as places come and go constantly today, like something we could use a little? An authentic intention centered in this mutual gravitational pull towards collective inspiration?
1) The World via Interview Magazine 2)Mudd Club via danerousminds.net 3)Iggy Pop at Don Hills via Eater 4)CBGB’s by David Vega via CBGB’s (images link to source)
But along that journey, as Lower Manhattan underwent significant changes, adapting became imperative. Habacker states, "It’s New York… you either adapt or die!" He knows this about Lower Manhattan in particular having moved to the East Village in the 80’s. “The whole No Wave scene was ruling at that point,” he remembers, “You had places like CBGBs, The Mud Club, The World. There were amazing clubs back then. But the biggest difference I think, as far as art goes, is that back then you could live cheaply.” Habaker witnessed the once-affordable haven for scrappy artists transform into an impossibly expensive landscape, challenging the diversity of creative voices.
“You could rent a cheap apartment. You could buy cheap clothes down on Canal Street. You could get food cheap in Chinatown. Now it's very expensive. And back then, there were a lot of us who were scrappy young artists who were willing to live on next to nothing and be there just to make art.”
As Habacker told me about his experience as a young creative making it work in NYC, it seemed like that irrevocably romantic ideal that many expect to chase in this city. He said things like, “We just wanted to be free, we didn’t care about money.” And I felt so charmed by the scene in my head. The difference was: they could kind of make it work. He recalls living on big $1 scones from a bodega some days and staying in places without hot water remarking, “When you’re 17 you don't care!”
my images from G’lamour by The Love Show at Slipper Room this winter
Working with young artists and performers at The Slipper Room today and raising two kids with creative practices of their own, he sees that change intimately. The Lower East Side that once nurtured young, struggling artists now faces a different reality. He echoed, “...we're at a point where, if you're not a rich kid, it's really hard to be here. I don't want to dismiss them, I think some of them are dedicated artists. But I think what we're lacking is the diversity.”
All this, in part, is to say: that as we go about enjoying the personality of the Lower East Side, holding a place in our minds for stories like The Slipper Room’s matters.
And fittingly, it’s not so disconnected from the origins of burlesquing which Habacker informed me, “originally was a political thing where you were you were ‘burlesquing’ the politics of the day. It was a satire.” Habacker describes the Slipper Room’s early Variety Theater as “very political.” More recently, he’s softened that “angry comic railing about the system” vibe in what seems an acknowledgment of our modern political media reality. Not only do we need an escape, but showing up in a freely expressed celebration of a good time and creativity is an inherently (not to mention powerfully) political act in itself. It’s also in keeping with the diversity (in race, gender identity, size, etc) of Slipper Room performers. When I asked what Habacker looks for in casting, a lot of what it came down to was the “oddball act.” It’s part of what makes the show feel good and it’s been a cornerstone of the venue since ‘99. It comes back to that purpose – to provide a space for people to have a good time, express themselves freely, and revel in the inclusive environment the venue has fostered since its inception.
It matters because, beyond radically celebrating the odd, free, and joyful, The Slipper Room is a reflection of the enduring importance of creative havens in shaping the cultural fabric of New York City.
“I think it's important for people to experience live theater. I think it's important for people to get out amongst each other,” Habacker reminds us, “Get out there. Meet people. Be a part of culture. Be a part of what's happening. And experience some live theater. It's… it's like nothing else. It's different every time, it's great energy, and it'll make you feel good.”
If you haven’t, you should absolutely catch a Slipper Room show— they’re @slipperroomny on Insta and www.slipperroom.com on the www to get a sense of what’s going on and what’s coming up.
