COWTOWN BALLROOM...SWEET JESUS!

Dan Lybarger KC Active 5/26/09

Cowtown Ballroom…Sweet Jesus!
Reviewed by Dan Lybarger
Loaded with more nostalgia than a well-stocked flea market, Cowtown Ballroom…Sweet Jesus! is an affectionate look back at unique, and sadly long-defunct Kansas City institution.

While KC’s history with jazz and barbecue is well established, our hometown’s contribution to ‘70s rock is also worth noting. The Cowtown Ballroom was a downtown venue where performers ranging from Frank Zappa to Van Morrison once played. The shows were then broadcast to 40 different markets in the United States and even to London. The concert hall was also the launching pad where Missouri acts like Brewer and Shipley and the Ozark Mountain Daredevils started their climb to national prominence.

All of that happened in the space of a mere 38 months, which probably explains why most Kansas Citians have never heard of the Cowtown Ballroom. Director Joe Heyen was a regular visitor at the Ballroom, and the new documentary he and co-writer, co-producer, editor and photographer Anthony Ladesich have put together is loaded with reverence for the Ballroom and a surprisingly clear understanding of the smoke-filled era that spawned it.

Fans who attended shows at the Ballroom didn’t have to worry if they had forgotten to pack along some weed; they’d a get potent contact high from simply breathing the air in the room. The Ballroom also featured no chairs (patrons sat on the floor), two bathrooms, a crummy air conditioning system and radio interference that plagued the performers’ sets.

But to hear patrons and musicians describe the place, it was magic. The venue was established by entrepreneurs who wanted a venue that was more organic and fan-friendly that the other big KC performance hall, Freedom Palace.

Even the regulars who no longer toke can describe the feeling and the shows in vivid detail. Surprisingly, in the film, both B.B. King and Steve Miller still fondly remember the Cowtown Ballroom even though they’ve played in countless other places.

The Ballroom also featured double bills that were so random even a diehard pothead could not have conceived them. Wizzo the Clown, who had been part of several KC childhoods, received possibly the warmest reaction of his life before he opened for a rock band.

Memory, time and controlled substances can do funny things to the truth, so Ladesich’s editing contrasts witnesses’ memories, letting viewers know when a speaker might be getting into a fish story. Heyen and Ladesich also do a remarkable job of marrying what little film footage exists of Cowtown Ballroom shows with sound clips and contact sheets of still photos.

If the talking heads in the film are all convinced of the magic of the place, Heyen and Ladesich reveal that the building was previously the site of a ‘30s dance club where white and black performers played together and that it later became a skating rink before becoming the Cowtown Ballroom. Heyen and Ladesich include touching recollections from couples who fell in love there. The film isn’t all sweetness and light, though. The Ballroom operated in the ominous shadow of the Vietnam War.

The innovations of the Cowtown Ballroom, like featuring an early all-female band Fanny, who predated the Runaways and the Go-Gos, also came at a sad price. Despite the affection the performers, the fans and the promoters had for it, the Cowtown Ballroom didn’t generate enough money to be sustainable. Looser radio formats in the early ‘70s that made the venue’s unique offerings possible gave way to more rigid playlists that prevented the eclecticism that thrived at the Cowtown Ballroom.

The Cowtown Ballroom may have been a blip in this city’s timeline, but the new documentary indicates that it offered a high that music fans cannot, will not and don’t want to recover from. (N/R) Rating: 4 (Posted 05/26/09)