The Grand Rooms Go Dark, and the Clubs Take the Summer

There's a rhythm to a music city that you only notice if you look up at the marquees in July. Right now, two of Birmingham's most storied rooms, the Alabama Theatre and the Lyric Theatre, are sitting dark, and that's not neglect. That's choreography.

The Alabama Theatre at 1817 Third Avenue North has been the "Showplace of the South" for longer than anyone reading this has been alive, a gilded, chandeliered monument to the era when going to a show meant dressing for it. A block over at 1800 Third Avenue North stands its sister, the Lyric Theatre, another century-old survivor. Both are owned and operated by the nonprofit Birmingham Landmarks, Inc., which means these rooms aren't chasing a quarterly number. They're chasing preservation, the long, patient work of keeping two irreplaceable buildings standing and lit for the next generation.

And in the deep-summer window, they choose the dark. The Alabama's next dated event isn't until Sept 18, when Ashley McBryde takes the stage. That's a long, quiet stretch of empty seats in the "Showplace of the South," and if you're the sentimental type, it might read as sad. It isn't. It's the natural breathing pattern of a grand room. These theatres are built for the marquee event, the fall-and-spring calendar of touring names and dressed-up nights, not the sweaty, spontaneous churn of a Birmingham August.

Because here's the beautiful part: when the grand rooms exhale, the clubs inhale. The summer belongs to Saturn and The Nick, to the low-ceilinged, beer-slick rooms where the temperature is always about ten degrees too high and nobody minds. That's where the season's real action lives, in the free early shows and the tribute nights and the touring underground acts who'd never fill a 2,000-seat palace but can turn a packed club into a religious experience. The heat, somehow, belongs to those rooms. It's part of the deal.

This is what a healthy scene looks like: a division of labor across the calendar. The nonprofit theatres anchor the city's identity, they're the postcard, the civic pride, the rooms you take out-of-towners to so they understand Birmingham was somebody long before the current boom. But identity isn't the same as pulse, and in the dog days the pulse migrates to the clubs. The Alabama gives Birmingham its grandeur. Saturn and The Nick give it its Tuesday night.

There's something almost generous about the handoff. A profit-driven venue might feel obligated to keep the lights on year-round, to book something, anything, into July just to make the nut. Birmingham Landmarks doesn't have to think that way. As a nonprofit, its job is the century, not the quarter, and so it can afford to let summer be summer, to hand the sweaty months to the clubs and save its own powder for the September return.

So don't mistake the dark marquees for a scene at rest. The Alabama and the Lyric are simply doing what grand rooms have always done, standing sentinel through the heat, waiting for fall. The music didn't leave town. It just changed neighborhoods, and dropped the ticket price, and lowered the ceiling until you could feel the bass in your sternum.

Come September, the Showplace of the South lights back up for Ashley McBryde. Until then, the summer is a club summer, and Birmingham wouldn't have it any other way.

Sources: Alabama Theatre Events; Lyric Theatre Events