THE RAT

Boston was a Mecca for punk music in the summer of 1985.  British punk bands played frequent gigs in town, while local bands played the clubs every night.  My favorite hangout was The Rathskeller, a.k.a. The Rat, a punk club in Kenmore Square.  The Rat lived up to its name; the street level was a dark, moody pub which housed a surprisingly excellent restaurant called the Hoodoo Barbecue.  It was also home to the best jukebox in Boston.  Downstairs was a tiny club where punk bands from all over the world played.  The Rat reeked of stale beer; a layer of grime covered the bar, tables and floor, and left you feeling sticky all over.

I was a 33-year-old, second-year student at The Art Institute of Boston (AIB) that year where I majored in photography.  My uniform of choice in those days was a black miniskirt or black leggings, holey black fishnets, Ramones t-shirts, and black leather boots.  My spiked brown hair with bleached blonde bangs was always teased, carefully coiffed, and held in place by a giant glob of hair gel and half a can of Aquanet.  My makeup consisted of heavy applications of black kohl eyeliner, dark brown and charcoal eye shadow, black mascara, and blood red or black lipstick.

The Rat wasn't just open evenings; the club was only a block away from AIB on Beacon Street, so it quickly became an all-too-convenient watering hole during the daytime.  Between classes a few of us would zip over to the bar for a draft (or two), then go back to class or the photo lab.  After classes or long sessions in the lab we'd often go back there and drink the night away as we talked about art and music.  The Rat was a cauldron -- our own mini version of a cafe on Montmarte -- where creativity simmered as we fed off each others' works and ideas.


The Rat was heaven on earth.

The Neighborhoods live at The Rat, 1979.
Video by Jan Crocker