It was with great sadness I learnt of the finite closing of Saint Vitus.

Dead or in jail served the fates of many , and yet found refuge in such a perfect little black room in Greenpoint.

I can remember walking in the first time and viewed the dried, dead roses on the ceiling mixing with the stained glass. No televisions, stools only. At one point there were booths but those were replaced for standing room.

“Fvck yeah”.

That was 2012. Young. Naive. Phresh. In debt but with purpose, it hadn’t crossed my mind how significant this place would become to me. I cannot tell you who I saw for the first time there, but I can tell you of all the times I played.

I can tell you of the evenings of glorious abuse of my physical and spiritual senses.

I can tell you of the hangovers that ruined my bed sheets to the tune of, “What did I do last night”.

I can tell you of the time I passed out on the side of the Manhattan G only to be awoken by the very woman I was courting. “Oh no, you can’t see me like this”, came slurred words, stumbling apologies.

I can tell you of the nods, the fist bumps, and the grins of transient friendly faces that occasionally collide together under hideous loud circumstances.

And after all the grimaces of the crushing riffs and sick tones from hairy, sweaty, sometimes bloody strangers, there was an exhalation.

That exhalation was my personal favorite thing about Saint Vitus. In combination with the knowledge I gleaned from it, Vitus introduced me to new lenses of thinking. I come from a conservative family. NEVERMIND, was a , “Very dark record”, said my suburban father.

And so escaping the mundane, New York City gave new light to immigrants, and escape I did.

My first introduction to grindcore was NAILS and the violence in the air was palpable.

Haadcoah bands I’d never understood were introduced at a vulgar pace.

Death metal monstrosities on a Tuesday night because dammit, it's Cryptopsy. Why aren’t you going?

And then this Irish Black Metal perfection comes to town, only once, to play such an intimate experience ?

Most importantly, Vitus gave me relationships that I have treasured for years. I get all drippy and sentimental about places that have given me a sense of home and understanding. And in lieu of that, I feel indebted to not only my community but also to that side of me that Vitus and music have nourished and soothed.

Exhalation was the word I chose due to the release of tension that such a place enabled. Ringing ears and sore shoulders from questionably legal pits felt like success in the morning. Several, “one-for-the-road?”, shots were always met with , “later”.

Because there always was a later.

That later, that exhalation, belongs to this city as a whole amongst our walls. And after being shut for two years, watching the music community be devoured repeatedly, this loss is significant.

Regardless of hope, thank you Vitus.

To the staff who made it possible regardless of the state of your livers and minds. To the sound engineers who cared enough to uphold the quality of the sonic magic. To the security guards who made sure we didn't get arrested.

To the acts that would play for 2 people just to keep the torch lit.

Thank you. Truly. You gave this once perpetually livid young man the best place to bang my head.

And I needed that.

- Luke

In Love & Respect. Thank you Vitus. August 19th. 2024.