The show’s still on at Last Concert Cafe
By GREG MAY
Houston
Chronicle
Wednesday, April 3,1991
When 62-year old Elena "Mama" Lopez opened a small Mexican restaurant in 1949 at 1403 Nance, she christened it the Last Concert Cafe to signify this would be her last endeavor.
Lopez, a fragile-looking woman whose photograph hangs in a corner of the restaurant, died in 1985, at the age of 95. But as for the cafe itself, the last concert may be a long time coming.
Every night, the place throbs with live music ranging from gentle folk to gritty rhythm and blues.
In addition, the cafe serves lunch to a crowd that includes burly workers from the warehoused district and corporate executives from downtown.
Under current owner, Dawn Fudge, the rambling, wood-framed establishment has become a venue for local musicians performing original songs. Fudge, 36, agrees to share a cut of bar sales with bands and guarantees a meal for every performer.
"We love this place," said Lupe Olivarez, a wiry singer with The Basics, a "roots rock" group that sometimes performs at the cafe. "You can at least count on getting fed and getting beers. If you bring a crowd, you know you’re going to make money.
"It was here the producers from Sugar Hill heard us," he said proudly, adding that the result has been contract negotiations with that company.
On this night, Olivarez and another band member were not performing. Instead, they sat beneath a glowing string of Christmas lights in the cafe’s dining section, hailing friends and prodding each other.
Musicians and artists living in nearby warehouse apartments often come to relax on the ripped vinyl seats or on the benches shaded by banana trees in the courtyard. Visitors can include an occasional celebrity such as ZZ Top’s Billy Gibbons who sometimes stops to pour a drink or two past his flowing beard.
Olivarez gestures toward a large portrait of Franklin Roosevelt that hands behind the bar. "Mama put that up," he said. "This is pretty much the same as it was."
Olivarez and other bar regulars don’t need encouragement to recite life from the days when Lopez ran the cafe. But perhaps the best expert in Last Concert Cafe history, is Fudge, who takes pains to ensure several cafe traditions are upheld.
One is to keep the red door at the entrance locked during business hours. Customers must rap twice to gain entrance. The custom dates from when cafe patrons wished to screen who came in.
Depending on whom you talk to, the practice was to keep neighborhood hooligans from barging in, to safeguard philandering husbands from surprise visits by their wives or to hide some of the customers’ activities from the law.
The custom of locking the door is particularly impractical on busy nights when cafe workers are constantly hopping to the entrance. But Fudge declared she has no intention of changing the policy.
The only concession was to place a door knob on the outside to meet fire code requirements.
"Last Concert always had that mystique, that intrigue about it, and it that was one of the things I felt strongly that we should keep," she said.
There is no sign on the outside of the building either, other than a large metal one propped against a wall that reads. "Thank you for visiting Alabama. Please come again."
The bands perform in the courtyard, which is surrounded by walls painted red and green and adorned with crude wooden cutouts intended to resemble watermelon slices. Corrugated fiberglass sheets that cover the overhead rafters in winter are removed in warm weather.
Fudge takes a keen interest in the music. "We have our favorites and it’s kind of hard to get a gig here," she said. "We do let new people in (as performers), but we get to be a lot more selective now."
But what let her to the cafe was the restaurant aspect of the business. "That’s more where my creativity comes out," she said.
Sporting casual clothes and tousled blond hair, Fudge now looks the part of maverick tavern owner, betraying not one trace of her former role as compliance officer for an investment brokerage firm.
She had risen through the corporate ranks after starting as a secretary. But her passion was not compliance monitoring, but cooking. So in 1986, she decided to moonlight as a restaurant worker.
"I took this little Leisure Learning class, "So You Want To Start A Restaurant,’ "she said, "and the main point they made in it was - if you had never worked in a restaurant, that was the first step. I never had done that."
A friend knew someone at the Last Concert Cafe who might let her work for free. "Well, I heard of the Last Concert since I was 15 years old," she said. " It was one of those things that I was always curious about and had heard stories of."
She began working in the cafe at night. The Last Concert had exchanged hands several times after Lopez died, and frequent closings had driven away many customers.
Not long afterward, Fudge received a strange phone call. It was the cafe’s owner, asking if she would buy the business. Although she had only spent a few nights doing menial tasks in the cafe,
Fudge found the offer too tempting to turn down.
She convinced some friends to join as partners and took charge. Her close-cropped hair sprouted into wavy bunches and her body slimmed as the hectic hours in the restaurant burned away 50 pounds.
Her routine was to work a full day at her job, rush to the restaurant and toil into the early morning. The partners dropped off as business grew worse, and Fudge paid bills by credit card.
"I changed my whole life style," she said. "It became something I was consumed with."
At first , she had trouble even communicating with the Spanish-speaking employees in the kitchen. "People would laugh because we couldn’t understand each other back there and I would get louder and louder and everybody out here would hear everything I was saying," she said. "We were the entertainment from the kitchen."
After some lean months, customers suddenly seemed to rediscover the cafe. Musicians began stopping by to play for tips and crowds began to gather in the evenings.
"It has gone up ever since," Fudge said. "It was confirmation to me that this is what I was supposed to be doing."
hat realization softened the blow when her employer fired her. Fudge said the company reasoned that her involvement with the bar comprised her duties as a compliance officer.
The newest Last Concert Tradition is a block party in the neighborhood that Fudge throws the last Saturday in July as a benefit for her pet charity, the Rainforest Action Network. More than a thousand people may cram into the general area for such parties.
On this Monday night, however, the cafe had about two dozen customers and the atmosphere was tranquil. The performer was Donna Chatham, a Houston-area resident who accompanied herself on six -string guitar as she sang about the tenderness and sharp teeth of love.
Chatham said she hopes to someday make a living as a musician and songsmith, but she now pays the bills as a tutor and substitute teacher. "Actually I feel more comfortable on the stage than I do talking to people," she said. "I’ll play to as many people as are here. I’ve actually had people ask me for my songs. And that’s a compliment."
Toward the weekend, bands such as the Screamin’ Waheenees and Moe & the Lawn play blistering sessions of electric rock or blues and the capacity crowds become boisterous.
Fudge comes by the cafe often, and still cooks in a pinch.
The Arizona Republic
Wednesday, August 8, 1990
Under a Houston off ramp, cafe has a lock on survival
Houston - Twelve feet from an exit ramp off Interstate 10, in the urban hodgepodge of Texas' largest city, rests a hardy survivor of the havoc a major highway project can inflict upon a neighborhood.
The Last Concert Cafe, spared from the wrecking ball when I-10 blew through Houston in the late 1960's,may be the most anonymous-looking Mexican restaurant in Texas, if not the United States. The nondescript red-and-white building has a small courtyard, no sign and a red front door that remains locked.
To gain entrance, patrons must knock - not once, but twice - for owner Dawn Fudge or one of the regulars to let them in.
Once inside, however, you begin to understand why, after 40 years, the Last Concert remains Houston's most eclectic eating spot. The decor is watermelon red and green, the booths and chairs are spare and rickety, and the tables on the patio are adorned with plastic tablecloths and spray cans of insect repellent.
Banana trees flourish, and stray cats wander about, hoping for a random fajita morsel. The clientele is just as bric-a-brac, with artists from the surrounding warehouse district, students, construction workers and the well-to-do all numbered among the faithful. The Texas rock band ZZ Top has been known to dine and drink here.
"We don't advertise, and most people can't even find it," says Fudge, who bought and revamped the Last Concert four years ago. "It's always been a word of mouth place."
Hard-to-find address
Literally in the shadow of I-10 at 1403 Nance St., the Last concert has to be one of Houston's most inaccessible addresses (no one seems to be able to tell you how to get here, you just have to look). Sharing the building with the restaurant is Eddie Wollen, whose mother, Elena "Mama" Lopez, started the cafe in the years after World War II.
Wollen, 63 helped his mother run the Last Concert for years and lived with her in the quarters, adjoining the eatery. But when Mama died in 1982 at age 95, he sold the business and began to concentrate on his inventions, which he proudly displays in a makeshift office with blacked-out windows on the I-10 side of the building.
Wollen is particularly obsessed with talking electronic devices, from security systems to fax machines. His favorite is a talking condom-vending machine he's perfecting, which can be rigged to deliver a taped message when a purchase is made or when someone passes by.
("Hey stud!" the message goes. "Whether or not you have a hot date coming up, be ready!")
Wollen tends to downplay the Last Concert's reputedly sordid past, but fortunately for visiting historians, Fudge is happy to provide the steamy details.
Dodging demolition
I-10's right-of-way originally meant that the restaurant would have to be demolished.
But the place was so popular that they moved the right-of-way over a few feet so we could be spared. "Wollen says.
It may not have been quite that simple.
"Mama had some pull," Fudge, 36, admits in her drop-dead Texas drawl. That influence was was a remnant of the days when Mama Lopez's place was a hideaway where "you could pay a quarter and dance with a lady, if you get my drift." Fudge says
Norm Wigginton, public affairs officer for the Texas Department of Highways and Public Transportation, says rumors have abounded for years that Mama strong-armed city officials and congressmen alike to save the Last Concert.
I've looked into it, and there appears that there might have been some truth to it," he says. Wigginton adds hat another notorious establishment, the All Nations Cafe, wasn't as fortunate, that bordello, run by a madam named "Sweetie" who sported a diamond tooth, was demolished.
"Sweetie took the money and moved to Trinity Texas," a coastal resort, Wigginton says.
Whether the locale is Houston, Phoenix or somewhere else, plotting the path of an interstate and acquiring the right-of-way requires delicate negotiations and a lot of money. In Phoenix, the final 20 mile link - which cost about $500 million to build - rang up more than 150 million in right-of-way costs.
"The city of Phoenix held tough and got what it wanted," says Mark Bonan, spokesman for the Arizona Department of Transportation. What it wanted was a park, a high occupancy vehicle lane and protection for archaeological dig sites; and the city got it all, "which was a lot more than anyone else has ever gotten from the federal government," Bonan says.
Yet for every large, multimillion-dollar battle fought over right-of-way, a hundred others are waged by private individuals simply trying to protect a lifelong investment or a way of life.
"We had instances where the I-10 route was moved to accommodate someone whose livelihood was threatened," Wigginton says "Sometimes it was because it made financial sense, but often it was just a matter of having a little compassion.
Dancing on the tables
All of which still doesn't fully explain how the Last Concert dodged the ax.
In the early 1960's, the Last Concert was one of Houston's first gay bars. And about that time, the biggest marijuana bust in the city's history occurred there, buttressing the cafe's fly-by-night reputation
"That was how the tradition of locking the door began." Fudge says. "I don't know if it was to keep the undesirables or the cops away. But the front door didn't even have a doorknob for years.
City fire codes soon put an end to that, but the door remains locked as a nod to Mama Lopez's legacy.
The Last Concert had fallen on hard times when Fudge appeared on the scene in 1986. A compliance officer for an investment broker, with a degree in home economics, she assumed ownership, expanded the menu and pumped new lifeblood into the establishment, while protecting the Bohemian ambience its patrons love.
"Dancing on the tables is not unheard of here." she says, laughing. Live music is featured on the patio most evenings, with the emphasis on rock and roll oldies and rhythm and blues. "It's important to me and our customers that we keep this place comfortable and casual.
Any restaurant where the mood music is the hiss of tires on a freeway ramp probably isn't in much danger of getting upscale. And that's just fine with Fudge.
This is a magical place," she says. Besides, when things get cranked up at night, you don't even hear the traffic."
This is stellar compared to almost everyone I
have read.
The writers are a secret panel of
undercover chefs
by
Robin Goldstein.
Fearless
Critic
Houston
Restaurant
Guide
Brutally honest reviews and ratings
of Houston's restaurants
In a land where berkenstocks and beads rule supreme,
you will find that everyone's favorite hippie haven
and Mexican restaurant is Last Concert Cafe. The
place started out as a humble Mexican restaurant, but
it was slowly take over by the alternative-lifestyle
types. Nowadays, you can go to the Last Concert Cafe
not only to enjoy tostadas and enchiladas but also to
partake in a drum circle or take in a psychedelic hula
hoop show. The menu is simple Tex-Mex peppered with
the occasional award-winning burger and (hippies take
note) vegetarian options, but its dominated by the
enchilada, which is hardly a hippie dish. Cheese,
beef, spinach or chicken - you name it - and they will
roll it up in a tortilla and smother it in sauce. The
Last Concert Cafe will definitely leave you scratching
your head at times - but the food satisfies more often
than not.
You dont have to change your name to Moonchild or
Earthwoman when you step inside, but be ready for an
alternative lifestyle, especially when the sun goes
down. This compound, hidden on the edges of downtown
on Nance, is very unassuming during the day, but at
night everyone comes out to play. Appetizers are
normal Tex-Mxe, we like the botana platter, with its
quesadillas, jalapenos, chicken flauas, and guacamole.
It'll definitely fill up those used to alfalfa
sprouts and organic tofu. The potato with green
chile soup is one of the best items on the menu.
Chunks of potatoes, simmered in chicken broth mix with
pablano peppers, cheeses, and pico de gallo, the
resulting dish is statisfying. The "Apolinars
Enchiladas" are delicious, two roast-beef-stuffed
enchiladas with chili gravy and rice and beans.
On any given night you'll hear music coming from out
back. Order a beer and head back there to enter a
different universe. Vendors are selling beads and
jewelry, hula hoops are being whipped around
gracefully, and it all turns into a mellowed-out
party. It would be hard to conjure up an atmosphere
for Tex-Mex in Houston that's more transportative than
this one. So wipe the dirt off the kids' feet, strap
'em to your chest in a hemp carrier, and come on down.
Last Concert Cafe, a dive institution on the north side of downtown, was shut down Friday night during a performance by Green Mountain Grass for rocking too hard. Or, rather, too many.
Owner Dawn Fudge tells CultureMap that Last Concert's official capacity is just 49 people — including employees. The capacity determined by the city is from the original, 60-year-old plans, and doesn't include the spacious back patio and yard, where bands perform.
The favorite haunt of funky Houstonians (including ZZ Top) is disallowed from entertaining more than 49 people at a time until they get their occupancy up to date (which Fudge estimates will take a minimum 30 days after she pays the $500 to $2,000 fine).
"I'll pay anything to anybody to do it," Fudge says, "but it's got to be light-speed."
Fudge is worried about her employees, and says many are looking for alternative means of income since the restaurant, bar and concert venue can't make a living with so few patrons. From what she understands, the rule is one person per nine square feet. This means Last Concert's restaurant alone can hold 75 people by law, and the whole property can comfortably hold 500 partiers.
Fudge's biggest concern is the upcoming events — including a wedding and a 40th birthday party — whose invites have already been sent out. "This birthday party spent $8,000 on a band they're bringing in from Colorado. There are 250 guests, and they've been working on this for a year," Fudge says. "I've got a wedding coming up — events that are going to ruin people's lives if I can't stay open in the meantime."
The fact that none of the booted concert goers asked for their money back Friday night, despite the obvious inconvenience and short show, is testament to how well-loved Last Concert is.
They're open for business, but if you want to see a show, we recommend going early. It just got a lot more exclusive. The 49-person limit is being strictly enforced.