Sari Rubinstein keeps the karmic faith

Name: Sari Rubinstein
Age: 46
Hometown: New York, NY
Job description: Event coordinator, promoter, musician, performer
Bio: Founder of the artist collective, Rubulad; member of the Missile Dick Chicks; lead singer for The Gamma Rays and Music From The Mood Expansion Chamber
Upcoming projects: Performing with a group called the Ladies' Auxiliary ("Which I'm really excited about- look for us at a happening near you."); the next Rubulad party, which was supposed to be Mar. 5th but got postponed while they look for a new space ("We were happy where we were but apparently four people, living two floors up in their studios, complained. My friend, who also has a studio in the same building, said he couldn't even hear us. But sometimes we experience people who are conceptually disturbed by us, and there is nothing we can do to please them. Complaining people have a lot of power these days, you may have noticed, even if it's just a few versus hundreds.")
Select links: "An Interview with Rubulad's Chris Thomas and Sari Rubinstein" (Nonsense NYC); "After Eviction Scare, Rubulad Seeks New Event Space" (Laughing Squid); The Little Miss Big Mouth House Band performing "Get Dancin'" (YouTube); Rubulad group (flickr)

Can you talk about the origins of Rubulad and how it came to be?

It came to be by accident. We were sharing a studio, that was the basement of a deli in the East Village, with four bands. And we realized we could get all of this space if we just went over the bridge. So we did. And there were ten of us for a couple of years. Then we realized we had all this space and we could put on a show. We didn’t really have any public stuff for a little while. Then we had another one and it was huge. So we just started having more all the
time. It was really a band rehearsal space. Then we added art studios. And because we had a lot of art studios we had a lot of art.

It evolved into a place where people could perform and show their art, and I really liked that. It just kept going.

When did Rubulad start?

It was November of '92 or '93. No one seems to agree on which. Every once in a while I come across the original lease and mean to remember, but we always forget.

How has Rubulad survived all of these years?

Dumb luck. By the skin of its teeth.

How would you describe the status of Rubulad, right now?

We’re in kind of a challenging phase, right now. We’re trying to get back to our home space where we can’t work. There's a Vacate Order on our space. We’ve been trying to raise money to fix [it], for some months. Because we can’t work in our space, we have to rent another
space to do events, pay that money as well as our own rent, and save money to get the work done. So this process is a little slow and daunting.

Tell me about the day you got the Vacate Order and the chaos that went on.
 
I wasn't [at Rubulad]. I was on the phone the whole time, trying to figure out what the heck to do. I got a call at 10 in the morning saying that the police and the Fire Department had broken into our space, and were threatening to arrest someone here. And that he had
run away. Then everyone called and said "They’re evicting us." That went out on Facebook and maybe 70 different people showed up in a matter of hours to help move all our stuff out.

Because we were told by the firemen, who were circling in fire trucks with bullhorns, saying "You better run! You’re moving out today!"

Once about half our belongings were moved out, across the street, I was able to reach our local Assembly person’s office. Who somehow reached the Fire Department and told us that they weren’t actually evicting us. So stuff started coming back.

But half our stuff is still across the street, in storage. Everything really hasn’t been put back together yet.

I think that they were just playing with us. They were also doing this to several other buildings, I heard.

Then I saw the mayor bragging on TV about how many Vacate Orders they were giving out that month. But I didn’t really even understand what that was about. They seem to be saying it’s about public safety. But, of course, we think it’s totally about violation money.

In arguing for public safety, they try to hassle you about the overcrowding, too, right?

A lot of times it feels like the crowded conditions exist when [the authorities] are pushing their way through here. So that they, themselves, are actually causing the dangerous, overcrowding that people experience.  A policeman coming in the middle of an event will
cause people to move away from them in a way that causes crowding; it can feel scary. We work really hard on safety. I can never guarantee that anything is perfectly safe, but we have our sprinkler inspection, our exit lights, and our fire extinguishers. And we’re always open to
more safety ideas.

We strive for a happy, comfortable event. And that doesn’t really include overcrowding.

Sometimes what we can’t have are a lot of people out on the street, though. Because that will be the end of our event.

We’re juggling these things.

What do you foresee happening to Rubulad?

We don’t really know. Our dream is that we’re left in peace by the outside world, and people who like Rubulad come, do things, and are happy. But that isn’t always the way that things go.

What’s your opinion on the current state of New York nightlife, right now?

A lot of stuff is going on all the time. Which is great. But it’s really difficult for people. I guess the powers that be have made it so that, in their mind, only a certain type of people can have
events: the rich. Then everyone else struggles along who wants to. There's been underground events in New York as long as there’s been a New York. I think that that’ll continue to happen. But there are certainly times that are more or less difficult to do that.

What’s the best and worst thing about throwing parties?

Synergy. A perfect, dream day to me is when the set and backdrops go really well with the music and the costumes that the audience came in.

In my dream, we can create this holistic, art piece where all the different parts of it work together. The sum being greater than the parts. When we achieve things like that, I feel really happy.

I’m an enthusiast. So I like to see people’s work grow and change.

Sometimes people can be challenging and it’s hard not to remember those parts more strongly than the happy part. We work really hard to make it an event that is a good experience for all the participants. So it’s hard when we can’t make that happen.

What advice do you have for people who want to start throwing parties?

I'm always hoping that everyone will make the event of their dreams come true.

Julie Covello (DJ Shakey), who lives [at Rubulad], would say that it’s really important to roll with it, sometimes. Because you really can’t control everything, even if you try and make it perfect; it has a life and energy of its own.

That’s not specific advice but a lot of it is about problem solving, sad to say.

What’s your fondest Rubulad memory?

Wow, there are so many that are dear to my heart; we've had over 150 parties. A recent one that I enjoyed was the cult-themed party because people did large, group costumes, and that pleased me. The last one in our old space stands out in my mind. Just beautiful insanity. There was one a few years before that where a giant chicken puppet raced a giant egg puppet in the yard. I really enjoyed that one.

Where did you grow up?

I'm from Chelsea (26th Street).

What was it like growing up in New York?

Gosh, it was so different that people don’t even realize. It’s kind of sad. Nowadays, Chelsea’s really bourgie but it was kind of the “ghetto”. There was a lot of crime. For example, I was afraid to walk from 14th Street to 23rd Street at night; that was normal.

I don’t think these things are really a trade off. They just happen to exist. But there was so much more freedom for people to do art. It wasn’t expensive. People did drink outside if they had a paper bag, without being arrested. No one cared if people smoked weed at the
movies. [The authorities] had actual crime to take care of. It wasn’t just about summonsing people and seeing if they could get away with summonsing people, for jaywalking or something.  There was no 9/11 yet. So they didn’t have that as an excuse to try and search
people.

I never felt like a policeman would stop me from living my life. I never saw policemen, say, harassing street musicians or cyclists.

Now, I definitely see, feel, experience police harassment of citizens, in the uncomfortable way. People are more fearful of the police than they are afraid of being mugged. Which is what people were afraid of before. It’s a less relaxed atmosphere, certainly.

We had beautiful street art in New York. Like amazing, gorgeous street art, everywhere. Which was stamped out by the haters. Not everyone agrees about whether that’s an improvement, but that’s always the way things were.

What were you like as a child?

I think I was a pretty nerdy child. I mostly went to hippie school. I was also very sourpuss-y because I had experienced the death of a loved one quite early. So I think I was more dark, more gothy. I really liked angry punk rock, as a kid. I became much more flower-powery later in life, after I went to visit my friend in Brazil, where people were much more cheerful than New Yorkers. I started liking happy music, instead of angry music. I read a lot. I wasn’t really as social as I am, now.

Do you remember what you enjoyed reading?

Children’s books. Victorian fairy tales. George MacDonald. Howard Pyle. A lot of stuff from the 1890s. Also, I liked lurid teen drama. Drug books [like] Go Ask Alice.

What was hippie school like?

I first went to elementary school in a little brownstone in the West Village, that was started by an actor; it was lots of actors’ and rock people’s kids. There were only 40 kids. And after, I went to a more strict school. I didn’t do well there. I was moved in the middle of school to Saint Ann’s. Which I guess is now really preppy, but back then was for counterculture type children. They didn’t have as many rules, meaning you were free to roam the city, and go in and out as you pleased.

I remember that we had a smoking lounge for the students and we could bring coffee to class. You could bring a tray of coffee to class. I just don’t think schools are like that, [now].

When was this?

The late ‘70s. Oh, now everyone will know that I’m ancient. It’s okay. I’ve earned every year.

Do you have siblings?

I have two older brothers. Neither of them live here. Both of them are pretty hardcore science dudes.

Has music always been a part of your life? Or, is that something that came later?
 
I always did music and was in pop punk bands in college. I came here and did a band [The Gamma Rays] for ten years. And Rubulad started as a place for that band to play. But by the time Rubulad became Rubulad, that band didn’t really exist anymore.

But the way that the parties were decorated, in my heart, was really a gift for them to make an environment where they would be happy. Because playing out in New York can be hard, and if you could have more control over your environment and the show, then you could
make it a lot nicer. If you could play with your friends instead of whomever they stuck you with. A lot of the places are mean band mills.  You’re seventh out of nine bands, and then they hand you $3. It was bad so I was trying to make an environment where people who liked the same kind of music, or even really different kind of music but were on the same tip, could
play together. And, actually, we still try to have stuff that doesn’t really go together, but goes together, anyway. I don’t really like to have the same kind of music all night, but I do want all the bands to feel like they played with someone they liked.

There was a point when you stopped performing at Rubulad. Why?
 
There was a big overlap of time. But [during] the first eight years, no police ever came to Rubulad. Nobody ever cared, really, so it was a good time to perform at your own party.

I was in a different band then, but we did a lot of shows at Rubulad. After the first eight years, there started to be more of a threatening police presence. And then I couldn’t just be performing because there were things that I had to be there to take care of.  There was one party where my partner, Chris Thomas, was on stage playing, and the doorman came up and said to him, “The police need you to talk to them.”

“I’m in the middle of a song, hello?!”

That was a moment where things switched over and became too stressful to be performing. Which is sad. And occasionally I still do it, but you have to be really focused. Because you always have this fear where all hell is breaking loose in some room you’re not in, if you’re on
stage somewhere.

In your original interview with Nonsense, you talked about abandoning
the touring life and the desire for fame. Tell me about the time when
you wanted to be famous and touring all the time.

We were very driven and were convinced that that was the way. But I think it caused a lot of bad energy between the players. I definitely came to a place where I was like "What is it all about?" The meaning of life is doing something that you feel good about. And that’s really
the focus. If other people like it, that’s nice, too. But I don’t think doing something to please everyone else, or just for the sake of trying to make money, is rewarding. And I don’t think it’s
rewarding in that it helps you make better art, either. I think it makes everything worse. So that was a big realization for me.

In what ways does Rubulad help artists?

In so many ways. What we try and do is give people an opportunity to show their art to people, who might not otherwise see it, to make a lot of art, [and] to give people deadlines for work. I feel like that always helps. Or, that always helps me if I have a show. Otherwise, it goes on and on, and I can never finish anything.

All Rubulad parties are staffed by artists. So anybody that you see doing anything, they’re working because they’re some kind of performer, or musician, or something. We definitely try and make jobs happen.

It’s an event by artists and musicians for other artists and musicians. But in no way do we ever hope to be exclusive; all are welcome.

What makes Rubulad unique from other parties?

I think many people work on a Rubulad party and put the secret ingredient into it. Really.
Many people work on lots of other events too, though. We have really eclectic stuff. So if you don’t like something in one room, you can go in a different room and find something else. And things change quickly, for short-attention-span people. We hope that people talk to someone that they didn’t come with. We try and make that happen. I think Rubulad parties are friendly.

If you could have more of something, what would it be?

I don’t want to be like “More money so Rubulad could be free.” Which would be really nice.

I really feel like I have everything.

What is good art to you?

Good art is art you like. I don’t think there’s a universal good. If you like it, then it’s good art.

I think good art doesn’t take itself too seriously, and neither should an interview subject.

I saw this woman say in the movie, Come Unto Me - The Faces of Tyree Guyton: "Art belongs in a museum."

I hope that art will be everywhere and I hope people will not be afraid of art, and can like it or not like it, on their own terms. Not that they went to school to understand it, or in the context of art history. Which sometimes is interesting and beneficial to the art, but not when it creates fear in the observer. So I think good art is what you respond to.

What are you most curious about?

What will happen next.

What qualities do you admire most and least in people?

Wow. I really admire people who are enthusiastic. People who are sparkly, make me feel really good, and are appreciators.

It makes me uncomfortable when people have to see if something’s cool, or if they have to say bad things because it makes them feel good.

By nature, are you tightwad or spender?

I’m a spender. It will come back to you some way, I hope; I have a lot of money faith.

What's the most difficult thing that you've ever had to do?

I've never had to do anything that hard. I've led a soft, cushy life but I have had to watch several people who were very dear to me waste away from the bad disease with the little name, which was definitely not humorous.

Living in New York, what are your thoughts on the idea of loneliness?

See, I think loneliness is sad and also sometimes unnecessary. I don’t think New York is very lonely. I think New Yorkers are friendly, contrary to popular belief. It might be hard to find a way to fit in but there are so many different kinds of communities here. I feel like if people find something that interests them, and a way to find others with similar interests, it shouldn’t be that hard to not be lonely here.

Sometimes when I ask people where they met, it’s really interesting. Someone could go to volunteer to clean up the Gowanus, and fall in love. I guess you never know. It’s good to give things a try.

How difficult do you think it is to maintain community in New York?

I don't think it's that hard. I don’t know how it is for other kinds of communities, but I’m so thrilled with the greater community that Rubulad’s a part of. I just feel like we have a lot of support. Look how many people showed up in five minutes when we were in trouble. I would say it’s pretty easy to create community, or at least, it mostly has been for us. People are very densely populated here in New York. But one time, when we were in Queens, we had trouble making community there. And I thought about this question a lot because we were in this place for a year. There was no main street to hang a poster on. There was no café. We
couldn’t figure out how to reach anybody that lived in that neighborhood. And everyone was coming on the bus from Williamsburg. We never solved that question during that time in that neighborhood. I think Flux Factory has done a lot better than we did there. But we were mystified.

Given the community that you do have in Brooklyn, what's the key to
maintaining that community?

This woman I really like and admire said "You just keep doing what you do and, after a while, people will start to take you seriously." There are people who want to do things and they’re drawn to us. And new people come because of that. But I don’t know how we actively generate that. Just people who want to be in this kind of place find themselves here.