Mother Fool's Coffeehouse

that is—the coffeehouse that's become a counterculture oasis.

By TOM LASKIN

Jon Hain and Stephanie Rearick have glimpsed the future of Williamson Street, and they don't like it. The persevering couple have spent too many years nurturing their combination java joint and alternative art space, Mother Fool's Coffeehouse, to sit back and watch gentrification transform one of the city's most diverse streets into a fashionable zone for urban-minded empty-nesters and young professionals. They may look like T-shirt-wearing extras from Slacker, but, in fact, they're very aware of the aging Willy Street economy and the forces that seek to change it. Hain is certain that one strategically placed Starbucks or Espresso Royale would undermine their modest business overnight. Besides, adds Rearick, a couple blocks of fully tricked-out condos with built-in Jacuzzis and restaurant-style kitchens would mean curtains for their core clientele of high school kids, college students and open-minded music fans.

"It definitely seems like some people are looking to upscale the neighborhood," says Hain, zeroing in on a proposed four-story condo project that would dwarf all of the existing structures that front Willy Street. And it's definitely scary because a lot of our customers will be priced out of the neighborhood. That's not to say that as richer people move in, they won't also be our customers. But I really dislike when people get displaced because of economics. There isn't that much you can do about it, though; you just have to keep doing what you're doing."

Young Madison entrepreneurs who worry about quality-of-life issues like their customers' pinched finances? Promoters of live music who make a point of showcasing experimental local and regional musicians because they believe in creating a community of open-minded music fans? Where did these aliens come from?

Directly from the neighborhood, of course. While current city fathers and mothers dream of an urban landscape filled with sleek new dwellings, trendy retail stores and "world class" arts venues, Hain and Rearick have elected to plug away on their own grassroots cultural work. That includes the coffeehouse, their growing independent label, Uvulittle, and a keyboard-dominated prog-rock band called Your Mom SRO that the two have fronted for nearly seven years. All those creative pursuits make for a very busy schedule, but Hain and Rearick wouldn't have it any other way. They figure if you want local culture to blossom into something unique and vital, you've got to get your hands dirty.

The couple weren't always so concerned about the cultural side of alternative lifestyles. When they met more than a decade ago, Rearick, 31, was studying film at Miami of Ohio, and Hain, 29, was working for the environmental group Greenpeace in Cincinnati. They fell in love while canvassing together for the nonprofit. Hain decided to ramble to Madison in 1989. After graduating from college, Rearick moved to the city as well and took a position with the local Greenpeace office. Hain worked there for a time, too; he also got another taste of people-power during a stint at the Willy Street Co-op.

The relocation to Madison was entirely Hain's idea. Although he spent most of his school years in Ohio, he'd lived in the city as a young child and maintained a few contacts here. Unlike many twentysomethings who drift into Madison for a few seasons, the high school grad had no interest in continuing his formal education at the University of Wisconsin. He liked the overgrown university town for two reasons: It was familiar ground, and it had a reputation for accommodating progressive thinkers. Both were good enough reasons to put down roots. Rearick confesses that she'd never even heard of the city before Hain convinced her to pull up stakes.

Although Rearick had studied piano and Hain had played violin in school orchestras, they hadn't thought about plugging into the city's cultural scene until Hain found himself fiddling around with a guitar in the summer of 1992. (The same year they were married.) By the middle of the next year, they'd formed the first of several Your Mom lineups and played a community coffeehouse called Mother Fool's two or three times. "It was a hobby," says Rearick, "and it still is. But we became more serious as people started coming to our shows. We never harbored any illusions that we would be rock stars."

"That wasn't our goal at all," Hain continues, "even though it was nice to be playing to larger and larger audiences. My goal was to make music that I enjoy."

The focus of Your Mom (the SRO was added after a band with the same name complained) was Rearick, who rolled Renaissance-rock figures on her electric keyboard and trilled the band's original lyrics in an elastic, two-octave voice. Hain wasn't just along for the ride; a wry player and performer, he's always offered up sardonic quips from the stage and, in general, has made a point of carving out personal space between the whole-wheat hippie audience and veins-in-the-teeth punkers.

"In the beginning things were pretty chaotic," he says, acknowledging that the band's humor at times alienated both of those elements. "We had to learn how to play. After we did, we got thrown in the category of jam bands, but that's never worked for us. We often made fun of hippies, and we still do."

A closer connection with Mother Fool's developed out of those early gigs at the coffeehouse, in large part because the alcohol- and smoke-free room's original owner, Jeanne Lister, was glad to have an act that drew a wide spectrum of customers to what had become a de facto lesbian hangout. "She was a lesbian," Hain explains, recalling the early years of the business, "but she'd opened Mother Fool's with the idea that it would be a place for the whole Willy Street community. That community ideal was happening more when we played."

When Lister decided to follow her partner out of town, she offered the business to Rearick and Hain. They say they were both surprised by the offer; however, after thinking it over, they decided they might give it a try. Trouble was, Lister's asking price was too much for a couple of low-wage alternative types to handle. So they balked.

"We didn't say no because we didn't want it," says Hain, after returning from smoothing out a minor crisis involving an inebriated customer. "We did. But we said no because we didn't think we could afford a loan. We didn't have any credit to speak of."

But the more they thought about owning a community-oriented gathering place, the more they liked the idea. Hain says the deal was sealed when Lister offered to sell them Mother Fool's on a protracted payment plan.

Then came the hard part. Rearick's experience with office work had taught her about bookkeeping and the art of balancing a checkbook. On the other hand, the couple had never booked a musical act in their lives before taking possession of the business in 1995. Plus, they knew almost nothing about the coffee business. As Hain tells it, the first year or so was a case of learning from mistakes and counting the few pennies that remained after paying off suppliers and cutting paychecks.

"My goal was to have as much diversity as possible when it came to music," says Hain. "But that was hard in the beginning. It took time to get known as a good listening space and to get artists to want to play here. I wasn't booking background music, so the audiences that showed up really had to be interested. And I didn't do a lot of rock bands because we weren't a club. It was hard."

Sales of coffee and Mother Fool's vegan bakery products rose quickly, but selling music in a town that had traditionally associated pitchers of beer with its tunes proved more difficult. "Once Les Lokey and Yid Vicious began playing here regularly, things picked up," Hain recalls. "Also Far From Home brought in a crowd. And they were all different: the folk-rock audience, the klezmer fans, the Celtic music people. That's what built our reputation: the diversity."

Five years on, Rearick and Hain have purchased the building, financed improvements that allow for an expansion of Mother Fool's legal capacity, and become even more eclectic in their booking policy. These days their core bookings include Yid Vicious, Honor Among Thieves guitarist Andy Ewen (who's often accompanied by his stepson Noah on didgeridoo) and Reptile Palace Orchestra multi-instrumentalist Biff Blumfumgagnge's freewheeling post-folk-rock duo, Green Lime Dog. The Madison Music Collective also books a regular slate of experimental and straight-ahead jazz acts.

What keeps musicians of this quality coming back for more? Hain says they like the room's intimate, smoke-free atmosphere, and they really appreciate Rearick and Hain's determination to give the players 100% of the cover charge. No one makes a killing working Mother Fool's; then again, at the end of the night, no one feels ripped off. An honest shot at the evening's earnings means a lot to musicians, who fight nightly battles with greedy promoters and blockheaded club owners.

The couple's willingness to book demanding live music and stage alternative art shows on the coffeehouse's walls isn't simply a reflection of their own liberal view of esthetics. Mother Fool's is first and a foremost a community-oriented business, and Rearick and Hain lend support to artists who aren't afraid of taking creative chances because they want to be involved in the growth of the local artistic community. They figure they've succeeded with their mission if Mother Fool's cultural offerings attract a sampling of everyone who might walk by the coffeehouse on a trip to work or the Willy Street Co-op. Mother Fool's isn't just a way to make a living; it's a means of making new social connections in an increasingly disconnected society.

"That's what's always appealed to me about Mother Fool's," says Rearick. "The community aspect of the business. It's nice to have a community space and be able to work on it and make it better. We like the idea of being able to do whatever we want and getting people interested. For instance, we have a TV-turnoff week once a year where we stay open 24 hours and schedule weird events. It's nice to have an outlet like that, just as it's great to be able to create a venue that presents the kind of music we'd like to see performed publicly."

In recent years, Hain and Rearick have also managed to integrate their interest in alternative economies with their coffeehouse business. Hain has been a prime mover in Madison Hours, an alternative system of economic exchange that issues its own currency (or "hours") to businesses and individuals who agree to accept it as payment for goods and services. At present Hain, Rearick and their employees receive a small portion of their salaries in hours; the business also accepts the currency in exchange for coffee and food items.

Again, Hain says the participation in Madison Hours is all about community. "I'd like to get off the international corporate grid," he says. "Big corporations are category killers, and I see this as a way of supporting fair exchange with like-minded businesses. You know where goods come from, and people know what they really cost."

Staying true to one's ideals is never lucrative, and Rearick and Hain certainly aren't getting rich off their investment. Together they draw about $20,000 in income from Mother Fool's each year, and some of those funds are reserved for Hain's work with Uvulittle, a break-even independent label that has handled releases by Your Mom SRO, Yid Vicious and the avant-garde Chicago duo Jack the Dog.

Not that Rearick and Hain ever use terms like "sacrificing" or "paying dues" when talking about their expanding list of cultural projects. They way they see, if you can help out the community and still get some of your own artistic work done in the process, you're way ahead of the game.

"I used to be pretty aggressive about all of that," Hain says with a smile. "But I'm pretty mellow now. Now I'm happy if we get to live our lives the way we want to. I hope people notice what we're doing and try to make some changes of their own, but I know I can't control that."

But won't they eventually tire of working so hard for so little financial reward? It's not likely, says Rearick. "Every now and then I have an image of myself at 65 with white hair and serving coffee here. That might not be so bad. I think Mother Fool's has become a positive institution here. We'd like to keep it going as long as possible."