Saluté went out this weekend partying with style and panache. The famed San Antonio bar struggled for years, and rumors of its death were common. After the wild weekend, it slipped into the pages of Texas music history, filed near Austin’s Liberty Lunch, Dallas’ Mother Blues, Houston’s Bronze Peacock, and other legendary Lone Star venues.
In the past several years, Saluté International Bar had become the closest thing to an Austin bar in San Antonio. By that I mean it booked quality music from a cross-section of genres that affirmed its hometown roots. It did do while maintaining a unique personality that didn’t make 50-year-olds wish the 25-year-olds would leave. More importantly, owner Azneth Dominguez kept it as a living memorial to late accordion king Esteban “Steve” Jordan, bluesman Randy Garibay, and others native sons that made the “San Antonio Sound.”
My favorite clubs don’t make music, they make magic, and that’s what Saluté did on any given night. The walls glowed from neon beer signs, and were lined with framed posters from the Tejano Conjunto Festival, assorted flyers, photos by Joan Fredericks, and other ephemera that caught Dominguez’ arty eye. This wasn’t a large bar; it started to get sweaty with 50 people inside. The patio held maybe 25. I met people in that bar who had a dramatic effect on my life. You had to want to be at Saluté because it didn’t offer anonymity.
What it did offer was soul and puro corazón. Max Baca and Flaco Jimenez. Sexto Sol. Mitch Webb & the Swindles. Pinata Protest. The Krayolas. Stepping inside was often like stumbling into Austin’s Continental Club and hearing James McMurtry or Jon Dee Graham for the first time. Saluté stood out among the clubs of the North St. Mary’s strip where it resided.
As flashier and louder clubs moved in, it stayed resolutely what it was, a people’s bar. Which meant that inevitably, it got swallowed by that monster progress, and will soon be burped out as a “new” venue, presumably more upscale and fancier.
Bah. I always preferred a little grime with my music, not to mention the faint smell of sour beer and cramped bathrooms.
This article appears in July 20 • 2012.