The Music Lives On: “Dazed” Revives Popular Student Venue

Graphics by Hannah Stein

It's around midnight in the stuffy, purple-blue-lit basement. The sour smell of mold and the moist feeling of skin-to-skin interactions don't exactly make for a comfortable bodily experience. Every corner is filled with people—some dancing, others disappearing into the walls in (graphic) displays of affection, some lost to the music (and perhaps other substances), eyes closed, heads rolled back. In the front, a congregation of headbangers gathers by the improvised stage, throwing their heads back and forth to the aggressive 180 BPM (beats per minute) tempo of punk music. Almost as if on cue, as the distorted melodies hit their peak, the group forms a circle into which they all jump as the beat drops, pushing each other in what resembles water droplets beginning to boil on a saucepan. To an outsider, the violent collisions look like a dangerous brawl; to everyone else, it's a mosh pit. The sudden burst of energy and aggressive tapping of the ceiling cause a vent to break off, hanging limply over the mosh pitters' heads. Within two minutes, a trio of shadowy figures breaks through the crowd with a roll of duct tape and a task; they entwine the vent with tape a couple of times, and just like that, it's fixed—nobody notices a thing. 

There is a house a couple of blocks down Euclid Avenue that breathes music every Friday night. Crowds of eager students wrap around its side starting at 10 p.m., waiting to be let into its musty basement, where the walls sweat out the gritty riffs of electric guitars. The house is the stuff of urban legend; previously known as “Redgate,” it has served as a mecca for underground music lovers for the last two years. Its new tenants, an eclectic friend group of Syracuse University juniors, committed to reviving the popular music venue when they signed the lease last year and have now rebranded it with a name fitting of the energy felt at the mosh pit, "Dazed."

Identifiable by the conspicuous red Japanese Torii gate on the front lawn, the house is the latest iteration of a long-established underground music culture at SU. According to Founding Director of the Bandier Program, David Rezak, student-run house show venues have a historic origin dating back to the Harlem Renaissance in the 1920s and '30s, when African American musicians would throw "rent parties," full of live music and booze, in their apartments to make ends meet. Rezak recalled how, in the '60s and '70s, a man named Walter Wheat threw "rent parties" in his apartment's attic on South Crouse Avenue—perhaps the first version of a house venue in the area. 

Additionally, the university had a mostly student-run, alcohol-serving music venue from 1968 to 1985 called The Jabberwocky, located underneath Kimmel Hall. Its doors welcomed some of the greatest musical acts of the decades, including Talking Heads, James Taylor, James Brown and Cyndi Lauper. But, according to Rezak, it shut down in the mid-'80s due to the national rise of the drinking age during the Reagan administration. With three-fourths of the student population now below the drinking age, the music scene moved underground, and DIY house venues like Dazed emerged.

To the minds behind it, Polly Hoffman, Megan Halsey, Ella Delucia, Samara Vachani, Philip Martins and Kieran Romano, it holds the weight of this lengthy legacy—a weight that is as monumental as it is heavy to carry. 

The idea came from Hoffman's mind. Her father, Michael Hoffman, ran two different basement music venues during his time at SU in the '90s, where he would throw themed parties and play drums with his band, Del Psycho Rangers. Hoffman recalls hearing stories about these venues and thinking it would be fun to run one with her friends. 

The group met during their first year on campus in the isolated, far-off land of Brewster, Boland, and Brockway Halls, also known as BBB to students. In what seems to be a shared wholesome first-year experience, they all met separately and started hanging out on Brewster floor seven, where only Martins lived. "They all hung out on MY floor," he took pride in reminding them as they shared their origin story with me. 

Fascinated by the idea of live music (and of having somewhere to go as underclassmen), the group frequented the popular house show venues of the time during their first years at SU, including  "The Harrington," "The Cage," "Mudpit" and, more specifically—the favorite upon consensus—Redgate. 

The six Dazed organizers came together when Hoffman was browsing online for junior year housing and saw a familiar number: 605 Euclid, the house with the red Torii gate and a basement full of memories.

There is a story about that particular house that its landlord, Ben Tupper (aka Rent from Ben), loves to tell. Long before he purchased it, a cranky old man named Leonard Dippold ("Lenny") lived there. Stuck in the middle of the busiest student housing street, Lenny hated the huge parties that would happen around him, especially those with live music. He used to roam the street up and down, ripping out flyers stapled to poles advertising house shows. 

In what is the type of karmic irony that only comes with time, his basement has been swarmed every Friday night for the last two years by sweaty 18 to 20-year-olds dancing into the late hours of the night to the screeching sound of loud music. As for the new owner, having been a "crazy, punk rock kid" during his time at SU in the early '90s, Tupper loves that one of his houses is a music venue for alternative kids like he once was, and he (surprisingly) doesn't mind helping out with repairs the morning after a show. 

Despite Lenny's memory (and whether his ghost now haunts the house), Hoffman convinced her group of friends to move in and resurrect the basement where they each forged their niche in a school of over 22,000 students.  

Opened in August 2022, at its peak, Redgate hosted shows every Friday night with an average of 300 to 400 attendees, featuring both local bands and musicians from outside Syracuse. Previous tenant and SU graduate Jared Rowland credits the idea of Redgate to the venue he frequented as an underclassman, The Harrington, describing how he and his friends based their house show model on their experiences there. In what seems like a repeating cycle, Rowland described the SU house show scene as an enduring tradition that has been going on for longer than any current students can imagine. 

"It's all about keeping the music going," Rowland said. "The general principle of it just hasn't changed."  

And yet, those closely familiar with Dazed and its organizers point out the differences in how the venue is run. 

When I arrive early one Friday night, the house is already buzzing, despite it barely being 8 p.m., two hours before doors open. I am greeted at the door by Hoffman, already dressed in her outfit for the night, and as we chat by the front door, the rest of the group descend the stairs, each headed to start their set-up responsibilities. Hoffman takes me on a house tour, and we pass two people who are busy taking out the trash from the kitchen; they introduce themselves as Liam and Julia, the next-door neighbors who volunteered to help at tonight's show—with a $100 incentive, that is. 

Hoffman takes me downstairs to see the empty basement, where there is an air of peaceful expectancy, almost as if its graffitied walls know what's to come. Down there, Martins and Romano are setting up the sound and lights. Romano is steady at work, plugging in amps and testing them; Martins is playing with the LED remote control, switching back and forth from fading to flashing colored lights. Hoffman points to the musical equipment and explains that they purchased most of it from the Redgate guys, except for the drum set—despite having a huge hole smacked at the front of the bass drum, it was her father's, a relic from his time as a venue organizer and perhaps a reminder of legacy. 

Back up in the kitchen, Halsey has taken charge, handing out instructions to anyone around with hands. In the next hour, every sharp object must be removed from the kitchen and placed in the storeroom, the drawers must be shut with zip ties, the fridge tied with rope and the burners sealed off with tape. Halsey tells me they implemented these measures because they don't want their kitchen destroyed based on what the Redgate guys had to deal with—one such example is a night when someone stole the mayonnaise from their fridge and squirted it all over the counters.

This thorough preparation doesn't always prevent incidents, though. At least twice that night, I heard the story of how, at one show, someone stole the cheese grater from the kitchen only to hide it in the basement—reasons still unknown. Later in the night, someone would also rip the tape off the burners and turn them on, filling the house with the dire smell of gas and prompting a hysterical yet quick response from Halsey and Delucia.

By 9:30 p.m., the two bands playing that night—Gunk! and The Accountants and All-Thumbs—  had arrived and started their soundcheck; the upstairs "concessions" bar was ready and the kitchen armed for the night. I follow Halsey and Vachani outside to the back porch, where they have gathered everyone that will work the door—Liam, Julia, and a loyal freshman they recruited at one of their concerts, Jackson. Halsey begins a thorough lecture on the rules for the door: check people's Venmo receipts, no backpacks allowed, pour out all glass drinks into solo cups, ask for a college ID if someone looks young and many more.

Throughout the night, she seems to take on the role of "head of security," and in fact, would later describe herself as "the manliest man" in the house. Her main responsibility is to be prepared to answer to situations inside and outside, like one time when a guy jumped through the window, and she had to grab him by the shirt and throw him out. Her biggest advice to everyone working at the door: "You can get aggressive and send the cops to me if they come."

When it comes to dealing with the police, the group explained that most of the time, cops show up following a noise complaint and not with the intention to shut down the concert. The only time a party was shut down was during "Rave Weekend," when someone in the crowd spotted them and yelled, "COPS!" causing everyone to clear out the basement in a frenzy. Still, Halsey and Vachani, who interact with cops the most while working the door, emphasized that police show up to verify that the party doesn't get out of control and students are safe, which the group already ensures by handing out free water bottles and limiting the venue's capacity.

From puke to broken vents or trespassers, Romano summarized it best: "A big part of the job, wherever you are, is to react to certain issues." Yet, from an outsider's perspective, the group's preparation shines through.

Anjali Engstrom, a junior in the Bandier Program and member of the duo Luna and the Carpets, said how, as an artist, her experience playing at Dazed was more professional than at other student venues. Engstrom and her roommate, Romy Van Almen, run the only other female-owned music venue on campus, "Sage Haus," and both recognized specific details that set Dazed apart from a historically male-dominated house show scene. Owned by four girls and two guys, Engstrom pointed to how the Dazed organizers focus on "quality and care," which is manifested in details like Halsey's meticulous security plan, a newly renovated green room for artists and a carefully curated Instagram grid organized to have all promotional posters aligned to the middle.

"There's details that go unnoticed by men sometimes that do not go unnoticed by women," Engstrom said.

Dazed and Sage Haus, along with a recent influx of female musicians on campus, such as Luna and the Carpets, Rocco!, XO, Nancy Dunkle and Padma, point to a diversifying music scene that is being shaped by female entrepreneurs.

Michelle Stantuosso, a professor of practice in the Bandier Program, said the growing presence of female leaders in this music scene mirrors larger trends in the music industry, as the biggest recording artists at the moment are mostly women. She believes there is a larger significance behind young women running their own musical venues, especially considering the importance of grassroots shows as musical launching pads. In an era of streaming, these types of businesses are fundamental to increasing exposure for small artists, and it is possible that the young women behind them will become the future leaders of the music industry.

Still, the weight and effort that comes from running a house music venue can sometimes take a (rightful) toll on some. By the time the first set is done, it's already 11:30 p.m., and outside—where it was honestly freezing—Halsey tells me she's ready for the night to end. The previous weekend, Dazed hosted four bands and around 500 attendees total for their Halloween show, and she's hoping this night will end relatively earlier with only two sets. Having opted out of signing the lease for senior year, she said she could only give her "heart and soul into one year" and is still unsure whether she will return to help out. The six Dazed organizers have been hosting concerts every Friday night of the semester in their personal space, and despite their thorough, strategic operation, at the end of the day, they are just college students. 

Vachani and Martins also did not sign the lease for next year since they both plan on studying abroad in the spring senior year, but each expressed an interest in working some nights in the fall if needed. As for Hoffman, Romano and Delucia, they will continue to run Dazed through their senior year and are not worried since there are currently more bands interested in playing at their venue than there are nights. 

By 1 a.m., the basement has cleared out in under five minutes. All that's left is a deserted scene with scattered solo cups and flashing LED lights—almost like nothing's happened. Though it seems like the whole house dynamic is about to change, the Dazed friends remain bound by the magic they created this semester. "Think about how many people we're getting laid because of what we do here," Martins said. 

But that magic goes beyond just throwing a huge, fun party. Hoffman emphasized the community behind the music and how Dazed has become an outlet for creatives on campus, such as photographers, videographers, musicians—and, well, writers like me. Rezak described it as a "self-sustaining cycle of good talent inspiring more good talent." From rent parties to Hoffman's dad's '90s house venues to Redgate and now, Dazed, perhaps the formula has been perfected and revolutionized by each generation of music lovers, but one thing remains the same: the SU music scene has persevered because the people behind it have persevered.