In 2022, Kilowatt, a dive bar housed in an old firehouse in San Francisco’s Mission District, was purchased by Katie Rose McCarthy, Peter Niven, and Rick Eusey. The venue, which has played host to acts like Billie Joe Armstrong of Green Day, Jawbreaker, and Pussy Riot, has long been a mainstay of the city’s punk, rock, and indie music scenes, but in recent years, its management had trouble attracting out-of-town artists because of the high cost of lodging in the city and the very real risk of having equipment or vehicles stolen. Two of Kilowatt’s new owners are musicians themselves, and all three are former staffers of music venues Bottom of the Hill or Thee Parkside, so they understood exactly what to do to make artists feel safe: Find secure overnight parking, create a dedicated loading zone, and, most important, build out a private space above Kilowatt that doubles as a greenroom and short-term lodging. Bands that play there get a 50 percent discount for overnight stays, while larger stadium acts have been known to rent out the entire top floor.
“We kill it in hospitality because we care,” McCarthy tells me after offering me a shot of tequila on a recent afternoon. “We’ve been on tour. We know what it’s like to show up to a club and feel like you’re a nuisance and people are rude to you.”
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Even during busy shifts, she explains, the staff make it a point to take a quick moment to greet the musicians and show them where to load in, a small gesture to make everyone feel welcome and appreciated.
With the closure of beloved small venues like Amnesia and Amado’s on Valencia Street, San Francisco’s music scene has taken a hit. Intimate venues are vital for smaller acts connecting with audiences. “Touring is expensive,” notes Bay Area musician Sarah Bethe Nelson. “At a time when it is getting increasingly cost-prohibitive to be a traveling band, places like Kilowatt are oases in the desert.”
A multi-instrumentalist, McCarthy performs in the band Nobody’s Baby with Niven, who also manages sound at the club. She was recently recruited to join the band Death Valley Girls, as a fill-in bassist, on a tour of France. “For me, it’s an expensive habit to play rock and roll, but it’s so cool that other parts of the world will support their artists. It’s kind of a culture shock when you’re touring Europe and then you come to the United States and all of a sudden it can be like, Here’s a drink ticket and fuck off.”
McCarthy was determined to run things differently at Kilowatt, where she and her partners are building a high-energy creative hub. Among her plans for the future are weeklong (or longer) residencies for bigger acts.
Speaking of residencies, McCarthy leans over the booth and asks, “You want to see the upstairs?”
As we reach the second floor, I can’t help but exclaim a stunned whoa.
The large loft space retained traces of the old firehouse’s character, mixed with vintage furniture, a custom bar, and a 1960s jukebox. It has already hosted wedding receptions, art shows, company parties, and food events. McCarthy—with her ’50s-pinup-meets–Rosie the Riveter style—is right at home in this ultra-stylish crash pad where musicians can unwind before and after gigs.
“One of my favorite moments on the job is seeing the look on musicians’ faces when I show them where they’ll be staying,” McCarthy says.
The apartment section features a full kitchen, group showers (true to its firehouse roots), and enough beds to accommodate two bands. Killah Priest and Pussy Riot crashed up here, and Armstrong hung out before and after his show.
No band has wrecked Kilowatt’s upstairs area—a noteworthy achievement in the punk world. “For the most part, the bands have treated us with respect,” McCarthy says. “We’re trying to make this place as nice as possible.”
She means that literally. The Kilowatt’s co-owners share the cleaning tasks, from changing linens to washing glasses, mopping, and sweeping the space. Musicians have noticed. “The only way someone is incentivized to work extra hard in a hardcore and thankless environment is if they love what they’re supporting,” Michael Bingham, singer of the punk band Spiritual Cramp, tells me. “Katie, Peter, and Rick all truly love what they do. That love can’t be faked; it comes through in the space.”•
Jennifer Lewis is the editor in chief and publisher of Red Light Lit, a small press and reading series established in 2013. She is the author of the short story collection The New Low, published by Black Lawrence Press.
