By Camper English

EARLIER THIS YEAR Assemblymember Mark Leno introduced a piece of legislation to the California State Assembly that would have extended last call for alcohol in certain venues to between 3:30 and 4 a.m. That was terrific news for drunks and club trash alike. The proposed change to the State Business Code would have applied only to businesses with existing after-hours licenses, but it still would have meant two more hours of lubrication before the party started thinning out.

The legislation, A.B. 2433, was well supported in San Francisco. The San Francisco Late Night Coalition, the Entertainment Commission, 9 out of 11 supervisors, and Mayor Gavin Newsom approved it, and a busload of San Francisco clubbers went to Sacramento to support it.

Police officers from Oakland, a MADD mother, and members of the Youth Leadership Institute spoke in opposition, all citing fears of increased drunk driving. The San Francisco groups presented data from the U.S. National Traffic Safety Administration showing that traffic fatalities are lower in states with later last-call times, but the proposal didn't make it out of committee, killing its chances for this year.

"We did not have the emotional vote," says Terrance Alan, chair of the Entertainment Commission and the SFLNC. "We had the statistical vote. It was unexpected that they would not balance [emotion] with the actual statistics." And yet this is common in debates involving clubs. It doesn't take much to win the battle of Anything Else vs. Nightlife – not even logic.

Clubland is widely considered to be a place of hedonistic, sinful excess. And unfortunately, A.B. 2433's sponsors didn't spend much time trying to change that perception. (Maybe because in San Francisco we encourage hedonistic, sinful excess.) From the beginning, the two bullet points on the proposal were that (a) later last-call times are a necessary boost to California's tourist economy that would make us more competitive with other states, and that (b) studies show later bar times don't increase traffic fatalities. Neither of those arguments implies any inherent merit to nightlife beyond its ability to bring in nightclub sales tax dollars. The debate was about budget problems and damage control, and it made the proposal sound less like a relaxing of the rules and more like a sin tax.

It's no surprise they played it that way. Most legislation around here regarding nightlife reflects a built-in bias against it. The general theme seems to be it's OK to operate a club in San Francisco, as long as nobody ever complains about it. The city needs an attitudinal and legislative adjustment on this front, and doing so will necessitate a substantive discussion about the larger economic (and artistic) values of nightlife.

The bigger picture

Nightlife, and club life in particular, affects a world of folks beyond the patrons attending the parties, and the club economy extends far beyond the taxes levied on the owners. The many industries involved in club life's promotion and execution make up a web of artists, technicians, and service employees who benefit from – and ensure – its continued good health. For example, on the artistic front, DJs, musicians, comedians, strippers, fire jugglers, and other performers all benefit from the nightlife economy.

None of those pursuits is a particularly excellent way to get into the top tax bracket, but San Francisco pays a lot of lip service to supporting local artists, so perhaps a discussion of their role in the club scene would strengthen the case for fostering nightlife in general. DJs are a model example of how the web functions and are a good place to start.

A big chunk of a DJ's income from playing local gigs never leaves the city. It goes to small record stores for new vinyl. "The money I make DJing locally definitely goes back to my local favorite record store, In House Records," says DJ Ellen Ferrato, who plays out at nights including Sugar, 2nd Sunday, and Spundae.

There are more than a dozen small, independent vinyl stores in San Francisco that serve bedroom and celebrity DJs alike, and they generally employ local DJs too. In House, for example, is owned by DJs Naz and Leonard, who employ Scott Reyna and Lalo, and all of them play out regularly at the Stud, Anú, the Top, the Endup, and Club Six. So the money patrons drop at the door – some of it anyway – goes from the promoters' pockets to the DJs, who in turn pay it out to local record stores, which end up handing some of it back in the form of salaries. It might as well be a barter economy.

Then there's the musicians and producers who made the music in the first place. In House has an entire wall devoted to West Coast and local music, and many (if not most) club music shops carry the full line of tracks put out by local labels like Om Records, Naked Music, and Spundae Records. Those labels, in turn, owe their success partly to DJs like Mark Farina and Miguel Migs who've gone international and partly to the portal those DJs have provided for a San Francisco sound. As with Nirvana and Seattle, electroclash and Williamsburg, performers represent their hometowns (whether by choice or default). And local labels provide opportunities for other DJs to ride on the coattails of the pack's leaders, which is good P.R. for the local scene and invites further nightlife tourism. (Clubbers don't flock to Ibiza for the beach or to Brooklyn for the kosher food.)

Next, the visual artists. We think of nightlife as an aural experience, but many make their incomes from it. Good flyer design, a slick Web presence, and graphic e-mail reminders are crucial to a strong showing at a club night. Built on that need are several industries employing freelance and full-time artists.

Web site design company WorldZOO.com moved to San Francisco in 1998 and built its first nightlife Web site for promoters Mixed Elements, who put on events at Fluid, Ruby Skye, and Bambuddha Lounge. Now the company works with more than 65 designers and has created sites for clubs, DJs, and promoters here (Ruby Skye, Suite 181, DJ Behrouz) and across the nation. Founder Alex Farr says doing business with nightlife industries increases the company's hipster cred, which attracts new clients: "We've already earned half a dozen new deals [with non-nightlife companies] from patrons visiting Ruby Skye's Web site."

Paper advertising channels also require printing companies like SoMa's Nomad Printers, which estimates half its business is club flyers. The company, which also prints postcards and flyers for theater groups like American Conservatory Theater and the Magic Theatre, has done work for Martel and Nabiel, Devotion, Stompy, Suede, and plenty of others. You've no doubt seen its work beneath your windshield wipers.

Art galleries also profit from nightlife, renting out their venues for dance parties. Multiuse spaces like 111 Minna Gallery, Rx Gallery, and StudioZ.tv live double lives: galleries by day and clubs by night. "We wouldn't have been able to be as large as we are if we weren't able to sell alcohol," says Steen Bojsen-Moller of 111 Minna, whose success has led to its more than doubling in size. Bojsen-Moller says the extra income from bigger parties has also allowed the gallery to take programming and curating risks. And on that note, the pieces hanging in the galleries (or in smaller clubs like 26 Mix that rotate artwork regularly) are in turn exposed to a larger audience of potential buyers.

Food, clothing, and transportation industries that serve clubbers should also be factored into the nightlife economy. Twenty-four hour diners like Sparky's and Bagdad Café get their biggest rush of customers at sobering-up time and eating-away-the-hangover brunch. Local clothing designers and boutiques sell their wares to upscale clubbers, and vintage clothing shops and T-shirt presses do the same to downscale ones. Taxi companies pick up fares when and where public transportation doesn't run (and that's plenty of times and places).

A full discussion of all the industries involved would take more time to read than it does to get to the front of the line at the DNA Lounge on a weekend. For instance, we haven't even touched on Web hosting, video DJs, rehearsal space rentals, parking garages, Peachy Puffs, glow-in-the-dark tchotchkes, music equipment, flyer distributors, club listing ad revenue, and some of the gray- and black-market activities whose absence would definitely be felt elsewhere in the web were they to cease and desist.

And though this argument has focused on economics, we should state the obvious: money spent on nightlife is spent in part on artists and musicians' ability to continue working and exposing their work to the public. And quite simply put, artists and musicians make San Francisco a better place. Not to mention the hipster cred they afford the city, enabling it to attract new clients – i.e., tourists.

Support the home team

And yet. Despite all the industries and individuals who benefit, the scene here suffers from near-constant negative P.R. and a lack of infrastructure to support its expansion – without even getting into the logistics of a later last call. Getting around after midnight in San Francisco, a nightlife hub for the whole Bay Area, is hard for residents and worse for everyone else. South and East Bay clubbers who take BART or Caltrain into the city are shit out of luck at the end of the night. BART shuts down so early you can't attend a concert here and make the last train home. (This may change if the kinks are worked out of Regional Measure 2, which would support late-night bus service on BART routes within the next couple years.)

Then there's Muni, which has tried to "adjust" (i.e., decrease) service by reducing some routes and eliminating others only a year after adjusting (i.e., raising) fares. As it stands, the system gets increasingly unreliable after 7 p.m. Only a few in-city Owl bus routes run after midnight, and they come so infrequently most clubbers don't consider them an option.

Bay Area transit agencies should recognize that people will rely on a reliable system and reject an unreliable one. Given the other options available – involving expensive cabs, hiked gas prices, dangerous walks or drunken rides home – people want to take public transit at night more than they do. Muni should advertise the Owls' timed transfers (didn't know about that, did you?) and schedule more night buses. If they build it, clubbers will come.

But one of the biggest obstacles to a healthy nightlife in San Francisco is other San Franciscans. Neighborhood groups hold far more power than local businesses, artists, and musicians. One resident citing noise issues can put a club that serves hundreds of people out of business – because city regulations place a higher value on residents than on nightlife businesses.

Noise issues have helped close venues like the Coco Club and temporarily crippled businesses like Kimo's and Lingba Lounge through complaints and attempts to impose conditions on entertainment permits (like what types of music can be played in a venue). Lingba owner Cody Robertson says that after the nightmare of obtaining his permit (free of conditions in the end), he hasn't had any actual problems with the neighbors. And yet, in the process of applying for an entertainment permit for another venue, he's again experiencing preemptive complaints from a neighbor. All it takes is perception problems to stall the process.

The city's Entertainment Commission was created in 2003 in part to mediate these issues, and it now facilitates the process of gaining and keeping entertainment permits. But the commission is often powerless. Depending on the zoning of a proposed venue, residents may try to impose conditions on its entertainment permit at separate hearings before the Entertainment and Planning Commissions, and the latter commission's conditions trump the former's. After the license is granted, neighbors may have the right to appeal to the Board of Permit Appeals (where Robertson's new permit is currently mired), the Board of Supervisors, and then the courts. The venue has the opportunity to present its case again and again – while trying not to run out of money.

There are no neighborhoods where nightlife is seen as a priority in city planning – not even the districts associated with clubbing. "We are not looking into creating or suggesting the creation of any entertainment districts," says Alan of the commission and the SFLNC. "With the insertion of residential communities into industrial areas with the live-work loft explosion, there are no areas of town without neighborhoods within a couple of blocks of a club.

"There are people who feel that any noise – when a car door is slammed after two o'clock, they call the police – is unacceptable. And on the flip side, we have some [club] patrons who don't understand they're going out and partying in a neighborhood where people live and sleep." The commissioners' approach is to act as educators for both sides, and Alan agrees it's a slow process. "Please Respect Our Neighbors" signs are becoming as ubiquitous outside clubs as "Employees Must Wash Hands" signs in bathrooms. And new entertainment venues still seem secure (temporarily) only if they stake out territory in an alley (Mezzanine) or a deserted part of town (Pound-SF).

It's easier to understand and accept noise complaints where nightlife venues have moved into residential neighborhoods and pumped up the volume. In most cases, however, the grievances come from new tenants concerning clubs that long preceded them. If you want to shut down a club, just build a live-work loft in the neighborhood and start making phone calls about the noise. And yet would anyone move next door to a church and start complaining that the bells wake them up too early when they're hungover?

There's no grandfather clause or other legal language to protect long-standing nightlife businesses from new residents, and there should be. Just as a single loud venue can change the character of a sleepy part of town, a single sleepy yuppie can change the character of a nightlife neighborhood. And neither of those scenarios seems terribly appropriate. Somewhere in the process of planning, permitting, and building residential properties, the character of the neighborhood needs to be taken into consideration. Perhaps builders shouldn't be allowed to construct lofts with paper-thin walls and floor-to-ceiling windows within spitting distance of nightclubs that have been operating for 20 years. Perhaps, even though it's too late to reclassify SoMa as an entertainment district, the responsible permitting departments could issue some pro-nightlife restrictions on new residential buildings. And perhaps, if you're successful enough to drop $750,000 on a condo, you could also assume some responsibility for noting in advance that it's located two doors down from a dance club.

Things have calmed down in SoMa since the San Francisco Police Department crusades of the late 1990s, in which some venues were accused of contributing to drug use and neighborhood crime and some licenses were suspended. That campaign eventually provoked a more equitable reorganization of the permitting process, and the various parties are currently on better terms. But a new threat has emerged in the form of California Alcoholic Beverage Control. The ABC also has the power to enforce standards, and there are grumbles in clubland that the agency is overstepping its role. "They're now a proactive enforcement body of their own," Alan says. And the ABC demonstrated that fact recently by shuttering the bar My Place – not for noise but for sexual activity inside.

Eric Hirata, supervising investigator in the San Francisco office of the ABC, says the department is just doing its job. "We are a complaint-driven organization," he says. In the case of My Place, before revoking its permit, the ABC gave the bar warnings that people had complained about lewd behavior. But the ABC responds to the same types of complaints the SFPD does: Hirata cites loud music, fights, public urination, and drug sales inside clubs. Thus, even if the police don't take issue with behavior that might be deemed locally acceptable, the ABC can still shut the place down. "[The appropriate agency to respond to complaints] depends on who the resident wants to call," Hirata says. "It all depends on which agency receives the complaints."

In other words, if you want to shut down a club and you're not in the business of building live-work lofts, make two phone calls: one to the SFPD and one to the ABC. You'll double your chances.

So yes, it's wonderful that 9 out of 11 supervisors and the mayor are behind nightlife, at least in terms of collecting additional revenue. But there's a lot more work to be done to create a true pro-nightlife infrastructure in this city. Legislators and residents must recognize that nightlife's value – both economic and cultural – extends beyond the clubs to include a vast community. And though the Entertainment Commission is an excellent first step toward making the city more welcoming to nightlife venues, we should recognize that these venues are legislated against, doubly policed, and assumed guilty until proven innocent when it comes to neighborhood issues, and we should attempt to correct the situation.

Our planning trajectory seems to be built in part on a fantasy of San Francisco as a sleepy residential village. And yet the city's nature is to be a playground of new ideas and alternative lifestyles – and a supportive place to practice them. The present system only protects our lifestyles at home and at the occasional street party, with an emphasis on daylight hours. Beyond economics, there's a value in nightlife that's in line with the core mission of the city, and we need to do a better job of keeping that mission on track.