By M. Stephanie Murray
Arizona Daily Wildcat
November 26, 1997

Rockin' the Rialto

Brian D. Rothschild Arizona Daily Wildcat Phonoroyale's singer Mary Katherine, and drummer Steve Nelson at the Rialto Theatre

It's hard to imagine, what with the pod-people houses encroaching on what's left of the desert and a Circle K on every corner in our part of the universe, but Tucson's got a history.

Once upon a time, downtown was bustling. Department stores, restaurants, theaters even. You may have dropped in on one of the old architectural darlings of our turn-of-the-century town, the Temple of Music and Art. And you may not have noticed her, but up the street and around the corner lives her scruffy little sister, the Rialto Theatre.

Here's the first thing you need to know about the Rialto: It's across Congress Street from Hotel Congress, two storefronts west of the bus station. It seems like everyone in this town knows about the Rialto, but no one knows where it is. Kinda like our own private Xanadu.

Built in 1919, the Rialto hosted the Sistine Choir, Ginger Rogers and the first "talkie" in Tucson before transforming into a movie theater and eventually degenerating into a porn theater. A run of bad luck in the early '80s, including fires and boiler explosions, forced its closure. But plans are underway to bring this piece of history with us into the next century. The Rialto Theatre Project aims to fully renovate and restore the theater to its former glory.

The newest incarnation of the Rialto is that of live venue. Last week it hosted Leon Russell and Saturday was the official "Welcome Back to the Rialto Theatre Party." Carolyn Wonderland and the Imperial Monkeys stopped in from Houston to headline and Phoenix-based but Tucson-friendly swingers Phonoroyale also played.

The theater may not be entirely pretty yet, but it's safe. The party celebrated the achievement of bringing the building up to code. The seats are still a little dinky, the balcony's not open and all but one-half of a two-story mural is still painted over but, man, is it cool. The seats swoop down to an actual stage, complete with red velvet curtains. The walls are that ancient, thick adobe. And there was even a seat-side cocktail waitress.

There could be no better place for a decidedly retro band like Phonoroyale to play. The vintage microphones sent a warm, slightly fuzzy sound through the room. The group's new compact disc is called Radio Flavored, and that's just what the show was; it sounded like it was coming through an antique radio.

Brian D. Rothschild Arizona Daily Wildcat Bassist Kevin Pate and lead guitarist Ben Edmans perform at the newly reopened Rialto Theatre, Saturday night.

Singer Mary Katherine seemed bolstered by the tattered elegance of the stage and the giddy camp of her outfit (satin gown, feather boa, elbow gloves and flowered hat). She growled and purred through an assortment of their live faves and album tracks. Jack Randall appeared to be sporting a new version of his phonophone but it was badly mic-ed, muffling the unique muted horn sound it creates. A brand-spankin' new drummer joined the band for this show, but the band sounded as loosely sharp as ever.

Carolyn Wonderland seemed, at first glance, an odd pairing with the opening band. This impression lasted through a second and a third glance as well. Wonderland is from the Bonnie-Raitt-via-Sheryl-Crow school of rockin' chicks. The bell-sleeved, gauzy shirt was the first clue; the crushed velvet vest was the second.

She dug right into her blues-tinged rockers, which clashed stridently with the wittily dreamy atmosphere Phonoroyale had created in the theater. This was a band that needed a raucous bar to do their songs justice, and this was definitely not the place. A slight majority of the audience retired to the lobby to drink beer and sangria during its set.

But the Rialto proved its viability as a downtown destination. The crowd that turned out to support the theater ranged from hipsters to hippies, encompassing everyone who cares about the cultural history of our town. It was a proper coming-out party for a forgotten debutante of downtown.