RIFFS, RESISTANCE & REAL ESTATE
Real estate wants a sale. Community wants its culture. Caught in-between is The Black Wreath, a record label, venue, and the driving force behind Blacken Open Air Festival.
WORDS ROSIE WILD
THE BLACK WREATH has been holding the line for Alice Springs’ underground music scene for 14 years. Now, the building is up for sale, the eviction notice is real, and the clock’s ticking. Unless something changes fast, Mparntwe risks losing a space that’s helped define what it means to create, connect, and belong.
What started as a warehouse for metalheads has grown into an essential cultural cornerstone, a place where diversity is celebrated and amplified in the centre. It’s become an underground economy, supporting local gigs, hosting interstate and international acts, running festivals, drawing visitors, and keeping locals from leaving town.
Pirate, who’s at the helm of The Wreath and shoulders the risk of the business, says both the venue and Blacken Open Air are on a knife’s edge.
“I took it as far as I can on my own … without enormous national support, I can’t continue to deliver it the way I have been. That’s everything. The venue. The festival. The entire industry that injects over a million dollars every year into the NT economy.”
This loss would hit a lot of people. Inside this venue, the melting-pot of Mparntwe comes together, and community finds the freedom of its voice.
“Mob, travellers, queers, tradies, punks, metalheads, old-schoolers, doofers all come here, watching live music together, laughing, talking, looking out for each other. I can’t, and don’t want to, imagine this place without it,” says performance artist Muffi Jaye.
But it could be lost. The owners want to sell the place that was forged in friendship, built on volunteer hours, and runs on sweat, solidarity, and sheer punk persistence. Kate Glyde has been part of The Black Wreath since its inception, and says it’s special to many.
“Many local people have given their time freely to contribute to the development of the infrastructure, both inside and out. It’s a unique venue. It’s quirky. It means a lot to people, and it can’t be easily replicated.”
The Wreath is proof that punk principles – do it yourself, do it together – create grassroots venues that generate significant social, cultural, community, and economic capital. When towns lose venues, all that can go with them.
“Social outcomes of The Black Wreath are invaluable, essential, and intangible. It increases the liveability of Central Australia. It raises the profile of the arts and the artists of the region, and supports the entire community at large through self-expression, community cohesiveness, coming together, and celebrating everything that makes this place unique and special,” says Pirate.
In recent years, the community of Alice Springs/Mparntwe has lost a lot of habitat from their cultural ecologies. With Montes gone, Wild Open Space Festival over and The Jump Inn now closely monitored for sound after new residents moved into the neighbourhood, creative spaces are shrinking. And when a town is stripped of spaces, it’s stripped of stories.
The Black Wreath’s sweat-drenched gigs, hip-hop events, punk nights, queer dance floors, fire-pit conversations, grungy lounge-room corners, slow grind hazes, and desert metal festivals are story generators. Connection formulators. Creative incubators. They’re reasons to love this place. Reasons to stay in town. If it’s sold, those stories don’t just stop. They scatter.
“Without The Wreath, we lose a big part of the community. I genuinely think without it, the Alice Springs music scene might die,” says Mallee Pietsch (aka Flozz).
But it’s not over yet. The Wreath is carved out of camaraderie, kept alive by the community, and defended by those who know what it’s worth.
“The Wreath supports us, and we support The Wreath,” says Billeigh Waaha (aka Beatrix).
A cohort created a festival-scale fundraiser in just over a week. People are problem-solving, meeting, funding. They’re planning and seeking professional advice.
“It’s incredible to see all the ideas … how much we continue to create collectively … I feel a lot of gratitude,” says Pirate.
“I hope people understand how vital this is. How vital having space is. How vital community is. How important the arts are … Time is very short. It’s not on our side. But, if people come together and want this hard enough and amplify this message and this urgency, I believe we can secure this venue for the future,” Pirate says.
The Black Wreath is the town’s proving ground, its pulse, its creative and community home. What’s at stake is the soul of a scene that’s fought too hard and for too long to be erased by a real estate listing.
If you’ve ever danced at The Wreath, played there, connected there, felt alive there, or if you know what it means to lose the spaces that let you be who you are, now’s the time to make some noise, or whatever contribution you can. Because The Wreath is a heartbeat, and it’s not ready to flatline.
INFO facebook.com/theblackwreath
Image: Spoonbill spins at the recent fundraiser
