By Teresa Willis

Wednesday, October 13, was the Fourth Anniversary Celebration of the Iguana Café. It was the third anniversary show that I have attended. The Iguana Café has been about as important in my life as any one public establishment can be to a person.

The Iguana came into my life in August of ’91. The man I was living with at the time kept disappearing to this place until four in the morning and coming back talking about massacring someone named “Tom” in backgammon. After a modicum of whining, he took me there on my birthday. There was an open poetry reading in which my ex participated (reading poems about his former lovers). I heard poet Ellyn Maybe for the first time. She’s a frizzy-haired, bespectacled, truth-tapping geek/poet/priestess who seems to have no idea how naked she makes us feel. I was stunned. We stayed to hear Dan Bern and Debbie Pasternak, two excellent acoustic artists. I don’t know what ever happened to Debbie, but Dan’s still around, charming audiences around L.A. the way he charmed me that night. He specializes in pain-punctuated urban love anthems, cut with the perfect amount of sarcasm, that leave few buttons un-pushed. I remember choking back tears. I didn’t know places like this existed. When my lover asked me what was wrong, I muttered something about turning 31. What wasn’t wrong? Juxtaposed against this place — these people — my life was revealed as the empty promise that it was. My relationship sucked, my job was horrendous (deli waitress!), but worst of all, I was a writer who wasn’t writing, a performer who wasn’t performing. It was excruciating to watch all these people expressing themselves, performing, looking so damn fulfilled! But I knew I’d be back. At the end of the evening I met the infamous “Tom” — Tom Ianniello, Iguana owner-guy. We took an immediate liking to each other. He asked me how I liked the place. “Where can I set up my cot?” I replied. “Anywhere,” he said. “We’ll walk around you.”

Within what seemed like minutes, my relationship was, er, “removed” from my life. He got the apartment. I got the Iguana. I did the L.A. couch tour for about four months. The Iguana was my living room. I was pitiful. Tom was cool. At first I just sat and watched and, as Tom promised, they just walked around me. But nobody just sits and watches at the Iguana for too long. You eventually either get on the stage or stop coming around. It took about three months for me. I brought my poetry out of the closet. The performer followed. I was no longer pitiful. I got better. Quick.

It was even because of the Iguana that I began writing for this magazine. Tom submitted a promotional piece I had written to Jim Berg for a coffeehouse article NoHo was doing last February. Jim printed it word for word, so I called and asked if he needed any more help.

Mine is not an uncommon story among Iguana regulars. Before performing at the Anniversary show singer-songwriter (and resident sound guy) Fred Davis described a similar experience “I was in a very dark place when I started coming around here. It’s all different now — better. Mostly because of this place. There’s a magic in these walls.” Fred was living out of his van a little over a year ago when it caught fire and was destroyed, along with all his worldly possessions. The Iguanoids threw a benefit, donated clothes, goods and money, and got him going again. But he got more than material things from that benefit. “That anyone cared enough to do that? I was blown away,” adds Davis. “These people are more like my family than my family. This place is more like a home than my home.”

The Fourth Anniversary show was wonderful. Because of that sense of family Davis mentioned, the holiday and special occasion shows always are. They start early, end late, and are a constant stream of performance silliness, and mayhem. And a few inches beneath the surface, sentiment runs rampant. When I arrived about 9:30 Flea Circus (née Kira and Casey) was on stage. They’re a husband and wife duo. He plays the Chapman stick and she sings like a goddess. They’ve recently expanded (hence the name change), adding Antoine on keyboard and Chapman stick and Cliff on drums and percussion. Their music is poetic, melodic, and inventive. I don’t get why they aren’t rich. Comedian/poet/all-around good guy Honest John emceed the show, keeping the acts moving on and off stage with his special brand of humor. Kiva J Catalina gathered a representational group of Iguana poets together for a poetry show within the show. We heard from Kiva, David Cooper, Matthew Niblock, Erica Erdman, and the ever present relentlessly brilliant Ellyn Maybe. Backed up by Kira and Casey, Andrew Lorand performed his original song, “Please Let Me Play at Highland Grounds,” blasting the performance policy of a rival coffeehouse (“Can you bring 30 people?”), which inspired Tom to perform an impromptu drum solo, in the middle of the chorus. Tom’s no drummer. Andrew/ took it well.

Among other musicians to perform that night were Duke McVinnie, Tom Winslow, Teena Moyer, Earl Grey, Andrea Louise, Tracey Thielen, Brad Banvon, and the aforementioned Dan Bern. Dan’s got some kind of a deal now, so we don’t see him as much as we used to, but he’s been at all three anniversary shows that I’ve attended. He has the dubious distinction of being the first person (besides Tom) to play the guitar on the Iguana stage.

Yes, as might be expected, Tom Ianniello is a musician as well. He finished off the evening with a set around 2:00am. Tom is also a renowned and talented orator. A book of his insightful and humorous speeches is available now at the Iguana.

Tom and his wife Patty opened the Iguana in October of 1989 with no particular vision in mind. He just wanted “a place with a stage.” So form followed function, as it is wont to do, and the place sprung up around Tom, his family and the bohemian patrons and artists the Iguana attracted. The café is always changing. There’s more music and more shows starting earlier, due to the sound-proofing of an interior wall this year. Local craftspeople and jewelry makers bring in their ware to sell, so the merchandise is always different and usually one of a kind. The used and new book selection is larger than ever, owing to the spiffy new bookshelves that line nearly every wall.

The outside is getting a whole new look as well, with a fluorescent paint job and eye-catching marquee and window signs. The painting is the work of local artist Brian Prosser. Brian is one of those artists who do things like make pictures with thousands of little dots or tight squiggly lines. He gets off on the same kind of painstaking detail work that would drive the rest of us up a tree. The new signs at the Iguana look completely different up close than they do far away. They really are beautiful works of art.

The past four years have seen many changes at the Iguana and Tom promises that many more are in the works. There are always new people coming around, new art on the stage and on the walls. The Family gets bigger. About the only thing that remains intact around the Iguana is the “magic in the walls.”