At the San Jose Punk Rock Flea Market, the entire club felt like a stage.

The Ritz was jammed for the occasion. At opening time, high noon, people were already lined up outside. After I shelled out a five-spot to get in, I was told that if I wanted to leave and come back, there would probably still be a line outside. And there was.

Inside, even at 12:30pm, the place was packed to the gills. A good thing.

Most of the vendors were on the floor or the bar area, with a few set up on the stage itself. And from the stage, looking out over the whole mess, there was no way to avoid the grand sweep of history. Not in a nostalgic way, but in a hopeful way, with no necessary end or beginning.

In my view, The Ritz can be understood as the reincarnation of the Blank Club, which itself functioned li

See Full Page