The Tranzac: A Case Study in Third Places
The Tranzac
Artistic hubs are in danger of becoming either profit-engineered businesses─or disappearing entirely.
DECEMBER 7, 2024 | TORONTO
Foreword ── Our idea of what defines a hub has evolved since we started our Hubs & Huddles series. Initially, our vision of the ideal hub was a large multi-faceted institution capable of hosting international artistic talent while incubating projects that smaller collectives couldn’t achieve. But this vision was incomplete. It didn’t make space for the community mainstays that, though lacking in the bells and whistles of a national institution, were nevertheless better suited to serve the unique artistic needs of their immediate communities. As I was meditating on this issue’s focus on the artistic third places that bring us together, I settled on a case study that was close to home: The Tranzac. Nestled in the nucleus of Toronto’s Annex neighbourhood since 1971, The Tranzac self-describes as a “member-driven non-profit arts organisation.” While this string of words usually just cover for the nebulous corporatism that has infiltrated so much of the arts across Canada, The Tranzac is a rare example of an organisation that practises more than it preaches.
On any given night, there’s something worthwhile happening in one of The Tranzacs three performance spaces: from experimental jazz trios in the smaller “Southern Cross” room, to large concerts in the Main Hall, to intimate poetry readings in the Living Room. Beyond merely providing space, the Tranzac’s magic lies in how these spaces are filled. Alternating between rentals and residencies, one-off shows and weekly performances, there’s a steady and pleasantly incoherent stream of artists appearing in one of the over 1,400 shows the venue hosts every year. I first visited the Southern Cross in December 2011, walking through the doors with no clue what show was on (which turned out to be an experimental noise band). I’ve spent many evenings in the Southern Cross over the past decade, especially last summer, watching the comings and goings of this uniquely conspicuous hub. In summa summarum, I arrived at the realisation that what happens at the Southern Cross is precisely the kind of shit we mean by art is true north. Some evenings at The Tranzac are teeming with people from all over the city, packed tight to catch glimpses of emerging talents in Toronto’s bluegrass, jazz, folk, singer-songwriter, and experimental music scene.
Some evenings look like a bar scene from an Aki Kaurismäki film: largely empty, with a trio playing jazz standards for a few attentive albeit reclined onlookers. Regardless of the crowd size, this venue—and the programming that fills it—has achieved an effortless and unimposing consistency. It makes no attempts to be chic; its social media marketing is even-keeled, earnest, and behind the times; you can get a pint for $7; and most events are PWYC. Ironically, its refusal to be the hip go-to spot is what makes it the ideal go-to third place. It is one of the few remaining places in this part of town where the aesthetic and virtue of lingering is still fostered.
To that end, I invited writer Derek Manderson to reflect on this evaporating virtue of lingering, and the economic hurdles that make lingering difficult in a city as expensive and expansive as Toronto. For a perspective on how community hubs like The Tranzac support the cultivation of creative experimentation, electroacoustic musician Michael Palumbo joins us to discuss Exit Points (a monthly free-improvisation concert series). ─Michael Zarathus-Cook, Chief Editor
On the Evaporating Virtue of Lingering ── There are two places where the average person spends the majority of their time: at home and at work. Respectively, these are our “first” and “second” places. The “third place,” as Ray Oldenburg describes in his 1989 book The Great Good Place, is a neutral, public space for socialisation and connection. These are the parks, libraries, coffee shops, and arts venues where we can meet people to chat and spend time together. More than just offering an escape, third places are fundamental in fostering a sense of community, creating informal support networks, and providing opportunities to learn, play, and unwind. Arts venues are a particularly valuable kind of third place space because they are designed to serve as a cultural hub where artists can share their work and experiment at both low cost and pressure. For attendees, a night of lingering promises exposure to something new, challenging, comforting, or provocative. That is a valuable communal contribution that we cannot lose. However, a cursory glance at the rapid corporatization of other popular third places and ever-pressing harsh economic realities reveals a scary truth: artistic hubs are in danger of becoming either profit-engineered businesses─or disappearing entirely. At its core, third places and spaces are an opportunity to … just be a person, whatever that looks like on any given day. Maybe that means going to an open mic night and silently listening to music by yourself. Maybe that’s celebrating an achievement with friends at a dive bar, revelling in the rambunctious energy of the crowd.
The price-tag to entry should not be a barrier to entry─in theory, financial pressure should be minimal. It shouldn’t cost us to be. For a while, cafés were the quintessential third place: the price of a cheap coffee procured a cosy corner for catching up with a friend amidst the cocooning hum of similarly-spirited conversations. In recent years, that cup of coffee has gotten a little more expensive, and the most prominent sound of this archetypal setting has become the click-clacking of keyboards as tables have been transformed into loci for work. The second place has yet again invaded a crucial third one. At some of the largest coffee chains (looking at you, Starbucks), the bottom line has thrown its weight behind mobile ordering and swapping seating areas for queueing spaces. With minimal humane interactions, we are robotically expediting customer turnover. A lingering body is not a paying one and is, therefore, not a desirable one from the corporate perspective.
The Threat ── It is precisely this calculating profit-oriented design that poses the greatest threat to third places, especially in an expensive and expansive city like Toronto. The heartbeat, spirit, and value of a third place won't show up in the corporate numbers and spreadsheets of our capitalist business models. Yet, it is in this corporate soil that our arts organisations are increasingly embedded in order to compensate for the astronomic costs of operation. In an alternative world: studios, galleries, and event halls would continue to be nodes of collaboration and experimentation, an affordable boon for aspiring artists and lingering patrons alike. But in this world, the permanent closures of artistic third places has become routine. Even a major industry player like Artscape (a Toronto-based operation that’s been making artist studios affordable for over 30 years) is showing its mortality as a cultural hub by going into receivership this year.
The Digital Alternative ── Then there’s the question: can digital, online third places provide a viable alternative to alleviate the corporatization of brick-and-mortar third places? The proliferation of Zoom hangs, gaming nights spent on Discord, and the virtually real environments of VRChat all make a compelling case for it. Consider that the global gaming phenomenon Fortnite—itself an apparatus for socialising with friends and strangers—offers live events and concerts for players to attend in-game. These spaces may not physically move us out of the home, but they remain a transportation site for escape and connection. In some ways, digital spaces are quite accessible─most software meeting spaces are free (provided you have the hardware and internet), drinks are cheaper, and you can’t beat the commute. For many, they bridge gaps between friends, family, and loved ones who are geographically distant. However, embracing at-home digital third places as a replacement for physical sites of gathering ignores precarious realities for many without access to the required technology, those who do not experience home as a place of safety and comfort, and those who—crucially—don’t want to be home alone. As a graduate student living in Toronto, I don’t have the luxury of a home office. My computer desk sits beside my bed, where I sleep, work, and socialise. A singular room is my first, second, and third place. Some days, this is okay. But most days, I crave an escape that won’t burn holes in my already disintegrating wallet.
The Tranzac ── As a not-for-profit staple in the local arts scene, the Tranzac Club is the perfect third place to go when I can no longer bear the unrelenting glow of my computer. A quick jaunt over on the subway, and I am greeted by a night of live music, art, and theatre (for free!). It is an institution that thrives more on culture than money. In April 2024, the venue programmed its first fundraising concert to help cover the untenable operating costs. It was the first in a series of similar events, complemented by a GoFundMe campaign. For now, the Tranzac continues to survive with the support of its dedicated community and generous donors who recognize the value of artistic third places as a place to be human. But for how much longer? Capitalism doesn’t care about third places. Our various levels of governments, with all their overlapping budget cuts, don't care about third places. If we treasure places like the Tranzac and everything they can offer us in an age of increasing social isolation, we must show that we care. Third places are our places, if they disappear, so does our ability to come together. ─ Derek Manderson
Michael Palumbo ── Third places have been essential to my growth as an artist and to the development of Exit Points. The Tranzac is where I first engaged with the free-improvisation community and where I’ve tested curatorial ideas like the Cool New Instruments Night, a platform for instrument designers and performance artists to present prototypes for new instrument designs. The Southern Cross room has been pivotal, offering a free booking option that allows me to experiment with programming, such as providing performance opportunities for my former students outside of academic settings. With over 1,000 shows annually, and 100% of door revenue (plus 10% of bar sales) going to the independent event organiser, the Tranzac presentation model creates a supportive and sustainable environment for the performers. It’s a DIY space where artists manage their own setups and operate the PA system, fostering artistic and professional growth. With its multiple rooms, lesson spaces, and zine library, I see the Tranzac functioning as a cultural production meets community centre. Arraymusic operates differently, more like a black box space that can support projects with high production demands, aligning perfectly with Exit Points’s goal to elevate the presentation of free-improvised music. For Exit Points alone, Arraymusic has facilitated live concerts, a vinyl LP, 15 digital album releases, and welcomed over 2,000 audience members. As third places, both the Tranzac and Arraymusic not only make grassroots projects like Exit Points feasible but also create the atmosphere necessary for experimental improvisational music to thrive. By supporting artists at every level—from performers to technicians—they cultivate a community that encourages creative risks and artistic development.
Learn more about Exit Points at www.exitpoints.org. Support The Tranzac at www.tranzac.org