(Above) Insane Clown Posse, two of the last straws for Marina City residents frustrated with security issues at House of Blues in 2000.

As exciting as it must have been to have a House of Blues move into the complex, over time the relationship cooled between the loud music nightclub and the hundreds of residents who lived above it.

In November 1998, two years after HOB opened, a petition circulated to tear up the liquor licenses in Chicago’s tiny 27th precinct comprised entirely of Marina City. Residents enlisted their alderman, Burton Natarus of the 42nd Ward, to warn HOB at a city council meeting on November 10, 1998.

“Do you regard your establishment as a place for concerts or sporting events?” Natarus pointedly asked House of Blues talent buyer Michael Yerke, who was at the meeting to support an unrelated issue. “In my neighborhood, most people feel you are a sporting event. You can’t control the crowds, and you have noise at night.”

Natarus said he had gathered his information firsthand, leaving HOB as late as 5 a.m. “Your [security] people do nothing, absolutely nothing. Everybody shouts and screams, and all they do is fold their arms.” (Left) Natarus at his last city council meeting on May 9, 2007.

HOB General Manager Warner Hedrick III later told the Chicago Tribune that he had implemented special training for security personnel, altered parking to minimize noise, and cut back on the times at which music acts finish.

“We strive to have a peaceful co-existence and nurture a positive relationship,” he said.

(Above) Former House of Blues general manager Jim Jablonski (second from left) and talent buyer Michael Yerke (far right) at a concert industry award ceremony in 2004.

Two years went by...

Rap music became popular. Insane Clown Posse, described by Rolling Stone magazine as “greasepainted buffoons from Detroit [who] built a small empire around personae of ultraviolent (as well as misogynist, homophobic, and racist) rapping clowns,” was performing to large crowds at the House of Blues at Marina City. Lines would curl around the block and in front of entrances to the towers. It was, said residents, a potentially dangerous nuisance.

Marina City resident Margaret Montoye told the Chicago Tribune that in January 2000, at about 5:50 on a Sunday evening, she had been shoved, kicked, and punched in the stomach by several people waiting in line to see Insane Clown Posse.

House of Blues officials disputed that any serious incidents were linked to their music venue, but they told residents that security would be beefed up. This included at least two off-duty police officers and 18 to 24 guards in and around the building. Whenever large crowds were expected, extra guards would be placed at the residential entrances.

It was not enough for Alderman Natarus. In July, he told the Tribune that security outside HOB was a growing problem and he wanted the liquor control commission to hold public hearings on the matter. The commission scheduled a community meeting for July 11, 2000, but later postponed it, saying they needed a bigger room.

Montoye, who lived at Marina City for ten years, recalls the hearing was eventually held and HOB agreed to improve security. “There was also a follow-up meeting with the Liquor Commissioner, myself, and HOB to confirm that security had been increased.”

Jim Curtin, president of Marina Towers Condominium Association, told the Tribune that in general, residents enjoyed living near House of Blues, but security was an issue.

“There are definitely concerns we have about the House of Blues and security. They’re not a bad neighbor, but the problem comes when they have a full house. And I think they are going to have to ask themselves how much is it worth to them? Is it worth putting another security guard out there?”

Responded Jim Jablonski, who was then general manager of House of Blues, “I think we’re very conscious of managing our crowds. It’s just one of those things when you’re popular, you’re going to have crowds.”

Living next to the popular nightclub did have its benefits. According to residential property manager Thomas Engblom (right), condo prices had soared in the past four years as the commercial development evolved to include the nightclub, hotel, and two restaurants. One-bedroom apartments were selling for around $180,000 – twice what they were four years earlier.