With a little help from her friends

Amanda Chea of Creative Room fights for the all-ages music scene

Dashing into The Phoenix for our meeting, Amanda Chea frantically shook my hand. “Sorry, I was just sitting in my car slamming What-A-Burger,” she told me. She laughed while she caught her breath, pantomiming stuffing invisible burgers into her face.

Fast food was invented for people like Chea. She’s a single mom, a part-time nurse, and owner of Tulsa’s newest and beloved all-age venue. Her space, Creative Room, at 1317 E. Sixth Street, has become so popular, so quickly, she’s decided to get the permits to become an actual music hall. She has moved her scheduled shows to other spaces while she raises the money she needs to renovate.

When she started Creative Room, becoming a center of Tulsa’s music scene was far from her mind. “The shows kind of overshadowed the original concept,” Chea told me. Creative Room offered rentable space for workers in the creative industries, from office-less writers to painters without studios. She hosted fashion shows and hip-hop open mics, but never thought of live music until Mike Williams and Tony Cozzaglio approached her. Acquaintances of Chea’s and her Pearl District neighbors, Williams and Cozzaglio saw an opportunity for what Tulsa desperately needed: a hub for an all-ages music scene.

“I was excited to put on the first show,” Chea said. “Tony and Mike just told me: ‘Once you open your door, you better be ready for all the bands who will ask to play.’”

And all the bands did. After the shows got underway, Chea spent an average of three nights a week playing chaperone.

Tulsa’s music scene has thrived in recent years, but it’s no secret the younger, 21-and-under crowd has been displaced. A few punk houses and venues have opened their doors, but nothing has been controlled or managed in such a way as to foster a scene. “Places like the Vanguard are great to see music,” Cozzaglio told me, “but the DIY attitude of Creative Room makes it easier for people to feel more a part of what’s happening.”

That DIY attitude has a twofold effect of growing new talent as well as new audiences. Young bands spring up when they have a place to play, a performance for which to work and tighten their music. Having to wait until age 21 to play a stage can have a crippling effect on the flow of new blood in any music community.

Similarly, when youth can witness music in a safe environment, they tend to take advantage of it. I’m a member of the group Lizard Police, and at one of our recent shows at Creative Room, I saw crowds of unfamiliar and enthusiastic faces. After our set, several kids approached me to ask if we played there often. “Just twice,” I replied, asking, “Who did you guys come to see tonight?” The group replied, “Oh, no one. We just heard there would be music.”

Get a copy of Chea’s NSA records and I’d bet “community” is the word she uses most. She opened Creative Room as a blank slate for the community to shape. She has hosted art and music field trips for at-risk teens, an effort to show them how it’s possible to bring positive energy into their community. Chea claims the punk community has policed the space for her, claiming that it’s one of the best things going, and – now that she is making the leap to remake Creative Room into a legit live-music venue – the community she champions is coming to her aid.

Because Chea didn’t open Creative Room as a music venue, she had no idea how expensive the permits would be. When she approached the City of Tulsa for advice, she was informed she would have to stop the music until her space got up to code. After rehabbing the old warehouse to open her co-working space last year, her initial loan money has dried up. Her community has reached out to her, planning events and donating all proceeds to Creative Room.

Chea claims it’s that sense of community that’s inspired her to press forward, and do what it takes to bring the music back. She recalls being stressed to the point of tears at recent shows, then seeing an inspiring performance that reminded her why she does it. “I would dry my eyes and think, hey I’ve got some more stuff around the house I can sell,” she said. “So far no takers, but I’m trying to sell my wedding dress.”

Chea’s cell never stopped chirping during our talk. She politely ignored it, but sensing some urgency, I asked if she had somewhere to be. “Yeah, I’ve gotta jet,” she replied, gathering her things. “I’m meeting an architect who’s wanting to draft up a floor plan” in exchange for a party at Creative Room.

“That’s bartering, baby,” she said, smiling.