No matter a band’s look, no matter its hometown, no matter its gimmick, most metal artists will tell you the same thing: it’s all about the music.
That has always held true for 25 years at 450 Soledad St., the two-storied home of Bonds Rock Bar (formerly known as Bonds 007 Rock Bar) in downtown San Antonio. And for the past 16 years, Bonds has been owned by the married tag team of Dirce and John Eguia.
The Eguias will never say it publicly or privately. But last weekend’s double dose of concert finales proved to be the exception to the bar’s purpose because the back-to-back musical extravaganza wasn’t about the music this time.
Yes, there were bands that provided both evenings’ soundtrack. A seven-artist death-metal program last Friday night that marked the bar’s final gig of all-original music before last Saturday’s sold-out tribute-band show.
Click on the group’s name to get a taste of their performances via ATM’s Facebook Live footage of Sledgehammer Guillotine’s “Buried Alive,” Lacination’s “Undying” and “Excruciating Ejaculation,” Laredo headliners Antisma on “Eyes of Damnation” and “Obscured Afterlife,” Chaotic End, Vvormking, Corpse Hole’s “World Rotted Black” and “Bone Cave of the Cannibal King,” and openers Nauseum.
Rather, the final weekend of 2024 was about paying respect, thank yous and giving a proper farewell to the bar and its owners and staff who have given so much of themselves to the metal community.
The Eguias have always given Alamo City metalheads, and those who just wanted to come in to take a load off regardless of their musical tastes, age, religion or creed a sanctuary to chill, play pool, listen to the jukebox downstairs, check out a live gig upstairs or simply share a few laughs and memories. Their bar has been the only one in San Antonio that has been metal inclusive — no rap or country music. Nothing but tossing your horns in the air.
However, Bonds has been forced to close its doors thanks to the fact a developer bought their property — and that of the bar formerly known as The Korova next door — to make way for another downtown hotel.
The downstairs portion will remain open until construction begins, but the Eguias must be given a 90-day notice before that happens.
Last weekend marked the final days of the upstairs portion that hosted live shows. As Dirce Eguia told Alamo True Metal, she and her husband did not want to book bands in advance of the closure, only to have to run the risk of canceling them after commitments were made.
“I feel like I’m letting a lot of bands down,” Dirce said. “There are plenty of venues in San Antonio, but not medium-sized venues that let local and regional bands play. A lot of bands played their first show at Bonds because we gave them all a chance. A lot of bands called Bonds their home.”
The fact the Eguias have been made to give up their home away from home on the city of San Antonio’s terms instead of their own may be the toughest part of it all.
“I’ve been crying. I’ve been crying. Yes I have,” John Eguia reflected somberly as Friday’s show wound down. “Last weekend, I was on stage with tribute bands. And they called us out. The third band called us out. The fifth band called us out.” Asked if that’s when it hit him, John said, “Oh, fuck yeah.”
“It’s been 25 years of Bonds, 16 years of John and Dirce,” he continued. “Everybody that was here tonight, downstairs, I met y’all. We became friends here. It’s like that guy that nobody hung out with, or this guy that nobody liked. I went up and I talked to them, and I met them. (People from) Germany, just people that I’ve met over the years. Ireland. So many memories.”
Although Bonds was the king of tribute-band venues, it hosted more than its fair share of national acts. Everything from annual visits by Houston legends D.R.I. to earlier this year, the all-female rock band Plush which opened for The Warning in 2023 at the Aztec Theatre.
Friday night’s gig was filled with swirling pits, good times and controlled chaos. Even though Bonds was about to close its doors, there were fans in attendance who had never frequented the bar but came on this occasion through word of mouth of the impending closure. They wanted to be able to say they had set foot at least once inside the heavy metal capital’s hallowed hall of sorts.
There were some big names that came through as well over the years. Lamb of God bassist John Campbell stopped by to play some pool, while Scorpions (ex-Motorhead and ex-King Diamond) drummer Mikkey Dee provided his John Hancock among the bar’s logo-filled countertops.
“Meeting people from the band Foreigner, Lamb Of God, Alice Cooper, Scorpions,” John Eguia said. “I was just hanging out with (them). It was just so casual. Nobody even knew, nobody even suspected. These guys are here.
“But what’s funny about that is some of these people, I ran into them. Like Foreigner in Vegas. They ran into me, and they’re like, ‘Hey, John!’ And I’m like, ‘Hey, what’s up?’ It’s like, ‘You’re coming to our show.’ I didn’t want to say, ‘I’m going to Scorpions.’ And they turned me on to tickets. It was so badass.”
One of John Eguia’s biggest memories, however, came from an unlikely source due to its unlikeliest of back stories.
“One of our biggest names in this bar was (black metal band) Mayhem from Norway,” he said. “They played here. They play for 50,000 people, and they played here for fuckin’ 300 people. I’m gonna guess (it was in) 2015.
“Their tour bus pulled up — I’ll never forget. Dirce was like, freaked out, when I told her, ‘This band, one of the dudes fuckin’ killed the other motherfucker and ate his flesh. And then he was arrested. He’s locked up. And I told Dirce, ‘You wanna get in the bus?’ “
Although that calamity among the band took place a couple decades earlier and thus, needless to say, the individuals involved were no longer in Mayhem, any hesitation on the Eguias’ part would have been certainly understandable.
Then again, this is heavy metal. A community that bonds (pun intended) together.
“They asked for a bottle of Jack Daniels,” John said, “and I said, ‘Let’s take it.’ And Dirce went in with me, and I said, ‘Alright. Watch out. We’re OK. The bus is in front of Bonds. And we’re gonna drink Jack Daniels with the band.’ It was funny.”
Bonds may be in the midst of being booted unceremoniously by its hometown. But its hometown can’t stop the Eguias from searching elsewhere to begin a new era.
But of course, that’s not going to happen overnight. John, however, remains optimistic.
“Our plans are, we’re going to find a place, somewhere,” he said. “If it doesn’t happen, my thought is, I want an acre lot. We’re going to build it. Four walls. I told Dirce … we’re going to put up four walls. And we’re going to put up a trough with cold beer and a boombox. And we’re going to start it. We’re going to hang out. And then we’re going to build it. My thought is, I don’t give a shit. If we can’t find nothing, we’re going to build something from nothing. And then we’re going to grow. We’re going to make it happen. Bonds will revive somewhere else. It’s going to happen.”
Added Dirce: “Overall, it’s very sad because we feel there will never be another Bonds. Even if we find a place, nothing can come close to what we have now.”
Bonds as we know it wasn’t just a place to listen to metal. It was a sanctuary to gather, make friends and memories, treat friends and even strangers to drinks, and share an undying love for the music.
It was a bar where you could bring your non-metalhead mother and she could feel comfortable tossing up her horns in front of a mural paying tribute to the late “Dimebag” Darrell Abbott. I did. And she did.
Bonds was an avenue where moms and dads could bring their kids to check out death metal (see 52-photo gallery). Where promoters of rock and metal bands could come out and support their death-metal counterparts behind the scenes.
Where a guy who used to work behind the bar could enjoy a full-circle moment and be the bassist for the final all-original band (Sledgehammer Guillotine) to play within these doors.
Where patrons could hold private parties. Where the Eguias could spend three months each year decorating upstairs for Halloween or hold a pre-Fiesta walk to NIOSA in April for its closest friends to party before the party.
It was simply — home.
Similar moments may be gone for now. But they’re likely to be reborn before it’s all said and done.
Because if there’s one message to the people in the position of power in San Antonio, it’s this:
You cannot kill the family. Especially not the Bonds Rock Bar family.
