Club Clearview Forever: A Journey Through Dallas' Longtime Cultural Hub

To walk into Club Clearview during its peak was to tiptoe into a dream stitched together by paint fumes, guitar riffs and sheer electricity. Deep Ellum’s heartbeat pulsed through the room, flooding it with fearless art, explosive creativity and a sense of camaraderie that could only belong to one place, in one city, during one transcendent era.

For over two decades, Clearview wasn’t just a nightclub that housed performances from Butthole Surfers, The Jesus and Mary Chain and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. It was the nerve center of a Dallas counterculture, a patchwork stronghold where artists, misfits and romantics dared the night to be unforgettable — it delivered.

Now, 40 years after its inception, the Clearview dream resonates, and on May 30, a celebration at It’ll Do Club in Deep Ellum will reunite the people who made it all possible.

Born Out of Breaking Boundaries

When Jeff Swaney first envisioned Clearview, he saw something deeper than just another nightclub business.

“I wasn’t trying to be like anyone else,” Swaney says in a recent conversation with the Observer. "It was about people experiencing something they couldn’t find anywhere else.”

What began as a rebellious dream amidst decaying warehouses became a trailblazing ignition point. Swaney dove headfirst into the polychromatic chaos of the 1980s, navigating legal grey areas with guerrilla creativity. His early warehouse parties sidestepped permits, taxes and even proper electrical hookups, but they were unlike anything Dallas had seen. While others labeled him reckless, Swaney embraced risk as a key to his success.

“Looking back, I don’t know what I was thinking, honestly,” he chuckles. “But it worked.”

He surrounded himself with people who shared his flair for the unconventional — none would prove more instrumental than Clay Austin and Jeffrey Yarbrough, whose contributions added dimension to Clearview’s mystique.

The Art Maestro

Austin’s story almost sounds like a myth. Arrested in 1984 for his rebellious graffiti on Central Expressway, the young street artist stumbled into Deep Ellum just as the neighborhood was synthesizing its DNA. Austin pushed his creativity to brilliant extremes, using abandoned buildings as his canvas, until one day, he found himself sneaking paint into Club Clearview.

“I’d paint in the back corners, where no one would notice,” Austin remembers. “Well, except for the smell.”

Eventually, his clandestine work caught Swaney’s attention. Swaney saw potential and extended an unexpected opportunity.

“[Swaney] offered me the chance to be the club’s artist in residence on the spot,” Austin says.

It was an unlikely invitation, but one that redefined Clearview’s aesthetic forever.


Living above the venue for a year, Austin created a patchwork wonderland of murals, UV-lit dreamscapes and experimental installations. His blacklight room became legendary, a phantasmagoric labyrinth of sights and sounds. How many nightclubs could boast nightly live-painting sessions? Austin’s work didn’t just decorate Clearview, it made the club a vibrant living organism.

“It was wild,” Austin reflects. “One Halloween, I turned the club into a haunted house — homeless actors and fake syringes. Way too real for some, but for me, it was immersive and raw.”

Looking back, those glimpses of controlled chaos captured the fingerprint of Clearview’s essence.

Leading with Vision

When Yarbrough joined the Clearview family, he brought with him an instinct for blending fashion, music and nightlife in dazzling ways. He later channeled this amalgamation into co-authoring Prohibition in Dallas & Fort Worth: Blind Tigers, Bootleggers and Bathtub Gin, a deep dive into the city's spirited history.

The club’s patchwork palate set a stage for an agnostic nightlife. Pink Floyd may have chosen Clearview for their exclusive tour afterparty, but it was for the same reason the venue cradled Japanese punk, slam poetry and grunge on a random Tuesday.

“We were known for alternative rock,” Yarbrough recalls. “But we also catered to where trends were going: rockabilly, funk, even DIY performance art."

Yarbrough’s promotional instincts made the venue thrive, even against the ebb and flow of changing scenes in Deep Ellum.

Clearview’s approach to live music also carried its signature weirdness. Unsatisfied with bands merely signing drumsticks to hang on the venue walls, Yarbrough fostered a collaboration where performers were given finger-paint canvases.
“We had hundreds of these messy, beautiful pieces,” laughs Yarbrough. “It embodied who we were — messy but alive.”
On breaks between sets, even the downtime became performance art. Door girl Diana would perch atop a “doghouse” between rooms, doing mundane “chores” under a spotlight. Some nights she ironed clothes, others her friends painted her nails. The audience stared in wonder, trying to decode the meaning.

Perhaps the most audacious of Clearview’s antics was its marketing. Long before fingertip posting, the playbook involved staplers, fliers and word-of-mouth alchemy. Clearview was known for larks like serving chilled Jägermeister and launching Patrón Tequila with male bartenders dressed in micro-mini dresses.

“Our budget was modest,” Yarbrough says. “But that didn’t matter. People spread the word because they had to talk about us.”

The Power of People

For all the strobe lights and spectacle, Clearview thrived because of the people who loved it. Swaney and Yarbrough understood that the soul of the venue wasn’t its rooms, but its personalities. Among them, Todd Eckardt stood out as a staff member who evolved into the club’s chief financial officer, while general manager Greg Watson’s advocacy for sound-system upgrades turned performers into loyalists. It wasn’t just “employees," it was the nucleus of the Clearview miracle.

It would be incomplete to mention Clearview’s triumphs without acknowledging its risks. Swaney and Yarbrough preached calculated experimentation, and sometimes, that came with tales that were just shy of urban legend.

Physical confrontations over “respect” policies were not uncommon, as the club maintained a strict code of conduct to ensure everyone felt safe and respected. Meanwhile, the club’s penchant for pushing boundaries led to moments like a Crust performance where a band member allegedly simulated an explicit act with a shoebox on stage, prompting a scramble to cut the lights. These moments of chaos and creativity, while risky, became part of Clearview’s allure, cementing its reputation as a place where the unexpected was not only welcomed but celebrated.

But as Swaney would later write in his book, None of the Answers: Racing Through Life in Reverse, Clearview’s people weren’t just eccentric on paper. For him, they embodied something more poetic.

“The people who worked for me weren’t just creatives,” he says. “They were engineers of joy.”

More Than Nostalgia

Walking away from a dream is never simple. Reflecting on Clearview’s eventual sale and closure, Swaney admits, “It was painful because it was more than brick and mortar. It was my soul.”

Yet, even after Swaney exited in the mid-90s, Yarbrough stepped up to carry the torch, leading Clearview for another 12 years. Clearview was able to stay true to its identity under Yarbrough, while also keeping pace with Deep Ellum’s constant evolution.

Clearview’s influence continued to ripple through Dallas’ music industry and Deep Ellum’s cultural growth. Its legacy, far from fading, became a bedrock for the artistic community.

Now, former patrons, musicians and staff have a chance to reconnect with a reunion that will take place on May 30 from 5-8 p.m. at It’ll Do Club. The organizers promise the kind of night Clearview regulars might have thought they’d never find again — a sprawling, buzzing and inclusive celebration of creativity springing back to life.

While past Clearview nights might never be perfectly replicated, for Swaney, Yarbrough, Austin and everyone who called it home, those memories remain vivid.

“Clearview was never just a nightclub,” Swaney says. “It was where people could dream big in the dark.”

Later this month, that dream wakes again with a 40-year time capsule of spontaneity and irreverence ready to be opened one more time.

To join the Club Clearview reunion fun, RSVP by emailing [email protected].