On Oct. 24, San Jose’s rock scene comes together at The Ritz in support of musician Matt Kolb, 49, who is fighting cancer. Bands from the early ’90s Cactus Club era—including Cafe of Regret, Firme and 187 Calm—will reunite for the cause, with Kolb mustering up some Marshall amp-level strength to talk about his battle.

“I’m fighting with everything I got,” Kolb said. “I can’t thank my friends enough. I’m so close to survival thanks to them, their prayers and their support.”

Since the organizers are billing the gig as an official Cactus Club reunion, allow me to rocksplain the history. Located at 417 S. First St., the Cactus Club (1988-2002) was San Jose’s equivalent of CBGB in New York. Every club-level touring band in the country knew of the place. In its time, Cactus did everything that a rock & roll club is supposed to do: It pissed off the neighbors, it pissed off the cops, it pissed off everyone’s parents, it embarrassed the politicians, it annoyed the city’s Department of Building, Planning and Code Enforcement, it irritated the state Department of Alcoholic Beverage Control, and it gave San Jose name recognition across the United States of America.

When Cactus opened in December 1988, San Jose was still a backwater hick-town suburb with a pathological attention-starved inferiority complex about San Francisco, forever desperate to be taken seriously as a real city and thus finally shake the “red-headed stepchild of the Bay Area” image it was given for decades. By then, much of downtown had long since deteriorated into a black hole of skid-row atmospherics with splotches of crumbling retail left over from the ’70s. The city was throwing millions at cockamamie schemes to lure the comfortable classes back downtown, while First Street south of San Carlos was the red light district, a dingy peepshow paradise where washed-up hookers went to die and trenchcoated pervs went to score bad speed. (About once a year, some clown on the street tells me San Jose needs to bring all this back, but that’s another column.)

During those initial years, three other alternative music clubs existed nearby—Marsugi’s, Ajax and F/X—but Cactus was San Jose’s only 18-and-over venue, which meant many people no longer drove to San Francisco or the East Bay to see shows. After Cactus opened, local bands popped up everywhere. Anyone with a guitar, bass or drum set started to rehearse. Since this was before the World Wide Web, cell phones or laptops, everyone promoted shows by hand. The local rock community was much stronger than it is today, and bands supported each other much more than they do now. As a result, a thriving rock scene exploded at the corner of First and San Salvador, then dubbed “Four Corners.” One didn’t even need to know who was playing at which club any given night. You just headed toward that corner, found a bar or an alley in which to drink, and then went to see bands like Nirvana, Korn or No Doubt when they were nobodies. If you didn’t make it inside, you’d slum it on the street and wait for whichever house party unfolded later. Everyone knew everyone else. The scene grew in organic fashion—a true, urban live-for-today spectacle of booze and rock & roll placemaking. We didn’t need the Knight Foundation for anything. This wasn’t a ping-pong table in Fountain Alley.

Plus, it was cheap to live downtown at that time. Band houses tended to emerge everywhere. A thrashed Victorian for five drunk roommates and their record collections went for about $1,400 a month. SJSU tuition was $700 a semester. It was Camelot.

Sadly, though, many friends from those years are no longer with us, which is why any reunion such as this becomes a poignant opportunity for reflection. One of Cactus’ honchos near the end, the legendary Stikmon, told me just a few weeks ago that we have “San Jose cockroach blood.” They’ll never get rid of us. On a larger level, Cactus was that way, too. The club you thought would never go away is never going away, especially when one of its own needs serious help. All I can add is: Fuck cancer.

Monkey may very well be San Jose’s longest running, consistently-active band. The band emerged in 1995, but unlike a lot of Monkey’s contemporaries, it never mixed punk rock and ska. Monkey always stuck strictly to the traditional more R&B-based sounds of ska’s first wave.

We caught up with Curtis Meacham (vocals/guitar) to ask him about the side of San Jose he knows best.

What part of Silicon Valley are you from?

Originally, I grew up in Sunnyvale, but I’ve lived in Downtown San Jose a couple of times and it’s always been a blast. There is actually a lot of community feel that can be experienced in San Jose on different levels. In a way, it’s always entertaining.

What’s your favorite place outside of San Jose?

Well, I like Telluride, Colo., for the beauty, Victoria, BC, for the people, and Belgium for the amazing food! Right now, I live in Campbell and it’s pretty cool… only, not as cool as Belgium.

What’s the best show you’ve seen in San Jose?

Easily, Prince at the Shark Tank a couple of years back. He came twice in the summer and I caught both shows—absolutely amazing. Aside from that, there’s the crazy Cactus Club shows, like the Twinkie fight during Big Sissy Brigade’s show, or the on-stage beer enema during the Diesel Queens.

Who’s your favorite local musician or band?

There’s a lot of really cool talent in San Jose. For fun factor, there’s always FTB. For good songwriting, there’s David Brookings. For ass-kickin’ guitars, there’s the Gillbillies.

Where’s your favorite place to get a drink in San Jose?

The Cinebar is always the cheapest, but aside from that, I always visit Rachel and her band of merry men, down at the Caravan.

Where’s a cool spot to get clothes?

Working Man’s Emporium. You can get some cool Dickies, Carhartt and Ben Davis there.

What’s your favorite spot for a cheap meal?

Any Vietnamese restaurant—and I do mean amy! Seriously, how can you make such a rockin’ sandwich for $3? it boggles the mind.

What’s the best thing about living in Silicon Valley?

It’s close to everything: 30 minutes from the beach, 40 minutes from SF and three hours from serious mountains.

Where’s the best place in SJ to go relax?

The back room at Trials pub. It’s low key and there’s a fireplace. How much more relaxing can you get?

Where’s the best place to see a show in San Jose?

Believe it or not, it’s the X Bar at the Homestead Lanes in Cupertino! Hands down. But then you say: “Hey, that’s not in San Jose, proper” …and to that, I say “Suck it Trebek!”

What’s San Jose’s best kept secret?

That damn orange sauce.

Joe Sib became a household name in DIY punk rock after starting Sideonedummy Records in 1995 in Los Angeles, releasing albums by Flogging Molly, 7Seconds, MXPS, Gogol Bordello and many others. Sib has also gained recognition for his spoken word and comedy act, where he tells tales of punk rocking and skateboarding, most of which he did in San Jose, where he spent his formative years.

We asked Sib, how moved to Los Angeles in 1990,  to revisit some of his favorite memories and San Jose haunts. he knows, the one from the late 80s.

Where did you grow up?

I grew up on the border of Los Gatos and Campbell. This was in the 80s when I moved in with my dad. It seemed like everywhere there were condominiums with these names like Los Gatos Woods and there were a bunch of other people that were recently divorced and living solo and having their kids come stay with them on the weekends.

My dad moved into Los Gatos Estates. I lived there with him and I went to Westmont High School. I was a skateboarder. We were about two minutes away from Winchester Skate Park. That was the best thing. I was in skateboarding distance of anything I wanted to do. It was rural enough because you had orchards back then that you walked through, which isn’t the case anymore.

What was the best show you ever went to in San Jose?

The Ramones. It was 1989 July 4th, 5th and 6th at One Step Beyond. I went to the show on  the Fourth of July and totally get annihilated. If you’re a Ramones fan, you know they’re very American. To this day on Fourth of July at my house, we drink American beer and listen to American bands and blow shit up. My wife hates it, but I love it. It’s the way we roll.

So this particular Fourth of July, it’s 1989, The Ramones come through, I go to all three shows. The first night I got totally annihilated. The second night and the third night I wanted to be sober. The Ramones are in town, I really want to take it all in.

A buddy of mine, Corey O’Brien, who owns the Blank Club, we found out they were staying at the Holiday Inn and we were trying to go down there and find out where they were. Murphy’s Law was opening, from New York City. It was pretty amazing because Murphy’s Law is a legendary hardcore band. They almost blew the Ramones off the stage. All the sudden you had New York hitting San Jose.

The second night I watched the show, I actually climbed onto the lighting board and the sound board during the show and this guy reached over and grabbed my arms and was yelling at me while the Ramones were playing. But of course I couldn’t hear anything cause it’s the Ramones at full volume. He motions me to climb over the barrier. So now I’m in the lighting-sound booth and in-between one of their songs he’s like, in this crazy accent, “You can be up here, but you can’t get in my way.” It was half Spanish and half English. So now I got a full direct view of the Ramones and I’m just watching everyone lose their minds to the Ramones.

At one point the guy says to me, ‘”Hey, go get me a beer and I’ll let you watch the rest of the set up here.” I’m maybe 20 years old abd I run over and grab him a Heineken. I come back. I watch the rest of the set. At the end of the set he tells me he’s Arturo Vega—at that point I didn’t know who Arturo Vega was—but he seemed important.

He tells me, “hey would you like to meet the Ramones?” I’m like, “Nah, I don’t want to meet them cause if they’re dicks it’s going to bum me out.” I loved Ramones—everyone has their gateway band. He said to me, ‘The Ramones are not dicks.” That night he introduced me to Joey, Johnny, Richie and Dee Dee. It was like, there they are, right in front of me. It was insane. I got autographs and everything. Then they split.

I didn’t know it at the time that Dee Dee quit that night. That was the last show he ever did. Since then, I’ve become good friends with Johnny. I produced the 30 year anniversary concert of the Ramones here in LA. I became friendly with the Ramones when I was in Wax. We toured with the Ramones. I became really good friends with Joey when I was in 22 Jacks. 22 Jacks backed up Joey on his last trip to Los Angeles. He did a whole set of Ramones songs, which was pretty amazing. None of those experiences with the Ramones would have happened if it wasn’t there for that night in San Jose.

After canceling two shows at Avalon last month, Salmon have finally decided to play their first show in five years on Saturday, July 28 at 9 Lives in Gilroy, which is appropriate considering that the band started out in Gilroy.

Back in the mid-90s, Salmon were one of just a handful of local bands that could play the Cactus Club once a month and pack the venue every time. As their popularity grew, everyone in the scene pinned all their hopes on them as San Jose’s big breakout band. They scored a record deal with the major label, Red Ant, but the album Paco, Drop the Chicken never made an impact outside of San Jose.

Salmon’s rise came right in the midst of the rap-metal era, right before nu-metal took over. Unlike some of the bigger acts—Korn, Rage Against the Machine, 311—Salmon were a much goofier more eclectic group which was due to rapper Lawrence Martinez, whose biggest influence was Les Claypool from Primus, and guitarist Aaron Goodwin, who had a background in jazz and experimental music.

Though their metal-fueled rap songs didn’t show it, Salmon’s roots went back to the bay area funk scene from the early 90s—bands like Fungo Mungo, Limbomaniacs and Psychefunkapus.

Before Salmon formed, Martinez and drummer Pat Ruiz played together in a short-lived goofball funk-rap group called Dutch Courage. After Dutch Courage split, they formed “Groovalistic Salmon” with Goodwin and bass player Tom Walker and stuck firmly to the spastic funk format. They dropped “Groovalistic” and wrote a rap-metal song about the Flintstones. The song became a favorite at shows. Fans asked them to write more songs like the Flintstones song, which they were happy to do. Next thing, Salmon was the hottest act in San Jose, except that they were really from Gilroy.

Salmon play at the 9 Lives in Gilroy on Saturday July 28. The show starts at 8pm. Tickets are $10.