In the heart of the Minneapolis Como neighborhood, a house with a thumping basement offered refuge and joy to many. It was a venue, but much more than that, it was a lifeline. 

It wasn’t just the live music that made Como Backdoor extraordinary; it was the people. The crowd became part of the performance, shouting encouragement during tech mishaps, forming friendships in the pit, and carrying the energy into post-show nights. 

Its sudden closure following an eviction leaves a void in the music scene and a legacy that continues to reverberate.

Under Iris Bolton’s curation, the space became an epicenter of sapphic expression that transcended the genre lines on the flyers. Whether packed with noise-punk or emo revival, every show carried the imprint of care. 

Bolton, who uses she/they pronouns, inherited the beloved house venue from previous curator Henry Mayer, who had graduated and didn’t have anyone to take over. Bolton reached out, and what began as a simple offer soon became a collaboration.

Mayer passed down logistical advice and emotional support, while Bolton focused on stepping fully into the new role by hosting practice events. 

“I started hosting under my own direction,” Bolton said. “The mission was always about connection — giving people a third space. A home away from home.”

For Bolton, that mission was personal. They had experienced deep discomfort in traditional nightlife spaces, and the idea of curating a venue with softness and safety in the forefront was transformative. 

“I wanted to build a space freshman-year me would have felt safe and happy at,” Bolton said. “That was the guiding principle.”

Como Backdoor hosted roughly one show a week and welcomed around 150 unique artists. 

Lineups were mismatched to encourage curiosity. Punk and emo would play on the same night many times. By pairing different sounds and scenes, Bolton fostered a space where genre bent toward feeling, and every show became an experiment in resonance and care.

“Most bills had four bands and many had new faces,” Bolton said. “It was a very open space.” 

Some of the most formative performers for Bolton included Spiderlily, a four-piece band whose performances embodied the space’s commitment to care, creativity and connection. 

The band is made up of vocalist Emily Wangberg, drummer Linnea Sorensen, bassist Julia Wettschreck and lead guitarist Matteo Sforza. At their core, Spiderlily is a band defined by community, complexity and collaboration. 

Wangberg and Sorensen described their songwriting process as spontaneous, personal and deeply chaotic, but always rooted in trust.

“Everyone has their own style and influences,” Sorensen said. “We all love different artists and genres, so our writing process is just jamming until something clicks — something we all vibe with. It’s never finished until each of us feels good about it.” 

That collaborative method, grounded in mutual respect and variety, makes Spiderlily’s sound feel accidental and intentional all at once, a kaleidoscope of preference, intuition and creativity.

“None of us ever shut up,” Sorensen said. “It’s very sibling-esque. But we know if something ever felt disrespectful, we could talk about it.”

Como Backdoor gave Spiderlily space to fully unlock that dynamic. Their Halloween show, one of the band’s earliest performances, felt like a turning point. 

The basement’s atmosphere made everything click. Before the band even played a note, the crowd was cheering. 

“People were just so excited,” Sorensen said. “It felt like the basement wanted us to succeed.”

Unity was a hallmark of the space. For Bolton, cultivating that energy required vigilance. 

“People knew the expectations going in,” Bolton said. “I wasn’t trying to police the room. I just wanted everyone to know they were protected.”

Bolton took on multiple roles to keep the space secure and intentional, from running logistics to managing the crowd. Her attention to safety wasn’t just about protocols; it was about cultivating a community where care could thrive.

The venue also made space for activism. 

Bolton organized a Monster High Halloween benefit that raised $3,600 for families in Palestine. They also hosted benefit raves for Young Democratic Socialists of America and Students for a Democratic Society. 

Bolton made space for solidarity to coexist with celebration, reminding attendees that joy and politics aren’t opposites, but often necessary collaborators.

Bolton emphasized that her work was grounded in genuine care and intentional visibility, not superficial gestures. She aimed to create pathways for people to engage meaningfully, through art forms or roles that already resonated with them and made them feel complete.”

“I wanted the space to have purpose — to support people beyond the music,” Bolton said.

When Como Backdoor closed, it felt deeply personal. For Bolton, the loss was compounded by its abruptness. 

“The landlord gave no warning. We didn’t even get to say goodbye,” Bolton said.

Still, the spirit persists. Bolton has offered her services to other venues in the area or to anyone wanting to start a venue, including Cvnt House, a new femme and queer venue in Minneapolis. 

“Cvnt House deserves a shout-out,” Bolton said. “They’re carrying the torch, and I want to support them.”

When asked what qualities a space would need to continue this legacy, Bolton said it comes down to two principles: “Build a venue freshman year, you would feel safe at. And believe that queer joy is sacred.” 

Few house venues prioritized large-scale lesbian parties in the way Como Backdoor did. That intention made the venue not just distinct, but necessary. 

“I feel incredibly lucky,” Bolton said. “The music and artists were unforgettable, but I think I’ll miss the community most — the way those parties built something soft and joyful. It was unlike anything else.”