The pub is owned by a rock-a-billy drummer, turned pub chef, turned louche, bon vivant/publican about town. He leases the kitchen to a thin, yet solid framed, shiny eyed, New Zealander, who always seems to unconsciously radiate that particular laconic, dusty and neutral wisdom, that can only be acquired through an isolated, rural upbringing in some off-the-map corner of Australasia. He also happens to turn out some of the best pub grub on the planet, that, whilst simple and homely, is influenced by traditional dishes from cultures as diverse as Lebanese and Moroccan to Indian and Thai and back across to Italian and Greek - with a fair whack of English thrown in for good measure.
The two of them make a perfect team. They both drink harder than you, stay up later than you, are louder than you, know more about music than you, know more people than you and are loved by way more people than you. Yet, they never brag. Well, that's not entirely true - The Drummer out the front is never short on stories recounting his romantic conquests, but I think that's more to do with a desperate attempt to still seem young and relevant to the rest of us, that are about a decade younger than he.
They have all the components of a Gastropub perfectly down pat, but that ain't the label to attach to the place. That would only serve to mask what it really is - A Country Music Pub. Its not just the music spinning on the decks nor the kitch 50's diner nostalgia on display around you, nor the 4-piece Bluegrass band stomping things up all Sunday afternoon, nor the abundance of oversize belt buckles, mother of pearl press-studs and sharp as a tack triangle pointed black boots everywhere around you. No, its nothing describably nor physically Americana that makes it a true Country Music Pub. Its more to do with the experience or experiences any and all have each and every time they visit for a jug of beer or bowl of fish stew. No matter how long you stay, something you'd expect to happen only in a cliche, Pulp- Fiction, 50's Americana type book, actually occurs to you or around you. The sort of fodder (man, I love that word) that would fill a genre heavy Coen Brothers film.
This is really true.
I've accidentally bumped into a recently exed girlfriend and had a ridiculous argument with her, whilst my friends accosted her new boyfriend in the toilets. I've made out with girls dressed like Patsy Cline in light summer dresses and knee high boots. I've pulled a gigantic New Zealander (a different one to the chef - there's a shitload of NZers in Melbourne. Must be that they can't stand their own country) out of an impending bar brawl. I've composed murder ballads, drunk to near black out, led the entire venue in a loud and rousing rendition of Kiss's 'God Gave Rock & Roll To Ya' and blown a soulful harmonica. I've toasted to announcements of pregnancy, drunk to revelations of divorce and witnessed a shotgun engagement.
And all of the above happened on one night alone; on just one brave trek north of The Yarra River.
Also on this very same night, The Rural Chef introduced me to the music of Steve Earle's son. A toweringly tall young man by the name of Justin Townes Earle.
Justin's music is a modern flashback to the crystal purity of the art that emanated out the Southern states in and around The Delta, sometime around the middle of the last century. Whilst his lyrics may seem straightforward in presentation, his musicianship is an expression and example of nuance and skill only truly appreciated by the seasoned guitarist. To me, he has the best right hand thumb going around. To the non finger picking guitarist amongst you out there, this will sound like a strangely, inexplicable statement, but suffice to understand that I both greatly admire and enjoy his skills. Its not often that this arrogant little Aussie admits to such a thing, so he must be good.
So good, that on several occasions, I have confronted my social fear of crowds and ventured out to see him perform live. He is a true troubadour, in the old fashioned sense and I have witnessed feats of stamina that allowed him to go on solo and uninterrupted for over three and a half hour. Due to the sheer perseverance of his never ending touring schedule, his profile is growing. He is also starting to get a reputation for the dry banter he uses to fill the space between songs. If one has the chance to see him more than once, than you will notice some of these seemingly spontaneous one liners, being recycled from show to show. One would then begin to realise that his 'off the cuff' asides, are, unfortunately, somewhat rehearsed. However, he is nonetheless very amusingly droll (for an American).
One such line he uses is the declaration of him being a true Southerner, for:
"Though I no longer live in Nashville, even in New York City, I never venture north of 20th."
Justin is an East Villager like me (well not exactly like me. He participates in that whole bow-tie-twee-fashion thing that defines the sidewalks. I'm still just doing my own clothing thing, that is nowhere near as cool nor current) and I, just like he, doth never venture north. Its strange really. There's plenty up there and some of that 'plenty' may actually be quite worthy. Regardless, other than the singular trips to MOMA and The MET, I have not been above 14th for a couple of months. Its not like I've been intentionally avoiding The North (though a trip up to 83rd to visit The Ukrainian does feel like I'm traveling all the way up to Canada), just that the natural flow of my days never leads me over the Union Square border.
Justin's line served to inform me that I am not alone in this perversion. He, way more so than I, traverses this globe and, in particular, this country with great regularity. He performs everywhere. However, when in New York - when living in Manhattan - he wanders only the Southern part of the island. Virtually everyone I know, that lives downtown, is the same.
What's the reason? What is the lesson or revelation to be learned from this?
I don't know.
I'm sure I could work it out, but I don't care to. All I know is that The South always felt 'right' to me and seemed to be where I belonged. Why question a comfort zone? Just embrace it and work to provide it for yourself; and I do.
Even when I was back in Melbourne. I loved that great Southern City, but that wasn't enough. No, I had to ensconce myself South of the river that divides the city in two and would almost never leave. Very rarely would I cross The Yarra. Only when I needed a hit of real Country Music life and would head to that little, dusty, pub on the northern side.
But I don't have such a thing pulling me up north here. Uptown Manhattan ain't got no Country for old men like me.
