JasonParis
Moderator
For Those About To Rock...
BY Liisa Ladouceur
January 23, 2008 14:01
“We play rock.†As far as marketing campaigns go, the slogan for Tattoo Rock Parlour couldn’t be simpler. And yet, I’m still confused. The new Queen West club (which opened in December in the spot better known as the Crystal Room or the Left Bank, depending on your age) is, in the parlance of its own press release, certainly “rock ’n’ rollesque.†With an actual tattoo shop in the front window, live bands during the week and a “no suits†door policy, it definitively rocks more than the Richmond entertainment district a few blocks to the southeast.
But this is Queen and Bathurst, long a refuge from bottle service and door people with headsets (all in effect at Tattoo). It’s an area where freaks of all stripes have been well served by the Bovine Sex Club down the street and most recently the Rok Boutique around the corner on Bathurst. So what does the arrival of the much-hyped Tattoo signal for this ’hood, and for the city’s rock culture? Has the area become nice enough to sustain a swanky theme bar? Has rock music been officially usurped as soundtrack of our nightlife, requiring a condensed strip of niche clubs to keep it alive?
To suss out the scene one Friday night, I enlist my friend Carol to come with, because a) she’s in an actual rock band b) she drinks 100 per cent more booze than I do and c) we’ve been hitting clubs together since the Boom Boom Room at Tecumseh was considered the far reaches of Queen West. And like most people I know, she’s darned curious about what’s going on inside Tattoo. Off we go to try to answer the question: is there just too much rock for one block?
10:45pm: There are already two queues outside Tattoo — which allows enough time for us to select our criteria for tonight’s rock-club cred. We decide that Jägermeister and AC/DC are a must. Carol suggests we also count beards.
Inside, they are spinning “I Want Candy†by Bow Wow Wow. Funny, I didn’t think the poster said, “We play new wave.â€
The club is sumptuous, all burgundy and fancy lights. And the queue outside was no crowd-baiting gimmick: it’s standing room only, with the exception of the reserved bottle service tables, which are empty. (Reassuring.) The bar staff, mostly good-looking girls with funky hair cuts but no tattoos pour vodka and RockStar cocktails for most and Jäger for Carol. Like the flyers say, there are no suits, but there are dress shirts.
11:15pm: I bump into the first person I recognize: a Universal Music Canada executive. “I was looking for a good rock bar and Jonathan Simkin of 604 [Records, rich and infamous for handling Nickelback] and Chad [Kroeger, of course] came here last week and liked it.†I realize I’m in a bar recommended by Chad Kroeger. I decide I need to use the washroom.
11:20pm: First classic rock song of my night: The Rolling Stones’ “Paint It Black.â€
And it just so happens the walls on the way downstairs are painted black with famous rock silhouettes. (Must… fight… urge… to redraw part of Robert Plant’s pants.) Downstairs, comfy seating (no bottle required), a fireplace and behind the bar, a bona fide rock star: Edwin. Yes, that Edwin — though it feels like I’m watching an actor prepping for the role of bartender in a rock club. I realize the place looks like a Tea Party video set and… wait… is that a Pointer Sisters remix playing?
11:30pm: Look for the DJ booth to make my AC/DC request. Apparently, DJ May “doesn’t talk†but there’s a clipboard. AC/DC is already on it. I second the vote.
The bright, shiny tattoo parlour has no customers; the three employees keep busy mostly telling drinkers they can’t bring their drinks in. It’s more like a museum diorama of a shop, a set for LA Ink.
11:40pm: Locate actual tattooed people: two Suicide Girl types with a guy in a Cramps T-shirt. They are leaving.
Two minutes to midnight: A gaggle of girls are singing along to “Oh Mickey, you’re so fine…†One of them is Jessica, celebrating a birthday number that indicates she was not born when this song was a hit. Her usual hangout is the Phoenix, but she really likes Tattoo. She likes the music. She likes that she can dress up and not stick to anything. “It’s not a dive and I love the songs!†she screams.
12:15am: I love this song, too. But New Order’s “Bizarre Love Triangle†is not exactly rock so we make it our exit music. The reserved table is still empty. The line outside is still moving.
12:20am: Down the street at the Bovine Sex Club, there’s a queue of one: a guy in a mesh-back hat, a denim jacket and a beard. The door swings open and live music pours out: “Hell yeah!†screams the singer. “Fuck yeah!†shouts the crowd.
For more than 15 years, the Bovine has played the part of Toronto’s CBGB, a gritty looking bar in a beat-up neighbourhood that nurtures local rock stars and wannabe rock stars. Here, a makeover means another layer of band stickers on the bathroom doors and there’s no coat check, no bottle service, hell, no bottled water.
The arrival of the larger, flashier neighbour hasn’t dented the turnout tonight. Owner Darryl Fine is keeping an eye on the bar. Fine, who ironically enough was a partner at the Left Bank at one point, tells me he welcomes the new kid on the block. “Anyone who wants to invest millions of dollars into bringing people to Queen and Bathurst, I consider an ally.â€
12:45am: Patrick Pentland of Sloan takes the stage to play guitar with Hell Yeah Fuck Yeah, bringing the band’s beard count up to three. I think. There are too many beer bottles in the air to get a proper fix. Afterwards, “Rock Around the Clock†comes on. I realize Torontonians can’t actually do that, and we need to split.
1:05am: On Bathurst just a few strides north of Queen, the Rok Boutique doorman clicks his people counter and tells us we’re the last ones getting inside. It’s small in here. And very girlie. Walls are painted shocking-Barbie pink. There are warm leatherette couches and at the back, a gold stripper pole. Unbelievably, a hulking guy with long hair and PVC pants is working it.
Dawn Simmons, a petite blonde, is the owner. She opened this place last summer for her girlfriends. They wanted an LA-style hangout. “Before Tattoo opened, the city was lacking in the glamorous side of rock,†Dawn says. “You don’t need to be a dive to be a rock bar.â€
There are no bands here, but no cover either. They serve Jäger with banana and call it a Wet Pussy. Water comes in a flask-shaped bottle. And the tiny bathrooms are designated Tommy Lee for gents and Pam “Barbed Wire†Anderson for the ladies.
1:20am: Finally! Dawn and her girlfriends are rocking out to “You Shook Me All Night Long.†The DJ mixes AC/DC into The Cult’s “Firewoman†and, as if on cue, in walks the beautiful Rene Beach, Ian Astbury’s ex-Firewoman. She does not use the pole.
The vibe at Rok Boutique is like a private party where everyone is welcome as long as they are willing to have a good time and not laugh at the guy wearing Ozzy PJ bottoms. The Suicide Girls from Tattoo appear and Dawn drags them to the dancefloor for Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock ’n’ Roll.†Forty-two-year-old Robert, a veteran of the now defunct Gasworks and the Metal Bar starts packing up. “Did you drink a lot?†I ask. “I think so,†he smiles.
1:50am: We return to the Bovine for last call and are rewarded with another AC/DC track, “Let’s Get It Up.†The party has moved to the back room, where DJs Al Nineleven (of Hell Yeah Fuck Yeah) and Patrick Pentland (of Sloan) are “spinning†from their iPods a mix of classics from Corrosion of Conformity and Fastway. Two genuine metalheads, in vintage denim and thrash-band patches, haven’t moved all night. Patrick asks about Tattoo and I tell him it’s kind of like 1997 there. “That’s progressive,†he says. “We’re totally into 1987 here.â€
I realize that none of these bars are playing new music. No Hives. No White Stripes. No Queens of the Stone Age or Mastodon. Whether the paint is still drying or flaking off, these spaces are all dealing to some degree in nostalgia, the idea of rock their respective clientele formed in their youth, as opposed to what it is now. This is the antithesis of clubbing, so ruled by the new, new, new. And until Tattoo decides to revamp itself as an electro bar or something — they did host a MSTRKRFT/Steve Aoki party on Jan. 13 — let it be the gateway drug for the harder sounds farther down the street.
So, is there room at Queen and Bathurst for all this rock? Hell yeah, fuck yeah.
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TATTOO ROCK
PARLOUR INDEX
Cover: $10
Jäger shot: $5.75
AC/DC songs: None
Beards: 6
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BOVINE SEX CLUB INDEX
Cover: $5 (for the bands)
Jäger shot: $5
AC/DC songs: 1
Beards: lost count
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ROK BOUTIQUE INDEX
Cover: None
Jäger shot: $5
AC/DC songs: 1
Beards: 3