Out on the Town: Hellbender & Rolo's
"So drunk in the August sun, and you're the kind of girl I like."
“So drunk in the August sun
And you're the kind of girl I like
Because you're empty, and I'm empty
And you can never quarantine the past”
“Gold Soundz” —Pavement
It’s August, and the time to bask in the honey-colored nostalgic glow of one of the most memorably quirky, endearingly elliptical, oblique lyric pairings in the Pavement catalog. “Gold Soundz,” the second single on 1994’s Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain, following their lone Top 10 hit, “Cut Your Hair,” never made much noise on the charts yet would go on to named the best song of the 1990s by Pitchfork.
Those particular lyrics that get me each and every time I listen to them follow a 26-second jangly ramshackle guitar solo. In an essay on Medium, Nathan Stevens wrote: “The guitars sound sepia toned and Steve Malkmus’ voice seems to be filtering out of some misremembered summer. It’s hand-crafted nostalgia bait, even on first listen. But there aren’t happy memories on display. It’s quietly the most heartbreaking song in Pavement’s catalogue.”
I’m not proud of the fact that I’ve pushed the deadline to turn in the manuscripts on all of my books (except for Distillery Cats!) into the danger zone and when I was attempting to finish my first book, Bitters, I played “Gold Soundz” so much that I included those particular lyrics as the book’s epigraph. My editor never quite understood why, as they had nothing to do with the book’s subject. But those words coupled together served as a mantra to me (and still do). The song’s sense of resignation and reflection often has me hitting Play once again as soon as it ends.
There hasn’t been much of an “August sun” this month, following weeks of an intense July heatwave with straight days of endless rain. The last couple days have been near-perfect. Sunny. Temperate. Insane sunsets. Sudden cooling breezes. Windows open at night with the AC off requiring a blanket. But wouldn’t you know, just as I was about to “Send” on today’s dispatch the quickly darkening skies let loose a sudden rainstorm.
Hellbender
I haven’t had the chance to return to Hellbender since late February of this year when I wrote about their drinks list in a pre-opening “first look.” I kept up on them via social media, even after an abrupt change when they replaced their General Manager and Beverage Director less than two months after opening. And if you read my popular essay, “The Hidden Hospitality Hazards When You’re Too Big for the Bar,” you might recognize the venue from this passage:
“A few months ago I was in Queens, to profile an about-to-open Mexican-American bar. I arrived a little early and was waiting for the team to finish up a meeting and attempted to slide into one of the sleek, modern-looking booths spread throughout the expansive room. I struggled to wedge myself in without any luck. My heart raced in panic as the excitement and anticipation of learning more about this highly anticipated new bar was undermined by the rush of embarrassment and the fact that this bar might not be for me at all — because of my size. I literally couldn’t fit in their booths, which were all bolted to the floor. And then I noticed that even the narrow barstools were bolted down as well and somewhat snug to the bar. When I brought up the unmovable tables and bar stools I was informed, somewhat jokingly, that the designer of the bar had a 28-inch waist. While the place is doing gangbusters without me, this would likely never be the kind of bar where I could meet up with a friend or take someone on a date. (“No, I’m fine. I’ll just stand.”)”
But I finally did return to Hellbender last week and even though I’ve lost a bit of weight since my last visit, I knew I wasn’t even going to try to slip into one of their booths (though I’m happy to report that, depending on the venue, I’m making headway in my personal “Battle of the Booth”).