I’ve been hesitant—reluctant to a point of stubbornness, really—to include the bar scene to the Baltimore After Dark series. I wasn’t particularly interested in including the club scene either, which I’m seeing was a mistake as Baltimore’s scene is apparently different than anywhere else. (I had naïvely thought that every city’s clubs were just like these.)
Baltimore is full of bars—and it seems almost unfair to report about one bar over another when the fact is that every bar has specials, closes at the same time and has its own unique crowd. They have dance parties, karaoke, bingo and 80s prom. They have drink specials based upon the weather and a crowd of regulars.
Yet I feel it would be a disservice to pretend that I haven’t at least noticed the joys of After Dark Drinking in Baltimore, because while I’ve taken copious notes while informally polling students, co-workers, people in line at Dunkin Donuts at 8 a.m. and fellow transit riders my heart has stayed true…to the Ottobar.
I went to the Howard Street club last night to see Illinois-based pop band Spitalfield on their formal farewell tour. Yet the evening was far from formal. Joined by fellow Illinois bands The Forecast and The Graduate (a group of fellows who have formed their own Baltimore cheering section) I came full circle to my formative Ottobar years that had steadily led to this night. The bands milled through the crowds with their Baltimore-based friends, fans and crew. The only way of identifying a band member (aside from the laminate that hung from his or her denim pocket) was by the person’s outerwear: fans and locals had eschewed coats and taken chances to run from car to bar rather than risk a smelly coat for Wednesday’s morning commute while the Midwesterners and professional tourers had long learned the value of a winter coat and remained bundle in heavy wool pea coats through the evening.
I first saw Spitalfield when I was a freshman and beginning to explore the city on my own. Obligatory post-show dinner was held at Paper Moon down the street then and I was still adjusting to the idea that bands would swill their beer in the company of teenagers who had recently purchased a brand new hoodie. The Ottobar became my favorite music venue—and remains my favorite in Baltimore today—for its lackluster and homey values. Smoking is limited to the section near the bar and not the stage (whereas Fletcher’s had allowed it in the front, leaving a 17-year-old version of me covered in burns the night following a packed show), a small balcony to avoid the ensuing fray and a laid back vibe.
Paired with the camaraderie, I felt at home. And last night, I began to feel guilty that I hadn’t once mentioned on Baltimore After Dark’s blog that, oops, there are some clubs and bars in the city, too.
Ultimately I think The Village Voice’s Tom Breihan described the venue best in his ode to The Blood Brothers, a recently deceased band:
I went there a lot, often three or four shows a week. Shows in Baltimore are different from shows in New York. People in New York, for the most part, don't go off the way people in Baltimore do. Unless things have changed significantly since I moved away (entirely possible), nobody records Baltimore shows for posterity on digital cameras on notepads. Instead, they bug the fuck out. I've got a sort of greatest-hits reel of visceral Ottobar show-moments in my head: twenty drunk rednecks at a sparsely attended Tuesday-night Avail show taking turns jumping on each other's faces, the spontaneous moshpit that sprung into life the second M.O.P. started doing "Ante Up," Dillinger Four staging a contest to see who could most convincingly dance like a drunk homeless person (I won a T-shirt and a couple of CDs). But I can only remember two shows where the entire packed-in mass of humanity at the Ottobar became a flailing, indistinguishable tornado of limbs for the entire hour-plus the headlining band was onstage.
I like to say that nothing has changed. The limbs weren’t flailing last night, but the crowd—which only a few weeks ago had crossed its arms and nodded approvingly through Olympia’s set in a distinctive Washington, DC response—had abandoned its arms folded, face scowling façade for hands clapping, excessive cheering, booty shaking free-for-all. And can you blame us? Sometimes it’s nice to relive your youth through heart-on-your-sleeve “emo” and revel in cheap beer. (The Ottobar has a 2-for-1 special upstairs on Tuesday. The clock struck 9 when the bands and fans moseyed upstairs to enjoy half-priced bottles and rail drinks.)
When the show ended the love for milling amongst one another didn’t end. The vans were loaded and the bands drove to Friends in Fells Point. What is striking about this isn’t leaving one club/bar to go to another—that happens all the time. It’s that the bands wanted to go.
The Graduate’s guitarist Max Sauer turned 21 Sunday and has loyally waited until last night to celebrate in Fells Point. The group’s love for Baltimore abounds. The group's debut album's complimentary DVD, The Making of Anhedonia shows hanging out in Fells Point, eating at Five Guys and (of course) sharing a beer at Friends in the bar’s chapel. When the group played The Ottobar this summer a post-show visit to the group’s studio revealed a brief trip to Soundgarden when they had splurged and bought The Wire on DVD.
As tabs were paid and the last cigarettes were smoked, members of The Forecast began a war-like chant to convene in Fells Point. They were joined by members of Spitalfield and giggling Graduate fans (that would be a dig at myself).
I know that love for Baltimore is not rare (it just occasionally seems that way). M.I.A. was inspired by Baltimore while writing and recording her album Kala and is joined by two locals as openers for her tour. But seeing unabashed love—from sources I’ve come to expect it from, and sources I hadn’t—makes me swell with pride nonetheless. (Even though everyone reconvened upstairs until suddenly, oh no! It's 2 a.m. and time to leave.)
I’m glad the Ottobar has allowed for me to grow into my late teens and early twenties. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
