I love Shotwell’s. The bartenders are some of the sweetest,
the Liberty Ale has clean lines, the clientele are generally normal folk, and the place has wooden
booths. I love coming here for a no-drama night of telling dramatic
stories.
But you know what? I don’t like their jukebox, and it sorta hurts that I don’t.
So on the night I decided to Jukebox and give it a fair
chance, I brought along a white guy who I thought might. You know the
kind who will actually play a Pink Floyd song in a bar? Yup, he did. I mean, I sorta gotta give him credit for just not giving a
shit for liking the stuff he likes.
I also made him promise to not ask me to play any Clash, which they have 4
discs of, because every bar in the city has The Clash, so I’m bored. At one point, I
had to urinate, I gave him the rest of my credits, and for a second,
seriously flipped out that he might choose some Beck. Because he’s that
guy. What’s wrong with Beck you ask? Other than he, and Scientology,
caused Jeremy Blake’s death – nothing, I guess.
The jukebox has fine selections like M.I.A., Zep, Souxshie, The
Ramones, Queen, Creedence. Every artist that would spell out a good
spin. But I don’t know, I just don’t find it as great as the bar
itself. It doesn’t add anything. When I do think about putting on some tunes, it’s
either “not in the mood” ie people are watching futbol, it’s low-key, or
there’s a loud group of fundraiser after-parties.
And if I were to put on
music, I wouldn’t be able to re-enact the entire cast of characters I
encountered at a 3.5 hour family court hearing, which caught the attention of
every patron in the bar, giggling, eye-raising, and grasping at my
every word and hand flail. Which I felt comfortable doing, because I was at
Shotwell’s.
Where: 3349 20th Street (@ Shotwell)
Good for: Having a place to gossip.
Bad for: Not necessarily bad.
