Diamond in the Rough

I usually judge a bar negatively based on how often I see Greg Simmons inside of it, but Joey’s is one place for which I can let that slide.

Located between Dewey and Ashby on St. Mary’s, Joey’s is an over-sized neighborhood bar complete with plenty of seating and plenty of pool tables; it is never overly-crowded, and the drinks are inexpensive and free-flowing. A visually intimidating, though surprisingly nice, mohawk-ed man watches the door, a lone obstacle before the easy-going atmosphere of Joey’s envelopes entrants.

Perfect for the bohemians of central S.A., Joey’s hardwood interior is classically not typical of most local bars. Its high ceilings and balcony seating reflect a subtle sophistication without being overly stuffy or kitschy. There’s added space with an outdoor stone patio and outdoor balcony seating, and a full-service al fresco bar serves patrons during warmer seasons. Inside, a large, mirrored wall stands behind the bar, partially covered by intricate wood shelving that displays a great selection of beer, wine and liquor, with prices ranging between $3 and $5 dollars on average. The venue also offers a respectable menu of bar food, reasonably price, and more savory and trustworthy than the pizzas hocked by the long-haired, streetwalking delivery guys. Instead of a questionable, $5 pizza from a random courier, try Joey’s hot, fresh Mexican Pizza.

But Joey’s isn’t without its detractors. The level of service expected inside possibly varies based on degrees of familiarity with its employees, and the competency of its two regular bartenders reflects this. While my success-to-attempt ratio with this bartending duo is 1:2, I’ve learned (much like working with the French) how to choose my battles. I typically order from one bartender only if I can absolutely help it; the last time I encountered the other more gruff bartender, he offered me a glass of Coke and a glass of Jim Beam, both sans ice, in response to my order of a bourbon on the rocks with a splash of Coke (and this coming after he correctly made the beverage the first time I ordered it just half an hour before). You’re better off ordering from the waitresses… if you can get their attention.

Still, Joey’s offers itself as one of the nicest, cleanest, least obnoxious bars on the St. Mary’s strip. And while I understand that’s not saying a lot, it’s worth discovering Joey’s for yourself to realize how large that gap is. Plenty of parking and bicycle racks, an eclectic crowd, and affordable wares make Joey’s a must-visit establishment both for remaining low-key during the week, or letting loose on the weekend.

Joke’s Half-Assed Patio Bar

The “soft opening” week of Jack’s Patio bar at its new location would have been more appropriately labeled a “shouldn’t be opening quite yet.”  At least that’s what the smell of drying paint, exposed portions of wall and a ladder in one corner suggested.  But just as I was curious as to why a bar in a long-established location would be relocating to a new cookie-cutter shopping center, I was equally curious to see how its new interior would look.

As with most modern shopping center interiors, the new space is a giant square devoid of personality.  The interior of nouveau Jack’s is dressed up with a “modern” slate paint to trick patrons into feeling… well, I don’t know what.  It’s as generic as most Clark bars with the added generia stemming from the fact that it’s NOT a Clark bar, but a full-on rip-off… like tacky Ed Hardy knock-off clothing that is somehow… SOMEHOW… more God awful than genuine Ed Hardy clothing.

So the space is actually a giant square divided awkwardly by a wall to create two rectangles.  On one side is a stage area where, obviously, live music will still take place; the other, a “lounge” of sorts with tables and a jukebox.  Both areas contain a bar and the dividing wall has a door through which guests can move freely.  That night, the stage area was harshly lit by bright flourescents and contained most of the renovation equipment.

Maybe I picked the wrong night.  Maybe Jack’s picked the wrong week to open.

Inside the lounge area was a scattering of patrons, most of them obviously friends of the barstaff and off-duty bartenders as I recognized a few faces sitting on the wrong side of the bar.  Basically, the “soft opening” was a gathering of friends.  Still, I ventured to the bar tended by a couple of busty women dressed about 10 years beyond their actual ages and ordered a drink for myself and my companion.  $6.50.  At least the prices were still reasonable.

My companion and I sat at a table and enjoyed a few moments of conversation before the friends of the barstaff began assaulting the jukebox and, in turn, our ears by playing Lady GaGa at a very unreasonable volume considering the new and improved minimal size of Jack’s.  We opted for 30 degree weather on the patio outside instead.

Now as a kid who grew up down the street from Jack’s, I’ve seen it through a lot of changes:  bar & grill, biker bar, dive bar, music bar; a bar with karaoke nights and offensively un-funny comedy nights and nights when they tried to revive the dead grill. 

But through it all, its large patio remained its saving grace.  I mean there, you were safe from the hordes of minors with white belts, striped clothing, and destroyed Converse who showed up to see Jimmy Eat World-inspired pop rock.  The patio opened its arms to you on warm summer nights when it was a sin to have a drink in your hand and a roof over your head, when stars rained ancient light upon the musky wood and twisted oaks; it was an apology for everything that occurred within Jack’s walls, and it was an apology I could accept.

Nouveau Jack’s, however, is unapologetically itself, and almost as an insult, they kept a handful of that magnanimous patio and bastardized it by positioning it on the side of the building facing the service area of a lube joint.  It’s no longer an apology; it’s a handicap accessible joke.  But there we sat on the poor wounded animal that, at one time, made middle-aged couples fill up the HEB and Bill Miller parking lots and risk life and limb to cross Thousand Oaks.

After one drink, we returned inside to pay out my tab, which — to my chagrin — required a $10 minimum.  Most bars have a neatly posted sign proclaiming such, but like I said, Jack’s shouldn’t have been open just yet as nary a sign was found.  Fortunately, I rarely carry cash and am a veteran when it comes to the $10 minimum rule.

I tell the bartender, “Just run it for $10 even and keep the difference as your tip.”

Bartenders love this as it usually forces a good tip.  $3.50 on two drinks?  Forget about it.

“Actually, the bank applies a $1.50 charge on cards under $10 and there’s nothing I can do about it.  I’m sorry.”

Jack’s $10 minimum sign is going to be one lengthy mother full of fine print.

We emerged into winter air once again.  The stars, augmented by the chill, stunned the crisp night with a bluish glare.  I heard something in the treetops as, a block away, a demolition fence set up around the original Jack’s patio moved in the wind.

No, not ‘petty’… ‘PEDI’!

When it comes to live music venues, San Antonio certainly struggles to stay competitive.  In a city where Legs Diamond and Judas Priest shows still tally stupefying numbers, the pressures of drawing a crowd without worrying whether or not Michael Prince has died increasingly vex many small club owners.  And if you’re anything like me and had to do some googling to figure out who Michael Prince was, then you should definitely keep reading this article.

It’s true that the epicenter of San Antonio’s alternative music scene is central S.A., largely concentrated around the famed-though-long-dead St. Mary’s strip, but more and more local bars are opening their doors to musicians hungry for a much needed departure from the waning trend.  Some of these bars are way off the mark despite their very honest attempts to diversify their clientele and offer their existing patrons something new.  Take, for example, Martini Ranch inside the loop on West Ave.  A nice local dive with a great built-in regular crowd, full bar, and abundant drink specials.  Its biggest problem, however, is that it doesn’t properly serve the expanding St. Mary’s genre either through its clientele or accommodations.  Unless, of course, you’re a musician keen on assembling the “stage” yourself which requires stacking enough tables and chairs to allow your band to set up in a cozy, semi-partitioned corner of the bar.  Or perhaps you like listening to a nice medley of Nickelback and booty music between sets?

Such is my skepticism when approaching these new venues eager to embrace alternative music.  Such was my skepticism when I approached The Pedicab.

Located in Southtown, the heart of San Antonio’s artisanship, The Pedicab serves as storage  for the cycle rickshaws fairly new to downtown; it also stores over 100 different brands of domestic and imported beers.  This cash-only, beer-only, no-cover venue is not only new to the city, but new to musicians interested in breaking the St. Mary’s cycle.

I initially had mixed feelings about The Pedicab when I first explored its trendy interior.  The decor was nice, although typical: corrugated tin, exposed ceiling and lots of painted, lacquered hardwood.  The furniture arrangement was disorganized and the chair to table ratio was about 3:1.  The “stage” was another story, dominated by a metal staircase that led upwards to who-knows-what and was surrounded by boxes and miscellaneous junk.  It had a lot of potential, it was just… cluttered.

But if Martini Ranch refuses to sweeten its invitation to local musicians, The Pedicab is not going to follow suit.  Within 2 months of my initial visit to Southtown’s newest venue, it not only organized the furniture in a more inviting fashion and reduced the chair to table ratio, but removed the unecessary staircase and even built an actual raised stage on which bands can perform.  Innovation is something to which S.A. has only all too recently been privy, and its trickle-down effect is overtly present in grand and minute details, from green-inspired pedicabs to venues that actually give a damn about its musicians.

The Pedicab isn’t just attractive to musicians, either.  With an eclectic collection of beers, and all reasonably priced (averaging $2 for domestic beers and $3 for imported), it’s sure to draw a good crowd year-round.  Whether you’re a patron looking for a new bar, or a musician looking for a new venue, The Pedicab opens it arms and its doors to you. 

The Pedicab, located at 415 E. Cevallos St. behind La Tuna, offers over 100 brands of domestic and imported bottled beers at an average price of $3 per bottle.  It is within walking distance of the Blue Star Complex.