Long before I had my first sip of beer, I knew exactly where the Music Bar was.
I grew up strolling the streets of North Denver, just as my mom had in her childhood, the daughter of Irish immigrants. Before Tennyson Street was an arts district, it was home to a great thrift store, Janet Lee’s, and a brilliant tamale shack around the corner.
Our strolls were a weekend tradition. We’d pop into the occasional art gallery. We’d peruse the junk at Janet Lee’s.
Then we’d drive home, past the old Holy Family and the Music Bar and north on Tennyson, one of the laziest, greenest roads in town.
And so I was psyched a couple of weeks ago when I finally made it over to the Music Bar. Erin and I had just spent the evening with Cat-a-Tac in the studio/rehearsal space they share with Everything Absent or Distorted. After listening to their music, Jim, Connor and Andy joined Erin and me for cocktails and popcorn at the Tennyson institution.
When we got there, some youngish girls were OD’ing on the jukebox’s “Pulp Fiction” soundtrack, which remains one of Tarantino’s great accomplishments regardless that it’s become such a jukebox cliché. We took a bar table, which had old Nuggets photos and pennants under glass, and ordered a round. As we talked about the musky, casual room, somebody noticed the signs behind the bar.
“No more $1 beers after 6 p.m. No more tabs. No more loans. No checks over 50 dollars. This is a bar, not a bank.”
I love that signs like these exist. Like somebody’s going to confuse the Music Bar, with its neighborhood patrons and blaring “Son of a Preacher Man,” for a Wells Fargo.
On Tuesdays, Denise is behind the bar – good news for barside chats – but only between commercial breaks. A few weeks ago, she was glued to the TV rooting for Emmitt Smith on “Dancing With the Stars.” She was a fan, and the former footballer ended up taking the reality show’s title, a fact that lends even more credibility to Denise’s colloquial bar banter.
Music Bar
4586 Tennyson St., 303-459-5360
Funky: Later someone played the magic mix of David Allen Coe’s “You Never Even Called Me By My Name” and Nirvana’s “Lake of Fire” on the juke.
Skunky: Don’t overdo it on the free, self-serve popcorn.
