Karl Klockars

I don't remember the sky being purple, but I'm sure it was at some point.

I just got back from a whirlwind trip to beautiful Memphis, Tennessee.  I’d love to hear from anyone who went to Memphis for the first time and didn’t even come close to seeing Graceland, because I think my friends and I might be the first people to accomplish this since about 1983 or so.

There was plenty to do down there even without the overarching influence of The King, and some of it even excluded cheap draft beer.  There was, for example, sweating.  This summer has been surprisingly sweat-free in Chicago, so it was gratifying to be able to sweat in the streets, sweat in the restaurants, and sweat in the hallways of our hotel.  Who needs to sauna when you can just travel 500 miles south?

And why go see the home of some bloated past-his-prime performer when you can hang out where it was all created?  When you can be right there at the heart of the creation of our musical world, and pour a bucket of beer all over it?  Not only is Beale Street in Memphis the place where musical history took place (I don’t know what it was exactly but there sure were a lot of signs about it*) but you can also stand in the middle of it and get standingp-up falling-down faded.

For all future Chicagoans who may feel the need to go to Memphis but don’t know much about Beale, here’s my analogy:

Yep. 5 bucks to pee near neon.

Beale Street is essentially a land-based Navy Pier, but just about everything that Memphis is famous for happened there.  Put everything Al Capone and Michael Jordan ever did on Navy Pier and now you’re starting to get the right idea.  Maybe stick Oprah out there with them and then shrink the scale down to about 4 city blocks.

Then charge everyone $5 to pee.

Oh, yes.  You can walk around purchasing beers from stands on the street, but if you want to get rid of any of that beer without vomiting or sweating it out, you’ve got to drop the $5 cover to get into any of those bars lining the street.  It’s a brilliant scam and it’s only a matter of time before an alderman or a mayor has the idea to recreate it here.

Lots of other things happened in Memphis, including barbecue eating and blues listening (and more beer drinking), but I want to impress upon the dozens that will stumble upon this the truth I’ve learned about Coyote Ugly.

It only seemed natural to find a corporate, forced-spontenaity “aren’t we dangerous” type place on a street where history has been supplanted by commerce.  That, and my single friends wanted to safely ogle girls dancing on bars, which I suppose is a reasonable request when on vacation.

So there we were, at Coyote Ugly in Memphis.  A few things transpired over the course of our stay to show me exactly what kind of joint they were running across the country.  First off, let’s go back and inspect what we all remember about the film version of CU that sparked the creation of all these bars.

Partayyyy! (Within the allowed tolerances and according to all the rules!)

My main recollection is of the “dancing on the bar to Charlie Daniels” scene, as well as the “do we serve water in this bar” customer-soaking scene.  (I also remember the clipping of neckties, but I don’t think those exist in Memphis.)  So what was the reality?

Oh, there was bar dancing.  Girls were helped up onto the bar by handy security individuals posted near 3-step staircases all across the bar.  Pictures were taken, sure to be posted on Facebook with the captions “we were so crazy that night lol” tagged beneath.

And the CDB was danced to as well by the staff, with “Devil Went Down To Georgia” ringing out through the PA.  3 different bartenders took to the bar to do a choreographed little do-si-do.  It was like watching “Up With People” bounce around but they served beer.  It was like drinking on a cruise ship where the staff wore cowboy boots with short skirts.  It was sad.

We left, wandered, came back just to use the little boy’s room (see above) and within just minutes, they were playing Devil Went Down To Georgia again.  While sitting at the bar (we were the only people there) one of the Coyote-esses said “Do we have to do this when no one is here?”  The other one looked at her and said, “You know the rules.”

Rules?

There are rules here?  I thought you guys were selling me the idea that I could go someplace where rules didn’t apply and total abandon was the law?  And you guys have to contractually get on a bar and do a little goofy dance even when there’s no one there?  Rules?  Rules?

Then I asked for a glass of water and immediately expected to get sprayed in the face.  (Either result would have been fine as 3am in Memphis is just as warm as noon in Chicago has been.)  I asked why I wasn’t getting sprayed in the face.  Coyote-ess shrugged and just said, “Lawsuits.”

Rebels!

———-

"Hi. Welcome to Memphis. We're rebellious down here."

Memphis was a nice enough town but a little too Confederate.  When you stumble upon the graveside of Nathan Bedford Forrest while just driving for barbecue, then ending up at Jefferson Davis park while wandering by the river, well, it makes a Yankee feel awfully northern.

I’ve enjoyed our time together, Memphis.  Let me know if you ever decide to move to Milwaukee.

*Yes, I know what’s gone on there, but if you didn’t and happened to get dropped there, you would think you were in some micro-Vegas seen through the eyes of someone who really liked a guy named Handy.