Dive Bars

Pine Hill Tavern, October 2019

I’ve played a lot of places over the past twenty years, and each venue has its own feel.

But what I enjoy most are dive bars, the neighborhood watering holes that have been steadily slinging cold beers & shots of brown liquor for decades, hazy with the memory of cigarette smoke even though the state banned smoking years ago, where the regulars didn’t make plans to go out that night. It’s their routine, like stopping for a gallon of milk on the way home. 

Dive bars are having a bit of a moment. They’re getting facelifts, new menus, and craft beers to attract a new generation of drinkers looking to get a buzz on the cheap. I get it - a business has to stay relevant if it wants to keep going. 

But I can’t shake the feeling that the new, improved dive bar isn’t for the regulars anymore. The new dive is catering to those who are grasping at a space to belong, who are slumming it for the evening but still want the creature comforts of their favorite gastropub. It’s for tourists, just like me.

And like the other tourists, I love dives because the give me a feeling that maybe I could belong. That if I played the right songs, told the right jokes, let my voice crack at just the right point, I’d be invited to join the regulars, the people who have always called the dive their home.

I play my best when I’m playing at a dive bar. Because when someone invites me into their home, I want to make a good impression. 

Even at the corner dive.