The Red Lion

I have recently discovered that the study in study abroad actually means something! As a result I have led a semi-miserable and stressful existence at least 3 days a week for a good 2 or 3 weeks straight consisting of reading a few whole books (Virginia Woolfs’ “To The Lighthouse” and Emily Bronte’s “Wuthering Heights”) and projects and presentations (Powerpoint presentation on “The Jeremy Kyle Show”—which is a brilliant show that will make you realize in great relief that white trash with ridiculous problems don’t solely exist on the western side of the great Atlantic pond!). Now that the long week is over, I decided that I had to go out and do something with my night. Have a few drinks; socialize with my wonderful local London friends (whom I love to brag about to my fellow American classmates—no wonder they may or may not hate me ;) ).

But tonight, all of these fellows were busy doing their own thing. Under a mild state of panic, I went online to find any open mic show that would be going on for the evening. I found one called “The Red Lion” over in Isleworth, which is far out in South West London (as I soon found out later, Zone 4—the furthest out I’d had been since arriving a little over a month ago). It took me about an hour to get there, and by that point, I was in the London equivalent of the eastern most part of Queens that nearly borders with the houses that are bunched together that almost looks like the opening credits of that British sitcom that’s on PBS every now and then that my mother, aunt and grandmother watch quite often (I forget it’s name).

Anyways, as I got off my bus I walked down Linkfield Road and was quite sure that I was in the wrong part of town as there was nothing but houses lined up. There couldn’t possibly be a pub in sight here. However, once that thought came along I passed a big red Public House that looked so out of place and that in a different life, time and place it must have been a saloon from the Wild West—I had reached The Red Lion.

As I was told later by the guy who ran this open mic/jam session, The Red Lion is a dying breed of pub—a neighborhood pub. The type of place where back in the day, before television or radio, the neighborhood would go to this sort of establishment and socialize. The entertainment every night would be like an open mic and neighbors would come on stage and play a standard either on a stringed instrument or piano—hence why the pub is surrounded by rows of houses. No wonder older folks tend to romanticize the past—I quite like the idea myself.

As I sat in the main room of the pub with tables and chairs, eating my cheese and tomato sandwich with a delicious pint of a local dark stout drink (none of that generic Guinness shite!) the crowd made me a bit sad as to how most of the men sitting and talking were older, bald gentlemen who were probably divorced left to hang out in this old fashioned Public House (don’t you love assuming the worst about other people just by looking at them?). There were only two women I saw in the main room, one was an older lady who served me my sandwich and looked as though she were the house/pub mother—since this place seriously looked like the type of establishment that was owned by a family who lived on the top floor which none of the customers can access. The other was a cute blonde who was sitting by herself with a guitar beside her, writing something down on a notepad. An older man, with grey hair and a dark blue business jacket approached her and chatted her up. I decided to go use the bathroom.

After relieving myself, I socialized with a few other older fellows who were regular performers at The Red Lion and talked about music and other random things. Soon the open mic got well under way and I was called up by the guys running the show, Paul and Simon (I’m sure you can connect the funny coincidence of that….). As I learned later both of the guys are old, seasoned session musicians. It certainly showed when I did an impromptu performance of Bob Dylan’s “One More Cup of Coffee” and Neil Young’s “Cortez the Killer” and they played along astonishingly. Simon was able to fill the blank spots in between the verses of both songs with incredible blues guitar parts with his distinctive Fender Stratocaster that had chips of wood showing, indicating its age and giving the guitar even more character. Paul played a mean bass as he was going all over the fret board. We all followed the groove astonishingly well.

I truly regret that I didn’t bring my camera to record it because it felt amazing to perform with these amazing musicians—as the people watching seemed quite impressed by it and asked whether I had played with Paul and Simon before.

When I returned to my seat, people were offering to buy me drinks to which I declined in a secretly defensive manner—as I felt (probably wrongly so) that I’d be obligated towards them later. Though this reminds of when I was at The Market Trader pub, having a few drinks with my friend Spud and he explained that when people in England offer to buy you a drink they’re not doing it because they expect anything in return but just because they want to. So perhaps I should be less defensive and relax in those situations.

Anyways, after I sat down a strange guy who was sitting in front of me turned around and complemented me on my set and performance. He was wearing a gortex jacket with gym pants on and had a heavy stubble that was beyond even a 12 O’Clock shadow. He told me that he was from Sheffield and had done some work and busking up there but had just recently moved back to London because of the economic climate. He got up to get a drink from the bar and offered to me one—I declined.

For the next 45 minutes or so, quite a few of the guys whom I had met earlier got on stage and played a variety of R&B and Blues stuff. Eventually though I needed to get a breath of fresh air, so I walked outside to the Pub’s backyard. There I met up with the blonde from earlier who complemented me on my set (as well as my VINTAGE red corduroy pants!) and had a nice chat where she recommended I go to an open mic by where she lived that was further out west in Zone 5.

The 12 O’Clock shadow guy from Sheffield soon came out to smoke a cigarette and was more or less listening in on our conversation. The blonde commented on how cold it was outside and went back indoors and left the Pub.

The guy immediately commented on how cute the blonde was, to which I quietly agreed and nervously chuckled, nodding my head. He soon started talking about how the trend today is that English girls go for way older men and said how he is 40 years old and he has a girlfriend that is 22. He advised that when I go to a bar and am talking to a young lady, I should pretend I’m in my mid-30’s. The more the man rambled, the more creepy he appeared, yet I found him fascinating at the same time—in a dark way, of course. He told me about odd instances from his love life how a few years ago when he was training to be a teacher in Sheffield he had had a relationship with an 18 year old student and got fired as a result. He went back to the 22 year old girl, and went on how she has been married to some bloke since she was 18 and is unhappy. So at the moment he is trying to get her out of that situation. He soon went back to the idea of me pretending to be older and said “You’re like 29, right?” to which I chuckled and responded “Nope, just 20.”

Soon thereafter, Paul came out to have a smoke as well and commented on how much he enjoyed playing the Dylan and Young tracks with me. I complemented his and Simon’s playing. He went to tell me about he had played with country and blues bands in the States back when he was my age and had played and lived in Nashville, Memphis and New Orleans. He commented how disorienting it was to have these young kids come in playing these songs by Neil Young and Bob Dylan, artists that he grew up listening to and didn’t know them!

It was a nice chat though. Half way through it, the Creeper from Sheffield went back inside and left. After the chat, I went back inside and saw that it was a little past midnight and saw that the pub was dead. So I decided to leave. Perhaps I’ll go back.

Fortunately, a Night Bus was operating that took me all the way back to Trafalger Square. Since the bus schedule said it would take about an hour for the bus to get there, I decided to go to the top of the elevated bus and get a fantastic view of the streets I was passing by. While I walked up the stairs to the top of the bus there were a group of rowdy hoodlums making loud noises and cursing. I was alright though, I sat in the front and put my iPod on full volume.