Popination Expectation
a series of unhinged personal essays disguised as pub reviews. Today: Brutal Poodle.
Also, Angelo’s.
After a brief jaunt at the cavernous and dual-leveled record store next door, I made my way to the shady looking entrance of the bar I came to Popinate at. It’s one of those classic dive bar doors that looks like it may or may not be open, or maybe condemned, till you notice the little neon indicator and try the brass handle. Definitely has the dive bar cred from the outside, and your eyes do have to adjust quite a bit once that sketchy door closes behind you.
It’s an odd angle, just inside of The Brutal Poodle. I had to step down to the very low bar area and to sit, I had to squat almost. Really weird, like the place was out of proportion, and with the horror themed art on the restaurant area walls over the black painted bricks, it felt a little Lovecraftian, not gonna lie.
It took me forever and a day to get served, but as I waited, two jovial ladies kept me company and extolled the merits of the bacon-wrapped shrimp appetizer. I did contemplate those, but when the sheepish ‘tender finally got to me, I ordered a local IPA and the jalapeño cornbread fried sausage bites instead. I had thought this was another horror and Metal-themed brewery, but turns out they don’t brew their own beer but instead are a well appointed bar and a restaurant that, like The Crypt and other Metal and horror themed places I’ve visited before, specialize in their scratch kitchen and their vegan and other plant-based dishes in particular. Though I got meat myself at my first Brutal Poodle Popination, as mentioned above, I was still impressed, and the vegetarian stuff my partner ate the second time I went was apparently well worth the hype.
Bar None
Once I squatted down to the bar’s level, I discovered it was a good setup drinks-wise, with horror/metal named cocktails, of course. Next time I go (and there will be a next time), I must try the Ipecac Sazerac. I mean, how can I resist? But this is what, the 4th pub I’ve sampled that’s horror and Metal/punk/Goth themed, right? What is it with healthy eating and those dark arts that combine or connect so well? That there’s room for four different places like this, and they’re all well established and doing well, with this one actually right on the other side of that little horror boutique Horrid that I told you about—you know, the one where I performed with that burlesque group in the Firefly show in the back? So that’s five. And it’s right there, and it has just recently expanded. There’s such a demand for these things in Denver that hard and dark is this proliferate? I’m definitely not complaining, mind; I love this stuff myself—it’s just interesting to Muse about.
Behind me against the wall perched a couple old arcade games, too, which I found very cool: an old school Mortal Kombat, a horror-themed pinball machine, and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles game I didn’t recognize. The larger raised restaurant area to the side had a couple kids running around, following their inked parents out to a patio, I think, and a bunch of paintings depicting poodles in various states of punk, Metalhead, or gore on the walls. This made me think that my partner and his youngest would like it here, and in fact when I brought them back just yesterday for a Sunday family brunch, we all found it plus Angelo’s to be quite the pleasant way to spend a rock n’ roll afternoon.
Angelo’s (CDs and more)
There’s this trend that I’ve noticed, even (perhaps especially) centered on the love of the physical when it comes to art objects: vinyl, books (especially used), and Angelo’s even had a little section of laser discs way in the back. Wow, I haven’t seen those in forever! Man, this place had it all!
But Angelo’s isn’t the pub! No, it’s the record store I mentioned, attached to Brutal Poodle and right next door to it. It’s one of those dusty old school record stores, where in one corner you’ve got hand-blown glass bongs and pipes, healing crystals and aromatherapy oils, in the other an array of buttons and enamel pins extolling No Fucks Given and LGBTQ pride. Then the New Arrivals and the main floor full of CDs. Way in the back there is the laser discs and in that other central floating display, a small and odd selection of music-themed books. I got me an ancient glossy biography of Mozart from that shelf. And then downstairs in the damp-carpet-scented basement, a wide variety of vinyl, used, new, and 99 cent deals. Two corners head shop, two floors records.
But this is what I’ve noticed in the spread of arts and culture lately: the human, physical, dusty, even reused, is considered most valuable today in the age of AI. That’s what good art is right now. Or at least, it’s what’s desirable.
Me, my partner, and my 14-year old stepkid pored over the treasures at Angelo’s for a good hour, till we went to go eat next door in the restaurant. That’s another thing I’ve noticed and been Musing about lately, too: the kid and I played that old version of Mortal Kombat and he kicked my ass, not because he’s young and knows video games better than me (though that’s certainly a factor), but because he knows and loves the old retro games best. How come a 14 year old hip kid loves vinyl records, loves retro electronics like old video games and their little plastic consoles? Playing expertly with those joysticks and colorful buttons that make a loud smack when you mash them? This, when he has a more advanced computer than I’ve ever owned, even when I was a gamer briefly (let alone his iPhone, a more advanced computer than anything in those arcade cabinets by miles)? This kid also crochets as a hobby. All this hands-on art, while living in a high tech land.
I mean, it’s not like he doesn’t also use TikTok and his 3D printer, but. There’s something going on here—I think the kids are all right. There’s his older brother, too—about to be a senior in high school, and one of his main interests lies in his love of working on cars. Just this past weekend, he went up into the mountains to visit his grandparents, who keep an ancient Ford truck belonging to their late parents, just for him to tinker with and hopefully fix. Last time we visited them, the kid and his dad worked on that thing for two days straight, and this time, with his couple of teenage friends in tow? It took them a day and a half before he sent his dad a dashboard video of them driving the thing down the dirt road, sounding smooth as butter. Again, he loves playing online games with his friends and that sort of thing too, but there’s something going on there, where a couple of well to do sub/urban teenage kids want nothing more than to dig their hands in analog mechanics and yarn. And vinyl. Scratches, oil, dust, and all. Maybe it’s because it feels real.
And I have noticed that many crusty dusty record stores dot the city and the suburban strip malls these days, more than ever before. Are we starved for the analog, in our current arts? Do we crave the old for nostalgia's sake, or is it a quest for lastingness, for something higher quality or at least more tangible than you can get with digital-only arts? Something when, after purchasing, we can touch it with our hands, be careful with the sharp needle as we guide it to the grooves so it doesn’t scratch, and admire the album art while we read the lyric sheets (remember those)? Something we turn a knob to operate, not tap a flat smooth screen. Something that moves to play.
And I can add a Musing to this, too, about my own live audiences that come to see our old vaudeville style variety. It’s not just the lockdown that made people crave shows like this again (though that certainly is a factor, I’m sure), but a need to get out, see real people, smell their glittery perfume and the sticky drink that got spilled on the dance floor, to ring a cowbell loud above their heads to cheer on a drag queen stripping her wig. Tangible, messy, analog. Real. In Virtual Reality lies madness. In analog reality, the dirt heals. The whiskey resurrects. From dust we come, and right now, we’re returning to dust, it seems.