UK Grief walks into a bar
Posted on February 1, 2015
“Hide the fuckin’ alcohol, here comes UK Grief”
Yours truly, Chicago reclusive author Clive Javanski, Aidan, Franz, and Sasha are the local band UK Grief. We had plans to record our debut album in various Chicago dive bars. But plans go to shit.
We wanted to record our first single, “Fuck Anne Hathaway’s Short Hair” at Mickey’s in Bucktown, but they closed down, it turns out. The bar on the corner of Leavitt and Medill had what one would call either the best or worst jukebox in Chicago. Once I was there and a van caught on fire outside the bar. It ended up with Aidan and I chasing a car down Leavitt, throwing rocks at it. That story is for another time.
The first bar we approached will go unnamed, because Aidan decided to steal alcohol from the place. We were going to record our cover of The Game’s “Hate it or Love it” there.
“Hide the fuckin’ alcohol, here comes UK Grief,” was actually said by one bartender as we walked in the doors. I don’t remember which bar. We were drunk. We didn’t record a song there, but I made out with Sasha in the men’s room.
“You and your fucking girls and bathrooms,” Aidan said.
He was referring to the Puerto Rican Chicago paramedic I kissed a lot in the woman’s bathroom at the Black Beetle, or just The Beetle Bar, in Ukrainian Village. Then there was the tattooed blonde in the bathroom at Cleo’s in the same ‘hood. She stole my wallet.
Also on our list was Bob Inn, on Fullerton across the street from the old Fireside Bowl, where Clive said he lost his virginity. I wanted to record one of the songs in the Violet Hour in Wicker Park.
“It’s so fucking dark in there I had to use my cell phone flashlight to see the bill,” Aidan said about his one visit. “I was with a girl there who had amazing legs but I couldn’t fucking see them it was so dark.”
Nick’s on Milwaukee Avenue just around the block was another option. It’s where I first met the Pretties – my friend Paul’s two beautiful model roommates.
The Mutiny, on Western Avenue, was a favorite of ours. It had area in the back for bands and we like to drink their half pitcher of beer.
“Oh, these are cute,” said Sasha – who could drink my ass and yours under the table – something I’ve told her a number of times.
“I’d rather fuck your ass under the table,” she said. “But let’s get this fucking record done first.”
* “The First and Last Gig of UK Grief”
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