Hyperion Tavern: All Acoustic Thursdays

Hyperion Tavern
1941 Hyperion Ave
Silverlake, CA

Date: July 31, 2008
Event: All Acoustic Thursdays

“You are at your destination,” says Lady GPS, “Your destination is on the left.” And I look left to see past a thick overgrown tree at a black wall with a red open doorway at each corner, and next to one opening down its side beside a barber twill sign shows the lipstick red address number: 1941. “Please make a U-turn, if possible,” Lady GPS tells me before I finally decide to shut the thing down.

I make a U-turn, searching for street parking on the same street, Hyperion Ave. It’s just off Sunset Blvd. in the Silverlake side of the 101 Freeway. There is free street parking along this open street, but none available. Down one of the residential streets I turn and hillside parking is found in front of somebody’s house.

The walk is brief through the shadows and under a shaggy tree with hanging leaves reaching down four feet from the ground. Parked cars along the curb make the hunch creep under the leaves a must. But once past, the Hyperion Tavern comes into view, seeing the rest of its charcoal black walls leading up to its matching roof. Not much around, but trees and residential homes. A few boulders sit out front in the dirt.

There’s no doorman checking IDs, only the chill bartender eye spotting everyone upon entry, a 21 plus place. But a Free show. Only beer is served, a cheap $4 a bottle. A few non-alcoholic beverages are also chalked in below the tiny chalkboard sized selection hanging hand written. Cash only. No beer on tap, no mixed drinks, no hard liquor, just beer in bottles. An alcohol selection just as simple as the place it’s in.

If there was a cross between a chicken coop, a storm shelter, and a deserted mountain cabin, this would be it. And throw some elegant chandeliers hanging giant a few feet overhead to spruce the place up, keeping me thinking this bare structure might not collapse after all. I’m glad I wasn’t in here on Tuesday noon when that 5.4 earthquake hit, though it apparently made it through the tremor without being condemned. That’s the feel of this joint with its bar in the middle with one man tending it full oval. Wooden stools settle around the bar and a few in the back next to the bookshelf wall filled with an odd assortment of encyclopedias and law books. And that’s about it for this hole in the hillside dive. Maximum capacity is seventy people, though that would have to be with a few people squished shoulder to shoulder next the bartender, some in the restroom, and quite possibly standing on the bar itself.

The stage is a tiny bit more spacious that the crowding room. A smidge platform, a plank three feet above the floor, a little higher than the stools, for that is what lines against the stage for steps. Awaiting bands stuff their gear underneath. Thick ruffled red curtains and a few spotlights brighten the area. Stereo speakers hanging stage side plays ease music until the bands start, and then are turned off completely. The reason for killing the speakers dead?

It’s a Thursday night and the unique concept about these Thursday night showcases is that it’s all acoustic, pure acoustic. No use of speakers, no amps, or any electrical equipment, completely electricity free. The reasoning motto is, “Our grandpappies didn’t need it so why should we?” Performances are scheduled to start around 9pm, but tonight began closer to 10. There were three bands posted to perform tonight, performing about a half hour each, and about a half hour apart.

When the first band began, the room went quiet, including the “cha-ching” of the vintage cash register being used. A very courteous atmosphere for the musicians, especially when the singer didn’t have a microphone! Yes, this is truly an acoustic show, on all levels, even vocals. And the show sounded amazing: raw, pure, with only unadulterated talent to be heard.

As the set progressed, there were a few mumbling in the far back along with beer bottle clanking dead in the trash can and the sound of restroom doors being used, but for the most part, this shack show was a truly unique experience. There can be no other place more stripped down than this place, even the men’s restroom is just a sink and single wall stall that flushes louder than banging pipes in a library. An outhouse small restroom with a hole port cut in the door, head height, for one to see if it’s in use. The ladies closet is on the opposite side.

There’s a lot of clutter in the place, assorted antiques of appearance scattered, adding the dusty attic feel to the list of other stuffy places it resembles, and how about that wonderful carp painting swimming across the floor. A place that could be either a nook or a cranny, but too small to be both. Not sure what exactly this tavern once might have been, except for maybe a two car storage parked with old Model Ts back when this city’s name was new. Whatever it was, it sure wasn’t air-conditioned, then or now. It got kind of warm hot, making beer very effective. Like cold beer on a dehydrated hot day.

Is it worth returning? Definitely. This place is true to heart for being all that it isn’t. I’m surprised they didn’t make it all electricity free with only candles burning and beer being served from a tin tub of ice.

And that’s it for the review, for if it was any longer it wouldn’t do justice in resembling the humble size of this shed. Now back outside to sit on that cold rock, check messages on my cell phone, and have a nice warm smoke, flaring it up with my electro-spark butane lighter. See you at the next show, if you could find this aloof hideaway.