Almanac Life: Mystery Pub – HYMN to Her
‘I like jazz in this context,’ says Claire. ‘It’s creating a nice atmosphere in here.’ I nod. At HYMN, an upstairs bar on Grenfell Street, a smoky sax slithers above a mid-tempo, New York swagger. I try to pick the artist. Coltrane? Monk? I’m an enthusiast but hold no deep expertise in this genre. I wonder how well music catches the mood of a place. A Beatles song works almost anywhere, anytime — such is their irresistible charm and sparkle. Jazz can be petulant and angular like a prickly dinner guest. But not here, not now. The sax is warmly insulating.
The owner explains how his bar is a former law firm and glancing about the peaceful loft; we take in the stained glass and holy interplay of light and shadow. Distinctive church motifs surround us. All traces of legal smugness and imposing suits are gone. Two or three lone men are dotted about. They sip neat spirits, luxuriate at their tables, and then drift downstairs. A half-full pub never works — it’s better when these are swarming with parties or empty like a desolate street. Both present as tantalisingly intimate. Meanwhile, merchandise is available and beyond shirts and caps are HYMN-branded guitar plectrums. Christmas is now sorted.
Claire and I then have a nostalgic, encompassing conversation about a photo we know well. It has become an emblem; though neither of us appear in it, it evokes a moment of almost unbearable intensity. With Pale Ale in hand, I was suddenly misty with grateful memory. Having just returned from a trip to Bali, we were planning a Mediterranean tour next autumn. However, as becomes increasingly clear, life unfolds mostly in our everyday and simple spaces. This is true late on an afternoon when we’re between things: work and home for me, and for Claire an intermission before an interpreting job at Town Hall.
Travelling together in this gilded cocoon, I hope it is another enriched scene we’ll fold into our mutual narrative. In a Friday twilight, HYMN feels tenderly triumphant.
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About Mickey Randall
Now whip it into shape/ Shape it up, get straight/ Go forward, move ahead/ Try to detect it, it's not too late/ To whip it, whip it good
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Lovely MR what a tender portrait of intimacy (story’s title, the smoky sax, interplay of light and shadows, those who luxuriate at their tables; you, misty with grateful memories; C&Ms gilded cocoon) in the not so intimate setting, as you assess it. Cheers
You continue to educate re where pubs are in -SA Mickey ! I did have a lady at the Queens Head on Sunday thank me -Xmas shopping re a particular book I appreciated
Another triumph Mickey.