In Deep Dive, VICE asks writers around the world to explain how their favorite bar represents their cityâs history and culture.A large tapestry hangs on the wall near the karaoke station at Franâs Eastside in Nashville, Tennessee (2105 Greenwood Ave.). Peering out from the smoke-infused fibers of the decorative wall-hanging is a white cat, its lips parted slightly, a curiously small pink flower gripped between its paws.
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âA friend of mine who died of cancer when I was at the old bar gave that to me,â says Franâs owner and operator Frances Adams of the famed cat rug. âHe was a sailor. I donât know where it come from. As far as I know of, itâs an original.â
You could say that of most things affixed to the yellowed cinder-block walls of Franâsâoriginal. From the decades-old wooden depiction of the Nashville skyline to handwritten signs taped up behind the bar. Reads one: âThe bank donât sell beer!! The bar donât loan money or give credit.â Another: âWe have the right to refuse service to anyone,â with various words underlined for emphasis.Even though it has the dingy aura and weathered clientele of a place thatâs been open since the 1970s, the barâcash-only, beer-only, and one of the last establishments in the historically rough-and-tumble neighborhood that still allows smoking indoorsâopened in the building it now occupies, formerly a beauty salon, in March 2008. For 18 years before that, Eastside operated out of a building about a mile-and-a-half west, now home to a bar called Cobra. By her recollection, Fran has run somewhere in the neighborhood of 13 bars in Nashville over the past half-century.
âI remember, years ago, you couldnât walk on these streets out here,â says Fran, who still tends bar during the daytime. East Nashville has been gentrified radically in recent decades, but crime is still a factor. As it happens, a pair of young patrons was robbed and shot to death in the Cobra parking lot just this summer. Back in 2012, a musician was carjacked and shot in the neck while loading his gear out of another bar just across the street from Franâs.
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The city is still peppered with bars like these, though there used to be moreâbars where the respective worlds of the hipster and the redneck converge. Both crowds are well-acquainted with blue-collar work, both are fond of cheap longnecks, and both chain-smoke Pall Malls or Winstons until theyâre chased out at about a quarter till 3. Franâs is open every day of the year, and Mondays and Tuesdays are pool nights. Wednesdays through Saturdays are karaoke, and Sunday is bothâfirst one, then the other. Karaoke nights, around midnight and onward, are when youâll see Franâs brightest lights shining through the haze of lingering smoke.
The karaoke stage is less a stage and more a small patch of empty floor by the front door. (The front door is not the entranceâthat'd be the back door by the gravel parking lot.) Franâs regulars are relics of what locals call âOld Nashville.â Thatâs shorthand for a time in the city before a massive real estate boom drove up housing costs and brought condo developments and what are known as âtall-and-skinniesâânarrow two-story homes built in place of demolished one-story housesâto the East Side. But youâll also see swarms of 20- and 30-something barflies celebrating a birthday, or a crowd of out-of-towners dipping in for what theyâve heard is an authentic Old Nashville experience.Franâs daughter Katrina Headâwho just goes by Trinaâis there most nights of the week. Word of mouth and appearances in music videos by artists including Sam Hunt and Margo Price bring in the occasional gaggle of new locals, but according to Trina, theyâre often better behaved than the old-timers. âThese people that move to Nashville, they come in and spend money, theyâre quiet, they have fun,â says Trina. âThey donât bother nobody.â
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I stop by to talk to Fran and Trina on a particularly slow Monday afternoon in late November. Amid talk of Thanksgiving plans and cutting up with customers, Trina points out that the place technically isnât even named Franâs. Itâs just called âEastsideâ on the beer license, and much of the signage says âEastside Tavern.â The âFranâsâ bit was tacked on by regulars and fans of her mom. Now, to most, itâs just Franâs.Fran brings up some of the press attention her establishmentâs gotten, including a recent Nicole Kidman photo shoot. When I express disbelief, she pulls out a copy of British glossy Love Magazine from beneath the bar and plunks it down on the countertop. Sure enough, thereâs the beloved movie star and Nashville resident, staring back at me from the sidewalk right outside Franâs. Inside the mag is a several-page spreadâKidman nursing a beer just two seats away from where Iâm perched, and dancing freely in front of the cat rug.
âI was the first one to do a video in Franâs,â Justin Collins later tells me. Collins is the frontman of local rock ânâ roll outfit Justin and the Cosmics, and heâs produced work for Deer Tick and Diamond Rugs, among others. âI was the first. Right after that, Margo [Price] did something, and her shit blew up.âWith his mop of curly brown hair and toothy smile, Collins is a couple decades younger than the average Franâs regular, but heâs been a supporter since before the dive made the move to its current address.
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âIt was real fuckinâ nasty,â says Collins of the first Eastside location. âThe AC in there was dripping all kinds of nasty, weird shit in the corner.âFor a time, Collins tells me, heâd spend six-hour stretches at Franâs two or three nights a week. The karaoke helped him hone his chops as a singer and performer, he says, but it also earned him an unlikely new group of friends. Among those is the man Collins calls the âheart and soulâ of the establishment, Sam Sen, who runs said karaoke several nights a week.
âThe stressful part ainât this,â says Sam, gesturing to his soundboard when I visit him at the beginning of his shift one Saturday night. âThe stressful part is not the singing or keeping up with the equipment. The stressful part is keeping up with the darn list. Thatâs the biggest stress factor, especially when it gets busy.âSam is an older guy, svelte with a thick mane of wiry hair and dark, glassy eyes. Heâs been a Franâs patron for the better part of a decade, but he started running karaoke nights when the last guy doing it suffered a stroke a couple years back. A pro bassistâsome heavy Googling will turn up a â70s psych band from the Philippines called Destiny that one Sam Sen has bass credits withâhe took over at Franâs right around the time he was starting to find it difficult to lug around his rig.The ultimate compliment? When Sam draws a second mic from the drawer of his desk and joins you on your song with his warm, gravelly tenor, something like that of Neil Diamond. But Sam also rules with an iron fist: Heâs a polite and funny guy, but if you mess with his equipment or wander too far outside the karaoke zone with one of his mics, heâs quick to let you know youâre on thin ice, shooting you a glare or shouting at you over the music.
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Sam lost his wife to cancer two years ago, andâthough somewhat guarded about his personal lifeâvolunteers how kind the Franâs family has been to him over the years. âTheyâve been very good to me," he says.
Sam, like the bar itself, is beloved, with a reputation that travels. Karaoke nights even draw in occasional celebrities, from local news anchors to NSyncâs Chris Kirkpatrick, who performed a Backstreet Boys song about a year back. (âThey ordered I donât know how many fuckinâ pizza rolls,â says Trina of Kirkpatrickâs crew.)âItâs a great flight simulator,â says Sam of karaoke nights, when youâre as likely to hear a Flo Rida song as Gretchen Wilsonâs âRedneck Womanâ or Steve Miller Bandâs âAbracadabra.â âIâve always maintained, whether youâre coming across good or bad, the classic test is your audience. They wonât lie, and they can be cruel as hell. Sometimes, nothingâdead. Crickets. Hey, thatâs how it is.âOn social media, it can often feel as though a battle is being waged for the soul of the city. Many argue Nashvilleâs recent rash of growth has been handled irresponsibly, with developers buying out longtime businesses and bulldozing the buildings to make room for cookie-cutter condominiums and multi-use developments and neighborhood rebrands. And sometimes rent increases force out establishments that seem to be doing just fine, until theyâre suddenly gone. Just across the street from Franâs is Cafe Roze, a truly great upscale brunch-and-coffee spot that, according to Trina, recently gave one of Franâs regulars his breakfast on the house just out of neighborly kindness. But itâs been home to a number of different restaurants and bars over the past decadeâturnover is quick for businesses in this part of town, and people have short memories. A beauty salon today could be a karaoke bar tomorrow, and the bungalow up the block could be two tall-and-skinnies just as quickly.
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Itâd be foolish to assume Franâs will be here for decades and decades to come, or that it wonât be forced to relocate once again. But as long as itâs here, it serves as a reminder of the strange Southern camaraderie that springs up in Nashvilleâs oldest neighborhoods, where bottles of High Life and Budweiser are $2.25 apiece, and a six pack of domestics, served on ice in a bucket, goes for $13.Fran suggests that the cheap prices are what keep her customers coming back, but Sam isnât so sure thatâs all there is to it.âThereâs something else going on here,â he says. âIâve suspected that a long time. Itâs not just the place, because itâs just any old dive bar. What is it about this place? If you ever put your finger on it, let me know.â
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