NYCBP Blog

He seems like a political conservative, having supported Fred Thompson in the 2008 Republican presidential primary and then John McCain in the general election. He even wrote a campaign song for McCain, called “Raisin’ McCain”.

Now, however, country singer and songwriter John Rich has taken a quite un-Republican populist approach, and written and released a song expressing outrage at the economic plight of the workers and farmers of this land, while the big bankers continue to receive astronomical handouts from Washington.

It is called “Shuttin' Detroit Down” and features in the video a country music legend who is known more for his left wing views, Kris Kristofferson, and acclaimed actor Mickey Rourke.

The story of the video, which is implied by the song’s lyrics, is about a 32-year veteran of a factory, Kristofferson, who is being let go by the bosses. It has certainly struck a chord, because as of May 7, it was number two on the list of the top 10 most streamed videos on CMT.com.

Here, embedded from CMT.com, is that video of “Shuttin' Detroit Down”:

(Hopefully CMT won’t take it down anytime soon.)

You can also see below a live version of the song, performed in Madison, Wisconsin, where John begins by talking a little about the conditions in which he grew up in Amarillo, Texas.



I don’t think John Rich – whose work I’ve admired for many years although I don’t share his politics, at least possibly up until now – is exactly ready to raise the red flag. If he ever is, however, here is another song he just might consider covering, from a film that also could use a good remake:

Labels: country music, Eddie Goldman, John Rich

Back in another time and era, pre-October 4, 2008, that is, many of us who had formerly lived on the Upper West Side would regularly make pilgrimages to our dearly beloved Yogi's. Its closing by the real estate sharks made numerous headlines, and far beyond the confines of New York, judging alone by the responses I have personally received about our coverage of its demise.

On the night of its closing, numerous writers, journalists, and photographers showed up both to record this sad event, and also to have one last beer or shot, since at least some of them had puked there more than once.

While trying to navigate through the human sea of beer-worshippers who had gathered there that night, I started talking to this fellow who said he was there covering the closing for VanityFair.com. He said his name was George Gurley, and we talked.

His story, with the politically potent title of "Another Dive Bar Dies in Bloomberg's Manhattan", indeed captured the flavor, sounds, and scent of this bar, from the customers to the music to the bartenders to the bathrooms.

The story included a quote from me that I had wanted to celebrate my 60th birthday at Yogi's. That joyous day was Sunday, March 22, 2009. I had a cold all week, so I postponed any celebratory drinking until my aging body said "beer and vodka" to me instead of "soup and tea."

But I was in the neighborhood to have dinner and shop, so I wandered a few blocks to the intersection of 76th Street and Broadway, and sat down on a wooden bench in the area which separates Broadway. I had passed by the site a few times when it was all boarded up, and had also seen it recently now that the entire building has been ripped down, destroyed, incinerated, obliterated from our lives.

Now I have a photo of it, albeit an unintentionally misty one because I took it late at night with a phone camera, and not a real one.



I think the seeming haze adds a surreal quality to the photo, since all it took to destroy such a vibrant mini-community and oasis of controlled debauchery was the unquenched zeal and greed of a tiny handful of real estate, banking, and political pirates.

I'll be back drinking again very soon, now in my 60th year. I hope to see y'all in the barrooms – unless, of course, you're one of those types of bastards who go around looting and stealing from people like us. Our day is coming, and we'll bury you at the foot of the big beer can mountain. You can count on that, boys.

Labels: beer, dive bars, Eddie Goldman, upper west side, Yogi's

Yogi's has been closed since October, the football was over, and my main computer is still being repaired, so I tried to go to sleep early Sunday night. When I awoke, I saw the following text message from our good buddy, Paul Katcher:

This is BREAKING NEWS for nycbp.com. I just spotted the huge bear from inside Yogi's in the former Red Rock Roadhouse in the Upper East Side.

There have been rumors for some time that Tommy and Chardee will be moving into this location. Now there seems to be credible evidence that such a move may happen soon.

I just hope opening weekend is not the one I plan to go visit Amarillo, Texas! 10-4.

Labels: Eddie Goldman, Paul Katcher, Yogi’s

Regardless of which holiday you celebrate (or, for people like me, don’t), you can’t help being bombarded this time of year by armies of Santa Clauses, usually seeking a bailout, and from you.

Did you ever wonder where the hell all this money goes? Have you ever received a detailed accounting of who gets what from your handouts? And are you now or have you ever been just a tad suspicious that this “goodwill to all” stuff is merely another scam or racket, just like the stock market?

I was ruminating about just such things the other night at The Patriot Saloon, where I somehow ended up after being a guest on Joey Reynolds’s late night radio talk show on WOR. As I was sitting there, enjoying the lovely Jessica tending bar, and talking with a bunch of old friends who are fellow survivors of Yogi’s, I noticed another one of these Santa guys standing in the bar.

Now, I always wondered why his nose was flaming red, but now I had ironclad, documentary proof: Santa is a big fat boozer, and we caught him red-nosed and red-handed at The Patriot with a beer can in his hand.

So next time one of his cronies tries to bum some dough from you, just ask him if he wants a can or a bottle, laugh, and then walk away. Then go to the nearest dive bar, and if I’m there, buy me a cold one. At least you’ll know where your money went, and, after I hit the can, that while it was in the end flushed down the drain, it was put to good use.

(Photos by Eddie Goldman.)

Labels: beer, dive bars, Eddie Goldman, Patriot Saloon, Santa Claus

Labels: Alyssa, beer, dive bars, Doc Holliday’s, Eddie Goldman

I never claimed to be Oliver Stone, but here is another little video clip from Yogi's. It is the last shift Terri and Bree worked there. You will recognize a lot of the jokers in it. I tried to capture an overall look at the bar. It is dark, I realize, but so was the bar. An no, I did not take any video of the bathrooms...

If you guys like this, i will also add some that I made on the last weekend there.

Labels: bartenders, Brie, Eddie Goldman, patrons, Theresa, upper west side, Yogi's

This Tuesday night, Oct. 7, my nephew was in town, so we went out for dinner at Artie's on Broadway near 83rd Street. I had taken him to Yogi's a time or two, and normally we would have stopped in to see the luscious Theresa, the queen of Tuesday nights for about the last seven or eight years.

Before heading to the restaurant, I passed by Yogi's to see if somehow my recollection that it had closed this past Saturday night was just a hallucination implanted by alien kidnappers from a hostile galaxy, or maybe some falsehood claimed in a campaign attack ad. Maybe I had dreamt it all, and now that the beer from the previous week had worn off (except on my dirty laundry awaiting cleaning), I would discover that it was all some big misunderstanding.

And maybe I would also get a text from Halle Berry saying that her hotel key was under the doormat of room 1410.

The place was dark and locked. It was night when I arrived and hard to see inside, but it looked like any ordinary, boring, spiritless bar. The big labels on the beer taps appeared to have been removed. There were some things littered about, although the liquor bottles still seemed to sit there. And outside, the bear was gone, gone for the first time in about 25 or so years. It was as if its heart and soul had been ripped out.

I only stayed outside the bar a couple of minutes, but in that brief time I heard several passersby commenting on the countdown clock and saying, "They held out as long as they could." If such decisions were left up to the community, and not some faceless real estate bandits, I might be drinking there right now instead of posting this.

My nephew and I both decided to split after dinner instead of getting beers somewhere else. He has a very busy schedule while here, and I just didn't feel like suddenly looking for a new bar home on the Upper West Side after first having gone there, when it was still McGowan's, at some time I now wish I had recorded, in the mid or late 1970's.

That is what Yogi's was to so many of us, a place for our drinking family and a place for our real family. I had taken countless people there from all around the world, and mostly made ready converts of them, even on the slowest of nights.

First what made Yogi's special was the people. While every place has its share of assholes, the people plus the setting made most folks quite friendly, and friendlier than any bar I have frequented either regularly or even a few times.

The music played a large role in that. The main message of the rockin', outlaw country music which filled its semi-functional jukebox was that life and individual happiness should be celebrated. There is a true passion for freedom in these tunes, freedom in the individual and social sense and not just meaning formal freedom like voting, etc. You could celebrate you right there, while drinking your beer, singing and yee-hawing along with the songs, and then trying to wade through the soggy men's room when it was time to unload.

The gorgeous women behind the bar also, of course, made Yogi's special. Most of them, especially the veterans, made you feel right at home. Many of us guys in there couldn't pass as metrosexuals if it meant getting a chunk of that bailout loot. It usually didn't matter quite what you looked like, and especially what you were wearing - so long as you tipped nicely, thank you.

And the cheap, cold beer, that elixir of the common man and woman, was the cornerstone of this perfect quartet which made so many of us fall in love with this filthy, little place.

The people, the music, the women, and the beer - all guarded by the bear, which has since gone missing.

Now we are orphans again, left to search for a new bar home either farther away or with a different vibe. Hopefully The Duck, which opens Thursday, will do well, and there are always gems like Doc Holliday's remaining, but East Harlem and the East Village may be too far to travel for those who liked to get smashed while listening to Merle and Willie on the Upper West Side.

At the behest of drinking buddy Joe, I hung around as long as they would let me to be the last paying customer to exit Yogi's, forever, at this location anyway. He said it was only fitting, since I probably had been going to this bar the longest of anyone there that night, and certainly among the longest.

A crowd hung around outside for some time afterwards, just as it started to rain, as if David Allan Coe went to pick up his mom again. The raindrops hastened everyone's retreat, the countdown clock with all those zeros told the story, and it was over.

The NYCBP.com message boards have some great recaps of the last night there by many of my rowdy friends. I am not posting my fuzzy pictures taken with my camera phone, as there were many folks there with real, fancy, digital jobs who have promised to flood us with these memories. But I still have my pics to save.

The last song played on that ole jukebox was Sawyer Brown's "Some Girls Do." Its line of "I ain't first class, but I ain't white trash" describes a lot of us who walked in the door past that bear. And for those who loved Yogi's, whether or not they were white anything, the line, "Some girls don’t like boys like me, but some girls do", summed up a lot of our experiences, both there and elsewhere.

There is no hiding the sadness so many of us are feeling now that Yogi's is gone. It was surreal knowing what the countdown clock said, and it will take some time and frustrations like I experienced Tuesday night for it to sink in. A lot of us put in some extra tours of drinking duty during this last week at Yogi's, so we may not be all that ready or eager to whoop it up this soon. But the emptiness will hit you, sooner, probably, than later.

Labels: beer, dive bars, Eddie Goldman, New York, Sawyer Brown, Some Girls Do, upper west side, Yogi’s

Labels: beer, dive bars, Eddie Goldman, Yogi's

Such were the instructions of bar owner Tom McNeil, shortly after 2 AM Friday night/Saturday morning, on the next to last night at Yogi’s, to those who were planning to come for the final night of drinking, Saturday, October 4. Presumably he meant only the ladies, but, as we see from some of the photos below, it would not surprise us if some of the Yogi’s men tried to show to the world that they indeed have balls.

I already wrote my Yogi’s epitaph on the chalkboard:

The countdown clock is getting scaringly low:

The lovely Patience was behind the bar:

Plenty of folks jammed the bar for this next to last night:

Labels: bars, beer, dive bars, Eddie Goldman, New York, Tommy McNeil, upper west side, Yogi's

Janet is looking for something here, and is also unsure of where she'll land after Yogi's closes.

The cold, cold hearts of the real estate parasites have robbed us of Yogi's. Will we ever find another home like it again?

Labels: bars, beer, dive bars, Eddie Goldman, Janet, New York, Yogi's

It was the last Tuesday night at Yogi’s for Theresa, who is the longest continuously working bartender at our beloved dive. She was joined by Brie for this last Tuesday before the bar closes this coming Saturday, October 4, and the real estate cockroaches have it ripped down.

Theresa said she will be one of the all-star crew working the last night at Yogi’s. I asked her what she will be doing after that, and she said she planned to join the circus. I, for one, hope to see here again somewhere, sometime, even if it means watching her let a thousand clowns out of a car.

(Photo by Eddie Goldman.)

Labels: bars, bartenders, beer, Eddie Goldman, New York, Theresa, Yogi's

It was a surreal Monday night at Yogi’s. Mondays have been one of the liveliest nights at this bar over the years, and Monday, Sept. 29, was just that, with girls dancing on the bar, outlaw country music blaring from the jukebox, and the gorgeously frenetic bartender Patience looking as radiant as ever.


But this one was different, as it was the final Monday before Yogi’s closes for good on Saturday, October 4. For those who hadn’t heard or believed the news yet, there were signs posted outside and inside the bar:


There was a countdown clock facing the street:


Even the legendary sewer of a bathroom had graffiti with the news:

It will all be over Saturday. Hopefully, however, it will all resume Thursday, October 9, at The Duck and, we wish, at a new Yogi’s near the present one sometime in the future when the economy, finance, and the real estate markets, i.e., the “big money” which is closing down this Yogi’s, allow.

(All photos by Eddie Goldman, thank you.)

Labels: bars, bartenders, beer, dive bars, Eddie Goldman, New York, Patience, upper west side, Yogi’s

It is doubtful that Yogi Berra ever set foot in any of the incarnations of the bar which currently shares his nickname. It is even less likely that he will be there to help close it, as he did last week with Yankee Stadium. But if he wanted to, he would have his chance next week.

I just got off the phone with journalist and drinker Paul Katcher. He had sent me a text message shortly before 11 PM Thursday night, from Yogi’s, with the dreaded news: the last night for this bar will be Saturday, October 4.

He said he had spoken with bartenders Patience and Brie, and that they had been told earlier today that the closing of Yogi’s will be sooner than expected, on October 4. I may head down there myself a bit later to find out more, and, of course, have a few beers.

Clear your schedules, friends, because Saturday, October 4, will clearly mark the end of an era in our rapidly devolving New York.

Labels: bars, beer, Eddie Goldman, Paul Katcher, Yogi’s

Labels: bars, beer, Eddie Goldman, Fubar, Lauren, manhattan, New York, Patriot Saloon, Yogi’s

Labels: Alyssa, bars, beer, Doc Holliday’s, Eddie Goldman, New York

So all these weatherpeople from the liberal/communist/capitalist/conservative media (just ignore whichever epithets you disagree with) are telling us that there is this big storm coming to these parts Saturday. Well, that didn’t stop a bunch of regulars, rednecks, yuppies, and hippies from descending on that den of debauchery Friday night, the one and only Yogi’s (so far).

Part of the reason, of course, was that on Friday nights, the superstar Patience keeps slinging the beers. If she weren’t such a sweetie, she could start bloody civil wars over her.



Also helping the clientele lose their senses was the lovely Danielle. Just a smile from her could get the Taliban to buy a beer for Toby Keith.



So you stayed home to watch 20-year-old Robin Byrd reruns, did you?



For you unfortunate few who failed to show this Friday, Patience works Friday nights at Yogi’s and Wednesday days at The Patriot Saloon, and Danielle works Wednesday nights at The Patriot Saloon, Monday days at Yogi’s, and scattered weekends where needed.

Of course, you did get a partial pass if you stayed home to watch boxing. There were three lives cards on Friday night, and HBO has a potentially great battle in Juan Diaz vs. Michael Katsidis Saturday night. Also, if you’re really Internet savvy, you could watch numerous other fights from around the world Saturday.

And don’t worry if you are more redneck than hippie, or vice versa. Gretchen Wilson’s new album, due out this fall, has a tune called “Hippies and Rednecks” that attempts to bridge the gap between these sometimes warring subcultures. No doubt this healing process includes a lot of beer.

PS – I know my pictures aren’t exactly the best. I just use my camera phone, which is all I have. I’m a journalist, not a photographer, so all you fellers who do have these 2009 model digital jobs are invited to put your beers down for a second and point, shoot, and e-mail.

Labels: bars, beer, Danielle, Eddie Goldman, Gretchen Wilson, New York, Patience, Yogi’s

This past Thursday night at Yogi’s did find an assortment of sweet young thangs there, although most of them looked like extras from “Sex And The City”, with their fancy handbags and shoes. But for the few hours I was there, none of them danced on the bar or even acted much rowdier than a bunch of yuppie-ettes at a sale at Bloomingdale's. Even usually surefire anthems from Gretchen Wilson and Dolly Parton did not elevate any of these young ladies off the floor (although I was told that a few had danced on the bar before I had arrived).

The two lovely bartenders that night, newcomer Emma and regular Brie, of course, kept us wolves satisfied, of course.



But the most fun the menfolk seemed to have was when the finicky jukebox played “Dueling Banjos”, and we all started banging away on the bar.



Crowded as it was, the atmosphere was so slow that the white-haired, late-night regular Bobby (“Yeah, baby!”) actually made sense and got a few laughs when he suggested that something should be done for the “horny old men” amongst us.

Brie and Emma did what they could, of course within the confines of the law. Brie liked this photo I took of her, commenting, “My boobs look huge!”

Yes, even cameras in cell phones capture that image.

I don’t know if it is a summer thing, but dancing on the bar at Yogi’s has been a rarity in these hot months. Maybe the redneck women are on vacation, or broke, or can’t risk violating their parole.

In any case, one place the outlaw women seem to be is in the new video celebrating them, from country group Jackson Taylor. Here it is:

Labels: bars, beer, Brie, Eddie Goldman, Emma, Jackson Taylor, outlaw women, Yogi’s

The votes are in, and Gretchen Wilson’s version of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” has won the online poll conducted by ESPN.com of nine artists' renditions of it to mark the 100th anniversary of that song!

Here, again, is the winning video:

Labels: Baseball, Eddie Goldman, Gretchen Wilson, Take Me Out to the Ballgame

I have been looking to buy some decent green tea, and was advised to check out Trader Joe’s in Union Square. I finally made it there Sunday afternoon. I wish I had been told that this place is completely swamped with customers, elbow to elbow, aisle to aisle. Even so, I had already made the trek from my uptown world headquarters, and was planning to visit Doc Holliday’s afterwards anyway, so the half-hour wait on the checkout line only came out of my drinking time. The staff there, also, was beyond pleasant, helpful, and patient.

Labels: beer, Budweiser, Doc Holliday’s, Eddie Goldman, green tea, Li, Mayo Clinic, MySpace, Trader Joe’s

As we wrote about last week, a poll is being held on ESPN.com to mark the 100th anniversary of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame”. Originally, videos of this hallowed song by nine contemporary artists were posted on that site, with voting open to the public.

Now that list has been pared down to just three, and, to the surprise of no one who has ever waded through the pools of water in Yogi’s men’s room, one of those versions is by our favorite redneck woman, Gretchen Wilson.

I already reviewed Gretchen’s video in the first post on this topic, but some comparison to the other finalists is helpful.

The remaining two videos are actually not bad.

One, by Ozomatli, gives the song a Latin flavor and has a tenor sax lead. But when they tell us to “root, root, root for the Dodgers,” they automatically lose.

The other finalist is by the Punch Brothers. Theirs is a sort of folk-bluegrass version with lots of strings in their band. While their advice is certainly less loathsome, to “root, root, root for the Cubbies,” who are currently atop the National League Central and have the best record in that league, it still falls short to the more energetic version by Gretchen.

Gretchen, a Cardinals’ fan raised near St. Louis in Illinois, does wear a Redbirds’ cap and shirt, but keeps the lyrics traditional, singing “root, root, root for the home team.” For whatever reason, budgetary or otherwise, her video has higher production values, and is based around Little Leaguers, and not just her band playing. The young pitcher at the start of the video has a Yankees’ cap on. The focus on the kids adds a more universal and cheerful tone to this one, which was my choice anyway even before seeing the other two finalists.

Voting is continuing now, with the winner to be announced July 13.

So vote, vote, vote for the redneck. And have some beer while you’re at it.

Labels: Baseball, Eddie Goldman, Gretchen Wilson, Take Me Out to the Ballgame

Nine-to-fivers will disagree, but for us nocturnal beer drinkers, would that the week had many, many Mondays. That way we could go to Yogi’s several times a week to drink with the electric Janet.

I know some of you had to watch those Robin Byrd shows from twenty years ago on channel 35 and then have dates with Five-Fingered Mary, but you’d have been better off postponing such bliss and heading over to Yogi’s. I got there around 1 AM, and you never know who will wander in.

There was some raven-haired girl dancing to the songs next to the bar. I told her if she danced on the bar, she could become famous. She said no way, and that she was already famous. I then asked her how she had become famous, and she said she’d tell me for a dollar. I wonder what 50 cents would have gotten.

Around 2 AM, guess who moseyed on in?

Labels: beer, dive bars, Eddie Goldman, Janet, New York, Tommy McNeil, Yogi's

I hereby apologize to all my barfriends and bartenders: Because of work (I’ve been called the hardest-working person in my biz) and family issues, I was unable to fulfill my obligations this weekend to go out drinking.

Labels: bars, beer, drinking, Eddie Goldman, Janet, New York, Yogi’s

While I pay little attention these days to the national juicetime, in favor of more civilized sports like boxing, I still am somewhat sentimental about some of the culture and traditions of baseball which evoke the innocence and grace we once believed were inherent in the sport.

The grand old song “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” is part of that revered tradition, and now there is a poll which is being held on ESPN.com to mark the song’s 100th anniversary. Nine artists recorded videos of this song, which were first played on ESPN’s “Baseball Tonight” and then posted online. Voting has started already, and runs through July 6.

Our attention, of course, centers on the version sung by Redbirds’ fan and Redneck Woman, Gretchen Wilson. Here, for your viewing pleasure, is that video:

Labels: Baseball, Eddie Goldman, Gretchen Wilson, Take Me Out to the Ballgame

The broke folks, the weekend drinking dilettantes, and the tourists tend to show up far less at Yogi’s on Monday nights, and I guess at many other bars, than they do most of the rest of the week. That has made it a haven for serious boozers and partygoers that night over the many years this wondrous dive has been open. Legendary bartenders have ruled Monday nights for over a decade, including Elizabeth, Myriam, and Julie. (Look up their pictures on the site, or let Kevin add them here.)

Since February of this year, a veteran beerslinger has called Yogi’s her home on Monday nights: the one and only Janet.



Janet had already made her mark at the grand old Village Idiot, but now has inherited this prized slot to entertain the crowd while helping getting them all jacked up. While her predecessors largely made their reputations on Monday nights at Yogi’s, Janet took over this spot with her place in the Hall of Fame long ago reserved.

Now she has been joined, for at least one night, by a newcomer to this little subculture of bars, the lovely Krystle.



Krystle comes to New York from the great state of Alabama, and though new to Yogi’s and The Patriot, she had heard many of the songs on their jukeboxes back home. She moved to New York to become an actress, and until she becomes a superstar or whatever she wants to be, we will see her here, as she has recently been hired by Tommy McNeil’s brain trust.

So there is plenty to drink at Yogi’s.

Labels: beer, Eddie Goldman, Janet, Krystle, Yogi's