Mayor of Ponce digs out his soul
With some help from the Soulphonics and Ruby Velle
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There’s a foggy glow over this gloomy corner of downtown Atlanta. The Georgia Dome is just over the hill, and I’m on the bad end of a dead end street. George Harrison was right, it’s been a long, cold, lonely winter. Only he seemed more optimistic. But this chill and these bad vibes have to break soon; I’m almost out of Ayn Rand books to burn.
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My hearts been on ice and these ambitions bundled up. It’s been a mean season and this old soul's getting restless. My apologies for the tired wordplay, but that just about sums up this cliché of a winter. The tulips, the wayfarers, the sundresses — they’re right around the corner. But they seem to be getting further out of reach.
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It’s a Saturday night, and we’ve found ourselves in one of Atlanta’s best kept secrets. The location is in the name of the place, and I’ve been here a number of times, but my haphazard internal GPS still has trouble finding it. It’s Elliot Street Pub and it’s nestled in a creepy corner of Castleberry Hill. It’s a tiny bar that takes pride in its obscurity, a kind of place with cups, a keg and a chalkboard by the door that trusts the regulars with the honor system.
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We’re all here to see Atlanta throwback darlings the Soulphonics and Ruby Velle. We’re cramped in this pint-sized bar shoulder-to-shoulder — more like a walk-in closet with a liquor permit. But the warmth is comforting, it’s like we’re in this together.