The Crow's Nest

The Crow’s Nest: If You Think It’s Dead in Here Look Across the Street

By: Moose Gronholm

​It was the fall or spring; I cannot remember which one as this period of time is a jumbled mess, of 2006 when I first walked into The Crow’s Nest. Up until this point I had been to many a bar in Chicago, my hometown, but my younger brother had made the move to Cincinnati and found a place with our cousin on Nebraska and Roth courtesy of the west side. Conveniently enough, at the end of the street and on the corner was this bar called The Crow’s Nest. I was in for the weekend visiting, and I know we went up there later in the evening and I am sure there was probably somebody playing some music. But what I remember most and what has stuck with me after these ten years is the vibe it gave off. 

​Maybe there is something in the water out on the west side that makes this place feel like home? Maybe it is because the west side is like a small town where everyone knows everyone and that can be both good and bad at times. Maybe it is just the sheer fact that these people, these friends, that have been coming to The Nest far longer than me mind you, are some damn good people. I was not obviously alive in 1896 when it opened, but I am going to take an artistic liberty and assume that nothing much has changed in the vein of it being a neighborhood bar; the road out front and the scenery inside have probably undergone the most change. But, The Nest for me at least has always seemed to have this neighborhood vibe to it. Everyone knows each other in some form or another, and that has carried on and I would venture a guess and say probably since it has opened as well. 

​The Crow’s Nest opened up in 1896 and was owned and operated by John Crowe. In 1921 though things changed even the name which from 1896 to 1921 it was called John Crowe’s Roadhouse, and after the change of ownership The Crow’s Nest (which is a naval term for where the lookout would sit. It was kind of like a wood basket that was connected to the main mast of the ship. The lookout would sit there and holler out instructions, obstacles, or land ahead) was changed to and has held onto that name ever since. There have been changes of ownership over The Nest’s long life, but the building has remained and since 1921 so has the name. The name suits the place when you think of the literal definition of a “crow’s nest.” The building sits on the corner of West 8th and Nebraska, and seemingly keeps watch on the west siders coming home or going to work or school. Along with that it also keeps watch over the dead. Yes, you fair reader read that right that was not a typo. See across the street sits St Joseph Cemetery, and when I say across the street that is exactly what I mean. 

​One could say The Nest looks over the dead, and you would not be wrong as the building again is right across the street from the cemetery. But sometimes those lines blur, and the dead make their way into the bar. There is an array of differentstories from the staff pertaining to these occurrences. Things placed where they shouldn’t be while a cooler door closes, and I’ve heard bartenders speak of a strange vibe when going into the basement. I personally have stayed late with one of the bartenders because the night per the “spirit” had just been too strange to bear for this bartender. There is even a sign that is sort of a joke about the bar that reads: If you think it’s dead in here look across the street. 

​While across the street may lay the un-living inside of this building the energy is palpable and intensely alive. The Crow’s Nest has become a place where music thrives and all levels of talent are welcomed, and I personally have witnessed bands form, and bands get their start here. Everyone from Ben Knight to The Tillers. Due to the fact that currently every Tuesday night the Open Mic hosted by Sean Geil of those Tillers, has brought out some amazing musician’s the caliber of talent that graces the open mic nights has been impressive at best. The open mic dates back to at least 2006, when a fella by the name of Captain Mike used to run it. Even then, the caliber was still amazing. Possibly due to the fact of who was bartending Adam O’Neil and Matthew Wabnitz started bringing up their friends. From that moment onward it has changed. These are just my opinions, because this is what I remember as I have been coming up here since 2006. In all honesty, nothing much has changed. Other than friends getting married, friends having kids, or both, and friends moving on but remains is The Crow’s Nest, the beacon of the west side. 

The building has become a second home for me. I have met and made friends with some amazing people all due to the music and The Crow’s Nest. I am in the band that I am in because of The Crow’s Nest. I have ten year friendships with two of the bartenders because of The Crow’s Nest, and 7, 6,5, or 4 year friendships because of The Nest, and why? Strictly because of the music that has passed through the doors, and the water that resides on the west side. 

The Crow’s Nest sits at 4544 West 8th Street, Cincinnati, OH 45238. It is the tallest building on the street, and like any Irish bar is welcoming to anyone that simply would like to have a good time with some good people. There are no grand words to close this out. No big ideas or overly dramatic sentences to describe The Crow’s Nest, no, you fair reader simply need to come out and experience it for yourself. And when you do, if you think it’s dead in there, well, look across the street

Upon The Shelf

Upon shelves do these lives sit
They stare at me for hours on end
Some days with contempt in their eyes
And on other days they smile with content

Upon these shelves we leave our memories
To remember what once was
Upon these shelves the dust settles in
Upon those same memories that once were

Upon these shelves stories sit patiently
Until they get their day to have their pages turned
Upon the shelves heroes remain stoic as relics
Shelves of fame hold their namesakes.

Upon these shelves i gaze in wonder
With starry eyed eyes i choose wisely
No adventure is the same
And upon these shelves adventures remain

Upon these shelves the stories remain
Upon these shelves these lives remain
Upon these shelves the memories lay
Upon these shelves wonder stays for another day

Save Camp Springs

Save Camp Springs, KY

By: Moose Gronholm

 

 

 

            Keith Neltner amongst many hats that he wears is an artisan and agriculturalist. He owns and operates his design business and owns the tavern, along with his wife Amy. The farm is operated by his brother Keith and their mother Claire all down in Camp Springs, Kentucky. Keith messaged me a week ago about a battle that the town of Camp Springs is having with the local governing bodies. One to not turn anything down I took to the typed out word to fill you all in. If you have heard about what is happening then Keith, and the many folks that live there, and myself simply ask you to help raise your voice in unison to stop what is happening.

            What is happening? The residents of Camp Springs are locked into an eminent domain fight. I am going to quote the article that was shared with me from Keith Neltner which is from Preserve and Protect Camp Springs (the local legal alliance that was formed in order to defend themselves): “Camp Springs’ way of life and continued historical value is in grave danger of complete erosion or extinction due to an uninformed and destructive local government decision to place a raw sewer pipeline along the Four Mile Creek without community support. This forced decision is causing the residents, many who have been on their properties for generations, to defend their rights through expensive legal proceedings and threat of imminent domain.” That is the general message going out. We encourage everyone to make the drive and visit Camp Springs.

            I’m not one for soapboxes, but this is a cause worth fighting for. This town has been around since the early 1800’s. Folks come in the 10’s of thousands and from all around to visit during special events, purchase agricultural products and services, and use its scenic routes for bike rides and leisure drives to take in the beauty and wonder that is Camp Springs. In an age where growth and technology are becoming ever more present, the folks of Camp Springs are simply asking to have that growth and technology not disrupt and destroy what they have been preserving for generations, and generations to come.

            The residents of Camp Springs are asking for help to fend off the actions of Judge Executive, Steve Pendery and the Sanitation District (SD1). They have set up a gofundme page, along with a legal alliance aptly named “Preserve and Protect Camp Springs.” All monies collected will go towards the cost of such extraordinary measures being carried out by the SD1, as well as the attorney’s fees for said defense. Now the attorney’s supporting the community have cut their rates dramatically to ease the pressure on the residents.

            In short, this community of agriculturalists and artisans of all sorts need a little bit of help. Nobody likes to have to go these extraordinary measures for help, but sometimes what else is one left to do? The folks are not going to sit idly by and watch their town be destroyed for a sewer line, and all they ask for is some help. This weekend at the Camp Springs Tavern (7009 Stonehouse Road, Melbourne, KY 41059) they will be hosting a little shin-dig. They are opening up the doors for whom ever would like to come for a visit, to do just that. There will be a concert and I will provide the acts at the end. Give these folks a helping hand. They could sure use one. It’s not that often we have the opportunity to help a community. In a lot of cases the town is bought and sold before the community and residents can even process it. Here now we all sit for an opportunity to help in any way that we can. Attend the concert Saturday April 16^th, or make a donation. One voice can roar, but together we can move mountains.

 donate here: www.gofundme.com/savecampsprings

Spring Celebration @ Camp Springs Tavern Saturday April 16^th:

 

5:30 pm:

Hoot n’ Holler with Chris Lloyd

 

7:30pm:

Todd Lipscomb

 

9pm:

Casey Campbell

 

BBQ sandwiches and homemade pie will be available for purchase at Noon.

Great selection of domestic, craft, and bourbon and more.

AGES 21+

Oh These Hearts

 

Oh these hearts

 

 

Oh the hearts of men whose lashes from whips sting me so.

The daily grind of my feet to my knees on this concrete floor

For fat rich men to indulge most gluttonously in their fat and their rich

Plagues my heart and wearies my soul.

 

Oh these hearts of men whose shackles bind my own heart’s content

Where and how do we go?

Where and how do we get our chance at the fruits of a better life?

Work you say?

Get a job you say?

Fall in line and take your turn on the assembly line parade

Revolving around and around and around?

Your parents did it,

Their parents did it,

And now, look at you doing it too.

That 401k gets put away.

That’s right, fall in line and take your seat

For the rapturing fate of this eventual demise will surely turn to a lullaby.

 

All this money, all that means nothing,

For when I die will any of this come with me?

For when I die will any of these, things come with me?

For when I cease to make another revolution on the endless cycle

Will the car, the house, the computer, the phone, the 401k

Will any of this come with me?

But fall in line with these hearts of men they say.

Fall in step by step and you too can achieve that GREAT AMERICAN DREAM!

 

To them I say,

NO.

To them I move myself to a blasphemous rhythm

To them I play chameleon

To them I put on the face

I put on the boots and I come in.

Punch the time card eight hours punch out.

I play the game because I gotta keep the lights on right?

But what I have inside of me

What dream lies in wait that inspires me?

What feeling resides inside of the depths of my sou?

I write right here for the taking.

I get to do what I love and I escape this machined existence.

I escape to the hills, or the fields that reside in images that, like a blanket, cover my mind and take me to a place where I can go,

For me,

For my own time away.

 

Oh the hearts of men that have made me wise

The ones that told me don’t be like me

The one that gave me the strength to defy this machined lullaby,

And the one that continues to do so day in and day out.

 I play your game with my steel toe boots laced up,

Merely, simply, and only because I have to

Not for want or need, but for have.

 

Oh the hearts of men release your shackle and fear

And live with the compassion of billions of hearts and minds

See, listen, and feel the words from your fellow brother and sister

Hear them listen to them as they explain their disdain

For to blow us off

To bid no favor to our voice

But most important,

To not do what is just and right

Is a travesty that far surpasses any moral comprehension?

 

Oh hearts of men your fear plagues you so

Your fear has infested your mind the way the beetle bores its way through the trunk of the tree.

Your fear consumes you the way the quicksand swallows all in its wake.

Fear can be addressed this is true

Fear can be grasped, this is true

Alas do not fear what is just and what is right.

The compensation for such awaits you in the end,

Sheer and unlimited gratitude,

This holds no price

Has no value of money

Knows nothing of silver or gold,

And gives nothing in return, other than tearful smiles.

 

Oh these hearts of ours, we can end the fear through a smile

Oh these hearts of ours, we can move MOUNTAINS of disgust

Oh the hearts of us,

Let us live.

Let us breathe in the night air

Let us be the folly of our own emotion

Let us just live.

Oh the hearts of us,

Together we can mend un-sewn souls.

Early Morning Porch

Early Morning Porch

 

The day has not yet been stained by events that have transpired

                It is nice to be up with the sun.

The still of the morning before the engines roaring

                It is nice to be up with the sun.

Fall is creeping in and all upon us

And all around us the storefronts are closing

The people are scared and starving

Their scars are worn not embraced

Their scars are like road maps of life

Where they have been

Where they were going

And how

The day has not yet been stained by a course of events that have transpired

                The thoughts sit and linger

As the coffee gets to brewing

The thoughts will flow through the pen and onto the paper

                It is nice to be up with the sun.

Silence fills the early morning air

Birds are chirping far off in this still morning air

Echoes of train brakes grinding scream the alarm

No cars or trucks blaring horns or revving engines.

No, for in this hour the quiet is deafening

The smell is comforting

The feel is inspiring and calming.

This musty mildew filled air relaxes a mind fraught with thought

                It is joy to be up with the sun.

All this concrete resides and cracks

If it had a voice I wonder what it would ask

The many feet which have trod its façade.

The many years it has sat in its place

The walls

The stairs

The curbsides even they have a story or a conversation.

The sun slowly rising with the day which a course of events have not yet stained

                And have left me in comfort being up with this sun.

The day has not yet been stained by events that have transpired

                It is nice to be up with the sun,

Re-sounds like the trains brakes four blocks away,

Or like a record that gets is stuck to play.

These words play in my head like a movie or a song

Over and over again I see them and hear them

Over and over again I think

Over and over again I wonder.

I sit with coffee in hand as the wonder turns to ponder

                And the ponder turns to pen to paper.

Here lie those words from that chain of events.

Herein lies the thoughts on folks less fortunate than i.

Whose lot in life is a slow change to which sometimes it never comes.

Shoes with worn holed soles

Souls with worn old holes

Mirrors are shop windows

Sleeping under bridges or beside them

Near train tracks or rivers

Suitcase toting sharp dressed men

Making decisions for folks who haven’t changed in months

Tell me the sense?

The day has not yet been stained by the thoughts of men

                And still I will smile with the comfort of the sun.

I regress from previous thoughts

And detract no statements said through said thoughts.

Instead, I shall dive deep into closing my eyes and listening

To the buses and vehicles

The highway’s hum

And the occasional distant sirens,

Or just the pure uninterrupted silence.

The slow walks and chirping talks

The meandering and sneering

The loudness and blaring

They have not yet come to pass within these early morning hours.

The day remains silent as events have yet to occur to stain the day,

                And I sit with the sun as it is nice to be awake in this hour.

A stain can be good

A stain can be bad

A stain you live with

And a stain you remove

But a stain always stays.

You can be rid of it but you always know where it was.

There is no shame in this

There is no reason to be morose or angry

The day remains in this early morning hour

Still and quiet and waiting

The day remains

As simply the day

That Night

 

That Night

 

The crisp warm glint in her eye caught my wandering gaze.

I had seen her before this night

Two weeks ago in this same space

And her sitting in the same place.

Now here we are this evening with winter closing in,

The colds chill stings like frozen wasps

And shakes your bones and nerve like a bartender  mixing cocktails,

There she was, and here I sat.

Our eyes locked onto one another in a stare

She stirred her drink with her straw

Slow

And with purpose,

I tried to not pay attention through the seemingly pretentious stirring

But alas how could I not, I mean she was undeniably beautiful.

Under severe exhaustion

I could not place reality,

My fatigue had been gaining steam

As burning the proverbial candle at both ends was biting and chomping at my ankles.

I wasn’t even sure why I was a this bar

If she was real

Or hell if, THIS, was even real.

Through this momentary lapse of concentration

She had moved herself to the stool next to mine

And only when she said in a mild mannered, warm, caring, confident voice

“Hello, my name is,”

And with her right hand non polished finger nails now extended “Erin.”

Did I know that this was not some hallucination begetting myself?

Or that this wasn’t the exhaustion pouring its weight onto me?

No, in fact this place was as real as the seat you are sitting in now.

I extended my hand as well and lightly shook hers and said
“Erin, it’s a pleasure to meet you my name is Daniel.”

 

His hand was cold as he lightly grasped and shook mine.

So lightly in fact I thought I was shaking the wind.

Maybe he was hiding something

Or maybe he was just shy

Either way it was a feeling that did not make me nervous, nor make me scared

It was a feeling that made me comfortable

Considering the schlubs I had been meeting lately

And my track record for assholes this was a pleasant feeling to have, finally.

Danny wore thick black glasses, a gray suit, black tie, brown fedora, and brown loafers to match.

A business man I thought, maybe a writer, maybe a writer of business

All I knew was I had seen him in here before.

Two weeks ago the night Tom decided my best friend was more befitting his taste than I.

Danny nodded along and said

“I do remember you from that night. I said nothing because, well, I don’t know,”

I stumbled upon my words trying to understand why this beautiful woman was talking with me,

Of all schlubs to be talking to,

So I muttered

“I didn’t say anything because I just assume, as I do now, that there is some lucky fella whom you will either be meeting shortly or later this evening, and along with my shyness I couldn’t bring myself to a simple introduction.”

 

His tone was not that of excitement, rather, it was more like a balanced calm inviting tone.

Yes, I am well aware of my beauty by the way, and I am well aware of how gorgeous I am

I would not say this out loud though

But hearing him speak in such a way felt like the first time hearing these observations of myself.

 

I sat reveling in the words that just stumbled out of my mouth

What the hell did I just do?

Was that too much?

Had I just created a disaster?

I mean I am used to it at this point.

I sat expecting more of the same she will now spill her drink over my head, call it an accident, and we’ll go our own ways.

But yet she stayed.

She didn’t run.

In her eyes I could see thought

Have I dumbfounded her?

Certainly she has heard these words before?

 

He literally left me dumbfounded

What was I to do?

I mean, this drink is already stirred enough

Anymore stirring and this drink is going to evaporate into the thin air.

I took a breath and a pause and simply said

“Thank you, and I am here alone. To whom are you waiting on?”

“I suppose I’ve been waiting for you.”

 

Where the night went we were not entirely sure.

I mean one can guess

One can hope

But the truth is far more interesting than hopes and aspirations.

We sat through the evening while people filed in and people filed out

Drinks were drank

Tabs were paid

The stools were being put upon the bar and tables

And we just sat,

Together and left alone.  

Nicholas and The Pessimistics

Nicholas & The Pessimistics: Debut album

A review by: Moose

 

 

 

            The Pessimistics are a Cincinnati band who have been together for a few years now, and are releasing their first album. They are comprised of Nick Baker (vocals/guitar), Shawn Steele (lead guitar), Alex Fraser (bass), and Donie Maness (drums). The record was recorded at Fat Tracks Studio located here in Cincinnati and was engineered by Rob Nadler. The record took some time to record, but after all the blood and sweat cleared up, and a switch of personnel was finalized mid-way through the recording process here we have their first full length. This record for them has been a labor of love to say the least, and to have it completed and done is a testament to the perseverance to the band. This was an investment that simply took longer than expected, but that being said they are glad to have it out and ready for all of your ears.

            The record is ten songs that lyrically spill out more like “a journal” and are “more honest” according to Nick one of the lead songwriter’s in the band. Musically the record ebbs and flows through country and rock, and are simply honest. From the first to the last song the album told a story within itself in just the sequencing of the songs, let alone the actual story that each individual song is telling. You have the beginning or the set – up, the middle amped up and raucous, and the end saying see ya later but leaving the door cracked open for more. In the conversation I had with Nick the one ideal he and fellow Pessimist Shawn Steele wanted to get across lyrically were “these songs having merit more than simply sounding good,” and I would say they achieved both. The record expresses the honesty of songwriting and the musicianship is top notch. Ten songs worthy of a listen while heading to Anywhere, USA and listening to the rubber on the road or just going to the grocery store either way the record definitely has “merit” and definitely “sounds good.”

            Within our conversation you understand how over the years this album could be a journal. Nick is the son of musical parents from his Father being in and out of bands and his mother sang in the church choir, so it was inevitable music would be the way he went and as he put it about his early years “it seemed like I was figuratively somewhere in between George Jones and Jesus.” He picked away at 9 on a guitar with the help of his father, and when a chance opportunity landed him in some trouble the punishment was to join his school choir which turned out to be a blessing rather than a curse. Fast forward many years and while you cannot deny the influence and support from his parents Nick would also like to thank his wife Lindsay Baker for putting up with him for about 15 years and counting. To simplify it in his words  “Anyone who’s merely dated a musician knows it’s no picnic. I nominate her for a CEA (Cincinnati Entertainment Award) every year.” The support has been un-wavering and I have had the pleasure of knowing Nick for a few years now, and his passion for music comes across humbly and honestly. 

            Nicholas and The Pessimistics will be releasing their debut self-titled album. This is an album full of honesty and songs that come from the heart. Changes come when we least expect them and through those our resolve becomes stronger and it seems as though these fellas went through that and came out alright. There was a final question that I asked Nick that I like to ask all musicians and artists “why music?” and I’ll let him finish this off.

Nick Baker: I’ve always felt fortunate because I’ve never had to wonder what I wanted to do with my life. Some people spend years searching, trying things out, figuring out what they really want. But I put some words over a few chords decades ago and I never asked myself twice what I wanted to do. It’s not always easy. It isn’t always grand. Sometimes it’s downright sad. But it’s what’s in me. I have no idea what the future holds, but as long as I’m here I’ll be writing songs and singing them to people. So far, it’s been pretty good to me. I’m hoping that trend continues.

 

 

Friday February 5^th at The Drinkery 9pm will be their cd release they will be joined by: The B-Sides & Willow Tree Carolers