There are special places in the world.

Some of them are closer to the equator than others. That by no makes the ones further from the equator any lesser, just typically a little bit colder.

One of these colder special places is a little bar in my hometown that goes by the name of “King Henry The VIIIth”. I first found the Henry years ago when I was looking for places to play as a solo acoustic artist. This was back before when the years still started with the numbers 19... I remember walking in and seeing this odd little newfie with mutton chops that went on forever at the back of the bar playing great big sea songs.

I don’t drink there. At least not anymore, but a quick visit to the “shows” section of this particular website will testify that I do spend a great deal of my time there playing music.

Here’s what you need to know about King Henry.

It is, without a doubt, a dive bar. It is not for the faint of heart by any stretch of the imagination. It is a bar of quiet desperation, and with the closure of the Cecil (which, historic landmark that it was, was a good and necessary thing) it is probably on the same rung of the social ladder that is shared by only the Shamrock in Calgary. The Henry boasts what I can only call a working class clientele, but the reality is that many of the Henry’s patrons are also patrons of several of the homeless shelters in Calgary as well.

It is certainly one of the older bars in the city, and it shows its wear with a quiet dignity. The food is much better than one would expect. The prices are fair.

What separates the Henry from many, if not most, of the bars in the city are the people. Both those that work there and those that drink there. If you have spent any time on what some would call “the wrong side of the tracks”, you know the many subtleties of people, how they work and how to best avoid trouble. The staff and patrons are all experts in this art. The staff knows trouble from a mile away and will tolerate a fair amount with a remarkable amount of grace. The patrons know this about the staff and typically respect the boundaries. This is not to say that there is never any trouble, there often is, but when there is trouble the staff and regulars deal with it quickly. I’ve seen many a fight at the Henry, but never one that lasted particularly long inside the bar.

The biggest thing that I love about King Henry?

Walk into most other bars and there’s almost always a palpable sense of bullshit. People talk bigger games than they play and everyone has something that they need to try and prove.

This is not the case at the Henry.

There’s no bullshit at the Henry. It is what it is and you either like it, deal with it, or get out. Same with the people there. Sometimes it gets crazy, and sometimes it doesn’t but it’s always straight up.

Which is not to say that it doesn’t get a little weird from time to time.

The last show I played there, there was enough weird to go around for the whole room.

I loved it.

Highlights?

Take your pick…

When I play, I sweat. Typically a lot. Usually I will soak through both of the shirts I wear. When we hit the acoustic set, I dry a little and this leaves white lines of salt running across my black shirts. When we played there last, I was turned around to talk to Mike and a very large, very intoxicated man darted up on stage and licked my back.

I can only assume that he had just done a shot of tequila.

God only knows what he did for the lime.

Shortly after we finished the acoustic set and started back up with the loud rock stuff a man who I had a conversation with in the bathroom (which is a whole other thing unto itself, the bathrooms at the Henry must be seen to be understood) about the quality of the band and whether they were any good (he had no idea who I was, he might have been drinking a little) started doing what I can only describe as interpretative tai chi on and off of the stage. To the best of my guessing, and based on the accounts of a few other people who saw it, he was doing his best to channel energy of some sort to me.

Which, I have to admit, was a quite generous gesture.

Literally.

There was also the three men out back doing there best to throttle each other whilst I loaded my car, but they were all very careful of not getting anywhere near me or my gear.

That’s just how things are done down at the Henry.

Also, I can say in full confidence that other than the Shamrock, the Henry is the only bar in the city that I can say that I have played at semi regularly over the course of the last ten years.

To explain the significance of that, let me make a bit of a metaphor…

I have it on good authority that one human year equals roughly seven dog years depending on the breed. This is based on a comparison of expected life spans for dogs and people. With that in mind, if one was to try and come up with an equivalent sort of comparison with bars, I would have to say that one human year is the equivalent of roughly 40 or so bar years. I base this on the fact that the lifespan of your average bar or pub is normally only about 2-3 years at the most. Then they are either remodeled or renamed, but they do indeed die.

Which makes King Henry pretty damn old.

And pretty damn awesome. I can not name another bar in the city that has stayed open for that long and actively supported live original music.

There might be one, but I sure don’t know about it.

In short?

The Henry is one of the safest unsafe places I’ve ever been, and after all these years, I still think it’s an honour to play there.

Nuff said.

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