Hopetoun Hotel
Editorial
If the dirty raw bricks of the Hopetoun Hotel could talk, they would probably choose to sing instead. This pub has been a staunch supporter and presenter of live music for several decades, and anybody who's anybody has been on stage here. These days, bombarded by noise complaints from neighbours who must have been young at some point in their lives, the dear old Hopetoun sadly seems to be hanging on by its fingernails. Although commendably still promoting live music seven nights a week, it seems to be quite a far cry from the major destination that it once was.
20 years ago, the carpet in this place was the only thing in the world that gaffer tape wouldn't stick to, but even the swampiest carpet would be more pleasant than the current odd smell coming up from the floorboards. Phew. Thankfully the pokies have long vanished, but the pinball machine and pool table still remain. Musicians continue to huddle in the darker corners, prattling on about amp heads and weird tunings, while bumming Rollies off each other. Some things are timeless.
The courtyard at the rear continues to provide an escape hatch for a very small crowd. If you're lucky you'll get a seat on one of four park benches, and don't expect it to be there if you run to the bar and back. Local beers on tap are still served by some guy who's in some band, but disappointingly still poured into plastic schooners. Are some of the bands so bad that they have to be pelted? Can indie music fans not be trusted with glass? Who is that guy behind the bar anyway? Yeah, it's not the place it once was, but still an essential Sydney pub.
Blake Williamson, December 2008
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