For those not content to give their money to the carbon-copy-corporate-coffee shop (I call them “quadruple c shops”) there is a small coffee shop just down Memorial next to O’Charley’s, that is like a little slice of New York.
Enter The Grind, a bohemian coffee bar that far surpasses the limits of its strip mall setting. The coffee is superb and the hours are perfect for a late-night writers’ haunt, but something seems to be missing from this mysterious place. Sometimes I venture into the lobby and the only people who will so much as give me the time of day are those behind the counter. The art is beautiful and well chosen, but there isn’t enough variety. An environment that should be brimming with new creative energy is just a repeat of all the chain, boho coffee dives. The ownership, however, is great, and the idea that gave birth to The
Grind is spectacular. Sometimes I think we get so absorbed into the comfort of those close to us, that we forget places like this are about the progression of ideas as well. In short, The Grind is stuck in a rut.
In a late night daze, we at The Pulse decided to breath life into this potentially great coffee shop.
That’s right, we’re taking over. We’ll give the owners, Tony and Kathy DeFeo, a couple of hours off to enjoy themselves, whether they’re ready or not.
The plan originally called for eye patches and plastic swords, Bracken and his Merry Men, a last-minute assortment of musicians, and Fozzy the Jazz Pirate. The idea was to tie up Tony and hold the customers hostage. However, a late start and our pacifist nature resulted in more of a peaceful take over.
We gained control of the joint with very little effort on a pleasant Tuesday evening and proceeded with a takeover makeover.
Tables were moved to make way for a band in the corner. Bracken Mayo and Laela Jean Ross were on the coffee bar after a short tutorial from Tony himself. A couple of regulars hung out in a corner to watch the show. Not longer after this grande fiesta had started, a school of Davis, kind of jazz band came onto the stage to heat things up. Seeing that the trio had no drummer and I had a drum set, I offered to pick up the sticks and join in. before anyone knew it, BAM!
Jazz! Hot, heavy and sweet, filling the tiny place with some much-needed energy. While I fought to keep the beat, tried to look cool, and give the bar staff weird looks at the same time, the rest of the band improvised and traded silky smooth solos with each other.
Much to our surprise, tons of our Pulse friends turned out to support us and see was happening.
“Yeah,” says friend and occasional writer Chig Reagan, “We heard there were going to be pirates and psychedelics so we had to come check it out.”
It’s amazing what will happen if you whisper in enough peoples’ ears. No trip, just coffee and acid . . . jazz.
Speaking of which. An hour had passed by and I continued to badly but bearably provide the rhythm section of the sultry jazz group, which was by now taking requests from the the many patrons that filled the store.
Instead of people ignoring the music entranced in their own lives, they applauded the musicians as they played noodley solos through murky ’40’s bop. The group’s trumpeter threw his Miles-influenced sound against the upbeat upright’s rhythm delicacies, and the guitarist moved and grooved throughout the pieces.
Even I took a solo at one point on trumpet. On one song I got the opportunity to do a duet with the other trumpeter, but I was beginning to feel the other person inside of me come out. I was . . . frankly, drunk.
The first jazz band subsided and went back to their late night coffee soon after. The night was winding down for most, just starting for me, because The Pulse told me to provide musical entertainment. Luckily I had brought my instrument arsenal along for tonight’s controlled experiment. The offer went out after I pulled out a variety of impossible-to-resist quality guitars and such.
“So, does anyone feel like playing?”
Bracken Mayo, editor in chief of The Pulse and bassist for A Band Named June, offered to join me on my bass, Neil “The Fototaker” Finkenbinder, jumped on saxophone and Andy Metz from Penguin strapped on the “svelte” guitar. We went on as “Fozzy The Jazz Pirate” and started playing some jams. Highlights included “Living In A Car,” my epic tale of avoiding DUIs, “I’m Poor” and “The Ham Jam.” We just played together off the top of our heads for half and hour, 45 minutes. This experience, this spontaneous creativity, really says what The Grind is capable of housing. The problem is no one invests their creativity into it.
In talking with Tony after we wrapped up he asked me what I would change. I didn’t have an answer then, but I’ve had more time to think. First, I think you should have cheesecake on the menu. I don’t want to change the Grind, what it needs is new ideas. Here you have this owner who says “If you have art, bring it in and put on the wall. You need a place that’s open late to play, come here and play. If you have an idea, I’m willing to listen and help make it happen.”
He offers this bohemian paradise to any who are willing to invest their talent and creativity, but sadly, few have taken him up on the offer.
Murfreesboro’s well of creativity runs so deep. Some people fight like rats for exhibition space or a sweet venue to be taken seriously in. Here is your theater.
Get involved. Tired of sitting around with your friends watching “CSI” yet again? Stop complaining that there’s nothing to do in the ’Boro. Above all, if you’re trying to make a name for yourself and your craft, The Grind is a great place to start. It really is a cool little dive with a whole lot of potential.
Those of you who have been around long enough to remember Judo Moody’s and The Red Rose Cafe in the height of her glory days know just how badly Murfreesboro needs a place to get a great late-night cup of coffee.
The possibilities are endless.
