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Thank God, It's . . . Monday?
Blues Jam At Chick Hall's Surf Club
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"You know we're trying to save this place," says a hovering man with a chicken wing and a blue short-sleeved shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest.
Then, leaning in closer: "It's the last of the freakin' honky-tonks."
So it is.
Chick Hall's Surf Club, established 1955.
And tonight this Bladensburg honky-tonk has got the blues, which seems fitting for a Sunday, when the weekend's crackling endorphins start to vanish and the stretch ahead looks awfully long.
Let's sit, then, beneath the glow of a neon Budweiser sign and watch the tattooed ladies in the back play pool between cigarettes. And nod along as the voice from the front rumbles:
"Woke up this mornin',
"And I couldn't hardly keep from cryin',
"I used to love yaaaaaaaaaa, but I don't believe you're no good at all."
Chick Hall's gets the blues every Sunday, when local musicians show up to jam. But the melancholy blowing through this gritty, windowless joint isn't coming from just the slow guitar licks and brokenhearted lyrics.
Chicken Wing Man is right. Chick Hall's, with its paneled walls and NASCAR racing flags, is on the auction block.
And saving it won't come easy. The chance to sit a spell in one of the last freakin' honky-tonks -- the last in this area, anyway -- might be gone by winter.
