Live at the Albert
Inside Winnipeg's most (in) famous music venue
ANDREW LODGE STAFF
The lead singer is yelling something into the microphone. It’s hard to make out what he’s saying because the decibel level is so high that diff erentiating between sounds has become diffi cult. Someone has just thrown a beer bottle onto the stage, which somehow missed all four members of the band. I think the song is over but that’s not entirely clear. Th e pit in front of the stage has stopped its chaotic gyrations for the moment, which I’m pretty sure indicates a break between songs. One fellow in the front of the mob up against the stage is yelling something along the lines of “you guys suck!” while spraying beer on the lead singer, who doesn’t seemed perturbed in the slightest. In fact, he appears to be enjoying it.
Another night at the Royal Albert Arms Hotel, otherwise known as the Albert. Several nights a week its black and dimly lit walls are fi lled with a beer-swilling crowd, while on stage talent wails into the amplifi ers. Th e Albert’s music scene attracts an eclectic mix: old winos rub shoulders with rockabilly dolls. Th ere’s even the odd suit-and-tie job slumming for the night. No one is out of place at the Albert.
Th e Royal Albert Arms was built in 1913 on the tail end of Winnipeg’s boom as the Chicago of the North. Back in the day, the Royal Albert was a posh resting place for those rich enough to aff ord travel and hotel stays, a fancy hotel in a fancy downtown of a young city.
Today the Albert remains a place of lodging. Shortterm travellers looking for a place to lay their heads have been mostly replaced by longer-staying tenants, who are attracted by the aff ordable cost.
But what really makes the Albert famous for Winnipeggers in recent decades is its metamorphosis into a music venue for original acts. Many a Winnipeg band has had its fi rst gig here. Matt Henderson, longtime member of several Winnipeg bands and currently playing guitar for JFK & the Conspirators explains the fundamental importance of the place: “the Albert is
“I saw a dude eat a draft glass and we found panties in our tuba player’s tuba” — Matt Henderson.
where every band gets their start,” he says. With multiple bands playing three or more nights a week, many a kid has earned his or her stripes up on this stage.
Don’t think, though, that the stage is only graced by novice musicians. Epic bands like S.N.F.U. and Day Glo Abortions have wrecked the place for years. A very young Green Day once let loose inside these walls.
For many people in Winnipeg and elsewhere, the Albert holds a great deal of nostalgia. Memorable may be too soft an adjective to describe some of the events that have gone down here over the years. Henderson recounts a show they played New Year’s Eve, 2002. “Th e RWPO [one of several bands Henderson has been a part of] and the Farrell Brothers were playing. I saw a dude eat a draft glass and we found panties in our tuba player’s tuba. At the end of the night, Wayne [Townes — the owner of the establishment] was overheard while sweeping up the mountains of shattered glasses and bottles: ‘A lot of broken glass. Great show, though. But a lot of broken glass.’”
The Albert always has a bit of everything. Quentin Townes, Wayne’s nephew, has helped run the Albert since 1990. Not surprisingly, he has enough stories to fi ll several volumes. “Craziest thing I’ve ever seen at the Albert? Where d’you want me to start?” Running a hotel and bar in downtown Winnipeg has meant that Townes has cut suicide victims down from the ceiling. In one of the rooms upstairs, he once found a young woman dead and blue for hours from a heroin overdose while the party raged around her, oblivious to the tragedy. Being in the heart of downtown means it can be a rough place, as Townes knows all too well. “I’ve got a million scars from a million scraps. I’m a bartender, you know?”
It’s not all scary stories though. Th e Albert just has a thick skin is all. Inside it’s by-and-large a friendly place where lots of people feel comfortable taking in some homegrown talent. And the bar almost oozes legend. Its walls have their stories written on them, literally in some cases. Th e high stage is off to one side, fronted by a tiled dance fl oor that invariably becomes as slick as a skating rink once it’s lubricated with spilled drinks. Th e ceiling above the fl oor has a stained glass fi nish, a testament to a bygone era. Th e juxtaposition between then and now only adds to the Albert’s charm.
Quentin, like his uncle Wayne, has come to personify the Albert. Long hair tied back into a ponytail and a build like a brick shithouse, people don’t usually bother to mess with him. But then, there’s very little reason to do so. Th e Albert is nothing if it’s not tolerant and its owners are the same way. As I stand talking to Quentin one night, some kid lunges past the bar and careens head fi rst into a table fi lled with 20-odd beer bottles. Everything goes fl ying and no bottles survive. No one seems cut or hurt though. Behind the bar, seven feet away, Quentin opens another beer. Th ere is no indication that he even noticed.
In the local music scene, the Albert is one of those places that acts as more than just a venue where bands can play. It is part of the scene itself and the Townes’ family takes pride in that fact. “I’m there so much,” says Quentin. “I feel like I’m part of it, you know? It’s what I do. I set up. I take it down. I go home and I come back the next day and do it again.”
Even for those under 18, that ever-important segment of the music scene here in Winnipeg, the Albert has hosted many Sunday alcohol-free all-ages shows. “Th ere’s people I run into on the street who stop me and tell me they grew up [listening to bands] at the Albert,” Quentin says. “Loads of people are always coming up to me telling me how they played their fi rst show there. Or how they saw their fi rst band there.”
For Henderson — who since 2002 has run a local record label, Bacteria Buff et Records — the Albert is more than just an old bar or a place to jam. “Playing the Albert is like playing in your grandparent’s living room,” he says. “It smells funny, people will like you even if you suck, and there’s a lot of history. Th ere is a sense of family at the Albert and the patrons are extremely knowledgeable about music. It’s a club house, so-to-speak.” Quentin agrees: “People know the Albert. I run into husbands who say they’ve met their wives there. Wives who met their husbands there.”
Like any cultural institution, tight descriptions of the Albert’s importance to the city’s music scene are elusive. Its family-run feel, its kaleidoscopic clientele, not to mention the vast array of bands that pop up there, all these factors seem to come together to make it what it is. Back in the bar, a new band has taken the stage and started up. Some guy stumbles past me up to the bar. “Two more drinks,” he croaks. Quentin’s already got them open and he slams them down on the bar. “Th at’ll be $5.80,” he yells.
