Chicago
Honky Tonk Fills The Empty Bottle
by | Dec 18, 2023 1:14 pm
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Posted to: Music
Allison Hadley Photo
Hard Country Honky Tonk
The Empty Bottle
1035 N. Western Ave.
Chicago
Dec. 15, 2023
“And I’ve got swinging doors, a jukebox and a bar stool / And my new home has a flashing neon sign / Stop by and see me any time you want to / ‘Cause I’m always here at home till closing time,” crooned Trevor (McSpadden) Hoyle, doing his best Merle Haggard impression, covering “Swinging Doors” for a group of two steppers, boot scooters, and good ol’ folks this past Friday (and every Friday) at Ukrainian Village indie music stalwart venue the Empty Bottle.
It was Friday, just past five, which meant the otherwise much more punk-minded venue transitioned into a honky tonk for its weekly Hard Country Honky Tonk happy hour residency by Chicago’s own Hoyle Brothers.
The happy hour residency has spanned 20-plus years of twang, with a quintet comprised of the aforementioned Trevor on vocals and acoustic guitar, Steve (Doyle) Hoyle on lead guitar, this Friday grooving in a festive Santa hat, Brian (Wilkie) Hoyle on truly excellent pedal steel, Josh (Piet) Hoyle on bass, and Lance (Helgeson) on drums. Along with the band came dozens of spinning two-steppers, spanning generations from grizzled elders with grey beards and dusty boots to 20-something greenhorns bringing a new swagger into the saloon. With each song dancers exchanged partners, swirling counterclockwise across the venue floor under the wheatpaste posters and holiday light-decked halls.
While a punk rock club might seem an odd fit for a honky tonk residency, the commonalities run deeper than might be obvious. It starts with the Empty Bottle’s shot and beer special, colloquially called a “handshake,” which is rail whiskey with a pint of PBR. The genres’ shared outlaw sensibilities also form through lines. It feels all the more appropriate, given country music’s affinity with bootlegging, that above the Empty Bottle’s exit hangs a partially destroyed Chicago PD squad car door bedecked in seasonally appropriate Christmas lights. Was this door liberated of its vehicular obligations because of an anarchic punk riot or a Dukes of Hazzard-style car chase? Who knows? Who cares? Another round?
The Hoyle Brothers’ power comes from the band’s ability to chart the evolution of country music from late ’40s style Hank Williams to ’70s outlaws like Merle Haggard and Willie Nelson, while also showing their softer side with tender John Prine ballads like “Speed at the Sound of Loneliness” — Prine being a fellow Chicagoland musician (a singing mailman, no less), it only felt right. Other highlights include country music classic “Run Run Rudolph” (just kidding) and a cover of “Sin City” by the Flying Burrito Brothers, albeit with curious new lyrics.
The pedal steel was masterful, as was the lead guitar, providing punctuated countermelodies and ornamental grooves in dialogue with the driving chords of the acoustic. Vocals were flawless country drawl, evoking as much Haggard and Prine as the deeper timbre of George Jones in some of the slower ballads. The band, whose set was largely covers, never felt like they were donning costume. They played each tune with a tenderness that spoke of a genuine love of the music and a relationship forged over decades together, honing the sound into a common denominator as their songs trotted among eras and genres.
The Hoyle Brothers are a residency band; they have other residencies at Martyrs and the Hideout, two other long-time venues in the Windy City. With them come the dancers and the good times. They showcase a part of Chicago history in their music, representing the movement of white Southern laborers northward and the working-class sensibilities that came with them when they ventured to big cities and bigger opportunities. What does it mean to have a band that plays primarily residencies, and what does it mean to have venues around for decades? In this era of rapid turnover, it’s a beautiful thing to see.
Halfway through the set, the musicians took a break and the dancers took over, teaching a new generation of two-steppers: “It goes quick, quick, slow slow. That’s all: quick quick, slow slow.” Raising right hands for those who wanted to follow and left hands for those who wanted to lead — the organizers were quick to explain gender had nothing to do with it — new dancers paired off and began their tentative steps into a new community. We’re sure we’ll see them next week. Same time, same place, same hard country honky tonk.
