Clermont Lounge Honored by Esquire magazine

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Grungy Atlanta institution gets to brag
'It's beautifully sleazy'

By BO EMERSON
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Published on: 05/12/2007

Thursday was a typical subdued midweek night at the Clermont Lounge.

Goth-stripper Jessica Rabbid didn't seem inclined to light any part of her anatomy on fire, and the redoubtable Blondie wasn't on hand to crush beer cans with her bosom. Yet there was a satisfied buzz in the downmarket Ponce de Leon nightspot, where patrons discussed the Clermont's confirmation as one of the best bars in America.

Honored by Esquire magazine in its latest issue, the grungy, windowless basement tavern might seem a perverse nominee for the list, considering that no other bar in Georgia made the cut.

But not if you ask the clientele.

"It's not just a bar, it's an institution," said an earringed, 30-something patron named Bill, who declined to divulge a surname. "I think it should be on the National Register of Historic Places."

Certainly some of the Clermont's dancers are historic, including Blondie, who, in a three-decade career, has branched into spoken-word poetry.

"It's the oldest strip club in Atlanta," said co-owner Kathi Martin, who started as dancer there 28 years ago, became a manager, and then inherited the club when owner Stanley McDonald died. "He wanted to keep it the same," she said, showing off a framed copy of a previous honor: the 2004 Stuff magazine that voted the Clermont among the "Top 40 Dive Bars."

The club, unlike its denizens, has certainly remained untouched by the hand of time, down to the smoke-laquered light fixtures and the flocked velvet wallpaper. Wedged beneath the equally shabby Clermont Motor Hotel, the lounge opened in 1965 as a blue-collar retreat, with no cover charge and cheap beer. It has remained stubbornly unglamorous since.

As the surrounding neighborhood drifted toward hipness, a younger audience adopted the spot. Soon, punk and metal musicians were stopping in for Pabst Blue Ribbons after performing at the nearby Masquerade.

In the 1990s, local bands began staging showcases at the club. These days, Tuesday night karaoke and dance music from DJ Romeo Cologne on Saturdays draw a heterogeneous crowd of men and women more interested in participating than just ogling.

"It's beautifully sleazy," said classical piano instructor Owen Talley, 32, relaxing in a plastic lawn chair outside the metal entrance door. "This is Atlanta."

And among the 56 bars on Esquire's list? "This should be No. 1" said rock journalist Jeff Clark, who stopped in for canned beer and conversation.

Outside, Talley tried to warn off a well-dressed tourist from Manhattan, but she insisted: "I'm not an elitist. I can drink PBR."

"Hey, you don't have to drink PBR," said Talley's bandmate, Fletcher Williams. "They've got Budweiser."

A quartet of Britons, in town to do some work for the Turner empire, arrived by taxi from their rooms at the Four Seasons.

One of their group, a smooth-domed fellow in a Carnaby Street party shirt, claimed that the Clermont's reputation has spread to London.

"It's legend'ry," he said.




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