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Five Grand - Clyde's Prime Rib Restaurant and Bar, Portland OR - December 29, 2017
[Portland, OR] Me and this
venue fell in love instantly (note, I never would have discovered this place if
not for the beautiful alphabet). A classy but decadent (red accents, i.e., sex)
dining room with chandeliers, bad service, and a fireplace (maybe I’m
imaginging that part). And the dining room cuddled up next to a Live
lounge/bar. By Live, I mean Live. Again, the red overtones. Bar seating,
high-table seating, and, of course, booths. I remember button-tufted booths,
but again, my impressions were running high and I am a little infatuated with
the look right now (thanks StyleMasterSister). The important thing is that the
place was pulsing. It’s not that the crowd was hot (some were). And it’s not
that they hip (some were). It’s just that everyone was there to eat good food,
drink good drink, and dance good dance. And no body looked like the body next
to them – you know how ecstatic that gets me. I’m talking big-money-politicians
rubbing elbows with last-night’s-server-who-also-has-a-job-at-UPS-but-just-in-for-dinner
rubbing elbows with bearded-hipsters rubbing elbows with guys-in-doo-rags-coming-in-through-the-back-door
rubbing elbows with an
aged-hippie-mystic-shuffle-dancing-in-her-long-felt-skirt-and-red-mary-janes.
Verklempt. I chanced upon a review of the place afterwards that said something
to the effect of ‘the thing about Clyde’s is that nobody there is on their
phone’—and that about sums it up. So, anyway, the band. They were a cover band.
That make me eh but the atmosphere was outstanding and the music was fresh to
my white ears at least. Their sound check was out of control bad – the drum
hook-up kept screaming to the point that even the bartender was like wtf. They
got it under control. And the people flocked to them like people in an airport
to outlets. They were a nerdy guy on keyboard, dapper guy on guitar, dreaded
guy in ‘woke’ (I’m so sorry I just used that term – fuck Portland) cap on
guitar, a guy in a doo rag on bass, nerdy guy on drums, and girl entirely
distinguished by her voice on lead vocals. They went from 70s funk to covering
Chic’s “Good Times” (and I thought I didn’t like Chic!), Aretha Franklin’s
“Chain of Fools,” Michael Jackson’s “Let’s Dance Let’s Shout,” to a slow
R&B song that cleared the floor (except for Crazy) to slow cool funk to
Erykah Badu’s “Next Lifetime.” The bass player got me to thinking that bass is
everything. So the dancing was kicked off by an awkward white couple, who by
the end of the night, or by the end of my time with these lovely people,
exposed themselves as extremely under the influence – no matter, they brought
the party. Although watching them made me a little woozy. Conclusions from the
day: 1) It was one of those hard sluggish days, where every activity is a draw
on every piece of energy and, even still, doesn’t seem to fruit what you hoped
it might. This was the highlight of my day. 2) People are weird. Why do we come
together to shake our bodies? Weirdos. 3) Not all black people can dance. 4) The
place smelled deliciously of man and cigarettes – although it may have been one
man in particular. Nobody particular to me. 5) Breasts are larger on the
Eastside, and not in coincidence with weight or ‘race’, 6) I was really pleased
by the large number of ladies sporting big hoop earrings, it’s a so-Cal trend
I’ve wanted revived of late.
[Portland, OR] Me and this
venue fell in love instantly (note, I never would have discovered this place if
not for the beautiful alphabet). A classy but decadent (red accents, i.e., sex)
dining room with chandeliers, bad service, and a fireplace (maybe I’m
imaginging that part). And the dining room cuddled up next to a Live
lounge/bar. By Live, I mean Live. Again, the red overtones. Bar seating,
high-table seating, and, of course, booths. I remember button-tufted booths,
but again, my impressions were running high and I am a little infatuated with
the look right now (thanks StyleMasterSister). The important thing is that the
place was pulsing. It’s not that the crowd was hot (some were). And it’s not
that they hip (some were). It’s just that everyone was there to eat good food,
drink good drink, and dance good dance. And no body looked like the body next
to them – you know how ecstatic that gets me. I’m talking big-money-politicians
rubbing elbows with last-night’s-server-who-also-has-a-job-at-UPS-but-just-in-for-dinner
rubbing elbows with bearded-hipsters rubbing elbows with guys-in-doo-rags-coming-in-through-the-back-door
rubbing elbows with an
aged-hippie-mystic-shuffle-dancing-in-her-long-felt-skirt-and-red-mary-janes.
Verklempt. I chanced upon a review of the place afterwards that said something
to the effect of ‘the thing about Clyde’s is that nobody there is on their
phone’—and that about sums it up. So, anyway, the band. They were a cover band.
That make me eh but the atmosphere was outstanding and the music was fresh to
my white ears at least. Their sound check was out of control bad – the drum
hook-up kept screaming to the point that even the bartender was like wtf. They
got it under control. And the people flocked to them like people in an airport
to outlets. They were a nerdy guy on keyboard, dapper guy on guitar, dreaded
guy in ‘woke’ (I’m so sorry I just used that term – fuck Portland) cap on
guitar, a guy in a doo rag on bass, nerdy guy on drums, and girl entirely
distinguished by her voice on lead vocals. They went from 70s funk to covering
Chic’s “Good Times” (and I thought I didn’t like Chic!), Aretha Franklin’s
“Chain of Fools,” Michael Jackson’s “Let’s Dance Let’s Shout,” to a slow
R&B song that cleared the floor (except for Crazy) to slow cool funk to
Erykah Badu’s “Next Lifetime.” The bass player got me to thinking that bass is
everything. So the dancing was kicked off by an awkward white couple, who by
the end of the night, or by the end of my time with these lovely people,
exposed themselves as extremely under the influence – no matter, they brought
the party. Although watching them made me a little woozy. Conclusions from the
day: 1) It was one of those hard sluggish days, where every activity is a draw
on every piece of energy and, even still, doesn’t seem to fruit what you hoped
it might. This was the highlight of my day. 2) People are weird. Why do we come
together to shake our bodies? Weirdos. 3) Not all black people can dance. 4) The
place smelled deliciously of man and cigarettes – although it may have been one
man in particular. Nobody particular to me. 5) Breasts are larger on the
Eastside, and not in coincidence with weight or ‘race’, 6) I was really pleased
by the large number of ladies sporting big hoop earrings, it’s a so-Cal trend
I’ve wanted revived of late. 
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