Back to index of Nerve 24 - Summer 2014

Coopers, Cases Street

Illustration and article by Tom Bottle

Every day shoppers coming out of Clayton Square are startled, check their step, and look in horror at the wall of sound and hoo-ha coming from Coopers pub, the tiny Victorian boozer infamous for all day long karaoke with great characters, many with no teeth, blasting out heartfelt songs. Whether they can sing or are murdering the song is lost in the anything goes riotous laughter and mayhem inside, where terrible is good, and good fantastic. 'Little Coopers', the only space where people are free and trusted to make their own fun, their own way, in a nutty world of broken dreams, where everybody makes the most of it, anyway.

"IT'S A ZOO!" shouts a mate amid the noise. It is, and he is one of the exhibits. We all are. Everyone is part of the spectacle. A small mob dance on the beer mat rumoured to be the floor. Spectators reacting to this carry-on and the crazed antics of singers in delirium or torment, themselves become the observed. A raucous atmosphere, hilarious and joyous.

The place is packed with people who live for today and like a drink. They've been round the block and look like they have. If they've had money they've spent it. They all have families but here they have each other. They sing. They dance. They are ALIVE! No opera can compete. Baz Lurhmann's swirling manic cameras would struggle to take it all in. Only Joyce in Ulysses could get near. It's magic. Anarchy and goodwill, rare as gold.

Curiously the bar staff never smile. They are all great, serve you in no time, no matter how chocker it gets, yet never smile. Is it the barmaid's tragedy to be one step removed into the ultimate reality of the detached observer? There but not there. To be in, but not part of the world.

At its height Coopers is in permanent revelry as singer after singer take what's left of the floor in front of Steve, (Cooper Man!) the MC/compere who, in colourful language, turns commentator/analyst of the barely believeable goings-on all around. "Ladies & Gentlemen! You thought you'd seen it all but here he is tonight LIVE, Huyton's answer to Elvis….BOBBY!" Then he squeezes outside for a smoke while keeping an eye on what's going on through the small square glass paned windows.

SOMEONE LOVES YOU HONEY. TAKE THESE CHAINS FROM MY HEART. Their dream is your dream. Their pain your pain. There are no distinctions any more. YOU ARE ME AND ME IS YOU AND WE ARE ALL TOGETHER.

Coopers has its regulars but being a town pub has constant new faces who immediately join in a unique bon ami I've only ever seen in war time films starring Stanley Holloway, a young Thora Hird and giant pots of tea. There might not be a war on in the old fashioned sense of someone trying to invade us but everyone needs sanctuary from what passes for real life these days. So, here they come and sing, sing, sing.

MAN IS A SOCIAL ANIMAL. There is no space but everyone makes space but there is never a crush. It's the wisdom of crowds. Collectively we are better, we do the right thing. YOU ARE THE WIND BENEATH MY WINGS. All we need are the conditions to flourish, and we will. REET PETITE! Little Coopers is full of the good hearted. Once outside it won't last. We lose heart in ourselves and in each other.

We can do it. We're doing it now. Whose heart isn't breaking for this little fella….I'M POPEYE THE SAILOR MAN, I'M POPEYE THE SAILOR MAN, I'M STRONG TO THE FINISH BECAUSE I EATS ME SPINACH, I'M POPEYE THE SAILOR MAN. We are better than what we think we are. We just need more places to show it.

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