The Lowther
Location: 8 Cumberland Street
Rating: * * * *
“No, look, I’m not saying that Meg White is a good drummer, I’m just saying that in the context of the White Stripes her style works well,” says Tom, submerged in the sofa opposite me. “You could not be more wrong,” I reply. “She is a terrible drummer, she has no ’style’, and while I like the White Stripes I know that they would have been better with a drummer who can actually play.” James interrupts our argument to point out that Band on the Run has started playing on the jukebox, and discussion pauses while we listen and indulge in some light air guitar.
We have settled on a pair of sofas in the back of the bar since nine o’clock. The floodwaters were blocking the front door when we arrived, but chalk signs led us to a darkened alleyway where a bald eastern European bouncer ushered us through an almost invisible side entrance. We are on our fourth round of drinks, which have ranged from cider and John Smith’s to triple vodkas with Vimto or Irn-Bru (my personal favourite). Conversations have included a loud and offensive discussion of tastelessly themed theoretical Goodricke socials, a lengthy investigation into the possible existence of a division between ‘high art’ and ‘low art’, and a debate as to whether or not the well-dressed (if slightly unwashed) elderly gentleman sitting at a nearby table full of young women is, in fact, a pimp. We have had to fend off the attention of two disgracefully dressed underage girls who refused to leave us alone until we gave them cigarettes, and a young man claiming to be in the army who wanted to know if we had any cocaine.
Where else could we be but the Lowther? It is truly the shining jewel in York’s crown of licensed establishments. There is no better night out to be found in this city. We sit, we drink, we deliberate endlessly about jukebox choices, we send appallingly abusive text messages to the fools waiting in the Toffs queue across town, and wonder if somewhere in the world there is a bar that releases a swarm of angry bees at closing time to clear the punters out. Bees, gentlemen, bees.
James King
Hey!…I Googled for james thompson, but found your page about The Lowther…and have to say thanks. nice read.