There's a story about a man who runs most of the pubs in this town, and of an evil franchise who've just arrived... and of one podgy rockdog stalwart who stuck it out.
Stuck it out like an Anzac on the shores of Turkey, forever raising the middle digit, rigid and stiff...
Stuck it out in the pursuit of honest rock and roll, friendly barkeepers and a cold beer in a world of push-button plasma-screen wank videos with a dancebeat, fuelled by Bacardi breezers and underage drinkers high on faux-eccies and a sense of doing something naughty.
Despite being threatened, cajoled and flat-out outsold by the Forces of Bland, our man continued to book original bands and didn't screw the punters for their dough. That period has ended, and he's now sitting somewhere quiet with a book, enjoying this thing some people call 'daytime'.
Does life go on as usual at Karova? The quote about the new owner is that he wandered up to the bar and said "I've had a listen to that Triple J... some of it's not bad."
Be afraid... the Pseudo Echo tribute bands and Get Your Tits Out Tuesdays promotions are surely not far away...
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