Gonzo Report: That Beatles Cover Band rocks the Black Cat

The last Friday night of 2023 saw a fab event at Black Cat Bar, because That Beatles Cover Band provided the entertainment. Black Cat Bar is located at 4246 University Avenue. It was established in 2011. Being alert is advisable when walking around, because it can be a rough neighborhood. You know you’ve arrived when you find yourself facing both the name of the bar and a pussycat in red neon lights on the front window.

The cover was $10 for the show. I didn’t have any cash, so I had to go up to the bar to pay with my debit card. The doorman made it seem like it would be an easy task: “Just go up to the bar and tell the bartender you need to pay the cover with your card.” But the swath of attendees gathered at the bar made it more daunting. The max capacity is 100, and it felt like all 100 of them were standing at the bar. “Excuse me” didn’t seem to have an effect. I had to push my way through to get to the bartender. As my pleas to be excused had gone ignored, I returned the favor and ignored the “How dare you” looks I received.

I stood at the bar for ten minutes before getting any attention from the bartenders. I ordered a tall Tito’s & soda with a lime on the rocks and paid my toll. Black Cat houses two pool tables in the middle, a jukebox near the entrance, a chandelier over the pool tables and a mini mezzanine area. A past write up from a colleague mentioned that the place is loosely modeled on the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland. That explained the chandelier and the old paintings the wall. I missed the movable floor and ceiling, but maybe that would come later.

A pleasant surprise: my friend Richard Guardian showed up. (He was just as surprised by our meeting as I was.) He was there with other members of the San Diego Liverpool Football Club Supporters Group. Oh, right: the Beatles hailed from Liverpool. Richard introduced me to a gentleman named Tracy. He let me know that the drummer was related to someone in the club, and then introduced me to one of the founding members: band leader Erik Berg. As I was marveling at all the guitars and instruments on stage, I asked him who assumed which role. He told me they don’t do it like that; they take turns doing the John/Paul/George/Ringo thing, and don’t put on mop tops or dress in Sgt. Pepper uniforms.

“I hope the Fire Marshall doesn’t show up,” said Richard as the room filled up — and kept on filling up. The place was packed, standing room only. I offered to buy Rich a drink on my tab if he did the ordering. Then I saw him waving at me with two hands from the bar. “They don’t have your card.”

That was alarming. I made my way to the bar “Please put his drink on my tab.”

“Nope, we don’t have your card.”

He said this without looking at the row of cards they were holding to see if one of them was mine. I could see my card. I pointed it out. He looked at the row of cards. “I don’t see it.”

Now I was thinking he was fucking with me. I pointed at my card again. “The one with the lion on it.” He looked at it. “You told me a different name.”

He was referencing my first name, because I had given him my proper last name. I’ve never had that problem before. Still, I was glad they had my card.

Ten o’ clock: the band kicked in with “Back in the U.S.S.R.,” followed by “Birthday.” The Beatles were the Fab Four. That Beatles Cover Band is the Superb Seven. They took an eclectic approach to the set list. “Hey Bulldog,” “Lady Madonna,” “I Am the Walrus,” and “Tomorrow Never Knows.” They did not play anything pre–Rubber Soul. No “I Want to Hold Your Hand” or “Love Me Do.”

Richard approacheed to take my picture. “I’m showing Milo proof of life.” Milo Rose was a mutual friend. Richard followed up with, “He’s on the way.” He arrived close to the end of the show. (I wasn’t expecting him to show up, either.) The show ended promptly at midnight. I saw a lady wearing a purple velour hat, a sparkling blazer, and pants. I approached her: “You look like the coolest person here, or at least you dress the coolest.”

Her name was Julie. “I saw them at Youtopia and saw they were playing here tonight,” she said.

Richard and I agreed that the show was great, but also that the bartenders were a little rude. He pointed out that a 16 oz. can of Modelo was six dollars. But after I got home, I put myself in the bartender’s shoes. I don’t know how I’d be able to be that busy and keep a smile on my face either. I was grateful for a good show, good friends, and the chance to mix business with pleasure.