A Cold Shot At Brittmoore Ice House

Keep Houston Press Free
I Support
  • Local
  • Community
  • Journalism
  • logo

Support the independent voice of Houston and help keep the future of Houston Press free.

It's not always about the music out there in Lonesome, Onry and Mean's world.

For instance, two nights ago we drove to west Houston near the I-10/Beltway 8 intersection to hear local bluesman John McVey & the Stumble play at a cool little venue called the Brittmoore Ice House. This fine establishment is located on Brittmoore, an industrial street populated by warehouses, diesel rigs, and the usual Houston mishmash of industrial concerns: Electrical contractors, mechanics, plumbers.

As several patrons kindly pointed out, the ice house draws from the businesses along Brittmoore and from the surrounding working-class community. LOM would describe patrons as the ballcap crowd, and we aren't talking about UT or A&M frat boys who dig Pat Green and Cory Morrow.

After listening to McVey's amped-up boogie for half an hour, we noticed one ballcapper make his way to a woman who was sitting alone a few chairs over from us. Soon they were the only couple dancing, and it went from dancing to dirty dancing pretty quickly. But it was all going fine until Mr. Suave decided he'd rub his partner's butt real good as she passed in one of her diva-dervish loops.

Well, she wasn't putting up with that, and after a brief chewing of Mr. Suave's ass, she sat down. Not to give up easily, Suave tried to sweet talk her back to the floor but was sternly rebuffed. He retreated to the back of the bar where several lively pool games were occupying most of the men in the room. And after a few more songs, the band took a break.

When the band fired back up, Suave sallied forth to give it the old bygones-be-bygones college try again. He approached in a wide arc of stealth and surveillance until he wormed his way to her side and whispered something in her ear. She shook her head sternly.

And it was at this point where the magic reporters live for happened. Suave backed up one step, threw his arms out in a theatrical pleading pose, and enunciated, for the entire bar to hear, the greatest pickup line since Phil Alvin talked to that woman with one red rose on her black dress:

"What do you want? You want a diamond? You want a motorcycle? You want a horse?"

He pronounced it hawrse. Yeah, we know; you can't make this stuff up.

Follow Rocks Off on Facebook and on Twitter at @HPRocksOff.

Keep the Houston Press Free... Since we started the Houston Press, it has been defined as the free, independent voice of Houston, and we would like to keep it that way. Offering our readers free access to incisive coverage of local news, food and culture. Producing stories on everything from political scandals to the hottest new bands, with gutsy reporting, stylish writing, and staffers who've won everything from the Society of Professional Journalists' Sigma Delta Chi feature-writing award to the Casey Medal for Meritorious Journalism. But with local journalism's existence under siege and advertising revenue setbacks having a larger impact, it is important now more than ever for us to rally support behind funding our local journalism. You can help by participating in our "I Support" membership program, allowing us to keep covering Houston with no paywalls.

We use cookies to collect and analyze information on site performance and usage, and to enhance and customize content and advertisements. By clicking 'X' or continuing to use the site, you agree to allow cookies to be placed. To find out more, visit our cookies policy and our privacy policy.


Join the Press community and help support independent local journalism in Houston.


Join the Press community and help support independent local journalism in Houston.