HARD to FAKE By Paul Franklin | Photos by Will Holland
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hen I first moved to Nashville, I was living on a couch in my friend’s apartment near Centennial Park. We were both new to town, and we spent a lot of time going out to bars at night. Luckily for us, we were within walking distance of a cheap dive called Springwater. We had no idea that it was known as one of the best dive bars in the country. If you don’t know what to expect, it can slap you in the face, but in a way it’s kind of perfect. It’s smoky, it’s dirty, and the beer is cold. With so many bars pretending to be crappier than they are, I find a Simpsons quote fitting: “this isn’t a faux-dive, this is a dive.” Springwater Supper Club and Lounge is not for the weak of heart, those sensitive to smell, or germaphobes. That is not to say Springwater is anything less than a great bar. It isn’t for everyone, but it is a place that’s open to all types. Plain and simple, it’s an everyman’s bar. It is beer-only, but it isn’t fancy. Don’t go to Springwater looking for the newest and coolest microbrew, but they do have Pabst, High Life, Yazoo and Fat Tire, among others. At the end of it all Springwater is “pure Nashville,” as Craig Smith, the de facto Springwater historian, tells me over a couple of beers. Over a handshake, a man named Terry Cantrell started Springwater 35 years ago, in a building that had previously been a bar called Norma’s. Before that, it had been a speakeasy during Prohibition. The Godfather, as Cantrell is more commonly called, is an elusive figure who looms about the bar in the early afternoon. Angel Parker, a bartender and man-
ager for Springwater, tells me Cantrell doesn’t want to be the face of the bar. And that’s understandable. Springwater is what it is because of the people who frequent the bar and call it their living room. Its full name, Springwater Supper Club and Lounge came about somewhat organically. A bartender used to answer the phone by saying “Springwater” and would then tack on any subtitle that came to mind. “Supper Club and Lounge” was the one that stuck. Craig and I spend a few hours drinking and telling stories inside Springwater while the weather outside grows from hot to cruel. During a quick break from opening beers or talking with the day crowd, Angel tells me the reason she started coming to Springwater was because “it just looked like people were always having a good time.” The collection of characters, which constitutes Springwater’s “regulars,” is more a group of great friends than just customers. They are a pack of strays and that’s the way they like it. In the afternoon you will typically find a range as diverse as a tree-worker, a mechanic, a plumber, a “director of risk management,” and a Filipino ombudsman (like a diplomat). As Craig puts it, “I mean, the back patio looks like the smoking area of mental institution. Springwater is hard to fake.” It is a sense of irony and a sense of humor at the same time. It is a sort of equation: take any normal activity, filter it through Springwater, and the end result will be a definitively bastardized version that encapsulates the bar’s odd nature. An easy example is how Springwater’s comedy night, “Dive Laughing,” started. It began in 2006, when Craig decided
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