Ah, The Bee’s Mouth. How I love that place; in a city full of quirky bars, it still manages to feel eccentric. Incongruously sandwiched between two kebab shops on Western Road, it doesn’t look much from the outside. But as soon as you walk in it’s like being inside a Hispanic acid-tripper’s cheese dream.
The first taste is with the nose, as you are overpowered by the aroma of Nag Champa incense. The smell has become ingrained in the fabric of the place. Every crack in every table, each chip in every glass is infused with the stuff.
The next thing you’ll notice, as you take a seat at one of the wooden booths or battered sofas, will probably be the revolving head sitting on a turntable in a glass case under the bar, or possibly the voodoo-style trinkets hanging from the ceiling. Or maybe it’ll be the psyche-rock-Afrobeat-dub-electronic-Led-Zep playlist, or the stoned hippie bar staff juicing wheatgrass and serving mojitos and Japanese beer.
Trust me, this place is a one-off. But why include it in a list of music venues? Well, they do have a pitch-black basement in which poorly publicised jazz jams and open mics (and even film screenings) reportedly occur. I only know this because they’re scrawled in chalk on a blackboard outside. Alas, I’ve never been to one.
10 Western Rd