The Lesson Lounge has a fishtank. A fishtank populated by three swollen goldfish, peering out with their bulbous black, probing eyes. I’m no submarine psychologist but there is definitely something going on behind their dark marbles, when you lock gaze with them it’s as if the fish are trying to telepathically transmit, “Listen, I’ve seen some shit, man”. The Leeson Lounge’s invariably brilliant Tuesday evening jazz session has become something of haunt of mine lately and I can only imagine the regular affronts unto reason the tank dwellers have witnessed through their transparent shield, forever a part of, and yet distant from, the madness that surrounds them. They are confined in such a way that they can never share in any evening’s bacchanalia but through their constant occupancy in the belly of the beast, always involved and, if there is any credence to speculation relating to the fish’s second sight, perhaps even, on some cosmic level, responsible for.
The Lesson Lounge is a truly a “lounge” more than it is a “pub”. While so many other Dublin imbibing establishments strive to capture a kind of cutesy idea of what an Irish Pub is, the Lounge stands alone as it straddles the line between traditionalism and a refreshingly affectation free, off-kilter charm of its own. There is something unquestionably “off” about the place, in the best possible way though, like a good Fall record as opposed to a dodgy carton of milk. Just a scan over the room is a testament the smörgåsbord of oddballs that have taken the Leeson Street local on as a home away from home: from the crowd of retired roadies at the bar exchanging their Philo stories, to the auld lad with his trusty canine companion saying “same again” through the raising of a solitary digit, to the barman with a jolly roger neckerchief who appears to have been cursed to an eternity as cabin boy on a ghostly galleon, to what I can only guess are a pair of assassins muttering to one another in hushed tones in one of the booths down the back. Every shared glance or nod with a patron carries the same kind of implied mutual understanding and emotional heft as my staring match with the contents of the fishtank, all of this populating a place that looks like it tumbled out of the mind of David Lynch after a bad plate of Dublin Bay oysters. Oh and you get change from a fiver for a great Beamish and a bag of crisps as well.
The Leeson Lounge
148 Upper Leeson Street
Dublin 4
t: 01 6603816
Words: Danny Wilson
