Por Dustin Lothspeich

If you were to wander through Bankers Hill down Fifth Avenue and stop into the Tin Can Alehouse on any given Monday night, you’d be walking smack into the middle of one of this town’s best-kept secrets. Affectionately known as the Tin Can Country Club, a close-knit group of local musicians and songwriters band together in weekly communion — a veritable baptism performed by way of country, folk, bluegrass and Americana music.

Greg Theilmann — frequent performer and multi-instrumentalist in local indie pop band Hills Like Elephants, among others — summed up the allure of the increasingly popular destination for Monday night live music: “There is, simply put, nothing else like it in San Diego.”

He may be right. To truly understand its Country Club, we need to take a look at the Tin Can itself. Over the past few years, the place has established its role in the city’s music scene with its nightly lineups mixed of local bands and out-of-town acts; musicians that either love the intimacy of smaller rooms, haven’t made the leap to larger stages just yet, or simply enjoy drinking craft beer out of cans in a fun, inviting setting — perhaps all three. Whatever the reason, performers and audience members alike check their egos at the door. The place honestly just ain’t big enough.

When Patrick Conway and Justin Rodriguez bought the Tin Can in late 2011, they wanted to do something special on Monday nights. Before that point, they were both part of a small group of San Diego musicians who made up the original “Country Club,” a motley crew of friends playing in each other’s back yards and front porches. Two years ago, the owners decided to bring the party to the stage, along with a $2 whiskey shot special.

“We came up with the format … and just rolled the dice,” Conway recalled. “Back then, it didn’t seem like there were too many of us interested in classic country and folk music. I remember River City, Golden Red, Silverbird, The Western Set, John Meeks, The Silent Comedy, Blackout Party and a handful of others playing music rooted in that style, so those were the people we reached out to first … it really gained popularity through word-of-mouth, with minimal promotion on our end, and organically became what it is today.”

With more than 25 regulars now, the club may have grown in membership, but the ideology remains the same: Artists rotate on and off the stage, share one microphone, one acoustic guitar and play their hearts out. To close out each night, players form a song circle onstage for a celebratory group sendoff. However, to troubadours hoping to just walk in one night and take the stage by storm: Expect to pay your dues.

“The [Tin Can Country Club] is not an open mic,” Conway explained. “It’s genre-specific — we’re not about elitism, just preserving the integrity of what we’re doing.  Most nights, performance priority goes to the Country Club members who have been coming regularly for the longest. We put new performers onstage during the Showcase night, which is the last Monday of every month. If someone is interested in what we’re doing, the best thing to do is just show up a few times and check it out, but don’t expect to get onstage your first night.”

When it comes to first-timers, Theilmann implores them to keep it real: “The kind of modern music that people refer to as ‘country’ and ‘folk’ are not really played there. You know, pop country — Mumford and Bums — that music is played to appeal to the widest audience possible. People can play whatever they want … but if you sing about drinking hazelnut lattes and feeling sad that the barista hasn’t accepted your Facebook friend request, you will most likely not get back onstage.”

Lovelorn millenials aside, the performers involved week in and week out nab a nifty reward for continually contributing in the form of a freshly pressed slab of wax. To ring in the yearly anniversary of the club’s existence, Conway books time on the Tin Can dime at Citizen Studios in La Mesa and with the help of engineer/producer Daniel Crawford (guitarist in local alt-country band Blackout Party, and also a club regular), records a collection of songs performed by various Country Club members. Last year, the album sold out. This year, they’re currently on sale at the venue (and come with a digital download card to boot).

For Theilmann, the annual vinyl release is the one of the more obvious reasons why the club stands out: “[The record] is actually the clearest indication that this is so much more than an open mic. That was my first time pressed on vinyl, and for me that’s a lifelong dream.”

Still, it would be nothing without those weekly performances. Every Monday night, something magical happens over on Fifth Avenue and Fir Street — hell, even the regulars get blown away.

“A few weeks back at our two-year anniversary bash, I was working behind the bar and we had a very loud and crazy crowd,” Jimmy Ruelas, another regular Tin Can Country Club player, recalled. “A lot of performers weren’t being heard and the common reaction by an artist on a night like that is to play louder. Well, Patrick Conway hits the stage and starts softly strumming the guitar. I mean real soft. And I’m thinking, ‘No one’s going to hear him at all.’ I duck my head back in and get back to slinging drinks. A moment later, I look up and realize the crowd had gone dead silent. I mean, you could hear a pin drop … and it remained quiet the entire set. That was one hell of a moment.”

It seems like those moments happen more often than not. After all, there’s simply nothing else like it in San Diego.

—Dustin Lothspeich es escritor de música en San Diego. Contáctelo en [email protected].