It’s a Friday night in Cork City, the uncharacteristically warm April day has given way to a chilly evening. Too chilly to be outside, I tell my friends, as I drag them towards one of my favourite pubs in Cork: Fred Zeppelin’s.

It’s hard to miss, both because of the iconic red flames that adorn the facade, and the eclectic clientele that hang out front. Fred’s is an institution, a cornerstone of the local music scene and the alternative community. It’s home to people from all walks of life: punk and metal heads, young and old, girls and guys and everyone in between.

We squeeze through the crowded bar, a room that has been here for here for decades, and in the most loving way, it looks it. The wood is dark and worn, and the bar stools have lost most of their colour, leaving behind a faint imprint of what used to be a rich green plaid. The walls are covered in photos, posters, memorabilia, a collage of the rich history of this bar. Above our heads, a trans and pride flag hang, a subtle nod to its present and future.

We settle in the smoking area out the back, a room I’m still shocked they get away with using for this purpose. Cut into the ceiling by the door is a meter wide opening, which I suppose must be used to reason that this room is “outdoors”. In the low light, my friend’s faces are illuminated by handmade candles – tall cylinders of wax shoved into the tops of old drinks bottles.

In one corner, a group of young people collect, not far into their college years. They’re dressed in patchwork outfits of sheer materials and leather and baggy denim.  Their faces are decorated with thick streaks of eyeliner that bend as they laugh. At another table sits an older group, the youngest probably in his early 40s. A collection of beards and band Ts and shared stories that seem as though they could have been sitting there since Fred’s first opened its doors.

As my friends and I chat, an old woman with a British accent asks to sit with me while she smokes her cigarette. Her knee is bad she tells me, as she leans in close to talk over the noise in the room. We chat about the gig we’re both waiting to attend, a local punk band well known in the scene. “I love Fred’s, I come here every week,” she tells me, “The kids are grown, I’ve done my job, now I get to enjoy myself.”

We take our place upstairs as the gig begins, welcomed by a wall of sound pumping through the speakers. A mosh pit quickly opens in the centre of the small venue. Bodies are thrown around with the participants just about maintaining control. It’s a common scene, a trance-like ritual of mutual chaos and care. The room smells of sweat and stale beer, and it’s too loud for me to hear much of anything my friends are saying. The band rips through their setlist, a pulsing distorted soundscape with melodies yelled into the mic. They have a classic garage punk, Ramones-esque sound. But my interest is peaked as they close out with a punk cover of Kneecap’s ‘H.O.O.D.’ Unexpected as it is, the room erupts as the singer reaches the chorus, “I’m a H.O.O.D. Low life scum, that’s what they say about me.”

As we make our way downstairs back to the bar, my ears are ringing from standing far too close to the amps. It’s a familiar feeling, I used to come to Fred’s a lot when I was younger, but somewhere between college and Covid I stopped. I wonder now why it took me so long to find my way back, Fred’s has always been a special place for me, and for Cork.

It’s a place that is welcoming to everyone but offers a particular refuge to those who might not fit in. While I’m waiting to order another pint, the British woman with the bad knee is standing a few steps away from me. I overhear her thanking the bartender by name, who replies “I’ll see you next week!” as the woman turns to leave.

This is the fabric of Fred’s. It feels almost like you’ve walked into someone’s living room, as opposed to a bar in the City Centre. There’s a familiarity here, and an unspoken acknowledgement that everyone who comes in the front door “gets it”.  It’s not all about music taste or wearing Doc Marten’s, Fred’s has solidified itself as a place with an open door for all.