Fran’s East Side

Birthday day party next Saturday 29 at 4pm till close free food an karaōke at 8pm till 2:45am so come have fun

This place is one of those bars that me and my friends go to to avoid the onslaught of douchebag-​ism. I was reminded of this, saturday. Loads of douches came in to Edgefield with golf attire and were doing a bar hop called the «golf pub crawl». They then probably went to 3 Crow, and by the time I was in Red Door they had descended on there as well. So Frans it was. No douche nozzle would ever set foot in here! This is a wonderful place. The beer is good, cold, and cheap. And its cash only. Keeping it simple. Its a good place to run into people you know, and have a good time with friends.

Fran’s is amazing. It’s the kind of place that’s just not around as much anymore and, on one hand, that’s a shame. On another, that just makes it all the more special.
The folks treat you like family. There is no judgment here. None. At. All. Though you do get the vibe someone would stick up for you if someone starting doing wrong and that is pretty nice.
Beer is cheap and cold but bring cash. You can karaōke your heart out all night long. Oh yeah, and people smoke inside so you’ll leave with that real, old-​timey dive bar smell that follows you around for days if you don’t shower properly. Also, be sure to go in the side door lest you walk right on stage if you go through the front!
It’s probably not everyone’s pint of beer but, for many, it’s a nice place to unwind and feel good about life. I mean, they have a tapestry of a giant cat. Who doesn’t love that? What kind of person do you have be? It’s a cat?!

Fran’s is a fucking madhouse. It was fun to visit, but I’m not certain it’s the kind of place I’d choose to be a regular in. I smoked pretty heavily for years, I’m generally not bothered by secondhand smoke, I don’t cough dramatically like a dick when around smokers, but this shit would drive Alex Higgins and Yul Brynner out the door — I think I had nicotine cravings the next day.
It’s an old adage in Nashville that you should never do karaōke in this town — the theory being that you’ll invariably be blown off the stage by some aspiring country diva, but the people responsible for perpetuating this idea have obviously never been to Fran’s. Bön Jovi, Guns n Roses etc. a constant off-​key onslaught, then a slew of country songs I didn’t recognise, and more that were rendered unrecognisable. As the night wore on and grew increasingly disturbing, a 45 year old man in sweatpants took to the stage for a frighteningly well rehearsed rendition of ‘Shawty Get Low’ by Flo Rida — at one point an extremely old looking dog wandered up to the stage, looked up at the performance, and shuffled off towards the door. A spectacularly drunk man who was missing teeth proudly hitched up his shirt to reveal a large beer gut, every inch of which was covered in prison tattoos — he then sent his sister over to ask my friend out on a date — moments later, he was escorted by friends and family out the door as he screamed obscenities and knocked over chairs — ‘he just got out today’ they apologised. A boy who looked like Alexis Arquette’s character from Last Exit to Brooklyn sang ‘Son of a Preacher Man’ (about an octave higher than Dusty Springfield).
Later, a group of hip people arrived, aggressively occupying tables and chairs where locals had been sitting and proceeded to dance and shout and annoy the entire bar, I left shortly afterwards, reeking of Marlboro reds.

Morbid curiosity drove us here one night. What we saw transpire inside drove us back out.
Crusty dive bars definitely have a place in my heart. And usually a strong presence in my lungs, too. I expected smokiness, but Fran’s must have a Marlboro Red brand fog machine. HACK! Through the mist, we could see a bad karaōke set up, a battered pool table, and about seven seats– which were all taken. A short bartender with a cigarette dangling from her mouth poured a bag of freshly microwaved popcorn into a repurposed ice cream container and served it to a patron. The crooked-​toothed feller at the bar next to me asked, «Y’all ain’t from round here, are ya?» And I told him yes actually, born and raised. When we got our turn to order, our PBR can or PBR draft selection process was abruptly halted when we spotted the neon green posterboard sign declaring Cash Only. I’d be lying if I said we weren’t relieved to have an excuse to leave without ordering.
So no, I didn’t actually get the experience of having a drink here. Nor did I get a chance to look over a menu of their other microwave masterpieces. But I did smell profusely of cigarettes, just from standing in line at the kitchenette/​bar for five minutes. I could only see myself returning here if I was already sufficiently boozy from three to four other bars first. Then, maybe.

If you haven’t been, you must go.
If you’ve been, you’ll go again.
If you haven’t heard a song with the word «Pussycat» sang to karaōke, you will…

This is a dive bar. All cash for beers only. Terrible country karaōke but you can ignore that, right? I could. I went on an early Friday evening. It wasn’t packed but it was just right. It was too smoky for me though. Like CRAZY smoky. I would go again for a pass through. It’s another hidden gem in Nashville.

This place is like another one of those yard sale finds that seem awesome at first but is a little to broken, aged, and stained to be truely proud of despite your interal love of the heavily used1980’s Transformer, Optimus Prime, you just found for $ 1.25.
Frans is a «must know kind of place». Kareoke seems to plague this place a bit more on weekends than the stardard dive bar environment (smokey, dirty, strange). A small white building located about 30 feet from an active train track (kinda scary after a hand full of beers). This establishment has another one of those parking lots that is crater filled and vehicle placement is random.
The beer (beer only) is cheap and is only exchanged for cash. The normal bar tender is sweet as pudding, but scary as hell… don’t f**k with Trina.
They have a very misplaced pool table that is the eye sore focal point in the room. It is place in such a manor that navigating across the bar requires several «excuse me-​s» and a usual light touch or push of another patron to break through the bottle neck of traffic created by this beast of a gaming table.
Despite the negatives, I kinda like dive bars, and this one is a keeper. The sport of «people watching» is worthy here and there is always a good story to boot after the Frans experience.
Go here a lease once in your life. Its a trip you should not live without.

Frans is exactly the kind of place I know and love. Tiny, cinderblock walls, locals, bad karaōke and out of the way.
THAT said, the night we went here it was particularly sad and we were definitely not drunk enough to get into it. So here’s my list of must knows for Frans:
– It’s cash only and there is NO ATM
– It’s beer only. And we’re talking bare bones
– There are lots of bright lights (no dark make out corners)
– The pool table has seen better days
I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that this place is either on for you or totally off. I’m giving it the four star rating based on the fact that I can totally see myself drinking budweiser bombers and singing the shit out of some amazing/​terrible country song.
Note: Maybe call and see if they do set ups for BYO. I dont know if that happens outside of TX but it’s worth a shot!

I’ve been to Fran’s twice now with some friends who live in the neighborhood. For a smokey neighborhood karaōke joint, this place is fine. It isn’t hip. It isn’t trendy, but it’s a good time if you have an open mind. There is quite an assortment of people here, which is what makes it so great.
The bar is cash only, beer only, which is fine for me! Most beers run $ 2-​$ 3, so you aren’t going to drop that much money to have a good time.

hit Fran’s like I usually do (Friday Night) when not gigging and the charm is the same but something was a little off, perhaps the LACK of karaōke people? who woulda thought that could happen?!