They razed paradise and put in a metro stop: last drinks at a Sydney institution

For much of the past 10 years, if you were in want of a good time in Sydney after 11pm – or in want of anything, really – there was only one place to go: Frankie’s Pizza.

In that dingy Hunter Street basement, Frankie’s doled out pizza slices, free live music and late-night revelry – reliably and in spades. It became a genuinely world-renowned rock ‘n’ roll bar.

Frankie’s, which opened on Hunter Street in late 2012, will be demolished to make way for the metro line.Credit: Edwina Pickles

More than any other Sydney venue of recent times, Frankie’s occupies a special place in the city’s soul. It has been the saving grace of the CBD, and an antidote to the war on fun waged by lockout laws, corporatisation and a culture that said: don’t bother, go home.

Next week the party will end – not because its hosts are tired or the zeitgeist has changed, but because the building is about to be demolished for a metro rail station.

Frankie’s manager Jordan McDonald tries to see it as a sign from the universe. But at the same time, he says: “I haven’t heard a single sentiment in favour of this stupid f---ing train station. Why are we trying to make it easier to get somewhere where all of the creamy stuff has been removed?”

It was a different Sydney and a different world when Frankie’s opened in 2012. Lockouts weren’t yet a thing, and it had only been a couple of years since hospo wunderkind Anton Forte turbocharged Sydney’s small bar revolution by opening Shady Pines Saloon at age 24.

Live music, loud and free: Frankie’s Pizza became a centrepiece of the city’s gig scene.Credit: Edwina Pickles

Forte and his then business partner Jason Scott recruited McDonald, a touring musician, to execute their vision for something Sydney sorely lacked: a genuine, “Wayne’s World style”, rock ‘n’ roll dive bar. “Something out of your wildest imaginations come to life,” McDonald says.

It was a success from the start. “Opening night we had [Blondie’s] Debbie Harry standing in line, refusing to skip the line,” McDonald says.

“On our second night we had Priscilla Presley sitting in a booth eating a pizza late at night. It’s the ‘magic happens’ factor that occurs in that venue that you really don’t get anywhere else.”

They once had Cheap Trick jump on stage with a hard rock karaoke band to perform a set of their own songs. Just days ago, Guns N’ Roses popped in while on tour, keyboardist Dizzy Reed posted on Instagram: “One last Jagermeister and one last pizza. Thanks for all the great memories and all the things I don’t remember.”

As much as Frankie’s was a pitstop for visiting rock stars, its real value was as a mainstay for local bands. Sydney rockers The Grand Union played there regularly for the past seven years, including one last gig on Thursday night. Guitarist Rohin Sharma said the bar became a second home.

“It has done a lot for the development of Australian music. That can’t be overstated. It has been so important for so many up-and-coming bands,” Sharma said. “It’s a consistent icon of Sydney music, and it’s a real shame that it’s not going to be there.”

Sharma and McDonald both talk about Frankie’s as a place for “anyone and everyone”, where the corporate suits rub shoulders with musicians, tourists and even strippers, and the music is offered free for free. It may have drawn celebrities, but could never be thought of as a “celebrity hangout”.

“When they come to Frankie’s they roll with the common man, it’s not about lining up for photos,” McDonald says.

Frankie’s doubled as a reliable source of late-night sustenance in a city where that can be hard to come by.Credit: Edwina Pickles

Frankie’s was many things to many Sydneysiders. It was an authentic rock ‘n’ roll hub, a late-night pizza fix, pinball parlour, default after-party destination – and sometimes the venue of last resort.

“There’s nowhere to eat in the city other than Frankie’s after 9 o’clock at night,” an exasperated accountant lamented during a public forum on Sydney nightlife earlier this year.

When the demolition was first announced, Liberal political consultant John Macgowan told the Herald: “Without Frankie’s, government staff will have nowhere to go to hook up with normal people, and the parliament will get even more weird and incestuous.”

The lockout laws imposed by Macquarie Street, just around the corner, hit Frankie’s hard. On the first night of the new regime, McDonald says he had to reject one of his favourite bands, thrash metal act Slayer, who were travelling with the Soundwave festival. But it fast became the norm. “Playing the schoolteacher was always a ball drain,” he says.

Jordan McDonald would like to reinvent Frankie’s somewhere else but says it would require the right space and licence.Credit: Edwina Pickles

COVID-19 lockdowns hurt even more, but Frankie’s bounced back virulently and fast – with live music resuming as soon as legally possible, a seated audience dancing in their chairs. The metro station, however, is one obstacle this Sydney institution cannot overcome.

McDonald would like to continue the Frankie’s legacy elsewhere, but he’s not aware of a location that could do it justice at the moment. It needs the right room and a generous licence; the Frankie’s cave was a unicorn site. “I wouldn’t want anyone to hold their breath,” he says.

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