PIONEERTOWN looks like a ghost town seen in countless westerns. Probably because it is.
Built as a 1940s movie set where the likes of Gene Autry, the Cisco Kid and Annie Oakley shot the films that made them western heroes, rural Pioneertown managed to fight off most of the Sawtooth fire and still holds on to its own identity, honky-tonk and motel. And aside from the post office on Mane Street, Pappy & Harriet's Pioneertown Palace may be its biggest attraction.
Off Highway 62, only a few miles from Joshua Tree, many urban denizens seem to find the homage to yesteryear an oasis from city life.
"Oh, you're not going to tell anyone about this place, are you?" cried Deirdre Murphy, 45, of Sierra Madre. "It will ruin it." Murphy, dressed in black with a diamond stud in her nose, was staying the weekend with her husband, Randy Boyd, 47, at the Joshua Tree Inn.
Boyd shook his head at his wife. "Oh, they already know."
Pappy & Harriet's attracts those cursed with ennui all the way from Hollywood to Orange County. At first, the reason may be unclear. The decor at Pappy & Harriet's is distressed wood paneling lined with license plates, posters of bands, deer heads and Christmas tree lights. Drinks are served in kitschy Mason jars.
Previously owned by the real Pappy and Harriet, the honky-tonk changed hands a couple of times until it rested in 2003 with Robyn Celia and Linda Krantz, second cousins from New York City with fond memories of crazy weekends in Pioneertown.
"It's not about being cool," Celia said. "This is where everyone comes from the city to get away from all that."
It was Celia and Krantz who steered the saloon away from being a mere biker bar and an alt-punk palace. Knowing that locals wanted country, they used the opportunity to offer different kinds of music: a mix of Americana (a heading that encompasses folk, folk-rock and country) and some straight-ahead rock 'n' roll.
"It's not necessarily a country place, but it leans towards that," Celia said.
The patrons at Pappy & Harriet's are a mixture of ursine bikers, uncommonly pretty girls, Marines and rawboned High Desert folk out for a night in the only hot spot in town -- not to mention urban dwellers on getaway. Lulled by good live music with country roots and a few beers, they come to appreciate a place where, it is said in down-home humor, everyone's just happy not to be in jail.
