Earlier this month, the Star confirmed that after nearly two decades in operation, the Dakota Tavern, a legendary dive bar and live music venue on Ossington, had permanently closed.
Founded in 2006 by Shawn Creamer, Maggie Ruhl and Jennifer Haslett, the tiny, no-frills basement bar quickly became a cornerstone of Toronto’s indie music scene — an occasionally rowdy, never pretentious space where amateur artists and fans mingled and collaborated with some of the city’s most successful acts, including Blue Rodeo, Gord Downie, Kathleen Edwards, Broken Social Scene, Barenaked Ladies and Ron Sexsmith.
The Dakota was also known for its Sunday Bluegrass Brunch and for the Basement Revue, a variety show hosted and curated by Jason Collett that featured musicians, writers, comedians and others.
In 2018, the bar was sold to Anthony Green, who ran the space until 2024, when it closed for renovations. A few months later, after photos of the gutted venue appeared on social media, it was confirmed that the Dakota would not be reopening.
To pay tribute, we asked Dakota alumni to share their favourite memories of the tavern.
Shawn Creamer
In retrospect I should have been terrified. Maybe I was. Opening the Dakota was the highest ledge I had ever jumped from. What I didn’t know, then, was that waiting for me was an entire community that would not only catch me, but lift me up higher than from where I started.
Every night was like a house party with the best of friends. On Sundays, after the Beauties had spent everyone’s hours, the whole bar would line up and start a “beer train” — loading cases of beer from the crawl space by the bathroom and chugging them up the stairs to be stacked under the window to be taken away in the morning. Everyone standing shoulder-to-shoulder with their friends, another music fan, a staff member, a musician or maybe someone you didn’t know until that moment. Someone would start singing a song and everyone would join in unison, passing the weight of something in your hands to someone else who was happy to take the weight and sing with you.
It was like our version of a Sunday service. I think it was our hearts we were carrying and passing to each other.
— Shawn Creamer is a co-founder of the Dakota Tavern and member of alt-country band the Beauties, who for years had a Sunday night residency.
Jason Collett
Before the Dakota, it was not cool to be a cover band in Toronto, but the Dakota defied being just another hip west-end bar by embracing this, and the revelation for hipsters was that it was fun. It kinda felt like a bohemian wedding party most any night of the week, and the fact that there was always a healthy mix of older and younger patrons leant itself to this vibe. I think the Dakota planted the seed for Toronto to relax a little and embrace cover bands, kicking off a whole new era of a more fun-loving city.
Then there was the physicality of the space. The fact that you didn’t just go out to the Dakota, you went in — descending the stairs into the subterranean saloon while losing cell reception. The fact that there was no backstage room, other than an elongated closet for throwing coats and a few cases in, became a big part of the charm for Basement Revue shows, as there was nowhere for performers to hide out from the audience. So part of the magic for the audience was guessing who might be performing that night because the artists and the audience had no choice but to mingle.
— Jason Collett is a Toronto-based singer-songwriter and former member of Broken Social Scene.
Charlotte Cornfield
I played my first show at the Dakota in December 2009. I was freshly 21, finishing school in Montreal, and I wanted to put on a show with my band while I was home for the holidays. There was such a great scene around that room at that time, and for me as a young songwriter it was such a vote of confidence to get a gig there. That night stands out to me as being one of the most important in my life and my career thus far, one of those rare nights where the electricity and energy align onstage and everything feels right. It was magical to disappear into that basement with the twinkly lights, the gingham table cloths, the heavy wooden chairs at the back, John Borra behind the soundboard. The city dissolved and suddenly I was somewhere else.
— Charlotte Cornfield is a Toronto-based singer-songwriter.
Brendan Canning
I don’t think it can be overstated that the Dakota Tavern did some heavy lifting when it came to reviving Toronto’s live music scene. It really was the perfect bar for live music. A clubhouse where one pint could turn into three very quickly. Every Sunday with the Beauties it felt like you were seeing the best band in the city and all your friends were there to reassure you that this was true because week after week we all revelled in the beautiful noise.
Once ownership changed hands, the Dakota definitely lost some of its je ne sais quois. It should also be noted the staff were some very fine folks who in no small part contributed to the familial sense of this legendary bar. With all due respect to the El Mocambo, (Michael) Wekerle should have put aside a few grand to keep the Dakota humming since the loss of this venue is a sad one for the future of Toronto music.
— Brendan Canning is a founding member of Broken Social Scene, a Toronto-based musical collective that celebrated its 20th anniversary in 2022.
Robin Hatch
Underground in every sense, the Dakota Tavern was the last samurai of cool venues. I punched my timecard there at least 40 times over the last 15 years, playing in various cover bands. Walking down its stairs, it looked like a New York dive bar on your left, but the rest was straight out of Texas.
The stage itself was tiny, maybe 11 by 11 feet. Sometimes there’d be eight of us up there, with the whole band sharing two monitors. And thanks to its hallway shape, tiled floors, and low ceilings, the place was loud. But loud was the bar’s reputation. Sometimes I’d feel the crash cymbal next to my head like it was between my eyes; naturally, I’d respond by turning up my amp to max volume. While cutting off your nose to spite your face was never encouraged, I never heard anyone playing at the Dakota get asked to turn it down.
My most vivid memory was playing two sets right after the Leafs lost the 2013 playoffs. Nothing like the sour shame of defeat to kick off a night. It’s one thing to be in a bad mood yourself, but nights like that resound with a collective malaise, like a too-loud crash cymbal.
Ten years ago, Toronto felt much smaller, and the Dakota made me feel like the proverbial big fish in a small pond. I’ll never forget this sandbox of tough love.
— Robin Hatch is a composer for film and TV, in addition to being a touring keyboardist.
Melissa McClelland
The Dakota Tavern was the first Toronto venue where I felt the true magic of time and place. Walking down those stairs almost felt like I was being let in on some little secret. Walking out was always a blur as we’d stumble over to the Lakeview Diner to eventually pass out in our grilled cheeses. The Beauties lit a spark in that little place and we all wanted to partake in the fire. I’d find myself there on the occasional Sunday to watch those mad men tear it up on stage, and we would often end up on that stage ourselves. We always found ways to play that room: little unannounced shows. and more official celebrations, like my album release for Victoria Day. I love that I got to be just a little part of this rich story.
— Melissa McClelland and her husband Luke Doucet make up the Hamilton-based, folk rock duo Whitehorse.
Jeremie Albino
Playing at the Dakota Tavern in Toronto was one of those moments I’ll always hold close. Growing up, I was always inspired by the footage of Stompin’ Tom at the Horseshoe — those performances captured something raw and real about Canadian music. The Dakota had that same energy. It was one of those places that felt like it had seen it all. It was intimate, gritty, and full of soul.
Getting to step on that stage and be a part of the venue’s legacy for one of my first sold-out Toronto shows, meant the world to me. It reminded me why I do what I do. I feel incredibly lucky to be a part of the Canadian music scene, and playing a venue with that kind of history just makes it all the more special. It’s venues like the Dakota that keep live music alive and is a reminder of how powerful a good song, and a room full of people can be.”
— Jeremie Albino is a roots-rock singer-songwriter from Toronto.
Lenny Bull
I spent most of my 20s in that basement, and it really did raise me as a musician. Lugging the gear in and hoping you didn’t miss a step on the way downstairs. Deciding which band would be in charge of bringing the drum kit and bass amp. The itty bitty green room/gear room where you would sidestep guitar cases, patch cables, and other band members before a set.
As far as venues go, it was the perfect mix of tipsy and rowdy, but you KNEW the crowd would be engaged and supportive. I loved performing there, and I loved being in the crowd. I loved watching and cheering and dancing and hopping onstage to join in for a cover.
— Lenny Bull is a Toronto-based rock singer.
Caroline Marie Brooks
From opening for the Barenaked Ladies, filming a CBC kids spot with Mamma Yamma, releasing our album “Burn the Plan,” singing harmonies with Kathleen Edwards, nursing my second born in the gear room before performing with Jim Bryson, to my last show there, celebrating my first solo record, the room packed with family and friends, cozied right up to the front of that stage and wrapped around the bar — I loved the Dakota so much and will deeply feel its absence in our city.
— Caroline Marie Brooks is founding member of the Good Lovelies, a Juno-winning folk/country trio.
Michael Cloud Duguay
Early in my career, Peterborough folk and country musicians had what felt like a direct channel to the Dakota — we jokingly called it “Little Peterborough.” It felt like the bars we were used to playing north of seven — intimate, rowdy and full of character. It was a place to land in the city whether or not I was gigging, but when I was gigging there it was always a blast.
A favourite memory is of randomly meeting members of Vancouver band the Crackling, in downtown Peterborough, hitting it off, and jumping in their van to open for them the next night at the Dakota, and having a total blast. The city doesn’t always offer a lot of places that feel like home to those of us from the hinterlands, but back in the day, the Dakota always felt like home.
— Michael Cloud Duguay is a composer, producer and accordionist from Peterborough, Ont.
Shannon Kohlmeier
In the summer of 2006, I went to the Calgary Stampede with my girlfriends and while on that vacation my partner (Shawn Creamer) called me: “I bought a bar!” It was a different time, a simpler time. Shawn was not yet my husband, we had no kids and I was away watching covered wagon races. Little did I know what his new work project would become. It was a romantic time — everyone loved Shawn, they loved the music, the mint juleps, the Labatt 50s, the lack of cellular reception. It just worked.
Over the years so many things changed — rents went up, people (us included) had kids, Ossington became Ossington, staff came and went, bands BLEW up after gracing us with their presence. Seeing your partner get to live a dream that became legendary and special to SO many has been one of the greatest gifts this life has given me.
— Shannon Kohlmeier was a long-time Dakota staff member.
Ed Robertson
The Dakota Tavern might have been the coolest bar in Toronto. When I first went there, I thought it’s the sort of bar you see in a movie set, and you cynically think to yourself, “There isn’t a cool cowboy bar like THAT in Toronto” … but there was.
When Barenaked Ladies wanted to experiment with brand-new material, we booked a residency at the Dakota, and invited family and friends to come down. It was perfect.
When my son’s band, High Flyer, needed a venue to cut their teeth at, the Dakota was a welcoming vibey space with a sound tech that gave a s — t, and the band got hooked on that indescribable feeling of having people REACT when you do something well!
When my daughter returned home from St. Francis Xavier University, one of the first things we did was to head to (the Dakota). I asked her how it compared to the east coast bar scene. I was expecting a reaction to the honky-tonk decor, and the who’s who of the Toronto music scene exchanging pleasantries at the bar. Her response was far more personal, “Well, I’ve never thrown up here! So, that’s different!”
I’m sad to see the Dakota Close. Toronto needs every small music venue we are currently losing if we want to continue to be the birthplace of cool musical trends in Canada. Let’s raise a glass and salute one of the coolest places I wish we hadn’t lost.
— Ed Robertson is the lead vocalist and guitarist for Barenaked Ladies.
