Welcome to Nighthawks — a biweekly series where writer Sam Brule travels to noteworthy nightlife epicenters across New York City to observe and report about the night, atmosphere, and people of the weekend. Tonight, we are standing outside of the Brooklyn Bowl: a “genre-defying” live music venue located in the heart of Williamsburg.

When you think of Williamsburg, what comes to mind? Is it the hipsters? The yuppies? Maybe the overpriced lattes and fixed-gear bikes? Or do you think about the cowboys?

I went to observe the New York stop of the White Buffalo and Shawn James tour — two modern country rock heavyweights who teamed up to shake the spurs of every city slicker nearby. Despite the overtly liberal nature of Williamsburg, these touring artists seemed to bring out Brooklyn’s hidden Wild West. People from all over came out, donning their big-brimmed hats and cowboy boots.

I started my journey to the heart of Williamsburg cowboy culture at 4:56 p.m. on Saturday, Sept. 14. Roughly 25 minutes later, after stepping off the L train and walking 11 minutes, I arrived at the scene.

I was outside the bowling alley, restaurant, and music venue conglomeration known as Brooklyn Bowl. At this time, the last bowlers of the day were shuffling out to make room for the concertgoers taking their place. The admission line began to form around the block, quickly populating itself with eager faces that looked like they’d just stepped off a ranch.

Realizing that this line would be the perfect opportunity to watch the people of the night, I ran across the street and folded myself onto the curb with my notebook in hand.

Tracing the length of the line, I spotted a group of three young adults, only a few people away from the entrance. The least country-looking one of the group stood watch with steady eyes transfixed on the bouncer while the other two took quick turns gulping the last drops of amber-colored cinnamon whiskey. They winced as the liquid went down.

“Ew, that was disgusting,” said the girl to her friends as she hid the empty bottle in her shiny leather purse. “But it makes the music bearable,” replied the friend on-watch while turning around. The two started laughing about their distaste for country music (and whiskey), while the third friend, clearly a true fan, begged them to give it a chance. 

Further down the line, two men in full cowboy attire stood out to me. They wore matching tan hats, button-up shirts with sharp collars, and cowboy boots. The only way I could tell them apart was the color of their boots, and had it not been for the setting, I’d have guessed they just got back from the rodeo. 

This was all a harsh contrast from the urban space that they occupied. It was a sunny day, yes, but the sadistic city sunshine had nothing on the Western rays from which country music is born. Jagged lines of light splashed across the rustic brick walls of the venue, slowly falling to meet the ground and become swallowed by the hoard of feet in line.

I was distracted from this scene when I spotted an older man with a magnificent ponytail and knee-high socks exiting the building. He surveyed the line with his hands planted on his hips, giving a slight but satisfied nod of approval at tonight’s turnout. His name is Aaron Saye, the tour manager for Shawn James. We’d spoken briefly over the phone, where he agreed to meet with me before the show.

“The tour has been great so far,” Saye said as he sat down on the sidewalk next to me. “You wouldn’t expect such a good turnout for country music in the city, but the people always turn up. Just look at the line.” The bands played in Philadelphia the night before to a similar audience, and they were headed toward Boston right after this show.

Williamsburg was a purgatory for older brick buildings that have since become advertising walls for tech companies and new constructions alike with the same sterile-chic vibe. The space near Brooklyn Bowl was no exception. The greenery is calculated, distant, and perfectly representative of the corporate nature in the neighborhood, making the space a far cry from any place you’d expect to see country music fans. 

Nonetheless, the people came out that night, and I needed to figure out the truth about it.

“Are these people true to country life? Or are most of them just here to enjoy an evening of debauchery?” I asked Saye in an attempt to get to the bottom of the Williamsburg cowboy epidemic. He laughed at my question and said, “I couldn’t tell you. The people definitely love to party, but these artists have so many listeners. I don’t doubt that most of them are here for the music.”

According to music data provider Luminate, country music streams have seen a 23.7% increase from 2022 to 2023, making it one of the fastest-growing music genres in the U.S., with venues all over supporting the swelling fanbase. Maybe country music is the new pop? These artists were undeniably popular, but I still needed answers about the fans.

While these streams have been rising, there’s been much debate online (especially on Reddit and TikTok) about why that is. Some may think it’s due to a widespread yearning for the simple lifestyle reflected in the lyrics, while others say modern country music is just pop artists cosplaying as country folk. (I see you Morgan Wallen.)

Thinking about the group of three friends and the two cowboys I saw in line earlier, I figured it was likely a mixture of both.

Despite all this debate, the line between real country fans and partygoers blurred when the floodgates to Brooklyn Bowl opened. Indeed, this event felt culturally isolated from the rest of the city, but the liveliness of a New York City weekend was ever present. The grouping of people among the wall began to swell with volume as the concert inched closer: boisterous but well-contained, making sure they didn’t spill out onto the surrounding streets.

I watched the herd of hat-wearing, boot-clad fans stream into the venue. These folks weren’t just here for the music; they were here to line dance like it was a religious experience and bowl like their lives depended on it. Maybe they were true cowboys after all, or maybe they just liked the idea of becoming one while they sipped a craft cocktail. Whatever the case, the Wild West had invaded Williamsburg, and who knew? Maybe tomorrow morning they’d be in Williamsburg’s finest hipster brunch spots discussing the best ways to cure a hangover.

By the time the line had dwindled to nothing, I started to head back home. The sun had barely begun to say its goodnight, stretching its golden fingers over those of the skyline. To me, this early night felt like a homage to those “simple life” Western ideals that Redditors spoke about.

One thing was clear: in Brooklyn, cowboys and hipsters could coexist — at least for one night, until the next indie band came along to turn the scene upside down.