Jay Kill wanted a retirement project.
Now, as the owner and founder of Frankie J’s in Germantown, he stays plenty busy. A few years back, Kill came across a house at 1314 Sixth Ave. N. Built in 1910, the home — which had been sitting vacant for several years — was willed to its owner by her gay uncle, who loved to entertain people. As it turns out, the owner thought leasing the space to LGBTQ bar Frankie J’s would be a good way to honor her uncle’s legacy.
Opening Frankie J’s in early 2023, Kill wanted to create a laid-back environment in a queer-friendly space serving the 40-plus market.
“There was no place for the older folks to go out without being bombarded by bachelorettes and loud music,” Kill tells the Scene. “I felt like I needed to create a community neighborhood bar.”
Kill and chef Jonathan Robinson spent the most time on the bar’s menu as Frankie J’s was coming to fruition. Kill had a culinary background, having helped open many restaurants at Opry Mills, and Robinson spent much of his career working on college campuses and in assisted living dining. The pair met while working at Cumberland University before the pandemic.
The outcome is standout Mexican bar food, created with consultation from Kill’s husband, who is from Mexico. There are quesadillas, empanadas and tacos, as well as bar staples like burgers, fries and hot dogs. Breakfast is served all day, and Frankie J’s recently added Frothy Monkey coffee.
Closed only on Mondays, Frankie J’s boasts a packed calendar, with an event nearly every night of the month. They offer trivia, show tune sing-alongs, tarot card readings, drag king bingo, karaoke and RuPaul’s Drag Race watch parties. They have board games on site and space to dance under a backyard disco ball, and even began hosting a songwriter’s night for gay artists who weren’t getting a warm reception elsewhere in town. The backyard also hosts custom leather and apparel shop Stond Nation.
“The only way to get people out anymore in bars is doing events, because COVID taught them to eat at home and drink at home,” Kill says. “To get them off the couch, to get them back out, you got to entertain. We really knew that coming into this project. That’s why I fell in love with this property. Because we have so many different spaces, we can do multiple things. I mean, we’ve had events here where five different things were going on in five different rooms. That just makes my heart very proud and happy.”
In addition to more traditional bar events, Frankie J’s offers monthly events for subculture groups like the furry and “pup-play” communities.
“You can’t just pick and choose,” Kill says. “We kind of went after the parts of the community that weren’t represented very well or shunned or looked down upon … and took them in and gave them the freedom to be who they are.”
Kill is all about helping others feel more comfortable to socialize in person — especially those who come for subculture nights. When hiring, his key interview question emphasizes hospitality: “Everybody serves a Jack and Coke — what are you going to do to make that different?” he asks.
“We’ve sat and talked to some that are sitting in the corner, and we’ll go over and say hi and start talking to them, and introduce them to a couple other people, and then the next time, they’re the social butterfly of the event,” Kill says. “It’s all about overpowering the negative media and perception of us and showing everybody we are normal, we are human. We do know how to love and care, and I think that’s a very important part of who I am.”
Kill says that while they can’t enjoy the bar’s alcoholic offerings, teens who are a part of Nashville Launch Pad — a nonprofit providing housing and resources for LGBTQ youth — love the food at Frankie J’s. Kill and Robinson have promised the organization that they’ll cater any night Launch Pad doesn’t have a meal volunteer lined up. Last season (the nonprofit houses teens from Nov. 1 to April 1) Frankie J’s served 800 individual meals.
Jonathan Robinson and Jay Kill
“If I’m ever tired, and I’m tired of the same food, it just clicks in my head that we’re doing this for the community, and I keep moving,” Robinson says.
Kill tells the Scene he was initially nervous to be such a public face in the gay community — especially in Tennessee, where members of the LGBTQ community are frequent political targets. But Frankie J’s offers a place of refuge and community amid the turmoil.
“That’s what so many people’s first comments out of their mouths is,” he says. “‘Wow, I feel safe in here.’ This is our house. This is our house of Frankie J’s. You’re welcome here.”
“It’s our house parties,” says Kill. “It’s, you know, bring a cheese plate.”
