Rob Gutmann says he isn’t ruining Liverpool’s pub culture. In fact, he thinks he’s saving it

Sat on The Pilgrim’s picnic benches on a hot summer’s day, you’d be forgiven for thinking this is the most temperate spot in the city. Shielded from the sun by high stone walls and the towering hulk of the Anglican Cathedral, with the angle of the beer garden sloping down to the familiar dinge of The Pilgrim’s interior, it’s easy to understand why this has long been a favoured haunt of students, poets and other bohemians in the Georgian Quarter. The reputation for cheap pints and the proximity to LIPA play a part, of course, but at the right hour, the place is somehow subterranean and sunny, weird and welcoming all at once.

But inside, after climbing the tricky spiral staircase that’s long troubled The Pilgrim’s pint-wielding patrons, something seems off. Where was this furniture reclaimed from? Were these little red candles always here? Is that an antique bedpan hanging from the ceiling? And what’s with all the animal skulls adorning the walls? While studying one such skull – to the eye untutored in archaeozoology, apparently some kind of antlered hamster – all suddenly becomes clear. The Pilgrim has been Gutmanned.

Yes, the beloved Pilgrim is beneficiary – or victim, depending on your point of view – of the latest renovation project of Liverpool’s own answer to Wetherspoons’ Tim Martin: Rob Gutmann. By day, Gutmann is perhaps most recognisable as the big-bearded, prominently browed host of The Anfield Wrap, a podcast discussing all things Liverpool Football Club. But by night, our hero’s shadow extends over the city’s hospitality sector, turning clubs and dive pubs into ersatz hunting lodges.

Anyone who’s patronised The White Hart on Hope Street, The Munro on Duke Street or St Peter’s Tavern on Seel Street might liken Gutmann less to Wetherspoons’ founder and more to macho Disney villain Gaston: he uses antlers in all of his decorating. If you’ve lately found yourself sipping a pint under the dead-eyed scrutiny of a taxidermised stag’s head, the chances are you’ve drank in a Gutmann pub. (Either that or you’re in the still independent Railway on Tithebarn Street, possibly the Patient Zero of this city-wide outbreak of scabrous woodland corpses.)

Gutmann is a controversial figure. Some of this could be attributed to his success. According to Companies House, he is currently a director of no fewer than 21 businesses. In addition to the establishments already named, he also owns The Vines – colloquially known as the Big House – on Lime Street, Metrocola (once Hannah’s Bar) on Hardman Street, and The Red Lion on Slater Street. Hope Street has been hopelessly colonised by the Gutmann aesthetic – Papillon, The Queen of Hope Street, and The White Hart are all his. But the real heart of the Gutmann empire is Lark Lane: he is licensee of The Lodge, The Green Man, The Old School House, The Bookbinder, Love and Rockets, and Lost in Lark Lane, while bistro Polidor is run by his daughter Rosanna.

The dissension is not purely attributable to resentment. Some question how a man who once declared bankruptcy after a string of failures has managed to pull off this audacious coup to become president-for-life of publand. Others call Gutmann a monopoliser, ruthlessly transforming Liverpool’s diverse nightlife to resemble his own ruminant-decorated dreams.

“I guess it's getting towards a monopoly,” says one Lark Lane business owner — who, like most sources in this story, has asked not to be named. They say they are also concerned his projects remove the community atmosphere of some ventures. “There isn't really much of a family feel with a lot of these places,” agrees a former employee of one of Gutmann’s pubs.

On the other hand, many punters are grateful that, while six pubs are shutting every week in the UK, somebody is taking the risk and keeping them open. And not just that, but undertaking extensive refurbishments so that these venues are comfortable, interesting, and economically viable places to enjoy a pint or two, not to mention employing people from all over the city.

“He is preserving a lot of these old pubs,” says the Lark Lane business owner, who admits to being “on the fence” about Gutmann more generally.

Perhaps this is because the flourishing publican is a paradoxical figure: his pubs are ubiquitous, but regulars say he is barely seen in them. Between his businesses and podcast, he’s increasingly a household name, yet claims to shun the limelight and refuse interviews with journalists. To find out more about the man and what kind of impact he’s undoubtedly having on Merseyside, The Post spoke to other bar owners, workers, patrons — and even the entrepreneur himself.