This fast-paced world of today? We are not entirely down with it. Take last year, when Bikini's jukebox was replaced by some digitized interwebby thing mere days before its (perhaps no longer deserved) Best Jukebox award went to press. But this artsy-skeevy-tiki bar is a delicate ecosystem. Knowing this, its proprietors maintain some balance by designating a surly, savvy Homo sapiens to finesse the weekend's sounds (at an event called Sophisticated Boom Boom — though if you're really sophisticated, you'll remember when it was called Scratchy Rekkid Night). DJ HFE (Hooray For Everything, a.k.a. Shane Kennedy) makes moment-by-moment selections from a rangy, quirky play list just about every Thursday (when people tend to sit, drink, and mumble), and most Fridays and Saturdays (when it can get a little dancy and/or crowded up in there). HFE considers requests — you can even bring your own — but his mood is law. You'll learn a little more about music and your community. Or you'll just have fun.
We have a good friend whose two favorite things in the world are candy and booze. So when we wanted to try the best candy cocktails in town, naturally, we asked her.
"Twisted!" she shouted. "Well, no," we responded. "We don't think that's such an odd request. We just thought, in honor of our Sweet Life theme this year, that we'd —"
"No, dude!" she interrupted. "Don't you get out? Twisted has the best candy cocktails in town!"
Oh. Turns out, our friend has been hanging out a lot in Scottsdale, at a spot called Twisted. And, of course, she's right. The place has the sweetest cocktails, from our particular favorite, a flight of frozen margaritas in far-out flavors like mango, tamarind, and jalapeño, to our friend's standard order, a blood orange Cosmo. The menu also includes Peaches and Cream, The Caramel Apple and the Florida Martini, which involves vodka, vanilla, lime and cream.
Our friend is such a candy purist, she'll only do the hard stuff: Jolly Ranchers, lollipops, the occasional Sour Patch Kid. She actually claims that she doesn't like chocolate, which is why, she explained, she hasn't tried Twisted's Chocolate Cherry Bomb. It sounds gross to her.
Now that, we say, is twisted.
Betty Crocker, get your booze on — the German chocolate cake shot could be the sweetest thing to ever hit your lips and liver. This rich, syrupy drink is still something of a secret; many bartenders are lost if the recipe's not in their books. Luckily, most of those behind the bar at Palazzo on the club's weekly Friday goth night, Tranzylvania, know how to cook up this goodie and pour some sugar on us. For the rest, here's the 411: Frost the rim of a shot glass with sugar and lemon. Pour a half-ounce of Stoli vanilla vodka and a half-ounce of Frangelico hazelnut liqueur into the glass and stir together. Lick the sugar off the rim, shoot the booze, and quickly bite into a piece of lemon. It tastes exactly like German chocolate cake but will probably give you fewer cavities and more gusto in your game. But be warned: They are delicious and potentially addictive.
Before we stumble out for a tour of the galleries on Roosevelt Row, we like to stop in at the bar at Portland's for a fancy cocktail. Our favorite is a sweetie called the Thin Mint Tini — just a simple blend of Ketel One, Rumpleminze Peppermint Schnapps, crème de cacao and a splash of cream. Is this why our friends had so much fun at Girl Scout camp?
Blue Wasabi has one of the most creative drink menus in town, and we're glad that we can now drink the martinis a little closer to home, with the opening of the Hilton Village location. (You folks who live in DC Ranch had all the luck, 'til now.)
We're particularly fond of a drink called the Mello Jello. This is not your frat party Jell-O shot. Oh, no, this drink is pure sophistication, a blend of Skyy Berry vodka, cranberry-flavored sweet and sour, and cranberry juice infused with dark cherry Jell-O. A Jell-O infusion? Leave it to Blue Wasabi. And if that sounds too grownup, leave it entirely and try the Milky Way or the Lemon Head instead.
Rappers Jay-Z and P. Diddy might have gotten in a little harsh dissing of Cristal on their latest albums, but believe us, there's no finer symbol of style and stardom than downing a bottle or two of the chic champagne, particularly in the utterly opulent environs of either location of the Valley's classiest strip club. You definitely gotta be living large to afford it, however; bottles start at $550. But at least you can kick it in the VIP area, where the sultry strippers dance a little bit closer than they do in the cheap seats. The gold-labeled bubbly's been the sign of status and the subject of hip-hop songs for more than a decade, and your success will shine much more brightly amidst the stylish décor of Christie's when clutching some Cris. It's just like in the Lil Scrappy jam "Money in the Bank" when Young Buck sang, "We keep a bankroll/Wallet full of credit cards/Cup full of Cristal/Box full of cigars."
Perched high above Myst's dance floor in the utter opulence of the lavish nightclub's VIP skyboxes, one feels like Caligula as the hedonistic Roman ruler looked down upon the commoners. Gorgeously decorated, cloaked in darkness, and steeped in swank, these private pads of posh have set the standard for all other Scottsdale VIP rooms to aspire to, and have played host to the shenanigans of beautiful types, as well as the rich and famous — including Dennis Rodman, Jesse Metcalfe, and Amaré Stoudemire.
Available in a number of different sizes, the skyboxes are available only if you have some serious scrilla (with per-night charges starting at $500 for the smallest to $1,500 for the largest) and include plenty of perks like bottle service, a stocked private bar, and chocolate-covered strawberries. If you'd rather flaunt your party to the public, separate tables are available in the general VIP lounge for $350, and there's also a cushy catwalk over the dance floor that's available for $1,000. We heard that a few Diamondbacks players had a pretty hopped-up hootenanny in the latter area recently. Let's hope they made it to practice the next day.
Couture-clad female hotties flock to Dirty Pretty every Thursday, but it ain't to sip on overpriced martinis or ogle the hunky bartenders at the vintage-meets-swank rock nightclub. Nope, these slinky sirens wanna rock 'n' roll all night (and party every day) at the ultra-hot Scottsdale nightspot, and they do so with gusto.
Chic to the gills in their finest Mara Hoffman and Sky clubwear, or even sporting teased hair and ripped denim, the coifed and coutured ladies who frequent the weekly Foxy Bitch blowout are, indeed, both dirty and pretty as they scream along to the lyrics of classic anthems of AC/DC, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Roy Orbison, or whatever rock mash-ups are being spun from the decks of D-JR.
We've even seen a few hook 'em horns getting unleashed as these lovelies shake their booties on the dance floor. Watching these wanna-be Pam Andersons slumming it (and likely in search of their own personal Tommy Lee for the evening) reminds us of the similarly ironic Cake song "Rock 'n' Roll Lifestyle," where frontman John McCrea sang, "Well, your CD collection looks shiny and costly/How much did you pay for your bad Motto Guzi/And how much did you spend on your black leather jacket?/Is it you or your parents in this income tax bracket?"
The creed of the new Mondrian hotel in Scottsdale could easily be "decadence in excess."
Like the triptych painting The Garden of Earthly Delights by 15th- and 16th- century Dutch artist Hieronymus Bosch, the aesthetic of the Mondrian is good and evil. The main hall of the hotel plays host to a "heaven" theme, with fluffy, white-cotton clouds suspended from the ceiling, 3-D white orbs running down the walls, and white leather furniture, while a separate bar area entertains the images of "hell," with red furniture, red glass centerpieces shaped like cherries on the tables, and murals on the walls depicting cherubs who've somehow fallen from grace.
But the statues in the hotel's posh Asia de Cuba restaurant most closely resemble Bosch's work — stone bowls with phallic-shaped piles of exotic fat fruits wrapped around each other in a citrus orgy. With so much hedonism decking the halls, we wouldn't be surprised to find the Tree of Knowledge growing somewhere on the premises.
Rat Pack paradise must look something like this. The midcentury design that makes you think of The Sands (now defunct). The sweeping driveway with the backlit retro signage. The generous patio overlooking the pool, with open fires nearby on cool nights. All you'd need is Dean Martin with a cocktail in hand, Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr. clownin' at the bar, and maybe a young Shirley MacLaine high on champagne, and the picture would be complete: a Scottsdale
Ocean's Eleven, like the original 1960 version, not those dumb Steven Soderbergh remakes. Peter Lawford'd be wooing some curvy dame in Trader Vic's next door, and Joey Bishop'd be holed up in the hotel restaurant Café ZuZu, with a plate of gourmet meatloaf and copy of
Daily Variety.
Bishop and MacLaine are still kickin', natch, but just go with the concept, okay? It ain't too far-fetched. Celebs like Marilyn Monroe, Tony Curtis, Natalie Wood, and Robert Wagner all found reason to be here once upon a time. And now that this classy joint's reopened with its $80 million renovation, it's drawing a new round of Tinseltown types, like Jamie Foxx, and others. And perhaps even the ghosts of a few erstwhile Rat Packers on holiday from heaven.
When we're torn between the world of drinking wine in pajamas and watching Netflix versus getting gussied up for a night at a shiny club, there's one place where we can feel the thrill of grabbing a drink with the protective armor of anonymity. Kazimierz World Wine Bar offers a cozy cover of darkness with a burgundy interior prickled by candlelight. The stone walls and wooden wine casks make us feel like we're in a 19th-century port town cellar pub. The soft audio of jazz, Latin, and world beat serves an ambiance of private conversation as you sit on the squishy sofas and chairs. Sneak a meeting with a friend or love interest without the risk of being recognized or bombarded with social obligation. No need for the hat-and-glasses bit because even the entrance at the rear of the building is undercover.
The Black and Tan has been the subject of much secrecy and speculation over the past couple of years. The joint is an underground speakeasy of sorts, which is a nice way of saying it's not an official venue and that it doesn't have a liquor license (and, rumor has it, it's perpetually closing). Since we've already been falsely accused of "outing" the place in a recent Best of Phoenix issue (note: we have never disclosed anything about the club's location or who runs it, and in fact, we don't know the latter), we're not going to get into details. Let's just say you have to be "in the know" to go. But if and when you do go, drop some cash on the bar, because it'll be the best bang for your booze buck in the city. If you order a Vodka/Red Bull at the B&T, you get a plastic cup that's about 90 percent vodka and a couple drops of Red Bull — a swine steal at $3. A straight-up Red Bull costs only a buck. Anything with alcohol is going to be made to lay you out here, and considering that we often have to order doubles at legit establishments just to get a buzz going, we'd be boozing at the B&T every night if we could.
If you like your sangria white and crisp, we cannot possibly recommend a better cup of quaff than at this popular Arcadia pizzeria. The fruit has been soaking just long enough to make it intoxicating without crossing the line to overwhelming — and the drink itself is so light, it'll leave you floating.
Only problem: Everyone else in town loves this place, too, so you may need to add one of the to-die-for pizzas to your order to get a table. Life is so hard.
No point in serving us a dainty dash of vodka with a silly lemon twist. When we want a martini, we want it old-school: gin, olives, the tiniest touch of vermouth, and a giant icy glass.
Durant's delivers on every level. Even better, the drinks aren't poured by some silly college girl who thinks cleavage compensates for bad service. In the dark, clubby bar of this Phoenix institution, you'll get a crash course in what the good old days had to offer: All the classics, done simply and perfectly.
When we're drinking a cosmo, we want to feel girly, giddy, and a little retro. The bar at Café ZuZu, the bright restaurant at the Hotel Valley Ho that specializes in stylin' '50s-era comfort food, has just the right vibe. And the bartenders, thank God, know how to do this pink lady to perfection. Tart and sweet at the same time, it's the perfect drink for spring evenings by the pool, fall nights by the fireside, and just about every time in between.
Thank you, Matt Pool, for establishing yet another kickass downtown hang. The owner/chef of Matt's Big Breakfast opened the smashing Roosevelt Tavern in late December 2006 to better serve the downtown eatin' and drinkin' crowd. Among the 20 selections of wines and 45 beer choices is the Roosevelt House Beer, a perfect concoction exclusively created for the tavern by Tempe's famed Four Peaks Brewery.
The irresistible pale ale contains delicate fruit flavors such as grapefruit and an über-light aftertaste that appeals to both recreational boozers and more sophisticated social drinkers. Don't be surprised to gulp down some ice bits along with the liquid goodness served in a tall, Arctic-cold pint glass (ooh, so good) because each draft beer is chilled with a glycol cooling system and poured directly from the glass-encased keg room. You can also enjoy a menu of comfort food like Campfire Beans and Franks and hot, doughy pretzels, all while bathed in the intimate atmosphere of the red-brick 1900 Farish House.
Veteran Valley bartender and mini-music-mogul Vil Vodka is known for his potent custom shots, usually created for the purpose of promoting or paying homage to local bands. Vodka's "Robitussin" shot, introduced in 2004, smells and tastes like its cough syrup namesake, but taking one shot is probably the equivalent of downing two bottles of the real stuff. Vodka's latest concoction, the "Orange Sunshine" shot — which he calls "a ghetto variant of the vodka bomber commonly known as Tic-Tac or Sunkist" — is named after the new album by local psych-punks Blanche Davidian, and it's stronger than shit, too. The recipe for destruction is as follows: Place one shot of cheap orange vodka (the creator says, "save your Stoli and Grey Goose for your martinis") inside three ounces of the juicy Kronik Entourage energy drink, and chug. Sounds slight enough if you make it at home, but if you order one at Hollywood Alley, be prepared for a head spin.
Located in the heart of the Grand Avenue arts district, Paisley continues to bless red-eyed customers with caffeinated godsends. The cute cafe with a European flair features a stacked coffee bar chock full of espresso drinks, mochas, and the completely delicious maple latte, a concoction with two shots of Italian espresso, a healthy pour of 100 percent maple syrup, and steamed milk. Enjoy the best meal of the day (coffee) during select eves showcasing ambient jazz by acts like Try Me Bicycle and acoustic singer/songwriter specialities by out-of-towners such as Tiff Jimber.
You live in downtown Phoenix, your friend hangs in Scottsdale, and you need a meeting point before you hit a house party in Tempe. It's 9 p.m., and you and your crew want to start boozing ASAP, but God forbid you're the first ones at the party. Meet up at a bar, but beware and choose wisely, because the wrong decision could easily bust up the night's agenda. If you go to a club that's really bumpin', you're not going to want to leave. Hit a dive bar, and you'll be overdressed and uncomfortable — no way to gear up for a night of debauchery. Zen 32 has saved our social asses on a number of occasions. With its teeny but super-swanky bar, this sushi and drinking bar is the perfect rendezvous. Reasonable drink prices and a decent, well-dressed crowd offer just enough to hold you over for that crucial hour and a half before you have to move on. See you there.
The folks at Tradiciones could coast on their great location: a nice, new restaurant smack northeast of downtown, just far enough away not to be mired in Metro construction, convenient and close enough to lure customers from several busy areas. But they've stepped up and made a little Eden of drinking and munching, whether you choose the charming patio (separated from abundant parking by a flowery courtyard, splashy fountain, and several stalls of colorful merchandise) or the cavernous-yet-welcoming interior, with elevated booths, large and small tables, and a full bar. No matter where you sit, you're likely to be serenaded by live musicians. You'll want to take advantage of Tradiciones' specialties, like a premium margarita, a gem-toned sangria, or a pitcher of something to share with your amigos. On the appetizer tip, one solid sopecito topped with beans, cheese, and/or meat is one dolla. Have a cilantro marg for us.
Okay, so it's the worst-kept secret in the history of Phoenix. And, yeah, the parking is a pain in the neck by Valley car-centric standards. (Any time we have to park more than a few spaces away or — gasp! — pay a valet, we tend to feel put upon.) But when it comes to classy places to hang with a bottle of red and watch the night fall, there is no place we'd rather be than this Arcadia hot spot. The lighting is intimate, the crowd smart, and we'd just about kill for the bruschetta. Heck, we'll even pay that damn valet!
Greg Brickey and Jeff Davis take their wine seriously. They stock thousands of bottles of domestic and imported wines in their lovely, low-key spot, tucked away in a strip mall just off Scottsdale Road. Come by for a tasting on a Friday night, and they'll take you to New Zealand, Australia, or South Africa, via some carefully chosen bottles. Or stop by for a half bottle (never a cork fee!) and a cheese board or hummus and pita chips, off the "bites" menu.
You can get as serious as these self-described Wine Guys, and they'll help you plan your own wine cellar. Or take a class in wine/food pairing, offered at the wine bar by an instructor at the Scottsdale Culinary Institute. They'll even arrange a private tasting for you and a group of friends, and tailor the selection to fit your desires. Brickey and Davis better watch out: At this rate, you'll get so into wine you'll want to toss your day job — like these two did — and open up your own wine bar. We're betting they're up to the competition.
Not only does Crazy Ed's lure in tourists by the busload with its kitschy, Disney-like Western Town attraction on its property, the Cave Creek brew pub also attracts a fair amount of locals who come for its tasty selection of seven or eight signature beers (depending on the season) that come straight from its on-premises microbrewery — available either in bottles or on tap. Patrons relax in the county bunker's saloon or beer garden, sucking down the popular Chili Beer (which packs a major kick), as well as equally favored Ocotillo Ale, Lemon Lager, and Black Mountain Gold stout. There's also the crisp Frog Light ale, Pinnacle Peak Porter, and an unnamed wheat beer that tastes great with some of the down-home comfort food straight from the kitchen, including delicious Arizona fried chicken, barbecued ribs, or sirloin steaks. They've even got a brand-new ice cream emporium, which, sadly, only serves root beer in their floats instead of the alcoholic kind.
Don't look now, but it seems as though downtown Phoenix's nightlife scene has finally developed a pulse. Instead of avoiding the formerly lifeless city core (which, in years past, had the reputation of rolling up the sidewalks at 5 p.m.), hordes of hipsters of every stripe are heading downtown to drink and dance. Ground zero for this nightlife explosion has been a particular block of Copper Square where nearly a half-dozen nightclubs and restaurants offer a wide variety of music, bands, and DJs every night of the week. Bringing new definition to the word blockbuster, this off-the-chain area (located between Washington and Adams streets and First and Second streets) contains the queer-friendly cool of Burn, with chic gay and lesbian clubgoers dancing to house one night and indie kids rocking to the turntablism of Mykil and Kevin the Makeout Bandit the next. There's also the trendy two-level joint Bar Smith, with DJ Senbad and Benjamin Cutswell pumping their record decks every Saturday, and the upscale Latin danceteria Sky Lounge packing 'em in next door. Around the corner is jock haven Majerle's, whose 9 Lounge hosts the hip-hop night Grown & Gorgeous Thursdays with Dangerous MC, and on the other side of the block, the Matador Restaurant serves up Caliente Chica Fridays, with DJs AL3 and the Manic Hispanic spinning reggaeton, old school, and cumbias. Looks like Scottsdale isn't the only place to see and be seen anymore.
Casey's is an institution in downtown Tempe, in that you can count on it to be full of crazies any evening after 9 p.m.
But during the day, this old, allegedly haunted house is literally a living room for an assortment of characters (some who actually work there and, perhaps, some who work — or have worked — for this fine paper) who make the yahoos on Cheers seem like a bunch of strangers.
If retirees Sherman and Stormy don't show up, the bartenders are prone to calling to make sure they're still capable of walking. The joke goes, "Of course, Casey Moore's is haunted — Sherman and Stormy have been dead for 10 years."
But those two are the least of it. The place is home to a plethora of neighborhooders like Cigar Bob, Don across the street, local artist Rodgell, musician-about-town P.C., and more, who know one another and make like a virtual family despite an age range that spans at least 50 years. Come summer, when the students are mostly away, these are the folks who give the bar its character, and many of them spend more time at the bar than they do at home.
We haven't been to every dive in Phoenix, but we're getting close. The Fox Hole sure seems like the real deal to us — sometimes you walk into a place and it just feels right. The Hole is a typical dive in a bad part of town, complete with an abandoned, dumpy-looking empty lot behind it. Walking around to the front (don't ask what we were doing in the empty lot) there are large letters on the wall that say, simply, COCKTAILS. And above the door it reads, "Welcome to the Fox Hole."
We open the door to crinkled, old, sodden carpet, and through the doorway we spot two mangy pool tables to the left, and to the right a shuffleboard table and a brass-plated bar — the whole thing is this old, pounded brass plate, like gold-colored tin all over the bar. Awesome.
Dee the bartender is seasoned and just hired from the defunct Thunderbird Lounge up the road; she's from Ohio and brings some personality and warmth to the place.
We settle in and order a beer, which shows up quickly in a subzero frosty mug. We notice the centerpiece of the bar, a nice fish tank with a half a dozen or so of the little guys looking out at us. We ask Dee if she names them and she says, "Nah, but the big one on the bottom is the prettiest." The big guy next to us chimes in loudly, "Yeah, the shit-sucker!" Dee laughs and the big guy says, "Why is it that the prettiest one in there is the one that just sits around and eats shit all day... I don't get it."
Well, as we look around at these folks and the drunken grins and swaggers in this place, we get it loud and clear: This is the prettiest place we've found ourselves, in a long time.
But, perhaps, not for long. You'd better get over to The Fox Hole soon — word is the place has new owners, and they already made the men's room "nice," and we guess they're looking to add new carpet soon... Giddy up before they ruin the charm up in the joint.
We've been to a lot of bars and had some great food. Our personal all-time favorite snack was a batch of homemade pickled eggs the owner would bring to the bar in Beloit, Wisconsin — they were great with mustard. A close second were the Tater Tots at the long-gone original Long Wong's on Mill Avenue. But we think the best snack selection (maybe most disturbing) we've seen at a dive is at Kay's Lounge.
The bartenders at Kay's are sweet but sadistic. They fire up everything from chicken pot pies to corndogs, and even pretzels with gooey cheese. The real kicker at Kay's is the food that's soaked in our favorite pickling ingredient: alcohol. Everclear isn't just good for blacking out teenage girls anymore! We had to try the Olive Bomb, which is a big batch of jumbo olives passed out in a pool of Everclear joy. It's close to eating a flaming goat testicle and probably accounts for the clogged toilet we've seen in this joint . . . But no need to worry, you can wash it down with the Everclear-soaked Cherry Bomb to really cleanse the palate!
If you want to win a cute, little pink elephant with a dildo tied to its back, then this is the place for you. The Toy House (we like to call it simply The Crane Game) is a staple at many dives across the country. We really don't get it. What's the allure? We're going to "win" something after spending five hours and $40 at the bar when really, we should have been picking up Junior from band practice? Damn, we're in the dog house, but wait, a pink elephant will change all of this and we won't have to work so hard on the missus if we can untie the dildo off its back. (Hey! two gifts in one. She'll love it.)
The Crane Game at Westside is chock-full of stuffed animals, but most have a thong tied to them, or at least a titty keychain. If you're childless, don't despair! For you, there's an adult DVD called Be Cumming a Teenager, or, since you forgot the Fixodent, you can win a cock nose and glasses that lights up and blinks for Grandma.
Seriously, if you think bringing a cheesy gift to your wife, girlfriend, or kid is going to make them forgive you for being an alcoholic . . . Well, then you are one! Better off getting drunk and not going home — fuck it all! Are you really happy there, anyway?
What goes up must come down; what goes in must go out. One of the great ravages of drinking is, of course, the deterioration of the body. There's a lot of extra stress put on major organs — most notably, the liver and kidneys. Sometimes we feel like we're just a great big filter. We're not sure about you, but when we're drinking, we pee a lot, and when it's time to release, we gotta do it quick.
So where's the best place to go? If you're really stuck, we suggest just letting it rip in the pants — it's warm and feels great for the first couple of minutes until it starts to get cold and sticky. Otherwise, make your way pronto to the Playa off Bethany Home and 16th Street to saddle up to their 4-foot-long piss trough. It's complete with a screen from someone's window that fits in the bottom to serve as a cover, so no one will steal the precious urinal cakes, and to serve as a sieve for who knows what might end up in there.
At the Playa, the "trough" is just the topper to this stark, stinky-ass loo. There's a little ledge near the ceiling that has — count 'em — seven air fresheners . . . they must all be broken or used up. There is a lone commode; it even has a door on it! And when you go to wash up, there's a bottle of dish detergent, and the broken soap dispenser and old paper towel holder are tied down with hose clamps and nailed to the wall so they can't be stolen, like the missing door knob on the entrance that now shows off a 3-inch square for peepers who want to catch a glimpse of the pig getting out of the barn door.
Late night at a dive bar is great fun — unless you happen to be of the gender that pees sitting down. And while ladies across the land have certainly mastered the hover (for you men who need an explanation, use your imaginations), it's much tougher to pull off such a balancing act after a night of cheap booze.
We have found a dive bar that has a women's bathroom so clean and beautiful, your cheeks will be happy to rest on the sparkling porcelain. Not only does the Swizzle Inn take pride in their restroom hygiene, but they make the experience all the more luxurious with two whole stalls made from attractive stained wood with decorative locks that actually work.
To add to the lavishness, the sink has both soap and hand lotion. And you won't have to fight for mirror space with any biker hos to redo your lipstick because this place has a full-on vanity with stools. Take your sweet time to muster up your limited motor skills for a mascara touchup. But the very best part is the beautiful basket of free tampons overflowing with varying absorbencies — unbelievably decadent.
No scuzzy, butt-scattered patio at this dive. We call the smoking section at Jake's-O-Mine the party cage, because there's always a party in this small, makeshift smoking area. And, well, it looks like a cage.
If the new anti-smoking law was meant to make you feel humiliated while smoking, then the Arizona voters who passed that thing have done their job. And Jake's seals the deal. You actually feel like a caged animal with chain link all around you. The only thing missing is kids throwing Nicorette at you and pointing.
At any rate, the small area is outfitted with a swamp cooler that spews out cool, watery air. The walls are lacquered with plenty of NASCAR and beer posters to make it feel like an actual 15-by-20-foot inbred hick's garage. We guess new laws bring about creativity and the need to adapt, and we have to hand it to Jake's: They've done a pretty good job... if you don't mind feeling like you've been incarcerated (but for most of us here, it's not that far of a stretch).
Martini Ranch solves the smoker's problem by having a full-service bar outside on its huge smoking patio, allowing patrons to drink and smoke in peace. Best of all, there's a movable wall behind the indoor stage at Martini Ranch that, when lifted, allows folks on the patio to see the shows from outside (albeit from behind the musicians). And several loudspeakers pour music onto the patio. There's also a massive, big-screen TV on the outside wall, a misting system to keep folks cool during the hot summers, and ample outside seating. With accommodations like this, Martini Ranch almost makes smokers feel welcome again.
It seems like every place we go, owners are scrambling to come up with some sort of outdoor pit stop for the smoker patrons to light up. Meanwhile, smokers are often forced to hang in scummy parking lots, praying that no one roofies the drink they had to leave inside. But at Bar Smith, there are no such worries because this spot has a beautiful big balcony for everyone to puff away in the night's breeze. It's so much more than a smoker's den, complete with a full bar and room enough for dancing. Almost makes us want to light up.
It makes sense that within a few square miles of ASU in Tempe there are seven hookah bars to choose from. Where else are underage college freshmen supposed to sit on the floor and regurgitate ideas from Intro to Philosophy? If you're not of the frat-party persuasion, there's not a whole lot going on near campus until you turn 21 (or score a fake . . .).
But in spite of the variety of newer chi-chi spots, we'll always have a soft spot in our hearts for Tut's. It's one of the few Tempe college spots that hasn't been demolished for high-rise condos, probably because of its location along Apache Boulevard, out of the way of the city's major redevelopment plan (for now.) The restaurant is a little tricky to get to thanks to light-rail construction, but the food — especially the fail-safe, veggie-friendly appetizer menu — and the hookah are worth the struggle. For about $10, you can puff the night away on a pillow, something we find especially rewarding now that we can't legally smoke cigarettes indoors anymore. The young crowd makes for some interesting, and hilarious, people watching — we don't remember the last time we saw so many white college-boy 'fros in one place.
Casa Blanca's got something for everyone — there's a sports bar, where patrons can knock back a few brews while watching the game on the big screens, and there's the rock club, which usually sees the most action. We've yet to hit a show at Casa Blanca that wasn't packed to the gills, whether a national name like Bad Brains singer HR is onstage, or locals like NunZilla and Dephinger are rocking the house.
On some nights, the club is so jammed that people are resigned to using the club's two pool tables for seats. Notably, the bands who share bills at Casa Blanca help each other out — setting up and breaking down equipment, and staying for each others' sets. When there's nobody onstage, Casa Blanca plays the coolest in-house mix of music, jamming out perennial faves like Fugazi and the Ramones.
Leave your rave glow sticks in the car — this is a rock nightclub, right down to the décor, which features mosaic tabletops and original surrealist paintings. The only thing it needs now is more space.
If you're big into the Valley party scene, after a while you start to feel like if you've been on one dance floor, you've been on every dance floor. It's all just very monotonous — the strangers spilling drinks on you, the same songs over and over. Not quite the case at Glam. Yeah, there's still plenty of drink-spilling, but it's not as irritating here because the dance floor lights up.
Yes, lights up, as seen in Saturday Night Fever — and your wildest dance floor dreams. We're not sure what it is, but something about the checkered floor flashing at us all night makes us want to dance, even when we hate the song. It makes us feel just a little, um, glamorous, while still allowing us to lurk around the dark corners of a dive bar. It certainly doesn't hurt that Glam (formerly Ky's Place) has spent the past several months building a pretty solid weekly lineup. So, the dance floor is usually packed, but not uncomfortably so, most nights of the week.
Here's what we love about Burn: it's a gay bar that's not totally gay. Don't take that the wrong way — we get the message the buckets of free condoms, the black-and-white photos of hot chiseled abs, and the shirtless man wearing a bow tie and passing out paper towels in the unisex bathroom are sending. We do realize why the bar's slogan is "crave it, want it, get it."
But the place doesn't scream "I love Cher" or any other yucky gay bar stereotype and we like that.
In a city where a lot of the gay clubs follow the same Top 40, Britney- and Madonna-heavy soundtrack, we're also into the fact that the owner is savvy enough to mix things up with a different theme for each night. On a given weekday, you might run into some of the Pussy Posse doing a suspension show (Thursday's Club Mistress) or an out of town "celebrity" DJ (Friday night's French Kiss).
Oh, and did we mention the place is nice? With one wall lined with private, extremely cushy bed-like cabanas (champagne service included) and an enormous dance floor (go-go dancers on the podium included), Burn has quickly become one of our favorites.
A lot has changed since zGirl Club was known as Misty's. Once a haven for butch-looking Phoenix Mercury fans and middle-aged, mullet-headed mamas, zGirl Club now packs its dance floor with some of the hottest honeys in Phoenix, from lipstick lesbians in carefully coordinated outfits to soft butches who are dressed to impress. And where the DJ used to bump old Janet Jackson songs, Sapphic spinners like DJ Domenica are now playing the hottest hip-hop and Top 40 tunes. zGirl's special events and wild weeklies are hard to beat, too, from amateur pole dancing and "Drag King Idol" competitions to "Bikini Top Martini" Mondays, where ladies who show up in a bikini top get $3 fruit-flavored 'tinis all night. And there's live music, too, as sexy sirens like Nels and Julie Lloyd frequently pop in to perform.
This suave lounge has long been a favorite of Phoenix gays because it hosts "female illusionists" (a high-society-sounding way of saying "drag queens"), male revues, and the flamboyant karaoke that's a staple of Valley gay bars. But Amsterdam's Monday weekly, "Martinis & Manicures" — where patrons can get each for $5 — has been drawing in lots of ladies (lesbian and otherwise) for the past year. As if to prove they don't mind all the gals coming 'round, the folks at Amsterdam also launched "Ladies Happy Hour" every third Friday, with drink specials extending until 8 p.m.
But it isn't just the cheap drinks and pampering that draw in the lesbian crowd: With such a small, circular scene, Amsterdam is one of the few places in Phoenix where longtime lesbian clubbers aren't guaranteed to run into an ex or some form of drama. And for lesbians who just want to have a good time and aren't necessarily looking to hook up, Amsterdam is the perfect environment for laid-back conversation and boozing without the brawling and bruising.
Our first sign that this is the perfect neighborhood bar is the fact that it opens at 6 a.m. Our second: This joint has two happy hours — one from 6 a.m. to 10 a.m. and another from 4 p.m. to 7 p.m. Add to that a pool tournament every Monday and Wednesday, and karaoke every Thursday, and we have ourselves a winner.
The Silver Pony also boasts live music on Friday and Saturday nights, something too many neighborhood bars have thrown out in the past few years in favor of DJs. The house band, the Bullseye Band, is pure roadhouse-style country, perfect to knock back a few unpretentious pitchers of Bud to (what, you think real blue-collar dudes still drink Pabst? Leave that for the just-turned-21 set over at the Rogue).
The place gets pretty packed on weekends, and is pretty much just a neighborhood crowd. Perfect if you live nearby, or if you're looking for a place to slip into the shadows away from the Tempe-Phoenix-Scottsdale crowd.
If you've spent any time bar-hopping downtown, you've probably followed a well-beaten path from Carly's to Bikini Lounge, along with the rest of the downtown drinking crew. And while we still love to haunt both establishments, we're thrilled to add another stop on our weekend pilgrimages to get sauced. The Lost Leaf, on Fifth, just south of Roosevelt, has become a super-popular pit stop. The renovated historic home has a gorgeous interior with original wood floors and exposed brick walls showcasing artwork by neighborhood artists. They serve more than 60 beers, along with wine and sake. And if that's not enough, you can always order "off the menu" drink options of new wines and beers or check out their wine tastings every second Friday. But the very best part is that the place is one of the only bars in the area that stays open until 2 a.m. every night of the week.
Tempe is an entire city of neighborhood bars, so narrowing it down to one is no easy feat. But there's just something about Four Peaks — maybe it's that amazing spinach artichoke dip or the fact that they brew their beer on- site, or the excellent preservation of the building's mission revival style, and its location on Tempe's historic old Eighth Street. Most likely it's some combination of the three. There's something really cool about walking past the grain silo in the parking lot (um, if you're lucky enough to get a spot, that is — the lot's almost always completely full) and knowing that eventually the 40,000 pounds of malted barley inside will be turned into a delicious beer. Inside the place, it's awe-inspiring — at least to the habitual beer guzzler — to realize that the brewery has about 10,000 barrels of beer at any given time. That's 20,000 kegs, guys. Twenty thousand. And we have to say, we pretty much live for that Pumpkin Ale they make starting every October. But it's not just the beer that keeps us coming back. We also like that the place is mostly about good drinks and good food, without the pretension that some other neighborhood bars are thick with after 10 p.m.
A neighborhood bar needs to be the kind of place you can wander into wearing jeans without having to worry that you're underdressed. The kind of place where you can play darts or shoot pool and knock back a couple of cheap drinks without some jerk in a shiny shirt asking for your number. That's why we love TT's. A refreshing break from the dance clubs just up the street in Scottsdale, at TT's, tattooed arms and neighborhood drinkers far outnumber bottle blondes trolling for a sugar daddy. On Saturday and Sunday afternoons, the pool tables are free until 7 p.m. The bar brags about its jukebox, and we have to say it's pretty great, especially for the beer-swilling, Johnny Cash-loving set.
The patrons tend toward the OG punk rock, roller derby crowd, but if you leave pretension at the door, you're pretty much guaranteed to have fun. And really, that's neighborhood bar rule number one: good times, great music and people you can actually talk to.
Happy hour can turn into payday at Brennan's on Wednesday nights, when patrons are invited to participate in "Trivia Wednesdays." The games start at 8 p.m., with eight questions and two bonus questions, pertaining to everything from music and sports to history and geography. Participants can play alone or in teams, and the top three winners each week receive cash prizes (anywhere from $20 to $40). Afterward, you can spend your winnings on greasy grub like Texas Toothpicks (battered onions and jalapeños) and Irish Nachos before challenging friends to a game of pool or darts. Or you can simply sit back and watch the game on one of the bar's big-screen televisions. With a laid-back atmosphere, stiff drinks, good friends, and friendly competition, everyone's a winner at Brennan's, whether they nab the cash or not.
It's not unusual for the regular boozer to make friends with a favorite bartender. He totes the familiar formula of listening to problems, lighting up smokes, and suavely saving you from an overzealous solicitor seeking a one-night stand. Those qualities are useful and appreciated, but could describe any number of barkeeps in the valley. It's not often we run across a libation lobber like Devon, who, for the past year, has worked his magic on Friday nights at Glam (and you can catch him on Monday nights at The Rogue). The sweet-smiling, soft-spoken blonde has personal style like no other, landing somewhere in between '80s glam and vintage indie. Nobody can rock flowing leopard-print vests paired with bright turquoise stretch pants like Devon. Not only does he look amazing, but the man can make one helluva drink. His stiff mixes will make any experienced drinker feel like a lightweight. And after 2 a.m. when the bar dries up but the music is still bumpin', Devon will hop over and shake it as a last hurrah before he heads home.
Wes, as she's known to friends and regulars, is from the old school. Not the fancy spinning-shaker-of-death-thru-fire bartender, but the give-it-to-me-straight school of bartending. We couldn't be happier about that.
It's true that Wes doesn't take any guff, so you'd better be nice to the staff and the regulars. There's no snapping your fingers or waving bills at the Bikini Lounge. We dare you to try. We saw someone do that once — rumor has it they're still waiting for a drink. Wes has made every drink you've never heard of, twice. And if you're not sure what you want, she'll create one for you that will scratch the itch you didn't know you had. She's quick with the quip, ready with the laugh, and serves up drinks faster than you can say "tiki bar." If you're a downtown boozer, there's no one better than Wes.
To hell with hitting up Wikipedia. Whenever we wanna get the 411 on house music, we hook up with DJ Joe DiPadova. The laid-back record-spinning cat is a virtual walking encyclopedia on the subject — both its history and how to lay it out on the one's and two's, the latter of which he's been doing since his love affair with the genre began more than a decade ago.
After getting his start in the clubs of Boston, DiPadova relocated to the PHX in 2002 and started making appearances at Pete "Supermix" Salaz and Senbad's legendary house night Batucada, as well as at nightspots like Sky Lounge and Scottsdale's Next, before striking out on his own with StraightNoChaser at Tempe's The Loft in 2005.
DiPadova relocated the night to chic gay lounge Homme in 2006 and rechristened it "StraightNoChaser Presents: one," where the 31-year-old slung out different flavors and subgenres of house (including deep house and Loft Classics to more global variations like Afrobeat and Italio) and brought in guest DJs to share turntable duties, including the legendary JoJo Flores.
The jukebox inside this central Phoenix neighborhood bar is an absolute gem. Aside from the fantastic selection, it's one of the few "real" jukes left in our favorite dimly lit haunts. So many bars have gone the way of the Internet jukebox. Sure, it's kind cool to be able to play literally anything, but it's also boring — we've got iTunes on our laptops. Part of the fun of a bar jukebox is being forced to hunt for a song, and, often, you remember songs you haven't listened to for years. The juke at Shady's sits unpretentiously next to the bathroom — no flashy lights or wireless connections here — and is full of forgotten favorites. The usual suspects are there — Joy Division, The Smiths, Bauhaus, Velvet Underground. But you also get Aretha, Roy Orbison, the Cramps, Detroit Cobras, and Otis Redding. A buck will buy you three plays, $2 gets you seven, and if you wanna be "that guy," you can choose 18 songs for $5.
Brigett's Last Laugh isn't much different from any other neighborhood bar in the Valley, except it's the reigning karaoke capital. Seven nights a week, DarkHorse Productions lets customers croon favorite tunes by everybody from Alanis Morissette to Judas Priest, and almost everybody gets in on the action. Brigett, the owner, can often be seen dancing along to the music or singing her version of Sammy Hagar's "I Can't Drive 55" while regulars rush to sign up for their favorite songs. Some of the singers are actually pretty good (one regular does a rendition of Tommy James' "Mony Mony" that always brings down the house), while others are clearly there to see how badly they can butcher a song for comic effect. The karaoke carries on from 8 p.m. until close on some nights, but there's plenty for patrons to do if they won't brave the mic — the bar's got a full kitchen that serves up greasy grub, there are two pool tables, and a lot full of high-end Harley-Davidsons outside.
Time Out may look like just another strip mall dive bar, but make no mistake: The pool tables are the main attraction. Well, the pool tables and the incredibly strong, incredibly cheap drinks. Banners from pool tourneys past line the wall, and the bar hosts amateur tournaments on Saturdays at 3 p.m. Most people who play are very good, so if you're an amateur (read: if you suck) you may want to steer clear of the billiards, at least during the bar's peak hours. There's plenty — darts, pinball, jukebox, random neighborhood weirdoes — to keep you entertained while you wait for a table, but pool is the main focus here. The crowd is laid-back (unless you're blocking a shot) — mostly skateboarders, blue-collar types, and Tempe locals. Plus, the bar staff is friendly and heavy-handed. On Sunday night, one of the place's most popular evenings, pool is free. So, if you're a serious shark, get there early or prepare to spend some time waiting for an open spot.
We once invited an English gal pal to the G&D. She took one look and went all wiggy on us. Mumbled something about Liverpool, started gulping down Guinness, and passed out in the loo. We took this as a sign that she liked the place, which turned out to be true. Moral of the story: If you can get a Brit to throw up in your toilet, you're doing something right. This venerable pub and restaurant can't seem to do anything wrong, from the Union Jack it flies from the roof to the last yummy bite of the 100 percent authentic shepherd's pie. G&D also stocks lots of hard-to-find suds and is one of the few places in town where fans of real football can get their fill. And with its back room full of pool tables and dart games, it makes for an abso-bloody-lutely great place to just arse about.
This Tempe joint has the ultimate credential for an Irish bar: It knows how to pour the perfect Guinness. Ice cold, with a delightful head of froth, it's got us ready to belt out, "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling" — and, thank God, the good-looking crowd of college kids and professionals mingling on the patio is usually happy to join in.
With a maximum capacity of 2,600, Celebrity Theatre may not be the biggest concert venue in the Valley, but therein lies the charm. No seat is farther than 75 feet from the stage, making this venue the only one in Phoenix where the phrase "not a bad seat in the house" really holds true. Because of the enclosed space and the circular seating around the stage, the acoustics are excellent — which may be one reason the venue still draws national acts like Heart, Bone Thugs-n-Harmony, and Bow Wow, despite bigger venues in town with more advertising muscle. And Celebrity Theatre's unique setup (like the revolving stage) often provides concertgoers with a more personalized experience, as some performers are always compelled to comment on the setup from the stage. Return performer Lucinda Williams has remarked about the "weird" half-round setup that always has her directly facing the stage exit the past three times she's played the venue. Or Cyndi Lauper, who found herself performing on the stage in 2003 while it was rotating and proclaimed, "Stop the stage! I feel like I'm gonna throw up."
In addition to being one of the few all-ages rock clubs in town, The Clubhouse has the distinction of hosting some of the hottest bands in the PHX on a regular basis — Authority Zero, Casket Life, Greeley Estates, The Format, The Heartless, and The Earps have all played that stage, many as opening acts for national performers. And the venue seems to have a knack for booking national acts that are about to blow up into the year's biggest buzz bands — artists like Sage Francis, Isis, Matisyahu, and Menomena. The CMV doesn't shy away from the unknown, either, as it's played host to numerous Battles of the Bands, from the Zippo Hot Tour competition to the 101.5 Free FM showcase to the Emergenza local showcase competition, where Valley rockers like Cold Fusion, e(v)olocity, and Storm Within have gone for the glory. The acoustics in the place are great, and yes, there is a bar for those 21 and older. The only drawback is that you can't take your al-kee-hall past the bar, and the entire area in front of the stage is a no-booze zone.
Located at a dusty intersection just off the Old West Highway (natch), Arizona Joe's is a rollicking roadhouse where you can do some serious hootin' and a-hollerin' any night of the week. Country is king here, as an array of cowboy hats is stapled above the bar and the walls are lined with plenty of Western art and NASCAR memorabilia. Local groups like The Desert Skies Band and The Jeff Stevens Band serve up some pickin' and grinnin' here nightly, providing plenty of good ol' boy music, drinking songs, and Willie Nelson covers for the delight of the cowboy junkies in attendance. Trailer-park rats, trucker hat-wearing country bumpkins, and tattooed Kid Rock types come from miles around to boot-scoot across the dance floor, suck down bottles of Budweiser and Coors, or puff on Marlboros. It makes us want to throw on our snakeskin boots and amble on down for a taste of country comfort. Y'all come back now, ya hear?
Rhythm Room owner Bob Corritore isn't about to relinquish his title as "Mr. Phoenix Blues" just yet. While his club has been booking more rock acts in the past few years, he still manages to host every hot blues show in town, from the legendary (Joe Louis Walker, Mem Shannon, Sonny Rhodes) to the new guard (Black Diamond Heavies, Wayne "The Train" Hancock, Candye Kane). And the Rhythm Room still plays host to more Valley bluesicians than any other venue, with acts like Big Pete Pearson, Paris James, Hans Olson, and Sistah Blue regularly rockin' the stage. But the Rhythm Room is more than just a blues club — it's a Phoenix institution, where famous blues guitarists mingle alongside the club's regulars and all-star jams can last until 2 a.m. Despite the absence of "Arizona's Ambassador to the Blues," Chico Chism, who died in January at age 79, the Rhythm Room's fire is still burning, and like the posters of past performers that adorn the walls, the vibe in the small club is one of remembrance and celebration, a slice of nostalgia straddling the modern world.
Situated in a strip mall on the northeast side, The Blooze may not look like much, but once you walk in and get a feel for the place, you appreciate the kicked-back atmosphere. On weekends, local blues and rockabilly bands like Jailhouse Poets, The Dynoglides, Maricopa County Prison Band, and Shadowcasters set up on the modest stage and rock the joint, while patrons enjoy $1.25 domestic drafts. Occasionally, an out-of-town band like Cali's Brian Jay & The Last Call Boys will play the club, too, and since The Blooze is so hot on cars (they broadcast every NASCAR race), they welcome car enthusiasts — vintage vehicle clubs like Glendale's The Invaders are frequent visitors.
The same scrubs behind the defunct Emerald Lounge are trying to make a go of it with their recent purchase of this downtown bar. It's a slippery game they're playing — trying to be all shadowy and underground and indie, without forcing it. Authenticity cannot be faked, but the Ruby Roomers must be doing something right because their club is starting to catch on with local bands and DJs. Every time we've been there, the place is riddled with local musicians, checking out their peers' work or showing their musician pals some support. With a crowd like that, we'll be keeping our eye on this spot for sure.
It takes more than a glitzy exterior for a venue to be fly. It's what's inside that counts. That's why the stunning Mesa Arts Center, arguably one of the most stylish arts spots in the Southwest, places a premium on programming happening events like Sound in the Ground. The bimonthly Thursday-evening series plugs the opening of exhibits in the Mesa Contemporary Arts galleries by bringing in local musical acts that represent the displayed shows. Because the art lives on the edgier side, the musicians — ranging from high-energy rock/funk group Attack of the Giant Squid to Terminal 11's electronica freak-out — are geared toward the experimental and improvisational. The larger ensembles perform outside on the spacious courtyard while eclectic DJs entertain folks queuing at the wine and beer cash bar inside. That old racket about Mesa shutting down after sunset just isn't true when SinG is in full effect, cuz the party goes off 'til midnight.
While Long Wong's may have gone to the great music scene in the sky after getting the bulldozer treatment a few years back, the spirit of the legendary Tempe rock 'n' roll bar lives on at Club Mardi Gras & VooDoo Lounge. Hang out at this raucous roadhouse in south Scottsdale and it'll feel like you've been transported back to the glory days of Mill Avenue, as many a local music scenester from the mid-'90s onward grabs some stage time here. Every Wednesday, brothers Brent and Kylie Babb unleash their brand of experimental pop-rock followed by a weekly gig by Dave Speed of Truckers on Speed. On Sundays, see The Zen Lunatics holding a weekly "Rockaraoke Night," in which they perform live-band karaoke. Steve Larson and Dead Hot Workshop have frequented the place, as have former Long Wong's favorites The Sand Rubies, and Greyhound Soul. Now if only Roger Clyne would reform The Refreshments and stop by for a couple renditions of "Banditos," we could die happy.
Your newest band just spent the past few weeks in mom and dad's garage rehearsing like crazy — and making the folks equally so — and now a location is needed to unleash your indie efforts upon the world (and we don't mean a street corner during First Fridays). Unfortunately, until you've got more of a refined sound and serious following, the Marquee is out of the question (or Modified Arts for that matter), so we recommend ringing up the Trunk Space, where owners JRC and Stephanie Carrico have something of a yen for embryonic musical outfits such as yours.
In the past year alone, the Grand Avenue art gallery and performance venue has given up debut gigs for some of the newest bands the Valley music scene has birthed, such as folk-pop guitar and cello duo Jon Gake, shoe-gazing rockers A Technicolor Yawn, the experimental sounds of Glochids, the acoustic pop quartet Foot Ox, and the psychedelic roots band Iji. Who knows, Steph and JRC may even let you hawk your band's homemade CD-Rs at their joint. Just be sure to give a cut to your parents to cover their migraine meds.
Dubbing itself "Arizona's Underground Hip-Hop Movement," Southwest RapStock is the brainchild of Sassy, a west-side promoter and vice president of local label Topp Notch Records. The monthly RapStock event is the culmination of Topp Notch's weekly "Hip-Hop Thursdays" event at J-heads, which packs dozens of Valley MCs onto the stage in a single night (always the first Thursday of the month). Each rapper performs about two songs, hoping to impress the crowd and potential talent scouts who may have dropped in unannounced. Local artists like Influence, Fetti Profoun, Big Yo, Loc Dawg, BobKatt, Thee Originals, The Hood Cartel, Candilicious, Golden, and J-Slugg have all honed their skills at RapStock, and the event just keeps getting bigger. Promoters are currently booking acts for the 12th RapStock show, and competition is getting fiercer, as the event has drawn the attention of Cali acts like G-Bundle and JT the Bigga Figga.
DJ Al Page is P-town's impresario of hip-hop. Since starting The Shop back in 2001 because no one was playing the true hip-hop he wanted to hear, the funky pool hall — the Hidden House, at Seventh Avenue and Osborn Road — where it all goes down has become the place for outstanding underground and above-ground DJs to flex their skills on the wheels of steel, and for old- and new-school heads to appreciate same. Friday nights are for Page's Friday Night Live spectaculars, featuring any number of MCs and DJs doing their thing. On Saturdays, resident she-jays Robyn and KGB rock the house, keeping it funky, fresh and as ill as an AZ rattlesnake. Also, you never know when Page himself will step to the decks and start mixing classics from a pre-nose-job Michael Jackson or Marvin Gaye with joints from Blackalicious or The Roots. Without Page, the PHX would largely be left with top-40 hip-hop nights sans soul or authenticity. We just hope the playa doesn't get a hair up his ass and move to Denver, San Diego, or some such shit. As long as he keeps spinnin', we'll keep attendin', drink in hand.
It's a fact of life in our overworked, career-driven climate that Mondays are usually not fun days. If the days of the week had to go to high school, Monday would be the socially inept kid with headgear and zits. But here in Phoenix, there's a killer little club that has given that day a new lease on life. At Bruno Mali's (the club right next door to the Hidden House), they party it up with "A Foreign Affair," a weekly Monday DJ night. Turns out, there are plenty of downtown kids who are singing a tune other than "I Don't Like Mondays," because the place is usually packed with attractive twentysomethings, ready to get down and dirty. This dark hole in the wall is decked out from floor to ceiling with paintings by local artists. If that's your thing, you'll surely dig Monday nights because among the spinning beats and dancing, there's usually an artist on hand, painting or drawing live.
If you happen to be a weekday worker, Wednesday nights usually mean dinner and TV at home. If you really want to punch it up, maybe you watch your latest Netflix and stay up past 10 p.m. Sexy.
We recommend ditching your midweek rut to get funky. "Groove Candy" at the Door in Tempe has been going strong for over a year and has managed to hook in loads of folks looking to drink, dance, and get a little wild. The small club, decked out in posters of pin-up girls, fills up quick and stays bumping right through to last call, surely making for some tough Thursday mornings at the office.
We're thinking that everyone should ditch their typical Wednesday routine for Groove Candy. After all, a dry hump on the dance floor seems the perfect way to wrap up a hump day.
Valley punk band NunZilla knows how to bring out the party animal in people. At any given show — from gigs at Casa Blanca Lounge to the Zombie Ball performance at The Sets in Tempe to their early shows at Hollywood Alley in Mesa — the members of NunZilla encourage audiences to get hammered (Sister Kenyattasaurus Rex once poured her whiskey down some dude's throat) and act the fool. And the best tools for fools are kids' toys, particularly giant, blow-up Godzilla dolls. NunZilla's got three of 'em at every show. They're supposed to be props, but they become plastic whores, as audience members ride them around mosh pits and hump them for drunken photos. Some people get quite attached — at one show, one very ardent fan grabbed a Godzilla, proclaimed it as his date, and waltzed off with it to God-knows-where and to do God-knows-what, a direction violation of the "Thou Shalt Not Steal" commandment. Let's hope the Nunz don't start showing up with giant rulers at shows to start rapping our knuckles.
It's a small club, bands are always complaining about the crappy PA, drink specials are usually along the lines of 25-cent cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon, and your feet usually stick to the floor. Punk fucking rock. J-Heads (formerly known as Jugheads) has been a component of the Valley's punk rock scene for years. Members of another scene staple, the Web forum AZPunk.com, refer to J-heads as "THE place to go to find the heart of punk rock in Arizona" and give it props for "best show energy, best beers on tap" (the jukebox is crammed with cool, old-school punk tunes, too). And local horror-punks Calabrese call it their "venue of choice." While larger clubs usually nab the big-name national punk bands, J-Heads still books more local punk shows than any other venue, playing host to a slew of Phoenix's finest. Bands like Numbers On Napkins, Labor Party, The Complainiacs, Blanche Davidian, and Drunk On Tuesday have all played multiple shows there. Hell, even senior citizens like Sun City punk rockers One Foot in the Grave have rocked the stage. J-Heads hosts some of the best underground national punk acts, too, like Canada's Motorama, Oregon's Ugly Litter, and Denver's NoPlotKill. Now, if they could just pimp their PA.
Listening to Vomitando's unique "Metalachi" sound is quite the pleasurable experience, and something we have never quite heard before. Originally from Chihuahua, Mexico, and currently based in Mesa, the band, as described by frontman Puncho Villa, sounds like "Julio Iglesias and GWAR made love and gave birth to a five-headed child named Vomitando." Their current performance schedule is limited, especially after their original drummer was deported days before a Christmas Day show at Strokers (for real), but don't fret because their MySpace page is chock full of band news and punch-in-the-face tunes sung in Spanish and English. One of the best examples is the bare-bones "City of Tacostan," which makes light of the Arizona/Mexico border strife with the lyrics, "Just came to sell some tacos/Until the break of dawn/But until I find my tacos/Well, I guess I'll mow your lawn." A full-length release is scheduled this year on Shedtunes Records, a label whose name comes from Vomitando's early recordings that were made in a shed.
If you happen to miss the Free Street Band's sidewalk performances outside Carly's Bistro at Second Street and Roosevelt during First Friday in downtown Phoenix, don't worry. You can also catch the marching musical group at the corner of Garfield and Third Street, or McKinley and Fourth, or even... Well, you get the point. Like local rockers the MadCaPs, the pipe-and-drum trio stays on the move during the monthly art walk (except they're on foot instead of the back of a pickup truck), bringing their wailing brand of music to the masses. Led by abstract painter and bass drummer Joe Axton, this kilt-clad quintet of aging hippies also includes a bagpiper, snare drummer, bodrhán player, and bass player who perform such standards as "Scotland the Brave" or anti-war favorites like John Lennon's "Give Peace a Chance" all over the Evans-Churchill neighborhood. Unlike the MadCaPs, who always seemed to be getting tailed by the cops, we're betting the fuzz won't bother with these guys. Just try to catch them — The Free Street Band doesn't even have a MySpace page. Leave word at
[email protected].
When we were young, the sounds of mom's clinking pots and pans signaled chow time was coming right up. Those clanks never held any musical value. But maybe they should have.
That's why we dig the creative mini-geniuses John Ryan Nelson, James Fella, Ashlea Hohm, Marla Thyer, and James Roemer of local sensation Tent/City, who incorporate objects such as saucepans and kitchen cutlery into their atmospheric sound. The playing of these "instruments" is only part of the ensemble's full sound. Live gigs normally feature one 20-plus-minute composition, where several members sample live sounds from woodwind instruments or human vox, which are then thrown into a digital sound processor to create ambient loops. These sound collages are played while the sextet are huddled under some sort of makeshift tent structure, such as a PVC pipe assemblage with colorful streamers, a pillow fort with blankets and sheets for the roof, or inside a camping tent on the Grand Avenue sidewalk.
If you can't catch this wonderful circus in person, recordings of these performances are available for purchase at www.gilgongorecords.com/tentcity.html.
How did the nation get hit over the head with humor-core metal band Psychostick? Was it because of the chicken-head hats and cow costumes? The smarmy back-and-forth banter with fans? The tours and shows with folks like Bobaflex, Indorphine, Army of Anyone, and Three Days Grace?
Well, those things are all well and good, but the two things that really put Psychostick at the forefront of Phoenix bands were 1) Having fans that play in bigger bands, and 2) That damn "Beer!!" song that they're probably sick of playing already.
When Psychostick's debut, We
Couldn't Think of a Title (Rock Ridge) came out late last year, members of L.A. metal band Otep — specifically bassist eViL j and singer Otep Shamaya — started singing the praises of the wacky quartet, steering thousands of Otep's fans to Psychostick's music. Then, XM Satellite Radio station Squizz 48 put "Beer!!" in heavy rotation, and the song dominated the No. 1 spot on the station's top-10 countdown for seven consecutive weeks. The video for the song then popped up on Web sites like Ebaumsworld.com and Collegehumor.com, forcing Psychostick to identify as "the band that does that 'Beer!!' song." We can't wait to see what their next accidental hit is going to be.
Phoenix's resident shock-rocker is a relic himself, so it's no surprise that a man who's spent more than 41 years recording and touring would accumulate enough rock memorabilia to fill the walls of his restaurant from floor to ceiling. Not only are several of Cooper's own platinum records displayed, but he's got shiny signed platters from dozens of other music legends hanging around, as well as signed guitars galore from the likes of the Grateful Dead, Fleetwood Mac, Dave Matthews Band, Ozzy Osbourne, Santana, and the Rolling Stones.
For a while, there was a mounted boar's head hanging on the wall, courtesy of caveman rocker Ted Nugent. There are also numerous signed photos, set lists, and even signatures all over the walls outside the bathrooms. Clearly, Cooper's got friends in high places. Unfortunately, none of the memorabilia is for sale, but it's all there for the looking. And if your wallet does get antsy sitting in your pocket while you're scarfing down the restaurant's award-winning barbecue, Cooper's got a merchandise stand near the entrance, where you can buy all sorts of Cooper gear, from baseball jerseys to shot glasses.
The Hi-Liter is the "old reliable" of Valley flesh palaces. Largely, the eye-candy is young, friendly, and well worth ogling. The strippers tend not to be quite as aggressive when it comes to soliciting lap dances as in other spots. A delightful song-length dalliance (uh, with your clothes on, of course) will cost you only $10, and almost any tip is appreciated. The bouncers are actually helpful, as long as you're behaving yourself. And you can download a coupon from the bar's Web site that'll get you through the door gratis.
What else could you ask for? Well, you didn't ask for it, but here's a little history: The Hi-Liter's been in business in one form or another since 1962; it was a piano bar before it went go-go in the '70s. And, oddly, it had a hand in the creation of what eventually became Hustler magazine. According to Larry Flynt, who explains it all in his autobiography An Unseemly Man, it was while scouting strip clubs in Phoenix back in the day that he spotted a copy of the still-extant freebie adult newspaper Bachelor's Beat. Flynt's Dayton, Ohio, franchise of this PHX pub eventually morphed into Hustler, which now has its offices in a big, black building in Beverly Hills. Class dismissed. So Hi-Liter has another claim to fame other than being an awesome chichi bar, and one of the many places Mike Tyson's flipped out at while living in Sand Land.
Never has a little butt-crack been so sexy. Seriously. You'll literally see what we're talking about when you check out a Lunar Party at Half Moon Sports Grill. Once a month, women of all ages compete for the distinction of being a calendar girl of the month, which grants winning contestants a complimentary professional sports photography shoot and wall space for a large-format black-and-white image.
The catch? Winners gotta show a little booty, or just enough to expose their half moon. Our favorite calendar girl pinups include women shooting hoops, lining up a bull's-eye shot with a bow and arrow, fiercely smashing a tennis ball over the net, and walloping a volleyball in midair. Drink specials include $2 Pyramid hefeweizens and bargain-basement deals on Skyy vodka cocktails. For once, crack won't kill ya.
Tempe's newest swanky dance club places a premium on a Scottsdale-slick ambiance, sexy red lighting, cherry-infused libations and bikini babes. Yep, you heard it right, bikini gals who slide and grind on a pole inside of a cage. Drool. The space dedicates 3,000 square feet to loungy areas where patrons can ogle beautiful women and 7,000 square feet for booty-shaking, meeting, and mingling. Power hour every evening features $1 Bud Light bottles and black cherry vodka specialties. During each last Thursday of the month, sip on complimentary champagne and learn how to pole dance for free. A tip for newbie visitors: Don't let the faux queue outside the club fool you. One of the club's gimmicks is to make the place look like it's overly hoppin' so that you'll come inside. We can't really blame them, because it's obvious that the Pit is the place to be.
This sports bar, established by former Phoenix Sun Dan Majerle, has a prime spot across the street from U.S. Airways Center, making it the perfect postgame drinking hole for basketball fans and players alike. And while a handful of NBA players have made appearances there, it's the WNBA ballers — particularly our Phoenix Mercury — who make a regular habit of hanging out and mingling after games. Mercury guard Diana Taurasi holds fundraisers for community charities there, with fellow Mercury players like Cappie Pondexter, Penny Taylor, and Tangela Smith.
Sometimes she brings out players from other teams in the league, like her good friends Sue Bird and Lauren Jackson of the Seattle Storm. Fans come out to shake hands and take pictures with the players, who're very accessible and not at all secretive about their favorite watering spot. In fact, after the Mercury's last game of the regular season in 2007 (a victory over the visiting Sacramento Monarchs), Taurasi did an on-court interview following the game and announced to the whole arena, "Now we celebrate with some drinks at Majerle's!"
We've always liked the cozy, dark richness of the Club Lounge at Phoenix's grandest hotel. But it's only now, with the state's smoking ban in full effect, that cigars are strictly verboten and we find ourselves loving the place. With its big TVs turned to the big game and a clientele that includes the kind of guys who might be playing in tomorrow's doubleheader, it's that rarest of combinations: A sports bar that isn't loud, with a great scotch list that never feels snooty.
The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat come in many forms at this West Valley drinking spot. Throngs of sports nuts gather around the 25 different televisions to witness all manner of games and events, from die-hard football fanatics checking out every single NFL contest going down on any given Sunday to motorheads cheering on their NASCAR heroes as they round the track at Daytona. Other sporting events, from motocross to snowboarding, also get plenty of play on the boob tubes here. In the meantime, pool sharks get their fill on the joint's five billiards tables (with free pool daily from 2 to 4 p.m.), while poker pros can try their luck on Wednesdays with no-limit Texas hold 'em all night. Ping-pong and beer pong are another big draw with free paddle action going down on Sunday nights and all day on Mondays and Tuesdays. Wanna get some action? Head for Marc's, bub.
Despite the butt-cleavage theme, Half Moon Sports Grill is swankish enough to draw plenty of chicks, which, of course, makes for the best kind of sports bar there is: one where you might actually hook up during halftime. The grub, too, is not an afterthought. Half Moon boasts some of the best chicken wings in the Valley, for instance. In fact, you could even take a gal on a date to Half Moon, and she probably won't mind too much if you're checking the score every time she's not lookin'. Now that's a good sports bar.
We dig sports bars with options, and Jilly's is our fave gathering spot for sports freaks, business professionals, and young bucks wanting to shake it all out. The casual establishment boasts plush booths, a spacious dance floor that fills up on weekend nights, and righteous American food offerings, such as Bayou Shrimp appetizers, Lone Star Meatloaf and the Coyote Burger, topped with melted pepper jack, avocado, tortilla strips, and chipotle mayo. Enjoy $3.50 Sierra Nevada drafts whenever the Suns are on the tube or display your inner frou-frou with an irresistible martini menu, which includes the peach cosmo and a contemporary dessert banana split highball. The kitchen is open late and there's never, ever a cover.
Although the Cards defected to the west side last year, we're still about filling our bellies with pub grub and suds at any number of Tempe watering holes with a sports bar aesthetic. Philly's gives us the perfect excuse, even on non-game days, to satisfy our greedy guts. The sports bar/restaurant carries all of the satellite sports packages, including Direct TV's NFL Sunday Ticket, all which can be enjoyed on the bar's 19 televisions. They serve a mean Philly cheesesteak (8- or 12-inchers) with your choice of grilled onions, bell peppers, mushrooms, or cherry poppers, and the Wednesday night $9.50 special from 4 p.m. to close gets you a bomb-ass 12-ounce New York-style steak, baked potato, rolls, and dinner salad. If you happen to stumble outdoors to the spacious patio on select days, you can be witness to scantily clad women splishing and splashing and, uh, getting wet in blow-up kiddy pools.
You ever feel like there's so much sports action during the weekend that you'd need six or seven televisions just to keep tabs on everything? Us, too. But instead of maxing out our MasterCard buying half a dozen boob tubes, we head to this south Scottsdale sports mecca to peep all the highlights in comfort. It's hard to miss anything — with more than 30 different big screens and plasmas tuned to all the of the latest sporting contests lining the walls at Duke's, whether it's the NBA, NFL, MLB, NHL, or NASCAR, you'll be A-okay, as there's hardly a bad seat in the house (they even have a telly in the bathrooms). There's also plenty of delicious gametime grub to be had, including such comfort food as juicy burgers, sandwiches, wings and salad. And if you're bored during halftime, shoot some stick on any of the joint's eight pool tables, try your hand at three different shuffleboard machines, or pump some quarters into arcade games like Golden Tee or PGA Tour Golf Challenge. Like the sporting life? Then you'll definitely love Duke's.
Some great views are, shall we say, partial. The city at night can resemble jewels in Tiffany's window from any old dump that's high up, but what about breathtaking vistas by day? Lovely mountains may beckon at the horizon, but if you look down and see salvage yards, retail chains, traffic jams, fraternity boys, and other evidence of human suffering, your social conscience is not getting the respite it needs. On The Phoenician's terrace, you're standing somewhere pretty, looking out over somewhere pretty toward pretty stuff. As the hillside falls away, your gaze is cushioned by gardens, fairways, poolside sybarites, and lush, well-kept homes nearby. Maybe our species will get its act together, you muse. And if, as you contemplate your beverage, you sparkle a bit brighter in this elegant setting and draw the attentions of another poseur or poseuse who doesn't really belong there, either, that's just gravy.
God bless Great Arizona Puppet Theater. God bless them, we say! Not every arts group respects the intelligence and imagination of our children, perpetuating a low-tech, time-honored performance tradition, yadda yadda yadda, while also embracing the goofy child inside the crude, boozy adult audience. (Okay, not very far inside.) Every now and then, GAPT hosts a Puppet Slam for adults, and high jinks ensue. The last one we went to had a pirate theme. Pirates are really cool because they're violent and rebellious and talk funny and look weird but don't belong to a protected racial or sexual group that we're aware of — although they do tend to be missing limbs and eyes, so we're careful not to laugh at them for that, in particular. And somehow these puppet people have gotten permish to have a cash bar at intermission. And the drinks were pirate-themed, too! They really get us.
Phoenix is definitely coming into its own, but after 2 a.m. we're usually faced with the cold, hard fact that we're still not quite a "real" big city. After last call, pretty much everything's locked up, and "after hours" means Denny's or someone's house.
But at least every Friday night, you can count on Faux Show and resident DJ Jared Alan to keep you up long after you have to close your tab. It's a nice break from the standard night — Alan prides himself on staying away from the banal, overplayed songs a lot of other DJs use as standbys. He's also started to build a name for himself as a promoter, bringing bands like Menomena, Bunny Rabbit, and LCD Soundsystem to the Valley when they would have otherwise passed us up. That, combined with the fact that you can stay at the bar until 4 a.m. if you want, makes Faux Show our favorite spot to start the weekend and end the night.
It's 8 a.m. on a Saturday. You're coming off a night of multiple nightclubs, sweaty dancing, drinks galore, and after-parties lasting 'til well after sunrise. You feel like hell and you look it, too. The belly of booze is gone, the hangover is starting to kick in and, man, you are starving! Not to mention, you're feeling pretty hard-up because you didn't get lucky. So where can you go? The thought of hitting a family breakfast place makes you feel like the uninvited creepy uncle, so you need something on the seedier side. Lucky for you, Hollywood Alley will embrace your half-drunk horny ass starting at 6 on Saturday mornings. The place is dark enough to hide the dermatological damage from the previous night's events, the booths are high-backed and private, and the ripped-poster/chain-link fence décor is the perfect setting. Try the Bloody Special, which will feed your ravenous appetite with two eggs and a Bloody Mary for only six bucks. After a little grub and some hair of the dog, you'll be feeling suave and sexy — just enough motivation to hit up a booth of some other rejects and try out a morning pick-up line.
We don't know about you, dude, but we could use a drink. It's not just that we've come to the end — finally — of the 2007 Best of Phoenix . It's that our city is exhausted. We've all heard (and used) the clichés, but seriously, this place is a war zone. We know, we know. Someday we'll all look back and say, "Wow, we finally have a city! Look at those high-end condos, that luxury market downtown, the zippy public transportation."
We just wish that day was now, like we wish it wasn't so fucking hot here all the time. When we want to cry in our beer, we head straight to Sonora Brewhouse, which, in our humble opinion, is just the kind of place this town needs more of — and hold the cookie cutter. We love the house-made brew-ha-has, like the Stinger Pale Ale, and the Trooper Indian Pale, but our favorite is the Light Rail Cream Ale. It's the perfect toast to the future of Phoenix. Cheers, and see you next year. Or at the bar.
