Bars & Clubs

Not every happy hour has to be so dang hip, ridden with experimental cocktails and a flavor-of-the-week menu. The House at Secret Garden proves this with a quaint, charming setting that is relaxed and entirely unpretentious. While the happy hour offerings are only available from a narrow 5 to 6:30 p.m. time slot Tuesday through Friday, it's definitely worth it to snag a $10 bacon cheeseburger or $3.50 golden polenta fries. If you're looking for something a little healthier, the citrus marinated olives skimp on fat, but not flavor. Or you can just ignore your diet altogether and get the addicting sweet potato planks with crème fraiche and pancetta. The beer, wine and cocktail list offers a dollar or two discount (depending on what you pick), as well. Your best bet with drinks definitely lies with the sage-tastic Secret Garden gin and citrus or the cactus fig margarita, which is a tasty and simple prickly pear marg with a tart twist.

A few years ago, the elegant but crumbling old El Chorro — a Paradise Valley icon — was completely redecorated. On the inside, it doesn't look the same, but one thing no one changed was the view, and the patio is and always will be the best place to enjoy El Chorro. Another constant: You're here for the drinks, not the food. That is, unless your server will sneak you a basket of El Chorro's signature sticky buns. Either way, the view of the north side of Camelback Mountain is breathtaking. And the cocktails aren't bad, either.

Scottsdale's cocktail lovers have been singing the praises of this tiny, semi-secret spot above Citizen Public House since it opened in 2011. Yes, the rules are strict and the prices steep, but then again, where else can you get a cocktail served in a freshly cracked coconut? And don't even get us started on the tableside gin or the flaming artistry that mixologist Kris Korf will perform with Jameson. While the cocktails are more than enough to keep us coming back — at least as often as our wallets will allow — the attraction is about more than just that. We love interacting with the knowledgeable staff who are always more than happy to help you select the right drink. Even the hulking doormen are pretty chill, as long as you follow their rules. You'll probably have to wait to get inside and wait to get your drink, but if you're looking for a cocktail experience that will actually live up to the hype, we promise it will be worth it.

It's a self-explanatory concept — a shot of well tequila, chased with a half-shot of leftover pickle juice. It may sound gross or weird, but the briny, sour pickle juice completely cuts the burn of the tequila (and masks some of the not so high-end flavor). If you're still not sold, think of it this way — you'd typically pair a tequila shot with lime and salt, unless you're trying to be European and use orange and cinnamon. The lime is sour; so is pickle juice. The salt is, well, salty; so is pickle juice. More commonly, you'll find picklebacks, which are pickle juice and whiskey and very hip in New York City right now, but we love Palo Verde Lounge for putting a Southwestern twist on this trend. Whether or not they knew it was a trend when they came up with it is anyone's guess, but the low-brow shot served at this dive in Tempe is still the best, regardless.

Chef Michael O'Dowd may have stepped down from Kai, Arizona's most decorated restaurant, but he didn't entirely leave the theatrical side of dining behind when he opened his own restaurant, Renegade by MOD, this spring. And while the "American West"-inspired eats may not be the most accessible offerings, we're happy to belly up to the restaurant's spacious indoor-outdoor bar, where drinkers will find a menu of amusing cocktails courtesy of talented house mixologist John Woo. We particularly enjoy the signature Renegade Punch in a Bag. The hot pink concoction of rum, juices, and champagne comes, as you might guess, in a bag. It's a little out there for sure, but if we close our eyes and let the strong booze work its magic, it's almost like we're transported to New Orleans' Bourbon Street for a night of hard partying. Plus, for whatever reason, the floppy bag makes us suck it up all the faster. And it has a Kool-Aid ice cube. How can you not love that?

Wake up! It's a new day — and last night seems to be ruining it with the gift of a massive hangover. Never fear, Dick's Hideaway is here to smack the sick right out of you. Dick's take on the classic brunch cocktail is kicked up with a hefty dose of spice in the tomato juice mixture prepared special by the chefs at Dick's sister restaurant, Rokerij. Added to Pinnacle vodka and garnished with lime, pickled asparagus, and celery, this Bloody Mary is in a league of its own when it comes to flavor. But the best part of this Bloody Mary experience is the shot of beer to chase the spicy concoction. It totally balances out the heat and eases you back into the normally functioning world, being the good cop to the cocktail's bad-cop cure.

For us, a good martini is as much about the ambiance as it is about what's in the glass, and Durant's delivers on both fronts. The seasoned bartenders know how to make a damn fine martini — whether you're looking for a classic or something more modern. And rest assured, you'll enjoy it in a seat where thousands before you have honored the same tradition. Even if a martini's not typically your drink, you'll feel silly ordering anything else at Durant's.

Imbibe your way to cocktail bliss at Bar Crudo in Arcadia. The ever-changing seasonal drink specials pretty much define craft cocktails. Freshly made herbal and fruity simple syrups, boutique bitters, and a host of fresh ingredients combine with top-shelf small-batch spirits to create some of the tastiest drinks in the Valley. You can taste the passion for mixology in every sip. One of the best of the more recent offerings is the Milano Gimlet — an herby, sweet-and-sour blend of Broker's gin, Frenet Branca, lime, basil, and housemade cinnamon grapefruit syrup. If that has you feeling parched, the classy but comfortable lounge area that makes up Bar Crudo is the ideal location to soak up some of these beautiful drinks. Thanks to resident mixologist Micah Olson, Phoenix might actually be on the map for high-quality craft cocktails.

When the drinking is done and the hangover is gone, it's those damn calories that always seem to stick around — souvenirs from sipping one too many rich cocktails. Fortunately, there are drinks out there for those who want to be health-conscious while still drinking themselves unconscious. Take the Skinny Chola Margarita at Barrio Queen. This light Latin beverage is all natural, with a simple but satisfying mixture of Jose Cuervo tradicional blanco, agave nectar, and fresh lime juice served on the rocks. Free from syrups, mixes, and other artificial substitutes, the Skinny Chola Margarita is as much a staple for body-conscious barflies as it is for anyone in search of a straightforward, no-frills cocktail.

A few years ago, we got our hands on the recipe for the red sangria from Rita's Kitchen, but try as we might, we just can't perfect the blend served at the casual restaurant at the Camelback Inn. Red wine, orange juice, vanilla, sugar, cut-up fruit, and — what? We suspect we weren't told the whole truth. But we can't blame Rita's. Some secrets are too good to give away. And we're more than happy to sit on the patio here — under the bubble lights, with live music playing and fires roaring in the winter — and contemplate just what might be in that sangria. Nutmeg? Cinnamon? We'd better order one more. You know, for experimental purposes only.

Some might argue about how to pronounce the name (for the record, it's "Kaz-MEER-ehz"), but most locals can agree that Kazimierz World Wine Bar is the go-to spot for fine vino. As the more reclusive sister to restaurant Cowboy Ciao, Kazimierz makes you feel as though you've stepped out of Scottsdale and into your own underground speakeasy, complete with dark stony surroundings, dim lighting, backdoor entrance, and low couches, chairs, and tables. Offering an overwhelming selection of more than 2,000 wines, internationally inspired late-night noshes till 1:30 a.m., and live musical acts on the daily, Kazimierz is a trip for your taste buds as much as it is your eardrums. With wines from around the world and sounds — jazz, Latin, world beat, you name it — that are just as diverse, an evening visit to Kazimierz can almost feel like a mini-getaway.

In a phrase popular among douchey business types, SanTan crushed it this year. Not only did the Chandler-based brewery pioneer the AmeriCAN Craft Beer Festival (which we named the year's best fest in this issue), they did it while opening a new 35,000-square-foot warehouse that soon will enable them to increase distribution outside the state. The past year also saw the release of seasonal brews in cans, making it possible for us to enjoy Rail Slide, Sex Panther, and Mr. Pineapple wherever we damn well pleased. You'd expect them to get at least a little distracted by the weekly cask tappings at their brewpub and the upcoming release of Count Hopula, but no. SanTan had no time for distractions. They were too busy crushing it.

We knew Fate Brewing Co. owner and head brewer Steve McFate, with his experience at the Colorado Boy Pub & Brewery in Ridgeway, Colorado, was good at making beer. We just misjudged the madness of his mad skillz. For the past few months, Fate's been burning up the leadership boards on beer-rating sites with concoctions like his dank, grapefruity Double IPA and unique Coconut Oatmeal IPA, but it's the special versions of the milk stout we love. Candy Bar Milk Stout, brewed with cocoa nibs, vanilla bean, sea salt, and honey-roasted peanuts? Mexican Hot Chocolate Milk Stout, brewed with cinnamon, cocoa nibs, and vanilla? With beers like those, Fate's Best Of was, well, fate.

Every so often, you find a beer that is so incredibly delicious that it haunts your drinking regimen, popping into your mind every time you crack open a different brew. Like the one that got away, you want it, even though you've already got something else. Luckily, Papago Brewing Company's Orange Blossom Ale doesn't have to get away from you. It's sold year-round at the brewery in Scottsdale, along with several other bars in town. The creamy, fruity, and floral beer is truly one of a kind in a market saturated with bitter IPAs and super-wheaty hefeweizens. When it comes to locally made, highly available beers in town, there's absolutely no competition. It takes skill to craft flavors like that in a beer, so try out a pint or two of Orange Blossom Ale for yourself and you'll see what's up.

According to chef Matt Carter, the stately tree that rises over the sprawling patio of The House, his newest restaurant set in a charming 1920s bungalow, was planted over 70 years ago and once was used as a Christmas tree by the home's previous occupants. If that isn't homespun enough to make you want to pull up a chair and dine al fresco, consider the white picket fence, the massive brick fireplace, the candlelit tables, and servers gliding by with plates of lamb Bolognese, grilled Scottish salmon, or Berkshire pork country ribs. Lounging a bit longer with a glass of wine or a cranberry mojito pretty much goes without saying.

Generally, we're purists when it comes to beer — keep your shandy to yourself — but we make one exception, and that's for Handlebar's Gooseneck. The beer/liquor blend, which the Mill Ave bar also calls a Hopped Collins, is itself based on a classic cocktail called the Tom Collins, traditionally crafted with lemon juice, soda water, gin, and simple syrup. The gooseneck skips the soda like a fat kid at recess and goes straight for a ringer: Four Peaks' beautiful American IPA, Hop Knot. The resulting blend is a dance of citrusy, floral aromas and flavors, with the beer's biting hops playing off both the bright juice of the lemon and the dry spiciness of Beefeater's juniper. It's almost enough to make us want to try other beer blends. Almost.

Phoenicians, rejoice — well, actually, pretty much anyone outside of the vicinity of Carefree and therefore far from Café Bink can rejoice too, because the new Bink's Midtown location has made Kevin Binkley's heavenly cuisine even more accessible for the rest of us. The cozy, homey spot may not look like anything too fancy, but the finger food and appetizers served during Bink's daily happy hour from 2:30 to 6 p.m. definitely have a gourmet twist. The nuggets are sweetbread nuggets, the burger is filled with bits of bacon, and the fries are both award-winning and accompanied by three fancy dipping sauces. The wine and beer selection features local treasures on tap and are $5 and $4 per glass respectively. Plus, Bink's Midtown serves a plate of deep fried ribs with a honey sauce for only $9. What more can you ask for?

Drop in on this restaurant in downtown's San Carlos Hotel during weekdays from 3 until 6 p.m., when the deals are in full bloom. Most food options range from $5 to $8 during happy hour, including the crunchy, fresh, light and flavorful soft shell crab spring rolls. However, if you're not looking for healthy, the French onion soup is also discounted and comes with a heaping pile of melted Gruyère and a quail egg on top. The decadence and balance of the food is also matched by the beverage options, which include $5 Duvel and house wine as well as $2 off specialty cocktails. The wickedly spicy and fruity Vietnamese Spiced Punch and the floral and classy Kir Violette are both worth dropping in for on their own.

There are a lot of sports bars on this side of town, but comfy, approachable Irish pubs? Not so much. Which is exactly why we were so happy to stumble upon Irish Wolfhound Pub in Surprise. The restaurant and bar looks like nothing special from the outside, sure, but walk in and you'll find a modern pub with pool tables, plenty of televisions, and a roomy patio with a fire pit to boot. During our happy hour experience — the pub offers dining and drinking deals everyday from 11 a.m. to 7 p.m. — we bellied up to the spacious bar and ordered a $2.50 domestic draft. The taps here boast a selection of the usual stuff as well as some awesome local and craft brews, including San Tan Brewery beers and Montana's Big Sky Brewing's IPA. Well drinks and house wines will only set you back $3.50 and the happy hour menu includes $5 chips with curry or ranch sauce, chicken wings, and Irish cocktail sausages.

BLT Steak's happy hour just might be the best of the best. Every day from 5 to 7 p.m. the Paradise Valley restaurant slings some of the classiest cocktail and appetizer options known to the deal-obsessed. Make sure to come early because seats fill up quick. While that's a good sign, you wouldn't want to waste a moment of the steak tartare, escargot, and hamachi-filled awesomeness that is happy hour at BLT. There also are $5 draft pints and $3 well cocktails, but the specialty drink menu is the kind of place you can lose yourself for an evening of delicious imbibing. Tequila brambles, mango Moscow mules, and fig-infused old-fashioneds all put a new spin on classic drinks in the tastiest way possible. There pretty much isn't one single thing you could order that wouldn't be a satisfying and delicious culinary adventure — plus the prices allow for you to sample almost everything, especially if you bring friends.

Oh, Pig & Pickle. How quickly it's found a permanent place in our hearts for its savory and briny, sweet and salty combos that often feature its namesakes. Its greatness is really only enhanced during happy hour, when you can try out what all the fuss is about without shelling out too much money. The pork-centric menu features overloaded pork shoulder and kimchi tostadas and a charcuterie board that is both piggy and pickle-y no matter what day you drop in. The $5 cocktails are simple classics done right, like a gin ricky or mint julep made with fresh ingredients and better-than-the-average well spirits. If you aren't drooling yet, get a plate of the $5 beer cheese nachos and you'll quickly change your tune. All of that happiness can be had off Thomas and Hayden roads in Scottsdale every day from 4 until 6 p.m.

Some happy hours are about the ambiance, some the drink, some the deals. House of Tricks is one of those happy hours you drop into time and time again to get fed right. The seasonal menu is always evolving, but after years of tasting House of Tricks offerings, it's assured that, regardless of what's on the new menu, it's going to be full of unique, complex, and explosive flavor combinations that will have you begging for more. As far as drinks go, from 4 until 6 p.m. on Monday through Saturday, you'll get $2 off glasses of wine from the exceptional selection, along with $1 off beer. You should also take advantage of the $1 off cocktails because they include the tasty craft, specialty concoctions on the ever-changing drink menu. While this isn't the cheapest happy hour in town, it certainly is one of the tastiest — and a great option if you're craving House of Tricks quality but you don't have the funds to shell out for a full House of Tricks meal.

Chandler has officially arrived on the culinary scene thanks to Barrelhouse American Kitchen & Cocktails. Located in an unassuming strip mall storefront off Alma School and Warner roads, the modest yet modern spot quickly gained attention with great food and unique drinks. You can take advantage of both options during happy hour Monday through Saturday from 4 until 6:30 p.m. Mouthwatering roasted chile shrimp with pasilla, fried artichoke bruschetta, and maple-smoked pork belly with crostini await you. Plus, the Harris Ranch chuck burger with fries is drive-thru priced, yet four-star quality. Most impressively, the craft cocktail menu, which reads like a novel you just can't put down, also offers $3 off regular pricing. Whether you go with a "sweet and sultry," "bright and crisp," "stirred and strong," or "bitter and herbal" cocktail, you can't wrong.

The grind of late-afternoon traffic in downtown Phoenix ain't so bad, particularly if you're like us and are watching it from three stories above. And perched alongside a gorgeous swimming pool with an elegant crafted cocktail in our hand. It's the sort of lofty situation that's available while checking out the happy hour scene up at the Lustre Rooftop Garden every Monday through Friday. We're pretty high on this chichi outdoor lounge next to the third-floor pool at the Hotel Palomar, which delivers sweeping views of downtown and South Mountain, as well as sweet deals on food and libations that can be had from 11 a.m. to 6 p.m. During those hours, a trio of handcrafted signature cocktails, like the potent Tommy's Margarita and lusciously fruity Camellia Cooler, each go for $6 apiece. Ditto for glasses of Gazerra pinot grigio, Klinker Brick zinfandel, and red or white sangria, as well as pints of Lumberyard IPA. Lustre also shines with its always-enticing flatbreads, three of which (including a savory-yet-sweet pork belly, candied jalapeños, aged cheddar creation, and another selection with heirloom tomato and house-pulled mozzarella) — are also $6. Grab one and head for one of the cabanas near the pool, chill out to the indie and retro pop soundtrack, and relax while living the high life.

Since 2007, the Lost Leaf has been the epicenter of downtown Phoenix's growth as a nightlife destination. For all intents and purposes, the rehabbed 1930s bungalow, with its gorgeous wood floors and exposed brick, is the unofficial hangout for downtown artists and musicians of a certain boho aesthetic. It's a good bet that if you run with either crowd, you'll see a familiar face just about any time you set foot in the place — even when it's not First Friday or Third Friday, when the Leaf is filled to near-capacity. The pristine selection of microbrews, import beers, and wine helps make the Lost Leaf the quintessential downtown gathering place, as does the rotating collection of local art on the walls and DJs who spin probably the most eclectic mix in town — that is, when downtown's post-punk and underground bands aren't performing in the cozy back alcove. As downtown's creative class continues to grow, The Lost Leaf continues to be the place to see and be seen.

It's like clockwork. Around 9 p.m. on any given Friday or Saturday, Scottsdale's vast population (221,000 and change, last we checked) starts swelling by several thousand as the 21-to-35 crowd begins its weekly invasion of the city's downtown entertainment district. Stake out a spot on the outdoor patio at The Firehouse, conveniently located along one of the main drags into the bar-heavy 'hood, and witness this teeming World War Z-style horde of drink-buying, thrill-seeking nightcrawlers marching by the place. It's a nonstop cavalcade of capricious behavior, starring well-coifed club kittens teetering over to Red Revolver in stilettos, inked-up muscleheads ready to rock at Martini Ranch, or the shutter-shade brigade bound to some EDM fest at either Maya or El Hefe. And things get even more entertaining as the evening wears on and the booze wears off, especially inside the chaotic and energetic milieu of The Firehouse. Patrons go wild up until 4 a.m. at the after-hours hotspot, and you're guaranteed to see at least one instance of a sparring dummy being accosted by drunken bros, mock swordplay using baton-like glowsticks, or maybe even the odd food fight. Sure beats gawking at one of those sidewalk fistfights that tend to break out after last call.

ROAR's 2010 EP, I Can't Handle Change, is perfectly self-contained not just as music but as music-writing; it's frustratingly hard to avoid cliché autopilot when talking about it. It sounds like nothing so much as an earnest reimagining of Phil Spector's hermetic maximalism, and — voilà — Phil Spector is on the cover. The careful melodies and harmonies gradually draw your attention, until — just in time — a barbershop quartet materializes for the a cappella "Baby-bride Rag." It feels labored over in a way that generates comparisons to Brian Wilson at his anxious, unpleasable best, and — of course — the title track reaches its climax in a rousing chorus of "Nothing I do is ever good enough!" Add in 2012's follow-up EP, I'm Not Here to Make Friends, and it's a little easier to say original things, if only because fewer people have heard it — recent live performances have pointed up their spirit-animal connection to Ronnie Spector with dresses and long wigs. The full-length album, which everyone will hear, is a work in progress. A few times a week, lately, on ROAR's Tumblr, a fan will ask about it, and frontman/lead-Spector Owen Evans will apologize for the delays. We haven't heard the material; if we had to guess, it's almost certainly good enough already. But we'll wait.

The members of Cowboys N Hell are modest, above all things: When we asked them who the best tribute band in town was, earlier this year, they suggested the White Zombie aficionados in Grindhouse, on the grounds that they "get every titty in the house shaking, every time they play." We didn't do the titty math for Cowboys N Hell, but the logic is pretty simple: Phoenix loves metal, Dimebag Darrell isn't around to play these Pantera songs anymore, and the members of Cowboys N Hell are. Like Beatlemania, they aren't competing with the genuine article — they're giving people who won't have a chance to see the real thing access to a suitably raucous facsimile, one that re-creates an atmosphere instead of just reverse-engineering the relevant studio recordings.

Given his ultra-packed schedule of weekly club shots, warehouse parties, production work, and remix sessions, Steven Chung does the work of two DJs. And, depending on when and where you catch the Scottsdale scene veteran performing, that sometimes is literally the case. Over the past few years, Chung has pulled sort of a Tyler Durden thing with two distinctive alter DJ egos, each with its own look, attitude, and particular tastes in house music. There's his original identity as DJ Tranzit, a rowdy party monster who spins more mainstream and club-friendly progressive and electro tracks heavy on big room sound. And then the yang to his yin is Juheun ("joo-hoon"), a brooding loner and avatar for Chung's artistic leanings and interest in more complex and intelligent grooves of a darker bent. It certainly makes Chung one of the more unique, if not downright complicated, DJs in the local scene. Interestingly enough, each side of this yin-and-yang situation also has its own distribution deal going on with different EDM labels, like when Tranzit was signed by influential house superstar Bad Boy Bill earlier this year to release his Strike EP.

Despite the turmoil and discord implied by their moniker, things are rather harmonious with the DJ duo of Thomas James and Anthony Mastamonk. And we're referring to the utter listenability of the intricate and electro-infused mixes and bootlegs they create, as well as their interpersonal relations. "We don't really ever clash much on things," Mastamonk says. Well, there are the differing opinions on hair care (Mastamonk flies a six-inch Mohawk while James prefers far less product) and certain EDM subgenres. "Thomas specializes in more filthy electro-house. He's got an amazing ear for it," Mastamonk says. "I started as a hip-hop DJ. Even in my sets now, which are mostly electro, trap, and house, I still have something of that flavor." It doesn't distract the duo from working its collective magic in the studio and performing 2x4 sets at Scottsdale clubs like El Hefe and American Junkie or such Tempe spots as Gringo-Star Street Bar and Zum. James focuses on combining complex effects with filtering in order to amp up the energy, while his partner adds keyboard work and other instrumental elements. As a result, it's made their remixes of such artists as Afrojack and LazerDisk Party Sex spectacular to hear and has scored Collective Chaos thousands of collective Facebook likes and Soundcloud clicks.

It's Saturday night and you're in the mood to dance. You're tired of EDM and cover charges. You don't want to listen to Top 40s or old school hip-hop. Basically, you have two options now — stay at home and shimmy in your mirror to a Spotify playlist you made or head down to Bikini Lounge off Grand and 15th avenues and get crazy to DJ Boris' unique mix of genres and styles. Post punk, surf rock, French pop, oldies, and even some Mexican jams like Selena and "El Noa Noa" are all on regular rotation, making it easier to do the twist (a fun dance) than grind on folk (a scary dance). Plus, the drinks are dive bar cheap, with pitchers of PBR being only $3.50, and if you need a break from shaking your thang, you can always play pool for a couple songs.

Mark Peskin is a gigantic nerd, and proud of it, too. Like any successful geekazoid, the 34-year-old has parlayed his niche passion into getting paid. As DJ Apollynon, Peskin gets to combine his longstanding love affair with retro goth, industrial, and other doomy throwback genres at nightclubs and local fetish fetes with a particular yen for colorful cosplay. And he's just as old-school rivethead as the classic songs he's spinning. More than a decade ago, Apollynon dropped Covenant, Nitzer Ebb, and Sisters of Mercy while adorned in spikes, towering Doc Martens, and goofy goggles at the Nile Theater's and Boston's notorious industrial nights in 2000 and 2001. These days, however, his getups may be a bit more dork-oriented (read: Cobra Commander or a pink sex robot) but his sounds have remained just as sinister. Every Saturday, Apollynon and girlfriend, Sidney Slaughter (a.k.a. DJ Angel Toxin), crank out relentlessly gloomy audio at their popular City of Madness night at Club 24. And no one seems to bat an eyelash if he's wearing a unicorn mask at the time, probably because they're sporting some freaky-deaky duds themselves.

Somewhere up in the hinterlands of North Scottsdale, Martin Stääf is likely very busy crafting some of arguably the world's finest (and most brutal) dubstep tracks. The 34-year-old electronic musician and DJ, better known by his nom de guerre Liquid Stranger, is big on blending insane amounts of thuggish bass into his fierce mixes that he posts to his Soundcloud page (www.soundcloud.com/liquid-stranger) and burns out sub-woofers at gigs throughout North America and around the world. Inside his studio, Stääf conjures what he jokingly refers to on Facebook as "dubstep sorcery," hewn from such disparate audio elements as sci-fi clips, reggae, big band music, and probably the belches of Satan himself. Though he's sort of a reclusive fellow, Stääf hasn't completely shied away from the local EDM scene. He's performed a few times at local dubstep night UK Thursdays, as well as at the Monarch Theatre and defunct District 8 Warehouse, and he's collaborated with local producer Nick "Sluggo" Suddarth. One of their jointly produced tracks, "Stalkers VIP," is filled with wicked wub-wub, and listening to it recalls how Stääf's mother once famously described his music as akin to being "boiled alive by a primitive headhunter tribe in the Amazon." We kind of feel the same way, except we're loving every second of it.

Whatchu know about M2? Mention his name to other local DJs and you'll get nothing but mad respect for the esteemed platter jock (real name: Michael McDowell) and his meticulous mixing, cutting, scratching, and selecting talents. Ditto for folks from the Valley's hip-hop community and pretty much anyone else who's heard him dominate the decks on Power 98.3 during its mix shows or attended his club nights at the Roxy in Scottsdale and elsewhere.

"M2 is one of those guys that took the time to learn the ins and outs of hip-hop culture, the music, and everything else about it. So he knows his shit," says Fact 135 of his fellow DJ. "And he's so well-rounded on all levels of DJing, whether it's the skill, the knowledge, the history. He's so versatile its ridiculous." Yup, M2 is much beloved, even outside of the Valley. The Source gave him major props a few years back by including him in a list of the top 30 radio DJs in the nation. He also came damn close to winning the Red Bull Thre3style Nationals in 2011. And when M2 worked a guest mix session on influential L.A. station Power 106 last summer, its was widely lauded by the listening audience. While we're glad that SoCal got a taste of M2's skills, we're more than a little selfish and want to keep him all up on our airwaves.

David "CIK" Sankey has an aversion to the local club scene. The 36-year-old DJ is more likely to be found doing his thing at warehouses, event spaces, or off-the-radar dance fests in the desert. And what about the danceterias of Scottsdale or elsewhere? Eh, not so much. Frankly, he's more into either gigging for gigantic European crowds or Valley ravers, both of which are more receptive to his EDM genres of choice (industrial hardcore, gabber, darkcore, and industrial techno) and approach to crafting soundscapes. "Mixes are generally my way of telling a story or taking someone on an auditory journey," Sankey says. In 2010 and 2012, for instance, he took more than 80,000 people on such a jaunt at the high-profile Ground Zero Festival in the Netherlands. Closer to home, Sankey, who runs influential DJ collective Arizona Hardcore, has played massives like Nocturnal Wonderland in California and Bang! in Philadelphia. He also has built a reputation as one of the more prominent and die-hard performers in the local rave scene, having worked more than 500 underground parties in the past 17 years. His Phoenix audiences may never get as big as those across the pond, a fact he doesn't seem to mind. "A lot of the local DJs are okay with being a superstar in the state of Arizona," Sankey says. "That was never my goal."

Les Sias is nothing if not humble. Back in April, the 30-year-old local DJ and producer absolutely killed it during the Phoenix regionals of the DMC World Championships, but he modestly shrugs off any notion of being the best in town. A strong case could be made otherwise, based on his victory at the contest — part of the prestigious yearly worldwide DJ competition — not to mention his mad abilities at turntable artistry as LES 735. The big win, which earned Sias a ticket to NYC for the U.S. finals in August (when he placed seventh), only reinforced his cred among local DJs or anyone who's witnessed his well-plotted turntable routines, fierce cuts, and complex tricks during highly creative sets at local hip-hop joints. Sias began acquiring such skills during bedroom spin sessions as a teen, and has kept up the wikki-wikki thing ever since. In the ensuing years, he refined his arsenal of techniques involving the Technics while backing the rappers of Central Products, as a member of the Avenue of the Arts urban collective, producing tracks for Mykr Fiend X, or holding it down on the weekly Rhyme & Reason show every late Friday night/early Saturday morning on 101.1 The Beat. On the radio, at the clubs, or in battle, LES735 definitely is dope.

Ramsey Higgins is quite prolific when it comes to the DJ game. He's down with Traktor, skilled with Serato, and knows his way around both a Numark and a pair of Technics 1200s. So skilled is the 36-year-old, who performs as Ruthless Ramsey, that he's also an instructor with Scottsdale Community College's illustrious DJ program. And this prof has a lesson he'd like to lay down: "I'm a turntablist," Higgins says. "We can spin anything."

Just some of the usual self-aggrandizing you'd associate with DJs, right? Yeah, we thought that, too, until we saw him on YouTube backing up such swag with a storm of scratching — on a double cassette deck. Higgins is renowned across the Internet for his singular aptitude of turning boomboxes into scratch factories (accomplished by ripping the doors off and futzing with the rollers, flanges, and pause button) to mimic chops, flares, and chirps of pro turntablism, only without the turntable. It's his claim to fame that he's been perfecting for more than 25 years and has nabbed him worldwide notoriety, half a million YouTube views, the nickname "Captain of the Cassette," and a snazzy skill set to teach both SCC students and a few more famous apprentices, namely, superstars like Jazzy Jeff and Qbert, both of whom have hit up Higgins for tips. The scribes at DJ Times, however, playfully tweeted about the video, "DJ Ruthless Ramsey thinks he's hot cause he can scratch on cassette tape. Problem is, REAL DJs only use reel-to-reel!" Don't put it past him, because he might perfect that skill next.

Neither Sean "Senbad" Badger nor Pete "Supermix" Salaz are particular shy about their love for DJ Qbert. So after the Monarch Theatre co-owners, both of whom are considered ultra-talented DJs in their own right, got word that the renowned turntablist was eager to perform at their joint last November, Badger estimates it took "like two seconds" to book the event. After all, showcasing influential DJs and turntable superstars like Qbert is one of many reasons they opened the Monarch back in 2012. "Our first reaction was, 'Hell, yeah, we'd love to do that,'" Badger says. "We didn't go looking for the show; they came to us." It's something that happens frequently, as numerous selectors specialized in turntablism (a DJ subgenre from the 1980s where performers manipulate records, decks, and mixers to create a dizzying array of scratching and pimp sounds) have approached Badger and Salaz about potential gigs. Power 98.3's M2 has amazed crowds here with his vinyl trickery, as have fellow Valley scratch gurus Logan "Elecment" Howard, Fresh 85, and Akshen. And NYC's Roli Rho practically melted his wax in April with lightning-quick hands and phenomenal moves. So why do these scratch kings come to Monarch? Its high-end 30,000-watt sound system doesn't hurt. Plus, other club owners tend to shy away from the old-school art form in favor of more trendy DJ sounds, whereas Badger and Salaz are big on keeping the tradition alive. "It brings back that early era of DJs," Badger says, "And exposes old traditions to some younger generations as well." Word.

Subtlety has never been Smashboxx's style. (Hell, it's never been Scottsdale's style, period.) Like most other Old Town clubs, the overriding philosophy at this Indian Plaza favorite is to go all out and as over-the-top as possible. So when the proprietors decided to beef up the dance digs last October, they added more room by relocating the DJ booth, more boom with additional Dynacord subwoofers, and plenty of extra color with a few dozen more LED spotlights. Its amps up the already manic energy of Smashboxx as DJs hurl electro-house hits at the sunken dance floor mobbed with clubgoers and awash in a sea of light and pulsating sound. And if the music switches over to the "Imperial March" and a couple of sexy Darth Vaders (complete with lightsabers) come out of nowhere, it's about to get even more cray-cray. No, seriously. It usually means some high roller's popped for a $900 bottle, resulting in female staff bearing a custom-made diamond-shaped champagne presenter while dressed in either Star Wars, Ghostbusters, or Rocky costumes while the respective movie's theme music plays. The Force is strong with Smashboxx.

Thomy Hoefer is sort of a Renaissance man when it comes to nightlife. The DJ and visual artist has a knack for crafting ear-pleasing electro mixes, unique-looking club staging, and eye-catching video feasts, which are projected onto the walls at the events he helps promote. Oh, and he's good with cocktails, too. One of the latest things that Hoefer, who performs as Prince Money Money, has been involved with recently that's gone golden, quite literally, is Foul Play. After William Reed pulled the plug on his popular Sticky Fingers at Bar Smith, Hoefer (a former resident of the night) pulled a Nick Fury and assembled DJs from four of the Valley's biggest weeklies for a different sort of dance fete to take its place and "toy with people's expectations of a party." He brought on board The Blunt Club's Pickster One, J.Paul from UK Thursdays, and Solstice's Bigie Meanmugg to help run the night, which launched last November at Bar Smith, and things blew up shortly thereafter.

Each DJ contributes in their own way, such as Meanmugg tackling graphic design or J.Paul and Pickster helping book EDM guests like Tittsworth, Willy Joy, and Butch Clancy. And then there are the phantasmagorical video streams conjured up by Hoefer and his fellow Gestalt Theory artist Aaron Olmstead that are featured throughout Bar Smith during Foul Play. The imagery runs the gamut from old school video game graphics to dreamy maelstroms of color and accentuates the “enticing fever-dreams” of music that’s on tap every week. Typically, there’s bleeding-edge nu-disco, house, and moombahton upstairs, hip-hop and trap downstairs, and a helluva lot of fun throughout. Probably one of Foul Play's most popular draws is its photo booth concept, another Hoefer brainchild, whereby patrons can utilize such props as over-the-top fake weaponry (read: butcher knives, guns, bats) that's been spray-painted gold. Plus, there's also a boombox. Pictures are then rendered in black and white (except for the props in them) and posted to Facebook. According to J.Paul, it's just part of the vibe of Foul Play. "We wanted it to be the kind of place where you just let loose and do something that you wouldn't normally do," he says. Stay gold, y'all, stay gold.

Raves and underground dance parties have a tendency to get messy at times, particularly those with colorful themes. Just ask Arizona Event Center owner Wayne Craig, since his cavernous Mesa venue has hosted a few such events in the past year that left things gloriously sloppy by the end of the night. To wit: The annual Bloodfest last October saw participants drenching the place and each other with gallons of crimson liquid, while August's Splat! paint party involved much of the same, only with a rainbow of glossy pigments instead. And Bubble Bobble 5 in March featured flocks of ravers grinding in a shoulder-high sea of soapy foam, leading one onlooker to describe the scene as a "giant sweaty bowl of raver soup."

Thank goodness for plastic dropcloths, which promoters lay down in abundance beforehand, obviously the reason Craig doesn't seem to mind the mess so much. "They do a nice job to prep things, and we have some good folks that work for us to help out afterwards," he says. A crack cleaning crew and an agreeable proprietor aren't its only amenity, as the 30,000-square-foot former nightclub and big-box store also has three stages, a full bar for 21-and-over types, and even a mechanical bull (a holdover from a brief stint as a country bar). Its tiny smoking area often gets a little too crowded but allows rave kids the pretense to get closer to partygoers of the opposite sex and offer to clean off some of the excess paint, fake blood, or foam.

There's an important rule in the club world that any and every newbie DJ would be wise to follow: Never attempt to outdo the headliner. As in ever. Especially not at Wild Knight. You won't impress anybody, least of all the big-name artist you're trying to show up. And, even worse, if you pulled that shit at this Scottsdale hotspot, it probably would be a major diss to one of the biggest and brightest names in electronic dance music. High-caliber beat-slingers have been regular guests at the posh nightclub over the past couple of years, thanks to Relentless Beats and other local EDM promoters, including scores of high-rankers from the DJ Mag Top 100. Skrillex brought it hard here, as did Tommy Trash, Dada Life, Hardwell, Wolfgang Gartner, and Paul Oakenfold (twice). And their supreme four-on-the-floor audio feasts also tend to sound better here than at most other Old Town parlors, since its setup (which boasts a Nexo-powered system and various bass traps to keep teeth from being rattled by low-end wub-wub) was engineered specifically for EDM. And Wild Knights' new owners, who purchased the club earlier this year, are reportedly planning to revamp its interior later this fall to lessen the emphasis on bottle service, put more of the focus on DJs, and make things even more copacetic for electronic sounds. They've also loosened up its old ultra-selective door policies, which means that the rest of us can join in the fist pumping.

In the Valley's music scene, change is sometimes a good thing. Yes, it's always a buzzkill when a favorite band or concert hall goes kablooey. But more often than not, something better will come along. Case in point: When longstanding rock bar Chasers was purchased by KUKQ's Nancy Stevens and concert/event production guru Jeff Stotler in 2012, it got a complete makeover and new lease on life as Pub Rock. It definitely had seen major mileage over the decades during its stints as Chasers and as '90s hard-rock haven The Atomic Café, so the pair started making changes literally five minutes after getting the keys. They covered up the often-sticky and dirty cement floor with parquet tiles, rebuilt the creaky old stage, installed better sound and lighting rigs, and created a closet-size recording booth for interviews and live remotes. Its primary focal point is still on music, probably more so than ever. According to Stevens, its new moniker is a reference to the '70s era in English rock emphasizing small shows by big bands. And that's exactly what fans have seen at Pub Rock since the reboot, ranging from appearances by such punk legends as Unwritten Law and former Dead Kennedys singer Jello Biafra to an intimate acoustic concert with The Ataris' Kris Roe and a rollicking Queen tribute from The Protomen. Oh, and the bathrooms are no longer messy, fragrant scumbuckets, which makes it easier to, er, take a break between bands.

Confession time: When Brannon Kleinlein announced he was reopening his bygone venue Last Exit, we had a few doubts. Not about the man himself, since the 39-year-old is dialed into the Phoenix music scene, but rather the location he was moving into. Not only is the cozy music venue located along a confusing one-way stretch of Central Avenue, it's also in the heart of a dodgy 'hood south of downtown Phoenix. Both issues seemed to vex patrons during its previous identity as The Ruby Room and probably aided in the rock dive's untimely demise. None of this mattered to Kleinlein, however. After all, his old Tempe venue — the original version of Last Exit — also was off the beaten path, but people always seemed to find it. (In fact, it probably would still be around had he not gotten a bad case of burnout in 2009 and decided to sell the place.) Such has proved to be the case with Last Exit's reincarnation after Kleinlein fixed the joint up, improved parking and security, and began getting the word out via social media. Scenesters and music gourmandizers alike have found their way to shows, especially those involving popular and tastemaking touring and local bands. Crowds have even shown up for concerts in the middle of the workweek, which Kleinlein cites as a good sign things are going well. "Weeknight shows in this town are very tough," he says. "So if you can get 50 people out, then you're definitely doing good."

Whichever way your tastes run — local or national, indie or iconic, hardcore or hip-hop — it's ultimately impossible to avoid Crescent Ballroom, which means it's a good thing there's no reason to avoid it. By day, it's a bar and lounge, soundtracked by free music and unsolicited burrito recommendations from your friends and acquaintances. At night, it's a remarkably versatile venue, hosting year-old Phoenix outfits and vets like Built to Spill with equal alacrity. For all-local showcase Los Dias de la Crescent and this year's Du Hot Club de Bizarre, which featured Of Montreal and Devendra Banhart, it even sprouts a second, outdoor stage. Ultimately, it's hard to explain what's great about watching a touring act perform at Crescent Ballroom without sounding like an anti-perspirant commercial; it's small enough for locals, but big enough to house any band that's, say, soundtracking car commercials but not yet appearing in them.

It's like that old weather joke that people in basically every state think they invented: If you don't like the music at The Sail Inn, wait five days. Actually, one day is usually enough. A given week might see a Grateful Dead tribute show followed up with an album-release party for an early-20-something dance-pop band. And in June, the place pulled off a particularly neat trick, hosting acts named Jah Missionary and Vomit God. When so much Valley music is segregated by age, group affiliation, and sheer physical distance, that eclecticism is an asset. In other words, it's a good place to lurk if you're looking to slip out of your musical bubble. Updated and revitalized by the original owner when it reopened in 2009, The Sail Inn's calendar is still tilted toward jam and jam-affiliated rock. But Tempe residents for whom six-minute guitar solos are a non-starter still will find plenty to like.

Hosting a metal show is a stressful prospect, even if it doesn't come with all the Satanic accouterments parents worried about in the '80s. For one thing, nothing else in rock 'n' roll makes noises quite comparable to metal's guttaral screaming and layered, loud guitars; for another, no other genre has thrown off quite so many warring, not-quite-compatible subgenres. Without the necessary experience, it's a constant battle to keep the bands audible and the diehard fans convinced you know what you're doing. Joe's Grotto has been around long enough to thread that needle, putting on doomcore and neoclassical shows with equal aplomb. It looks like a gritty, authentic venue, but it doesn't sound like a gritty, authentic venue, because it's got a great sound system. Lots of places periodically play host to Phoenix's metal-hungry music fans, but nobody does it more consistently and thoughtfully.

Within a week of each other, two influential musicians making tentative returns to the public eye hit the Valley. It was difficult to pick Jeff Mangum over Aaron Carter of "Aaron's Party (Come Get It)," but the infamously reclusive genius behind Neutral Milk Hotel did a slightly better job of living up to the reputation that sprang up in his absence. Carter mostly just got hit on by the women of Martini Ranch and got into a Twitter feud with us; Mangum didn't allow photos, froze up at the site of a raised smartphone, and — while he was at it — wrung tears from a bunch of grown men and women who thought they'd never get the chance to see their indie Salinger in person. Two sets' worth of fans at Crescent got to hear his singularly strange, affecting paeans to Anne Frank, which would have been enough by itself. What made the shows great, even though Jeff Mangum has never once beaten Shaquille O'Neal in a pick-up basketball game, was his ability, despite more than a decade out of live music, to reach back for the manic energy that built his cult following in the first place.

After their customary three-year hiatus following 2010's Invented, the Mesa natives announced their eighth album and an Arizona tour in rapid succession in April. The album, Damage, was prototypically Jimmy Eat World; the tour was a little unusual. Bypassing Phoenix and Tucson entirely, Jim Adkins and company scheduled much smaller shows in not-quite-hotspots like Yuma, Wickenburg, Sierra Vista, and Casa Grande. The result was a run of up-close, sold-out shows that were as small as any the band has played since Clarity made them cult heroes in the late '90s. We were there on May 9, for the Casa Grande show, and aside from betraying their big-city upbringing — locals offered some helpful pronunciation tips for "Grande" — they haven't lost their small-show touch. That performance's encore ended with a fan jumping up and down on stage. At a bigger venue, that'll get you kicked out before the guitar solo in "The Middle." In Casa Grande, it earned him a high-five.

This has been a good year for Taylor Swift: The jokes about her various exes were finally played out, last year's Red continued to sprout hits, and she emerged, with that album's capital-e Extravaganza, as one of the most compelling arena acts of her generation. The category isn't labeled Best Arena Show Ever!!!, but it's close enough — in late May, a swarm of astoundingly polite, well-dressed, self-confident 9-year-old girls swarmed around Westgate's mock downtown, making perfect eye contact and feeling empowered. And, granted, making signs covered in high-contrast glitter. Taylor Swift's brand of hyper-produced, absurdly expensive arena show hasn't launched as many culture-studies Ph.D.'s as Lady Gaga's, but it's even more likely to feature an extended dance synthesis of dubstep, parkour, and the fashions of medieval Europe. And the kids it brings out are a little more likely to make you feel like the world is going to be a better — if also a more unnecessarily giddy — place when they grow up.

We've heard The Western's ambiance described as "honky-tonk bar and restaurant without the Disney-esque trappings" of a honky-tonk bar and restaurant, which is exactly how it'll charm you: If you're the kind of person for whom boots will always feel a little like a Halloween costume, The Western just might make you comfortable. Brainchild of Charlie Levy and Tucker Woodbury, who previously teamed up for Crescent Ballroom, The Western offers a rootsy, unpolished antidote to glitzier Americana with regular, free sets from local stalwarts like Sara Robinson. Like Levy's other venue, it's a great place to hang out that also happens to be an excellent venue — national acts aren't the focus, but they do and will show up when they fit the theme. What makes it such a pleasant place to be is that you won't feel like you also have to fit the theme.

In Scottsdale, no one ever seems to stay satisfied with much of anything for too long. Hence the constant state of reinvention in the entertainment district, where the clubs gods have giveth and taketh away much in the past few years. They've been especially busy along Saddlebag Trail just south of Camelback Road, which has become Scottsdale's current "it" area. As its name portends, the 27,300-square-foot megaclub was designed to host the sort of around-the-clock affairs that kick off in the daytime and keep rolling after dark and long into the night. And that's exactly what's been happening since it opened in April.

In many respects, Maya's is Scottsdale's version of the high-style beach clubs of Sin City, with its similarly swank amenities geared toward the party crowd. The massive pool and patio area, which is centered on the outdoor DJ booth and LED screen and ringed with daybeds, bars, and cabanas, was busy with weekend swim fetes throughout the summer. Steve Aoki played the place (natch), as did Calvin Harris, Thomas Gold, and Fatboy Slim (who made his first-ever appearance in Arizona). And its 9,700-square-foot indoor nightclub has been filled to capacity most of the nights it's been open, probably because of the blockbuster level of DJ talent that has been brought in by prominent Scottsdale promoter Steve Levine. Suffice it to say, if you haven't already visited Maya yet, you probably will soon.

That 99 percent of all the shows going off at the Yucca are free would be nearly enough reason to give this longtime Tempe bar such an honor. But even if owner Rodney Hu charged us a cover, we'd be hard-pressed to find a better all-around place to see music in the Valley, because it seems that just about every night is a party at the Yucca. When gritty local acts of all stripes — power pop, post-punk, metal, garage rock, country rock — aren't providing the soundtrack to a typical booze-fueled night at the Yucca, you'll find numerous underground touring bands setting up and throwing down. With cheap beers, no-hassle entry and exit, respectable bar grub, a dedicated smoking patio, and not-so-elegantly wasted clientele, no other rock bar in the Valley offers a more consistently affordable and memorable night out seeing bands than the Yucca.

True story: The late outlaw country artist Waylon Jennings once filled the cozy interior of Rips with his dulcet croonings during a performance at the 16th Street bar way back in the day. Ditto for fellow legends Willie Nelson and Charley Pride, both of whom also performed inside the joint when local country singer Jimmy Aims ran it from the '70s through the early '90s. Such footnotes from Rips' storied past, documented in a few photos of the aforementioned superstars gracing the walls, help give the place an O.G. pedigree whenever hosting the down-home sounds of rockabilly. Besides its usual slate of punk bands and New Wave dance nights, weekends at the bar over the past few years have showcased acts from Arizona and elsewhere specializing in the uptempo hybrid of country, rhythm and blues, and old-fashioned rock 'n' roll, which was born in the 1950s, the same decade Rips opened. In just the past year alone, you could've caught the country-influenced grooves of locals like Trailer Queen or The Jamie Waldron Trio, as well as the psychobilly flair of The Limit Club, hellacious sister act The Devil's Daughters, the Latin-tinged swing of Curse of the Pink Hearse, or gigs by such out-of-towners as Utah's Mad Max and the Wild Ones. Local selector DJ Organic also is keen on spinning up retro rockabilly platters during his all-vinyl night Rumble! every Wednesday, which is typically attended by all manner of hepcats and kittens. We're almost certain somewhere, the spirit of Jennings (himself a noted fan of 'billy bands) is looking down on the place and snapping his fingers along with the beat.

Affectionately known as "the hockey bar" by those in the know, this low-key Arcadia drinking spot gleefully defies any conventional notions of punk rock. And that is exactly why it is the punkest bar around. For starters, it's very tidy. It's also not really that loud, thanks to a carpeted, low-ceilinged room, and patrons are more likely to politely sit and watch at one of the high-top bistro tables than form any kind of mosh pit. And then are the big-screen TVs behind the bar, always tuned to sports. And, most of all, there's the 50-foot window overlooking the adjacent Arcadia Ice Arena, where burly hockey-playing dudes are hip-checking each other or families are gliding around the ice for open skate while noise merchants like Man Hands, Odds + Sods, JJCnV, and Shovel are kicking out the jams. It's the oddest juxtaposition of disciplines in the Valley and just one reason area punkers like to set up shows here. Some other reasons? How about decent drink prices, super-easy parking, a big smoking patio, and a jukebox stuffed only with local artists' CDs. Here's hoping "the hockey bar" doesn't put its weekend punk shows on ice anytime soon.

Just like 50 Cent, we ain't gonna lie — Club Red/Red Owl is the go-to venue for hip-hop in the Valley. Fact. Not only for the sheer number of shows it hosts, but also the wide diversity of gifted lyricists and rhyme-spitters slinging game from its mics and stages. The double-sided Tempe club has had live hip-hop on lock in recent years, whether it's intimate performances with underground MCs like Busdriver, showcases loaded with burgeoning local rappers, or gigs headlined by such superstars as E-40 and Talib Kweli.

And one of the reasons promoters, performers, and headz keep coming back to the club — besides its versatility and ace sound system — is booker Mattx Bentley. The affable 36-year-old former promoter, who also manages The Insects and runs Valley label 1090 Records, is well versed in hip-hop and respected in the scene. He's also connected with promoters — ranging from Sean Healy Presents and Universatile Music — and such hip-hop stars as Jean Gray and Pharoahe Monch, both of whom Bentley's brought to the club, sometimes literally. He has had to play chauffeur for artists, and that's led to a few interesting experiences, like when he had to wander around Sky Harbor last year while picking up Phife Dawg. "His cell battery died, so I had to walk in and look around the crowd for this short guy who has repped himself as 'The Five Footer,'" Bentley says. "That was odd." Hey, whatever it takes to ensure another memorable night of hip-hop at Club Red.

If you're looking to get up to speed on what's happening in the oft-underappreciated Valley hip-hop scene, WTFunk? Fridays is as close as you'll get to a cram school. Every month's WTF Funk? is packed with local MCs and DJs — not just the ones performing but the ones who are there to watch — and the venerable hip-hop night also nets its share of under-the-radar touring acts. The end result is a mix of indie hip-hop sensibilities and organic community-building, one that'll leave you convinced the hip-hop scene here is underappreciated a couple of hours after you walk in underappreciating it. Formerly held at Tempe's Stray Cat, the popular hip-hop weekly event is moving to Club Red on October 11 and will be held monthly.

Before last fall, downtown Phoenix hadn't had much in the way of a dedicated jazz joint in like, well, a while. Lots of actual jazz musicians, yes, and a smattering of great bars that hosted their gigs, but no place that was entirely focused on the genre. Thanks to Jazz in AZ, however, that all changed in October when the arts organization officially opened The Nash on Roosevelt Row. And what the Crescent Ballroom is to indie music, The Nash has become to the jazz scene — a stylish epicenter with crisp acoustics and can't-miss performances. Purists and neophytes alike have flocked to the lounge-like venue (named for renowned Phoenix native and jazz drummer Lewis Nash) for intimate shows or rowdy jam sessions featuring many and varied flavors of jazz, from bop and swing to experimental and avant-garde. Besides serving as one of the the Valley's few dedicated jazz venue, The Nash emphasizes mentoring young musicians though various workshops, small group improvisation sessions, and the ongoing "Catch a Rising Star" performance series. Earlier this year, it debuted an entire Education Annex dedicated to this end. Oh, and you also can do the BYOB thing with beer and wine at shows.

The Rhythm Room isn't only a blues venue, and it's not the only blues venue in town. But Bob Corritore's 22-year-old venue is synonymous with blues in Phoenix anyway, and for good reason: It can't be beaten for sheer blues density, in the form of regular jam sessions from influential locals and the cream of each year's touring crop. For music genres and music venues alike, being labeled "venerable" or "respectable" or "important" is often a kiss of death, one false step away from being embalmed in pioneer-village-style edutainment and remembered by a wistful crowd at some other, newer venue. But the Rhythm Room is in no danger of becoming a museum piece; its tireless promotion of the local and national blues scenes, not to mention its willingness to go off-book and host acts like Kitty Pryde and Rotten Sound, will make sure of that.

Eric Church's "Drink in My Hand" tends to rile the crowd up and incite activity at Denim & Diamonds on weekends, so brace yourself, buckaroo, for a tornado of two-steppin' and hollered sing-alongs when the chartbuster blares out here. Ditto for any of the other party-hearty new-country hymns that dominate the playlist. The Wrangler-clad masses at this barn-size Mesa megaclub do their damnedest to live up to the rip-roaring standard set forth by such anthems during nightly bacchanals of beer and barbecue on Thursdays through Saturdays. Practically everyone on the gigantic parquet dance floor is clutching a longneck as they swing, dip, and do-si-do around, and there's a near-constant crowd at either bar, especially when 50-cent brews are on special until 11 p.m. Theme parties like beach blasts and bikini nights on Wednesdays also are big, as are occasional concerts by touring country singer-songwriters like Kyle Park and Casey Donahew. Refrain from asking them to cover Joe Nichols' "Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off," since it's probably not on their set lists.

Valley Fever picked up a new venue to rotate out to when The Western opened earlier this year in Scottsdale, but its mission remains unchanged: Bring out the vintage country sounds nobody else is playing, and play them. Valley Fever doesn't discriminate on the medium — if the sound is right, they'll bring a record, a local act, or a national band with them to Yucca Tap Room during their regular Sunday night slot. For the past two Junes, they've neatly encapsulated their vision by hosting the Arizona leg of The Waylon Birthday Bash, an outlaw country show benefiting diabetes research. If you've ever felt a need to celebrate Waylon Jennings' birthday — with or without such noble intentions — find Valley Fever wherever they are and hang on to them.

The Rusty Spur Saloon was around decades before Scottsdale earned its reputation as a fine place to buy and wear expensive watches, and it'll probably be around after the last Lincoln Blackwood has been buried in a luxury-truck graveyard in the desert. In the meantime, it'll be there to surprise people who go into Old Town expecting nothing but expensive kitsch with nigh-omnipresent live music and a volatile combination of regulars and authenticity tourists and people who actually live in Scottsdale. Of course, it'll probably also surprise anybody who goes in expecting nothing but authenticity. Psychobilly Rodeo Band, weekend regulars, wouldn't quite fit inside a John Ford movie.

There are a lot of very unnerving, questionable things about karaoke. You'll have to convince yourself you can sing. You'll have to convince yourself you can get your friends to sing. You'll have to convince all the people in front of you you can sing. You should not have to wonder when and whether a bar is even doing karaoke, which is where Brigett's Last Laugh — Phoenix's self-proclaimed Karaoke Kapital — comes in. Is it 9 p.m.? Is it a weekday or also a weekend? Done. Located in an exceptionally unassuming, flesh-toned building on Cave Creek Road in real life, and a Facebook page covered in Comic Sans on the Internet — it comes by its divey-ness naturally — Brigett's commits to karaoke seven nights a week and has built up a loyal crowd as a result, leaving you free to worry about literally everything else to do with singing your favorite songs in front of total strangers.

Toby Keith's I Love This Bar and Grill was originally named Toby Keith's I Love This Bar and Grill for Its Live Karaoke Events, but we suppose they thought it sounded silly. In any case, the live-action karaoke is still around, and if you've never made the leap from a MIDI backing track (maybe with a low-budget music video starring a bunch of sad Japanese women) to people who are actually playing musical instruments, prepare to feel a little swell-headed by the end of the night. If you can check your ego, it's worth checking out: If they know your song, it's the closest you'll ever get to becoming a star and owning your own Your Name Here Loves This Bar and Grill.

If you don't already spend a lot of time listening to syrupy Chinese ballads as loud as local ordinances will allow, your first visit to August Karaoke Box might prove a little intimidating. From minimally soundproofed booths, exchange-student cliques speaking every Asian language will be singing an unplanned mash-up of J-Rock, K-Pop, and American Top 40. At the front desk, an inaudible attendant will ask you and your group how much time and which refreshments you want and point you to your own minimally soundproofed booth.

Inside, your tech-savviest friend will navigate an enormous catalog that has been alphabetized by multiple competing, totally incompatible methods. English songs will look suspiciously like ripped and mislabeled YouTube videos. You are not August Karaoke Box's audience, as it turns out. But that unaffected indifference breeds the best kind of authenticity: You'll come out of your booth as bewildered and giddy as if you'd just daytripped to Tokyo, and excited that you'll only have to drive to Tempe to be bewildered again.

The difference between a good open mic night and a bad open mic night, besides the music itself, is how invested the venue is in it. Fatso's Pizza might not look or sound like a gathering spot for Phoenix's acoustic guitars, but every Thursday night Fatso's and guitarist Gram Benike come together to host an open mic that's gradually become a North Phoenix institution. The crowd at Fatso's isn't going to make you feel like you've stepped onto an episode of America's Got Talent, but lots of them will at least be looking in your direction — unlike some open mic nights, you won't come away with the impression that you were allowed to play as part of an elaborate prank against the customers. Oh, and the pizza's good, which is important to keep in mind when the music sometimes isn't.

Comedy, as the saying goes, is tragedy plus time. At most stand-up joints, it's the standard formula for good jokes. At the Tempe Improv, however, it also sums up the drama the renowned establishment has endured over the past 16 months. In June 2012, the iconic club shut its doors after 25 years, following heated allegations by owner Mark Anderson, who charged comedy impresario Joel Bachkoff of conspiring with former Improv employees to steal Anderson's business. Anderson, who reportedly had a history of mental issues, then went missing. Weeks later, the 60-year-old was found dead in a Buckeye motel room of a cerebral hemorrhage stemming from a brain deformity. Anderson's widow, Holly, eventually approached Bachkoff about partnering to revamp and reopen the Improv in hopes of securing her late husband's legacy.

The club returned in May, following a total renovation of its interior and showroom, giving both more of an upscale look that's heavy on exposed wood and vintage imagery, as well as adding a full bar and VIP areas upstairs. Some things haven't changed, however, as its famous stage (which has hosted the likes of Jerry Seinfeld and Chris Rock) and red brick wall are still there. And the comedians are just as hilarious as ever. After all they've been through down there, we're sure they could use a laugh. The usual two-drink minimum is also still around, of course, so be sure to raise a toast to Anderson with at least one of 'em, maybe both.

A word to the not-so-wise, fella: You needn't bother reaching for any of the thick volumes lining the walls of Skeptical Chemyst for any answers during its weekly pub quiz. Firstly, it's as off-limits as fishing your smartphone out of your pocket and hitting up Google. And second, those are all boring legal tomes and are just for show, dummy. Instead, we recommend using that Rolodex of useless information you call a brain to overcome the competition at the Irish pub's popular weekly event, which consists of seven waves of 10 questions each. And hurry up, because the clock's ticking and there's only a certain amount of time per round. Since the quiz allows either individuals or teams of any size, we recommend inviting your egghead friends and relying on the collective smarts of the whole group. It's gonna take all of you to answer some of the questions, which cover a vast array of random topics (ranging from comic books and music to science and world history) and are either decidedly obscure or definitely difficult. Two rounds also involve a visual component, during which participants could be asked to scope out famous faces or identify artwork from famous rock albums. Pride is at stake (as well as a $50 bar card for first place), so try not to choke, especially in front of your nearest and dearest.

When it all boils down to it, all video games essentially are about one thing: escapism, pure and simple. You hit start, leave reality behind, and get in some CGI-animated wish fulfillment of the bullet-slinging, ass-kicking, or fast-driving variety; at least until your energy bar (or money) is exhausted. And at either of the Valley's two entries into the Dave & Busters chain, such fully rendered ego trips are a bit more realistic, given the high-end graphics of the games comprising its glitzy Million Dollar Midway arcade. And the extensive menu of booze, beer, and cocktails of a mixed or frozen nature available at each of the large in-house bars certainly helps matters, too. Try having a few Big Wave Daves, one of D&B's eight signature drinks, followed by a spin on the Typhoon undersea simulator. Or maybe have a Newcastle or three before storming the castles of Infinity Blade FX. Best off all, things go 21-and-over after 10 p.m. on Fridays and Saturdays, so you can get in some quality time on the Fruit Ninja FX machines without having to wait for tweeners to finish their games first.

Good friends can become bitter rivals when hanging out in Gypsy Bar's arcade, ahem, game lounge. Believe us, we've seen it happen, usually over one of its many player-versus-player sports games (like 2 Minute Drill or NBA Hoops) and definitely after imbibing something ice-cold and intoxicating from the large, fully loaded bar. Sure, egos might get a little bruised, and taunts are often exchanged, but it's all in good fun (we think). Not all the mega-games are of an athletic bent, however, as there's Pac-Man Battle Royale Deluxe, Guitar Hero, Terminator: Salvation, and Deal or No Deal. Pretty much everything involves two players or more, so prepare yourself for an impromptu challenge, should you be there with friends. The flash and clamor of the glitzy game lounge often competes with the hullabaloo of other activities taking place throughout Gypsy Bar, which is located next door to Lucky Strike Lanes at CityScape. If it's a weekend, there's probably a crowd on the dance floor or around the bar as people engage in an interactive affair of a more social sort.

The best un-kept secret at Venezia's (besides the hero sandwiches) for the area's large population of cash-strapped college kids and underemployed recent grads is its very good handcrafted pizzas. The Montanile family, which opened the joint in 1995, serves up handcrafted pies with thin, crispy crusts, tangy homemade marinara, and 100 percent mozzarella cheese. You can get them whole or by the slice — either of the build-your-own variety or as one of the specialty slices that rotate on a daily basis. And with an extensive array of daily specials, your wallet never feels lighter than it should.

What are the two things Charles Bukowski loved more than women? Playing the ponies and drinking like a fish — if a fish drank beer. So if the poet laureate of the barroom were alive today and visiting Phoenix, where would he hang? No doubt at the Turf Irish Pub, where you can suck back the brew of your choice (ours being Guinness) and place your bets as the horses pound the track on the TVs up above. Should your stomach begin to growl, the Turf serves a mean boxty and a classic Irish breakfast with all the fixin's. And when you're finished wagering for the day, there's a long, classic wooden bar on which to bend an elbow and perhaps chat up a fembot or two. No doubt Buk would approve.

High-fives and fist-bumps are common at this particular Zipps, dished out by either celebratory jock junkies or actual pro jocks themselves. That's because superstar athletes and retired greats from the Phoenix Suns, Arizona Cardinals, and other local teams have swung by Zipps over the years to glad-hand with fans, sign autographs, or just load up on its primo sports bar repast. (Check out the slew of framed menus around the place with autographs of such hometown heroes as Dan Majerle, Edgerrin James, Goran Dragic, and Seth Joyner.) Rubbing elbows with big ballers is just one of the appeals of this Arcadia neighborhood fan favorite. The others? Savory grilled wings, 11 different loaded focaccias, and its trademark Zipparitas delivered by adorable waitresses. Down enough of the intoxicating signature concoctions, which are stronger than a Sir Charles slam dunk, and you might get up the gumption to challenge one of the athletes to a match on the arcade games in the back. Just prepare to be schooled, son.

It's not much of a mystery which particular team Friday's Front Row rallies behind, considering it's heavy on Sedona Red décor, teeming with Arizona Diamondbacks ephemera, and, uh, located inside Chase Field. The latter fact facilitates its most obvious amenity (and biggest draw): giving folks opportunities to catch the D-backs in action during their 81 home games each year. Setting aside that, and the fact it's part of the Friday's chain, it offers more than just epic views from its left-field location of either the cavernous stadium or the boys of summer playing with their balls. Eye-catching shadowbox displays detail the intricate manufacturing process of baseball mitts, signed sports memorabilia dots the walls, and there are 50 high-def televisions about.

The sizable bar has more than a dozen different tap handles (including Camelback IPA from the Phoenix Ale Brewery) and a decent pour for a chain establishment. And if you're sitting in the booths, tables, and patios set aside for game-day viewing (which require a ticket purchase, whereas other seating is free), there's a chance you'll catch more than just a buzz if a game's going. According to servers, well-hit Rawlings sometimes grace the place, like when a Mark McGwire homer slammed into the exterior sign in 1999. "You gotta keep your head on a swivel sometimes," one jokes. Consider hitting up the team shop for a helmet before your visit, just in case.

If the yardstick of any sports bar ultimately is the size, quality, and visibility of its screens, then Red Embers is the heavyweight champion of the West Valley. Most everyone else? Mere 90-pound weaklings when compared to this upscale bar and grill inside Surprise's labyrinthine Uptown Alley entertainment complex (read: bowling alley on steroids). Though not a sports bar in the strictest sense, it rivals any jock joint with its fantastic wings, brew selection, and vast selection of screens, including the monstrous 20-by-15-foot projection HDTV. There aren't many craned necks or bad seats in the house as the titanic screen is the centerpiece of the Sports Theatre attached to Red Embers and is visible from practically anywhere in the place, as well as most of Uptown Alley (and maybe from Wickenburg). Perched in front are eight overstuffed chairs and a row of benches for up-close viewing. And mere steps away are a huge arcade, a circular lounge with pool and darts, and (of course) 40 bowling lanes. Kinda puts your neighborhood game-day hangout to shame, bro.

On game day in Ahwatukee, you'll find the serious sports fan at this friendly neighboorhood hub. It's easy to see why: about three-dozen flat-screen high-def TVs, subscriptions to all the major sports packages, a congenial atmosphere, a major-league selection of beers, and respectable bar-food options. In business for a nearly a decade, the family-run CK's also offers daily drink and food specials and live music on the weekends. If you can't actually attend the big game, then you'll discover CK's is the next best option.

Like North Phoenix itself, Connolly's Sports Grill might leave you with the subconscious urge to stretch out a little. It's not that it's big, just more open than you might be used to — an airy outparcel made artificially sports-bar-dark with blackout curtains. Well-spaced tables are all that stand between the entrance on one side and a well-stocked bar on the other; mounted on all four walls are big, clear TVs, seemingly one to a table. There might not be a lot of history or character in a North Phoenix outparcel, but that also means there's no history or character getting between you, your meal, and your favorite team.

The best sports bar in Scottsdale doesn't look very much like a sports bar at all, which seems appropriate — from the outside, Goldies could easily be a trendy breakfast place or the kind of dentist's office that makes you worry about how much your filling is going to cost. Inside, things are a little more conventional, which is good — TVs everywhere (including a few comically large screens for special occasions), darts, pool, shuffleboard, and other ways of avoiding too much eye contact at halftime. It's all topped off with food you'll actually want to eat — they'll give you extremely hot Buffalo wings and nachos if that's what you're looking for, but their sandwiches and Huge Burgers (that's a name, not a judgment) lack the greasy, predigested feel you might be conditioned to reach for in the middle of a Suns game.

The sports bar industry continues to attempt to redefine itself with establishments striving to offer more than cheap domestic beer in pitchers, pathetic frozen pizzas and wings, aging TVs, and boorish dudes in football jerseys. It's all about upscale these days. You know, a nice place, where you can feel comfortable watching the game in mixed company because some loudmouth isn't offending everyone in the joint with his drunken color-commentating. At Lucky Break, the food is certainly a step up from most sports bar, the beer selection (lots of local and national craft brews) is exceptional, the room clean and tastefully appointed, and the giant flat-screen TVs plentiful. In fact, there isn't a bad seat in the house if you absolutely, positively can't miss one second of action in the game.

The jock and nerd crowds supposedly don't mix well, right? Maybe only in hackneyed movies, bro, because things are a bit different at the Stadium Club. The brainiac brigade and sports nuts seem to get along like peas and carrots whenever the twice-weekly Team Trivia competitions on Wednesdays and Fridays coincide with some can't-miss game airing on the two-dozen high-end televisions. (And nary a swirly takes place.) Plus, there always seems to be a slew of karaoke dorks in attendance ready to make like Kid Rock or Rhianna. The sing-along sessions, taking place six times a week, seemingly are the preferred sport at the Chandler joint (despite its status as both a Green Bay Packers and Buffalo Bills bar), given the number of people who turn out and cheer along for those who stay on key or get completely wild wielding the microphone, like one dude's over-the-top mimicry of Maroon 5. He didn't have any moves like Jagger, but he was still entertaining to watch.

Bull Shooters comes by its Best Pool Hall crown in one obvious way — it boasts 44 tables, and they're all better maintained than the sad one that sits moldering all alone in the average bar. But tables aside, this place'll keep you around between games with its grasp of all the other ways people who would go someplace with 44 pool tables might want to entertain themselves. That means copious amounts of darts, TVs, the occasional poker game, and — if you're not afraid of affecting your trick shots — lots of cheap beer. If you're an expert, Bull Shooters is big enough and serious enough that you'll always be able to find a table. If you're a terrified newbie, Bull Shooters is big enough that you'll probably be able to find a table far enough out of sight that nobody can see the way you're holding the cue.

Taking a drag at Hazelwood's isn't much of a drag, since the 2,000-square-foot smoking patio's a fairly pleasant place. A gigantic metal awning cloisters things from harsh sunlight, while the shoulder-high cement fence dampens the traffic noise from Indian School Road. Several ceiling fans keep the fresh air circulating, and strategically placed air conditioners and heat lamps make temperatures tolerable, depending on the season. A ring of six HD screens hangs from the ceiling, typically tuned to whatever big game is happening at that particular moment, while local folk and acoustic troubadours visit the corner stage Sunday and Wednesday nights. And there's always free poker every Sunday and Monday evening.

There's nary a trace of body fat to be seen gracing the chiseled shapes of BS West's hunky crew of go-go boys. It's to be expected, considering that these musclebound specimens of hunkitude not only practically live at the gym but get in upwards of four hours of hardcore cardio shaking their nearly naked moneymakers during twice-weekly appearances at the Scottsdale gay bar. And believe us, the four to five body-painted dancers who appear on Wednesday and Saturday nights do indeed make mad bank, as evidenced by the wads of dollars stuffed into their revealing low-rise briefs by the extremely appreciative gay men and straight women eager for a big slice of beefcake. The go-go boys reward such generosity with a few suggestive pelvic thrusts in the patron's direction while perched atop their platform, each timed perfectly with the high-energy beats laid down by DJs. It's one of several moves in their respective repertoires — along with hip-shaking, strutting, and fist-pumping — and often results in wide eyes and big smiles because of the size of their, um . . . Let's say that rock-hard abs and bulging biceps aren't their only endowments and just leave it at that.

Martini Ranch's upstairs Shaker Room is aptly named, considering the vast amount of hip-shimmying and rump-bumping that gets unleashed between its walls on weekends. The most eye-catching booty shakers in the place, however, typically are the go-go girls prancing on the bar, steel boxes, or any of five different stripper poles. The leggy, scantily clad dancers and their sexy moves are often the center of attention (and the stars of hastily shot cell phone videos) during the four nights they perform. At the all-ages dance party, for instance, the girls of Platinum Entertainment sport LED-laden brassieres and spangly belts and boots that glimmer in the colored lights at the off-the-chain all-ages dance party put on by DJ Slippe. During Retox Sundays, however, it's like go-go's gone wild as they'll squat down to drizzle booze into mouths or allow dudes to get in a free spank or two while friends record the scene. Hope your girlfriend doesn't see it all on YouTube.

The sweet strip club thrills doled out at The Candy Store pack much more of a kick than your average sugar buzz — and it's almost as inexpensive. The North Phoenix topless showclub charges only $5 to get in after 6 p.m. nightly (with no cover on Sundays), various drink deals are offered throughout the week, and there's a coupon for a $2 beer or well cocktail on its website. It's one of the reasons we keep coming back, since it allows us much more green to devote to all of the club's choice selection of eye candy, which is one of its other pluses. Though stacked and silicone-enhanced dancers are among its roster, most of the girls here are of the naturally endowed variety, including a couple pulling off sultry femme fatale or Suicide Girls looks with numerous tats or Bettie Page bangs. It adds to the throwback vibe of the Candy Store (which opened in 1988 and is one of the oldest clubs in town), as does all its copious neon lights and spotlessly clean but enjoyably divey charm. Its VIP areas are quite swanky-looking; however, you'll have to pay a little extra for that particular privilege.

You'd be hard-pressed to find a single strip club in the Valley that doesn't feature rock 'n' roll blaring as exotic dancers bump and grind away. Elite Cabaret at 910 Live is no exception, as its music mix is heavy on classic jams from the likes of Gary Glitter, Cheap Trick, and The Doors. Thing is, this Tempe strip club will do you one better: There's an open-air concert space in the back hosting live rock gigs. Earlier this year, the proprietors of 910 Live transformed the interior of the nightclub and venue, which once served as infamous rock bar Boston's, into a ritzy topless club drenched in pink and purple hues and boasting multiple stages and swank furnishings. The live music moved outdoors, where cabanas and seating ring a 40-square-foot stage. Since the changeover, it's featured appearances from rock icons like George Lynch of Dokken, who performed in April, and former Sex Pistol Glen Matlock and Blondie drummer Clem Burke's The International Swingers in May. Best of all, concert admission gets you into the cabaret, where you can have your own personal after-party.

DJ Tsunami has a secret for getting things moving at places like Charlie's: "In an LGBT club," he tells us, "you target the males." And when largely young and decidedly fashionable gay guys mosey into the notorious cowboy-themed establishment during his late-night sets on Tuesdays and Saturdays, he rocks their bodies (and, thus, the party) with rhythmic pop, urban dance, and high-energy EDM. And thus he also rocks the derrieres of lesbians, straights, drag queens, and gay vaqueros alongside them on the rustic dance floor and scattered throughout the sprawling estate, via the clubwide sound system. Mission accomplished. Tsunami isn't the only one keeping things energetic at Charlie's, as its colorfully diverse nightly offerings also include DJ Mode dropping Top 40 and Latin on Thursdays, go-go boys on Sundays, and various down-home dance lessons and country nights throughout the week. Best of all, the taquería next door also stays open until 3 a.m. on weeknights and 4:30 a.m. on weekends, should another trip to Jenny's down the road seem blasé.

Nu-Towne Saloon is sort of a scrappy place, and we're not saying that because of all the rough trade that stops by. This East Phoenix gay bar landmark and grand dame of the scene first opened near the equally historic Tovrea Castle in 1971 and has survived a lot of drama throughout its four-decade lifespan. We're talking recessions, the fickleness of LGBT crowds, and even a massive fire that completely wiped out its interior in 2010. Its proprietors reopened the place a year or so later after restoring the antique-heavy and memorabilia-laden décor of its signature kitschy digs to how things looked before, including the seven-foot plaster rooster statue (insert jokes here, if you must). And the crowd that considers the place its home away from home is still largely male, including bears of every size and their admirers, leather daddies visiting during the twice-weekly beer busts, and dudes looking for some, um, companionship and $1.50 shot specials during the long-running "Cruise Night" on Fridays. Hell, if nuclear war were ever to break out, we're sure Nu-Towne would somehow survive and continue to have the night, despite all the fallout.

At Zoan, the drinks are strong, the social scene is busy, and the thrills come cheap. Rhonda Walden, longtime owner of this lesbian-oriented Melrose Curve mainstay, keeps her die-hards and girl groupies happy with daily drink specials and free entertainment four nights a week, including open mic on Mondays and karaoke on Wednesdays. Even livelier times, however, come on the weekends with drag kings, DJs spinning hip-hop and pop, or the notorious theme parties like the "White Trash Nation" or "Come Get Lei'd" affairs. Nobody sits alone for long during such revelry, and no one pays more than $5 to get in. Thing is, Zoan's varied clientele of glamazons, bois, and fembots always seem to do a pretty good job of entertaining themselves too, thank you very much, be it dancing and grinding in the colorful main room to beats or trading cheeky gossip in the posh smoking lounge, where they've spied Mercury star Brittney Griner around town.

Daft Punk's newest chart-scorcher, "Get Lucky," gets bumped almost hourly at The Mint, and it's a rather fitting anthem for this Old Town ultra-lounge's libertine vibe. Its busy social rites and the packed milieu of its weekend scene offer ample opportunities for those on the prowl, whether they're looking for some face time or something entirely more carnal. After all, hooking up essentially is a numbers game, right? The Mint's 12 signature cocktails, including the Gold Digger Bubbles and Life Savings Martini, make for some powerful social lubricants, and its crowded patio allows for many easy encounters. Or you could try climbing alongside one of the many ladies dancing on the furniture. Either way, should your pickup artist kung fu prove strong, a few darkened nooks and curtain-covered cabanas provide enough seclusion for private conversations or whatever happens next.

If things look a little, ahem, cleaner than usual inside the Royale, it's because some changes have been taking place over the past year. Proprietor Mark Bolin, who also owns the equally iconic Do Drop Inn and Wanderin, sprung for new vinyl fixtures around the bar, ditched that old hot nuts dispenser (gasp), and had his staff remove the inch of dust covering all the liquor bottles. Feel free to relax, as everything else you love about the landmark 16th Street dive remains unchanged: the stained pressboard walls, ripped and tattered carpet (said to be as old as the bar itself), and the dented vending machines dispensing condoms with such brand names as "Temptation" or "Hugger" in the men's john. And just because Bolin spruced the place up and began serving cans of San Tan Brewery craft beer doesn't mean he's lost touch with his common man or their price bracket. Draft pints are still $2.50 apiece, Jell-O shots can be had for a buck, and microwaved bar snacks won't run you more than a fiver, allowing Royale's regulars to fill up on brews and belly-bomber eats without emptying their wallets.

Motorcycle aficionado John McCormick bought the former home of Warsaw Wally's and 26th Street Blues Bar in 2008 and quickly turned it into an amiable drinking hole. It's in the darkened black-and-red environs where urbane 20-somethings and downtown rocker types comfortably rub shoulders with hard-partying mustachioed bikers and neighborhood barflies. The diverse crowd is just one of many appealing elements of Chopper John's. There's also a great patio for al fresco imbibing, a couple of pool tables, free popcorn, and free live music many nights of the week and always on weekends by out-of-town bands such as Bob Log III and the Shakers and local favorites like Pat Roberts and the Heymakers, as well as various harder-rocking acts like Guns N' Roses tribute Recipe for Disaster. And during Arizona Bike Week, Chopper John's is home to one of the most colorful, booze-soaked scenes this side of Sturgis.

The convivial vibe at this venerable downtown Irish pub is as intoxicating as the surfeit of firewater behind the antique wooden bar — and just as potent. Laughter and cheery banter spill from Seamus McCaffrey's pub's patio and perpetually open door onto Monroe Street on an almost nightly basis, getting louder as said spirits (including its wealth of imported U.K. brews, Irish whiskeys, and scotches) are quaffed. It's plenty lively, not to be missed, and is the sort of nightly craic that's been taking place at the pub since its beginnings two decades ago. We're fans of the $4 Imperial pints at happy hour, the traditional Irish offerings on the menu, and the social mix of post-work drinkers, ragamuffin artists, college preps, older professionals, younger punks, and other downtowners. The clientele is as colorful as those porcelain leprechaun statues along its walls.

Everything seems bigger at Cactus Jack's, which is one of its many charms. Well drinks come in pint glasses and aren't stingy on booze, daily happy hour food and alcohol deals offer big-time savings, and the $3.99 brats served on Saturdays are downright hefty. Plus, the digs at this Ahwatukee neighborhood bar not only are spacious but loaded with distractions aplenty, including felt-covered tables for Texas Hold'em sessions, basketball and bowling games, ping-pong, dart machines, and one of the longest shuffleboard tables we've ever seen. So roomy is that particular corner of the bar that it's usually where local bands and musicians perform during Friday night shows, including local blues guitarist Carvin Jones, who's been known to strut around venues while wailing away on his six-string. He'd better bring along one of his extra-long guitar cables.

An amiable neighborhood spot with the soul of a dive bar, Tony's offers its patrons the best of both worlds with heavyweight pours, sporty thrills, and an impressive (for a gin joint, that is) beer selection. And though the Glendale favorite features a spit-and-polish vibe, new-ish carpet, and faux brick from a remodel a few years back, its cocktail lounge roots are still evident via all the pressboard wood paneling peeking out, photos of regulars taped to cracked mirrors, and its $2.50 PBR tallboy cans. It ain't the only trendy brew getting snatched up for cheap by the younger-skewing crowd (which includes students from the Thunderbird School of Global Management across the street), as pints of Stella, Rolling Rock, and Goose Island IPA are $3 apiece, and Peroni and Guinness are among the bottled imports and domestics. Check the whiteboards for other specials (like $3.75 Seagrams Bombers) and apply any dollars saved toward a game of pool, which has a major following here, as evidenced by a wall heavy on league plaques. Should some shark run the table on you, there's an ATM over in one corner.

Hang out at the Blooze long enough and eventually you'll cross paths with its enigmatic and unforgettable owner, Tumbleweed. And, yes, most of the wild tales you've heard about this mountain of a man (whose enormous salt-and-pepper beard puts the dudes from Duck Dynasty to shame) are likely true. And his establishment is more or less a monument to his passions in life, including hard rock, motorhead culture, and NASCAR. A row of black-and-white illustrations of famous drivers like Dale Jarrett, Kevin Harvick, and the late Dale Earnhardt hangs alongside the bar, pics of hot rods and explosive crashes are underneath lacquered tabletops, and there are checkered flags everywhere, like the large sign advertising inexpensive beer prices. That includes the PBR that's drunk by the gallon during its famously rowdy rockabilly sessions, held weekly since 2005. "We never have a happy hour. Everything's just cheap," remarks one purple-haired and overly tattooed female bartender. Tumbleweed wouldn't have it any other way.

First, the good news: The Closing Soon won't be doing that anytime soon, so there's plenty of time to visit this Scottsdale dive institution. Just head up 68th Street and look for the word "BAR" painted in tall white letters and surrounded by twinkling Christmas lights (natch) on its front window. Second, a few patrons might eyeball you upon entry, but it's nothing personal. They're a tight-knit but fun bunch here, probably because they're packed quite cozily into the short-on-space digs and as salty as the peanuts you can nab for 75 cents. Use the change to pick up one of the used paperbacks for sale, light up the Addams Family pinball machine, or dunk in the "quarter drop" game on the bar. If you're lucky (or skilled) enough to hit the shot glass in the center, the bartender knocks a buck off whatever cocktail or draft you desire. Consider using the discount to buy a stiff one and break the ice with one of the blue-collar regulars, although they'd probably prefer a no-frills cocktail or cold one instead of a pudding shot or drunken gummy bears.

If it happens to be your first-ever time ever inside the Baseline Pub and co-owner Tom Panopoulos is about, don't be surprised if a free shot somehow winds up in front of you. The 52-year-old proprietor is known to occasionally offer a complimentary dram of spirits to newbie customers (usually after barking "Get 'em a shot" at his bartenders), a practice that illustrates the affable nature of Panopoulos and his establishment. It's earned the Tempe neighborhood joint a loyal patronage who dig its lovably well-worn atmosphere, the seemingly never-ending buckets of free peanuts, hanging out in the den-like game room (complete with ping-pong table) in the back, or the fact they can stash their purses or pool cues in a curtain-covered closet next to the bar without worry. Plus, those who visit often enough tend to be hip to when the next time the free "I'm a Pubber" T-shirts will be given out. Riffing on the old Dr Pepper slogan from the '70s, these crimson-colored shirts are produced in batches of around 100 or so and tend to go quickly, as regulars sport them with pride as proof of their O.G. status. Wanna be a Pubber too? Better start visiting more often.

Jupe's isn't exactly what you'd call stylish, but it's certainly charming as hell. A homespun and comfortably shabby townie bar serving Mesa drinkers since 1982, it's operated by an amiable clan of Midwestern transplants who keep the lighting low, the drink prices even lower, and a freezer stocked with frosty mugs. Named for the family's dearly departed patriarch, whose portrait graces one wall, Jupe's features a downright folksy and come-as-you-are atmosphere, as illustrated by the occasional regular wearing pajama pants. There's also a vintage Marlboro Man clock above the bar that never seems to work and at least one TV perpetually tuned to CMT. Well, unless it's pigskin season, which means every screen in the house showcases the jocks of either the Minnesota Vikings or the University of North Dakota. And if you decide to visit during the game in your jammies, be sure you're wearing the purple and gold variety.

As is widely thought in some circles, Sundays are supposed to be a day of rest. That obviously doesn't include the party fiends that cram into Scottsdale's El Hefe every week for one final fete before the weekend's done. Kicking off in the afternoon, 4-2-10 Sundays are five-alarm ragers of beats, booze, and scandalous behavior that typically go past midnight and fill the Saddlebag Trail taquería to capacity. As a result, the SRO situation includes tabletops and booths becoming improvised dance floors as DJs like resident Thomas James sling Top 40 and electro-house from a catwalk. Hits aren't the only thing raining down, as go-go girls fire off CO2 cannons and confetti poppers while standing atop El Hefe's bar. And at one off-the-hook party 4-2-10 party last month, a number of inflatable zebras were dropped from the ceiling, adding a touch of wildlife to an already wild scene.

It's last call, which typically means hitting the bricks, hitting up fast food, then hitting the sack, right? Maybe for you, quitter, but we're not letting the state-mandated buzzkill end our night. We're bound for Karamba, where after-hours adventures await and the party keeps going up until 4 a.m. on weekends. And once the taps are turned off and the booze bottles get stowed, the mood, music, and energy level at the popular discoteca (which has offered wee-hour wingdings for Valley insomniacs for more than a decade now) begins to change. DJ Jesus Vega holsters all the cumbias, salsas, and other Latin sounds in his extensive arsenal in favor of Top 40 music videos and uptempo EDM mixes. Meanwhile, 18-and-over types (who are allowed in after the liquor service ceases) begin to deluge the place, drain its energy drink supply dry, and get in some late-night booty-shaking alongside Karamba's always-colorful Latino clientele. Who says youth is wasted on the young?

It never fails. Every single weekend, Swift Rides manager Matt Simon gets asked the same annoying question by potential fares and inebriated coeds: Do you go all the way to North Scottsdale? And the answer, as always, is no. Same for Tempe, Mesa, or any other location more than a few miles away from Old Town Scottsdale or the entire entertainment district. "When I get that question, I usually start joking about how it'll take four hours and I don't have the gas," he says. Per city code, each of the company's fleet of gas-fueld or electrically powered golf carts is verboten from most major thoroughfares and sticks to side roads. (According to Simon, the area of coverage runs from Hayden Road west to 68th Street, and from Earll Drive north to Chaparral Road.) For most of the operating hours (which run from the early afternoon until 3 a.m. daily), Swift Rides drivers are running entire entourages between bars, taking tourists from their hotels to the hottest restaurants, or spiriting folks to a drive-thru for late-night eats. Then comes last call, when the mass exodus begins and every single cart is packed. Because who in their right mind wants to endure the walk of shame?

Speakeasies are totally awesome and all, but when it comes to getting our hands on an old-school drink that doesn't require a top secret password or a 30-minute wait, our go-to spot is Mabel's on Main. From the outside, the nondescript patio and building do nothing to indicate what you'll find inside: wingback chairs, dark wooden bar, and leather booths — in fact, the only thing keeping you from feeling totally lost in time might be the flat-screen televisions mounted on the walls. And the retro vibe doesn't stop there. The cocktail menu always includes at least one back-from-the-dead cocktail (think, a French 75 or a classic Hemingway), as well as plenty of other vintage beverage options. It also doesn't hurt that the barkeeps usually sport old-school attire like buttoned-up vests or suspenders and always are ready to chat up a storm or give you the history behind the drinks.

As old-school gamers at heart, we're partial to any sort of quarter-fed thrills of a throwback nature. So when The Little Woody opened its side room filled with retro bar games last November, it gave us yet another reason to be twitterpated with the place. It does for old, wood-paneled rec rooms what the Arcadia bar did for slummy dives, remixing a vintage lowbrow concept with highbrow verve. The result is a cozy gaming den that's as charming as it is infectiously fun. Whacking at virtual golf balls or shot-gunning pixelated deer seems dull when compared to flinging pucks on a refurbished mid-century shuffleboard machine while downing one of The Little Woody's many craft cocktails or getting into epic matches with friends on the foosball table. Other lo-fi pursuits include an Etch A Sketch, board games and puzzles, darts, and (our favorite part) the two Beer Ball-brand skeeball machines. Both offer handy drink holders and spit out coupons for complimentary cocktails to those whose aim is true. There even are the occasional organized skeeball battles, like a Deschutes-sponsored tournament in April that saw the winner score a golden growler filled with River Ale. Forget about trying to cheat your way to either a free Old Codger or a massive beer-filled trophy, since both games have Plexiglas preventing such nonsense. Besides, your friends would probably wind up razzing the crap outta you.

Now that iPods have themselves been obsolete for almost five years, it's important to know exactly why you're still looking for a jukebox. It's definitely not the selection, though the selection is important. It's not the sound quality, either, though the warmth of vinyl probably would take your mind off all the MP3s on your phone. The point of a jukebox, in 2013, is to give yourself over completely to the past, or at least your conception of the past. That makes MacAlpine's Soda Fountain the obvious pick. Sit down and have an ice cream soda — maybe after you ask what an ice cream soda is — and then mosey on over to the jukebox-est looking jukebox you'll see in Phoenix, filled with vintage, hissing 45s. Fifty years from now, your grandkids will probably reserve the same awe for your cassette boombox, but in the meantime this is as good as it gets.

Hans Olson arrived in Phoenix from San Bernadino, California, in the late '60s, not long after many of the town's musical rising stars — like Alice Cooper and Mike Condello — had departed for bigger cities. With self-deprecating wit, the guitarist, songwriter, and blues harp-blower says there was no one else around to keep him from becoming the city's biggest musical name. Since that time, Olson has shared stages with Muddy Waters, offered Tom Waits a couch to crash on when the hobo-like singer bummed into town in the '70s, and helped open the Sun Club, which would become instrumental in launching acts like the Gin Blossoms. Olson himself has kept busy recording, too: His 2013 album, Dust to Dust, simmers with a distilled variation of the blues energy he's put to tape since arriving in Phoenix. It's a record that sounds very "Phoenix," from a man who's furthered the legacy of his adopted hometown.

God, we love this job. It seems obvious now that there's an online history of greater Phoenix gay bars (other than our Facebook friends list), but we never thought about it before. Inspired by a random remark at a party a couple of years ago, we were able to confirm, at www.azgays.com, not only that what is now Apollo's Lounge (and has been since 1985) was a gay bar even before that, but also when (in the 1970s, if not earlier) and what it was called (Mr. Fat Fingers and, later, Tommy and Clyde's "cruise 'n' boozery"). It matters not what a tacky old dump a place might be when it's a beloved neighborhood fixture like this, where you can visit with buddies on the patio, enjoy bingo, drag shows, dance nights, and special events, and give thanks for barkeeps with a generous pour.

When your parents were just gleams in your grandparents' eyes, Phoenix had few venues for popular music concerts. (This was also when pop encompassed just about every genre.) There was the Coliseum, Sun Devil Stadium, the original Compton Terrace (eventually), and, since 1963, Celebrity Theatre, which was — and still is — the classy hall with the rotating stage.

The legroom for the 2,650 seats is based on stumpy midcentury Arizonans, but no one's ever more than 70 feet away from the entertainment. Jerry Riopelle still plays the Celebrity every New Year's Eve, a tradition he started in 1974. And you never know what's up next (we also saw Michael Moore there in 2004 and KC & the Sunshine Band a bit before that), but at this point, it's safe to say it'll probably be retro or adult contemporary music, comedy, martial arts, or something on the urban side.

Back in the good ol' days of baseball, players could be alarmingly fat, surprisingly skinny, and just about everything in between and still be considered professional athletes — not the 'roided-up monsters of the past 15 years. And it's these men whose deeds are enshrined at Don & Charlie's, the 32-year-old steak house in Scottsdale. It's more or less the Valley's own version of baseball's Hall of Fame. Countless pieces of memorabilia (autographed baseballs, autographed pictures, baseball cards, etc.) line the walls of a place ballplayers and broadcasters frequented back when spring training was a more casual affair, not the cottage industry it's become. Tradition is the name of the game here, and the food reflects the old-school vibe — 28-day-aged steaks, chops, ribs, prime rib, burgers, and retro cocktails. If you're the sort who yearns for the Golden Age of baseball, when guys like Mays, Banks, and Williams were swinging the lumber, step up to the plate at this paean to simpler times.