Cheers NW
4 ratings since posting on Wednesday, July 28, 2004|
in Portland Northwest 19th & Quimby - PDX, OR
503-222-3416
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(submitted by
In-Fro-Spective
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Overall Rating  based on 4 ratings |
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one big drunken filth fest. Good music sometimes, but the crowd isn't so great. They should know when to quit serving people. Everyone gets way to drunk in that place. - Shayla , posted 05/25/05 |
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Its the same place every day now --> the Devotion event that was there on Wednesdays is now at the Red Cap Garage - so if you're looking for the people and the vibe you might try checking out this tribe portland.tribe.net/tribe/2a...7ba9f3b8a -  Electric Night
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posted 01/13/05
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Unsu...
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Until new ownership forced our "subculture" off their premesis.... weak - Unsubscribed , posted 11/12/04 |
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Goodness gracious, where in the world IS Carmen San Diego? My bet is she's maxin' on the "patio" with Waldo and Tupac hoping she gets a chance to see -Sapphire- twirl flames in a way most fire dancers WISH they could... yeah, to the beat y'all, and ya don't stop. -Cheers NW is an experience all unto itself. Six days a week the dimly lit diner is home to the same eight regulars. Three of them are invariable playing video poker while two stare transfixedly at KENO screens above the nondescript bar and the rest alternate between lightly snoring at the bar, muttering curses at the internet jukebox and stumbling to the potty... In short, it's nothing you can't find every three blocks in SE P-Town. -Then out of the blue on one magical night a week this cozy lil' dive bar takes a Cinderella-esk walk on the Wild Side as hoolgans galore flock to drown the symptoms of glowstick withdrawls in $3.00 Vodka Red bulls and a vast selection of beats. Imagine a "Planet Of The Drums" party in a Skate World Snack Bar that's been madeover to look like the a Bhuddist Gravitron. The cigarette stained walls are draped in silk sheets, chairs & tables disappear and ingeniously stretched fabric shapes highlighted by blacklights, lasers, glowing Mayan Calendars and any number of different thing-a-ma-dooley-bobs blur in my foggy memory next to vibrant personalities and Bangin'-ass beats plus (All Praise Julie) drinks that are stiffer than good-ol' Dubya's cast iron boxer shorts. I NEVER LEAVE THERE SOBER. The place cracks! Due to the Rose City's 3 Degrees of separation, your friends are there. As to the aforementioned music, resources are pooled to book an impressive array of DJ's & musical genres, usually without loosing much crowd energy in the transition between styles. On any given night you could hear breaks, dub, jungle, drum & bass, reggae, techno, electro, 57 varieties of house, ambient-intelligent-progressive-anthem-trance (thanks, rambo), even hip-hop. I mean, come on, they even let ME grab a mic and talk smack OK, so the main "dancefloor" and nearly the whole interior is blanketed in red shag carpeting, but who gives a flying fajita? If cutting a literal rug bugs you that damn much, you might as well take your dancin'-in-place rear-end right out the back door and get your gig on within spittin' distance of a naked fire dancer or two in the fenced in outdoor blacktop courtyard. Everybody loves fresh air! At the end of the day (whatever the fuck that means) I'm just glad there's a place where I can go to on a regular basis to hear good music, get cheap strong drinks, and interact with a good mix of peoples without missing all of the random chaos that most of my whirlwind weekends like to launch at me. It's also a perfect time & place to possee up and figure out what the hell'z crackin' in the coming weekend. A steady influx of new-to-Cheers faces helps keep the vibe so fresh and so clean-clean while Heads nod their heads and their heads keepin' it feelin' like home. Cheers is a safe place to let loose a lil' bit because the majority of the people there (including security personnel) are as genuinely concerned about the wellbeing of their drunken comrades, as they are about the sanctity of the kickin' it spot. The security staff there is easily identifiable and refreshingly doesn't give off the impression that they're itching to pummel the infamous bartender Julie's first hapless victim for stepping on their shoes. Oh, and good luck getting in w/o ID. Okay that's enough outta the Peanut Galley. Odds are that soon enough the Siren's Song of the place where everybody knows your name is apt to swoop you up and at least make you tap your feet a little. You may even learn your Galactic Signature. Or at least find out what in tarnation I'm ravin' about. - In-Fro-Spective , posted 07/29/04 |
