Emo's East

Emo’s, though it may scar your memory for quite some time, wasn’t always the hopping place with the fun murals it is today. In fact, the murals, and Emo’s, came along quite recently.

Back in the day, when Emo’s wasn’t Emo’s, Emo’s was some other bar. That was probably back before 6th Street was paved. Even back then there were probably crackheads on the corner, but we can’t say for sure. In fact, you probably don’t even care much about whatever bar that was, and neither do we. All that’s important, you see, is that we are carrying on a tradition. Drunken debauchery has been happening at the site on which Emo’s now stands for quite some time, although it occasionally, we would imagine, spilled over, as well, to the rumored whorehouse (which isn’t a whorehouse any longer—don’t go getting any ideas) down the street.

Somewhere along the line, the un-Emo’s probably changed hands. Had a few owners and a few different names. Someone installed the trough in the men’s restroom, previous to which people just had to piss on the floor, we imagine. Not like having the trough seems to have done much to stop that, some nights. Still, there’s the option, and the doormen will be very appreciative if you use that option.

Then, back in the early nineties, as in 1990’s (we fast-forwarded—the trough was a big step, everything in-between ain’t so grand), this guy named Emo opened Emo’s. Since said time, Emo’s has played host to numerous ground-breaking bands. Really, there were a bunch, and we’re not about to list them all. Cause as of writing this, it’s Monday and we’re feeling slightly lazy. Maybe one of these days. In any case, Emo’s has seen it’s fair share of bands come through the doors, some going on to wild success and some that probably should have just stayed home and not wasted the money on a tour. We were even lucky enough to have the legendary, immortal man in black, Johnny Cash, play a set on one of our stages back in 1994, and you can still see the barstool on which he planted his ass hanging from the ceiling.

But that’s all in the past. Right now, there are still a lot of good bands coming through our doors. On an almost nightly (except for the occasional Sunday—which are always fun events because you can find our regulars sitting outside the door, scratching their temples and wondering just why the hell the door is locked) basis, actually, bands come through our doors. So, really, you have no right to complain about being bored. You can always come support the bands. Or, if that ain’t enough, come down and support the long-standing, though somewhat ambiguous, history of drunkenness and/or debauchery.