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Life & Arts

Relax at the Proletariat

Bottoms Up

Sarah Tressler

If your summer nightclub escapades have taken a toll on your bank account, you may be jonesing for a hangout that doesn‚Äôt require you to take out a loan from your rich girlfriend to buy an outfit so you can get in to the latest hotspot. 

For a low-key crowd that has shunned the financial and physical (think stilettos) pain of couture, we must turn our attention to The Proletariat.‚ÄÇ‚ÄÇAn old Montrose standby with a ‚Äúwho-the-$@!#-cares‚Äù attitude, The Proletariat brings out pasty poets and garage band musicians who drink Lone Star and listen to whatever quirky performer happens by. Past weekend line-ups included DJ Jester, a native Houstonian who has the baffling ability to mix Fraggle Rock theme with old-school country and hip-hop and make it sound amazing. 

A couple of pool tables and Ms. Pac-Man will keep your fidgety friends occupied while you get to soak up the wonders of thrift store clothing and cheap beer. Funky orange chairs from a pseudo-space age long past are situated around a coffee table by the front door, where those who aren‚Äôt ADD-afflicted will sit and chat about politics, religion or how to keep a dorm room from smelling like smoke. It seems that the demographic that frequents eclectic rockabilly bars can‚Äôt part with the Marlboro Man, so be prepared for your vintage tee and weathered Wranglers to reek of smoke at the end of the night. There‚Äôs not a patio, so basically, lung cancer is complimentary at this lovely little spot, even if the cover charge might not be. 

If there‚Äôs a band playing, there almost always will be a cover, so come with a few bucks on hand. The drinks are cheap though, and the avant-garde atmosphere will make you forget that you had to cough up five to seven bucks to get in. 

Put your torturous patent platform Pradas away and dust off your Chuck Taylors. The Proletariat isn’t a place to be seen; it’s a place to do what bars were originally meant for — drink.
 

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