Addendum [cuz things change]
This place is still apparently called Nightingale, but is now a snoozy lounge, and not the dive it once was…
Original Review
The place where punk goes to die. More accurately, the bar where everyone from your uncle Jeff to the kids from P.S. 130 can plug in their electric guitars, set up their drum kit and bang away until the neighbors call the cops. This all-ages venue (21 to drink) features your average crowd of skate rat city kids, Joey Ramone look-alikes, aspiring roadies and strung out losers under one incredibly small, windowless, sweat-box of a club gawking at acts like Neon Dingleberries from Uranus and Trudy and the Ho-fish. Not to say that this place is a total dump, but it makes CBGB look like the grand ballroom at The Plaza, and books acts that would loosen a pitbull’s bowels. [MF]
213 2nd Ave.