I read the name of this place and thought it was gonna be rock ‘n’ roll heaven. Like Vazac’s but with music that I might actually want to listen to. It turns out, however, that perhaps they’re referring to a stack of coasters piled high by a guy named Marshall? I’m honestly not sure. But there is about as much rock going on here as there is consensual adult sex at the Vatican. Instead I found myself in a happy hour-type joint with post-work girls drinking a nice sauvignon blanc chatting about their co-workers and boyfriends. It was all very civil. Of course I could get civil all sorts of places, but a bar named after a giant rock ‘n’ roll speaker shouldn’t be one of them. Kind of disappointing. Though I was highly entertained by the over-the-hill roadie-looking guy in his light, baggy jeans and AC/DC t-shirt tending bar. He and his mullet seemed completely confused to be there, as he looked awkwardly at wine bottles and poured half beers and generally walked around like a blinded zombie. It’s not to say Marshall Stack was unpleasant — far from it — but its yuppie flavor and clear misnomer should come with a warning label to those of us usually looking for something a little more adventurous in this neighborhood. [MF]
66 Rivington St.
212/228-4667
marshallstacknyc.com