Apparently this place used to be down in the subway station. Somehow they’ve managed to move it above ground and keep that same dump-ish, subterranean feel. Actually it seems more like an odd B-movie club set. You know, that square, high-ceilinged industrial space that remains half-finished, with a make-shift bar, holes in the drywall and some second hand couches thrown in the center of the space to make sure the patrons know they’re actually supposed to be in the place. It’s what a bar would be if squatters decided to make some money some day. This doesn’t mean I disliked the place, of course, but was more shocked by the shabbiness of the place. I guess they don’t have much in the way of bar and/or building inspectors in the city. Otherwise this place would be shuttered, condemned and burned to the ground as a health and safety hazard. Luckily for the scumbag in us all, the place remains standing, serves some beer and plays loud rock ‘n roll. So what there are sawhorses tossed willy-nilly in the corners, general rubbish hiding behind unfinished panels, and the toilets work about as well as the original Bradley Fighting Vehicle. The clientele is made up of your typical greasy-headed, t-shirt-wearing young-ish lover of beer and music. The neighborhood is packed with Irish bars and generic tourist traps, so Siberia is a nice break from the norm, and an oasis of the extremely casual joint that is low on pretension and high on roach droppings. [MF]

356 W 40th St.