Rogue West

This was the best bar in AZ by far!
The owners were the BEST ever and the bartender Bruce was awesome!
Drinks were cheap and they had the BEST jukebox ever.
Show nights the place was packed an super full of all kinds of sexy!
Non show nights were my fav though. Fun people!
I cried when this bar closed! I am still totally lost without it! :(
Where will I go now?!
Free pool… awesome cheap jukebox an PBR! Where else can I get my fix?!

Better get yr butt into this randy rendezvous of a rogue dive bar & soon. It is closing down Weds due to a questionable yet successful personal injury lawsuit. Alas & alack!

Loud, cheap drinks and great crowd. I’ll be back for sure…

My Dearest Rogue West,
This is the hardest letter I have ever had to write. Almost as hard as it is to leave your checkered and red arms at 2am on a Wednesday morning. Tuesday nights are one of the best nights to go for the best music and drink specials. All while being Filiberto’s adjacent.
Monday: Dollar PBRs
Tuesday: Sailor Jerry drinks $ 3
Wednesday: Usually still drunk from Tuesday.

My tribe and I will go here because one of our own is the DJ here on Tuesday nights spinning the best in new wave, punk, and psychobilly. Before he goes on the juke box may be the best one in town. Descendents, Johnny Cash, Screeching Weasel, The Smiths… It’s like my childhood of concerts I wish I had, all with a drunk-​friendly, easy-​to-​use interface.
tl;dr free pool, cheap drinks, fast women, rad tunes.
Post Script,
$ 10 minimum on credit/​debit

The Rogue West: tight jeans, white t-​shirts, coiffed hairdos, wallet chains, beat up hot rods, marlboro reds, PBR’s, ripped pool tables, grungy bathrooms, semen stained couch, wood panneling, dim lighting, sarcastic bad ass bar tender, dark haired jaded women, upright basses, checker board tile, black and red paint, perpetually hogged jukebox, seedy clientele, baby makin’ boogyin’ tunes…
The Rogue West is like a scene out of American Graffiti.
Hidden within the bowels of an innocuous strip mall it’s surroundings belie the vortex of cool that this place is.
The scene; a saturday night assumedly wasted in glendale, I arranged to meet up with the lovely Barbara G. and our mutual friend Katie, my brother Justin, and our mutual friend Scott. After a quick toke in the garage the girls arrived to pick us up, and Barbara G. drove our gang to The Rogue West. As we pulled into the parking lot we spotted our destination, and a collective anxiousness settled on our group. «Is this it?!» someone said, I could tell by the tone of the question a seeming paranoia disappointment and fear had seized the ranks. I downplayed this with an offhanded remark, and bolstered my own waning resolve. The building stares into the parking lot like a battered and bruised window less testament to our failed economy, garishly splashed with black and red paint like the face of some downtrodden whore, equally as inviting. Dont let this fool you, as we all know, you cannot judge something by it’s appearence.
Our gang then stepped inside and with some momentary trepidation, they followed as I strolled eagerly to the bar. A quick occular pat down suggested the threat of any form of hostility was non existant.
I inquired with the barkeep, Bruce, what beers they had on tap, as Barbara G. cooed approvingly in my ear, my attention must’ve been visibly diverted to her, as Bruce snapped at me «Hey ya listening!?» «no.» I replied with some guilt, as he rattled off the answer to my question. We all ordered some pabsts for $ 2, and started a round of pool, which was graciously free. We shot some rounds, poured a couple bucks into the juke, and listened to a really good rockabilly style 3 piece band, whose name had something to do with «Pee Wee» in it. Overall our experience was thoroughly enjoyed, and I think I may just have found my new favorite place on the west side to wet my whistle.

I’ve been to a lot of punk rock bars, a lot of dive bars and well… let’s just say I’ve been to a bar or two. I’m an alcoholic what can I say? *shrugs* Anyway, of all the bars I’ve visited from one side of the country to the other I have to say that this is one of my favorite. I may be a little bit biased because when I first moved out here this was my «local» bar but every time I go back just confirms this. The drinks are made strong, the odd 70’s porn playing in the background helps to always have good conversation and there is free pool. Obviously not a place that you want to go to if you want to pick up girls, as the only girls I’ve seen here are either taken or you don’t want to toke them, or a place that you’d want to take a date on unless she specifically mentions liking dirty dive bars. The jukebox is one of the best I’ve seen for punk rock/​rockabilly/​outlaw country. I saw a person get a knife pulled on them and taken out of the bar for being a scottsdale douchebag, which only breeds more love for this place. Best part about that was that no one even batted an eye while it was going down, all like it was just another day in the life of the Rogue West. Would definitely recommend this place if you want to go kick it with the boys and not worry about anything but having a good time.

Oi! Dust off your leather jackets, find some boots or chucks, and grab a Rancid T-​Shirt, because this dive bar is punk!
Well, not *that* punk. I’ll settle down now. Rogue west is a cozy little place with style. Everything is black and red and awesome. Lord knows why some 1970s porn was on the screen, but at least it made for good conversation.
The bartender is laid back and friendly, and the drinks are a reasonable price. I’m bumping this place up to four stars because it’s also a music venue of sorts. Jäger and mosh pits, anyone?

Went on a Monday night and it was very quiet as far as people go, but they play punk, ska, and similar on the speakers. After sports were over (around 10), the barkeep put on some Japanese gore movie on the DVD that was very entertaining. Prices seemed fair, even cheap. Very friendly bartender and seemed like a great place to just hang out with friends and play pool or chat. Probably wouldn’t go here on a busier night like a weekend but it was nice tonight. And, bonus, they have absinthe!

This was my hangout in Photown. I had the unfortunate pleasure of living in Peoria. And with bars like McDuffy’s, who needs bars!
This is a great dive. Kind of has a punk /​rockabilly vibe going on. Two free pool tables is awesome. The juke is one of a kind and one of the best in the city. Lot of favorites, but definitely put on Deadbolt’s Mrs Valdez if you get the chance. It’s a classic.
Bartenders are great. Beer is all decently priced. Cheap PBR and Old Style cans always available. The crowd is generally fun and approachable to play pool with. It’s really the only place to hit up for us westsiders. For that, I thank you Rogue West. I would of lost my mind earlier in this damn town if it wasn’t for this safe haven.

I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die. Yes, I dialed up Folsom Prison Blues on the car pod upon leaving this joint on my first visit inspired by the blurred photo of the man in black near the exit.
I found myself here again last night on a full moon Wednesday, not very crowded, but this was perfect for bellying up at the darker end of the bar and conversing. This is my kind of joint. Killer juke, friendly tenders, cheap booze, dark and no pretense. I guess this is the type of place that I am most comfortable in.
I was a tad disappointed that punk rock karaōke was not happening as advertised but it could have just as well been a blessing. Dive on in sometime if you happen to be in the neighborhood, shoot me… a text that is and I may just meet you there.

The most friendly dump and dive in Phoenix. Friday night is a good night to chill; Saturday night to skank or jive with the band. The amount of skunk beers in the can is bitchin’ and drinks come in plastic cups — heavier on the sauce than the ice.
Tips:
Friday is the night to chill
Bring cover on Saturday
Grab a few Old Styles
Ask for no coke in a Black Russian

so i’m always up for a new experience and rogue west was a «one of a kind.» I think at the time, I used the word «terrifying,» but in hindside I had a really great time. They had live music on a Friday night and there was no cover charge. The only lyrics that i understood from the band referenced a woman’s tight nether regions, but who am i to judge, right? so I just did what anyone would do and sang along…

I like a good dive bar. A place where you can sit, get a drink for cheap enough and not be bothered. So, when Nathan S. and AMber W. brought me here, I thought it was cool. While I’m not likely to rush into any mosh pits, I can get into a little punk music given the right environment and Rogue West is the right environment.
We took our seats and the bartender came for a drink order. He started by asking to see my ID. I thought: Hell yes, I’m gonna love this place. Until, the «punk» said, «Wow! You’re older than I am.»
So, for that… you lose one star.

Approximately three hours until the ripe old age of 27 hits me, after a long day of moving, we find ourselves in the Rogue. I am with the lovely Amber hoping to hell her plethora of visible tattoos will make it acceptable for me to be here by proxy. If not my cap proclaiming «I am the Boss» certainly did the trick.
Being a divier place I decided to be one of the guys and have a Bud Light like the good old days (I don’t remember it being that gross before). The bartender tells me I have to put my shirt inside out if I am going to drink Bud Light. I look down and realize that I am wearing my Guinness shirt from the OYE at Finnegan’s. Embarrassing but the guy gets cool points for the comment. Afterward I switch to a safe Jack and Coke… and another and another etc.
The jukebox kicks some major ass here. Plenty of punk rock, rockabilly, old soul that sort of thing.
The Kevmo met up with us pulling into a front spot in his Subaru wagon and as he clicked the lock the beep drew some stares. Nice Grateful Dead shirt hippie.
The band that was supposed to play never showed (probably syphillus complications?) so they had a replacement band show up about 11.
Bomb Threat… yup that’s the name of the band. They sound about like you would expect… screaming hard terrible wanna be punk rock.
At 12:01 I decided that my first act as a 27 year old should probably be to throw some elbows in the mosh pit of a Bomb Threat show. I ended up covered in PBR as some guy who knew all the words to the songs decided to spray the shit all over the place. It was so ridiculously bad that it was fun.
In general I would advise avoiding bands playing here unless you have shitty taste in music, but otherwise this is a great spot.
P. S. I think I am going to create a Rogue Bingo game. Items to check off:
–Mohawk over 9 inches
–Tiger Army apparel
–Crimped hair
–Misspelled tattoo
–Person carrying more than three cans of PBR
–Cardigan sweater
–Tight girl pants on a guy
etc.

i sit here at the rogue west, this very moment, sipping on a $ 5 a raspberry vodka tonic (they didn’t have my regular watermelon) with one thought: I wish I were actually cool enough to be in this bar.
Badbrains is currently playing on the punk rock juke box and twenty-​somethings with spikey hair sit at the bar sipping their whiskey.
The camo wearing gentleman next to me just asked if someone crop dusted, which evidentally means fart because he made it clear that it stunk. I personally don’t smell anything, but I learned a new phrase.
Evidentally I am being snarky and kind of mean, so maybe I do fit in better than I thought. Next time I feel like being a miserable, snarky bitch I will be back.
Over and out.

Well first of all, what everyone has told me about this place and what I have read is basically true. This is a great little hideaway and the jukebox is prime for punks and psycho/​rockabilly lovers.
The drinks were dirt cheap and wonderful. I was imbibing in buck-​fifty cans of ice cold PBR and sipping Makers Mark for 2 hrs and my bill was under 15 dollars. Ding!
(*they also have Old Style for you Midwestern transplants to make love to!)
The bartender was really laid back and cool, a total sweetie, very accommodating. I was here in the Early afternoon after a seriously intense business meeting, still dressed in AZ business-​casual attire, not cool and hip in a punk tee. No hipsters were yet installed in place on the stools around me. Just five or six laid-​back barflies (who I might add were very nice and quite funny as well.) No problems whatsoever.
Until…
Music-​Snob-​Boy came in with his Robert Smith day –off haircut and enough evil-​geek attitude to drive me out. Basically forcing me, Mr. Easygoing himself to tell the fucker to «fuck off» and get up and leave.
The fucker kept trying to fight with me about The Pixies… and there is really nothing bad to say about the Pixies… ever. But this turd cat would not let up, ruining my entire Rogue West experience and almost forcing me to come to blows. The little shithead was quaking in his neon green Chuck Taylors by the time I finally left. (I really did try hard to ignore him, but he followed me around the bar…)
Anyway…
A great dark hole. I loathe strip malls but I guess I need to get use to them, because everything out here is in one. Although once in the interior of the Rogue It felt like I was in more of a NYC basement bar, with dark smoke-​stained paneling and minimal but tasteful lighting.
Quite a nice escape.
Highly recommended for an afternoon vampire recharge.
Just watch out for music-​snob-​turd-​cat-​in-​the-​neon-​green-​Chuck-​Taylors who is 36, still works in the record store and probably is still holed up in his Mama’s basement.
(I wanna slay him! Verbally, non-​violently… heh! You would have too!)
Live long and prosper. \m/​
*This would be a 4.5 (maybe even a 5) star review if it wasn’t for my experience with Pixie-​hating Turd Boy.

Misty S, Amanda B, her friend Renee and I went here for our own little «after party» after the Elite event at Sol Y Sombra. We thought the shady rockabilly dive vibe would be the perfect compliment to the sangria and tapas we enjoyed earlier. Like chasing Duck L’Orange with a jack in the box milkshake.
Rogue West is what happens when a Stray Cat music video pleasures itself into a petri dish. It has the checkered floor, the loud and extensive jukebox (Madonna and Nekromantix, within a span of an hour), and the pool tables (with red, uh, carpeting, very fashionable) of a rockabilly club, and all the dimly-​lit shadiness and «I’m so bored please order something I’m not familiar with so we have a reason to talk» bar staff that you would expect in a bar that grew up with a single parent.
Wait, what?
Normally I’m hesitant to drink at bars. It’s not the booze that concerns me, or even the price of the booze, it’s that whole «yeah, I know that the gender on my ID doesn’t match the gender I present but that’s totally me in that picture» thing that throws me. When Ruben (that’s what his shirt said anyway) took my ID to swipe it, I felt a little anxious. It was a Wednesday night, after all, and the only other people at the bar other than us were the regulars. You know, the «I come here to get away from my nagging wife and a job that sucks my soul» crowd. Those tend to be the people that give me the most static.
But Ruben was way cool about it. It took him a second to put two and two together, but once he hid he didn’t make a peep. In fact, Misty claims that for the rest of the night he seemed to be in «tranny awe». He kept coming to our table and asking if «us ladies» needed anything.
I’m going to be up and front right now about this. Any place that addresses me as «lady» or «ma’am» immediately gets two bonus stars. It’s unfair and its biased and I’m a rotten bitch for it, but I can’t help it. Nothing brightens my day like being addressed to like a proper woman.
I mean, when it comes to dive bars, service is the only reasonable criterion. You can’t judge their beer and liquor because they don’t make it, and if the jukebox is too loud than that’s probably someone else’s subtle way of telling you to shut the hell up.
Ruben made stiff but flavorful cocktails and kept coming to our table and refilling our drink orders.
We were so impressed that Misty S left him a «California Tip», which is what I say whenever I want to both praise her for her generosity and tease her for holding the West Side to Bay standards.
I am a cruel mistress.

I’m not a bar sort of kid. For the most part, I tend to avoid them. I don’t like the crowd, I don’t like the noise, and I generally want to run screaming when I have to see a group full of drunk twenty-​somethings. It’s just not my scene.
When someone talks me into going out, I have a tendency to insist on the Rogue West. We have a sporadic yet long history. While I’ve never been to its east side counterpart, I’m told that it’s what Rogue East used to be a couple of years ago.
I’m a bit stingy and won’t pay a cover. I’m not going to give someone money for the privilege of spending money. I just can’t make myself do it. The last few times I’ve tried to go, they’ve had bad metal-​esque bands going on with a cover and I just turn around. This may make me a bad person, but I’m going to enjoy the company, people-​watching and rockin’ jukebox.
«Do you have any cider?»
«Uh. Maybe. I think Woodchuck is cider?»
«That’ll do. Yes. Please. Thank you.»
They bounce back and forth between having Woodchuck Apple and Woodpecker Pear. Flip a coin. Either way, it’s fabulous.
It’s a great, laid back, informal place. Occasionally I’ll get a Cooler Than Thou vibe from the rockabilly kids, but all types seem to frequent this place and doubtless you’ll fit in with someone in the room.
Also, hot hot bartenders in corsets never hurts.
Warning: They don’t answer their phones. Ever. It’s incredibly annoying. Their Myspace page seems to be fairly accurate, but sometimes information from a real human being is highly underrated.

I’ll be honest. My recollection of this place is a bit vague. My visit was preceded by several hours of lounging by the pool, sipping homemade limoncello cocktails. No, I did not drive. For the record, it was early –say, 7-​ish –on a Saturday night.
What I DO remember is this: the scene was casual, the folks were friendly, the jukebox ROCKED. We blasted Bad Religion, Misfits, Beastie Boys, and even a lil James Brown. I played pool against many strangers (and lost). I would go back in a heartbeat.
While Rogue West shares the same name as the one in Scottsdale, they are no longer affiliated with one another. I’ve been to that other one a few times before, and I must say, West is best. And I’m not just saying that because it’s in my neighborhood, and that I was half-​cocked when I went there. It was just… more my speed.