o yourself a favor– navigate the potholes of Michigan Avenue until you reach the edge of Corktown, just east of the shadows of old Tiger Stadium. There, like a beacon of euphorically drunken, blue collar,
rock ‘n’ roll spirit you’ll find the glitching neon “BAR” sign of the Lager House.
A watering hole that is at the same time new (as Detroit’s premiere small, independent live music venue) and old (as a family owned and operated, working class bar) the Lager House has the gritty charm and instantly familiarity of a classic, no-bullshit Detroit bar. Journey on the juke box, stiff, cheap drinks and the refreshing absence of kitschy, paint by numbers superfice. Equal parts sweaty rock club, Irish pub (ask for Aunt Sally O'Malley) and Bukowskian dive bar.
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