Every town has its arts district. No, really. When I recently found myself in bustling downtown Latrobe, Pennsylvania, a whole block or two had the telltale banners on every street lamp, designating it as the arts district. My cosmopolitan birthplace of Poughkeepsie, New York, hangs its flags on an even larger square of a semi-reclaimed, former dead zone—after all, what is an "arts district" but a part of the city whose rents have only just begun to rise, and in the meantime, temporarily balances the grimy-quaint ratio just enough to squeeze in a few galleries, a couple of lofts and maybe a venue or two.
Las Vegas' efforts at the arts district thing have become increasingly convincing, as First Friday expands, art shows multiply, murals go up and under-construction luxury condos loom over it all, just as they always do. But to create an arts district, you need artists and artists need a place to drink. At least that's something like the idea behind the Art Bar. They've done an admirable job of creating a spot that could be in New York, Los Angeles or San Francisco, although in any of those cities it'd have a subtler name like Klee! or Cadmium Red. But as we all know, intellectual in-jokes don't count for much in Vegas—a bar would do better to have an Elvis impersonator for an owner and a life-sized bronze statue of Diana Ross next to the front door. Actually, the Art Bar possesses both of these, but that's as far as the conventional Sin City vibe goes.
A lime-green bunker next to the Jack-in the-Box, it's one big room whose walls are lined with chipped mirrors, ringed with peeling paneling and crammed with local art. At the center of the Art Bar (both literally and metaphorically) is a giant, four-sided bar; seating is a row of burgundy vinyl booths or a host of overstuffed couches, all comfortable and conversation-friendly—the hell with those joints where you have to holler at your companions, not only over the sound system but from the depths of a banquette and across a giant coffee table, too. A stage in one corner sometimes features pretty good rock 'n' roll bands and some less-good rave DJs (the sight lines aren't great but the sound system is all right), and there's also a well-stocked jukebox and a few pool tables. Everything you need for a good time, or a rainy afternoon at summer camp.
The Art Bar's clientele does indeed contain a smattering of artist types and those who sleep with them, with more head-to-toe black than anywhere else in town. Less expected are the few senior citizens in the crowd, often beaming benevolently at the band or busing tables, asking if you're having a good time in a vaguely maternal or paternal fashion. But the various types seem to mix just right, and whether it's a busy weekend or a lazy Wednesday, the crowd remains laid-back—well, not quite as laid-back as the couple getting so busy on their bar stools that they needed to not only get a room for the night, but perhaps rent out a whole floor so as not to frighten conventioneers.
As for the staff, they can be a bit slow but are uniformly pleasant. They're also prone to sudden happy hours and dollar beer specials. Furthermore, there's often free popcorn and occasionally they pass out popsicles. Not to mention that the guy who gives away packs of Camels is usually around on weekends. One more way in which the Art Bar accommodates those starving-artist sorts. Or thirsty ones.
The Art Bar, 1511 Main St., 437-2787. Open daily, 11 a.m.-3 a.m.
Lissa Townsend Rodgers learned to make a martini at age 6. E-mail her at
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