Long before the days of high school suburbanite dance parties and “Hook your iPod up to the sound system and drink for free ‘DJ nights’” the Ottobar stood for something...I dunno, more honest? Surly bartenders slung dollar Bohs and saluted wholesome, family friendly topics, like porno and Satan. Little known bands like At the Drive-In and Death Cab for Cutie pulled grateful crowds that wrung every drop of air out of that cramped and flimsy main room. Hang around in the upstairs lounge long enough, and you might've found yourself being stalked by Otto, the namesake barcat. And if they gave out a “Best of Baltimore” award for nastiest men’s room, that one behind the stage would have been a lock. Rose tinted days-gone-by, I know. Still, back then Mike, Todd, Tecla and the others would go that extra mile to make sure you thought they didn’t give a fuck, even though you knew that deep down they really did. Case in point, Ottozine.
This little freebie mag, thrown together with loving carelessness, full of spite and vice, represents a moment in time and a venue in its prime. That's not to say that I don't enjoy the occasional trip to the current Ottobar, an even decade later...but while the name may be the same, that place is gone forever.
Click thumbnails to engorge
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