When looking for a place to grab a pint in London’s vibrant Camden section, how ever do you choose? With brightly colored signs and punk rockers at every corner, the bar I chose was a choice based on solid logic: enter through the doors on which your ex-boyfriend’s band’s poster is taped. The World’s End and Underworld are nearly one in the same as The World’s End suffices for the the quick liquor fix and Underworld, connected, serves all that is rock ‘n’ roll to listeners on a dingy, not-even-a-shot-in-hell-at-being-silver platter. As with most music venues that cater to the subcultures of metal and etc. heavy rock (yes, they aren’t just genres, they are subcultures, as well), the beer has seeped so deeply into the flooring that I’d wager a bet the air in the room is at least 1% alcohol. Advertisements for bands’ shows are facing you from every possible corner of the venue, including the corners of your bathroom stall, and the balcony provides a bird’s eye view of the rounded bar, encircled with the kinds of guys you should never even consider bringing home to mom. But the beer is good (although you shouldn’t bother ordering The World’s End house beer on tap–it doesn’t exist) and the lineup of musicians playing next door is impressive if you’re at all charmed by music that would provoke a church to issue a restraining order against you. However, I will warn you: I went in for a drink on my lonesome, dressed a bit more conservatively than you would have found me a few years ago on stage with Devola (it should be noted that while I was dressed more conservatively, I was still metal enough in my books for being fully clad in black). Nonetheless, I received more than one odd look from Hot Topic outfitted boys and girls, most certainly underestimating my own punk rock past. Although there’s nothing worse than a person trying to dress to a part of a scene before entering said scene’s bar (poseur: the word everyone uses and no one can spell), I still wouldn’t recommend checking out this bar when you’re fresh out of work from your banking job, with your inlaws, or on a date with a girl who owns a Louis Vuitton bag. I’m just sayin’.