Farewell to the dark and beautiful heart of the true ‘Alternative Buffalo’

Like so many others, I found my tribe at the Old Pink.

Artwork by Kim Miers

It was the place where the going got weird, and the weird turned pro. 

When I arrived in Buffalo in August of 1990, I was a wandering soul in search of a tribe. I pretty quickly found that tribe at 223 Allen St. 

The Old Pink was the second establishment I visited after moving here. The first was the Continental. 

It took me a while to warm to the Continental. Everyone there seemed to be an awful lot cooler than me, particularly on the second floor, where I seldom ventured, because, really, who needs to see a white guy from Massachusetts dance? (Hint: No one does. Ever.) Of course, in a matter of months, I’d grow to love the place, and eventually, deeply mourn its disappearance. 

But the Old Pink? I felt at home from the moment I first crossed the threshold and my eyes adjusted to the eerily red-lit gloom. This random cross-section of night-dwellers gathered beneath an anything goes, judgement-free philosophy - well, these were my people. 

For the next decade, I’d estimate that somewhere between 3 and 5 of my evenings per week ended at the Pink - more often than not, to the tune of  “Last call,” and some variation of “I love you all, now get the hell outta here and go home.” 

The Pink wasn’t a music venue, per se, though the DJs there were the best I’d ever encountered, and music was a huge part of the experience. (Shout-out and endless respect to DJs Eric Van Rysdam, Rich Wall, Dave G, Terry Sullivan, Robby Takac, and - prior to my arriving in town - Casino El Camino, all of whom turned me and countless others on to a rich variety of sounds, based on their encyclopedic knowledge, eclecticism and fearlessness.) 

Bands performed at the Pink very infrequently. But the bar was unquestionably the central hub for members of the music community. (And for artists of all other stripes and types, too.) Working musicians would stop there before their gigs in other establishments, or make it there post-gig for the wind-down to last call - or if  they happened to be playing across the street at Nietzsche’s, they’d grab a drink and perhaps a steak sandwich between sets. 

Touring musicians came through, too. I recall seeing members of the Lowest of the Low, Sloan and the Tea Party there, and legend has it that Rick James, as well as members of the Replacements, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, the New York Dolls, and the Black Crowes found themselves crammed somewhere between the bar and the DJ booth on some enchanted evening. 

When Ian Gillan of Deep Purple was in town recording at Robby Takac’s GCR studios, he fell hard for the Pink’s charms and, because my dear friend Michael Lee Jackson was managing Ian’s solo career at the time, we spent an awful lot of time together at the far end of the bar. An enduring friendship with Ian was born for me there during a time period when I also perfected the fine art of the ‘Irish Goodbye.’ (Look it up, if you’re so inclined.) 

Whenever Ian came to town in the years that followed, a gathering at the Pink was duly assembled. The man immortalized his love for the venue by placing a photo of its famed exterior on the cover of his Gillan’s Inn album. (Which, by the way, is currently being dusted down and remastered for a shiny new edition, to be released in July of 2025.)

"During our time in Buffalo I got to know a great bunch of people who were generous and friendly,” Ian wrote, prior to the album’s release. “We found our local - a few actually, but one particular place to where we repaired most nights after work. It is known as 'The Old Pink' (don't ask); there was good music, good company and good beer to be had there every night, until late. This establishment is going to be the image for Gillan's Inn, as it has all the necessary ingredients."

It’s a testament to the Pink’s transcendent magic that an internationally famous rock star felt completely comfortable there, a welcomed friend amidst the people who represented the beating heart of the true ‘alternative Buffalo.’ 

Farewell, Old Pink. Buffalo will never feel the same. And thank you to the Brinkworth family, for giving both a physical and a spiritual home to our tribe.