Your veins become guitar strings, your rib cage the half-stack, and your very skull is the mic when you step into this punk rock Lokal. Maybe you prefer blue mohawks over blue umbrella drinks. Maybe "lieber Ringe in der Nase, als unter den Augen" is your personal motto. Maybe you just crave catharsis, and find it by slaking the flames of your angst under the aural assault of face-melting riffs. From 14 to 40 (don't ask questions you don't know the answers to), leopard prints to Black Flag t-shirts, plaid to pompadour, the self-identified punks of Munich tend to accumulate at Tumult to drink and piss their beer money away.
Tumult. Aptly named. It ain't no righteous chaos. It's the pell-mell bum rush of Munich's punk bar scene welcoming you to its underground depths with a headlock. Grab a booth or stand your ground. Drink your beer. Try not to let the sweat smear your eyeliner. Forget the mixed drinks - they're overpriced and under-poured.
Beer. Punk. Betties. Remarkably few hipsters. I need nothing more to give this hellhole four stars. Woulda been five, but for the weak mixed drinks. Ain't nobody got time for dat. read more