The Wall used to be called Moon Sports Bar & Indian Grill, which had very little to do with sports and Indian food, and everything to do with a thirsty clientele looking to get fucked up in an efficient and affordable manner. Now The Wall is The Wall, and from the exterior looks to be singularly concerned with paying tribute to Pink Floyd. But while the bar books live bands most nights of the week, and its interior walls are covered with old 45s, the primary concern of those who drink at the Wall is the same as it ever was: to get fucked up in as efficient and affordable a manner as possible. The bartenders dress as though they'd just stepped off the set of a Whitesnake video, and the band that performed on a recent Friday had more members than the Allman Brothers, only to be squeezed into an odd corner space that a Murphy bed might fold up into. Playing an all-ages show down the street at Full Tilt Ice Cream Parlor was a band called Three Dead Whores, and nearby venues Revolución and The Locker Room packed in disparate groups of patrons for dancing and karaoke, respectively. Much as in Greenwood, its kindred spirit to the far north, the recession doesn't seem to be negatively impacting downtown White Center nightlife much (quite the opposite, in fact), maybe because White Center's been in its own neighborhood-specific recession for so long that drinking to forget is decidedly de rigueur.