Community
There are bars you remember because they were beautiful and bars you remember because they changed the trajectory of your life. For me, Burt’s Tiki Lounge fell squarely into the latter category. From the late 1990s through the mid-2000s, the brick façade and dimly-lit marquee at 726 South State Street were iconic. The joint was quietly one of the most important cultural rooms in town. It wasn’t glamorous or polished, but for a generation of locals, it was home.
Despite the name, Burt’s wasn’t really a tiki bar. The “tiki” aspect felt ironic at best. Aside from palm fronds hung from the ceiling, there was little connection to a tropical fantasy. Inside, the mood was pure dive: low lighting, sticky floors and walls layered with flyers and photographs. One image loomed large: “Burt” himself, nude on a beach with a beer resting on his endowment, wearing a smug grin that told you this was a place to let it all hang out. (There was no real Burt.) The décor told stories not of paradise, but of last night’s show and last year’s scene. Burt’s didn’t pretend to be anything it wasn’t, and that was the point.
At a time when Salt Lake City nightlife could feel restrained or predictable, Burt’s offered an alternative. It was loud, messy and unfiltered. As you walked through the door, you were greeted by Netty Slaughter (rest in peace), her gruff voice reminding you to pay the cover and leave the bullshit outside. She was wary, hilarious and uncompromising — an exact reflection of the bar itself…