THEY didn't know it then, but on an otherwise innocuous night in 1991, Glasgow's indie scene changed as Nice'N'Sleazy opened its doors.

Incredible as it may seem, this iconic, shadowy, revered drinking den has been getting subcultures plastered for almost a quarter of a century, its continued popularity defying the fickle tastes of the assorted hipster movements that have called it home over the years.

If Mono is the city's "subculture HQ," Sleazy's is a grizzled northern outpost, where the real battles are fought and won.

There are no concessions to fey ideas like cleanliness, non-alcoholic drinks or acoustic instruments.

The toilets are grubby, the venue downstairs is dingy and sometimes the bar upstairs is just one big crush of sweaty, bedraggled punters trying to get out of each other's way.

Open until 3am every night of the week, it can be heaven or hell depending on what you're into.

Some nights it's brotherly vibes, beer and ear-shattering garage rock; others it's a half-empty discordant industrial electro pit and it's 2am and everyone's gurning and you want to go home.

Special tribute must be paid to three things that make this venue wonderful.

The first is the jukebox, but you know all about that already.

Second it's the White Russians, which are plentiful and cheap, strong and - most importantly - tasty.

Third is the kitchen, which is undoubtedly flinging out the most superior food you can find in Glasgow right now.

The Michelin stars might be in Skye and Edinburgh but clearly their guide's writers haven't sampled the food coma-inducing Lucretia burger, which unites pulled pork, chorizo, burnt pineapple, chilli jam and hot buffalo sauce in a greasy, artery-furring sandwich of sheer joy.

It is Sleazy's in a dish: iconic, underground, and with a quintessentially Glaswegian gallus streak.