the Strokes @ Bowery Ballroom
After what proved to be a hellish day, I found myself sitting in Tompkins Square Park trying to rally for a drink with some west coast cats at 7B. The dreary evening had lent itself to my mood which was anything but stable. It was nearing 10:30pm when I got a phone call from the good Doctor instructing me to shag some ass and get down to the Bowery asap. Knowing what was at stake; I popped into the bar, said a quick hello to the blondes and hopped into the closest cab.
The atmosphere of the Bowery could have fooled anyone, (except for the obtrusive Krock van parked out front). It was as if tonight was just another show. The sidewalk had close to 30 people waiting to get in, and when I entered the room with the good Doctor, the Bowery seemed barely over half-full. After a quick Sapphire and Tonic, I made my way to the sandy spot in the back corner where I was greeted by a group of friends that included an elf, an x-hippie, a stock reporter, a guster, and the Doctors sister. We slugged a couple bevies as Regina Spektor closed her set. Then the wait was on.
Almost an hour later, NYCs golden boys rolled on the stage to the cheering of 500 hungry fans. As the lanky fab-five took their places behind their vehicles of rock, Valensi and Fab cued the set with the intro to Someday. By the end of the first chorus, lead singer and Lou Reed impressionist, Julian Casablancas had jumped into the crowd looking for the touch. He emerged triumphantly with a pair of panties wrapped around his head for the duration of the next song.
The third song made way for some of the tunes off their recently pressed second effort. Tracks like Under Control and Automatic Stop eased the crowd into their new offerings. Between songs, a drunken Casablancas informed his legions that he hated leaving NYC which he labeled the best fucking place on earth.
The set and bevies chugged along flawlessly until Casablancas announced that the next song would be Take it or Leave it, but the band ripped into (my favorite new jam) The End has No End. He was slow to realize his mistake, but once he did, the band stopped and gave it another shot. This track, along with NYC Cops, were definitive highlights in an already crowded set list of shinning stars.
The well-dressed Strokes (who, despite the NY Laws, smoked like chimneys) finished their set with a new song featuring a duet with Spektor and Casablancas (loosely titled, Me, Me, Me), and a breakdown that came straight out of the boogie-down Bronx. This followed with the man on the mic stating that they - do not play fucking encores - prior to ripping in the last and most appropriate song of the evening, Reptila. After his singing duties had been fulfilled, Casablancas proceeded to toss his microphone stand about the stage while spitting out what must have been the remnants of too many gin and tonics.
The Strokes have done NYC proud, and those of you who do not agree should take another gander at their records and realize they are one of the lone ships afloat in the sea of shit that is the recording industry.
The post show ambiance could be likened to one giant orgasm. Every face was lined with a smile while most bodies slumped with exhaustion and the threat of the impending workday. After a couple drinks with the good Doctor at the downstairs bar, the elf and I jetted back to our respective abodes. Good times. Great oldies.
After what proved to be a hellish day, I found myself sitting in Tompkins Square Park trying to rally for a drink with some west coast cats at 7B. The dreary evening had lent itself to my mood which was anything but stable. It was nearing 10:30pm when I got a phone call from the good Doctor instructing me to shag some ass and get down to the Bowery asap. Knowing what was at stake; I popped into the bar, said a quick hello to the blondes and hopped into the closest cab.
The atmosphere of the Bowery could have fooled anyone, (except for the obtrusive Krock van parked out front). It was as if tonight was just another show. The sidewalk had close to 30 people waiting to get in, and when I entered the room with the good Doctor, the Bowery seemed barely over half-full. After a quick Sapphire and Tonic, I made my way to the sandy spot in the back corner where I was greeted by a group of friends that included an elf, an x-hippie, a stock reporter, a guster, and the Doctors sister. We slugged a couple bevies as Regina Spektor closed her set. Then the wait was on.
Almost an hour later, NYCs golden boys rolled on the stage to the cheering of 500 hungry fans. As the lanky fab-five took their places behind their vehicles of rock, Valensi and Fab cued the set with the intro to Someday. By the end of the first chorus, lead singer and Lou Reed impressionist, Julian Casablancas had jumped into the crowd looking for the touch. He emerged triumphantly with a pair of panties wrapped around his head for the duration of the next song.
The third song made way for some of the tunes off their recently pressed second effort. Tracks like Under Control and Automatic Stop eased the crowd into their new offerings. Between songs, a drunken Casablancas informed his legions that he hated leaving NYC which he labeled the best fucking place on earth.
The set and bevies chugged along flawlessly until Casablancas announced that the next song would be Take it or Leave it, but the band ripped into (my favorite new jam) The End has No End. He was slow to realize his mistake, but once he did, the band stopped and gave it another shot. This track, along with NYC Cops, were definitive highlights in an already crowded set list of shinning stars.
The well-dressed Strokes (who, despite the NY Laws, smoked like chimneys) finished their set with a new song featuring a duet with Spektor and Casablancas (loosely titled, Me, Me, Me), and a breakdown that came straight out of the boogie-down Bronx. This followed with the man on the mic stating that they - do not play fucking encores - prior to ripping in the last and most appropriate song of the evening, Reptila. After his singing duties had been fulfilled, Casablancas proceeded to toss his microphone stand about the stage while spitting out what must have been the remnants of too many gin and tonics.
The Strokes have done NYC proud, and those of you who do not agree should take another gander at their records and realize they are one of the lone ships afloat in the sea of shit that is the recording industry.
The post show ambiance could be likened to one giant orgasm. Every face was lined with a smile while most bodies slumped with exhaustion and the threat of the impending workday. After a couple drinks with the good Doctor at the downstairs bar, the elf and I jetted back to our respective abodes. Good times. Great oldies.
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