Well, your days of knowing Jay Belin are over. Sorry kids, but its time for this chicken to say goodbye to the coop. Where is it I’m going? The destination has yet to be set, but I can promise you one thing; my new home will be international. Don’t get discouraged. This isn’t another political rant about the evils of our current administration. This isn’t another monologue regarding my fear of war and life as a living target. This is merely an attempt for me to hide from my student loans. Yesterday my mail consisted of a Union newsletter, a bank statement and the most deadly of all, a Sallie Mae letter. It seems my first payment is due next month which means its time to disappear. We had a good run. For all those that I’ve offended, I’m sorry. For all those I’ve yet to offend, I’m sorry. See you when I get there.
Maybe I won’t move away. Maybe I’ll just switch to clean living. Maybe I’ll cut $4 drinks out of my life. Maybe I’ll become a square, get some pleated kakis and enjoy life working in administration. Fuck it all. What I really need is a rich girl. This is an open call to all rich girls. I cook. I clean. I consider myself a morally aligned kid. I will make you happy. Just make me rich. In fact, this is an open call to rich boys as well. At this point I’ll take any option that doesn’t involve a monthly payment for the next 25 years of my life. Interested Sugar Mommas/Daddies should inquire within.
Last night I spent some time sitting in the dark hatching up schemes to make some extra money. My best bet will be finding a weekend job that will put hook me up with some pocket cash for food during the week. Yeah, I already have a night job, but it isn’t as consistent as I need it to be. I’ll hold onto my job working with the clubs and search for a bar back shift or two. If I spent my Friday bar backing at gAyPT, then my weekly budget would withstand this onslaught from my lenders. Friday sucks anyway. Who cares if you are working 60 hours a week just to be able to party one night a week? It’s totally worth it.
Ok, enough of this bummer. Let me get on to the good stuff. Cami stopped by around 9pm last night for a beer before heading down to the Bowery. She put me in good spirits which is never a difficult thing. We sat in the kitchen drinking Coronas and listening to Joy Division. This is something I could do for the rest of my life. Sit at across the table from a good friend, talking about nothing, having a great time and pausing for the occasional mind blowing drum fill. On our way to the club we ran into Mike whose band Winter Pageant just finished a set at the Mercury. Being a bit of a slacker, I’ve continually missed their live shows, but one day, Jin will snag me off the couch and we’ll be king and queen of the pageant.
We cruised into the club and we met by all the usual suspects. Have I mentioned how awesome the entire crew is? I’m a lucky shit. Anyway, we walked up the back steps and ran right into Sean who was grooving around being so Sean. Chernin and Merrida were hanging out near the bar. Merrida had me perplexed. She was carrying around a tequila shot taking nips off the damned thing. Crazy right? We caught the last couple songs of Blanche who really don’t do it for me. It reminds me of the carnie show on HBO. They are a big 1940’s wannabe freak show who play crazy music and have an even crazier aesthetic. They reminded me of being afraid of clowns. During changeover Cami went out front to smoke a stoge so I ran over to say hello to Gigs who was hanging with a couple of her friends. Andy popped his head in and created a John Hughes type moment, but I’m not going to explain. Let’s just say it was hilarious, but everyone is so cool that it doesn’t make a difference. Upon Cami’s return we retreated to the basement bar to score a quick drink before running back to the corner for The Kills.
So back in 2002 I purchased The Kills' Black Rooster EP at Other Music on the basis that it was released on the beloved Dim Mak. I was instantly sold. They had the blues swagger of the Detroit happenings, the darkness embedded in the late 70’s Warhol scene and killer drum beats that make my hips swivel like a madman. Then their full-length dropped a year later on Rough Trade, (another label close to my heart). The record didn’t bowl me over, but it did have different versions of the EP tracks which made it a high rotation record. The problem is, this band is fucking boooooring live. No matter how much sexual tension they try to convey with the positioning of their mic stands, guitar fucking, singing in the same microphone and general innuendos; the stage looks empty and it feels like you’re watching a talent show.
Don’t get me wrong, The Kills sounded great last night. They played my favorite hits from the record and some of their new songs facilitated some boogie in my step. This is all well and good when I’m in the comfy chair jamming out, but when I’m seeing it live; my eyes need to be as happy as my ears. Last night the only thing keeping my eyes interested was Sean’s animated nature. Here are a few observations about last night:
--- They need a drummer. They need someone to ground the band. Right now its just these two floating around being butthumpers.
--- The lead singer bears a strong resemblance to writer Marc Spitz.
--- Sean is one of the best kids to have with you at a show.
--- The Kills story of coming together mirrors that of the Postal Service. Chicken or egg?
Cami and I ducked out prior to the end of their set. We stopped in the Allen Street Park for a few minutes to hang before departing. Beach was still at the Mercury so I popped in for a quick drink. Dana and Mia were reveling in Sam Roberts’ hotness so I spent most of my time trying to point the boy out. No luck though. With a healthy buzz and a need for sleep Dana and I broke out of the club. We exchanged stories about Friday night, had a laugh and said goodnight.
It was a good Monday.
6 Comments:
wait until you taste my amazing salad. so choice.
Wait till you toss my salad...
wait till my salad tosses you bitches!
hey now. i'll toss salad and eat it too.
i eat the pussy. i eat the butt. i eat every mother fucking thing.
ok that is just NARSTY
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