Where does the time go? Another weekend has passed, and February is in full swing. Why does it still feel like 2004? Not much has changed on my day to day, but every once and awhile I get tossed an unwanted curveball that puts me on my heels. Friday it came in the form of a trip to the DMV. Before getting to this stereotypical nightmare, let me build you up with an epic Thursday evening.
Noah stopped by 186 after a long uneventful workday. We grubbed some Tiny’s before heading to the Luna Lounge to check out the return of The Giraffes. As we entered the club we ran into Justin, Amy and Ben who were hoping to catch a glimpse of the return. Dave was handling his biz like Randall, and Noah fielded numerous questions about the fate of Sam Champion. It was a schmoozefest, (in the best sense). The Giraffes were playing an early showcase set to ease back into the gigging game. If you recall, lead singer, Gurn, was recently sidelined after a vicious heart attack, but he hadn’t missed a step. He even went to the convincing lengths of sipping from a flask throughout the first half of the show all the while looking like a villain from a western remake. The band, which is quite the specimen of carefully crafted facial hair, played a full set to an overly packed audience crammed into every available space in lounge. Their set was quite crazy in a good way. Fans of Zeppelin, Clutch and the Misfits will dig The Giraffes. Their guitar player shredded the entire set which can give it a classic rock feel along with an 8T’s glam cock style. Check the kids out as they continue to snowball until the release of their full-length on Razor and Tie.
During the second half of the set, I squeezed back to the bar area to watch on the projection screen with Sarah, Stevo, Hawkins, Ghory and Ramie. Once the set was finished a few of us skipped over to Max Fish for a quick beer before I floated back to 186 to catch the taped episode of The O.C. Here are a few notes regarding the show. Sandy needs to check himself. His ex is putting a strain on the marriage, and Kristen is a fox, so fucking that up would be disaster. Though, I don’t see them ever breaking up. They are too much like 2000’s version of the Walsh’s. The lesbian action is going to be hot hot hot. More on that once tongue kissing commences. The two week tease is getting to be a little much. A note to the writers; this comic book storyline is weaker than my last vodka tonic. Let’s get Summer and Seth sacked up so we can break up this damn comic book group. Oh, and finally, Caleb is sleazier than my Uncle, and that son-of-a-bitch is greasier than Little Italy.
Sean, Sarah and Noah stopped in for a quick beverage following my exile. Around 10pm we decided it was time to get a move on, so we hopped a cab down to Tribeca Rock Club. We lost a Sarah and gained a Beach somewhere along the road, but this didn’t help the fact that our cab driver had no idea where to go. We finally got into the club as RANA was taking the stage. I grabbed a quick beer and said hello to Pooja who was in party mode. After a quick puff tough session, I carved out a lonely spot with the hopes of concentrating on their set. One thing is for certain, RANA has the chops to keep things extremely interesting. While ponderings whether or not Ryan could breathe with the massive amounts of smoke machine exhaust engulfing him, my eyes were drawn to Scott who has the best solo faces in the business. Matt also demands your attention. On Thursday he was really going for it. Watching him play, I can’t help but think that the kid must love Michael Jackson. He’s got the touch.
After their first set, the tequila started to flow like water despite the ridiculous price of a thumbnail size shot. During changeover I managed to dig on DJ Logic skills while catching up with Tumblehawk, Lucy, Ani, Beckwith, Beach and Daylen who love their RANA rock. Their second set began more as a free form session that had DJ Logic started the engine before Ryan steered the band. It was a nice mix of rock and turntables. Usually that kind of collaboration is reserved for some kind of hardcore band that screams and shit, but tonight RANA and Logic took it to another level. As Pooja and I stood on the risers enjoying the sea of dancers, it occurred to me that I spent nearly a C-note so it was time to bail out.
Friday morning I called into work because I wasn’t feeling to hot and it was time to hit the DMV to finally get a NYS drivers license. It was 9:30am when I hopped on the subway headed to Herald’s Square. The queued line didn’t seem out of control, but it took me nearly an hour to see the first step in the long process. The man behind the counter informed me that my Social Security card couldn’t be taken because it was too beat up. Naturally, I managed to stage a freak out that included phrases such as, “I took off a day of work for this bullshit,” and “Get me your manager.” After much pleading, the manager said if I went to the Social Security office and got a receipt proving I had applied for a new card, than he could hook me up.
With this in mind I hustled through midtown hastily gawking at one of the most bullshit sections of the island. Midtown has absolutely no character and the so called culture is absolute garbage. So many Middle Americans and foreign tourists waste their days walking around the technology jungle gasping at Cadillac advertisements and The Olive Garden. It’s really quite a shame. It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. Anyway, my stop at the Social Security Office took over an hour, but I hustled back to the DMV with most of the afternoon in front of me. The manager didn’t make me wait for processing, but I did have to wait an hour and a half to see the next person in the assembly line. Around 2pm my odyssey ended and I was back downtown munching with Christie at Chat ‘n Chew. We took the liberty of strolling through Union Square Park on a beautiful winter’s afternoon.
After some brief napping, I got the obligatory (as Noah called it), “My band is playing down the street and has some time to kill,” phone call. Noah and Doug (DOP) cruised through to have some Budweiser’s before we were joined by Ryan, Jack and Sean Bones. I have to ask, are artists (despite playing tons of shows) nervous before a gig because these kids just use me for my bathroom. They come by a couple hours before their show and abuse my poor toilet. This is detail enough, but I think its time to start charging a loo few unless I start getting some positive feedback. The bands took off while I did some cleaning up, and by 9pm I was off to the Mercury. Everyone came out for the big rock show, and the club was stuffed with the likes of Sarah, Maya, Jacqueline, Dahlia, Lucy, Tumble, Dana, Dave, Sarah, Mandel, Beach, Daylen, Pooja, Matt RANA, Greg, Eric Say Hi, DTL, Leah, Ethan, Ramie, Beckwith, KariBomb, Jin, the various bands and many others. The makings of a good night were in place.
Sam Champion was first on this terrific bill. The boys were not messing around with their opportunity to open for quality bands. By the end of their set, the room was filling up with interested onlookers. Their set was quite outstanding; one of their best in recent memory. Sean has stepped into his role and is now playing some tasty guitar parts. The guys looked to be having a great time which certainly helped my outlook. They also played a couple new songs one of which reminded me of a British Sea Power song and the another with a title much like Beetlebum, but the name I can’t remember. Hopefully they will be on the road soon so you folks outside of the New York area can catch the goodness.
(Note: Noah informed me the name of the song is Cheadlebug and it was penned by Sean.)
Next up was the San Francisco dirty blues duo called Two Gallants. They were fantastic! They make it easy to drawl comparisons to brethren like The Black Keys and The White Stripes, but the earnest picking and charming, screech laden howl of the lead singer make them standout in the crowd. Their drummer is lost in web of hair, but finds time to surface and throw down back up vocals. He is a spastic drummer who compliments his partner with driving beats built for their brand of San Francisco via Delta blues rock. The story lines lost in the lyrics can only make me think the best is yet to come from these kids.
Around 11pm it was time for Dirty On Purpose to take the stage. To be honest, I’ve seen them play sets better than the Friday night show. Though they were completely effective, it felt like the mix was low and the band wasn’t all on the same page. They did close with a stellar rendition of Monument which is always a delicious cherry on top. Tonight I’m returning to the Mercury with the hopes they can once again blow me off my bullshit ass. I’m mucho excited. Rogue Wave closed out the evening, and though they don’t hit me in the heartstrings, their set was just what the doctor ordered in terms of a closeout. By 1am I was proper bevvied and had my fill of rock, so it was back to the crib for a nice crash on the couch.
To make you wait ages for brunch? Apparently six is the answer. On Saturday I met with Stevo, BT and Chris from Chicago with the hopes of scaring our hunger away. We decided on Old Devil Moon and by the time we made it to 12th Street we were six strong with the addition of out-of-towners Dino and Nick. While waiting out front in the beautiful weather, we ran into Chris and Leclare who were on similar missions. My breakfast consisted of Sangria and biscuits with sausage gravy. It was a bold move, but the right move nonetheless. Post meal we made our way back down to Stevo’s place for a rooftop session. It was an excellent way to kill the afternoon.
Later that night, I wasn’t feeling much like going out so the party came over. Mike, Del and I got things started with a bunch of PBR and Joy Division DVD. As the night grew long, Jeff, Liz, Dee, Kyle, Dana, Stevo, Chris, BT, Christie and a couple other monkeys dropped in for beers. We wasted the night reverting to college days with games of Asshole and Kings Cup. Apparently there is a new rule in Kings Cup which is a Jinners, but I don’t know what that means. Dana tried to explain that it read something else, but I like the idea that no matter where or when, if you pull a 7 card, Jin has to drink. As the sun came up, I realized bed time was the only cure for a long night of hanging.
(Left: Pic Via Stereogum) Sorry about that title. It seemed appropriate. At 11:30am Mohawk called to remind me about our gameday brunch plans. It took me a minute, but by noon I was at his place hanging out with him, Lucy and Eileen. After a quick rip, we stepped across the street and Danny had us set up for a table at 9th Street Market. Tumblehawk has some sort of strange relationship with the owner of the joint so we got class A treatment. Though we were hurting as a group (physically), we managed to power through some massive plates of food. After the brunch, I hit up the grocery store to get things in order for the Super Bowl party.
The rest of my day was spent at the house watching pregame and prepping food, (minus a trip to the beloved Duane Reed). Around 4pm Chris and Stevo came by so Chris could start making a pot of chili that simply killed. As he worked on the pot with Stevo, I whipped up a big batch of guacamole along with a plate of chopped up veggies. Once game time grew close, a bunch of kids (and tons of beer) showed up. We managed to stuff Dana, Jordan, Lucy, Tumblehawk, Matt G, Jigga, Liz, Christie, Erin and Dan into the living room. Additions to the menu came in the form of some spectacular honey lime wings from Jigga, Rice Krispie treats from Tumble and Lucy and Onion dip a la Dana. The game was almost as kick ass as the company, and though Beach is somewhere heartbroken, I’m happy to see the Patriots win so Charlie Weiss can make the switch to Notre Dame as a winner. The halftime show wasn't nearly as scandelous as last year, but Paul McCartney did bring the rock especially when he played Live and Let Die. Holy Fireworks! The night wound down quickly after the game, and as everyone lugged their food comas out of 186, I happily slipped off the deep end.
Go Jets. Only 12 months until their next Super Bowl.
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