 |
 |
 |
| |
 |
|
 |
| |
|
|
 |
|
|
| |
Living With Crackheads.
After a dizzy Wednesday evening, I got back to the apartment, grubbed someone’s leftover burrito and passed out watching The Simpsons. Around 5am my dead sleep was interrupted by the chatter of three people in the kitchen. At first I thought Dan was involved in some fashion, but upon emerging from my cave, I was greeted by Rudy, Kyle and Dee who were having another, “let’s get fucked up and talk about nothing until noon” night. Thankfully, they retired to Kyle’s room for the duration of the early morning. When I managed to drag my ass out of bed, Builder was standing in the hallway trying to explain to me the severity of their crackhead tendencies. After my shower the three crazies spilled out of Kyle’s room and came to mine while I dressed for work. They were scary, but I’ve seen it before. Dee crawls into my bed. Kyle stands there talking about the war or something that someone who has been up for 28 hours shouldn’t be discussing. Rudy retires back to Kyle’s room to play some metal riffs. As I exited the apartment to a barrage of high fives, I walked by Rudy, called him a crackhead to which he replied, “Yeah, I know.”
FYI: They don’t really smoke crack, but maybe they should.
What Day Is Today?
 Hump day came and went, but to be perfectly honest, I couldn’t tell. This week has felt like a 5am hook up with a girl who is almost as wasted as me. I couldn’t feel anything. I couldn’t even tell if it was happening. Working two jobs is fairly hectic, but it is so necessary. My broke ass can use all the extra cash it can get. So last night was the third 12 hour day in a row. Fortunately last night was the easiest of all three despite the fact that my door dealt with more people last night than either of the previous two. Working 2nd door is awesome because while you are standing there checking names off a list, you get to know the security guard who has been assigned to work with you. Monday = Eddie. Tuesday = Ray. Wednesday = Ernie. All three guys were top notch. Eddie and I talked about school. Ray and I talked football. Ernie told me about life as a cop. Getting to know people who are at different points in their lives is always an enlightening process. They give you a perspective that we often miss in our alternate hipster reality. It’s a grounding experience.
So the Fab Faux was nearing the end of their first set when my services were no longer needed. I cruised down to the bar to say later to the crew before walking over to the Mercury Lounge in hopes of catching Washington Social Club. The Merc was bustling with young kids which made it difficult to maneuver to the show room. Daylen was hanging out in the back room talking about Chipotle shrimp which made my stomach rumble. Beach showed up after a bit and we hit the bar for a couple drinks.
My TV’s hit the stage a little after 10pm. I’ve seen the name everywhere. If you are like me, and keep your head to the ground while walking around lost in your headphones, you’ve seen their spray painted stencil everywhere. It’s an effective promotional tactic. Their lead singer reminded Beach and I of Diego from Elefant without the obligatory Culkin’s that go with being Diego. My attention span was failing me, so I don’t want to subject you to some half assed recap of their sound, but I can tell you Beach lost a 6 month old bet.
Awhile back, maybe at a British Sea Power show, Beach and I had a discussion regarding drummers and their tendency to keep their shirts buttoned nearly to the top. Beach then set forth the challenge; if I found a drummer whose shirt was buttoned lower than anyone else in the band, a free tequila shot would grace my belly. Well my friends, last night I won that bet. The drummer from My TV’s (who swings his sticks around like he is in a cock rock band) had two buttons undone while the guitar player only had one.
 After another drink and my contest ending tequila shot, Stevo called me in hopes of dragging me away to a bar. Despite my eagerness to catch the nice kids in WSC’s set, I was lured away from the Mercury by the news that Stevo was with his younger brother Pete who was visiting for a single night. Upon hitting the street, Pete gave me his phone to try and guide some girls to Welcome to the Johnson’s. They were Pace freshmen without I.D. so I decided to cut the chord by hanging up on them. With that off our conscious, we started drinking heavily and shooting pool with a few kids in the back. It’s always great seeing Pete because he exudes the little bit of white boy hustle we all keep inside. The kid is crafty, and once he finds out exactly how to make it, he will. I got tired of entertaining some old drunk who was covered in blood, so I cruised how with a loose swagger.
I’d like to apologize for all the jibber jabber today. My head is a mess and it’s obviously reflected in my poorer than usual prose. I’m going to go drink coffee in hopes of lifting the haze.
You Say It's Your Birthday?
In better news, I want to send a big birthday shout out to mi main older sister Rachel. Today is her 25th Birthday. A quarter fucking century. Congratulations on making some great strides this year. Your little brother loves you loads.
In other better news, I've convinced Trevor to come up to NYC this weekend. In the vain of showing him the best time ever, you all should join us Friday night at the Luna Lounge for The Bahamas show. I'll be posting more details later, but just leave that night clear. Come buy this kid a drink, he deserves it.
We’re Changing The World.
Yesterday evening I was working at the Bowery when my phone lit up twice. The first time it was one of my solids from home who is currently in the Air Force and stationed in Texas. Unfortunately, we were busy at the time so I couldn’t take his call. The second call was from another close friend from home who served four years in the Army prior to being released this past year. Trevor returned home and got a job with the local radio station while he began his education at a branch of Penn State. Things had finally settled down for the GTC, and it felt like most of us were moving ahead together with new adventures and accomplishments to share with one another.
Everything changed with that second phone call. Trevor called with bad news. Not thinking straight, my instinct led me to believe that he was arrested and needed a lawyer. This comes natural when you are from a place where the economic disparity forces a large number of kids in my generation to sell drugs or commit other petty crimes in the hopes of getting ahead. In a town like Clearfield, you are measured by your possessions. The more you have, the higher you are held in regards to social standing. This forces kids who can only work in factories for nominal pay to look for alternative sources of income.
Thank God Trevor’s record is still clean.
Fuck God for endorsing George Bush, (if you didn’t know he leads by divine providence).
If you haven’t figured by now, Trevor has been called up for active duty. His year and a half tour will be spent fighting in Iraq. Trevor will be fighting an unjust war to protect our imported natural resources. For anyone who was lucky enough to come in contact with Trevor over his 24 years of life will know this kid should not be subject to this kind of atrocity. This isn’t to say he can’t handle it. Trevor is one of the most mentally and physically tough people I’ve ever known. If I know Trevor, he will take this set back in stride. He will bite his tongue, go to Iraq, fight the good fight and return home visibly unchanged.
But this is beside the point. Trevor served his time. He gave four years of his life to the armed forces in the hopes of creating a better future for himself. During our senior year of High School Trevor aka Stan the Man, decided his best way out of our God given plight was to join the army. He knew it would help pay for a higher education. He knew it would provide a solid foundation to start a family. He knew it would assist in his future job searches. What Trevor didn’t know in 1999, was that in the year 2000, and even more so after 9/11, our country would be in a delicate position with a rash cowboy steering the ignorant heard.
In a month to the day, Trevor will be on a flight across the Atlantic heading for battleground. I wish him the best and hope he knows he’s got my love. His loyalty and kindness have always been a serious influence on my attitude and the way I treat my friends. Though I don’t want to use Trevor as a poster boy for any anti-war or anti-Bush slander, it almost seems criminal not to. If you need one single reason to step into the voting booth in early November, I’m got it in human form. He would appreciate your vote for an exit strategy. He would appreciate your vote for a world devoid of wars. He would appreciate your vote for a Commander and Chief who adheres to the policies of the U.N. He would appreciate your vote for a President who doesn’t allow special interest to dictate the most important of decisions. He would appreciate your vote.
As I sit here welling up while my fingers blindly poke at my keyboard, I can’t help but think how lucky we all are to have friends or should I say brothers and sisters who are willing to sacrifice not because they have to, but because they are willing to in the hopes of protecting the greater good. Trevor is the toughest son-of-a-bitch I know and yet his heart is made of gold. The kid never had anything, and yet he never asked for anything. Isn’t time we award this unique breed of people by voting responsibly for a better tomorrow?
I Just Need A Ch-Ch-Ch-Change.
While wasting time in my cube yesterday, I spent a good portion of the day surfing Friendster in search of kids from my home town. There are close to 10 kids from Clearfield Area High School who have signed up, but one in particular struck me as hilarious. One of my better friends from back in the day always had a girlfriend. We often figured it was because the kid was a sex fiend and he was constantly keeping the girls at bay with massive amounts of loving. Yesterday I found his former girlfriend on Friendster. Funny thing is, she went to college and became a lesbian. This peaked my interest because there were always a few people in school whose sexuality could be questioned, but it wasn't because if you were gay or a "fag" as the jocks would put it, you would get your ass kicked. It must have been extremely difficult to have those feelings in rural Pennsylvania, but I'm glad to see they found a community that's accepting of their sexual orientation.
P.S. Slop, if you read this, I'm sorry we haven't talked lately. I've been super busy. Give me a ring tonight is you get the chance.
You've Done Nothing For Me.
 *** The Stills' show scheduled for October 9, 2004 at Webster Hall has been postponed. Don't fret because the Canadian boys plan to reschedule this in the near future. They suggest that you spend that evening getting wrecked in some bar.
*** Dylan does some promotion for the first volume of his autobiography. Who knew Dylan was a gun toting freak show? Nice ploy to solicit readers Robert. I like your style. I like your moves.
*** If you missed their big shows with Franz Ferdinand, don't get your trousers in a bunch. The Futureheads plan to return in November, and they'll be playing smaller clubs across the country.
*** Speaking of Franz, how did I miss the fact that Dan The Automator is producing their sophomore record? Head Arch Duke, Alex Kapranos, is also contributing to the Handsome Boy Modeling School record. This collaboration is blowing my mind.
*** Things go from bad to worse for Phil Spector. He was indicted on murder charges. It's crazy to think that he met this girl, took her home and then shot her in the face. Oh yeah, he also made some awesome Beatles records.
*** Wild on Paris. You'd think she would learn after the first couple public blow jobs. Now Paris Hilton has more sex on tape. I'm beginning to think she doesn't care, and its just another ploy to ensure that a large percentage of American men have jacked off to her at least once in their lives.
*** In my effort to bring Green Day back to the spotlight in my music catalog, I'm planning on buying tickets for their upcoming tour. A road trip to see Evan might be in order.
 *** The Music hit the U.S. shores to promote their new record Welcome To the North that drops October 19th. The only problem is that Hope of States is headlining their scheduled show at Webster Hall.
*** Is U2 paying homage to their favorite directors with their upcoming album? Between the title of the record, How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb and some of the track titles (Full Metal Jacket and the single Vertigo) it looks like they are offering love to Kubrick and Hitchcock. Have you heard the single yet? I'm digging on it (via Productshop).
*** Code-Heads. That's an interesting moniker. Thanks to a co-worker of mine, I've recently been enraptured by The Da Vinci Code. Finally, I'll be able to understand all the gibberish that's spewed from Hawkins' mouth over the past year. It may be pop-fiction, but dammit, it’s got me by the balls.
*** Now I don't mind Benjamin McKenzie diversifying his portfolio, but this better not take away from his role as Ryan. I can't wait for The O.C. to start!
*** The 46 year old Bud swigging, leg kicking Guided By Voices front man, Robert Pollard, clues us in on his major influences. My only question is Wire's 154 over Pink Flag; are you crazy?
*** It took two baby, but they don't care. The Black Keys discuss their new record with Chartattack. Unfortunately, I've yet to hear the new cuts, but I plan on picking up their cd this weekend.
Is It Only A Matter Of Time.
Checking the blog community on the regular is a good way to past time at work. During my lunch break I surfed over to Ultragrrrl to see what boys Sarah made out with this past weekend. I found a link to the hilarious blog critic's website. Though this silent rogue (no name or photo) has bashed many of my favorites, I still find it hilarious. Could it be the irony imbedded in the entire process? Probably not. I'm more of a face value kind of guy and his ranting reminds me of Paul after a few too many vodka cranberries. Wait, could it be Paul? Ahhh, never mind, I already stopped caring.
Breakfast Special: Hot Links.
*** Pitchfork gushes like a proud parent over Interpol's sophomore effort Antics. If you haven't scored a leaked copy yet, pick up the new Matador release tomorrow. If the record doesn't fill your appetite for all things gloomy, than check out the buzz via my favorite user of ellipses, Productshop NYC: "In case you missed it, the group has also opened its very own art space at 199 Lafayette Street in New York City that will be open from September 10th through October 9th. The space is tiny, has lots of band inspired art, photo, videos, as well as limited edition Interpol singles and merch for sale. Oh and very nice receptionist from Matador records."
*** Forget Interpol. Tomorrow marks the release of one of the most anticipated albums in history. Brian Wilson's opus titled Smile hits shelves tomorrow. I know many dudes who wear crusty jeans because of this news.
*** Three cheers for Conan! When Leno steps down as the most unfunny late night man ever (save Chevy Chase), Conan will take over as resident funny man. Letterman should prepare to lose viewers. Does this mean we lose Conan to the West Coast?
*** If you saw my earlier post and you thought a Weezer tattoo was a bad idea, at least it wasn't a Jamie Walters tattoo, (nice work Drew). Check out other massive regrets on your favorite star's bodies.
*** Stephen Malkmus tells Billboard that he plans to kick some ass on his third non-Pavement record. The monotone monster also wants us to know he will subduing Argentineans in the months to come, so stop sneaking around his basement to get a listen, (don't forget, Crooked Rain reissue comes out October 26).
*** Our favorite American Idiots have the last laugh. 1.45 million records! Who can deny that this record is amazing? Thanks to Mike R. for hooking a brother up.
*** All you space-jazz fiends take note, The Flaming Lips are headed in a new direction so stock pile your drugs now. This has awesome potential all over it.
*** So much for letting sleeping dogs lie. The Man in Black's life is being made into a Broadway musical. I just did that thing where you puke in your mouth.
*** Speaking of proud parents; Lindsay Lohan's dad gets bounced out of Scores. All the man wanted to do was watch his daughter on VH1 while a skank rubbed her tits all over him. Is that too much to ask?
*** VH1 (of all sources) has the low down regarding TV on the Radio. They plan to hit the road with The Faint and The Pixies as well as release an Ep with a cover of The Yeah Yeah Yeah's Modern Romance.
*** CNN takes a look at the trail left behind by Elliot Smith.
*** If you have a moment, read this. It's an amazing piece on The Clash.
Monday. Monday. Monday.
Here are a few notes regarding this evening:
*** The Mooney Suzuki show at the Bowery has been postponed.
*** DJ Del will lay it down at Atomique.
*** Say Hi to me if you come through the Decemberists show at Webster. I'll be taking your ticket.
Paradox Of Moronic Proportions.
Saturday night found me sitting in the kitchen of 186 listening to records with Kyle and Dan as we wasted our evening playing cards and sipping PBR. The playlist started with the reissue of London Calling by The Clash (big ups to D. for hooking it) followed by some of The Modern Lovers self-titled record. The grand finally was a complete run through of The Beatles Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band which begins with one hell of a face melting riff. There is a point to this, so bear with me. As time ticked by and the working week crept ever closer, I realized the records that have been flooding my apartment aren’t anything special. Maybe more attention should be paid to the past greats rather than the future forgot me nots.
Fast forward 24 hours.
Sunday was a waste land. There was no way to prevent it. After a few big nights, my body wasn’t capable of its normal Sunday routine consisting of more football and PBR than most can stomach. After a wretched brunch, a less than productive meeting and various vices, I found myself stuck in the living room putting more of my catalog onto The Future. This brings my current inner dilemma. As I entered my dirty garage psyche portion of my collection onto The Future, I began to question how those records made it into my collection. The Soledad Brothers, The Go, The Warlocks, Dead Meadow and so on. These were part of a recent infatuation with a sound laced with fuzz and massive feedback. I tried to ask myself where this new obsession stemmed from. This invited me to dive deeper into the annexed portion of my discs.
 (Un)Fortunately this confused me even more. As I ritualistically added all five of my Blink 182 records to The Future, a puzzling feeling crept over me. Surely these records had overstayed their welcome in my musical taste bank and for that matter, who the fuck owns five Blink 182 records? As a 23 year old young adult, there was a little man inside me trying to convince me that energetic pop punk of this SoCal trio couldn’t satisfy a bone in my body. Furthermore, am I not at the age where pee pee and poo poo jokes have lost their humorous luster? Despite these apprehensions I imported my high school favorites (and one 2001 purchase) onto the hard drive in hopes of putting them to rest in the vault of forgotten wet dreams and bedroom mosh pit simulations.
You better sleep on it.
On my walk into the office this morning, the Ipod shuffled through those five Blink 182 albums while I attempted to disband with my formidable tastes. After 5 or 6 songs (all of which I sung along to), I realized that these bands that most indie rock kids would think are shit, still have a special place in my heart. Their high energy, playful tunes will always have the ability to make me style. Is it nostalgia that prevents me from seeing the music snob light? Am I incapable of deciding what genre I should be filed under? To tell you the truth it doesn’t matter. These visits into my uncharacteristically wide spectrum of the musically beloved had an unnerving affect on me. Like most things in life, I can’t make a decision. I’m not the flip-flopper, but there is something strange in the fact that my tastes have yet to specialize.
Though my love for Blink 182 and there pop punk brethren (if you ask, I may tell) could never parallel my fondness for a certain teenage band, I now realize that my feelings for them will never fully dissipate. As my friends and acquaintances continue to subject me to a wealth of artists I may have missed, I’ve grown comfortable in the notion that if you feed me something it’s a safe bet your suggestion will get gobbled up.
That’s not to say I like everything.
Win A Date With Sam Champion!
Trampoline House Anniversary Party
Thursday, September 23, 2004
Featuring Sam Champion, Burnside Project & Summer Lawns
@ Pianos (Ludlow btwn Stanton & Rivington)
$8 / 21+ / $2 Red Stripes / $3 Vox Drinks
I'll see you toinight. Don't forget your checkbooks! Check him out!
Thanks to D. for the killer link to this guy's website. Check it.
End That’s Fitting For The Start.
Since I’m such a son-of-a-bitch and complain most of the time, I want to go on public record saying at this moment, at this very point in time, I feel pretty fucking good. This could change in a day. Hell, it could change in an hour, but right now things are finally coming together and life feels a bit easier. The biggest change has been my adherence to a newly imposed budget. With bills, birthdays, rent and food, developing a budget has been no easy task. Heaps of free burritos and nice people who score me rock shows (thanks to all of you who might read this), have helped me steady the murky financial waters of my early twenties, (at least until I have to start paying loans). Does this mean I’m loaded? Absolutely not. It means that I’m not dead broke three days before my next paycheck. Hopefully I can keep this up, but with Christmas around the corner, it could get difficult.
There are other reasons for me to smile these days, but who wants to kill a good thing?
You Should Quit Smoking.
Kyle and I met post work to indulge in some free burritos from Chipotle. If you haven’t wolfed down one of their ginormous burritos yet, give me a call and I’ll treat. It might not be Mary Ann’s, but they are free and filling, (free because I snaked so many coupons). We finished our hand held Mexican assassins and split. With a little time to kill, I cruised into Kim’s in hopes of finding Arcade Fire’s new record. It’s been awhile since I’ve combed the stacks of a record store (Saturday didn’t count), but it is a rejuvenating and somewhat disappointing process. Rejuvenating in the sense that you realize there are tons of new records needing a listen. Disappointing because a spending spree would destroy the aforementioned budget.
 Around 6pm I walked up to Webster Hall to get my instructions for last nights show. The Canadian rock group Tragically Hip were headlining the gig with the Sam Robert's Band scheduled to kick off the evening. I’m still new to this process, but luckily there was assistance every step of the way. The people who work with the clubs really look out for their employees. Naturally, their top priority is the concert goers, but it feels like everyone understands that if their staff is cool, collected and in good spirits, it will heighten the overall experience.
Assigned to the guest list, I took my spot at the second door with my main men Willy and Steve. There was a bit of a wait before people started rolling it, but that gave me a chance to look over the lists only to find that Dan Ackroyd was set to make an appearance. As the show started, the kids began cruising in and the whole process went smoothly. It was a great crowd of people who were quite tame in their pursuit of the rock.
Once I was relieved of my duties, I went upstairs with Mia and Dan to check out The Hip. We ran into Beacheros and The Man who were enjoying what Noah called The Counting Crows of the North. They didn’t strike me as a copy of Duritz and the crew, but more of a Canadian version of R.E.M. The Michael Stipe comparison is obvious, but one thing I heard was some heavy Doors influence in their extended grooves. The Hip has been at it for awhile, and last night it felt like they still could bring it.
We cut out of Webster around 10:30pm and Mia drove Beacheros, Dan and I to the Bowery for the Metric show. With the hopes of catching some Death From Above 1979 we hustled into the club and gave a quick hello to Denise. By the time we got a drink and made our way to the back steps, they had finished so we said hello to Phoebe, Molly, Katie and Matt. It’s been ages since I last saw Miss Berta, and though we love to pick on each other, it’s always a distinct pleasure to catch up.
 After finding our way to the back corner, Daylen, Tumblehawk, Lucy and Ilene (is that right?) joined us for the Emily Haines aka Metric show. While waiting for a drink I ran into Jo who was gushing about the DFA1979 set I just missed, (boooo). Then this hilarious guy started talking to me and was boasting that I was the guy who turned him on to Metric. At last year’s CMJ show featuring Broken Social Scene and Metric, this guy stood in the back and talked with me while his friend ogled over Emily. He went on to explain how his Haines obsessed threw pairs of Haynes at her during their last Mercury Lounge show.
They took the stage around 11pm and delivered their danceable indie pop to a sold out house. Visually they feel like the second coming of No Doubt, but their music is built upon a sturdy foundation of art school and deadpan vocal rants that occassionaly take the leap into melody. Metric is a band that’s wants you to relate to their songs no matter how obscure or off the wall Haines vocals may seem. They offset their tricky wordsmith accessible rhythms and a new wave guitar style that never gets to hard but doesn’t let up. The mix for Metric always feels off, but now I’m realizing it’s the importance of Haines lyrics that they want to showcase. The melodramatic Haines leaves nothing to chance as she ropes all onlookers and leads them through her subtle political agenda while the boys back her up with a façade fit for the kids.
After a five or so songs, I felt the sway creeping up on me so it was back to 186 for me where I hung out with my good friend Cap’t Morgan while watching Ashlee Simpson try to land Jimmy Fallon in prison.
So it’s been awhile, but this morning I was graced with a killer Ipod Shuffle that definitely warrants posting: Sex Pistols, Holiday In The Sun; Wire, Straight Line; Libertines, Can’t Stand Me Now; United States of America, Heresy; Gerling, Wacked Light; Otis Gayle, I’ll Be Around; The Walkmen, New Year’s Eve; Pixies, Where Is My Mind; Interpol, Obstacle 1; Ratatat, El Pico.
Yeah, You Got Options.
 It's Wednesday already which means the work week is halfway over. You should go out and celebrate by checking out one of the many shows scheduled for tonight. P.S. I love Emily Haines of Metric. She should marry me.
1. Arbor Day w/ Of Montreal @ Northsix
2. Metric w/ Death From Above 1979 @ Bowery
3. Thee Shams @ (booooo) Sin-e
4. Group Sounds @ Luna Lounge
Make the most of hump day. Get out there and hump.
Down But Definitely Not Out.
First off, it needs to be noted that Noah is now talking in Borat. He drops the shit without even thinking and its adds a hilarious element to his established swagger. So if you know who Borat it, get ready to laugh, its Niiiiiiice. Speaking of Noah, Sam Champion has a couple gigs lined up in the coming days. Tomorrow night you best be checking:
Trampoline House Anniversary Party
Thursday, September 23, 2004
Featuring Sam Champion, Burnside Project & Summer Lawns
@ Pianos (Ludlow btwn Stanton & Rivington)
$8 / 21+ / $2 Red Stripes / $3 Vox Drinks
If you miss Thursday’s show at Pianos or if you are like me and can’t get enough of Sam Champion, set your sites on Brooklyn:
Sam Champion w/ The Zambonis
Friday, September 24, 2004
@ Freddy’s Bar & Backroom (485 Dean St, Bklyn)
FREE / 21 + / After Party @ Champion’s House
This should feed your need for Sam Champion until they resurface for a huge CMJ show at the Luna Lounge on October 15, 2004 with These Bones & The Giraffes.
Destined For Great Things.
 Jin and Jeremy stopped by 186 after a long day at work. They were in the neighborhood pimping ASCAP at Vicious. They stopped in for a quick brew before Jeremy had to split back to the club while Jin and I ventured to Crash Mansion in hopes of winning a copy of The Clash’s reissued London Calling. While walking west on Rivington, I spotted a pair of Rottweilers who were busy looking tough together. I have this tendency to pet every dog that passes by and these Rottweilers were no exception. As we passed the pups, I patted the closest dog on the top of the head and said, “There you go Brutus.” In the next instant the owner jerked the dog’s chain and said, “Let’s go Brutus.” I immediately flipped out. I had guessed the dog’s name. My stoned ass freaked out and decided last night could only be awesome.
We met up with Noah outside of Crash Mansion and headed downstairs together. We were greeted by a table sporting the contest entries. At this instant I knew there was no way we were going to walk out with a copy of the record. We signed up and said hello to a couple kids from Epic one of which I met the previous evening at the Bowery. They were kind enough to buy us a drink as the Dj fumbled over the decks. They played the record too loud, then they over lapped two tracks, then silence and finally they brought it back to its too loud level. It was painful.
 Sidenote: One of our student workers just hooked me up with a copy of Napoleon Dynamite. Hopefully Builder knows how to “unzip” a file and we can get to watching. Big ups to my main man Dave.
Have you ever been to Crash Mansion? It reminds me of a club I’ve never been to. Does that make sense? Allow me to clarify. It feels like something from a movie (i.e. the stone behind the bar, the low ceilings & the name plates all over the club). Someone should start throwing blow out parties there with hookers, piles of blow and everything else that made the early 80’s so awesome.
There was also a kid asking us questions for some class he is taking at NYU. Noah took the brunt of the questioning and went as far as telling the kid he only heard about Crash Mansion because one of the security guards raped a girl in the V.I.P. area. Recognizing that we weren’t quote worthy, the dude left us alone to finish our beers and make a hasty exit.
Jo Divestar met us on the corner of Prince and Bowery (is that a real corner) and we went to Inotecca to catch some grub, (Thanks Jin!). We slammed some wine and I had a delicious proscuitto, tomato, pesto panini. Dinner was a bit of a shit show, but we had heaps of fun. I just wish Jo didn’t think I was anti-gay. I love gay. In fact, after all the talk about “cockles and balls” who couldn’t love gay?
As we walked to Rothko, Noah insisted on stopping at 186 for a quick cocktail before going into the club. I didn’t want to miss Cloud Room so I forged ahead without them. Upon entering the club, I ran into Audrey who told me they were a band behind so it was back to 186 with me. Kyle was in the kitchen getting his pirate on with Brian, Jin and Noah. He had some special mojito Builder whipped up for him, but I didn’t feel like fucking around so it was Captain and Coke for this guy.
After a quick drink, we shot back over to Rothko. By the time Cloud Room took the stage Noah and I were getting antsy. Unfortunately, Cloud Room had some serious problems with their synthesizer which substantially delayed the start of their show. With that handicap working against them the Brooklyn four-piece took the stage and played some unimpressive rock. If it wasn’t for their rhythm section holding them together, I think they would have fallen apart. It isn’t my style to completely bash a band because if anything, they have the walnuts to get up on a stage and share their creation, but Cloud Room didn’t do it for me. There seems to be a decent foundation, but they should hole up and practice the hell out of their songs so they can get comfortable with a sound. Once they perfect their craft, they may have something of value, but last night, Noah and I had a tough time finding anything. After a few songs it was time to go.
Would You Like Fries With That?
Hmmm… Could I be doomed to a life in customer service? This becomes more evident with every passing day. Yesterday I was devoted to helping “customers” for nearly 12 straight hours. Naturally, it all started in the office and progressed into me being a jackass. My jackass tendencies came in the form of being a let down. This is nothing new for a guy like me (neither is self deprecation), but I had to cancel a meeting with some kids because they needed me to pull a shift at the Bowery last night.
 So Kyle and I mowed through our weekly dosage of Papa Johns before I said farewell and walked to the club. Epic’s Chevelle was scheduled to play a big label show so they put me on 2nd door. Fortunately the Bowery security staff is comprised the nicest guys around, and if you think differently, it’s probably because you spit beer on someone causing them to toss your ass. On the double fortunate, a couple of ladies from Epic hung out with me for the slow parts of the evening making sure their big guns had no problem getting in. It was quite a welcomed pleasure. Mia and some of the other crew were kicking about, so all in all I got hooked up to hang out. Sweet deal.
After my shift I went into see what Chevelle was all about. They definitely aren’t my brand of cigarette, but the kids seemed to like them. File under New Jersey rock. With a solid evening in the books I walked up Orchard in hopes of stopping at Atomique, but I couldn’t find the damn bar. It was back to the 186 for football and Kyle conversation. That kid can talk.
Tonight!!! Go to Crash Mansion for your chance to listen to the London Calling reissue (check out the info on Jinners) and then head to Vicious at Rothko to see Cloud Room.
Go Forth And Purchase.
 Today marks the reissue of one of the greatest records ever pressed. In 1979 Joe Strummer and the boys unleashed a monster in the form of a double LP on the hungry English public. The record changed the face of all things punk. It pushed the boundaries of artistic expression in a scene built upon simplicity. Back in 1995 I was first introduced to the Clash by a good friend of mine. Not fully understanding the impact of the record I fell in love with tracks like the dance infused Train in Vain and Lost in the Supermarket. There was also a strong attraction to the rockabilly track Brand New Cadillac where they take a queue from the dwindling rocker scene and prove they could play it all. When speaking of their broad musical spectrum one must mention Strummer and Jones' fondness for dub and reggae which shines through on Guns of Brixton. While listening to this record throughout the years, I've noticed that it wasn't just the songs and the attitude; it was the feeling that punk rock was limitless. It was no longer reserved for snotty kids with safety pins in their noses. It took away from the fashionista aspect of the movement and reinforced the fact that this specific subculture epoch would be defined by the musical foundation it was built upon.
Today, Epic resurrects a welcomed demon from our past in the form of a three cd reissue of the classic album. It includes the "Vanilla Tapes" which are demos and studio sessions from the recording process for London Calling. They have also included a third disc DVD documentary on the making of the record. I see a purchase in your near future.
My Formal Complaint.
Dearest sellers of American Aide: Please leave me alone. As I strolled to Chipotle for my 800th free burrito, I was bombarded with various sales pitches from four different organizations. All this occurred while I was in headphone land and moving at a healthy clip. Do I look like someone who could afford to donate money to Green Peace or to the Children of something or other? This style of solicitation is worse than telemarketing. Some jackass, pimple covered, jewfro sporting kid snaps his fingers and gets in my face while I’m trying to get my food and make it back in my allotted hour. And he wants me to donate money. Give it a fucking rest. Who would ever want to do that?
*** Del likes to laugh at fat people who break their necks.
*** Check out the big pimping Sam Champion scored at the Big Ticket. There are some older MP3’s explained and posted here.
*** Here is another time waster. Check out the Lazy Boy video.
Toned Down By The Tone Deaf.
Say it with me now: J-E-T-S, Jets, Jets, Jets. This was another great weekend for my sports teams. Notre Dame is on the verge of getting a Top 25 ranking after their win over Michigan State, (props to the Irish for making the Michigan teams their bitch). The Jets are 2-0 after a nervous victory over the Charges, (the defense needs to play all four quarters). Finally, the slumping Yankees returned to mid-season form against the Boston Shit-Stains. With all the questions involving their pitching, the Yankee hurlers silenced critics save our ace-in-the-hole, Mo who blew the game on Friday night.
Culkin Gets Culkined.
 Thanks to all of you who sent me an email regarding the arrest of the Culkin to end all Culkins. Our beloved Culkin was arrested for pot possession. Nice to know our man keeps it green.
Turn My Headphones Up.
Do you know what can ruin a club experience no matter how great the band is? Well, keep reading and I’ll let you know. Alistair, Builder, Howerton and I eased into Friday night with some Spanish Tapas at some joint called Olivas on Houston Street. The crab bisque was delicious, but the rest of the food was overpriced and poorly spiced. After a quick run through the rain, we made it back to 186 for some hang time prior to going out. As my budget grows ever tighter (I actually had a nightmare about paying my student loans), I’m realizing the importance of pregaming more so than ever before. Eventually Jin and D.O.P. minus Erica stopped by the house to have a chat and drink some beers.
The evening pressed on under the guidance of PBR and Sparks. Most of the kids went on their way, but George stuck around as we waited for the witching hour. Leah, Cami and Dan popped in to eat some pistachios and have a beer. Around 11pm we walked over to Sin-e to catch The Head Set’s gig. They were already a few songs into their set when we arrived. They looked and sounded tight, but there was a major problem. The mix was ear bleeding loud. I’m not talking about something that was just pushed to 11. They were playing at 14 or something ridiculous. It ruined the set for me because it was so unbearable. The sound (wo)man needs to realize this because they are integral in the creation of a positive experience, and they definitely didn’t hold up their end of the bargain. Like I said their music sounded good and they had a great stage presence, but it was overshadowed by the poor mix.
During their set Stevo and Yappers showed up with the West Coast Transplant known simply as Moser. He flew in on Friday and his surprise attack was quite welcome. Who would ever think that some company would fly Moser across the Continental U.S. of A. for “bizzness”? He was in top form as they took off before Film School had a chance to play. With the buzz surrounding Film School, I wasn’t going to take off before seeing some of their set. The San Francisco boys impressed me despite the same problems as The Head Set. The vocals felt like the weak link, but I’m sure they’ll improve as the band matures. The foundation is set for this band to become a West Coast representative of the style that meshes the indie droning of Ambulance Ltd with experimentation new comers Dirty On Purpose.
After the set I combed the area for some Sparks. It dawned on me that I was hammered, and walking around drinking Sparks from a straw wasn’t my best idea, so I stood on the corner of Ave B and 4th Street pounding the sweet nectar. With a newly buzzed head, I cruised into Ace Bar where a large crew had assembled. My wife came into town this weekend. If you didn’t know, I got married a few years ago to a nice southern bell named Lindsay. We are so cute together, so it’s a shame we don’t see more of each other. After a couple games of pool we shot up to Bside to drink some Tequila with Beach, Daylen and the ever so cute Wendy. My night started to blur so I removed myself from the potentially volatile situation and went home to sleep in my jeans.
Deep Fried And Pie Eyed.
Oh glorious Saturday, let me love you. Did you hear the storm around 8am on Saturday morning? All of the racket woke me up so I slid out of bed to take a piss only to find Kyle and Dee performing their interview process on the unsuspecting Rudy. I’ve never met two people that could match the party ability of Kyle and Dee. Fortunately, they are both championship sleepers, so recovery is never a problem. For some reason I couldn’t fall back asleep so I sat up reading until John, Alistair and Builder woke up for brunch. After a wait in the hurricane induced winds, we got a familiar table at Clinton Street Bakery. My quest to taste everything on their menu lead me to the Tunafish sandwich that was a-ok, but it couldn’t stand up against the Spanish Scramble.
During lunch Builder got worked up about taking advantage of the wind in terms of kite flying, so we decided to make a trip out to Prospect Park. Unfortunately the weather turned on us while we crossed the bridge, so instead we stopped by Academy Records on North 6th Street in the ‘Burg. God damn those record stores who don’t cater to those without turntables, but I have to say, if you work with vinyl you should go waste an afternoon at this store. We came back into the city and gave an old fuck you to the rest of the day.
My evening began with some dinner indecision. First stop, Max’s, where Lindsay and Hawkins were up for the hour table wait. Since I’m impatient and wanted to get my night started as early as possible, I met up with Builder, Miriam and Katriona for some sushi at Jeollado on 4th Street. This place was great. Excellent specialty rolls and big cans of Sapporo. I previously thought it was an extremely hip place that over charged its hipster clientele, but that assessment was way off. The price tag won’t break the bank and the food kicks Jackie Chan’s ass, (wait, I believe he is Chinese).
Following our A+ meal, we stopped into the Mud Spot that was celebrating their 1-Year Anniversary with a party in their newly expanded garden space. As we walked up to the café Kyle’s boss, Greg, came storming by with a few dudes, but I didn’t think much of it. When we got to the backyard, we realized Greg had gone in search of the jerk who was hosing down the party from a neighboring back yard. Um… Hello, Fuckhead, it’s only 10:30pm and you have the walnuts to hose down a group of people before taking any other action? After the rain stopped, we made our way to the bar. Ian was manning the operation and took good care of the loyal drinkers. Beers were cheap and spirits were high. The entire Mud Crew including Rudy, Scott, Liz, Rachel, Nina and Gretchen were rocking out deep into the night. Kyle made a point to introduce me to every girl in attendance, which in retrospect was more of an effort than I ever make.
As the night progressed, our friends started to poor into the back. First there was Cami, (a Red Bull crazed) Leah, Erin and Dan who were followed by Moser and Stevo. Then came the Champaign wielding Hawkins who arrived my wife. We continued getting sloppy (especially when the 2nd keg showed up), until 2am rolled around and Greg had to throw the hammer down. Congratulations to Mud Industries in their continued success. If you aren’t a fan of their java yet, go have a mocha.
We ended the evening back at the 186 in the smoke filled kitchen. Kyle, Dee, Erin and Dan were once again the late night champions.
The next morning I got some brunch with Builder and Lindsay at my favorite scallop spot, Essex. After the solid meal, Builder and I went to Howerton’s Dad’s apartment to watch the games in high definition. Chris has a crackhead dog named Rocco who was pretty fun to have around even with his spaz qualities. Rob, Beach and Daylen came through for the Jets game while Miriam and Katriona showed up in time for the feast.
Though it felt awfully short, we logged a solid weekend filled with good times.
Is This It?
Shit yeah it is. Audrey aka Melody Nelson aka that cute French girl is hosting another Atomique party this evening at Eleven. Tonight she booked the Tarts of Pleasure to spin you all the rock and soul that makes both sides of the Atlantic swoon. Check it.
This reminds me... My apologies the Stammers for not making it to Trash on Friday and to Dennis of the Sons of Sound for not making it to Sin-e on Saturday, (after Friday's experience, I don't know if I'll be back).
Oh and before I forget: Field Gay, round 2. And Mom, if you made it home safely from your hurricane dodging, give your son a call. He's worried about you.
We Are Mother Nature's Bitch.
Go figure. On an evening where there are tons of options for night life, Mother Nature decides to take a giant piss on us. Ivan, Frances, Gene or whoever the fuck you are... Please leave us alone. We just want to party. If you are brave enough to emerge from whatever bunker you're holed up in, may I suggest one of the million shows going down this evening.
1. The Stammers w/The Boxes @ Trash Bar: The Stammers hit during the 9-10pm free period where you can drink all the PBR and well drinks your system can handle. Karl promises to make out with all who attend. If you aren' a fan of either band, its ok. Just go to see Kevin Smith on bass. That creap can roll.
2. The Head Set w/Film School @ Sin-e: Be there by 11pm for the Head Set because Jordan wants you to witness his microphone love making. Stick around for Film School who are creating what forcasters like to call a "buzz".
3. VHS or Beta @ The Knitting Factory: If I have to tell you anything about these guys, then you are on the curve. They are funk'd out rock with new material laced with Robert Smith like vocals. They are celebrating the release of their second album (Astralwerks) tonight at the Knit.
4. The Melvins @ Webster Hall: Do you remember the 90's? If not, The Melvins are here to drop a refresher course.
5. The Go Station @ Rothko: How many times could I say that I want to see this band and then I can't go? Well, at least one more.
If its party you are looking to make, check out one of these two options:
1. End All Music @ Black & White (10th St. between 3rd & 4th Ave, Manhattan) with DJ's Jo (Divestar) and J.R. (X-Surface)
2. Popfrenzy @ Red & Black (135 N 5th in Williamsburg) with hostess Nora K and DJ's Greg K (Misshapes) and Mortex (The Good North)
Additionally, I was listening to Interpol's Antics today at lunch and something struck me. People, and you know who you are, have been bitching about this record saying Paul Banks doesn't show any vocal range, (or he doesn't have any). Well, it made me think of one person; Ian Curtis. I don't want to get into the obvious comparisons because we already beat those dead in 2001, but I do want to say that I think he has a great voice even if my impression of him is sprinkled with jackass.
A New Day Is Dawning.
God bless Rosh Hashanah. Since most of you Hebrews out there were celebrating the New Year yesterday, my office was quite slow which made it a day for me to catch up on some paperwork, (I’m such a fucking herb). Upon entering 186 after the quiet work day, I was startled by Adiera who was in the kitchen preparing harvest food for the roommates holiday dinner. She baked up an apple pie that could rival most I’ve seen. She kept me company until I retired to my bedroom to finish up a recent rental.
 As I sat in bed watching the piss-take of a film titled Elephant, I couldn’t help but think that Gus Van Sant was capitalizing on the numerous tragedies throughout the country. The film felt so self effacing and extremely transparent. Van Sant allowed his camera to do most of the talking which was a poor decision on his part. The steady cam work in the hallways of the school was so nauseating, not because of the continuous movement, but because it didn’t lead you anywhere. The see-through character development barely broke the surface of any character, and it didn’t emotionally attach the viewer to anyone in the story. The non-linear nature of the movie may have been the only redeeming quality of the film. Seeing the characters lives woven together through a series of scenes shot from different p.o.v.’s was a nice touch, but then again, it didn’t matter because I simply didn’t care. I’ve been a big fan of Van Sant’s previous work, (My Own Private Idaho, To Die For and Good Will Hunting) but Elephant was downright terrible. Gus, please stop with the fancy camera work and concentrate on the story.
Unfortunately, I’m the type of person that allows horrible films and emotional films to affect my attitude. That’s great news for the filmmaker, but it threw a wrench in my game. Luckily Chernin showed up and we hit the kitchen for another installment of breakfast for dinner. For a jew, Noah sure can cook up some wicked bacon, (I stole that line frome K-money). Kyle did the toast while I rocked the potatoes and eggs. We feasted like kings. Adira hooked us up with some caramelized apple crisps for desert that were so tasty. With a solid meal down the hatch, Noah and I stopped by the Mercury for a quick drink with Beach before walking over to the Bowery.
Modest Mouse In NYC: Take Two.
Last night the stars were aligned because I was lucky enough to get invited to the Rolling Stone party at the Bowery Ballroom. Miller sponsored the event so there was free MGD and Miller Lite all night long. We picked up Ryan Champion and DTL on our way into the venue and after a 15 minute wait we had our first beer. Beach commented on how psyched he was to see everyone in the Bowery double fisting cups of beer. He couldn’t have been more right. While Wolf Parade bounced through a herky-jerky set, everyone aimed to get sauced before the main event. There isn’t much to be said about Wolf Parade except for the one legged Moonwalk their guitar pulls off when he’s singing. When Wolf Parade was finishing up, we popped up the stairs so I could see the Moonwalk from the backside angle. While we were on the steps, Issac came down, and his size surprised me. For a man with such a powerful and commanding stage presence, he is just a small guy. He looks like he could kick some ass if needed.
After their set we ran into Joey and Robin who looked fabulous and poised for the Modest Mouse set. Daylen, Beach and I decided to warm up with a monstrous tequila shot that nearly had me puking. The Bowery was rocking some L.E.S. mixtape that included The Walkmen, The Rapture, Interpol, Bloc Party and The Killers. It felt like a little piece of home.
Now it was time for the main event. Modest Mouse took the stage in the same fashion as the previous evening except the stage didn’t accommodate them as comfortably. They played a similar set, but they mixed it up a bit. They kicked things off with my favorite track 3rd Planet and then rocked out Black Cadillac. The View also came quite early which was another welcomed treat. They also hit us off with a rousing rendition of Paper Thin Walls. They played all the hits from the new album and had me bopping for a solid hour and a half.
The Mouse was kind enough to grace us with an encore. Ryan, Noah and I made our way to the third row of kids and gladly watched them close the set with The Good Times Are Killing Me. Ryan’s love for the percussionist had me in stitches. We were all quite sauced and stuck around talking Chilis with Mia while she gawked at the Melvins drummer. After another round of beers I walked home and called it a day.
Notes From The Underground.
*** This is grrrrrreat news for all of us with bikes. Thieves now know how to break into U-Locks. Fuck dude, just leave us alone.
*** Beck doesn't want you to dance... yet. He put a hold on his new record until 2005. Bummed? You bet.
*** The Super Freak was super fucked. Rick James went out in rockstar style; old and druged up.
*** This is strange because I can't figure out if anyone cares?
*** So Dan and Yackie Boy have been raving about this record for quite some time. I may have to give Swedish metal a chance.
*** A great piece on the fallen hero, | | | |
