Broken Hearted. Don’t Get Me Started.

Yesterday afternoon I was seriously bumming about Good Times Roll. Despite my need to update on all things weekend, my fingers felt magnetically repelled from the keyboard. There was even a moment where a total disbandment was considered. My attitude was facilitated by the massive confusion caused by my shift during the Bad Religion show on Thursday night. Punk rock kids are such bullshit. Seriously. Indie rock kids (including myself) are complete dicktards, but at least we aren’t punk rock kids. There were so many kids who needed to be kicked in the taint, but that’s not why they pay me. I rip your ticket, take your ridicule, let you smoke and smile when you roll your eyes or give me shit. I used to consider myself a punk, and I’m positive my previous days were full of the same misdirected angst so this is an open apology to all the door people and bouncers who had to throw me out of their club.

This attitude had to be put in check for my office Halloween party. A couple coworkers had costumes so to join in, I taped a tissue to my head and put a sign on my chest that read, “I’m a Booger!” It was a hit. So much sugar was consumed. My tude took a turn for the best. Around 6:30pm we all reported to Webster for last night’s Walkmen show. Let me just say, serving the indie kids is such a fucking treat. Everyone is so nice even if there is a problem. Unfortunately my ability to hear the show from the door was hindered by the 80’s prom night the club was throwing, but I did manage to make it upstairs to enjoy a bit of their THREE encores with Noah, Jin and Doug who informed me that I’d missed The Rat.

At the end of the second encore, I ran downstairs in search of the Beach crew, but didn’t see a soul except for Stephen Culkin who was bouncing dutifully. A quick hello and a hustle back upstairs after they finished lead me to Nista Christina who was rocking out with a friend or two. Then the Walkmen emerged for their third and final encore. Noah and I got a bit giddy when they made the announcement that their final track would be from The Recoy’s catalog. The Recoys was the precursor to the Walkmen. It was Pete, Hamilton and Hugh’s band while they were in college, (or so the liner notes would have us believe). Even Hugh (a Karl Rapfogal double) made it to the show last night, which must have been great for the entire band. Anyway, as they hammered away at Roy Orbison, I gleefully danced away with Juliet who was jamming like a rockstar.

The Walkmen are one of the truly solid rock bands playing these days. They always sound extremely professional and Hamilton’s howl has grown increasingly menacing. Everyone was surprised at his voice, and some didn’t like it all to much, but it’s easy to say that he won’t endure the same Bono comparisons that followed the band in every publication a few years ago. At times it sounded as though he was summoning the ghosts of hometown label Dischord records. It was so hardcore and when you have a kid that commanding fronting a band that not only sounds fantastic, but also looks like they are having fun; you have a pretty good thing going. Thank you Walkmen. Keep it up.

The first portion of my evening was in the books and things were looking promising. I bid farewell to Stephen, Jin, Noah and Doug before hopping in a cab with Beach, Lucy and Daylen. The Mercury Lounge was packed for Dead Meadow and The Warlocks. Upon walking in, we ran into Katie (a 186 neighbor), got some beers and shot back to the show room to catch some of the super heavy sounds of Dead Meadow. I was under the impression they were a three piece, but they were rocking the Mercury four strong. They pumped out their trademark heart pounding psych rock that made my chest feel like it was going to collapse.

A tequila shot later and I was out on the street in search of Paul Bothe. I ran into Katie and Julia who were waiting for some grub before going to the Bowery. After entertaining the idea for a block or so, I decided to go find Paul. Stevo, Christie, Paul and his lady friend were outside Julep and on their way to the Magician. On the way down to the bar I picked up a Sparks in hopes of pulling a big rally, but it wasn’t in the cards. Anoush, Hawk, T.Walk, Dan, Cami, Leah, Jordan, Brenda, Mike tHS, Kyle and some others were in the bar but my tired drunk ass couldn’t hang. A few of us snuck over to Johnson’s for a quick shot which thankfully ended my night. It was definitely time for bed.

The Cocktails Make Me A Little Forgetful.

There is so much going on this holiday weekend, but I want to make sure you all come to these two events because they are going to be so kick ass.

First up, tonight:



Followed by Sunday rock:



3 days until election day. 5 days until my favorite TV show comes back.

Total Eclipse Of My Fart.
Yesterday was gorgeous. No doubt about it. On my way home from the school, I stopped into Urban Outfitters to purchase a scarf. I think they were playing the entire Thrills record in there, but without confirmation, I say it with little certainty. Luckily the store carries the same model of scarf that kept my double chin warm last year. Once I returned to 186 it was supposed to be all about work, but I got side tracked by the last issue of Skyscraper. While leafing through its pages, a review of The Break Up’s album caught my eye. The writer didn’t pull any punches and gave straight up evidence that this record was trite rock. To my pleasant surprise, the writer was none other than Josh from Royal Flush and The Spicy Rizzaks. For the next half hour I flipped through the piles of reviews in the publication reading everything Josh had to offer. Josh, if you read this, I was digging the self-imposed question at the start of a good number of your interviews. Josh has bitching style. If you have the time to throw a few words together for Loose Record here and there, I’d be more than grateful.

Update: The Josh B. isn’t the real Josh B. The writer Josh B. will be Culkined repeatedly until he changes his last name. As jaded as he sounds, he still has a cool writing style.

So I did manage to get some work done prior to my venture over to Ludlow Street when I stopped by Daredevil Tattoo. After perusing the books, I decided on Eli to design my fifth tattoo. Since he isn’t coming back to town for another week, I’m hoping to see if Jigga can come up with anything that would help to fill out my left shoulder. Jeff, do you read this? Let’s talk.

Then a quick walk up 2nd Avenue brought me to Cami’s house. She was having some interior design issues, (read: rearranging her apartment). Since my mom has suckered me into watching many episodes of the Christopher Lowell show, I’ve got a keen eye for this type of mission. Ok, so I’m full of shit. I don’t have an eye for anything, but I was able to help Cami come up with a layout that worked. Hopefully she dug the new style and was able to get some sleep.

Once we finished up the furniture moving, we headed to the street in search of dinner. After a little teeth pulling, we made the decision to hit up the 2nd Avenue Deli. This restaurant is like a little slice of heaven. Tucked within tables full of people who looked of the Jewish persuasion, Cami and I dined on their most delicious grub like a couple of good Christians. Back in 1999, Lou took me on my first trip to the Deli. He couldn’t believe I never had maztah ball soup and I wasn’t privy to the deliciously salty pastrami, (outside of watching Seinfeld). So Cami and I ate so much food we needed to be rolled out of the restaurant. To be honest, I could eat there every day. Cami wants to be adventurous next time by eating some tongue.

On my walk home, it was difficult not to notice all the people in the street staring at the moon. Upon joining the crowd, my phone rang. Dana was calling to make sure I was checking out the Lunar Eclipse. Before the earth completely shaded the moon, I managed to make it to Rivington and Norfolk where Dana was watching. There were heaps of kids in the street who got rowdy when the moon went completely dim. We had some trouble figuring out the logistics of the eclipse (yeah, we’re retarded) so she called her mom to confirm. After our star gazing, we were in search of libations.

We joined the rowdies at Welcome to the Johnson’s. Dana secured the front couch while I picked up some PBRs. After a couple drinks, some solid chit chat and some dinkas knocking my beer into my lap, we decided to call it a night. Back at 186 I couldn’t get my dam FUGU working. I’m trying to post a bunch of flyers here, but someone (Builder maybe) has done something that is preventing me from using my server. Fucking Interweb.

*** In some rawsome news, The Gothamist catches up with These Bones who recently played The Plan in Boston (boooo) and are hitting the skins this Sunday at Mercury Lounge. Make sure you get there on time because this show also includes sets from the Sam Champion Big Band and Demander. Kisses to Sean for the shout out.

*** Walk Humongous is also playing a show this weekend. Get to the Luna Lounge on Saturday for a rocktabulous show. Bring things to throw on stage, and I don’t want to make any promises, but I may have to jump on stage and beat the microphone out of Max’s hand when they play Changing the World. Though, by the looks of this picture, no one is stealing his mic.



Hearing Is Believing.
Why don’t people take me by the hand and lead me to my love? Seriously, Builder has told me about this band before, but we never got around to sitting down and listening to the record. Since I’m one of the few audiophiles who lives life without vinyl (except for the occasional 7inch or DFA single), I don’t get to sample the shelf of records Builder keeps squirreled away in his room. Though our house has four turntables, not a single one of them resides in my bedroom. Anyway, I have to cut this short. Go buy Neu! 2. Sorry to fluff you and not rub you off. Read about it here.

In Case You Were Wondering.
Beach just sent out an email with String Cheese Incident's reaction to the Ashlee Simpson fuck up on SNL this past weekend. Since I've yet to mention it, now is as good of time as any:

Just about everyone has a comment in response to Ashlee Simpsons announcement that she needs to lip sync during live performances due to her problems with Acid Reflux Disease. Some responses are critical of Ashlee’s explanation; others are more supportive and sympathize with her struggle.

The String Cheese Incident doesn't have much to say regarding her recent lip-synching debacle. But they would like to take this opportunity to announce that the band never lip synchs during live performances, even when they are on acid. Perhaps they should, but they won’t.

This Coffee’s Weak And Useless.
So go back to sleep. Do you think there is any chance I could develop some self-imposed coma in order to fast forward to next Wednesday? This would prevent the daily ulcer I’m facing with each viewing of the evening news or skimming of the newspaper. Anyway, I want to spare you the political details because if you are reading this (and I know a couple people do) then you most likely lean to the left. If not, wise up or fuck off. I’ve lost all tolerance for you Republicans, (including Oveis).

Last night was an excellent drug and alcohol free Tuesday evening. Around 7pm I reported to the Bowery for work because the dynamic door duo of Cherlin or Bernin was scheduled to work. Rachel Yamagata, a new artist on RCA Victor was playing to a sold out crowd of smoking hot girls and the dudes they dragged along with them. Seriously, I’m thinking of following Rachel on her next tour because there were so many drop dead gorgeous women in attendance. This included my friend Robin, along with The Head Set hotness of Jordan and Eliot. Oh, and for the record, I got to talk to Clive Davis for a hot minute. If you want to throw the word legend around, he is a proper figure to attach it to.

Following my shift, I hustled over to Dana’s house to check out Laguna Beach. Many tout this show as the reality version of The O.C., but those critics should check themselves. Stephen and his harem can’t hold a candle to the Cohen’s the rest of the county’s crew, (season premeir is next Thursday). It almost baffles me to think that these kids really exist. Where did they come from? How do I get that rich? Watching Laguna Beach did one thing for me; it made me depressed that I’ll never be filthy fucking rich. Seriously, can anyone help me get so damn rich that I get to hang out with high school blondes with pornstar-in-waiting bodies? Money kicks ass. I bet it kicks even more ass when you have some.

So we finished up the evening watching the Red Sox take a 3-0 lead in the World Series. It looks like they can’t be stopped, but history can repeat itself, (doubtful). My walk short walk home was filled with the sweet sounds of Dirty on Purpose’s Monument which I’m praying they rerecord for their full-length. It's such an epic track.

Need to get out of the house this evening? Here is an open bar put together by your favorite NYC Tarts of Pleasure. I hear it’s a good time, so make the most out of your Wednesday and go get your drunk on.

Believe Me, This One's The Worst.
I hope you saw The Big Sleep last night. Unfortunately, I had to work, but let me know if you saw the goodness. Were you impressed?

*** If you are like me or Cami, and you want the inside scoop on the third effort from NYC's golden boys, check out a column Gordon Raphael wrote for Rockfeedback. Don't expect an all Strokes article. It's merely the butter on his toast.

*** I'm usually all about new Apple technology, but this noise about U2's limited edition Ipod is less interesting than the dump I took this morning. At least the Edge's name is inscribed on the back so you can totally geek out with other U2 obsessed fan's in various chat rooms. It is black and red which reminds me of the good old days as a bison at Clearfield Area High School.

*** The pirate that lives deep inside me is giddy with joy. Keith Richards is set to play Jack Sparrow's father in the sequel to best pirate film ever.

*** Ever have the desire to see a hip-hop mainstay tread water? Now you can!

*** Another Libertines Live review pining over the loss of Pete. Can't we just get over it and love the Libertines who are still giving us the rock? They are fucking rock. That's it.

*** John Peel was the man. Check out a portion of his epitaph.

*** Another big name in rock passes away. Greg Shaw, who was on the cutting edge of DIY publishing, passed away due to heart failure.

*** A few months ago I stumbled upon one of the Go Team's singles in a bargain bin in the Virgin Megastore. Ever since, Kyle and I have fallen deeply in love with this creative group. Now they have a full-length and the approval of some uber critics.

*** Junkmedia catches up with The Faint as they pass through the city of brotherly love. It's actually an solid interview so if you dig these Omaha kats, check it out. Oh, and that guy from their show who gave me a hard time is still a dick.

*** If you want to be the last to hear, then click here.

*** I'm a huge Trail of Dead fan, but this has me worried.

*** Franz Ferdinand and Epic try to milk the hell out of their debut album. The bonus songs are top notch though, so if you didn't buy the singles way back when, and you have yet to purchase the record, late November is your time to get with it. Scottish boys make great Christmas gifts.

*** Speaking of Jesus' birthday, one thing I'll never understand about our older sibling across the pond, is their love of Christmas Singles. Every holiday season is filled with news about records we American's could care less about.

*** Yesterday wasn't such a bad day for new records. The release of full-lengths from The Futureheads, Death From Above 1979, Razorlight and The Soledad Brothers were overshadowed by the reissue of Pavement's classic Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain.

If Sleeping Is Giving In.
Then this kid gave up. Today at 10am Trevor is taking off from Dubois (pronounced Do Boys) on his way back to the army. Last night he went over to my mom’s house to hang out and use the computer and she said he was heartbroken. Once I get his address I’m going to post it here and all of you should send him a note, a cookie, a porno magazine or something to help his days pass by. He told me about a few of his friend’s experiences. They told Trevor that the first few weeks of processing and training fly right by, but once you get shipped to the dessert, time slows almost to a halt and they are forced to count the days. One of his pals likened it to scenes in Platoon where the soldiers desperately awaited their final day, (though the friend did realize this war is nothing like the one in Vietnam). I’m going to need your help inundating the kid with mail so he has something to look forward to. A positive attitude will keep him sharp and hopefully out of harms way. Good luck Corporal Sheaffer. Keep your head down and your spirits high.

The Wheel Fell Off.
Has the Arcade Fire bandwagon passed? Sure, some people have been hyping them for months, and I know Canada has been singing their praises the past year. Pitchfork did give Funeral, their debut record on Merge, a 9.7 on a scale of 10. Additionally, they played the biggest (in terms of hype) show at this years CMJ festival when they graced the stage at the Mercury Lounge. This prompted a massive ticket buy which sold out their Bowery Ballroom, November show with Dirty on Purpose and the Hidden Cameras. It seems as though the wagon pulled into station, dropped off the accruements necessary for stardom and left the public to make an informed decision.

Well, it was enough for me. I’ve since bought the album and realized the supreme beauty of their song craft. Is it good because it’s different? Are we pissing our pants in ecstasy because it isn’t fueled by four on the floor or darker than night vocals? Is the public gravitating toward this band because we see a bunch of kids creating delicate sounds on the brink of falling apart? Or is it simply the inner band geek in all of us who loves flutes, harps, recorders, cellos, xylophones and any other instrument you can think of including a 12 string guitar. They name check all the necessary visionaries, and yet its nearly impossible to pin them down like the overused Interpol/Joy Division or The Killers/Duran Duran comparisons.

So here I am, the last of the bloggers, commanding you to go and spend $15 on the Arcade Fire album. It’s better than three vodka tonics at your favorite bar. Come on now… there’s nothing to it!

Pulling A Belin On The Regular.

Monday evenings are completely unproductive. Yesterday, with the help of Apple Boy extraordinaire, I was able to install a wireless card into my Powerbook which means I can finally surf for internet porn in the comfort of my own bed. We also had another Loose Record meeting. If you haven’t taken the time to sign up for Loose Updates, do yourself and me a favor by checking out the website and submitting your email information. We promise not to sell your addresses to any porno or prescription companies, unless you want me to.

Speaking of which, a family member of mine recently tried out one of those emails for Vicodin. I’m sure at one point or another one of your inboxes has been flooded with spam from companies offering cheap prescription drugs just by filling out a form. Well, they actually work and the drugs were even sent from New Jersey. I’m not one to dabble too heavy in the world of pills, (well, not enough to order them over the internet) but any of you kids looking to get your fix, believe the hype and get your drugs online!

Anyway, my evening wound down with a couple big phone conversations, some Nyquil and a bit of the football game. My tired ass should have stopped by Atomique at Eleven to make sure Dennis was representing in Melody’s absence or I should have been in attendance for the Brian Jonestown Massacre at Mercury, but my head wasn’t in the right place for a party. Instead I pulled a Monday Night Belin. It could be a new trend. Since Sunday has been deemed the new Friday by a friend of mine, then Monday is the new Sunday. Do you follow?

The Long Lost Art Of... Seduction?
Can I Borrow A Feeling? Please close this window if you don’t want to hear me bitch. After reading some other blogs and a conversation with a long standing girlfriend (read: girl-space-friend), I feel the need to get a bit emo. There was some hesitation in this necessity, and even as my fingers peck away, I’m figuring this portion of the post will get erased before it sees the light of day. It feels like a practice in futility, but I’m continuing anyway.

It’s been a long time since I’ve committed to anything. Seriously. Girlfriends? Yeah, right. There have been girls throughout the years, and I’m by no means a lonely guy. A relationship or two has crept into my life, but nothing with any sort of longevity. Granted this isn’t entirely my fault, but I’ve been known to bail from a situation way to early. This has caused me to screw up potential relationships with fantastic girls without even giving the notion of “us” a chance. Lately I’ve been trying to come to grips with why this happens on a regular basis. Jay likes girl. Jay somehow finds a way to trick girl into liking him. Relationship buds. Jay bails. This has been going on for nearly three years now. Is there some idealistic situation I can’t seem to create within the framework of reality? Am I afraid of commitment? Am I too picky? Am I incapable of feeling emotion? Am I incredibly selfish? It’s frightening to think all the answers to these questions may simply be yes.

Way back in 2000 I entered into a meaningful relationship with a lovely girl named Christine. Some of you may know her, and know that we were really different people, but for some reason it worked. We fell for each other rather quickly and in less than a year’s time we living together. It didn’t seem too crazy at the time, but in retrospect this living situation may have damned the possibility of another meaningful relationship. After the first few months, which were all butter, my neuroses caught up with me and pushed me to focus on the negative aspects of our relationship. After a month of suppression Christine, as naïve as she wanted to remain, questioned my attitude which caused an eruption leading to the end of our relationship. This isn’t me blaming her for anything. In fact, the demise of our relationship is solely my fault. I had a girl who was a real giver, the type of girl who would do anything for you, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to open up to her. My fucking trust issues are starting to catch up with me.

Has this personal diatribe sorted me out? Not bloody likely. The fact remains that after three years of having the complete inability to stabile one relationship in my life, I’ve determined that I no longer hold the ability to court a young lady. If only we could go back to the days of note writing. Those days were so simple. So cut and dry. There weren’t any games. There wasn’t the thrill of the case. There weren’t days between phone calls. There wasn’t the fear of looking needy. There wasn’t any bullshit.

Do you like me? Circle YES or NO.

R.I.P. John Peel.

The world renown English DJ died while on holiday in Peru. He will be sorely missed by all who invested anything in music. His influence will echo through time, (thanks for the heads up Dave).

Watch Out Boy, They’ll Chew You Up.
Where do I start? What do you want to hear? To say the very least it was a trying weekend, but I can’t complain because I got off easy. As you may have read, one of my best pals from home, Trevor, has been called back to the Army after serving 4 years in the hopes of getting a free college education. Trevor did his time and was finishing his first year as a student at Penn State in the drama department. He is made for the screen, but you wouldn’t have guessed it this weekend. I’ve never seen him in such a state of dismay. His looming 18 months of service put a serious damper on my visit home. Once again, I got off easy, because I’m back at my desk bitching about the current administration while Trevor waits to be shipped off in less than 24 hours.

Upon finally seeing Trevor on Thursday, (he though I wasn’t coming home Wednesday night so he went to spend time with his relatives) I asked him how he felt. He replied, “Every day gets worse.” This indicated to me that the next few days wouldn’t be easy for anyone. With this in mind, I cruised down to Evan’s house and spoke to him and his mother about the election. Bonnie told me people stole the Kerry/Edwards signs from their front yard so they had to hand make signs. Clearfield County is Bush country. It’s a scary thing. Every discussion I engaged regarded politics and the main reason people are voting for Bush (from what I gathered) is their belief that our country needs to be on the offensive. This inspired a correlation to another “offensive” world leader who attempted to homogenize culture in the late 1930’s. They didn’t appreciate that, though most of them don’t care for Jews.

Many friends and some family told me they believed if we didn’t continue our war on terror that “we” would be at serious risk. This prompted the freak out response of “We! What the hell are you talking about we?” These people live 150 miles from anything that could be remotely considered a “terror target.” I explained to them, that if they are living in fear of attack, then I must be walking around with a huge target painted on my back. They explained to me that it is my choice to live in an area deemed a “primary target” (this made me question where their information came from) which caused another gasp in disbelief. Maybe they are right and the rational thinkers are wrong, but if we choose to live in a high risk area, should we be the only people permitted to vote in an election that determines the course of international relations? This led me to believe that this election isn’t about Left and Right or Democrat and Republican. This election is Rural vs. Urban or Small town overly patriotic minds vs. Big city overly informed minds.

Returning home a couple weeks before the election was truly an eye opener. Kids, if you are reading this and taking any stock in what I’m saying, please call your friends and relatives in the swing states and talk to them about the major implications of their decision. The race is so close and we can’t afford to let this slip through our hands. Can you imagine what G.W. Bush is capable of if he doesn’t have something like the possibility of a second term keeping him in check? And God forbid we lose some Supreme Court Justices and the Bush administration gets to appoint new ones. It could be the end to fundamental rights like privacy, free speech and even an overturn of Roe V. Wade.
Ok, I’m going to stop preaching, but you get the picture. Please activate yourself. We have barely over a week left in our attempt to win back this country and begin the rebuilding process in the wake of the Bush Administration. Make the calls, send the emails and keep on keeping on.

Oh, So I Went To Pennsylvania.
Last Wednesday, Christie picked me up from work and we hit the road with central PA in our sights. The drive went surprisingly well, and I managed to make it home in time to see the Yankees complete the worst choke in playoff history. It was so disappointing, especially since Johnny “Charles Mason” Damon hit two homeruns in their final rout in the Bronx. It was a serious dagger through the heart, but you have to admit, Boston deserved it. They played harder and wanted it more. They gave it everything they had and in the end, they certainly looked like the better ball club. Our bats shut down, our bullpen blew some big games and our starting pitching was at Tampa Bay levels. Hats off to you Boston, but I still hate you.

After the game, it was time to get drunk. Without Trevor and Evan, I didn’t know where to start. Luckily my old friend Jeanette was camped out at a bar called Dingers. We sat around getting wasted and smoking cigarettes until the bar closed at 2am. It is always funny seeing kids from high school who want to tell you their story about coming to New York. They tell you how they went to Ground Zero and ate delicious food. Those conversations are oddly comforting.

On Thursday, Rachel, my older sister, and Mom met me for lunch at a downtown (term used very loosely) establishment where all sorts of upper middle class folks meet for lunch. Unfortunately, my mom’s old boss was in the house so she was a bit rattled because the guy was such a prick to her. I asked her if she wanted me to start shit, but she calmed down so I didn’t have to kick some adult’s ass. John Kordish is a pussy and if given the right opportunity, I’d punch him where his balls should be. Then Judge Ammerman and his wife who live a few doors down. Though the guy always seemed like a bit of a dick, he was quite nice to me despite our previous encounters when I was facing some minor criminal charges.

Then it was on to running errands that included an oil change and crock pot purchasing. My next stop was the hot tub in our backyard that could house a cheerleading squad. I managed to log a good amount of hot tub time this trip and I plan to continue this trend on future visits. Evan, Trevor and I met up to ride to Clarion where my little sister attends college. We met her at The Roadhouse which is the restaurant she works for. After a heated political discussion and some ribs, we cruised over to check out her apartment before returning to Clearfield to spend the night in the bars.

Friday crawled by until we ended up at home watching Ali G with the family. My mom thought he was retarded because she was in the other room listening rather than watching with us. She said, “I only hear what I can see.” That is a direct mama Belin quote, and I’m sure she’ll give me shit about posting it, but it was hilarious. Anyway, she cooked an amazing dinner for Trevor and the rest of us. At dinner we had another heated political discussion which ended in the typical frustrating fashion. Mom, Bruce, Trevor, Evan and I settled into a solid game of Balderdash which ended with a JJJay win. My mom thought my “King of Bullshit” title was fitting. We passed out in front of the TV after various extracurricular activities.

Trevor and I woke up mighty early on Saturday in order to meet Christie and her sister, Jen, in time to get some tailgating in before the Penn State vs. Iowa game. This was one good way to get Trevor’s mind on something other than him impending service, but it didn’t do the trick. The poor kid seemed out of sorts all day and it was with good reason. We managed to shotgun a beer and put back a couple sandwiches prior to heading into the stadium for the 12pm kick off. We had great seats, but the funny part was that her seats were two rows up from my family’s seats that I frequented during my childhood. It is really a small world. I’m sure Christie and I were at the same games back in the day. We sat a few seats from each other in a huge stadium not knowing we would one day be friends. It was strange.

Penn State completely sucked. Well, let me be fair. The Penn State offense completely sucked. The Defense played a fantastic game, but the offense couldn’t back them up with even a field goal. The final was Iowa 6, Penn State 4. Yes, they only scored 10 total points which was doubled later that night in the first game of the World Series. Despite the low scoring contest we had a great time and ran into some old friends. Later that evening, Trevor wasn’t feeling up to any public appearances so we sat in his room and slammed PBR’s while playing the new James Bond game. Awhile after midnight I said good bye and good luck to the bravest kid I know.

I’m not going to mention anything about the Notre Dame collapse. Feel free to rub it in at any given time. I still hate Boston.

Back To Life. Back To Legality.
Sunday morning mom cooked me a farewell breakfast before hitting the road. No one was home at the Zangrilli house when I stopped in so I loaded what looked to be Christie’s bags and hung out for a bit. Eventually she showed up and we hopped on the highway. We didn’t have any trouble getting back to the city, and the alternative route she purposed worked out with roses. Kyle was kind enough to help me unload the car before we settled into the third reason why I hate Boston; the Jets and Patriots game. Dan joined us to watch the Jets squander many different chances to win the game. The Patriots proved to be the better team, but the Jets held their own against the defending champs. Hopefully we will fair better at the Meadowlands.

Then it was off to some Mexican joint on St. Marks for Mr. Ian Perry’s birthday dinner. Happy Birthday Warrior Perry, you are a maniac. We had a bitching crew assembled that included the man of honor, Noah, Action, Daylen, Beach, Little Beach, Justin, Liz and some dude I didn’t know, but I think his name was John. We powered through some chips and salsa while watching the game on Action’s handy handheld TV, (sorry for that). My enchiladas reminded me why I love New York while the margaritas began to take their toll. After dinner we headed to 2A for a few drinks and Tequila shots before I had to call it an evening. It was a long trying weekend, and despite Perry’s request for karaoke, I couldn’t stand to be awake a minute longer.

Additionally, happy birthday to mi main man Karl who's team better pick it up if they don't want to go the way of the Yankees. Anyway, I’m back, so prepare for more regular updates. Sorry for the absence, but it was necessary. Please activate and for the love of god, vote.

Self Promotion With Some Emotion.
Writing about Loose Record got me a bit excited about the project. This prompted me to check in on my boy's website. If you don't know the story, back in August, I was prepared to move home to save some funds prior to moving to Portland. The specifics were worked out with Mama Belin and I was planning to ditch out in September. These plans were thwarted by Graeme's out of nowhere email that contained a front page for Loose. What he sent me looked so good that it would be completely moronic of me not to push things forward. Now we are well on our way to becoming a Real-Deal-Hollyfield web publication, and I have Graeme to thank for it. Though he is miles away in London, I hope he can feel the love. Check out a recent interview Graeme and his partner had with a Scottish News Site in regards to their design firm Random Feature.

If you need work done, look into these cats. They have a sharp eye and all the necessary skills to actualize whatever you need. Tell them Jay sent you.

Shit Sticks And Shoe Shines.
My one million apologies to Patrick and Audrey for my absence at last night’s Vicious party at Rothko. Unfortunately, I was at home watching the Yankees break my heart for the third night in a row. It just isn’t fair. I missed the first three games of the series due to CMJ and my work shifts. The last three games that I’ve watched have been nail biters all ending in Yankees’ loses. Maybe I’m giving them bad luck, (yes, I’m crazy enough to consider it). Either way they better turn it up tonight and prevent history from being made. If the Yankees go down this evening, it will be a tough pill to swallow, but we must go into this game with a positive attitude in tack.

The one good thing about a Yankees vs. Red Sox game tonight is the fact that I’ll be watching from the comfort of my Mom’s couch. This afternoon Christie and I are going to barrel down Interstate 80 with central Pennsylvania in the crosshairs. I’ll drop Christie off in State College and continue home to Clearfield to drink High Life while talking shit to Bruce. It will be fantastic. Following the game, Trevor and I will riot in Clearfield in the name of the Bronx Bombers. Later this weekend, Christie was cool enough to hook us up with some tickets to the Penn State vs. Iowa game. We are going to tailgate our asses off and show Trevor a bitching last weekend at home.

It’s Time To Get Loose.
Some of you were at the Loose Record listening party that Hawkins and I put together this past May. Some of you may have even been a part of the brainstorming process Noah and I went through last summer. Either way, you should check out the Coming Soon page to my new project, Loose Record. I’m going to spare you the description because there’s a blurb on the page. I highly urge all of you with an interest in live music to sign up for Loose Updates. If you are in a band, want to write or have any other concerns, send us an email. We are projecting a launch date in early 2005 so get ready for a lot more news and a better way to experience live music.

Are You Being Served?
I know some of you are sitting there thinking, “Oh God, Jay is gone for the weekend, what do we do?” Yeah, there are so many of you up in arms, but don’t worry because I have some answers for you. Just because I’m out of town doesn’t mean the rock stops. Sorry this is such bullshit, I’m delirious this morning.

Wednesday, October 20, 2004.

1. This evening you have a chance to see The Boy Bathing at Luna Lounge for FREE. Dave D. and Jeannie of The Boy Bathing highly request your attendance. Though I’m behind the curve on seeing these cats, what I hear is that you’ll dig on it if you are a fan of the somber side of Saddle Creek. Check it out and let me know.

Thursday, October 21, 2004

1. Even though Matt D. has moved to Beantown for awhile, I won’t hold it against him. We all know he is a Cubs fan so he isn’t coming back to NYC just to gloat in the calm before a pending disaster. Matt is returning because RANA is rocking the Knitting Factory on Thursday night. This show is a record release party for their new full-length records. Get to this show if you are in search of extending jams laced with R&B.

2. If you aren’t up for leaving the L.E.S., keep things in the hood with a stop by Rothko. This evening The Witnesses will be styling and profiling all up and down your ass. It recently came to my attention that Jack Champion used to play in this band. They are such a hair band. Headlining the show with their sweeping aural pleasures and engaging visuals is Brooklyn’s own Sea Ray. These guys impress me every time I see them which means a lot because I once saw them at Sin-e.

Friday, October 22, 2004.

1. If Thursday night didn’t provide you with enough Matt D. to get you through the coming weeks, head up to the Tank this evening for his side project known as Leafcutter. If I’m correct, which doesn’t happen often, Matt will be playing a set with Noah Champion on guitar, Ryan Champion on the skins and Steph on bass guitar. If you are a fan of the songs Matt’s been posting on his blog or you’re like me and love the kid, check out this gig.

2. Speaking of kids I heart, Dennis Cahlo and The Sons of Sound are playing Friday night’s Social!sm party at Rothko. This is the show I’m really pissed about missing. I haven’t seen the Sons of Sound since their first show as a three piece and word on the street is they’ve taken great strides to crafting their own style of the dark melodic rock. This is right up my ally and god willing I’m going to see one of their shows in the near future. In the mean time, keep their train rolling with an appearance at this show.

3. Maybe you aren’t interested in anything but a beer guzzling, foot stomping good time. If this is the case, get your ass down to Lit so it can shake-shake-shake to the raunchy sounds of The Morning After. Jason recently announced they have added another guitarist to the band, and though I didn’t quite understand the email, I’m under the impression they are going to be a five piece… me thinks. Either way, Hal is now toothless and plans to pass that love your way. Go dance. I command you.

Saturday, October 23, 2004.

1. Yet another show for me to lament over my absence is Ratatat at the Bowery Ballroom. These guys rock so hard and I haven’t seen them since the record came out and they became the 10th and 11th members of the Wu Tang Clan. They are such an interesting band and their songs get stuck in my head for weeks on end. Check these kids out and remember the Bowery is now a Culkin Free zone.

2. Even though you won’t see me going to Brooklyn anytime soon, you shouldn’t let that stop you from crossing the river Saturday evening. The recently acquired Razor and Tie artists, The Giraffes will throw down a set of the beer soaked hard rock at Asterisk Art Studio. Dave will be there throwing down like a proud sibling while The Giraffes thrash through some ear splitting songs. If you are in search of a riotous good time, get on the train and brave the frontier.

Though I wish to miss none of these shows, it’s imperative that I go home to wish my best buddy off. This reminds me; don’t forget to vote in a few weeks. Trevor is counting on you. This situation is so shitty for him, but he keeps on the bright side. He already sees the light at the end of his service tunnel. I’m sure he feels helpless to the machine, but hopefully he can maneuver within its framework to keep himself out of harms way. I feel helpless for him, but this isn’t about me because when I’m doing something like rocking out to the Pixies in December, my best pal will be dodging bullets in the desert. It kills me, but I don’t have the balls or the desire to sign up for the armed forces. I can rest easy knowing we are in good hands with someone like Trevor “Stanley” Sheaffer watching our backs.

Have a great weekend and keep an eye to the mean side. Winters coming so buy a sweater and find a teddy bear (this one is still available) for those long cold nights that are on the horizon. Most importantly, keep it loose and Go Yankees.

Watch The Yankees. See The Rock.
TONIGHT!
Vicious @ Rothko
(116 Suffolk)
21+ / $8

Featuring…
The Comas (8pm)
Caulfield Sisters (9pm)
Soft Explosions (10pm)
PS – Record Release! (11pm)
Silver (12am)

Come support Patrick (pictured) and the rest of PS as they celebrate the release of their first full-length titled Double Standards.

Tonight is going to be what Tim McCarver would call a, “game of inch.” Yes, the past two evenings McCarver, one of my least favorite announcers, said “Baseball is a game of inch.” What the shit Timmy? You are falling into the world of John Madden idioms. Pretty soon you’ll be spouting off reasons why the Golden Retriever has most fun out of all dogs. WTF?

Anyway, tonight I’m planning to watch the Yankees seal the deal at The Stadium. Let’s hope this game is a quick one. As my luck would have it, the only two games I’ve been able to watch were the last two. If you aren’t aware, the last two games have been excruciatingly long so I’m hoping for a quick one tonight. Get us into the series, and get me to Rothko for the PS show brought to you buy Audrey aka Melody Nelson and Jasper who I’ve only met a couple of times, but it is his birthday, so any reason to party is a reason to party.

Speaking of birthdays, I missed my main man David Black’s birthday on Sunday. Sorry Dave. I was pulling my hair out watching the Yankee bullpen fall apart. I trust you had a wonderful 24th!

Jon Stewart Isn't Backing Down.
If you haven't seen the video of Jon Stewart's guest spot on CNN's Crossfire, check it out here, (Thanks so much Leah for the link to this goodness). It's painfully hilarious.

CMJ(ay Belin) Is My Bitch.
With the CMJ Festival is disappearing in our rear view mirrors, I couldn’t be more excited. The light at the end of my tunnel has been my looming trip back to Clearfield. Now the four days of running and rock are behind us, and I can look forward to a few days of the simple life. Before I’m able to completely shake the metropolis off my shoulders, I’ll need to get through a short week. This is a welcomed challenge in the rubble of CMJ. For a kid without a badge, it sure felt like I was a big part of the festival. Work went well while the rock went better. Let me explain.

Before I get to the rock filled weekend let’s just give a big round of applause to Notre Dame who cracked the Top 25 (ranked 25th) after defeated Navy at the Meadowlands. Another standing ovation is in order for the 5 and 0 New York Jets. After a shaky start against San Francisco, the Jets dug deep and pulled out a win. Let’s hope they come out of the gate with more fire again the Patriots next week. The only blemish on a solid sports weekend was the extra innings loss last night by the Yankees. Mo blew another save against the Red Sox, but hopefully Moose can close things out this evening.

And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Culkins.
If you looked the word awesome up in the dictionary you might find an entry dissecting Friday because it was definitely an exercise in awesomeness. The day began at 4pm after a somewhat long day at work. The good news is that I’ve been offered a promotion within the University. On Thursday my dean pitched me the idea and on Friday we began working out the details. The best part about the whole deal (besides the increase in pay) is that I’ll finally have my own office complete with a door… That closes! The position isn’t anything to write home about, but it’s nice to know some people appreciate my effort. The entire transaction hasn’t been written in stone so keep your fingers crossed, but things are going to change. I can feel it.

So after work I headed to Webster Hall for round one of the Faint. The Saddle Creek showcase was set to be a big CMJ to do, and yours truly would be one of its traffic directors. This evening I was working the main door by my lonesome, but thankfully towards the middle of the night, a security guard named Starr came to make things easier. He was a champ and his help made the whole night run incredibly smoothly. I have to say it some of the out of town CMJ kids were great. They would chat me up on my slow periods and then let me work when the line got out of control. Was this due to their out of town attitude? Either way it was a welcomed change from the norm.

Around 10pm they cut me off and I was sent on my way to the Bowery to help out with the late show. The bill was quite eclectic and it included Mates of State, Aesop Rock, Sun O:))) and Trail of Dead. Before the doors opened there was a line down to the corner which is never a bad thing. The rush was handled in perfect fashion and by we were actually able to accommodate nearly everyone who stopped down to check out the show. A few disappointed folks didn’t stick out the wait, but when they did, it usually paid off. Ray and I lamented our long days, but by the time …And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead took the stage, I was hit with a second wind that carried me deep into the morning.

The second door shut down as soon as Trail of Dead started. I rushed downstairs and sewed everything up before heading upstairs to rock out with a top notch gang that included the newly legal drinker Lucy Beach. Happy 21st to the little lady who took her birthday Culkin like a champ despite the bumps she sustained from the fall. We aren’t in the business of dishing them out at the Bowery anymore, but Friday proved to be a special occasion, (read: shitfest). Rocking the back corner with the likes of Beach, Daylen, Tumbleweed, Lucy, Nate Belin, Del, Julia, J.M., Mia, Robbie and Macchia was a so much fun, (if I forgot you, my apologies). It seemed like my drunkenness set in awfully quick due to Merrida’s huge tequila pours and my lack of rest.

Trail of Dead dropped a massive set on all those in attendance. They were fantastic. They mix the melodic with the hardcore in a fashion that would make Victory Records come to their knees. Their sound is simply menacing because even at its soberest of moments it has you on edge due to its tendency to destroy. And destroy they did. One of the coolest aspects of the band is their ability to change style in the blink of an eye. When Jason (usually one of two drummers) takes to the microphone, you ears prepare for an angst laden assault that is 100% testosterone. When Conrad sings there is a different feel to the music, but this duality is part of what makes the Trail of Dead so appealing.

During one of their last songs, I can’t be exact due to the time of day and the amount of drinks consumed, the guitar player beat the piss out of his instrument. As we watched in horrific excitement, he whipped his ax until it was no longer recognizable. He threw a piece of the guitar into the crowd which I later learned hit a girl on the head and made a bit of a mess. On their next number, they invited the crowd on stage to join in the destruction. It was raining beer in the Bowery. Kids were throwing drinks from the crowd, from stage and even from the balcony. I’ve never seen the place get so up in arms. It was at this point that I decided to run to the front of the room, shoot up the back steps and dance around on stage. Only a minute into my onstage appearance, the same guitar player who destroyed his guitar, stole the drink right out of my hands. I gave him a what the fuck at which point he grabbed the back of my head, forced my entire drink in my mouth which caused me to spit it all over the front of the crowd. It is a high I’m still riding. Some kids who caught the show have made a point to tell me I had a nice cameo to which I answer that I’m quitting my job and going on tour.

The night closed out in the basement of the Bowery post Culkins. We had such a great time with the staff and our friends. Everyone in that place is so nice and we reveled in a job well done. The night got a bit ridiculous, but we were all in top form. On my stumble home, I ran into Kendra who was in search of the same late night booty as me. A slice of pizza later and I was sleeping like a kid coming down from a sugar high

Good Day Sunshine.
If Friday was awesome, Saturday was amazing. It began with me fighting to fall back asleep after I was stirred at 11am. Why couldn’t I crash back out? Maybe my anticipation of the last CMJ day was keeping me up, but either way my body wasn’t cooperating. Around 1pm I hopped on my bike and sped to Mogador for a brunch with Leah and Cami. We went so big with our order, but for some reason I could barely get through any of my Middle Eastern Eggs platter. With my attendance at these kinds of brunches dwindling, it was nice to get a chance to hang out with two of my favorite lady friends.

Then Blue Steel led me to the West Village where I met up with Liz who was studying at the NYU library. She met me out front and looked very astute and cute in her glasses with all her books. We cruised over to an old haunt, Espiranto Café, on McDougal Street for a cup of coffee and what I referred to as “face time.” For some reason Liz and I can give each other a hard time, but when it comes down to it, we are totally sweet to each other. She is a valuable friend.

After we parted ways, I made the decision that it was time to shop. It had been ages since I’ve purchased anything, so it was on. Visits to Tower Video and Other Music set me back a good chunk of change, (btw: I think Dungen is doing an OM instore today). Then it was back to 186 to ready myself for the evening.

Open Your Eyes And Stare Into Mine.
The Faint’s second show at Webster ran smoothly and once again we were able to accommodate most of the kids who eagerly waited outside of the venue. Besides one guy who turned on the jerk at the end of the evening, I was completely psyched on all the shifts they were able to throw my way. The venues did a top notch job and everyone seemed pretty happy with the results. It’s just more confirmation that clubs like Mercury and Bowery are the best the city has to offer.

After I blew off a little steam on my walk, (thanks to Dana for keeping me in check and thinking about anything being pissed) I was able to score entrance to the Mercury Lounge. All the proper kids were in place to make it a killer evening. Jersey Dan lead Daylen, Noah, Jin and I downstairs for a quick hang before we ran back upstairs to catch the second half of the Helio Sequence. Dana had made it to the venue by the time her friends played and she was pumped for their poptastic set. I didn’t pay the best attention to their songs, but I did notice that they are all over the place. There is definitely a lot of blues, some rock and heavy splashes of electronic pop. They get by on pure energy. Helio is a duo from Portland who play drums and guitar over a loop that includes blips, beeps and bass lines. It’s about time I give their record a shot.

Following their set we ran around for 20 minutes before Cathy, Hutch and Jordan, better known as The Thermals, took the stage and blew through a set of their patented punky pop rock. As kids like Lucy, Tumbleweed, Beach, J.M., Jersey Dan, Tom, Jin, Dana, Mia, DTL, Noah and I rocked out to all of their hits; it dawned on me that seeing this band is the more fun than a high school mosh pit. Though they don’t cause a stir like a Pennywise, the kids pogo around while going absolutely crazy for them. This was evident on Saturday in a room that rarely sees a head nod due to fear of lost indie cred. It was refreshing to see some kids rocking out, though most of the set was blurred due to my persistent head banging.

The Thermals played all of my favorites, (in record time no less). Their set included It’s Trivia, Back to Gray, Every Stitch (perfect opener), How We Know, I Know the Pattern, No Culture Icons and my personal favorite A Stare Like Yours. The only disappointment was they didn’t play Everything’s Thermals as their closer. It wasn’t a big deal though because they freaking ripped.

After the show we picked up some Sparks at the corner deli and made our way up Avenue B to Lakeside Lounge where Ryan and Steph played a show with some dude. Emma and Pooja were hanging out in with the kids when we showed up, but the door guy didn’t take one of Lucy’s friend’s IDs so they went up to Bside. After finishing my Milwaukee’s Best, Dave, Jin and I walked up to join them. The bar was packed so we hunkered down around a seat we found at the bar. Later that evening the rest of the crew showed up and we took the evening to another last call. Jin, Dana and I made our way down Avenue while Jin and I closed the evening out with a Dunkin Donuts appearance.



Why Can’t Indie Kids Love Sports? I love sports and a big shame on you if you don’t. Anyway, I woke up and Jin was still hanging on the couch so we ordered some Gracefully sandwiches and settled into the Jets game. Well, actually, she didn’t pay much attention, but I was fired up at their dismal first half. Dana joined us for the miraculous second half and by the end of the game she totally impressed me with her football knowledge. She was referencing big plays that happened years ago, and I think it made my heart flutter. Anyway, they left me to my own devices until Del showed up to watch some, you guessed it, sports. We hung out watching the Steelers pull off a huge victory over the Tuna and his Cowboys. As we got closer to the Yankees attempt to sweep the Red Sox, Mikey, Beach, Daylen, Dan, Erin and Christie showed up for the game. We were a bit let down, but after the clock hit 1am we just wanted the game to end. Tonight we try our second attempt to get in the big show.

Nice work to everyone involved in the festival. We rocked it.

Additionally, I’m just wondering how many potheads were watching the game last night. When they showed the stat that the past two games’ length was 4 hours and 20 minutes did anyone have a Tequila Jones like reaction of “Yeeeeeeeeeah!”

Forecast Calls For Rock.
Wondering what to do with your Friday evening? Well, there are a million events this evening. Shows and parties are in full force, but there are a few events where your attendance is necessary. Let me give you the rundown.

First on the two do list is the Sam Champion and These Bones show at Luna Lounge (Ludlow btwn Houston and Stanton). It is considered a CMJ show, but it still adheres to all the typical goodness that characterizes the club. The show is FREE to any and all concertgoers. Sam Champion hits at 11pm and These Bones grace the stage promptly thereafter. You may want to get down there a bit early. Since it is CMJ and both bands are making a stir, this show will get hectic. Both of these bands have perfected their stage craft and they are ready to blow your minds. Make the effort. Support local music. Get drunk. Make out.

Check out Sam Champion’s Sets in the City interview over at Gothamist. Isn’t Noah a funny little fucker.

Also this rocking out this evening is Dirty On Purpose. They’ll be hitting at Fez (380 Lafayette) around 11:30pm. This means you have a decision to make. Choose wisely, but remember if you miss them tonight, they are playing with Arcade Fire on November 11th at the Bowery Ballroom. Word on the street is this show has sold out, but you may want to call the box office to see if they have any tickets left. It’s going to be a dandy. It’s FREE if you have a badge or $12 without.

Additionally, Anna and the tough as hell crew of Knife Skills (best band name ever... after weeezer) will be breaking your rock bones with an early set at Lit (2nd Avenue and something like 5th Street). Knife Skills are few and far between so you should take this chance to see them rock the basement at 8pm. I’m sure Jin will be running around like a parent making sure all their kids get to the proper soccer practices. Bring your ear plugs cause I’m sure these kids will be kicking out the jams at a level that will make your ears bleed with joy.

Good luck to Sam Champion, These Bones, Dirty On Purpose and Knife Skills. Unfortunately I’ll be working two shifts tonight and the only rock on my schedule consists of the second half of the Trail of Dead show at the Bowery. If you come through, say hi and buy me a shot, (or help me Culkin Lucy Beach who turns 21 at the stroke of midnight).

Two Down. Two To Go.
CMJ round two is now in the books. Last night was so much fun. My evening started with a stop by the Mud Truck to catch up with Kyle for a hot minute. He told me stories of battling off high school girls. He discussed fighting this young girl off while she tried dancing with him at Welcome to the Johnsons. Kyle is totally devoted to his lady friend, which is refreshing because most of my friends would welcome a 17 year old girl who was asking for it. Yuck. That is super dirty.

Next on the hit list was Webster Hall. We were gearing up for the first CMJ show at the club and despite the lengthy lists everything went well. From the ground floor all of the bands sounded pretty fantastic. They had Duke Spirit, Dogs Die in Hot Cars, The Music and Hope of the States. Denise and I were holding down the fort at the front door. We danced around like kids fresh off major pixie stick consumption. We talked about boys, (I’m so good at that despite the whole heterosexual thing) and spoke in accents. We were grasping at straws to pass the time. D. popped in a couple times to check on her people, and the whole night went pretty smoothly.

Julia relieved me once we knew things were nearly finished so I joined Dan, Denise and D. in the balcony for a few songs by the headliners. Hope of the States has a few things going for them. They are really passionate about the music they play. This is apparent in the band members bouncing around the stage and rocking out. It’s always good to see a high energy band, but there isn’t anything terribly defining in regards to their sound. We finished a drink or two and headed out of the club.

Dana and I walked over to the LES together, but we parted ways at Niagara. She wanted to go meet friends and I, at all costs, try to avoid Niagara. My sights were now set on a good night’s sleep, but my CMJ conscious got the best of me so I hopped into a cab and made way for the Bowery. The bitching security crew and Mia were hanging outside the club making sure everything was smooth. The manager came upstairs and was puzzled at my appearance. Apparently he thought some other kid was me. Big T. shook the kids hand and called him by my name, but there was no negative reaction. Yes, I look like everyone. It’s a blessing and a curse.

Stevo was working the merch table last night so I stopped by to chat him up for a bit. On my way to the head, I ran into Glenn who was there to give love to his Astralwerks crew. Then it was a quick hello to Megan who got some big hugs at the end of the show when she split with Ms. Pretty. Then it was upstairs to catch some of the Concretes set. In the back corner representing Tequila style were Dj Del, Daylen, Lucy and Tumbleweed. We eased into a less than exciting set from a highly buzzed about band.

There must have been 40 people on stage in the Concretes. Well, to be honest I think it was nine if I counted right, but the stage looked packed. I question whether or not all the instruments were actually plugged in because they were so damn quiet. This caused me to waste most of their set catching up with friends (which isn’t so much of a waste) rather than listening to their music. Nothing too memorable, but they did end their set with a mandolin solo that reminded me of one of the sounds on the new Libertines album. I see the Velvet Underground vibe, but when it gets down too it, I wish the Shout Out Louds would have headlined the show instead of the Concretes.

Speaking ot The Shout Out Louds, major congratulations (no pun intended) to them for signing with Capitol. The deal was inked yesterday before they played an early set at the Mercury Lounge. This band is super rad, and you should bring your iPod over so I can learn you.

Did anyone catch something that was fantastic? If so, drop me an email or a comment so I know what I'm missing. I'm sure I'll hear from non of you. Well, maybe the illustrious S.T.

One more note: Go Yankees.

Half As Much As I Know I Need Her.
If there are any lady readers of this blog, please give me a call and schedule some cuddle time with me. I need to be held. Tired doesn’t convey my current state of mind, but it will do. If you see me tonight or for the rest of CMJ, give me a hug. Your chubby teddy bear of a blogger needs one. Thank god a mini vacation is looming in the not so distant future. It’s only been one day of the four day festival, and I’m all ready feeling the affects. My late Tuesday night certainly didn’t help matters, but last night added to my beat nature. If only I could blow off my day job as an administrative whore, I might be a bit more chipper at the club. Unfortunately I’m stuck pulling 15 hour days, but my employers and the money make it all worth it.

Allow me to explain. Last night was supposed to be my night off. My calm before the storm. Around 4pm Mia rang me up and asked if I could do the merch table for the Decembrists. Initially my body cringed at the idea, and I asked her to call around with the hopes of actualizing my couch crusade. Less than 15 minutes later I realized something. Those kids are in the grip of CMJ. It’s no joke. They handle three venues and upwards of 80 bands in 4 days. Another thought dawned on me. In the past year or so, they have helped me see more bands than I can imagine. They would never say it, but I owe them. With these thoughts in mind, I called to the office and confirmed that I would be there at 5:45pm. What’s a few weeks worth of exhaustion if you can have a fruitful year of rock and even make some extra money?

There was a definite buzz around the Bowery last night. The entire staff was geared up to make it the best CMJ experience possible. It’s kind of like watching a great team (read: Yankees) warming up for a big game (read: ALCS). Everyone knows what they have to do, and if it’s done right you’ll go to sleep happy. Anyway, I got in there and had to do a major count for the Decembrist’s who were nowhere to be found. After everything was set up, I settled in for a long night behind the counter. Thankfully I had a running joke with one of the bartenders which lightened things up when sleepy crept up on me.

The French Kicks also had a huge display at the table. They did a ton of sales last night, which is cool for them. Lawrence, the bass player, performed most of their merch duty and confirmed suspicions that he is a really nice guy. He filled me in on their tour with Keane as we sat around idly chit chatting about nothing specific. From where I sat, the French Kicks sounded great, and despite some urinal prophet who said he could “write better songs with his eyes closed,” while peeing, I think they still have the same luster that made me a fan after hearing the Young Lawyers Ep.

After things got settled up, I hung out for a drink while the kids began to pour in for the second show. With sleep on my mind, I wished everyone luck and headed towards home. I popped by the Mercury in hopes of sneaking a peak at Arcade Fire, but the lines were longer than expected. It was off to sleepy town.

Half Baked But Not Done.

Whoops, Could You Pick That Up?
Sorry Curt, you dropped the ball. This is a public service announcement that Curt Schilling can suck my mother fucking dick. You suck. Take your pussy ankle excuse back to Boston. The ALCS is far from over, but taking game one was a serious treat. The Red Sox gave a solid effort and didn’t give up, but in the end our beloved Yankees took game one along with the gem from Kurt’s doughnut. Unfortunately these eyes didn’t get to watch the entire game. The first four innings were watched at 186 on mute while Builder and I had a fairly productive meeting. The meeting ran late which prevented me from popping into Rothko for Say Hi To Your Mom’s set, but I ran into Greg on my corner who said it was solid.

Around 9:30pm I cruised through J.P. Wards on Avenue A to say hello to Moser, Christie, Yaps and Newhouse. Yes, Moser is in town. The bitch showed up out of nowhere. I’m always happy to see the kid, but do his visits always have to be covert operations? My stay at the bar was cut short because The Libertines were scheduled to hit around 10:15pm. While hustling up 2nd Avenue, I was reminded that Cami is taking the GRE this morning so I gave her a quick buzz to wish her luck. We got wrapped up in a conversation about ice cream versus sorbet, but that’s neither here nor there.

Julia was waiting outside of Webster Hall when I strolled up. She was waiting for The Libertines to get back to the club so I shot a quick hello to her and Jomo before passing through the gate. Adam Ghory greeted me upon entering the main room. Yes, Adam is in town. He stopped in for the show last night and should be in town for a couple days before his travels lead him either, “south or west”. We had a quick catch up session while we waited for the rock. The wait ran a little long which gave me time to see Megan and Laura who came early for Radio 4’s set. While waiting in the back of the room, Mike D. and his friend Chris showed up. Mike and I became friends while The Realistics were in their prime. We sporadically run into each other all over the city and our conversations never seem to miss a beat. Check him out later this month when he plays bass with The Blue Sparks at an upcoming Pianos gig. The kids from The Realistics are always in good spirits. I just wish they were still playing together. One last mention before getting to the show, Jo D. came through before the set erupted and I finally got around to wishing her happy birthday, (I missed her party, but the actual date isn’t till early next week).

Pick Up The Names. Start The Show.
There are more people to mention in regards to my fruitful Tuesday evening, but let me talk about the show for just a minute. With CMJ looming in the not so distant future (if you are looking for a preview, scroll down to yesterday’s post), we settled in for another outstanding Libertines set. This band continues to impress me. They play rock music as it was meant to be. They may not exude all the attributes of their punk predecessors, but they play their show with some serious moxy. Each band member plays their part perfectly.

Bassist John Hassal makes Mr. Mope from the Strokes look like a fool. Though he plays the same role as his New York brethren, John adds some backing vocals to the mix along with some actual smiles so you know he’s still alive. Last night his bass was turned up so loud that the combination of it and the bass drum made for a crushing one-two rhythmic punch to the gut. This brings me to Gary on the kit. This boy can fucking play. No joke. I can totally see why David Johansen wanted Gary playing his UK gigs. His kit contains a huge arsenal of percussion instruments including heaps of symbols and some chimes. Gary introduced one of their songs with a two minute drum solo, and I wish my memory held the capability of recounting which track. My dumbass is in crucial need of some extensive note taking.

The rhythm section filled the room, but the piercing guitars stole the show. I’m sick of hearing people whine about the loss of Pete. Some say the band isn’t the same, and yes, I would definitely agree. The fact remains they can rock without him. Though their set lacks the sexual tension between ax wielders, Pete’s replacement is full of energy. Since the last show, I was under the impression the rhythm guitarist was from the Damnwells, but Mike said he wasn’t. Sean Bones, who spent most of the show in the balcony with Sarah, claimed it was a member of the Damnwells, so I’m not going to confirm or deny the statement. Anyway, the kid can play the hell out of his guitar and his persistent bouncing around is a welcomed addition to the riot like atmosphere of their set.

Despite their punk party lure, there are still demons embedded deep within the psyche of Carl(os) and the rest of the original members. The new songs reflect the uneasiness shared between the band and their former mate. Old songs like Good Old Days echo a new sentiment that permeates through the entire set. Carlos has taken the reigns of this band and intends to steer the ship until it takes on enough water to fully sink. Can they last long enough to complete, “A list of things they tend to do tomorrow?” With the talent left in Pete’s wake, its my contention that The Libertines have a bright future. It never hurts to have Mick Jones on your side, but even so, the urgency of their sound coupled with their emulation of an attitude that only existed in a small vacuum in time leads me to believe that The Libertines deserve to continue honing their craft and building their public appreciation.

The set list didn’t have many variations to it, but it did include favorites such as: The Delancey, Can’t Stand Me Now, Boys In The Band, Don’t Look Back Into The Sun, What A Waster and an set closing rendition of I Get Along.

Money. Make You Feel Real Good.
My post show plans of catching a good night sleep were thwarted when Ghory and I ran into Noah, Ryan, Pooja and Emma while walking up 3rd Avenue. We met with Sean Bones and walked down to Welcome to The Johnsons where Moser, Newhouse and Christie had regrouped. We pounded away at drinks while various monkeys cruised through the bar. Juliet came through which is always a welcome addition. She is always flustered in a good way and I’ll always dig on her even if she thinks The Libertines are nothing without Pete. Zach from Octagon and his roommate Benny added to the massive crew. Zach is one of those guys you see all over the place and then you meet him one night while wrapped in the middle of a heavy boozer. Then, much like our previous encounter, we exchanged greetings full well knowing we had met before, but we couldn’t pinpoint the instance. This time he’ll surely be remembered as Zach, a lo-fi kind of guy.

As the night pressed on, Emma refused to put her camera away. Hopefully she’ll email me a few of the pictures for the blog. She also spent a good portion of our conversation busting my chops. Who could get upset with Emma? She is a sweetheart. Pooja and I discussed the necessity of moving our relationship out off the interweb and into reality. We are also considering starting a board game club, but we haven’t decided if it will be completely underground. I’ll keep you posted.

As sobriety slipped through my fingertips, Moser and I got wrapped up in a conversation about our sisters. Moser shares the same affliction as me. We are middle children sandwiched by two ladies. Our problems often overlap and since we have the same ideals about family, its nice to get some relative advice. By the time kids like Stevo and Jo D. showed up, we were all in the bag, and I was getting nervous about scoring some sleep. After the first round of goodbye’s Ramie showed up and prolonged my exit. My final answer showed up around 2:30am and I returned home completely satisfied with our Tequila Tuesday efforts.

Sometimes I get down about my plot in New York City and then a night like Tuesday happens. It’s just a solid affirmation that the kids are definitely alright.

We Tried To Pull The Wool.
Can you believe that in less than a month, barring another “chad” related incident, the 2004 Presidential Election will be decided? In less than a month we’ll know if we have to endure another four years of Cheney’s puppet mastering or a fresh start from king flip flop Mr. John Kerry. Since this blog could be considered a “media outlet,” I’d like to keep it bipartisan, but who are we kidding. The media is dominated by bipartisan opinion. You could even go as far to call it bipartisan popular opinion. Is it really possible for everyone at Fox to be a republican? They air programs like The Simpsons and Arrested Development. These shows don’t reflect the traditional values the Bush campaign has commandeered for their purposes, and yet their affiliated news channel is redder than a NY Post dipped in pigs blood.

In the latest issue of Rolling Stone, our beloved Daily Show anchorman, John Stewart, attempts to explain the tight rope walked by major media correspondents. He sheds an interesting light on the bias media, and explains that though what we see often slants to the right, these stories or opinions may not reflect the beliefs of the individual reporting them. It is a dog-eat-dog world, and more often than not, these newscasters skew their values in order to climb the influential news ladder. Then these Republican butt-plugged reporters attack a man like Stewart on the basis that his viewers are stoners. How could you vote Republican? They are the biggest group of hypocrites since Christianity became the dominate religion in Europe. Kill the opposition. It may not be in the literal sense, but damn, it sometimes the current regime reminds me of the late thirties in Western Europe.

Stand Up And Be Heard.
So in response to the bullshit I just shat out, I’d like to post some information regarding some kids who are making an effort to assist in change rather than just bitching about it. Tonight, October 12, Audrey aka Melody Nelson is hosting a Concert for Change fundraiser at Rothko (115 Suffolk St). If you were ever suspect about the flow of money from these events, check out their web site. The DNC directly benefits from these events and most of the money is pushed to swing state campaigns. Speaking of swing states, if you are like me and have family members in swing states, get on the phone and make sure they are ready to step up on Election Day. Their voices hold the ability to change the direction of our country.

Tonight’s show is only $10 at the door. If you hustle and buy tickets online, it will save you a couple dollars. The line up is as follows:

11:45 - The Vitamen
11:00 - Modernage
10:15 - The So and So's
9:30 - Ben Arthur
8:45 - Say Hi to Your Mom
8:00 - MAGNET (from Norway!)

Guest DJ: Ultragrrrl

Don’t cop out on this show just because CMJ is looming. I’m hoping to get my business finished and shoot over for the early bands before heading to Webster in hopes that Pete Libertine may have wised up and joined the band, (yeah, I know, fat chance). Eric and the kids of Say Hi To Your Mom are ready to please. Don't get too drunk too early because Eric has some science to drop on you.

Don’t Stand In The War Path.
Yesterday morning was a difficult one. Waking up felt like sliding out of the womb, (from what I remember). It was cold, I couldn’t open my eyes and I really wanted to cry. My day looked up when I met D. and Mya (the dog) in Washington Square Park. As I wasted my lunch hour watching dogs run around, poop and fuck each other, my mood took a turn for the better. Little did I know, at 3:30pm a phone call would ruin my existing cloud 9. By 5pm my nerves were shot and I was out of the office like Mr. Smithers at Hooters. Mike showed up after work and we sat around discussing the future of our project. Christina and Builder showed up and we got down to business. Our meeting wasn’t as productive as it needed to be, but I think we all got a little fire lit under our ass, and that’s extremely important as we continue to press forward. If you don’t know about said project, you will soon. Hopefully you and your friends can be a part of what will make it awesome.

My night came to a close while watching the continued deterioration of Mr. Brett Favre. Paul, don’t get upset at this. Brett could have just hit a rough stride, but his passes don’t have the same accuracy as his glory years. Three straight losses at home must have the people of Wisconsin pulling their hair out, and after his late second quarter interception; I believe they were booing their golden child. Now, if you ask me, and most don’t, Favre would be one of my all time top choices for quarterback with the game on the line, but recently he has lost that magic. Could this be the end of an era in Green Bay? I’m hoping Brett pulls 8 wins out of his helmet and sticks around for one more year, but if he continues to play like he has, it may be time to walk off into the dimming spotlight.

Quit Badgering Me. I’m In The Band.
It is officially CMJ Eve. Though this may not matter to anyone outside of the New York Metropolitan area, it sure shakes things up in my new hometown. The next few days will be hectic, and though I plan to take Wednesday off, I’m still hoping to score some sort of Irving list spot to see Jordan and the boys kick things off at the opening party. Since The Head Set won the CMJ battle of the bands, they were invited to open for the likes of The Moving Units and Sonic Youth at Irving Plaza. Hopefully the venue will have a good number of heads in the building, and The Head Set will please on lookers with their New York swagger and boogie laced pop tunes.

If you aren’t a badge carrier or you didn’t score a ticket to the sold out show, you should consider stopping by Acme Underground where Demander is playing a super early show. They were a late addition to the bill, but they decided CMJ could use a serious shake down. They will play at 7pm sharp on Wednesday evening. As always, this show is free for badge carriers and only $10 for those without. This show brings it back to the old days of Demander featuring a twosome of the lovely Karen on bass and vocals while the First Lady of Rock, Sivan, hammers out the beats.

Maybe you are the type of person who seethes at the thought of various college radio Dj’s and zine journalists crowding your beloved clubs. If this is the case, get to the one Wednesday night event that isn’t affiliated with the CMJ cluster fuck. Ultragrrrl and Karen +1 are hosting their first Tarts of Pleasure event at Snitch (21st St @ 6th Ave). For only $5 or free with a badge, you’ll get the chance to dance to Ultragrrrl’s favorite Smith’s songs in between sets by Apartment, Madison Strays and The Bravery. If you are trying to save money, be in the scene and catch some rock, this event has your name all over it.

When 1am rolls around ask yourself if you have the energy to fight a sold out crowd. If the answer is yes, get your ass to the Mercury Lounge where The Arcade Fire is scheduled to hit early Thursday morning. You’ve heard all about these Canadian rabble-rousers, so take this opportunity to decipher the hype from the hype-nots. If you miss it, don’t worry because they are playing with Dirty On Purpose at the Bowery in early November.

If you aren’t like me, and have the freedom to bounce around on Thursday evening, let me map out your itinerary. Unfortunately I have to work Thursday, Friday and Saturday evening so if you see me working the door, come say hello and tell me how tired you are from running around. I’ll check your name off the list and give a chuckle. Anyway, you won’t want to miss The Shout Out Louds who are playing a 7pm set at the Mercury Lounge. These kids are fucking fantastic. They might be 186’s favorite band. We dance around to their 7 inches and take knifers to their three song Ep. They are worth your time. The earnest vocals, the melodic guitars and the general energy projected from a bunch of kids who don’t have the best grasp on the English language make for a great event.

Once you finish with the kids from Denmark, keep the European buzz brewing with a trip to Webster Hall for a set by Zeppelin loving, jam rockers of The Music. Bring a note pad so you can jot down the dance steps from their light-on-his-feet lead singer Robert Harvey. Though they didn’t blow me away at their last Bowery gig, this band will surely impress the CMJ crowd. Expect tons of new tracks from their new record, Welcome to the North as well as old favorites like The Dance and The People. And let me know if you understand what Robert’s skat’n about. My American trained ears have trouble with his limey lyrics.

Maybe you have the ability to stop time. Maybe you have a helicopter license. Either way, if you find yourself in Brooklyn on Thursday evening, stop by the Northsix for local sweethearts Bishop Allen. Word on the street is they have been playing new material along with all our pop favorites from Charm School. With their line-up finalized these kids are solidifying what we already knew existed; a fantastic pop band that makes you smile and rocks when necessary.

The Bowery also boasts a killer show on Thursday night. Astralwerks newbie’s The Concretes take the late night slot. Some have compared them to the Velvet Underground, but to be honest that feels a bit ambitious. Their record has the hooks, and is a tremendous freshman effort, but lets hold the accolades for at least a second. Prior to their set, former funk masters VHS or Beta will force onlookers to shake their hips in approval of their new Cure laden sound. The new record is nothing like Le Funk, but it still has the ability to make you move. If you are in receipt of said record, help a brother out… I need the rock.

If you haven’t gotten your fair share of the local scene, take a second to cruise through Rothko on Thursday night. Dan Tracy and his crew, Circle and Square, will make your head nod in appreciate of their carefully plotted riffs and their off signature beats. Dan rips on the kit, so keep your eyes pealed. They’ll be sharing the bill with another Brooklyn outfit, Robbers On High Street. They have drawn numerous comparisons to Spoon, but I’ve yet to see their set. To put a fat ass cherry on this sundae, Mike Watt will be closing the evening. Yes, I said Mike fucking Watt. Go and bow in the presence of his handle bar moustache.

Ok, this should get you through the first couple days of the festival. If my fingers have the ability, I’ll try to preview the latter half of CMJ in the next couple of days. If not, go were your Chucks lead you, and by all means, make out with as many hot indie kids in tight jeans as humanly possible.

[Disclaimer: Some of this information may not be 100% accurate. Remember, I’m a blogger, not a publication. If a hometown, a set time or even a name was off, let me know, but keep the bullshit to a minimum.]

The Monster Bangers and Mash.
Earlier today I received an email from Paul over at Joy Zine. It's a UK based webzine. I recently used some of their Bloc Party pictures on Good Times Roll. I'm dropping Paul and his crew a shout out because he tracked me down and contacted me. Typically this kind of thing isn't done because I just Google whatever type of picture is needed, but since Paul went out of his way to drop me a line, check out his zine and get the inside goods of the coolest country on the opposite side of the pond.

My God, Why Have You Forsaken Me?
Dear Mr. Malkmus,

Why didn’t you come to the Bowery Ballroom last night? Well, maybe you were there, but you didn’t follow directions. When my shift started, I checked the list for any famous people so I could call Whitney and tell him how his boy was rubbing elbows with the high life. My assignment was to work the list at the 2nd door, and the second name on said list was Mr. Malkmus. All night long I waited in nervous anticipation to check that name off. What can you say something to a man of that stature? My words were plotted carefully, but my excitement would probably cause another Conan O’Brien like voice quake. Yes, I get extremely nervous around those held in personal high regard. Well, I get nervous around that type of people and girls. Yeah, girls make me very nervous. Anyway, Mr. Malkmus, I hope you were there to witness the goodness of Interpol, but damn man, why didn’t you come to the 2nd door. You’re breaking my heat.

Sincerely,

JJJay Belin

Blogging Is Fucking Played Out.
Ok, so my week off wasn’t fruitful. Minimal accomplishments were made. I took a couple days off from work to try and kick the shit out of my cold prior to the coming week’s madness. Fortunately my body is rocking at 95%, and by the time The Libertines take the stage Tuesday evening, this kid should be playing with a full deck. So expect more frequent updates in the near future. My slack ass won’t let this blog’s 4 or 5 readers down. If it’s news you are looking for, check out Jason over at Productshop NYC who was recently named best blog by the Village Voice. To be honest, I couldn’t agree more. He consistently covers the late breaking news and keeps the lazier kids (read me) informed on various goods from the (not-so) underground.

Resurfacing To Little Fanfare.
Friday was my return to the game. My morning was spent moping behind a pile of work left by my boss who took a mini-vacation. Luckily my student worker was around to carry some of the burden and by the mid-afternoon I was free and clear. After leaving the 9-to-5, I walked up to Webster for a door shift at the Puffy AmiYumi show. Apparently this Japanese pop group was showcasing their tunes for the Cartoon Network crew who is making them into a cartoon. I want to be made into a cartoon, but needless to say it wouldn’t be very exciting, (except for my recent altercations that seem to happen on a nightly basis). Outside of a crazy hour or so, the show went pretty smoothly.

After the gig, I headed home to regroup in hopes of catching the Explosions in the Sky show at the Mercury Lounge. Any band that scores a soundtrack for a football film is an instant must see for me. Problem was, I was beat so it was back to the couch with me. This was quite alright because the Yankee game was on and we were kicking ass. They tripped up a bit at the end of game 3, but it doesn’t matter now because the Yanks are playing for the ALCS. Bring on Boston and all the little twats who root for them. I’m sick of hearing that it’s, “Their Year.” It hasn’t been “Your Year” for nearly a century. Though you are looking strong and some folks at ESPN have picked the BoSox to win, I don’t see it happening because Boston sucks harder than Jenna Jamison at a lollipop convention. Hopefully Mo can put his personal tragedy on hold and kick some BoSox ass.

Back to business. My slumber was interrupted by Kyle and his little brother Scott who is in town for a week. If you know Kyle, try to make an effort to meet his brother. Scott and Kyle are exactly alike. Their speech has the same cadence. They both talk like it’s their job. They have the same sense of humor. They even look alike. It’s a bit on the spooky side, but it’s funny. In fact, Scott and I hung out last night and it was cracking me up. We were watching Blind Date and his assessment of the dumb girl’s flotation devices and the cocky jack’s retarded behavior mirrored Kyle’s normal recap of the show. Are his parents sure they aren’t twins?

Eventually I rallied and walked by the Mercury for a quick tequila shot. I could only stay for a couple Explosions in the Sky tunes, but from what I heard, they weren’t bad. My mission was to meet up with Liz and her friend Christina at Lil’ Frankie’s. Upon entering the establishment, some Long Island cock gobbler tried starting shit with me. Why do tucked in collar shirts always try to pick a fight with me? Is it the lip piercing? Is it your innate need to prove your heterosexuality to your other douchebag friends? Seriously, cut the bullshit. Though I’d never back down from a dickhead in a shitty situation, Jay, by nature, is a lover, not a fighter.

There was 20 minutes of weirdness after this confrontation, but luckily the fuckstick took his queue and left me and the two pretty alone. Liz has fallen off the face of the earth since beginning grad school so I was pretty psyched to catch up. Her friend was a peach as well so we had a good time sharing drinks and musing about how much we missed each other. After an extended farewell, I jetted back to the Mercury Lounge only to find an assembly of the biggest jackasses around. Beach, Macchia, Oveis and Builder were hanging out being drunks as well as Mia, Daylen, Rob and a few other kids. We sat around bullshitting until 3am when an exit was way past due. Good night. Good fight.

Just a little note, I don’t know if this is a permanent thing, but TBS is one of the cable channels we score by plugging into the wall. On Saturday morning (3am), they were showing episodes of Mr. Show. It was unbelievable. There is nothing like staggering home with a nice buzz only to find one of your favorite shows being offered up at no cost to me. God bless you Mr. Turner. You make good TV. Now if you would just drop the Braves, we’d be all set.

Pressing On. PM Dawn.
Saturday saw a return to complete productivity. Builder and I scored some brunch at The General Store which may have the best BLT ever. D. walked by the restaurant so I ran her down and got her to join us. After brunch we met Hawkins, Christie, Aja and Phil on the street and readied ourselves for a trip to the zoo. My hopes of navigating the trip were shot down when it became obvious that someone would have to saddle up and ride in the hatch of the Subaru. The short trip was unintentionally extended due to poor navigation (I’m not pointing fingers Hawkins and D!), but after a bit of an accident and multiple requests for rolled down windows, we made it to the Bronx.

It was my first trip to the Bronx Zoo, and my main objective was to see (and possibly ride) some giraffes. We started our trek through the wild with some elephants and a seal feeding time that was a hoot. We hit up the Monkey House and Tiger Mountain, but my sites were set on the African Safari. On our way to the Safari, we checked out some Polar Bears who looked pretty dismal. It was like watching that homeless guy, who lives in the boxes on Joey Ramone Place, pace up and down the block. The bears were haggard, injured and looked very unhappy. Oh, it also smelled like poo. The whole experience got me upset. We prattled on past some sort of mountain cat and bear cage before reaching the Safari. We checked out some lions and then made way for the giraffe and ostrich place. I immediately started to hop the fence, but D. deterred my efforts. We watched the beautiful animals graze for a bit before hitting the Reptile House and the House of Darkness. After my various jokes about Fruit Bats (which were uber flat), we called it a day and proceeded to once again get lost.

Christie and I hit up Boca Chica for a sprint shrimp experience. Our entire dining time couldn’t have run longer than a half hour. It’s as if they knew we were on our way and hungry for shrimps. After dinner we hit up 186 to watch the Yankees clinch. Erin came over and by 10pm we were on our way to the Luna Lounge to check out the Karl fronted Stammers.

A nice sized crowd gathered for the show, and we were all pleasantly surprised with The Stammers sound. They have come to sound like a New York band fronted by a man with a voice that recalls the monotone sneer of Jello Biafra. The interplay of Simon and Scott’s guitars was completely on point, and though there was some over playing, it sounded terrific. Naturally, Sascha was the glue that held these boys together. He is such a phenomenal rock drummer. The kid doesn’t allow himself to get too fancy, but without his constant drive and subtle fills The Stammers sound wouldn’t be nearly as developed. Resident Bahamas bassist, Kev Smith has taken over the duties on bass. If you know Kevin, you know he can wail, and wail he did. My only suggestion to The Stammers would be, don’t look so damn bored. Don’t wait till the last couple songs to get excited about your music. It projects a bit of smugness that shouldn’t go along with their brand of rock. It was all around a great show, and I’m looking forward to seeing these guys again.

We rolled up Avenue B after the show with our sites set on B-side. It’s been awhile since I’ve been up to the bar, so I was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by Deva (Will’s puppy) upon our entrance. It is always a pleasure catching up with the old neighbor, who recently stepped away from his slot as bassist in Matt Pond PA. I think it was a good move for Will, and hopefully he will score a place in a band that brings some serious rock, because seriously, he rocks. The night got dragged on a bit longer than expected, but it was cool because I met an awesome girl from Wisconsin. Katie, if you’re out there, drop me an email.

Bet On The Jets.
We’ve got a 4-0 Jets team! Yes, that’s right; the NY Jets are undefeated through their first four games. Though they tripped up and nearly lost the game to Buffalo yesterday, we came away with a win, and that’s what’s important. Noah stopped by to check out some of the game before we headed down to the Bowery. Last night Interpol kicked off their tour with a special show at the club. It was a cool offer to the fans that purchased tickets to both shows at Hammerstein. We were expecting a shitshow last night, but things went really smoothly.

By the end of their sixth or seventh song, I was itching to get inside to see one of my favorite modern bands. Thankfully, we closed the second door and I got upstairs in time for Hands Away followed by NYC and the rocking joint from Antics, Slow Hands. Paul Banks’ voice was extremely powerful. It shook the dead crowd. Speaking of which, when did it become customary to not give a shit at shows? First the Black Keys and now Interpol? Do you people have a fucking pulse? The crowd seemed completely bored by the hometown boys. A good crew of kids including, Ryan, Noah, Ry, D., Mia, Daylen, Tumbleweed, Lucy, Jomo and a few others were rocking the back corner, but the rest of the club was unenthused to say the least. Outside of some feverish hand clapping the place seemed dead. What the fuck is the problem? Would it kill you to move a bit? Anyway, they finished their set with PDA which had an extended pause that teased the onlookers.

They sounded fantastic last night, and hopefully they’ll continue to do so for their entire tour. I’m praying an angel descends from the heavens with a ticket to one of the Hammerstein shows. Free shows are my shit.

It was great seeing so many friends at the show last night, and I’m especially excited that Dennis now calls me Belin. Not too many people do that, so my little sister appropriated the name for herself. I’m here to take it back and Dennis is leading the charge.

This week is going to be hectic. Buckle up and prepare for rock.

All Apologies.
Ladies and Gents, I’ve been sick as hell the past couple days so I’ve been out of the loop. If you haven’t gotten your Interpol tickets for Sunday, do so now. Go to the Interpol website. Also congratulations to the Productshop NYC team for getting voted best blog in the Village Voice. And check out page 33 for a Sam Champion mention.

Say Hello To The Future.
This is an open call to anyone with an Ipod. The tenants of 186 are looking to compile a huge music library in the hopes of broadening our horizons. We aim to do so by loading “The Future” aka our external hard drive with tons of albums, singles, bootlegs and bsides. If you or someone you know, has an Ipod full of goodness, please drop me an email and we can schedule a swap. We have heaps of albums on “The Future” so you are more than welcome to pilfer our library. We recently purchased Ipod rip so there shouldn’t be any problems. Unfortunately we can only swap with those of you who are configured for the Mac operating system.

If you decide to be a part of this community, Builder will love you forever and probably make you a pot of tea. Oh, and chances are you’ll get a knifer.

You Don’t Know What You Really Want.
Do you want soaring crescendos with melodic undertones? Do you want heavy riffs and driving backbeats? Do you want the newest UK garage beats with a nod to progressive house? If you answer to any or all of these questions is, “I don’t know,” then don’t worry because I also have no idea. What I do know is that James Murphy is going to tell us what we really want. A couple of Thursday’s ago, I went to The Hanger to celebrate it’s opening with free Red Stripe. Since the bar was crammed, we hung out near the front of the establishment. On the shelf opposite of the bar, I found a stack of ’Sup Magazine’s Issue #13. I stuffed one in my back pocket and thought nothing of it.

Last Night I was approaching NyQuil induced delirium, and decided to take a look at the magazine. Builder told me to take a look at the James Murphy interview done by Arye Dworken because Murphy made mention to the Mercury Lounge. Not being one to read much of anything, I skimmed through Murphy’s portion of the Q & A in search of my favorite club’s name. After some time (I read at a 2nd grade level), I stumbled upon Murphy’s rant:

“By nature, I’m a fucking drummer, I wasn’t supposed to be a lead singer – but I believe in what I’m doing. The bands you check out at the Mercury Lounge, they don’t believe in what they’re doing. They’re a product. An ironic band from the ‘70s has so much more sincerity than Dashboard fucking Confessional.”

This statement automatically set me against the front man for LCD Soundsystem. Here he is belittling all the talent that takes the stage, and yet he mentions Dashboard Confessional. Why didn’t Murphy have the balls to call out some other NYC shit that flows through the club on a regular basis? Was he avoiding conflict? This prompted me to check out the portion of the interview titled, How to Keep Your Fucking Edge: a collection by James Murphy. He name checks The Fall and Public Image Ltd. (this selection prompted me to pull that record out of my annex bin in the hopes of giving it another chance), but he also throws in The Strokes and The Rapture. Aren’t these two bands that owe a lot of their success to the great bills they were added to at the Mercury Lounge early in their careers? This contradiction peaked my interest in the interview.

Then I read the first sentence of the lead, ”James Murphy is a man of contradiction.”. Hell’s yes! I couldn’t agree more. Murphy doesn’t know if he is coming or going. He can’t decide if he wants to mow down a dance floor or make them shake their asses like its 1981. Murphy wants the spotlight. He wants to hit the mainstream, but it will be on his terms. He wants to make big dollars, but he won’t be using burning star power to get there. After reading this interview, I couldn’t help but think that without trying, Murphy places himself in perfect NYC circa 2004 context. He embodies all the characteristics of every hipster you’ve ever met, (definitely including myself). All his bases are covered. Murphy creates this impenetrable critique bubble around him and the scene he is desperately trying to renovate.

On my walk into the office, I decided to give my LCD Soundsystem tracks a spin on the Ipod. They simply blow me away. I started with their last single, Yeah which is a dance track that swings you buy the nuts without breaking a sweat. Then I gave Losing My Edge a listen and it knocked my socks off. When we are older, we will look back these formidable years and realize James Murphy is the man. Could he leave a legacy like Bowie behind? This kid sure hopes so.

Murphy takes a piss on everything, but while it’s still soaked he consumes it. He walks a thin line, and at this point in time, he is the only person who knows were its location. Murphy is everything I try to be, and everything I can’t be.

Now I'm awaiting my lunch hour. My plan is to stop by Other Music with my sights set on the new DFA produced singles by J.O.Y. and Pixelton. If you have opinions on these, drop them in the comments box. Don't let me waste my money though it does feel like whatever you might have to say, won't really matter.

And I Stumble And Fall.
Live music is my bitch. After this weekend, I don’t want to hear a damn thing about CMJ because it will be a mess. The past few days have been a warm up to the looming festival, but thankfully my schedule will be hampered by various shifts at Webster Hall. Don’t get me wrong, CMJ is great, but the hectic few days run most of us ragged. I’ll be checking one show each day following my work at the door. Thursday through Sunday was a miniature festival of sorts that involved tons of beers and some pretty solid rock.

Round 1: The Big Sleep @ Mercury Lounge.

This might get said a lot, but Jay Belin has a new favorite local band. The Big Sleep blew Kyle, Beach and I away Thursday night at the Merc. We unassumingly rolled into the club hoping to throw down a few cheap beverages prior to cruising down to the Knit. We had no idea what kind of psyche drenched noise assault we were in for. They were honestly fantastic. As we made way to the back room, The Big Sleep were luring onlookers with a quiet keys driven number before blowing the crowd away Back to the Future style with big blues hooks and a rhythm section that aimed to destroy. My ears bleed with joy. It was the loudest rock I’ve heard since Sin-e, but the difference was this time it was warranted. Though I’m not the biggest Mogwai fan, if you dig that style, you will love The Big Sleep. They have that edge with less metal and more slide guitar and peddle work that will keep your head nodding in nervous anticipation for the coming bridge. Do yourself a huge favor; buy some earplugs and see The Big Sleep.

Round 2: Bloc Party @ Knitting Factory.

We met with D. and her friend Kara after the show. We hopped cabs and made way for Leonard Street. I’m definitely not a fan of the Knit, but the promise of Car Bombs and PBR were getting me excited. After a bit of a wait in line we made it to the front room bar to get nice a liquored up for Bloc Party’s first NYC show. We ran into numerous kids looking to get a taste of this previously forbidden fruit. A few months ago I was lucky enough to score a rough cut of their EP which included a solid remix of Banquet. That record along with the countless viewings of the Little Thoughts video had me so revved up for this gig. Unfortunately I was let down. While I’ve read reports that Bloc Party impressed, my opinion is they delivered less than expected. Yes, they are young, and in time they will probably perfect their sound, but the mix at the Knit didn’t help much. There are all the obvious reference points to make, but you can read that somewhere else. Hopefully their set was better on Saturday night, but after Thursday night there was no way you could find me in line at the Tribeca Grand Hotel. Maybe when they stop back in the New Year I’ll be pleasantly surprised.

By the end of their set, I was a mess, and if a certain someone reads this, I apologize for being such a “cranky McGee.”

Round 3: The Bahamas @ Luna Lounge.

My Friday night was spent sitting around 186 waiting for Trevor to show up. Around 8:30pm I received a distressing phone call. Trevor’s car broke down a half hour away from Clearfield, and he couldn’t get it towed and fixed until the morning. Therefore my weekend had a bit of a black cloud hanging over it. Fortunately, Mike Roth decided to take a vacation from his Brooklyn apartment in order to sleep on our couch and party with the BHC all weekend. He showed up along with some other kids who were pumped to see our friends play.

With a belly full of my new favorite crack, we strolled to the Luna Lounge for Bahamas rock. Like the last show, this one felt like a reunion of sorts. It was great to see everyone out supporting our friends. The Bahamas set wasn’t one of their best, but they always deliver a good time. There were some technical difficulties that prevented them from reaching full steam, but the new songs continue to impress me. They are taking their time composing the new tracks, and it certainly shows. Throw in tons of self-deprecating remarks from Dan, a Rolling Stones cover and Nick’s onstage demeanor made it a great night.

Following the show we decided to move the party to The Hanger which if you don’t know used to be Plant Bar. Kara, D. and I brought up the rear and walked into an instant boozer. The Hanger has $2 PBRs and Old English which make for a party. Unfortunately the bartender was a bit unpleasant, and by unpleasant I mean she was a dick to most of us. We were pumping that place full of cash, but she persisted to give most of us shit. What’s up with that? Luckily it didn’t hamper the good time and the dude who was playing records brought the hits, (i.e. Jawbreaker’s Boxcar. They shut us down early because we nearly drank the bar dry. After Mike and I walked some people home, we returned to 186 and were surprised that the party had moved to my apartment. An hour later I was passed out on a milk crate in Kyle’s room while he tried to show me how to make beats in his studio.

Round 4: Hobo Fights @ Clinton Street Bakery.

Why the fuck does all the crazies live in the Lower East Side. Ok, maybe they don’t live in the neighborhood, but they seem to find me when I walk out the door. I guess you could say I’m a hobo magnet. Let me explain. Mike, Builder and I arrived at Clinton Street Bakery and were hit with a 30 minute wait. It didn’t really matter because part of the lure of Clinton is the front stoop hang with some serious anticipation of coffee and grub. While sitting there we noticed some dude getting in the face of a girl who was waiting. We thought they were together so we paid him no mind. Then the magnet kicked in and dude was standing in front of me trying to shake my hand. Being slightly germ phobic, I tried to avoid touching this guy which prompted him to explain to me that I should take the peace because I don’t want the flipside. I asked him to leave us alone so he got in my face and told me he would drag me out into the street and kill me. I asked him if that was a threat and a second before conflict ensued, the hostess came out and said she was going to call the cops.

Bring on the second hobo who was actually a nice guy besides being completely cracked out. He told us he spent 22 of his 36 years locked up, but now he is out and he just wants to play country rock music. He also informed us that, “He doesn’t care if you are a fag. I’ve slept with guys. Sometimes you just want to put a bra on your head and wear a g-string while walking past the Hell’s Angels.” Hobo number two also told us that he used to run guns for the Spanish mafia and one day he walked through Englewood butt naked. Oh yeah, he was also scouted by the Dodgers because he never batted under .400. This guy was a peach. He told us he would bust up aggressive hobo if he came back. When agro hobo came back down, he immediately walked up to him. We didn’t hear the conversation, but they ended up leaving together. You can’t make this shit up.

Round 5: Conan O’Brien and The Black Keys @ Bowery Ballroom.

After a solid meal and some more Sparks, Mike, Builder and I stopped by the Mercury Lounge to grab Beach before walking down to the Bowery. We walked in and were startled by the set up for the New Yorker Festival. Seeing the ballroom full of chairs gives you a different perspective on its size. In any event we made way to the balcony where Merida was tending the bar. Um, if you don’t know Merida, she is the gorgeous bartender who is sweeter than raw sugar. She took excellent care of us throughout the evening.

Conan O'Brien was piss your pants funny. Though the interviewer was on the terrible side of the spectrum, Conan’s hilarious banter kept the crowd in stitches. He told stories of being a huge Beatles fan, parenthood and some of the various blunders that make for “talk show gold.” The intertwined various clips from his shows along with a clip from a pilot he developed back in the 80’s that never saw the light of day. It starred Adam West as a has been actor and the stories surrounding the production (i.e. Adam West’s car show appearances) were great. After the interview the audience was invited to ask questions. Having a bit of liquid courage built up, I went downstairs and took the microphone for the last question. My nerves were out of control and you could tell in my shaky voice. I’m no good when talking with my comedic idols, but I managed to spit out a question regarding his opinion on the latest Simpson’s episodes. Conan was diplomatic in his answer, but just making 3 minutes of eye contact with that man made my evening.

After the room cleared we had to help the club get set for the Black Keys show. It was just a matter of stacking all the chairs against the wall so the floor would be cleared. It took us a matter of 10 minutes and we were rewarded with a barrage of drinks in the basement bar. While we waited Miriam, Christie and Daylen came through and we had a nice crew assembled for the huge rock show that was to come. The Cuts were first up, and though I feel for their record last summer, their live show was a bit of a snooze. We ended up standing the balcony taking shots before Beach and I pull a successful Culkin on Mike. It was his first time going down, but it seemed to be a great precursor to the shitfest that was on its way.

About an hour or 3 shots later, we were downstairs getting pumped for The Black Keys. This rubber city duo produce seriously fuzzed out rock that recalls the goodness of delta blues and references Hendrix like it’s their job. Wait, you say you don’t like The Black Keys? Well my friend, you need to check them out live and then try to explain it to me. They were unbelievable despite their claim to be under the weather. They ripped through so many solid jams. It felt like every time one of their big jams made it through the speakers, we were running upstairs for a shot. By the time their set was over, we were covered in beer and ear-to-ear smiles. We may have been the only people dancing in the room, but we certainly represented BHC style.

During the encore Mike and Builder grabbed me by the shoulders and used me as a battering ram to get to the front of the stage. We must have invaded some jackass’ personal space because he tried to start shit with us. This I can’t understand. It’s a general admission rock show. Deal with it fucker. And if you aren’t going to shake your ass, get the fuck out of our way. Mike screamed, “Shut up fuck, I booked this band,” which seemed to shut him up. Thank god the dude couldn’t do on the spot fact checking. After the show we found ourselves wrestling in the streets and running from cop cars. Mike also took it upon himself to try and fire up as many car alarms as possible. When I say rare form, I definitely mean it. He was an all-star.

Round 6: Franz Ferdinand @ Roseland Ballroom

Sunday was a nice day for me to get reacquainted with my couch. Friends kept calling me to explain how I was wasting a fabulous day, but it didn’t matter because I had football and a blanket. Christie and Sam stopped by to keep me company for a bit, but for the most part, I sat in the dark watching my Jets go 3-0 until the early evening. I had to pop by Dana’s apartment for a quick hang to pick up the tickets. If you read this Dana, thanks so much for the tickets, you are top of the pops.

As the evening progressed, Hawkins, Daylen and Beach stopped by 186 as we gathered for a seldom trip above 14th Street. We hit the street and linked up with Christie who was also part of this evening’s crew. Since the F was not running uptown we decided to split cabs up to the club. We met up with Christina out front and made our way to the mezzanine level for a bird’s eye view of the Scottish wonder-lads. Seeing a show from the second level kicks the floor square in the balls. It’s so much easier to enjoy a band when you have tons of room and easy access to bevvies. Luckily Hawkins was throwing his credit card around like a mad man, so we got the hook up. The poor kid was a mess by the time we hit the subway. He was so hilarious, but in desperate need of a Culkin. Unfortunately he caught on before Beach had a chance to push, and the Culkin was registered as unsuccessful.

Oh, and as for the band, Franz delivered another fantastic set. Though their first track sounded like garbage, the sound guy quickly tweaked the levels and made my heart stop. They played my favorites, Michael and Matinee along with the hits like Darts of Pleasure and Take Me Out. The latter got the crowd so fired up. Naturally Alex’s shirt was nearly off by the time their set ended, but they did come out to grace us with an encore. They also played Sofia from one of their early Ep’s which sounded great. Franz’s dominance will continue if they successfully pull off their work with Dan the Automator. Bravo Franz. You rock.

We hit the subway home, and I couldn’t help but think I’m one of the luckiest kids around. Round 6 was definitely the knock out punch. Thanks goes out to all those who helped make this weekend one of the best. Also thanks goes out to anyone who made it through this entire post. It was a marathon.

Why? Cause I'm Not Funny.
So there is heapes to discuss, but right now my motor skills are what some might call below average. In an effort to not dissappoint (more than usual), I'm offering an email Mr. Sweet wrote me this weekend. Do you know Whitney? Well, he is one of my best pals who recently moved from Washington D.C. out to Oregon in the hopes of setting himself up in Portland. If we were gay, we'd be boyfriends, but since we aren't we just cuddle and talk about girls. Though I'll miss him dearly, Portland is definitely Whitness country. Hopefully I can make it out to visit in time for the new year, but God only knows. Anyway, enjoy this nugget which is sure to be the first of many, (Mom, don't read this):

Jay-

Yes, you can finally rest. I made it home to Oregon safely. Thanks for the concern dickwad. Anyways I've been here for a week and I think I've already gained about 8 pounds through my sloth and increased eating. I don't really have much to do so I have begun making salad dressings from scratch. My blue cheese is seriously to die for. It’s a bit sweeter than most blue cheeses and so your nose doesn't get hurt with those strong cheese odors. I make it sweet with more sugar than most people use and because my last name is Sweet.

So anyways, I have this picture I am going send to you of you as soon as I figure out how to properly hook up my Mac to my step mom's god damn modem thing. Seriously it shouldn't be that hard for someone mildly computer savvy like me. Computers are really like vaginas for me, for most basic purposes I can get the job done (you know just sticking my dick in and moving it around) and I can even do a few more advanced things (finding the clit and getting a little loose with it) but if I have to like configure shit or due custom installations (tricky g-spot stuff that can make girls pass out from intense orgasms) I tend to give up. Anyways, that was kind of gross but I've been getting a bit east coast, home away from home sick that I just write random e-mails to just letting it ride. But yes, this picture. You will have to put it on your blog or something because it’s so adorable. It’s cuter than those two fag penguins that adopted another baby penguin. On the blog topic, with all my free time I am going to start keeping more up to date on reading your blog and keeping tabs on you. Also, I already posted one comment and you can expect some more. So deal with it dicktard.

So yeah, I'm sure the east coast sucks without me, but those are the breaks. There's no fucking rules, dude. I really want to come out and visit soon and may start looking for cheap airfare soon. I don't know, I am going to LA either this month or the next so I'll have to see how that treats the old wallet. Also, I need to save for my move to Portland. I've saved a bit of loot and on top of that my old man is going to help me with the down payment on my own place in Portland. How fucking rad is that? No more years of renting with nothing to show.

The Whitness is moving on up. Bitch.

Full weekend recap is coming soon, but in case you want a hint... read this.

I’m Not Cool Enough To Live Here.
Right now… At this very instant… Fuck Everything! I want to dive into a tyrannical tirade about how NYC is fucking with me, but your lives will be spared. Instead, I’m going to tell you this; I missed the debate. Yes, me. Little ole me. I missed one of the most important political discussions in our race to reclaim the White House. Are there any assholes out there who want to get self-righteous on me? If so, see the comments section below. Since I’m taking a half day, the debate will be downloaded and viewed by me around 3pm today. My co-worker did tell me that Kerry did well, and he has big thumbs. To follow up, she just said they are also pointy, but she will make her decision based on the candidate with the best thumbs.

On to more, “I’ve got a snake in me trousers,” news. Tonight my good buddies, The Bahamas, are playing a set at the Luna Lounge. Who the fuck is The Bahamas? Well, I’m glad you asked. Over five years ago, I rolled up to NYC not knowing a soul. After a few weeks of hanging out with a hippy chick, I realized this wasn’t going to cut it in the social department. The hippy chick scored a couple of Yankees tickets, but like most hippy chicks, she wasn’t interested so she offered them to me. Who the fuck could I ask? I’d been living in the city for two weeks and only knew one person. The hippy chick decided to set me up on a blind date with a kid in her art class. Karl and I became instant friends as we rode up to the stadium, smoked cigarettes and left early to get drunk. Later that evening he introduced me to his roommate, Dan Rosato. Dan was the fucking man. Dan and Karl were louder than me, funnier than me and just an all around nice chaps. We’ve been pals ever since. Dan is a quarter of the awesome that makes up The Bahamas.

My life back at the dorm was a boring one. My roommate was a herb, my best hippy chick friend had a boyfriend and I didn’t have the capacity to role with the NYC kids who lived down the hall. In stepped Louis Miller. Mr. Miller and I often sat at opposite ends of the Weinstein stoop oblivious to the others existence. He would wear his red Minor Threat t-shirt and smoke cigarettes like it was his job while I pretended to read while looking at girls. It was only natural that we would meet one night through our mutual California girlfriends Megan and Joy. They were making way to the most horrid of freshmen hangouts, Bleeker Street, while I planned to pack to drink a forty by myself while abusing our Ethernet connection in search of free porn. If I remember correctly Louis and I had been sitting closer this evening watching the parade of delusion (props to Mr. Cross) that was an NYU freshman dorm on a Thursday night. As the girls rolled out of Weinstein they stopped, introduced us and went on their marry way. Louis and I promptly got stoned and played video games. College was fucking sweet. Louis is a quarter of the awesome that makes up The Bahamas.

Later that year I was in stuck in a vicious routine of getting done with class, meeting Dan at Ando and Dilly’s place in Hayden, smoking our brains out and hitting the cafeteria in search of a decent meal. If you are wondering, NYU’s food still makes me want to puke, and though it doesn’t take much to make me puke, I want you to believe this. Anyway, one evening our vigorous Bond schedule was interrupted by some kid who went to high school with Dan. This kid is Kevin Smith. Mr. Smith had a serious passion for anything involving competition. This might be why we spent so many nights smoking, drinking whiskey and playing Risk. Yeah, I’m a fucking dork, but those were some of the best nights of my life. Kevin is a quarter of the awesome that makes up The Bahamas.

Fast forward a couple years and various costume changes. If you were in our crew or knew anything about it, we spent a lot of time at a bar on St. Marks Place called Grass Root. They treated us like royalty over there and even though we had many jackass tendencies and friends, they never gave us much trouble. The straw that broke the camels back came in the form of a broken ankle, but we’ll save that for later. Anyway, one evening we were getting rowdy at the Root, probably after a Kick show at the Continental, and Dan introduced me to another high school friend, Nick Albano (sorry if I misspelled your last name) aka Professor Nicky Beats. Nick had a stern demeanor to him, but our love for various things (family, Yankees, making out with college girls) served as common ground for a solid friendship. One thing I’ll never forget about Beats; never let him eat roast beef on a long car ride. I learned this the hard way. Nicky Beats is a quarter of the awesome that makes up The Bahamas.

Fast forward to the present. The Bahamas have been playing for nearly three years. A couple years ago I attempted to act as their wet behind the ears manager. What did I know about the music business? About as much as I know now, meaning nothing. I did believe in the music and the kids who were making it. My love for this band stems not only from the tunes they’ve created and my bonds with the boys, but also because we were all in it together. A growing process is a whole lot easier when it’s shared between five friends. We made more mistakes than successes, but looking back on it, there isn’t much I would want to change. As a whole, those four kids and the moments we shared are 100% of the awesome that makes up The Bahamas.

This time wasting activity was not done in vain. Tonight The Bahamas are going to bring the rock. At their first show in over a year, they graced us with a new sound. Something more developed. A sound that wasn’t rushed. A sound that was crafted over late nights and ashtrays full of butts. Tonight we once again get the chance to hear the fruits of our friends’ labors. I can’t fucking wait.

And don’t forget to make out with the bald kid I’ll have with me. His name is Trevor and he needs your love. Check out the details:

The Bahamas
@ The Luna Lounge
(Ludlow btwn Houston & Stanton)
FREE / 21+ / 10:30pm