Bowery Matzoballroom Blitz!

Vanessa Hidary & Yuri Lane/The LeeVees//Bowery Ballroom//12/26/05

This was a real nailbiter--last Wednesday my sister said she wouldn't mind having the baby on Monday so she can do the holidays, and I was biting back the "Uh...that doesn't really work for me." If she'd had it on Monday, not even a "But I'll be on the Lower East Side--Delancey Street!--with two nice Jewish boys!" would've helped. I knew it was risky, but there I was the day the tix went onsale. Dave Zamboni's gonna be onstage at The Bowery Ballroom! I can't believe The LeeVees are on JDub/Reprise, open for the Barenaked Ladies, and get written up in The Onion and the Zambonis can only get a rekkid deal in Canada, but I guess this is how the world works. Or at least the music world.

On the F down, that homeless woman with the Nat Sherman bag was back, this time with a bag from Saks 5th Avenue. The Bergdorf Bum. The teens across from me had no sympathy for her because she claimed to be in a shelter. "That's not homeless. Am I right?" When she came over to me, the guy next to me said, "I've seen you working this train for years and years and years. At least since we had off from work I was able to get there later than my usual going there straight from work. There was gelt and dreidels on the tables downstairs at the Bowery Ballroom. This is a brilliant idea, for when we're sitting around waiting for doors to open. We should have dreidels all the time. And just think, Jews in The Bowery Ballroom! I mean I'm sure there are other Jews who go to shows there besides me, but this time we'll be out in full force. So, yeah, I don't know what this whole "War on Xmas" thing is all about. If anything, there's a War on Hanukkah. I was amazed that there was a whole display at Babies R Us for babies' 1st Thanksgiving and babies' 1st Xmas, but not one thing for Hanukkah. OyToys.com to the rescue.

Jon "GoyBoy" Aley was on hand because Adam "Guster" Gardner had to miss the gig due to a death in the family. For the 1st about hour, 45 there was a DJ playing klezmer-type stuff nonstop, me thinking, Y'know, Joey Ramone was Jewish. Iggy Pop is Jewish. Even Kevin yelled for them to lower it. He lent me his issue of Spin (The Killers are "Band of the Year." How did their one song go again? It's at the tip of my brain.) "I've never been to a menorah lighting before. This is gonna be awesome!" And then he walks away, coughing. He comes back and asks, "Would you give me the Heimlich?" I assume he's kidding, because he then says, "Your name's Heather, right?" I thought we'd established that enough over the many years I've been going To The Bowery Ballroom, so I say, "Yeah, same as your daughter." He keeps coughing and I keep reading the magazine. "Do you know the Heimlich Maneuver?" Kevin asks. I say no a bit too forcefully because I'm afraid I'll really have to try it. Kevin stands with his back to me and I say that I'll try it if I have to. He pounds his chest and something flies out of his mouth.

Yuri Lane came out and did some Hebrew-tinged beatboxing and Vanessa Hidary recited a spoken word piece about being at a bar and a guy asked her out for the following week. She had to decline because it was the first night of Yom Kippur and she was fasting. To which the guy said, "Funny, you don't look Jewish." The next one was about losing her heart to a guy even though he told her he was heading to Peru soon. What caused this momentary lapse in judgement? Get this: "He fucked me like Brooklyn." Whoa! The menorah scared me a little, not because they were missing the shamas, but the candles were stuck in kinda precariously. One was taped together in the middle and the candles were lit and dedicated by members of different organizations.

Of course there was not one Hanukkah song at The Beat Goes On Rock & Glitter Xmas show (Rock Of Ages, Rock & Glitter--no?) but perhaps a song from Hanukkah Rocks! will make it one year. Dave "Zamboni" Schneider has 14 years' experience writing on a theme but even more as a Jew. Applesauce Vs. Sour Cream covers that important dilemma of how to top a latke, with a shoutout to the lactose intolerant. (An informal audience poll declared applesauce the winner, only 1 for ketchup.) When on tour with the Barenaked Ladies they had to explain dreidle song Nun Gimmel Hey Shin but not in Jew York City. Dave's mom has a cameo on the album version of At The Timeshare in the form of a phone call to Dave as she goes on about the act that's "the big to-do" at the clubhouse at the timeshare down in Florida, but Dave had to play his mom during the show. A Jewish guy....pretending to be his mother.....and having a conversation with himself? Didn't stuff like this land Portnoy on the couch? He was afraid the song was stereotypical, but we never did the timeshare thing. We only went for the sales pitch, which was our vacation, and the free stuff we got for sitting through it. How's that for a stereotype? (I wish I were kidding but I'm not.) There was an impromptu ode to Jon, the token goy in The LeeVees, Ochos Kandelikas, and a salute to their fave NYC Jew, Jeff Hyman, with Gelt Melts. And the other big debate: How Do You Spell Hanukkah? (I like Julio's guess that it starts with a silent J. I think we should start this. I always left off the C because kids used to pronounce the Ch and jokingly start hocking lugies when I tried to explain the right way. Of course spelling Hannukkah with a J doesn't solve the N/K issue, but it's a start.) And why does an album of Hannukkah songs feature so many about food? Seriously. Not just latkes, matzoh balls, and gelt, but delis and Kugel--the song--and there were boxes of jelly donuts on hand. But unlike The LeeVees, who got 6 pairs of socks from each of their moms for Hanukkah while their Goyim Friends had iPods on their gift lists, I got one pair of socks. And yes, they're Hanukkah sox. Jews in The Bowery Ballroom, and Jews onstage at The Bowery Ballroom!

The Metrocard machine still wouldn't take my credit card. Holiday bonus my ass, do I look like I have $76 in cash lying around? So I had to buy yet another single ride. Didn't they get enough out of me with the strike tickets? Written on the TCI poster in the subway: MTA=Crooks Inc. We strike on Friday. Contract or death. National Socialists of TA.

Back at my station a reroute poster catches my eye. It's primarily blank. This is all it says: No diversions scheduled. You mean that diversions are so expected that they have to announce that there aren't any? I think we should have lots of diversions. Just fewer subway reroutes.

It's All About Theo

Indie Music Video Festival feat. Theo and the Skyscrapers//Pianos//12/9/05

FINALLY got to see Theo, kept missing her earlier on in the year. I was tempted to buy a ticket just to make sure that I'd get in but mostly so that I won't be tempted to make other plans or stay in and catch up on writing. I thought she was going on @ 9:30, so of course I got there early. So it's a good thing I didn't spend the extra $$$ on the s/h thru Ticketweb. I get there and the woman at the door said she wasn't selling tix until 8. What tix? There are no tix to sell at the door. She also had the ballots so we could pick the Indie Music Video Festival's "best of the fest"--except she was cutting them up and only gave me the ballot for Part 2, which started at midnite, or after Theo's set. It said Part 1 on one half, 2 on the other. So she separates them and stacks them all in one pile. Can't she fucking read? Another botched election. Of course I then had to sit there bored and hoping not to get sent back outside where it was crowded and no place to sit for an hour while I watched Theo and the band eat dinner.

The video part went like this: Music videos one after another, only broken up by the credits page/screen. This is how MTV should be. I thought there was gonna be some stupid host/MC/"VJ"/stand-up comedian but no. I haven't seen a video in ages, and we're supposed to judge videos, not bands. I could provide reports and dissertations on each video and what sucked about some of them, but I have enought shit to write, old and new. So the standouts from Part 1 were: Canoe--C'mon. Song/band didn't really grab me but the video (photo) collages which made up the band members as they played is fun. Billy & The Lost Boys is a Canadian band that's actually fronted by a cute, perky girl and they played frenetic powerpop. You can't go wrong with the live show vid, especially one that's got sped-up images of the crowd paying the cover, getting their hands stamped, rocking out, etc. It was perfect for their song You Get What Everyone Gets. The Vandals' I Am Crushed opened with a shot of a one-armed action figure on the roof of a house and then told the story. A little boy gets it for his bday but it's got an X on its chest, not to mention a skull for a face and horns. The GI Joe-type action figures are supposed to fight it--their packaging is marked Hero and the skull-faced one is Villian. The boys immediately stage battles and Skull Guy tries to hide from them thru the whole video. The video ends with Skull Guy falling off the roof of the house. Needless to say I almost cried. Somebody else applauded at the end. I was beginning to think that all these videos were from rock bands, but Pete Miser's haunting Scent Of A Robot is a rap song about a robot who accidentally learns the crushing truth about himself--"I'm a robot programmed not to know that I'm a robot," but while at work someone mistakenly emails him his program code. Now he has to tell his wife and daughter the truth. At work, his boss is very sympathetic as Miser morphs into a sketch of a robot and back, telling him that he's a valued employee and he wants him around. Take some time off--or is it about an office drone coming to terms with the crushing truth of the robotic nature of his daily routine? Chilling. The video for Smoosh's La Pump blends Claymation with live-action shots of the preteen gals in action.

Theo & the Skyscrapers went on about midnite. I was never into the Lunachicks or even the Toilet Boys, whose Sean Pierce is the guitarist for the Skyscrapers but then again, I was never into Bikini Kill yet see Le Tigre. In a weird way, I think Theo is the most like Debbie Harry than all the other female singers that get compared to her. She's such a nightclub/NYC nightlife ingenue and so I expected more people to be there but no. Their slogan is "Death To False Disco" and complete with two cabinets of seizureiffic strobes and a light box, they laid down danceable hard rock/metal. They ended at 1 and I was tempted to leave, since I'd originally thought Theo was going on earlier and I could've hit Rocky's, but The Briefs had a video in Part 2. I considered sticking around until the bitter end in case there were other cool bands to discover and do my duty to vote on good videos but I'm not crazy. Well, not that crazy. The Evaporators, from Canada, for some reason struck me as a DotDash type band based on the name, and they kinda are. When are all these great Canadian bands gonna come down here? The Real Losers are fuzzy, 60s British garage rock. The Briefs' vid for Orange Alert was kinda weird in the fact that I haven't seen a video in ages and I've only seen The Briefs--and all bands--live. It was like seeing The Briefs on MTV, something I hope never happens. As much as it would probably mean they're successful and all.

I left right after. In fact, the place pretty much cleared out after Theo so I don't know what the point of the voting is. So with Rocky's out of the question, I stopped off at Cakeshop next door.

SONYC Reducer

Han Shot First/More/Valeze/ism/Quarterslot//The Delancey//12/8/05

Once upon a time, I was handed an invite after leaving a Mooney Suzuki show. It was for a new dance/garage rock party called Satisfaction! and there was an email address to be on the guestlist for the launch nite. I thought, Isn't it a little late for this? I mean, it's the end of 2002. But I emailed them anyway and I've been on the Lo-Fi Entertainment mailing list ever since.

Satisfaction! was a bust from the first nite. It's never smart to start a dance party in the dead of winter. In addition to the DJ every week and dancing upstairs, there were bands downstairs. The first night was like a junior high dance, with boys and girls standing on opposite sides of the room staring at each other, not knowing what to do. Maybe this is what all dance parties are like until the crowd drinks enough to start dancing, I don't know. Lee, the guy running Satisfaction!, would send out an email every week with a reminder for the party and asking us to tell our friends who are in garage bands to get in touch with him to play at a future date. I was debating about whether or not to ask The Spunk Lads and almost gave them the info a few times, but something about it bothered me. Obviously I never went back to those parties after the 1st nite, but shouldn't Lee already have a slew of bands tapped to appear on one of his bills? He's the booker. I'm not going to do the work for him. (Besides, The Spunk Lads wouldn't've gotten in touch with him, anyhow.) At one point there was a band called The Fad, who I think he put together just because garage rock was the big draw at that time. Or they were just naive enough to choose Lee as a mentor/ booking agent. They weren't all that good, anyway.

Satisfaction! fell by the wayside and soon I started getting emails about Electrocity, Lee's new electroclash dance party, right around the time that electroclash started eating itself. In the meantime, I'd also get emails about his short low budget "films," which reek of Trust me, baby, I'm a director! Now, take your top off! And does anybody know anybody that can lend him a projector? Or want to be a dancer (resumes must include headshots)? Do we know anybody who's in a New Wave-y type band who wants to play Electrocity? Know any DJs? Again, why can't he figure these things out on his own? Why can't he ask the bands himself? Is it because nobody wants to deal with him? Does he have an original thought in his head?

Now he hosts gothy DJ nights and books shows @ Rare and the Pussycat. I went to one @ Rare that involved a presale racket of saving $2--but you're buying a ticket thru SmartTix, which cost $1.50. The ticket and confirmation email never arrived and I got there to find someone handing out fliers at the door for $2 off. I could've done that and really saved $2. You were supposed to get a free EP with the ticket stub, but there weren't ticket stubs and the guy at the door, cursing Lee under his breath, was ripping up emails of the transaction. Needless to say that when one of his weekly entertainment schedules went out and said he was looking for a full-time employee, I responded but didn't really want the job. Not that I think I know more than he does about the NY music scene (though I prolly do) I didn't really want the job. His latest project is SONYC (Sounds of NYC), a website dedicated to the local music scene. (See also The Deli, JellyNYC, and Oh My Rockness.) I told him that even if I wasn't right for the job I'd be happy to write for SONYC, memtioning the shows I had coming up and had just been to. He never responded. Not that I care one way or the other, but.... The problem with the Deli (the only one I've read because it's free and it was there) is that it's the handholding, backpatting journalism favored by those writing for a college newspaper. Everything's good, sounds like this band crossed with that in a back alley, that sorta stuff. I've already "interned" at a free music publication where I paid my dues (and many other people's) in the hopes of the thing getting off the ground and when it takes off I'll already have a job. Instead of writing about music or seeing any shows, I had to, among other degrading things, "take messages" from writers/advertisers who hadn't gotten paid. Yeah, valuable experience, but I did not get very far in my life. And besides, I'm not really in the position to get involved in startups now.

Still, Lee's latest show for SONYC had a half-price list if you contact him, which I did. 2 of the bands I've seen already and 1 I'd been meaning to. One of the bands that I've seen already were already featured in The Deli (again, does Lee have an original thought in his head?) and the band I was curious about already had a residency @ Sin-e. They've probably been covered by The Deli as well--I know they had an ad for the residency. But 5 bands for $4 sounded great. So I emailed him that I was interested in attending the show @ The Delancey and the $4 admission. He wrote back, Which show is this for? Can't he keep track of his lists and shows? Then again, this is probably why he was looking to hire someone full-time. Nothing like a booker who's got his head up his ass. I went there debating whether or not to bring up the fact that I sent in a resume. I get there and said "I'm on Lee's list." It was him at the door and he said, "Which band are you in?" I must've had a "what the fuck?" look on my face because he then said, "Oh, the $4 list."

Doors at 7:30, 1st band at 8, but Soundguy didn't get there til 8:45. In the meantime there was a lot of hugging going on. Han Shot First, a Star Wars reference I guess, was lost on me because I'm that one person who's not into Star Wars. So that's my fault and not the band's. What is the band's fault is their blandness and all-around suckiness. On the one hand it was nice that SONYC shows that there more to bands in NYC than studded belts, tight black pants, eyeliner, and haircuts, but this is ridiculous. They're the type of band that you'd expect to hear in like Bahama Mama's on Washington St. Yeah they suck but at least they're not a cover band--though they sounded like a jam band. "I'm the guy you always pass by," they announce in Invisible Man. "When did I become the invisible man?" Uh, when you got onstage. The singer was in a knit beanie, guitar player sporting a Kangol and shirt unbuttoned to show off chest hair, the gal on bass looking like she'd just picked it up for the first time that nite. All it took was one look and it was obvious that they were not going to rock your world, let alone rock in general. They dedicated Prayer to survivors of Hurricane Katrina--"It's a long way to heaven when you're living in hell" and it ended with "It's a long way to heaven when you're in the bottom of a well." What does the baby who was trapped in a well have to do w/Hurricane Katrina? They ended w/Father Christmas, y'know, "Father Christmas bring us some money, save your toys for the little rich boys." Rocked it because they didn't write it.

When More 1st got onstage I thought they were a punk(ish) band and probably not a good one at that. The guitar player had bleached hair and the bass player a studded belt, eyeliner, safety pins up the sides of his T, and black nail polish. Then their lead singer got onstage. They're a rock band and not a good one at that. The singer just takes being in a band too seriously. His T-shirt is molded to his buff chest and he's in motorcycle boots. His stance is straight out of Rockstar 101: Grip the mic with both hands, foot on the monitor, arm around your bandmates. I just don't like him. It's the type of rock for people whose idea of dressing casually is designer jeans. He dedicates a song to Alanis Morrisette: a cover of Seal's Crazy. The huggers come up front and start dancing. Toward the end of their set, a guy dressed all gangsta comes forward, yelling that the singer is such a rockstar. I can't tell if he thinks this is a compliment or not, but then starts singing along. When Valeze starts setting up, he actually says, Is she the singer? No way!

Valeze had one huge problem from the start. Lead singer Tiffany was wearing ugly red moon boots with Airwalk on the straps in white lettering. Even if the brand name wasn't advertised so prominently, it's still a problem. Tiffany is a petite woman who weighs like 85 lbs. and these fugly boots look like they weigh more than she does. They look like orthopedic boots. She's dressed in a Spandex skirt that's one sneeze away from total disclosure, a white racing jacket, and a black bra. What would possess her to put on these ugly boots? They're distracting. It doesn't really matter since there's not much there. This is the hazard of reading a free music magazine. They sounded interesting on paper. New Wave-y, clubby, synthy stuff. I liked them when I saw them in April because at least there was more of a crowd who was into them. Though I can't remember if the guys in the band had coordinated, ripped and safety pinned blazers the last time. Tiffany and the band has been compared to Debbie Harry and Blondie but that's not even close. Valeze is all image and look over substance, with Tiffany letting her sexuality do the talking because the music says nothing. First time I saw them I couldn't stand her cloying slithering, writhing, but I guess her boots are holding her back. Searching To Destroy never really finds what its target. Valeze wants to seduce you but all they do is flirt shamelessly.

With the late start and being pulled into a ^ all night, I was getting bored by the time ism rolled around. They're more like the typical NYC sound and nothing special. Probably younger than me. By the time Quarterslot rolled around I'd been at the Delancey for 5 hours and my back was killing me, I was bored, tired, and I had to go home and in to work the next morning. If you're ever seeing a show that Quartslot's playing and you're not there to see them, you should totally stick around because Heidi brings fresh-baked brownies. Unless you can't have chocolate, in which case never mind. You can smell the band when they get there--in a good way. This time around Heidi was wearing a Dorothy getup complete with red glitter pumps and she vamped her way through their torchy ballads (Lonely Girl). If there were ever a woman who would be named Heidi, it's Quarterslot and the Good Vibrations' limber-limbed vixen stalking around, unbuttoning her guitar player's shirt, standing on the drumkit in heels, and laying across monitors. If I'd booked the show I wouldn't've put them and Valeze on the same bill, even though ism was in there to break it up. Too similar, even though Valeze isn't good and Quarterslot is. Tiffany was there watching, perhaps taking notes. After Heidi doused us with her bottled water, she was sliding around so someone brought napkins from the bar and started mopping the floor. "I'm the only one who should be on all fours, here!" Heidi scolded. On all fours, ass in the air, she said, "Women don't save that for marriage anymore!"

A way too late nite for bands like those. I was so expecting an F train reroute when I got to Delancey but no. I got in about 3. I was half-expecting an angry message from my mom that my sister had the baby and where the hell am I, irresponsible, what-have-you. Yeah, Lee probably knew what he was doing when he never replied to my resume.

Saturday Night Five

Loafass/Tuff Jeff Salen/Threads/The Waldos//Continental//12/17/05

The Plungers were at Magnetic Field, but the site said 8pm and there was only 1 other band listed. In a perfect world the bands would start at 8:30 and I'd be able to see The Plungers and get back in time for Threads and The Waldos, but I had a feeling it was doors at 8, bands whenever the hell they felt like it. I could've called the club, of course, but I never do that. I figured I could either run to Atlantic Ave. and spend $5 to see 2 bands or run to Astor Place and spend $5 to see 2 bands.

I chose correctly because when I got there at 10 to 10 the 9:30 band was first setting up. Way to max out my $5. And Matt was there in a Loafass shirt, so it was probably gonna be good. I couldn't believe how empty the place was, though. Shedded tinsel littered the floor and I wondered for a moment if I missed the party, but it was decorating that annoying Lisa Lightning chick's skirt, arms, neck, and hair. As Loafass continued to set up, I gave Matt the update on the band name dilemma Turner, Paz, & Co. are facing and we came up with some better band names than they've come up with. Both of ours have the word monkey in it. And both are Simpsons references. Hey! But Matt settled it once and for all: "The Spunk Lads!"
"I know!"

Fish, singer for Loafass, soundchecking the bass player's mic: "Can you hear the one with boobies?" Fish, making an entrance, in order to start Loafass's set: He runs all the way from the back of the bar and takes the stage in one smooth jump. Loafass's ballsy punk and roll is the perfect backdrop for Fish's effervescent personality, which made songs about "waking up happy"--Big Dick Day--go over well and had even me relating. Any band this guy is in cannot suck. Taking advantage of the empty floor was a guy calling himself Piss whose staggering mosh made him look like a pinball as he charged repeatedly into Matt's arm which served as the flipper, sending him careening off again, sometimes into me. And he'd already sent me running.

Matt was gonna go get drunk with Loafass at CBs. He still has his GMT pin on his coat and I pointed to it. He debated taking it off but he still likes them even though they don't exist anymore. "When KISS took the makeup off they still called themselves KISS. I can understand if they felt stifled by the shtick--"
"And if they weren't happy, they weren't happy and had to break up and I have to accept that, but they were never a shtick band. Seeing them, you'd never know. How many people have even seen The Spunk Lads, aside from us? (Us, of course, meaning the crew, not just 2 people, though sometimes of course there were just 2 people at the gig.) They should just call themselves The Spunk Lads and start again but without the accents. Nobody would know."

There was still pretty much nobody there; the people at the tables stayed where they were as Tuff Jeff Salen took the stage. "We have a new album out that's #9 in Boston, so God bless Boston!" Jeff said by way of introduction. What a way to make a 1st impression. It pretty much went downhill from there. Matt left and I didn't blame him. It was pretty painful. Their sax player was a really annoying guy who sang some of the lead vocals and who had a tendency to ham it up and put his arm around Jeff and hug him. And what is it with middle-age sax players and their leather pants? To match the silver brocade blazer, in this case. And Jeff's shirt had guitars embroidered on the front. Their rock and roll clothes, and lame-ass at that. They did Slash, from Live @ CBGB 1975. A Dolls cover, Don't Start Me Talkin'. And the long-ass song titles were written out in their entirety. Who the hell does this? Shorthand. In the sax player's hands, Your Love Is Like Nuclear Waste somehow became Your Love Is Like A Nuclear Waste. Or maybe it was A-Nuclear Waste, as the sax player also had a tendency to add flourishes like "Wooo!s," "Wooo yeah!s," "Oh yeah!s," and "Woo boy!" In addition to tonguing the mic and bumping knuckles with his meal ticket's--I mean,Jeff's--face. I couldn't sing along. Jeff thanked us for coming out with "the strike and everything." Uh...what strike? Another reason I was hoping everything would be resolved was because I really wanted to go to the show and had been looking forward to it for the longest. Or at least since the sched was posted. He also thanked his daughter's friends' parents for making it out. Lisa Lightening staggered/danced about drunkenly in her getup. Your set was 2 bands ago. Change, already. When it was announced that they had 1 more left they still had 5 more to do and Jeff said they were going to do 2 and ended with All For The Love Of Rock & Roll. What was it that the Press said about the Tuff Darts' reunion? It's like finding out your parents still have sex. Nice to know that they do it but you don't want to see it. Something like that. This is exactly what Tuff Jeff Salen is like.

After the set the sax player came up to me and asked me for my card. I tell him I don't have one and he says he wants to exchange #s so he can get a copy of the pix. Uh. Can't I just email them to their website? People come up to him to congratulate him on the set and I'm hoping he forgets about getting my #. But he tears off a scrap of Loafass's list that was taped to the stage and tears that in half. He turns to the stage and leans down to write. "Chuck" Hankock, he writes. A 267 area code. Where the fuck is that? I'm not calling him 1st. Please don't give me the blank half. That's ok. I've got your #. I'm tempted to put down the wrong number, or my work #, or write sloppily on purpose. Aside from the fact that I don't want this ass to have my #, the office is hounding me to develop the film from the office party, I have so much to develop as it is, film is expiring, and my sister's kid is going to be in kindergarten by the time I get one pic of my sister pregnant. Aside from being a jerk, this guy is in a band. I can't believe he can't offer me some money toward it. Or say please. Maybe he did, I'm writing this part up on Thursday and I can't remember. I mean, I doubt he found that blazer and leather pants at the Salvation Army. Still, I believe in good karma even tho I should know by now that if there's such a thing as good karma, I'm immune to it. I'm sure he's gonna call me up and try to hit on me or something. I looked like a schlub that night. Then I'll have to tell him off in as polite a way as I can. Maybe he'll find my #, forget why he has it, and think to himself that he's still got it. The rest of the band joins "Chuck" and ask him what he's drinking. "Orange juice!" he says. To me, "I'll be right back." Oh, I'm sure you will be. Then he stops. "Sorry, adrenaline burn."
"I can see how that would happen," I lie.
Someone mentions how empty the place is. "But it sounded like there were 20 people there!"
"How did we sound?"
I hedge, saying how full it sounded.
"Hey, the way I see it is, it is what it is."

The problem I have with Threads is that they're too good for their own good. I wish the Brooklyn Boys would get their heads out of they asses and get on with it already already. Mick thanked their last-minute drummer because they almost had to cancel the gig because their drummer couldn't get off work. See, the Lads aren't the only ones with such problems. Threads might even be better than The Public Offenders. I can't wait for Threads to get their website in gear, put out a rekkid, and take over the world, fer Chrissakes. One Two Punch packed just that, resurrecting 70s punknroll. It's times like this that I hate writing about bands because words failed me while watching Mick Stitch dancing and rocking on during his set. I mean, you can say such things like passion and honesty and rock and intense but it means shit unless you see them live. Compared to the tired-ass performance that Tuff Jeff phoned in, it was a real jolt to the brain. "Hi, I'm Troy McClure. You might remember me from such bands as LES Stitches and tending bar at Continental." Hey, yeah! He served me when I was passing out at the Adicts' show. Mick thanked the bartender filling in for him, letting him play the show. "I can't believe how empty it is here," he said later. "It's a great night of NYC rock." Yeah, and $5. What the hell was so important that night that people couldn't spend $5 to see Threads & The Waldos? Oh, yeah, and Tuff Jeff. And kickass Loafass, though they're from Philly. The Pogues reunite and people shell out $50 a ticket but they can't spend $5? Closer East Village Boys was a postcard, a calling card set to music.

The Waldos and Walter Lure, in his red blazer with handmade embellishments settled it for me about why The Spunk Lads had to break up in July. Either you're a punk band from '77 or yer not. The spirit of 77 was in the air that night and it was Punk Rock Heaven on earth with Heartbreakers/Thunders classics represented. There was this guy bouncing around and he was awesome, having so much fun. Chuck dragged a chair up front and sat down, still in his leather pants, blazer, and rocker rings. But he starts playing sax. What the hell is his problem? You were 2 bands ago. Get over yourself. At one point they do call him onstage and after the song, Lure said, "There's nothing like a sexy sax player. Somedody better fuck him tonite." Of course Chuck ever-so-slightly grazes me as he walks past. "Somebody better give him some money so he can stop wearing a sofa!" Ha! Mick got onstage to sing along and Lure pulled the excitable fan onstage for London Boy and they ended with Chinese Rocks.
And yeah, now Dee Dee's home.

Afterward I just had to find the excited kid. Finally found him outside by the bookstore, screaming into his cell phone about the show and being onstage, and that he wished whoever he was talking to coulda been there. I told him I'll email him copies of the pix. I handed him a small flyer to write his email address on and it just so happened to be the one for Heap that I pciked up because I was going to see them soon and wanted to read the reviews on the flyer.
"Just so you know, my band is playing with these guys in February."
"Oh, no shit. I'm going to that show anyway."
That was Joey from Red Invasion and he said that I can give him the pix then so he can show his bandmates that he was onstage w/Walter Lure.
At least I have some leeway, but God I hope these pix come out.
"I have to go get drunk now! I can't believe there weren't more people there!"
"This is the state of music in New York City," his friend agreed.
A bunch of savages in this town. Heartless savages. I went down the block to the R with my coat open, totally high. The E came pretty quick.

Strike 2!

I love how they showed the barricades alongside the Jamaica station on the 10:00 news on Fox5 last nite and whichever anchorwoman it was (Andrea Day? It was a blonde), was all See these barricades behind me? This is where commuters had to line up this morning. MY ASS! That was the LAST LAP of the line! The homestretch, the last one-fourth we had to go thru. The line stretched for MILES in EVERY DIRECTION. Give us some goddamned credit. And I'm glad peeps were still able to hit Tiffany's, Bloomies, and FAO Schwarz. Phew. Whatta relief. Nobody pulls together like Noo Yawkahs--or those in Noo Yawk. Though thanks a lot to the guy tipping everyone off about the "secret entrance." I figgered it's too good to last and police will be all over it today.

But this morning, there it was again. That silence that's settled over the area. Like the heart of the city has been ripped out, the pulse and thrum of subways underground has stopped. This feeling that something's....not....right. I'm not going to see the same faces in the stations, even though I don't know these people I know of them: The Russian women who are friends, the guy on crutches, the woman who traveled into the city with her daughter last summer and since I don't see the daughter anymore I assume she's in college even though I don't know, the woman with the cropped blonde hair who's reading Entertainment Weekly every morning.

So I left late--if I'm gonna be late might as well be late, I stopped caring long ago--and went to wait for the bus. People walked past, looking at me like I'm crazy for waiting there. No buses. So I walked to the next stop, which had people there. A woman told me 2 packed buses went by w/o stopping. I get on and find a seat, across from a woman who was sitting in the outside seat. Probably had her purse on the seat by the window. I decided to try my luck w/Forest Hills and then realized something wonderful: I might be in for some real bitching this morning. It's a primarily Jewish area and, well, nobody complains like us Jews. (Ethel, we were only in the desert for 40 days and 40 nites? Felt more like 40 years with all your mouthing off! Oh, shut up, Morty!)

Have you ever seen something so outrageous that you can't believe it and then start laughing? That was me this morning as I tried to find the end of this line. Kept walking. Still not there. Walking. "She tried to get in front of me, but...." Still not there. Ha ha ha. It was on "the right side of the tracks"--Forest Hills Gardens. I walked under the RR underpass and the volume of discarded Starbux cups shoulda been a tipoff. All the way down to Burns St. and Slocum Crescent. Who knew such an intersection existed? Of course now everyone was a ticket holder because everyone knew the drill, but the ticket buyer line was so much shorter. I almost wanted to buy another ticket if it meant I could get on board sooner. It seemed like this line really moved as compared to Jamaica because it was a straight line, not like in Jamaica where you literally went from pillar to post. And this area is so much nicer than the industrial area of Jamaica. But then it started grating on me, all these perfect brick houses and this sprawling complex that looks like 2 duplexes that must cost a fortune. Give me an honest-to-god apartment bldg any day. I passed a car with stickers for Rhode Island U in the back window. Two young guys walking their dogs laughed. "Lookit that line. That's great." It's 9:15, why the fuck aren't you on a line? Then as we neared the station the lines tripled up on itself and we had to get our tix out or we don't get on the platform. They never took the tickets on the platform or on board, so you're really giving the MTA all this money because people are stocking up on tix for future days in case this thing goes on longer. And as I was heading thru the barricaded aisles like I'm gonna get on some ride at Disneyworld, I saw the end of the line follow in. I was sitting next to some man who kept going on and on about films for some documentary on his cell and I wished he'd just shut the fuck up. Nobody cares. A woman across the aisle sat with an empty seat next to her and the woman at the window. What is wrong with you people?

I got in at 10 which ain't all that bad. Compared to how shitty I felt yesterday--I can't believe that was me. They said that if this thing goes on til Friday we'll have the day off since it's a half-day anyway. Wow, thanx! Way to look out for the little people!

Strike-o-rama!

Didja ever have one of those mornings where you just want to roll over & go back to sleep? That's how I feel every morning, but today especially. I was up til 12:30 this morn watching the news & writing, then my computer froze but thankfully I didn't lose too much. I got a call at 7 about the strike. I didn't want to move. Then again, at least I had an excuse for being late to work this time. I love how Doomberg commente that the tourists get to say they were here thru it all. What the fuck? Take care of your own first.

When I got downstairs, everything was quiet. I could not believe it. The stairwell to the subway was gated. Still, the quiet. We should do this more often. I guess you're just so used to hearing trains underfoot that when they're not there, you really hear the silence. Queens Blvd. was packed, a couple'a bicycles went by, a woman caught a cab. I went to get the Q60 which was on strike yesterday but back now, took the 60 bus outta Rego Park, I was thinking to go to Forest Hills but that would be packed and besides, I don't think it's a major stop. The railroad barely stops there as it is.

I don't know why the hell I did that. A nightmare. At least everyone was quiet and no kvetching. The back of the line, though, was on 97th Ave and Sutphin Blvd., 4 blox away from the entrance to the ticket window for the LIRR. At least the line kept moving....down every fork of the intersection and back around. Down Archer Ave. to 148 St., past all the places. If you've never been to the Jamaica station this probably doesn't make any sense but it'll be on the news tonite. You'll see it there. From there as you crossed the intersection it was mass chaos, but somehow I managed to return to my spot in back of the woman dragging a duffel bag and carrying a loaded Duane Reade shopping back. Jesus, ever hear of traveling light? I kept kicking her duffel bag by accident. At one point she said, "At least we're blessed that it's not snowing." Yeah, you're really far gone. There was a man selling gloves. You really want to make some money? Sell donuts and coffee. Or Dunkin Donuts can donate some for good PR. A tie was discarded in the street. Today's AMNY: NYC safer than ever! with a pic of an armed officer down by the Broad St. station. Someone read the Bible. At least people were, for the most part, quiet except for swearing under their breath, or aloud when someone tries to cut the line. "I've been on this line for 2 motherfucking hours! Don't let him on!" Yeah, and you're not going to get to work any later with one extra person in front of you. People were willing to continue to tough it out on line because they were already on line for 2 hours and they refused the $10 van offers. One woman said someone was taking pix in the Flatbush station, but it's nothing because that's how it is every day. Good thing she didn't see my camera.

And you know what the thing is? None of us schlubs on the line needed to be where we were going. So no papers get filed, no numbers crunched, nothing gets sold. Who gives a shit? The world isn't gonna stop. Nobody except medical personnel or firefighters or cops have an important job. Everyone should've stayed home. When we're dead, none of this shit is gonna matter. We tried to get to work on time during the strike. Big deal. We're all going to the same place--and I don't mean Penn Station. We're all gonna be dead one day.

Back down Sutphin Blvd. and around, then the line doubled on itself twice, forming 4 rows alongside the terminal. Up until this point I'd only been taking like 3 steps at a time and now that I was really moving, I realized I couldn't feel my toes. People would cheer when they entered the terminal but the anchormen put down their cameras so no one cheered in my group. Down the corridor where the bathrooms are, a reporter was interviewing a woman. You stood on line all this time just to get off it and do an interview? At least we didn't have to buy tix. I didn't have much on me since losing my brand-new Metrocard last nite and the ATMs out of service by me. There's probably nothing in them by now.

Anyway, up to the platform to the waiting train and the sign said 9:00 express, on time. Doors were open but they kept saying to go down the end of the platform to get on. I don't know why since the train is barely full, but I race for the last car--all the while the train chugging like doors are about to close. I get a seat and my asthma is making me gag. I'd already tripped over the guy opposite me who looked like a plumber or some maintence guy since I can't move my toes and when I started hacking, he turned away from me in case I had the plague. So I had an hour and a half wait for a 15 min. ride. I was expecting packed trains but no. It's worse on Thanksgiving when people sit in the aisles and it's so crowded the conductors don't take tix.

Penn Station was a mob scene but that's how it usually is. We have to buy tix for the ride home and the lines were already out the wazoo. Walking down 7th Ave., it was so quiet. We really should do this more often. I even got an express elevator; none of those asses taking the elevator to the 2nd floor or from the 7th to the 8th. Problem was I was wasted all day. Felt like puking from the coughing. Couldn't hold my head up. Couldn't concentrate. And since I got in at 11 that's when I ate breakfast and didn't know when to eat lunch. Sounds strange, but that's what happened. I felt bad about not being really there and stayed til 6 just to make up for it and hopefully the crowd will have thinned. On my way out I heard they'd just closed Penn Station. I was thinking to walk up to 59/Lex for the 60, but what if they'd stopped? I wasn't wasting my time and energy.

When I got there, I figured to go up to 34th/7 to buy a ticket. But I was told I had to stand in the main throng with everyone else. Who already had tix. "What's the holdup, here?" a guy asked. Well, duh. Asked another cop, he said to buy a ticket and back on the line. I headed up to 34th and asked where the trains to Forest Hills were and was told that rides to Queens were free. So I headed back to the Forest Hills line and double-checked that I was going in the right place. Asked another cop. He asked if I had a ticket. I told him I was told I didn't need a ticket and was directed to the line and told to get back in the throng out front. I passed a woman sobbing into a cellphone about how she was told the wrong things. There was no line for the tickets.....which was just down the escalator to the ticket window. Inside Penn Station. This is the magical door. I guess everyone out front had tix cuz they're from LI. There was no line at the window and the train was leaving in 4 mins. Which I caught.

Assholes on the train kept an empty seat between them. The woman next to me had her purse taking up a seat but begrudginly moved it and kept it next to her, crowding me out. She also sat twisted in her seat, taking up more room. We could've squoze an extra person in, but no. I almost punched the woman's lights out. She got off at Woodside and I took her place against the window and the woman at the end stayed, letting her bag take the empty seat. I got back in no time only to see a long line to buy tix for the next morning. Right? Those tix that we needed or else we couldn't board? No one collected them. I guess the MTA needs to make all the $ they can, but still, if you needed a ticket I was going to get me a ticket before needed to stand on another line before getting on the big line. I figured the 60 would be packed so I walked back, past a group of TWU strikers. You gotta stand up for what you believe in. I wish I could go on strike as well because what the fuck is so important about our production schedules that we have to be in the office in the middle of terrorist attacks and transit strikes. I made it almost all the way back before I saw a 60. My back was killing me, but I got back easier than I got in, at 8:20. I can't do this much longer. Fuck the MTA.

Night Of The Living Things

Stylofone/Giraffes/Living Things/Diamond Nights//Bowery Ballroom//12/13/05

The Best Punk Band You've Never Heard taunted a coverline on Spin magazine earlier this year. Really? I had a few guesses/suggestions but was probably wrong. I was right--I was wrong. Living Things, Spin said, is the punk band in question. I started reading the article and the word dangerous cropped up. Huh. Living Things had an August residency in the N6 basement in 2004, and I was thinking of going because I thought they were a garage rock band and it either sounded interesting or there was a cool flyer someplace, but it was birthday month and hard to get out there during that month--and then it was cancelled a few weeks in. I never finished the whole article so I don't know what particulars were mentioned; I was reading it in B&N whilst waiting for Larry's reading to start.

They came around again in June and I was all set to go except the gig was at Cakeshop--and two days after the Lads' gig when I hurt my toe and couldn't walk. They were supposed to play a few days later at The Delancey, but when I got there I was told they never came because their flight was cancelled. I think they were at Pianos but couldn't make that one. Then they were @ Scenic for CMJ at 1 in the morning and I had to get up early the next day. An invite-only release party/gig sponsored by Spin. So now I'm thinking that they're a punk band the same way The Hives are. And, of course, Now this I gotta see.

Yeah, this is the last-minute ticket I got last week. Yes, I do have a problem. Especially when I got to The Bowery Ballroom @ 6:30 and had to wait downstairs--in the Bowery subway station. I lost feeling in my toes but they wouldn't let me in downstairs til 7. Then I told myself that I was being a wuss and spent the last 15 mins. waiting outside, listening to a loud soundcheck. Guys in motorcycle jackets and one in a studded black vest loads in. Maybe this won't be so bad after all. The boys in question were none other than Stylofone, and the guy in the sleeves-cut-off studded black denim jacket wore a Danzig shirt underneath, and had Nausea and Doom patches on the jacket. Hm. Oh my god, they're heavy metal! Without robots and wigs! All these big, powerful, arena-rock riffs. Solos! I just stood there with a stupid grin on my face thru the whole set.

The Giraffes have been at it for a while. I remember seeing them upstairs at Coney after the Ghoulies and I didn't like them. Then again, I wasn't wearing earplugs back then. So I was curious to see what's up with them since they seem to be having a second coming. The problem is that the bouncers started busting cameras and I started freaking out. They spoke to the guy behind me, but he kept at it. Maybe he said no flash photography. The bouncer circulated and returned to his spot by the backstage staircase and called another bouncer who came over and scolded you. I've never seen anything like this @ the Bowery and I don't know if it's just for that night or if this is the way it is now. I didn't want to get yelled at until Living Things went on. Then I wasn't sure if I should fight it if they spoke to me or figure it's not worth it. I planned on lying and saying I was with a publication, but which one? That's it; I'm bootlegging my ass a photo pass. Meanwhile the Giraffes have been at it for a while, swiggin whiskey and playing hard rock/metal. Their guitar player jumps offstage and stands in front of me, but since I'm the only schmo in a sweater/thermals I move aside lest the photogs document this. So a girl comes forward and gyrates behind him, then wraps her arms around him. And he falls down on top of her. After the set, he says, "Did I fall on top of my mom?"

I should've known what I was in for by the Living Things' website. It uses pop-ups that I can never close. This pisses me off. I should've known what I was in for if the band is hyped by Spin magazine. Best punk band? Now, I know that "punk" encompasses a broad range of musical expression, from pop-y to straight-up to sludgy hardcore. It does not refer to a boring, glammy rock band. Or Spin's pets. Maybe they're better in a small club and not on a high stage like at The Bowery Ballroom. Maybe they're more confrontational or aggressive that way. The venue plays a huge part of the live band experience, I know. But still. I don't care how political your lyrics or what they're about, but Living Things are not punk. Duh. They're not even aggressive. I had to wonder if they were living. I mean, I don't know what the buzz is about them--and I don't mean that I don't understand it--I mean I seriously don't know it. I don't read Spin or Rollingstone or have MTV or Fuse, so alls I know is that conduits of music information speak of them often. Is it their lyrics that's got tongues a-waggin'? Their politics? Is it their incessant partying/boozing/drugging? Wrecking hotel rooms and women across America? So I had to find out. Someone fired one up as soon as the band got onstage so I figured I was safe as far as photography was concerned since I figured the bouncers had bigger problems on their hands than whether or not the flash photographer had a pass. The band was dressed in black, of course. Lead singer Lillian Berlin was in turquoise pants and matching vest with no shirt. He kinda reminded me of David Johansen a little but not by much, especially after he took his vest off. The band name was projected on a movie screen behind them, as if we forgot/couldn't read the drum kit. But the bass player had a nice Star of David tattooed on his bicep--forarm, whatever, the guy didn't have any muscles--so that was cool, even though he had a hipster hairdo. Watching them, I thought: Well, I never saw The Strokes at their peak-to-steady climb but now I have. Seriously. Lillian held his arms up, in rockstar/Jesus mode a few times and jumped into the audience to sing, but big deal. I've seen that before. 7 songs. 8, if you count the one that was crossed off.

As if the Diamond Nights feature in the Deli wasn't a dead giveaway about these guys, the lead singer's white moccasin/loafers were. Shortly after they start, 2 blondes come out of nowhere and charge up front like they own the place--or the band--oblivious to the fact that people have been there all night. They looked like the types that work in PR/event planning. One had an orange tan and straw hair. Her pant legs were tucked into calf-high brown boots and she shimmied around as though the music called for such moves. The other managed to dress somewhat better, except for the huge-bead necklace circa this past summer and the Coach purse that kept hitting me. I was like, Would you put that thing on the floor already? Believe me, nobody'd want it. She apologized for hitting me but only once, explaining that it's her friend's brother in the band. You'd think the band would tell these idiots to get lost because they want people to think they're cool. Or maybe hanging around with those nitwits is charity and we're supposed to find the band even cooler because they hang out with the terminally lame. I mean, nobody would think the band cool because of their music. There's a reason I keep seeing Satanicide even though I know all of their jokes by heart. They're good. They're alive. These guys couldn't find their way back home from a Greek diner.

So the moral of the story, kids, is that if someone tells you that a band is best one you've never heard and that person isn't me, don't listen. "Lillian Berlin is Johnny Rotten with politics."--VV. Uh, wouldn't Johnny Rotten with politics be Joe Strummer? "This is political rock that can hold its own against the PlayStation in the battle for teen attention spans."--Blender. Y'know, that's not exactly saying much since anything's better than a PlayStation. "It's been a long, long time since rock music felt even remotely dangerous....."--Interview. Huh? I figured they were saving rock the same way The Strokes did and the same way The Hives saved punk. Maybe the album is good and the band's just been on a long tour/drunk/stoned. Maybe they were being ironic/sarcastic and I didn't get it. But Living Things are from St. Louis. As in Missouri. Isn't that the Show-Me State? So show me that they're dangerous. I cheated on House for this? I wish I could rant and rail about how I should demand my money back, but I did this to myself. I'm so embarrassed. I give the night a 6 or 7 (dollars, out of the $13 cover) for Stylofone.

Keeping Score

With tonite's cover for the Indie Music Video Festival featuring Theo & The Skyscrapers, I have paid my 100th cover of 2005--not counting benefit shows. I started keeping score with the intention of seeing just how much money I spend on shows because if I presented myself with concrete evidence of how out of hand my show budget is, I'd change my ways.

In a perfect world, of course.

I'm too afraid to add it up (everybody pull out their Violent Femmes and crank it) because I really don't want to know. I'm sure it's over $300. Probably over $500. Think of all the film I could've gotten developed with that money but instead I bought film for the shows. Problem is, I tell myself that I'm a writer, so it's justified, this is my job; things'll get better eventually; what the hell, my life's already a mess, I'm curious about (VHS Or Beta, Hot Hot Heat, Q & Not U, etc); but it's (Flogging Molly, Dropkick Murphys, NY Dolls, the Undertones, Digable Planets, Dan Bern, etc.)!

No more. My goal for next year is to spend less on shows and take less pix. Nothing over $15 unless it's absolutely necessary (haven't I told myself that already?) As it is, very few bands are even worth $10. No more Southpaw surcharges. Well, of course I'm not going to be spending all that much money on shows. It's been snowing like crazy. Who wants to go out and stay out late? Besides, by the time the weather warms up I'll be in need of rewarding myself for how well I've been doing. And if I didn't see shows, what the hell else would I write about? Myself? Bo-ring!

The End Of An Era

If you don't already know, The Merc box office has a new ticketing system. I almost didn't get the ticket because the show is next week and it's more of a curiosity thing and it's $13. But it's the Bowery Ballroom and the main thing is that I was gonna end up with some embarrassingly high ticket number. Who the hell buys a ticket the week before a show? Well, people do but not me. So I headed down there, feeling all battered from Pretty Girls Make Graves the previous nite, Monday. When I got there yesterday, there was a guy sitting at a table on my left and a laptop sitting on the bar. I did a doubletake, unsure who was selling the tix because I didn't see the accordian folder. And I was on my lunch break.

The girl proudly showed off the laptop and ticket printer, the same setup that the Knit now has and what used to be on display at the Village Underground/Warsaw box office. So I go to buy the ticket, doublechecking that So-and-So has been added to the bill.

"I haven't heard anything about that. In fact, you're the 1st one who mentioned it."
"Well, I checked the listing on Ticketweb before I came down here. That's how I found out."

I pay for the ticket and she processes the order. But the ticket doesn't print. She jiggles wires, checks connections. There's a ticket visible in the slot. I point this out, but she says that's always there. A card is taped to the top of the printer that says Ticketweb--A division of Ticketmaster. She tries again. Reboots the computer. No ticket. She IMs customer service. She's Boweryintern. I want to tell her that I'm on my lunch break and have to get back to work. No ticket. I check my watch. I want to leave her my credit card and come back later. We make smalltalk about the accordian folder way of doing things. I think about all the times I raced down to the Merc for tix, my heart and mind racing, my stomach a mess, and say, "I need a ticket for The Donnas, They Might Be Giants, The Breeders, White Stripes, Mooney Suzuki, Flogging Molly, Satanicide, Distillers, whatever" and they'd look thru the accordian folder and say, "I don't have those. Maybe it's sold out" and then I'd panic and tell them when the show was and which venue. Maybe they did that on purpose to fuck with my head. Then they'd realize the tix just went onsale and the envelope is still on the bar. Or they call upstairs and someone brings 'em down. Still no ticket. The girl apologizes and tells me that this doesn't usually happen. When they get the permanent setup it should be much quicker.

Boweryintern calls upstairs and another girl comes down. She fiddles with the wire. There's still a ticket in there, looking like it's going to pop out. Test prints litter the area surrounding the printer. I wish they'd give me the test print, but I'm sure they won't. The other girl is singing along to KROCK, what sounds like Weezer but what the fuck do I know, and for the first time in the half hour that I'm there I notice that they've got their station on, not the Latino station that the barback always listens to. A woman behind the bar who I've never seen before steps out and opens the safe under the ATM. "Who's that guy?" she asks in a stage whisper. "A worker," the girl replies. "No, the other guy." She explains that he's with the Lovemakers and waiting for the bus.

Finally, a ticket. But there's no number on it. Whenever I used to brag that I got the first ticket, everyone would always say that they pulled 'em out of the pile randomly and the numbers mean nothing. God, I was such a little ticketsnob. A numberwhore. I mean, in a way it doesn't matter since I'm buying the ticket a week before the show. So I'm spared a high number. But I was expecting it. And of course I get to the subway to see the F pull out. Eventually a V shows up and I get on, knowing full well that it ain't leaving til the next F comes and goes. I sit under the Green Day ad for Tower giftcards. Someone drew a face on the blank space where Billie Joe's face should be and a blurb that said I'm queer. Uh, no, the Queers are still on Lookout! Records, not ads for Tower Records. Back at 23rd Street I pass a Read It & Vote ad. Another rigged election is the graff on that one. To which someone else writes, No, just bad candidates. I creep up 6th Ave., still feeling battered from PGMG the night before. Man, I was ridiculously late. Luckily that day I had the time to spare to wait around for the ticket and snuck back to my desk. It's not every week that that's the case. So I hope they figure the system out--or else shows could sell out onlie while they try to sell a ticket in person.

So the Satanicide ticket is my last ticket #1. I don't think I mentioned the number in my previous post. Probably because it's not a surprise anymore.

All Day Affair

All-Ages Matinee: Due Tomorrow/Bottle Rocket/The Delegates/The Killtakers//ABC No Rio
21+ Late Show: Leslie & The Lys/Peelander-Z/Satanicide//Mercury Lounge//12/3/05

Dear bands: I'm busy/poor/it's cold out, so please name yourselves properly or I won't go to the show. The Delegates are a "totally danceable reggae/punk explosion?" Well, I'm there. On the F down, a woman schleps through the car saying that she knows there's a lot of people asking for help around this time, but could we please spare something for her because she's in a shelter. She's carrying a Nat Sherman bag for donations. Jeez. Did she leave the Tiffany's bag back at the shelter? "Boy! I hope I don't get like you guys. Even I help the homeless!" Outside No Rio is a flyer that says they're thinking of upping the cover to $7 in January due to rising gas prices and they can better help the bands that way. Great. I can't pay the rent and won't be able to afford that many shows next year as it is. Still, it's only $1 more and 4 bands for $7 ain't all that bad. A guy came in and went up to the mic because he wanted to bust a rhyme. The volunteers told him they weren't turning them on yet, but he insisted. Then tried to sell us cell phones and knit hats. He came back to where I was sitting and said, "You're in light blue, this'll go perfectly!" and threw a hat at me. "$2!" he said, oblivous to the fact I was already wearing a hat. "C'mon! Just give me a dollar! I'll get outta here for $1!" Nobody was biting, so he went to leave, trying to bust a rhyme one last time. "C'mon! I'm a crook from Brooklyn! Let me bust a rhyme!" The volunteers told him that poetry was on Monday and to come back then. "Whaddaya have today? Rock bands?" They said yes and the crook from Brooklyn looked up said, "Hey, your ceiling's coming down! When I get back later, all that shit better be down!"

Due Tomorrow is not emo/screamo, which is what I was expecting. They are, however, a bunch of yungins, which is what I was expecting. They looked to be about 15-17. Anyhoo, props for the instro numbers and not writing/playing music in a certain way because they think they have to. Maybe I'm not explaining it right, maybe it's because I see too many young bands mining a certain sound because they think it'll help them be taken seriously. Bottlrocket is from LI/Bklyn and they have shared vocals, but the guitar player kept screaming even though their poppy sound didn't call for it. The other guitar player had an Alkaline Trio patch on his guitar strap, so I guess they're influenced by AT. I'm too old for AT, but I'm guessin' they have a similar style to Bottlerocket. As would Against Me! The Delegates of course were cool--how could they not be--but it was freezing and they asked us all to huddle close to them so we could all be warm. Which left very little room for dancing but at least I wasn't standing right in front of the 2 trombone players or I might've gotten a slide to the mouth. And it was too small a space for a 6-piece band who would probably tear the place up if they had the space. And if they weren't in a place that was already falling down. Also fun was their cover of The Final Countdown. They played on the 5th but I had another show. Dammit! The Killtakers. Sigh. Young and sporting fresh tatoos, they were a bit too mall-y and suburban for me. They seemed so eager to please and it came across in their sound, as well. It's like watching the popular kids' band. Watching them and listening to them, I thougt of high school seniors who ruled the roost and had a smug, cocky attitude because of their newfound social standing. Like they're owed something.

So then it was back on the F home because I didn't bring the Merc ticket with me. I probably shoulda because the early show got out at a little after 7 and it was a tight squeeze and then turning right back around and going back to the same area I just left. But the 1st band wasn't going on till 9:30 and besides, Satanicide's crew never gets there til Satanicide goes on. So doors were probably 8:30 and then some. Then again, if I had the ticket on me I would've stayed at Kinko's spending money to type this. Well, at least I would've been getting it done. Back home, fed the cat, picked up the ticket, back on the F train.

I totally forgot that it was Black 47's birthday. Their Sweet 16, in fact. I should've remembered that, of course, but when I saw Satanicide's show listed I ran down and bought the ticket the day it went on sale. Of course I should've remembered this because I missed their 15th Anniversary gig last year on December 4 because I was at Siberia for The Spunk Lads. In the long run it doesn't matter, even though that wasn't one of my favorite Lads shows. Thing is, I've put up with a lot from them and I love them to pieces, but now I've got a serious problem. They're on Myspace--but that's not the problem. Fine, people/bands like doing that sorta thing so who am I to complain, but it's their list of influences that's the problem. The first band listed? The Darkness. The Darkness? Influences. Not "Bands we like" or "Bands that have songs we like." Influences. Second is Joe Strummer, but The Clash isn't mentioned. The Darkness is listed before Joe Strummer. Not on the list is Stiff Little Fingers, Springsteen, Dylan, Bob Marley. No Boomtown Rats. The Darkness is 1st. Are they trying to skew it young for the Myspace cadets? How can a 16-yr-old band be influenced by The Darkness? That's like listing The Strokes as an influence because they're a rock band and so is Black 47. No Major Thinkers, even though Black 47's classified as Rock/New Wave. The Darkness. I mean, if it weren't for Black 47 I never would've seen Seanchai, The Devil's Advocates, or Mary Prankster, to name just a few. I have standards, here. They should, too. Besides, songs about Heathers will always trump songs about Bridies.

The ticket said 8:30; doors at 8, but I knew that wasn't the case and even if it were, the 1st band was on at 9:30. And I saw Leslie & the Lys w/Satanicide in July and I wouldn't be crying my eyes out if I missed them, but what if Peelander's crowd was there early? I got down there a little after 9 and there was nobody there, just people sitting down on the couches drinking, which is what I'd expected, so I picked up a paper to read to pass the time. Yeah, Leslie & the Lys, Peelander-Z, and Satanicide. What a triple threat. Too bad the Culotteless Ones couldn't get on the bill. That woulda killed.

I don't know how/why Satanicide managed to hook up--uh, share bills with--Leslie & the Lys. I reviewed 'em back in July but never posted it because I was in my new-to-blogging, must do everything right phase and that was a long-ass post filled with my trademark boring backstories. Maybe I'll break up the post and review the bands separately. Because there's basically 2 ways to know if your band's schtick ain't working. 1) I'll tell you 2) People continue to laugh thru your set. Leslie is a 200-lb. gal in a gold spandex bodysuit, a headset, blue-green eyeshadow, and ugly, oversize, men's eyeglass frames. Her fake backup band consists of 2 gals in fake bling, light-up heels, headphones, and lime green spandex capris. One wears a "turntable" like a cigarette girl's tray, one has a toy "keytar"--a big keyboard with a fake fret. This time around in the smaller venue, I heard her tapping the plastic keys and no sounds coming out. The whack dance beats and "videos" from a pink Hello Kitty DVD player comes off as Le Tigre meets the Teletubbies. When Leslie's not singing about shooting zombies in the head, she "raps" about her first loves--gold spandex pants and appliqued sweaters. As if a woman who looks to be about 5 mos. pregnant and wrapped in gold spandex with some sort of space-age shoulder pads/breastplate on top isn't bad enough, she pays homage to tacky "gem sweaters" and calls people onstage to show off their gem sweaters. Leslie blesses them and gives them a name, then signs a certificate for her online museum. The problem with this, aside from the obvious, is that on Saturday she had about 6 gay guys taking the bait. She contacted Bedazzler to see if they'd sponsor the band and they turned her down. Now if Bedazzler doesn't want anything to do with this, you know it's gotta be bad/embarrassing. Cringeworthy.

I'm starting to think that being up front for Peelander-Z isn't the wisest thing to do because slamdancing breaks out, in addition to Peelander Yellow turning himself into a human bowling ball. It's good for being pulled onstage to play tambourine, which is what happened, but about 5 guys started running into each other and flinging each other about. It only stopped when the band went to pull audience members up to take over. All of a sudden, everyone stopped the mosh. They were like children waiting for a toy, I swear.

Alistair Cradley said that the audience looked like a bunch of homos--I guess he'd know. And Devlin's 2 fave food groups are Pussy & Ice Cream and smoking takes a year off your life but playing Dungeons & Dragons adds 7 years to your virginity, so perhaps the 40-Yr-Old Virgin played with a 20-Sided Die back in the 80s while cranking Satanicide. Devlin caught Alistair jerking off to the picture of a missing child on a milk carton because he thought it was a girl yet again. Again, Alistair was just partying. Satanicide rokked so hard that Devlin's wig fell off--one of the earliest times I saw them, the bandana fell out one of their pantlegs--probably because Baron Klaus von Goaten was back from making poo films in Norway, Germany and bringing that black metal sound showcased in his signature song Betrunken. Their ode to whores went out to the girl who slept with every band but won't sleep with them. Perhaps after Heather becomes a hit, Devlin guesses. After their set some geeky bald guy comes onstage to play guitar and jam with them. He says he's been a fan ever since he saw them at the Meadowlands in 86. He looked like a little idiot, the type of guy who drinks designer teas, but Alistair was his inspiration for picking up a guitar. "Look up hubris in the dictionary and there's a picture me onstage, with my idol Alistair." They traded solos, rokked Rebel Yell with Devlin reading lyrics. Guy calls himself Moby. Whatta rockstar, only going by one name. Yeah, Devlin was brought up on charges of fucking a dead whore in New Orleans but the charges were lowered to breaking and entering--even then it wasn't that bad seeing as how she was already broken when he got there. They closed with the original version of Titanic, a song about going down on a big vessel which some Canadian chick--speaking of broken-- covered and renamed My Heart Will Go On.
***
Post #70! Yeah, Mary Prankster got #69, not Satanicide. 70 posts, probably 2 readers, only 1 real comment! Woo! I'm doing good here. My goal for next year is to try to do those expandable post summaries again. Or delete the blog. Not sure which yet.

& A Time To Every Purpose Under Punk Rock Heaven

Mary Prankster//Old Office//11/28/05

It's staggering, the number of bands I've gotten into either directly or indirectly while following Black 47 like Jesus Christ on down the road to ruin. Mary Prankster opened for them on St. Pat's @ Wetlands in 2001. I had no idea what I was getting into when this woman gets onstage in a halter showing off her tattoos and carrying an acoustic guitar. That bears a GG Allin sticker. She won me over with the F-bombing classics Mercyfuck ("I want to fuck all of you 'til you see I'm the worst fuckup in all history), Tits & Whiskey (with its "Fuck Me" chorus), and signature song The World Is Full Of Bastards (And I've dated every one). Not to mention The Bottle's Talking Now and Valentine.

I've seen the Mouth From Maryland every time she played locally ever since, from Brownies to CBGB (with a backing band) to the Merc to Tribeca Rock Club. At the Gallery this past June, she told us to tip the bartenders because they'd be out of a job by the end of August. And then launched into Punk Rock Heaven, of course. Well, she was wrong about that but right about everything else. Just recently, she wowed the crowd at the Knit when she opened for country singer Roger Alan Wade (who was either drunk or stoned or both). I was like, That's my Mary onstage, kicking ass!

So needless to say I was shocked, surprised, and saddened to hear that she was calling it quits--and not playing locally. It's funny, I only just signed her mailing list at the Gallery show; she'd always ask us to, saying how, as an independant artist, she relies on the mailing list to keep us informed. But this is me we're talking about here. I always know when she's playing. It's in the papers and on the venue's site. I couldn't believe she was quitting. Why? I mean, it's not my business, but still. Why? And why is it always the talented ones? Her last shows were in Annapolis (Chinatown bus doesn't stop there), Baltimore over Thanksgiving--er, Pranksgiving--weekend, and some place in Pennsylvania, also over the holiday. I wish I knew how to book shows. So I sent her a cornball email wishing her well and that I wish she could've played locally. And that I'll see her in Punk Rock Heaven, hon. A few weeks later the gig at the Knit was listed.

I saw Mary at Tribeca last week after Captured! By Robots. She told me that she felt she took her act as far as she could and was going to come up with something better. "I feel really positive about it. I keep hearing 'Turn! Turn! Turn!'--y'know, that song by the Byrds, 'To everything Turn! Turn! Turn!'--everywhere. In the car, in the stores, in the elevator. So it's a good sign." Maybe she's just saying that to make me feel better. It kinda worked for a bit. "Well, at least you're retiring because you want to, not because you have to, like you're dying or something."

On my way down Leonard, two teenage boys, one in a Misfits shirt, hurry past me. There's a crowd congregating outside again, young people with pierced lips and spacers in their lobes. The bar is packed. Who the fuck is playing here? Bullet For My Valentine and It Dies Today. Also Scars Of Tomorrow. Not quite Punk Rock Heaven. I stop in the bathroom, but then wished that I didn't. There's Mary, in her getup, applying her makeup. I wished that I didn't have to go because I felt like I ruined the surprise, that I saw the bride before the ceremony. I told her it was fitting that It Dies Today was playing upstairs from her. "I saw them earlier, taking pictures. They're adorable! They're 17-yr-old emo boys wearing more eyeliner than I am!"

I start downstairs again when the woman stationed outside the Tap Bar asks me if I'm looking for the coat check. Jaysus, there's another venue downstairs, you idiot. That was the first time I went to the Old Office since it was remodeled. Not only is the gym locker/melted crayon smell gone, it's wider across from the bar and there are tables. Also gone is the brick stoop adjacent to the bar where bands set up the merch and that I always trip over. There's an actual spot for the soundboard near the bar instead of on a table next to the stage. There was another act and I wasn't sure who was going first, so I was sitting down--until two women came and pulled up chairs and sat at the opposite corner of the table. Right in front of me. I mean, I was going to stand up thru Mary's set, but who do they think they are?

I resigned her mailing list--since I wasn't sure if my previous signing was lost, she'd just never sent any emails since, or my email deletes 'em. Well, if she put Mercyfuck in the subject, the latter is probably the case. Mary promised to keep us informed if anything good happens. Anything bad? She'll keep it to herself. The gig was well-attended. Mary was in a white studded jumpsuit, her salute to Fat Elvis--her site said Mary has left the building. It was Mary and her voice and lyrics, and the acoustic guitar, and I almost started crying. She started with Swan Dive--"These triumphs and successes/Just lead to bigger messes/Once blessed and bound for glory/but that's another story/All your dreams will fall apart/Your fondest wishes, too/And the fears you thought you conquered/Will be right here when you do." Why'd she gotta go retire? She's my favorite female solo artist, and one of those rare artists who's a true performer, not an entertainer and one of those performers who's an artist. She just moved to NYC 2 years ago. Things were going to go up from there. Every time she looked in my direction I thought the tears would spill. After Stars, off her live album, she said in a mock-teary voice, "I didn't think she had it in her! That's so poignant, man! It's a good thing she's retiring! I can't take another 10 years of this shit!" Dedicated to her second home of NYC was Punk Rock Heaven: "Punk Rock 'Eaven is just like the Knit only there's no covah!" PRH and the next one, The World Is Full Of Bastards, got the biggest responses. I was trying to keep it in and not sing along so we could all hear Mary undiluted and it seemed that others were, too, but at some point we all decided to go for it, before the big singalongs of Mercyfuck and Lemonade--"I've seen the future and it looks like lemonade!"--making the best of the surplus citrus in life. I was kinda expecting her to end with New Tricks--"I was gonna change the world through music/I was gonna fall in love/I was going to live the good life I'd been hearing so much of/I was gonna be a rockstar, baby/I was gonna have some fun/I sure miss 21"--but maybe that was too obvious. She ended with Roulette Girl.

Even though the show was great, Mary was great, and she went out the way she wanted when she wanted, I was thoroughly bummed out after. Wanted to eat something. Had a scoop of Chip Off The Ol' Cheesecake at Baskin Robbins. It helped a little. Kind of.