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.
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.
posted by heather @ 11:18 PM
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