Detroitus

Les Sans Culottes/Be Your Own Pet/The Dirtbombs//Southpaw//2/18/06

The last time The Dirtbombs came around I almost went. Probably the deciding factor against that was that they played @ the Knit on the day that I was free. This time around, in addition to past rave reviews for The Dirtbombs, the deciding factor for going is that LSC is opening up, and they kicked ass over headliners Detroit Cobras back when I saw them @ the Bowery Ballroom during that whole Detroit binge a few years ago. It was like, well, if the Detroit Cobras suck, at least I like LSC. So if I don't like The Dirtbombs, at least I'll be seeing LSC.

With the show sold out and temps in the 20s or so and myself coming down with a cold thanx to all that sweating at shows and then heading out into the freeze, getting little sleep, and the 2/3 doing something weird past 14th, I still got off @ 23rd St. to get cough drops and Vitamin Water @ Duane Reade. So I get there after the doors open. Less time spent @ Southie waiting for the show. And something about this bill screamed rubes. Besides, who wants to see opening acts, right? So I'd have no problems. The thing w/the subway was that the 3 wasn't running and the 2 local til Chambers. I got there @ 8:30 and of course the place was empty. I put my stuff down and went to the bathroom and heard: Do you know where the show is? We've never been here before. How could you have missed that gigantic room right in front of the entranceway? And it's only 8:30; there's no show to be looking for, anyway. I get out to see a couple coming out of the men's room. They start exploring every inch of the basement. Now, if you're looking for a show that's sold out--especially The Dirtbombs--would it be held down in the basement? Somehow these brainiacs make it upstairs....and then try to head backstage. The bartender stops them by pointing out that that's the stage, since they didn't seem to understand the Employees Only sign on the door. At least the photo booth was there to occupy them. I have never seen anybody use it, aside from the kids at the teen rock showcase. They emerge shortly thereafter, sit in a corner, and proceed to paw each other. They came up for air when the guy came over to ask if me & Diane would buy them drinks. I almost snapped, What makes you think we have money to buy you drinks? but realized that since it's an 18+ show, they wanted us to get the drinks for them. Well, what makes you think we're old enough to buy drinks for you? Diane thought he was testing us and going to bust us if we did, but I didn't think he was wiley enough to be part of such stuff.

The international men and women of mystery in LSC were packing a secret weapon. Two, actually. They had a kickass bass player and chanteuse Edith Pisoff was rocking out and enjoying herself, a quality that a band such as LSC desperately needs. It was like the band version of Pinocchio becoming a real boy. Well, they always were a real band, but you know what I mean. I hope. 'Cuz I sure as hell ain't going into it b/c I've written about them enough.

The Tennessee teens Be Your Own Pet, who are touring w/The Dirtbombs, is what Modrocket would be like once they gain some self-confidence and more skill when performing. The lead singer kinda reminded me of Dana from Stupid a little, but what else would you expect from a teenage-fronted rawk band? I was thinking that Nick Sylvester would love 'em, since he always makes comments about peoples' ages in his columns. Though I did have to wonder if they would be generating all this buzz if they weren't teenagers, or have a female lead. I did want to write up the live teen rock showcase that Modrocket was part of, but not even I could be that mean. (Okay, I can. By the end--and there were only 3 bands that played--I felt like I was at a rock band-themed bar mitzvah, like one of the kids' parents rented Southie for the party, the instruments were there onstage, and the kids (sorry, teens) got to play rock band for a day.) But I did not get that feeling from BYOP. But every time I tried to form an opinion of them, my mind quickly added for a bunch of teenagers. I was trying really hard not to do that, but I guess it's hard when the only thing they really have going for them is the teenager bit. Donna said she thought they were a bit of a one-trick pony at this point and even though I swore I wasn't going to do the music-snob thing anymore, I told her what I thought. She said LSC were cute and the bass player is hot. (Then again, what the hell do I know about anything? Be Your Own Pet is playing Coachella. As is Hard-Fi and the Living Things. Maybe there is something to having a gimmick after all.)

See, I kinda knew what to expect out of The Dirtbombs--or at least I was pretty sure--and that's why I never made it a point to check 'em out sooner. To me, it was just another example of a genre getting milked for all it's worth (ie, The Strokes) and out of loyalty, it was The Mooney Suzuki and nobody else. Their 2 drummers/2 bass players had me thinking that more bands should have 2 drummers and 2 bass players, except more bands probably can't handle that and make it sound the way The Dirtbombs did--not to mention that some bands can barely get one of each at a time. It was a relief to witness a band like them--but then again lead singer/guitarist Mick Collins, who warned all of us up front that we were going to catch the flu off him, was wearing shades so if he was gifting any band members with That Look, I couldn't tell. Guess I'll have to wait for the pix to come back. They know how to be a band and that's what resonated with me more than their songs did. All you saw was a band playing a show, not a therapy session. They weren't wearing their genre like an ironic accessory and let that speak for them, like so many bands today tend to do. BYOP didn't either, which many younger bands tend to do. So maybe by the time they get to be 22, they will as well.

I walked out into the frosty air feeling a bit of hope for rock music and the group who charged ahead of me commented about how they lost their originality.

See? What the hell do I know?

In The Same Old Mess Singing Drunken Lullabies

Guinness Presents the Green 17 Tour: 17 cities celebrating the revelry of St. Patrick's Day, featuring Flogging Molly.
The Rolling Blackouts/Scotch Greens/Flogging Molly//Nokia Theatre//2/16/06

When I found out that advance tix were going onsale, I emailed: Are we there? only because I was hoping to hear a no. But no. The adv tix are thru Musictoday, as they were last year, so diehard fans could get first shot at 'em. Diehard fan? Well, that's me. Of course there was only 1 shipping option, 2-Day FedEx or something and it cost $11.50 to ship. For Spirit, which never sold out in advance, thereby wasting my $11.50. This time around it was $9.50 for shipping, a flat rate even if we bought 2 tix at once, so that sorta offset the shipping charges. Still, spending $25 on a ticket is it for me this year. No Dropkick Murphys, if they come around. Well, depending on who the opening act are and where it is. But most likely no.

I was getting antsy wondering who the opening acts were, because hopefully that'll make it all worthwhile. The Dropkicks are also playing the Nokia, with Sick Of It All, Horrorpops, and The Tossers. I'm not spending $25 for Horrorpops and The Tossers, meh. And I don't have the money to stand in the balcony at a show. Every day I was on Flogging Molly's site, hoping the opening acts would be posted so I'd know what I'm getting myself into. Then I thought that it'll be on their Myspace page. The Briggs are playing the A/A Black 17 show in Jersey. Thank God, because I didn't like them. All we need is another pirate-theme punk band. And playing a gig w/Flogging Molly. Yay. So I lucked out there. Re: the guy whose profile pic shows him dressed in a green T-shirt, posing with a can of Guinness in one hand and a box of Lucky Charms: I guess Oregon is a very sarcastic place. I didn't think it would be. Good thing I don't live there b/c I'd never be able to attain/maintain that level of sarcasm.

When I saw The Scotch Greens listed, I could pretty much guess what they sound like. I looked the album up on Innerpunk. They cover If I Should Fall From Grace. The Onion had this to say re: the album: Scotch Greens carries on the recent tradition of high-energy rock bands adding trad strains for the sake of bewitching teenyboppers who've never heard a mandolin sound cool before....lacks The Pogues' authentic swagger and subtlety.... But the review also said such things like "delightfully disreputable" and "tacky in the best possible way" so there is hope. I hope.

But when I checked FM's website that Monday, they have an eCard posted. When you play it, this is what it says: St. Patrick's Day may be a couple of months away, but for Flogging Molly the festivities start February 4th.... It's nice that they posted it once the tour started, a couple of weeks before St. Pat's. This is what the last screen said: The unique "two tours in one" approach allows Flogging Molly to take care of their Warped Tour-bred punk rock fans via the a/a Black 17 tour, and their more mature and Irish fans with the Guinness sponsored, 21+ Green 17 tour. What the fuck. That just really pisses me off. I'm an immature, 21+ Jewish punk rock fan, so where does that leave me? It's like they're saying punk rockers can't be "mature" or Irish. Or 21+. Or maturity (read: drinking age)=Irish. I was over 21 when I went to the Warped Tour. And I know a lot of Irish people older than me who are very immature. And of course the Irish fans would only be interested in the Guinness-sponsored show. More mature and Irish. What if there are Irish people over 21 who can't get from Sayerville, NJ to NYC? From NYC to NJ? Going to both? More mature fans, my ass. I didn't want to go after I saw that. And then I worried that Rolling Blackouts would also be drunk rock. (I forget which Irish band's slogan actually is Drunk Rock.) Believe it or not, even tho I'm one of Flogging Molly's more mature fans I want to hear some punk rock. The other band on the Jersey show is The Dead Pets. Which, like Dogs Die In Hot Cars, is not an acceptable band name. So at least I lucked out there. Wait, that's not very mature of me. I'm sorry.

But I like the line from the review in the Voice: Don't worry if you forget the lyrics because the fans are there in full force, shouting along. Something like that. The Onion: One of few groups to find a true fusion betw punk energy and Irish drinking music...FM struck the balance almost perfectly w/2002's Drunken Lullabies.... Actually, I thought they struck it almost perfectly w/2000's Swagger and 2002's DL was more of the same, but if it ain't broke don't fix it. But what the hell do I know? I was, after all, not hired as a freelance music writer. Oh, right. More mature. Sorry. They do say that the tour is sponsored by a certain Irish beer that tastes like breakfast.

Still.

Still, there is probably no way to put into words the feeling I got when I was at Spirit, standing on the base of that pillar and looking at all those heads jumping up and down all through the show. It's just incredible. And as I got to the line, I worried if a 21+ show meant that there'd be big guys landing on my head instead of light teenagers. I was #4 in line, with a girl in an Alkaline Trio zipper hoodie at the head and right after I got on line, a guy in a Warped Tour hoodie got in line behind me. I thought this was supposed to be the more mature crowd. Dennis and Bridget came out to look at the marquee and take pix. As if they've never seen a marquee that said Flogging Molly before. Then George came out to join them and they started gawking again. It was a boring wait, even though the doors were at 6. I wanted to bring a book but was afraid I'd get separated from it. The guy in front of me went to the show in Philly but couldn't remember anything about the opening bands. Didn't even know which show that was, the A/A bands or this one, that he couldn't remember.

Inside, it's an honest-to-God venue and I was afraid to buy pins before staking out a claim to the front because people were coming in. But I did because I didn't want to stand around later after the show. Shane was playing when I left and when I got back, I saw the mezzanine level had a railing and then the seated area started, like different tiers in Shea. From the mezzanine you can still see everything but there'd be no bodies on your head. It's a nice place, but kinda renders Roseland and Hammerstein obsolete. I considered moving my coat back to the mezzanine and even tried out my zoom, but figured the pix would come out all grainy and besides, it's just Flogging Molly. What could go wrong? I've stood in the pit before. But just think! This would be great for the Dropkicks! On second thought, maybe I'll go.

Back up front, the girl in the Alkaline Trio hoodie and the man who was in front of me have struck up a conversation since they've seen each other @ FM shows before. She complained of all the $ she dropped that day, commuting in from CT, buying merch for her boyfriend's bday, and DKM tix. And the guy peels off a 50 and hands it to her. I love old men. They talk to each other primarily but I'm kinda included in the convo, since we're all there and bored and fans of the same band so why not. Except he's mainly talking to the other girl and it's so obvious that I'm giving off the over 25 stinkvibes. Funny, I used to hate it when weird old married guys would start up w/me @ shows and now that they won't...it's not that I hate it or miss it, but it's a funny phenomenon. So as we waited for the show and the crowd to come and the place to fill up I heard all about how Dierdre's a kinky 22-yr-old preschool teacher and her 19-yr-old boyfriend's afraid of her, John went to Iona and all the nuns were out & out lesbians, and we're lined up against the front barricade and there are people lined up against the mezzanine railing like a firing squad and who's the shooter and who's being shot? They go out to get drinks but John says they're giving him a hard time at the bar and would I get drinks for them? I don't want to be rude, since he did promise me $$$ for my pix, but I did not stand on line all this time just to be their waitress. Stupid me, get the money upfront. I'll never learn. He said he'd give me triple what it costs (nothing like pressure) and we had to ask just about everyone up front for a pen. And then I realize that I left the new camera battery home. I just cannot win. So to be nice I begrudgingly agree. I thought it was pretty obvious that I didn't want to go and since he's spending all his time talking to the other girl I didn't really want to go. But he gives their drink order and then said, "Oh, did you want something, too?" Yeah, thanx for asking. I really want to stand in a mosh pit and feel my bladder about to burst. As far as I could tell, there was only 1 Black 47 shirt there. The couple to my left were at an A/A show and said they were being kicked in the head all nite long. Yeah, light people crowd surfing will do that to ya. That one was sold out, as is/was the Jersey show, all parents and kids. If this show were A/A, it probably would've sold out as well.

Rolling Blackouts probably got on the bill due to their name alone. 70s rock from Cali that wishes it was from Ludlow. Boring. Mustaches, chest hair, chains, and sneakers. The Scotch Greens? Just swap out FM's Irish riffs for shitkicker riffs and there you go. They covered Janie Jones and although they sped it up a bit, it kinda lost something along the way. They didn't sound like The Pogues at all--not that that's good or bad, I'm just sayin'. But the mandolin did sound pretty cool when it was used to play a guitar.

The stage is huge and the lighting great during the set change. Actual rafters and girders and stuff hanging from the ceiling and I felt like I was right up front at like MSG or something. I was hoping the lighting would stay that way for FM, because all of them always wear black and it's hard to take pix. And sometimes they end up in the dark spots off to the side. This is the problem with a 7-member band, I guess. John was giving me a hard time about my coat all nite, telling me to check it because it's going to get messed up. I tried to put it behind the barricade but then he said that they put the surfers down right where I put it. So I put it at my feet again and he picked it up. Look, I'm not losing my spot or waiting on that line after the show. And if I really did care, I'd've checked it. So big deal, I have to take it to the cleaners in the spring, anyway. Then I started getting hungry.

For someone who wanted copies of the pix, John was fucking jumping up and down like crazy and I couldn't take pix at first with the floor shaking. I moved to my left and the crowd held me steady. A girl behind me started yelling that she was getting hurt. Well, who told you to move up? I got hit with a blast of hot air that the crowd created. Every time a bouncer jockeyed into position in front of me, I ducked. Yeah, that probably makes me a wuss but I don't care. John was behind Dierdre, protecting her, (yeah, right), hands on either side. Then I had a guy behind me. It was kind of weird, but he maintained his distance, even tho his hands were on either side of me, and if he wants to have a crowd pounding his ass, let him. I have a bad back. At one point he started saying something to me but I couldn't hear him and all I could do was smile & nod. Or maybe he was just singing along. Usually the slow songs are the ones where you change film, but of course there was someone overhead during even the tin whistle-heavy ballad. I'm sorry, but you have to be a really big pussy to crowd surf to a ballad. It was really hard to scream on an empty stomach. Oh, yeah, and Flogging Molly played some songs and we screamed along. Then some other girl behind me kept apologizing for bumping into me. I was like, shut up already. Sorry, sorry, sorry, every other minute. Then she tells me her name and says she feels like she knows me since she's been humping me all nite. Y'know, there is something to standing up front--you can't get pushed into anyone else. No real getting kicked in the head b/c the bouncers were fishing out the heavy people before they really got over me, and I kept ducking. They encored with The Wrong Company and Delilah ("You bitch! You slut! You whore!"), complete with trumpet solo.

A setlist came my way but the guy who was behind me grabbed it. I grabbed him by the collar, but he got loose. Which is probably a good thing, b/c then I'd have to wait around to get it signed and I think I'm getting to old for that stuff. On the escalator up (yes, there's actually an escalator in this place) I turn around and start walking down because there's Xris. I keep seeing him at all these unpunk shows, like this one and the Donnas. Streetside, we start talking and I tell him that I'm considering going to the Dropkicks. He says he wants to go, too, and I'm cursing myself because I didn't want to go in the 1st place. Shut up! That's $25! And you didn't like Warrior's Code anyway. So now I hafta go because I don't want to let him down! Then I find myself saying stupid things about how I'm going to get tix on Saturday. So that's $50 I have to lay out! He said the show made him think of The Spunk Lads. So I reminded him that he still owes me a DVD of their Manitoba's show. Which he said would be easier to get to me since he didn't have to wait for some editor to work on it, as he had to w/Cracktober Riot. Yeah, if it's that easy to make how come I've been reminding him about it for the past 3 1/2 years?

The street team outside was giving out Tossers samplers. ...influenced by The Pogues in more than a few ways, but The Tossers play their own brand of Irish music loaded with attitude and alcohol. See, I was right: all The Devil's Advocates really needed to make it big were 3 more guys in the band, drinking songs, and a song about how much it sucks once the booze runs out. The street team had a Stackers CD in their box as well. After that I had to get something to eat. I planned on spending way too much $ at whatever salad bar deli I passed 1st, instead I passed that Europa Cafe 1st and spent way too much $ on a sandwich. It tasted like money, let me tell you. And of course, lest we think that something actually works out in my life or that people are nice about pix, that a-hole hasn't even responded about the $ he owes me. And I sent a batch of pix to the website but it got bounced back--permanent fatal errors. Oh, yeah. And Bridget totally drinks Starbucks.

Destination: Ludlow

Destinaton Zero/Cori Yarckin/Your Secret Admirer/The iOs//Pianos//2/22/06

There are some good things about my computer dying.

My "books" are gone. So that means there is only 1 complete version of No Sleep Til Queens and Sophomore Effort (doesn't it sound more impressive with the titles in itals? Like it really is something) in existance, and I don't have those. I was in the bathroom bawling uncontrollably to the point that Oreo started hissing at me. And then I realized something. It wasn't meant to be. So what? Let it go. Get over it. Grow up already. Move on. And that should learn me to take batter care of my things, but I'll probably never learn. It was so refreshing to be able to hang around at night and not be slouched in front of the computer, writing. I had no burning desire to get caught up on anything. I wasn't worried that I wasn't able to check venue sites every nite.

I think it was a CD that did it. Well, a 6-yr-old computer and the CD didn't help. It was a demo from a band called The States who are residing @ The Delancey. Found it in the flier pile at the Bowery Poetry Club after the comic book show and I was going to review the disk and if good see the band. But they're yer typical Brooklyn-based indie/shoegazing rock band ("Don't write us off as a Brooklyn band!" they beg on their website. Well, that's exactly how they sound.) But when I went to replace the CD with something worth my while, the thing wouldn't eject all the way. In use, computer sez, even though I stopped it. Which has happened before. So I put it back in and tried to pop it out from the drive w/a paperclip. Nope. Drive wouldn't give. Hitting eject on the keyboard didn't work. I had to send another CD in to pop it out and thankfully got the 2nd CD out. Now the computer won't start up past a disk icon that has a ? and then and X on it, and it won't shut off. I have to hit the surge.

And my list of admissions paid for 2006? Gone. So it's like that slate has been wiped clean. Though owning up to everything in 2005 kinda pretty much broke me (spiritually as well as financially), had I not posted it, that would've been lost as well. How much money have I laid out for shows so far this year? $0. Ahhh.

Destination Zero, from the Netherlands, were up 1st @ 6:30 and their set was free. I kinda bristled because I have things to do. Never mind the fact that those things involved spending $ to use a computer, I didn't want to spend the whole nite there until the iOs. But what else could I do? As I watched them set up and souncheck, I started getting irritable. After all, I have things to do. And I felt uncomfortable without my camera on me. Maybe after Destination Zero I can run home and get my camera and come back and that'll kill time. Or...wait. The iOs have a residency. I can see Destination Zero and come back some other time! But knowing me I'd end up with other plans by the time "some other time" rolls around, or I'd be tired/busy from some other show.

As I waited, feeling like a total sneak for being inside ahead of time, I noticed a table with a bouquet of flowers and the card read Miss Cori Yarckin. The girl at the table was wearing cargo pants that met the wrong end of a Bedazzler and a personalized rhinestone belt buckle. She had a Coach bag and a digital camera on her and took pix of herself and some tall, lanky poseur in a tie, eyeliner, black nailpolish, and the standard-issue "I'm a hip rocker" shaggy haircut. Destination Zero are a promising industrial band that blended in bongos and playing a big blue industrial barrel, except for the fact that the mic kept cutting out and dropping in volume. "The best thing about the 9 shows in 10 days is that you can get everywhere by subway! No van with 5 smelly guys!"

So then we had to clear the room for Cori Yarckin and I was kinda hoping I could sneak around and not have to pay. At the head of the line was some weird old guy with a bad combover weave. A crowd was forming and I knew the place would clear out after her set, but I was afraid that if I said I was there for the iOs they'd make me wait outside, and the traffic flow is terrible with people trying to get upstairs and waiters going back and forth. And bringing food that I can't afford right past my face to hip people with money that I'll never have, eating dinner. Cori Yarckin was actually a band, and since her act was billed as such I kinda knew what to expect out of her. The guy in the tie is her guitar player and her douchebag bass player wore a Def Leppard shirt over a shirt and tie, his hair sprayed into a really bad fauxhawk ridge. Cori was wearing too much eye makeup, a tight blazer, and her belt buckle said IROC. The place was packed. She reminds me of those phony obnoxious chicks on American Idol who think that oversinging everything and trying too hard is a substitute for a personality and get pretty far and then get kicked off, much to the relief of everyone else who wondered how the hell she lasted so long. Or who end up winning. (Note: I do NOT watch American Idol. I'm just saying.) The Cori Yarckin Experience was really bland pablum pop rock, complete with her taking her blazer off to reveal her pelvis and hip bones, which do not have stretch marks. (Note: I do NOT have stretch marks. I'm just saying.) Though her shirt was pretty cool and if I were flatchested like she is, I'd rock it. Who the hell is this woman/band? Is she on Z100 or something? Even Unsteady Freddie was there. Plenty of digital cameras and the guy near me was on his Blueberry thru the whole thing. "I'm not even from here and all y'all came out to support!" (Some other band.)

Your Secret Admirer borders on What not to name your band, but after the inflated balloon that was Cori Yarckin, it kinda worked for their college-rock vibe. "Hi, we're Your Secret Admirer." It was their 1st gig (aw!) and after the 1st song the singer said, "We're Your Secret Admirer!" Yeah, I heard you the 1st time. I'm just not that into you. It's not you. it's me. No, I'm kidding, but you get my point. They were filling in for a band called Wrest, who were taking time off due to illness/injury. What is it with all these bands getting sick/fucked up now? "I bet you wish Wrest didn't have to cancel!" Yeah, low self-esteem is so appealing in a band. The iOs had a kinda similar sound, but with keyboard and drum machine, and I probably would've liked them more if I didn't have to stand around all nite, because I'm still getting over my cold, hacking, and blowing my nose. And I haven't been sleeping well. And I'm bummed out about the whole computer sitch.

Let's Have Some Goddamned Fun! And Comic Books!

Punk Rock/Comic Book Show featuring WWIX & The Yams//Bowery Poetry Club//2/11/06

Even though I was eating lemons the other nite @ Freddy's in order to stave off a cold (citrus--good for colds, not so good for ulcers, which is why my Vitamin C comes in a wrapper that says Halls) I woke up with a splitting sinus headache. Pain over my left eye and I felt nauseous. Then I found out that Blackout Shoppers had to drop out of this show at the last minute due to a medical emergency (get well soon, whichever Shopper it is), which sucks, but it makes this title work even better since WWIX and The Yams are both Let's Have Some Goddamned Funers. And after hearing about Graham and Sam's electric phlegm, I kinda don't want to know the details of the medical emergency that befell a member of a band that threatens our grandmothers with a tabasco enema if we still miss the show and promises to return later in the month to give our mothers a fucking.

The threat of a blizzard was hanging over the night and when I left it was kinda raining, the type of stuff that could turn into sleet at best. That homeless guy thinking he's selling Street News but really has a stack of Onions was back on the F, and I wonder if anyone ever has ever pointed out the truth. But probably nobody wants to go there with him. By the time we got to Bway/Laff there was a guy standing in the doorway with about 5 grocery bags from LifeThyme on the floor, blocking the door. At least he had the common sense to look inconvenienced when I dared to use that exit. The snow was coming down in earnest when I got up to the street. It's Joey with the medical emergency--a torn tendon in his arm. Look on the bright side: painkillers.

There was a big turnout @ The Bowery Poetry Club, and I found a comic book artist from Kew Gardens. His table was set up next to former Maximumrocknroll columnist and guest speaker/reader Mykal Board's table and after I got the comic book from Queens, Mykal says to me, "Have you ever been Japanese?" A question that doesn't make sense on many levels. So as I try to find out just what the hell he means, somebody there starts taking our picture repeatedly. Because, after all, he's Mykal Board and I'm me, so naturally I must be there basking in his glory. He goes on to tell me that I look just like a Japanese woman and I must get that all the time. Oh, of course. Boy, now I know how Kiku Kimonolisa feels. Then again, since she really is a Japanese woman I guess people never say that to her.

Mykal did a reading (He was writing for Maximumrocknroll when I was still shitting in my diapers! Which was only 2 years ago!--Max) about the time he went to Philly to do a reading and when he went back to where he was going to crash, there was an S&M act going on in the room as well. See, this is why I'll never get anywhere as a rock writer because I'm pretty boring and nothing interesting ever happens to me. (Then again, since memoirs tend to be exaggerated nowadays that can all change. Thank you, James Frey!) But all through his piece I kept waiting for some punchline. It just felt like we were being set up to hear something funny at the end and I was standing there thinking, Ok, now where is this going? And, Is this going to be me in the future, in baggy pants and a receding hairline doing readings at gigs? That story, of course, ended with something like, But I live up the block so unless somebody's got a surprise for me, it's going to be a boring night. The next one started off with him drinking Everclear ("You all know what that is, right?" he asks. The Shoppers present knew all about it) and Thunderbird wine and coming up with ways to end hatred in the world and waking up in his own puke. And something about how waking up in your own puke, as well as crashing in a room where there's S&M going on, gives you a new perspective on life or makes you see life in a new way. And he kept referring to The Yams as The Sweetpotatoes. Ha ha, you're so clever.

I thought the twangtastic, garagey Yams were supposed to sound that way, but there were problems with the bass amp, so what the hell do I know? Though their guitarist needs to wear sunglasses since the other Yams did. At one time Dave the Spazz, dancing way to close to the edge of the stage, totally slipped and their set ended with him throwing himself into the crowd and I was like, It's about time something happened. It's a punk show as well as a comic book show, after all.

Adding to my cabin fever reading supply is When A Good Time Turns To Shit, the comic book written and drawn by WW9 guitarist Justin Melkmann. Chronicling his misadventures in the band (3 drummers and 2 bass players before their first gig?!), the strip, which originally appeared in New York Waste, is a must-read for anyone in a band or who goes to a lot of shows. I was cracking up out loud by the 3rd panel. It reads like the cartoon version of what I wrote, complete with pix of the band and flyers. Though there were 2 other plotlines included in this collection, I'd like to see a whole comic book done about the band and the gigs.

Spontaneous Combustion!

Plastic Beef Variety Show//Freddy's//2/10/06

I'm so glad that I got that whole seeing Mission of Burma (playing the Bowery on 2/10) thing out of the way last year, clearing the way for seeing The Mooney Suzuki @ JellyNYC on Feb. 10. I'm so glad that I passed on seeing The Mooney Suzuki @ that Shindig! party in January (4 bands, starting at 9pm, on a Wednesday in January, pix by Lastnightsparty, $15 donation required...maybe I'm getting old) clearing the way for seeing The Mooney Suzuki @ JellyNYC @ Southie.

I'm not sure if all the Jelly shows have advance tix, but as soon as tix were available on Ticketweb toward the end of Jan I bought it (on the 28th, at 2:45 in the morning--eh, sounds like me, but what the fuck was I doing up at that time?) And then in my beginning-of-the-next-month-venue-check, of course there were a few things that gave me the all-to-familiar Oooh! No, wait. Already have a show reaction. Case in point the latest Paz/Turner/Benjoya incarnation @ Freddy's. I didn't even let myself think about it because I'd get upset.

And then I found out that The Mooney Suzuki had to regretfully cancel due to a serious band illness. Great. I'm probably the only schmuck who bought the advance ticket and spent the $3 surcharge when everyone was going to pay at the door. So now I have to get the refund (so technically, I have another $13 show coming my way. I seriously considered The Zutons, but I don't have $12 to see hip Brits copy 60s rock, and Towers of London, but I don't have $13 to see hip Brits doing the metal/punk thing so if anyone's curious they can read Brooklyn Vegan because I'm sure he'll cover one of those. Funnily enough they're both on the same night but I'm not supporting the NME) and reshuffle my sched. Now, wait. Something else sounds familiar about February 10. I mean aside from it being my unbirthday. Oh, right. Spontaneous Combustion @ Freddy's. Oh my God. I mean, it sucks that someone from The Mooney is seriously ill (Sammy and Graham with bronchitis), but at least I can go to Freddy's. And besides, if I want to hear TMS I guess I can just watch TV because yet another song of theirs just popped up in a commercial. If I want to see TMS, I can always watch School Of Rock. Well, I could if I had the money to buy a copy. And I'm starting to come down with something as well, probably thanx to working up a drenching dancing at a show--more of a sweat than the band did and of course the only person in the crowd to (dance as well as rock out)--and then heading into the cold night after. And then wondering why I'm called the band's mascot.

I checked my email before I left work to see that I made Roger's C-list because I got the email so last-minute. Probably enough people who got the email that he sent earlier wrote back to say shit, man, I'd love to go but I already got other plans, and fearing there'd be no one there, he dropped ole H a line. I totally made Scott's D-list because I didn't even hear from him about it. I guess we're all even, then, seeing as how I have an S-list. And since I already knew about the gig and because the Freddy's site said 8:30 for Spontaneous Combustion, the improvisational act executed by The Red Barbers, I didn't even notice the 9PM in Roger's email. And got there by 8:30. So not only did I miss the Arrested Development season finale, I missed finding out which Simpsons episode is Matt Groening's #1 fave of the last 16 years. Then somebody started setting up trays of food and I panicked because I thought there was some other party going on--and I didn't eat dinner. So I was thinking I'd have to leave but then Roy and his friend, Erin, showed up so I had somebody to talk to. Roy was also in Warriors, in Xris's gang, the Electric Vikings. Oh, yeah. That's what I did on 1/28, went to the screening @ Times Up! and then stayed up all nite writing. (Wonder how many people going are going to bring a bike to Spunkbubble Warriors.) Said Liza's email promised some sort of Spunk connection, and that he misses The Spunk Lads something awful. Yeah, same here. And he asked me when The Zambonis are going to play there again. Same thing I ask of The Zambonis. Scott assumed that since I was there, there weren't any other bands playing. Yeah, well.

That picture is kinda accurate for The Red Barbers, except that Scott was on drums, Benjoya on guitar, and Roger has since gotten a haircut. And they were all wearing red shirts and they were in the Backroom, not behind the bar. So after a bit of Pat O'Shea's comedy act, they explained the rules of Spontaneous Combustion. You'd think that rules for Spontaneous Combustion is an oxymoron, but the rules were that we have to give them a song title and genre and they'd compose a song for the title on the spot and Roger would sing it in that genre. So even after they explained the rules there was still a request for Black 47's Free Joe Now (Not from me, though it was a good request). I guess there was a reason for making rules to Spontaneous Combustion after all. Roy led the way with a punk song about a rattlesnake and while they all jumped to it and Roger came up with good lyrics and Scott and Dave had a good sound, it was kinda sad in a way because it's like the only way these guys can be in a good band together is if there's some sort of goof/joke angle to it, otherwise they cancel each other out but need the joke angle in order for them to focus on something, and then they're able to go on from there and create and work together and play music together otherwise it would just be a bunch of friends jamming. There was a request for a love song about hairy armpits (uh, nice) and I'm sitting there thinking that I of all people should be able to come up with something. And something good. And then I had it. But after the rap song about a poodle (Put it in the doggy bag, doing it doggy style) and a call for a rockabilly song went first and then I said Anticipating The Blizzard in emo. (Which I thought was a free pass since that sounded like an emo-y song title. And I couldn't think of anything else for a subject.) It's not that I wanted to hear emo, it's that I wanted to hear them attempt to play emo. I guess the next time I go to Spontaneous Combustion I won't be allowed to speak at all because this isn't Stump The Band. Either I'll end up with duct tape over my mouth or someone will sit there with their hand over my mouth. Musically they sometimes sounded emo but not really and Roger didn't sing emo at all. And I have some genres for the next time. Still & all, it was better than real emo bands, but they shouldn't contact Excess Db any time soon. Also good was Cartoon Fuhrer (Which is a good band name, provided you know how to spell fuhrer. Then again, I'm Jewish so it's understandable if I got it wrong. "Disney uber alles!") in metal.

Coincedentally, by the time the food was unleashed a band called Kitchen was playing. Roy pronounced it Best Night Ever--good food, good music, good people--while Scott pronounced Plastic Beef's set Best Plastic Beef Set Ever--perhaps because they did You've Got To Hide Your Love Away and Scott got to yell all the Hey!s. Well, somebody had to. For some reason, Roger asked me how they did and for some reason, I told him. You think we'd learn, but no. Since the 2/3 were going all screwy late at nite, Scott dropped me @ Jay St. I was thinking he'd drop me @ Atlantic but he said the last time he gave me a ride he dropped me @ Jay, when I hurt my ankle. I said the last time he gave me a ride was when I hurt my face. In other words, whenever he gives me a ride I'm not in the capacity to be remembering what subway stop he leaves me at. (For the record, when I hurt my ankle I walked, when I hurt my face it was Bedford, when I hurt my toe he brought me to Jay St.)

Since the A came 1st I took it to W4 for the E. Across from me was a guy I thought was about to jockey into whip-it-out mode: nobody to either side of me, him with his knees apart, newspaper across his lap where his fly is, then he starts shifting around in hopes of the noise catching my attention. So I went out of my way to ignore him and when the guy to my right moved over and asked me if the train was going uptown, I answered him. Is it going to Jamaica Center? Why yes, it is. But local, late at night and all and then the guy across from me got off at his stop. Then the guy going to Jamaica Center starts talking to me, telling me how tired he is. Was running errands back and forth on the subway all day and he's tired and just wants to go home and go to sleep. And it's his 50th birthday. So I wish him a happy birthday and he tells me that he plays for the Harlem Globetrotters old timers' league and all the other pro-basketball teams he used to play for but now he's tired. And he just had a birthday on Oct. 28. Of course pointing out the discrepancy is on the tip of my tongue but I'm not about to go there so I listen to him rattle on about his career in basketball, how he has insurance, just turned 47--"Do I look 47?" he asks me. He brings up the insurance again, has dental insurance, even, and I wonder why a person with dental insurance would have teeth missing, but that's just me. He tells me to watch the Harlem Globetrotters game next week on cable and I tell him I will, even though I don't have cable. I'll be able to see my little friend on TV. Says his name is Bradley and when they taped the game, his braids were going straight back. He'll be on TV playing basketball and I sat next to him on the subway and all he said was that he's tired and just wants to go home. By the time we get to Jackson Heights I notice that weird old guy from the buiding who always walks around in his pajamas and slippers is sitting across from me, wearing his slippers on the train. Bradley tells me that the Boston Celtics gave him the jacket he's wearing. How it was good growing up in an Irish/Italian neighborhood because those people were shitted on already so by the time he got there, he had no problems. In Cambria Heights, those people were already fucked up and it was a blessing because they were able to understand him. But he plays basketball, he says, for the fans. For the energy we give him. Sure, some people play for the money, but it's the fans that do it for him.

When he mentioned shooting out I had to wonder if he was really referring to something else, even as he held his hands like he was going to shoot a basket. But playing basketball was the only part of his story that remained consistant throughout. So I guess we'll never know. I don't have cable.

Unsteady & Disconnected

Unsteady Freddie's Surf Rock Shindig feat: The Tarantinos and SPF4
Disconnected feat: The Rats and Frantic Romantix
@ Otto's Shrunken Head, 1/27/06

The Rats once played on a potentially cool bill @ Trash, but I didn't go because it was on a Sunday. And The Rats sounds like a cool name so what do I have to lose, right? For the longest their site said 1/28 w/Frantic Romantix and the Otto's site said 1/27, with 2 other bands as well. I finally asked them which it was when I was in the nabe. The bartender checked the calendar and said they weren't down for either nite. Uhm, okay. If they weren't playing on the 27th I was seriously considering coughing up the $10 to see Hair Supply @ Sin-e because, well, I feel I have to see them at some point. The next day the Rats's site said 1/27; let it be written, let it be done.

I pretty much had a feeling what The Tarantinos were going to sound like before I found their site. Which says "Don't be a...." and of course a dotted line draws a square in which their logo appears, promising surf, soul, spy, & spaghetti western. The intro says, Yes, Tarantino music is it's own genre. Ask any ad exec who saw Kill Bill. (Which must've come as a surprise to all the bands in existence before Tarantino put their songs--or songs of their ilkage--into a movie. I did wonder why the 5678s were playing all of a sudden because I was like, oh yeah, I remember when I was in college and Pizzicato 5 had that breakthrough so CMJ wrote them up and mentioned other Japanese bands to look into as well. When the 5678s played Southie--and sold it out--they put on their site From Kill Bill Vol. 1! I thought, Really? Well, who knew? In other words, I didn't see Kill Bill.) The Tarantinos' site also has a song list: songs that were in Tarantino movies, in Tarantino's favorite movies, or could be in a Tarantino movie one day. And those songs are what The Tarantinos played, as in they're a cover band. So it was Link Wray, Booker T, and Davie Allen, which was all well & good considering the decor. They're the Zambonis of surf/instro music, especially since everyone in the band has the last name of Tarantino. What a coincedence.

I was starting to get nervous as Unsteady Freddie hyped his upcoming surf-rock shindigs, radio shows, and talked about the next band during the set change. Wasn't this supposed to involve punk bands? Then again, the bartender did say that neither The Rats or Frantic Romantix were on the calendar. But I'm not complaining. It would be nice to broaden my scope a bit. Freddie was psyched about SPF4, saying he's going to blast his kidney stones by standing in front of the bass amp. Then he riffs on his kidney stones, making me think that he and Frank Wood went to the same monologue-writing class. "Somebody asked me how my kidney stones feel. I said (in a Dylanesque tone) 'How does it feel?'" But maybe it wasn't a stand-up show, because I was the only one laughing. But while SPF4 took a while to set up, Freddie said there was something else happening after his show. And when they took the stage, they faced the side of the little stage in the corner so I had to get up, cross in front of the band, and stand in the bottleneck outside the room. SPF4, from the New England area, was a bit harder-hitting surf/instro than the Tarantinos, but it still struck me as the type of music where you could go to the bathroom during the set and not miss a thing, and not just because you could still hear them loud & clear while in the bathroom.

It took a while for The Rats to set up and those dressed up for punk rock started gathering. But when they started playing all I could think was, Sigh, The NYC rock scene's latest bad boys, even though they did have a few good songs. During the next time-wasting set change, one of the Frantic Romantix' obnoxious friends, with hand-shaped sunglass frames, comes over and sits at my table. He starts heckling them, asking for his guitar back, and they heckled back, asking for their snowboard back. I almost wish I didn't see the bass player before their set, because in her tight black leather miniskirt, black tights, black pumps, handcuff earrings, and rock-store T she looked like she could be in Babyshakes--well, not their male drummer--because Babyshakes comes off looking and sometimes sounding like they could have potential except that when they play, they come off as hiding behind the banner of "But we're garage rock! It doesn't matter how good we really are! We're young chicks in fishnets and tight skirts playing music! That's enough for us and it should be enough for you!" At least SMUT's fun. The Frantic Romantix didn't even gel as a cohesive unit, perhaps due to the guitar player standing in front of the stage and, alas, in front of me. He took his shirt off and that's all I need to see in my face--a pasty whiteboy with spindly arms and fuzzy nipples.

It ended at 12:15, meaning I was there for 4 hours. They said, "Stay tuned for Just Paul!" Uh, no. I guess what's also telling is how long it took me to get this post finished. Because I have better crap in the hopper. And better hops in the crapper.

That '77 Show

HEAP/Red Invasion/Crimson Sweet/The Sleazies/Bamboo Kids//Trash//2/3/06

So, yeah.

As soon as I saw that the Sleazies were playing I knew I was going, but it wasn’t until after Joey Boy told me that his band, Red Invasion, was also on that bill and I told him I already planned on going did I realize what date that was. Had I remembered, I probably would’ve stayed home—I mean, I probably would’ve stayed locally.

It’s funny that Red Invasion has a song called A Year Ago Tonight. Because it is a year ago that night that I wiped out on my way to the Lucky Cat, where The United 32s and The Ruffians were playing. I didn’t just merely kiss the sidewalk, I full-on Frenched it. And then, already in a ton of pain and feeling like crap, I figured I’d only feel worse if I missed the show. But a year later--tonight--the Sleazies are playing across the street from there. And I promised Joey the pix.

At least with Trash I know that an 8:00 start time doesn't really mean 8:00 and there's no reason to rush around. Hell, I probably should've known last year that an 8:00 start time doesn't really mean 8:00--irrgardless of the sharp that the email promised/threatened--but you know me. Anyway, this time around I'd planned to go up a a few blocks on Bedford and secure pizza and not wait till I got to Grand St. to first find it. Of course I take the back staircase out--the signs up about the L reroute was for B'way Junction and further back--and come face-to-face with Driggs Pizza. And after I had to head back to Bedford, passing signs for a shuttlebus, and then head down, lest history repeats itself.

Joey was thrilled that I remembered the pix. "Oh my God! You made my whole entire night! Yes! Oh my God my nose looks huge! Look!" Joey showed the pix to the band and I'd seriously considered asking him if I could trade out a CD for the pix since the film developing was more than the CD, but I didn't. As I sat down I got this warm fuzzy feeling. I'm not making any band's whole entire evening by putting all the film in a box, but then again I'm not making a whole lot of money.

HEAP plays rock that's loud and power-pop but without calling attention to the sound, which was nice. But glam punx Red Invasion (with their backward R), Boston's answer to the NY Dolls and the Dead Boys and the Stooges and such, look like they all go shopping together--that's Joey Boy on the left, with Mick Stitch of the Threads/LES Stitches and Walter Lurie of the Waldos--all in tight black jeans, white studded belts as well as bullet belts, creepers, bandanas (around ankles and hanging from belts and ass pockets) as well as scarves, the mandatory padlock around Joey's neck, eyeliner, etc., which makes you think that calling a band a "gimmick punk band" is all a matter or perspective. Bassist Iain Lyons, Tigers, and Bears (oh my!) was celebrating his birthday--"the big deuce deuce!" sez Joey. Wait, that's....yeah, that's pretty much what I thought in the 1st place. They did a Boys cover. "You've heard of The Boys, right? They're a UK punk band from the 70s!" After their set I planned on pointing out that the film developing cost $13--well, $13 and change but who am I to split hairs--and the CD is $10, but I don't. I buy their pins--"All of them? Are you sure?" Joey asks. Then again, I am going to have to buy frame #5 for all my pins so it's a good thing that I did.

Crimson Sweet is more rawk than the punk that just played, but it would've made more sense to have Red Invasion right before the Sleazies. Since they are on tour together ("Sponsored by NAMBLA and Ikea!"--Joey) and on the same rekkid label, after all. Also out of place was Know Your Rights, which Owen played before Red Invasion took the stage. I was sitting down before the Sleazies started and noticed a nervous-looking guy writing in a small notebook. Is he a reporter? Taking notes on the show? Give me a fucking break. He kept looking in the direction of the couch, writing things down, and looking at us again. And then made more notes. (The spirit of '77 was alive and well at the Trash Bar as kids too young to experience punk rock the first time around flocked to the club to see Red Invasion and the Sleazies, proving that in this day and age, the fate of CBGB is irrelevant.....) Please. When I first decided to write it all down, I got a steno pad and used it like twice. Then I thought that a small notebook in the pocket of my motorcycle jacket would work better so I ran out to the 99-cent store and got one of those little chunky notebooks. I never used it.

A guy comes over to me and asks me if the band is setting up or just about to leave. Obviously not the type of guy you see at these shows, he's fingering a cigar and can't hear me when I reply. What's the name of this band? You've never heard of them? About how long are they going to play for? If he could hear me, I would've told him that even though I've heard of them but have never seen them perform, the set probably won't be that long, as all good punk tends to be. Then he starts unrolls the paper and starts licking it. The Sleazies, Rhode Island's friendly neighborhood punk band, play pogo-punk that covers essential punk subjects like drugs/alcohol (Underage Cokewhore, Wild Turkey Is Not A Meat, Better Drugs)--which made a nice soundtrack for when that guy fired one up--and brain damage (Airpockets In My Brain). The type of punk of the good, dumb fun variety that would fit in with The Briefs. The singer can share their hair bleach. And crowds.

I never saw The Bamboo Kids before, though I heard a lot about them. As in the Press saying the best reason not to hype a band is because it makes them worse. They introduced themselves by saying they were from right around the corner (why is it that so many bands are from "around the corner"?) They were kinda country and I guess the Press was right.

There was nobody at the merch table, so I took a Crimson Sweet pin off their board and was going to leave a dollar and a note when their drummer stopped me. I explained what I was doing and he asked me if my camera was digital. Nope. Did I get any pix of them? Yes. Can I send them to him? Sure. In the meantime I'll pop over the pix of them @ CBGB, opening for the Real Kids in like 2004. "It's my second gig with them and I want pix." Yay. Now I hope I got pix of the drummer, as drummers tend to get obscured.

I had to remind myself to look down as I headed back to the subway. I wasn't really hungry and I passed my usual bodega for another one, thinking it would keep me from getting donuts and stuff. I ended up with Pringles. When waiting for the subway, my only choice of seat was between a guy fiddling with his iPod and a girl fiddling with her boyfriend and a slice of pizza. Yuck. She's wearing a flimsy skirt and legwarmers. It's February. Wear pants for fuck's sake. Two guys sat next to me on the L and the one in the marajuana leaf-print Vans turns to me and says, "Dude, can I get a Pringle?"

Dude.

I give him a chip and as he sang my praises I got one out for his friend, dressed all emo down to the white studded belt, ring in the side of his lip, dark-framed glasses, wallet chain, and disks in his ears.

Aw, cheer up emo kid.