Great. Now I Have To Write About This.
Two Man Advantage/The Scarred//Continental//6/13/06
I decided to pick up film in the city. On my way out, I could practically hear someone saying, in a sort of mocking way, When are you gonna go digital, already? C’mon! Well, soon enough. I read that film cameras are being phased out, Minolta laid people off, and they’re not making film any more. True, if I had a digital camera I wouldn’t always be buying film or have a year’s worth to get developed. I will go digital. Soon. I mean, eventually I’m not going to have a choice.
Since I stopped at Duane Reade for the film after getting off the 6 instead of going straight to the place, that’s probably how I ended up in direct line for this. I was almost to the corner of Third when I hear a voice behind me say my name.
I turn around.
“Remember me? Scudder Hall? New Paltz. . . .”
Uhm. . . .
She tells me her name and I barely remember her. I barely even remember New Paltz, but I have a diploma that says I went there, so it must be. Besides, that’s what I’ve been putting on my resumes.
“Who was your roommate again?”
I remind her which half of the floor I was on and she says, “Let’s get out of the street.”
All the while I’m thinking, Why the hell are you talking to me? It’s not like we’re going to be friends, exchange email addresses, and get together and talk about old times. Still, she recognized me after all these years? She tells me she’s in advertising and I tell her what I do and she introduces me to her boyfriend, and the boyfriend is standing there awkwardly, but then again, so am I. I fudge for not recognizing her: “Oh, you’re wearing your hair up. That’s it.” I almost ask her if she remembers Max and am about to tell her that he’s in a band, but I don’t because not only do I think they’d just missed each other, year-wise, and they would’ve traveled in different circles, I just don’t want to prolong the convo. And not because I thought I was running late.
“I remember all those hats you used to wear—”
“I still have them. They got kinda crushed, though.”
“They were really cool.”
See, it’s not that I don’t remember her. I’m practicing snubbing people for when I become famous. Still, I thought, Great. Now I have to write about this. But at least it’s something I can knock out quickly.
***
In all fairness to Two Man Advantage, who had their 28th rehearsal at the Continental as well as landing on the “All pictures were taken here” gallery, I wasn’t listening to much hardcore at the time when I found their CD @ Kim’s. Or maybe I found one of their early CDs when they were trying to figure out what they were doing as they went along. I was curious: they combine 2 of my favorite things: punk rock and bands that sing about hockey. I was all happy that I found the CD in a store that lets you sample as you go along, though I did think—which I do for every band whose CD I find used—Wow, somebody’s getting rid of this. Maybe they suck/started sucking/pissed somebody off. (Well, I never thought that about the copy of G.M.T. I found at Academy. Then again, maybe there’s the pissing someone off angle. Then again, I went back to buy it back so maybe they could resell it for more ${It was on the 99 cent shelf}, but it was gone.) I don’t know why I’m so judgmental about used CDs and not, say, used clothes, but I am. Anyway, I had the same reaction to the Two Man CD as Vin Scelsa had to the Ramones when he first heard them—What is this shit as he flung the record across the station. Or maybe it was Noel making them sound better than they really do, as the band pointed out.
So when I saw The Scarred’s poster for the show, I thought that they were a bit too obvious (even for me), but it’s The Continental and it’s $5, so why the hell not, right? I would’ve gone earlier to catch the other bands, but I’d had enough of all-niters at venues and seriously needed a break.
The Scarred struck me as the type of band that would be the first (or fighting to be the first) punk band to jump up on the soapbox and complain about how commercial punk rock has become and how they’re the true believers, etc etc. The ones who repeatedly and knowingly tap that ’77 vein, but when you point that out to them they get pissed and defensive. The bass player had a button-down, collared shirt with the Clash logo and an armband that said 1977. The guitar player, checking the mic, said, “Penis! . . . Vagina! Dick! Cunt!” (Or maybe it was just a Tourette’s check.) Also of note was the mandatory punk rock headgear—both scally cap and fedora.
The Scarred also struck me as the type of band that would end with a Clash cover.
They opened with Janie Jones.
Nothing like setting the bar too high, eh? Nothing like setting the bar impossibly high so you either look better for vaulting it on the first try or just miss it and we all go “Awww!” and feel bad, yet really appreciate your valiant efforts because you really, really twied. I laughed and then almost gagged, but that’s me. On their next song, which started with the mandatory “hey! hey! hey!s, the singer was laying on the Strummer/Armstrong accent pretty thick, aside from the fact that that’s a pretty strong accent to start with, and I’m like, There’s no way you talk like that in real life. If Rancid is the type of band that comes from the members being raised on the Clash, you’d think that if someone grew up listening to Rancid they’d at least have a good band. (You get my drift; I don’t know how old they are.) Any time they got a response from the punkers in the crowd, I wondered if it was sarcasm. It was an easy set for the camera-toting punk rock pussies (myself, I’m talking to you) and as the set progressed, I was thinking, Boy, this really clears the air about who is—I mean, was—and isn’t in a gimmicky punk band. The singer asked us how our penises are doing, and then asked one guy how his vagina was. (To paraphrase Devlin Mayhem: These guys did not give me a hard on for punk rock.) “Do we really suck that bad, or are you just being mean?” they asked at one point. “Or is New York just a tough nut to crack?” One guy pointed out that the Buzzcocks were also playing that night. “Yeah, but you’re here.” Fair enough. To try to further settle the score, they . . . did Complete Control. It’s like they had a psychic band discussion and realized, Wow, we must really be sucking so let’s bang out another Clash cover. A PUNK BAND CANNOT DO 2 CLASH SONGS IN 1 SET(UNLESS, OF COURSE, YOU ARE THE CLASH.) Perhaps trying to get back at us, the singer dedicated a song to his penis because he likes it more than he likes us.
I guess they showed me, though: They ended not with a Clash cover, but a Cock Sparrer cover. Which was pretty good, but, obviously, it’s because they didn’t write it.
I decided to pick up film in the city. On my way out, I could practically hear someone saying, in a sort of mocking way, When are you gonna go digital, already? C’mon! Well, soon enough. I read that film cameras are being phased out, Minolta laid people off, and they’re not making film any more. True, if I had a digital camera I wouldn’t always be buying film or have a year’s worth to get developed. I will go digital. Soon. I mean, eventually I’m not going to have a choice.
Since I stopped at Duane Reade for the film after getting off the 6 instead of going straight to the place, that’s probably how I ended up in direct line for this. I was almost to the corner of Third when I hear a voice behind me say my name.
I turn around.
“Remember me? Scudder Hall? New Paltz. . . .”
Uhm. . . .
She tells me her name and I barely remember her. I barely even remember New Paltz, but I have a diploma that says I went there, so it must be. Besides, that’s what I’ve been putting on my resumes.
“Who was your roommate again?”
I remind her which half of the floor I was on and she says, “Let’s get out of the street.”
All the while I’m thinking, Why the hell are you talking to me? It’s not like we’re going to be friends, exchange email addresses, and get together and talk about old times. Still, she recognized me after all these years? She tells me she’s in advertising and I tell her what I do and she introduces me to her boyfriend, and the boyfriend is standing there awkwardly, but then again, so am I. I fudge for not recognizing her: “Oh, you’re wearing your hair up. That’s it.” I almost ask her if she remembers Max and am about to tell her that he’s in a band, but I don’t because not only do I think they’d just missed each other, year-wise, and they would’ve traveled in different circles, I just don’t want to prolong the convo. And not because I thought I was running late.
“I remember all those hats you used to wear—”
“I still have them. They got kinda crushed, though.”
“They were really cool.”
See, it’s not that I don’t remember her. I’m practicing snubbing people for when I become famous. Still, I thought, Great. Now I have to write about this. But at least it’s something I can knock out quickly.
***
In all fairness to Two Man Advantage, who had their 28th rehearsal at the Continental as well as landing on the “All pictures were taken here” gallery, I wasn’t listening to much hardcore at the time when I found their CD @ Kim’s. Or maybe I found one of their early CDs when they were trying to figure out what they were doing as they went along. I was curious: they combine 2 of my favorite things: punk rock and bands that sing about hockey. I was all happy that I found the CD in a store that lets you sample as you go along, though I did think—which I do for every band whose CD I find used—Wow, somebody’s getting rid of this. Maybe they suck/started sucking/pissed somebody off. (Well, I never thought that about the copy of G.M.T. I found at Academy. Then again, maybe there’s the pissing someone off angle. Then again, I went back to buy it back so maybe they could resell it for more ${It was on the 99 cent shelf}, but it was gone.) I don’t know why I’m so judgmental about used CDs and not, say, used clothes, but I am. Anyway, I had the same reaction to the Two Man CD as Vin Scelsa had to the Ramones when he first heard them—What is this shit as he flung the record across the station. Or maybe it was Noel making them sound better than they really do, as the band pointed out.
So when I saw The Scarred’s poster for the show, I thought that they were a bit too obvious (even for me), but it’s The Continental and it’s $5, so why the hell not, right? I would’ve gone earlier to catch the other bands, but I’d had enough of all-niters at venues and seriously needed a break.
The Scarred struck me as the type of band that would be the first (or fighting to be the first) punk band to jump up on the soapbox and complain about how commercial punk rock has become and how they’re the true believers, etc etc. The ones who repeatedly and knowingly tap that ’77 vein, but when you point that out to them they get pissed and defensive. The bass player had a button-down, collared shirt with the Clash logo and an armband that said 1977. The guitar player, checking the mic, said, “Penis! . . . Vagina! Dick! Cunt!” (Or maybe it was just a Tourette’s check.) Also of note was the mandatory punk rock headgear—both scally cap and fedora.
The Scarred also struck me as the type of band that would end with a Clash cover.
They opened with Janie Jones.
Nothing like setting the bar too high, eh? Nothing like setting the bar impossibly high so you either look better for vaulting it on the first try or just miss it and we all go “Awww!” and feel bad, yet really appreciate your valiant efforts because you really, really twied. I laughed and then almost gagged, but that’s me. On their next song, which started with the mandatory “hey! hey! hey!s, the singer was laying on the Strummer/Armstrong accent pretty thick, aside from the fact that that’s a pretty strong accent to start with, and I’m like, There’s no way you talk like that in real life. If Rancid is the type of band that comes from the members being raised on the Clash, you’d think that if someone grew up listening to Rancid they’d at least have a good band. (You get my drift; I don’t know how old they are.) Any time they got a response from the punkers in the crowd, I wondered if it was sarcasm. It was an easy set for the camera-toting punk rock pussies (myself, I’m talking to you) and as the set progressed, I was thinking, Boy, this really clears the air about who is—I mean, was—and isn’t in a gimmicky punk band. The singer asked us how our penises are doing, and then asked one guy how his vagina was. (To paraphrase Devlin Mayhem: These guys did not give me a hard on for punk rock.) “Do we really suck that bad, or are you just being mean?” they asked at one point. “Or is New York just a tough nut to crack?” One guy pointed out that the Buzzcocks were also playing that night. “Yeah, but you’re here.” Fair enough. To try to further settle the score, they . . . did Complete Control. It’s like they had a psychic band discussion and realized, Wow, we must really be sucking so let’s bang out another Clash cover. A PUNK BAND CANNOT DO 2 CLASH SONGS IN 1 SET(UNLESS, OF COURSE, YOU ARE THE CLASH.) Perhaps trying to get back at us, the singer dedicated a song to his penis because he likes it more than he likes us.
I guess they showed me, though: They ended not with a Clash cover, but a Cock Sparrer cover. Which was pretty good, but, obviously, it’s because they didn’t write it.
posted by heather @ 10:13 PM
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