Embracing Bridgeport

Titles/Mountain Movers/J. DiMenna/The Zambonis/Alternate Routes/Planeside/Ted Leo and the Pharmacists//Bridgeport Aboveground Festival//8/12/06
(Dave Zamboni and his friend try to figure out whose {Hartford Whalers wallet} is biggest.) It’s been far too long since I’ve done something stupid and I’ve been starting to worry about myself. So when I found out that The Zambonis were playing the Bridgeport Aboveground Festival, and they were on early enough in the afternoon on a Saturday, and the Saturday right after my birthday, I had to go. I looked up the map of the Metro North station, and then tried to find this Baldwin Plaza on Mapquest. I couldn’t tell if it was feasible. But when I saw that it said, Don’t fear our Bridgeport, embrace it! on The Zambonis’ site, I figured it was. To be safe, I emailed for further instructions, and all systems were go. Besides, there are so few bands left that I’d do something stupid for.

I wanted to be on the 12:07 train, even though I figured it was a longshot. The thing started at 3 and The Zambonis were on at 6. I was out the nite before and the R wasn’t stopping at my station. But the 12:07 got me in at 1:27 and I wanted to get myself situated and find the place, even though it was 2 blocks from Metro North. Plus I had to find a camera battery, get food, take out money to be on the safe side, and get the ticket. So I figured to save time, I’d hit the Rite Aid in the Metro North station. I really wanted to go to Duane Reade because of the $5 coupon you work up to. (Not to mention how batteries/film is even less at Bed, Bath, & Beyond, but I never have time to deal with the lines, even for a $2.99 camera battery and $4.99 for a 4-pack of film. Thing is, all the film is short dated and I’d have to get it developed right away, which isn’t fair to the rest of my film. And I’m afraid it fell off a truck or something and I don’t want to find out too late if it is.) Even though I told myself that the 1:07 got me in at 2:27 and I’m sure this thing wasn’t going to start at 3 and no offense to Bridgeport (or the bands), but this isn’t exactly the Siren Festival where people will be lining up before it starts. Maybe the 2:07, in at 3:27? No, that’s pushing it. For a second I considered not going at all. Then again, the last time they played in Bridgeport near Metro North I didn’t go, and it worked out in my favor because they only played for a half hour that time, even though it was at Moby’s gallery and members of Satanicide backed him.

I left at 11:30. I think that’s the earliest I’ve left for a show. So even though I had to go back to Continental, I got on the train that was already waiting on the express track and since it looked like an E from the outside, of course it was an F. Maybe I’ll get lucky and that’ll be rerouted, too, and stopping at 51/Lex. Whaddaya know. They said it was going over the V line. Uh, then that means it won’t be running at all, since the V does not operate on weekends. As I went to get the 6, I told myself that if that one was rerouted, maybe it wasn’t meant to be. They’re only gonna play for an hour. But I made it in about noon, picked up a schedule, and tried to find what I was after. Where the fuck is the Rite Aid in this place? The thing is, every time I need it I’m trying to catch a train so I never remember where Shuttle Passage is. I felt like I was walking in circles and there had to be a wing I wasn’t hitting. So I had to get the battery at Hudson News and pray they had my size, and when am I ever going to learn to carry a backup? Next came the ticket and the 1:07 to New Haven was listed on Track 11. What about Bridgeport? The New Haven train is red and the Bridgeport schedule is red. Maybe New Haven is the last stop. Yes, that’s it. I knew that. And there’s Shuttle Passage, across the terminal, so I picked up a sandwich because I was determined not to spend $5 on pizza at the food court downstairs. I looked at the schedule. Okay, 26 stops. That’s like taking the local to Freddy’s to see The Zambonis. Or to Coney Island for the Siren Festival. (Just a thought, if you’re looking for a swell indie rock band, oh ye bookers of Siren.) Okay, so it was $23.50. Besides, I can’t get to The Higher Ground (in Vermont) by train or Chinatown bus and it’s bday weekend, so what can you do? Besides, I put the ticket on my charge card so I can worry about it later, or not at all.

I tried to sleep, but couldn’t. A thin-lipped woman with a Bergdorf bag sat across from me. An 80-minute trip. The PA system went out a few stops into the trip, sounding like a big fart when it crackled out. At one point the woman asked me if I knew what stop we were at, since there were no announcements. I show her the schedule with all the stops listed and it turns out she was looking for Darien and we passed that by 2 stops. “Well, that’s what I get for reading.” Well, if we’re supposed to be in Darien by 1:45 and its 2-something, you know you did something wrong. Oh, she’s not wearing a watch. Brill. So I get to Bridgeport and as I’m trying to find this place, I see a Rite Aid. I went to get an Arizona can and as I crossed the street, I thought, It’s a glorious day out and I’m going to see the Zambonis. This day cannot get any better. I tried to pick up some tissues (only the 6-pack of pocket packs) and the Arizona, but all they had was Veryfine. And you can get cold cuts at the Bridgeport Rite-Aid. Though they have something called a Chubby, a 4-oz. (or 6-oz.) bottle of generic soda in weird colors that sold for 33 cents.

Titles are an indie-rok band in the Merc/Sin-e/Pianos tradition, (as were Mountain Movers and J. DiMenna) and as I sat in the grass watching them, I realized that I’m sitting in the grass. Watching a band. I can’t remember the last time I sat in the grass. Seriously. I lay down. Ditto. Yeah, bugs are probably crawling into my ears and burrowing into my brain and laying eggs, but I’m lying in the grass! It’s warm out but not humid at all, and I’m going to see the Zambonis! Best day ever! I saw Dave and told him that, and he said, “Well, it’s a nice day and we get to see Heather.” I actually meant it as a compliment; not, Great, it’s a nice day out and I’m seeing the Zambonis, groan, way to ruin the day.

This was my first time seeing the Zambonis perform outdoors. Seeing bands at outdoor festivals are always a new/interesting way to see bands. It’s a whole new dynamic. And this is the Zambonis’ home ice, more then the Higher Ground is. At some point I realized that the crowd was all spread out and sprawling, enjoying the day and friends hanging out w/each other. So, yeah, if I stand in front of the stage I’d look like a weirdo, would probably be blocking someone’s view, and even though you can’t dance on grass, what can you do? At some point, I thought: I didn’t come all this way on bday weekend and spend all this money to see one of my favorite bands in their hometown and then sit in the grass, but it was such a beautiful day and I was so excited that I didn’t really dwell on it. What can you do? You know me, I always try to make the best of things.

Imagine my surprise and delight when Dave called everyone closer under the band tent to give out stuff. Or to ensure against my mentioning that I came all this way and spent all that money to see one of my fave bands and now I have to sit but I don’t mind because I’m so damn happy as it is that I would happily sit if I had to. But this made everything that much better. He tried to toss a Zambonis hat to a guy in a Weezer shirt, and the guy missed. A true Weezer fan isn’t very athletic, Dave points out, in addition to theorizing that the breakup isn’t permanent and Weezer will be back in 3 years with another halfway crappy album. Weezer Guy didn’t catch any hats pitched in his direction, but someone gave him one. “A true Weezer fan keeps missing and someone gives it to him anyway.” They invited a little kid in a Foo Fighters shirt onstage, because the kid asked them if he can sing a song with them since he knows the words to most Zambonis songs. Hey, Dave knows the lyrics to most Zambonis songs, too. They asked if he wanted to stay onstage, and he said yes. What a rock star. Dave also told us that with the money they got for selling Hockey Monkey to Fox for the theme song to the awesome TV show The Loop, (big, exaggerated winks from Dave. Now, I’ve seen The Loop and I’ve gotta say this: the theme song is incredible) instead of using the money for an agent or publicist, they put it toward a new Hockey Monkey. Which is a smart move, considering how the old one smelled/looked. And joining Hockey Monkey at the gig was his pal, Storm, the Bridgeport Sound Tiger. And they did the Sound Tigers theme song. A 2-mascot blowout. (For those who don’t know, a Sound Tiger is a big, blue tiger native to Bridgeport, Connecticut who loves to play hockey.) And The Zambonis weren’t the only subject-specific band playing. According to Dave, Ted Leo & The Pharmacists only write songs about pharmacies. Best Zambonis gig ever.

Shortly after their set I had to find something to eat and, let’s face it, I wanted to try a Chubby. The Rite Aid was closed, alas, and as I walked back to the plaza, I heard a loud band all the way down the street. Planeside had these comps at their merch table and they were promoting their appearance at some sort of upcoming local sucky bandfest. They struck me as the type of band that is loud for the sake of being loud—“It’s loud because that’s how hard we rock!” They’re probably big in Bridgeport. I wasn’t digging it.

I’ve never seen Ted Leo & the Pharmacists. Or ever heard their music. Seriously. So that was another draw to this crazy trip. I used to keep missing them a few years ago because I always found out about conflicting shows and I’ve been meaning to check into them when they played the Seaport, but I had better things to do in the middle of a blackout, and then a torrential rainstorm, like going home. Someone mentioned moving closer, and the next thing I knew, the crowd totally mobbed the stage. I was surprised; at Siren and the Seaport there’s barricades in front of the stage and the huge moat, but this was really cool to be separated from this band only by the mic stands, because I know they’re this big band. (Big as in popular, not in some Polyphonic Spree sorta way.) And now I know why. They’re very collegiate, as in their crowd demographic, but they’re also a band of substance, like The Zambonis. Their first song was your typical modern indie/college rock, and after that the songs did rock out. They totally blew Planeside out of the water and reflected The Zambonis’ meatiness. Except I had to keep an eye on my watch and on the railroad schedule, and I kept telling myself 5 more minutes and I was trying to guess where the stopping point in their set was. But by 10:15 I had to leave for the 10:31 train because the next one out was 11:40.

I got there in enough time and found the track, and then got something to drink to pass the time til 10:38. When the train got in I got on and was surprised that it left right away. I don’t know how I started thinking that the train left at 10:38, but it’s probably because the train before it was 9:38 and the BP-bound trains all left on the sevens, so all the fresh air probably warped my brain. That, and all the bugs that burrowed into my head and laid eggs.

PS: Congratulations to The Zambonis on winning Best Rock Band in Connecticut’s Grand Band Slam competition. I knew they were going to win not only because the contest ended on my birthday and what better gift is there, but Warming The Bench is such a great song and I smile each time I hear it. They also have other classics about hockey, monkeys, buildings, food, love, heartbreak, backache, and hockey, but Warming The Bench is off their Vermont EP, which I got recently and therefore have been listening to that one the most.

Spazzstock!

Sato & Jonny/WWIX/The Plungers/Sea Monkeys//Union Pool//8/5/06

There were 2 G trains already in the station when I got to Courthouse Square. The doors were closed on the one on the left and there was an announcement that that one was leaving first. So I got on the one on the right. There was one other person in the car. The doors closed and we sat there. A conductor got on further down in the car and told us that this is the last stop, everyone off. Yeah, so what? It’s not like this is going to go into Queens on the weekend. It’s going to turn around and head into Brooklyn. Right? It’s just like the V. I get off and get on the other train, which is leaving first anyway. So they did me a favor. I look up only to notice the heavyset man across from me is in a tight-fitting, stained polo shirt and shorts and sitting with his legs wide open, giving quite the show of his black underpants. He’s got his hand on his crotch, completely unaware of how repulsive he is. (He’s the type of guy that would carry shopping bags full of newspapers around with him, and I could just picture the piles of old newspapers and porn in this guy’s apartment.) I wanted to put my sunglasses on in order to save what’s left of my eyesight, but my shades are no match for the horror. I pull my subway map out of my bag and hold it in front of my face, but the damage is already done. Thankfully he got off before I did, but not without showing off the saggy waistband on the back of his shorts.

I’d never been to Union Pool before, but for some reason I was expecting some hipster bar with pool tables in Williamsburg. Not so. The place sorta reminds me of a cross between Maxwell’s and Pete’s Candy Store—I don’t know why I came up with that, other than the fact that UP is at the end of the block like Maxwell’s and the door is cattycorner to the curb like Maxwell’s front door. There’s a back patio like at Pete’s. And you pass UP to get to Pete’s, since its right by the BQE overpass. No pool tables in sight. The place used to be a pool supply store and it was very 1940s. Maybe that was all it took, but there was such a happy vibe there. It was wild. The room where the bands perform also seemed to be from another time.

And maybe the other-generation vibe helped Sato & Jonny, or maybe it was just the stage dynamics. Or maybe it’s because Sato & Jonny made more sense to me after having seen Masayo Sato’s other band, the all-girl garage-rock band The Plungers. I saw S&J at Southpaw and while I didn’t hate them, I wasn’t impressed. I even forgot what bill they were on, but Southpaw is such a whack stage/place to play. Either you’re there there or you’re lost. I sometimes feel As the crowd goes, so goes the band and that holds true at Southpaw. Anyhoo, the stage at Union Pool is nice and accessible, right above my kneecaps, and the whole place was so warm. It drew you in rather than pushing away. And the stage was more compact, not as sprawling as Southpaw’s, so it made a nice setting for the retro 40s and 50s rock of Sato & Jonny.

And while I liked Sato & Jonny much better on Union Pool’s stage, I realized that this is the first time seeing World War IX on an actual stage. I think. Right? I don’t know if Trash counts, but this is a real stage. I started getting all excited for this. Max said he watched Office Space to get psyched for the gig, and wanted to know what was our favorite part of the movie. (The part where they take the fax machine out to the field and beat the crap out of it. I was working at this place that was nutso about the fax machine—which had to be one of the first fax machines ever made—when the movie came out. Not to mention the fax paper on the rolls, this thing was the size of the top half of a photocopier and it had a green light in it. I could go on, but I won’t.) So the IX made the most of the stage, running all over and trying not to implode—and ending with different songs than the ones they started, and being crazy pogo fun. The stage dynamic made for a more intense set. They said all their CDs were free, even the full-length! Hey! I paid $5 for mine!

I finally saw The Plungers, when they opened for Nikki Corvette @ Trash, and as I was digging them, I was thinking, That chick looks familiar. I’ve seen her before. It was in Southpaw. Now, what was the name of that band? Oh, right, Sato & Jonny. In addition to being a must-see based on name alone (at least in my book) The Plungers have been together for 10 years, according to the email I got from the IX. When I first read that, I was like no way, but I can see how that is, that they have been together for a while and the raw/primitive—which isn’t to say untalented or unprofessional or sucky—vibe/sound still comes through, because a sound like that for this brand of garage rock, can’t be faked.

“Next up is that new band from Long Island, Sea Monster!” Dave the Spazz announced. I had no idea what to expect—aside from the promised loud, fast, and stoopid. (Which they were from 1986-2001—how come I’ve never heard of them?) Sounds like a lot of bands I’ve seen. Coming onstage in matching outfits—Hawaiian shirts, Corona shorts, bucket hats, shades, and red Converse painted with glitter—I got it. I was thinking Sea Monkeys, those things you ordered from the back of a magazine and they were supposed to be a family of sea creatures, coming onstage in that getup, the guys were monkeys. (But are they monkeys or sea creatures?) It’s always refreshing to see a band that throws panties at you instead of the other way around, and I ended up with a cool pink pair with skulls and crossbones on it. Not like I would wear them even if I could fit them, but it’s good that the panty karma cycle was complete. And Sea Monkeys? Yep, pretty loud, fast, and stoopid. Not to mention eye-opening and mind-blowing, down to the band holding guitars/bass behind their backs and playing. (Well, not the drummer, of course.) I was thinking that they were WW9’s fave band because they were all falling over each other moshing, and I thought, The band that moshes together, stays together. Oh, and “Chimp movies from the personal collection of Dave the Spazz” means just that. So maybe the band name also refers to Dave’s love-of-monkeys.

There’s a 24-hour health-food store/Whole Foods knockoff just past the subway stop and even though I can’t afford to shop in places like that, I went in. They sold sodas there, so I don’t know how it could be health food. But they had larger sizes of Vitamin Waters and stuff like that. Bahlsen Hits were like $1.29 and you can get those for 99 cents in drug stores. I found a larger-sized Poland Spring sparkling water than I see in drug stores for only 50 cents more. But I was in such a good mood that I continued to look for something to go with it, like an inexpensive cookie or something. REM’s Man On The Moon came on, and a guy said to the girl he was with, “Yeah, I believe they put a man on the moon.” I laugh and he tells me, “I have no problem believing that.” They went to register and then Blister In The Sun came on. I was freaking out. I wanted to get some Pocky, but that was $3.49. I settled on Yan Yan and pretended to browse further so’s I could hear the rest of the song. I was ready to dance in the aisles, but I was too afraid it would be too much like the My Sharona scene in Reality Bites so I didn’t want to go there.

This Show Was Brought To You By The Letter B

Team Spider/Psalters/Defiance, Ohio @ Tompkins Square Park (@ Ave B)
Blackout Shoppers & The Bullys @ Manitoba's, 8/14/06

(<---Check out Xris Ryan as ghetto Axl Rose) Avenue B was the place to be and the place for free--shows, that is. Though their mailings didn't promise smelly old men, nervous NYPD, and people off their meds this time around, all were there in full force--the latter on both sides of the mic. (Har har. People off their meds rule.) I followed an ambulence into the park and got there to see a crowd. I wasn't sure about the order of the bands, and as I made my way to the stage I heard something about capitalism. Sounds about right. I just missed thee mighty Wombat In Combat (Are wombats mighty? Well, if they're in combat, I guess they are. Unless somebody started with the wombat, in which case it might be caught off guard and perhaps not feeling so mighty. Unless it's in combat with me, in which case it could kick my ass, so I guess it would be.)

Team Spider had some new songs and newer songs, as well as their songs about the nabe penned by ZAK, who was sorely missing on Bush Bush Bush, but their ska/rap vibe definiately came across when Xris traded his guitar for his mic, running into the crowd and getting us all to skank. As well as dance around in a circle. Man, I haven't seen these guys in so long. I didn't realize how long it's been since seeing them that day. A lark in the park, as ZAK would've said.

Psalters, whose location is listed as a black bus, have many religious messages on their Myspace. About how the fans were blessed at the show, and blessing them. Uhm. Their CD is called The Divine Liturgy of the Wretched Exiles and they "thank you and You." Now they have a message from a fan--sorry, friend--who picked up their Bible and started reading it again. So the 1st time I checked into them, I thought, Are they one of those freak-folk, 20-band-member collectives? What's up with the religion bit? Well, they're the only band I've seen that rocked 2 accordians, 2 shofars, a barrel drum, castanets, banjo, bells, gongs, and have instruments with cool names that I've never heard of, such as a mijwiz, riq, qarkabeb, oud, and a didjeridu--well, that one I've heard of, but the name is cool nonetheless, listed in their liturgy booklet. They asked to get rid of Team Spider's mics that were still set up in front of them and invited us closer. They started out with a song called Ol' Glory, about how they learned of a cult during their travels that they're trying to warn everyone about. This cult hangs up a banner to represent their group, and the banner has white and red stripes on it, and a little blue box with stars on it that's up high out of everyone else's reach. Well, I didn't explain it as eloquently as they did, but you get my drift. They said they're trying to follow Christ's teachings, and as I watched this group, I thought that these folx are what Jesus was really about--not guilt, fear, saying who you can and can't love/marry, controlling women's bodies, red states, NASCAR, Promise Keepers, advertising your messiah in the subways, Jars Of Clay, etc etc.

I really wanted to see Defiance, Ohio, and not just for the great name. I wasn't prepared for the swell and surge of the crowd and I was getting pushed into the band. I kept thinking, What the hell is your problem? If I get pitched face-first into an upright bass, there will be no show if I plow the band over and break instruments. So I did the squat/pelvis thrust to keep the crowd off of me.... and then got a foot cramp, and then I was no match for the crowd. I tried to move aside, but couldn't. Just when I thought it abated, it started up again. I fell forward and grabbed onto whatever was in front of me--this, of course, being the microphone itself. Of course they started having sound problems after that and the mic didn't work and I felt stupid. I can just imagine everyone laughing about me on their Myspace page. Didja see that stupid, wussy girl who almost fell on the mic and then grabbed it? Well, this won't be the first show I ruin with my sheer presence. So not only can you mosh to acoustic folk-punk, you can also crowd surf to it. After I moved aside I went to say hi to Xris and the police started coming in. Yeah, people running around in a circle, big threat.

So after that it was down the block and across the street to Manitoba's. Now that's more like it, leaving a free gig and walking across the street to another free gig. Well, I was in the neighborhood and I had to pee, so.... The Blackout Shoppers were back at Manitoba's doing what they've been known to do at Manitoba's, which is opening for a legendary punk band.
(<---It was sorta like that, except Marc Lefton wasn't there.)

(Hey, it could happen.)
(<---That's more like it.)

A woman comes up to me with a stack of baby fliers in her hand and asks me where the bass player goes.

I point to the far corner.

"They told me he needs a bass player, but it's a tight squeeze. He's got a gig coming up here."

I look at the gangly teen in the acid-washed Ramones shirt (oh, of course) behind her. Just put the fliers by the DJ booth and go already.

"We're just here to look at it; we've never been here before."

Well, I hope you have earplugs; it's gonna get loud in here. Where are the Shoppers, already? They brag about being the band that fucks mothers, here's one--go for it. She hands me a flier for a band with a possibly sucky name and goes over to talk to the bartender. You're going to discuss business now? You should know shows are on Mondays @ 8 if you're passing out fliers for a show Monday @ 8.

"When are these guys gonna start already?" Seth asks.

"Yeah? I hear they suck live."

I can't remember if I saw the Bullys before, and by before I mean before their rekkid release party last month. For some reason I remember being in Coney with Stomposition for sale. I'm tempted to say yes because with me it's totally possible, but if I say that I have, what if I'm wrong? Still, it was one of the most intense and energetic shows in a while. I lost my Wombat In Combat patch and I think a roll of film.

As I headed to the R on 8th St., a guy asked me where the East Village is.

"Aren't we in the East Village?" I didn't mean it to sound like that, but he just took me by surprise. I don't know which exact blocks and zip codes make up which little district, but as I looked around I saw E. Houston to my left, farther down, and I consider the Merc zone and vicinity the Lowah Eeesside.

"This is the East Village?"

Well, it ain't Harlem, it ain't Chelsea, and it sure as hell ain't Greenwich Village. I know that much.

There were yellow fliers hung up on lampposts, covering up the fliers for gigs. Luxury, hi-end renos at 312 Bowery.

Huh. Maybe this isn't the East Village, afterall.

Fun Time In The City Tonite!

We're gonna raise hell in New York City tonite! (Er, make that raised hell in NYC that nite last year.) The Shoppers are going to play Manitoba's next year in order to keep their Aug. 20 streak intact. No, I don't know if they are or not. I'm just sayin'.

The Return Of The Return Of. . . .

Ozma/The Rentals//Irving Plaza//8/4/06

Oh my God! I know! The Rentals! I freaked out when I saw the show listed. I did check to see if A) This seriously was The Rentals (Please, let that be you!) and 2) There was another show that wasn’t at Irving because I haven’t been there in over a year, and I barely went there last year. Irving Plaza is a bit, uh, too rich for my blood these days, but that was their only NYC appearance, so the $20 was not a problem or an issue.

And as I was checking to see when the tix went onsale I did see Soul Asylum listed—or maybe I did notice that in the paper but was too busy freaking out about the Rentals so I didn’t really pay it much mind. And yeah, I did see Soul Asylum. $25, Irving Plaza, Soul Asylum, but what the hell, it was a birthday present to myself. (Don’t worry, I did not see Gary Numan and I’m passing on Everclear. Tho I did consider Everclear for like a sec but not for $26.50. And not at Irving. And The Gossip? Not at Irving.) When I went to get the Rentals ticket and was putting my change and ticket in my wallet, I looked up to see the guy behind me stepping up to the window and getting 2 tix. He’s balding and has graying hair. Ha ha. I’m old.

I couldn’t even find my CD when I went to look for it. I guess this is the problem with filing CDs in the order of obtaining them. Seriously, I was looking at my shelves getting late for work and I could not find it anywhere. I saw Seven More Minutes, but that came out in like 1998. I couldn’t remember when Return Of came out. I saw 100% Hockey, but that was 1995. When did Return Of come out, anyway? Was it out in 95 and broke in 96 or out in 96 and hit in 97? And The Rentals is representative of what I mean when I say that I prefer a band put out one flawless album and break up before they put out a follow-up (yep, the dreaded sophomore effort) that can’t live up to the legend that is their 1st album and piss me off. Return Of was such a transcendent album that when Seven More Minutes came out, I couldn’t help but sit there and listen to it and go, But this isn’t Return Of! You let me down, you fuckers! (Yeah, I am not always a good fan. I’ll admit that right off the bat.) But I found mine in between The Circle Jerks and B52s. Sounds about right.

Buildings were talking to me the day of the Soul Asylum show. And what I was really worried about wasn’t that the buildings were talking to me, but because I accepted this it was further proof of my cracking up-edness. But then I figured that maybe the buildings talk to everyone; it’s just that not everyone listens to them. I got to Irving for Soul Asylum (not sold out in advance) at like 6:20 (8pm doors, 9pm show) and was second on line. I got there at like 6:20 for The Rentals (same door/show, but sold out in advance) and I was just past the pay phone. Shit. That’s bad. I didn’t spend $20 to not be up front and taking pix. I figured I could lose some peeps at the coat check (unlikely in this weather), when they were getting wristbands, or at the merch table. They said no flash photography and no professional cameras (as if I could afford a professional camera), but they didn’t do squat about anybody’s flash photography.

For Soul Asylum I was “Downstage Center,” as the masking tape on the little box of outlets on the stage said. The outlets have round prongs and they looked like little faces. There are 16 of them in the box, and there are little metal tabs on the rim that said “press.” Believe me, those little faces were talking to me, daring me to press. “How’s this? You can’t get any closer unless you get on top of him,” a woman said. “That’s my plan,” her friend responded. And these women were older than me. I mean, they had lines around their eyes. Deeper than mine. (Not clean! Not clean!) For The Rentals, I was “Downstage Left,” but still front row, still able to see stuff, and would be able to get pix with my zoom.

I’ve heard of Ozma, not familiar with their stuff, and they’d broken up and reunited as well. This was their first gig in NYC since the breakup, and there were a handful singing along. Though they had CDs out in early 00, (pretty explanatory, as I had enough music/bands keeping me busy then) they sounded like the stuff that Lo-Fi Lee would book and I thought, Has nothing changed in the music world?

When I was at Soul Asylum, I realized that $25 for a band like Soul Asylum at a place like Irving Plaza is my equivalent of going to MSG. And while that show was pretty much what you’d expect for a band like Soul Asylum at a place like Irving, not quite so for The Rentals. Starting with a dark stage and lone violin player, the band members came out one by one, ending with Matt Sharp starting Move On:

Let’s get up and leave this town
I just want to go right now
Once we get out of here
No one will notice that we disappeared

It was a very telling number to open their set with; lyrics that could’ve meant one thing 10 years ago suddenly had so much more or a different meaning.

So what do you say we go right now?
Get away from everyone that hangs around?
They seem so insincere
So why don’t we just leave them here
And move on?
(Move on)

And with the building, swelling music and all. . . .
We’ll find some new place nice
Some other city or countryside
We’ll make new friends in time
We’ll pack our bags, say good-bye
And move on

It’s been 6 long years
6 years of hanging about without a care
It don’t matter where we go
Anywhere is better, I know.

The funny thing, of course, is that we all did notice that they disappeared—it’s no coincidence that they sold out Irving. Predating synthy, moogy, indie dance rock and their seemingly simple approach to things had me thinking of Art Brut. For all one knows, they could’ve been some random band with a cool name playing somewhere (I was picturing Northsix watching/listening to them all over again) and they sounded just as timeless now as they did back then. On a few of their other songs, the lyrics seemed to have new/hidden meanings suddenly brought to light. And again I thought: Has nothing changed at all in the music world?

Maybe I was imagining things, but the battery compartment on my camera seemed to get hot—either that or it was my sweaty fingers on it making it seem so; I thought my camera was going to overheat between Soul Asylum and them. Matt came around the monitors and I thought he was going to crowd surf. I went to move people’s bags out of the way and he almost stepped on my hand. What was surprising—or maybe not—was that nobody moved during Soul Asylum. Not even when they encored with Somebody To Shove, a song that always makes me think of slamdancing, and not just because of the song title. But there was none of the usual blurring of the lines, no space invaders. Some guy came out of nowhere and ended up next to me, but one more person there and it would’ve been that one extra person in your space at a soldout show. The girls behind me who put their purses onstage also drifted up out of nowhere. By the end of their set, I had all these guys on my ass. “You shouldn’t be getting crushed. That’s not right,” one said to me. Well, can you peel yourself off my backside? Thaaanks. They encored with a cover of Walk On The Wild Side—and while I would’ve preferred to hear the band sing it and not the crowd, I knew there was no chance of that happening—which segued flawlessly into Friends Of P. and I was jumping up and down with the crowd and thinking, I’m sweaty, I’m sticky, and I smell bad. Excellent. I think I figured out what the P. stands for after all this time: Pogo. Think about it.

“Thank you very, very much, from the bottom of our gigantic hearts. I mean, we don’t have a record to promote or a video to sell. This is incredible!”

You are my thing and I love you! I raise my right hand and swear it’s true!

After, the fridges at Walgreens were completely ransacked and empty, lines of people I saw leaving Irving mobbing the place. “Where did all these people come from?” a woman asked in shock. I guess when she usually goes to Walgreens after midnight, it’s less crowded.

The guy was an asshole. I knew it before he opened his mouth. His hair was all choppy and gelled down on the sides, then forward in the front, in that asshole guy style that was popular in the mid-to-late 90s. And he smiled way too much. He asked if the train was going local, and as we made smalltalk about train reroutes and trackwork, he nodded and smiled at everything I said even though I wasn’t done with my sentence, so what was he nodding in agreement at? He said he wanted to catch a movie and asked me if I knew where the movie theatres are. Yeah, what movies are first starting at 1:15 in the morning in Queens? At least the train was going local after Jackson Heights, (it being a Saturday morning) unlike after the Soul Asylum show that morning and I had to go to Continental and wait to take the local back, standing around at 2 in the morning, sweat soaking my face, and knowing that I had another show coming up.

“Well, I think this is my stop.”
You think it’s your stop? You don’t know where you live? Since it was also my stop, I let him get off first, then I left. By the time I got upstairs, he’d slowed up.
“You want to come over?”
“No, I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“You married or something?”
He spit the word “married” out, as if he couldn’t believe I wouldn’t accept this total stranger’s dangerous proposition and there has to be a logical reason for that, other than the one I just stated.

Go Ahead, Eat Their Fuck

SMUT & The Ray Gradys//Manitoba’s//7/31/06

The E came first, right when the R pulled into Jackson Heights, so I had to go for it. I wasn’t sure if the F was right behind it, so I went. It was a little late when I left in the first place, so. Except the car had no air conditioning. It was unbearable. A guy opened a window and that helped a little, like when we went express, but when we made those piddley little station-to-station stops—holy. Every time the train door opened it was like a blast of steam. Thing is, I’ve never been one to change cars. Rarely. To me, it’s just that with subway cars, you just don’t know what you’re getting into in another car. The next one could have a smelly bum clearing the place out, or a flasher. I always take the hand I’m dealt. So when a gal got on at 42nd eating a big bowl of Cold Stone, with the chocolate-covered cone shell and all, I didn’t even have the energy to drool or be jealous that she had the money to go get one.

Of course I was expecting the F or V to have problems at W4 and go express and straight to Delancey, but it came in a timely matter. And I’m convinced that every time I start out on a V and transfer around to expresses and then wait for a train at W4, if a V comes next on the track, that’s the train I started out on and I’m not saving any time at all, just stressing myself out over connections, but there you have it. The convo to my right was about tattoos, and a woman said that the worst tattoos are on the L train. The guy maintained that that’s because they’re not done by professionals and they’re ruined. He knew a woman who had a tattoo of a happy face sperm on her arm, but it came out bad and as he was telling her what it looked like instead, the train made noise so I missed the punchline, but I could pretty much guess—and then I glanced down to see if my sock was covering mine, lest I be the next example after I get off the train. Like hers.

Standing at the top of the staircase at 2nd Ave. was an elderly man in shorts who was shirtless and carrying a blind stick. As I hurry past him, I could’ve sworn that he said, “Excuse me, is this the morning?” Not a convo I want to have. Ever.

Rushing in this weather is not advised, but that’s just what I did anyway, my earplugs in by 4th St. and I hit green lights at every intersection, except when I was going over to B. Besides, since when does 8:00 mean 8:00, right? I got there on SMUT’s 1st song and I saw their packed list of like 13 songs and was all happy—except the place sounds like Manitoba’s. (Damn, I complain a lot. Why the fuck can’t I just be happy about a show? There’s always gotta be something fucking with me and something I find wrong. I just realized that. But I digress.) Still, it was a good set. And ya know what? It was all warm ‘n’ fuzzy ‘n’ Manitoba-y. Aw. It’s all dark in there now, the columns painted black, as well as the bathrooms. Or maybe it was the one closest to the quote/unquote stage. I didn’t go in the other, the one by the juke. One’a them used to be turquoise. So if anybody wants to write graffiti about bands, they can’t. And that’s a good thing. Graffiti is wrong. Oh, sorry, I digress again. SMUT. Right. Awesome. They had the second guitar player this time around, filling out the fuzz.

The Ray Gradys, from Philly, have a mohawked happy face sticking its tongue out for a logo. Fitting. Their drummer wanted to spit on the ceiling and try to catch it, but he didn’t want to spit on as nice a place as Manitoba’s. And when they did their Dictators’ cover, they said they were hoping that “Richard” would be there. They also had a funny story about being stopped by a cop in Ohio, after their van died and they were pushing it for miles. As the cop approached, they saw that he was naked. Not sure if this was a true story or just a clever segue to their next song, but they told it with such a straight face that I had to wonder. See what I mean about their punk happy face logo?

After the show, there was just a blast of steam hitting me the minute I opened the door. I didn’t think it was that much cooler inside the place, but it was. I think it was even cooler on the subway platform. A wall of unmovable air. Holy shit. The V was there first and even though that’s local, I so didn’t care if the F came on the other track. I wasn’t getting off that train for anything until I got back to my stop.

The Killing Floor

Tommy Frenzy’s Hard Drive/Charm School/Heap/The Waldos/Sea Monster
@ The Continental//7/29/06

8+ hours is way too long to spend at any venue, including the Continental. So even though The Dance Party, on at 8, sounded like they could be cool I figured I could skip that and get there for Chesty Malone & the Slice ‘Em Ups and then spend the night. But I figured, what was the chance that The Dance Party would go on at 8? I’ve been there for their first bands before and they never start on time, what with this being Gigland and all. So I figured I was still doing pretty good by getting there at 9. The Dance Party was crossed off the whiteboard and I heard Ms. Blownapart shriek “1-2-3-4!” as I walked in and thought, Whaddaya know, I got there at their 1st song. Not. That was their last song that I walked in on. But before I could kick myself too hard, Blackout Matt regaled me with his tale of woe regarding their ill-fated Jersey gig, so I didn’t feel so bad.

The place was still pretty much empty when Tommy Frenzy went on and they said that if they could just get the bartenders to leave, they’d have the place to themselves. I guess if you’re onstage and trying to stare out the window at the front of the bar, you can’t see the smattering of people who were there. Definitely more right-on than the Shirts were, I still couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what it’s going to be like when my bands get old and I go to the gig wearing orthopedic shoes and not brand-new purple Converse. They did do Your Love Is Like Nuclear Waste and even though they said they take requests and a girl yelled All For The Love Of Rock & Roll, they said they never do that one, nor do they ever say good night.

I’ve caught Charm School a couple’a times before on other bills, but I never felt I had to let my opinions be known about them because I have better things to do than shoot dead fish in a barrel. But when you’re shooting dead fish in a barrel you’ve got a solid chance of hitting something, and with my vision—hey, I’ll be hitting something. The thing with Charm School is that they probably sound good on paper, but live is another story entirely. I guess they’re trying to do girl-group rock sounds, what with their retro-font logo. Except their lead singer pretty much always has both hands on the mic stand at all times as she rocks out way too much, like she’s been practicing rock star moves in front of her mirror, shimmying behind the mic stand as if it were a stripper pole. She announced their Blondie cover, in case nobody that frequents the Continental knows who sang Sunday Girl. And everything wrong with Charm School can be summed up by this one cover. Whereas this song needs subtlety and should be light and seductive, this chick just hits you over the head with it and she’s way too obvious as she tries to turn it into a hard rock song. It made me long to hear the original. And she cannot sing, which is very apparent with this number. When she placed her hand on her hip, fingers splayed, I couldn’t help it—my palm hit my forehead and I shook my head. I think she saw me do that because she glared at me. I think. Shit. This is the problem with being up front, I guess. But that’s the Continental: Always giving bands a fair shot and a stage.

It would’ve been better to put Charm School on earlier in the night and have Tommy Frenzy, The Waldos, and then Sea Monster one after the other. And not just because Charm School is a big ole ^. It just would’ve flowed better and made more sense. (For those of you joining us late in the game, {Hi, WW9—that is, if you’re still there.} this is the universal signal for vortex of suck. What’s a vortex of suck, you ask. The crappy band that ruins an otherwise good bill. The signal for such a phenomenon started off as just a V, but it was quickly inverted, since said band is so bad that it doesn’t merit a V. The inversion was coined by one Bloody Dick of the Spunk Lads @ Siberia. I guess I shoulda figured out how to do that code link to jump to other parts of the post, like how they do it on Slate, and I coulda had like a footnote or a PS and it would’ve looked cooler or more professional. Next project.)

After their set I started getting hungry. St. Mark’s Pizza. It’s not there anymore, of course. Their pizzas were kinda oily, anyway. I’d have to wait ‘til after the show and go across the street. I was sitting down in the corner and pretty much wanted to sit thru all of Heap’s set because then my back started in with me. A guy noticed me sitting down and told me I had the right idea. He told me that he used to see the Heartbreakers all the time in the 80s and the last time he saw the Waldos was at the Continental in 1993. He never had the chance to make it back to their gigs until now. He asked me if I knew who was up next, so I said Heap and he asked me if they were friends of mine. I showed him the flier I took down. “Sea Monster? Yeah, they’ve been around a long time. I remember seeing them listed a lot in the early 90s.” We talked on and off during Heap’s set, my stomach a knot of bad back and hunger. I don’t know why he started talking to me, since people—guys especially—usually don’t, so I had to wonder if he was me. He’s only 5 years older than me. Or so he said. Yeah, spending the night probably wasn’t such a good idea. Another project of mine should be linking to previous posts because I’ve seen Heap before. And mp3s. And then I would have even less to write. Excellent.

“This city’s changed so much. Every time I come here I am blown away,” said a man standing to my left. Apparently the two Japanese band members, the guitar player and bassist, are from some punk band that’s . . . big in Japan. “I thought he was kidding when he got onstage,” said the guy I was talking to, but someone in Heap explained it all since he struck up a convo with them since he’s so out of the local music loop. The Waldos’ set was a rousing sendoff and tribute for the Continental and I thought that it would be impossible to be sad. Well, it would be impossible to be sad, but they closed with Junkie Business, which Lurie dedicated to all his friends, dead and alive—“Though most of my friends are dead now.” And he said they’d see us in 2 weeks. Shit, I bet I know when that is.

“2 weeks from now?” the Heartbreaker asked.

“Yeah, probably since the Continental isn’t going to have live music anymore, that’s why there are all these gigs.”

“They’re not going have live music anymore? You’re kidding! When?”

I felt bad for being the bearer of sad news, but then again I showed him the flier. What the hell did he think it meant when it said This will be the last time. across the top?

I was so totally engrossed in Sea Monster that I didn’t even realize a drumstick was flying at me until it hit my feet. (And, thankfully, it hit my feet.) I can see why they made the “All photos were taken here” wall—an unassuming, straight-up, no frills, rock band. Well, they had a rubber chicken sing on one. Their song The Killing Floor, about their constant gigging and playing CB and the Continental and just trying to make it, was arresting. Someone had a T-shirt that read 20 Years On The Killing Floor and their bio on Interpunk sez they formed in 1986 and their live shows continue to this day in NY venues like CBGB and the Continental. But forming in 1986, being in the East Village scene, and still together? Wow. They ended at like 3:15 and I should’ve left, but I had to stay ‘til the end. Afterward, Ray’s was like an Abercrombie catalogue shoot afterparty. As it should be. After all, the city is for the young. Right? I got in at like 4:30 in the morning. I haven’t gotten in that late in ages.

Turning Up The Not-Suck

Lemonyellow & The Umlautz//Freddy’s//7/28/06

Seeing as how Freddy’s Bar is such a fertile garden of musicians and various assorted creative types, it probably shouldn’t come as a surprise that Bleu J. Umlaut, one of their bartenders, has joined forces with Freddy’s regular Pat Umlaut and formed The Umlautz. I didn’t realize that Pat and Bleu are related, not being a regular myself—but then again I didn’t know that Roger is my twin brother what with that whole decade between us, but we were born on the same date so it must be.

So when I heard about The Umlautz I of course started getting psyched for this and more than a little curious, even as Pat and Bleu screwed themselves up pogoing and stage diving at The Saudi Agenda’s SP gig and couldn’t rehearse. Even as I heard that Bleu, in telling Pat when their first-ever gig was, said, “So maybe I’ll see you there.”

“Well, you better not suck, ‘cause I’ll be there.” I told Pat when I saw him before the Zambonis’ gig. And I write about bands and all that. And I have blog where I do that. And here’s the address. No pressure.

“We are gonna so not suck,” Pat promised me. “We’re gonna turn up the not-suck. We’re gonna make The Spunk Lads sound like a chamber orchestra.”

The big day was approaching and I couldn’t find their website. Nor was I getting any emails about the gig. Well, what else is new? I was tempted to email Pat to see if the gig was still on. It was either that or sit around wondering if perhaps they changed their minds and didn’t want me there. But when the email came around with their website address, I saw that they’re now a duo. Well, that’s just great. Another Freddy’s band to go thru a major lineup change—and before their first gig. How does a punk band not have a bass player? And I was looking forward to this. Gahd, they’re just going to be wasting my time and theirs. And I was getting a little ticked off about the wasting my time aspect. And then I thought, Well, then again, I prefer keeping things simple when it comes to bands, punk bands especially. Lessee, I think the Seconds are a duo and they’re pretty cool. Two Tears. Also a cool duo. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. Besides, you can’t fault their logic for starting a band: “Bleu is a bartender + Pat likes booze + they both like music=The Umlautz.”

It was another oppressively hot day. I could barely walk home; the air felt like it was just pushing me down and gravity was double. I crawled into bed and even though I don’t think I fell asleep, I dreamt that I missed the gig and slept thru ‘til the next day and I felt like crap for missing the show. As I got ready to leave, I had to wonder if it was still, indeed, Friday. So even though I left at 9:15 and knew that 11 didn’t really mean 11, I still jumped trains on my down. Not because I’d be worried about myself if I didn’t, but because you never know what would be happening on the tracks what with all the rain and power delays. It was sweltering in Freddy’s bathroom and it didn’t take long for the rest of the Backroom to be equally hot as I sat there listening to some guy playing guitar solos. Turns out he’s Brooklyn’s foremost Zappa devotee, as his fliers proclaim. Okay.

Next up was Lemonyellow—redundant, right? Because you really want a band name that connotes sourness and you really want to drive that point home. They’re a pop-y keyboard quartet except the singer seemed to think that he could. Still, the Backroom smelled of citronella or furniture polish or something and my eyes started watering. Lemonyellow wouldn’t’ve been so bad just as an instro group, in case we needed one, but no. I could blame them for not rocking hard enough for me to not need earplugs, but really, that was my call not to put them in—even when I was able to move up closer. All their songs blended into one, and at times it seemed that the band members themselves were nodding off during their own set, songs congealing and then splintering off into the cosmos. “Woo hoo! 4 songs in a row!” their singer explained. Oh, that’s it. The highlight of their set was when their singer/guitar player was tuning up and he kept hitting a chord and then someone in the audience, I don’t know if he was a friend of theirs or some random guy, starts making noises in the exact same key and echoing the tuning. It took the guitar player a bit to figure out where the noise was coming from and when he did, he looked furious, as if this was ruined their set. It was the funniest shit.

The Umlautz’s first song was accompanied by two dancing tomatoes, (girls wearing papier mache tomato heads) which kinda worked—but at least nobody was throwing the tomatoes. And as I watched their set, totally transfixed and literally hanging on the edge of my seat and imagining seeing them in different venues, I realized: Oh, yeah, duh—The White Stripes were (are?) a duo. And that’s the thing. I never thought about The White Stripes upon learning that The Umlautz is a duo; I was expecting a different genre entirely considering who they are and the bar they haunt, plus their name. Pat described their sound as “the Ramones meets Thee Headcoats” (I’m pretty sure that’s what he said), plus their drummer and MIA bass player have never played either before (hence my being psyched and curious) and so I wasn’t expecting raw, bluesy, garage rock. Or a serious band—well, probably as serious as these guys can get and still start off with a count of “Uno! Dos! Tres! Suzy Quattro!” Because you should take your music seriously, not yourself. Plus, their original profile had the cover of Please Kill Me for a pic and I think they classified themselves as punk and comedy. Their current profile says punk, crunk, and funk. And avant-garage. Not to mention kicking off with dancing tomatoes. They did 2 covers, a Nina Simone song and I, Me, Mine—which was met with a request: “Do it naked!”

Pat responded by taking his shirt off and starting to pull down his pants, but he didn’t go all the way because he claimed his underpants weren’t so clean. Why is it always the musicians that you don’t wanna see topless always the ones who are getting topless? See, this is why you should always wear clean underwear, in case you get a request to. . . . Wait, scratch that.

He said, “I feel like I should be in Queens.”

Hey! What does my borough have to do with big, hairy bellies and not-so-clean undies?

Of course the request was clarified after the song: “I meant Bleu.”

Roger said, “I was telling Reggie Mental that The Umlautz is like opening your veins with a piece of rusty metal and being fascinated by it.”

Uhm. Yeah, I can see that, but can’t you get tetanus and then lockjaw that way? That sucks. The Umlautz do not.

Though they tried to stretch out the 8 songs that they know to an hour, they closed with an incredible cover of I Wanna Be Your Dog, in true spirit that would do Iggy proud.

After, Bleu asked me what I thought. “I value your opinion above anyone else here.”

Jeez. How did this happen? Oh, wait, considering what I do, I should be proud of the ringing endorsement. And I am, don’t get me wrong. It’s just weird, that’s all.