When I'm Wrong, I'm Wrong (Hey, it could happen)

MJ & the Heretics & Box Of Crayons @ Manitoba’s//8/28/06

So when The Mother was handing out flyers for her son’s gig at the Blackout Shoppers gig the week prior, I immediately turned my nose up at it. Box Of Crayons? What, do they play at the fucking Lion’s Den, also? Ace of Clubs? How can you name a band Box Of Crayons? It sounds like the type of name that a tribute band would go for, if there were a band that had a box of crayons someplace in their lyrics. That’s exactly the type of band name that a kid in an acid washed Ramones shirt whose mother passes out flyers for her son’s gigs would name their band.

And, because we all know me: Box Of Crayons, eh? Hmm. Sounds interesting. Could be pretty cool. You never know. And MJ & The Heretics? Also could be cool. I’m digging the creepy/dripping blood lettering in their logo. Free? Hmm. Maybe I should look into this.

There was some drama about a broken rail and of course I’d left late, so even hopping the Q at 7th Ave didn’t help and I still got there in the middle of MJ’s set which didn’t really matter because I really wanted to see Box Of Crayons, anyway, and I figured they were going on 2nd. Sylvia, The Mother, immediately handed me pins and lyrics to one of their songs with audience participation. MJ & the Heretics are straight-up alternative, but Mike is only 18 so there’s room to grow. I overheard Sylvia telling someone that he started playing at 16 and she’s been dragging him around to gigs ever since. Sylvia kinda reminds me of my former coworker—even looks like her a little—who asked me if I ever heard of emo and spa music because her teenage sons were into that. Sylvia made the flyers and she’s on Myspace. I am convinced that if my mom were named Sylvia, I would’ve had an entirely different life. Both Mike and Sylvia are sweet. After their set, Sylvia handed out Hershey bars wrapped with a flyer for their Myspace site and email address. This is such a great idea. (Dear bands: I’d also take Twix, Nestle Crunch, and Mr. Goodbar. Oh, and those M-Azing bars; y’know—the chocolate bars with the M&M minis in it.) Mike remembered me from the Shoppers’ gig and he gave me a T-shirt. Considering how many shows I go to, you’d think more bands would give me their shirts to wear to other gigs. (The one with the logo painted on doesn’t count because it got ruined in the wash.) Or pay me to wear their shirts at appropriate shows. Just a thought.

Box Of Crayons is a Brooklyn-based band influenced by “the Sex Pistols, PiL, alcohol—especially Guinness—New York and Brooklyn, the Mets, James Joyce, the Pogues. . . .” to name just a few, and their sound is “the true sound of Brooklyn on Guild acoustic guitars . . . a little Irish, a little melancholy . . . a true cross-genre nightmare.” Though lead Crayon (?) Fran Powers also plays tin whistle, he didn’t at that gig. So. Y’know. If yer into that sorta thing.

Waiting for the light at Sidewalk Café, a guy on his cell: What streets is it between? Second and Third? I thought it was between Seventh and Eighth.

All down Sixth St. buildings were struggling to make themselves heard. A flyer on a mailbox: Acupuncture Happy Hour $45. Up Second Ave. to St. Marks, I couldn’t help but look up at all those apartments above the storefronts and I couldn’t help but wonder about who lives in them; maybe elderly people, those who moved in ages ago and just happen to be living there, or someone who had the apartment in the family and just happened to luck into living there at some rent-controlled price. I wonder if they know how lucky they are.

Down on St. Marks, there’s a bit of a hubbub outside a store. I cross the street and it’s that new automat place that’s about to open up. I thought it was elsewhere. I can’t remember what I heard about it or where, just that it’s supposed to be 24-hrs and cater to the NYU/party crowd. Then again, that part of St. Marks is the perfect place for it. Ian’s Religious Sex is now going by Ian’s, a sign in the window: Special, navels with jewelry $25.

Maybe you had to be there. I thought it was pretty funny.

Pretty Rancid

Big D & the Kids Table/The Lordz/Rancid//BB Kings//8/26/06

The last time I saw Rancid, which was also the first time I saw Rancid, I walked out of the show (@ Roseland) thinking, Well, now I’ve seen Rancid. It was exactly what I expected, down to being sorta upfront and then getting squeezed in the crowd and tasting my lungs. Not to mention having bodies landing on my head, which is why I felt I never had to go before. It was either an A/A or a 16+ show, which may also be why that happened. So when I saw the Rancid listings, I figured I didn’t need to go. But it was $18—what it was the last time as well, Big D is funny fun fun, and the Lordz sound interesting. Besides, my bday’s in August. How could I not go?

Since the tix went on sale at noon on a Saturday, I figured that people were going to be camped out outside BBs all nite and if it’s sold out before I got there, well, I’ve already seen Rancid and I didn’t want to go anyway. (Even though I did.) When I went to check to see if there were still tix, I saw that the price was listed as $20. Uhm. Even though I wanted to be there at noon, I left at like 20 to 2 and if the tix for that day were already sold out, well, I didn’t know what I wanted to do since that’s the bill that has the most potential for awesomeness. It was one of those weirdly hot June days when the tix went on sale, when it’s either going to rain to burn off the heat—or just get even hotter as the afternoon progresses. I get there to find out that not only was there no air conditioning in the place that day, the tickets were $21. How is it that buying a ticket is more expensive at the box office? Thank God I had an extra dollar on me, but I’d planned on getting something to drink after, especially since I was dizzy after climbing those stairs. Inside, the air was completely dry and stagnant and unmoving. I got ticket #47, but then it occurred to me that the show is on a Saturday and people are probably going to be getting there at noon and the line would be around the block. Well, I’ve already seen Rancid.

I kinda like shows on rainy days—well, biggies like this—because I figure not many people would be lining up early. I seriously considered getting there at 3. Or leaving at 3. I got there late, like 5:30, and the barricades lined the curb all the way down to the end of the block. Where is everybody? Maybe they were letting people inside the lobby early, because of the weather? But I get closer to the place to find that I’m #7 on line. Doors are at 7, people, and this is Rancid. What the fuck is going on?

As soon as I get on line, it begins to drizzle. I didn’t have an umbrella because I don’t want to carry an extra bag to have security go through and hold up the line and I didn’t want to hold it because it might get lost and there’s another umbrella I lose and have to buy again. So I stand there in the rain. I also have a small box of tissues because I tried to buy a bunch of those purse packs but there weren’t any at the Duane Reade where I got the film. I was sneezing and wheezing the minute I got to the subway and my back hurt, so I figured to stand in the pussy section since I have problems of the respiratory nature right out the gate. The drizzle doesn’t last long, and then a woman and her punkass kids get on line behind me. One is wearing braces (as in, not suspenders). One has a pristine Sex Pistols patch sewn on his hoodie. Another woman drops kids off on line and takes pix of them on the line as she clutches sightseeing pamphlets and awkwardly tries to kiss the son good-bye. I was surprised how quickly the pussy section filled up. Nobody would even get near the stage. I was tempted to make a run for it, but I had a good spot where I was and when I was there for the Aquabats, there were no bouncers so I didn’t want to push it. Not to mention the scoliosis, backache, and wire in my shoulder. And, well, I’m a pussy. It was also funny to see how many people suddenly couldn’t read the signs at each table that said “$10 minimum per person per set.”

I was really surprised that Big D went on first, and not just because it was listed the other way. I saw them at the Continental last Memorial and while I liked, that stage/venue is too small for a 7-piece ska band, and a lead singer as hyperactive as David McWane. This guy was outta control and I appreciated them that much more on a larger stage. Ska for ska’s sake, maybe, but new song Noise Complaint was fucking rockin’. Or skankin’. Whatever. Their set was not long enough. Some tall, drunk guy pushed past me and I thought he was going to keep walking, but he put one hand on either side of me and before I could tell him he’s got me mistaken for his girlfriend and don’t fucking touch me, he slides in next to me. So the closeness of this total stranger was freaking me out and distracting me and I couldn’t concentrate on the show, plus he’s so tall and blocking all these short girls behind him and it’s sorta my fault because I let him in, since I was more concerned with him not standing right behind me with his arms around me in the boyfriend stance—as in staking his claim/possessing. Then he leans forward on his elbows for a couple’a seconds, and then goes over the wall, crashing headlong into the booth right in front of him, somersaulting as he landed feet-first. And that was the end of him.

The Lordz, of Brooklyn, used to be known as The Lordz Of Brooklyn—I don’t know why, but I was a little confused about that one. Their album, The Brooklyn Way, has a cover of Jim Carroll’s People Who Died. . . . Yeah, I get it, Tim Armstrong is a guest on the album, and Jim Carroll was a guest on Rancid’s Out Come The Wolves, circle of life, etc. etc, and The Lordz has Rancid’s seal of approval. But it’s a rather odd choice since Carroll wrote the song about specific people he knew, friends of his, who died. How could another band sing those words, and “They were all my friends/And they just died” if they don’t know the peeps in question? Then again, when we sing along to someone’s lyrics, we make them our own. How did they come up with a name like The Brooklyn Way for their album? Well, apparently, there’s more to Brooklyn than overpriced real estate, a failed electroclash scene, hipsters, outdoor bars, artistes, and Williamsburg. Brooklyn is a borough where they keep it real. How real do they keep it? One of the Lordz claimed they were the first on their block to breakdance and were always popping at United Skates of America. (Hell, I went there. I guess that makes me old-skool, too. Or just old.) They were also graffiti artists—nay, legends, according to their website—back in the day. Remember block parties? they asked? Old-skool, back-in-the-day block parties? Why, yes, I passed thru one on the way to a gig in Brooklyn. The thing is, if you pride yourself on being born and raised in Brooklyn and take that as a symbol of keeping it real, then by the very definition of keeping it real, which is the Brooklyn way, wouldn’t it be wrong to market yourselves as the house band of a Brooklyn house party? “Who here is a Mets fan?” Tepid response. “Who’s a Yankees fan?” Crowd went wild. “A true Brooklynite is a Mets fan.” And it’s a good thing I never moved up front, as ADM of The Lordz kept throwing himself onto the crowd. The other thing is, if you market yourself as the poster boys for keeping it real, (to say nothing of lead singer Kaves’ 40s-gangster getup complete with walking stick and the brass knuckles cursor on their site), there’s always the chance that someone out there is gonna think that it’s all talk and you better bring the noise. Though they did cover a RUN DMC song because RUN DMC was punk, they informed us, it was hard to hear the band’s turntablist and they kept begging for another mic all thru the set. So maybe I’m being too harsh. After all, I’m from Queens, so what do I know? Being a hater is probably not the Brooklyn way.

Of course they didn’t enforce the $10 minimum per set order, as there was no room to push through with orders and to take orders. The two movie screens where they show the BB calendar in between sets was playing B&W footage of a riot and there were all these cops in gas masks running around, chasing people, and I was totally riveted, trying to figure out where the hell this could’ve been taking place. My guess was the rallies in Chicago, and I didn’t even see Rancid come onstage till they started ripping thru Roots Radicals. Wolves is still my favorite album of theirs and to me it was so perfect that when Life Won’t Wait came out, I couldn’t listen to it, always thinking, But it’s not Wolves. That, and I was going thru a tough time, just out of school and trying to make that transition and I still remember that I bought Wolves at Rhino Records for $2.22 because Rhino had this frequent buyers club and every purchase over $15 earned you a stamp on your card and 5 got you a $15 credit, so the brand-spankin’ new CD was only $2.22, and that was my dorm #. So when the 2nd self-titled album came out in 2000 I assumed it just wasn’t going to be Wolves, and Rancid’s changed and how could they do this to me, blah blah, (I don’t know why I do this with some bands; you hate it when they do something totally new—like they abandoned you, their fan—but then again you’d hate it if they follow up with pretty much the same sound/songs. Maybe I just expect some bands to be totally perfect and can do no wrong and anything else in my mind is them letting me down. I have to get over this mindset, I know) but when Indestructible came out I was like, Well, they’re still Rancid and so I bought it and I’ve been meaning to give Life Won’t Wait another run-thru to see what happens. Or get a copy of the 2000 album. Funny thing was, their set was pretty Wolves-heavy, maybe because that’s where a lot of the blistering songs are, or they had a 4-nite stand and I just happened to pick Wolves nite, but then again when I saw them at Roseland they were touring behind Indestructible and from what I remember of that show, there were a lot of Wolves songs as well. I still don’t get “crowd surfing to Rancid”—this ain’t Bon Jovi—but I guess people are gonna do what they feel they hafta do. Also, it was pretty bizarre taking pix from that far back. I’m sure they’re all gonna come out all dark and grainy and the band would just be smudges you can barely make out, so I didn’t take many pix at all, but even though I had the zoom all the way out it was like there was nothing to do. I fully understood the term “point and shoot.” Because that’s pretty much all I was doing. There was nothing to really focus on, nothing to really look at.

There was a mob scene on the way out, and I wasn’t going to hold up the line to buy 2 pins and a sticker, so I’ll have to get them online. Then I decided to try to go to the bathroom, further inside the venue than the merch tables just inside the doors, but couldn’t make it against the tide of bodies. All of a sudden I heard people saying something about Venus. That looks like Venus. Venus, Venus, Venus. That’s weird. I actually knew a girl named Venus when I was in the 10th grade in Flushing. “Venus! Win that thing, baby!”

You mean the tennis player? That’s the one who always dresses funny and is on Undressed! on MSN, right?

“Hay!” the woman in front of me yells, waving her arm above her head and smacking me in the eye with her armpit bag.

Wow, I guess there was a reason all these bands kept asking who at the show was blue-collar and I was thinking, Rhetorical question. It’s not like Trump and Oprah are here. Of course we’re blue collar. And how is it that all these punx recognize Venus Williams? A tennis star and a celebrity.

Story Of My Life

. . . . So don’t make any plans for September 10.
Too late. I already did.
It’s Grandparents Day.
So what. My grandparents are dead.
We’re going out there on the 10th. . . .
I love it how you assume that I haven’t made plans for the 10th. You didn’t even ask me what my plans were. Going out there is more $ than the price of the show.

Which is a moot point, because how am I supposed to tell my mother that seeing a bunch of punk bands play their last sets @ the Continental is more important than her first Grandparents Day? And even as I write this, I know that it isn’t. But, still, I cursed fate and raged to myself about how unfair this all is. What is it with my family and that venue? Couldn’t they have made it the following weekend? Then again, the following weekend isn’t good for me, either.

(Not all New Paltz grads are broke-ass losers like myself. Dr. Max Strum is the lead singer of a pretty happening band, as well has having a doctorate in hangover research.) When I found out that Modrocket was playing Cake Shop on the 10th I was all psyched, but then thought, Dammit, I’m going to see Bla—the family. I meant family. The Continental site listed some of the bands and said And more and didn’t list set times. So maybe I’d luck out and it won’t be one of those afternoon shows. Yes and no. 15 bands, 9 who I’ve already seen and it’s those 20-minute sets, but it’s the Continental fer fuck’s sake, and (for the most part) it’s these 15 bands. And while the Shoppers are on at 10, WW9 is on at 7:20. Fuck! This is so unfair. Seeing that, it was almost like, yeah, big deal, the Shoppers are playing Continental again. I’ve seen that before. (No offense.) But I have never seen WWIX there. OK, seeing WW9 @ Continental right before there are no more bands there is right up there with First Grandparents Day. See, what would’ve been awesome is going to see Modrocket, since their site said 5PM, having some cake, and heading to the Continental for the rest of the evening. And getting pizza across the street. Mentioning how my mom is ruining my life at this late age is tacky, right? Raging about how unfair this all is makes me sound like a spoiled brat, right?

Okay. I put a baby flyer in my wallet (wow, there is a reason for the smaller versions) for handy reference so I can compare with the train schedule and know when to have a hacking fit. I did mention how sick I’ve been all week, how I was coughing till I puked (even on the subway). People have been looking at me like I have the plague. Because the thing is, with my family, time just stands still with them. Especially my mother, even if I’m not trying to make a show.
(Y'know, it was probably a lot like this, except Joey Methadone wasn't playing drums. And I wasn't there taking pix.)

In the end, though, there’s nothing I want to do more after being out late the night before, getting up early, hanging out with a shrieking baby, and stuffing my face all day than be serenaded by the NY Shitty crew in 20-minute blasts. I got back into Jamaica at 9:06 and it would’ve been a tight race if I enjoy ruining my stomach lining while racing into the city for a band’s 20-minute set. Besides, I only had $4.18 on me and stopping at the ATM would’ve ruined the race. And besides, I really need to cut back on shows. Only terrorists and pedophiles would miss the show? Good thing I’m a terrorist because I’m the kid’s godmother and all. So not only did I miss the show, I also missed the season premiere of The Simpsons and Family Guy. Sometimes I just can’t win.

And because there’s nothing I love more than spending my 3-day vacation writing the first half of this and not being able to use it at all, here’s my (overdue) apologies to World War IX and Blackout Shoppers.

From The Gutters Of NYC W/Love

George Tabb benefit @ the Continental, 8/20/06

Furious George was the first band I saw at the Continental. They opened for Doc Hopper and Boris The Sprinkler. (Who I gave my panties to. You were encouraged to. You give them your panties and in return you get a pin that says I Gave Boris My Panties.) All these bands that are the first one that I saw at all these venues don't exist anymore, and neither do the venues. Or, almost. (NY Loose was the 1st band I saw at Coney Island High.) Furious George also played with the Groovie Ghoulies at Coney a few times. He also used to write for the Press and that's how I heard of Blanks 77.

I wanted to get there earlier, but I just couldn't. And not because that meant I'd have to see Charm School or spend way too long in the place. I got up late and it took me a while to get moving. Plus I had a lot of writing to do. And try to find a job. So while I did want to see the Bullys, I've been seeing them a lot recently and it wasn't the end of the world if I got there late. I had a major wait at Jackson Heights and I thought the F was still going over the E line. Nope. There were all these weird, see-thru beverage containers with handles floating around the place. I did catch some of the Bullys, and the Bullitts were great. Their singer told everyone to buy George's "Jew books." (Playing Right Field: A Jew grows in Greenwich.) But he said he could say that because he's half-Jewish and had a Bar Mitzvah. He and George used to talk about it all the time and compare circumcisions. He's got George beat by a few inches.

It was kinda hard to pass on Dick Army, who were after Blackout Shoppers (who took like an extra 15 mins to get onstage. And, let's face it, if you're reading this you either A) Already know Blackout Shoppers, or 2) Are in Blackout Shoppers) and not just because of the whole reuniting after 10 years thing. (Heh heh, you said "Dick Army.") And of course I was too broke to buy/use film. "Set the way-back machine to Tuesday March 16, 1996!" Though they blamed a broken pedal ("It was broken before we got onstage.") and "released the bats" (blowing your nose on your T-shirt) I thought it was fine. "Y'know what? We still don't got it." "That's it. It doesn't get better, it just gets different." "You're the only guitar player I know who's been playing for 10 years and gets worse each year." Their bass player, wrapping a bandana around his wrist: "If this is going to involve chafing, it better be for a good reason. And this ain't it." Their drummer: "You know, I'm 36 years old and this is it." The bass player, again, looking for members of his other former band, Four Deadly questions: "Is there anyone here from Four Deadly Questions? Is there any doubt why I quit both bands?" I can also see why George liked them. They're regular guys and real people. "This band never really got anywhere, but wherever we did get, it was because of George." They did Betty Crocker Punk Rocker better than Furious George. (That's the name of the song. If they actually did Betty Crocker punk rocker, well, I haven't read the book yet so I don't know about that.) And, apparently, George Tabb has a small part in the new Oliver Stone movie.

So even though I thought I'd catch the last R out, since I got there at 20 to midnite and the N went by, I figgered, There could be another train right behind that, which would be the R. Yeah, right. I should've seen that coming. Actually I did, but I was trying to think positive. I considered getting on the F at Herald Square, but I figured if I had to end up on the E, get on the E in the first place. The car barely had any A/C, but, of course, the one to the left was packed, sed the guy who griped about his friend wanting to move. See, that's why I stay put.

Cruel Summer

RebelMart/The Larch/The Saudi Agenda @ Living Room Lounge
Kid Casanova/LES Stitches/The Waldos @ Continental
8/19/06

One day at work while I was looking bands up on MySpace, I looked up The Saudi Agenda on a whim. Great. They have a gig on 8/19, with RebelMart. While I'm thrilled that RebelMart and The Saudi Agenda are booking gigs (which isn't to say that I wasn't thrilled about the Larch, what I mean is that RebelMart and the Saudi Agenda are the newer of the bands on that bill and both haven't played many gigs yet) they had to pick one of the busiest nites in NYC to play. Up against LES Stitches' one-off reunion and the Waldos at Continental and H2O @ CBGB, and, according to the ad on the phone booth I pass on the way to work, there was something called AmsterJam. So, I guess if you like hamsters, Tom Petty, and mash-ups at Randall's Island, that's your thing and if you like hamsters, Tom Petty, and mash-ups at Randall's Island, (I like hamsters and Tom Petty) you're not really into RebelMart, the Larch, The Saudi Agenda, LES Stitches, the Waldos, or H2O and you didn't really have an agonizing decision. H2O was never an option, I just mentioned that because it always seems that whenever a lesser-known band has a gig, there's always some bigger band or a high-profile gig going on that same nite. Like in the entertainment section of various publications: So and So and Whatshisface have gigs this weekend! Oh, yeah, and here's a bunch of other things going on throughout the week, until our next publication comes out. (And since I'm talking NYC, that's why I didn't mention that Hardcore by the Shore thing in Jersey.)

But then again, you get my point, about how important it is (or I felt it was) to support local acts who don't have many gigs and/or are not even in the crowd competition because not many people know about them. So when I found out that the Brooklyn gig, starring bands I know and love, was the same nite as LES Stitches, who I kept missing the last time around, I stewed. Then I decided to forget about deciding until the weekend of. The next morning, though, I woke up and thought, Go to Brooklyn. It was so clear to me. And then, But I wanna see LES Stitches! Even though, as I left the Umlautz' gig, Ian M. handed me a flyer and told me that The Saudi Agenda is his new band.

"Yeah, I know. I've seen you guys before."
"Roger's also in it."
"Yeah, I know. I've seen you guys before."
"We've played at Southpaw and here."
"I know. I was there."
"Oh, yeah."
Exactly the things you should say to someone who writes about gigs and spends their hard-earned $ to see your band.

So I worked myself into a classic snit, and then reminded myself that I had 3 weeks to go and forget about it until then. Because, ya know what, there's probably a good chance that all would work out.

The week of, I heard that Joe Hurley had a gig in City Island that nite--free admission, free food, open bar. Well, Joe, you live in the East Village. (Wherever the hell that is.) You know what it's like. You can't announce a gig the week of, especially one that isn't that accessible, and expect a big turnout. And while I'm glad that RMart and the SA booked the first of many of their upcoming gigs, that's another problem: I'm sure they'll bump up against other gigs in the future. Besides, there were some cool-sounding bands playing ABC No Rio that afternoon, but those shows start at 4 and run 'til 7 or so. The Brooklyn show--free!--said the 7, 8, and 9 set times were real, not imagined. Besides, the Continental show was $7, $10 after 9:30, and the Stitches were on at 11. Still, not impossible to do both. Or see Joe as the default, so I don't have to choose between Brooklyn and the Continental, which is going to stop hosting live music, and how many gigs does Joe have a year, but then again, RMart, the Larch, and The Saudi Agenda. When I found out about Joe, I even thought to stay home since I couldn’t decide. Funny, when my whole thing first happened and I couldn't even bring myself to go to a free gig, I sat around and stewed about what was wrong with me, now I conscientiously considered staying home. I can't fucking win.

So since I believed that the set times were real and not imagined, and knowing how long it takes to get to Freddy's on the R, and that the subway wasn't stopping (I first wrote "subways were" but let's face it, the only thing stopping where I am on the weekend is the R) I wanted to leave at 5:30 and take the R all the way, since I need to end up on it and I wanted to see how long it took from 8th St. to 25th in Bklyn. 13 stops. That's a sign, but whether it's a good sign or a bad sign had yet to be determined. And the subway was running normally, I guess the reroute that I saw early that morning was only in effect til 5AM. Which is good because I didn't have to wait to go back 2 stops, but then again, I would've already been on the express. Because even though the rest of the night hinged upon how long it takes to go from 8th St. to 25th on the R, you know me--I hopped trains. Perhaps the R coming at Pacific was the one I got off of at Jackson Heights, perhaps not, but time was ticking down and I even walked to the end of the platform so the train would reach me quicker. There was this awesome, old-school block party in effect on 23rd Street, complete with open hydrants. And of course the set times were imagined; it's just that I was counting on them not to be, because that's what would've worked for me. Not only that, the free show thing was imagined. Which I was counting on it not to be. And they polled at the door and I told them I was there for all 3 bands. They were like, pick one. Yes, but....
(I'll spare you the kvetching about what a major pain in the tush it was to upload this pic to let you know that I'm gettin' bored of the pix-on-left layout that's become my default setting {even tho I had to change the HTML by hand in order to wrap the text and keep the caption I wrote for the original pic I chose} and I've been meaning to change that just to mix things up a bit, but somehow justifying left seems appropriate for RebelMart. Wait, I think I wrote pretty much the same thing the last time I posted a pic of Scott MX Turner. Oh, and for those of you who are new to this site, Scott MX Turner is the dude on the left with the geetar standing in front of the bodhran, not the gal in the dress playing the tin whistle. That's Diane George, who accompanies him on some songs.) I don't know what the dealie was with why the guitar was up so loud, because I wanted to listen to RebelMart, not just hear him. Which is always the case with RebelMart. Who ended his set with a riff on the significance of the stripes on the sleeves of my Zambonis shirt. Oh, yeah? Well, from my vantage point on the couch, it totally looked like Scott had wings when he stood at a certain spot on the stage because there’s this wall hanging that’s two vodka bottles crossed at the necks with wings above the stage. But Brooklyn bard Scott MX Turner still gets my vote for best anarchist-political folk-punk singer.

(The more I look at this pic of Ian Roure of the Larch, the more I think he looks just like Brian Damage of The Spunk Lads. Well, they say everybody has a double someplace.) Of course Roger had to talk to me while the Larch were setting up and told me about all the new songs he wrote. Shortly after the Larch started, I felt like an asshole for wanting to skip out on the SA’s set. That's it. I need a pin that says World's Biggest Asshole. (I just looked at this in preview mode quickly and it looks terrible with the word "asshole" landing right next to Roure's pic. Then again, this is why I called myself an asshole. My apologies to Ian Roure of the Larch.) The Larch are kinda like the Bedsit Poets of Brooklyn (Britpop outta Brooklyn) and that would be a good pairing. They have a song called Cellphone or Schizo, about looking for the telltale wires to see if the people talking are talking to themselves or talking on the phone. It's funny because it's true. Of course, if a person is talking on their earpieces, how do we know they're not talking to God? Hmmm.

(Red Roger Al Paz had problems getting on a plane even though his container of liquid was stashed in a brown paper bag. His name and bomb-in-shopping cart T-shirt logo failed to alarm anyone. And while it may look like Roger's wearing a skirt, he so totally isn't. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Al Benjoya over there on the right is also in the Saudi Agenda.) The thing with The Saudi Agenda is, for me at least, is that they’re a band that’s crawling out of the primordial ooze and walking with 2 front legs and dragging their flippers behind them. I know that that’s wrong of me, viewing this band through memories of Roger’s former band, but I can’t help it. I saw them work on it and work together toward this common goal of being an incredible punk band, and I’m sure The Saudi Agenda is going to get to that point, but it’s almost like I know what’s going to happen (awesomeness), and I’m just waiting for it to happen. Or happen for me. I mean, they’ve got a good idea and good sound, but it’s not coming together. What are they working toward? I know, it’s a band, fun, blah blah, lighten up already. Which isn’t to say that I dislike them; that couldn’t be further from the truth. I guess I just get impatient. I’m sure it’ll click for me someday, and perhaps that’s why I was so torn over missing them, because that could’ve been the night it happened. I mean, it’s not their band; it’s me.

Scott asked me if I was going to try to catch the other show, and would I be able to get in, and then I thought, Maybe he’s right. The show was announced on that NYCPunk site, and maybe it’ll be packed and they won’t let me in, and it’s $10, and here’s a show I’m already at. I’ll catch them when I get to Punk Rock Heaven. (In Punk Rock Heaven, I’m always on the list because I’m a music journo/photog and good at it and get paid mad bucks to do what I do.) But I’ve waited 10 years to see LES Stitches, maybe even more, and I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t at least try to go. Where can I hook up w/the 6? If only I could be on a green line, this way I don’t have to cross Broadway. I thought about getting the 4/5 at Atlantic, but figured to stay where I was because who knew if I’d have a wait there and besides, I think one of them doesn’t go into Brooklyn due to trackwork. But I got the Q, which went straight to Canal for the 6. The platform was pretty crowded and that gave me hope because that meant a train was on the way. A middle-aged couple got on dressed all punk and I was convinced they were going to the show. He takes out a rosary and starts fingering it. No fair, calling on a higher power! So I take my money and ID out, because if they can only let 1 more person into the place, it’s going to be me. When we got to Astor, I saw the guy had a Heartbreakers shirt on. I knew it.

Kid Casanova was still on the whiteboard when I got there. See, I knew everything would work out. Didn’t there use to be a wall behind that ledge on the other side of the stairs to the bathroom? Yeah, there was, because their “All photos were taken here” gallery snaked around the perimeter of the place. It was an easy plinko up front (and I’m using my own vernacular again, so this is a good sign) There was this group of people standing in an arc, like there was something on the floor and I had to penetrate this wall of yahoos and get closer. Yeah, if I wanted to stand close to the stage I should’ve gotten there early like everyone else, but what can you do? After I got myself situated I saw Mick onstage and I got nervous, but he was just singing a few with wannabe glam punkers Kid Casanova.

These were the songs that played after Casanova’s set, as the Stitches set up, which I just happened to remember. I did not write them down because that would be dorky:
1. Blank Generation
2. Get A Grip On Yourself
3. Blitzkreig Bop
4. White Riot
5. Heart Of The City
(I thought this was some sort of magical occurrence, like a bunch of CDs on shuffle, but when I was there the next day the same sequence played. But I like the magic theory better.)
(Because I was having all these photo upload problems I wasn't gonna post this pic of Mick Stitch because if you really need to know what he looks like, his pic is hanging on the wall at the Continental. Oh. Right.) Y’know, if I saw Lower East Side Stitches 10 years ago, I don’t know if I would’ve liked them live. But I couldn’t help but think, Now I can finally say that I saw a punk band @ the Continental. No offense to all the other punk bands that I’ve seen there in the past, or might see there in the next 2 weeks. I might’ve said the same thing after the Briefs’ set. I guess you had to be there to get what I mean. If ever a band could tear a venue down, it was them. I thought Mick was pretty wild with the Threads, but he was out of control, jumping into the crowd, jumping on the crowd, and breaking into splits. I thought he was probably voted “Most likely to roll on broken glass,” and the crowd matched him in intensity. The guy in the Heartbreakers shirt hit his inhaler.
(At first I thought I was caught in some freaky time warp since this could pass for a pic from the 19th, but that's not the case; the date is wrong on my camera and this is a pic from Aug. 19. Phew.) After their set, Luhre said that he’ll see us in 3 weeks, on the 9th. Can’t go. So no awesome bands book shows for that night. Oh, hell, we all know it: Jinx!

Downstairs, a girl stood outside the bathroom, a confused look on her face. “I haven’t peed here in 6 years. Which one is it?”

“The one with the birth control ads on the doors is the women’s room.” Not to mention the Gotham Girls graffiti.

The Astor Place tunnel seemed very dry when I looked down it. It's funny how at the next stop down, at Bleecker, the 6 wing is so completely different from the B/D/F/V transfer hub, with all the advertisements wallpapering it. It was Ralph Lauren the last time I was there. Aboveground, it’s one of those places where the new butts heads with the old, like plate tectonics. I looked across the station to the Uptown side, remembering when the K-Mart first opened and there was a pic in the Voice of a Japanese guy with a big mohawk holding his purchases. One East Village character wanted to have poetry readings in the K-Mart café and everyone was freaking out because they said it would destroy the neigh—

Holy shit.

What was it that the Dolls sang the other day about not putting your arms around a memory? Well, you know me. I'd try to, especially if someone tells me I can't.
***

The F came at 51/Lex and I was sitting in the 2-seater and he was sitting across the aisle, under the subway map, flipping thru Cheri. Ugh. I was trying not to look, but it was beyond horrible. I assume once he gets home he’s going to read the articles. Then again, if a picture is worth 1,000 words, I don’t want to know what 1,000 words in Cheri is worth.

Even if the F was going local to Jackson Heights, I’m sure it would’ve gone express from there and I would’ve had to wait around for the E anyway. It had to be a 45-minute wait. This is why NYC is the city that never sleeps. The subways never come to take us to our beds.

For The Record. . . .

Tralala/New York Dolls @ South Street Seaport
Seanchai & The Unity Squad @ Rocky Sullivan’s
August 18, 2006

I never wanted to see Dropkick Murphys at CBGB in the first place. And that’s not just sour grapes because the show sold out before I knew about it—haven’t gotten an email from DKM in years, I guess they upgraded their mailing list at some point and I fell off it and never re-signed—but I had my heart set on Information Society for that day.

Hee hee. I had a feeling they’d resurface at some point. Yeah, at Canal Room, but what the hell. It’ll be silly fun. It took me a few days to buy the ticket, and I paid the surcharge because I didn’t know when I’d have time to find the place and get the ticket at the box office. And shortly after I saw it listed, I saw bands listed around that sounded like they could be interesting and I’d have to remind myself that Information Society was that day.

The show was cancelled. I found out on my birthday. Nice. Ticket automatically refunded? I guess that means I can keep the ticket I already received in the mail, which is nice—as well as the trip to Bridgeport right there—but I really wanted to go. And at least I got lucky with the automatic refund, because it’s a major pain in the arse to get a refund out of TW. The 2 times I tried, I gave up and ate the charges. Once it was when I got a terrible cold and passed on the Briefs at Maxwell’s because there was smoking in Jersey, it was $10, and I’d just seen them locally the day before. Once it was when the Mooney Suzuki cancelled Southpaw, but I reused the ticket when they played there a few months later.

So when I found out the show was cancelled, yeah, I was bummed because I wanted to go, but I tried to cheer myself up: I can save film, save money, save time, save film developing, save myself from writing about the show—but I really wanted to write about it. In fact, I’d started writing it mentally. It was going to begin, “For the record, I never wanted to see Dropkick Murphys at CBGB in the first place. And that’s not just sour grapes because the show sold out before I knew about it. . . .” And, of course, I’d have to bring this up: Canal Room. Though I’ve never been there before and Information Society was to be my first time, what I was going to say about the place would’ve gone something like this: Say what you will about seeing a show/playing a show at CBGB, but Canal Room is whack. Their website has a link to info about the space, with 2 different options—sound and style. This is what it said about the style, as photos rotated around it: “The décor is a fusion of Euro-style architectural millwork and seating mixed with Asian accents to create a dynamic atmosphere. An elevated glass enclosed VIP area overlooks the room, with an unobstructed view of the stage. Design features include bamboo floors, ivory Barcelona chairs, black leather seating, touches of red, exotic greenery, and a state-of-the-art DJ booth in the center of it all.” (Touches of red? Wooo!) This is the info about the sound, in addition to the model number of the brand-new speakers: “Combining unparalleled sound with an equally amazing light show makes Canal Room a first-choice for Industry Show Case events, headlining performances, record release parties, and debuting talented DJs and musicians.” Sterile? More like going to see a show at Ikea. I just got the feeling that a whack-ass venue like this would make The Annex feel like a wood-paneled rec. room. And maybe that’s what’s been getting to me. It’s not CBGB for the sake of CBGB and the history and all (well, only a little) but going on and on about the décor, and the vibe at The Annex, it’s like the emphasis is on see-and-be-seen photo ops, not live music. It doesn’t matter who exactly is onstage as long as you’re swilling your exotic mixed drinks and there’s an awesome DJ spinning Arctic Donkeys—provided somebody doesn’t text you about another awesome party before it comes on.

Anyway, to make a long story short, what it all boiled down to is that now August 18 was open. What to do, where to go. Aug. 18 did ring a bell, and not just for back-to-Rocky’s. Or maybe that was it. And then I saw it: New York Dolls at the Seaport. (Thanx, NYCPunk!) Holy shit. See, I knew there was a reason I passed on their Tower Records in-store. (I’m just not a fan of in-stores.) Thursday or maybe it was Friday I saw Dropkicks tix back on sale. Shit. I really want to go, but I don’t. Besides, I’ve been through enough with that day already, and I’ve locked on seeing the Dolls. I was tempted to head down there as soon as I got out on Friday, believe me, and hang out down there all afternoon. I told myself that I had to head out by 4:00, 4:15 the latest. I left a little after 4:30. When I got down to Fulton St., there was already a mass exodus heading out. As I got closer, I could see a sea of teeming humanity. Why the hell did I even go? I got enough pix from Irving last April, so it doesn’t matter that I’m not up front and besides, when it gets dark it’s going to be hard to take pix and you know me, that’s not going to stop me from blowing through a 4-pack of film. It’s going to be a mob scene like at Siren because it’s summer and not too hot and a Friday so everybody’s going to be down there regardless of what’s going on onstage. Then again, the Dolls were added last minute, so maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. And they’re not gonna start at 7. I’m sure there’s an opening act. Or maybe not, because who wants to open for the Dolls? Rhetorical question, I know, because every hipster band would give their eyeteeth for the chance, but I mean think about it. See what I mean? But as I got to the pier, I saw a small group sitting in front of the stage and that was it. So I did get up front, but off to the side, which is good enough for me because it wasn’t that far off to the side that I was in front of the speakers. Now all I had to do was wait.

Delphine Blue was DJing beforehand and it turns out that Tralala was the opening act. Y’know, I didn’t even think to check into that. Alls I saw was New York Dolls free on a nite I ended up being free. Who the hell cares who the opening act is? But maybe they’d be better on a bigger stage. I so love being right. When I saw Tralala in Sept., I wasn’t very impressed. A 7-piece band with 4 female vocalists onstage at Ace of Clubs didn’t really do it for me. Besides, I might’ve gone in with a “This is CMJ! You better bring it!” attitude, because they were always buzzed about in the Voice, so maybe I also had the whole “CMJ features the best, up-and-coming-bands” mentality before I realized that it’s just a brand-name pay-to-play music showcase, like MEANYFEST. That, and I’d just started the site, so maybe I was also full of myself. Well, moreso than usual. “We’re Tralala and we’re here to see the Dolls! And we’re from Brooklyn!” (Well, duh.) One of the girls had a sign on her back that said Kicked out of the scene. The first time around they struck me as silly, and who needs 4 lead singers in the first place? But on a bigger stage, outside on a beautiful summer evening, I was really digging their 60s-girl-group-meets-H&M pop vibe. Their songs were infectious and you’d have to be dead not to like them. Yeah, they’re a little cloying as well as coy, but Fired Up stayed in my head long after it was over. And the line “We’re gonna burn so hot we’re gonna burn right into the ground!” seemed telling. Big Yellow Taxi (“Taxi! Taxi! Please take me home/If you knew what I’ve been through/You’d throw me a bone!”) put the Donnas in Williamsburg. (“Taxi! Taxi! Beep! Beep!”) (OK. FINE. I liked the 1st band. They were a lot of fun.)

It seemed that it happened gradually, yet all at once. The pier was mobbed. It seemed like the whole entire city was there—Oldies, young’uns, hipsters, families, huge mohawk, etc. People hanging out the Pizzeria Uno and surrounding restaurants, rows deep on all sides of the stage. Even around the back, and they couldn’t even see the stage. You couldn’t even see the storefronts across the pier what with the crowd. Then some nutjob space invader comes out of nowhere and plants herself behind me and in front of the couple that were standing there since forever. And of course her perfume could peel paint. The couple she blocked just stood there, like, Fuck you, I want to kill you, but what can you. So I had to put my elbow out lest she thought she could put her hand next to me on the railing and claim some space up front and drift in. Turns out the bass player for the Box Tops, who were scheduled for that night, had a medical emergency and they had to cancel. Which sucks if the guy is sick and all, but cool because I got to see the Dolls. For free. David Johansen came onstage wearing a pirate hat and loads o’ bling and a midriff-baring top. I thought the barricades were gonna topple over. The moat was insane and at first there was a photo pit, but the photogs left after they got their shots. Johansen said that many musicians were inspired by The Dolls, but the most notable one was Janis Joplin and they did Piece Of My Heart. They also did tracks off the new album, (One Day It Will Please Us To Remember Even This) otherwise they’d be an oldies act, as they said. He thanked us all for coming to the pirate port. We could’ve been out looting and pillaging but we came to see them, which is beautiful. Two encores—and that’s past the usual, D’ya think they’ll come back if we cheer loud enough?” Steve, the guy who books the Seaport, said that was their greatest nite of the summer. And before, “I can’t believe I’m saying this. . . . New York Dolls!”

I was expecting it to be crazier getting out of there, but it wasn’t that bad. I got on the 5, still high from the show, and after we pass one stop I hear an announcement that the next stop is Wall St. What? I look up at the route listing. I can’t believe I’m that out of it and went downtown instead, but I’ve been known to do that after gigs. The train slows and I see where we are. Turns out we were at Grand Central and all the signs weren’t corresponding, so I had to go back down 2 stops. Well, I had time to kill, anyway.

He had sideburns, and he was a guy, so I guess that made him an expert. Beer in hand, he loudly passed judgment on every album in the juke. He was wearing a T-shirt from the Field Museum with a spider on it and it said Wolf Spider. Wolf Spider, yeah, too trendy for me. I read they played that surprise gig at the Annex and the Trinity and MisShapes were there. Yawn.

The Stones album in there is the best. “The Pogues are so great, but I don’t think a lot of people dig them.”

Yeah, I figured they sold out the Nokia because Towers of London opened one night, as did Seanchai.

“How come I’ve never heard of The Pogues?” asked the woman puzzling over the juke.

You probably shouldn’t say that out loud because, for one, consider where you are, and 2, you never know who’s sitting near you. Y’know, the band’s gonna go on before you hear your megamix. Barring that, I know where the off switch is.

A few songs later, The Professor breaks it down for the group of women he’s with: “Flogging Molly.”

“Yeah!” they chorus.

I totally wasn’t expecting the new album out in August as promised on Seanchai’s site to be out in August. So I had to leave a bar with no AC to go to Duane Reade, which is right by the 6, to take out money for it. Not only was that place cold, there was a water cooler in the back by the pharmacy. And then it was back into the heat to a bar with no AC and then back to the 6. I was trying to get the cellophane off and totally missed my stop and had to head back to the downtown 6 to 51/Lex. I’m not complaining, as I now had the new Seanchai album in my hands, I’m just saying that I missed my stop yet again that night. Well, actually it was morning so that makes it okay.

So Tralala was cool, New York Dolls rocked, it was free, Seanchai is back at Rocky’s, and their new album is out. This must be what Loafass is talking about when they sing Big Dick Day.

P.S.

After I posted that about how things don’t register, (at least on Blogger—there are things that don’t register with me, but that’s another story) I thought, Tell them how when you hit publish, it sometimes says “Publishing in progress—files published 20%” sometimes for 5 minutes. Or files published 0% for 5 minutes. And then I have to wonder if things have actually published. I tried clearing the cache like they suggested, but it’s still happening. Mmm, a cache of cookies.

So I tried to add that bit to the post and of course the last article didn’t even appear on my list of posts, yet it was there on the site—another thing that pisses me off—and I put that part in about the percentage of publishing completed and tried to repost . . . and of course that whole part was lost. I mean, yeah, it wasn’t that big a deal and wasn’t that long, but still. This is what I’m talking about. That’s what the other problem is, when I reread things on Blogger in edit mode, I remember things to add at the last minute and sometimes I add it there and sometimes I reread the post in Word and remember things I have to say and add it there and I forget which the correct/latest version to post is.

Whassup, Punk Rockers?

Hola, amigos. I know it’s been a long time since I rapped at ya, but things in H-ville have been pretty sucky as of late. I’ve been sick with a terrible cold and I’m having problems posting to the site, in addition to uploading photos. Every time I post from home, it never registers. Sometimes when I write, then save in edit mode, and then come back and add to what I’ve written, the changes don’t save. I also copy back into Word and then make changes in there and can't remember which is the most recent version to post. Sometimes my post number and last posting date changes and I haven’t made any updates. Maybe it’s because people have commented, but I’m too much of a chicken to read them and reply. I know, if I dish it out I gotta be able to take it. I think it’s a cookie issue, with the photos and changes not registering. What else is new, we all know I have issues with cookies as in I see one I eat it. Except fig newtons. Those are disgusting. There’s also a Blogger Beta, and I have to see what the differences are and if it’s better/easy to use.

So if I’m still heading into Toilet Town, at least I’m consistent. How consistent? I spent Labor Day weekend exactly like I spent the 4th of July, at Otto’s Shrunken Head for Unsteady Freddy’s Surf-Rock Shindig where the Chasers and the Coffin Daggers played. There was no AC, something with Con Ed, and Freddy said we were lucky to have the juice for the bands. They opened the back door and nothing untoward happened, so so much for the sign on the door that says Alarm will sound—Do no open door unless you or the bar is on fire! We mean it! It was so hot that I was standing still and sweat was pouring down my face; it was so packed in there. I haven’t seen the Coffin Daggers in ages, to the point that I didn’t remember they had a gal on keys. Or maybe that’s a new thing altogether. Coffin Daggers have a Theremin. I have found my calling. Think about it. It looks easy enough for me to play, like no matter where you put your hand near the antennae, it makes a cool sound and I don’t think you can ever get it wrong. Plus you look really cool doing it, like you’re trying to conjure evil spirits out of a cauldron or something. So if any punk bands need a Theremin player, I’m your girl.

Then on Sunday I went to the Continental, where SMUT played. The guy at the door actually said he remembered me and I didn’t need to show my ID, which is funny because he kept asking every time I go there and I haven’t been getting any younger. He asked me what band I was there for, and I said SMUT and he said, “You’re coming here to see SMUT?” Which is funny because in all the years I’ve been going there, this is the longest convo we’ve ever had and the place is closing in 2 weeks. Sorry, becoming a full-on bar. So I was standing there thinking that in all the years I’ve been going there, this is the longest convo we’ve ever had and he said (the young blond rocker-type guy, not the Sammy Hagar-looking guy) “Oh, I get it. I’m just not funny!” Well, no, if you think about it. It’s like you’re walking right into it. I was there early enough to see Social Hero and they prove my point about why it’s so pointless to complain about Charm School, ‘cause Social Hero was pretty awful pablum rock. When they broke out the cover of the Toadies’ Possum Kingdom (“I will treat you well/my sweet angel/so help me, Jesus”) I had to remind myself to stifle the looks of abject horror if standing right up front. (Yes, I had to look that lyric up in order to prove my point and had no idea that the song was actually called Possum Kingdom. I agree; we should treat possums well, but we shouldn’t need Jesus’ help. Treating possums well should be a given.) Y’know, seeing as how the Toadies are from Texas, there’s another reason for the Dixie Chicks to be really ashamed to be from there. SMUT’s new song Settle the Score has this little pogo interlude and I was wondering what the hell was wrong with everybody because I always envision people tearing it up to them and I was thinking that maybe nobody takes them seriously because they’re a predominantly female punk group. But I’m glad everybody was standing there in rapt attention so’s I didn’t have to worry about anything and watch the band and just as I thought that, some guy just starts walking into everyone, drunkenly. He’s wearing a T-shirt to commemorate the LA riots. Come to LA, it’s a riot—or something like that, with flames, which is right up there with a drawing of a tidal wave and Ninth Ward, catch the wave. “Fuck The Cramps, cuz There’s Gonna Be Blood!” Ha ha. That kicks ass. Right outside after the gig, I saw something so frighteningly hideous my corneas may be a little burned: A guy in flip-flops and white pants and a white polo, the collar upturned, and it said Prepster on the collar.

If my corneas are a little burnt, at least I have things lined up in edit mode, and I’m waiting for a free second at work to reread and post from a computer that doesn’t use dial-up. And with these days off I was able to stay up late and finish stuff up and start more stuff. So I’ll have a lot more going up and I’ll look like I’ve been much busier than I actually was.