The Most Depressing Day Of The Year
The Most Depressing Day Of The Year
Tim Fite and Marshall Crenshaw/Tap Bar//1/24/07
There was actually a scientific study that found January 24 to be The Most Depressing Day of the Year. Around that time people give up on their resolutions. Winter also hits full-force. I don’t know about January 24, but I’ve still got the same job so I can take my pick of most depressing days. I get paid on the 15th and 31st, so that lets the 24th out. Last year had a few depressing days and they weren’t in January. There were about 4 or so in 2005 and none were the 24th. Wait, I started this in 2005, on the 24th. So it wasn’t January 24 that was the most depressing day of the year. It was in July that I started this. July 24. Still, that wasn’t the most depressing day of 2005. It’s close, though.
I kinda felt like I wanted to go out on The Most Depressing Day of the Year, but where? Couldn’t find anything. And that would be fitting, right? Dwarves? On The Most Depressing Day Of The Year? Marshall Crenshaw? Yeah. And Tim Fite is on the bill. And I said that I’d see Tim Fite again, since finding out that Tim Fite is none other Little T of Little T and One Track Mike. It’ll be good to see a familiar face on TMDDOTY. But I went to Crenshaw’s site and this is what it said: “Crenshaw tours selectively on what he terms the ‘NPR circuit,’ meaning he plays mainly nice clubs that are vacuumed daily with restrooms substantially nicer than those at CBGB. He also plays performing arts centers—venues where people go to really listen to music rather than get hammered by it.” I know: Whatta dick. What, does he assume that those who go to CBGB can’t appreciate his music? People who listen to NPR are more selective and cultured, appreciating the finer things in music—like Marshall Crenshaw? Fuck that. Or are the people who see Marshall Crenshaw older? Where else could I go? Freddy’s? Otto’s? (As in, something in my budget.) Uh, nothing. Appropriate. Still, I’m glad I have a CBGB™ T for such occasions. And Marshall will have the Turbo ACs, Unsane, and the Dwarves on his head. Enjoy!
I went down there to pick up the ticket at the beginning of January and the door was locked. I heard voices inside, from the Tap level. I coughed because I have to and also to let them know that someone needs to buy a ticket. Then again, there were a few shows cancelled at the beginning of the month. I was about to give up when someone opened the door and told me that they were closed. Well, if they were closed why was he there? I try again the week before the show, telling the guy that I needed a ticket for Marshall Crenshaw.
“Which show did you want to see?”
I only knew of one show, the one on the 24th, and didn’t know if there was an early and late show and the December 20th show had come and gone, so I said, “January 24 in the Tap Bar, with Tim Fite.”
“I’ll find it.”
Pause. Nothing. The monitor is sorta angled toward me and I wasn’t sure if I should be looking as well. Though it was a week before the show, was it sold out?
“I’ll find it.”
Pause. Nothing. “Oh. Here it is. 24.”
Holy shit! $24?!
“That’ll be $12.”
Didn’t I tell him I was looking for the show on the January 24, in the Tap Bar? Happy 20th Anniversary, Fuckfaces.
On January 22, 2007 I find out that there’s a formula for calculating The Most Depressing Day Of The Year—factoring in weather, holiday credit card bills, job dissatisfaction (seriously, if you’re depressed by these things, then you suck at denial)—and it changes! In 2005 it was the 24th, in 2006 it was the 23rd, and this year it was the 22nd. Nice. I guess this is what I get for sarcastically telling RebelMart that announcing his gig a day and a half beforehand led me to restart my post to include him. (The backstory, of course, is that I told Matt that the next time we end up in the NY Times it should be for something happy, such as an article entitled “Punk’s Not Dead, It’s Just Regrouping” and the blurb will be something like, “For the denizens of NYC’s Continental—such as the Blackout Shoppers and myself—establishing a new punk order” and I’ll be the one who writes it. He agreed with me and of course it was in that vein that I started.)
***
Turns out that January 24 is Beer Can Appreciation Day, commemorating the first time beer was served in a can back in 1935. There’s even an eCard for it, so it is a real holiday. So I was reading Musto’s “Sarah Silverman Is My Kind Of Cunt” article in the Voice whilst waiting for the 1 at 14th. When I read the line about realizing that Silverman is politically correct being “the scariest thing this fudgepacking wop has heard in a coon’s age,” I just started laughing out loud, the paper almost falling on the floor because I was sitting on the bench and the woman next to me just looked at me. I thought about writing that in to the letters page—about this woman looking at me—just thought Musto would like to know. Then the train comes and the woman wouldn’t sit next to me. I should’ve sat there with the paper just open to pg. 18, with that headline blazing.
The computer outside the Tap Bar has desktop wallpaper that says I Got Wasted At The Tap Bar and while I thought, Wow, don’t flatter yourselves, I told the woman that it was cute as I asked if I could go inside and sit down as I worked on thawing out. Nope. I ran my hands under hot water in the bathroom and then my fingertips were tingling. Heart attack? Then I realized that my fingers were tingling because I’ve got frostbite.
For some reason, I guess because it being the Knit, we’re made to line up against the wall. Those with tickets had to get off the line, get out tickets ripped and our wrists stamped, and then we could go back in line. Those who were buying tix that day then had to buy, get stamped, and then get back on line. Someone else on the line said exactly what I was thinking: What was the point of getting on line, then? Uhm, because this is the Knitting Factory. I mean, how much gear are 2 solo artists going to be loading in? It can’t be the old, “Gotta keep this area clear! Don’t want you getting hurt when the bands are loading in!” song and dance they’re always giving us upstairs. When the woman at the door finally got confirmation on her walkie-talkie that doors were open and announced this, she was so Valley Girl I swear I thought she was going to throw in a “like, totally.”
All of this was forgotten, though, by the time I got to the stage and smelled wood. Like toothpicks or tongue depressors—or Tim’s wooden boom box with the little lights on it that hides his little sampler. Anyway, I was getting completely high from the wood and, most depressing day of the year or not, I was feeling much better. I thought I knew what to expect having seen Tim Fite open for The Leevees, but this time around it was just the acoustic guitar and sampler. Last time around he had videos of himself playing guitar and drawings playing behind him. Don’t know if that was part of the act, since that was my 1st time seeing him, or just because Southpaw was equipped for that, or it was something special for the Jewltide show because there was menorah-related material. And Noah from Sam Champion was on laptop, running visuals and perhaps other sounds. So if I ever get around to posting that one be really surprised. Since there was no movie screen in the Tap Bar, Tim had little books with drawings inside and he called us all closer so he could read to us, and then he sang the songs. There was one When I Die, It’ll Be A Slow Death, and he continued, “When I die, it’ll be a slow death—with rats or ants. Or maybe both.” Seemingly weird/morose/macabre, but when you think about it, it makes total sense.
I don’t know how it started, because I never meant to start it, but pretty much everyone sat down upfront in between sets. I was just sitting down, reading the paper, and there was one other couple, but I look up to see that everyone who wasn’t at a table was on the floor. The other couple moved center-floor and the guy had CD booklets arranged on top of CDs, which were displayed on top of a plastic bag, a ticket envelope, and Sharpie on the stage, in front of him. What a weirdo. Where the hell did he get an envelope for the ticket? It’s one of those envelopes you get at Irving when you buy a ticket at the window—y’know, from a venue that uses Ticketmaster. What, when he bought the ticket at the Knit did he badger them into giving him an envelope just for autographing purposes? Shit, they have those envelopes at the box office at the Merc, but they never give you one and no one’s lame enough to ask for one. You just put the ticket in your wallet neatly and respectfully, not folded, with the stub that gets ripped off anyway sticking out.
And no one budged once Marshall came onstage, not even wearing his hat, and took his seat. He then draped a purple bandana over the mic stand which was adjusted for his sitting down (which I would complain about, seeing as how this is rock ‘n’ roll, but then again Crenshaw’s the one who plays at performing arts centers) and from my vantage-point on the floor, tucked in against the amp, and all I saw was him sitting there with a purple schmatta floating in front of him. Uhm. So part of me is perfectly content with this situation and part of me is kinda pissed. Behind me, a shutter goes off in rapid-fire succession, like how you would think it does at a modeling shoot. I turn around, because what the hell, Marshall’s just sitting down, and the woman waves me off, like, no, don’t worry, I’m not in the way of her shot. I do move a few times to get some better shots from a better angle. Every time Marshall picks up his bandana to wipe his face and under his glasses, I think, Just drop it on the damn floor already, but then I secretly wonder if, from his vantage-point, he’s blocking his view of my CBGB shirt. I also think, If you’re that concerned about sweating in public, maybe “musician” isn’t the right job for you.
Yeah, Marshall Crenshaw goes out lookin’ for a Cynical Girl—who’s got no use for the real world and he’ll know right away by the look in her eye/She harbors no illusions and she’s worldly-wise. . . . I guess he just wasn’t counting on a sarcastic girl.
Tim Fite and Marshall Crenshaw/Tap Bar//1/24/07
There was actually a scientific study that found January 24 to be The Most Depressing Day of the Year. Around that time people give up on their resolutions. Winter also hits full-force. I don’t know about January 24, but I’ve still got the same job so I can take my pick of most depressing days. I get paid on the 15th and 31st, so that lets the 24th out. Last year had a few depressing days and they weren’t in January. There were about 4 or so in 2005 and none were the 24th. Wait, I started this in 2005, on the 24th. So it wasn’t January 24 that was the most depressing day of the year. It was in July that I started this. July 24. Still, that wasn’t the most depressing day of 2005. It’s close, though.
I kinda felt like I wanted to go out on The Most Depressing Day of the Year, but where? Couldn’t find anything. And that would be fitting, right? Dwarves? On The Most Depressing Day Of The Year? Marshall Crenshaw? Yeah. And Tim Fite is on the bill. And I said that I’d see Tim Fite again, since finding out that Tim Fite is none other Little T of Little T and One Track Mike. It’ll be good to see a familiar face on TMDDOTY. But I went to Crenshaw’s site and this is what it said: “Crenshaw tours selectively on what he terms the ‘NPR circuit,’ meaning he plays mainly nice clubs that are vacuumed daily with restrooms substantially nicer than those at CBGB. He also plays performing arts centers—venues where people go to really listen to music rather than get hammered by it.” I know: Whatta dick. What, does he assume that those who go to CBGB can’t appreciate his music? People who listen to NPR are more selective and cultured, appreciating the finer things in music—like Marshall Crenshaw? Fuck that. Or are the people who see Marshall Crenshaw older? Where else could I go? Freddy’s? Otto’s? (As in, something in my budget.) Uh, nothing. Appropriate. Still, I’m glad I have a CBGB™ T for such occasions. And Marshall will have the Turbo ACs, Unsane, and the Dwarves on his head. Enjoy!
I went down there to pick up the ticket at the beginning of January and the door was locked. I heard voices inside, from the Tap level. I coughed because I have to and also to let them know that someone needs to buy a ticket. Then again, there were a few shows cancelled at the beginning of the month. I was about to give up when someone opened the door and told me that they were closed. Well, if they were closed why was he there? I try again the week before the show, telling the guy that I needed a ticket for Marshall Crenshaw.
“Which show did you want to see?”
I only knew of one show, the one on the 24th, and didn’t know if there was an early and late show and the December 20th show had come and gone, so I said, “January 24 in the Tap Bar, with Tim Fite.”
“I’ll find it.”
Pause. Nothing. The monitor is sorta angled toward me and I wasn’t sure if I should be looking as well. Though it was a week before the show, was it sold out?
“I’ll find it.”
Pause. Nothing. “Oh. Here it is. 24.”
Holy shit! $24?!
“That’ll be $12.”
Didn’t I tell him I was looking for the show on the January 24, in the Tap Bar? Happy 20th Anniversary, Fuckfaces.
On January 22, 2007 I find out that there’s a formula for calculating The Most Depressing Day Of The Year—factoring in weather, holiday credit card bills, job dissatisfaction (seriously, if you’re depressed by these things, then you suck at denial)—and it changes! In 2005 it was the 24th, in 2006 it was the 23rd, and this year it was the 22nd. Nice. I guess this is what I get for sarcastically telling RebelMart that announcing his gig a day and a half beforehand led me to restart my post to include him. (The backstory, of course, is that I told Matt that the next time we end up in the NY Times it should be for something happy, such as an article entitled “Punk’s Not Dead, It’s Just Regrouping” and the blurb will be something like, “For the denizens of NYC’s Continental—such as the Blackout Shoppers and myself—establishing a new punk order” and I’ll be the one who writes it. He agreed with me and of course it was in that vein that I started.)
***
Turns out that January 24 is Beer Can Appreciation Day, commemorating the first time beer was served in a can back in 1935. There’s even an eCard for it, so it is a real holiday. So I was reading Musto’s “Sarah Silverman Is My Kind Of Cunt” article in the Voice whilst waiting for the 1 at 14th. When I read the line about realizing that Silverman is politically correct being “the scariest thing this fudgepacking wop has heard in a coon’s age,” I just started laughing out loud, the paper almost falling on the floor because I was sitting on the bench and the woman next to me just looked at me. I thought about writing that in to the letters page—about this woman looking at me—just thought Musto would like to know. Then the train comes and the woman wouldn’t sit next to me. I should’ve sat there with the paper just open to pg. 18, with that headline blazing.
The computer outside the Tap Bar has desktop wallpaper that says I Got Wasted At The Tap Bar and while I thought, Wow, don’t flatter yourselves, I told the woman that it was cute as I asked if I could go inside and sit down as I worked on thawing out. Nope. I ran my hands under hot water in the bathroom and then my fingertips were tingling. Heart attack? Then I realized that my fingers were tingling because I’ve got frostbite.
For some reason, I guess because it being the Knit, we’re made to line up against the wall. Those with tickets had to get off the line, get out tickets ripped and our wrists stamped, and then we could go back in line. Those who were buying tix that day then had to buy, get stamped, and then get back on line. Someone else on the line said exactly what I was thinking: What was the point of getting on line, then? Uhm, because this is the Knitting Factory. I mean, how much gear are 2 solo artists going to be loading in? It can’t be the old, “Gotta keep this area clear! Don’t want you getting hurt when the bands are loading in!” song and dance they’re always giving us upstairs. When the woman at the door finally got confirmation on her walkie-talkie that doors were open and announced this, she was so Valley Girl I swear I thought she was going to throw in a “like, totally.”
All of this was forgotten, though, by the time I got to the stage and smelled wood. Like toothpicks or tongue depressors—or Tim’s wooden boom box with the little lights on it that hides his little sampler. Anyway, I was getting completely high from the wood and, most depressing day of the year or not, I was feeling much better. I thought I knew what to expect having seen Tim Fite open for The Leevees, but this time around it was just the acoustic guitar and sampler. Last time around he had videos of himself playing guitar and drawings playing behind him. Don’t know if that was part of the act, since that was my 1st time seeing him, or just because Southpaw was equipped for that, or it was something special for the Jewltide show because there was menorah-related material. And Noah from Sam Champion was on laptop, running visuals and perhaps other sounds. So if I ever get around to posting that one be really surprised. Since there was no movie screen in the Tap Bar, Tim had little books with drawings inside and he called us all closer so he could read to us, and then he sang the songs. There was one When I Die, It’ll Be A Slow Death, and he continued, “When I die, it’ll be a slow death—with rats or ants. Or maybe both.” Seemingly weird/morose/macabre, but when you think about it, it makes total sense.
I don’t know how it started, because I never meant to start it, but pretty much everyone sat down upfront in between sets. I was just sitting down, reading the paper, and there was one other couple, but I look up to see that everyone who wasn’t at a table was on the floor. The other couple moved center-floor and the guy had CD booklets arranged on top of CDs, which were displayed on top of a plastic bag, a ticket envelope, and Sharpie on the stage, in front of him. What a weirdo. Where the hell did he get an envelope for the ticket? It’s one of those envelopes you get at Irving when you buy a ticket at the window—y’know, from a venue that uses Ticketmaster. What, when he bought the ticket at the Knit did he badger them into giving him an envelope just for autographing purposes? Shit, they have those envelopes at the box office at the Merc, but they never give you one and no one’s lame enough to ask for one. You just put the ticket in your wallet neatly and respectfully, not folded, with the stub that gets ripped off anyway sticking out.
And no one budged once Marshall came onstage, not even wearing his hat, and took his seat. He then draped a purple bandana over the mic stand which was adjusted for his sitting down (which I would complain about, seeing as how this is rock ‘n’ roll, but then again Crenshaw’s the one who plays at performing arts centers) and from my vantage-point on the floor, tucked in against the amp, and all I saw was him sitting there with a purple schmatta floating in front of him. Uhm. So part of me is perfectly content with this situation and part of me is kinda pissed. Behind me, a shutter goes off in rapid-fire succession, like how you would think it does at a modeling shoot. I turn around, because what the hell, Marshall’s just sitting down, and the woman waves me off, like, no, don’t worry, I’m not in the way of her shot. I do move a few times to get some better shots from a better angle. Every time Marshall picks up his bandana to wipe his face and under his glasses, I think, Just drop it on the damn floor already, but then I secretly wonder if, from his vantage-point, he’s blocking his view of my CBGB shirt. I also think, If you’re that concerned about sweating in public, maybe “musician” isn’t the right job for you.
Yeah, Marshall Crenshaw goes out lookin’ for a Cynical Girl—who’s got no use for the real world and he’ll know right away by the look in her eye/She harbors no illusions and she’s worldly-wise. . . . I guess he just wasn’t counting on a sarcastic girl.
posted by heather @ 12:37 AM
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