Happy Hollindaise!

You think I've got lagtime? Stuff on my Cat is 1st posting Xmas pix. I'd say, Considering the weather we're having, it's the same diff, but they're out in California. Dangit.

Just Another Manitoba's Monday

Yo! Scunt/Blackout Shoppers//Manitoba’s//11/13/06
(Hell, everything's gonna be a nostalgia trip w/me, I guess.)

It’s never a good thing when I get to the subway platform in the morning late, as usual, because I couldn’t get out of bed, as usual, because I’m stressed, as usual, and got to bed late, as usual, because I was at a show the night before, as usual, and find the platform mobbed. Perhaps it was the tail end of a go back to start because the trains aren’t passing go and by the time you get back to start everything would’ve been go.

In other words, everything’s going wrong.

But that’s okay. WWIX and Blackout Shoppers that night. During lunch I tried to find a flyer for the show, heading down 6th until 23rd, but I couldn’t find one. I would’ve taken the one from the window at Passout, but I figured they needed it to promote the show.

And then the email came that afternoon that Dr. Max Strum has fallen ill. Perhaps all the PCBs at New Paltz have caught up with him. Shit, no. I went to New Paltz. Whoever will the opening act be? Maybe they couldn’t get one on such short notice. And besides, I heard about the cops cutting SMUT short because of “noise complaints” (seriously, why live above a bar if you’re going to be such an ass about these things?) so I figured maybe there wouldn’t be one so the Shoppers could go on earlier and finish earlier and besides, it was raining all day, but the show better not be cancelled.

So I figured to stay at work at least a little later before they yell at me for coming in late and “Well, if you paid me decently I’d be able to get some sleep at night instead of tossing and turning and kicking the cat all night,” is never the answer. Well, it’s never the right answer. Of course by the time I got to the subway, there was some previous incident. An R went express.

It was about 7 by the time I got back. Put my stuff down, peed, fed cat, left. Thankfully the F came right away at 74th and ran without incident. Yo! Scunt, from Jackson Heights and (perhaps some toilet in) Flushing, opened. Their drummer wore a shirt that said: No job, no money, no car, but I am in a band. Well, 50% of that is true for me. Then again, Christine said that I should learn to play the drums so I can be their alternate, legal-age drummer. Yeah, but if I’m in the band, I can’t see the band.

“We’re on the Lower East Side, so I assume everyone here is from the Midwest. . . .”

And then I realize that by the end of the night, I would’ve seen 12 bands in 3 days. Lessee, that’s 12 bands in . . . I don’t know, how many hours? 36 hours. No, wait. I know this one. 64. Wait, band’s on.

To someone’s call of “Oi!,” they respond, “We’re from Queens. We say ‘yo.’ ”

Well, I’m from Queens and I say oy.

The Shoppers started off with mic troubles, (“Way to break stuff, ya douche!” someone yelled) and the place got really warm as they wiped the floor with us bastards. All of a sudden I got a strong whiff of I don’t know what it was, maybe air freshener from the bathroom or somebody’s perfume, but my nose started burning and I got a headache. Or the Shoppers were making me sick. (No, when I came back from doing the laundry I started sneezing vehemently after putting in the detergent. My sinuses are still bothering me.)

Justin accidentally spilled his beer on his head and I was trying to get Matt’s camera from him, lest it gets messed up. Still, its better that he spilled his beer on his head instead of on the floor because there’s less chance of him messing up the camera that way. I was trying signal Jon to take the camera and he managed to, so we don't miss this. Beer cans were flying. It was part crowd surf, part enthusiastic winning team hoisting up a teammate, but Seth was airborne at Manitoba’s. I couldn’t get over it. Apparently, neither could Kevin—I wish I’d brought a camera not only to capture that moment, but Kevin leaning over the bar, head in his hand, shaking his head in disbelief. Hell, I couldn’t get over it.

“When are you guys gonna start?”

72 hours. 3 days=72 hours. I knew that. (Yeah, of course I had to double-check that yet again to be sure before I posted this. Y’know, now that I spent an hour and a half trying to log in to the Google version of this and ranting against Google, Blogger, and myself for switching over because I can’t log in anymore and changing my password and then realizing that it was because I didn’t completely activate the new password. What can I say, it was like 1 in the morning.)

I tried to say my good-byes and not puke; raising my voice to be heard over the music made me cough. I did find a larger flyer on 2nd Ave. and while did advertise WWIX, it’s also more Justin Melkmann artwork. On St. Marks, a Save CBGB poster hung in a storefront. CBGB store coming soon! was written on it. A white plastic placard said CBGB store. No. Oh, hell no. You can’t put the CBGB store on St. Marks. I mean, as it is, you can buy a CBGB shirt in any of those stores that are already there. You can walk down to Broadway and get one at what passes for Canal Jean Co. these days. Or you could’ve walked down to CBGB from there. Maybe they’re not really putting the store there. Maybe they figured that the area is full of the people who would be looking to buy CBGB™ brand products and they’re just saying, in general, Hey, there’s a CBGB store coming, so get ready. (Holy shit, the gods are pissed off about this because I went to put the trademark symbol in and I went up to insert and Word fucking froze for a second. I was like holy shit, fuck, I didn’t save, and it kept saying not responding. I thought I was gonna lose the last 2 paragraphs.)

Before I caught the train I stopped to pick up something so the puke could anchor onto something in my stomach. As I waited for the train, a woman came right up to me and started talking to me as the express rattled by. Even after the train left, I had to ask her to repeat herself twice before I even caught the gist of what she was saying. My potato chips looked delicious and could she try one?

“You’ve never had a potato chip?” Of course I’m thinking that she could just be shitting me, playing up the Asian tourist bit. So I offer her a chip and she tentatively bites an end, and then puts the tip of it into the mouth of the woman she’s with, breaks it off, and puts the remainder of it into the mouth of the man that’s with her.

“Excuse me,” says the man. “What is the snack’s name?”
***
Now.

Now I know I told one Bloody Dick of The Band Formerly Known As The Spunk Lads that had he and Nick Knickers called their next band The Freedomhaters not only would I definitely go to see a band with that name but they would have no trouble charming this fickle bitch known as the NYC music scene.

So when I saw a Freedom Haters playing Sin-e at 11 that nite I was kinda considering it, because, I mean, let’s face it—even though I thought that Freedom Haters is 1 word. But the good thing about MySpace, aside from letting bands keep in touch w/fans by cutting out the middleman (as in, the “music” “industry”) and bands keeping in touch w/each other, and yada yada, is that I can further assess which bands are a priority to catch, beyond names/logos. Who/what do you consider your influences? How do you answer those stupid obligatory questions? Are there any guys/girls who look like/come off as assholes in the comments/pix of their “friends”? Do they have cool profile names? Which bands are their friends? All that shit is important to me because if I’m checking out a band on MySp at home where I still have dialup, that stupid player ain’t coming up but all the other stuff is. I care not what you sound like if you don’t pass muster on the other fronts. And if I’m checking you out at work, I don’t have time to listen to the songs or futz w/the downloading. This is what the Freedom Haters have to say about themselves: “Freedom Haters: a unique rock and roll trio, featuring electric violin, bass and drums, with shared vocals and abundant electronic manipulations. Their music ranges from concise noise-spiked rock songs to intricate chamber-punk, with room for spontaneous changes of mood and rhythm according to the band’s whim and collective psychological state; and yes, you may also be inspired to dance with strangers.

Freedom Haters’ music is firmly rooted in the traditions of iconoclasts like Igor Stravinsky, George Crumb, and Charles Ives—composers unafraid to give tradition a swift kick in the nuts simply to enjoy the sound of the screaming. Other obvious touchstones include Frank Zappa, Radiohead, Led Zeppelin and Lark’s Tongues in Aspic-era King Crimson.”

What pretentious bullshit. I was kind of tempted to see them and then start following them around because they’re crawling up out of the primordial ooze and it would be fun to watch and witness, but they played Kenny’s Castaways next and that’s a place I intend to never step foot in.

And yes, it occurred to me that the aforementioned rant does sound mighty snobby, but it’s not snobby if you’re right.

Besides, in their blog report the next day, they mentioned playing to an empty club and they were able to hear the bartenders arguing and that one day, they, too, shall wear Uggs ironically. Though that might just be Sin-e these days.
***
Update (3/3/07): While this post is coming up seemingly apropos to nothing, I figured that since the last one was about a Monday night rock show, and a bunch of free rock in NYC on a Monday night—something that, hopefully, won’t be a thing of the past, which I did not realize at the time and I had this on my desktop so why not, I'd rather do something w/it instead of staring at it all depressed and disbelieving—I’d like to point out, while I’m sitting here at home and not at a show I had plans on going to, I’M NOT MAD AT THE COPS FOR BUSTING IN ON MANITOBA’S. I’M MAD AT THE PEOPLE WHO SENT THE COPS TO MANITOBA’S.

Word.

I DO Like Mondays*

(* liking of Mondays begins after 5pm)

East Coast Scammers/The Wheezing Stumblers/The Tosspots
@ The Pussycat Lounge
Ed Sullivan on Acid & The Umlautz @ Freddy’s
12/4/06

Yeah, I saw that “punk night at the strip club” listed and while there are some bands on there that I did want to see and some bands that I have seen, I was all, 7 bands on a Monday night? Don’t you think that’s a bit much for a Monday night, not to mention a bit, uh, loud?

Besides, I had better things to do. As a music fan with discerning taste, I was going to stay in and watch the Billboard Music Awards and make fun of it. Can you imagine how classic it would be? Hosted by Tweedlemoron and Tweedlemoron-er, and the Post, for some reason, decided that announcing that a certain fading pop star’s partying habits du jour is front-page news. Can you imagine the black hole of stupidity over Vegas when she host the Awards show? The Post asked. Oh, it’ll be epic. It’ll be funny in the way that someone other than you stepping in dogshit is funny. And I have to watch this. I intended to post about it, make my witty little observations, and feel content in the knowledge that I’m so much better than them.

Wait. That’s like shooting dead fish in a barrel. (I almost said “dead retarded fish” but I don’t want to insult the retarded by comparing them to the co-hosts of the BMA because the retarded have enough problems.) And then I saw the commercials for the Awards: “Honoring the artists you made #1: Fergie! The Killers! Gwen Stefani! Mary J. Blige! Ludacris featuring Young Jeezy! The Fray! And did we mention Janet Jackson? Anything could happen!” (Well, I know what won’t happen.)

And then I realized something: These are not “the artists I made #1!”

Must not . . . be in apartment . . . Monday night. . . .

Because you know that if I’m there, even if I’m at the computer I’ll still have one ear on the TV and I will watch it.

What to do, what to do.

The next day I was reading The Onion calendar and saw a pic from Dr. Katz, Professional Therapist. Oh my God. UCB Theatre is having a Dr. Katz marathon, and it just so happens to be on 12/4. I’m so there. Then I read the write-up. It’s actually just an informal Q&A w/the creator of the show. Oh. Dammit. But Pat O’Shea is having his stand-up showcase @ Freddy’s! Woo! All is saved!

Uhm, but, y’know, Brooklyn is really far away for a Monday night. And it’s cold. No offense to Brooklyn, Freddy’s, or Pat O’Shea. And Roger’s working that night, so it’ll take me at least 45 minutes to walk out of there.

And then I realized something else: Not only are the artists featured on the BMA not “the artists I made #1,” but what’s the 1 thing that the 3 Skankateers—Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, and Britney Spears—have in common? (Besides being alcoholic skanks?)

They’ve all recorded albums.

Hello, punk night at the strip club.

Okay. Aside from the fact that the flyer says “free” and some band sites say free, one says cheap, one says $5, and they all mention strippers downstairs, I can’t find set times. Probably because I can’t read the calendar on the Pussycat site from home, but then again I probably won’t be able to access the site from work. And $5 is a small price to pay for music that isn’t featured on the Billboard Music Awards.

Yeah, 7 bands is a lot for a Monday and while I’d rather see the bands I haven’t seen because who knows when I’d be able to catch them again with my schedule and bands could cancel at the last minute, I figure I’d go and see what I can see.

And then I get an email from Pat. That Monday’s comedy showcase also features the last Umlautz performance until sometime next year. They’re going on at “10:30 or so.”

Jeez, couldn’t you have done this on a night that I’m not so busy?

Ha. Yeah, this from the person who’d planned on staying in and making fun of pop music—I mean, commercial music—all night.

OK. So I thought about scrapping the bands. I need a good larf anyway and now seeing The Umlautz is way more important than seeing bands that are always playing in some bill combination or other. But seeing a crapload of bands was my original plan. I emailed Pat and he said “probably midnight.” Since I cannot screw this one up, I tell myself I have to leave at 10:00 and if I miss part (or all) of their set, I do have it in writing. Though I could access the Pussycat site from work, it hasn’t been updated. Yeah, this coming from me.

And it was a full moon.

It’s really warm in my place. I know this because I’m there long enough to pee, feed the cat, and pick up my camera. Outside the wind slices through me and I want to just go back home, crawl into bed, and lounge with my pussycat.

I make good time all the way down. Every train comes right away at every platform I’m at. I’d considered taking the 2/3 to Chambers and then the 1 to Rector, but figured it would be the same difference so when I got to 42nd and saw the 1 there, I took that. At 10 to 8 we were held momentarily by the train’s dispatcher right outside Rector and I thought, Rector? It nearly killed ‘er!

My arrival at the Pussycat that night—or at that time of night—brought the chick factor up to a grand total of 1, no offense to the lovely bar maiden. Hell, I was probably the only person there that night (or at that point of the show) not in a band playing that night—or in a band, period.

It was kinda hard for me to catch East Coast Scammers’ lyrics beyond their repeated use of the F-word, but then again I wear earplugs. I thought, Ah, to be a 20-yr-old whiteboy in a band and though the singer looked 17, you had to be 21 to get in so I assume that’s how old he is. I sat down in the middle of their set, which led everyone else to sit down. The singer thanked us for making the difficult decision of choosing to see them rather than the strippers, and I’m like, Can’t you read my internal narration? I’m a chick! Though by the end of their set, there was another girl there, but I think she was with a guy in one of the bands. So I think I was the only girl there who didn’t have to be there.

I had a feeling, but I still went upstairs first. Locked, same as Halloween. So in order to use the bathroom, you have to use the downstairs one. As in, next door. As in, down the hall past the naked chicks. Hey, at least in a strip club there is a ladies room, unlike at gay leatherman clubs.

I was starting to worry because while the bands’ sets weren’t that long, in the time it took them to change equipment and plug and unplug and twiddle knobs, another of these bands could’ve played most of their set and if I missed The Umlautz that night, there isn’t going to be a gig until April.

I really liked The Wheezing Stumblers and it was kinda funny seeing them that night because I realized that by the time they played at the Staten Island show it totally hit me where I was and what I’d done, plus how late it was, and what was I going to do about getting home and that distracted me. During the brief pause for technical difficulties and trying to figure out which wire you connect to which, there was stumbling backward (didn’t hear wheezing. Not sure if asthmas counts) off the stage, which is real life and not something you’d see on the Billboard Music Awards.

We were clearly on a talent upswing. The Tosspots are incredible and watching them, I knew I’d made the right decision in coming out—and stopping there 1st. I can’t believe a band would come from Buffalo to play NYC for free, and on a Monday in December. I was all excited, because when they start touring and open for bigger punk bands, I can say that I saw them above a strip club and they came down from Buffalo. Their merch guy also wore a bunny suit modified to accommodate a wallet chain because that’s how cold it is in clubs in Buffalo. And then I had to leave, which was good because I really wanted to see The Tosspots. Like their name, what can I say? And the first O in their name is a happy face.

("The state of today's music industry makes me wanna tear my hair out!")
("Does this rabbit suit make me look cold?")


(Say what?)

So then I thought that it wouldn’t be so bad because Chambers is—what—one stop down, and I can get the 2/3 from there. Uh, nope. Chambers is one stop uptown and then I’d have to head back down, toward Brooklyn. But it all worked out and I got to Freddy’s to find Ed Sullivan on Acid still in effect. The comic who was up was funny and Pat was in the back with his watch, timing the skit. And then I had to wonder. Pat’s a comic also and I wonder if it’s hard for him to have to time the set, and listen and not get distracted. Or would it be harder for the comic engrossed in a story, trying to get it all in and have it have the same impact? Or is it harder to be in a band and come up with a setlist? Because with a band, you also know you have a set time to get your point across and leave an impact. Or maybe it’s the same difference. The last guy up was one of those guys—you know the type—I didn’t know if I should laugh or be pissed off at him. Adrienne was there and she looked like she was trying to stifle her pissed-off expression since she was sitting up front. Must not laugh. Not funny. And then she left abruptly. I, too, am offended. So later after the comedy part I told her that her horrified expressions were classic and she said she wasn’t pissed off, she just had a long day at work and was trying to stifle yawns.

("Uno! Dos! Tres! Suzy Quattro!") People took seats for The Umlautz of course oblivious to the fact that seats go around the table, not in front of it. So I was getting blocked because I was at the front and I couldn’t stand because then I’d be blocking someone and I didn’t want to stand off to the side. And Brooklyn vs. Bush TV was taping them, so they had their own lighting and carrying it around and carrying cameras, so I didn’t know what to do about the flash. Use it? Was their lighting enough, as well as the lighting that’s already there, because I was sitting right up front? Luckily the people in front of me got the hint and moved, so I got a nice view of The Umlautz and tried not to cry. Why must Bleu go to Texas now when they should be working on the band? No, I know it’s for family obligations, but fate is cruel, indeed. And of course with their set being filmed and a music critic present, Pat broke a guitar string. But I don’t really mind. It’s live music, and it was still a great set. Everything sounded great. Hey, if I wanted to see perfect I’d watch the overprocessed musical Cheez-whiz crap on the Billboard Awards.
(I kinda like how this one came out, even though the lighting is bad and the pix were matte even though I said glossy. It has a nice, old-fashioned effect. Then again, I'm the one who did not get the photographer gig w/CMJ, so take it from whence it comes.)

The cold was slicing into me and even with the D train I got in after 2. Why do I do these things?

Oh, right.

Music.