Flaming Pablum

Never Mind Black Friday,...

I'm officially re-christening this day Black Sabbath Day, as I just read with some sadness that Ronnie James Dio has been diagnosed with stomach cancer. Bummer. Crank up "The Mob Rules" in tribute. Get well soon, Mr. D.

Stuffing You Might Have Missed

Pardon the strenuously lame title of this post, but it's the best Thanksgiving-allusion I could come up with. Sue me. In any case, herewith a list of items I deemed worthy of your perusal. Tuck right in, do.

First up, Scouting New York put up an exhaustive post about the site of the World's Fair over in Queens. I've always adored the bizarre, futuristic structures of that place. There's a certain moment on the Long Island Expressway as you approach Manhattan when you climb a small hill. Once you clear said hill, the strange towers of the World's Fair loom into view. As a child, I always associated the sight of those towers as an indication that we were almost home. Also, evidently there used to be a Fountain of the Planet of the Apes there (see pic above). Why, exactly, wasn't I notified about this?

And now for some other fine items…

Tim B. strongly advises you to go check out Kevin Mazur's exhibit of rock photography the Time Warner Center in Columbus Circle.

Be careful next time you go a-sushiing. That might not be tuna you're tucking into. Yipe!

Holly of The New York Nobody Sings remembers The Clash at Bond's Casino.

Tragically, the former site of Downtown Music Gallery on the Bowery is slated to become a Subway. Yeah, like we need another one.

Hail to the king. Papaya King on 7th Avenue has evidently abdicated.

Enter the Cultural Dictionary of Punk Holiday contest and maybe win an awesome book!

Here's your chance to tell Marc Jacobs where he can stick it.

I didn't know this either, but Glen discovered that Henry Rollins has been blogging for Vanity Fair.

There's nothing I can say about this item that would adequately explain it, so simply click here to enjoy the Muppets' rendition of Queen's magnum opus, "Bohemian Rhapsody."

It seems Bon Jovi was performing on the TODAY show (a veritable stone's throw from my office) this morning. Being that I neglected to bring my assault rifle with me to work, I wasn't quite able to do the right thing. As a consolation prize, though, my co-worker Jeff passed on this classic encounter between Bon Jovi and Triumph the insult comic dog. I practically cried watching this. Enjoy.

Lastly, meet Sarah Palin's public. Chilling.

Happy Thanksgiving!

"I Ain't Got Time For That Now"

Yes, it's time for yet another impassioned entreaty for you click on over to The New York Nobody Sings to check out my latest entry about Manhattan-centric music. This particular installment involves Talking Heads' endearingly paranoid ode to life under hostile surveillance from 1979, "Life During Wartime." This ain't no party. This ain't no disco. This ain't no foolin' around.

XOXO, 99X

This is already been making the rounds, but I too let out a heartbroken gasp when I first read the news on EV Grieve's site, so I thought I'd share it here. It turns out that 99X over on 10th street is closing its doors for good. Initially affiliated with 99 Records, 99X has been selling Fred Perrys, Vans & other cool gear to the punks, skins, mods & hip kids for over three (!!!) decades. I've bought many a fine textile myself there over the years, most recently those stylishly macabre paisley Vans you see in the photograph above. Yet another outpost of cool vanishes from downtown NYC. Pour one out.

Devo Comes Back

So, I caught DEVO again tonight at Irving Pl.... oh, excuse me, The Filmore New York at Irving Plaza. This is about the fifth time I've seen them in as many years (see previous reviews here and here). Tonight was the first of two nights, each devoted to specific albums. This evening's show concentrated on Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo, the band's debut (you can read my breathlessly overwritten praise for that album here). They ran through the album in its entirety, then came back and cranked through "Smart Patrol/Mr. DNA," "Gates of Steel" and "Secret Agent Man." They're still old, grey and fat, but they rocked. I'd normally have more to say on the subject, but it's late and I need to get to bed, but I wanted to post this before my friend Glen (who I went with) got his blog post up. Ha! Herewith some photos of dubious quality from tonight's show. Duty now, spuds!

Addendum: Read Glen's more substantial take on last night's proceedings by clicking here!

"I Don't Wanna Be Friends!"

Here's a post that's guaranteed to get my brethren in the Killing Joke, Motorhead & Cop Shoot Cop communities concerned, but whatever. Ya can't make an omelette without crackin' a few eggs.

At first, I didn't really know -- much less care -- who she was (although I remember being sneerily derisive about her bold appropriation of the Aladdin Sane thunderbolt). As far as I was concerned, Lady Gaga was just another vacuous pop diva, ripe for my contempt & sniffy dismissal. Then my comrade-in-blogs EV Grieve started obsessing about her. Then I read an amusing piece about her purported ties to the sinister Illuminati. I started paying closer attention, but I couldn't help feeling that Gaga's music simply didn't match her endearingly freaky aesthetic.

Then I heard -- or, more to the point, saw the video for -- "Bad Romance." Now, I get it. It's official: I surrender. Sign me up.

While obviously an acolyte of pure pop royalty like Britney, Christina Aguilera, Kylie, Rihanna, Gwen Stefani and, obviously, Madonna, Gaga also seems to lift from references further afield, notably Bjork, Visage, vintage Annie Lennox and Grace Jones. I'd love to suggest Toyah Wilcox and Nina Hagen, but I'm probably just projecting. There's also a chilly, mechanized menace to her sound that evokes the same vibe of ruthless Teutonic efficiency as Sehnsucht-era Rammstein (with regrettably fewer power-chords). Regardless of the styles she's arguably pinched, however, I have suddenly become somewhat enamored of "Bad Romance," not least for its Kubrick-meets-Marilyn Manson visual dazzle, but put simply, because the lady can really fuckin' belt it out (which is inarguably more than can be said about most of her peers & influences -- and yes, that includes Madonna). It's just a great pop song. I don't like a lot of gratuitous pop, but a good song is a good song is a good song, etc. I'm sure I'll read something tomorrow about her that makes me shudder with newfound contempt, but I must confess to loving the hell out this single. Check out Slate's breakdown of the frankly disquieting video here (and be sure to watch it, while you're at it).

ADDENDUM: Check out this painstakingly detailed breakdown of the occult allusions evidently rife in the video for "Bad Romance."

"Scabio Murem per Sanctum...Dio, Dio, Dio"

It's a dreary, damp Saturday morning in November. Clearly, that means it's time for some vintage Birthday Party. Crank it.

Mick & Keef on West 8th

I'd say it's about time for you to click thyselves back over to The New York Nobody Sings for a heart-string-yanking rumination on "Dance Pt. 1," the opening number off The Rolling Stones' slavishly overlooked 1980 opus, Emotional Rescue that involves allusions to summer camp, Swedish tennis stars, prurient juvenile humor and the legendary corner of West 8th Street & 6th Avenue. Click here for the whole story.

I Tumblr For Ya

In recent weeks, it seems there's been a Tumblr site that's been linking here called This Isn't Happiness. Not exactly sure what the defining notion behind it is, but it seems like simply images that amuse the blogger. Fine by me. Stumbled upon this one today & thought I'd share it. Go check it out for yourself.

Rock n' Roll High School

Just another little self-promotional plug to send you back over to The New York Nobody Sings to check out an item I just posted in homage to the late, lamented Coney Island High on St. Marks Place. While yer there, why not also check out my piece on Simon & Garfunkel's "Bleecker Street." Thanks & enjoy.