Flaming Pablum

From the "Hey, Check That Shit Out" Department....

It seems some kind soul has nominated Flaming Pablum for "Best Music Blog" (an honor I assuredly do not deserve) on the aptly named Best of Blogs site. Hot damn! Who knew? In any case, wouldn't ya know it but I'm apparently a finalist (in fourth place). Check it out by clicking here. Feel free to check that site out and vote. And while you're there, why not check out my co-worker Ben Wagner's content-heavy weblog, which is invariably more deserving of the honor in question than my blog (given my penchant for frequently posting items that have zilcho to do with music).

Noo Yawker in The New Yorker - January 16, `06 issue

Yep, I'm still at it. This week, for the "Goings On About Town" section, I penned the brief blurbs regarding upcomin' gigs by Johnny Winter, We Are Scientists, Oxford Collapse, Camper Van Beethoven, the English Beat, and O.A.R. If'n by chance you can't get yourself to a news stand with the quickness, simply avail yourself to said information by clicking right here. It's that easy.

From the Heart of the Death Star to the Crotch of Times Square

Wakey, wakey! As promised, I'm back to check in and update Flaming Pablum after my first....er..half-week of work at my new gig. I'm sure, by this point, everyone has heard a story or two about tragically foolhardy webloggers who naively posted information about their job/company/office without any semblance of consent beforehand, only to find themselves swiftly reprimanded and, in due course, promptly unemployed as a result. With this in mind, I would like to take this opportunity to strenuously point out that one should certainly not expect to glean absolutely any information regarding the internal operations of the organization that now employs me here on this weblog. Simply put, to divulge any of said information would be wildly unprofessional and, frankly, not just a little stupid. The one bit of information I will pass on, however, is that any/all non-Mac users our there who regularly read this weblog should click themselves on over to the MTV Overdrive site. Thereupon, they will find an impressive library of music videos at their proverbial fingertips, not least certain Flaming Pablum faves by none other than the mighty Cop Shoot Cop (specifically the clips for "Any Day Now" and "Interference") and --- WAIT FOR IT -- my beloved Killing Joke (specifically "Money is Not Our God"). The discovery of same hugely brightened my day (otherwise dimmed by "new kid in school" syndrome).

So while I'm not about to talk about my new job in any detailed capacity, this does not preclude me from talking about Times Square, the particularly tangled neck of the woods wherein I currently make my living. It wasn't a huge leap, geographically speaking, for me to leave the Time/Life Building (affectionately referred to by m'self for many years as "the Death Star") to the offices of my new job right in the veritable crotch, if you will, of Times Square. But the feel of that crotch -- to milk that analogy -- makes for a very different experience. I used to grumble about how the T/L building was too close to Radio City Music Hall and Rockefeller Center, two landmarks which acted like fly-paper to swarms of seasonally-crazed tourists (I've never quite understood why droves of people who live in places with lots of big trees come to a city without a lot of big trees to come line up for hours to stare at one big tree, but whatever). Every December, navigating my way up 6th Avenue from my home downtown became akin to the slow, arduous struggle of the salmon swimming upriver, as I weaved and dodged through hordes of corpulent, slow-moving tourists who'd cluster five-abreast in down-jacketed packs. Let me tell you, that wasn't anything compared to simply trying to walk a simple city block at any time of the year in Times Square.

As I've labouriously pointed out elsewhere on this weblog, I was born here in Manhattan, and those who were tend to be insufferably proud and duly snippy about it (and I, of course, am no exception). As such, I've never entertained a fascination about Times Square. I mean, practically speaking, unless you're particularly fond of oversized advertisements and/or shopping in stores that are readily found in just about every suburban mall across the country, there really isn't a lot to see. I'm pretty sure it was a bit livelier in the 70's and 80's, when the `Sqaure and adjoining 42nd Street (or "the Deuce," as roughnecks of the era might've referred to it) were chock full of every variety of sleaze imaginable, but since the great cleansing and subsequent Disneyfication of the neighborhood circa the reign of Mayor Giulliani (back when people still rightly considered him somewhat of a hard-assed fascist and not the solitary cool customer at the World Trade Center on September 11th, 2001), Times Square has lost a great deal of its character. It may still be the "center of it all," but one cannot help feeling that it has lost much of its flavor.

But that hasn't stopped the hordes. I believe I read somewhere recently that this past season found more tourists than ever before invading the city to take part in age-old holiday rituals. I cannot say I've ever fathomed the appeal of spending New Year's Eve in Times Square. Between the cold, the crowds, the clamor and abject lack of places to go to the bathroom (to say nothing of the vigorously enforced laws against drinking), I can't imagine what the draw is. But, y'know, what the hell do I know?

It's only been a little under a week that I've been finding my way in and out of the crazy canyon, but I'm slowly learning how to do it with efficiency (knowing which subway entrance on 42nd street is least frequented is key). I may come to love it as fondly as I still regard the T/L Death Star, but it's going to be a slow climb, I feel. Untill then, the next time your elbow is roughly bumped as you're staring rapturously up at the needlessly elephantine Cup Noodle sign in the heart of Times Square, look lively....that may have been me trying to brush past you.

Times Square in a more innocent age.

....and in a decidedly less innocent age.

"Welcome to the Working Week...."

".... Oh I know it don't thrill you, I hope it don't kill you.
Welcome to the workin' week.
You gotta do it till you're through it so you better get to it."
- Elvis Costello

While it's probably true that the estimable Mr. Costello was actually singing about a dismal office job of colorless clerical toil akin to working in a salt mine (as opposed to working at a universally-renowned, fast-paced hive of popular culture as I've just started to do), the fact remains that my new work situation has shifted somewhat radically to embrace that regimen. Where my previous work week consisted of one regular office day, two days off (!!!) and two long overnight shifts, I'm currently plugged back into a comparatively conventional, Monday through Friday working week (leaving my old vampire shifts to my former colleague, good friend and fellow webloggah, Hot Johnny Flowers....may he not suffer them as long as I did). As I adjust to the fluctuations in my circadian rhythms and acclimate to my new situation, there may be slight delays in service here. Please bear with me as I get settled.

Thanks for your patience,...

- The Management

Noo Yawker in The New Yorker - January 9, `06 issue

The last couple of posts here have found me ruminating on changes that 2006 will bring. One thing that will hopefully remain a constant, however, is my weekly contribution to the "Goings On About Town" section of The New Yorker. In this latest issue, I penned the bits regarding Jordan Knight, Jeff Timmons, Sodom, Finntroll (a death metal band from Finland who splice their bleak racket with elements of Finish folk music and -- I shit ye not -- polka!), Cordero, the mighty Anthrax and Bill Laswell's latest project, Method of Defiance. Instead of buying the latest issue of Barely Legal (which, let's face it, you're only going to end up feeling guilty about anyway), why not do your intellect a favor instead and buy a copy of this? Failing that, you can always click right here to read it.

All Is Quiet on New Year's Day

Since the release of War by one of our then-favorite bands, U2, my good friend, Rob, and I have followed a somewhat ridiculous tradition of calling each other on the day in question to obnoxiously sing the chorus of same down the phone in a hoarily histrionic manner. It's silly, but still fun. Take a gander at how dead cool they look in that video, all big Cold War coats and black boots. What the hell happened? Bono is sporting a pair of rose-colored wraparounds on the latest cover of TIME and looks about as cool as Rip Taylor. Then again, around the era of U2's War (1983), I looked like this, so I should probably just shut up.

Happy 2006, everyone!