Flaming Pablum

Sue Simmons Unleashes The Fury

I saw the Post headline this morning and didn't think anything of it until I finally checked out the video clip on YouTube this evening (see below). I feel like I practically grew up watching Sue report the news here in NYC. I also remember several great airings of "Live at Five" wherein she interviewed some of my favorite bands like Devo, the Clash and, er..., Peter Criss from Kiss. The papers today were saying she was also tanked at the time of this outburst. I find the whole thing all rather sad. It would be a shame if she lost her job over it.

ADDENDUM: Wouldn't ya know it? The powers that be have yanked the clip in question. In case you missed it, Sue basically lets out an emphatic "THE FUCK ARE YOU DOIN'?" once the camera comes off her. This remark was presumably aimed at ol' Chuck Scarborough. She then comes back after the break and apologizes. You can see an edited version of the whole shebang by clicking right here.

The Dulling Edge: Music News for the Aged

I meant to highlight this earlier in the week, but time got away from me. Click on over to Vanishing New York and check out Jeremiah Moss' interview with guitarist/songwriter Chris Stein, co-founder of Blondie, regarding his feelings about New York City in 2008. Surprise! He thinks it sucks a big bag of eggs too!

In big news for those of us who wish it was still 1992 (I get accused of this a lot, although given my druthers, I'd sooner turn the clock back to 1985), evidently those hirsute ex-youngsters in the grebo/fraggle/indie combo Ned's Atomic Dustbin are reforming for a Christmas one-off. If my compact disc collection is to be believed, I was a huge fan of the band (I seem to possess an inordinate number of pricey import CD singles by the Neds, for no readily discernible reason). To be fair, they were an awfully entertaining live act -- lots of crazed hair-flipping and gangly leaping about, and "Kill Your Television" remains a great song. Still, it's very unlikely that I'll be flying over the pond to catch this gig.

In news of a super audacious sort, it seems that Echo & the Bunnymen will be performing their meisterwerk, Ocean Rain in its epic entirety at Radio City Music Hall with a full orchestra. This is a rather ballsy move, considering the calendar (I can't remember a time within the last two decades wherein the Bunnymen could command a venue larger than Irving Plaza). Not to split hares (ho ho), but it's also not really the Bunnymen proper, given the ongoing absence of bassist Les Pattinson. Essentially it's a glorified Electrafixion show with fiddle players. Still, I'll be there if only for "Thorn of Crowns".

Look out. Evidently, Vh1 Classic will soon be starting to suck.

So When The Rain Comes Down...

Apropos of absolutely nothing, herewith one of my faves....

Out of Gas

The impending dismantlement of the Avenue B Toy Tower has many of my bloggin' compatriots up in arms. I'll be quite sad to see it go myself, it being one of the final remnants of bohemian character left in the East Village. As has been stated on those other blogs, go down and take part in the celebratory vigil for the tower tomorrow night, from 7pm to 9pm.

This whole chapter has reminded me of another spot just down the ways a bit that also fell prey to the wrecking ball. The Gas Station was a bizarre performance space/art gallery on 2nd Street and Avenue B that also featured massive sculpture. Initially an actual gas station, it was abandoned and then subsumed by the badlands culture of the East Village in the 1980s, which turned it into a junkie hive before some entrepreneurial souls cleaned the place up and turned it into the performance space. I can't say I ever attended any shows there -- and was frankly quite astounded by the sight of the place whenever I walked by it -- but I liked knowing it was there. The Gas Station is probably most notorious for being the site of the final, calamitous performance by G.G. Allin & the Murder Junkies. After the show in question ended in a riot (not an atypical situation for the Geeg), Allin tromped off into the East Village afternoon with some new friends, only to overdose on smack later that evening, undermining his oft-stated intention to kill himself onstage.

Don't bother looking for The Gas Station now. It's long gone. If memory serves, the space now plays host to a Duane Reade. I wonder if G.G.'s ghost haunts the back aisles of the place. In any case, you can read a more authoritative account of its existence and accompanying demise by clicking on this article from the Times in 1995.

To catch a glimpse -- albeit a shaky, oft-nauseating one -- of the Gas Station (and its surrounding neighborhood circa 1993) in full effect, check out the video of Allin's final show below. You may want to usher the kids out of the room first. Oh, and NOT SAFE FOR WORK, by the way.

123456!

You know you're officially no longer hip, savvy or even vaguely "in the know" when you're picking up new music tips from children's television. I viscerally hated "Yo Gabba Gabba" at first. There are still vast portions of it that make me want to put my fist through the television, but every now and then they throw a curve ball my way. Today was one of those days.

I thought I'd let Peggy catch up on some sleep this morning, so when Oliver started chirping around 6:45, I put the coffee on and got up with him. When Charlotte rose an hour or so later, I flipped the television on and on came "Yo Gabba Gabba." A few segments in, a symmetrically dressed Japanese combo came on and rocked my morning. Turns out it was Cornelius, an artist I actually already own an album by (that being the awesome Point). But this was nothing like that. Blah blah blah. Anyway, here they are playing the song I heard this morning (and only just a few blocks away at Webster Hall). Crank it.

In Anticipation of Mother's Day

Remember, kids, Sunday is Mother's Day. I hope you've all picked out cards and gifts for your dear ol' Moms. After all, it was she who gave you the gift of life and all that. So give the woman her due props, okay? To celebrate said holiday and honor the lovely lady who saw fit to blight this cursed planet with my existence, I saw this lovely photo in Slate today and decided to appropriate it. Check out the rest of the gallery by clicking here.

Fishing for a Cure

In my tireless mission to spread the word about tinnitus, here's an article I spotted today at work. Evidently, the Department of Defense is interested in helping find a cure, and researchers are examining the effects of tinnitus on a somewhat unlikely test subject, that being the plucky zebrafish.

Hey, if it works, I'm all for it.

The Golden Hour

I've been talking about it for months, and it's finally out. After an eventful, self-imposed exile from America for the past three years, my friend Tod [A] is temporarily back from his travels abroad to tour in promotion of his band Firewater's amazing sixth album, The Golden Hour. It's truly a fantastic record. Stop what you're doing and go buy it (not just download it, you lazy choads -- go to a damn store and buy the actual disc!). This track is one of my favorites. Hope you like it, and if so -- go get it!

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