Flaming Pablum

Stooged on 12th Avenue

I wasn't going to post a review of this initially, being that I did the last time, but I noticed that EV Grieve did, so I figured I might as well too.

As I mentioned in this post, I went and checked out Iggy & the Stooges' glorious return to New York City on Friday night. My neighbor Bruce and I had been talking about it for months. Initially, I was kinda on the fence about it. After all, I'd already seen them somewhat recently and I was sorta luke-warm on their reunion album, The Weirdness. The more I thought about it, though, it seemed foolish to skip it if I had the opportunity. The crucial mistake here, however, was that I somehow assumed that Bruce had already picked up tickets, so I didn't bother. To make a long, boring and stupid story short, I didn't get around to asking Bruce, "hey, so you picked me up a ticket already, right?" until we were standing outside the very crowded and chaotic venue way the hell over on 12th Avenue. He looked at me like I was an idiot (which, in this instance, was the correct way to look at me). As if on cue, a scalper showed up and offered me a ticket for sixty bucks. I took it, and in we went.

 

At the moment, I'm battling my allergies, so my powers of descriptive narrative aren't what they should be. Suffice to say, it was an energetic show with a very enthusiastic crowd. Iggy & Co. tore right through a very tight set (oddly playing "I Wanna Be Your Dog" twice -- it is heresy to suggest that I've never really thought much of that song?) As has become tradition, Ig invivted the great unwashed onto the stage during "No Fun." I always find this portion of the proceedings somewhat embarassing. I came to see the Stooges, not a bunch of preening, overzealous dipsticks enjoying their fifteen nano-seconds of fame. And by the way, unless you're Jim Osterberg himself -- keep your damn shirt on.

 

If you click on the link above to EV Grieve's site, you can see video footage of same. In any case, a fine time was had by all, despite the cavernous nature of the venue (Terminal 5) and the relative impossibility of procuring more than a single beer. Another small point: the band is way punctual. The doors opened at 9pm. They hit the stage by 9:30 (no opening band), and were pretty much done by 11pm. No muss, no fuss. I took the shot above with my phone. Note signature Ig posture.

Why Must the Youth Fight Against Themselves?

Haven't been able to shake this song from my head since posting that last entry. About to pile my squabbling little brood into the car and drive back out to the `Island, so there may be another lull here ... or not, ya never know. In any case, here are ye olde Specials to keep you grim company in my absence. Enjoy

 

This Town is Comin' Like a Ghost Town

Three local favorites of mine vanished this week, and some of my fellow sad city sentinels (Vanishing New York, EV Grieve and Bowery Boogie) were there to document their respect demises. In case you missed the news on those great sites, here's the lowdown:

First up came Burritoville on 2nd Avenue between St Marks Place and 9th Street. Low on frills, high on value, Burritoville didn't skimp on their fare. I had a remarkable beef burrito there not but a week ago. And now it's gone (not just the burrito, but the whole restaurant). Via con dios.

Next up is one that stings a bit more. Nikos on the corner of 11th Street and 6th Avenue had been a regular stop of mine since I don't know when. I'd stop in for their selection of music mags (from obscure zines through glossy British monthlies), but Nikos boasted a dizzyingly library of far-flung independent journals to suit just about every conceivable literary sensibility. FIlm geeks through music heads to lefty radicals and publishing aesthetes -- all had a reason to love Nikos. It's an empty space now. I'm sure it'll be a Red Mango or something in dizzyingly short order. 

The last name on the tragic triumvirate is Marion's on the Bowery. Formerly a cool, chic oasis on a strip of urban badland, Marion's was a stylish restaurant and lounge that oozed character from every pore (and a big favorite of my wife's). If that sounds like a cool spot you'd like to check out, well you're out of luck. It's closing for good. You should probably watch for the building that houses it to come down soon to make way for another condo. You're welcome.

Some Lite Summer Reading

 

Charlotte & Oliver last weekend, enjoying a bit of plum-picking.

One of the more fun aspects of my current gig is that I'm exposed to a great amount of web content. Sure, a lot of it is boring crap, but In the last few days, I've come across several great little articles. Here is a clutch of pieces that particularly resonated with me as a music head, a father and just a reg'lar guy. They may be all pretty middle-of-the-road, but I enjoyed'em.  Hopefully you'll agree:

Hey! You're Ruining My Concert Experience!

How Men Really View Aging by Douglas Coupland

How To Raise a Tough Guy by Neil Pollack

The 10 Oddest Travel Guides Ever Published

The Case against August by David Plotz

Maiden Gets Greeked

What the hell is wrong with people today? First Iggy gets vicimized, and now Iron Maiden? Show so damn respect, people!

All That's Old is NO Again

So, I'm a bit late with this, but I only stumbled upon the video on YouTube this evening. Sue me. As I posted back in March, New York's own No Wave trailblazers Teenage Jesus & the Jerks were slated to re-form for a one-off at the Knitting Factory this past June. I had mixed feelings about this, being that a "reunion show" seemed to be diametrically opposed to the entire aesthetic of the sub-genre Teenage Jesus came to embody (like it or not). While I wasn't in any way a part of that scene or around for any of its pivotal moments (being a snotty Upper East Side youngster at the time), as far as I can surmise, the tenets of No Wave had pointedly nothing to do with lionizing the specter of nostalgia. But, y'know, times change, people mellow, postures slack, standards droop, etc. I'm not decrying nostalgia myself (witness the content of this weblog for ample proof of same), but the convention-burning rage of No Wave made Pete Townshend's cry of "Hope I Die Before I Get Old" sound positively subtle. No Wave seemed to be solely about the now. No future. No past.  In any case, I missed this show, and hadn't read anything about it.

This evening, however, I stumbled upon this clip on YouTube and was quite surprised. For a start, that's Thurston Moore on bass -- a gent who was never a member of any incarnation of the band. Secondly, this performance strikes me as so taut and tight. If you go back and listen to any of Teenage Jesus' music, part of what made them sound so daring was their off-the-rails, anything-might-happen approach. They certainly never sounded so rehearsed as they do here, although that might have all been part of their brilliant nightmare back then -- that they could create such a crazy, violent cacophony and then stop on a dime. That the great Lydia Lunch is apparently reading lyrics off a music stand doesn't help matters. This song used to sound so jarringly horrific, a cloying, migraine-inducing screed that would punish listeners with both its lyrical ugliness and sonic shrillness. While it still ain't exactly muzak, it just doesn't sound so scary anymore. It sounds, well, like the golden oldie that it is.

Again, I have precious little business decrying any of this. I was too young, too slavishly uncool and witless to be a part of No Wave when it was a going concern and am summarily fascinated by it from the perspective of the perpetual outsider/wannabe. The Teenage Jesus reunion show was organized as a promotional device for Thurston Moore and Byron Coley's No Wave coffee table book (really, it's a cruelly accurate description of the tome in question), No Wave: Post-Punk. Underground. New York 1976-1980. It's a great book. Here they are talking about it in depth.

Blame Canada

Sure, they've been figuratively ripped off by practically everyone who has picked up a guitar and attempted to rock since about 1969, but who is jackass enough to actually steal from Iggy & the Stooges? Who sucks that bad? Assholes from Canada, that's who.

 

I'm supposed to see them on Friday at Terminal 5. If they cancel as a result of this, I'm going to picket outside the nearest Canadian embassy and set a bunch of maple leafs on fire.

More Things That Are Not There

A little while back, I put up a post called Things That Are Not There which culled together a lot of old photographs I'd taken in the late 80's through early 00's of stuff that more or less now no longer exists. That post went over quite well and I got quite a lot of nice feedback about it, so I thought I'd take another stab at it. The photos presented below  are ones that, for one reason or another, didn't make the first cut. In many instances, the places depicted in these pics do still exist, but are largely unrecognizable to the images here. I've also blown them up a bit, so please click on the individual shots for a bigger view. And e-mail if you have any questions. Thanks and enjoy.

If There's a New Way, I'll Be the First in Line

I meant to post something longer here this evening, but I got caught up in the bajillionth airing of Vh1 Classic's "40 Greatest Metal Songs of All Time." Lots of great, great stuff therein, but when this song came on, I had to get up and bop around the apartment like a spaz. There's simply no arguing with the greatness of "Peace Sells, But Who's Buyin'?" by Megadeth. Go ahead and disagree, but you're just fuckin' wrong. This song rings truer today than it did upon its 1986 inception. Play it really fuckin' loud.

The World According to The Mosaic Man

Spotted this over on Jill's site and thought I'd share it here. Jim continues to put up his striking, signature work ... and they continue to pull it down.