Flaming Pablum

Getting to the Root of the Problem

Hey all. Apologies for the slowdown in posting, but I've had a pile on my plate as late, foremost among them being a friggin' root canal this afternoon. If you enjoy carnage, read on. If not, why not come back in a few days?

About two weeks back, my sister treated us to a lovely kinda-end-of-summer lobster dinner with corn on the cob and the whole nine, and afterwards, something didn't feel quite right. Initially, I thought it was just something stuck between my teeth (the lobster's last laugh, perhaps?), but spirited flossing produced nothing but foul-tasting rivulets of blood (I would make a lousy vampire). After a week of blossoming discomfort, I eventually threw in the bloody towel and went to see my dentist. As it turns out, some ancient filling that was put up in there sometime during my teens (and there were a few of them, worryingly) was no longer doing the job and decay was gradually engulfing the nerve. As such, my dentist told me to call this other dentist to set up a root canal appointment. Thrills. Sadly, that couldn't happen until four days later. That appointment was today.

If you're truly curious about the specifics of a root canal, I'm afraid I couldn't really tell you (and I didn't ask), but if you do a Google image search, one of the several disquieting visuals that are conjured will probably give you a good idea. As far as my own experience this afternoon is concerned, my root canal's gondolier had precious little time for gentility and went right to work inserting as many sharp, uncomfortable metal instruments in my mouth as he could fit. I suppose I should thank him for numbing me up before hand, but three hours later, I'm still numb (and can't eat until that wears off). As a bonus, I'm told "it'll probably hurt for a few days." To combat same, I was given prescriptions for some antibiotics and a couple of notorious pain-thwarting pharmaceuticals that could probably fetch a fair price on certain shady street corners. I'm dearly hoping I shan't have to employ them.

In any case, that's the story. In the interim, I'll be here ... waiting for the numbness to subside. By the way, that's not my mouth at the top of this post, rather it's an image I brazenly appropriated from the iconic cover of Filth by the suitably pain-obsessed, headachey NYC combo, Swans. That record is kinda like a root canal for the ear. And I mean that in a good way.

'Smack, Slap, Slam, Play!'

I made a little Facebook status update a couple of weeks back that professed how much I missed making mixtapes. Almost instantly, the comments started flowing. "What's wrong with mix CDs, Grandad?" snarkily asked my friend Darren. I replied that both he and I knew they they just weren't the same (and, for that matter, does anyone even make mix CDs anymore?) There was something about the medium of the cassette that made the whole process -- the track selection, the recording, the listing of the contents, the design and the finished artifact -- special. I know I'm not the first to wax rhapsodic about the mixtape. Whole books have been adoringly devoted to same. But there's something about the summer that always reminds me of mixtapes past. As, after all, what were mixtapes effectively beyond miniature time capsules?

Primarily, mixtapes were made for girls. Ladies, don't be fooled. If a guy hands you a mixtape, chances are he's got designs on you. I can't tell you how many tapes I agonized over for the girls I pursued in the past. While we were dating, I made countless mixtapes for the woman who became my wife. I even gave her a lovely, wooden box from Japan for her to house them in ... and they quickly overtook it. I couldn't stop myself

But it wasn't just a courtship ritual. As I immersed myself into fervent music fandom, I almost felt like it was my duty to evangelize the things I was learning. As such, I routinely bestowed painstakingly-compiled mixtapes unsolicitedly on my friends. If possible, I needed them to hear and appreciate the things that were bringing me such joy. Vindication came when one of said friends became equally enthused about a selection on a mixtape that he or she went out to procure the album from whence the song came. Every now and then that backfired, though. I remember my friend Sara went out and bought a copy of Nothing's Shocking by Jane's Addiction after I'd put the deceptively pretty, acoustic "Jane Says" on a mixtape for her. Suffice to say, that song owes precious fuck-all to the rest of that record.

 But large swathes of my own music collection had been similarly inspired by other people's mixtapes. It was via a mixtape from my grade school chum Rich K. in the summer of 1982 that I first heard "Rise Above" by Black Flag and "Too Hot" by the Specials. Similarly, It was via a mixtape from my childhood friend and future best man Charlie F. in 1985 - who was doing a semester overseas in a stuffy British university -- that I first came to hear the Cocteau Twins, the Stiff Little Fingers and the Jesus & Mary Chain (their songs wrongly listed as by a band called Psychocandy, which was actually the name of their debut album). I still have those tapes and will never willingly part with them.

But not everyone was as fetishistic about these artifacts as I was. I remember regularly giving mixtapes to my cassette-addicted friend Rob D. Rob pretty much lived in and for his car at the time, and he liked precious little more than driving around cranking himself deaf, so the cassette was the perfect medium for him. But after I'd spend hours neatly compiling and listing the contents of each tape, I'd get in his car and find the cases and covers I'd meticulously designed scattered all over the floor, invariably soiled with coffee stains and cigarette burns. He cherished the tapes themselves -- and played them to death -- but he practiced a particularly high-impact brand of love for them. "I love the disposable nature of cassettes," he explained. "I love crackin'em open, shoving them in the tape deck, jettisoning the packaging and pumping it up... it's like SMACK, SLAP, SLAM, PLAY!" To each their own.

 In any case, I can't remember when I stopped regularly making mixtapes for people, but the practice seemed to become obsolete virtually overnight as the medium of the cassette went the way of the wooly mammoth. I've compiled a few mixdiscs since those days, but they just don't have the same feel of personal commitment. Then, of course, the era of the iPod arrived and it was suddenly goodbye to all that.

So yeah, mixtapes may be ancient history, but they seem to spring to my mind every summer. I used to mark time by mixtapes. They handily acted not only as collections of music, but also as little audio snapshots of a moment in time. I still have boxfuls of mixtapes from the summers of my youth gathering dust in my closet. I do still own a tape deck, but I'd be fibbing if I said it saw a lot action these days.

So as with every summer, my imagination's been fired this year by a clutch of songs old in new. My favorite mixtape tactic was to juxtapose selections songs that either supported a certain theme, flowed seamlessly together or left the listener jarred by sudden sonic incongruity (like, say, slipping Pussy Galore's profanely vitriolic "Spin Out" in between tracks by Galaxie 500 and Massive Attack). With that in mind, herewith my virtual mixtape for summer 2010. Ideally, you'd be able to listen to it at irresponsibly high volumes, blasting out of a car stereo, but that's probably not an option. Enjoy.

Side one:

1. "Dance Yourself Clean" by LCD Soundsystem
2. "Rush to Relax" by The Eddie Current Suppression Ring
3. "False Jesii Part 2" by Pissed Jeans
4. "The Ghost Inside" by Broken Bells
5. "The Water Glass" by The Melvins
6. "Tonight The Streets are Ours" by Richard Hawley
7. "Night-Time" by The Strangeloves
8. "Teenage Lust" by the MC5
9. "Summertime Blues" by Guitar Wolf
10. "Blue Blood Blues" by the Dead Weather
11. "Next Girl" by The Black Keys

Side two:

1. "Endgames" by Killing Joke
2. "Tenderoni" by Kele
3. "What if Punk Never Happened?" by he King Blues
4. "Walking on a Dream" by Empire of the Sun
5. "Statement" by Boris
6. "The Suburbs" by the Arcade Fire
7. "Mighty and Superior" by Conflict
8. "I Got Erection" by Turbonegro
9. "Love Lost" by The Temper Trap
10. "Glitter" by No Age
11. "Friday" by Joe Jackson
12. "My Male Curiosity" by Kid Creole & the Coconuts

Catching Up with Kid C

While I'd certainly seen their flamboyant album covers in the shops, I don't believe I actually ever got around to hearing Kid Creole & the Coconuts until some weeknight in 1984, when my step-father and I went to check out the arguably ridiculous Jeff Bridges film, "Against All Odds." Essentially a really long episode of "Miami Vice" featuring a wounded football player and a jilted, sleazy club owner competing for the pouty charms of sultry Rachel Ward, "Against All Odds" nonetheless featured a fleeting club scene wherein Kid Creole & the Coconuts put on a glitzy performance, coming across like some bizarre Caribbean amalgam of Cab Calloway and Morris Day & The Time. Being that I was otherwise infatuated with funklessly sneery bands like The Circle Jerks and the Lords of the New Church at the time, I didn't give them much thought. Although the song in question, "My Male Curiosity," strangely stayed with me.

About seventeen years later, I remember eagerly checking out another film featuring Kid Creole's little mob, that being the flawed-but-compelling "Downtown 81." Despite the inclusion of performances by endearingly skronky post-punk and No Wave acts like DNA and Tuxedomoon, I have to admit that my favorite bits of music in the film were of Kid Creole's performance at the long-since closed Rock Lounge on West Broadway (just south of Canal Street). Given my oft-cited preoccupation with the gritty downtown Manhattan scene of yesteryear, I immediately went out to prize the soundtrack. While there is loads on it to recommend, sure enough my favorite tracks on the disc ended up being those by Kid Creole & the Coconuts. In turn, this led me more recently to finally track down and re-visit that first taste, "My Male Curiosity."

I'm not sure the below video really does it it justice (this is the performance filmed for "Against All Odds," albeit with the footage of Jeff Bridges and James Woods mercifully omitted), but here's the song in question. It may not be your cup of tea -- let alone indicative of the standard fare on this weblog -- but twenty-six years after I first heard it, I think its pretty excellent. Crank it.

"I Need That Record"

I don't remember if I read about it in Mojo or Q, but I read a review of this film and was immediately prompted to add it to my Netflix queue. "I Need That Record" is yet another small, independent documentary that, I suppose, quietly came and went upon its 2008 release but is now having a renaissance-of-sorts on DVD (much like "Beautiful Losers," which I wrote about not too long back). The full title being "I Need That Record: The Death (or Possible Survival) of The Independent Record Store," this film is solely devoted to a subject very near and dear to heart of this weblog -- which should be relatively obvious by this point, given my oft-cited preoccupation with the death of mom n' pop retail music shops. While not a feel good movie nor entirely without flaw, I watched it this evening and found it deeply engrossing.

If you give even the slightest whiff of a damn about music, you really should check it out. The bonus interview footage -- featuring exhaustive interviews with Flaming Pablum favorites like Glenn Branca, Ian MacKaye, Legs McNeil and a host of others -- is also well worth a viewing.

Here's the official website, and below is small taste. Enjoy.

Stuff You Might Have Missed

Despite the legitimately worrying threat of bedbugs, I decided to take myself to the movies this evening after work. Being the father of two, I don't get to the movies that often (on our nights off, the wife and I usually would much rather go out to dinner that go watch a film), but with Peg & the kids still out on the `Island, my evenings have been pretty free. I'd been meaning to see this film for a while, but it had slipped my mind until a friend of mine on Facebook pointed out that it's closing from its held over stint at the Film Forum next Tuesday. In any case, Tamra Davis' "Jean-Michel Basquiat The Radiant Child" is excellent. Not only is it an exhaustive and poignant portrait of a brilliant artist, but for zealous Manhattan-o-philes like myself, it's yet another wonderful snapshot of New York's bygone gritty age. You can find out more by clicking right here. For my fellow New Yorkers, again, it's only playing through Tuesday at the Film Forum, so go check it out. The soundtrack is awesome as well.

Otherwise, here are some items that caught my eye in recent days. You may find them similarly interesting. Or perhaps not.

Speaking again of a bygone age of gritty New York, one of my new favorite blogs, City of Strangers, posted a nice little piece about memories of the NYC of the 1990s, pointing out once again that it wasn't all gumdrops & happy times.

Continuing on regarding New York, I was struck by this piece in Gothamist about Things that Annoy New Yorkers The Most, as I'm usually accused of having nothing to say about living here other than a litany of meticulously compiled complaints. Well, here was ample proof that I'm not the only one with a bitch or two. Funnily enough, when I re-posted this article on Facebook, friends of mine unsolicitedly started adding to the list themselves. Everyone's got a gripe.

 Lastly on the Manhattan tip, Tim B. passed on this sad little nugget of news. Evidently Fat Beats, the long-standing and roundly revered hip-hop record store on 6th Avenue between 8th & 9th streets is closing up shop. Now, I can hear you what you're saying. "Alex, you barely even like hip-hop!" While there's a degree of truth to that (I consider myself vehemently selective about the hip-hop I choose to espouse), as I told Tim upon hearing the news, every time a New York City record store closes, a little part of me dies.

Elsewhere in the realm of music, my buddy Chris Harris published an item about a fledgling "deathcore" band on his entertaining metal blog, Gun Shy Assassin. It's not that I think In Death I Rise are probably any good (let's face it -- they invariably suck), it's that I think they're notable being that they're basically all tweens. When I was that age, I was playing with "Planet of the Apes" action figures, so I'll throw the goats for these kids any day of the week. Were you in a band and making headlines at age 10? I thought not.

 In significantly less inspiring news, evidently there's now a band-sanctioned Sex Pistols fragrance. Once again, punk is dead and the `Pistols have officially turned into Kiss.

Speaking of punk, noted punk photographer, endearingly irritable agitpropagandizer and former next door neighbor of mine, Glen E. Friedman posted an interesting discovery on his blog this week, possibly exposing the oft-trumpeted ratings holdings of FOX News as a big fucking scam. Is there any truth to it? Who knows, but I certainly wouldn't put it past them. See what you think.

And speaking of dumb-ass Republicans, while I could happily pass on any number of tidbits about stupid shit Sarah Palin had to squawk about this week (there's certainly never a shortage), I figure there are more than enough outlets out there delivering that hilarity (Gawker keeps a nice tally). But I did spot one item today that pretty much knocked me right off the porch, so to speak. Evidently Nevada Republican Senate candidate & Tea Party favorite Sharron Angle once tried to get a high school football team's jerseys changed. What was the problem with them? Well, they were black, and Angle believed that black as a color is "spiritually evil, invoking the supernatural and especially the devil."

Stop me if I'm wrong, but don't most friggin' priests wear black 99% of the time?

Aye yai yai.

"Yes, But Can Peter Frampton do THIS?!?"

He didn’t actually say that, although it’s conceivable that he might have. Regardless, here’s the mighty Glenn Branca from 1978, going well off with his bad self in a loft down on Grand Street. Personally speaking, I’m going to start using this as my ringtone.

The Union Square Squawk

Here's an odd one.

I can't remember when I started noticing it, but for at least the last two or three years, it's been a mystery that's befuddled me. Every morning as I emerge out of the mouth of University Place on my way to work in midtown, I walk by The Spingler Building, otherwise known as 5-9 Union Square West near East 14th. Emanating from somewhere unseen behind the latticework of fire-escape outside its second floor comes a tireless cacophony of squawking. I've looked and I've looked, but I cannot for the life of me pinpoint the source of the din. While I suppose it could be a malfunctioning machine of some kind (although I can't imagine any air conditioner making this sort of racket), the sound conjures to mind a nest of birds. That said, I've never heard a pigeon make this sort of noise. To stand beneath it in the mornings is maddening (how the tenants of the building deal with it I'll never know). Oddly, when I walk past it again in the evenings, it is silent. I can only assume that the mysterious buzzards or invisible pterodactyls that reside there take wing and flap through the city in the late afternoons, scouring for food to bring back back for their young.

Has anyone else ever noticed this?

Going, Going, Gormley

Don't look now -- actually, scratch that, do look now -- because Antony Gomley's battalion of strange, silent "jumpers" is starting to disappear. As quietly as it arrived, the Event Horizon installation is slowly leaving Madison Square and its surrounding environs. Several of the static figures have already vanished from their respective rooftops around the square. It had its share of detractors, but I did quite enjoy routinely spotting each of the figures during my walks to work every morning. It'd be fun if he left one or two behind, but I wouldn't put my money on that. Dare I say it, I shall miss them, their mysterious silhouettes and the looks of shock and curiosity they inspired in those who bothered to look up.

In The Presents of Greatness

It's been a crazy busy summer for me. I've been very fortunate to be able to do and see certain things, but I haven't been able to do and see everything. One such thing I wasn't able to do was go see The Wedding Present -- one of "the crucial few," as my friend Rob B. and I used to call them -- perform at South Street Seaport last weekend. For myself and others who may have missed it, here's a snippet. As fate would have it, three of these songs are among my very favorites by the band (despite the absence of most of the original line-up). Enjoy and remember to have fun for the remainder of your summer.

The Wedding Present | NYC @ South Street Seaport | 13 Aug 2010 from (((unartig))) on Vimeo.

Summer