Flaming Pablum

Now We Are Six

Strangely enough, it was six years ago today that I first clicked the "publish" button and launched Flaming Pablum. Who knew I'd still be doing it this long (especially given its inauspicious beginnings)? Here's hoping the quality will continue to improve. Thanks for reading, commenting, following, etc.

The Needs of New York City

About twenty years ago, I had the unlikely honor of working alongside a hilarious character named Kris Needs at an infinitesimally small independent music magazine called The New York Review of Records. A little prior to that, I'd sorta known Kris as one of the gents behind the register at age-old downtown punk rock stronghold, Bleecker Bob's. When my editor/taskmaster at the N.Y.R.o.R., Brad B., formally introduced me to Kris, I was all "oh yeah, you're the dude who sold me that rare Alien Sex Fiend LP." Little did I know at the time that Kris -- that's him in the shot above, taken in the summer of 1991 -- was more than just another scenester with an enviable t-shirt collection.

A then-lanky Brit with straggly Nick Cave hair and an endearing wit, Kris quickly became a constant source of insight and amusement. Crashing on Brad's couch for a number of months (Brad's home doubled as the magazine's "office"), Kris leant his considerable experience and expertise to our humble editorial efforts, as years prior to coming to New York City in the early 80s, Kris had been the editor of a pivotal music zine during the nascent days of British Punk called Zigzag. Upstart that I was, I was prone to blithely bluster and wax rhapsodic about my heroes in bands like Killing Joke, The Stranglers and The Clash, but Kris was actually friends with all those guys and had actually "been there" (ala "Losing My Edge") during many of that movement/phenomenon/cultural shift's seminal moments. He actually even recorded with members of the Clash under the name The Vice Creems (their notable single being "Danger Love"). By the same token, however, his self-effacing wit and constant thirst for new stimuli prevented him from similarly bloviating about it or lording it over others. More to the point, while all things punk still consumed my attention, Kris had more than moved on. Though he still looked a bit like a member of G.B.H., Kris, by that point, had completely immersed himself in Hip-Hop and Trance.

But even while he had me cracking up all day (when not playing heroically obscure vinyl or making surreally funny asides between swigs of malt liquor, Kris wrote sublimely irreverent reviews under the nom-de-plume "R.S. Hole"), Kris was having problems. Perilously close to financial destitution while battling a couple of formidable personal demons, he was often in a bad way. At the same time, he was tirelessly determined to make things right. Along with his writing, Kris was also working on a trance act called Secret Knowledge (a project whose music I completely misunderstood at the time but have since grown to appreciate). How he able to juggle all these elements and still stay alive was truly a mystery.

Eventually, Kris was forced to vanish back to England, and I was truly sad to see him go. But it was pretty clear that if he'd stayed on the trajectory he was on, it wasn't going to end well. In relatively short order, however, Kris re-found his footing. Back in the U.K., Kris hooked up with Primal Scream and became a successful D.J. A little while later, his Secret Knowledge disc, So Hard came out (import only, alas). Somewhere in there, he also got clean and sober. A little while after that, he even published his own goddamn autobiography, the eye-opening "Needs Must." Since then, he's penned a couple of more authoritative books on The Clash, The New York Dolls and a few others. I've had a few old friends and former colleagues from those days in the early 90s go onto big things (Neil Strauss was another N.Y.R.o.R veteran), but the success story I'm most encouraged by and proud of is Mr. Needs'. I saw him in some pretty unhappy states, but he was never anything other than totally friendly and cool with me, and he truly deserves all the good things that later came to him.

So why am I prattling on about Kris Needs two decades later? Well, Kris' latest venture is a truly ambitious series called "Watch the Closing Doors: A History of New York's Musical Melting Pot." As besotted with NYC as I, Kris has compiled a sprawling collection of music and text into a 2CD, 32 track collection with a 68-page book. This first volume concentrates on the city's jazz from 1945 through 1959, and it is a dizzying artifact to behold. The love and research that went into this thing is staggering, and I cannot recommend it highly enough. More to the point, I cannot wait for future installments of the series.

You can read more about the project in this excellent interview from The Quietus. Below is a teaser for it. You can find the CD at Other Music or you can simply order it here. Tell'em Flaming Pablum sent ya.

Word on the Street

My Least Favorite Block

A little while back, a website called BlockAvenue.com reached out to me to see if I wanted to contribute by writing up a little entry on "my favorite block in NYC." It sounded like a fun, curious little exercise, so I gamely obliged and wrote up an entry on Cortlandt Alley down off Canal Street. Evidently they liked it so much -- or they were desperately hurting for content -- that they even wrote up a little shout-out on their accompanying (albeit seemingly no longer regularly updated) blog about it. I thought that was jolly nice of them, although it seems that my reasons for liking this particular block (ambiance, local history, atmosphere, aesthetic, cultural significance, etc.) have precious little in common with the reasons most of their other users cite for their favorite blocks (proximity to gyms and Starbucks), which I think is sadly symptomatic of this city's self-awareness. But maybe that's just me being pompous -- certainly wouldn't be a first.

Being the disdainful cynic that I am, the idea of flipping the "favorite block" concept dawned on me yesterday as I stepped out into the roiling human sprawl of midtown to grab a bite of lunch. I'd walked a few blocks south on 6th Avenue while chatting with a colleague before saying "seeya" and randomly turning the nearest corner. I found myself walking east on fabled 47th Street between Sixth and Fifth Avenues. I was instantly struck with the notion that this was categorically my least favorite block in Manhattan.

Now, granted, on a swelteringly hot summer day like yesterday with the temperatures in the mid-90s, pretty much every city street is going to seem unpleasant, but this strip of 47th street distinguishes itself regardless of the climate. For a start, I've always found the diamond trade (which calls 47th Street its figurative and literal epicenter) to sometimes be a little shady and depressing. Braving the sidewalks of 47th Street between Fifth and Sixth means running a gauntlet of pushily predatory card-distributing gophers, all attempting to lure you into their closet-sized places of purveyance to overcharge you for stones that probably aren't as valuable as they are claimed to be. I suppose that's probably no different from virtually every other trade, but it seems especially sleazy in the Diamond District, being that they're preying on the romantic aspirations and vanity of their customers. The whole thing puts me off.

For my money, the only things 47th street had going for it were that it played host to one of the best scenes (see below) in John Schlesinger's amazing 1974 thriller, "Marathon Man" (one of my favorite films of all time) and the storied Gotham Book Mart (you may remember its beautifully iconic "Wise Man Fish Here" signage). But the latter had to move off of 47th in the middle-part of the last decade before moving one block and then eventually closing its doors for good in 2007. But when it first left 47th Street, it took every reason for me to ever walk down that street with it.

I don't remember when they went up, but a number of years back, someone thought it was a grand idea to put up these ridiculous, diamond-topped lamp-towers at both ends of the Diamond District, adding a dash of amusement-parky shlockiness to the proceedings, presumably for the benefit of tourists who had trouble locating the number 47 on numbered grid.

Now, obviously, at the end of the day, the Diamond District is New York City to the bone. It has a rich historical significance and exemplifies the American ideal of inclusive opportunity for all. I wouldn't want to see it diluted or upended to make room for a blinding row of shiny glass condominiums for the uber-wealthy. It's still a rich wellspring of the oft-rhapsodized New York City character that has been syphoned out of so many other neighborhoods across the five boroughs.

I get it. That doesn't mean, however, that I have to enjoy walking down it.

What's your least favorite block?

30 Days of Song

If you're on Facebook, you've doubtlessly encountered at least one or two of your friends taking part in one of these things. The 30-Day Song Selection Spectacular -- not to be confused with the 30 Day Song Challenge or the 30 Day Music Challenge -- is essentially just a way to clog up all your friends' feeds every day for an entire month with your unsolicited musical reminiscences and opinions. If you're friends with me on Facebook, you're probably sick of me regularly doing that anyway, so I thought I'd just consolidate it all into one handy little post here. This way I can get it done in one fell swoop and not have to prolong the agony for those acquaintances of mine who honestly couldn't really give a rolling rat fuck about, say, my "favorite song to clean house to." So let's get down to it, shall we?

1. Favorite cover version of a non-obscure song.
Most recently, it's the Porkka Playboys' cover of Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody."

2. Favorite love song.
"Love Her All I Can" by Kiss

3. A song from your favorite movie.
"You're Mine" by Robert & Johnny (from the Terminal Bar scene in Scorsese's "After Hours")

4. Favorite breakup song.
"I'm Not Always So Stupid" by The Wedding Present

5. A song you hear when you're shopping.
"Red Red Wine" by UB40 (heard this evening in a supermarket)

6. A song you can't listen to just once.
"Surf Combat" by Naked Raygun

7. A song that breaks your heart with the first few notes.
"This Woman's Work" by Kate Bush

8. A song that made you completely halt whatever it was you were doing the first time you heard it. "Eighties" by Killing Joke

9. A song that you first heard live, that you became instantly obsessed with.
"Shine On Elizabeth" by Cop Shoot Cop

10. A song which makes you think, if temporarily, that you love everybody! (think: uplifting anthem). "Life's What You Make It" by Talk Talk

11. A song which seems incredibly deep no matter how many times you hear it.
"This Woman's Work" by Kate Bush

12. A song you love but can't bring yourself to listen to. (You fill in the reason.)
Live recording of "Trying to Throw Your Arms Around the World" by U2 from Yankee Stadium from August of 1992. It hardly matters anymore, but for a long time, I couldn't listen to it because of who I'd been there with and what happened afterwards and blah blah blah. Ancient history.

13. A song you put on everyone's mix tape.
"Spin Out" by Pussy Galore

14. Favorite duet/collaboration between two artists you love (or maybe you only love one of them). "Don't Box Me In' by Stewart Copeland and Stan Ridgway

15. A song you love from a genre you usually dislike.
"Give Me the Reason" by Luther Vandross

16. Biggest musical misstep by an artist you usually adore.
"America" by Killing Joke

17. A song you like recorded by an artist who was under 18 at the time of recording.
"Annette's Got The Hits" by Redd Kross

18. A song from the first album you ever bought with your own money (extra credit if you rode a spider bike to Woolworth's to make the purchase) or first 45 if you're old enough to know what that is.
"Room Service" by Kiss

19. First song you ever illegally downloaded.
"I Against I" by the Bad Brains as covered by Jeff Buckley

20. A song that you clean house to.
"Five Minutes Alone" by Pantera

21. A song by an artist that you used to love, but now are at least a little ashamed of (because either you or they changed).
"Looks That Kill" by Motley Crue

22. A song that infuriates you.
"My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas

23. Last song that got stuck in your head.
"Nothing But Heart" by Low

24. A song your parents would play during parties.
"Mas Que Nada" by Sergio Mendes & Brazil `66

25. A song you love to sing in the shower.
"Apologia" by Gavin Friday

26. A song by the first band you saw in concert.
"Going Under" by Devo (Radio City Music Hall, Halloween night 1981)

27. Favorite oldie (a song you grew up thinking of as an oldie).
"Lord Got Tomatoes" by Blind Blake

28. A song with chord changes that really thrill you.
"We're Desperate" by X

29. Your favorite vocal performance.
"Song to the Siren" by This Mortal Coil

30. Song from the album you played over and over and over in high school.
"Behind the Door" by the Circle Jerks

Rockin' When The Lights Went Out

The passage of time continues to stump me. Below is a clip my friend/colleague/fellow insufferable music geek Drew sent me this afternoon from 2003, specifically of a Ted Leo + the Pharmacists performance down at South Street Seaport during the blackout of August of that year. The events depicted in the video below happened eight years ago next month, but it still feels so recent.

The blackout of 2003 isn't recent at all, of course. In the ensuing eight years since that event, I've personally changed jobs three times and had two children, which is to say nothing of the innumerable global events that have altered the course of our world since then. But I still vividly recall the day those lights went out. Here in New York, although we were already a couple of years on from the events of September 11th, 2001, there was still an unmistakable atmosphere of shock and expectation. It seemed that there was a collective anticipation of the dropping of the other shoe.

I remember being in my office that afternoon at the TIME Magazine news desk, surrounded by my colleagues when suddenly all the computers in the room shut down. After a few moments of eye-rolling and predictable profane exclamation, one of us glanced out the window and noticed all the lights in all the surrounding buildings going out and a chill fell over the room. My colleague Christy started getting shaken up. "What now?" we all thought.

As it happens, my wife Peggy was away that week -- sequestered with some college friends up in Maine, ironically on an island without electricity. I didn't have anywhere to rush off to (and did not yet have a child's welfare to fret about), so I ended up spending the night at the office, listening to a battery-operated radio and staring out into the eerie blackness of the darkest New York City night I'd ever seen (I was ten years old when the fabled `77 blackout happened, but completely missed it, as I was spending my summer out in Long Island at the time). My co-worker John wandered out into the ominous evening to head home and said the experience of walking south through Herald Square in the pitch black was completely unreal.

The fears that this blackout was the result of an act of terrorism, that something horrific was about to happen and that there'd be a rash of violent, hysterical looting all proved to be mercifully unfounded. By and large, people behaved with civility. Ultimately, everything turned out alright. But at the time, it was pretty screwed up.

Ted Leo was able to perform via the aid of a generator from a Starbucks van. Whether you enjoy Leo's high-powered brand of scissor-kickin' rock or not, the footage of New York City residents dealing with the commute-by-foot in the below clip is a compelling glimpse back into the experience and uncertainty of that day. Plus, Ted Leo does kick ass.

Enjoy.

Go Fourth!

It’s now the early evening of July 1st. By this point, most people aren’t sitting in front of their computers, but have left to go start their long holiday weekends. I’m still at the office, but shall be (hopefully) departing in a little while to go board a bus bound for the eastern end of Long Island, where my wife and kids are sojourning at my mom’s place. If I don’t make it back online between now and the actual day in question, I hope you have a happy Fourth of July. Crank up the below, crack open a beer and throw a burger on the grill for me.