Flaming Pablum

I Worry

It’s been a bit of a while since I posted something here on “The Dad Zone,” the category I started quite some time back to document the travails of my shoddy attempts at parenting. I thought I’d rectify that today.

When my kids were younger, they were easier to write about; here were these bright-eyed little things, filled with wonder and just soaking up everything as they explored the world around them.

A few years later, my children are still quite bright-eyed and full of wonder, but they’re not entirely so little anymore (comparatively speaking), and have naturally gone on to cultivate their own personalities. They have opinions and likes and dislikes and things to say and interests that are entirely their own. While it’s fun to document the occasional absurdist utterance I hear coming out of their little room (a recent favorite I overheard being: “Sir, may I interest you in some invisible cheese?”), I feel slightly out-of-bounds writing more about them.

Regardless, I think about them all the time. And as I do, I worry. If you’re a parent as well, you might identify with some of these…or you might think I’m a neurotic freak.

I worry that they’re not eating enough.
I worry that they’re eating too much crap.
I worry that they’re messy eaters.

I worry that they’re already too savvy with the iPad and iPhone.

I worry that they’re dropping their t’s.
I worry that they’re saying ‘like’ too much.
I worry about my own off-color language around them.
I worry that they’re not always polite, or that I’M not always polite around them.
I worry that I’m not always leading by example (or even setting a good example)

I worry that I’m raising my voice at them too much.
I worry that I’m a big pushover.
I worry that they’re afraid to speak up around me.
I worry that I’m not seizing every opportunity to teach them something positive or meaningful.
I worry that I’m not following through.

I worry that they’re both almost out of the single digits.
I worry that I’m perilously close to 50.

I worry that I worry too much.
I worry that I’m not worried enough.

What do you worry about?

You'll Never Be, Never Be, Never Be Manhattan

The video below started making the rounds back in April, and everybody and their mother was sending it to me, as it was yet another visual 'love letter' to NYC. There have been a bajillion of these over the years, and I've showcased many of'em here. In this instance, I didn't leap, as -- quite frankly -- I've honestly never given a damn about Cat Power. I don't wish her ill or anything, it's just that her music always seemed a bit precious to me (not that I'd ever really invested that much in her to begin with).

In any case, in the past few days, Manhattan has officially lost The Pizza Box, Max Fish and -- just over the water -- Hoboken's Maxwell's. Moreover, the European Waxing Salon that currently occupies the former footprint of the Cedar Tavern is now open for business. I'd post a picture of it, but I cannot bring myself to. That said, I did take the photograph above (heavily filtered via Instagram) of University Place the other evening.

Back during the week of July 4th, I actually found myself alone for an evening (with my wife & kids away), so I took a nostalgic solo bar-hop around the East Village and Lower East Side (as I alluded here). During the course of same, I naturally found myself at one point strolling down Ludlow Street. Knowing the impending fate of Max Fish, I figured I'd pop in for a beer and pay my respects. As mentioned in previous posts on the subject, Max Fish was a regular favorite of mine back in the 90's. But as I approached the place ... I stopped. I even had my hand on the door to pull it open, and I paused. I'm not entirely positive of what it was, but something told me not to do it. Maybe I just felt too old for the place (certainly a credible response by this stage of the proceedings), or maybe I just wanted to leave it in my head as I remembered it from my heady days of beery, punky singledom. But it just suddenly seemed like it would be a bad, depressing undertaking. I let go of the door and walked away, leaving Max Fish forever in my head. 

So, while I was feeling all sorts of melancholy about my ever-changing borough -- specifically feeling like every place that I'd ever genuinely liked and/or cared about was either already gone or in the process of closing down for good -- my friend Drew re-sent me this Cat Power clip....and I suddenly appreciated it anew. Not only is it an actually great song, but the video is indeed a fabulous portrayal of the island in question.

And Max Fish -- and its storied juke box -- make a lovely little cameo.

Which way to the Blaylocks'?

While Scorsese’s “After Hours” remains both my favorite NYC movie and pretty much my favorite film of all time, it does have some sizable competition on both fronts in the elegant form of Tony Scott’s 1983 vampire flick, “The Hunger.” Never mind “Twilight” and all that teenybopper claptrap, Scott’s vampires are cool, chic, urbanite adults who wreak havoc on an unsuspecting Manhattan with regally stylish aplomb.

And as with “After Hours,” I’m obsessed with “The Hunger” for its austere vibe, its flirtation with transgression, its nods to punk rock (Bauhaus figure tellingly in the pitch-perfect opening sequence, and the film’s major co-star is none other than David Bowie) and its tantalizing depiction of New York City.

I actually mentioned “The Hunger” in a post here just the other day, but a friend of mine recently solved another riddle about the film for me that I thought I’d share here.

Most of the Manhattan scenes within “The Hunger” are fairly easy to pinpoint (although, as this blog post points out, Scott couldn’t entirely afford to shoot the entirety of the film in NYC, repairing to London for much of the film). They’re mostly avenue shots. There’s a shot of Bowie staggering across East 75th Street on Park Avenue, and that afore-cited attack scene in Central Park. I’ve no idea where the club scene in the beginning was shot, although if memory serves, Bowie and Catherine Deneuve are pictured driving back into the city afterwards, so draw your own conclusions. Another borough? The Hamptons?

The one spot in the film I’d never been able to locate, however, was Catherine Deneuve’s stately townhouse. I’d always assumed it was somewhere east of Park Avenue and west of Central Park, presumably somewhere in the mid-to-high 70s. In that stretch of the Upper East Side, there is certainly no shortage of opulent real estate, but nothing that ever really matched the baroque flourish of Miriam and John Blaylock’s subtly ominous abode.

Turns out, the dwelling in question is actually situated in the posh London neighborhood of Mayfair, and not in Manhattan at all. Click here to read Paul’s description.

And just because it's simply never the wrong time for this, herewith that opening sequence. Incidentally, I think I've pointed it out before, the youthful New Wave babe Bowie takes home and behaves inappropriately with in the kitchen is none other than a youthful Ann Magnuson.

The Pissed Gist

About three years ago, my friend Drew convinced me to come check out this band he was really fired up about. Personally speaking, the concept of a band called Pissed Jeans did nothing for me, but he assured me – given our mutual affinity for bands like Black Flag and The Jesus Lizard – that I would enjoy myself. We crammed into the Cake Shop on Ludlow Street, and I’ll be damned, they were excellent in a rude, slovenly, hilarious and palpably dangerous way. Read my original review here. The photo above is from the same show (courtesy of BrooklynVegan).

Since then, I’ve paid more attention to the band (and gotten over my distaste for their name – it does, after all, perfectly suit their bleary-eyed, barely coherent aesthetic to a tee). Their latest effort, Honeys , came out this past February. Allmusic brilliantly described it as “punk rock for everyone who's had to dedicate less time to their ideals and more time toward paying the cable bill and buying diapers.”

In any case, as it turns out, Pissed Jeans vocalist Matt Korvette writes a blog called YellowGreenRed, and is disarmingly prolific about it. As you’d expect, it’s pretty hilarious. He’s also entirely voracious about music, and dedicates huge swathes of the blog to reviews. One wonders where the man finds the time to listen to so much music (let alone so much frankly left-field, relatively obscure music). It’s exhaustive, but even if you’re unfamiliar with the artists he’s writing about, Korvette’s prose is entirely illuminating and completely entertaining. Check it out here.

For a little context, here’s Pissed Jeans at their most feral (captured in Brookyn in 2008).

The Heart of the Summer

It's just about the middle of the summer. How did that happen so soon?

In any event, the clip below is one I first spied on Gothamist. Generally, I don't like taking stuff from them as, chances are, you've already seen it. But, since it fits the bill so nicely, I thought I'd share it again. Herewith "Apple in the Sun," a montage about summer in New York City.

For those of you pining for something a little grittier, however, please enjoy this vintage clip of Murphy's Law playing at the old Ritz on East 11th. I can't assign a date to this, but given how youthful Jimmy G looks, I'd suggest some point in the mid-80's.

My friend Drew likes to comment about how Murphy's Law ultimately stood on the shoulders of giants, essentially riding the coattails of their burlier, frownier NYHC brethren in Agnostic Front, the Cro-Mags et al., but I kinda think Murphy's Law had their own thing. Maybe they weren't the most cerebral of their ilk, but so what? You want think-tank music, go listen to Philip Glass.

For what it's worth, the music of Murphy's Law certainly augmented the soundtrack to a few of my New York City summers at the time. Enjoy.

And strictly since we're on the subject, here are a few compelling stills of Murphy's Law at the Ritz, courtesy of DoubleCrossXX.

Now turn off your computer and go outside!

Location, Location, Location

A good friend of mine reached out to me recently with a quandary. He was penciling in a photo shoot for his band, and he was looking for location suggestions here in New York City. I think he was expecting me to fire back a laundry list of suitable spots, but instead, I penned a windy rumination (who? ME??) about the particular challenge.

For a start, I suggested, it depends on what sort of vibe or impression you're trying to cultivate. And with whatever image you envision projecting, the pitfalls are myriad.

The biggest challenge, to my mind, is how to do it with a degree of taste and aftfulness and simultaneously avoid cliché. I mean, think back over the countless iconic photographs and album covers by your favorite New York City bands. I can't think of a specific New York City landmark that hasn't, at one points or another, already been used in a promotional band photo.

The played-out variations are numerous. Many attempt to connote an affinity to a specific locale by posing in front of it. Witness the amount of bands who were captured posing insouciantly in front of CBGB. Similarly, picking a storied strip of notorious real estate can come back and haunt you. For example, can you think of a more tired stance than being pictured in Times Square? It's been done to death.

Sure, Chinatown is cool and mysterious and exotic, but it too has been overdone. Similarly, I'd avoid posing in front of some cool, colorful street art (unless you and your band have spray-painted that street art yourselves). Posing in front of graffiti or urban squalor or burnt-out building...it's all cliché .

The flipside of that coin, of course, is that even though you're in New York City -- one of the most cinematic, imagination-firing cities on the face of the earth -- it simply doesn't really LOOK like New York City anymore. Where once there were cool, atmospheric vacant lots (like the one I shot above as recently as 2002), there are now Chase Bank outlets. Where once there were forbidding, dark alleys, there are now artisinal donut shops and boutique hotels. The New York City of Travis Bickle and Richard Hell and Fab 5 Freddie and Lydia Lunch and the Contortions and the Cro-Mags and the Beastie Boys....well, blame Bloomberg and Carrie Bradshaw, but it just doesn't look the same anymore.

Also, don't pose on a subway platform. Seriously, unless you're a bona fide busker, it's now one of the lamest pictures you could take. Simon & Garfunkel, The Ramones, Anthrax, Token Entry.... they all beat you to it.

So, ultimately, I wasn't really all that helpful. I told my friend to be inventive and curious and explore.

Where would YOU suggest?

Adam Duritz MUST BE STOPPED!

Here's a post that's bound to get me in trouble.

Look, I'll be the first to admit that I have a lot of hang-ups about rock t-shirts, notably that I'm of the considered opinion that unless you're a genuine fan of the band in question, YOU SHOULDN'T BE WEARING THEIR GODDAMN SHIRT. This may or may not be one of those instances.

I should point out at this stage of the proceedings that I've never met Adam Duritz. I don't know him. We've never exchanged words. For all I know, despite suspicions based on his tonsorial choices and personal opinions about the music of Counting Crows, Adam Duritz may be an intelligent, thoughtful and generous individual with a deep propensity for kindness towards his fellow man. He also might have a great sense of humor. 

Furthermore, for all I know, Adam Duritz may very well be a tremendous fan of all the bands he's emblazoning on his chest below, but that's not the point.

Based on the fact that his own music is SO FLATLY INDEFENSIBLE, I reallly, really want him to stop wearing t-shirts of artists I admire.

I don't care if he could earnestly croon a faithful-to-the-last-detail a cappela replication of Night of the Living Dead Boys, he needs to STOP WEARING THEIR DAMN T-SHIRT!!!

I just want him to stop. Now. Please.

Let's review, shall we?

Cheap Trick:

The Dead Boys:

David Bowie:

The Velvet Underground:

The Beatles:

Funkadelic:

The Clash:

Joy Division:

The Cars:

T.Rex:

Beastie Boys:

The Runaways:

Digital Underground:

KISS:

Run-DMC:

Pink Floyd:

The Ramones:

Devo:

Seriously, Adam, JUST CUT IT OUT!!!!

 

Vanishing Venues: Documenting the Slow Death of Live Music in NYC

In recent days, lots of friends of mine have been forwarding me this Buzzfeed list of Iconic NYC Venues, Then and Now. It's a fine enough list, I guess. Truthfully, I'm a little bitter about it, because I made a similar list back in 2005, but I don't have nearly the reach that Buzzfeed does, so more people have seen their list than my list. Petty points like that aside, however, it is worth a read (as is mine, I'd like to believe).

Of course, since first composing my list in 2005, there have several more venue vanishings (click on the category Vanished Venues for my tally of same). Then, of course, there are the places like the Continental (pictured above, hosting my friends in the Unband circa 1997) that technically still exist, but not as a destination to hear live music.

In any case, I figured while I was on the subject, I'd re-post a few other lists I've composed along the way. Some are better than others, of course, but please enjoy.

Great since-closed NYC record shops

Tunes from the Guilty Pleasuredome

Top 11 movies filmed in & depicting NYC

Top Five Things that Scare the Hell out of Me

More Things You Should Never Do at Work

10 Actions That Should Earn You a Date with a Firing Squad

10 Things Not to Do While Waiting On line

10 Things I Would Outlaw

Five Things Worth Splurging On

7 Pet Peeves

More Fun City Footage

I mentioned the project in this recent round-up, but I finally sat through all of the first two installments of "Dirty Old Town aka Fun City" (see Part 1 here, and Part 2 here). Part 3, evidently, is still in the works. They originate, I believe, from this blog. If you're a rampant New York City cinephile and location-spotter like myself, they're essential viewing.

As I was watching them, however, I kept anticipating the inclusion of certain other notable scenes from various films, but quite a few of them never materialized. Obviously, to stitch together every single bit of film that depicts New York City would be a herculean effort, but I thought there were some surprising omissions. Sure, a few fleeting seconds of my beloved "After Hours" appear in Part 2, but there weren't any bits that I could see of .. in no particular order ... "Downtown `81," "Desperately Seeking Susan," "Manhattan By Numbers," "Coming to America," "King Kong," "Highlander," "State of Grace," "Hannah & Her Sisters" (or several other Woody Allen films), "The Wiz," "Godspell," "The In-Laws," "Stranger Than Paradise," "The Taking of Pelham 123" or.... (the list goes on .... which favorites would you want to see included?)

In any case, while watching the portions dedicated to to Central Park, I kept waiting for the two scenes below. The first is a lovingly atmospheric clip from Tony Scott's 1983 fangless vampire story, "The Hunger," finding a withering David Bowie attacking a roller skater under Bethesda Terrace in the middle of Central Park (scored by Iggy's Pop's "Funtime").

This second one is the opener for the 1979 adaptation of the musical "Hair." For die-hard (or should that be tye-dye-hard?) hippies, the film of "Hair" is probably as indicative of flower power culture as much as "Rent" flimsily encapsulates the travails of the urban squatter, but that's not why I'm including it. I just love the summer-in-the-city vibe of this bit of footage and the depiction of the park. Dig it.

Push, Kate, Push