Flaming Pablum

B.Ö.C in Needle Park

Wow. Quiz over! Leave it to my boy Erik of Lightbulb Head fame to nail it with the quickness. The above photo does indeed find the estimable members of Blue Oyster Cult (also occasionally known as Soft White Underbelly) lounging menacingly around the Verdi monument in Verdi Square on the Upper West Side.

One can only wonder what Messrs. Bloom, Bouchard, "Buck Dharma" and cohorts were doing in that neighborhood (presumably at some point in the middle `70s), but it should be remembered that said strip was once colorfully referred to as "Needle Park," being that it was a favorite hang-out for junkies. Hmmm.

Hang In There

Hey all…Sorry for the current slowdown in activity here. It’s been a bitch of a week for me. I have a few irons in the fire, but they’re not ready just yet, so stand by for those (and thanks for your continued interest).

In the short term, enjoy the lovely shot of the Ramones above. I’d never spotted it before, but found it whilst perusing this collection of uncredited photos of various rock types. I believe it was excised from the same shoot of Roberta Bayley’s that produced the shot for their first album cover. My friend Rob D. once haggled manfully for a giant-sized print of said photograph with the proprietor of since-vanished record store Wowsville on Second Avenue (read more about that herculean exchange here).

In any case, I hope everyone’s enjoying their summer. Here’s another one for you to ponder. A word of warning: I don’t know the answer to this, but maybe someone does? Below is an iconic shot of the hirsute members of Long Island’s own Blue Oyster Cult. I want to say they’re posing somewhere here in New York City. Can anyone name the location? Go to it.

ADDENUM: The answer revealed here.

Now We Are Eight

It was eight years ago today that Flaming Pablum first blighted the Internet. Let's hear from YOU, dear reader....what do you want to see more of? What do you want to see less of? What's worked? What hasn't?

Perfect Summer Songs: "Stay" by Shakespeare's Sister

The album that spawned it, Hormonally Yours, was technically released at some point in 1991, but "Stay" by Shakespeare's Sister was released as a proper single in the "summer song" sweet spot of June of 1992. I'd never given the band any thought prior to that. I knew that they were named after a track by the Smiths and that they included a former member of ..er.. Bananarama in their ranks, but couldn't have cared less beyond that. Regardless, "Stay" arrived that June like a scud missile of sweeping histrionics and swiftly blew other contenders for "song of the summer" well off the map.

The build-up is painfully slow, finding stately vocalist Marcella Detroit (who, to her detriment as far as I'm concerned, also leant her vocals to Eric Clapton's godawful "Lay Down Sally" several years prior) cooing couplets of troubled devotion to a seemingly indifferent or oblivious lover. It doesn't really get interesting until Siobhan Fahey comes in a sinister lower register alongside a chugging guitar to deliver ominous intonations of making it "safe back to your own world."

After some some tastefully sparse pianos join the fray, the song bursts wide open (not unlike the finale of "Never Take Me Alive" by Spear of Destiny) with Detroit abandoning restraint and wailing in a maelstrom of the agony of seemingly unrequited love. It's epic.

In the summer of 1992 (see more about that here), I was a naive 25-year-old who stumbled into a botched and laughably ill-fated office romance that had 'disaster' written all over it from the get-go, but I was stupid and oblivious. As such, while I quite enjoyed this song prior to things going horribly wrong, once I'd been effectively given my walking papers by the young lady in question, this single became my veritable theme song. Any time I was out in bars with friends (which, suffice to say, after that was a lot), I couldn't stop myself from force-feeding quarter after quarter into any number of unsuspecting jukeboxes to once again summon Siobahn Fahey's vengeful growl and Marcella Detroit's jilted wail. The strenuous melancholy of "Stay" defined that summer

Twenty-one summers later, the reasons for all that torment are all quaint, silly ancient history, but to this day, I still cannot hear "Stay" without instantly being transported back to those balmy nights of youthfully bug-eyed, drunken angst.

As with the afore-cited "Shout to the Top," the video is frankly ridiculous, finding Marcella Detroit tending to a soon-to-be deceased paramour until Siobahn arrives to deliver a ridiculously over-the-top performance as the Angel of Death.

Raise a glass and enjoy your summer.

Stuff You Might Have Missed

You know the drill. It’s a busy week, and I’ll have some meatier, lengthier stuff up here soon, but I just wanted to share a few things I’d spotted in my travels that you might also benefit from/be amused by. Do enjoy!

• Obi-Wan, can you stop saying ‘Sand People’? It’s kind of racist!
• The ten worst people on the New York City subway
• 12 douchiest New York City real estate ads of all time
• The Rock ‘n’ Roll Casualty who became a war hero

Lastly, this made the rounds last week, so I initially I thought the notion of putting up here to be a bit duplicative, but just in case you haven’t seen it, enjoy “Dirty Old New York aka Fun City.”

 

Memories of Metal

Here's a nice contrast to the Style Council....

I'm currently smack-dab in the middle of Jon Wiederhorn's sprawling oral history, "Louder Than Hell." I actually worked with Jon back during my fleeting tenure at MTV News Online, and he's a stand-up guy. Beyond that, the book is truly worth seeking out, even if you're only a passive fan of all things metal. Go fetch.

Being that I'm currently in the "crossover" portion (i.e. documenting the fertile cross-pollination between the thrash metal and hardcore scenes circa 1986), I thought it'd be fitting to exhume these clips below from a fabled show at the Ritz featuring VoiVod, the Cro-Mags and Venom. I actually still have a pristine copy of the original flyer (above). A document of a vanished age.

The video quality is patchy and the content is often frankly ridiculous, but prepare thyself for the mosh and enjoy.

Perfect Summer Songs: "Shout to the Top" by the Style Council

Everyone has a list of what they consider perfect summer songs. Here's one from my list. There will probably be more.

If I'm not mistaken, this single originally surfaced in the fall of 1984, but I don't believe I heard it (much less gave it a chance) until the Summer of 1985. I'd just graduated high school and -- in my arguably narrow teenaged worldview -- still regarded Paul Weller's defection from punky mod squad, The Jam, to the pointedly twee ranks of the Style Council as complete heresy. I mean, here was the man who'd written such incendiary barnstormers as "Eton Rifles," "In the City" and "An 'A' Bomb in Wardour Street" suddenly slipping on a pair of top siders and crooning some of the softest blue-eyed soul imaginable. I mean, what the fuck happened? I think I practically spat up at my first hearing of "My Ever Changing Moods."

But, let's be honest, there is simply zero arguing with the brilliance of this single, effortlessly melding the Style Council's penchant for jazzy pop with Weller's stubbornly assertive delivery (you can take the man out of the punk band, but you can't take the punk out of the man). It's just a beautiful, breezy bit of music with an uplifting message, like a spirited bike ride down pleasantly empty, sunlit Manhattan avenues on a hot July afternoon.

The video, however, is another story, one that only reinforces the pain felt by die-hard Jam fans.

For a start, there's keyboardist Mick Talbot, something of a helpless "wally," as my lovely British wife might describe him. Watch as he strains to look emphatic and committed at the piano, gritting his teeth keenly and looking more as if he'd been sternly informed that he would only be permitted to use the restroom after the video was complete.

Then, there's Weller. While he'll always be a figure of untouchable coolness in my book, here he is looking like an blind, emaciated Italian bicycle pimp. And is that lipstick he's sporting? Only lovely backing vocalist Dee C. Lee and drummer Steve White escape with any semblance of dignity.

Regardless, it's an awesome tune that I forcibly crammed onto many a mixtape that summer, bookended incongruously by tracks by T.S.O.L., Killing Joke, Naked Raygun and the Smiths.

Crank it up and enjoy your summer while you can....

Whose 'Downtown'?

As Beers Go By

It's July, which means it's time to start lamenting my beer gut. Where once this adversary was kept at bay simply by staying active, it seems the aging process is starting to slowly stymie that problem-solving rhythm. As such, I'm endeavoring to battle the bulge by attempting to curtail my intake, walking absolutely everywhere and maybe even eating better. Hell, maybe I'll even hop aboard a ShitiBike. In any case, steps must be taken.

Tapering off one's beer intake during the summer, of course, isn't easy. It's hard to imagine a time of year when beer's golden divinity is more welcome, but there it is. 

But speaking of beers, here's a fun item I spotted on J.Yuenger's great page. 

Like an alcoholic version of the Ok GO, check out this video by Moones. Herein, this indie band plays one song a number of times. Each successive instance is filmed after a herculean intake of beers.

Via the navigation on the top of the screen, though, you can jump anywhere within the song and experience their performance in varying states of dwindling sobriety. It's amazing what 80 beers will do to an otherwise tight ensemble. Check it out.

Songs We Love, Songs We Hate

Hey again, all… It’s Friday the 5th. It seems like a vast swathe of the city’s populace has left. Much later today, I’ll be joining them, as I hop aboard an east-bound Long Island Railroad train that – dear God – hopefully won’t be packed with Bud Light-swiggin’ d-bags (I’m hoping they’re already all out there).

But before I go, I thought I’d leave you with something to read (nice of me, eh?) I’m highlighting two of my favorite regular features from two of my favorite sites on the Web. They actually complement each other quite well.

Baker’s Dozen: From The Quietus, a stately British site largely devoted to music, Baker’s Dozen is a series of ruminations about favorite albums by a wide variety of artists. It’s akin to thumbing through the record collections of your own favorite bands. The entries are well-composed, thoughtful and illuminating. Who knew Jethro Tull’s Ian Anderson was a big fan of the Spin Doctors, or that Cee Lo Green really digs Raw Power by the Stooges? Find out via Baker’s Dozen. 

Hatesong: From The A.V. Club, Hatesong is a delightful series wherein various musical luminaries sound off on songs that make their blood boil. Some of my favorite entries include Mickey from Ween waxing vitriolic on why he hates “What’s Up?” by 4 Non Blondes and Robyn Hitchcock hatefully dissecting “Arthur’s Theme” by Christopher Cross. As someone prone to getting wildly apoplectic about the music he considerds unfit for human consumption, Hatesong makes for wildly entertaining reading. Enjoy.