Flaming Pablum

Listening Deeply

I realize it sounds like a stack of kumbaya-scented crap, but I cannot evangelize enough how much of an emotional salve music has been for me in these past few surreal days.

It’s had the power to diffuse my anxiety and realign my mindset in therapeutic ways I can’t even begin to quantify. Take the time you’ve got on your hands in abundance and rediscover the music that’s colored your life. Seize the moment to listen deeply.

With that in mind, let's try something. It's quite possible that no one will write in, but what the Hell? 

1. What's your name?
2. Where in the world are you right now?
3. How are you coping with what's going on?
4. What are you listening to these days?

Answer in the comments section. 

Out Here

It seems that I have so much to say at this time, and certainly plenty of time to say it, but simply do not know where to begin.

As this week started to unfurl, my wife and I made the decision that —if at all possible — it would best for our family to get the Hell out of Dodge, so to speak, as the four of us jam-packed into our “junior four”-sized apartment (charitably described as “intimate”) was really going to take a toll should the shelter-in-place directive come down (which now seems imminent). As such, after the rigorous unspooling of red tape required to secure enough of my son’s meds for an extended period (way easier said than done), we decamped to Long Island to put some serious social distance between us and downtown Manhattan. We are currently squatting — as we do in the summers with generally far less drama — at my Mom’s place in Quogue. We feel cut off and summarily isolated, but are very grateful. My mother, meanwhile, is down in Florida, which while still not “safe” (nowhere is), is marginally better than being up here.

As a friend of mine suggested last week — a time period which already seems so comparatively fancy-free, in hindsight — the way this has all played out seems strangely akin to some of the videos of the tsunami of 2004. Contrary to popular perceptions of a what a tsunami is supposed to look like, the water didn’t arrive like a Godzilla-sized wave, but rather as simply a gradual increase of water. At first it seemed manageable, but then it kept rising, and rising, and rising, and rising…… and then took everything with it.

Again, so much has happened since last week, when I was wondering if certain events were still going ahead, it seems we — the giant, collective we — are looking at a total shut-down.

When will the coast be clear?

Stay safe. Stay smart. Wash your hands.

Our President

Here's Hoping

Purloined from the Instagram page of actress and perennially fabulous hottie, Gina Gershon.

 

Public Service Announcement

Nighthawks Stay Home

This image has been making the rounds on social media a lot, but only because it's so fitting. 

To quote comedian Billy Eichner:

Stay home as much as you can, my friends. I'm a native New Yorker -- we define ourselves by being defiant in these situations. This is NOT a time for defiance. This was not a terrorist attack. It's a pandemic. DON'T BE STUPID!

To walk the streets in certain neighborhoods, you'd never know anything was up. People are still doing their thing. This should be a collective effort. 

It's going to get worse before it gets better. 

For Those Not About to Rock...

I had a growing quandary, as this past week was slowly unfurling, as to whether I was going to attend a show scheduled to happen this evening at St. Vitus in Brooklyn. A record-release gig for Human Impact, a veritable NYC noise-rock supergroup of former members of SWANS, The Unsane and -- wait for it -- my beloved Cop Shoot Cop, this was promising to be an event practically tailor-made for my predilections.

I was super gung-ho, for a while, even when my longtime comrade Rob D. had to bail, being that the Connecticut university that employs him issued a strict out-of-state travel ban for the conceivable future. That was a bummer, but I was still looking forward to the show.

As events developed, however, I started to suspect that the concert was going to be cancelled, especially in the wake of edicts by Mayor De Blasio and a couple of fatuously botched addresses from our embarrassment of a president.

But it wasn't.

I was starting to have flashbacks to 2012, when the outer bands of Hurricane Sandy were threatening to arrive the same evenings as a SWANS gig at the Bowery Ballroom. Given their steely resolve and, possibly, bloody-minded iron will, SWANS refused to cancel that gig, as you might recall. It ended up being one of the most amazing live-music experiences of my life.

But this situation is different.

After much head-scratching and a few "should I or shouldn't I?" threads on social media, I decided I'm not going, as much as it saddens me. Out of respect for the collective effort to "flatten the curve," I am going to stay put. I don't necessarily believe I'd be at risk to contract the virus at said gig, but ... y'know, what the Hell do I know? I wouldn't want to become a carrier for it either and risk spreading it around, even if I didn't develop any symptoms myself.

I want to support touring bands and independent clubs, but the risks, considerations and the anxieties involved are outweighing everything. If you go -- be safe and considerate.

I want to have faith that we'll have this opportunity again.

Be safe. Be smart. Look out for each other. Get through this.

 

Back in Time to `89

As I was walking home from work on Monday night in something of a news-addled stupor, lulled into mental atrophy by pervasive waves of coronavirus hysteria, I spotted something both hugely familiar and entirely incongruous – a old flyer from a long-ago gig by Prong and Live Skull wheat-pasted to a painted plywood wall at the bottom end of Sixth Avenue between Canal and Grand Streets. What the fuck?

Shocked back into the moment by this comparatively ancient artifact, I essentially zoomed out to view it in context. Across the northern end of this plywood wall --- one used to fence in the outdoor shenanigans of Gitano Tulum, a sort of tropical-themed adult playground, complete with palm trees – was a wide array of gig flyers, movie posters and bills, all advertising concerts, events and movies from several decades back. It was like this tiny patch of real estate was stuck in a hole in the time/space continuum.

I took a few photographs (see below), figuring it was for a movie shoot or a television show. The new “High Fidelity” series, maybe?

This morning, as I was walking back by it in the other direction, I saw two people spraying the façade to make it look appropriately “weathered,” and I asked what the story was. Evidently, I was correct – it’s for a forthcoming show or film called “`89.” That’s about as much as I could glean.

I complemented them on their faithful job and kept walking.

Trivial facts: Circa the late 80’s, the building that this particular plot of real estate once hosted (since-razed) formerly played host to Triplets, an ill-fated steakhouse owned and operated by three identical twin brothers whose truly bizarre story was recently the subject of an amazing documentary entitled “Three Identical Strangers.” It also served as the location, earlier than that, for Lou Reed’s video for “My Big Red Joystick,” which I discussed here and here. Across the way was the Moondance Diner, which is now somewhere out west. In its footprint is the looming James hotel.

Here are some of the details. Click on them to enlarge. That's also not how you spell psychedelic. 

Life As We Know It

My daughter was supposed to travel abroad in an exchange program for three weeks, but that was cancelled.

My wife was supposed to travel to London for a work event, but that was cancelled.

At my office, I’ve been orchestrating video coverage for multiple events that were scheduled for the coming weeks and months. One by one, they have been … or are in the process of being … cancelled.

A vendor I frequently recruit for various projects was supposed to come next week for a lunch meeting, but she had to cancel, as her company has forbidden all travel through April.

There’s a concert I have tickets for on Saturday in Brooklyn – Human Impact at St. Vitus – but one Connecticut-based friend of mine has had to cancel, as the university that employs him has “put a freeze” on all out-of-state travel.

Will the show in question still go on ? Other gigs at the venue, like the UK band Pigs!Pigs!Pigs!Pigs have cancelled.

I’m getting fed up with this shit.

Word on The Street