Flaming Pablum

"Say His Name!"

I regret to admit that I was not versed enough in the oeuvre of Janelle Monae to have recognized this cover of her song when I experienced David Byrne & Company perform it as part of “American Utopia” when I saw it back in February (seems like a lifetime ago), but I found the blunt simplicity of the message profoundly powerful.

“Say His Name!”

Affirming that those victimized by systemic racism and police brutality are individuals with names, lives, personal histories, emotions, identities, families, children, loved ones. They are HUMAN BEINGS, not statistics. And not “thugs."

If you’re confused why there are riots going on, just get down on one knee. Feel the bulk of your full weight resting on that joint. If it’s anything like mine, that’s quite a lot. Now imagine a comparable amount of ponderous weight being applied to YOUR NECK. Now imagine that wind-pipe-collapsing, spine-worrying weight on your neck belonging to an armed figure of authority (one conceivably versed enough in the basics of conventional measures of constraint to know that kneeling on someone's neck might very well result in death). George Floyd endured that for almost eight minutes. EIGHT MINUTES. That cop knelt on George Floyd’s neck for a time spell practically equivalent to the length of “American Pie” by Don McLean. George Floyd — quite unsurprisingly — died as a result of this. The cop, meanwhile, has only paid with his job. No charges have been filed.

Beyond the brazen cruelty of the act, also consider the power of the image of a police officer blithely kneeling on the neck of a black man struggling to breathe and pleading for his life. It’s an abhorrent sight that perfectly encapsulates how far we haven’t come.

That’s why there are riots.

George Floyd. Say His Name!

ADDENDUM: About a half-hour after I posted this, the police officer in question was taken into custody.

"A Drug-Riddled Cesspool of Filth"

Here’s a curious clip. Purportedly from 1986, here we see a supposedly tense stand-off in Greenwich Village — specifically on Waverly Place between Washington Square Park West and Sixth Avenue — between an alleged drug dealer and … Neil Diamond. Mr. Diamond has apparently had enough and is ready to inflict some damage with a billy club (although it looks more like a small baseball bat), successfully scaring off his would-be opponent … in front of a convenient camera crew.

After the almost-melee, Mr. Diamond laments the encroaching preponderance of crack vials in the leafy byways of his neighborhood. At no point does anyone bust out into an impromptu rendition of “Sweet Caroline."

Now, I realize, 1986 is quite a little bit ago — I’d have been a college freshman, at the time — being even then, picturesque Waverly Place in the Village was more likely to have been the scene of some comparatively placid weed deals (or, even more likely, oregano posing as weed) rather than a locale wherein to procure crack. I'm not entirely positive of the true providence of this little portion of video, and I’m not saying there wasn’t drugs or crime in the Greenwich Village of 1986, but one suspects this presentation might be more than a little “dramatized.”

Moreover, I had the great honor of meeting and interviewing the inimitable Neil Diamond at a Songwriters Hall of Fame function in 2019. That is very assuredly not Neil Diamond, although Gothamist isn’t entirely sure.

This, by the way, is the real Neil Diamond of New York City...

Brubeck in Brown: A Jazzy Stranglers Mash-Up

This one really stopped me in my tracks.

Someone with a lot of time, patience, musical chops and editing skills put together this lovely tribute to the late Dave Greenfield of the Stranglers below, splicing elements of Dave Brubeck's ensemble performing "Take Five" into an inventive re-imagining of the single, "Golden Brown."

Here's the official explanation by its creator, Laurence Mason:

A little tribute to Dave Greenfield (keyboardist with The Stranglers who died from Covid-19 last week) and Paul Desmond (saxophonist with the Dave Brubeck quartet - the anniversary of his death is at the end of this month). Also because I've been enjoying editing videos and recording stuff over the last couple of months.

A couple of people have asked how I made this video so here we go - I took a clip from a 1964 live version of Take Five and made the drum loop by chopping up the intro and turning it from 5/4 into the 3/4 - 4/4 groove that Golden Brown has. The upright bass sound is sequenced from Logic, and the piano part was played in using one of the piano sounds from a Nord Electro 5D. Then I played the sax part over the top (I play a King Zephyr alto and for this I used a hard rubber Yanigasawa mouthpiece rather than my usual bright Guardala). The video was then edited using the clip I'd taken the drum loop from.

Cool, right? Anyway, enjoy the fruits of his meticulous labor below...and pour one out for Dave. 

Yuppies & Punks in "Novo York"

A little compelling slice of yesteryear, courtesy of Brazil's Ernesto Varela. You might not recognize St. Marks Place....

Navigating The Masquerade

To those that continue to bitch about having to wearing a face mask — and I know you’re out there — really, just get over it. Your “freedom” is not being impinged or impeded by it. At worst, as a physical apparatus, it is a mild inconvenience. As someone else sagely said, if you really think wearing a mask is uncomfortable, wait `till you try a ventilator.

More to the point, though, if you’re genuinely concerned that wearing a face mask makes you look “weak” or “scared” or “soft” or “uncool,” you need to fucking grow up. If anything, wearing one makes you look cognizant, compassionate, considerate and aware. To put it in language you may more easily relate to, if you really think wearing a mask equates with “living in fear,” maybe consider the safety-catch on your semi-automatic rifle. It’s designed to prevent an unwanted discharge that could potentially harm or kill someone. The mask literally follows that exact same model. It’s not primarily about you getting infected. It’s ideally to prevent you from infecting others.

There was a sobering account by a first responder I read last week that really drove the point home for me. Regardless of all the rhetoric, all the conspiracy theories, all the "mask-shaming," this medic cut through that clutter with the frank assertion that if people saw the damage Covid-19 can wreak in its full fruition first-hand, they would waste NO TIME putting that fucking mask on.  

Wearing a mask is not ironclad or foolproof in its functionality, and there was a lot of mixed messaging at the beginning of all this about them, but if wearing masks have demonstrably slowed or stymied the spread of Covid-19 infection, then they’re worth the hassle.

So, yeah, wear the damn mask and quite whining. Your grandparents dealt with World War II. You can handle wearing a fucking fabric mask.

But, of course, many people will continue to be slow to accept that.

My only issue with wearing the masks, meanwhile, is that while I am wholly onboard, understand the necessity and do not begrudge wearing them, I am reticent to resign myself to the fact that they are, going forward, probably going to be a constant part of our daily existence. I just find that depressing. As such, I’m not really interested in employing masks as a means of self-expression.

In recent weeks, face masks have been seized upon as a viable new stream of revenue. You can now buy face masks emblazoned with your favorite sports-team colors or smiley faces or marijuana leaves and well beyond. It did not shock me in the slightest when I saw Kiss and Iron Maiden start selling official, customized masks festooned with their signature iconography. I've seen some inventive ones -- like the mouth from the cover of King Crimson’s In the Court of the Crimson King. My beloved DEVO, of course, just released some, let alone a new model of their classic energy dome affixed with a protective face screen. I shrugged.

This week, I was genuinely shocked to find that another favorite band of mine, SWANS, are now on the bandwagon, so to speak. It would never have occurred to me that this band would entertain such a venture, as their merchandising has always been fairly select. But in a climate so completely hostile to the livelihoods of songwriters and touring musicians, who can blame them for trying to capitalize on a new source of potential income? Also, given the cover art of the band’s iconic Filth album — the teeth — it is kind of a no-brainer (see image at top of this post). Their other option features the grimly fitting song title, “You Fucking People Make Me Sick.”

Yeah, that’s funny and all, but I can’t summon the enthusiasm to use face masks as a platform to express my musical affinities. It just feels kinda crass and inappropriate to me. And this is coming from a guy who has spent a ridiculously inordinate amount of time and money on band t-shirts over the decades. 

But maybe I’m overthinking it. Hey, if wearing a mask with a Night Ranger or Kanye West logo makes you more inclined to adhere to public health guidelines, SO BE IT!!

Treat yourselves. Stay safe. Be smart. Get through this. 

Random Pics Taking Up Space on My Desktop

You're welcome...

 

Where We Are

"Where Is That Protection That I Needed?"

Yesterday was evidently David Byrne’s birthday. As such, here’s some vintage Talking Heads from 1979, singing a somewhat prescient ditty about airborne toxicity.

Curious as to location of the opening footage. I’m guessing Brooklyn somewhere. What say you?

Fox in Sox

Trust me when I affirm that nothing I could write here today would be as brilliant as the clip below.

Enjoy. You're welcome.

Bankrupt on the Bowery

I have a history of speaking disparagingly about the business endeavors of John Varvatos on this blog (most floridly here, but elsewhere as well). My objections with him and his efforts, though, are basically about fundamental differences in perception. He’s not an evil man, nor has he -- to my knowledge, at least -- broken any laws.

When news came down, last week, that his brand was in serious financial troubles brought on by the pandemic-imposed closures of his clothing outlets (his flagship spot at 315 Bowery, the former site of CBGB, among them), I blithely mentioned on Facebook that I wouldn’t shed a tear seeing that venture close up shop. 

In hindsight, though, that was a callous thing to say, as John Varvatos files for bankruptcy.

Do I like what he’d done with the place? Hell, no, but he didn’t force CBGB out of existence (blame Muzzy Rosenblatt and/or Hilly Kristal for that). And, at the very least, while it’s not the way I would have done it, Varvatos did take pains to recognize the historical significance of the space he came to occupy. It very well might've turned into a bank or a frozen yogurt place.

It’s a tragedy for every business caught behind the eight-ball because of this pandemic. No one deserved this.

More to the point, though, while I may not like John Varvatos’ stuff or “deem appropriate” his handling of certain aspects of rock’n’roll lore, these are ultimately just my silly tastes and opinions. 

He may wear leather pants and sell slavishly overpriced crap in the former space of CBGB, but he’s also a philanthropist with a robust history of giving back. For that, he should be rightfully lauded.

So, yeah, what I’m trying to say is that my arguments against John Varvatos are ultimately just petty bullshit, especially this long after the fact, and I'm sorry his business is taking such a hit. I'm still not about to shop there, but good luck to him.