Flaming Pablum

Merry Christmas from Flaming Pablum

We at Chez Pablum didn't manage to get our pesky Christmas ducks in order, this year, in time for a proper card. Adding festive insult to yuletide injury, when it came to which approach we were gong to go with, the wife didn't like the fact that we weren't all together in my design, whereas I thought the picture she selected of the kids looked more like placation than sincerity. We did not overcome our creative Christmas impasse in time, so here are both options. Voting closes at midnight on Christmas Eve.

Happy happy to one and all. Stay warm. Be good to each other.

Goodbye, 2022!

Yes, well, I suppose it's time to dust off this inane survey, once again, and take a look back at 2022. Seat-belts on, kids! 

What did you do in 2022 that you'd never done before?

Got myself a “global entry” card.

Did you keep your New Year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I don’t think I made any, thus I did not keep any. At this stage of the proceedings, if I make any bold declarations about swearing off anything, I’m pretty much dooming myself to fail. That all said, I could certainly stand to drink less beer, stay on top of my finances and keep my medical appointments. 

Did anyone close to you give birth?

No one in my immediate circle, no.

Did anyone close to you die?

Again, no one in my immediate circle, mercifully.

What countries did you visit?

We went to Greece and Scotland, and I highly recommend both. 

What would you like to have in 2023 that you lacked in 2022?

Oh, I’m not sure. I not inclined to spend time dwelling on the things I don’t have.

What date from 2022 will remain etched upon your memory?

August 20th, the day we left our Charlotte at college in Scotland and flew home to NYC without her.

What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Staying marginally healthy and gainfully employed.

What was your biggest failure?

My inability to impose some semblance of restraint and willpower.

Did you suffer illness or injury?

I have a continuing grievance with my left foot that I still need to see a podiatrist about. And, yes, I, too, eventually got COVID. 

What was the best thing you bought?

I honestly can’t remember. Well, I bought some concert tickets for my son that made him very happy. That’s always good.

Whose behavior merited celebration?

My kids. They have their moments like everyone else, but for the most part, they are kind, bright, do well in school and are genuinely lovely human beings.

Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

Trump, Kanye West, Elon Music, various members of the Supreme Court and Republicans in general.

What did you get really, really excited about?

My daughter getting into college.

Where did most of your money go?

My building’s being assessed, at the moment, and our monthly fees have gone up significantly … and will stay that way until fuckin’ February 2024, hence the comment above about needing to impose restraint and willpower when it comes to all things financial.  

What song will always remind you of 2022?

I don’t know if it’ll always remind of 2022, but perhaps “The Man I’ll Never Find” by Lucius.

Compared to this time last year, are you happier or sadder?

I’d say about the same. I have concerns like everyone else, but overall, I have no right to complain about one damn thing.

Thinner or fatter?

Oh, invariably fatter.

Richer or poorer?

As mentioned above, we’re currently slightly financially compromised, so technically “poorer.”

What do you wish you'd done more of?

Taking care of things in real time as opposed to continually putting them off.

What do you wish you'd done less of?

Spending irresponsibly. I mean, I didn’t splurge, or anything, but in light of our current situation, some self-imposed austerity would’ve been a benefit.

How did you spend Christmas?

Well, it hasn’t happened yet, but we’re planning on spending it out at my mom’s place in Quogue.

Who did you spend the most time on the phone with?

No idea.

Did you fall in love in 2022?

I’ve been in love with -- and married to -- her for over 21 years.

How many one-night stands in this last year?

Zero.

What was your favorite TV program?

I quite liked “White Lotus 2,” “Slow Horses” and crime drama on Britbox called “Sherwood.”

Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?

I still hate most of the same folks – Trump, Trump supporters, key Republicans and various members of the Supreme Court.

What was the best book you read?

“Feral City” by Jeremiah Moss.

What was your greatest musical discovery?

Already discussed on this post.

What did you want and get?

Depeche Mode tickets for myself and my son, but oof were they ever expensive.

What did you want and not get?

Trump rotting in prison for the rest of this miserable fucking life.

What were your favorite films of this year?

Honestly cannot remember. Don’t bode well, does it.

What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I turned 55, which is not a number I’m okay with.

What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

Trump’s conviction and permanent incarceration.

How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2022?

I own way, way too many dumb rock t-shirts for a 55-year-old.

What kept you sane?

Once again, who said anything about being sane?

What celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

I never know what to do with this question, as every answer is going to sound creepy and inappropriate.

What political issue stirred you the most?

January 6 Committee

Who did you miss?

There was already a long list (as mentioned in this post), but Wilko Johnson, Jet Black and this week’s loss of Terry Hall of the Specials really hit me hard.

Who was the best new person you met?

The lovely ladies of Desperately Seeking the 80's, of course. 

Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2022

Not everything is worth an argument. Pick your battles.

Song lyric that sums up 2022

I've come here to make a ceramic shoe
And I've come to smash what you made
- Dry Cleaning

Twenty Years Gone

Rest in peace, Uncle Joe....

Come Back, Terry Hall

At the risk of sounding melodramatic, I just can’t even begin to encapsulate how sad I was to learn, last night, of the passing of Terry Hall of The Specials. Another hero of mine taken. I’ve started multiple posts about where I was when I first heard The Specials (at a summer camp in Maine, of all places) and what effect their first record had on me, but it’s all just the usual jumble of sepia-toned paeans to distant youth. I have multiple anecdotes of playing crucial songs by The Specials at pivotal points in my life, and the joy that it tirelessly provided. I remember an acrimonious fight about to break out, in college, between two good friends of mine (about a girl) that was swiftly diffused by simply dropping the needle on a Specials song (“Guns of Navarone”), instantly snuffing out the stand-off and transforming the room into a hopping froth of beer-spilling bonhomie.

There was no one like The Specials. Sure, there were other great ska bands, but The Specials were something different. And despite what I’ve always considered a strange vocal (and physiognomical) resemblance to Robert Smith of The Cure, Terry Hall was an entirely unique character.

Terry made countless great records with The Specials, Fun Boy Three, The Colourfield and as a solo artist, and they’re all worth tracking down, but if you don’t own and know the first eponymous LP by The Specials, you’re living a life dimmed by a paucity of joy.

Go get it and pour one out for the rudeboy.

The Gausten List: All the Musicians I've Interviewed

I’ve never met Joel Gausten “in the flesh,” but we tred in very comparable circles. A kindred spirit in both taste and sensibility, Joel is a fellow rabid music nerd and avid writer who already has a few books to his name, by this point, as well as one salaciously nocturnal memoir. I think I first encountered him, several years back, as I’d picked up a book he’d self-published about one of my favorite bands, Prong, and we’ve been in touch -– largely via social media -– pretty much ever since. Beyond his literary pursuits, Joel is also a musician, having drummed with bands like The Undead, Electric Frankenstein and Pigface. He’s a busy man, our Joel.

I think the thing that strikes me most about Joel is his drive. On the best of days, music journalism is a truly punishing vocation that doesn’t accrue much respect, let alone revenue, from the rest of the world, but Joel is undaunted and ever-busy. Joel splits his time between these passions and, if I’m not mistaken, doing some meaningful, hands-on social work, `cos ya can’t be Johnny Punk-Rock all the time, I guess.

In any case, in revamping his bio, Joel recently posted a list of everyone, off the top of his head, that he’s ever interviewed, and it’s a formidable array of diverse musicians ranging from Gene Simmons of KISS through Dot Wiggin of The Shaggs, and pretty much everyone in between (you might be able to see the first iteration of that list here). The sheer breadth of Joel’s list speaks to his voracious enthusiasm for music and his wide, catholic tastes.

I’d started off on a comparable path as Joel’s, channeling my life-long love of music into something of a career when, upon graduating college, I landed an internship at SPIN (which I’ve mentioned a few times before, most recently here). My time at SPIN led me further to an involvement with a plucky, independent start-up called The New York Review of Records (which I’ve also mentioned a few times here, most notably here). From there, I went onto write and contribute to a host of different periodicals, for a while, including magazines like Creem, the confusingly named Huh! (an offshoot of Raygun) a short-lived project called Exit!. After a while, I succumbed to the allure of a more lucrative aspect of journalism and took a low-level gig at LIFE Magazine which, in turn, led me to a 12-year stint at TIME magazine. After TIME, as some of you might remember, I hopscotched between gigs at The New Yorker (I wrote blurbs for their Goings On About Town section for ten years), MTV News Online, MSN and then TODAY.com. After being aggressively let go from the latter, I waffled in obscurity for a hot second before ditching journalism in favor of corporate communications, where I am now. I’m now a director of content, video and editorial services for the corporate communications and marketing department of a performance rights organization. So, I’m still writing about music, but just not in the capacity of a critic or journalist.

In any case, in looking at Joel’s tremendous list, I started thinking of all the folks I’d interviewed in those early days. And while nowhere near as comprehensive as Joel’s, it was a fun tally to compose. From what I can recall off the top of my head, here’s who I’ve interviewed….

I spoke with Wayne Hussey of The Mission on a brilliantly sunny day on Liberty Island in the shadow of the statue (I believe the idea was that Wayne wanted to replicate a certain famous picture of John Lennon). I chatted with a young Trent Reznor in a cramped backstage room at the New Ritz on West 54th Street, wherein he spent the entirety of our discussion fiddling with his then-newly pierced septum (which he evidently tired quickly of, as he hasn’t sported a ring there since). I spoke with a very amped-up Robert Vincent of short-lived British indie next-big-thing ensemble Birdland in the lobby of a long-vanished venue on West 21st Street called The Marquee. I dined and debated with the full membership of Pop Will Eat Itself at long-vanished Asian drag bar Lucky Cheng’s on First Avenue. I had a spirted conversation with Jeff and Steve McDonald of Redd Kross in a coffee shop just off Times Square. I have protracted exchange in clipped English with Treponem Pal vocalist Marco Neves at another coffee shop on Grand Street on the Lower East Side. I was treated to the full membership of Killing Joke at the Notell Motel, then on Avenue A. I traded war stories with Tod [A] and Cripple Jim Coleman of Cop Shoot Cop at the late, lamented CB’s Pizza & Record Canteen on the Bowery. I listened to John S. Hall of King Missile moan about his record company at Sin-E on St Marks Place. I had a lovely chat with Tim Booth of James in a trailer behind the main stage at a festival in Finsbury Park in London. I had a meandering conversation with Gavin Friday in the charming TriBeCa apartment of his publicist on White Street. I took sweaty dictation in a Harlem brownstone from the translator for Senegalese singer Yousou N’Dour. I had a brief exchange with Dave Gedge of the Wedding Present at Maxwell’s in Hoboken, conducted a discussion with all three members of Material Issue on the disused second floor of the midtown Hard Rock Café, tried to make sense of the full membership of Blur talking at me at once in the cozy confines of the former Yaffa Café on St. Marks Place, had an intense intel-breakdown with Henry Rollins in a loading dock on West 21st street and had the keyboardist and bass player of EMF abruptly leave an interview early after a certain editor of mine had unwittingly showed them a not-so-positive review of their album that I’d written. Yikes.

In stodgy corporate board rooms, I’ve sat across the table with microphone in hand with Mike Berenyi and Chris Acland of Lush, the full membership of Ash, Jonn Penny of Ned’s Atomic Dustbin, Miles Hunt of the Wonder Stuff, Cathal Coughlan of Fatima Mansions, Toni Halliday of Curve, Rob Jones of the Venus Beads, Shaun Ryder of Happy Mondays, both members of A.R. Kane and all four cool-cat wiseacres in Sonic Youth.

I’ve done “phoners” with Bono of U2, Marky Ramone of the Ramones, Kurt Ralske of Ultra Vivid Scene, Shirley Manson of Garbage, Mike D. of the Beastie Boys, action-hero and Hong Kong singing sensation Jackie Chan, Wyclef Jean of the Fugees, Jim Reid of the Jesus & Mary Chain, Andy Prieboy of Wall of Voodoo, Guy Kyser of Thin White Rope, Julianne Regan of All About Eve, Pete Shelley of the Buzzcocks, Matt Cameron of Soundgarden, Andrew Eldridge of the Sisters of Mercy, Martin Atkins of PiL/Killing Joke/Ministry, Salli Carson of Bleach and Jon Brookes of The Charlatans.

For this silly blog, I’ve interviewed Chris Egan of Missing Foundation, RB Korbet of Even Worse, Big Paul Ferguson of Killing Joke, Fran Powers of Modern Clix, Erik Sanko of Skeleton Key, J Yuenger of White Zombie, Don Rauf of Life in a Blender and Brooke Smith, actress and NYHC veteran. For my current job, I’ve interviewed the Flatbush Zombies, Jesse Malin, Amy Rigby and Alice Goddamn Cooper.

I was supposed to do a phoner for my current job with Jon Popper of Blues Traveler who I’ve never. He blew me off and never called.

Whatever.

Inevitable End-of-Year Needless & Meaningless Music-Ranking Thingy for 2022

I wasn’t going to do a “best music of 2022” post, originally, as, frankly, I don’t think it was really a banner year (I speak only for myself and my own tastes and perceptions), but my son Oliver got involved and his enthusiasm bowled me over, so we came up with some official categories. If your favorite stuff isn’t cited, I’m sorry — leave a comment as to what we missed out on, in your opinion. 

 

Favorite New Song of the Year

I’m going to go with a truly strange toss-up, here, dividing the title between “Total,” a track off of Killing Joke’s 2022 EP, Lord of Chaos, because … well, it’s new Killing Joke, isn’t it, and that’s always a good thing.  My other favorite new song is a truly unlikely one, for me. A couple of weeks back, I went with my next-door neighbor David to check out the WFUV Holiday Cheer Benefit at the Beacon Theater, ostensibly to see the headliners, Spoon. Spoon were great, but one of their opening acts was a band called Lucius, featuring two ladies whose soaring harmonies — sort of a folky/country vibe, although their albums are a little more modern/dancey — filled up that massive room to stirring effect, and I was quite struck by it. This was, I believe, the penultimate song of their short set, and it really put the hook in me. I find the “piano version” more indicative of the rendition I heard that night. Don’t mind me … I’m just losing my edge. 

 

Favorite New Album of the Year

Been saying this for quite a while, but the debut long-player by the Art Gray Noizz Quintet (up top) handily claims this title, although I feel like I’m cheating, a bit, as their live album from last year pretty much featured most of the same material. Still, the studio versions are absolutely fucking ace, and the tactile artifact (available on LP and via Bandcamp, sadly not on CD, as yet) is a splendid object to behold. 

 

 

Favorite Concert You Attended

Live music came roaring back, for me, in 2022. Off the top of my head, I saw Lydia Lunch’s Retrovirus and the Art Gray Noizz Quintet (them again) at DROM in the East Village in February. I saw Henry Rollins do his spoken-word shtick at Warsaw (if that counts) in March. In May, I took Oliver to his first proper concert, that being DEVO at Pier 17. I’d gotten Oliver tickets to see Bauhaus in August, as well, but they cancelled (again) when Peter Murphy had to go to rehab. As a consolation prize of sorts, I took Oliver to see the Violent Femmes at City Winery, which is a bit like seeing a band at a Christmas-office-party venue — it was a great show, though. Beyond that, I saw LCD Soundsystem at Brooklyn Steel, and they were great, but crazy goddamn louder than I’d have ever expected. 

 

All of these shows were really enjoyable, but just seeing Oliver thrill to his first show — the DEVO one — definitely seals the deal, for me. 

 

 

Favorite Re-Issue of the Year

In terms of re-issues that were officially released in 2022, I’d have to say that the 40th Anniversary of the Virgin Prunes’ …If I Die, I Die gets my vote. I would otherwise cite the re-release of Chronic Town by R.E.M., but it came bereft of any bonus tracks. I mean, it’s still the best thing they ever did (fucking fight me), but I was hoping for just a little bit of an extra or two. The whatever-anniversary edition of Animals by Pink Floyd was pretty nice, too, even if the new cover art is kinda lacking. 

 

 

Favorite Discovery of the Year

I don’t know if “discovery” is the right word, but I was genuinely pleased to learn that Wet Leg and Dry Cleaning — two newish British bands I’d prematurely written-off because of their “indefensibly stupid names” — were both pretty goddamn excellent. See? I can be wrong! 

Band You Wished You Saw in 2022

Well, as bemoaned in this post, my son Oliver was greatly looking forward to seeing Bauhaus, but due to Peter Murphy’s evidently spiraling substance-abuse problem, that show had to be scuttled. Beyond that, I can’t say I feel I missed out on anything super special. I did miss The Cult and both Peter Hook & the Light and New Order when they respectively came through, but I wasn’t about to open a vein about it. 

 

Band/Artist You Want to Go Away

How could it be anyone other than Kanye West? FUCK that guy. 

 

Band You’re Excited to See in 2023

Well, as of right now, I have tickets to go see Depeche Mode at Madison Square Garden with Oliver in May and The Mission (with Theatre of Hate) at Le Poisson Rouge in October (that’s a long way off, of course). I’m trying to finagle a way to get to the Killing Joke show at the Royal Albert Hall in London in March, but that might be tricky … especially considering it’s already sold out. But, we shall see. Lydia Lunch and Retrovirus are playing at TV Eye in Brooklyn some time soon. Might try to go to that. 

 

Album You’re Most Anticipating

No idea, really. I know SWANS have something new in the works. I’m kind of curious to pick up the “super deluxe” re-release of Low-Life by New Order, but I need another “super deluxe” anniversary edition like I need a swift kick in the head. 

 

Musical Trend You Want to Die

Good fucking lord, where do I start? I think the biggest trend that burns my toast, these days, is the penchant for contemporary pop singers/rappers to adopt this sort of affected mush-mouthed baby-talk vocal delivery. It’s pretty rampant, but I think one of the worst practitioners is this guy who calls himself Grandson, and this idiot called Kid Laroi. I think ass-clowns like Post Malone do it, too. It’s the worst shit in the world and no punishment would be too brutal for it, in my humble opinion. 

 

Musicians You'll Miss the Most from 2022

Well, let’s see ... Mark Lanegan, Howie Pyro, Andy Fletcher, DH Peligro, Mimi Parker, Hamish Kilgour, Keith Levene, Wilko Johnson and, most of all, Jet Black. AND NOW FUCKING TERRY HALL. 

 

Favorite Medium on Which to Listen to Music

While I will always appreciate the physical heft and ceremony of vinyl, I'm still in love with compact discs ... as laughably anachronistic as that might seem to you. I have reluctantly taken more interest in the abjectly evil empire of Spotify, more recently, as it's really the major way my kids listen to music, and we've been sharing playlists. I don't honestly believe my 18-year-old daughter listens to the stuff I send her (and, really, if you were an 18-year-old college freshman in 2022, would you give a crap about your father's musical recommendations?), but Oliver's been very enthusiastic, so that's been fun. I'm milking that for all its worth.

 

Favorite Live-Music Venue You Went to 2022: 
Hmmm... let's see. Well, I quite enjoyed being at back DROM at 85 Avenue A in the East Village which, a quadrillion centuries ago, was a metal club called Beowulf. Pier 17 is open-air and summarily spacious, but beers cost $17 a pop, which strikes me as a bit unduly pricey. City Winery was fine but a bit antiseptic and kind of incongruously genteel (while we were enjoying watching Violent Femmes, there were patrons enjoying vintage merlots and plates of pasta primavera in the same room). I mean, it's not like Violent Femmes are Napalm Death, or anything, but the venue is very much not a divey rock club. Brooklyn Steel in Brooklyn (somewhere in the hinterlands between Greenpoint and Williamsburg) remains a great venue, easy-to-navigate and smartly laid out, but kind of a bitch to get to and from (if you're a dyed-in-the-wool Manhattan snob like myself). I think of all the spots I revisited, this year, my favorite is still the stately expanse of Warsaw in Williamsburg, not least for the old-school Polish fare on offer. I've never had a bad time there. 

 

 

Favorite Summer Song of 2022

Opinions seem to be split on this, but I quite enjoyed Gorillaz' new track with Thundercat. 

Favorite Fall Song of 2022

Not a new song by any stretch, but during election season, this was definitely in my head...

Favorite Winter Song of 2022

I'm not sure I'm totally onboard, and I thought the finale of the show was sorta anticlimactic, but I gather this song is having a bit of a moment, and that's cool with me....

Jeremiah Exhumes a Mystery Band

Longtime blogging compatriot and celebrated author Jeremiah Moss made what I consider an amazing discovery today and posted it on his Instagram account. As many will recall, the iconic Gem Spa on the corner of Second Avenue and St. Marks Place closed back in 2020, and has been basically a dormant shell ever since. Well, there’s been an uptick in activity in its footprint, of late, and in removing the plywood facades and scaffolding, a remarkable artifact from a vanished age was uncovered.

Among a selection of weathered, age-old flyers, this one below was newly revealed on a pole, advertising what looks to be a glam band from 1974. Oddly enough, the gig in question was for a venue way uptown on East 84th and York Avenue called Brandy’s II. This same year, notorious proto-punk electronic duo Suicide also played Brandy’s II a couple of times. 

The original Brandy’s, of course, is a fabled piano bar which was a big favorite of the Upper East Side’s gay community (and still there, happily, in 2022). Brandy’s II, meanwhile, was situated at 1584 York Ave. I actually lived in this very neighborhood from about 1983 until about 1996, although I believe Brandy’s II was already long-gone before I moved in. The notion of a rock club being right in the neighborhood was already nigh on unthinkable. Until recently, that spot that had been Brandy's II was simply a watering hole called ... Saloon, but I believe that, too, is now gone. 

Here’s a closer shot of the band in question — does anyone recognize these happenin’ hepcats?

Incidentally, if you haven’t already, you really need to pick up a copy of Jeremiah Moss’ second book, “Feral City.” Ostensibly an account of Moss’ time voluntarily sequestered in Manhattan during the extent of the pandemic (not that it’s over, mind you), “Feral City” is also a remarkably personal memoir of one individual’s perceptions of the acute changes New York City has undergone during this particularly fraught period of history. It’s a raw and bracing read that pulls very few punches. But Moss’ eloquence, unflinching candor and human compassion shine throughout, even when he’s at his most curmudgeonly. “Feral City” provides a compelling voice to demographics, issues and concerns that otherwise have to fight for equal time and representation in our current cultural and sociopolitical climate. It can be uncomfortable in spots, but it is well worth your time.

The Evolution of Bleecker & Bowery

For those of you who are invested in such things, you’ve probably already seen that the next iteration of the mural on the southwest corner of Bleecker Street at the Bowery, which I recently invoked here, is complete. That’s it up above and, yes, it’s another Shepard Fairey piece, this one paying tribute to Bad Brains by way of a rendered composite of images from the photography of my former next-door neighbor, Glen E. Friedman. That’s it above.

Now that this work is complete, I thought I’d turn back the clock to look at what this particular patch of real estate borne witness to, over the years….

In 1982, as I recounted here and here, photographer Drew Carolan set up an ersatz, outdoor film studio on this same corner to capture images of the burgeoning NYHC community, which he’d later compile into a handsome coffee table book, “Matinee.” In writing about this project, I had my kids pose in the exact spot Carolan had used. See that below.

In 1983, Jim Jarmusch filmed an iconic scene of Eszter Balint crossing this particular byway as part of the opening montage of his 1984 film, “Stranger Than Paradise,” which I tried to replicate with my kids as some point in 2012.

Skipping way ahead to 2015, a mysterious mural of Joey Ramone sporting a pair of boxing gloves came up. I speculated as to why, but then it occurred to me, as recounted on this post, that it was ultimately a wafer-thin and frankly misleading promotion for the then-just-opened UpperCut boxing gym, which I continue to think was stinky and lame of them. I was glad when it vanished.

Joey was replaced, of course, in 2017 by Shepard Fairey’s tribute to Blondie, which was completely cool. Despite this, it got defaced, a few times, but shitty taggers because people basically suck.

And now, five years later, Debbie Harry has been replaced by Bad Brains. I managed to capture a quick shot of Fairey himself, in the process.

 

Back Again to The Blue Willow, Just Down from CB's

Here’s a quick follow-up to my last post on the subject in August.

Much as with love, it seems the things you really want only reveal themselves to you when you’re not actually searching for them. In this romantic fashion, another tantalizing morsel about the long-lost Blue Willow on Broadway at Bleecker Street recently dropped out of the sky, and I thought I’d share it here.

It’s usually at this point in the narrative that I point out how strenuously niche this particular concern is, and how I normally doubt anyone is as beguiled as I am by the subject. But upon posting that last entry about it, longtime friend/reader of the blog, Was Proxy, nicely wrote in to share that the Blue Willow had been the location of the first date he had with the woman who later became his wife. I’m taking that as a sign.

In any case, prompted by the recent release of the the 40th anniversary edition of If I Die, I Die by the Virgin Prunes (which I wrote about recently here … and yes, I bought it, making it the fucking fifth iteration I’ve actually bought of this album), I’d been trawling around on the internet looking for pics of the first time I ever saw Gavin Friday perform live, that being from within the iconic confines of CBGB in November of 1989. As long as we’re talking anniversaries, I should note that this past week was evidently the 49th anniversary of the opening of that fabled club. Don’t bother telling Gavin Friday that, though. My biggest takeaway from that evening, beyond it being a brilliant performance — his solo debut, was his remark from the stage about how underwhelmed he was by the stark reality that CBGB genuinely was just a grotty hole in the wall. What exactly had he been expecting?

Anyway, I didn’t take any pictures that night, mostly because I didn’t bring my big, bulky camera (which, as some of you’ll remember, in 1989, was still the only means of capturing photographs). I have very specific images in my head about the show, but have always hoped to find some photographic documentation of the gig. But I’ve always come up empty in that search….

…until today … kinda.

Simply by typing in “Gavin Friday” and “CBGB,” this morning, up popped a link on Google for a website called Concert Archives. While the entry for the gig in question is pretty threadbare, it did contain two images, ironically uploaded by a friend of mine — Greg Fasolino. More about him in a second.

Greg uploaded two sides of a postcard from Island Records that was mailed out in November of 1989 as a special invitation to the gig. Now, during this time, I was still a luckless intern at SPIN (as recently discussed here), and had not yet wormed my way into the good graces of various record-company publicists around town who’d put me on promotional lists like the one Greg was on. That would all come later, but at the time, I’d simply heard about the gig by word of mouth and paid at the door (with my friend Rob B.) for entry.

But the postcard is a puzzle, and I’ll explain why. Here’s the front…

…and here’s the back.

Two things struck me about this. First up, you’ll see that following that November 14th performance at CB’s, there was actually an afterparty just down the fucking street at, appropriately enough, the Blue Willow (which, if you’ve not caught up in your reading, thus far, was the location of the cover shot of Gavin’s debut solo album, Each Man Kills the Thing He Loves, Here that is again.

I didn’t know that, at the time, as I hadn’t gotten a special invitation postcard like Greg had. Moreover, I wouldn’t make the connection between the Blue Willow and Each Man Kills… (as first recounted in my debut post on the subject) until friggin’ 2013. Had I known, I’d have gone down to meet the great man and the significance of the venue would have dawned on me, but `twas not to be. If memory serves, after the show, Rob B. and I repaired to CB’s 313 Gallery next door for beers and I sprang for my first black CBGB shirt, which amazingly still fits today, although it’s currently buried in a drawer in my mom’s house out in Quogue.

But the puzzle is as follows: This postcard is advertising Gavin Friday’s first-ever performance at CBGB in November of 1989. Figuratively turn the card over to the picture side, and you see a shot of Gavin performing next to a cellist, appended with the legend: “Gavin Friday Onstage at CBGB. Photo by Paraic Finnegan.” Has anyone figured out the discrepancy, yet?

How can there be a picture of Gavin allegedly performing at CBGB on an invitation to what would have then been his first-ever performance at CBGB?

Before you recommend it, yes, I’ve started searching for more info on photographer Paraic Finnegan, although my hopes for success are not high.

There is, of course, the possibility that the two images Greg uploaded are NOT from the same postcard. * ADDENDUM: SCROLL DOWN

In later years, I would go onto interview Gavin Friday at the the home of his publicist, then on White Street in TriBeCa, and would go onto see him perform live at Sin-E on St. Marks Place, The Bottom Line on 4th Street and the Westbeth Theatre on Bank Street. As of late 2022, along with CBGB and CB’s 313 Gallery, all of those live-music venues are gone.

Gavin Friday went onto release a string of great solo albums and soundtracks and spent many years being creative consultant to his pals in U2. His most recent project involves writing music for a forthcoming documentary on volatile figurative painter, Francis Bacon. I’m looking forward to that.

As for Greg Fasolino, Greg and I walked very parallel paths. I think he might be a couple of years older than myself, but he was a regular face at many of the same gigs and same anglophilic record shops around town. He also worked for a while at a music magazine called Reflex, which was kind of the rival indie periodical to the one I latched onto while at SPIN, that being the New York Review of Records. Don’t bother looking for either mag today, but that’s a long saga in itself. In any case, Greg and I found each other again on social media, probably a decade ago or so, and have been friends ever since.

In terms of the Blue Willow, meanwhile, as mentioned on that previous post, the douchey menswear concern that previously occupied that lofty space vacated some time ago. The ground-floor space previously occupied by Atrium, KITH and probably several other ventures after The Blue Willow today remains dormant and papered up. But, in walking by that corner the other day, I noticed some rips in the paper and got out my phone, heartened to see that the stately marble trimming that Gavin Friday posed near all those years ago can still be seen…

I also found this. Should have a spare several million dollars lying around, why not treat yourself to a luxury apartment in the building in question (644 Broadway)... they're ....uhhh... quite nice, as you'll see. 

 

More on Gavin Friday & the Blue Willow on Flaming Pablum:

Searching For The Blue Willow

The Blue Willow is Dead

Ghosts of The Blue Willow

Back to The Blue Willow

*ADDENDUM: Shortly after publishing this post, I shared it on Facebook, where Greg Fasolino swiftly replied:

I can clarify all, my friend. The live image is not connected to the postcard at all. It’s a clip from a local NYC Irish-culture newspaper “The Irish Echo.” You can see me in the bottom right of image, watching Gavin perform while sitting at the front table at CBGB.

P.S. I also interned at Spin in 1986-87 and wrote for New (York) Review of Records as well circa 1993-95.

Here's the picture from The Irish Echo, and that is indeed Greg sitting in the very front. The question, then, remains -- what was on the front of the postcard?  Funny you should ask. Greg shared that, too. It's the naked couple from the album cover: 

 

Lastly, here is Greg's own interview with Gavin Friday for the aforementioned Reflex, recorded just two months prior to the gig at CBGB:

Bye-Bye, Blondie, Hello ... Bad Brains?

Walking down the Bowery about a half-hour ago, I looked over at the corner of Bleecker Street and noticed that Debbie Harry's fabled visage was nowhere to be seen. Shephard Fairey's Blondie mural has been replaced by a slick patina of mustard yellow paint. I strolled over and asked the guy with the brush "What's next?" His answer was "BAD BRAINS!"