Flaming Pablum

Point It at Daniel Ek Deux: The Hitchcock Kibosh?

In the wake of posting my curious Spotify quandary yesterday, I reached out to a number of different folks -– one a former colleague who now works within the Spotify organization. That individual didn’t immediately know what the answer was, but vowed to “look into it.”

Another colleague of mine, meanwhile, used to work for a indie label to which Robyn was fleetingly signed and has remained somewhat in touch with the great man. She said she’d fly the story by him, but he’s allegedly notorious for taking ages to answer texts and emails (which isn’t entirely surprising). That said, I have faith that he will eventually respond to her, so watch this space for that.

On top of all that, however, a regular reader named S. Norman (a cheeky allusion to a fabled Monty Python sketch involving a gargantuan hedgehog named “Spiny Norman”) helpfully wrote in with a very plausible explanation -– that it’s all Robyn’s doing.

Spiny cited two bits of evidence to back up his theory, the first being this 2020 Tweet from Robyn himself…

And the other being the following passage from this Brooklyn Vegan piece from August of that same year…

Robyn Hitchcock, who has been selling his paintings online to supplement income he would've made touring, says he's actively trying to get all his music off of Spotify and other similar services. "Needless to say, once I’ve clarified the digital distribution situation with my former label, all my past recordings and those of the Soft Boys that we have control of will be removed from exploitative streaming services."

Hitchcock's partner, Emma Swift (whose music is not on Spotify), broke the situation down with Robyn as the example. "Some math, brought you by hacking into @RobynHitchcock’s Spotify for Artists app. Based on these stats, RH would bring in 1.4 million streams per year. Which is about 5600 dollars. 50 percent which gets paid to his record label. In Robyn’s case, he is a prolific artist with more than 20 albums on there. He’s written over 500 songs. It has been his full-time job for 40 + years. He’s been playing guitar since before Daniel Ek was born. Mr Ek seems to think Robyn and artists like him don’t work hard enough. Record labels have made Mr Ek believe artists are utterly replaceable, when the fact is each artist is unique and special. We’re not iPhones. We have individual talents and gifts to offer." She adds that with an artist like Robyn, who had been on major and independent labels, getting off streaming services is not as easy as pushing a button. "It’s not as easy for signed musicians to boycott."

With all this in mind, I’d suggest that Robyn sounds like he’s in the process of doing all in his power keep his new music off Spotify and to remove all the music of his that’s already accessible there. That might conceivably include putting impediments towards his songs being put in playlists, right? Sounds possible. 

Personally speaking, while that somewhat thwarts my original intention of turning my son onto Robyn’s vast catalog of unique and vibrant music, I am 100% in support of Robyn’s position here. To further put my money where my very big mouth is, I’m also endeavoring to indoctrinate my burgeoning-music-fan son into the faith of the tactile artifact. With my daughter now sequestered back at college, I’ve offered to exhume from storage a portable turntable I bought a couple of years back at a school auction, set it up on his temporarily absent sister’s desk (they share a room) and give him full access to my unwieldy collection of vinyl LPs.

Once again, fuck Spotify.

Point It at Daniel Ek: My Mysterious Spotify Quandary

As previously mentioned, while I abhor the platform in question, I've started using Spotify more often, lately, as a means of evangelizing music to my kids. Charlotte doesn't really give a rat's ass, but Oliver's been fairly receptive, thus far. In any case, I started making him a playlist the other day of one of my favorite songwriters who's coming to town in a few weeks and who we hope to go see perform live. He's got a sprawling catalog, so it took a little while, but before I could complete it and send the link to Oliver, I got a “takedown notification” email saying: "We have found the following content to be in violation of our content policies, and we have removed it. Please see our Spotify Terms and Conditions of Use for more information."

Now, while it’s certainly true that I’m an avowed fan of several bands who trade in the brazenly objectionable, this was not a playlist packed with selections by naughty bands like the Revolting Cocks, Cop Shoot Cop, the Murder Junkies, Butthole Surfers, Pussy Galore or the Strangulated Beatoffs – this was simply a collection of songs by British singer/songwriter Robyn Hitchcock.

At first, I assumed this was a scam, but then sure enough, I looked at my Spotify account, and the title of the playlist had vanished. The playlist itself was still there, but there was a blank space where my title had been. I had called it– oh so imaginatively -– Robyn Hitchcock for Oliver. Beyond the fact that the word "cock" happens to appear as part of Robyn's surname (and, yes, it’s his actual name – no relation to Alfred), I cannot imagine what the problem might be.

As they’d voided that playlist title, however, I assumed that that was indeed the case, so I simply re-titled the playlist as Robyn H for Oliver. This morning, however, I woke to *another* takedown notice with the same reprimand. I mean, seriously, Spotify, what the actual fuck?

I perused the Terms and Conditions of Use page, but nothing really jumped out at me. While taste is all relative, I can roundly assure you that nothing in Robyn Hitchcock’s catalog – either with his bands The Soft Boys, The Egyptians or as a solo act – is really anything anyone could genuinly consider offensive, unless whimsical psychedelia and surrealist wit are now considered obscene.

Then, I consiered another explanation – however abjectly ridiculous. The opening track on my playlist is a Robyn rarity that I’d first heard on the great man’s collection of “leftovers and outtakes” called Invisible Hitchcock. Incidentally, don’t bother looking for Invisible Hitchcock on Spotify as, like these awesome nine albums, they don’t seem to have it, but that’s another matter entirely. While not the version I’d first to come to love, I used the version from the I Wanna Go Backwards box set of a song called “Point It at Gran.”

Is that what’s bugging Spotify? Do they deem that title as too aggressive or triggering?

Listen to it and you tell me if this is worthy of a takedown notice that says I violated their terms of service. The offending playlist, meanwhile, can be experienced beneath. You'll notice it has no title. Enjoy, if possible. 

Coming Up....

Just some visual hints about some upcoming content....

Recent Record Roundup

Just to step away from NYC crime, for the moment (until there’s another development), I thought I’d let you know what I’m currently grooving to, or trying to groove to, as the case may be … like anyone cares.

Moonage Daydream – A Brett Morgen Film
Someone gave me a Barnes & Noble gift card over Christmas, but I already have a leaning tower of books I’ve yet to crack open on my bedside table, so I decided to blow it on compact discs -- `cos, y’know, I still buy those, and you can bite me if you’ve got a problem with that, etc. etc.

Incidentally, I don’t know if you’ve checked out the music section of your nearest Barnes & Noble, lately, but proceedings are sort of in “circling the drain” mode at the ones near me (specifically the one on Greenwich Street above the TriBeca Whole Foods and the flagship on Union Square). There’s a load of marked-down titles, but it doesn’t look like they’re stocking anything else beyond only the newest/biggest releases – so, y’know, if you go looking for anything obscure, I’d suggest that you ain’t gonna find it there.

In any case, with that in mind, my options were pretty threadbare, but I did spot this on the New Release rack and instantly snapped it up. I mean, I’m pretty much the sort of guy who’ll pick up anything with the name Bowie on it, so why not? With a gift card, the price was certainly right, know what I’m sayin’?

The crucial conflict here, however, is that while I had every intention of seeing the film from whence this soundtrack sprang (a purportedly lavish, immersive and not-especially-linear doc about the great man shot in retina-immolating high-definition IMAX yadda yadda yadda), but …. I didn’t get around to it in time. Yeah, I know it’s now available for streaming and all that, but I kinda wanted to get the whole IMAX experience, but `twasn’t to be. As such, I approached these two discs cold, without any frame of reference as to how the music thereupon is utilized in the film. I mean … should that matter?

Regardless, this sprawling collection was somewhat reminscent, to me, of that Love project by the Beatles, which acted as the soundtrack to an ambitious Circque du Soleil production in Las Vegas back in 2006. Tracks are re-imagined/remixed and sewn together in an artfully atmospheric and uninterrupted sequence that, I’m assuming, mirrors how they’re used in the movie. Unlike the Love album, though, there’s a great trove of live material interspersed thoughout.

In many instances, I found myself yearning to hear whole songs instead of edited mixes or snippets of medleys, but I guess that’s not the point. Maybe that same grievance can be aimed at the film? Can’t speak to that, yet.

Overall, I’m sure there are some transcendent bits buried across these discs, but again – the package ultimately seems meant as a souvenir from the movie, and not a “proper” collection of songs. Maybe I should see the movie, eh?

Every Loser by Iggy Pop
While I’ll still continue to maintain that Iggy is the greatest living American, I can’t say I was especially optimistic going into this record, which I picked up with the Bowie soundtrack via that Barnes & Noble gift card … how fitting, right?

Six years ago, Iggy teamed up with Josh Homme of Queens of the Stone Age and recorded what I believe was meant to be his swan song, that being the excellent Post Pop Depression. But once Ig wrapped up the tour for that well-received record, it seems he was suddenly swayed from his retirement plans. His next move was Free, wherein he tried to shake off shackles of the rock he'd become associated with in favor of a more experimental series of collaborations that he just put his (still formidable) voice atop. It did alright, but didn’t set the world on fire.

Now comes Every Loser which finds the greatest living American seemingly attempting to re-assert his mojo and maybe score another big hit (a feat he really hasn’t matched since 1990’s “Candy,” which I frankly fucking hated). Recruiting wunderkind pop producer Andrew Watt to helm the project and roping in accomplished-if-predictable big name players like Duff McKagan, Dave Navarro, Stone Gossard, Eric Avery, Chad Smith, Travis Barker and the late Taylor Hawkins, among others, Every Loser (everytime I type that, my hands type Easy Lover), has all the earmarks of “big rock record.” To his credit, the actual sound on this record crackles with life and sonic depth. Fresh from a similar job for the comparably iconic Ozzy Osbourne, Watt’s made a great leap from producing poppy piffle bullshit music like Bebe Rexha, Post Malone, Lana Del Ray and Justin Bieber to working with bona fide rock gods, which might have been his intention all along. In that respect, Watt’s taken these eleven songs and done a great job with them. High marks to the boy.

That said, something’s missing here, for me. Where Iggy sounded genuine back on Post Pop Depression, I can’t help from feeling that this record sounds a bit forced. There are too many throwaway one-liners and dumb cliches (at their worst on “Neo Punk” and big single, “Frenzy”). None of it is necessarily bad, per se, but I just don’t envision myself returning to it all that often. Suffice to say, there isn’t anything here that can touch any of the work that first established Iggy Pop as the icon he became (although, to be fair, I doubt anyone was expecting there to be). I would make a case for a few tracks off of, once again, Post Pop Depression to be worthy of the great man’s legacy, but there’s none of that here. If I had to pick one song, I’d suggest that “Strung Out Johnny” (about his ol’ pal Johnny Thunders, mayhaps?) is the album’s strongest track, but y’know … it ain’t exactly “The Passenger” (…or even “Run Like a Villain” or “I’m Bored,” etc.)

Gift by The Sisterhood
Long promised from British indie label Cadiz Music, I was under the mistaken impression that this was the first time this 1986 EP was released on compact disc, but that turned out not to be the case, although it has been out of print for eons. I still have the cassette version from the original release that I bought back in college.

For those not familiar, this record was less of a band project and more of an emphatic middle finger from Sisters of Mercy main-man Andrew Eldritch to his duplicitous former bandmates Wayne Hussey and Craig Adams. Having jumped ship during attempts to record the follow-up to their 1985 masterpiece, First and Last and Always, Hussey and Adams immediately formed a new band and started making plans to stick it to their fomer boss. Eldritch rightly felt their new collective moniker was a tad too close to the definite article, so immediately sprang into action, recording Gift (which means “poison” in German, don’tcha know) with a string of notable recruits (among them Alan Vega from Suicide and James Ray from James Ray’s Gangwar and fleeting Motorhead drummer Lucas Fox, although he only provides recitation, not percussion). Because of contractual obligations to his major label, Eldritch himself allegedly does not sing a note on Gift, but I can’t help thinking he’s not-so-secretly buried in there somewhere.

Anyway, Eldritch rush-released Gift out on his own Merciful Release records to stymie Hussey and Adams’ plans. In turn, they simply reverted to a new name -- The Mission (another nod to their former allegiance, given that the aborted record was intended to be called Left on Mission and Revenge) and jolly well became a proper entity in their own right.

Thirty-seven years after its initial release, how does Gift sound? Well, again, it was never meant to be a Sisters of Mercy album, but while essentialy comprised of (mostly) filler, there are some great, elegiac moments herein. In between a string of electronic instrumentals, there is the solid single “Giving Ground,” to recommend it, the vocals being handled by suitably overwrought James Ray. Beyond that, most of the other tracks just plod on too long, although I will always like the deliberately ponderous funeral march that is “Rain From Heaven.”

Ultimately, Gift is more a curious artifact for completists than essential listening, but having played the fuck out of it back in college (subjecting the long-suffering listenership of my college radio station to tireless airings of “Giving Ground”), I felt I should own it on disc at last. One major grievance, however, is that the sonic assembly of this package is woefully slapdash, with “Rain from Heaven” simply cutting off before the song ends, as if to suggest that no one at Cadiz Music thought to give it a listen before it was released.

Odd, that.

ADDENDUM: Just a point of clarification, lest I mislead any readers. I procured the Sisterhood disc directly via Cadiz Music, and NOT at Barnes & Noble, who wouldn't know their Sisters of Mercy from their Sister Sledge. Secondly, over the course of a very long walk around the Upper West Side and Central Park, today, I listened again to the Moonage Daydream soundtrack in its sprawling entirety and, as a single work, it holds up very well.

Assault in Greenwich Village III: Another Update

The New York Post ran a story yesterday, appended with a photo of the "suspect." And so did CBS, who provide intel about two other comparable attacks in the neighborhood, diminishing my doorman's theory that the maroon-hooded rage bro was after the victim's bag and more that he was just beating him up for the sake of beating him up. 

Be on the lookout, folks!

 

Assault in Greenwich Village: Update

Just circling back on this one. As I lamented at the tail-end of that post, the frustrating thing about witnessing that attack on Saturday afternoon, is that I’ll probably never get the whole story. The middle-aged victim (I should probably come up with another name of him) purportedly lives on my street, somewhere. I actually saw one of my fellow “good Samaritans” just yesterday, but he looked to be in a hurry, so I didn’t engage.

A doorman in my building, meanwhile, said he and the super took a look at the video from the security camera aimed at the down-sloping driveway adjacent to my building where the maroon-hooded assailant sprang out of. By his account, the video shows the attacker sitting with his back against the westerly-wall, sort of readying himself, the narrative being, then, that his target wasn’t chosen so much as simply the unlucky person who was next to be walking by. According to my doorman, maroon-hooded assailant guy went right for the middle-aged victim’s bag, so it does look to have been an attempted robbery (and not just a random attack without clear motive). My doorman also feels that the reason the middle-aged guy got beaten so badly was because he was trying to simply hold on to his bag, as opposed to letting the guy have it or dropping it and fighting back. His arms were engaged by trying to keep his belongings and, thus, could not cover his face or punch back. I’m more inclined to suggest that he was probably just in complete shock that it was happening that he didn’t know how to react, but whatever.

Thus far, I have yet to learn any further details about the status of either the victim or the assailant.

At the risk of being coy, I should point out that all this happened on East 9th Street between Broadway and University Place, a comparatively sleepy stretch of predominantly residential buildings, bookended by Knickerbocker’s Bar & Grill at the western end and a Bean coffee shop at the eastern end.

Vaguely related, here’s a birds-eye view of the westerly portion at University Place looking north. This was shot in 1939 by one Marion Post Wolcott and evidently appears in the book “Around Washington Square” by Luther Harris. Suffice to say, it looks pretty different today. 

Any Feedback?

I’ve often remarked that, much like my Istagram page, I’d continue to log “content” on this blog whether anyone was reading it or not. For better or worse, this blog is as much for my own enjoyment as anyone else’s. The fact that I seem to have earned some regular readers is a contstant source of joy and amazement to me. Thanks for that!

That all said, the comments section has been pretty quiet, of late (apart from some entries from my dependable friend Howard). I’d love to hear from some more of you.

Are there some stories you’d rather read more about than others? Are there any entries you’d want me to revisit or update? Are there any topics you never want to see addressed here again? Any burning quesitons? Any nagging osbservations you’ve been dying to submit?

Now is your chance.

Some years back, I had to adjust the settings on the comments section, as I was getting routinely bombarded with some trolly remarks (usually involving political content). After a while of that, I felt I needed to do some filtering and vet comments before they appeared here, although I was not happy to have to do it. 

Just as a lark -- and I may soon deeply regret doing this -- I’m going to turn those filters off, so feel free to express yourselves. Bear in mind that I’m under no obligation to keep any impending comment posted if it’s filled with potty-mouthed invective or nasty personal attacks. But I want to encourage feedback, so have at it.

Assault in Greenwich Village

Just witnessed something kind of amazing, and not in a positive way.

Sitting at my dining room table, this afternoon, typing up a silly blog post (specifically this one), I suddenly heard a commotion from the street below. I got up and peered down from my five-story window to see a somewhat heavy-set, middle-aged guy (not unlike, say, myself) getting assaulted by a bigger dude in a maroon hooded sweatshirt in the middle of the street. “Help, help, police,” the middle-aged guy shouted, but next thing you know, he was down on his back, with maroon-hoodie guy absolutely whaling on him, punching him repeatedly and emphatically in the face. Within seconds however, he stopped… bolted back to the sidewalk, paused for a second, and then sprinted off to the east and out of sight, while middle-aged guy was left dazed and bloodied in the path of oncoming traffic.

I put my sneakers on and dashed downstairs. A registered nurse who’d witnessed the whole thing from the far side of the street was already helping the guy up and to the relative safety of the curb, while other good samaritans gathered to help however they could. Someone called 911. I joined in and relayed what I saw while we collectively waited for the police and ambulance to arrive.

Evidently, the maroon-hooded assailant just sprang out of the down-sloping driveway just to the east of my building and attacked. He didn’t take anything. The middle-aged guy’s phone and wallet were still on his person. One fast-thinking man across the street managed to capture an image of the maroon-hooded assailant in mid-flight, and even got a partial shot of the guy’s face, which is pretty remarkable.

A couple who said they were neighbors of the victim arrived, and the wife immediately took off to go look after this guy’s poor kids, who he’d evidently left at home alone while he popped to the store to get some groceries. He was completely dazed and quite possibly in shock, and his face was severely beaten — lots of swelling around his eye-socket and blood pouring out of his nostrils. None of us could determine whether maroon-hoodie guy had a motive, but middle-aged guy said he didn’t recognize him. What’s odd is that the attack just seemed so visceral and, well, personal.

I scrambled back to my building and briefly relayed what I learned to our super, who said he’d look at the security camera that is aimed at the driveway the maroon-guy purportedly sprang out of.

I rejoined the gaggle and relayed what I knew to the police, who’d finally arrived. And then that was pretty much that.

The frustrating part of this is that I’ll probably never find out the fruition of this story — why the attack happened, what the motivation was, whether they catch the assailant, etc.

But it’s left us a bit shaken up — to see a brazen  -- and seemingly random -- attack in broad daylight (just before 4pm) right in front of our home.

Be careful out there, my friends.

Bad Brains Mural Sullied by Awful ‘Screamo’ Band

It’s been less than a month since Shepard Fairey completed his Bad Brains mural over on Bleecker & Bowery, and it’s already been (slightly) defaced. I guess it was inevitable (Debbie Harry’s portrait suffered similar indignities), but really… so soon?

I noticed it this afternoon while out for a brisk walk in the January chill. Pasted just above H.R.’s fist was a flyer which has since been diligently removed, but the blemish on the paint remains.

As it turns out, the befouling flyer is the work of a so-called “screamo” band called … inexplicably … Olth. How do I know this? Well, they put an identical flyer up just a block or two up the Bowery. You can see that below.

Notice how bits of the yellow U and O in the “FUCK YOU” at the bottom remain? It’s the same flyer.

In any case, a bit of Googling reveals that Olth is indeed a band, albeit not an especially good one. But, again, as a fiercely opinionated 55-year-old curmudgeon, I’m the last person who should be opining about the merits of “screamo.” Maybe they’re the bee’s knees? Who knows ? If you're curious, you can see some footage of Olth performing live at Otto's Shrunken Head from back this past November. Also, their guitarist's Instagram page can be found here. 

Regardless of their strenuously arguable prowess as a band -- screamo or otherwise -- and irrespective of their feelings for Shepard Fairey, FUCK YE NOT WITH BAD BRAINS!

The Sounds of "After Hours": Redux

By this point, my adoration for Martin Scorsese’s “After Hours” from 1985 hasn’t so much been established as it has been beaten into bloody submission and into the cold, hard ground. What more, might you rightly ask, could I possibly have to say about it?

Well, the more patient among you might remember a post from way back in 2010, wherein I attempted to cull together all the music from both Howard Shore’s score and the various songs that should have otherwise appeared on the soundtrack album (which was never released). I put those up as YouTube clips and, as such, many of them are no longer live. With that, I thought an update was in order -- so here we are.

While I continue to bash Spotify at every opportunity, I did take advantage of the platform yet again (ooh, that warm smell of hickory-smoked hypocrisy) to build the following playlist, which showcases as much of the film’s original sounds as I could track down.

I say as much of because there is one key selection from the (again, non-existent) soundtrack of “After Hours” that is crucially missing. Somewhat ironically, it’s by an artist that, if I’m being honest, I fucking hate -– that being Joni Mitchell.

Some might remember the kerfuffle in January of 2022 when, in what seemed at the time like a bold act of defiance, iconic rocker Neil Young dramatically strippped his music off Spotify in protest of the platform’s continuing support of the irresponsible-idiocy-espounsing Joe Rogan. I wrote about it here and here, should you care. In a show of solidarity, meanwhile, some of Neil’s famous pals like Crosby, Stills & Nash and, once again, Joni Mitchell followed suit and removed their catalogs from Spotify, too. It seemed like legions of artist were poised to do the same and hit the preeminent streaming platform where it really hurts, but… they didn’t. Spotify, for their part, decided that Joe Rogan was more valauble that Neil Young & pals, to their business, and basically said “Suit yourselves, fuck-o's.”

Very quietly, after a short while, some of Neil’s music and pretty much all of CSN’s music sneakily crept back onto the platform. But did Joni blink? LIKE FUCK SHE DID! Joni Mitchell may make music that routinely sends me scrambling for the remote, but ya gotta respect the great lady for that.

Anyway, blah blah blah, as a heroic result, I cannot put “Chelsea Morning” on my “After Hours” playlist because, like all of these albums, you just can’t get it on fuckin' Spotify. I suppose I could use Neil Diamond’s version, but, really, no one will benefit from that.

So, for those of you besotted with the minutia of all things “After Hours” as I am, please enjoy The Sounds of ‘After Hours’ below.

Incidentally, the amazing poster up top is an alternative iteration I’d never seen before. I would slap that shit in a frame faster than you could say “Surrender, Dorothy!,” if it were up to me. I found on this site – check it out.