Flaming Pablum

The Last Day of the Year

Try as I might, I really don’t have anything especially deep or profound to say about the final day of 2024. Whatever grievances you might still be harboring about proceedings during the past twelve months, I’d suggest it’s safe to say that, given the circumstances, what lies ahead probably stands a very great chance of being considerably worse. But, y’know, we’ll see.

For my part, it was a somewhat tempestuous holiday season, so I’m more or less glad we’re at the tail end of it. I ended up catching the Christmas fumes, so to speak, and overcompensated in the gift-giving department, if only to stave off a few other pervasive narratives that were threatening to overtake and sour the holiday. But, everyone got through it without any major tumult.

Speaking of overdoing it, I also feel that the time is nigh to give the ol’ “Dry January” another whirl. Yes, I know — laugh it up. Peruse through the December posts here going back several years, and you’ll doubtlessly discover myriad posts wherein I vowed to scale back and get through the entirety of the month without deviating, only to abandon the program only a scant couple of weeks — or in some instances only a few days — into it.

This year is different in that, given that my feet are still giving me a lot of problems (in a nutshell, my left foot is in a perpetual state of numbness, while my right foot is starting to replicate its counterpart). My primary care physician and my podiatrist only speculate vaguely about it, but assure me that, at the very least, it’s not gout. Gout, as I understand it, is comparatively very pronounced (i.e. really painful). This could be any number of things … a spinal issue, nerve damage, peripheral neuropathy and, if you Google it, several other dispiriting warning signs of potential problems. In any case, as I understand it, there’s a longstanding correlation between foot issues and alcohol consumption, so I’m curious to see if swearing off the stuff makes any difference. Watch this space.

But we’re not there, just yet. As the Specials used to sing, although they certainly didn’t write it, enjoy yourself … it’s later than you think.

See you of the other side.

Mariah Can Shove It

Merry Christmas Eve from Flaming Pablum

22 Years Gone

Where is Joe when we need him?

Fragments of New York'a Punky Past: Exhuming The Testors

In much the same way I described their peers in the Tuff Darts, The Testors were yet another band from the inaugural class of CBGB who — for whatever reason — failed to vault themselves out of anonymity and into the history books in the same manner as compatriots bands like The Cramps, The Dead Boys and their more celebrated ilk.

Why that is remains the case something of a mystery, as the Testors — led by vocalist/guitarist Sonny Vincent — pretty much checked all the right boxes. Boasting a sharp look and a taut, edgy sound, the band was a regular fixture at both Max’s Kansas City and CBGB when both venues would have been in full punky bloom. Regardless, despite regularly performing around town and even cutting their own vinyl, the Testors pulled the plug, in 1981, after seven years. Sonny Vincent went onto other things, and the Testors even fleetingly reunited in 2011 for a gig at the Delancey in the shadow of the Williamsburg Bridge, but they never really got their due, to my mind. In 2024, theirs is a name seemingly shared only by pedantic purists, record collectors and greying punk veterans.

Be that as it may, my excellent comrade Jeremiah Moss (he of Vanishing New York fame and now a rightfully celebrated author) made what I’d consider an incredible discovery. Lifted respectfully from his Instagram page, here’s JW’s preamble…

Sometimes, the past is revealed behind a demolished facade. A gorgeous find, as I came across these vintage 1970s posters stuck to a pair of old doors at NYU. One is for the Testors (a 70s punk band formed by @sonnyvincent77) at Max’s Kansas City (!)…

Check out Jeremiah’s pics below.

I dream of happening upon stuff like this, so hats off to Jeremiah, once again. It should be noted that this isn’t the first time he’s uncovered something like this.

In any case, you can see the full original flyer in the clip below, as well as a slew of other images from the Testors’ brief tenure.

Crank it up.

Back into The Light: Light of Eternity Returns with Aftershock

I remember remarking, during the — good lord, I really hate that I have to qualify this — first fucking Trump administration, that the solitary silver lining was that maybe — just maybe — we’d get some new, galvanizing protest music out of the debacle. I looked forward to hearing the same spirit of uncompromising, invective-laden fury that fueled much of the anti-Reagan/anti-Thatcher hardcore and post-punk of the `80s. Surely, this brazen new level of fatuous corruption, proudly incurious idiocy and thinly-veiled avarice would spark that same vein of rage. But with the possible exception of maybe Dead Cross and YG & Nipsey Hussle, all the world really got was a steady diet of Ed Sheeran, Bruno Mars and Taylor Swift.*

One could depressingly argue that, given the state of popular culture’s dependency on new technology and social media, music no longer serves the same purpose that it did in that comparatively simpler era. By and large, the popular songs of today don’t so much reflect our reality so much as obfuscate and distract from our reality, readily reducing themselves to background entertainment and fodder for inane TikTok clips. Music as a vehicle for expression of dissent, release and emotional catharsis? Try getting that from Sabrina Carpenter.

Mercifully, there are still exceptions to the rule. Back with their second EP in seven months, Light of Eternity (L.O.E., for short) returns here in mid-December with Aftershock, another four-fisted faceful of songs that arrive with all the cheery delicacy of a plutonium-coated sugar plum. Those expecting a clutch of holiday covers are in for a bumpy Christmas morning.

Retaining the oomph and urgency of their debut EP from last June (which I rapturously wrote about here), this new pack of tracks finds the trio stretching out a bit more, adding different textures to their expanse of sound. But when the band leans into their attack, each member brings the full assertive palette of their abilities to the table. Fred Schreck’s sonorous vocals remain as strikingly elastic as on the debut. On guitar detail, Pauly Williams continues to open up his arsenal, showcasing a penchant for thick, melodic lines, hefty riffs, rafter-shaking power chords and a tenacious chug. As ever, Big Paul Ferguson drums like a man driven by a pronounced sense of purpose.

That purpose speaks to my earlier lamentation. Somewhere between wake-up call, scathing screed and venomous rejoinder, the whole of the Aftershock EP is essentially a reflection of the times and topically rooted in defiance of a doomy dystopia. For those paying attention, this record couldn’t be more well-timed, as the world teeters nervously on the precipice of the next four years. No punches are pulled, no quarter is given and no prisoners are taken.

It would be a bit disingenuous to argue that the spirit of Killing Joke, Ferguson's legendary band whose sudden suspension in the wake of the tragic passing of guitarist Geordie Walker last year, doesn’t palpably reside in this music, and, indeed, a nation of KJ fans will doubtlessly find much to savor in this new EP.

But in as much as the sensibility and certain genetic elements of the Joke inform proceedings, make no mistake — L.O.E. is very much its own band and its own entity. Aftershock is another bracing demonstration of this trio's expanding abilities, and bodes exceptionally well for a future musical oeuvre that will serve as a nourishing, emotional catalyst for refusal and resistance. Find it on Bandcamp and celebrate accordingly. 

*I fully realize this is something of a sweeping generalization.

Leaving So Soon, 2024?

It's hard to fathom that we're here, already, but the end of 2024 is nigh. What lies ahead might look pretty grim, but before we delve into all that, I thought I'd take a final look back at the last 12 months and dust off this old thing. Here we go...

WHAT DID YOU DO IN 2024 THAT YOU’D NEVER DONE BEFORE?
I appeared in a documentary about record collecting and record-store culture produced and directed by the niece of a great friend of mine. You can watch it here.

DID YOU KEEP YOUR NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS, AND WILL YOU MAKE MORE FOR 2025?
I don’t believe I made any, thus did not keep any, but this year, I’m sworn to complete Dry January. Watch this space.

DID ANYONE CLOSE TO YOU GIVE BIRTH?
Not that I recall, no.

DID ANYONE CLOSE TO YOU DIE?
The mother of a friend of mine passed away, not too long back.

WHAT COUNTRIES DID YOU VISIT?
France, Scotland, and Ireland.

WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO HAVE IN 2025 THAT YOU LACKED IN 2024?
Greater will-power.

WHAT DATE FROM 2024 WILL REMAIN ETCHED UPON YOUR MEMORY?
Well, let’s face it, Election Day was a swift kick in the groin that most folks aren’t going to forget any time soon.

WHAT WAS YOUR BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT OF THE YEAR?
Staying tenuously sane, married, and somewhat gainfully employed.

WHAT WAS YOUR BIGGEST FAILURE?
Again, I feel I am personally undisciplined and am still a slave to bad habits. I am endeavoring to rectify that.

DID YOU SUFFER ILLNESS OR INJURY?
I continue to grapple with foot issues. Adopting Hokas has certainly helped, but I’m still experiencing regular numbness, which is pronouncedly disconcerting.

WHAT WAS THE BEST THING YOU BOUGHT?
Ummm… probably that pair of wide-toe Bondi 8 Hokas. They don’t look especially stylish (to me), but they’ve made walking considerably less uncomfortable.

WHOSE BEHAVIOR MERITED CELEBRATION?
My children continue to thrive at their respective schools. I could not be prouder.

WHOSE BEHAVIOR MADE YOU APPALLED AND DEPRESSED?
The 76.9 million who put Trump back in office.

WHAT DID YOU GET REALLY, REALLY EXCITED ABOUT?
In a bad way, the election.

WHERE DID MOST OF YOUR MONEY GO?
This year, probably airfare.

WHAT SONG WILL ALWAYS REMIND YOU OF 2024?
Probably “The Silence That Remains” by The Horrors.

COMPARED TO THIS TIME LAST YEAR, ARE YOU HAPPIER OR SADDER?
Now that we’re empty nesters, I’d say I’m melancholier than I normally am, but I’m sure I’ll adjust to it, in time.

THINNER OR FATTER?
Undoubtedly fatter.

RICHER OR POORER?
Our building’s debilitating assessment came to an end, so I’m doing slightly better than I was at this time, last year.

WHAT DO YOU WISH YOU’D DONE MORE OF?
Being of more attentive, loving assistance to my tirelessly fantastic wife.

WHAT DO YOU WISH YOU’D DONE LESS OF?
Eating, drinking, and spending irresponsibly.

HOW DID YOU SPEND CHRISTMAS?
Hasn’t happened yet, but I expect it will be Christmas Eve at home with the kids, then we head off to my Mom’s place in Quogue for two days. Then we come back and board a train to Pennsylvania to my sister-in-law’s place for another couple of days.

WHO DID YOU SPEND THE MOST TIME ON THE PHONE WITH?
I’ve absolutely no clue.

DID YOU FALL IN LOVE IN 2024?
Only fleetingly with the concept of a brighter tomorrow without a certain public figure impeding everyone’s lives and ruining everything in sight, but unfortunately that individual was re-elected.

HOW MANY ONE-NIGHT STANDS IN THE LAST YEAR?
I’ve been very happily married since 2001, thanks.

WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE TV PROGRAM?
“Slow Horses” continues to be the best goddamn thing on television since the criminally cancelled “Mindhunter.” I was also pleasantly surprised by “Bad Monkey.”

DO YOU HATE ANYONE NOW THAT YOU DIDN’T HATE AT THIS TIME LAST YEAR?
No one new, no.

WHAT WAS THE BEST BOOK YOU READ?
I greatly enjoyed Griffin Dunne’s family memoir, “The Friday Afternoon Club.”

WHAT WAS YOUR GREATEST MUSICAL DISCOVERY?
While most of my favorite music of this year was made by comparatively established names like Gavin Friday, The Horrors, The Cure and Light of Eternity (they’re a new band, but comprised of Big Paul Ferguson of my beloved Killing Joke, Fred Schreck of the Ancients and Pauly Williams of Chaos 8), I did indeed “discover” some brand new bands (or new to me, at least) like Lawns, SPRINTS and the excellently named We Hate You Please Die.

WHAT DID YOU WANT AND GET?
In the wake of the election, I became singularly preoccupied with being able to see my kids and was able to do that when my wife and I flew over at Thanksgiving to spend several days with them at their respective schools.

WHAT DID YOU WANT AND NOT GET?
A markedly different election outcome.

WHAT WERE YOUR FAVORITE FILMS OF THIS YEAR?
If you had suggested that, given the subject matter, I would have been half as engrossed as I was with “Conclave,” I’d have scoffed. Beyond that, I can’t say I watched that many.

WHAT DID YOU DO ON YOUR BIRTHDAY AND HOW OLD WERE YOU?
My wife insisted on us having a few friends over for my birthday, which was nice. I turned 57.

WHAT’S ONE THING THAT WOULD HAVE MADE YOUR YEAR IMMEASURABLY MORE SATISFYING?
Trump’s loss and imprisonment.

HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONAL FASHION CONCEPT IN 2024?
Non-existent.

WHAT KEPT YOU SANE?
The wife and kids.

WHAT CELEBRITY/PUBLIC FIGURE DID YOU FANCY MOST?
I always find this question kind of inappropriate, but the wife and I both concur that CNN’s Abby Philip is quite striking.

WHAT POLITIAL ISSUE STIRRED YOU THE MOST?
Just one? How about the fact that everything across the board is now fucked up beyond repair, and the proposed clown car of Dick Tracy villains vying for cabinet positions doesn’t bode at all well for any semblance of a manageable future devoid of chaos and conflict. But hey, you know best, America.

WHO DID YOU MISS?
Wayne Kramer, Steve Albini, Pat Collier and James Chance.

WHO WAS THE BEST NEW PERSON YOU MET?
I met our daughter’s boyfriend for the first time. He seems like quite a nice kid, much to my relief.

TELL US A VALUABLE LIFE LESSON YOU LEARNED IN 2024?
H.L. Mencken was right. No one ever went broke underestimating the taste of the American public.

SONG LYRIC THAT SUMS UP 2024.
Meek & obedient shall follow the leader down well-trodden corridors into the valley of steel – Pink Floyd

Overthrow Gets Knocked Out

My comrade EV Grieve first reported it back in late October, but I only just noticed that the Overthrow Gym over on Bleecker just west of Bowery — in the former headquarters Abbie Hoffman’s Yippies — has closed its doors for good. Check out EV Grieve’s story for the specifics (took incurred a lot of debt during COVID).

If I’m being honest, I can’t say I’m particularly broken up about it, as I was never really a big fan of the place, given their cloying attempts at establishing some sort of connection between the neighborhood’s punk history and … boxing, first by way of that Joey Ramone mural and later via the auspices of Punk Magazine’s John Holmstrom, although as I said in that post, who am I to begrudge John for making some bucks from his storied art at this late stage of proceedings?

I’m also not exactly heartbroken about the neighborhood losing yet another fitness facility, given the preponderance of them currently occupying multiple spots all over Broadway and Lafayette Streets. Sorry, but good riddance to that stupid bullshit, although who knows what sort of venture will take its place?

If you look in the upper left hand corner of the now-empty storefront, you can even see an invocation of Abbie Hoffman’s era, that being the Yipster Times (just above and to the right of the octopus). Below are some shots of how that space looked in the `90s.

Thurston Looks Back

Just wanted to take a quick moment to evangelize the 350th episode of my buddy Drew Stone's NYHC Chronicles, featuring a great conversation with the great Thurston Moore and my comrade Joel Gausten (who you might remember from this post). While obviously renowned for his artier pursuits, Thurston has always been an avowed acolyte of punk, hardcore and extreme metal, so to hear him wax rhapsodic about his long, amazing journey in music in New York City is a real treat. Enjoy...

A Slice of “Apple Pie”

By all accounts, the Seventies were a golden age in terms of cinema. It was an era when filmmakers were taking chances, boldly exploring the boundaries, experimenting beyond popular convention, and genuinely pushing the envelope. By virtually every metric and across every conceivable genre of moviemaking, the decade is widely considered to be one of the most adventurous periods of the art form, wherein countless films made tremendous strides forward, from widely commercial blockbusters through obscure, avant-garde masterpieces. I’m sure each one of you has a list of favorites from that decade.

This all said, not every reel of celluloid produced in those ten years was going to be a milestone achievement. For every landmark title like “Apocalypse Now,” “American Graffiti or “Dog Day Afternoon,” there were bound to be some genuine stinkers. This post is about one of those.

Directed by one Howard Goldberg, 1975’s “Apple Pie” was a loose amalgam of odd vignettes tenuously affixed to a frankly half-baked plot about a wannabe-gangster. Don’t ask me to extrapolate on that because I really can’t. I saw it, fleetingly, once on a public access channel way after midnight, and don’t remember that much about it, other that it was something of a surreal, muddled mess. The major reason I was watching it was because it featured Brother Theodore (who I spoke about here), portraying the protagonist’s father, for whatever that’s worth.

Suffice to say, “Apple Pie” was in every sense indicative of the no-holds-barred era of cinema alluded to in the first graph, only maybe without so much of a regard for any semblance of credible structure. But there was one aspect of the film that does indeed stick with me, and that’s the entirely inexplicable and exhaustively lengthy dance sequence at the climax of the film.

Ever since first seeing that late-night showing, I’ve been curious as to what Manhattan street the big closing number was shot on. Last night, apropos of nothing, really, I managed to figure it out.

But first, if you’ve never seen the film or even know what I’m talking about, feast your senses on the very-much-of-its-era big finish. Be warned, it takes no fewer than sixteen (!!!) minutes….

Bonkers, right?

In any case, I spent many hours speculating what strip of the island hosted that ridiculous hoedown. Was it in Hell’s Kitchen? Chelsea? The East Village? Are those buildings even still there here in 2024?

Upon watching the sequence again last night, I noticed a telling detail – that being a banner in the background advertising a run of Mark Medoff’s play “When You Comin’ Back, Red Ryder?” at a venue called the Eastside Playhouse. Some quick Googling later revealed that the theatre in question was on East 74th Street between Second and First Avenues on the Upper East Side. I knew that patch reasonably well, as my own father used to rent an apartment on 74th between Third and Second Avenues. I have verily strolled down that street whereupon all that gratuitous booty-shaking went down. Oh, and as a fun sidenote, the song everyone’s depicted dancing to is a funky little number called – wait for it – “Apple Pie,” performed by a little beat combo who went by the name of Hall & Oates.

Here at the tail-end of 2024, that street doesn’t look all that different from the “Apple Pie” days.