When you think of New York City in the late 70’s, a lot of musical names probably spring to me: The New York Dolls, The Ramones, Debbie Harry, Patti Smith, Richard Hell, Lou Reed, The Dead Boys but … Hall & Oates? Probably not.
Now, as far as I’m concerned, while they’ve never been especially “edgy,” Hall & Oates are pretty unimpeachable. Sure, you may listen to none-blacker-than variants of metal or super-esoteric indie or wildly forward-thinking electronic music or deep, underground hip-hop or WHATEVER, but if you can’t appreciate the finer moments of Hall & Oates’ august catalog of rock, pop and soul, there’s probably something wrong with you. Just as I said about Rush some time ago, Hall & Oates may never have been hip or cool, but for what they do, they are untouchable.
So, imagine my surprise, this morning, upon spying a new interview on Legs McNeil’s Please Kill Me website with John Oates, talking about his formative days in New York City, braving the Downtown scene with Daryl Hall, opening for Lou Reed, checking out the New York Dolls at the Mercer Arts Center and Television at CBGB. Hell, John even played in a part-time band with Pat Place from the Bush Tetras. WHO THE HELL KNEW?
I’ve probably spun this yarn here before, but the first time I ever saw Life in a Blender was at some point in the mid-80s. They were incongruously playing the Museum Mile festival on Fifth Avenue on the Upper East Side (my home turf, at the time), bringing a little Downtown weirdness to the otherwise staid uptown environs. Squeezed between mimes dressed as medieval harlequins and hammered-dulcimer players with ill-considered facial hair, here was this little rock combo playing strange songs about a host of different subjects (ditties later released on their debut LP, 1988’s Welcome To The Jelly Days). I was pretty much immediately hooked.
For any band whose foundation is steeped in a comedic approach, the albatross of predictable descriptors forever hangs heavily on their collective neck. Rarely will one read an invocation of Life in a Blender without encountering adjectives like “bizarre,” “quirky,” “oddball,” “witty,” “wry,” “satirical,” “skewed” and probably one or two “wacky” and “zany” mentions, if you dig deep enough. Sure, all those words have applied to Life in a Blender, at various points over the years, not least for lead singer/songwriter Don Rauf’s unconventional lyrical tangents, emphatic vocal style and penchant for surreal prop use (my particular favorite being a disembodied sheep’s head puppet named “Rugged Rick”). But to reduce Life in a Blender to merely a “funny” band is a brazen disservice to their finely honed musical chops, their stylistic adventurousness, their wide-ranging field of genuinely emotive songs and their sprawling discography. It may have started off as a gag, but Life in a Blender has evolved into a band that is a versatile force to be reckoned with, if you’re willing to swear off the diet of the insipidly slackjawed soma that currently passes itself off as contemporary pop music.
While I cannot remember the last time he and I were actually in the same room together (although I suspect it was at one of those dusty WFUV record fairs in Chelsea somewhere, wherein we were displaying our respectively idiotic spoils), Don and I have been friends for a while, so when I learned about Life in a Blender’s newest album, the ambitious Satsuma, a lavishly concocted labor of literary love fueled by booze, boredom and books (more about that below) — I figured the time was nigh to add Don to the roster of ignominy that also plagues RB Korbet of Even Worse, Chris Egan of Missing Foundation, Big Paul Ferguson of Killing Joke, Erik Norse Sanko of Skeleton Key and one or two unlucky others. I’m talking, of course, about the Flaming Pablum Interview. Much to his impending regret, Don said yes.
Here’s how it all went down.
Satsuma is something of a departure from Life In a Blender’s normal routine — what prompted the conceptual detour?
It was all a cascading waterfall of circumstances and we were standing directly under it! I had been writing songs for a project called the Bushwick Book Club, in which founder Susan Hwang forces artsts to write songs based on literary works. So the Blenders (Mark Lerner, Rebecca Weiner Tompkins, Dave Moody, Al Houghton, Ken Meyer, and I) had worked up versions of these songs-- “Vacancy for a Bluebird” based on Kurt Vonnegut’s "Man Without a Country," “Soul Deliverer” based on Tea Obreht’s "The Tiger’s Wife," “The Ocean Is a Black and Rolling Tongue” based on Jonathan Ames’s "You Were Never Really Here," “A Party in the Drunken Forest” based on Peter Wohlleben’s "The Hidden Life of Trees" and “Freak of Nature with a Lonely Heart” based on Dean Haspiel’s comic "The Red Hook." Check them out here.
So we had this unique batch of songs plus one just pure original tune. We might have done more but then the pandemic hit. We might have done a full album but here we were with six great basic tracks and we all said, “Fuck you, Universe. We’ll just make an EP.” Still it’s close to 30 minutes, and if you play it twice, it’s really about an hour long. Then, with all this time in solitary confinement, we decided to make the whole physical package more interesting—We all agreed that the most important thing was that it be abnormally tall for a CD…and so it is. We also feature some bang-up recipes for cocktails based on the songs, and there’s fantastic original art inspired by each song – by James Williamson, Gideon Kendall, Carla Rozman, Nancy Howell, Sky Pape, and Pete Friedrich. We wanted people to have something more than just jewel case and flimsy CD that most artists just poop out in the middle of their sleep.
How did the COVID-19 pandemic inform the recording process?
We started recording before the pandemic and fortunately we had a lot of the major parts in the can. I think we all know what “in the can” means, don’t we? Well it means it was all quite satisfying. One of the main things was –we had gotten all the hornplayers in the can. So there we were….basic tracks done… Al Houghton stark naked..and all Hell broke loose with the virus….and people foaming at the mouth. We were suddenly all turned upside down and torn apart. We were sequestered, banging on our little Zoom windows, and yelling, “For godsakes, what do we do?” So we took our six songs and added overdubs from afar.
Physical editions come with a lavishly illustrated book of cocktail recipes. How did that come about?
Goddammit! It was the virus! We were all running out of oxygen and we knew alcohol was the only answer. So we asked our favorite boozophiles if they wouldn’t mind concocting cocktail recipes insipred by the songs. So Henry Tenney, Bill Tipper, Deb Masocsi and Jason Boyd, Ambrosia Parsely, Franz Teeltlebaum, and Justin Lane Briggs from Barbes all came up with spectacular cocktails, which are all surprisingly healthy and almost potable.
We also know so many great artists. They each made an original piece of art (although I think Peter Friedrich may have just torn a page out of an old Boy’s Life magazine) and if you look at the art while listening to the song, it’s really like living inside your own personal Music Television video.
Where do you stand on the ongoing debate between streaming and the physical manifestations of recorded music?
Streaming on all levels is a horrible situation for musicians. What do the artists get from it? The pay rate is absolutely abysmal. In days of old, we saved our money and bought the music and the musician actually made money that was at least equitable. I feel like there must be some other model that would be more fair. Really the only game in town is Spotify. Our friend Chris Butler of the Waitresses gets so many plays from “Christmas Wrapping” and “I Know What Boys Like,” but he can tell you it adds up to “nanopennies.” We need to storm the castle with pitchforks and piñatas. Daniel Ek has become a billionaire off of the creative sweat of musicians. The movement asking for at least a penny per stream seems...a step in the right direction. I am twisting Father Time’s arm and saying, “Take Us Back!’ I want pay telephones, vinyl records, calling in to my message machine to find out who might have called, plastering band flyers with wheat paste on to poles, and advertising live shows by printing up and mailing postcards and sending small teams of jockeys into the night with megaphones saying, “ Show! Show tonight! Come and see the live music show tonight!”
How do you listen to your favorite music?
I stream everything I like for exactly .0000003 cents. The vibrations of today’s latest hits are coming through the tree roots if you put your ear down low. I buy the digital downloads and often the CD or vinyl album. There are still a good number of independent record stores in Seattle –so it’s great to go out, and then go in and support them—Sonic Boom, Easy Street, Silver Platters, Fat Cat Records, to name a few.
When was the last time Life in a Blender played in front of a live audience?
We played January 18, 2020 at Rockwood. It’s a great space with a great sound system and the staff is a group of super nice professionals who know how to repeatedly take a kick in the balls. I think Rockwood is accustomed to having bands play there that have a style of music that the great Josh Ozersky called “glummo.” So I think we’re the proverbial snowball down the back of the shorts. They all appreciate the difference and the up-with-people message we bring.
How do you feel about the concept of returning to the live music scenario?
It’s going to be like swimming in lava. Everyone is going to be severely burned and naked. But they will also be a bit cautious as more clubs open because they’re not all certain about the vaccines and the assholes and how safe everything really is. I can picture a performer who tiptoes out in front of a live audience being more reserved. Is Iggy Pop going to sling his torso into the crowd the second clubs reopen? I’m not so sure. And I feel the same way. So….. I think it will be great to get back on stage gingerly!
You’re originally from Poughkeepsie but started the band in Brooklyn, but you live in Seattle, now, right? How often do you regularly convene with the band?
I’ve been lucky to head back to New York a lot. I am a freelance health writer and can do that from anywhere. So I am thankful for that although, you may look at me and say, “Honestly, how can YOU write about health? I mean, look at the condition you’re in.” I can turn my back on the siren call of Poughkeepsie for only so long, and then I must arch my eyebrows and stretch my arms Eastward and give into the irresistible pull. And, again, I think you know what I mean by “irresistible pull.”
I first saw you guys performing in the mid-80’s at a Museum Mile festival in Manhattan. Do you have any memory of that gig? What were your favorite venues to play when you were starting out?
It’s true we somehow managed to play outside along Fifth Avenue for that festival. I think someone from Museum Mile spotted us when we busked in Central Park. Those were fun events because you expose yourself to such a variety of people. And yes, some people don’t enjoy hearing strange musicians exposing themselves, but several passersby would get into what we’re doing. I think it’s always worth putting yourself out there in ways that are not usual.
But of course we played the New York clubs and they were great and many in the 80s. Our home bar and venue was really McGovern’s on Spring Street and I’m still great friends with Steve McGovern (really Greenberg). Steve just let you run wild all night and do whatever you liked. So it was an ideal venue to try out all and everything. (Steve’s quote: “You want to know how to make a small fortune in the music club business? Start with a large fortune.”)
The next best and possibly equal club was CBGBs. Before we ever played there, I was intimidated. Every major artist played there—Television, Talking Heads, Ramones, Blondie, Dead Boys—and the place looked scary! But Hilly was salt of the Earth, with his big slow bass voice, and the staff were all the best, best people. I am still a friend of Alison Aguiar who was a waitress there. And one day I hope that she will think of me as her friend.
On top of those two venues...I did really love all these: Lone Star, Danceteria, Ritz, Tramps, Lauterbach’s (way out in Brooklyn when there really weren’t any clubs), the Blue Rose (up by Columbnia University). I think Brownies was later but I have major love for Brownies.
At the Blue Rose, the owner was a largish woman who looked like Divine. She had dark hair beehived high atop her head. At the end of the bar was a storage alcove, and the bar owner stored her elderly mother there. Her mother was bed-ridden so the Divine-like bartender set up what looked like a bedroom in the alcove. So when you had a drink at the Blue Rose bar, you’d look down to the end and it almost looked like a diorama or a scene from a museum—there was this old woman lying in bed in a set-up that looked like a cozy bedroom—but inches away from her was all the hooting and drinking and loud music of a dark and—at the times—smokey dive bar. Another great club was Siberia half way down the steps to the subway at 50th and Broadway. There’s a pretty great documentary on the place here . That place was a trip.
Satsuma is your 10th album. When you first started the band, did you expect that you would still be recording this many years later?
The personnel has changed but not in eons. We have probably all been together at least 25 years now.… I can’t stop doing this and I’m glad they don’t have the willpower to stop either. I have been so lucky to play with these super humans, who are just amazingly talented and warm, no matter how or where you touch them or how they look. Sincerely, I am so thankful. I can’t ask for a better, more rewarding creative experience. Everything about the Blender is truly incredible. I know we’re not THE most famous band in the world but having the ability to create with people you don’t dislike and perform in front of people who are unlikely to be violently angry is fantastic. Today, when we wake up and say, “We haven’t wet the bed,” we consider that a major victory.
In 2007, you released what I consider to be one of the finest lamentations about gentrification, that being “What Happened to Smith”? Towards the end of the song, the protagonist (you, I assume) wearily resigns himself to “waiting it out by the Gowanus” and opting for the “stench of the canal” over suffering the changes to the rest of the neighborhood. Since that record was released, Gowanus itself has been “discovered” and colonized, for lack of a better term. Do you ever go back to Brooklyn, these days? What are you feelings about it now?
That song could have just as easily been called “What happened to Alex Smith?” Now the song doesn’t quite work because the Gowanus has been all dolled up and doused with perfume—the perfume of young money! At the same time that Gowanus is getting shined up, Smith may be convlusing and unsure of itself. I know, even pre-pandemic, Smith had seemed to be passing its prime. Retail rents had soared so high that shops were going dark right and left. Then the chain of brand-name drug stores and the top-name apparel shops move in. But may rents dip and the social clubs reopen and everyone be sitting in beach chairs in front of their buildings again.
If/when Life In a Blender returns to the stage in the wake of the pandemic, will Rugged Rick be joining you?
I don’t think Rugged Rick will ever read this, so I think it’s safe to say Rugged Rick is an asshole. I suppose Rugged Rick would think the pandemic is the best thing ever—you know, fewer humans is a concept that Rick would support, but it does seem horribly heartless right now to even say that. What I’m trying to say is, I’m afraid Rick will be back and ready to shout at us all and tell what complete dopes we all are.
I’ve written about my fandom for the great Julian Cope here a few times (notably here, here and most recently here). An unparalleled songwriter with a knack for seamless pop perfection and drooling rock abandon, Cope cannily straddled both worlds before ripping up the rule book and following his own eclectic muse. Ever since, his musical outpourings have been more erratic and prone to wild tangents of arguably esoteric experimentation. But while his stuff may not always be for everyone, he is assuredly never dull.
The only reason I’m bringing him up again today is because someone just recently uploaded his documentary from 2000, “The Modern Antiquarian.” Based on his sprawling tome of the same name that was published in 1998, this film finds Julian driving around his native Great Britain to explore and expound upon sacred sites of prehistoric significance. While that might sound impenetrably heady, Julian does it all with his signature brand of insouciant cool. As excited by megalithic minutia as he is by a galvanizing record by The MC5, Julian makes the subject come alive. It’s both highly illuminating and frequently hilarious.
Enjoy while you can. Go buy as many Julian Cope albums as can be had.
I have to confesse that prior to “Pretend It’s a City,” Martin Scorsese’s extended love letter to Fran Lebowitz, I had never really given the writer/humorist/raccounteur a great deal of thought. To my mind, she was just one of those storied Gothamites like Tom Wolfe or George Plimpton; literary figures I was aware of, but had never fully invested in, given the generational divides between us. Her curmudgeonly sensibilities seemed akin to fellow dyed-in-the-wool New Yorker Woody Allen, albeit with a bit more urbane sophistication. What little I’d read of hers, I’d certainly enjoyed, but never gave it much more thought beyond that.
Here in 2021, thanks for Scorsese’s series on Netflix, Fran is unwittingly experiencing something of a rennaissance, having gained a whole new audience for her wry asides and acerbic observations. While she remains pointedly not for everybody (an old colleague of mine from TIME Magazinewrote a bit of a screed about her in the New York Times), I have to say that my admiration for her had quadrupled. Not only do I completely relate to her Manhattan-centric worldview, I find her completely hilarious. I think most of her detractors, like my friend from TIME, seem to take her just a bit too seriously and literally. This isn’t to say that I think Fran secretely does have an internet connection in her home – I’m sure she doesn’t -- but rather that I think she amplifies some of her diatribes for comedic effect. You, of course, may beg to differ.
One aspect of Fran’s life that had never even occurred to me was her fandom for the New York Dolls, which Scorsese fleetingly touched upon in the series. I wish they’d expounded further on that subject. I know she was a fan of Max’s Kansas City, but did Fran ever go to the Bowery in later years to check out CBGB? Did she ever get into Television or the Ramones? Hard to picture that.
In any case, if you’re still gagging for a fix after finishing “Pretend It’s a City,” Fran spoke with Kara Swisher for the New York Times’ “Sway Podcast” earlier today. Check it out here.
My friend Chung was instigating a conversation on Facebook, earlier today, based around a controversial billboard used to promote the Rolling Stones’ 1974 album, Black and Blue, which featured an image of a woman who’d been tied up and abused. While also comparable to a similarly objectionable billboard the Doors used to promote L.A. Woman (which featured a woman incongruously crucified on a telephone pole), I immediately thought of an old poster I’d spotted promoting a gig by — of all bands — Kraftwerk. I did some quick Googling to find the image in question, but came up with nothing. Then, I remembered that I’d probably put it on Get Back to Work, my ancient Tumblr page.
I started Get Back to Work (or Get Back Vassifer, really) as a complete lark — much like this blog — mostly as a means of aggregating images that appealed to my sensibility. This included album covers, GIFS, flyers, tour posters, promo photos, comics, memes, drawings, weird ads, archival pictures of New York, outtakes, t-shirts, movie stills, foreign movie posters, magazine covers, curious videos, risqué images, sci-fi, monster movies, cool graffiti, interesting book jackets, propaganda posters, Japanese robots, concert shots, ticket stubs, odd postcards, political humor, old New Yorker illustrations, badges, strange animations, unexplained phenomena, prurient doodles, and other bullshit like that, all presented usually without any explanation, in no order and more often than not without any helpful tags.
I occasionally had an agenda. It was a good place to store images, or at least set them to one side for later potential use here on Flaming Pablum. After a while, though, it just became an unwieldy pile of cool stuff collected for no readily apparent reason.
It seems I’ve occasionally added a scant image or two over the past year, but it’s far from a regular stop. But in searching for that Kraftwerk poster (which I eventually found here), I took a long, perilous trip down the rabbit hole. There are some truly great things to be found, if you’ve got the time.
I’ve mentioned Jon Fine a couple of times here, over the years. Of course, he is primarily notable to insufferables like me for his role as guitarist in the trio Bitch Magnet, a band I was quite fond of back in college. Once Bitch Magnet closed up shop at the dawn of the `90s. Fine hopscotched around with some other bands before reluctantly changing lanes and branching out into a career in journalism. He wrote an excellent book about all that, tracing his life through a fractious career in punk rock and then into the odious realm of corporate office cubicles and back again, “Your Band Sucks” in 2015, which is a slavishly entertaining read regardless of your musical taste and disposition. It’s like a “Kitchen Confidential” for disgruntled music geeks.
I was also kindred spirits with Jon in that he confessed to The Atlantic, in 2011, that he suffered from tinnitus, an affliction I, too, have grappled with since 1999, although at least Jon got it from irresponsibly playing loud music and not just irresponsibly listening to it, as I did.
In any case, Jon and I had loads in common. We both loved splenetic punk rock, both went to college in Ohio (he to Oberlin, I to the strenuously less cool Denison), both worked in journalism and were both cursed with tinnitus for our sins against common sense and propriety.
Cut to late 2015: After slogging it out in the trenches of “professional journalism” for about 25 years – logging precious time at SPIN, LIFE Magazine, TIME Magazine, The New Yorker, MTV News Online, MSN and TODAY.com -- and getting laid off too many times, I ended up taking a job in corporate communications for a performing rights organization. In one of my first weeks at the new office, I stepped onto the elevator and standing across from me was a familiar looking gent with a Black Flag pin on his lapel. “Holy Shit, … you’re Jon Fine,” I exclaimed. As it turned out, Jon worked at a prominent magazine on a neighboring floor.
While he was doubtlessly wary of me at that stage (with good reason), Jon and I swiftly became elevators pals and regular confidants. Today, I am proud to call him a friend, and was sad when he decided to leave the magazine in our building. But he’s still out there hustling, writing and making music.
The only reason I’m talking about him now is that he was recently a guest on the podcast “Killed By Desk,” and it’s both hugely illuminating and entirely hilarious. Check it below or simply click here….Tell’em Flaming Pablum sent ya.
I was fairly blown away by news, last night, that Ricky Powell had passed away. Last I checked, no cause for death was reported, but the photographer, consummate character and neighborhood legend has been a fixture here in downtown Manhattan for decades. Most famous for his associations with his kindred spirits in the Beastie Boys (some called him the fourth Beastie), Powell established himself as an artist in his own right via his photographs of New York City luminaries, his cable access television show “Rappin’ with the Rickster” and just from being an easily-spotted face in and around the West Village.
As a longtime fan of the Beastie Boys and avid watcher of “Rappin’ With The Rickster,” I remember sheepishly saying hi to Ricky, once in the `90s, on Greenwich Avenue, only steps away from various locations he’d photographed Mike D, Ad-Rock and the late MCA. Without missing a beat, he acknowledged my salutation with an endearing degree of louche insouciance. Back in 2012, I penned a florid post with the aid of Bob Egan all about pinpointing the location of a certain iconic photo Powell had taken of the Beasties, on which Powell himself gamely weighed in on in the comments section.
At the tail end of 2015, I landed the job I now hold after a worrying 16 months of unemployment and insolvency. As a dubious award to myself for this achievement, I treated myself to a lovingly framed print of that same Beastie Boys photo, technically titled “The Charles Street Shuffle,” by Powell himself.
A year or two later, I briefly exchanged words with Powell again, as he was looking to track down a VHS copy of the “Rappin’ With the Rickster” compilation I’d bought somewhere (possibly Rocks in Your Head on Prince Street) back when the Earth was young, but I’d since purged most of my VHS cassettes, and could not help him in the quest.
Walk around certain westerly portions of Greenwich Village and, if you look hard enough, you can still spot a few of Powell’s tags, lamenting “new-jack cornballs” in his signature, classic graffiti font.
Goodnight, Ricky … you were taken too soon, and wherever you are now is that much cooler for your presence.
I first came in contact with John Darnielle via Ilxor, which — as Urban Dictionary so succinctly describes it — was “a rather fine but occasionally tempestuous, pretentious and easily-distracted internet-based message board, initially conceived as a music forum.” I should’t say “was” as, technically, it’s still going today (find it here). John and I were both regular fixtures there for a great while in the late 90s through to the late-2000’s. Or at least that’s when I largely dropped out. John might still regularly participate there, I’m not sure.
While it might seem like heresy to some, I must admit that upon first engaging with John, I was entirely unfamiliar with his status as the singer/songwriter in the Mountain Goats. As far as I knew, John was just some similarly inclined music head with just as much of a passion for discussing all facets of the subject, and given his predilections for several of the same hoary goth, punk and metal bands that I voluminously espoused on a regular basis, we became fast friends in that forum. From where I was standing, John and I spoke the same language, and he managed to jovially overlook my pugnacious penchant for contentious overstatement (something not exactly everyone in said forum was inclined to do, much to my continued embarrassment, this many eons later). As the years went by, we bonded further over a mutual affliction (John and I both suffer from Tinnitus, although I haven’t heard an update from him on the subject in some time) and both became doting dads.
The funny thing, though, is that while I just sorta considered him this super-knowledgable music-geek pal o’ mine, it only gradually dawned on me that he was critically revered in several significant circles. Beyond being an established musician of some renown, John’s also a burgeoning author, having now published a couple of well received novels. Not too long back, another friend of mine was looking at my contact lists and spotted John’s name. “Dude, you know John Darnielle?” For some reason — inarguably to John’s credit as a regular, approachable human being — it still never occurs to me that he’s this crucial figure.
In any case, the last time I saw John in person, I believe, was actually the first time I saw John in person. I was walking up Thompson Street in SoHo and he suddenly shouted my name (see pic above). To this day, John and I are in fairly regular contact on Facebook, but I just spotted something that showcases both the bottomless depth of John’s affinity for music and his perpetually inclusive, affable nature. John was featured on “What’s In My Bag?”, Amoeba Records’ excellent web series I wrote about back on this post. To my mind, despite his numerous accolades and notable cameos (he was a featured guest on Damien Abraham’s “Turned Out a Punk” podcast, last summer), this is a true honor befitting his vast wealth of knowledge and his convivial, big-hearted nature. Way to go, John!
I used to have a problem with Patti Smith. I just never heard what everyone else claimed was so groundbreaking about her music, and I found her records to be sort of mewlingly overwrought. I did not equate her with her storied peers in bands like Television and The Ramones, etc. This opinion did me no favors.
Were that not enough, I was then asked by a rock-writer friend of mine, a German gent named Sky Nonhoff, to pen a chapter in a book he was putting together about sacred cows. Sky wanted me to address Patti’s oft-celebrated album, Horses, and give it the redressing it allegedly deserved. So, I did that, pulled no punches and went from being a passive non-fan of Patti Smith to an open detractor. The book came out — albeit only in Germany (I have a copy, but I’ll be damned if I can tell how Sky edited my copy) and the deal was sealed. Just for posterity, I re-posted my original English text here on my stupid blog. This was was even later sourced, much to my embarrassment, in Eric Wendell's 2014 book, "Patti Smith: America's Punk Rock Rhapsodist." Again, this did me no favors.
After years of alienating friends of mine with my continued reluctance to capitulate to the cult of Patti Smith, I started to suspect that my position was becoming an untenable one for lots of folks who otherwise liked and tenuously respected me (I had a similar problem with the Grateful Dead). As if on cue, Patti Smith published her memoir, “Just Kids.” I didn’t race to the bookshop for a copy, but — being unemployed that summer — I had lots of unsolicited free time, so eventually picked it up and read it, almost devouring the book whole in a only a couple of sittings.
In that rarest of instances, Patti’s book completely upended my preconceptions about her, and I suddenly felt like a world-class jackass for shooting my mouth off about her for all those years. I recanted with another post on my stupid blog, for whatever that was worth.
This all said, while I took back all the mean, dismissive thing I’d written about Patti Smith, I still didn’t really enjoy her music. I still found so much of her vocal delivery to be sort of cloying and affected — not unlike the same problem I’d formerly had with Tom Waits. But where I was able to overcome my Waits problem, I still had a hard time getting past Patti’s cadence and histrionics. I respected her way more than I’d ever used to, but I still didn’t want to hear her music, if I could avoid it.
Last night, I was coming home from visiting a loved one in NYU Langone Hostpial on 34th and First Avenue, zig-zagging my way slowly to the southwest through the bitterly cold and dark streets of the Medical Corridor. For whatever reason, this stretch of Manhattan always makes me think of New York City in the grim late 70’s. Sure, much of it has been re-built and radically gentrified like the rest of the island, but there’s still a bit of that dour, function-over-form, brutalist aesthetic that makes it feel depressing and charmless. As such, whenever I’m on that stretch, I tend to flip my iPod to listen to bands like the Jim Carroll Band, Richard Hell & The Voidoids and the afore-cited Television — artists whose music defined Manhattan’s vibe back then. In the middle of listening to a playlist I’d made in 2015, filled with those bands and others like Missing Foundation, The Feelies, The Lounge Lizards and the Dead Boys, this one song suddenly filled my headphones and almost stopped me in my frigid track right on Second Avenue.
It sounded like Patti Smith being backed by a way-less-indulgent ensemble, anchored by a taut, pugnacious groove and a suitably Television-like riff. Holy shit!! How did I ever miss this? Listening intently as I walked further, I couldn’t recognize the track as ever having been on Horses, nor later records like Easter or Radio Ethiopia. Was it from the “Piss Factory” era? Wracking my brain to identify the true provenance of the song, I simply hit play again without looking. How did this song even get on my iPod? Where did I get it, and how have I never appreciated it in all these years?
When I could no longer unspool the riddle and still without a flicker of an answer, I gave up and looked.
It wasn’t Patti Smith at all, but rather a comparatively obscure band from the original CBGB set called The Erasers. I’d gotten the song off the Numero Group’s truly excellent 2015 box set of the Ork Records stable. Prior to this cut, the only Erasers song I was even aware of was their fleeting turn in Amos Poe’s movie, “The Foreigner,” where they play a song called “No Se,” while the film’s protagonist Max gets beaten up by members of The Cramps. You can see that here.
Removed from the context of all their esoteric, historical minutia, when I heard “I Won’t Give Up” by the Erasers, I *immediately* assumed it was Patti Smith, which makes me wonder if others made that same assumption at the time.
In any case, today is Patti Smith’s birthday. If you are so inclined, cue up a bit of her music and raise a toast, but maybe also enjoy this taste of the Erasers, who probably wouldn’t have recorded anything were it not for Patti knocking down the original doors. For more about them click here.
I'd suggest it’s fair to say that 2020 was a year like no other. That said, just because we are approaching the end of the calendar year, that doesn’t mean that the problems of 2020 are necessarily over. Hopefully, 2021 will provide the remedies we so sorely lacked in 2020. In any case, here’s the annual survey, for whatever it’s worth.
What did you do in 2020 that you'd never done before? Instead of citing a host of predictable unpleasantries, I’ll kick this off with a light-hearted answer: I carved my first turkey.
Did you keep your New Year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year? Nope, I rarely do and probably won’t until they are mandated by a medical professional.
Did anyone close to you give birth? Yes, my sister-in-law gave birth to a lovely little boy.
Did anyone close to you die? Mercifully, despite the carnage of the crisis, no one in my immediate circle passed away.
What countries did you visit? Surely, you jest.
What would you like to have in 2021 that you lacked in 2020? Vaccinations.
What date from 2020 will remain etched upon your memory? Probably March 15, the day both my wife’s office and mine issued the “work from home” directive.
What was your biggest achievement of the year? Staying gainfully employed, reasonably healthy and marginally sane.
What was your biggest failure? Failing to note or anticipate a duplicitous vendor’s reluctance to remind me about a certain contractual clause. This was an expensive oversight.
Did you suffer illness or injury? I managed to dodge COVID-19, but I did somehow still find time to zealously bruise my ribcage whilst trying to exit a bathtub. My wife declared it “the least Punk Rock thing, ever!”
What was the best thing you bought? For some reason, getting it delivered was a Bataan Death March of false starts and delays, but we got a new Casper bed, which is indeed quite nice.
Whose behavior merited celebration? Health care professionals, essential workers and my two excellent children, who've gotten through this difficult experience with a minimal amount of complaint and are both thriving as high school students and exemplary individuals.
Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? The Trump Administration, the Republican party and embarrassingly large swaths of the American electorate (but mercifully not large enough).
What did you get really, really excited about? Election 2020 was pretty compelling, all things considered.
Where did most of your money go? School tuitions.
What song will always remind you of 2020? For whatever reason, during the summer months, we kept a certain Rolling Stones compilation in the car’s disc player, and I was prone to frequently play “Bitch” at irresponsible volumes.
Compared to this time last year, are you happier or sadder? Honestly speaking, despite the tumult of this year and the state of the world, at the moment, I feel it would be remiss of me to do any complaining. I’m fine. My wife and kids are fine. Our extended family is fine. We’re getting on with it. Not everyone has been so lucky.
Thinner or fatter? Absolutely fatter. The pervasive attitude of “fuck it, it’s a pandemic!” -- when applied to consumption and imbibement -- became unfortunately de rigueur, after a while, and I’m now feeling it’s time to put that back in check. Wish me luck.
Richer or poorer? Well, certainly not richer, but as mentioned above, I have no right to complain when others have suffered much greater losses than I have.
What do you wish you'd done more of? I’m having a hard time answering this, as options were pretty slim, for the most part. There was a freelance project that I participated in that, in retrospect, I wish I’d contributed more to. I’m happy with my part of it, but I now feel I should have given it more time and done a bit more for it.
What do you wish you'd done less of? Stressing out.
How did you spend Christmas? Just the four of us at home. Kept it simple.
Who did you spend the most time on the phone with? Normally, I don’t know the answer to this, but in the COVID era, I believe I spent an inordinate amount of time on calls (and Zoom conferences) with my team at work. Honestly speaking, we’re the better for it, in many ways. We’ve become a more efficient unit.
Did you fall in love in 2020? I was already in love, and we marked our 19th wedding anniversary in the summer.
How many one night stands in this last year? I didn’t, given that -- despite many flaws -- I am a faithful husband. That said, who would actually answer this question?
What was your favorite TV program? It seems like I watched it a million years ago, now, but I quite enjoyed “Ozark,” which has totally redeemed Laura Linney for me, after her godawful turn in the indefensible "Love Actually." That, and a French series called “Call My Agent” (or “Dix Pour Cent” in French).
Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year? Well, I don’t know if I hate any new people, per se, but my roiling hatred for Donald J. Trump has only increased, especially now in his petulant and destructive lame-duck period.
What was the best book you read? Probably “Waiting for Another War” by Trevor Ristow. Rise and reverberate!
What was your greatest musical discovery? I answered this in sweeping detail on this recent post.
What did you want and get? A Biden/Harris win.
What did you want and not get? Trump removed from office prior to serving his full term and locked behind bars.
What were your favorite films of this year? I cannot honestly remember seeing any “new” films. There were a few documentaries I enjoyed, like “Where Does a Body End,” about SWANS (the band).
What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? I turned 53, which is a shitty number, and I had a lovely dinner with my wife and kids.
What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? Trump leaving office in disgrace and in handcuffs.
How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2020? Normally, I write something pithy here, but I had no personal fashion concept this year. It was not, as they say, “top of mind.”
What kept you sane? The hope of Trump losing the election and of the imminent arrival of a COVID vaccine.
What celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? I normally don’t have a good answer for this one, either, but I have to say I think Michigan Secretary of State Jocelyn Benson is kinda damn sexy.
What political issue stirred you the most? The fact that it was a political issue at all is astonishingly appalling, but the mask debate.
Who did you miss? I continue to miss certain departed members of my family, but am very grateful they didn’t have to deal with the bullshit of this year. Beyond that, … Terry Jones, Andy Gill, Florian Schneider, Dave Greenfield, Eddie Van Halen, Neil Peart, Hal Wilner, Bill Withers. I’m sure I’m forgetting others.
Who was the best new person you met? I don’t know that I met anyone new, this year, other than my new little nephew.
Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2020 WEAR A FUCKING MASK AND BELIEVE IN SCIENCE, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES!
Song lyric that sums up 2020 Well, I believe Cop Shoot Cop may have said it best…
It's making me sick, I want no part of it Stop waving that flag All you idiots bought right into it And who's left holding the bag? Surprise, surprise. Surprise, surprise. The government lies.
Recent Comments