Flaming Pablum

Christadora House Through The Trees

Earlier this afternoon in Washington Square Park...

John's Bag

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 am in awe and roiling with envy.

Enjoy….

Word on The Street

2020: My Year in Pictures

This post is invariably going to cause me a lot of heartache, given my oft-cited blogging service's ongoing problem with broken images. But, here's hoping that'll abate. In any case, as you may have noticed, I take a lot of goddamn pictures. You may have seen several of these on this blog over the past 12 months, or you may have spotted them on my Instagram page, if you follow that. Whichever the case, here are some of my favorite images of the year in chronological order.

If possible, enjoy...

 

 

Goodbye & Go to Hell, 2020

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.

A Prophecy Fulfilled

Back in the summer, when author/archivist Chris Bryans reached out to me across the Atlantic via email to solicit a testimonial for a book he was putting together on my beloved Killing Joke, I regret to say that my first reaction was empathetic skepticism.

Many ambitious book projects on the subject have been launched — including one by yours truly, some years back — only to be dashed on the rocks of the band’s iron-willed reluctance to let anyone into their inner circle. I was going to warn Chris of this, but thought better of it — not wanting to derail his enthusiastic momentum. Deep into the brow-furrowing travails of the working-from-home dynamic, at the time, I strung together some pertinent anecdotes about my affinity for Killing Joke and shot them off to Chris worryingly close to the deadline. With that, I wished him my best, half-expecting the spectre of futility to lay waste to his endeavor much as it had done all those other projects that never reached fruition.

Months went by when suddenly I started spying signs of the book’s progress. Driven by both my desire to see Chris achieve the heretofore unachievable and by my vain hunger to see my own name in print, I gamely pre-ordered a copy of the stately tome, now officially dubbed — fittingly enough — “A Prophecy Fulfilled” — and yet still wondered if it would still ever actually see the light of day. Once again, given the volatile nature of this particular subject matter, even the best laid plans tethered to Killing Joke — tour dates, albums, spoken-word projects, deluxe box sets, etc — frequently seem to go pointedly awry in a manner that suggests the clandestine intervention of external and — possibly infernal — forces.

To be fair, there is an elite coterie of individuals who *have* pulled it off. Photographer/author Mont Sherar graphic artist Michael Coles and photographer Frank Jenkinson have each put out handsome books rife with striking images of the band and, in Coles’ case, their distinctive iconography, but all three of these gents could be construed, more or less, as inner-circlers, if you will. I would also be remiss not mentioning Shaun Pettigrew, the intrepid filmmaker that attempted to tell Killing Joke’s story in his 2013 opus, “The Death & Resurrection Show.” While said documentary was an unprecedented glimpse — one that took over a decade for Pettigrew to complete, and that allegedly threatened to implode on several occasions — it would not be offsides to suggest that however sumptuous a finished product it was, it did not genuinely give its viewers the full picture.

Chris Bryans, meanwhile, was attempting an oral history — a recounting the band’s myriad hills and valleys through the recollections of figures from both within that secretive cabal and folks from the world outside. Despite being friends with certain folks, I still fall into that latter demographic.

In any case, Christmas came early for me, today, as a big fuckoff box containing Chris Bryan’s magisterial work arrived safely on my coffee table. A bright and colorful artifact to behold, “A Prophecy Fulfilled” is a strikingly rich and heavy text, replete with all sorts of period-specific photography and artwork. No hastily assembled fanboy vanity project (like mine probably would have been), this book is clearly a labor of love by a fellow Killing Joke acolyte with a dutiful adherence to professional presentation. That he saw fit to include my messy tangles of pompously overwritten drivel is testament to his big-hearted, inclusive nature.

I cannot wait to dive into it.

Rapture Restored: Debbie Re-Debuts on Bleecker & Bowery

First appearing in 2017 (above), taking the place of a mural depicting Joey Ramone incongruously sporting a pair of boxing gloves (a hollow allusion to Overthrow Boxing Club just steps away — part of the noxious corridor of fitness that had largely taken over the neighborhood), Shepard Fairey’s Blondie mural depicted the preternaturally gorgeous Debbie Harry gazing unblinkingly to the north from an original photograph by Bobby Grossman, flanked by allusions to their breakthrough 1979 album, Parallel Lines and images from the art of their then-new album, Pollinator, which Fairey had also designed.

Ostensibly conceived as a tribute to the neighborhood’s sadly fading punk roots (the site of the former CBGB is but a cheap beer-can’s toss to the east), Fairey’s painting remained largely unblemished for the past few years, until sometime this summer, when an increasingly less-relevant street artist saw fit to scribble his signature space octopus (or whatever it’s supposed to be) on Debbie’s comely neck.

Following that unsightly blemish, less finessed taggers went to town on the whole thing….

I’m happy to relay, as first reported by EV Grieve, that Fairey’s original work has been fully restored (below) to its sharp-lined glory, and Miss Harry’s distinctive physiognomy is back to being untainted by the sloppy doodling of bottom-feeding graffiti trolls. We’ll see how long that lasts.

I was half-thinking it might be time to mix it up, again, and put someone new on that particular spot. Richard Hell? Stiv Bators? Jayne Country?

Who would you suggest?

Last Night in Washington Square Park

Winter is not without its charms. 

Goodbye to the B Bar & Grill

If I’m being honest, I must concede that when it first opened in the early `90s, I was not at all fond of Bowery Bar, the suddenly hip & chic hotspot that opened in the footprint of a former Gulf station on East 4th Street. Being more inclined towards the grittier fare of CBGB and the like just a few steps down the Bowery and not really identifying with the fabulous "Club Kid" crowd the Bowery Bar seemed to cater to, I just didn't feel that it was my scene, so to speak. 

I also harbored a grudge against the place, as I was under the impression, at the time, that it was originally the same gas station wherein they’d filmed the music video for Billy Joel’s godawful “Uptown Girl.” As it turns out, that was at a different gas station a block or so away (remember when gas stations were plentiful in Manhattan?), but whatever – I’d already made up my mind. Fuck the Bowery Bar.

A little later on, I do remember accompanying some work colleagues there, a couple of times, but still never really embracing it the way I’d done with other spots. You were much likelier to find me at Swift’s just up the street. 

In time, Bowery Bar truncated its moniker to B Bar, for some reason. Trends came and went. Fortunes rose and fell. Everyone got older. Eventually, B Bar became just another bar/restaurant, albeit one with the cache of a hip past. My reasons for avoiding the place had long since lost their resonance, and I was happy to partake of its fare on several occasions. The last time I went, I had brunch with my daughter, one bright morning in the Spring of 2019. I remember ordering an eggs benedict and quite enjoying it.

As with many other venues, 2020 dropped the hammer on BBar, and it closed up shop for good at some point this summer. My friend EV Grieve just reported that it’s now slated to be demolished to make the way for – God knows what, at this stage of the proceedings.

While I was late to the table in my appreciation of the place, I am now genuinely sorry to see it go, and dread what towering, sun-blocking monstrosity will shortly replace it.

Your Selfish Stupidity is Killing People

Nine months into this, we’re still seeing staggering infection rates. The headlines across the spectrum are all dire, rife with “worst case scenario” warnings, despite otherwise promising news about impending vaccine distributions. Pure and simple, because so many of my fellow Americans are breathtakingly stubborn, myopic and irretrievably fucking stupid, we have surpassed a record number of deaths, and that number continues to climb. What has to happen before people wise up? How many people have to get sick? How many businesses have to shutter? How many have to die before you get it?

Here in Manhattan — for the moment, the New York City borough with the lowest infection rate, for whatever that’s worth — you’re still likely to see folks blithely walking around without masks on. And I don’t mean with their mask around their chin or in their hand, but no fucking mask at all. I cannot help thinking, though, at this point, that those aren’t accidents. It’s not like they haven’t heard the news. They’re either driven by some conspiracy-theory agenda and being openly defiant of public health recommendations, being intractably stupid or they just simply don’t care. None of those options are okay. But, by and large, they are why we where we are.

And at the risk of beating a very dead horse, they’re doing so because they perceive the simple act of wearing a face covering to be uncomfortable, inconvenient or somehow an affront of their personal freedom. They’re either weak, selfish, stupid or a reprehensible combination of all three.

I have no punchline.

Wise up. Stay vigilant. Wear a mask.