Flaming Pablum

Punk Before Punk Was Punk: More About Tom Verlaine

Following up on my last post about the late, great Tom Verlaine, even when he shared a fleeting moment of discourse with me (if you can even call it that) that rainy night on University Place, as we unwittingly sat side by side in the front window eating our respective slices and watching our neighborhood fill up with water, I knew not to push my luck and try to carry on a conversation with the famously icy icon.

But had I done so, I might have asked him what he thought about the word “Punk.”

Read any of the myriad obits for him in the last day, and you’re bound to see descriptors of Television’s distinctive musical style as “angular,” “lyrical,” “innovative,” all of which, I’d concede, is more or less accurate, if all a bit predictable. Billboard magazine even ran an obit, which I thought was pretty rich, given that Television really never came within squinting distance of vaulting a record onto the pop charts, which is really all Billboard cares about. One outlet referred to the dynamic of Verlaine and fellow string-bender Richard Lloyd as a “combative two-guitar assault,” which kind of made me laugh. Had this writer even heard Television? Despite inarguably being Punk pioneers (there’s a legend about them being the first band outside of the “country, bluegrass, blues” milieu to approach CBGB’s Hilly Kristal about playing the venue, but that may be apocryphal), Television didn’t really make music that bludgeoned its listeners, even at their most aggressive, like on this live recording of “Little Johnny Jewel” below.

There’s another possibly apocryphal anecdote about Television that always comes to mind in that when they were recording their debut LP, Marquee Moon, Verlaine ruffled Lloyd’s feathers by constantly insisting to co-producer/sound engineer Andy Johns that he wanted all the guitars to sound “smaller” and “dryer,” already looking to distance himself from the trajectory so-called “Punk Rock” was headed. It’s for this reason that, to this day, Marquee Moon’s eight songs still sound fresh and completely unlike anything else.

Once again, despite being Punk before Punk was Punk, what made Television a preeminent Punk band was their disdain for tired, staid convention. While original bassist Richard Hell — who split to form the more volatile Voidoids and Heartbreakers well before the recording of Marquee Moon — is credibly regarded as the tonsorial/sartorial blueprint of the “Punk Rocker” (being the first to cut short and spike up his hair and adhere his ripped clothes together with safety pins — more out of necessity than prescient fashion), Television didn’t really look like punks, and they certainly didn’t sound like what the media was spinning as “proper Punk Rock,” at the time. The comparatively mild-mannered Television were never going to deafen you with feedback or be gratuitously prurient. We had the Dead Boys for that.

All this is why I wonder — what did Tom Verlaine think of the term he was saddled with?

Goodnight, Tom Verlaine

I used to routinely see Tom Verlaine around the neighborhood, but one learned pretty swiftly not to bug the man. I once accosted him in front of The Strand like a gushing fanboy, and the sneer I received could have stopped a rhino in his tracks.

My favorite memory, though, was being caught in calamitous summer rainstorm in the late 90s and ducking in out of the maelstrom into Stromboli’s Pizza on University Place between 12th and 13th street (long gone). The only other patron in that tiny space? Yep, Tom Goddamn Verlaine. Remembering the Strand incident, I ordered my slice and left him alone …. only to have him remark in soggy solidarity, “It’s really coming down out there.”

Of his solo stuff, this has always (pardon the pun) been my favorite. Raise a slice to the great man.

Down on West 8th Street

In the latest episode of "Broken Record," Rick Rubin speaks with greatest living American, Iggy Pop. Regardless of what you think of Rick, it's a really great discussion. Find it here.

My favorite bit of trivia revealed therein: This song was originally titled "Down on the Beach," until Ig & the Ashetons visited NYC and walked down West 8th Street "between University Place and 6th Avenue" when it was "more active" (circa 1970), and were captivated by what they encountered. Love that a little chunk of my backyard (not *nearly* as "active" as it used to be, alas) inspired the greatest rock album of all goddamn time (fight me).

Crank it. 

Fermenting New Firewater: Tod [A] Looks Ahead

With the possible exception of Killing Joke, I don’t think there’s a band I’ve scribbled more about here than Cop Shoot Cop, the former NYC-based, clangy noise-rock ensemble of one Tod [A], who bowed out of said band, in the mid-`90s, during the recording of what would have been their fifth studio LP. Upon leaving C$C under arguably not the most amicable of circumstances, Tod turned his attention to forming Firewater, a loose collective of musicians who’d go onto to explore, over seven diverse albums, a far broader vista of musical styles than Tod’s previous band was ever likely to dare. Largely jettisoning Cop Shoot Cop’s full-frontal industrial assault in favor of a sinuous amalgam of influences from klezmer to ska to Middle-Eastern folk music to Romani to bhangra to sea shanties to Russian drinking songs to straight-ahead punk fucking rock and virtually all points and ports of global call in between, Tod’s inherent sense of wanderlust became deeply imbued into the music he was making. Putting his money where his mouth was, by the band’s sixth album, 2008’s The Golden Hour, Tod pulled up stakes and set out on a formidable trek across the imposing terrain between New Delhi, India and Istanbul, Turkey, recording with local musicians along the way. This experience not only fueled that album -– arguably Firewater’s finest -– but also served as fertile fodder for his first novel, “Banging the Monkey,” which surfaced in 2019.

I’ve been friends with Tod since the very early `90s, when I was tasked with writing up a cover story for a local freebie news weekly about “a hot new band that typifies the New York sound and sensibility.” Without skipping a beat, I chose Cop Shoot Cop, having become enamored of their wilfully chaotic live performances, their boldly unconventional approach (two basses, no guitars), their dark sense of humor (lost on large swathes of their audience), their unwieldy aesthetic and their cryptic poster campaign. Over the course of Cop Shoot Cop’s tumultuous rise and fall and then into the Firewater years, Tod and I have spilled many gallons of beer and ink about our respective trajectories. Now ensconced full-time in Istanbul, Tod only gets to New York City every so often, and he and I only get to convene in person every couple of years or so, usually around the holidays. The last time he was in town back in December, we caught up for a drink at an old favorite, the Ear Inn on the westerly end of Spring Street, and it dawned on me that I’d never subjected the poor guy to the Flaming Pablum Interview. So now, joining the estimable ranks of Big Paul Ferguson of Killing Joke, Chris Egan of Missing Foundation, RB Korbet of Even Worse, Erik Sanko of Skeleton Key, Fran Powers of Modern Clix, J Yuenger of White Zombie, Brooke Smith of Sunday Matinee, Don Rauf of Life in a Blender, and Andi Harriman of Some Wear Leather, Some Wear Lace, here with the Flaming Pablum Interview with Tod [A]…

FP: You’ve now been living in Turkey for almost 12 years. How’s that going? Of all the places you’ve lived, how does Istanbul compare?

I've lived in NYC, Denpasar, Phnom Penh, Calcutta, Surat Thani and now Istanbul. Though I didn't expect to be here quite so long, I can't complain about the city. Istanbul is the NYC of Turkey: it's a port city, which means it's quite multi-cultural. The cost of living is far less than NYC, and the town has public transport that doesn't reek of urine. It has a lot more cats and a lot less rats (do the math). I guess I feel as at home here as I have felt anywhere else, though the current Turkish government leaves much to be desired. Hopefully the people of Turkey will get rid of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named in the upcoming 2023 general election.

It’s been eleven years since you released International Orange, but now, I gather, have new music demoed and ready to be recorded — can you give us an update?

Having decided to procreate, I took some time off from recording and touring to concentrate on raising my daughter. I didn't want to be the father who was never there. In the meantime, I wrote fifty songs. I am now a free agent and I think I'm almost ready to get back to recording and touring. We shall see who winds up releasing these records.

Firewater has counted many illustrious names in its ranks, over the years — are you in touch with all those players? Might we hear from them again on the next LP?

Yes, we are mostly all still buddies. It's quite possible there will be some appearances from old friends once it's time to go into the studio and begin touring again.

If you had to characterize the direction and sound of the new material, how would you do so?

My itinerant lifestyle has certainly colored the new batch of songs, melodically, sonically, and rhythmically. There is a Turkish flavor to many of them. But somehow I can't seem to scrape all the American mud off my boots. I feel like my time abroad has given me perspective to write about the country of my birth.

Your first novel, “Banging the Monkey” was published in 2019. Are there more books in you waiting to come out?

Yes. I am working on a few new books at the moment: a novel (for adults), and some others for children. But I take my time. They will be done when they are done.

You were recently back in the States and in New York City for the first time in a while. How does your former home turf feel to you in the wake of all that’s happened?

I still love NYC. But as I told you when I saw you last, I feel safer raising my daughter in a quasi-dictatorship like Turkey where almost nobody has a gun, than in America where everyone seems to own multiple firearms.

In 2016, you joined some of your former Cop Shoot Cop bandmates for the commentary track of the live DVD New York Post Punk / Noise Series 1. Are you still back in contact with those guys today?

Yes, I am in touch with Jim Coleman and Phil Puleo and we are on good terms. During the lockdowns, we made some sporadic attempts to collaborate from afar, but nothing seemed to catch fire. Jim and Phil seem to be doing quite well with Human Impact, so more power to them.

Is there any Firewater (or, for that matter, Cop Shoot Cop) material left “in the vault,” so to speak? Stuff that was never released? If so, will it ever see the light of day?

Yes, there is quite a bit. But tracks get left in the vault for a reason, usually because they weren't quite ready.

What’s your take on the music of today? Are there any new artists you’re particularly enthused about? What have you been listening to?

When I was a young punk I thought the way to move forward was to obliterate the past. Now I'm much more interested in the historical continuity of music. I'm trying to catch up on the homework I should have done when I was 21, learning the musical secrets of all the songs I love. I'm delving back into the past: jazz, the birth of rock 'n' roll. I listen to a lot of early blues, jazz, folk and psychedelia. Mainly I'm focused on developing as a songwriter and composer. I've been studying soundtracks (Morricone, Elfman, Zimmer), and I try to learn from the lyricists I admire (Dylan, Waits, Bowie).

Of all the spots you lived around New York City, which was your favorite, and why?

It was definitely fun living in Williamsburgh in the late 80's – early 90's. The rents were incredibly cheap, and there was much fun to be had exploring the empty buildings. I remember setting fire to an abandoned car in a vacant lot and watching it burn. Neither police nor the fire department ever came. That's how much of a no man's land it was at that time.

…which was your least favorite, and why?

By the time I moved to Bushwick, I had already pretty much had it with NYC. The locals weren't too enthused about the bohemian gringos encroaching on their turf, so there was quite a bit of aggro. Also, I was arrested for drinking a beer on the street outside my building, about 20 feet away from the corner where a bunch of jackasses had been selling smack and crack for years. So once I got out of jail, I was off to Thailand.

Where in the world is the food the best?

Italy, of course. I have worked there a lot, and the Italians really know what they are doing. But I also love Thai street food. Such an amazingly subtle combination of flavors. And usually $1 a plate. Indian and Mexican. Turkish food is also amazing.

What’s your favorite Firewater album?

The Golden Hour certainly was the most fun to make. The adventure of recording it, in India, Pakistan, and Indonesia, combined with working with my buddies in Tel Aviv to complete it. Everything seemed to come together on that record.

What’s your least favorite? Why?

International Orange was a nightmare to make. My record company didn't support the concept, so I had to cut a lot of financial corners. As a result, even though the songs were as good as those on The Golden Hour, the sound quality on International Orange suffered because of budget problems. I would love to re-record those songs someday. My ugly experience making International Orange also made me want to wait until I could afford to record in the right way.

What’s your favorite Cop Shoot Cop album?

Release. At that time CSC was firing on all pistons, and we had producer David Sardy at the controls. After that record, everything went rapidly south for the band.

What’s your least favorite? Why?

White Noise. It just hasn't aged well.

The irony here is the White Noise continues to be my favorite album by the band. It’s aged just fine, to my ears.

Why do the vinyl re-releases of Get Off the Cross... and Golden Hour have different cover art?

When Scott Schaefer approached me about doing vinyl releases of the Firewater catalog, I saw it as an opportunity to make something special. So I decided to re-make all the covers by hand. It's been really fun to re-imagine the art. The vinyl series will be continued in the near future.

Beyond from family and friends, what do you miss most about the United States?

A genuine NYC slice, and a real bagel. And not much else.

What sort of music is your daughter listening to?

I knew going into this parenting thing that I had a window of maybe four or five years in which I could vet the music my daughter would hear. Being a control freak, I took full advantage of those years. I wanted her developing brain to get a solid grounding in classic melody and song structure before she was exposed to bullshit musical 'content' from off the internet. So I made her tons of mix tapes: nursery rhymes; classical stuff like Carl Orff, Peter and the Wolf, and the Nutcracker; plus kid-friendly songs from folks like Raffi, the Beatles, Donovan, Ivor Cutler, Monty Python, Spike Jones, Woody Guthrie and the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band.

Yeah, well, to answer your question, the window has closed. You don't want to know what sort of music torture I am subjected to now. I can't wait till she's a teenager, and will start hitting me with some cool sounds.

What was the best concert you ever attended?

I can't name just one: Black Flag at some bowling alley in New Jersey circa 1984, Nirvana at the Reading Festival circa 1992, Tom Waits at the Beacon Theater 1999, Bone Machine tour, Motorhead in Istanbul, 2011. Plus any Jesus Lizard show. 

What five albums can you not live without?

Ramones - Ramones
Tom Waits - Rain Dogs
The Doors - The Doors
David Bowie - Diamond Dogs
Bob Dylan - Highway 61 Revisited

The best songwriter is….

There are seven: Tom Waits, Bob Dylan, David Bowie, Robyn Hitchcock, Leonard Cohen, and Ivor Cutler. (and me.)

The Soft Solution

Hey again, all … we’re still doing some tinkering at the back end, trying to parse the comment-leaving problems. We may find a solution, or we may not. I’ve reverted back to the old design, as I personally prefer it, and it’s got sort of what I project as an established identity. If I have to change it, I will, but not sure we’re there, as yet.

In any case, I do have some stuff coming up, including a Flaming Pablum Interview with Tod [A] of Firewater/Cop Shoot Cop and a rumination on Ungano’s, a fabled, long-vanished rock club in the unlikely environs of the Upper West Side. I’m looking forward to unleashing that one.

In the short term, however, please enjoy this live recording of The Soft Boys performing at the Portland Arms in Cambridge, England in 1978. This is, of course, Robyn Hitchcock’s first band (since we’ve been discussing him, of late), and it’s both an amazing recording and entirely hilarious. If I’m not mistaken, the Portland Arms is still there in 2023.

Enjoy. Back Soon.

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.

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.

 

The Dueling Delis

During what I think I can still safely call an era of uncertainty, here in New York City, if not the world, it is not at all uncommon – Hell, it’s actually frequent -- to notice any number of age-old, revered businesses that have been operating for decades suddenly vacated, gutted and boarded-up. Whether because of spiraling rents, the rigors of the pandemic, the faltering economy or the changing sensibilities of a neighborhood, certain shops, restaurants, bars, bistros, outlets and/or local services that you’d pretty much expected to always be there will suddenly vanish. No business is safe. Nothing is sacred.

I can’t count the number of times during the last two or three years (to say nothing of the seventeen plus years I’ve been keeping this silly blog) that I’ve been blithely walking down the street, only to suddenly see a beloved neighborhood spot I’ve cherished for ages suddenly and without any warning …. not there. Sometimes it happens like a thief in the night, leaving no trace or explanation. Other times, there’s a weepy note.

This morning, I decided to take a more westerly approach to my office in TriBeCa, veeering off the main artery of West Broadway in favor of the side streets of the Village and SoHo. With my ears filled by the latest episode of Marc Maron’s WTF podcast, and my mind otherwise engaged by the impending duties of the day, I didn’t notice the change right away, but right as I was crossing the intersection of Thompson and Prince Streets in the heart of SoHo, I was stopped dead in my tracks by something.

This intersection has always been a favorite of mine. Up the street to the east just a few steps used to be Rocks in Your Head, a hugely important independent record shop for me which factored greatly in my development as a truly insufferable music snob. It’s long gone now, of course, replaced for a few years by a glum real estate agency and now a bakery that exclusively sells pastry shaped like genitalia. I’m not making that up. On the southeasterly corner of the intersection, meanwhile, was Milady’s – initially an unpretentious neighborhood bar with a pool table wherein I spent many a beery evening thoughout the late `80s and `90s. It vanished in 2014 and the space became a short succession of aspirationally upscale restaurants. More recently, however, it’s reverted back to Milady’s, but with a bit of a bespoke reboot. The jury’s still out on that, for me.

Sure, those spots are significant for me, but the thing that always struck me about the crossing of Thompson and Prince were the dueling delicatessens. With one perched on the southwest-facing corner mirrored by another anchored on the northeast-facing corner, I always marveled at how these two comparable ventures managed to peacefully co-exist in a perpetual state of neighborly détente, like two obstinate nations refusing to recognize the legitimacy of the other or like The Zax is Dr. Seuss’ “The Sneetches and Other Stories’ (look it up). I have vivid memories of myself and two friends stumbling out of Milady’s, one snowy night in the late `90’s, and one pal going to the south deli to buy smokes while the other went to the north deli to buy a sandwich. It was entirely nonsensical, but I loved that about it. It was SoHo … it was unconventional, like that.

But this morning … something was different.

Instead of the southwest corner deli --officially named H&H Kim -- bustling with its usual deliveries of flowers, crates of fresh fruit and cartons of dairy products or patrons popping in and out for cups of coffee and a newspaper, the door was shut and the windows were all papered up. My heart sank.

In the center of the door was taped the inevitable note.

The major difference with this story is that practically for the first time in my recollection, the parting missive is not one tinged with tragedy or regret. While I am saddened by the departure of this longtime business, at the very least, the tale has a happy ending.

Regardless, support your local businesses.