jukeboxgraduate.com

i only have one thing to say

where are:

GRAM PARSONS.

IGGY POP.

THE MC5.

GET A MOTHERFUCKING CLUE, CLEVELAND

the skyway

That's from Paul's first solo tour in 1993. (Ignore the moronic crowdsurfers, it's worth it.)

I found this today not because I spend a lot of time crusing around YouTube, but because last night the latest issue of the Skyway landed in my inbox. I've been subscribed to the Skyway since the first day I got an email address back in 1994. I have moved email addresses a gazillion times since then but I always make sure to resubscribe so I don't miss it.

The Skyway is kind of an anarchronism in these days of RSS and social networking; it's a broadcast-only email newsletter, infrequent more than ever these days. In the old days, it would roll out once a month or so, full of stories people wanted to share about the 'Mats, odd tidbits, tape requests (remember tapes?). Its frequency largely depended on what the list-keeper was up to at the time. (That's a much longer story you'll have to read through the issues yourself to get a handle on.) When he had enough material, Matt would roll everything up into a text-only email and send it off. It wasn't a newsgroup; it wasn't a mailing list; it was what it was and it's probably lasted as long as it has because of the odd, yet completely comfortable format.

You should go read the latest issue. I'll buy you a coffee if you think it wasn't worth your time and didn't make your day just a little bit better.

yet more reasons to [heart] dulli

Ten Things You Didn't Know About Greg Dulli, from Harp Magazine.

"I have met the entire starting eight of the 1975-76 World Series Champion Cincinnati Reds. Pete Rose is a freak. The rest of them are sweethearts."

This new criteria of evaluating men based on their baseball habits would have been useful in my past.

twilight singers in tel aviv

from The Twilight SIngers' official blog:

In light of the recent aggression between Israel and the Hezbollah terrorist faction in Lebanon and Syria, I have been moved to comment on my feelings regarding this conflict. While I am saddened by the loss of life and property on both sides, my belief in freedom, democracy and the peaceful existence of the state of Israel remains steadfast. To this end, the Twilight Singers show in Tel Aviv on August 30 will go on as scheduled. We look forward to performing our songs for an audience who has yet to see us in their own country and hope to be visiting in a time of peace.

Shalom-
Greg Dulli

====

Many of you likely know that I have two passports and spent six years living in Tel Aviv. I don't want to turn this into a political discussion but I'm glad he's still going, and it's important to me that he is.

My best friend from those years just recently visited and we were talking about how chickenshit Metallica were back in the day when they played Israel, how they made up some story about why they didn't spend the night on Israeli soil (they stayed in Cyprus and flew in and out for the show) because there was some random routine going on way up north - it would have been like saying, "Gee, something's going on at the Canadian border, I better not go to Boston."

(Except that isn't exactly true, your concept of what danger really is changes when you live in a war zone.)

(But it was still chickenshit and Lars lied very badly [quelle surprise, I hear you saying] when someone in the media called him on it.)

Now, of course, the situation is VERY different, even in Tel Aviv, a city that you would recognize, no matter where you live right now. But it doesn't truly impact day-to-day on the street and I'm glad he's going; a lesser man would have cancelled and not been that badly thought of in this context. But, Dulli is not a lesser man.

I also take particular pride in Dulli's Israeli outing because I had some direct impact on this, believe it or not. When I lived in Israel, I was the Label Manager for the former Warner/Elektra/Atlantic, and it was my decision to release the Afghan Whigs' Gentlemen locally. It was the first release of the Whigs over there - before that, maybe you could have special-ordered or found one or two copies of the Sub Pop releases in the funky record store - maybe. Israel is a small, quirky market that can't possibly support every record released in the US or UK. Some things just don't sell; some things do sell if you work at it hard enough. Understand that this was a market where I had to make a VERY VERY VERY strong case to the Managing Director that this band called Nirvana was worth taking a chance on.

Anyway, by the time the advance cassette for Gentlemen appeared on my desk, I had enough credibility that I could release it, and hand-carry it over to one of the top DJ's in the country to make sure it was debuted on his show. It turned out to be a BIG hit,too (well, big in a country where a Gold record was 20,000 - and it was fucking hard to get that). But I do remember the requests at the dj booth (oh yeah, I used to quasi-dj at the big club in Tel Aviv at the time) and the pride at watching a whole room of kids and just-past-kids gyrating and singing along to the Whigs.

I don't really talk much about what I did there and I'm not quite sure why, because I still have the gold records and the award plaques and stories to tell. Some day, maybe.

random: irrefutable claim #1

Irrefutable fact: I never liked Genesis.
Irrefutable fact #2: I find Phil Collins to be an annoying gnat.
Irrefutable fact #3: He was everywhere in the 80's. EVERYWHERE.
Irrefutable fact #4: my MOTHER likes Phil Collins.
(which isn't fair. Mom grew up listening to Frank Sinatra and hanging out in jazz clubs in Chicago listening to Ahmad Jamal. Mom has good taste in music. Sorry, Mom)

I am at work last week, and someone has music on. This is the conversation I have with myself:
Hmm, what is this?
Phil Collins.
Solo or Genesis?
Genesis.
Something live.
Okay, it's radio, that tinny compression, so it has to be released.
Didn't they have some triple live album at some point?
Yeah, maybe.

Eventually, it dawns on me, crosses my filters because I can't tune it out. This is because Genesis are covering "Everybody Needs Somebody To Love" tagged with "Satisfaction" and then "All Day And All Of The Night," as part of some abysmal live performance of "Turn It On Again," back when Genesis was a band you desperately had to pretend to like, or at least Appreciate Their Contribution To Rock And Roll less you be considered some kind of neanderthal.

This abomination is, apparently, from some Live At Wembley release from 1987 (thank you Google, where the reviewer mentions that this medley "is always good fun to hear" and notes that there is an ALTERNATIVE version to be found on the "Live at Knebworth" double CD - I guess if anything was going to accurately define "Late 1980's Adult Oriented Rock Bombast" it would be any band of a stature and demographic to make it worthwhile to release a "Live At Knebworth". Who else was ever live at
Knebworth except overblown balding rock gods? The Who were live at Leeds and live at Charlton, but they never released some poncy "Live at Knebworth" crap album--

(okay. I know. The Who, the band who defined what the live album was supposed to be, after that only ever released crappy live albums - and I mean truly crappy. waste of money, not even worth buying for the one-extra-track-you-don't-officially-have, badly sequenced and compressed bordering on KISS Alive-sounding)

I'm sorry. Where was I? Genesis. Phil Collins.

And people in my high school wondered why I turned to the Ramones as my personal lord and saviour? Do I even need another reason? The answer is NO. The answer always was no.

it's joey's birthday

And I hope it stops raining long enough to let these guys pull off their "Road To Ruin Pilgrimage".

Some posts coming soon, I promise...

EXHIBIT #1: why the afghan whigs were one of the best motherfucking bands ever

Yes, that's Shawn Smith on backing vocals.

CARE PACKAGE FOR A TOURING BAND:

1 Deluxe Roadmaster Road Atlas
1 book: "In Me Own Words: The Autobiography of Bigfoot"
1 2 lb bag "Family Size" Red Vines
1 deck of Elvis Presley playing cards
1 bottle 500mg tablets Vitamin C
1 set of Creepy Crawly plastic insects and amphibians
1 set of "American Band" plastic instruments
2 packages men's socks (6 pairs in total)
2 king-size Tootsie Rolls
6 packages Emergen-C

iTunes Signature Maker

DO THIS:

iTunes Signature Maker.

I am fascinated. Enchanted. Delighted. And after the jump I will share what is in mine (I would share the file but it's almost 12mb and that would choke my server in about an hour). I guarantee that, if you know me, once you see my list you will run to do yours (okay, providing you are part of iPod Nation).

If you know me -- and even if you don't, even if you just read me -- this should strike you as spot on in a scary way. And I so love the denoument of those final two selections:

All Because Of You
U2
How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb

The Have Nots
X
Under The Big Black Sun

Brown Sugar
The Rolling Stones
Sticky Fingers

Differing Touch
Marah
Mararities (Disc 1)

Rock and Roll Motherfucker
The D4
6Twenty

Wind Out (With Friends)
R.E.M.
Reckoning - bonus

Know Your Rights
The Clash
Combat Rock

Thru And Thru
The Rolling Stones
Voodoo Lounge

Can't Hardly Wait
The Replacements
Pleased To Meet Me

Sonic Reducer
Pearl Jam
Christmas Singles

I'm Waiting For The Man
The Velvet Underground
Peel Slowly And See

All The Way From Memphis
Ian Hunter
The Collection

Message In A Bottle
The Police
Regatta de Blanc

Beautiful Day
U2
All That You Can't Leave Behind

Good Livin'
Supersuckers
Must've Been Live

Hot House
X
More Fun In The New World (Remastered & Expanded)

Cite Soleil
Afghan Whigs
1965

Martin Eden
Twilight Singers
Blackberry Belle

War On War
Wilco
Yankee Hotel Foxtrot

There's A Black Horse
John Doe
Forever Hasn't Happened Yet

Since You're In Love
Jesse Malin
The Heat

Lady Godiva's Operation
The Velvet Underground
White Light White Heat

Drive, She Said
Stan Ridgway

Living Proof (live on SNL)
Bruce Springsteen

Does This Bus Stop At 82nd Street?
Bruce Springsteen
Tracks (Disc 1)

It's Only Money, Tyrone
Marah
Kids in Philly

5:15
The Who
Quadrophenia (Disc 2)

Six Days On The Road
The Flying Burrito Bros
Sin City - The Very Best Of The Flying Burrito Bros

Lua
Bright Eyes
I'm Wide Awake It's Morning

Blame, Etc
Afghan Whigs

I've Been Riding With The Ghost
Songs:Ohia
The Magnolia Electric Co

I Don't Care
The Ramones
All The Stuff (And More)

You Got It
Mudhoney
March To Fuzz (Disc 1)

Desire
U2
The Best Of 1980-1990

School's Out
Alice Cooper
Dazed And Confused

Dancing With The Women At The Bar
Whiskeytown
Strangers Almanac

How Soon Is Now (Smiths Cover)
Afghan Whigs

Left Of The Dial
The Replacements
Tim

Ramblin' Rose
MC5
Best Of The MC5

If There's Hell Below (We're All Going To Go)
Afghan Whigs
Live At The Howlin' Wolf

Time Code
Bright Eyes
Digital Ash in a Digital Urn

Goo Goo Muck
The Cramps
Psychedelic Jungle

Raw Power
Iggy & The Stooges
Raw Power

Mystery Train
Elvis Presley
SUN Records Greatest Hits

Sittin' Pretty
The Datsuns
The Datsuns

Sweet Virginia
The Rolling Stones
Exile On Main Street

Rudie Can't Fail
The Clash
London Calling

I Believe In Miracles
Eddie Vedder & Zeke

1969
The Stooges
The Stooges

See No Evil
Television
Marquee Moon

Downbound Train
Bruce Springsteen
Born in the U.S.A.

Conjure Me
Afghan Whigs
Congregation

Life Begins At The Hop
XTC

So You Want To Be (A Rock 'n' Roll Star)
The Patti Smith Group
Wave

Screen
Brad
Shame

Stardog Champion
Mother Love Bone
Apple

Gates Of Eden
Bob Dylan
Bringing It All Back Home

None But The Brave
Bruce Springsteen
Essential Disc 3

I'm So Lonesome
Grandpaboy
Dead Man Shake

The Fever
Bruce Springsteen
18 Tracks

Promised Land (live)
Sleater-Kinney

Trash, Trampoline And The Party Girl
U2
B-Sides 1980-1990

Black, Red, Yellow
Pearl Jam
Hail, Hail Single

Teen Age Riot
Sonic Youth
Daydream Nation

America
Simon & Garfunkel
Almost Famous

Jumpin' Jack Flash
The Rolling Stones
Forty Licks (Disc 1)

Christmas Day
Bruce Springsteen And Friends
12/7/03 - Disc 1 - Holiday Show - Asbury Park NJ

Birth Ritual
Soundgarden
Singles

Stuck Inside Of Mobile With the Memphis Blues Again
Bob Dylan
Blonde On Blonde

Acrobat
U2
Achtung Baby

Lilac Wine
Jeff Buckley
Grace

Brother Woodrow / Closing Prayer
Afghan Whigs
Gentlemen

Second Guessing
R.E.M.
Reckoning

Come On, Come On
Cheap Trick
In Color (Remastered)

Complete Control
The Clash
The Essential Clash (Disc 1)

Watching the Detectives
Elvis Costello
My Aim Is True

Dear Doctor
The Rolling Stones
Beggars Banquet [SACD Hybrid, Remastered 2002]

I'm The Ocean
Neil Young
Mirrorball

Up In Heaven (Not Only Here)
The Clash
Sandinista!

I Don't Want To Go Home
Southside Johnny & The Asbury Jukes
The Best Of Southside Johnny And The Asbury Jukes

East
Marah
20.000 Streets Under The Sky

Spirit In The Night
Bruce Springsteen
Greetings From Asbury Park, N.J.

Wouldn't It Be Nice (Stereo Mix)
The Beach Boys
Pet Sounds

ELO Kiddies
Cheap Trick
Cheap Trick (Remaster)

This Time It's For Real
Bruce Springsteen And Friends
12/7/03 - Disc 2 - Holiday Show - Asbury Park NJ

Just A Touch
R.E.M.
Life's Rich Pageant

Twist And Shout
Backbeat
Backbeat

The Heavyweights
Marah
Mararities (Disc 2)

Urban Guerilla
Mudhoney

Walk Unafraid
R.E.M.
Up

Nervous Breakdown
Ryan Adams

New York New york
The Dictators
Fuck 'Em If They Can't Take A Joke

Hwy 5
The John Doe Thing
Free The West Memphis 3

Forever For You
John Doe
Dim Stars, Bright Sky

Louie Louie - live 78
Bruce Springsteen
Total Darkness

Crime Scene Part 1
The Afghan Whigs
Black Love

Now do yours and come back and talk about it.

SPOT THE OXYMORON

"a post-holiday indie rock market blue-balled by a disappointing Strokes album"

(from a Pitchfork review on an album that is irrelevant to this quandry)

old guitar strings

I am probably not the only music geek who has old guitar strings lying around the house, most of which have significance or at least sentimentality of some sort attached to them.

In trying to find something to do with some guitar strings in my possession, I came across this very cool site, called STRINGSandaDARE. It's a local Minneapolis artist who makes gorgeous jewelry out of guitar strings, and yes, can do a custom order with your own guitar strings.

If you go to the web site, the backstory is cool (and music related, hence the justification for me posting it here), and the attitude likewise. And yes, I am having her make me a bracelet from some Patti Smith guitar strings I got at a show in Seattle a few years ago.

the onion continues to rule

RIAA Bans Telling Friends About Songs

sorry blogspot.com commenters

i got hit with a porn comment spammer and accidentally deleted the comments from many of you wise and wonderful people who host at blogspot.com. drat.

the healing power of music

a grass roots survivor donation idea, from kimya dawson (ex-moldy peaches). If I was a kid and loved music this would hurt almost more than anything.

I guess I'm just desperate for any way to make an immediate and real impact.

reader from iceland

You Google my name every few months, end up at this site, and spend five minutes reading, and you live in Reykjavk. I am fascinated. Please drop a line the next time you swing by.

young neil

I'm not going to talk about Neil being sick - the news story has been everywhere so I'm not going to be adding anything by posting about it.

I am in denial. I will continue to be in said denial. I'm not going to write a big post about what I think and feel about Neil Young because I just am not ready to have to do that yet.

To quote John Doe from the other night (wait for it, it's coming, I swear), "Aren't all of the Eagles still alive? And what about those people from the Fleetwood Macs?"

down at max's

When I first discovered rock and roll - or rather, when I moved beyond just listening to the radio coming in across the lake from WLS, and wanting to know more -- everything -- about the music I was listening to, I immediately felt like I had missed it ALL.

I don't remember at what point I learned that the 60's were not just about Woodstock, hippies and flower power, but I do remember feeling relieved, as I didn't really like long hair and fringe and have always, always hated the Grateful Dead. But suddenly, the longing for the past was painful as I discovered the Velvet Underground and Andy Warhol and, as the past caught up with the present, Max's Kansas City.

This condition was only exacerbated when, on a trip into the city with my parents, I spied a magazine at a newsstand that had the Ramones on the cover. Buying a magazine was something that didn't require permission, I could afford it with babysitting money, and saying to my parents, "Oh, it's a music magazine" was all the explanation that was required.

Of course, this was the infamous Rock Scene, the brainchild of Lisa Robinson and Richard Robinson. I devoured it from cover to cover, and every time my father went into New York, I would beg him to please stop at a newsstand on the way home and see if they had any issues. Sometimes I got lucky, sometimes I didn't; but when I did, I felt like it was my passport to another world. The Ramones help Danny Fields move; Cyrinda and David Jo go shopping; and of course, the endless scene photos of CB's and Max's. I would sit on the floor of my very purple room in Connecticut, and pray for the day I was old enough to go be part of all of this.

The first time I went to Max's was completely accidental. It was the summer between my junior and senior year of high school, and I had spent the summer going to the Dr. Pepper concerts up at Wollman Rink. I don't know how I managed to convince my parents that I could go to these shows all by myself (and sometimes I went to more than one in a week), but somehow I did. I know I had a friend help me buy the tickets (or at least told me about the concerts and took me up to Alexander's on 59th Street to buy them).

It was either the night of the Talking Heads or the B52's (or some other show that week) and like I always did, I made friends with the people sitting around me. During intermission, one of the girls (they were from Brooklyn, if I remember correctly) asked me, "Oh, we're going to Max's after the show, do you want to come with us?"

Simultaneously, I said "Yes" while my heart flew up into my mouth. Of course, I tried to act as though I had done so a million times already, and then snuck off to a pay phone to inform my parents that the concert was running late that night so I might be on a later train. I had no idea whatsoever how I was going to get into the club, or how I would get back to the train station afterwards, but I wasn't going to let such minor details get in the way of my ticket to fabulousness - even though I knew, very very well, that it was 1980 and those days were long passed. Still - it was MAX'S!

Getting out of the cab in front of the awning on Park Avenue South for the first time felt like a dream. Clearly, the people I was with had actually been there before, as they knew whoever was at the door, and this was probably the only reason I got in without them asking for my ID, because I know I did not look old enough for one second (as much as I liked to pretend the opposite was true. I also did not yet have a fake ID). I knew I wasn't going to run into Nico and Lou Reed and Iggy and Bowie and Sable Starr or anyone else, it was, after all, 1980; but the fact that they had been there and that this was Max's, and the Dolls and JT and even, heck, Bruce Springsteen had been on that stage, was more than enough for me. It felt like I was visiting a shrine, I was in the place that I had daydreamed about for all those years.

Someone I was with bought me a drink; I favored Seven and Seven at that time of my life, so that is what I ordered, and stood there, trying to look as bored and cool as it was possible to do when ones heart is pounding a million beats a minute. I was at MAX'S! I was drinking at MAX'S KANSAS CITY! In my head, I tried to imagine the Dolls onstage, I tried to imagine Iggy and Lou sitting in a booth, I tried to imagine the drugs and the debauchery, and Patti and John Cale and the VELVETS, and Jim Carroll, here as a teenaged Velvet Underground fan and giving drink orders you could hear on the "Live At Max's" album (which I didn't own yet, but knew about from a Jim interview in Creem).

And then I looked at my watch, and realized I had to get to the train station in 15 minutes or I would, literally, turn into a pumpkin (and a pumpkin the day after Halloween at that, by the time my father got done reading me the riot act for missing the last train home), and went downstairs, jumped into a cab, and ran into the last train to Stamford just as the conductor was standing at the platform, waiting for the Friday night stragglers to come running through the doors from the terminal.

The whole way home, I sat there, thinking: I was at Max's Kansas City!

Once I moved into the city to go to college, I went to Max's a handful of times before the glow diminished, and the novelty of going to Max's just because I could wore down. The truth was that there were very few good bands that played there any more, and never anything great. Most of the time, the place was half-empty, or filled with Japanese or German tourists. And then, although it seemed impossible and at the time we were up in arms over it, the club closed its doors for good. And then, one night, taking a cab uptown, I suddenly realized that the sign and the awning were gone.

So, in case you were wondering what sparked this whole reverie, last week I got a freelance editing job, and the client was at 215 Park Avenue South. I didn't think anything of it, until I went downstairs to get some air and sun and food and call the boyfriend. It was sunny but cold, so I ducked into the entrance of the building just next door, and I'm talking to him and all of a sudden I look through the glass door, and exclaim: "Oh, my god!"
"What's wrong?"
"This is 213 Park Avenue South."
I stop, and realize he will not have instant recognition of that address (okay, who would, really, besides crazy, obsessed maniacs).
"This is where Max's Kansas City used to be."

Now, I knew that, of course, but not ever really spending a lot of time in Union Square, I had not consciously stood there and thought: that short building inbetween the W and that office building, that is where Max's used to be. Or at least not for the last 10 years.

Below is what caused the yelp (click on the image to see it larger). I guessed they were Bob Gruen and research has validated this guess:

And this made me happy, that it had not been completely forgotten, that there was still some tangible presence of Max's in this building, even if the ground floor is now a deli, even if there is no more magic in the building. Because there was, once, and there always will be for everyone who remembers it.

clash city rockers on the boardwalk

I am in massive office de-clutter mode tonight, and I found this picture in the process. It is absolutely my all-time favorite Clash photograph ever. If you know me, you understand why.

For those who don't immediately get it, it's Memorial Day weekend of 1982, and Joe, Mick and Paul are strolling north on the boardwalk at Asbury Park, New Jersey, toward Convention Hall, where they played three incredible shows. It was cold (see grey, see fans wearing long sleeves) but it didn't matter. It was a defining moment for so many Jersey kids I know.

I was there, and it was one of my first big culture clashes, Asbury Park previously having only one meaning for me. And then, we drive down in full regalia and it was like Year 0, like no other music existed any more. For my Jersey friends, they walked around with their jaws on the floor: "I cannot believe that all these people are here, in New Jersey!" Suddenly, people didn't feel so alone or so isolated or so different than anyone else, here was proof: 3,000+ people jammed into Convention Hall, either flying punk rock colors or wishing they had the nerve to.

I remember that, despite the fact that it felt like the Gathering of the Tribes in some ways, it was still Asbury, and it was pretty fucking scary walking down the boardwalk to go play the KISS pinball machine down near the carousel, even though I'd done it dozens of times before.

Mr. Punk Rock: "Are you from the Shore?"
Me: "No."
Mr. Punk Rock: "So how do you know so much about Asbury?"
Me: "Um, Springsteen."
Mr. Punk Rock: "Oh." *beat* "That's cool. Bruce is all right."

I never saw a disconnect between liking Bruce and liking the Clash, just like I thought it was the most divinely perfect pairing in the world when the Clash opened for the Who later that year. (I was very much in the minority, I learned, while waiting on line to buy my tickets for Shea Stadium.) And I always did wonder if Bruce didn't somehow see at least one of these Clash shows at Convention Hall. 1982 was one of the summers he was running up and down the Shore, turning up to play with whoever struck his fancy - hell, he was even at Big Man's West in Red Bank on the night of the first show (thank you, Brucebase).

(Well, I can dream, can't I?)

Wow. Huge blast of memories there, which I hadn't planned on.

The photo originally came from Creem, but I have no idea who the photographer was (if you do, please let me know).

this week's nostalgia discussion

"Nostalgia is the critic's heroin," claims Sasha Frere-Jones. In his context, he's talking about old school hip hop and his reactions, mental, emotional and physical, when he recently encounters a blast from the past.

What he describes in his blog (see above) is how I felt the night I walked into the awful Doc Maynard's in Seattle's Pioneer Square with my friend H., who was there to see her friends play in a conglomeration they refer to as "English Disco" (and I'm feeling generous this morning, so I'll give you the reference). We had gone out drinking, she had to cut out to see her friends play, the name alone made me willing to tag along for the hell of it (despite the venue, which is AWFUL, think bridge and tunnel except this case, it's redneck B&T). We walked in just as the band was taking the stage (Rick Friel and Chris Friel, who are practically a Seattle music dynasty at this point). The two of them set up, and launch into a dead-on (and I mean DEAD ON) rendition of Johnny Thunders' "Pipeline" and I am flabbergasted, I am immediately transported somewhere other (well, other than Seattle, anyway), I am overwhelmed with delight and surprise and at the same time, fighting the wave of memories that come flooding into my brain as a result of this musical cue. I turned to H., and yelled, "This is the music of my people!" (She promptly spit out her drink, she was laughing so hard.)

Now Jessica Hopper offers that nostalgia is not heroin, it is cocaine, and I started this entry because I was going to offer my thesis that nostalgia is neither, that it is Valium or even worse, Prozac, because nostalgia can be (and I stress that greatly) that thing that lulls you into a comfort zone. In that zone everything is warm and wonderful and comfortable and you never want to leave it or have it change (and I'm sure someone will now write to argue with me that this is heroin, but my only real experience with that drug is Velvet Underground lyrics and "Chinese Rocks" and some people in my past that are, well, in my past).

Going back to that night in Seattle, the entire repetoire of the aforementioned English Disco is, well, what I would consider to be the music of my youth, the music that was a huge part of shaping my musical belief system and who I am today. They did it for fun and because they love the music and they grew up on it and it inspired them -- both individuals having, like every Seattle musician at their level, at least half a dozen other musical projects going on at any one time. So it was Thunders and Iggy and Cheap Trick (which doesn't really fit, but Cheap Trick always fits, and they are obsessed) and the Dolls and the Ramones and others, and for me, it was this blast of Absolute New York in sleepy foggy Seattle that made me happy.

Nostalgia scares me (well, there it would fit into the heroin analogy) because too many people I know (fans AND critics) just sit there in it and never leave, like this woman I was eavesdropping on at the Patti Smith show referenced below. They were discussing the opening act (Graybar, the band Jackson Smith is now in) and the comparisons they used were, well, wrong (Rancid? What crack were you smoking). Then the woman qualified her statement by saying, "I really don't know anything about any bands from the 90's, and I really don't care to." And I thought, How sad. And I thought, how can you be a fan of this woman's music, because from what I remember, it's not like being a Patti Smith fan in real time made you a lot of friends, the way she spit the statement out, it was an epithet, it was how people talked about Patti's music back in the day.

Or it reminded me of waiting in line to see Springsteen in Vancouver two years ago, where I was behind a guy who owned a club in Toronto, and we were delighted to be in each other's proximity because we could talk all day about current music, something that generally doesn't happen in that setting, ever (unless of course you're talking about a band that Bruce has blessed, like Marah or Jesse Malin, and then the fans in question like to think they are suddenly on the cutting edge of the new and happening music scene. Anything else sucks, though).

So I've decided that, for me, nostalgia is alcohol, because it can temporarily lift my mood and make me happy, it can also make me sad or morose, and its effect is highly temporary, and I'm going to refrain from indulging in it excessively because I don't much like what it does in any kind of permanent basis or large scope.

Now I have probably really beaten this horse to death, but I think a lot about this nostalgia thing, since I love me some Classic Rock to a certain extent (i.e., dig the name of this blog) but am also still consumed with finding out what is going on right now that speaks to me, still buying new music, hunting down cd's by bands that aren't on iTunes and may not play outside of, say, the Sacramento area. And my frustration continually with people who are one dimensional and denigrate those that aren't, or with people who once could intelligently describe to you ever band reviewed in Matter but now are so overwhelmed they don't even try to keep up - you'll never be as consumed as you were when you were 20 and had no other responsibilities, sure, and I am not either, but the hunger to discover and to listen and love or maybe not love, so what, at least now you can afford to spend $12 on a cd you are less than crazy about, it's not the commitment it once was, when you were broke and a new record could be a choice between dinner or carfare.

And while I'm here, I'll tie this into what I did Tuesday night, when I found myself in the odd position of actually wanting to defend Green Day (and then Amy Phillips did it for me, thank god), when a bunch of people decided they were appointed the Official Representatives of what Punk Rock Is Supposed To Be, and listened to someone, who was supposed to be an expert on the Clash, tell us that punk rock was about paying respect to your elders. How he reconciled "No Elvis, Beatles or the Rolling Stones in 1977" with that statement is beyond my comprehension, and clearly he remembers a different punk rock than I do, but there you go. And they are not any better than the Classic Rock nostalgists who insist that if you didn't see Springsteen before 1975, you didn't really see him when he was any good, or the Rolling Stones fans who brag about how they've never seen any of their opening bands (Foo Fighters, Ryan Adams, Pearl Jam, etc.), because there's no point.

(But is that nostalgia or is that just stupidity? Interesting point.)

the rock and roll hall of fame must die.

Not that this is news to me, or any of you, but it is now official: the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is a bloated carcass that makes a mockery of rock and roll.

The 2005 inductees have been announced, and they are:

U2
The Pretenders
Buddy Guy
Percy Sledge
The O'Jays

Now, that's really not what the problem is - the problem is who DIDN'T get inducted, in some cases, YET AGAIN. (Although the fact that U2 got nominated oh-so-coincidentally the year of a huge album and worldwide tour makes me so fucking nauseous and angry I am spitting nails, and I haven't even seen the ticket prices for this tour yet. (And you know, I LIKE them. They *are* good. They *are* special. The fact that it's just the four of them up there making noise is something in this day.)

I cannot possibly quibble with Percy Sledge and call myself a rock and roll fan, although I don't have a list of who didn't make it in that genre to know if we've properly gotten to everyone yet. I don't even begrudge the O'Jays, although every fucking year it feels like "Here's a bunch of white guys who made us a lot of money, oh, and here's some black men that we ripped off big f'in time so we'll bring their families to the Waldorf Astoria and manipulate them one more time to our advantage" - oh, wait, it feels that way BECAUSE THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT IT IS.

[I realize this is not fair, entirely. I realize that there are probably people working at the R&RHOF, like there were/are at the Experience Music Project in Seattle, who genuinely care about the music and the history and the legacy. I also honestly believe (call me sucker) that most of the musicians who participate in the tributes and "jam sessions" are also genuine in their desire to pay homage and tribute. So if you are one of those people please do not hate me, because this is not directed at you, although it would be so much fucking better if you guys (and gals, when they let you in) would JUST SAY NO to this utter monstrosity which stopped representing the true spirit of rock and roll round about the time they started broadcasting it on network TV.

The Pretenders - sure, no problem. I adore Chrissie. Buddy Guy - no quibble, surprised he didn't make it in beforehand. That, however, is not the problem.

The problem is the list of people who *didn't* get inducted:

Lynyrd Skynyrd
Randy Newman
Gram Parsons
Sex Pistols
Patti Smith
The Stooges
Conway Twitty

CHRISSIE HYNDE OVER IGGY AND GRAM FUCKING PARSONS AND PATTI SMITH? What kind of enormous gigantic contradiction do we have here that we induct Chrissie BEFORE Patti? And you think Chrissie is going to dig being nominated before Iggy? Are these people smoking crack? This is beginning to resemble the Grammies the year that the "Best Heavy Metal (or is it Hard Rock?) Song" category got added and Jethro Tull won OVER METALLICA (not exactly in my top 10, but, geez).

From the R&RHOF web site - emphasis mine:
"The Foundation’s nominating committee, composed of rock and roll historians, selects nominees each year in the Performer category. Ballots are then sent to an international voting body of about 1,000 rock experts. Those performers who receive the highest number of votes, and more than 50 percent of the vote, are inducted."

Am I the only one who thinks these "rock experts" need to lose their jobs?

My big quibbles, and these will not surprise the 3 of you who read this regularly, are, of course, Gram Parsons, Patti Smith, and of course, The Stooges. (The fact that the MC5 have not even been on this list will make my head explode so I am not going to think about it.)

Now, on the one hand, I'm almost glad Gram didn't make it *this* year, because there has been so much noise and attention around him that it would have turned it into a sideshow, it would have turned it into this revisionist history gala of people claiming that he was a big influence and they would have Sheryl Crow inducting him and I would have to either be hospitalized because I went into cardiac arrest or I would be arrested outside the Waldorf, threatening her with bodily harm.

[NOTE: THAT IS A JOKE]

The fact that Polly Parsons is now actively involved with her father's legacy - should have gotten him in, too, and the "Sin City" tribute concert in LA this summer was probably one of the best tribute concerts ever in the history of rock and roll - except that she doesn't deserve that, either, to have to go to the ceremony and act like she's happy (which she will be) but the fact that this has been going on for years and years and years and oh, yeah, we better get that Parsons guy in because people really don't seem to have forgotten him).

"Criteria include the influence and significance of the artist’s contributions to the development and perpetuation of rock and roll."

Look at the first few years of the Hall of Fame. Did any of us have these kind of nuclear brain explosions? No. Sure, they had more people to choose from, and the whole 25 years thing - but Gram would have been eligible in about the mid-90's (if you start from the first Burrito album) or at the latest, 1998, and if you look at who was nominated round about that time, he would have fit.

Why the fuck did Gram Parsons not get in earlier? Why did this vast body of rock and roll historians and rock experts not say, "Gee, ya know, the man kind of spawned an entire genre of musical thought and inspired SEVERAL GENERATIONS of musicians, so let's just get him in there right away, because that's exactly the point of this whole thing." The fact that the EAGLES were inducted BEFORE GRAM PARSONS is a joke that just wrote itself, and I can't be the only one on the planet who thinks this, and if I was one of the "rock experts" (do these guys - and you KNOW they are guys, maybe there are 5 women in there just so they can say, "Yeah, we have some chicks in this thing" - have that on their business cards? "Rock Expert"? I'd like to know what qualifies a "rock expert" because it would seem to me that I actually know quite a few and I'm pretty sure none of them are being asked to vote on this shit or we wouldn't have this sad, sorry, scenario) I would resign because I would be embarassed as fuck that Gram Parsons is somehow NOT in the rock and roll hall of fame. He is STILL influencing musicians, which you cannot say for the fucking EAGLES. (Okay, wait, I know someone is going to write in and insist that the Eagles are truly moving and important and influential and that I am a horrible person that knows nothing about music and definitely doesn't understand it - actually, wait, if I don't get one of those I will actually be disappointed.)

Do we need someone bigger or more popular or prettier than KEITH RICHARDS to stand up and say they're a fan and Gram was a huge influence?

Patti Lee Smith. I would think that the fact that she was one of Clive Davis' prize signings might have gotten her a little pull with the HOF bigwigs. I take her omission the most personally because she was my rock and roll high priestess and I am not that unique or special so that means I know she was the same for thousands and thousands of others just like me. More than anyone, and on a deeper, more profound, internal level, she showed me the way Out, she inspired me, she was a woman playing rock and roll, who was beautiful in a non-traditional, non-stereotypical way, she was literary, she was brilliant, she was infuriating, she was unpredictable, she was exciting. I saw her do a poetry reading a few weeks ago and I don't think I will ever get tired of listening to her read. She was too much to handle in 1978 and even now, is still a force to be reckoned with. It fucking breaks my heart.

Okay, now the chocolate is kicking in (it is too early to drink and I have to go to yoga later) and Raw Power is on its third repeat, so I am just about ready to tackle the next subject:

The Stooges.

Honestly, that should be all that I need to say. Right? Is there actually anyone on this planet who is going to try to say that they weren't First and they weren't influential? Does someone have to die before you induct them, like you did with the Velvets (yet another abomination, of course they got in two years after Sterling Morrison died).

Do you know that if you search on the word "Stooges" on the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame's web site, you get ZERO results? And that searching on "Iggy Pop" brings up entries for - wait, guess, you can - David Bowie? Didn't Iggy play at the fucking opening ceremonies for the R&RHOF??

How many times have the Stooges been nominated? THREE TIMES NOW.

1994 - you know what, that was one heck of a year and I wouldn't have voted for him (okay, I'm lying, I would have voted for him just to be contrarian but still, the lineup that year was pretty stellar.

1997 - The same year that the Eagles were nominated for the FIRST time. The Eagles got in, the Stooges did not. Did the Eagles inspire kids to jump around their bedrooms and smear peanut butter on their chests and move to New York City from Iowa and start bad punk band after bad punk bands and be outrageous and loud and obnoxious and rude and beautiful and incendiary and start what was nothing short of a fucking REVOLUTION?

No, about all the Eagles ever inspired anyone to do was sleep, or maybe snort coke, although it's debatable whether that's to enhance their enjoyment of the music or numb yourself enough so that it might be considered enjoyable.

I didn't watch the ceremonies last year, because I didn't have cable and didn't care enough to try to go to someone's house that did, and saw Bruce and Jackson on VH1 while at the gym one night, and that was quite enough. Even then, who even cares about this any more? The ceremonies are scripted - one of the great things about the year the Ramones were inducted was how Dee Dee just took over the damn thing and was Dee Dee, and that they didn't edit (unlike Ed Vedder's induction speech). The jam sessions used to be these chaotic spontaneous things - in other words, an actual jam session - but now are boring and if I was the kind of person who'd leave during the encore to beat the traffic, I would be doing just that.

At the end of the day, though, it doesn't mean anything, really, although I feel as bad and as defeated as I did when I was in high school watching the Grammies or the American Music Awards or whatever and none of my music was on there, and I'd go to school the next day and be taunted in the cafeteria - "If that crap you listen to is so good, why aren't they winning anything?" And, again, it doesn't mean anything - but it's still wrong, and it still hurts, and this is supposed to be a recognition of influence and talent and not chart success. This was supposed to be where the heart and the essence finally won out, and not where the popular kids pushed their crap music over the lunchroom PA yet one more time.

Final quote goes to my new hero, Dr. Clueful, at The Great Rock and Roll (Hall of Fame) Swindle:

"Even when the turds get it right (AC/DC, the Animals, Frank Zappa, Parliament/Funkadelic, the Velvet Underground, Queen, the Clash), they still manage to flush the toilet backward; CJ is just as much a Ramone as Joe Walsh is an Eagle and Ron Wood is a Rolling Stone. Of course, these are the same aliens from the planet Fuckwit who honored Tom Petty's Heartbreakers and Elvis Costello's Attractions (who only played on a portion of his records), but not Buddy Holly's Crickets, Neil Young's Crazy Horse, Frank Zappa's Mothers of Invention, Bruce Springsteen's E Street Band or Bob Marley's Wailers (much less Motown's Funk Brothers or Hal Blaine's "Wrecking Crew" posse of L.A. studio shoguns, see "Sidemen and Women" below). Memo to Sammy Hagar (and especially Gary Cherone): engage PR/lobbying lasers now."

left of the dial, indeed

Left Of The Dial: Dispatches From The '80s Underground

I want this SO BADLY. I didn't even know it EXISTED.

So I'm listening to KEXP this morning, much like I've done for years now (which is a whole other article that's waiting to be written), and this song comes on, and I'm unconsciously singing along, until I realize what it is, and then I go running back to the computer to check the online playlist, and - it's not a cover! It's the original! "Jet Fighter" by the Three O'Clock! Ohmigod!!! The THREE O'CLOCK?! On KEXP??

I wasn't exactly a huge fan of 80's West Coast neo-psychedelia (aka the Paisley Underground- aside from Redd Kross, and even then it was more about the Dolls homage than anything else) - okay I'm digressing - but I grew to love the Three O'Clock because they opened for R.E.M. at the end of the Reconstruction tour, which meant I saw them night after night after night - somewhere there is a photo of me onstage with Michael Gutierrez (Three O'Clock lead singer), because one night he complained that everyone in the front row had R.E.M. shirts on, so I took a piece of paper, drew a Three O'Clock logo on it, and pinned it to the front of my shirt. He called me up on stage to thank me.

So the point I was going to make, and just did through that long, rambling, and largely irrelevant story, was that this compilation is about unbridled nostalgia, pure and simple - I can sing you every single song on it (including "Political Song For Michael Jackson To Sing" by the Minutemen, coincidentally another band I got to know because they opened for R.E.M. - in fact you could subtitle this set "Bands That Opened or Almost Opened For R.E.M. Or Were Namechecked By Peter Buck In At Least One Interview In The 80's").

The tracklist is just exceptional, they got pretty much everything, including things that you had probably forgotten about until this very moment (or maybe not, but I am one of those freakish people who worked really hard to get a lot of these songs on CD, and then made sure they got loaded on the iPod from, like, day one). I mean, the Rain Parade? "Madonna Of The Wasps"? dB's. Smithereens. The Lyres. Minor Threat, even. The only thing missing from my personal playlist in that era is Jason & The Scorchers, but I'd challenge you to name a song and/or artist essential to college radio in the 80's that isn't on here.

If you were there, you need this. If you weren't there, you need this, because it will explain an awful lot, give you context, fill in background. One of Rhino's all-time best, imho.

Now I just have to get my hands on this thing.

supersuckers equipment stolen

Every time I read about something like this, it breaks my heart completely.
From an email from Eddie Spaghetti - spread the word and all that:

Sometimes it's good to just get away, ya know? I'm writing you from
France where we are starting our European jaunt today. You may or may
not have heard about our recent and biggest setback of our career, so
here's the scoop: last Saturday night (or early Sunday morning, I
guess) our van and trailer were stolen from right in front of my house.
Yes, all of our equipment was in there and we now have next to nothing.
It's so huge that words just fall short. We feel like these thieves
have stolen from you, the Supersuckers fans, as well. After all it was
you, by coming to the shows and buying our records, who bought this
great sounding, vintage gear for us to sound so good through and now
it's all gone. So if any of you out there have heard or seen anything
that could be of help to us, please let us know. All that gear is going
to be real expensive to buy again and if we're using cheap, crappy
amps, the fans at the shows will be suffering right along with us.

Vote For Change

I just got back from a MoveOn PAC Get Out The Vote phone party, held in a bar on the Bowery, converted this morning & afternoon by the owners into a virtual war room. It was amazing how many people were there, how many showed up during their lunch breaks, how many had been there since 9 a.m. (I got there after voting around 11:30).

In about three hours, I called 72 people in Colorado and Florida to remind them to vote. I got a lot of answering machines, but enough random Kerry supporters - like the mother who proudly told me that her daughter (the name on my list) had just voted for the first time by absentee ballot (since she was at school), had voted Kerry, and that she herself not only had voted Kerry, but had been at the polls all morning, sitting next to MoveOn PAC volunteers.

Yeah, it wasn't a lot; I could have done more (my friend Lisa from DC was in Pennsylvania, getting out the vote, these last few days) but it was something, and if I got one person to vote then it was a lot, and to quote someone I admire, I didn't want to wake up tomorrow morning and wish I could have done more."

VOTE.

this land is your land

From the rally in Madison, WI, today:

"My point of view about it has been pretty simple. I think that if you mislead the country, and you take the nation to war, and put our sons and our daughters on the line, and the basis you took the country to war on has been proven false… You lose your job. It’s not rocket science; when you do that, you lose your job."
--Bruce Springsteen on the VFC tour, October 2004

eddie spaghetti on the election

Eddie's been sending these out all summer to the Supersuckers mailing list. It's pretty self-explanatory that a lot of people haven't been real happy about the situation:

"suck3rs
That's right, it's down to the nitty gritty. I know that many of you
think that my emails should consist strictly of "liquor, women, drugs
and killing, rock-n-roll, outlaw country and the occasional joke or two
and to you, I apologize. Feel free to bury your head in the sand once
more and delete this missive now because I am here to use my (very
nominal) influence to tell our fans to please get out and vote for a
change this Tuesday.

"To my republican friends (and I hope you are still my friends if you've
made it this far into my email) I have this rock-n-roll analogy for
you:

"Eddie "One more week until I can stop being obsessed with this
election" Spaghetti."

Vote. Please.

quotes of the year

I'll do anything I can to get that ratfucker out of office.
--MARK ARM, MUDHONEY

Pearl Jam will do whatever Mark Arm asks us to do. We believe that
Mark Arm might very well have a direct connection with God and seems
to have insight that could only be described as divine (read Mudhoney
lyrics) and if he feels that its is an important election (war,
environment, social justice, and integration) we will heed his call.
--STONE GOSSARD, PEARL JAM

[Taken from a *great* article about No Vote Left Behind, the fantastic Seattle music biz grass roots organization that believed "Music has the power to change things -- like Presidents." The week of concerts going on in Seattle right now is impressive, and shameful in that no other city in the country has anything like this. It's so -- *un*Seattle of them. :) They also have some fantastic posters available for download and guerilla posting.]

Finally: Are you registered to vote?

johnny cash RNC protest

They took my city. They took my streets. They tried to take my park. They pilloried Pearl Jam because of "Bushleaguer" (which, to be fair, is a mediocre song, they could do so much better). They tried to obliterate the Dixie Chicks. The backlash Bruce Springsteen is receiving is mindboggling and unprecedented.

So when I heard about The Man In Black Bloc to protest the RNC's co-opting of Johnny Cash... well, that beat attening the "Shut-up A Thon" over at Fox News.

It started at 4pm, and at first there were maybe a dozen protestors there. We were herded into this tiny, narrow protest pen kitty-corner from Sotheby's. At one point, the media present outnumbered the protestors.

A few splinter groups showed up and started walking by Sotheby's, chanting, and then the Radical Cheerleaders showed up, leading us in a chant of:

"Whose Cash?
Our Cash!"

As long as you're less than 20 people and you keep moving at all times, they legally can't arrest you. After a few more minutes of this, we decided to abandon the protest pen to go stand in front of Sotheby's. The cops just moved the barricades over there. They seemed alternately confused and pissed off, but I guess that's business as usual these days.

Indymedia estimated 600 protestors and 100 cops... and if there were 100 RNC members present, I'd be surprised.

well, i feel safer now. or, to quote the boyfriend, "There better not be any capital crimes being committed in Manhattan right now."

Gentleman with the backwards baseball cap is none other than Dan Bern. Someone on NYC Indymedia claimed that Jello Biafra was present, but I sure as hell didn't see him. There was a lot of singing, but not enough, and a very narrow spectrum of JC's catalog was represented. I also learned that a lot of people don't know all the words to "This Land Is Your Land," nor do most of them realize that it's a protest song.

As usual, creativity in signs. Most of the protest besides singing involved booing and flipping the bird at the RNC delegates leaving Sotheby's, en route to the convention festivities. It was surprisingly satisfying.

Chant of the day:
"You're evil!
You're ugly!
You're fascists and you're liars!
The GOP belongs in a burning ring of fire!"

Or, #2:
"Welcome to New York! Now go the fuck home!"

Towards the end of the march, we were visited by none other than Triumph the Insult Comic Dog. The funny thing was, there were more than a few protestors who don't have television and didn't know who he was at first. The gentleman below agreed to be a good sport once the concept was explained to him, although at first he protested, "All I know is that there's this talking dog in my face, and I'm trying to get Bush out of office."

A bystander did report that Triumph heckled some of the departing delegates, yelling something along the lines of, "Take all your money and shove it up your ass."

Ah, this is what Democracy looks like...

anger can be power

coffins at the end of the march, entering union square

We weren't going to march on Sunday.

Well, we had talked about it, but in the end we were honestly concerned about getting arrested, and at this particular point in our lives, neither of us could afford to get arrested. But we wanted to do something, so we decided we were just going to head up to Central Park and have a "picnic" as our way of saying fuck you to Bloomberg. But, I had signed up for the noRNC bloc's text message service, and when we got the message that, at 11:40, most demonstrators hadn't left the holding area yet, it was clear what we were going to do.

I put on my Joe Strummer shirt - the one that says "One day truth and justice will reign" - and we headed out the door. I had planned on wearing that shirt this week, along with a Springsteen shirt at least once (and there is some imp of the perverse in me that likes the idea that a Bruce shirt is now seditious). I liked the idea of the first band to really teach me about the ties between politics/activism and rock music was represented. Joe would have liked to know that he was there in spirit, I believe.

We took the train up to 14th, walked over to 6th, and then followed an energetic group of young anarchists down to 7th Avenue... where we reached a protest roadblock as they were stopping feeder marches from entering 7th Avenue. (The New York Times from today has a diagram about how the parade route was 100% full until about 3pm.) We moved up a little and managed to get into the main march group not long before they opened up 16th Street.

Our favorite sign so far: "BUSH IS AN EVIL FUCKING LIAR" with "And Nader is an asshole" in smaller letters on the back.

So now we are just ahead of the Lesbian/Gay/etc. coalition, and joke that we need to move away from that before either of our parents see us near that sign on the news. We find ourselves for most of the march walking next to the protesters part of One Thousand Coffins. The boyfriend is particularly struck by this form of protest. It's real. It's physical. It's visually stunning.

It takes forever to walk a block. The amount of people is staggering. The level of intelligence and anger displayed is heart-warming. If there were any assholes in the march yesterday, we didn't run into one.

Slogans:
"I'm marching for my grandma, and she's pissed."
"Have another pretzel"
"Where's my country, dude" (held up by a 7 year old)
"Anti Bush, Pro Cock" (carried by a drag queen)

But really, no one beats "BUSH IS AN EVIL FUCKING LIAR," you know?

We were reaching FIT and could see Macy's up ahead, and so we knew MSG was getting close. At that moment, this group of young punk girls who were carrying a coffin stop, shift around, and turn to us and ask, "Could you take this? We have to go up there and take pictures."

Without hestitation, we moved into position - one of us in front, one of us in back - and started walking.

They were made out of cardboard boxes, and they were hollow - there was only 3/4 of a shell, for security reasons - but you would not imagine how difficult it was to hold them and walk with them and maneuver them through a crowd, try to keep them in formation, and as we approached MSG, to hold them UP above the crowd so they could be seen. Your shoulders hurt, your wrists are sore, your arms ache. A lot of the participants were wearing clothing suitable for a funeral - shirts and ties, even - as originally requested.

Earlier in the day, the boyfriend said something about how he imagined the procession past MSG would end up being a sea of middle fingers held aloft. And it was that, but it was also so much pain and so much anger, not violent anger, but very individual and yet very global anger being channeled out of every person there. People who had been quiet all day came to life and started yelling, "Shame on you! Shame on you!" or "How do you do this? How can you live with yourself!" with such real agony you wonder what their story was, what brought them to the march today.

There were children and parents and teenagers and grandparents, from every borough and every class and every persuasion. The gay couple who'd written "Second class citizen" in marker on their arms (along with the number for the legal advisors; as we approached MSG, I got nervous, found a sharpie, and wrote it on both of our wrists - they tell you to write it on wrist, stomach or ankle).

We got to pause in front of MSG for a little while, just so people could stand there and be angry and let those emotions out, and they were huge and overwhelming and so very very real.

And then we headed off, turning east onto 34th Street. You know that big video screen on the Macy's building on the corner there? (Or if you don't, take my word, there is one there.) Well, at that moment they are showing footage of Dubya and something about his profession of faith. And the entire crowd started to boo, so incredibly loudly, not like the booing at a Mets game or anything like that, it was unplanned and authentic. It was then followed by a chant of "Fox News Sucks" that was probably the boyfriend's favorite one of the day.

The protest route is lined by the curious and the exhausted and those supporting us, waving us on. Except at 34th and 6th, where we ran into the ProtestWarriors. I won't dignify them by giving them a link, nor do I want the pingback to this blog, but they are basically ultra-right-wing assholes who try to subvert any protest efforts by the left. For all their crowing about their presence at the RNC, their representation was pathetic at best. As soon as I saw them, I felt an anger that I hadn't felt for a very long time, and I pointed them out to everyone around me. After the booing started, we dissolved into a chant of "Go sign up". They just looked like a bunch of thugs.

At some point I imagine we thought we would hand over the coffin and head up to Central Park, but as we neared 5th Avenue I guess we both realized both that we couldn't and that we didn't want to. At that point, we felt a sense of responsibility to get the coffin back to Union Square. The crowd was lighter so it was easier to walk, and also the sun was down. We could turn around walking down 5th Avenue, and turn around and look up the slight incline northward, and really see how many people were still there, both behind us and in front of us.

As we reached Union Square, the organizers of the coffin march gently herded us to one side, and then they yelled, "COFFINS UP". Everyone held them aloft, and we heard someone asking the crowd to move aside so the coffins could come into the square.

I felt very proud at that moment.

On the sidewalk, we carefully took the flag off of the coffin - not ever having had a conversation about does the other one know proper flag etiquette, we realized that we both did - and all those years at Camp Francis did me well as I carefully folded the flag according to regulation, and we handed it back to the organizers.

Then, it was on the subway and up to the Great Lawn, which was packed. We laid on the grass for a while, and then feeling like we'd made our point - it's our fucking park, asshole - headed back to the Lower East Side.

Let fury have the hour, anger can be power
D'you know that you can use it?
--The Clash, "Clampdown"

the very definition of hell on earth

I thought it would be that Phish thing with 70,000 of the unwashed, tie-dyed masses in one place, I thought maybe that festival that DMB is supposed to be doing (or so I was told) - but no, not at all.

Hell on earth is officially defined as:

Rock 'N' Roll Holiday Escape!

[Warning: turn down the volume]

It's almost unfair, the jokes write themselves:
"Will the bands stay on the ship for the entire cruise?
Although we can't guarantee that the bands are on the ship for the entire cruise, we have designed a great program around the artists to create an amazing experience."

"Will any band members be attending any shore excursions?
We cannot guarantee that band members will be on the shore excursions but they will certainly be invited.

"Can I meet the band(s)?
There are several ways to meet the bands: 1) by purchasing certain platinum packages, you will be included on a meet & greet with each artist; 2) there will be drawings nightly where winners will get a meet & greet or cocktail party with the bands; 3) the band members will be on the ship and you can always go over and say hello."

commercial train wreck

I got over my (self)righteous indigation over artists appearing in Gap ads and selling their songs to commercials a lot earlier than most people; probably helped that my goddamn favorite band (the Who) gave it all away lock, stock and barrel. Maybe I just don't have the energy to get upset about it any more, too.

The utter absurdity of using "Lust For Life" (and conveniently editing out the first verse) for cruise ships is already passe. I guess they thought, no one is really going to notice, right? It was bizarre but no big deal.

However, last night, we have finally entered into the "What were they thinking?" zone, because I swear to god I heard "Golden Brown" by the Stranglers featured in a commercial for Ore-Ida potatoes.

If someone is hip enough to know that this song exists - it wasn't exactly a Top of the Pops hit, you know? - then there is no way in hell that they don't know what this song is about. And in case you don't know, it's a lovely little ode to HEROIN!

Golden brown texture like sun
Lays me down, with my mind she runs
Throughout the night, no need to fight
Never a frown with golden brown...

I don't begrudge the Stranglers some coin, not at all. But I will berate the utter and complete stupidity of whatever ad agency put this one together. "Lust For Life," okay, they edit out the 'offensive' verses. But "Golden Brown" - THIS ENTIRE SONG IS ABOUT HOW GREAT HEROIN IS! There is no alternate interpretation!

Surely somebody else is going to notice, right?
Surely there will be a big brouhaha?
Surely some ad exec idiot will lose their head over this?

Nah, probably not.

And this is why it doesn't matter what song ever gets used for a commercial. Because the commercials have nothing to do with the actual meaning of the song, or what I hold dear in the music. To the squares, it is, and will always be, nothing more than background music.

reason #4,575 to hate radio

KNDD - "Seattle's Original Alternative" - while driving to work this morning:

Idiot DJ: "And that was 'From The Five Boroughs' from the Beastie Boys - you know, there's going to be a special edition when this one sells out, it's going to be called 'From The Six Boroughs' and the sixth borough will be Tacoma."

Me: "OH MY FUCKING GOD! YOU FUCKING WISH TACOMA WAS A CITY, MUCH LESS A BOROUGH! AND DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT THE FUCK A BOROUGH IS, YOU MORON!"

I felt much better.

For the record, I don't know whether I should buy this Beasties record or not. Thought they were cool on Letterman but didn't really see a lot of evolution in the sound. I dig the single, though, and grabbed it on iTunes this morning (along with "Hey Ya" by the Supersuckers, which I listened to six times in a row, along with some Social D and a track from Eddie Spaghetti's solo album, The Sauce[his cover of the Alabama Three's "Peace In The Valley"]). Back to the Beasties - anyone who samples "Sonic Reducer" is all right with me (well, as long as your last name isn't Lavinge or Durst).

Johnny Ramone update

You can send cards and other letters to Johnny in care of Arturo Vega (legenary Ramones majordomo) at:

RAMONES 1-2-3-4
6 EAST 2ND STREET
NEW YORK, NY. 10003

Arturo is apparently in LA but is having someone pick up mail and forward it on. (This according to reliable sources.)

There are conflicting reports as to the state of Johnny's health, and now MTV.com has his wife stating that everything is fine. I hope she is right.

To quote someone on one of the Ramones message boards, "what kinda world do we live in where we're on the cusp of losing our 3rd Ramone in 4 years yet every f'in' member of Motley Crue is alive and still recording 'music'?"

june ramblings: Politics, Wilco, and more...

Way to go, Bruce: About time.

Methinks it's gonna be the year of the feisty, pissed off rockers. And I like it.

= = = = =

Have you seen Ray Charles' new piano yet?

...Neither has he.

[With apologies to Buster Poindexter and whatever Borsht Belt comedian he stole that one from.]

R.I.P, Ray.

= = = = =

So Little Steven has the utterly fabulous Underground Garage radio show, and this was augmented by a tour, featuring the Romantics (okay, go figure, but at least his heart was in the right place).

Last month the rumor mill informed me that he was planning an Underground Garage festival for NYC (Randall's fucking Island, I hate that place) for end of July. Whispers of the Dolls and the Stooges. I even got a well-connected friend to promise to try to suggest the DTK-MC5 lineup (as ambivalent as I might be about it, they Belong).

Stevie announced the date as August 14 when he was on Leno two weeks ago, and the details are on the Underground Garage site linked above (click on the calendar - no way to easily link it since it's a pop-up). Here is the band listing:

With Iggy and the Stooges, the New York Dolls, the Raveonettes, the Romantics, the Chesterfield Kings, Boss Martians, the Fuzztones, the Cocktail Slippers, the Woggles, the Singles, Richard and the Young Lions, the Cynics and the Charms!!!!

My friend Shirley is already fretting about what to wear.
Me: "Randall's Island is not exactly conducive to fashion."
Her: "But I've never had to decide what to wear to a Dolls show before!"

Now, that is exactly the right spirit. Time to dig out my fishnets. See you there.

= = = = = =

I have never seen so many people hate an album before it's released as the general feeling about the new Wilco record. Now, I have it here - somewhere! - got the leak from somewhere in the food chain - but things have been a little frantic lately, and at this point, it's going to likely be an iTunes purchase anyway.

= = = = = =

Recent purchases:
Back In Spades - it's fantastic, and I would love it if I'd just stumbled onto it randomly
Sleepy Jackson - jury still out
The Walkmen - see above
Rockpile - reissue. God I love this record.

What I didn't buy is more interesting: Dylan from Carnegie Hall. I'd planned on buying it, I had it in my hands, it was on my list of things to buy... and then I thought about it and felt like I had too much live Dylan recently. If it had been electric Dylan I probably would've bought it in a heartbeat. I know, historical. I know, legendary. I know all of these things. Honestly, I swear. But it just isn't what I'm looking for right now.

= = = = = =

Coming soon: an interview with Rontrose Heathman of the Supersuckers regarding - you guessed it - "Hey Ya." I get more queries hitting this site for that combo than anything else these days (except the stalker fucks who keep Googling Springsteen's son - my site comes up because I mention his name in a history somewhere else on this site. People never cease to amaze me.)

but what would johnny marr have said about all this?

In honor of David Johansen opening for Morrissey at the Apollo *and* Morrissey reconstituting what's left of the Dolls for the Meltdown Festival in London, I give you:

If Morrissey Had Written Songs For The New York Dolls

How Soon Is My Personality Crisis?
The Jet Boy With The Thorn In His Side
Heaven Knows I'm Looking For A Kiss
Lonely Planet Boys Make Graves
There Is Trash That Never Goes Out
Bad Girl In A Coma
Chatterbox Strikes Again
Human Beings Of The World, Unite
Last Night I Dreamed That A Vietnamese Baby Loved Me
Please, Please, Please Let Me Be Stranded In The Jungle

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ADDENDUM: Check out the Photo of The Day at Bob Gruen's site

random notes

Kraftwerk: You really missed this?

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It's beyond jumping the shark at this point: The Supersuckers have covered "Hey Ya".

This needs to stop, and soon.

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Did you hear? Courtney's set her sights on Jack White. Okay, I will confess this: There is part of me that honestly *likes* Courtney. I can't hate her, I just can't. On the other hand, I read that article and CRINGE.

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I am not going to Coachella. While I am partly envious of friends who are going, I am not sure whether I'm an idiot, old and burnt out, or just damn smart for avoiding it. I mean, even for the Stooges I wouldn't suffer through a festival, even if it is in one of my favorite parts of the country.

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If I had been fast on my feet, I could have been seeing the Pixies in Spokane tonight. Originally I was all "I'm not driving through the pass in April at night and I'm not overnighting in Eastern Washington just to see the Pixies."

And then I got shut out of Vancouver.

And then I read the setlists.

Someone at work advertised four tickets on Monday, and I sat there and thought about it OVERNIGHT for some reason. Of course by the time I asked on Tuesday, the tickets were long gone.

I did cave and buy a cd (of Friday night's Vancouver show), after my usual taper sources informed me (when I was looking for Winnipeg, so I could hear their version of Neil Young's "Winterlong") that they weren't bothering, since they were selling all the shows. I figure if nothing else it'll be resellable. I like the idea of picking it up night of show, though. I am curious as to how they are managing that.

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The Reunited DTK/MC5 are coming to Seattle (courtesy Paul Allen's checkbook, and largely, I am pretty sure, due to the influence of a certain individual who works at the EMP and knows Wayne pretty well). When I was writing this entry up late last night, I was ambivalent about the tour; however, today I saw the documentary and - well, okay, I still don't know. I really want to save all of this for a proper entry about the 5 and the documentary, but the truth is, part of me won't be able to not go and see if any of the magic is left. Again, more tomorrow.

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Shows I should go see but likely will not: the Electric Six, Cheap Trick at a club, Mudhoney, Muse. The one show I will likely make it to is the Young Fresh Fellows, because Scott McCaughey is the hardest working man in Seattle rock.

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Finally: stolen from someone else, but too good to not repeat: "I'm already sick of Franz Ferdinand, and I've never seen them and only heard the one song." I add: when the concert discussion list at work is full of people begging for tickets for a band at one of the smaller clubs in town, I know their sell-by date has passed. Snobbish? Yes. Elitist? Damn straight. Do I care? Not really. What ever happened to drastic, polarizing opinion in rock? I say we bring it back.

So Alive

...is the name of the first single from the new Ryan Adams album, titled ROCKNROLL, due for release on 11/4.

Now, I love Ryan. I really do. I accept the tantrums and outbursts and stubbornness. All of the above means that when he has an off night, it's really off. But it also means that when he is great, it's an evening of brilliance.

I wasn't sure what I thought about this song at first listen, or second, or third. Then I put it on repeat, and left it there for a while. A few listens later, it sunk in.

In one of my roadtrip diaries, I talk about a moment where I had switched from listening to Greendale for the first time, to Born To Run, sweeping down the open highway at sunset, the sun making the road a golden ribbon stretching out forever. The roof was open and the window was down, my hair was blowing back in the wind. And I felt free and clean and pure and centered and just plain HERE, in the moment, alive and good and happy.

This song gives me the same feeling.

I don't know what the rest of it will be like; he already dumped one record (Love Is Hell, of which there are now two versions, one recorded in New Orleans and one recorded in NYC), but if all that comes out of ROCKNROLL is this one song that can bring me back to that place and time, he'll have done good.

You can download it yourselves here. Wonder how long it'll take for the rest of it to leak.