Open studios this weekend

This weekend in LIC: The semiannual open studios death march. More art than you can shake a stick at! It's worth going, unless of course the weather is shite, which it probably will be.

Anyhow, make sure you go to Crane Street Studios, which are my favorite of all the studios, and also visit Robert Walden, who is my favorite of the Crane Street artists. Me? I'll be upstate, getting used to the sight of my mother with no teeth. (Long, uninteresting story certain to follow on Monday!)

We're gonna romp and stomp till midnight

Back in January, I attended a show at the Rock Star Bar, the venue that (as I'm wont to opine) reminds me of seeing a show at, like, Bard. It was exceptional in many ways, but I'll get into that in a second. What's important right now is the reason why I went to that show, and that was to see the mighty and awesome Vaz. And tonight, at North Six, they are playing with Philly's Man Man, who seem interesting and one of their songs features a chorus of kindergarteners. I presume said chorus will not be joining them tonight. I really think you should go see this show. Vaz's new album The Lie That Matches the Furniture (as I've said before) is really quite perfect. They are phenomenal live.

Crimson Sweet: TONITE!

Hey, take advantage of this disturbingly warm weather and go to Cakeshop tonight. One of my favorite NYC bands, Crimson Sweet, is playing and if you attend I promise you will not be disappointed, except by the absence of actual cake, I reckon.

Art? I love Art!

This weekend is the semiannual LIC Open Studios shindig. I've been to this and enjoyed it, so perhaps you'd like it as well. There's an opening at PS1 too. And while you're out here (hahaha I'm going to pretend that you're all actually coming to Queens) you should stop by TEN63 (10-63 Jackson Ave.) and buy condolence coffee.

Conflicts of Interest

One of the best things about being so brilliant and charming is that I am able to hand-select the people I surround myself with, a veritable postpostmodern Algonquin Round Table, only with much, much more drinking. As such, before I go on, I feel the need to point out that the following esteemed creative efforts, which I most enthusiastically endorse, are the brainchildren (brainchilds?) of people with whom I am somehow, shall we say, affiliated. This does not detract from their brilliance, though the fact that they'd want their names associated with #1HS does suggest questionable logic on their part. OK, enough with the caveats.

Turnin' rebellion into money

“Just out of art school, I was working for the music paper Melody Maker taking photos of three or more bands a week. Around the corner in Covent Garden was my attic ‘studio’ and darkroom—a tiny room with no heat and a bucket to catch the rain dripping through the hole in the ceiling. It was right in the centre of London, close to all the best clubs, pubs, and cafes, and my rent was $70 per month. Brilliant."

Janette Beckman's Made in the UK book launch and exhibition opening is tonight at powerHouse Books. She's taken most of the memorable portraits of the punk/new-no wave/two-tone/mod scene in London. The online gallery is here if, for some reason, you don't feel like going, but then you'd be missing out on the free Newcastle and Level Vodka [???] at the party tonight. (Corporate sponsorship ROCKS.)

We Jam Econo

Lest any of you felt bad about missing We Jam Econo when it last came around, it's playing at Anthology Film Archives starting tonight and running through 9/1. I hope you'll need no further encouragement than my rhapsodic display a few months ago, but if you do, go read all the positive press it's gotten.

Attention Stalkers!

Ok folks, tonight we've got this wonderful confluence of events on the LES, and neither of them involve firebombing Rothko. First up, there's the Maxx Klaxon CD release party at Lolita Bar, where I will be, listening in ecstasy to bleeps and bloops and keeping an eye out for 1/2 Nelson.

I shall then head over to Lit, which has become only my third- or fourth-least favorite bar in the city, to see Old Ramsey, who apparently must be seen/heard to be believed. I have not yet experienced them, but I will tell you that one of the band members makes an excellent cup of coffee.

Things to do

There's so much stuff to do this weekend. Will I do any of it? Signs point to no. But you should.

An order of Rock Out With Your Cock Out w/ a side of Balls to the Wall

Guess who's playing tomorrow night? The Live Ones. With the Ghetto Ways, The Tough and Lovely, and The Demands (who I'm sure are very good, but might want to change their name to something more google-friendly, like The Online Pharmacy Texas Hold'em Experience). At Trash, the bar I love to hate.

Tangentially, please note that the Live Ones have a MySpace page now, which is cool and all because you can listen to their songs. I hear the MySpace is all the rage with the kids these days. So I signed up for an account, and out of curiosity I decided to do a little search on my alma mater. I've learned a couple things: a) MySpace is populated by retards and b) most of these people went to school with me. (Seriously, if you're supposedly an "Interactive Media Producer," you should know better than to add a Windows Media video that automatically downloads when I click on your profile. And also it should not be a dancing cat.) I've also learned that the people I expected to be straight are gay and the people I was convinced were gay are actually straight.

More tangentially: I've had a couple exboyfriends visiting #1HS lately. How can I tell? Because they come in and they search for their names. Here's a confidential to those gentlemen: If we dated for three months ten years ago, chances are you don't merit a mention. I mean, how often do you think about me? To you, I'm probably just "that girl I dated a long time ago with the great record collection" or "that girl I dated a long time ago who gave me syphillis." Let's move on with our lives.

And also, if you have found Jesus, I really don't want to hear from you.

I'm in love with modern moonlight

In my "if it bleeds it leads" haste I nearly forgot to mention something fun that's happening tonight:
Dallas Hudgens and Stephen Elliott are reading at 7:30 at Lolita. I have also heard tell someone there tonight is having a birthday. That may be just a rumor, but perhaps you should buy her a Mai-Tai just in case.

Dream Told by Dana

I'm so freakin' excited to see We Jam Econo tonight. You have no idea.

In celebration, here's I Felt Like a Gringo, off the album Buzz or Howl Under the Influence of Heat.

AND: Here's Tom Troccoli's tribute to the Minutemen. (Via Corndogs.)

WE JAM ECONO

Hey hey hey, don't forget kids: tomorrow night, at the Walter Reade, is the NYC premiere of We Jam Econo, the story of the Minutemen. I've got my tix. Look for me--I'll be the one with the vagina.

Put my clarinet beneath your bed 'til I get back in town

Rob Walker, he of the Consumed column, has a new book coming out this summer entitled Letters From New Orleans. It's a collection of his well-regarded email newsletters (which he heartlessly ceased to publish shortly after I signed up for them), plus some new stuff, bien sur.

[And now, back to my black helicopter nattering.]

Well you gotcher guitar and yer practice amp

Last night I was pleased to see a flyer for the Willie Mae Rock Camp, a summer day camp, scheduled for this summer in NYC, based on the Girls Rock n Roll Camp model and named after the late, great Willie Mae Thornton.

(You may recall that Brittney did an article about the Southern Girls Rock n Roll Camp.)

I think this is a fucking fantastic idea and I encourage anyone who has instruments (or money, of course) that they're not using to donate.

I wish I'd had this opportunity as a kid. I imagine that if I had, my musical repertoire would be more extensive than "Iron Man," "Ziggy Stardust," "Talk About the Passion," and various generic folk songs.

Jesus Walked Everywhere

Of possible interest: Fitted Sweats is featuring a weekly "Ask David Berman" category. So far, he's answered questions about sex and Jesus.

Quit it with the fucking softballs, people! How about, "How many songs, if any, is your wife singing on this next album?" and (following up) "Could you maybe not let your wife sing on this next album, if it's not too late, I mean?"

(Via Young Manhattanite.)

P.S. Anxiously awaiting Tanglewood Numbers.

P.P.S. Go check out Dust Congress' recording of David Berman the even-more-adorable Hackmuth reading "And That's How I Met Your Mother."

"Joey took everything that was wrong with him and made it beautiful"

Word up. Tonight on PBS, Independent Lens presents a documentary about Queens' finest export, The Ramones. (Well, in NYC it's on tonite at 10. If you don't live in NY, there will probably be a wildlife documentary about seagulls instead.)

I am not being unfair. OK I am but who cares?

Um, possibly due to the fact that I never check my ancillary email addresses, the ones to which I have all my music-based, politics-based, and porn-based mailings directed, I managed to miss the fact that the FUCKING WEDDING PRESENT have a NEW ALBUM OUT.

Has anyone heard it yet? Please tell me it's good.

P.S. I leave you my collection of moths

Did you know that it's some kind of How to Kick People anniversary tonight? Now, maybe you consider Bob Powers and Todd Levin old friends, in which case why not come and celebrate this momentous occasion? Perhaps you're new to H2KP. Why not take this opportunity to get in on the $50 level?*

Anyhow, tonight's show is pretty goddamned exiting, and as you can see from the illustration on the flyer, it has a "very, very gay, very very Semitic comic" theme. And David "My Future Husband (Seriously, Just Agree to Have Coffee With Me, Just Once, and I Promise the Threatening Packages to Your Wife Will Stop)" Rees will be there.

So, really, you should come. It's the best thing going on in NYC tonight!**

*Yes, it's the second joke in as many weeks that makes reference to PBS fundraising. Yes, it's a hoary chestnut. And it's not $50 to get "in on" Todd Levin's "level," if you know what I mean.
**OK, slight exaggeration. It's the best thing going on south of 14th Street and East of 3rd Ave. Satisfied?

Fast Cheap and Out of Control

Cripes, I almost forgot. This Sunday night! Crimson Sweet and the freakin' New Bomb Turks at Union Pool! Be there be there be there!

Let's Get it Started in Here!

or, Why Buy the .750 L Bottle of Cheap-Ass Australian Table Wine When There's a 1.5 L Size?

Yeah, so, we watched some of the Grammys last night, but only after getting "it started" on a big bottle of wine. I'm fairly certain that, in music critic circles, the Grammys stopped meaning anything a quarter-century ago, but it was only last night that I realized just how culturally irrelevant they really are. There were three things that put the nail in the coffin for me:

• The medley. I'm guessing that the medley was some musical visionary's attempt at creating a live "mash-up," but really? It sounded like a medley. And unless you're Ann-Margaret, you probably shouldn't be doing medleys. Especially when the medley in question only serves to drive home the fact that Gwen Stefani, Eve, the Black-Eyed Peas, Franz Ferdinand, Maroon 5, and those Mexican Guys I Didn't Recognize are all singing the same goddamned song when it comes right down to it. Also, something else along these lines I'd like to know: Where is the pre-Colombian ritual pot that I need to find and smash in order to send the Black-Eyed Peas back through the Hellmouth they came out of?


• Green Day as introduced by Quentin Tarantino. Hello. It's not sad enough that they won best rock album--"Rock and roll can be dangerous and fun at the same time," Billy Joe? This from the guy who self-censored his performance? Dangerous and fun!?!--but apparently the only person more clueless than the lead singer was QT, who said, and I quote: "In the '90s, three punks from the Bay area popped into our lives in a big, loud way. Instead of fading away, they've grown up, releasing a concept album with a very novel concept: All the songs are good. They're making punk rock history with a real sense of purpose." To paraphrase Ben Kingsley's character in Sexy Beast, NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! Hey, I've taken the post-mortem temperature of punk's liver, and I can tell you for certain: Punk rock didn't die until he said that. So yes, officially: Punk is dead.


• Finally, Maroon 5. Best new artist?!? Didn't anyone on the Grammy panel notice that they're actually the Spin Doctors?

Hey you guys!

Tomorrow night, at CBGB, why don't you all come out and give it up for The Live Ones. They're not going on until late, but that's no reason to stay home, unless you really *enjoy* SNL or something.

It was a Stratocaster with a whammy bar

OK. Quickly: Squirrels from Hell are playing at Lit Lounge tonight at 9. Have you seen them yet? You should. You really should.

Tomorrow night, Shy Child are playing at the Delancey at 10. Have you seen them yet? You should. You really should.

Finally, this Saturday, THE LIVE ONES are playing at a bar that's so on the edge I can't find a listing for it really: suffice it to say it's called the Orphanage and it's on 383 S. 1st St. in Williamsburg. Anyhow, how long have I been telling you about these guys? Well over 2 years, right? Have you seen them yet? HAVE YOU FUCKING SEEN THEM YET?

[Insert clever mix of lyrics here]

Ladies and gentlemen, the Kissfits. Via Can't Stop the Bleeding, via this guy who can't be arsed to update his once-hilarious blog anymore, jerk.

Breaking news

Maybe you've heard of this band called the Pixies? Anyhow, apparently TicketBeastMaster just released a whole bunch more tickets for their NYC shows. ENYOY.

Like a fat guy in a t-shirt doing all the singing

Go check out the video for "Movement" over at LCD Soundsystem's site.

Drat

Legendary radio DJ John Peel dies.

Well shit. Looks like tonight I'll be having the Piel's Sessions at my house.

Bald Headed Woman Alert

Fat Possum has recently realeased Nathaniel Mayer's new album, I Just Want to Be Held. Go check it out.

One for the Alamo, one for the Pope

Folks, tomorry is Bloodshot BBQ and that is where I'll be all day, prior to attending my friend G's birthday party. (N and I are charged with bringing the pepperoni--no, not in that "HERE IS THE PIZZA AND *zip* HERE IS THE PEPPERONI" way.) My boyfriends the Waco Brothers will be there, as will the Meat Purveyors, with their foxy standup (the instrument, not her) bassist. Also last year we got free Rheingold beer* coozies. They cannot POSSIBLY top that this year.

*Fun fact! One of my second cousins was a Miss Rheingold in the '30s. Or she may have been only a runner-up. I don't remember anymore.

Souvenir

It's CMJ and the streets are chockablock with rock stars, which is how I envisioned every day was like here when I was a kid. I'm sure there isn't a dry panty in NYC bloggerland (prepare for your Pamela Des Barres moments, ladies). Anyhow, I saw Richard Buckner walking down the street by the gime. He paused at Other Music, but didn't go in. I hoped that perhaps he'd stop at my destination, but he didn't appear to be desirous of a pressed panini sammich. I should've followed him and bought him a beer and asked if VW paid him enough for Ariel Ramirez.

My friend's outside, can he come in?

Bob Mould is DJing at the Delancey on Thursday night. I'm feeling conflicted. On one hand, I bet he has impeccable taste in music. On the other hand, I wish everyone at the Delancey (with the exception of the bartender with the brunette pageboy and septum ring) dead.

I Can Hardly Breathe

Shy Child's new album, One With The Sun, is out today. I had the pleasure of getting an advance copy of it (BRAG!) in order to write a 20-word review for Sweet Action. However, they deserve more than 20 words, because they are teh awesome.

See here for mo' better words.

What's my opinion? I'm not a big electronic music fan. There was a point in time when I didn't even listen to bands that played anything more exotic than a piano. Is it a fluke, then, that I really, really like Shy Child? Nah, it's more like this: for the first time I see how electronic music is the progeny of punk. These guys are like the Sparks I was born in time to see. Seeing them live is transcendent. (Unless you're so drunk that you--ah... heh heh--pass out in your chair.)

Here's a song off the new album called Summer.

They are having a release party at Rothko, 116 Suffolk St, this Thursday. One of the sponsors is SPIN magazine. And the door is ten bucks. BUT that includes open bar. And a bevy of NYC bloggers, I'm sure. Also, the afterparty features Phil Mossman of LCD Soundsystem deejaying. Borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered 80s, indeed!

Of Cups and Cakes

Tonite Maud Newton, Emma Garman, and a bunch of people who didn't come to my birthday party are participating in the Cupcake Reading Series, which is at Lolita, which is on the corner of Allen and East Buttfuck. It will be a good show, and you should definitely go. And you should also stop by and carry me there. Thank you.

Squirrels From Hell: This Weekend

Man oh man, tomorrow night the Squirrels From Hell are playing at 169 Bar, at 9:30. Also there will be free Jack Daniels at a designated point in the evening. Have you gone to see SFH yet? No? You're crazy.

What Did Your Last Servant Die Of?

Whoo-hoo! The Wedding Present has returned. [Thank you, Dust Congress, for the only thing that cheered me up today.] [Well, that and this.]

Ain't No Time to Hate, Barely Time to Wait

Indulging in a bit of blogfucking (for he did, after all, link to me, but that's not why), go check out Jake's (of Glorious Noise) review of the Cure live.

That was a lousy summer. I had just graduated from high school and was working part-time in a frozen yogurt shop. Alone, surrounded by creamy scoops of happiness. My girlfriend dumped me for a community theatre actor, and my best friend was working third-shift in a factory, sleeping the hours I wasn't at work. Alone, lonely, alone. Reading a biography of Oscar Wilde, and listening to one album over and over.

Bad Poon Risin'

OK, last song for the week. Wasn't that fun? Less actual writing + more bandwidth = breaking even. This one goes out to the Vidiot.

The Poontango, by Mojo Nixon.

How Poon is Now?

OK, the fourth song this week is by one of my favorite bands in the world.

Puddin' Tane, by Redneck Greece.

Caught between the poon and NYC

This third installment in our weeklong POON-A-RAMA is dedicated to Patrick, because he beats his meat a lot.

A Chitlin Circuit regular, Shirley Brown brings us the auditory delight of Poontang Man.

Whitey On the Poon

OK, our second poontang selection is for Ufez, whom I've neglected mightily and who probably hates me now.

Wang Dang Sweet Poontang, by Ted Nugent.

The Week of the Poon

Wow. Is this fun? Was it ever? I'm tired.

But I'm very happy to note that pal and occasional-guest-host Tizzie is coming to town this week, and the anticipation is killing me. But rather than, say, tidy up the apartment in honor of her arrival, I will post a song a day in honor of our lady Tizzie. The overarching theme? Poontang! (It all started when I was listening to Ted Nugent this morning. Anyhow.)

OK. Starting off, we have Poontang, by the Treniers. [Edited to add: Yeah, having like 18 mp3s up at one time is killing my bandwidth. One at a time, gentlemen!]

No Unpleasant Bending

While I'm sitting here in front of the computer on this shite Saturday, I am listening to Mr. Apollo, by the Bonzo Dog Band. I'm enjoying it very much, and I hope you will too.

I'll Bang the Drum

Holy shit, I almost forgot to tell you: The Live Ones are playing at the Lakeside Lounge tonight. At a surprise birthday party. Around 9:30. (I hope I didn't ruin the surprise.)

I Wanna See a Homosexual

Tomorrow night! The Homosexuals play Tommy's Tavern in Greenpoint. Whoooooo!

I don't have to prove! That I am creative!

Hey Queens-phobes and art lovers alike. This weekend in Long Island City is the big arts weekend, which means that there'll be tons of open studios and galleries and stuff to see.The Noguchi Museum is reopening after two years of renovations, and theFischer Landau Museum is featuring Ed Ruscha, among other luminaries. It'll be fun.

I know it looks bad but believe me I'm innocent

McClusky have a new album out, The Difference Between Me And You Is That I'm Not On Fire. Glorious Noise has a review.

Raise your forelimbs aloft and gesture wildly, as if you were indifferent

This weekend is the WFMU Record Fair. Start making room in your milk crates now.

Praise the Lord and Henry Ford

Shite and onions, I almost forgot to mention that The Live Ones are playing at the Continental tonight. Go see them, dammit.

Also belated, a big thank you to Reeves for doing an embarrassingly good job guest-blogging this week. I hope he'll come back again someday, like when I have my next ibogaine treatment.

Be there be there be there! MUDBOG!!!

What are you doing tonight? I have a suggestion: Go see The Live Ones at Trash, the Monstrosity formerly known as the Hideousness Toybox formerly known as the Heinousness Luxx. There's OPEN BAR from 8 to 10. Frankly, I'd attend an accounting conference if there was an open bar, and you know you would too. And besides, it's going to be an excellent show, as the sound system there is pretty damn good and the boys have a WHOLE BUNCH of new tunes. (I was actually planning on posting some mp3s off their new 9-song demo but it, like pretty much everything else in my apartment, is still packed away somewhere.* So maybe tomorrow or the next day I will.)

I am almost ashamed to admit that I was at Trash last Saturday night. They were doling out PBRs hand over fist at the open bar, which made me think, Dude, it's OPEN BAR, order a frickin' Heineken at least.

Question: Isn't the whole "white trash" theme *so* 2001? Isn't it time we moved onto some other disenfranchised socioeconomic group? My suggestion: Sierra Leone Child Warrior Refugees. I'm thinking generic white sneakers, too-short Rustler jeans, those off-market wildly patterned Caldor sweaters. Accessorize with a bible and amputated limbs. Don't tell me I'm not onto something here.

Actually, an unexpected highlight of the evening came in the form of Kid Casanova, who are all so frickin' cute I expect them to supplant the White Stripes** on M2 any day now. I liked 'em: They had a Jam/Clash/Buzzcocks/Elvis Costello sound. And a girl drummer who was very fun to watch.

Anyhow, so tonight, The Live Ones, at Trash. BE THERE!
*I'm going on Day 4 with my pants, as a matter of fact. And I DEFY any of my cow-orker motherfuckers to call me on it, biznatches.

**Are the White Stripes still popular? Will someone with cable TV weigh in? If not, just assume that White Stripes=variable_cute indieband.

That's entertainment.

Hey kids! Tonight's the next installment of How to Kick People. I'm sure they'll be doing lots of loveable and funny things, which is why I plan on going.

Also, Levin owes me money.

It's a nuclear show and the stars are gone

If, unlike ME, you aren't packing up your apartment for the eighteenth night in a row, you should go to the Coral Room and see Stars, who are supposedly performing there tonite.

The Best Idea Ever

I'm the last person who should give advice about nightlife, but. Tonight you should go check out The Best Idea Ever, which is being held at Volume (99 North 13th Street, at Wythe, Williamsburg, Brooklyn, 9.30p-5a; $10): A massive art party celebrating blind enthusiasm in the face of impending doom. A carnival of good intentions gone bad. Dress up, leap in, and join a dozen Brooklyn collectives for all-new games, bone-crushing rides, shocking video, and grand installations. Sounds like fun, and all proceeds benefit the Hackett Health Trust.

When you think like a hermit you forget what you know

My friend John just interviewed Will Oldham.

Then Mark was like, "what would you think if we put a cello on this one song?" Looked in the Yellow Pages, found a cello player, he came over like 40 minutes later, he was wearing his tennis outfit. You know, brought his cello, and played his part, and 20 minutes later he was gone. I was like "Wow, it would be so awesome to make a record like that," and Mark said, "Well, we could do that." And also just talking about his history with the country music industry, cause that's where he started, and all the musicians and how sessions are done and so it was wanting to be in a situation for experience as much as anything, where everybody played like that.

And speaking of recordings, tangmonkey's got an mp3 of "New Partner," off the new "Bonny Prince Billy Sings Greatest Palace Songs." (Via Dust Congress.)

I forgot to forget to remember

Shite, I meant to post this yesterday. Have you all got anything planned for this evening? I mean, after you go to Church and get anointed and all, of course. Might I make a suggestion? Go see How to Kick People. Then head down to Sin-e to see the ever-glamorous Misty Roses. You might see me at one or both. (Hey, I fly if you buy!)

Blow your tuneless trumpet

I will be silent this morning as I await a "staff meeting" that may conclude with me being handed an empty copy paper box. In the meantime, if you're looking for something fun to do tonight, you could do worse than to go see Broken Social Scene and special guests at NYU's Kimmel Center. Five bucks! Look ma, what a bargain.

[UPDATE: No one had their ass handed to them. Yet. It was more like one of those "The beatings will continue until morale improves" dealies. Thanks for your well-wishes. I'm starting to devise my Plan B strategy, just in case. Just for the hell of it, I might apply for a writing gig at the New Yorker. Apparently they're not terribly picky these days.]

Shit on my prick, ten years later

The last day of GG, via Monkeyfilter.

My best friend was at this show. She met him afterward and shook his shit-encrusted hand. She mentioned that his girlfriend had two black eyes. They chatted amiably and he told her, "Well, I'd love to talk some more, but the thing I love most about NYC is how easy it is to score." And off he went into the night.

(Here's his grave, btw)

What makes a man play bongos?*

This little video of the Minutemen jamming unplugged has made me more fucking happy than I can possibly account for. Yay!

Via the Glorious Noise message boards.

*Props due to my man J for that one

Do you like American music?

Right now I'm just happy to see "Keep on the Sunny Side" gettin' the Grammy. That and the numerous snafus dunning Celine Dion's live performance are proof to me that maybe there is a God and if there is he has good taste in music.

A coupla days ago I found a hit in my referrers from a site I've always liked, Glorious Noise. It hadda do with my blahbahdeblahing about "Pictures of You" on the HP commercials. But that's not the point--it led me to one of the founders' side projects: Grand Rapids Rocks! A veritable compendium of all that was good and garage-y in the '60s midwest. Hey ya! Sometimes good things fall into my lap, and they don't even leave a stain.

Also, big ups to Ang for sending me a fantabulous all-Mountain Goats mix CD. She puts the bomb in the bom-ditty.

This hyperactive smoocherama brought to you by 36 pieces of Now'n'Laters purchased on the cheap at Dollar World, located across the street from the lovely Crandell Theatre, where I spent many a Friday night pulling chewed-up Skittles out of my hair.

I was upstate visiting my newly mommed friend. I got to hold little Paige who farted like a rocketship taking off the entire time. I asked her dad how he liked her so far. "She's kind of a useless annoyance at this point. 'Feed me! Change me! Now leave me alone!' I think I'll like her more in a few months." Yup, parenthood.

Loving you's my crime

Goddammit. Tony Villanueva, lead singer of the Derailers, is quitting:

Austin's hardest-working honky-tonk band has decided to hang up the matching Nudie suits. Singer Tony Villanueva says the Derailers are disbanding after a Dec. 31 farewell concert at Gruene Hall.

But guitarist Brian Hofeldt said he and the other remaining band members will continue to play together without Villanueva, who cited a desire to spend more time with his wife and three children.

When you're in Brooklyn, you best watch your back

All hail the Evil that is CANINUS... (Thanks Stv.)

Fame and fortune

Spoke to my aunt this weekend. I guess my cousin's getting serious with his Russian hooker girlfriend. I told her about how I'm looking for a new apartment and she says a friend of hers has a nice place for rent just down the street from the family compound, on Prospect Place. That I should think about it. Because then I can come by and have dinner every Sunday. I live in fear of that. I think I'll try to stay in Greenpoint. There's only so much brajole a person can eat.

Saturday night went to see Mission of Burma. The Rogers Sisters opened, and I was really impressed. In addition to operating my favorite bar, they can really rock out with their cocks out.

MOB was really, really good as well, even if they did stop after 45 minutes to take a ten-minute break. "There's no good excuse for that," one of my acquaintances opined, "unless one of them is on dialysis." But then they came back and played for another hour and a half, so I've no complaints.

Except for the fact that we were rousted from our comfy booth in the balcony by an insanely drunk man on crutches who plopped down next to us. He asked us to get him a beer. The other three people I was with all got up, and I looked at them imploringly. Don't leave me alone with this man, I telegraphed with my eyes. When MOB got onstage, he looked at me and shouted "GOD BLESS AMERICA!!!" That's when I knew we had to leave.

I was beginning to feel sorry for him, because I noticed he had a wedding band on. What kind of wife sends her husband out on crutches on a cold, snowy night by himself? Then I noticed he was wearing a Rolex--a REAL one--and I didn't feel so bad, because I figured he could take a taxi home. Then I started wondering just how fucked up he was and if I could roll him for it. I really did. Then I started to feel bad again. But not too bad.

Worked the antiques show this weekend. Saw the fantastically handsome Federico Castellucio. Saw the fantastically pancake make-up'ed Rudy Giuliani. He was positively orange. I guess this is your life if you expect to be photographed everywhere you go. He has beautiful skin underneath all that foundation, though, an observation my mother would have made.

Anyhow, gotta go shake it like a Polaroid picture.

Slow news day here

Ludacris to star in new cartoon 'pimp' show:

The movie will feature the voices of Ludacris, who will hold down the main character: a foul-mouthed gerbil called 'Weathers' who meets a female hip-hop club goer by the name of 'Sweet Chiffon' (Lil’ Kim).

Sweet Chiffon, according to the script, takes Weathers around and hooks him up with a pimp character by the name of Fruit Juice (Bernie Mac - that's gonna be jokes!).

The film will also feature the voices of Mystikal, William Shatner (Star Trek), Carmen Electra and a list of others.

I give and I give

So while I'm upstate this weekend, I have a suggestion for those of you who plan on staying in the city. This Saturday night, you should go to Hank's Tavern, and see the greatest live band in NYC, The Live Ones. They go on at 10:30. They are playing with Teenanderthal, so it's gonna be a most excellent show.

See? Xmas came early for you losers.

Steel guitar and settle down

RIP, Speedy West.

Tonite

If you got nothin' else to do, the Mountain Goats are playin' at the NYU Kimmel Center.

That is all.

All the Classical Civilization and Hellenic Studies double majors in the house say HO!

OK, before I forget, tonight, at NYU's Kimmel Center, Dead Prez and The Last Emperor are performing. It will undoubtedly be worth checking out.

I am easily amused

Stryper and Rosie Greer.

I love to hate

I saw Crimson Sweet on Saturday night. They played at Sin-e, and if you missed them, you fucked up. I mean, Legs McNeil* was there. A better endorsement cannot be found.

But I'm not here to praise them, I'm here to bitch and moan about the pain known as the Piranhas, who happened to follow CS.

Just as wearing glowing horns purchased hastily after work from Rite Aid doesn't make you a sexy devil for Halloween, naming yourself after one of the greatest punk-no wave bands ever does not make you sound good like them. No, in fact, what it does is it annoys a whole bunch of aging punks who've paid 8 dollars to see *their* Piranhas.

Now, the least you can do to remedy such a situation is to NOT SUCK, but sadly, Piranhas Jr. did suck. Mightily.

They sounded a bit like Stooges/Doors/garage rock. They're from Detroit, so I think they're required to. They played an intro for approximately 5 minutes that I thought was going to turn into a song, but it never did. Somehow, in the first 30 seconds of playing, the lead singer (who was doing this Joe Cocker by way of Lenny Kaye thing) was already bleeding from the forehead. Maybe he's stigmatic? I don't know. And the guitarist had already broken a string. Playing two chords. For 30 seconds. Message to guitarist: You need a new sponsor.

After the first song, the lead singer, whom I will call Hairdo, jumped off the stage and lay on the floor, convulsing, shouting into the microphone like Captain Caveman. The 10 people who remained in the audience eyed him warily. Message to Hairdo: Unless you are John Fuckin' Stabb, do not lay down on the floor during your performance. You're tempting us to stomp you.

*Not absolutely certain if it was actually Legs. Void in RI, MN, VA.

I've got rhythm!

OK, here's a list of events this week that I'll in all likelihood miss because the Fates are working against me:

Tonight, at Sin-e, is Misty Roses. You should go see them, and I hear if you swoon in front of the stage they'll pay you a dollar.

Tomorrow night, at 7:30, Ichi the Killer, which just about coincides with an ill-timed an eye exam. I'll probably have to miss it. Unless someone wants to buy me a ticket and save me a seat. HINT.

Finally, on Wednesday, is the kick-off (get it?) of How to Kick People. Todd purposely schedules all his shows on Wednesday nights because a) he knows I have class and b) he hates me.

But by all means, you should all go.

Go! Leave me here. It's fine.

This day's just getting better and better

Oy vey: MTV.com - News -Singer/Songwriter Elliott Smith Dead Of Apparent Suicide.

Emeute Blanche

Hey'd you hear about the riot in Montreal? Who riots over the freakin' Exploited? Ugh.

Some in the crowd traded riot stories; others called the whole thing a waste of time and money. "I guess it seemed like a good idea at the time," said Chris, 20, who had a fresh mohawk and who said he had been arrested and released during the riot. "Honestly, though, I thought the cars would be covered by insurance."

When I was a kid everyone had either the Subhumans, the Exploited, or the Varukers on their jackets/bum flaps. (It's surprising how many of those in the third camp couldn't name a Varukers song off the top of their heads.) What I wouldn't give for a pair of those stretchy black trousers now. Am tempted to go into Trash and Vaudeville. I'm too old now to be mocked. Plus, as I learned when I went into 8th Street Labs for stockings, the best thing to do is to immediately throw up your hands and shout "I'm shopping for my niece!" Then they leave you alone.

As my future husband once said, "Punk rock died when the first kid said 'Punks not dead, punks not dead.'"

Like to show me all around, thank you girl but I know this town

Wow, it's CMJ time already. Seems like it just happened. (Yes, I'm doing that hackneyed blogging approach where I reference something I wrote a year ago in the absence of having anything of substance to say.)

It wasn't so long ago that I had the stamina for this sort of thing. I would take a few days off from work, attend every possible show I could, stay out late drinking, hobnobbing uselessly, and wishing I had those gel inserts for my shoes. I can't do that anymore. Unless I have some really high-quality coke.

::stares intently::

I really like how they've organized the CMJ site this year; it's way more user friendly, and it allows me to completely forgo the schedules of any bands or venues whose names start with G. We hate G.

I've really got no idea who I'm going to go see this year. Coolfer had some good picks. So far, I think I'ma see Crimson Sweet at Lit on Thursday, the Bloodshot lineup at Tonic on Friday, and of course the Bloodshot BBQ on Saturday at Union Pool. I'd also really like to check out The Stars at Bowery Ballroom early on Friday night, but I sense that show is gonna sell right the fuck out.

So, let's employ another hackneyed blog device: why don't all twelve of my readers peruse the CMJ schedule and make a recommendation on what shows to see? Please bear in mind, if I can get on the guest list, I'm much more likely to see the band.

::stares intently::

[edited to add: My friend J is too nice to pimp himself out in my comments here ::cough:: but this Thursday he'll be playing at the Bowery Poetry Club with the STYRENES at midnight, and if you know what's good for you, you should go. This is *wholly* unrelated to CMJ, btw]

By the way, The Mountain Goats RAWKED! Why haven't any of you told me to listen to them before? Assholes.

Fresh breath is the priority of my life

I'm more excited about this than I should be.

That movie ate a dick sandwich with a side of balls!

How to kill an auteur's comeback:

"After stepping out of the theater, I immediately drove to the ASPCA and adopted a puppy - a gorgeous, playful Black Labrador mix. I named him Here's What I Think of Kill Bill, and then murdered him with a salad fork out in the parking lot."

She wants to lead a glamorous life

Hey everybody! Guess what I'm doing this weekend? I'm getting a new car. Well, a newer car. Another Subaru station wagon of the soccer mom variety, the kind that one can only find in upper Westchester/lower Putnam county. The owner wanted to upgrade to something a little more sporty. As such, I will be out of town, while the rest of you are partying down. Or swigging bourbon in a closet in North Carolina.

But there are a number of events I highly recommend you attend. First off, Squirrels from Hell are playing a free gig tonight at Otto's Shrunken Head. Don't just take my word for it: Go see 'em yourself. They really fucking rock.

If you're feeling slightly more posh, you should go uptown to Cafe St. Bart's and check out their Johnny Cash Tribute. The lineup is pretty fucking incredible. And it's the least you can do for my friend John who had to be up at the hour of bastards this morning to pimp the gig on Fox morning news while the rest of us were sleeping like kittens on opium benders.

Um, also, you should go to the Emily Harvey Gallery (537 Broadway) and check out "Accidental Significance," a show of Geoffrey Hendricks' work. Half of it is Collaborative Boxes, done with his late partner Brian Buczak, the other half is Memorial Boxes, done after Buczak's death. They're these exquisite shadow boxes filled with found objects.

Hendricks and Buczak are major Fluxus artists. This small show is running concurrently with a really huge Fluxus retrospective at Rutgers, where Hendricks teaches now.

Rutgers is still in NJ, right? Shame that.

Anyhow, see you kids when I get back.

Who can say where they're blowing?

Grant gives a lovely and erudite (as if you'd expected anything but) defense of karaoke.

If you mention karaoke to your cohort, you’ll hear some say “I hate karaoke” and others comment, “I don’t sing karaoke” in the same tone they might say, “I’ve never sold access to my ass for a poke of heroin.” ...If you are bored by singing, fine. If you hate music, you’re an unamerican baby-eater, but I’m down with that. If you dislike bars, okay. But some karaoke-haters merely have a fear of public performance which manifests itself as a false pride. They have some self-respect to protect, they think. They believe singing karaoke is beneath their dignity—they would never do anything so gauche, so uncouth, something so clearly reserved for the loser classes.

Incidentally, Enid's karaoke night is tonight. I am tempted to attend, but a)I am a brokeass man and b)I have freelance copy to write on the scintillating topic of file management, storage, and destruction. We're talking Booker Prize shortlist material here. Still, I may be there nonetheless, because Grant still technically owes me a duet.

Jumping out of windows in expensive clothes

I don't mean to kvetch about "Oh, don't you hate it when X song is used in Y commercial," but c'mon people. Hewlett Packard? Pictures of You? Do they WANT me to associate their brand with being 16, stoned, and completely heartbroken? For the love of Christ. I was watching, like, the Arsenal game on Saturday and said ad came on. Immediately I flashed to a memory of my much younger self, crouched on the floor of my closet, sobbing hysterically, alternating between hits of sativa and Jack Daniels, exhaling into a paper towel tube stuffed with dryer sheets (you laugh, but it worked, I tell you! Remember this when you go home for Thanksgiving.), and emerging only to hit rewind on my stereo. The soundtrack? Pictures of You, of course. The single most melancholy tune ever written. Repeated for 5 hours, until I was called down to dinner. Thank you, HP. I'm going to go cut myself now.

Music is my boyfriend

Audikt "is a collaborative, issue based project between designers, artists and musicians, showcasing creative and musical talent beyond the mainstream."

(via pixelsurgeon)

Hello, Cleveland!

OK, so guess where I'd be tonight if I didn't have less glamorous plans? I'd be going to the Knitting Factory to see Dysrhythmia. Fortunately for me, I saw them on Saturday at Lit (a bar I swore up and down I'd not set foot in, but actually, it's not so bad. It looks like it used to be a tea room) and they ROCKED. It's kinda hard to describe them--they're sorta like prog-avant-metal.

Come back here, I'm not done.

They're kinda mathcore. Anyhow, you can check 'em out here if you're interested.

Wear earplugs.

Also, this Friday, THE LIVE ONES will be playing a couple of gigs at Helen's Bar, which, according to Jon the guitarist, is on the corner of Manhattan and Freeman or thereabouts, in Greenpoint. I personally don't go that far north very often, so I am unfamiliar with this particular boite, but if you're coming from elsewhere, take the G to Greenpoint Ave., and walk in the direction of the gunshots and the flames raking the sky. Ultimately, though, this band is worth risking your life to see. They're one of the only things in life, aside from Viggo Mortensen and hashish brownies, that I like. Clearly, they merit your support.