This tour-only CD is going for 50 something bucks on ebay.
It’s more than respectable, but there are very few records worth 50 dollars. It’s a bit surprising that physical digital media would be so valued at this point, but maybe there’s something magical in the air? They played Cochella, after all, so weirdness is definitely afoot during this time of great reformations.
Perhaps it’s time to finally sell that signed copy of Dreams Less Sweet. Continue reading
In this installment of “Ask a…” we’re talking to a development officer. When you go to a not-for-profit event, the attendees are solicited by a development officer. When you smudge a plaque by rubbing your greasy fingers on it, you’re defacing something that was paid for by prospects developed by a development officer. When you’re dying in a hospital bed, the decor was donated through a network of donors developed by a development officer. So they’re a bit like angels in that they are everywhere while being invisible, and because they do battle with Satan in the form of $300 annual donors who think they’re high rollers and the apogee of all human life on this Earth. Continue reading
Their rendition of “In The Shadow of the Sun” was captivating and excruciatingly loud – the Brooklyn Masonic Temple is a good venue if handled correctly, contra los gentes del Yelp. But the 40 minutes of throb by some other guy was far less so. There’s a line between “blowing minds” and “insulting people” and it is very important to dance about that line sometimes. It’s where the confrontation and captivation of any kind of aggressive/transgressive music comes from. Forty minutes of throb guy never quite made it back over the line.
The house lights were on for their entire closing set, which sorely vexed some gentleman in the upper deck, or as I liked to call it, “The Class of Nuke ‘Em High”. Maybe he just wanted to smoke a joint, or perhaps he never considered that those four on stage might actually want to look at the people who dropped nearly 40 bucks to see them. How surreal must that be?
Give it a rest, Light Guy. We don’t always get our way.
I was very impressed by “Shadows”; this final set was far more intense. I recognized “Very Friendly” and “Hamburger Lady”. The extended closing of “Discipline” was as moving and pristine a version as could have been laid down. It was nearly majestic.
The whole punk/industrial look is hard to pull off after a certain age, but sometimes you get old and you get famous and it brings you a lot of misery, so you get some boobs. Gen even seemed to relax into it near the end. There were some smiles all around.
I sincerely hope they’re able to turn what may be a sudden bump in popularity into retirement money. The culture caught up! Kids these days go see Fuck Buttons or Black Dice or Lightning Bolt, and they’re not just a niche of a niche or in some extended costume drama. Maybe it’s finally their time, 30 years too late.
About twice a year the folks, the kids, myself and the related people get together at the Brooklyn Brewery to get that stupid sort of drunk you get from having a very short amount of time in which to drink. Apparently the neighborhood kids have gotten hip to the wiseness, because while their Saturday tour-n-drink events were always a bit tight we have never witnessed a standing room only day. Good for those guys, for sure, but if we hadn’t cannibalized a table it would have been shit city. The 8% coffee stout helped tremendously.
Before the main event I had some time to kill, so I visited Sound Fix, which I am old enough to remember as the original location of Beacon’s Closet. I haven’t been to EarWax in a while and SF is on the way, and I figured it would be a good place to pick up John Fahey’s Red Cross album. I’m getting up in years and in this turbulent, Illuminati-controlled economic climate getting basted and then shopping for records is a sure way to end up with a lot of poor choices in your pocket. Continue reading
Wikipedia or an old Grey Lady article can give you the relevant background info. Later on before Fahey died, when Jim O’Rourke was all up in his Santa Claus-ness, Fahey supposedly disavowed his earlier work as sentimental or some other word that is artist-speak for “supergay”. I’ve not yet sought out his later material. I may never do so. Jim O’Rourke is filed in the corner of my brain that’s called BORING so his name inspires neither confidence nor fear. There’s nothing wrong with some sentimentality, anyway.
My favorite pick from that period is America, which strums along at a mid-tempo pace that fits driving across long, boring states and rolling green hills. I’ll take sentiment over ressentiment any day.