Den Gamle By in Aarhus, Denmark is one of the best and weirdest museums I’ve ever been to. It started as a place they transported really old buildings that were being torn down, rebuilding them into an old town, brick by brick. Cool enough, but they added a concept of recreating stores and apartments from 3 random years in history into neighborhoods: 1927, 1974, and for some baffling reason 2014. Exact replicas based on actual places. The execution is outrageously good. The level of detail, down to the olfactory variety, astonishing and sometimes really hilarious. From 74: A hippie communal apartment, a gynecologist office, a book store with a porno mag rack behind beads next to the children’s section. By the way, they don’t shield the kids from anything in this country and they mostly seem to turn into sensible adults. From 2014: a lesbian family, a single woman’s apartment, a Blockbuster Video that’s closing down. Funny. Tons and tons of random replicas. Actors in the stores and around town engage with you. There are period-correct phones in the rooms and you can call the other stores apartments and have conversations with visitors. Vibe’s niece Ida fooled me good in the paint shop calling from the butcher shop, asking if we had red paint to cover the blood on the walls. Had no idea it was her. Solid fun for 4 hours.
Sometimes when you’re a kid you don’t recognize when you’re emotionally moved by something. You may scoff at an astonishing sight. I remember going on a camp trip to Niagara Falls in the late 70s and asking a counselor: “what’s the big deal?”
“Are you kidding? It’s incredible,” he responded. Which made me question my tween perspective. It was a moment that still periodically enters my mind to this day, so it must have been an important one.
45 years later I can now officially report that Niagara Falls is a million times better as an adult than as an ungrateful little shit. Nothing about it is underrated. Yes, the park is touristy and the surrounding area isn’t particularly gorgeous. But holy shit, those falls are going to move you. My girlfriend wept on the ‘Maid of the Mist’ boat – another fabulous must do.
Go back. Or just go. See it for yourselves. Stay overnight and stop in Buffalo the next day like we did. The Albright Knox museum is excellent. Get a beef on weck for the road. Do it.
Neil Young and Crazy Horse, Forest Hills Stadium. Photo: James Prochnik
Neil Young with Ralph Molina and Billy Talbot, the heaviest living rhythm section in rock, with second guitar from Willie Nelson’s nepo-baby Micah Nelson, dba Crazy Horse, played 2 nights this week at the Forest Hills Stadium, formerly known as the Forest Hills Tennis Stadium. I saw the first night.
It was a rainy day so I packed my nice umbrella but hired goons made me throw it into a box with hundreds of other nice umbrellas. It was rainy both nights.
We stopped by to say hi to Bill Sullivan, the Stadium’s kind creative director whose beautifully illustrated graphic portraits of past star performers (Beatles) and tennis greats (BJ King) who played there adorn the walls, along with plaques with bios that attach stylishly to the steel beams that hold the place up. He also does all the concert posters for the stadium and they are available on the first level (and online) at The Kiosk. There’s still a big tennis vibe to the place. Why would they play down its history as the original home of the US Open? It’s hard to think of another venue with such a deep music and sports history.
Bill Sullivan’s poster for Neil’s Forest Hills Stadium shows
Our seats were in the middle of the floor, probably 20-25 rows back. There was an entire row in front of us that seemed like they were a cult of some kind. They all did a rain dance/chant and the rain actually stopped for a while! I found out later they were connected to the opening act, Rev Bill, which is some kind of anti-consumerist performance group or association and/or actual cult.
Neil and Crazy Horse came out and immediately launched into ‘Cortez the Killer’ and then hit after hit. I want to say, there is not anyone living or dead who I’d prefer to hear play the electric guitar than Neil Young, especially in this maximum rock context. His playing was as gorgeously unhinged and heavy as ever. We got ‘Cinnamon Girl,’ extra-extended guitar insanity on ‘Like a Hurricane’. ‘Don’t Cry No Tears’ (I felt like he played the suspended chord in reverse for a bit, intriguing, but I may have been hearing things). ‘Everybody Knows This is Nowhere’ and I might as well be on my knees but I’m still on my feet. ‘Powderfinger’ – the song with my favorite NY riff, the one he closes the verses with. ‘Vampire Blues’ from On Da Beach. Hyper-speeded out approach during the fast part on ‘Sedan Delivery’.
Neil Young Crazy Horse Forest Hill’s Tennis Stadium. Photo: James Prochnik
He also did a 3-song acoustic set. I nearly wept quite literally during ‘Heart of Gold’. I am, indeed, getting old.
There was an issue during the big finale, ‘Hey Hey My My’ (!!) where they sound kept going out (!!). You could only hear the stage monitors, barely. It would stop right before a rippin guitar solo but it would come back. I’m not sure why but I was completely convinced that this was a gag, as Neil seems capable of that kind of prank. I probably just wanted that to be true. I’m thinking it probably wasn’t.
“What’s your favorite planet?”
Neil repeated this a number of times throughout the set. Each time he would get a pretty weak “EARTH” from the 13,000 (sold out) fans. He shared some jolly disappointment as he said that he had been practicing to get the maximum audience response. He said very little else. He mentioned Bill’s work and talked about how the Monkees played there with Jimi Hendrix opening.
Photo: James Prochnik
The venue is all around great with some of the usual challenges of big chaotic rock events. Mainly extremely large numbers of slow moving people, etc. Pretty poor design on some of high end portajohns, which feel like coffins. They gave me anxiety. You have to step up on a ledge inside the porta-coffin.
Had some slices at Austin Street Pizza beforehand. Pretty good, a solid choice for quick pre-show grub at the Forest Hills Stadium.
I decided to pre-game my birthday this year with a half-day course and guided meditation on death. It seemed appropriate and also the topic seemed next -level from the usual helpful classes on emptiness at Kadampa on 24th street. I hadn’t slept well the night before and I’m not sure I got the most out of the meditation – but my girlfriend bought the recording and I’m looking forward to giving it another go. The Buddhists know the score.
When I was asked what I’d like to on my actual birthday, I considered asking her to drive me to Staten Island for some of the city’s best pizza, but I knew I also wanted something sweet with a candle in it, so I settled on the East Village outpost of Staten Island’s Joe & Pat’s, since it was around the corner from the fabulous Danish bakery Smør.
When I noted there was a Joe & Pat’s on First Avenue I was slightly perplexed. From my understanding Rubirosa on Mulberry Street was supposed to be the Manhattan version. I was a little suspicious at first, thinking at perhaps it was fakery along the lines of Patsy’s or Totonno’s, where the only true outlets are the original. However, an internet search confirmed it was real and that Rubirosa was opened by a son or grandson of the original family. Regardless, the cracker thin vodka sauce pizza at First Ave J&P’s slayed. I basically downed the entire large (but thin) pie, as my girlfriend Vibe was avoiding carbs that day and only nibbled. Glorious.
Joe & Pat’s large vodka pie.
Smør Bakery is part of Smør, the restaurant, 2 doors down on E. 12th Street between First Ave and Avenue A. I’m not exactly sure why they need separate websites and Instagramaccounts. Run by two Danes named Sebastian, the baked goods are completely outrageous. The cardamom buns are their incredible signature. They may give you cardamom burps for the rest of the day, which is very much not the worst burp situation you can experience. I ate half a birthday bun and then half of the rhubarb mint cream danish, before devouring the second halves of both immediately. They also have Danish doughnuts (Berliners) and the best Rugbrød I’ve had, which includes any I’ve had on my 3 trips to the Kingdom so far. The restaurant is also A+ with Danish hotdogs, pandekager, an array of smørrebrød, and other scandi treats.
There’s a big, shocking reveal in the Redd Kross documentary. Something that I don’t think people generally know about. I’m not gonna spoil it but check it out when you can. It was a fun screening last night at Nighthawk Prospect Park with a Q&A with director Andrew Reich, the former executive producer on the television sitcom ‘Friends’! He did a great job of capturing the dynamic between brothers Jeff and Steven McDonald, and also communicating the macro and micro about Redd Kross, the subtle and unusual reasons they’re such a great rock n roll band. I have a deep love for Redd Kross and so many amazing memories of seeing them play during their peak with Robert Hecker on guitar in the late 80s and early 90s. I’m s fan of their “sell out” period (‘Phaseshifter’ etc ) and I feel like this was semi glossed over, only covered as part of being “out of place in the industry.” But maybe there’s not much more to communicate about how deeply and uniquely they did not give a fuck. I think back to seeing them to seeing them during this period at Maxwell’s and mentioned that someone in the industry called them “the alternative Nelson.” Amazing. Long live Redd Kross.
Born Innocent Director Andrew Reich
Coincidentally, strangely and sadly, the @reddkross IG account posted a tribute to their former manager, Joanna “Spock” Dean, who just died. I actually knew her very briefly and we hung out in 1988. Seeing her face brought a few memories flooding back briefly, including traveling downtown to CBGB to see Redd Kross but failing to get in because it was during the CMJ convention and it was filled with CMJ badge-wearing dbags, even though she had considerable pull being their former manager. I didn’t know it at the time but Spock is an LA punk scene legend. She was a member off the all-girl band Backstage Pass and apparently played a big role in developing the Paisley Underground scene. I didn’t know her for long but she was so cool and I feel lucky to have spent the time. RIP Spock!
I’ve had an aversion to what might be described as overtly-retro dress up rock since the garage-rock revival of the 1980s. Back then it always had a bit of a Star Trek Convention vibe to it, even if I liked the music. I did like some of the bands but those Beatle Boots and 60s style hats were a turnoff. Often, a phoney or jive vibe infiltrated the band’s stage presence. I did, however, like the dress up components of the scene when it came to the girls who showed up in 60s miniskirts. My aversion stayed with me after this style of music became legitimately popular via bands like the White Stripes and the Black Keys. I just couldn’t get over it. At that point, garage rock was all over TV car commercials, and I was profoundly disinterested.
Lemon Twigs at TV Eye, Ridgewood, NY, April 25, 2024
The Lemon Twigs feel different for some reason, although I was immediately skeptical for the same reasons when I first saw/heard them. While there may be nothing remotely original about their style, the execution of their compositions is impeccable and the brotherly close harmonies are wonderful. It’s pure rock candy in the best way. They also veer into catchy pop ideas that comes across in shameless in a really adorable. I feel like they’re really going for a HIT RECORD and I feel real respect for their approach. I hope they succeed and I feel like they have a great shot at it.
They totally pulled it off live. Great playing and singing. It was a totally fun time. TV was sold out and crowded but I didn’t have any interactions with jerks and didn’t get too claustrophobic. The opener, SUO, a power trio, were also excellent. I want to hear more. Bass was handled by the charming Josephine from the Josephine Network. I feel like she’s in half the bands in north Brooklyn these days. And I’m happy that there’s some semblance of a scene these days that doesn’t repel me.
I only recently learned there was a Brooklyn outpost of Faicco’s, the pork store with the amazing gigantic Italian sandwiches that I know from Bleeker Street. Perhaps it’s the original store? The Brooklyn Faicco’s does not have sandwiches but they do have a range of fine products, including pork braciola, lard bread, fresh mozz, rice balls and San Daniele prosciutto for $6 less per pound than you’d pay Whole Foods or Wegman’s. And the folks who work there couldn’t be nicer or more helpful. Not sure how to cook that braciola? “I’ll run and ask the guys in the back!” You’re always going to walk out happy.
Separately, the last time I was there, there was a picture of Reagan with the quote, “If we lose freedom here, there is no place to escape to. This is the last stand left on earth.” My girlfriend, who is from a country that one could objectively say is freer than the US (Denmark) found this HILARIOUS and I found it strangely endearing, even though I believe Reagan was a real monster. Sadly this picture is gone and has been replaced with a picture of an oddly fit Trump hoisting an American flag with Nancy Pelosi’s corpse and “RINOs” nipping at his feet. Behind the counter there is a picture of Cowboy Don. I guess the unfortunate truth is that Faicco’s is ALL IN on American fascism and obviously doesn’t care about losing our freedoms here in the USA after all. But I guess it’s not uncommon for Italians to love a good fascist, historically speaking at least.
I thought the tag above the dogs leg read “My second tat was a Bansy” (sic)
I’m a fan of street artist Banksy, so I was happy when I heard he was doing a new show on the streets of NYC called Better Out Than In. I’m not sure what to make of his latest public swindle but it’s fun to see it unfold. At first, the work seems sub-par, maybe on purpose. Who knows with this guy? People are talking and it’s cute to see a Banksy buzz sweep the city. One thing about Banksy is that lovers and haters seem to argue the same points about him. He’s a cheat and a troublemaker. The New York Times take him pretty seriously. I personally think a lot of his stuff is memorable. And of course, Exit Through the Gift Shop is a classic motion picture.
The audio companions to the work in this series are hilarious. If anything, you should check those out.
His art sometimes seems to explicitly ask to be defaced. Or maybe his crew are doing it themselves? The first piece on Allen Street in Chinatown was almost instantly erased and then semi-restored by somebody. The second one (a bad NYC accent joke) seemed really terrible and also lasted about a day. Cheers to the next several weeks.
People snapping picsof the latest Banksy on 24th Street near 6th Ave
The Kosher Bagel Hole of Midwood seems undervalued/undervisited by non-ultra Orthodox Jews, even though (or maybe just because) it is across the street from da deified Di Fara’s Pizza on Avenue J. The lines at the Kosher B. Hole can be long too but they generally move faster, since Dom across the street has been making every pie by hand for fifty years. The bagels are as good as the best in the city.
Wait in line with exotic Semitic characters in the wilds of Midwood. If you get there at the right time of the morning, you may get the most perfect hot bagel in history, even if the whole bag is rarely like that. You just need a few. Crispy on the outside and piping hot on the inside. You know what I’m talking about. The rest of them will be good too.
Whatever you do not eat that morning, SLICE AND FREEZE IMMEDIATELY.
Lines out the door before Passover and an 8 day closure. Check the Jewish calendar for holidays.
Pretty sure these places are not related to the “Bagel Hole” in Park Slope.
Kosher Bagel Hole
1423 Avenue J
Brooklyn
Kosher Bagel Hole
1431 Coney Island Avenue
Brooklyn
There are a growing number of businesses in Ditmas Park that sell multiple dissimilar things . There’s a bar/flowershop and now a new combination bar/guitar shop. Against all odds, the flowershop bar works great but the idea of drinking in a music store is a horrifying thought. Most of my memories of guitar shops include assholes playing Alex LIfeson riffs and the like — but I guess I could see myself stopping in to buy strings or picks. The latest dual-offering in Flatbush is Le Crepe Et La Vie, a combination creperie and thrift store. Nothing precious or conceptual here, just an older guy who appears to be Greek with his wife running a small thrift store in the back.
I went there with my daughters a few days after they opened and the owner, Konstantino, let them try their hand at making crepes. Although I promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone about it, the pictures are below. Now he’s too damn busy to offer up such things. We were just lucky — and because of his warmth and delicious fucking crepes I’ve been back several times since.
Konstantino is hilarious and always complains about how busy he is, with a proud smirk on his face. I asked him, “You didn’t want to succeed?” I get the feeling he thought he was opening a business as a hobby as he nears retirement age — but now he’s completely overwhelmed because this hood really needed a place like this.
In late 2012, I stopped looking at the amazing moving mural behind the grates in the Dekalb Tunnel because it had been horribly vandalized/tagged. It was the last cool thing you’d see before the Q train crossed over the Manhattan Bridge into Disneyland and your day filled with buzzwords, acronyms, dumb branded websites, advertising, and even worse bullshit that all of that. This live animation by artist Bill Brand never got old but after it happened I mostly opted to stand on the south side of the train, with the view the Brooklyn Bridge and Statue of Liberty. Nothing to sneeze at either. I’m not sure when the mural was fixed because it was too depressing to look at after the damage was done. Apparently it was restored in 2008 too, probably for the same reasons.
Who knew? It’s back! Take the Q or the B train from Brooklyn into Manhattan and check it out. Look to the right side of the train after it leaves the Dekalb station.
There are several places in NYC to get amazing, real deal pork/leek dumplings in frozen form, usually $10 for 50. It’s great to have them around for a quick snack, side dish, or a meal in a pinch. Kei Feng Fu in Sunset Park’s Chinatown is comparable to Manhattan revered Prosperity Dumpling. My kids rated these, slightly smaller potstickers higher than Prosperity, in an unintentional, side-by-side taste test (I was running out of one or the other).
The best dumplings might be from Lam Zhou (144 E. Broadway in Manhattan), though I’ve never purchased the frozen variety. If you’re in Queens, try Lao Bei Fang Dumpling House in Elmhurst, though the last time I was there they seemed a little too doughy.
You really can’t lose with any of these places — but Kei Feng Fu wins Brooklyn for me, so far.
How To Prepare Your Frozen Dumplings
Fry dumplings in a little oil for 2 minutes
Add a cup of water and cover
Cook for 10 minutes* or until water is gone and the dumplings start to sizzle in the pan. If water is gone too soon you might want to add more. You don’t want the raw pork to cook for less than 10
* 2024 note: a comment in 2018 said “My Lord, please do not cook them for 10min. Adjust to 2 tablespoons of water, it shouldn’t take more than 5min for the water to boil off. Leave in pan until you smell toastyness (like toast Browning). Source: am Chinese, have been cooking dumplings for 10+years.”
Kei Feng Fu
4801 8th Avenue
Brooklyn
Note: The place is on 48th street, not on 8th avenue. It’s the first building around the corner. Look for the graffiti tags that they obviously have no interest in painting over. This is a real dive.
Cosmic Psychos with M.O.T.O.
Cake Shop, NYC, Saturday, September 21, 2013
I remember the name of the band the Cosmic Psychos from back in the early 90s but I didn’t know anything about them until recently. They are notable for being an relatively obscure Australian band that somehow got under the skin of the Seattle scene during the formative years of Grunge. Not too many other people knew about them. Now they’re celebrating 30 years if existence and are the subject of a new documentary called Blokes You Can Trust. The band comes from a long line of dumb and repetitive but loveable heavy Australian rock and roll music. The Saints, Radio Birdman, The Hard Ons, hell even AC/DC fits the bill. When it comes to the Cosmic Psychos, when the wah-wah pedal kicks in, I learned last night that they deliver powerfully inside the electric church.
This one’s for the cunt who took my farm – Ross Knight
I hate to give Eddie Vedder credit for anything because it’s hard to trust anyone who sits on surfboards playing ukuleles — but his comments about how great the Cosmic Psychos are live in the trailer for the documentary (below) are accurate. It appears that Mudhoney and Butch Vig bolster the film’s credibility on this matter. Kurt was a fan, of course. When they got onstage one floor beneath the baked goods at Cake Shop on Ludlow Street, their heavy machinery-operating style bent me over and plowed me. True, the guitarist looked like he was inches from death. He stumbled and almost knocked into me twice before they went on. It looked like his beer baby bump was about due and he wore a wifebeater. He had a dirty, orange John Boehneresque alcoholic glow. I imagine the Replacements’ Bobby Stinson might look like this now, had he lived. But the bloke channeled Ron Ashton in the best possible way and completely shredded the lid off during the entire event. Ross Knight, hunched over and driving the attack via his rural-yet-industrial, fuzzed-out bass and Lemmy-influenced vocal stylings. This is an interesting cat and there is a good Q&A with him via Austin Chronicle.
Leading contender for best rock show of the year 2013.
Check out the trailer for the new documentary
Separate post on opening act M.O.T.O. to follow, maybe.
Nothing undiscovered here. I don’t think too many people who’ve tried it would argue that the Banh Mi at Ba Xuyen in Sunset Park’s Chinatown is as good as it gets. These damn sandwiches are also $4.50, tax included. Don’t be stupid, just try this place. Perfectly toasted french bread with grilled pork, meatballs, vietnamese BBQ patty things, more. 8 in all. Pickled daikon, carrots, cucumbers, jalapenos, cilantro, you know the score. And of course the pate, which is what guaranteed that my kids wouldn’t eat it. You can ask them to hold the pate, though I’m not sure why you would want to do this. Start with the number #8 (grilled pork) and work your way up to #1, the kitchen sink option. FrancoViet sandwiches rule.
“My wish is that one day scientists will be able to harness our food photos and turn them into fuel.” – Jon Wurster
“This is a disclaimer. We are not Black Flag. We are FLAG. We play the music of Black Flag.” – Keith Morris, September 19, 2013 (before a note was played)
A lot has been said about Greg Ginn’s lawsuit against “FLAG”. Most of the associated internet trolling paints Black Flag founder, guitarist, songwriter, and sole financial proprietor as some kind of Mike Love-like ogre. While this is true, he is more than just a sketchy businessman who screwed over the best members of his former group (and also Henry Rollins. And every artist that ever appeared on his SST label). Greg Ginn is a musician tied sonically to the music of Black Flag. His great start/stop/off-kilter guitar riffs are probably the most recognizable thing about them. He is also the only consistent member of the band since he started it.
Back in June, I enjoyed the Greg Ginn Black Flag experience at Warsaw in Greenpoint, with Chavo Ron Reyes — the Decline of Western Civilization-era lead singer. Before that show, there was a huge amount of negative hype online because of some shitty quality YouTube videos circulating. They sounded so bad! I had tickets but my friend bailed on me and honestly I didn’t really want to go either. “Nobody wants to go to this bullshit,” said my friend Pat D, who was offered a free ticket to the sold out show. But cameraphone vids are an unfair benchmark. Amazingly, they sounded great and completely rocked all the hits. Greg seemed very gracious and appreciative, and I got wasted on Jameson’s with a date I met on the Internet (I otherwise would have had to eat the ticket).
FLAG were also really good and in some ways completely great. Even considering it was at Irving Plaza, possibly the worst venue in NYC and filled with distateful people from all age groups. Bill Stevenson is an unrelenting machine on drums. One of the best punk rock drummers of all time and appropriately on this SPIN list of best “alternative” drummers (writeup by funnyman Jon Wurster). Original Black Flag singer Keith Morris is a national treasure. He’s been with us all along, most notably with the Circle Jerks and now recently with the popular supergroup OFF! Keith is still completely manic and effective. The founding father of hardcore. They sounded amazing running through the early hits — and on Nervous Breakdown I finally let my guard down and banged my head like a kid. Dez Cadena, the guy that Henry Rollins modeled his schtick on, did a set of pre-Rollins numbers (Thirsty and Miserable, American Waste, Six Pack, etc). Chuck Dukowski wailed around the stage like a punk rock grandpa. Pretty cute stuff. My one issue was with beloved later-Descendents/ALL guitarist Stephen Egerton. While he’s a great player, the way he aped Ginn’s guitar solos note-for-note really bothered me. Greg may deserve this big “fuck you” but it offended my musical senses.
A full Black Flag reunion with Ginn and this line up of FLAG would be completely incredible but of course this is an impossibility.
Joyce, owner and cook at Shayna’s Restaurant reminded me a little of my favorite grandma in appearance (but not white, Jewish, or Canadian). Real deal home-cooked Trinidadian food going on in her confines. Her freshly made Roti is one of the best gluten-based objects I’ve found in the borough. I was confused when she asked me if I wanted the chicken wrapped up in the Roti versus on-the-side, so I said yes. Golf-ball-sized pieces on the bone but I don’t think that sweet lady was trying to choke or kill me. It wouldn’t have been possible to pick it up like a burrito. She asked me if I wanted it hot and she didn’t believe me when I said yes. She seemed proud of her chilies so gave me the hot sauce on the side. It was good but not as hot as she claimed and it wasn’t enough. I used it all too quickly, since it was a giant, 1500 calorie Roti, probably. Delicious.
I need to go back and try the Doubles, tamarind-sweetened fried bread filled with curried garbanzos. Apparently they run out quickly in the morning, even though they seem more like a lunch-type sandwich.
She’s soon to be featured in a book about the immigrant experience and hangs with a top chef. Some good pictures of her work here, thanks for the story and the tip Ditmas Park Corner!
Bowery Ballroom, NYC, Sunday, September 16, 2013 Sold Out
Very few people accept the idea that watching Yoko Ono do her thing is entertaining. It’s interesting how you get universally similar reactions from very different types of people, all very negative. But to paraphrase Bill Murray in Stripes, one day Yoko Ono is going to die and you’re gonna say “I’ve been listening to her for years and I think she’s fabulous.” Sure enough, Yoko is now 80 years old. My dad was 81 when he died but he seemed decades older. She is still an all-out assault on your senses, ululating, sonically reverbulating, the like — but when combined with this particularly heavy crack incarnation of the Plastic Ono Band, the results are BIG. Head banging music.
This night was Yoko Ono Plastic Ono Band’s only 2013 show, and it featured one Yoko, one Yuka, and one Yuko. They opened up with the show with an hour of Yoko’s films, some dating back to 1966. Bare 60s asses, and so on.
The band is amazing. Yuko Araki from a group called mi-gu is a seriously demure powerhouse drummer. They had to set up the fiberglass around her she didn’t blast waif Yoko out into the audience. A big room drummer. Behind the keys was her eminence (based on audience reaction) Yuka Honda from Cibo Matto. Yuka’s husband Nels Cline, feedback-enthusiast and Thurston Moore-gentrifier, most commonly associated with the dinner-party rock group Wilco was impressive on guitar, as he usually is. If anything, he deferred to the band leader and Yoko. Cline seemed to be channeling Adrian Belew at times, with an enjoyable 70s Talking Heads groove there for a good chunk of the show. The bandleader, as it were, is Sean Lennon — even though I didn’t realize it until three-quarters of through the show. Pushing 40, Seanboy is a surprisingly musical multi-instrumentalist. He has so much to work against, the reputation of every Jason Bonham, Ziggy Marley, or Julian Lennon (did I really need to say it?). He held his own against Nels Cline on guitar and generally guided the direction of the attack. The show featured one surprise guest, utility man Earl Slick from the mid-80s not-so-supergroup “Phantom, Rocker, and Slick” and John and Yoko’s Double Fantasy album. Slick’s pentatonic focus added a bluesier angle to Yoko’s guitar army on the last few songs, including Don’t Worry, Kyoko.
So, the question is: If Yoko Ono rocks hard live and nobody is there to hear it and nobody believes you because they can’t imagine how anyone could listen to that shit — did it really make a sound? <ululate>YES!</ululate>
Some singers never lose their voice. Everyone can think of a few that have. Other voices were never great to begin with so it doesn’t matter so much when they start to go downhill. Melvin Davis has never lost his great voice. At Littlefield in Gowanus on Saturday, he sounded the same as he did on his great singles from the mid-60s, which I have to admit I wasn’t really familiar with. It was a real joy to watch this thrilled, deeply gracious 71 year old guy talk about his life in music and sing his never-hits. Davis has had in hand in so many different a) labels b) instruments in Detroit during its 60s musical hey day. He recorded for the amazing Fortune label but was also Smokey Robinson’s drummer for two years, on hits like Tears of a Clown, etc. Think about the thunderous drums on that track. Maybe it’s because he didn’t only focus on singing that his voice never got shot.
Melvin Davis never made much money. “My values don’t start with money,” he said humbly with a smile. “Not that that it isn’t on my list.” Adorable. This is a big man we’re talking about. Literally, the dude has gotta be at least 6’5 too. He thanked the popular Northern Soul movement from Blighty for appreciating all his obscure songs that didn’t make him any money at the time but that are in our hearts now. He showed real gratitude that he could come out and play to excited audiences, because of this renewed interest.
The Brooklyn Rhythm Band backed Melvin with a super-pro vintage sound and authentic playing. Completely complementary and not the slightest bit distracting,
Humbleness was the overriding theme of the night and it didn’t stop with the star of the show. Afterwards, I noticed Norton Records co-honcho Billy Miller waiting in line with a crowd of fans who wanted to meet him. Not only is Billy his personal friend of Melvin Davis — but he’s also reissuing some of his early work on Norton! See below. But he patiently waited with other fans get a word because above all Billy and his wife Miriam Linna are themselves big fans. Also, Norton’s business was recently savagely humbled by Frankenstorm Sandy, when their entire warehouse in Red Hook got destroyed — but they landed on their feet with the help of legions of fan volunteers.
This great show was brought to us by Brooklyn-based series called Dig Deeper. — and I reckon we should all stay on their list and keep an eye out for what else they have in store. Barbara Lynn is teed up to play Littlefield in Mid-October
Update: Just saw that Dig Deeper posted a video clip of the first song Melvin Davis did at this show, which I missed. It’s was Chains of Love, which I just saw The Dirtbombs do earlier in the day and probably their best known song. I did not know Melvin Davis did the original.
I’m single again and it was Saturday. Brooklyn Vegan pointed out that The Dirtbombs from Detroit, Michigan were playing a block party in Tribeca at 3pm in the afternoon. It was sponsored by a company called Shinola , a Detroit company that makes watches. Between this and the recently unveiled Nokia SmartWatch, somehow I’m now aware that people still wear watches.
I first came in contact with Mick Collins at Maxwell’s in Hoboken somewhere around 1990 (possibly 1989) when his amazing band the Gories opened a show for a less memorable band, since I really can’t recall who it was. I had never seen anything like it and to be honest I was pretty shocked by their messy assault, at first. I thought they were terrible. How did they even get the gig? I thought their black singer obviously had a great voice, like a vintage soul man – but I was just not ready for the trash heap, which I found overpowering from a conceptual perspective. Jarring. But like many tastes, you acquire them. Any Captain Beefheart fan will tell you that. And I’ve been a fan of Mick Collins for awhile, through the great Blacktop record and now his shit with The Dirtbombs
I first heard the Dirtbombs with their Ultraglide in Black LP, one of the best rock albums to come out around the time of 9/11 -2001. I also saw them live around that time and they were damn heavy — but then I lost track of what they were doing. They put out a record that was all techno covers and they sorta lost me. I stopped giving a shit.
BUT CHRIST ON A CRACKER THEY ARE BACK! The new record is a 60s bubblegum tribute and they sound great again. I was intrigued by a sample I heard (see Soundcloud embedded below). The full album is available for streaming on Spin.
Anyway, I got on my bike and weaved through endless tourist cattle walking on the Brooklyn Bridge. I got to Franklin Street just as the Dirtbombs were about to go on. Good timing. And they sounded fucking great. The show was way too quick but they exceeded most benchmarks for “rocking at street fairs”. Also, considering Mick was playing a cheap ass Squier Strat with a lone fuzzbox. Look, I have some issues with Stratocasters, both their sound and also sometimes the people who choose to play them — but he pulled it off anyway. Great version of Sly Stone’s Underdog (YouTube below). Heavy and to-the-point, or way too short, both. About 30 minutes. An autumn afternoon rock treat.
After an uncomfortably slow day at work, I walked over to the David Zwirner Gallery to see the latest Raymond Pettibon installation,To Wit. I’ve been staring at his eerie and profoundly disturbing images for over 25 years, ever since the early Black Flag and Minutemen album covers.
I can’t think of a more aggressive or controversial guy. He created the flyer that enraged an LAPD already bent on kicking punks’ ass in the early 80s. It resulted in an unfair reputation for the LA Hardcore scene that laddered up/down to Prime Time TV. Shows like Quincy ran episodes that focused on LA punk as a violent death cult. We can thank Raymond Pettibon and Black Flag.
This show is good. Hastily put together becomes Pettibon. With his art, there’s a baseline expectation that you’ll see some fucked up images that you can’t unsee and he succeeds. Lots of it is trying too hard, though. The phrases painted around his works read a lot like his tweets with obvious but consistent misspellings. Built to confuse. The language also explicitly acknowledges excessive alcohol as an influence on his life and art. I was starting to wonder if he’s trying to become a punk rock Foster Brooks. Lots of hard cocks too. All over. Ray is a dirty, dirty old man, man.
Overall, an enjoyable show.
The giant hardbound book they’re selling looks fantastic but is $60. Hmmm.
19th Street between 10th and 11th
September 12 – October 26, 2013
“This way…but first lie down on the ground and I will show you my face”
Down the road sandwiched between Kensington and Sunset Park/South Slope is historic Green-Wood Cemetery. There are some incredible monuments and tombs dating back to the mid-1800s. Green-Wood loves to have visitors and even seems to boast its own tourism bureau! I actually think they sometimes have activities for kids, so check the schedule. Round up the little ones and bring em down to the graveyard.
To locate Basquiat’s modest resting place, enter the grounds on Ft. Hamilton Parkway near McDonald Ave (Saturday and Sunday until 4 only), or on 5th Avenue for a longer, scenic walk (every day). Make a left when you enter the cemetery (the road is called Border Avenue) and take it to “Grape Avenue.” When you reach the intersection of “Fir Avenue,” start cutting through diagonally until you reach a row of small headstones. See map at the bottom of this post for more details
Just be respectful. Don’t treat him like you might Jim Morrison.
On the way to locating Jean-Michel, a large tomb caught my eye — and so did the words “The Eminent Minstrel” and “None knew him, but to love him.” Interesting placement of comma. Turns out he was William West, leader of one of the most successful minstrel acts in history. I wonder what that does for racial tensions within the art community resting at Green-Wood.
Trains:
Closest: F to Ft. Hamilton Parkway (entrance to cemetery only open Sat-Sun 9-4)
Works: N/R/D to 36th Street (take a nice long walk through the length of Green-Wood anyday. Enjoy tons of beautiful things and historic creepy things).
Undiscovered Brooklyn 