Read:My:Back

Mental Housecleaning, Part 5 [Conclusion]

[Part 1] | [Part 2] | [Part 3] | [Part 4]

49. Spectrum: Terrace Club dining room in Princeton, early 90s. Lots of droning, singular notes that seemed to last for hours. Local legend claims that Sonic Boom vomited into a garbage can during a pre-show interview on WPRB. Many years later, I saw them do pretty much the exact same set at the 2008 All Tomorrow's Parties festival in upstate New York and it was just as good. [Listen to Spectrum perform live versions of "Transparent Radiation" and "How You Satisfy Me" from last year's Primavera Sound Festival]

50. fIREHOSE: Maxwell's, 1989. I was visiting a friend who went to art school in Manhattan, and we hopped the PATH to Hoboken for what was my first-ever visit to the fabled rock club. This day also marked my first visit to Pier Platters and Benny Tudino's, so I definitely got my dollar's worth on the train ride. Antietam opened, and both bands did two sets. Mike Watt broke a bass string and changed it mid-song while somehow continuing to play along with his bandmates. Impressive. This was the first club show I'd ever attended where the majority of the crowd didn't seem like criminals. [Listen to fIREHOSE perform "Sometimes" | Picture originally uploaded by Spiralstares. Licensed for re-use by Creative Commons]

51. Hellacopters: They opened for the New Bomb Turks, and are the only band I've ever seen totally cream them. These guys brought a full-throttle, arena rock stage production to teensy, 150 capacity clubs like Maxwell's, and did so at a volume that was as ungodly as it was unprecedented. Lots of cliched rock moves like pointing to the sky ("What's up there? I don't know!"), guitarist/bassist leaning back-to-back while playing, and singer crawling through guitarist's legs, etc. None of their records ever matched the greatness of their live show, but oh, the Hellacopters mix CD I could sequence for you if I felt like it!

52. All: At City Gardens with the Fiendz and some mediocre punk bands opening. Annoying as they are, an appreciation for the Descendents was kind of mandatory for everyone of my generation, even if it was fleeting. I outgrew anything I ever liked about them over the course of 1.5 summers, and promptly unloaded all their records except for the one with "Myage" on it, which I still enjoy hearing about once every five years. All, the band the Descendents turned into after singer Milo departed from the lineup, were sheer folly from the get go. Only dopes liked this band, and as such, only dopes were excited about seeing them perform. I think we went because we were into the Fiendz, who in hindsight were very similar to All, but they were total north Jersey MallPunks, and for that we either felt sorry for them or recognized a peculiar kinship. Anyway, I had penned an enthusiastic review for a Fiendz 45 in my crappy fanzine, and as such, their singer had implored me (via mail) to please come and support their presence on this bill. All's general suckiness has shrouded any recollection I might have kept vis-a-vis the Fiendz performance, but I definitely remember being in one of two cars that departed the club and arrived shortly thereafter at the home of a friend who lived nearby. We all jumped out and for some reason began mock-fighting one another in her front lawn and generally behaving like silly juveniles. Unbeknownst to us, the friend's father was in the middle of taking out the trash (in his pajamas) and, being startled by the sudden appearance of strangers fighting in his yard, hurried back to the safety of his porch light and hissed at us: "Hey! You kids! Get off my lawn!" Thus, a legend was born. Many years later, the circle was closed when Scott and I learned that the Fiendz were playing at the crappy hamburger joint around the corner from WFMU. Some things are only funny if you grew up in New Jersey.

53. Urban Blight: I owned (and hated) a record by these guys, but wound up being dragged to see them with friends who felt otherwise. Those friends aren't around to disagree at the moment, so I'll tell you that what I recall is an evening of medium tempo, white guy reggae. One of my hapless cohorts was beaten up in the bathroom by someone in the opening band. This guy was wearing a turtleneck—as if getting beaten up by someone in a ska band isn't embarrassing enough.

54. Die Kreuzen: The "Century Days" tour, shortly before they broke up. They were good, but frustrating in that they leaned heavily on all the slow, metallic stuff from their final record and pretty much ignored the brilliant "Century Days" and "October File" albums. Jawbox opened, and I think the Doughboys also played. I distinctly recall talking to the editor of Trenton's great Stranger fanzine. I introduced him to my girlfriend, and he promptly began hitting on her. [Listen to Die Kreuzen perform Wire's "Pink Flag"]

55. Idaho: We'd interviewed these guys on WPRB that afternoon and they were soooo.... L.A. They talked about tennis. And smoking. And smoking while playing tennis. Later that night at Maxwell's, they loaded in dozens of guitars, many of which would only be used for one song (weird tunings ahoy). I remember noting that there were more unused guitars on stage than there were living humans in the audience. Nevertheless, we (a bunch of PRB people) were excited, as Idaho's 45 on the Ringer's Lactate label was sorta the smash hit single of that moment. (In our little universe, anyway.) [Listen to Idaho perform "Creep"]
Idaho - Creep

56. William Hooker: The Knitting Factory and also at Terrace Club. I am not a friend, relative, or even vague acquaintance of William Hooker, yet I somehow got roped into helping him load in his drums at both of these shows. This experience lead me to never want to see William Hooker perform again.

57: Dramarama: "Acoustic Seconds" opened, which was the 7 Seconds singer guy playing acoustic versions of his band's hardcore tunes. If you've ever wondered what happens when you take hardcore songs and play them on acoustic guitars, I will tell you. They sound like the crappy music played by that guy who hangs out in the stairwell of every college dormitory, strumming away on his acoustic guitar in a dismal effort to attract girls. Fortunately, Sticks & Stones also played. I really liked Dramarama before they became the subject of baffling VH-1 nostalgia TV shows, but don't remember anything about their set. I fear I may have left before they took the stage, a lasting testament to just how bad Acoustic Seconds really was. [Listen to Dramarama perform "Last Cigarette"]

58. The Nomads: The legendary Swedish garage band, that is. At a bar called Kilowatt in San Francisco. Great place. I had no idea they were even in the country, but the friends I was staying with lived right around the corner, so off we went. Lots of people standing on tables for line-of-sight purposes, which is a tactic that I can't imagine flying at any clubs in NYC. [Listen to the Nomads perform "I Can't Use the Stuff I Used to Use"]

59. Special-Beat Reunion: At City Gardens, maybe 1989? The popularity of ska music in the late 80s (which revival was that? I lost count) made it pretty hard to avoid, even if you hated it. Left to chance, sooner or later you'd find a ska band sharing bills with anyone from Helios Creed to the Mentors. Suffice to say, I saw a lot of Bimskalabim, Toasters, and NY Citizens shows as a teenager, but most fondly remember this night which comprised a melding of English Beat and Specials members into a solitary unit for songs by both bands. Nowadays, it's the kind of practice I'd balk at any artists engaging in, but for a teenager who was pretty much hellbent on aping as much British youth culture as possible, this was a spectacular evening in Trenton. [Listen to the Specials perform "Ghost Town"]

60. Sebadoh: A band I liked a whole lot when they were new, but I sadly never experienced a satisfying live set from. The first time I saw them was in Jon Solomon's living room, and they were mean, aloof, and seemingly more interested in smoking weed in their van than actually performing. A year or so later, they played at a bar in South River (which I am apparently supposed to thank John Allen for pulling together), but aside from riding to the show in a BMW convertible (?!) through the dark streets of Jersey, I remember nothing of the performance. [Listen to Sebadoh perform "Supernatural Force"]

And no, you didn't miss it here, nor in any of the previous posts in this series. I've never seen Sonic Youth. I have tried, three times, over an expanse of years that straddles three different decades, but to no avail. The first attempt came during the Daydream Nation tour, when I successfully entered City Gardens and saw openers STP and Surgery (both of whom were great). Unfortunately, I got bored and left before SY took the stage, effectively discarding untold amounts of street cred in the process. Nearly 15 years later, I wandered through Central Park with Push Bin Lou in a futile attempt to see the band's Summerstage concert, but the line was too long and we eventually gave up. As a consolation prize to ourselves, we went for Mexican food somewhere the Lower East Side and got mid-day hammered on margaritas. Still more years later, in advance of the band's participation in WFMU's 50th anniversary concert in Battery Park, I finally managed to score tickets by waiting in a crazy corkscrew line with Therese, Steff, and a few other pals. During my conversation with them, I jokingly bellowed: "YOU MEAN THIS ISN'T THE TICKET LINE FOR THE MUCKY PUP REUNION CONCERT?!!" which only Therese found funny. Days later, however, alternate plans for my July 4th holiday emerged, and I wound up giving away my tickets.

And really, I'm OK with never having seen Sonic Youth. As good as they may be, the opportunity for them to make a lasting impression on me has long passed. I've also never read On the Road, and have convinced myself that it's too late and that I've missed my window of opportunity to really appreciate it. (I can see myself turning the last page, throwing the book to the ground, and saying something like: "What that young man needs is a good job!")

Anyway, I'm glad this series is done with. I can promise that it has spared you from hundreds of more boring blog posts that would've clouded the future were I to have let this crap fester in my brain any longer. Over, out, and good riddance to this cranial detritus. Just consider yourselves lucky I was never interested in fishing.

[Listen to Sonic Youth perform "Schizophrenia" live in Battery Park 7.4.08. SY photo originally uploaded by Flickr user Charlie Cravero. Licensed for re-use by Creative Commons.]

Remembering John Peel

I've just been reminded me that we've passed the five year anniversary of John Peel's death—certainly one of the greatest and most unexpected losses the music and radio realms have ever endured. There was a real majesty to Peel's presence on the radio, and unlike the many hacks and imitators who've since tried to fill the void left by his departure, none of it was part of any marketing strategy on his behalf. Peel came across as a modest and reserved gentleman, and carried himself thusly. His respect for the innumerable artists who performed on his program was abundantly evident, and the praise he earned from those fortunate enough to have worked with him was pretty much universal in tone. John Peel was a class act.

His bio on Wikipedia is a good launchpad for further reading. Posted below are some classic Peel quotes from an email that went around shortly following his death in 2004, all of which acknowledge his wry humor and enviable talents. The closest I ever got to the man's legacy was having the honor to air segments from his syndicated highlights program, Peel Out in the States, on WPRB back in the early 90s. Then as now, it's reassuring to see that he is still regarded as a hero to so many.

___________________

When asked what he would say to George Bush if he was stuck in a room with him:

I'm a bit of a hippy and a peace loving man.....I'd cut the bastard's head off!

On retirement:

I don't plan to retire before I die. I don't like the idea of retirement. I don't want to play golf. I just want to keep doing what I'm doing. I do regard the playing of golf as like entering the antechamber to death. When my mates tell me they've started playing golf, I mentally cross them off the Christmas card list.

Following George Micheal and Aretha Franklin performing a duet on Top Of The Pops:

They say Aretha can make any old rubbish sound good -- and I think she just has.

On Big Black:

Once a week I drive a nail through my foot to remind myself of the stupidity of not going to see them when I had the chance.

Regarding his debut on Top Of The Pops:

In case you're wondering who this funny old bloke is, I'm the one who comes on Radio 1 late at night and plays records made by sulky Belgian art students in basements dying of tuberculosis.

After playing 'Higher State Of Consciousness' by Josh Wink for the second time:

I'm sure I'm not alone in thinking that sounded better when I played it the other night, at the wrong speed.

After an expansive, brain-frying track by someone like Spacemen 3 or Flying Saucer Attack:

I'm beginning to suspect their spirit of adventure has driven them to experiment with states of mind well beyond those traditionally associated with the consumption of three pints of Old Peculiar.

John Peel once joked he wanted to die while broadcasting. On his 60th birthday he said:

I'd quite like to die on the air but not in a melodramatic way. I would prefer to go during a long track. Then a continuity announcer would come on saying, "John seems to have been taken ill. We will take you over to Radio Two."

Then you'd hear the sound of my heels being dragged down the steps. And that will be that.

Janice Long's favourite Peel quote, from when they introduced David Cassidy on TOTP:

Janice: 'Ooh, I used to have him on my bedroom wall'
Peel: 'That was very athletic of you Janice'

His wonderful on-air legal warnings:

It is my duty to warn you that in the next few hours you may be exposed to language and concepts you find unsettling. If this is the case I suggest you turn over. And here's Fuckatron, on Cunty Records, with "I Sodomised My Dad"

Some advert on his show, for some other awful daytime DJ like Gary Davies said "Gary Davies, playing the best music in the world." To which John replied:

Oh, he plays the Butthole Surfers does he? I must give him a listen.

Tomorrow night, sessions from the Janitors and The Smiths. Two bands with an 'it' in the middle. Very conceptual this programme gets at times.

Mental Housecleaning, Part 4

[Part 1] | [Part 2] | [Part 3]

37. Bad Brains: City Gardens, Trenton. The I Against I tour, when HR was still in the band. Some rasta guys in the parking lot peeled out in gravel, expelling rocks at punkers waiting in line to get in. Skinheads chased their car down Calhoun Street, and I spent next 3 hours bleeding through my jeans from a rock wound. The band was surprisingly boring, though I'll bet I'd be more into it now, as their wonky, jazz/metal period stuff has grown on me a lot over the years. NYHC titans Leeway also played, which means that Metalcore was in full effect. I attended this show alone, which is something I did frequently when I was in my teens and early 20s. [Listen to Bad Brains perform "Sacred Love"]

38. Token Entry: A Sunday hardcore matinee at City Gardens that also featured a bunch of NYHC jokers and their suburban Jersey counterpart wannabes. During the high school weirdo years, the Token Entry logo (heisted from pre-Metro Card NYC subway turnstiles) adorned both the bottom of my skateboard and the inside of my locker. I also had a Token Entry pin, which somehow got blood on it and was then lit on fire in a primitive gesture of sterilization. The crispy remains of this artifact still adorn the shoulder bag that I cart my junk around the city in every day, although it's also worth pointing out that I dumped my Token Entry records on eBay years ago to help finance the purchase of a Hugo Boss suit for my wedding. When the pin outlasts the music, it's probably time for some re-evaluation. These posts have been very therapeutic in that way. [Listen to Token Entry perform "Antidote"]

39. Soundgarden: With 20 other people, at City Gardens. They completely sucked—a fact made even more apparent by how handily they were blown off the stage by the opening band. [Listen to Soundgarden, on a much better night, performing the song "HIV Baby"]

40. Bullet Lavolta: Opened for Soundgarden. See above. [Listen to Bullet Lavolta perform "X-Fire"]

41. Fugazi: Ft. Reno Park in DC. 1990. A friend and I had driven down to the nation's capital for a spur-of-the-moment visit. Not having any sense of what do once we got there, we marched into the 9:30 Club (because we'd read about it in fanzines), pounded exactly one rum & coke apiece, and then met two guidos from Florida who were interested in finding this park where Fugazi was alleged to be playing in 15 minutes. Some weird girl named Anne attached herself to us, we all piled into the guidomobile, and she directed us to the venue. We arrived just as the band began their set. Anne disappeared for a while, then re-emerged with a case of Bud tallboys which she began passing out to the crowd. The guidos vanished, the band played for two hours, and it rained. (Yes, this was my Woodstock.) Later on, Anne took pity on my friend and I who were underage, hours from home, and slightly drunk. As such, she paid for a hotel room for us at a pretty nice place in downtown DC. We crashed there for a little bit, but got spooked when Anne showed up at 2 AM, very drunk and wanting to come in. After some discussion, we fled for New Jersey and arrived back home just as the sun was coming up. Every teenager has a day/night like this that is remembered forever, right? [Listen to Fugazi perform "Exit Only" | Fugazi photo by Imagora Editions, licensed for re-use by Creative Commons]

42. Crash Worship: Maxwell's, 1991. Someone lit a smokebomb in the club and it only got crazier from there. Primitive warpaint, strobe lights, pounding drums, maniacal firebreathing and pyrotechnics, people going berserk... It was utterly tribal. The "singer" fought his way through the surging crowd with a wineskin, which he squirted in the general direction of people's mouths, but often just splashed on their shirts and faces. Someone produced a huge pumpkin, which was smashed in the center of the room and its guts whipped around and smeared on everyone's faces and clothes. No kidding, this was one of the best shows ever! The lore of Crash Worship was that they deployed tones at such sternum-rattling decibels, live shows were alleged to make show-goers lose control of their bowels, but (fortunately) that turned out to be only rumor. Nevertheless, the action continued on the drive home: Somewhere on the Turnpike, my car's electrical system crapped out. I coasted into a rest area in neutral with my headlights barely aglow, and after a few phone calls, learned that Triple A wouldn't service motorists on the Turnpike because it's a privately owned road. (Thanks, Jerze!) Two hours and $139 later, a Turnpike approved tow truck deposited me and my wounded vehicle back home, where I attempted to explain to my parents why I was hours late, covered in pumpkin guts, and smelled like a winery. [Listen to Crash Worship perform "Wild Mountain" | Check this clip on YouTube for visuals of the experience descibed above.]

43. Satan's Pilgrims: At Brownies, with the Original Sins and Swingin' Neckbreakers. Satan's Pilgrims were one of the few 90s surf bands aside from Man or Astroman whose records were worth listening to. They kept the gimmicks to a minimum (OK, they wore capes on stage) and just belted out one great song after another. After the show, friends and I somehow wound up in line behind Henry Rollins at the Astor Place Starbucks. Unrelated to that detail, the Starbucks employee serving us smashed a tray of glasses, cussed out his boss, and quit his job just as Hank was about to give his order. [Listen to Satan's Pilgrims perform "Ragtop"]

44. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs: Early aughts, in the basement of the College Ave. dorms at Rutgers. One of the first hints that I was way over the intended target age for this band was when I arrived at the show and found... my nieces. The last time our musical interests had intersected was when they'd been really little, and Neneh Cherry's "Buffalo Stance" had been the anthem for every girl with neon clothes and a collection of bangle bracelets. Nevertheless, the YYYs were a young band with little hype at the time, and any memory of their performance is overshadowed by the fierce hipcheck Karen O inflicted upon me while on her way to the stage. In other words, I hated them before you did.

45. Don Caballero: At Terrace Club, late 90s. As usual, Damon Che was down to his sweat-soaked skivvies by the set's end, which inspired poor little Kathleen from WRSU (who'd been crouching stage left) to conclude: "I think his penis juice got on me". That remains one of the most shocking things anyone has ever said to me, ever, in all the years I've been talking to people.

46. The Humpers: The Continental, mid 90s, with 1000 horrible bands. The hype surrounding the Humpers was at a fever pitch, since their live shows were notoriously unhinged. At the encouragement of some lackey working PR for them, Jen and I were scheduled to interview the band, but that fell through when we realized they were all totally drunk hours before boarding the stage. The club would not permit ins/outs, so we were stuck inside for hours watching garbagey opening acts, as well as the Candy Snatchers, whose guitar player intentionally set himself on fire. (Often the best one could hope for on a typical night out in the East Village during this era.) The Humpers eventually came on at 2 AM, played one song, and their singer passed out. Honestly, I'm surprised I ever bothered going to any show ever again after this. [Listen to the Humpers perform the prophetic "Wake Up and Lose"]

47. The Bellrays: Maxwell's. Lisa from the Bellrays grabbed some punk rock doofus by the scalp and screamed the lyrics of a whole song directly into his face. The poor kid looked like a frightened animal when she was through with him, but I imagine the experience will be character-building in the long run. A paper route to the stars, if you will. On the way home, I was almost killed by the poor driving skills of a WFMU DJ who shall remain nameless. Let's just say that s/he isn't someone I'd recommend ever getting in a car with, especially after s/he began speeding into oncoming traffic on the wrong side of a highway meridian. The terrified facial expression made by Brian (who was riding shotgun) remains one of my most priceless memories ever. [Listen to the Bellrays perform "Fire on the Moon" | Bellrays photo by Dena Flows, licensed for re-use by Creative Commons]

48. Iggy Pop: The Instinct tour, sometime in the late 80s. Steve Jones from the Sex Pistols on guitar. Amazing show, way better than the recent Stooges reunions. Iggy was on Letterman two nights prior to this! Afterwards, a friend climbed out onto the window ledge of the moving vehicle we were traveling in. We got pulled over, and both he and the driver (his cousin) got tickets for something called "Riding on Parts Unintended", which remains one of my favorite turns of phrase to this day. [Listen to Iggy Pop perform "The Passenger"]

Mental Housecleaning, Part 3

[Part 1] | [Part 2]

25. Born Against: Saw them several times, though the most memorable was at Middlesex County College, when a mini-stampede erupted in the wake of their performance with a bunch of dopey straightedge bands. B.A.'s bassist never showed up, but they played anyway—with most of their fans on stage with them for safety's sake. (Violent moron crowd in full effect.) Tempers flared, the band played maybe five or six songs, Sam McPheeters chastised the crowd, and then some Jersey hardcore meathead revealed a gun tucked into his sweatpants, which sent dozens of punk rock kids scattering into the night. During my hasty exodus to the parking lot, I passed a girl who'd had her face pushed into the water spigot she'd been drinking from as a crowd ran by. She was pitched forward, wild-eyed, and grappling frantically at the bloody space where her front teeth had been a moment earlier. [Born Against photo by Sgsf. Licensed for re-use via Creative Commons]

26. Smart Went Crazy: A brilliant and totally underappreciated band from DC who were responsible for one of the best and weirdest albums released by Dischord Records. Musically, they could be called off-kilter or left-of-center pop, only their lyrics often usurped any sense of familiarity inspired by the instrumentation. (Tuneful songs about killing people and stuffing their bodies into car trunks can have that effect.) They played at Brownies to almost no one, and the guitar player looked weirdly like a guy who'd appeared on Conan O'Brien the previous night for his ability to mimic classical music by making farty sounds with his hands. I only remember this detail because it freaked me out to imagine that maybe it was the same guy.

27. Barbara Manning: Terrace Club. Can't remember if this was solo or with a backup band, but it was totally great. She ate dinner with a bunch of us WPRB people and regaled us with stories of New Zealand and hanging out with all the cool Dunedin rockers. [Listen to Barbara Manning & the SF Seals perform "Ipecac"]

28. Bettie Serveert: Maxwell's, early 90s. Tomboy is one of those records that reminds everyone of college. It doesn't matter if the person has ever been to college, or if it happened to be in the early 90s when the album came out. There's just something about its wistful tenor that feels in step with the age at which most of us leave home for the first time. Most of the WPRB crew was pretty psyched to see them, and that included one guy who was also a member of the campus mime club. Yes, that's right -- mimes. They of the white face paint and I-don't-seem-to-be-able-to-find-my-way-out-of-this-glass-enclosure gags. Hours before our departure from the station, he announced to us that mime club was meeting until late in the evening, and he "might not have time" to take off his makeup before the show. Recognizing these words as a very real threat, we all spent the next several hours gripped by the kind of fear that is exclusive to humans who have just learned they are to be seen in public with a guy in full mime regalia. Not surprisingly, this rather crippling terror has overpowered any memory of the band's performance. I can't even remember if the mime came with us, or if we banished him to a rest stop somewhere along the Jersey Turnpike. I did get to see Bettie Serveert again many years later and they were still real good (and still made me think of college.)

29. GWAR: City Gardens, Halloween, 1988 or 89. Like Jandek, GWAR is better to talk about than to actually suffer through. This was before they became heroes of the doofus-metal scene, and were just regarded as a bizarre, performance art group who had a record on Shimmy Disc. (The guys at the Princeton Record Exchange consistently filed all of the Jim Nabors records in the GWAR section.) I wore a "Jersey Beat" t-shirt to this show which got soaked with blood and other, less glamorous body fluids during the set. I kept it, unwashed, for years afterward as a trophy piece of sorts. I think I finally threw it away in 2008, pissed that I'd wasted the energy to move it in and out of various apartments over a span of twenty years.

30. Arcwelder: Maxwell's, 1996-ish. None of the annoying Steve Albini worshippers ever seemed to like these guys much,which is a shame because they released some of my favorite records on their beloved Touch n' Go Records. Nevertheless, I was happy to see them include a stop at Maxwell's while on tour for their just released Entropy album. Too bad hardly anyone bothered to watch them. (Those there for headliners Skeleton Key—who were at that time relatively unknown— didn't seem interested in checking out any other music, as they stayed on the restaurant side of the club for most of the evening.) As such, Arcwelder was visibly pissed off, but they channeled that aggression into their instruments and played one of the most furiously awesome sets I've ever witnessed. The ten or so people watching hooted and hollered at 'em between songs, and at one point, we were all invited on stage to "perform" with the band for the enjoyment of the soundman and bartender. [Arcwelder picture by Larrybobsf. Licensed via Creative Commons.]

"Captain Allen" by Arcwelder

31. Man or Astroman?: At the D-Bar, in Princeton, 1999. The D-Bar is a mysterious hangout for Princeton grad students which one must produce P.U. identification in order to be admitted to. I had friends who were grad students, and so was able to attend as their guest. This was the same night that Hurricane Floyd tore through New Jersey, and I observed three very peculiar things over the course of the set. 1) A drunk man who appeared not to understand how to drink out of cans. He kept pouring beer on his shoulder—clearly not in the physics department. 2) A shockingly lengthy fistfight between two patrons. 3) A guy inexplicably wearing a full Santa Claus outfit. (It was September.) The band was good, even though the storm knocked the power out about 1/2 way through their set.

32. The Poster Children: Everyone at WPRB had a crush on Rose, the Poster Children's badass bass player. After the show, we watched in horror as one drunken DJ attempted to impress her with his reenactment of the exciting butterfly kick used in final scene of The Karate Kid. Rose was patient and visibly amused. The DJ in question has denied frequent re-tellings of this story for the last 15+ years.

33. Lynnfield Pioneers: Under Acme, with Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments. Jen commented, famously: "They look like Muppets".
"Yos to Go" by Lynnfield Pioneers

34. Computer Cougar (by request): At a truck stop in rural Pennsylvania during a blizzard. Far and away, one of the oddest audiences I have ever been a part of, and not just because it included many proud-bellied truck drivers who stoically ate their chicken dinners amidst scruffy kids and their blaring guitars. Some guys who were WPRB fans had put the show together. I'd talked to them on the phone before, but did not realize they were twin brothers, which threw me for a loop when I met them in person at the show. Later in the evening, still not realizing they were two different guys, I asked one of them the dumbest question of my life: "Why do you keep changing your shirt?" That band Frodus also played, who were impossibly loud.

"190 BPM" by Computer Cougar

35. U.S. Maple: Crazy Girl Altercation #1. At the Khyber, 1998-ish. I drove into Philly direct from a week of lounging at the Jersey Shore. The Talker LP had just come out, and the band was being heralded as the next big thing for having been tapped to open for Pavement on their coinciding tour. As such, the club was packed with Pavement fans, anxious to have a look at their new darlings-in-waiting. My friend Greg and I pushed our way all the way up front and soaked up one of the more unsettling (and great) live presentations in memory. When they finished up, I turned around excitedly to talk to my friend Martha, and found that she, Greg, and maybe a dozen strangers were now the only people left in the room. Apparently, U.S. Maple was a bit too much for the indie rock scenesters to handle, which tells you most of what you need to know about the average Pavement fan. As we were preparing to leave the club, things went real bad as I made my way towards the men's room. Some random girl started yelling at me, calling me a faggot, and threatening to have her boyfriend beat me up. The boyfriend appeared, as per her prophecy, and I attempted to reason with him. Oddly, he instead joined in the name-calling and threats. Confused, I pressed into the bathroom and locked the door in order to consider my options. With judgment most assuredly clouded by whatever I was drinking that night, I emerged from the men's room, foolishly ready for "fight". In my absence, the crazy girl and her boyfriend had been removed from the premises by the bartender and good-hearted Philadelphians, they having apparently tolerated enough of this pair's idiocy. Nevertheless, I took care to hide behind Martha during the walk back to our vehicle. [Listen to U.S. Maple perform "Magic Job"]

36. Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments: Crazy Girl Altercation #2. This time, at Brownies. Some drunk woman came out of nowhere and tried to pry my camera out of my hands. She had long nails that were digging into my skin, but I would not relent. It was pretty apparent to others in the crowd that this woman was crazy, but no one would help me until the band stopped mid song, and the drummer leaped over his kit and into the crowd to find out what was happening. (A small circle had formed around us by this point.) It took some sincere explaining on my part to convince the TJSA drummer that I wasn't, in fact, "attacking" the girl, which is what he'd thought was going on. The band resumed their set, and she climed on stage and did that stupid and embarrassing "sexy dance" thing that drunk girls tend to do in such instances. I took a picture of her planting one on vocalist Ron House's cheek, but I have no idea what ever happened to it. Later in the evening, I was talking to some friends at the bar as the crowd cleared out. The chat turned into a series of post-show drinks, and as I watched riot gates being pulled down at the restaurants and bars across Avenue A, I suddenly realized that I'd stayed out much too late and had drank to excess. A random woman wandered in, convinced the bartender (who was trying to close up) to pour her one drink, and then turned her back to us. Her long hair accidentally dipped down into one of the candles on the bar, instantly igniting it. She jerked forward, and her hair flipped up and extinguished the huge flame that had been climbing from her neck to her scalp. She turned around in a cloud of putrid smoke, uttered the phrase: "was that you?", and then ran out into the night in a state of total shock and disorientation. The bartender, who was just as freaked out as we were, decided that *everyone* needed another drink after that and poured a round on the house. [Listen to the Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments perform "My Mysterious Death"]

The Phanton Phone Hacker

I'd forgotten all about this, but just came across the MP3 buried in the depths of WFMU's website. I should never have lost track of it, especially since I'm the one who put it there in 2004.

From my original WFMU post:

Throughout the mid and late 80s, the APRC (Alternative Press & Radio Council) ran a 24 hour concert info hotline (212-OPEC-SID) that would give bridge and tunnelers without easy access to resources like The Village Voice a pre-recorded rundown of all the punky rock shows going on for the week. Someone who is remembered only as "The Phantom Phone Hacker" would sometimes dial into the system (really just a primitive cassette-based answering machine) and change the outgoing message to feature some pretty unlikely lineups...

[Download MP3]

These recordings were originally gathered on one of the old Jersey Beat cassette comps, but this MP3 was spliced together and edited for radio airplay. Yes, it's stupid, but it's also a funny relic from an era of primitive technology.

[Photo by Flickr user C@rljones. Licensed for re-use via Creative Commons]

Mental Housecleaning, Part 2

Read part one first, or else this won't make sense.

13. The Ex: A band that never disappoints, but the first time will always be remembered as the best time—at the Knitting Factory with Mecca Normal opening (1994, maybe?) My WPRB pals and I had all discovered the "Joggers & Smoggers" double album at around the same time, so a chance to check out the band who'd made this wild and freaky record was nothing to sneeze at. The Ex used to play two sets a night in those days (early and late) with different openers—we caught the late one, and were immediately pissed that we hadn't attended both. Instead, we'd chosen to dine at a local Vietnamese restaurant where I bitched and moaned loudly about how unexcited I was to see Mecca Normal because Mecca Normal sucks, and why would anyone book Mecca Normal to play with the Ex, and so on. 90 seconds into my diatribe, I was kicked (hard, in the shin, under the table) by a fellow DJ who quietly informed me that Mecca Normal were, in fact, sitting right next to us and had clearly heard everything I'd said. Whoops. [Ex photo by Nick Helderman, licensed via Creative Commons. Listen to the Ex perform "Frenzy"]

14. Ff: For an audience of 7 people at Under Acme. In celebration of their fantastic performance, the soundman was beaten up by someone in the band's entourage immediately following their set. I ate mediocre Tex-Mex with friends, band members, and local fanzine glitterati in the restaurant upstairs. Someone insisted we take a cab home, and then announced mid-trip that she had no money to contribute to the rather hefty fare. In hindsight, I feel as though we should have left her in the middle of the bridge.

15. Flipper: At Northsix, a couple of years ago. Flipper was one of the first bands I liked that I knew was really cool, and would more than likely alienate me from anyone who thought music should be catchy, have a tune, or be something one might try dancing to. "Sex Bomb" and "Way of the World" were anthems of my C-90 era, which is to say, they were perennial favorites on WPRB and WTSR when I was a kid who treated college radio like a daily religious service. I was too young to see them before bassist Will Shatter died, but against all odds, they put out a really good reunion record on Rick Rubin's label in the early 90s called "American Grafishy", so I figured another 15 years of mileage couldn't hurt. The show was poorly promoted, poorly attended, and that band the Pissed Jeans opened, whom I find rather pedestrian. Flipper played, and they sounded good, but the experience was rather like what I imagine watching a Flipper cover band would be like. I'd raised myself on the lore of Flipper being a defiant middle finger to the hardcore scene -- playing impossibly slow and dirgey songs to a generation of adrenalized idiots who'd elevated the phrase "play faster!" to battlecry status. But what happens when everyone's in on the scheme? In 2006, there were no skinheads to piss off, no punk rock establishment to rail against, and no countercultural art scene to define. Instead, it was a handful of Brooklyn hipsters, me, Chad, Liz, and Brian who watched politely but (I think) all left feeling pretty underwhelmed by the whole thing. After the show, I suddenly realized that it was 2 AM, a worknight, and I was at least an hour away from my bed by subway. In a spectacular act of frivolity, I took a cab all the way home, woke up my sleeping wife, and instructed her to talk me out of any future interest I might express in seeing reunited punk bands perform. [Listen to Flipper perform "Way of the World"]

16: Monsula: At ABC no RIO, heat of high summer, 1990 or 91. Me and my suburban pals hopped NJ Transit into the city especially for this show. In between bands, the crowd emptied into ABC's courtyard where the Food Not Bombs people were preparing some of the most sickening food ever to hit my tastebuds. I struck up a conversation with some art school ladies, one of whom I was crushin' hard on within 15 minutes. Suddenly, the heavily-pierced Monsula singer guy appeared like an artpunk Fonzie, and whisked this lovely lady away from me, summarily ending any potential for Skate Betty hookups. I spent the rest of the day brooding behind my hair.

17. Econochrist: With the dreaded Monsula (see above) at a Pittsburgh elementary school gymnasium at, like, 11 in the morning on a weekday. Maybe it wasn't Pittsburgh, but it was FAR. Much farther than Jon Solomon (who drove), myself, or our pal Liz imagined. There only seemed to be about 15 paying customers, but the bands played anyway and sounded reasonably good in spite of the horrible acoustics. Monsula's guitar player had been kicked out of the band the previous day, but they soldiered on as a drum-n-bass combo for the duration of their tour, which even I had to admit was pretty admirable. In between sets, basketballs, hula hoops, and other phys-ed paraphernalia were produced by the gym teacher for the funny-haired kids to amuse themselves with.

18. Blur: 1991, City Gardens, with the Senseless Things opening. I was driving to work in Trenton, listening to a pair of WTSR DJs trying to give away tickets to see these bands (whom I'd never heard of), only no one was calling in for them. In predictably arrogant college DJ style, they announced that "no more music would be played" until the tickets were gone. Troubled by the notion of more ceaseless yabbering on their part, I pulled over somewhere on Olden Avenue, found a payphone, dialed in, won the tickets, and continued on to my destination. I took my friend Amanda to the show, and was surprised to find an audience that had until then been non-existent at the club: Preppy kids. Hundreds of them. We stuck out like sore thumbs, as I was donned in my usual combat boots/army shorts getup, and Amanda wore some kind of pre-Courtney Love babydoll dress. We stood way in the back and heard, for the first time, the sound of BritPop. Neither of us were particularly impressed by it, but we were mildly intrigued by the Senseless Things' rousing cover of a Dag Nasty song. We left early and hit the Crystal Diner for bottomless coffees and discussion. [Listen to Blur perform "Sing"]

19. The Ohio Players: Mid 90s, Terrace front lawn, during sign-ins. You haven't really lived until you've seen a bunch of Princeton undergrads dancing outdoors to music being played by guys who all look like Rick James. [Listen to the Ohio Players perform "Trespassin'"]

20. The Trans Megetti: These guys held the curious distinction of being a bona fide punkity rock band based in the very un-punkity rock Jersey shore town of Beach Haven, NJ. (That's on LBI for you Bennys...) They played in some asshole fratboy hangout called The Ketch, but instantly brought the asshole fratboy audience to life with their manic surfcore. It is also worth pointing out that I was the ONLY person at the bar, for the entire night, yet it took herculean effort on my part to earn the bartender's attention every time I needed another Maker's Mark. Such are the pitfalls of being 35, but still harboring a fading interest in the music of 19-year-olds.

21. Nuisance: At WFMU, back when it was in East Orange, in the middle of the night on Pat Duncan's show. Fantastic band... now greatly revered by the guys in Comets on Fire, although you'd never know it from listening to their records. (Nuisance sounded like punk guys getting stoned and playing old Neil Young songs.) The tape of this set is the source of that "We were asked not to play because of our controversial subject matter" audio clip that I still play on FMU sometimes. It also pops up randomly on the station's homepage as a "soundbyte of the day". Pat used to record all of his live bands on a stationary, black & white camera, with the audio sourced through the mixing board. Somewhere in my closet is a VHS copy of this set filmed as such, and it very much creates the sensation of watching a rock show by means of a 7-11 security camera.

22. Libido Boyz: Also at WFMU's old studios, also in the middle of the night. This was on April 29th of 1992, and the only reason I know that is because it was the same night the L.A. riots erupted in the wake of the Rodney King police acquittals. As such, driving through a really nasty neighborhood at 3 AM with hundreds of angry people massing out on the street was not an experience which I'd recommend to many people today, even those who owe me money. I eventually just started blowing red lights in an effort to get out as quickly as possible. My departure from the East Orange city limits was accompanied by a shower of bottles and other debris, yet my car suffered only minimal scarring.

23. Cheap Trick: A couple of summers ago, in Liberty State Park. A poorly organized Outdoor Rock Fest in Jersey City. Patti Smith, Los Lobos, P-Funk, and a bunch of other bands also played. High ticket prices and a lack of promotion snarled the success of what could have been a packed event, but I blundered into free tix being given away by the promoters—a failed effort on their part to have some bodies on hand. (Some hippie guy who'd once accosted me in a local coffee shop demanding to know if I was a fan of The Gypsy Kings appeared at WFMU bearing complementary tickets "for the jocks". Later on that day, I saw him distributing more free tickets at a pizza parlor.) I missed Patti Smith and Los Lobos, P-Funk was shockingly uninteresting (really just George Clinton wandering around the stage in a tracksuit and saying "yeah!" or "that's right!" once in a while, while his pickup band and female backup singers did most of the work. Cheap Trick blew doors, however, even with only about 200 people watching by their set's conclusion. Several revelations were had by me by evening's end: 1) Robin Zander may be the singer, but Rick Neilsen is totally the frontman. 2) A lifetime of hard drinking leaves its mark most evidently in the neck/throat area. 3) "The Flame" is not as bad a song as I remembered it being. After the show, we followed a very intoxicated local resident through a muddy, wooded "trail" in almost complete darkness. I was seized by a brief and silent terror, but felt relief when the parking lot appeared through the mist, as per his prophecy. I went home and listened to In Color... on repeat for the next week. [Listen to Cheap Trick perform "Come On, Come On"]

24. The Wedding Present: Maxwell's, Sea Monsters tour, early 90s. They were loud as bombs and they didn't play "Dalliance". Not surprisingly, I have mixed feelings about this. [Listen to the Wedding Present perform "Dalliance"]

Go here for part 3.

Mental Housecleaning, Part 1

Everyone would probably agree that the action around here has been pretty limited for the last several weeks. While I'm thrilled to have returned to the working life, the degree to which it's stunted my blogging time has been more than a little bit alarming. Furthermore, since I'm going to become a father in early 2010 (!!!), I've spent many of my recent days clearing junk out of the house for the coming avalanche of ridiculous baby gear. My wife and I have made a big pile of stuff to unload at a stoop sale (date TBD), and another (smaller) pile for eBay.

In the spirit of over-reaching, I have ambitiously chosen to extend this extreme housecleaning to include my own mental storage locker. There's a ton of Daddy-centric knowledge I need to pack into my brain before January, so the time has never been better to move out old information that no longer demands regular upkeep. But as is the case with the tacky Christmas gifts, punk 45s, and piles of outdated cultural studies books soon to be making their departure, it's a little bit sad to think about ridding my brain of monuments from a past that once defined me.

Fortunately, there is the internet. Also known as: the External Hard Drive to the Stars.

Prior to any proper housecleaning endeavor, it's critical to examine all the available bounty in order to effectively free up the most real estate. It makes sense to begin unloading what one has the most of, especially if it takes up a lot of space in the attic, basement, or in this case, the cranium. So after unscrewing the plate in my head to survey the flotsam, the decision was easy: I've chosen to unload stories and anecdotes pertaining to many of the live music events I've witnessed since... 1987. Let's face it, thanks to the usual transmogrification that most of us endure at the end of our thirties, not too many new entries are being made in that department anyway. Like many of my peers, the idea of enduring an hour long subway ride to some bunghole squat in Bushwick for a six band bill with a gaggle of hipsters isn't something I enjoy as much as I used to. Quite happily, I've arrived at a point where I'm very comfortable calling regular rock show attendance a component of my past, and as such, I'll be unloading a number of posts like the one that follows in the coming weeks. If you were there with me—and a lot of you were—and feel that I've mismanaged the details, gotten names wrong, confused one sleazy promoter with another, or in any way screwed up the facts, you are welcome and encouraged to set me straight in the comments. Shows will be posted in whichever order I end up remembering them. Chronology, as I have recently learned, is a luxury for someone who already knows which brand and model of diaper pail to add to their baby registry. 

1. The Ramones: City Gardens, 1987. Technically the first show I ever attended, unless you count the two high school thrash bands who played in my community's park for the local BMX/burnout population. City Gardens was different -- there were skinheads, dirtbags, and criminals everywhere, and also a guy who had painstakingly re-created elaborate GBH album artwork on the back of his leather jacket with white and silver paint pen. Part of me was expecting a bubblegummy event like the Ramones concert depicted in Rock & Roll High School, but what I got was a tribal slaughter punctuated by someone hurling a bar stool into the seething moshpit. (Several years before the infamous Geraldo TV brawl.) My buddies and I were too young to drive, so someone's older brother and his date dropped us off and picked us up sometime around 2 AM. His car was pulled over by the cops somewhere outside of Trenton on the way home. I sat in the back seat, and as cliched as it sounds, I definitely had the sense that I was onto something that would play a heavy hand in blazing my trail out of adolescence.
[Listen to the Ramones perform "Don't Come Close"]

2. Rednecks in Pain: ABC no RIO, 1989. Not to get all O.G. on you, but the Lower East Side was still pretty sketchy at this time. Giuliani's New York was several years away, and the rotted and broken condition of the city was especially evident down on the L.E.S. An older friend who'd graduated high school ahead of me was now an art student in the city, and she and I navigated our way through the demilitarized zone to find this new venue, alleged to be home to one of the best and brightest art scenes the city had birthed in eons. I was penpals with Rednecks in Pain's bass player, who did a great zine in Nashville, and I was happy to finally meet him following their set of spazzy, southern fried hardcore. I bought a 40 oz. bottle of malt liquor at a nearby bodega, which, in an idiotic display of youthful ignorance, I drank while walking back up Rivington St. to the Bowery. When I got to the West Village and said a sozzled goodbye to my art school pal, I decided to rouse another friend whose window could be banged upon by means of a standpipe outside his apartment on Waverly Street. He wasn't home. A sharp corner of the standpipe penetrated the sole of my combat boot and sliced a neat gash in the bottom of my foot, which bled profusely on the train ride home from Penn Station. When I disembarked the train, there was a small bloody spot on the floor where I'd been sitting. To this day, I can't believe the wound didn't blossom into a wicked infection, let alone something much worse.

3. Stereolab: Terrace Club dining room, early 90s. Then as now, my primary comment about Stereolab concerns their unparalleled ability to get an ungodly amount of mileage from a single note. On the sexual escapade front, a fellow WPRB DJ was rumored to have swapped fluids with one of the members of the band later on in the evening. This may or may not have been discussed in roundtable forum during somebody's graveyard show later on that week.
[Listen to Stereolab perform "Wow & Flutter"]

4. The Cure: At the Philadelphia Spectrum. I think it was the Kiss Me x3 tour. Regardless, they totally sucked. I went with a guy from around town whom I barely knew, but who'd offered me a free ticket in exchange for a ride. (His '74 BMW was out of commission. Poor chap.) Anyway, he danced like a ninny for the duration of their set and also scammed on girls who were perhaps five years his junior (we were in our late teens at the time). I slouched down low in my seat and thought about killing myself.
[Listen to the Cure perform "A Letter to Elise"]

5. The Melvins: Knitting Factory, late 90s, with the Cosmic Psychos. Like the Rednecks in Pain show, this one also concludes with me bleeding from my lower extremities. I was apartment sitting for friends on 125th St, and decided to head downtown to see the show. I stopped at Sonali (East Village) for dinner, and then made an impulse purchase of expensive new shoes somewhere on 8th Street. My old shoes were in tatters, so I threw them away and just wore the new ones out of the store. I then made the mistake of walking from the E.V. all the way down to club in Tribeca, and by the time I got there, the backs of my ankles were bleeding painfully from the ill-fitting shoes. I limped my way into the club, watched the bands from a safe distance (King Buzzo rules, ok?), and then rode the subway back up to Harlem in only my socks. I got back to the apartment at around 2 AM, and the weather turned incredibly cold and blustery. I slept on a strange couch with the TV on while the wind made terrifying sounds outside and the building swayed and shuddered in the gales. The next morning, I awoke to frigid temperatures, made my way downtown with no jacket, and ate the most satisfying oatmeal of my life at the Waverly Diner. [Image courtesy of Antiparticle.]
[Listen to the Melvins perform "The Kicking Machine"]

6. Youth Tsunami: Hardcore matinee at JC Dobbs, Philadelphia, 1991. I'm amazed that I remember such a short lived and forgettable band. Aside from the name, all I can recall is that they featured a guy who had previously been in some big NYHC act. Maybe Token Entry? I had wound up alone in Philly on a random Saturday afternoon, and tagged along to the show with some friendly guy with a mohawk, his 2 foot tall girlfriend who sported the skinhead-girl fringe hairstyle, and their punky poet pal who wore a tweed blazer with a Crass patch stitched to the lapel. (I'd first noticed him standing on top of a trash bin on South Street reading his poetry out loud.) Keep in mind, I met these people only that day, but they were incredibly nice, invited me to dinner at their communal house/squat, and insisted on paying for the parking ticket I got. I never saw or spoke with any of them again, but I think the girl's name was Crystal.

7. A.P.P.L.E.: Tompkins Square Park, with a few other bands. Lots of people who smell bad on purpose hanging around eating disgusting vegan "pizza". Also, an astonishing array of malnourished dogs (maybe they were also vegan?) held on knotted leashes made of dirty rope. A.P.P.L.E.'s music was folk-punk-anarchy. I was never into them, yet somehow, I managed to acquire a bunch of their records in the years that followed.

8. The 3Ds: Terrace Club, Princeton, 1993. I sat outside for most of their set, tending to a drunk girl who eventually vomited on my leg. The first couple of songs were really good, but any further memories are clouded by my sudden need for a fresh pair of trousers.

9. Sister Carol: When going to shows was new and exciting, I'd go see anything. That included the periodic reggae bills that City Gardens would host, where I saw Toots & the Maytals, King Yellowman, Eek-a-Mouse, and Sister Carol. I don't recall much beyond being one of the youngest people there and that the show was MC'd by the host of WTSR's weekly reggae show, who spoke on-air with a heavy patois accent, yet disappointingly turned out to be a white dude from suburban Trenton. In the crowd were lots of well dressed black people in their 40s, rasta dudes with 50 pounds of dreadlocks spilling from their woven crowns, some local skins doing their best to emulate the London Rude Boy style, and me, wondering if the money I'd just unloaded at the door was a wise investment in my future.

10. Gaunt: CBGB's, 1992—the now legendary "Ohio Invasion" show. Totally electrifying, though the circumstances were fairly crap. I think this was during either CMJ or the New Music Seminar, and a special "surprise" band had been added to the bill. No one knew who they were, but they were billed as "Move Right In". They turned out to be The Rollins Band, the name a lyrical reference to one of his songs. Anyway, what I had hoped would be a short (I was leaving for Europe early the next morning) and entertaining night turned into a multi-hour hellfest and by the time we left the club at 2:30 AM, there were still three bands to play before the New Bomb Turks. As such, this was the night I vowed never to return to CBGB's—a sentiment I renewed by appreciation for when the club closed for good several years ago. If you were ever a Gaunt fan, do the universe a favor and read this. [Listen to Gaunt perform "Spine"]

11. Run DMC: Outside in New Jersey. By the time I finally got to see one of the first bands that helped me define myself as a kid and who were the catalyst for extreme parental anxiety, they totally sucked rocks. Not surprisingly, a little piece of my soul died that day.

12. Lunachicks: 1991, at Rutgers. A benefit for the local LGBT Chapter. This was a great night, made better by the fact that it competed directly with two other shows that kept the idiots away. Elsewhere on campus, Mojo Nixon performed for douchebaggy college kids with backwards baseball caps. Meanwhile, down in Trenton, Murphy's Law performed for the troglodytes and violent skinhead crowd. Coincidentally, in 1991, if any slices of the population were going to start trouble at a show with a socio-political subtext like an LGBT benefit, it would be jocks and skinheads. But mercifully, they left the weirdo artists, loners, and the entire LGBT campus community to rock out full throttle to the Lunachicks who were fabulous as always! One of the best and most unique NYC bands ever, no doubt about it. A lot of other local bands played, but now I can't remember any besides Sticks and Stones. All told, this was a great night to be a freak in Jersey. [Listen to the Lunachicks perform "Brickface & Stucco"]

Click here to go to part 2.

Treasure Trove of 80s/90s WPRB Station IDs

I started slimming down my collection of WPRB aircheck tapes years ago, but would often fall victim to the common dilemma of keeping a whole 90 minute tape for the sake of one good song or bit of transitional banter with another DJ. Mercifully, with MP3 encoding now a routine practice in my own home, I'm able to salvage the good bits and unload boxes of moldy old cassettes without guilt. (Several years ago, during The Great Materialist Freakout of My Early Thirties, I unrepentantly filled a large trash bag with such cassettes, only to be awakened by a homeless man loudly fishing them all out of my trash at four in the morning. As I watched him sling the heavy bag of tapes over his shoulder and disappear down the street, I wondered what he thought he could really get in exchange for them. Where did those soundtracks to a thousand of my Saturday nights end up? Hopefully with someone who really likes the Angry Samoans, Gaunt, and Lydia Lunch!)

Anyhow, as I've been plowing through the airchecks, I've taken extra care to encode every station ID I come across. These pre-recorded spots were not only the result of hastily absorbed production skills (there was no ProTools back then... Everything was either mixed live or cut on actual tape), but also regular harbingers of the station's humor and irreverent aesthetic. More importantly, they were terrific tools for transitioning between songs that would otherwise be jarring to hear back-to-back. I remember being genuinely shocked—and a little bit disappointed—when I arrived at WFMU and discovered that pre-recorded IDs were almost universally frowned upon by the airstaff.

Since I'm a glutton for preserving this kind of audio detritus (but also recognizing that they aren't really interesting enough to warrant individual blog posts), here are a bunch of WPRB station IDs for your aural appreciation. Most of these were originally played in-studio by way of a now-mythologized device called a cart machine. Carts—a pile of which are seen above courtesy of mauradotcom—were the pinnacle of stone age broadcast technology. Any radio geek old enough to remember FCC licenses being required by law is likely to get frothed up at the mere mention of carts, so use discretion when bringing them up in mixed company. That is, unless you're in the mood for an earful about other stimulating technologies such as... the bulk eraser.

Artificial Livestock

Christie Whitman

We're All Gonna Die

Greg Norton/Husker Du

Ladies First

Oob-a-Keep

We Rule

Princess Leia

Rules the Wasteland

Sid Vicious

Skywalker

Stick With Us

Positive Influence

Meet Zack: A Real American Hero

While on assignment for The Awl, writer Abram Sauer attended an anti-healthcare reform tea party in North Dakota, where he encountered a gentleman named Zack. In Sauer's words:

I met Zack after walking over to ask him if he had to make two trips to bring his sign and his enormous balls to the event or if he was able to do it in just one trip. Zack was the only counter-protester at the entire event. He stood in plain sight, not fifty feet from the tea-folk, at least one of whom was openly armed. He asked where all these patriots and small-government champions of freedom were during the last eight years. Zack works at a store in Grand Forks and probably faces many of the very protesters regularly. [Full article here.]

A fantastic point, and one I'm glad someone's finally made with some real brevity and precision. Angry people of America: Where have you been?

It's apparent that the so-called "coastal elites" have finally captured the reigns from those we once defined ourselves against. We're the patriotic family values crowd now, whereas social conservatives have re-cast themselves as the radicals and revolutionaries. "Hippies", of a sort. Who saw that coming?

The lunatic fringe aside, I'm hopeful that the tea parties and town hall shouters represent little more than the customary rumblings associated with any such transitional period. People are scared, pissed off, and worried, and The Government is an easy and obvious target to focus their anxieties upon. But perhaps the anti-reform crowd is most frightened by the coming abandonment of their long-cherished fuck-you-I've-got-mine ideology. With 47 million Americans lacking health care, it's quite apparent that their system has failed with spectacular efficiency. (I happen to think that even if only ONE million Americans were uninsured, it would qualify as a crisis demanding immediate legislation. Trying to comprehend 47 million is simply impossible.) But above all, I take issue with what I suspect may be the deeper motives behind these protests. Although I admire their take-it-to-the-streets style of activism, the movement's apparent contentedness with the last eight years reveals more about its core values than any sputtering, ill-informed tirade ever will.

Thusly, I'm sending this one out to Zack.

Holmes has earned it.

The Arvin 65R58

Few possessions can be described as both "cherished" and "brown." But as I recently became the owner of this Arvin 65R58 AM radio, I'm happy to challenge that widely-held notion. The primitive ghetto blaster at left belonged to my father, who recently saw fit to pass it on to me as a kind of family heirloom. Thanks, pop!

At risk of succumbing to the Jean Shepherd-like prose that so often plagues discussions of childhood radio memories, this device is one of the earliest things I can remember being truly fascinated with. My dad would arrive every morning at the breakfast table with this radio in hand, always tuned to the local AM station. Except for Sunday mornings, when said station would run repeats of old-timey radio shows, their programming consisted of news, weather, traffic reports, and the most anxiously sought information for kids everywhere: snow-related school closings.

With the object of my obsession now under my own roof, I immediately did what most people my age would do: pop the back panel off, retrieve the model number, and punch it all it into Google. Sadly, aside from a visual gallery of other old radios, useful information was pretty lacking, and I couldn't even confirm a manufacturing date. My dad claims the Arvin is from the 1950s, and while its sturdy construction and sheer bulk make that quite believable, I couldn't find any corroborating evidence on any of the websites that mention it. Based on my amateur analysis, I can tell you that when loaded with its necessary SIX C-cell batteries, the 65R58 tips the scale at a whopping five pounds. The brown leather exterior bears a stamp on the back which reads "Top Grade Cowhide", and there's even a mini-jack output on the side, which my iPod headphones miraculously work with. (OK, perhaps not so miraculously—a mini-jack is still just a mini-jack, even with 50 years of technological advances in the stable.)

But most important of all, it picks up WNYC's signal with all the atmospheric and electrical interference that gives AM radio its antique charm. I'll consider my life a success if I'm able to wrangle another half century from the Arvin's timeworn transistors—even if that means listening to Leonard Lopate talk about Do the Right Thing when I could be on WNYC's website listening to John Schaefer discuss Iggy Pop's bizarre new album. For you broadcast engineer and hip transistor types, a picture of the Arvin's innards is posted below.