Read:My:Back

Gal Costa's cover of "It's All Over Now Baby Blue"

The only song that's ever made afternoon Holland Tunnel traffic not only tolerable, but transcendent.

Windows down, volume clockwised. Inching along like a dying slug.

I dunno, maybe you had to be there?

Photo by Keithlam [CC BY-NC-ND 3.0]

Wedding Present Radio Sessions from 1992

The Wedding Present: The Black Session by Peplau

I've been to exactly one Wedding Present concert. They played Maxwell's sometime in 1993, and although they performed masterfully and were louder than a freakin' atomic bomb going off, the fact that "Dalliance" (or anything else from the brilliant Sea Monsters LP) did not figure into the setlist sort of tarnished the experience in my memory. Sea Monsters and Bettie Serveert's Palomine totally defined a particular era at WPRB for me, and even as those months were unfolding in realtime, getting stiffed on "Dalliance" was a palpable annoyance. Getting on twenty years later, this live radio session from around the same time makes me feel like it's finally time to forgive.

Originally heard on the Black Sessions program which broadcasts on France Inter (French Public Radio—"FPR", if you will...) this great-sounding set showcases the band at their creative peak, and David Gedge's vocals in their exquisite and froggy-like prime. That's not to suggest that their later material is anything to scoff at—many years after this performance, a reincarnated version of the band effortlessly blew a lot of minds (mine included) with the track "Interstate 5", and rightly so.

But I didn't come here to tell you that. (Focus, man, focus!) These sounds have been blaring forth from the official r:m:b sound system all morning, and show no signs of relinquishing their control any time soon.

Go forth and amplify!

Radio Cosmology

WPRB lost a programming giant this weekend. George Mahlberg, more commonly known as "Doctor Cosmo" to listeners of his excellent and long-running Nocturnal Transmissions program, passed away after a long illness. As an old acquaintance and former WPRB programmer, I extend my sincerest condolences to those who were close to him.

Cosmo came on board at WPRB sometime in 1991—about a year prior to me, but his experience and radio wizardry far surpassed anything in my stable. He was older than most of PRB's other non-student DJs, and had a long résumé of radio credentials, reaching all the way back to the 70s when he'd been a programmer at L.A.'s then-adventurous K-Rock. He was also a brilliant storyteller, had a voracious appetite for unusual sounds, and most of all, he really enjoyed the company of young people who were passionate about radio. To call him an inspiration and a hero may sound trite, but after spending the last 18 hours reckoning with the cruel news of his sudden departure, I'm having trouble denying how appropriate those terms are. Recollections on his Facebook page, as well as the phone calls and emails I've fielded from former WPRB colleagues seem to validate the sentiment. There are probably dozens of mic break techniques I've nicked from him over the years, and I feel no shame in admitting it. WPRB was beyond fortunate to have a shepherd like him, even if only a small minority of the staff were aware of how incredible his talents were.

Though I didn't realize it at the time, Nocturnal Transmissions was freeform radio at its finest. When Cosmo joined the airstaff, much of WPRB was very much entrenched in the indie/underground scene of that particular era. While his programming did acknowledge those trends, he also dosed listeners with generous helpings of the avant garde, free jazz, Zappa, Krautrock, 20th Centrury Classical, 70s Marshall Boogie, fringe politics from across the spectrum, and schitzoid spoken word from all manner of radicals, revolutionaries, and acid casualties. More importantly, to the mix he added his own fierce intelligence, his incredibly sardonic humor, a tremendous appreciation for science, and an open door policy for any listeners who wanted to join the fray. As you might imagine, central Jersey doesn't offer too many rewarding avenues for seekers of adventurous art and culture, but to the avid listeners of WPRB's Friday night programming, the reality seemed very much otherwise.

I have many wonderful memories of Doctor Cosmo, but perhaps my favorite was the night he joined me on air when the DJ who followed my program failed to show up. Scrambling for a long track to eat up time, I put on "Die Donnergotter" by Rhys Chatham—a 20+ minute epic of ringing, hypnotic guitars. I'd surrendered control and had assumed a new position behind the guest mic while George slid easily into the captain's chair and engaged me in a lengthy on-air banter while "Die Donnergotter" churned away in the background. As the track approached its crashing apex, George calmly reached over and switched the turntable off so that the audio began spiraling down as we continued our on-air rap. In the kind of seamless transition that true radio geeks get their panties in a twist over, he then began manually rotating the record in reverse with his finger at what sounded like a perfect 33 RPM clip. Presto! Another 20 minutes of background music for us to push later into the evening with.

There are many songs that I'll never be able to distance from the immediate Cosmo-connection they hold for me, but "Die Donnergotter" is probably chief among them. I can only hope that wherever George is now, the guitars sound as great (whether in forward or reverse) as they did to my ears that night. To my friend, I say thank you and goodbye. I wish that we'd had more time together.

Sunrise in Newark

Photo by Collin Erickson 83 [CC BY-NC-ND 3.0]

Enon - In This City (Deadverse Remix) by I .:.::. I

From this, which came out a while ago.

Recommended Roadtrip: Alba Vineyard | Milford, NJ

Alba vineyard is perhaps one of the Garden State's best-known indigenous wine producers. While it's true that there may not be hundreds of vineyards vying for that title (at last count, NJ is home to around 40), Alba is without doubt one of the best. If you live in the tropical suburbs in or around New York City, the westerly voyage across Route 78 will quickly demolish whatever mental conjurings you've got of what New Jersey ought to look/smell like. The hour-long drive from the Holland Tunnel will set you across endlessly rolling hills, winding country lanes, and idyllic small town main streets, and boasts enough general whimsy to make an old lady in a tea shop blush. Best of all, the Alba folks allow and encourage you to bring your own nosh and picnic right on their scenic property. Enter a bottle of wine into the picture, and you've got the makings of a perfect overcast day in late October.

I've worked in two different urban winemaking environments over the last couple of years. By no means am I an industry pro (I'm more what you'd call a "cellar rat"), but I'm proud that I've learned how to operate a hydraulic grape crusher, can fully orchestrate the robotic destemming of 750 lbs of grapes on the inside of 10 minutes, and can maneuver a 59 gallon French oak barrel across a loading dock with some manner of efficiency. In the weeks leading up to the birth of my daughter, I spent many a freezing night hosing down winemaking equipment—my work boots soaked with a sickening mixture of water and fruit pulp from the day's crush, my hands numb from the leaking hose, and my muscles aching from hours spent racking or on punchdown duty. In spite of the heavy labor that winemaking involves, visiting Alba got me just a little bit nostalgic for that time and was quick to rekindle my desire to someday—somehow—make a return to it in a professional capacity.

But back to the matter at hand. If my first visit to Alba three years ago yielded wines which I thought were merely "good", I would go so far as to call the current vintage nothing short of exceptional. The ten dollar tasting fee earns you samples of close to twenty different wines (albeit at least five of which are in the dessert family, and not really of interest to me.) We began our tasting with whites, and were especially impressed with the Dry Riesling and the Mainsail White, both of which were crisp without being overly sweet. One of their Chardonnays was also nice, and a rare treat for me to sample, as my wife is a celebrated hater of that grape's strong butter and oak flavors. (Even she admitted liking the main varietal currently being offered, but neither of us cared much for the Chardonnay Barrel Reserve which was thin on any discernable flavor.)

The reds were spectacular, and covered a broad range of prices. Happily, we were most immediately impressed with the Old Mill Red, which Alba promotes as an everyday table wine and which blends Cabernet Franc, Merlot, and Cabernet Sauvignon with a number of other grapes. This "kitchen sink" tactic yields great results, and at ten bucks a bottle, is a killer bargain. If you're willing to drop a little bit more coin, Alba's Pinot Noir and Chambourcin are good adventure picks in the 14-18 dollar price range, bearing in mind that they drink like wines that would cost twice as much in a retail environment. We threw down for the Chambourcin, but were certainly tempted by a few of the other options. However, I felt it necessary to quit at that point, having now had quite a bit of wine on an empty stomach, and with our return voyage beginning to take its place as the centerpiece of late afternoon. We lunched outside under soggy skies, and then hiked up the hill for some pictures and closer examination of the grapes, which were mostly on their way out for the season. Nevertheless, it was all quite picturesque, and a welcome changeup from the sights and sounds of the city. Alba's vineyard is a fantastic daytrip option, even if you treat it as nothing more than a long drive for a picnic and great bottle of wine. Their staff is very knowledgable, friendly, and happy to discuss their wines in as simple or advanced a manner as you're comfortable with. In the most basic terms, you could do a lot worse on a random Saturday afternoon, so what are you waiting for? Aren't spontaneous viticultural missions the real reason you got that Zipcar membership in the first place?

More Grilled Pizzas in 2011!

Steven Raichlen is to Bobby Flay as healthy lovemaking is to internet porn. Those of you who desire further deconstruction of that theory are now excused, but the rest of you should stick around for pizza. Grilled pizza! Which I was inspired to make after I watched this Raichlen video segment:


Raichlen's BBQ University is by far one of my favorite TV cooking shows. Eschewing the intolerable narcissism of almost everything on the Food Network for practically explained techniques, Raichlen's style actually makes me want to cook rather than hurl the remote at the television. He's also charmingly dorky, has magnificently brushed hair, and a penchant for puffy, blue oxford shirts. If Cafe Press doesn't yet offer a "Steven Raichlen is my Homeboy" t-shirt, well... they ought to.

But back to the matter at hand: Grilled pizza! Living in the cultural sphere of Brooklyn/Manhattan/North Jersey, there is obviously no shortage of great pizza available whenever I might desire it. But unlike, say, bagels -- many delicious examples of which are also easily within reach -- there is a certain thrill to crafting one's own pizza, and as any grill enthusiast will tell you, the joy is intensified when experienced in one's own back yard. For my first attempt, I bought a blob of whole wheat pizza dough and followed Raichlen's step-by-step video instructions. I found that flipping the dough onto the grill from the oily baking sheet was a lot harder than he made it look, and one corner of my dough got bunched up during this critical step. After a brief attempt to fix it was deemed futile, I just accepted the fact that one bit would be more doughy than the rest of the pie, and moved my attention to the toppings.

Remember, get the cheese on first so it has plenty of time to melt while the crust continues to cook. You can always pre-heat the sauce and apply it warm if you're concerned that things won't get hot enough in this accelerated means of pizza preparation. When mine came off the grill, its shape resembled that of a flattened turtle, but the taste was utterly top shelf! The crust was perfectly done, and bore the lovely, cross-hatch markings of the grill's cooking grate on both sides of its surface. The fumbled corner was just as tasty as the rest of the pie, if only slightly less crispy, and overall I'd call the experiment a ringing success. Boboli be gone!

30 Second Eating Guide to LBI

Pictured: A lovely hunk of seared tuna with wasabi aioli and black sesame seeds. This was my birthday meal two years ago, which I enjoyed at the Beach Haven Fishery, Long Beach Island, NJ.

The Fishery is a fine establishment, and serves up some of the best and freshest seafood on the island. But as with any place in a tourist-based locale like LBI, it comes at a significant cost—this is the only restaurant I've ever been to where lunch for two people can easily clear sixty dollars, yet you must seat yourself at sticky picnic tables and bus your own plates.

If you're looking for a slightly cheaper option, try Pinky Shrimp's. They have a reasonably priced twin lobster combo that's a great lunch or dinner for two people. If you prefer the sea's bounty in fried form (who doesn't, at least some of the time), and you don't mind eating in the company of leather-skinned guys in Bob Seger tour t-shirts, try the M&M Steam Bar. Alternately, should you crave the company of more authentic salty fisherman types, your table is waiting at Boulevard Clams. (Don't bring your droids, as they more than likely won't serve "their kind.")

For further perspective, here's everybody's favorite Icelandic-experimental-electronic-folk duo, Múm, with a fish's rebuttal to these gastronomic musings. Recorded live at KEXP last year—stream or download it from the FMA using the player below.

Summer Corn is Heaven Sent

It's late summer, and that means Jersey corn is now in its full bloom of orgasmic perfection. But how best cook it on the cob? It's a topic that anyone who haunts the local farmer's markets is likely to have a passionate opinion on, so I'm going to share mine in descending order of preference.

5. Boiling the hell out of it! Growing up, this is how most vegetables were prepared in my home. It is therefore none too surprising that I hated most vegetables with a fiery passion, as overboiling tends to reduce them to a sad, gray paste. However, I have heard a magnificent story about salt-of-the-Earth farmer types, all living in America's heartland, who will pick an ear of corn from the field, and then RUN back to the ranch to plunge it into a waiting pot of boiling water. The logic to this method is that from the second the corn is picked, the starches begin turning into sugars which diminishes the wondrous flavor of farm-fresh corn on the cob. Since I live in the city, I have been unable to experiment with this method myself. I suspect the corn that I buy—even at the farmer's market—has already been sitting around for a day or two, thusly negating the need to go running anywhere with it. But for my purposes, boiling corn that is even a few days off the stalk is a severe injustice. Especially when you can...

4. Steam it! The act of steaming vegetables immediately transports my taste buds back to the studio apartment I had when I was in my late 20s. Back then, I steamed all my vegetables because the oven didn't work, and because the microwave door had a large crack in it (and acquiring even a mild case of radiation poisoning was very much not on my radar.) Steamed corn on the cob tastes better than boiled, but assuming you've been to college and live someplace where there is functioning electricity, you can get better results by sticking it in your...

3. Microwave! (Structrally intact models only, please.) Yep, mummify a shucked and silked piece of corn in plastic wrap, twist the ends tight, and nuke it for two or three minutes. While there's an excellent chance that you'll singe your fingers when you unwrap it (there'll also be a vague odor of burnt plastic to contend with while you eat), this method actually works wonderfully and results in tasty, crisp, and juicy corn on the cob. And aside from defrosting bagels, what else do you use your microwave for anyway?

2. Soaked in water for ten minutes, then tossed on the grill, husk on. There is an enviable brawn associated with cooking corn this way. This method's practitioners can't help but seem like savage, professional wrestlers of outdoor cooking, as there are often wild arm gesticulations, flaming bits of debris, and loudly-uttered curse words involved. Me being more of a beta male personality type, I ultmately prefer the less messy but just as delicious practice of...

1. Pre-shucked and silked, drizzled with olive oil, and grilled naked over an open flame. And that's not you who's naked, pal, I'm talking about the corn. The ease of doing it this way can only be matched by how amazing it tastes, especially if you let the tips get a bit blackened, or at least charcoaly about the edges. Drizzling it with olive oil and frequently rotating it is key.

As for the butter and salting, you're on your own. I generally find that the olive oil in my method builds in everything that butter brings after the fact, but for some added kick, I also recommend sprinkling on some dried cayenne or chipotle while the ears are still on the grill (uhh, and don't let the smoke go in your eyes if you try this. Major injury potential.) Otherwise, a little hot sauce drizzle once they've been plated is a nice touch as well.

There's not much in the way of corn-related music at my disposal, but Jon Rauhouse's "Can o' Corn" is a steel-guitarin' good time nonetheless. Stream or download it from the FMA using the player below. Happy shucking!

[Image credit]

Behind the curtain of early 90s Alt-Rock radio

Fascinating stuff here for anyone who was doing radio—college or otherwise—in the early 90s. The subject of this video aircheck is Scott Lowe, who was an on-air personality at WPST, a locally-owned top 40 station that in 1992 maintained its studios in Princeton, New Jersey.

1992 is also the year I began my life in radio as a townie DJ at WPRB, which was just up the street from PST. It all seems so ridiculous in retrospect, but all of us at PRB very much imagined WPST as our sworn enemy. After all, they were a top 40 station with a couple of limp "alterno" (as we called it) shows, and PRB was loaded with hyper-enthusiastic DJs in their early 20s all trying to out-obscure one another. ("Fine... I'll see your Plagal Grind EP and raise you one Mortal Micronotz 7", buddy!")

Ween Interview from 1989 [Live on WTSR]

There are a number of people in my orbit who like to boast about having seen bands like Nirvana, Nick Cave, or Interpol long before such artists became well known by the pansies and serfs. It's a primitive means of one-upmanship that can be found in just about any ad-hoc community—especially the kind where there is either real or imagined social status to be gained by saying things such as: "I liked blah-de-blah before you did, asshole". I don't engage in this practice very often, probably because most of the things I ever liked were either too weird or too pedestrian to end up getting popular. But for whatever it's worth, the one slice of the credibility pie which I can absolutely lay claim to is that I probably liked Ween before you did.

Actually, I probably saw Ween about fifty times before you'd ever heard of them. (Important aside: I am not gaining any social status by revealing this in 2010. I'm just laying the necessary groundwork for the rest of this article. Cut a brother some slack, will ya?) Ween were the unofficial house band at the Jersey weirdo rock club I hung out in as a teenager, which is why their more recent popularity with college kids, Phish/Deadheads, and guys in their 40s who have ponytails and work in guitar stores still strikes me as so peculiar. No one ever thought Ween was going to get famous—I remember me and my skateboard-wielding, Parliament-puffing pals cracking up when we heard they'd gotten a record deal... with Twin Tone.

Nevertheless, beginning with the first time I saw them (1988, I think), and lasting until their homebase of City Gardens shut its doors (which coincided with me moving to NYC), I considered myself something of a Ween fan. Yeah, I wore down the grooves on the God * Ween * Satan double LP... I even mailordered the seldom-heard 12" EP that came out before that, on Trenton's short-lived Bird O' Prey record label, along with a couple of Ween's cassette-only albums. (The only other Bird O' Prey vinyl release was the Scornflakes LP, which is a blog post for another day.)

But what is perhaps most impressive is that I just spent twenty minutes of my life (twenty minutes which I will never get back, mind you) digitizing a Ween interview from a cassette that's been slowly decaying in my closet for the last 20 years. This originally aired on WTSR on the excellent radio program hosted by Mr. Bob Conrad, who edited a similarly excellent Trenton-area fanzine called This Zine Sucks. The funny thing is, I lived about five miles outside of WTSR's coverage area, so I would sometimes drive around the backwoods of Mercer County on Saturday mornings in order to hear the show. Furthermore, the car I owned at the time (an '81 VW Rabbit) did not have a functioning radio, so I kept a boombox in the backseat to play tapes on. I call attention to this detail only because all of this sketchy data seems to suggest that this recording of an FM broadcast was apparently made inside of a moving vehicle.

I totally did that before you did, mang.

Dean Ween Interview on WTSR—Original airdate unknown, but I'm guessing early 1989. Host: Bob Conrad.

[Listen]

For a more musical review of Ween's activities during this time period, get your lighters aloft for "Birthday Boy" using the Flash player below.

UPDATE: Bob Conrad was kind enough to pass along a couple of ancient Ween photos, possibly from their first ever gig at City Gardens. (See below.) Thanks again, Bob!