Autonomy - Buzzcocks - Another Music in a Different Kitchen - 1978

As much as the drive to the stadium was a better experience than expected, the stadium itself was a lesson in disappointment. We paid $30 to park in a lot almost a mile from the stadium itself, in an effort to prevent being stuck in the bottle neck that escaping the stadium would be post game.

As the game we were actually there to see was a match between two Italian teams, the people we walked along with were a healthy mixture of Italians, American soccer fans, and various ex-pats just glad to be able t see some quality "footie". Even the dudes at the liquor store where we bought our tailgating supplies chatted a bit about soccer...it was encouraging to see how the game has opened up in America.

Once we actually got to the stadium itself getting to our seats involved walking up a seemingly endless series of ramps snaked along the outside of the bleachers. On the walk we watched some Italian try to race his girlfriend only to elbow her out of the way and watch as she wiped out face down on the concrete. We all stopped to make sure she was ok, giving the jerk the appropriate level of dirty looks. He seemed indifferent. After we finally got to our level, we discovered that there was only 1 ATM on the level and that it was out of order...oh and absolutely nothing accepted plastic.

We tried to get beer at a beer stand that served microbrews from New England (one of the few nice touches) only to discover that nearly everything was sold out and the few beers that they did have were foaming uncontrollably...it took the woman behind the counter nearly 10 minutes to pour out three beers causing us to miss the beginning of the game and the first goal (of only 2). We spent the rest of the game drinking margaritas (Margarita stands were a nice touch...we need those at more sporting events, particularly for summer games). Due to the lack of cash, I never ate, but the hot dog Anand had he proclaimed to be the worst hot dog he ever had. At least the view was good.



When the game (which was itself a bit lackluster, but then we weren't expecting much from a preseason exhibition match...even between two giants with a fierce rivalry) was drawing to a close, we tried to leave a few minutes early to beat the crowd. We slipped in with a couple of reporters to try and sneak down on the elevator and were understandably turned away. We then tried to go over on the (COMPLETELY EMPTY) stairs only to be told that the stairs were reserved for media only...I had to be dragged away before I attempted to shout the security guard to death. I still, an entire month later, fail to see the harm in allowing us to go down those stairs. There is little that infuriates me more than a rule followed for the sake of foolish consistency.

Ultimately we got back to our car and navigated the back roads successfully. Another pleasant drive home awaited us now with a pleasant buzz and a good tan for the non-drivers.

The Buzzcock's can always be relied upon to deliver a good jolt of punky power pop and this song is no exception. It's always amazing to think that these guys were putting out music like this in 1978.

Aunties and Uncles - The Jam - News of the World B-Side - 1978

Which brings us to the car...Now, I certainly haven't spent enough time around other Indians beyond the Singhs to know if this is some sort of Indian cultural thing...or just particular to this specific family, but my God are these fuckers useless without a GPS device. How did they drive before they were invented.

The Singhs had insisted we pay the extra $10 to rent a car with GPS, and in all fairness, it did come in quite handy the following day when we'd take back roads to get to the stadium...but on the drive up, the brothers had spent a solid ten minutes trying to program the address of the hotel into the GPS and then find a way to successfully mount it on the window or dashboard...instead of, you know, just driving to Boston, following the signs and then figuring it out.

So here we sat, wedged in the back seat of their turn-of-the-millennium luxury sedan, already late for dinner and waiting while a middle aged Indian couple programmed their GPS device. Now, what made this slightly more ridiculous was that, as the car was nearly 10 years old...it had a GPS built into the dashboard, but since this was an old and slow model, they had also purchased a newer, shinier GPS...and they were now trying to program both or either of them to tell them how to get to the restaurant. The restaurant was just on the other side of the Charles, in Cambridge...again, simply driving over there was, I guess, not an option. After 5 or so minutes of fiddling with it, they finally got one of them to work and we headed out.


Sometimes a band can put out material as a B-side that is every bit as strong as their A-Side material. The Beatles were, of course, masters of it (Daytripper, Penny Lane, Revolution). Radiohead, in their heyday certainly put out some amazing b-sides (Permenant Daylight, Trickster, Palo Alto, Pearly*), and I would say that in this instance The Jam have put out a song that stands with their best work. Solid rabble rousing, that's equal parts punk and Beatle-esque...it's everything Paul Weller does, done well.

Artists Only - Talking Heads - More Songs About Buildings and Food - 1978

I could niether tell you the name of the bar we were in, nor the exact location but it was pretty much what we were looking for. Despite our belief that we really owed it to ourselves to go to a Minimal House/Techno show while in the land of that sort of music, we both also realized that it wasn't really our scene and we'd have no idea where to even look.

The bar we did end up was all neighborhoody, with dark wood fixtures, low light and cheap beer. We settled in with a couple of tall ones and took in our surroundings.

Over the course of our trip, even starting as early as the airport, Anand had been talking about how he used to drink Southern Comfort all the time back in college and couldn't believe that he used to drink that shit. I agreed, though I had my own brief affair with SoCo all those years ago too. SoCo was running a Mardi Gras themed campaign over in Europe and we kept passing signs for it. As we sat down at our table, Anand looked over and pointed at a sign with prophetic certainty. It was an old metal sign for Soco...not even the promotion, but one that was clearly a fixture in the bar. This would lead to a series of Soco shots that would find their way in front of me everytime I came back from using the bathroom. Probably 4 in total. I was not pleased.

As the night turned into the early morning a young-ish German man came up to us and struck up a conversation with us. He said that he had taken his parents out to this, his neighborhood bar (keep in mind, it's 3 in the morning) and that he had been listening to our conversation for the past few hours and thought that we were really very interesting people. He told us his name was Patrick, which...as an Irish American with a German name, I was sort of amused by. Now the thing is, I wasn't sure if he was refering to conversations like our discussion of China's role in the global economic meltdown, the need for a greater embrace of government by the American people, or our mutual agreement that anal sex was over-rated. So I wasn't sure if he thought we were intellectual Americans, dirty Americans, or both...but whatever it was, he liked it.

To make matters more odd, he decided to introduce us to his non-English speaking and very drunk parents (again, 3 AM). Now, we had had several beers and at least 4 shots of whiskey, but by this point our livers were on vacation mode and we were able to make something of a decent impression of our country. At one point, Patrick's father tossled my hair. I'm 34 (Okay, at that point I was about 3 days shy of being 34, but still...) I thought I'd long since outgrown the moment when an old man tossled my hair...but then there it was.

Finally Patrick and his parents shuffled out the door, as the bar was closing shop. We settled up our stunningly small bill and headed for the hotel. A 645 wake up call and a flight to London was only a few hours away...

Some late 70's weirdness from David Byrne and company. Not their best work, but it's The Talking Heads, what else can you say?

Another The Letter - Wire - Chairs Missing - 1978

I went to go see TV on the Radio at the Brooklyn Masonic Temple last night. First of all, it was a venue I'd never been to before and it had many things to recommend it. Most importantly, it was a mere 10 minute walk from my apartment, but more to the point it was surprisingly small for a TVotR show, about the same size (and feel) as Bowery with more balcony space, but possibly less floor space. It made the show unexpectedly intimate.

There were of course downsides. They insisted on doing that annoying "buy a ticket, to buy a beer" system that they do at all ages shows here...cause god forbid a teenager get a beer. And the size and newness of the venue combined with the popularity of the band made their crowd control efforts somewhat clumsy and futile.

But all in all it was a positive experience and TVotR is a deceptively interesting live band. They are probably at their best when re-interpreting material, which is why their best songs can sometimes be disappointing. I don't want "Wolf Like Me" or "Staring at the Sun" re-interpreted...they are basically note perfect pop songs with elaborate and involved orchestration...but a less noteworthy song like "Dirtywhirl", "Young Liars" or "Love Dogs" can seem revelatory...like you didn't even know the song was that good no matter how many times you'd heard it previously....

They also welcomed a 4 piece horn section (Brooklyn's Finest Horns) onto the stage for about 2/3's of the show. Which was somewhat of a mixed blessing, on some songs they were amazing...on others they were over powering or out of place. Additionally, they blocked my view of Dave Sitek who is easily the most technically gifted member of the band. But if nothing else they were a site to see. 3 of the 4 were ordinary Brooklyn dudes, but the fourth, the tenor sax player, appeared to have been lifted straight of out The Revolution (Prince's old backing band, not, you know, some Che Guevara thing...cause that wouldn't really be out of place at all)...she wore Ray Bans, a black cocktail dress and big hair like nobody's business. My ladyfriend asked if she was Wendy or Lisa.

I've seen them twice before, in two drastically different situations...once at the beginnings of their fame in a tiny loft in South Williamsburg and once right before the release of Cookie Mountain at the Prospect Park Bandshell...but despite the cool points for the first show (and the way it turned out) the smallish midsize club is definitely the way to go with these guys.

Anyway, this is Wire, which really has nothing to do with TVotR...but I don't have one of their TVotR's songs coming up, and this song is only 1:06 long...what the hell was I supposed to talk about?

Another Girl, Another Planet - The Only Ones - The Only Ones - 1978

I was speaing to a friend earlier today about a place I had crashed for a while when I first moved to NYC. It was located on Bleeker St. in the days when that section was still somewhere in between Dylan's village and the attrocious alterna-mall it has since become...though it was already well on its way to being crap.

Anyway, as I'm fairly sure I've mentioned, when a person first moves to the city in their mid-twenties they are generally ungodly poor for at least the first year. Rents are astronomical, everything is expensive, and there is just SO MUCH TO DO and you don't want to miss a thing.

My girlfriend at the time had this sublet for the summer, and I was crashing with her while looking for my own apartment. She lived with another girl from her college that summer, and that girl also had a boyfriend that basically lived in the apartment too...so essientially there were two couples splitting a one bedroom on bleeker street and we were all flat broke. We had all pooled our money and gone down to the local grocery store and had bought the ingredients to make some sort of chicken noodle/cream of mushroom casserole sort of thing.

I spent the better portion of the evening cooking this thing, and then we took it out of the oven and sat it on top of the stove to cool. We then retreated to the living room/our bedroom to watch some tv while we anticipated our feasts. A few minutes later, we heard the crash and we all knew what it meant.

Like many NYC apartments, the floor was kind of slanted. This had caused our caserole to slowly, slowly slide forward off the stove. And there it was all over the kitchen floor.

The other guy and I took stock of the situation and immediately grabbed a pair of forks and squated on the floor and went to work. The ladies whoever stopped us. The girl who I was not dating was actually a rich upper west side girl (she had never taken the subway till that summer) "slumming" in the village, so she saw this as the excuse to whip out her mommy's "For emergencies only" credit card and bought us all chinese. To this day, I was still totally willing to eat the floor caserole.

Anyway, this classic by The Only Ones is sort of the Ur-text, along with "Lipstick" by the Buzzcocks, for a kind of punkish british power pop. To this day it's still a fairly amazing song, and has lost little of it's power.

All Mod Cons - The Jam - All Mod Cons - 1978

I was riding the LIRR back from Shea Stadium on Sunday when I encountered one of my biggest frustrations with the city of NYC. So, my ladyfriend and I had just missed the train to Penn Station and had to wait 20 minutes to for the next one...not the end of the world. We stood our time on the platform and talked. The platform gradually filled up.

As the train pulled into the station, a trio of old women were standing next to us waiting as well. Like a good midwestern boy, I let them on the train first. There were two open benches at the the end of the car, a 3 person seater and a two person seater. Perfect, the women could take the three person seat and me and the lady could take the two person seat...No! Of course not, the old women proceed to sit 2 on the big bench and 1 on the little.

This is what infuriates me, one basic act of community minded courtesy is repaid with total selfishness. I had this string of thoughts quite a bit when I lived in Greenpoint (The closest that I think I come to out and out racism is the total scorched-earth hatred I have for the community of Greenpoint). Old women know that, due to the social contract I will not act aggressively towards them...like say, throwing them on the subway track. Basic decency and the fact that no court in the land (both legal and of public opinion) would acquit me for acting in such a manner ensure that I will be gracious. But seriously, if my generosity will be constantly repaid be utter thoughtless self-centeredness, then what's the point in not simply shoving Hazel into the path of an onrushing train and decreasing the surplus population?

Anyway, this is a minute and a half of the Jam doing there thing. Much like the Beatles, I find some of the Jam's rock n' roll credibility shot by their clear reliance on British Barrell Hall music. Underneath the purpulsive drumming, crunching guitars, and social message they still feel the need to do that pansy harmonzing (and I like harmony) at the end of the song. Why not just cover When I'm 64?

Alison (Live) - Elvis Costello & The Attractions - Armed Forces (Disc 2) - 1978

Okay, it occurs to me that perhaps I've been a touch harsh on Indiana in the past few days. It didn't help that my family spent the entire weekend driving me insane, and that I missed that first beautiful weekend in NYC, but perhaps I was a bit harsh on the Hoosier State. I will say, as lame as it can be, it was absolutely gorgeous there on Friday. And that I had a really great time hiking through the woods with my dad and my brother. Also, in it's defense Indiana did produce both James Dean and Steve McQueen...two of the most classic icons of cool there are. And of course Izzy and Axl of GnR. And then there's the Jacksons...which is obviously a mixed bag. On one hand you have "Rock with You" and Tito...but on the other hand you have Jesus Juice and LaToya.

Anyway, I've also been hard on Elvis Costello...but I've yet to reach any of the songs in which I can wax rhapsodic about him. Sadly, this live version of Alison is yet another precursor to the modern Elvis, stripping away the little bit of grit the studio version has for a torch song rendition. For a guy who could tremendously, wonderfully angry (Despite his protests to the contrary) he could also be a tremendous sap.

Adam Raised a Cain - Bruce Springsteen - Darkness on the Edge of Town - 1978

And The Boss finally rears his head.

You don't often hear people claim that Bruce is a predecessor to shoegaze, but I do think the crazy trill picked guitar line that runs through this song is more or less one delay pedal away from being Slowdive's favorite trick.

Also, and I realize this my generations equivalent of the "the Beatles were heavily influenced by the Monkeys" statement, but I like this song cause it sounds like Eddie and the Cruisers.