After Anand had cleared his stomach of the offending peach whiskey liquor, (and all of his dinner unfortunately) we realized it was nearly 11 o'clock on a monday and that the odds of us finding a hopping bar on the west side were dwindling, so we started to make our way back to the general direction of the hotel.
Seeing as we had a 7 hour drive back to London the next day and then a soccer game to watch, I was fine with heading back to the Hotel, but the guys were insistant that we squeeze as much life out of Glasgow as we could...so back to the college bars on Sauchaugh St. we went.
Possibly because it was still (kinda) my birthday, the young crowd at the bar we ended up at made me feel desperately old and out of place. An absolutely hammered guy bummed a pound off Rance to buy a beer with and then spent the rest of the evening either thanking us profusely or apologizing for being so drunk. Couple made out desperately on couches while drinking liquors in combinations that only inexperience would allow (Cider with a shot of Jaggermeister in it, followed by White Russians?????). We watched one couple and placed bets on which one of them would throw up first...and whether or not it would actually be WHILE they were making out...sadly, we left before it happened, calling it a night and preparing for our long trip back to London.
All of Amusement Parks on Fire's songs sound exactly the same, like a band covering Swervedriver...the only difference is that this one is an instrumental.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Asobi Masho - Asobi Seksu - Asobi Seksu - 2004
The trip was definitely beginning to take it's toll. None of use were kids anymore and 5 days of drinking, traveling, and eating fried foods was wearing us down...so we came home for a late afternoon nap.
After a brief rest, we were back up again and looking for an evening plan. We decided to check out the north west part of town and see how that went. We stopped into a bar called Leibowski's, which amusingly enough had a complete "White Russian Menu". I'm not entirely sure how one makes a variation on the White Russian, but they had a full menu. The bar itself was fairly cool, and I would have liked to have seen it on a night that wasn't Monday. It seemed like the kind of bar that wouldn't be out of place in the less stroller-centric parts of Park Slope. I got some kind of Scotch that had a name that was something about monkeys. I love monkeys. Anand got suckered into doing a shot of Southern Comfort, as the earlier bet finally came around to haunt him...as this decision would also do.
Anyway, we went to a more traditional pub to watch most of the Tottenham v Hull game, to cheer less for Hull than against Tottenham. Sadly Tottenham won with last minute goal. The bar was filled with what we'd pretty much come to consider the standard issue Glasgow bar crowd (again, we were there on a Sunday and Monday, so we were probably not entirely fair on the city) - drunk old men and drunk teenagers. The bar tender however was lovely. I'm fairly sure I announced my intention to marry her.
By the time the game was over it was nearly 10 and our dreams of steak dinner had long since been given up on. We'd all reached our breaking point and were desperately seeking vegetables. We found an Indian restaurant and headed...they were closing in 20 minutes but that wouldn't be a problem as we were not the linger at the table type. We wolfed down our (quite tasty) vegetables quickly and were back out into the night air relatively quickly.
But we were all too full and to drink anymore and Anand was starting to feel queasy from the shot of SoCo on his stomach. You see Anand and I have very different ideas about vomiting. Me, I fight it off tooth and nail...I hate doing and will keep down absurd amounts of booze and spend hours waiting for the spins to stop so I can go to sleep. If I toss, my night is over. I won't drink again, sometimes for days....once for months. Anand on the other hand, will simply say "I'm going over here for a minute", throw up, and be ready to keep going.
It baffles me considerably that he considers throwing a cigarette butt out on the street is littering, but vomiting all over the sidewalk, totally fine.
Asobi Seksu is something of a bipolar band...they're NYC and Tokyo, they're My Bloody Valentine and Shonnen Knife, they're trendy with a hot Japanesse girl for a front woman, they're arty with a disdain for those that would come to see their hot lead singer, and yet they call their band the Japanesse phrase for great sex...I enjoy them when they are My Bloody Valentine, and less so when they are not. This song is one in which they are not.
After a brief rest, we were back up again and looking for an evening plan. We decided to check out the north west part of town and see how that went. We stopped into a bar called Leibowski's, which amusingly enough had a complete "White Russian Menu". I'm not entirely sure how one makes a variation on the White Russian, but they had a full menu. The bar itself was fairly cool, and I would have liked to have seen it on a night that wasn't Monday. It seemed like the kind of bar that wouldn't be out of place in the less stroller-centric parts of Park Slope. I got some kind of Scotch that had a name that was something about monkeys. I love monkeys. Anand got suckered into doing a shot of Southern Comfort, as the earlier bet finally came around to haunt him...as this decision would also do.
Anyway, we went to a more traditional pub to watch most of the Tottenham v Hull game, to cheer less for Hull than against Tottenham. Sadly Tottenham won with last minute goal. The bar was filled with what we'd pretty much come to consider the standard issue Glasgow bar crowd (again, we were there on a Sunday and Monday, so we were probably not entirely fair on the city) - drunk old men and drunk teenagers. The bar tender however was lovely. I'm fairly sure I announced my intention to marry her.
By the time the game was over it was nearly 10 and our dreams of steak dinner had long since been given up on. We'd all reached our breaking point and were desperately seeking vegetables. We found an Indian restaurant and headed...they were closing in 20 minutes but that wouldn't be a problem as we were not the linger at the table type. We wolfed down our (quite tasty) vegetables quickly and were back out into the night air relatively quickly.
But we were all too full and to drink anymore and Anand was starting to feel queasy from the shot of SoCo on his stomach. You see Anand and I have very different ideas about vomiting. Me, I fight it off tooth and nail...I hate doing and will keep down absurd amounts of booze and spend hours waiting for the spins to stop so I can go to sleep. If I toss, my night is over. I won't drink again, sometimes for days....once for months. Anand on the other hand, will simply say "I'm going over here for a minute", throw up, and be ready to keep going.
It baffles me considerably that he considers throwing a cigarette butt out on the street is littering, but vomiting all over the sidewalk, totally fine.
Asobi Seksu is something of a bipolar band...they're NYC and Tokyo, they're My Bloody Valentine and Shonnen Knife, they're trendy with a hot Japanesse girl for a front woman, they're arty with a disdain for those that would come to see their hot lead singer, and yet they call their band the Japanesse phrase for great sex...I enjoy them when they are My Bloody Valentine, and less so when they are not. This song is one in which they are not.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Ask for Janice - The Beastie Boys - Paul's Boutique - 1989
I don't really have to write a post for "Ask for Janice", do I?
Ask About Me - Girl Talk - Night Ripper - 2006
Following our Twin Peaks, Scotland lunch experience we went to a pub around the corner to try to drink away the weirdness...this was only to be replaced by more weirdness.
It was 430 in the afternoon and the bar was full of old men (As I said, most of Scotland was either drinking with old men or teenagers). There was a large main room and a smaller back room. The back room was full of old men singing Kareoke. The volume on the PA was so loud that the sound filled the whole larger room of the bar and the cracking and popping of an overdriven speaker could be heard.
We quietly stood in a corner, sipping our beers and watching the soccer news. If nothing else it was a nice treat to be able to watch soccer news on TV with the rest of the evening news...the same way we'd see sports highlights here...which of course is fairly obvious, but when you are used to having to use methods somewhat more obscure to find your soccer news, it's a refreshing change of pace.
Anyway, after we finished up our drinks, we decided we wanted to go see the Stadium were Celtic (A Scottish soccer team) play, even though there were no games currently going on. We asked a man sitting at a bus stop where it was. The man was clearly hammered and had easily the worst teeth I saw on my entire trip. He pointed us in a direction (away from our hotel) and told us it would be about a twenty minute walk, so we decided to brave it.
After walking for about 10 minutes, with absolutely no indication that we were walking towards the stadium, we stopped and asked another guy who told us the first guy had been drastically underestimating and that it would be easily another 45 minutes walking. We decided to scrap this plan and head back to the hotel, the sun was setting rapidly and soon we'd be ready for the evening portion.
This is Girl Talk doing their collage of nostalgia thing. It's fun and occasionally clever, but I still think wildly overpraised.
It was 430 in the afternoon and the bar was full of old men (As I said, most of Scotland was either drinking with old men or teenagers). There was a large main room and a smaller back room. The back room was full of old men singing Kareoke. The volume on the PA was so loud that the sound filled the whole larger room of the bar and the cracking and popping of an overdriven speaker could be heard.
We quietly stood in a corner, sipping our beers and watching the soccer news. If nothing else it was a nice treat to be able to watch soccer news on TV with the rest of the evening news...the same way we'd see sports highlights here...which of course is fairly obvious, but when you are used to having to use methods somewhat more obscure to find your soccer news, it's a refreshing change of pace.
Anyway, after we finished up our drinks, we decided we wanted to go see the Stadium were Celtic (A Scottish soccer team) play, even though there were no games currently going on. We asked a man sitting at a bus stop where it was. The man was clearly hammered and had easily the worst teeth I saw on my entire trip. He pointed us in a direction (away from our hotel) and told us it would be about a twenty minute walk, so we decided to brave it.
After walking for about 10 minutes, with absolutely no indication that we were walking towards the stadium, we stopped and asked another guy who told us the first guy had been drastically underestimating and that it would be easily another 45 minutes walking. We decided to scrap this plan and head back to the hotel, the sun was setting rapidly and soon we'd be ready for the evening portion.
This is Girl Talk doing their collage of nostalgia thing. It's fun and occasionally clever, but I still think wildly overpraised.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Ask - The Smiths - Louder Than Bombs - 1986
So uh, where was I? Oh right...so we went down to the Trongate area to check out our lunch options...by this point it was around 330 in the afternoon, and our plan currently involved us having a steak dinner that evening as a result of a bet I won. It was then that we hit the wall of bad Scottish food.
Our options were twofold, have either another meal of fried and breaded food, or go to a "healthier" looking option and get a wrap. Now we may have all wanted the wrap, but none of us were going to make the call in front of the others...wraps are unmanly. So we all stood there looking at both restaurants and wondering what to do. Finally, they threw it back on me with the "It's your birthday, dude" excuse and I caved to cult of American masculinity and decided that we all needed more fish and chips.
While the food itself sucked, the experience was more than worthwhile. The place was a little dinner, staffed by an older man and woman (possibly a couple). When we arrived, we were the only customers, but that did not last. A crowd of about 7-8 or older Scots came rolling in. The senior most of them, everyone kept referring to as "Elvis". Aside of his wardrobe, he did not bear much PHYSICAL resemblance to Elvis, but he did seem to be dressing (and doing his hair) for the part. Through out dinner he continued to occasionally croon out the random Elvis tune, in between attempts to talk to us.
He tried to get Anand to let him travel back to America with him in his briefcase...on top of this being an odd request, Anand had no idea what he was saying in his thick Glaswegian accent. He just smiled politely and went back to eating his grilled cheese sandwich...which they had conveniently forgotten to put cheese on.
And speaking of crooners with a pompadour, we have The Smiths. When I was younger and more naive, it was easy to conceive of Morrissey as a misunderstood youth, too sensitive to the world...certainly not GAY, just someone with feelings, just someone who didn't fit the mold of the above mentioned cult of masculinity. But now that I'm older and it's pretty clear that Morrissey just is gay...and that elicits a complicated response.
First of all, there is the now obligatory Seinfeldian retort of "Not that there's anything wrong with that". And there isn't. I respect a human being's right to individuality, and firmly and vehemently believe that the sexual conduct of two consenting adults is no one's business but those adults. But we are talking about music here...and music, pop music in particular, is about being able to relate...and that's the tricky thing. I now look at a song like "Ask" and can clearly see the subtext...should that bother me? Perhaps not...but do I relate to it less? Almost certainly. It's a tricky question...
Our options were twofold, have either another meal of fried and breaded food, or go to a "healthier" looking option and get a wrap. Now we may have all wanted the wrap, but none of us were going to make the call in front of the others...wraps are unmanly. So we all stood there looking at both restaurants and wondering what to do. Finally, they threw it back on me with the "It's your birthday, dude" excuse and I caved to cult of American masculinity and decided that we all needed more fish and chips.
While the food itself sucked, the experience was more than worthwhile. The place was a little dinner, staffed by an older man and woman (possibly a couple). When we arrived, we were the only customers, but that did not last. A crowd of about 7-8 or older Scots came rolling in. The senior most of them, everyone kept referring to as "Elvis". Aside of his wardrobe, he did not bear much PHYSICAL resemblance to Elvis, but he did seem to be dressing (and doing his hair) for the part. Through out dinner he continued to occasionally croon out the random Elvis tune, in between attempts to talk to us.
He tried to get Anand to let him travel back to America with him in his briefcase...on top of this being an odd request, Anand had no idea what he was saying in his thick Glaswegian accent. He just smiled politely and went back to eating his grilled cheese sandwich...which they had conveniently forgotten to put cheese on.
And speaking of crooners with a pompadour, we have The Smiths. When I was younger and more naive, it was easy to conceive of Morrissey as a misunderstood youth, too sensitive to the world...certainly not GAY, just someone with feelings, just someone who didn't fit the mold of the above mentioned cult of masculinity. But now that I'm older and it's pretty clear that Morrissey just is gay...and that elicits a complicated response.
First of all, there is the now obligatory Seinfeldian retort of "Not that there's anything wrong with that". And there isn't. I respect a human being's right to individuality, and firmly and vehemently believe that the sexual conduct of two consenting adults is no one's business but those adults. But we are talking about music here...and music, pop music in particular, is about being able to relate...and that's the tricky thing. I now look at a song like "Ask" and can clearly see the subtext...should that bother me? Perhaps not...but do I relate to it less? Almost certainly. It's a tricky question...
Friday, March 20, 2009
Asia Minor - Guided By Voices - Half Smiles of the Decomposed - 2005
So we continue our glut of GBV songs with a slower, though not slow, little pop number. Like many of the songs on Half Smiles...it is more a case of "hey that's not so bad!" rather than a "This is F-ing awesome!" But after the catastrophe of blandness that was Earthquake Glue, it was better to see GBV go out with half way decent album than an almost totally forgettable one.
After we finished the tour of the Necropolis we made our way back down the hill and into town. We were walking down (and South) towards the Trongate area to see what was going on down there. Along the way we happened to find the oldest bar in Glasgow.
Unlike a city like Dublin, which prides itself on having several still functioning Medieval bars, Glasgow's bars were all more modern. The oldest they could come up with was The Olde Carriage House which dated from the mid-19th century and had many pictures of the original patrons to prove it. While it lacked the "bar from a Dungeons and Dragons Game" charm of say The Brazen Head in Dublin, it was quite interesting to see the pictures of the bar and to get a sense of what life may have been like in 19th century Glasgow.
As for the bar in modern day Glasgow, at 3 in the afternoon on a Monday...well, it was slow, as expected, and more than a bit surly. Four or five old men milled around the bar, and one middle aged dude with a pony tail and a distinctly Alan Moore vibe. We grabbed a pint each and sat quietly in the corner. The TV was playing a creaky World War II film from the fifties called The Frog Men...Richard Widmark was the only remotely familiar actor in the whole thing...but we got a considerable amount of pleasure quietly heckling the film with the Alan Moore dude. We finished up our pints and headed out looking for lunch.
After we finished the tour of the Necropolis we made our way back down the hill and into town. We were walking down (and South) towards the Trongate area to see what was going on down there. Along the way we happened to find the oldest bar in Glasgow.
Unlike a city like Dublin, which prides itself on having several still functioning Medieval bars, Glasgow's bars were all more modern. The oldest they could come up with was The Olde Carriage House which dated from the mid-19th century and had many pictures of the original patrons to prove it. While it lacked the "bar from a Dungeons and Dragons Game" charm of say The Brazen Head in Dublin, it was quite interesting to see the pictures of the bar and to get a sense of what life may have been like in 19th century Glasgow.
As for the bar in modern day Glasgow, at 3 in the afternoon on a Monday...well, it was slow, as expected, and more than a bit surly. Four or five old men milled around the bar, and one middle aged dude with a pony tail and a distinctly Alan Moore vibe. We grabbed a pint each and sat quietly in the corner. The TV was playing a creaky World War II film from the fifties called The Frog Men...Richard Widmark was the only remotely familiar actor in the whole thing...but we got a considerable amount of pleasure quietly heckling the film with the Alan Moore dude. We finished up our pints and headed out looking for lunch.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Ashes to Ashes - David Bowie - Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps) - 1980
For the record, my own St. Patrick's Day celebration went quite swimmingly and I woke up relatively hang over free...though I was hungry as a mofo.
So anyway, to get back to the trip (I can't believe this shit has taken me nearly a month to write, but hey...I got other things going on too...and I'm almost finished...and honestly, the end is the best part, so stick with me...if you're still here). We woke up the next day fairly late, as this was one of the few days that we didn't have to travel. By the time we were all cleaned up and ready to roll it was nearly 1PM.
Incidentally, it was also my birthday...despite my protestations that the trip itself was my birthday party and that as my birthday was on a Monday, no special treatment was required, the guys had already started throwing shots at me the night before. They insisted on "celebrating" my birthday from midnight Scotland time through to midnight of the following day NYC time...so I essentially had 29 hours of birthday shots. Ugh.
We took the day to do some touristy site seeing. We started off by heading up Buchannan St. which appears to be their mini-version of NYC's Broadway, or Grafton St. in Dublin...basically just a long street with lots of clothing stores and restaurants. We were there for coffee.
After getting appropriately caffeinated we headed over to Glasgow Cathedral and The Necropolis. As I stated earlier, I'm a history nerd and love old shit. The Cathedral was especially interesting for being a Roman Catholic church that had survived the pretty thorough reformation of Scotland. As such the basement level had at one point actually been converted into two protestant church until the late 19th century, leading to a large cathedral with two small churches in the basement.
The Necropolis was the real site though, a giant old cemetery built spiraling upwards on a tall hill. The highest grave at the top of the hill was reserved for the monument to the man who had brought the reformation to Scotland. From that high point you could see most of the city before you. It was one of the most touching sites I saw on the whole trip, and probably my favorite thing I saw that was not in Berlin.
Scary Monsters and Super Creeps more less marks the rather radical change between late 1970's ultra-arty, Berlin and Eno-loving Bowie and the white suited pop dork we all know and love from the "Dancing in the Streets" video. I will always have the utmost respect for Bowie, and I like the way he's managed to retain some dignity with age that his "Dancing in the Streets" co-star has not...but the 80's pretty much end my interest in his music.
So anyway, to get back to the trip (I can't believe this shit has taken me nearly a month to write, but hey...I got other things going on too...and I'm almost finished...and honestly, the end is the best part, so stick with me...if you're still here). We woke up the next day fairly late, as this was one of the few days that we didn't have to travel. By the time we were all cleaned up and ready to roll it was nearly 1PM.
Incidentally, it was also my birthday...despite my protestations that the trip itself was my birthday party and that as my birthday was on a Monday, no special treatment was required, the guys had already started throwing shots at me the night before. They insisted on "celebrating" my birthday from midnight Scotland time through to midnight of the following day NYC time...so I essentially had 29 hours of birthday shots. Ugh.
We took the day to do some touristy site seeing. We started off by heading up Buchannan St. which appears to be their mini-version of NYC's Broadway, or Grafton St. in Dublin...basically just a long street with lots of clothing stores and restaurants. We were there for coffee.
After getting appropriately caffeinated we headed over to Glasgow Cathedral and The Necropolis. As I stated earlier, I'm a history nerd and love old shit. The Cathedral was especially interesting for being a Roman Catholic church that had survived the pretty thorough reformation of Scotland. As such the basement level had at one point actually been converted into two protestant church until the late 19th century, leading to a large cathedral with two small churches in the basement.
The Necropolis was the real site though, a giant old cemetery built spiraling upwards on a tall hill. The highest grave at the top of the hill was reserved for the monument to the man who had brought the reformation to Scotland. From that high point you could see most of the city before you. It was one of the most touching sites I saw on the whole trip, and probably my favorite thing I saw that was not in Berlin.
Scary Monsters and Super Creeps more less marks the rather radical change between late 1970's ultra-arty, Berlin and Eno-loving Bowie and the white suited pop dork we all know and love from the "Dancing in the Streets" video. I will always have the utmost respect for Bowie, and I like the way he's managed to retain some dignity with age that his "Dancing in the Streets" co-star has not...but the 80's pretty much end my interest in his music.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Ashes of an American Flag - Wilco - Yankee Hotel Foxtrot - 2002
I'm going to take a quick break from talking about my trip, so that I can talk about St. Patrick's Day...there is probably no day on the planet that I am more conflicted about than the day we celebrate my heritage.
On Saturday I was in Central Bar watching Arsenal give a tremendous 4-0 whipping to Blackburn...the match wrapped up about 1 and I went to go grab some food, only to find that the streets of the East Village were flooded with NYU students in green t-shirts and ridiculous plastic hats. They jammed every bar with their obnoxious behavior and loud boisterous ignorance. I realize I'm shaking my fist like an old man (which I am) at the kids these days...it just seems as if...
Ok first of all, St. Patrick's Day was on Tuesday not Saturday. If you are going to celebrate, celebrate on the actual day. You're college student's for fuck's sake...I'm an adult with a job and I still went out and drank on a Tuesday night. What excuse do you have? Second of all, again, you're college students...why do you need an excuse to get hammered? Just go out and get drunk, you don't have to do it in asinine green costumes that make you look like an asshole and makes my people look like drunken fuck-wits. It's exactly like my argument against Halloween, if you want to dress like an idiot or a whore...just dress like and idiot or a whore, why do you need a holiday for it?
But on the flipside, I must acknowledge that it is a nice thing to have a day celebrating Irish heritage...even aside of my own since of cultural aggrandizement, the Irish have played a significant part in the building of this nation. We've worked in it's police departments and firehouses, we've acted in films and plays, we've sang in bars and concert halls alike, we've built skyscrapers and railroads, and we've even had one of our own become one of the greatest president's this nation has seen. It's just a shame that our holiday is also mingled with so many idiots and amateurs who just want an excuse for public urination.
It is both oddly appropriate and wildly ridiculous that I'm attaching this rant to Ashes of an American Flag. Wilco's celebration/lament for modern American culture has also become one of the touch stones of liberal reaction to the Bush years...and to this day it's haunting atmospherics, oblique lyrics, and world weary tone still ring true. We may have a new found hope, but we are still digging out from the ashes of the past, and no hurdles are encountered everyday...AIG for instance. It's a tough old world, but the only place to go is up...right?
On Saturday I was in Central Bar watching Arsenal give a tremendous 4-0 whipping to Blackburn...the match wrapped up about 1 and I went to go grab some food, only to find that the streets of the East Village were flooded with NYU students in green t-shirts and ridiculous plastic hats. They jammed every bar with their obnoxious behavior and loud boisterous ignorance. I realize I'm shaking my fist like an old man (which I am) at the kids these days...it just seems as if...
Ok first of all, St. Patrick's Day was on Tuesday not Saturday. If you are going to celebrate, celebrate on the actual day. You're college student's for fuck's sake...I'm an adult with a job and I still went out and drank on a Tuesday night. What excuse do you have? Second of all, again, you're college students...why do you need an excuse to get hammered? Just go out and get drunk, you don't have to do it in asinine green costumes that make you look like an asshole and makes my people look like drunken fuck-wits. It's exactly like my argument against Halloween, if you want to dress like an idiot or a whore...just dress like and idiot or a whore, why do you need a holiday for it?
But on the flipside, I must acknowledge that it is a nice thing to have a day celebrating Irish heritage...even aside of my own since of cultural aggrandizement, the Irish have played a significant part in the building of this nation. We've worked in it's police departments and firehouses, we've acted in films and plays, we've sang in bars and concert halls alike, we've built skyscrapers and railroads, and we've even had one of our own become one of the greatest president's this nation has seen. It's just a shame that our holiday is also mingled with so many idiots and amateurs who just want an excuse for public urination.
It is both oddly appropriate and wildly ridiculous that I'm attaching this rant to Ashes of an American Flag. Wilco's celebration/lament for modern American culture has also become one of the touch stones of liberal reaction to the Bush years...and to this day it's haunting atmospherics, oblique lyrics, and world weary tone still ring true. We may have a new found hope, but we are still digging out from the ashes of the past, and no hurdles are encountered everyday...AIG for instance. It's a tough old world, but the only place to go is up...right?
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