Musical

The fucking Pixies had been removing and cleaning out the heads of everyone you knew that year and now they were coming to your school. Doolittle was your Sgt. Pepper’s, the album after which nothing would be the same, the album that would spawn a thousand imitators, most of them very poor.” – Dave Eggers, SPIN Magazine.

There have been some recent miserable moments when I’ve felt like my youth is truly over. People have slowly gotten married, moved away or otherwise disappeared – and it seems sometimes like our dog-tired glory days have finally crawled to a close. But I looked up at one point this past Wednesday night… and I was with a group of close friends who hadn’t been assembled in the same place for many years… and the goddamn Pixies were playing on stage in front of us! I very much felt like Juan Ponce De Leon had just handed me a can of his magical water and forced me to do a shotgun at swordpoint. The years melted away and I was suddenly back in the front seat of my ’79 Chevy Malibu station wagon – blaring Surfer Rosa after the football game, on the road to some keg party in Concord. And it was glorious. And I shouldn’t have been driving.

I grew up with the guys and gals who surrounded me at Tsongas, and the soundtrack of our young lives was that very same incomprable quartet from Boston. In the car, at the party, on the beach, in the woods – The Pixies were there with us every step of the way. And like old friends who’d vanished without a trace, we never thought we’d see their like again. All of a sudden there we were, and there they were, and it’s hard to describe – but we all looked at one another, high-fived, hugged, smiled and realized the gravity of what was taking place. As overdramatic as that must sound to the uninitiated, the concerts in Lowell last week were a special and memorable time for all of us, and we’ll be talking about them for years to come.

If you’re looking for a setlist or painstaking recount of either concert, Have a look here. There are uber fans on FrankBlack.net that make me look like I slept through both shows – across the street in the back of a car. I went both nights, with a group of about 15 high school friends on Wednesday and my buddy Adam (or the violent gay biker from Halloween as you may remember him) on Thursday. We all met at the Lowell Brewing Company Wednesday night and on the top left you can see Jim, me, Nate, Joanna and Mike gearing up with anticipation and liquor. We headed over to the Tsongas arena around 9:30 to catch the last few songs of the Mission of Burma set. On the upper right you can see PJ in his Nanook of the North jacket, and Ryan plotting the best way to sneak a bottle of SoCo into the venue. Some things haven’t changed. And never will.

After an aggressive pat-down and camera confiscation threat, we got inside and heard the first strains of Burma’s classic ‘That’s How I Escaped My Certain Fate’. Burma rocked like 19 years hadn’t passed since the last time they toured, and the crowd graciously pretended to know who they were. Let me make a quick comment regarding the abundance of the audience – they were awful. We gathered in a section of the seats because the floor/rink was tightly packed by this time, and were shocked to see the vast majority of people remain seated as the Pixies took the stage and broke into ‘Heaven – The Lady In The Radiator Song’. Seated. A few songs and several whiney ‘please sit down and don’t hurt me’ requests into the concert, the 5 rows behind our group were empty as the Johnny-come-lately 20-something hipster ‘fans’ realized we’d be standing and getting rowdy for the duration. Shame on you people – bring some opera glasses next time to complete your fucking experience.

Jim and Janet pose proudly for a picture above – we all had the biggest shit-eating perma-grins on our faces from the first moment we entered the arena. But some of our grins were enhanced by hydroponics as our crew smoked several different types of plant life throughout the concert. We also screamed, danced, drank and simply horrified most of the people sitting in our midst. A sort of ‘real fan vs. poseur’ mentality developed which worsened our behavior. I did, however, catch a few people smiling in our direction and spoke to some younger guys nearby who were enjoying our energy. I don’t know, however, if they enjoyed my screamed rendition of ‘Caribou’ visible for posterity on the upper right.

Among the highlights were a slowed down and dirty ‘Crackity Jones’, an extended version of my very favorite ‘Number 13 Baby’ and a smoking fast and thunderous ‘Something Against You’ (which you can see PJ air-guitaring above) that still has my head banging 3 days later. They encored with a superb ‘Where Is My Mind’, the lights came up and we went back to the brewery a happy band of Pixies punters. The photo on the right was taken shortly afterwards, and you know it’s been a memorable night when the designated driver (me) is making a face like an elderly vagrant pressed up between the bars of a protective custody cell. But rest assured, it’s Diet Coke induced. I got the also pictured Peter and Adam home in one piece. Well, two pieces actually. They were separated thanks to an innovative medical procedure last year.

Thursday night I went with Adam, who was mistaken 17 times for the former bassist from Queens of the Stone Age – but I think that suited him just fine. We rolled in and got great seats to the left of the stage but again – everyone was sitting down! Who the fuck are you people? We wandered out on to the rink, barrelled our way through the throngs and got pretty close to the stage. We stayed there bobbing and weaving for the rest of the set, and the two concerts ended up very different experiences as a result.

I still have this Thursday’s Boston proper date at Avalon to cover, so I’ll wrap this up for now. It’s my birthday this week, and I’ll have ended up seeing the Pixies 3 times in 8 days. That fact is making the dawn of my 31st year just a little more palatable. Unlike Tsongas Arena fried dough. Who am I kidding? I love that shit.

As you all know last night I went to Lowell to see The Pixies, and I’ll be doing a write up with some hilarious photos over the weekend. How much did I like it, you ask? I’m going again tonight. So please excuse the blog inactivity, I’ve been busy recapturing my youth, navigating that most treacherous of Lowells, and rocking the sweet bejaysus out of the Tsongas. Cut me some slack – I’ll be 31 in 5 more days. My window of opportunity for juvenile stupidity and debaucherous activity grows smaller by the hour. Or maybe it doesn’t. Look at Nick Nolte.

Nate: I almost died drag racing to this song through Concord about 15 years ago.

PJ: Dude, I almost died every time I was in a car listening to The Pixies.

And… scene. See you all tomorrow.

The Pixies land at the Tsongas Arena in Lowell tomorrow night, and I’m so excited I could just… buy some crack. What the hell else are you supposed to do in Lowell? At least they have the Lock Monsters, because there damn sure won’t be any Bruins games this year. My friend Chris is a goal judge for the Monsters, so maybe I can get a good seat behind the penalty box at one of the upcoming games. And some crack.

But back to Los Pixies. This should be a very different experience from when I saw them on their warm up tour back in April. They’ve been on the road for nearly 9 months straight now, and have managed not to kill one another, so I imagine it’ll be a tight, memorable set in front of their hometown crowd. I’ll give you all a full, geeky report on Thursday – but stay tuned for some Thanksgiving photos and stories tonight. Pixies dork, out.

A lot.

“Voting in a corrupt society adds more corruption. America has to commit suicide if the world is to be a better place.” – Kris Parker.

At a New Yorker Festival panel discussion this week, KRS-One (aka Kris Parker) of pioneering rap collective Boogie Down Productions had a few choice words on the subject of 9-11. I just stumbled across this article, in the middle of a busy workday, and had to take a moment to mete out some sort of response (aka vent on this clown).

It was bad enough when Jadakiss‘ song “Why” recently posed the awe-inspiring question ‘Why did Bush knock down the towers?’ and then stayed at the top of the charts for several weeks. If you need a Jadakiss barometer, it was shortly after the line ‘Why’d Halle Berry have to let a white man pop her to get an Oscar?’ Rest assured – If I ever needed advice on rolling blunts, wearing nothing but red velvet tracksuits or how to look like Charles Barkley with Down Syndrome, I’d certainly give Jadakiss a call.

But Parker has always presented himself as a prophet and scholar. Someone who will always ‘teach the truth to the young black youth’. Here’s a quote from his 1988 hit “My Philosophy” which I didn’t even have to look up. You see, I absolutely loved this song as a kid and remember it line for line to this day: ‘… but I don’t walk this way to portray – or reinforce stereotypes of the day – like all my brothas eat chicken and watermelon – talk broken english and drug sellin’ – see I’m tellin’ and teaching real facts…’. Well, Kris, when you were 18 you certainly were. But I wouldn’t let you teach “Being a Phenomenal Cunt – 101” at this point, even though you’d be an phenomenal candidate.

His quotes yesterday in NYC only get better. In addition to saying “9/11 happened to them, not us,” he clarified “them” as “those who are oppressing us. RCA or BMG, Universal, the radio stations.” Or, whitey and jewey as they’re more commonly known in Parker’s insensitive little mind. He also claimed that he and other rappers “cheered when 9/11 happened.” I find that rather difficult to believe and propose someone share the 9-11 victim demographics with him which are readily available on the ‘internets’.

I imagine Kris Parker actually spent the majority of that horrible day the same way everyone else in this country did – frantically making phone calls, glued to CNN, trying to find out if their brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers were still alive. As Parker has lived in New York City all of his life, I’d even be willing to bet my extensive collection of BDP CDs. That is, if I hadn’t just thrown them all in the garbage.

** Follow – Up 10/15/04



Kris Parker has apparently re-thought his inane outburst and had this to say:

“I was making an objective point about how many Hiphoppas as well as the oppressed peoples of the world felt that day,” KRS continued. “I am a philosopher and a critical thinker, I speak truth and I urge people to think critically about themselves and their environment. Yes, my words are strong. Yes, my views are controversial. But to call me a terrorist is simply wrong!”

“Terrorist”? I’ll settle for “breathtakingly moronic”. Why do I agree with the distinction? Because not even a terrorist could put a bullet behind the ear of your fading career the way you just did.

A funny thing happened last night at the Boston Music Awards. My friend Rachel hooked my sister and I up with tickets, VIP passes and the whole 9 yards. I saw many local Boston music celebrities there – Rick Okasek, Frank Black, Steven Tyler, New Kids On The Block and Kim Deal… were absolutely nowhere to be seen (I had you going for a minute there).

However I did see Tom Hamilton, The DropKick Murphys and Vance Gilbert (please hold your applause until all the nominees’ names have been read). I recognized Vance‘s name when I read the BMA website last week and quickly remembered how I knew him.

About 7 years ago, I was working as a student manager at The Brass Taps in Guelph, Ontario Canada. Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights it was a student-bar-madhouse, but on weeknights we’d have a variety of bands and solo performers playing live. One Monday night I came in as a civilian to check out the scene with some friends, and our attention was immediately drawn to the performer onstage. He was a great singer, gifted guitarist and, above all, he was incredibly funny. We were literally rolling on the floor as this guy sang songs about coffee, crime scenes and even a did country western rap. I talked to him after the show, told him I’d spent many years living in Boston and bought 3 of his CDs which I still have to this day. We talked about Boston for about half an hour, had a drink or two then I wished him a happy stay in Guelph and was on my way home.

The next night I was on duty. I arrived at 6 p.m. swapped floats out of the safe for the new shift of bartenders and waitresses that were coming in, went down the checklist of managerial things one has to do and then saddled up to the bar for a coffee. I asked the ‘tender who was playing that night, to which he replied “Some guy named Vance Gilbert”. I smiled and told him I’d seen him the night before and we were all in for a treat.

And indeed we were. Vance played with the same energy level as the night before, had an entirely different set-list and every moment I wasn’t putting out a fire somewhere I was watching the show. He had all the kids laughing, clapping and eating out of his hand. The show ended and he was surrounded by another group of new fans and well-wishers and I went into the office to begin the long tedious process of cashing out for the night.

All of a sudden, one of the bouncers came into the office and said “That dude with the dreadlocks wants his money and he’s being a bit of a dick“. I asked him who he was talking about, ’cause as far as I knew my credit was still good with the Guelph Jamaican cocaine syndicate. “No“, he continued. “The singer guy“. “Oh you mean Vance. He’s a good guy. From Boston. Send him in“.

All of a sudden, “crazy-business-Vance” entered the office and started flailing his arms around, maniacally yapping about how much I owed him, etc. Based on the nice conversation we’d had the night before, I thought he was messing with me. I laughed at him and said hello. He turned things up notch, got right in my face – so much so that one of the bouncers came into the office and went to grab him. I waved off the meathead, stood up and said to Vance “Hey. What the hell is wrong with you? I’m the guy from Boston. Don’t you remember talking to me last night?” He told me he didn’t remember, and he didn’t care. I dropped my pleasant demeanor and told him that his contract (which I had read out of curiosity about an hour before) clearly stated that he got paid at the end of his three night stint, and not a moment before. I was a little pissed off at this point and sat back down, turned around and went back to my work. Vance continued to hoot and holler for a minute or two before giving up and going back to the main bar.

Regardless of that strange altercation so many years ago, it was great to see him sing again last night, and I highly recommend getting out to one of his upcoming shows.

Vance, I thought we were boys.

What the hell is going on here? Forget about the Poltergeist curse – three of the founding members of the Ramones have all died untimely deaths in the last three years. First Joey (49), then Dee Dee (49) and today Johnny (55)!

The lights have come up on the Blitzkrieg Bop. Rock n’ Roll Radio is off the air. It’s low tide on Rockaway Beach. Tragic. I’m done.

Victory is mine. The pre-sell worked, and I’m now the proud owner of several Pixies tickets for December 1st at the Tsongas Arena in Lowell. And what a nice self-birthday present that will be. In celebration, I am declaring September 8th “Pixies Day” – and changing my pants. Not in that order. I’m traveling to “Isla De Change-My-Pantsa”. Me voy, me voy, me voy.

Months of ferverish Bostonite speculation (“I heard 3 shows at The Orpheum”, “Will they play New Years Eve?”, “Who’s hand is on my leg?”) led up to the creshendo of Saturday’s announcement: The Pixies‘ “Boston” date will be December 1st at the Tsongas Arena in Lowell. I flew to Vancover to see the Pixies in Vancouver back in April, but I haven’t seen them play in their home town of Boston since 1991. I was looking forward to it. Lowell will have to do.

Without a doubt, they could have sold the Fleet out at least 3 nights in a row. I’m all for seeing The Pixies in a smaller venue and everything, but the law of supply and demand is going to be so utterly disfigured between now and then that I’d say about 1% of the people who’d like to be at that concert will actually get tickets. But I guess that more Boston dates in December haven’t been ruled out either. New Years Eve at the Orpheum would indeed be glorious. I did hear they were arguing with Clear Channel over Boston venues. And they won’t let the Pixies sell their LiveDisc recordings in Clear Channel venues, either.

So I wait here anxiously at my desk for the online Pixies ticket pre-sell to begin at noon, and pray to Euriah, Bailey, Ol’ Neptuna and the lady in the radiator that I’ll get through before they’re all gone. Wish me luck. Or a life.

“Empire: What’s the perfect soundtrack to a 15th birthday?”

D.R.: “The Strokes would definitely be on it. I’d love to hear The Libertines do Happy Birthday. That’d be awesome ‘cos they’re quite a hard punk, rock and roll band. They’re really good. Jet definitely. Rollover DJ. The Pixies definitely.” (Harry Potter star Daniel Radcliffe interviewed for Empire magazine, 2004)

An old friend of mine from Barrie, Ontario has been working towards his dream of forming a band and releasing a CD for many years. That dream finally came true recently, and I built a quick website for him last week. The band is called Perish Ruby and I want the site to get spidered so I’m linking to it from here. But please, click on through to the other side and check it out for yourselves. He just might be on to something. He was recently listed #7 on BroadJam‘s regional Top Ten list.

I went out with some friends Friday night with the focus on dancing to rap music. I used to love rap and still have an enormous stack of CDs in my room. It all started back in 1986 when I bought Licensed to Ill on cassette. I had a strange Walkman that had a speaker on it, and my friends and I spent many hours at the playground shooting hoops and reciting “She’s Crafty” at the top of our lungs.

From there, I got into Run DMC, LL Cool J, Heavy D., Audio Two, Kool Moe Dee and all the big names of the time. My father rolled his eyes and declared it a phase. But six years later in 1992 I was blaring House of Pain and Das EFX out of my car like absolutely no time at all had passed.

The last rap CD I ever bought was Art Official Intelligence by De La Soul and I think I listened to it once. I realized I just wasn’t into it anymore – but why? It’s not that I stopped liking the rap that I listened to 10 years ago. Friday night was proof of that – we watched a bunch of old school videos before we went out and the group of 7 people in my living room were loving it, as was I.

But when we got to the bar and the likes of Ludacris, Lil’ Bow Wow, Fifty Cent etc. started spinning, I wanted to be back on my couch watching Everlast jumping around.

So I have to conclude one of two things. Either I am thirty and rap simply seems stupid to me now (but I like the older stuff for sentimental reasons). Or modern rap has taken a direction that I just don’t dig. When I get home tonight, maybe I’ll listen to some Notorious B.I.G. back-to-back with a little Jadakiss and I expect the answer will present itself fairly quickly.