The loudest band in New York

I love free concerts. A free concert is like free food, except better, because when Ben & Jerry's gives away ice cream on Free Cone Day, you get a paltry, unsatisfying dollop of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough that lasts about three minutes on a hot day. A free concert is like an ice cream that lasts all evening. And depending on who's playing the show, you might end up with a natural high and a headache at the end of it, just like an evening-long ice cream.

The South Street Seaport is but one place in the city that you can see bands perform for free on a weekly basis. I wrote about the final show of last year's Seaport Music Festival here. Compared to last year's lineup (which included The National and Battles and Menomena and Au Revoir Simone), this year's list seemed less than exciting, but one band jumped right out at me: A Place to Bury Strangers.

You may never have heard them, but you've heard of bands like them -- bands whose reputation precedes them. I still remember one spring night in 2004 when I first heard of a band named Mute Math from my buddy Won. "You gotta listen to these guys," he said, handing me a demo CD. "They're probably the best band I've ever seen." Listening to the demo was like taking a shower on a weekday afternoon: unexpected and invigorating and optimistic.

In the case of A Place to Bury Strangers (APTBS), I'd heard one thing about them that's supposed to tell you everything you need to know about them: The Loudest Band in New York. Virtually every review I've read contains this description, but who can say who originated the phrase. Maybe the band made it up themselves. Maybe it's not important. But if you know me, you'll know that it's impossible for me not to seek out a band that lays claim to being the loudest in a city full of loud bands.

I mean, come on! THE LOUDEST BAND IN NEW YORK!

Apparently, this is a band so loud that the cops once shut down one of their shows, but not until an NYPD officer declared, "This band is sick."

So three Fridays ago, I went to see them at the Seaport Music Festival. The first opening band was Black Acid, who were just finishing their set when I got there. It's hard to feel bad about missing a band called Black Acid, so I didn't. Then the most bizarre band in the world took the stage -- a second opening act called King Khan and the Shrines. (Do not visit their Myspace page unless you're sure you want to.) These guys are so obscure they don't even have their own Wikipedia entry. It was their first show in the United States, apparently, so nobody knew any of their songs, but that didn't stop them from rocking out. They played a hyperactive blend of ska, '50s rock-n-roll, and punk, if you can imagine that. Oh yeah, they had a whole brass section. And a go-go dancer who belly-danced and waved gold pompoms on stage during the entire set. And their drummer had more facial hair than ZZ Top. And -- get this -- the lead singer was a foul-mouthed Indian man who sounded like Screamin' Jay Hawkins and looked like he'd just walked off the set of a Bollywood blockbuster.

This band was a menace to the public, who, against their better judgment, began dancing in the middle of Pier 17 like the maniacs dancing on the stage. King Khan was inscrutable and indefatigable and hilarious; for forty-five minutes, he whipped the crowd into an awe-struck frenzy of laughter and herky-jerky hopping.

Now, this was interesting. These guys were supposed to open for APTBS, which struck me as a tad dissonant. This became evident when, at about 8:30 PM, APTBS took the stage to a long, metallic rumble from lead singer/guitarist Oliver Ackermann. In my mind, there are three things to understand about Ackermann:

1. He makes his own guitar pedals.
2. He is the only guitarist on the band, which means he has to make the most noise.
3. He does not interact with the crowd at live shows very much at all. He didn't even address us when the band started the set, which is not that weird once you realize that APTBS is just a shoegaze band that happens to play very loud music.

When APTBS really got going, things started getting dangerous and weird. Dangerous because the band really is, quite possibly, the loudest band in this city. Weird because a band that straddles the two genres of shoegaze and noise rock is bound to attract different kinds of people who may not necessarily get along with one another. This became clear when three young people who looked like they'd just stepped off a plane from the Glastonbury Festival began moshing in the front, bumping violently into people in the process. Two guys standing directly behind them decided that this was rude behavior and weren't afraid to say so, at which point the wild trio stopped just long enough to shrug their shoulders and went right back at it. This was weird because I'm not usually conflicted about what constitutes proper behavior at any given rock concert. I mean, when you're at a rock show, you rock out. But when you're at a shoegaze rock show, and the stage lights remain dim for most of the set, are you only supposed to gaze at the musicians gazing at their shoes?

At one point, the music was so loud that even the press photographers (who were standing behind the speakers, not in front of them) had to cover their ears. I have never covered my ears at a rock show before; to me, that's like closing your eyes if the view at a tropical beach becomes too beautiful. I looked around at the people standing next to me and 75% of them had their fingers in their ears. The other 25% looked back at me in a funny way, as if to say, "Our ears won't be okay in the morning, will they?"

APTBS played a blistering 40-minute set, during which Ackermann destroyed his red Fender Jaguar and then hurled it over his head by its strings. Then, with a muffled "thank you" and a rapid brightening of the stage lights, it was unceremoniously over. The crowd dispersed quickly, dazed and slightly disoriented.

I couldn't hear much for the next 24 hours.

Waiting to hear a voice

You know how Kanye West once said that he'd have cut off a piece of his finger to have a voice like Wu-Tang's Ol' Dirty Bastard? Well, that's almost exactly how I feel about Mike Doughty's voice.

I'm 90% sure that you have no idea who Mike Doughty is, but that's okay. In 1996, I heard a song by a band named Soul Coughing, and the lead singer had the most arresting alternative rock voice I'd ever heard. I mean, it's the kind of voice you never forget, and never mistake for anyone else's. So, 11 years later, when my friend BM played some dude's solo record in his car stereo as we drove toward Union, NJ, on a Wednesday evening, I recognized the voice. And it turned out that the dude's name is Mike Doughty, and he used to be the lead singer of Soul Coughing. And it turned out that last night, BM and I went to see a Mike Doughty show at the Highline Ballroom.

I met BM outside the Highline at 7:45, which was 45 minutes after wait-list tickets were supposed to go on sale. He was still waiting, but at least he was first in line. There were about ten other poor souls behind him who liked Mike Doughty enough to wait for wait-list tickets but not enough to have bought tickets in advance.

BM really wanted to see the show. I am not nearly as a big a fan as BM -- I don't have any Mike Doughty albums, and I've only heard four Soul Coughing songs ever -- so I wouldn't have been terribly disappointed if we hadn't gotten in. But at 8:30, we finally did get in, plunked down $25 each for tickets, and shuffled into the Ballroom, a small-ish performance space with the requisite black walls and a stage low enough that you could step onto it from the floor without much trouble, but not, of course, if you were five feet tall.

A bunch of guys in fake beards and funny hats were already on stage playing some vaguely interesting music. The music seemed improvised, but it was like the band was making it look more improvised than it really was. Two of them sang into various microphones, but as far as I could tell, they weren't singing a lick of English, or any other intelligible language. If Tenacious D were from Lithuania, and had a bassist and a drummer, they'd have sounded just like this. Then they stopped playing, and BM went to get some beers, and while waiting for the real opening act to take the stage, I commenced my favorite pastime at rock shows: I people-watched.

But then I got distracted because the heavyset guy standing in front of me had really bad body odor.

You know what's annoying? When you're standing in the crowd at a rock show, waiting for the opening band to show up, and you're so busy talking to your friend that you don't notice the six-foot-three dude with jug ears moving into position directly in front of you. And then when the band comes on, there's a living totem pole blocking your view.

After stepping to the left, however, I thoroughly enjoyed the opening band, the Panderers, who apparently are "from the great state of Indiana!" Never mind that it's a three-piece act, and two of the guys in the band aren't from Indiana. They played gritty southern rock and were catchy as all get-up. On one of the songs, singer Scott Wynn pronounced the word "iron" (as in iron bars) like "eye ron" which I thought was one of the greatest things I'd ever heard. And the drummer looked like Dave Grohl! They were hilarious and knew how to rock out, and I would have bought their album on iTunes if they'd made Scott Wynn's voice on the recording sound exactly the way it did at last night's show. Unfortunately, it sounds like a completely different guy.

At one point, Wynn asked if there was anyone in the audience named Sheila, and since there didn't appear to be any, some dude in the back started yelling and jumping and claiming he was named Sheila. Then the band played a song called "Sheila" and Wynn sang it to him anyway. I guess new artists will do whatever they can to sell records.

After the Panderers had left the stage, BM and I started talking to the excitable 23-year-old kid with a goatee standing in front of us. I never got his name, but we'll call him Jake. Jake was a huge Doughty fan; he said he considered Mike Doughty the third-best live performer he'd ever seen (the best was System of a Down, and the second was Tool). Then he told us that he'd be happy if Doughty played a Soul Coughing song called "True Dreams of Wichita." Jake could tell that I wasn't a true fan of Doughty's, so he spent most of his time addressing BM. Later, when Jake wandered off to the front, BM turned to me and said, "Have you ever met someone who just refused to stop talking?"

Another 25-minute wait, and Mike Doughty himself took the stage. Shockingly, his drummer was the same Dave Grohl-looking character. And his bassist was also the Panderers' bassist. As it turns out, two-thirds of the Panderers are also half of the Mike Doughty Band. How convenient.

Doughty was warm and funny and good, and that voice is largely undiminished in its character. He opened the set with "Busting Up A Starbucks," as good an opener as any, but throughout the night, he took requests from the audience, which, I'd learned, is common practice at a Mike Doughty show. Of course, Jake yelled out "Wichita!" multiple times, until Doughty said into the mic: "Wichita? No, not tonight." That shut up Jake for the rest of the night, but he continued to dance like a flailing maniac through songs like "I Just Want the Girl in the Blue Dress" and "Put It Down." It's a blessing and a curse to be a true fan.

Doughty closed the night with "Looking at the World from the Bottom of a Well," the only song I really knew (apart from "I Hear the Bells," which the band did as well, but poorly -- a buzzy, badly tuned mess).

One more thing... you know those guys with the fake beards earlier in the night? They were the Mike Doughty band in disguise. Who else could they have been?

If you've never heard the voice, this is hardly the best way to listen to it, but watch this anyway:

A few of my favorite things

Thinking of moving here? Wondering what will make your NYC life much more pleasant? Here are three things I'm glad I have:

1. Noise-canceling headphones. I have the Audio Technica ANC7, which I absolutely love, but go ahead and get a pair of overpriced, overrated Bose headphones if you want. Either way, noise-canceling 'phones make a long subway ride or a noisy office much more bearable.

2. An always-loaded Metrocard. Because you never know when you'll need to rush to catch a subway train.

3. A digital video recorder, like TiVo. I have no idea how I lived without a DVR. It completely changes the way you watch TV by giving you virtually complete control over what and when you watch; I've never had to worry about getting home early enough to watch the new episode of House.

Aye tunes

People used to ask me all the time what music I listen to. And I used to tell them that I listen to everything except country. It's a pretty standard response, especially in this part of the States. When I asked other people the same question, I often got the same response.

But that was a long time ago. Today, I do listen to country (Laura Cantrell, Faith Hill and Johnny Cash, if you're curious). I mean, I'd have to like country music if I listened to as much Christian worship music as I do. And, in fact, I heard lots of country music growing up, in the vein of Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton and John Denver, who were among my dad's favorites.

If you're wondering what kind of music I listen to now, I give you my list of nine songs I listened to the most number of times in 2007 (based on strength of melody, how they hold up to repeated listens, quality of production, and general awesomeness).

"Hard Sun" Eddie Vedder
Brought tears to my eyes and shivers to the back of my neck on first listen, even if Eddie didn't actually write it.

"Slow Show" The National
Not the best song on Boxer. But it's the one with the greatest piano refrain.

"Atlas" Battles
From the year's best album, Mirrored.

"Reckoner" Radiohead
The drums and percussion on this one are astounding.

"Spilt Needles" The Shins
Amazing drum pattern, excellently recorded.

"Straight Lines" Silverchair
I was just stoked to hear Silverchair on the radio twelve years after Frogstomp.

"Come Right Out and Say It" Relient K
Very typical Relient K, but richer harmonies and tighter instrumentation elevate it.

"1234" Feist
The best mainstream single of 2007 (Rihanna's "Umbrella", though good, doesn't come close).

"Detlef Schrempf" Band of Horses
Most atmospheric song named after an ex-NBA player ever.

Bonus: Any of the following off Björk's Volta album: "Declare Independence," "Earth Intruders," "The Dull Flame of Desire," and "Innocence."

In the field of clover

This post, despite the pilfered lyric of a title, is not about "Joker & The Thief" by Wolfmother. I sort of wish it were, though. That song rocks.

Today I saw Cloverfield. I have some brief thoughts on the movie, but they involve certain plot elements that you may not want to read about before you've seen it for yourself. So I've set my thoughts in black below. If you want to read them, just highlight the text, starting here: This was a bleak film. As promised in the trailer, the Statue of Liberty is spectacularly beheaded, and lots of very big things fall or explode, like helicopters, buildings, and a monster. Sounds like a standard action thriller, right? Wrong -- this film was depressing as all get-up. After it was over, I left the theater and walked around lower Manhattan, reliving images from the film in my head, not because I wanted to but because it was unavoidable. I know the film wasn't real, but for almost ninety minutes, I had subjected myself to the inner reality of the film. There was something horrible about watching New York City get trashed -- it was like watching my hometown get trashed. At least in I Am Legend, we don't see the city deteriorate -- we merely see the aftermath. In Cloverfield, there is no aftermath.

Living in two states

I've lived in New Jersey longer than I have in New York, so it's not surprising that most of my friends still live across the river from me. It's a strange set-up. I live and work in New York, but on weekends, more often than not I'll be in New Jersey (church is also in Jersey). We spent this morning (Saturday) at home, but we'll be taking the train in this afternoon to hang out with friends, Susie and Dusty.

Many have said in passing that "New York has really changed" me. It must be true to some degree. Here are three things I am doing now that I wasn't doing when I lived in the Garden State:

• Listening to New York bands. One of my favorite new bands is The National, based in Brooklyn. Battles, about whom I've written before, is based in New York. Hem is from Manhattan. Still, not all New York-area bands are worth my time. I still can't listen to Interpol, and The Bravery is one annoying band.
• Shopping for clothing at Bloomingdales. This one needs some explaining. For most of my life, I had a $30 limit on single clothing items. I never bought a pair of jeans that cost more than $30, nor a shirt, nor a winter coat. But at Bloomingdales, you'd be hard-pressed to find an umbrella for less than $30. I'm not saying that there aren't good clothing deals in Manhattan, but I have begun to see the value in buying quality threads that fit me properly (you can partially blame my fashion-industry wife for this awakening). There is also the fact that I work at a Manhattan ad agency to consider. But I'm also a notoriously picky shopper -- even my wife, who buys millions of dollars of clothing for a living, loses patience with me on occasion. This means that even though my jeans budget has gone up, the number of pairs I buy has gone down.
• Being environmentally conscious. It's not that I wasn't before. I was buying compact fluorescent lamps and turning down my thermostat even before moving. But city living has taken that to the next level. Here, there are restaurants for locavores, and just by moving to the city, you are reducing your carbon footprint. The truth is, it's easier to be earth-friendly in New York. So why not be?

An evening with Michel Gondry

Tonight, I saw Michel Gondry speak at the Apple Store in SoHo. I only found out about his free presentation a couple of hours before the event, and I couldn't leave work early enough to grab a seat in the front. So I ended up standing in the back among four hundred other people, who, judging by the number of men with impressive growths of facial hair, were mostly film geeks and would-be filmmakers.

I'm not exactly a huge fan of Gondry, but I've enjoyed the music videos he's done for Björk, and his 2004 film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind was pretty good. I can't wait to see his next film, however. It's called Be Kind Rewind, starring Jack Black and Mos Def. Watch the trailer here.

To understand why Be Kind Rewind is on my must-watch list, I have to tell you about School of Rock, another Jack Black vehicle. I relate to virtually everything in School of Rock. Wanting to be in a band? Check. Teaching kids how to be a band? Check. Playing at the local Battle of the Bands? Check. Being housemates with Sarah Silverman? Let me think about that one. Actually, the thing I relate to the most is the real-world musical education part. And that's because even though both my parents were educators, I never took a day of guitar lessons in my life. It's not about which fingers go on which frets. It's all about joy and attitude.

But when I was growing up, I was also a film geek. How geeky? I built a full-scale Jabba the Hutt puppet in the living room with my brother (complete with moveable tail). I made papier mâché zombie heads with light bulbs for eyes after watching Night of the Living Dead. I could recite every line from Flash Gordon. I pilfered my dad's Bruce Lee posters. I made a cassette tape of the Conan the Barbarian orchestral score. My heroes were Frank Oz, Stan Winston and Rick Baker. I built a wire-frame T-Rex head when Jurassic Park came out. And, in what I submit as the ultimate proof of my geekiness, I'd watched Arnold Schwarzenegger's first motion picture Hercules in New York at least ten times before my sixteenth birthday. (That's probably just proof of my dismal standards.)

I'm no filmmaker, but I'm as enamored with the process of filmmaking as anyone. Which is why Be Kind Rewind, in which two video store clerks set out to film their own cobbled-together versions of classic movies after the real tapes get erased, holds such hilarious, romantic potential.

Back to Michel Gondry. He spoke for about 90 minutes about, among other things:

• The place of improvisation in filmmaking: "It's the job of the actors to be in the moment, and the job of the director to be around the moment."
• The importance of being flexible: "Sometimes the unscripted moments in filming are funnier than the things you planned for."
• Sequels: "This new movie is a reaction to the fact that sequels nowadays cost more to make than the original."
• Childhood creative outlets: "My parents really encouraged me."

Gondry also showed short clips from the new film, and also this Björk video he directed late last year ("Declare Independence"), a stunning piece of video art depicting a stunning bit of performance art inspired by a stunning song:

Short notes

I've been a little negligent with the blog over the last few days, though not for lack of things to write about. I'm not feeling particularly healthy -- when I get sick, it's usually a combination of exhaustion, lack of sleep, irregular eating, and not keeping warm at night. Currently, my symptoms are very mild: a heaviness in my head, an itch in my throat, a barely discernible fever. It's been enough, however, to lower my spirits and put me off blogging temporarily. But here I am again.
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Last weekend, I ate at the Red Hook Ball Fields. According to the New York Times, "there is no better street-food scene in all of New York," a statement I am unfit to confirm since I don't eat a lot of street food. But it sure beats the San Gennaro festival. I'll post pictures and more about the food later.
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Sarah and I will be heading out to sunny Los Angeles, California, in a few days. The last vacation I took was 14 months ago, so I'm overdue. We'll be attending a wedding (at which Sarah is a bridesmaid and I will be playing guitar with the groom during the ceremony), after which I'll be staying another whole week while Sarah jets over to Milan, Italy, for work. It'll be a good opportunity for me to rest and relax, but an overwhelming urge to go on a food tour of the Los Angeles area has gripped me of late, so this perennially skinny boy may return to the east coast with some excess baggage, if you know what I mean.

I love L.A. One thing I'd like to do is blog about the differences between Los Angeles and New York, two iconic American cities on opposite coasts. Last summer, when drivers rolled their windows down and turned up their speakers on the streets of Manhattan, they played Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy," a fitting anthem for the neurotic New Yorker. In Los Angeles, drivers blasted... Coldplay. That's right, Coldplay -- the band whose songs "wallowed happily in their unhappiness," to quote Jon Pareles of the New York Times (he also called them "the most insufferable band of the decade.") That's how persistently nice the weather in the Golden State is: you have to play depressing music to offset the sunshine.
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At the end of this week, I'll be roughly one-sixth of the way through my final year as a New York resident. Highlights have been the free Battles gig at the Seaport Music Festival, attending the NYC premiere of Rocket Science, walking through Richard Serra's immense steel sculptures at MoMA, and our anniversary dinner at Babbo.

A band called Battles

Tonight, I went to see Battles perform at the South Street Seaport Music Festival. The night was fun for several reasons, but the two biggest are (1) the concert was free, and (2) Battles is the greatest live band I have ever seen.

Okay, the second reason is hyperbolic and possibly wrong. But consider: I have not been to a U2 show, and I have not been to a Lightning Bolt show. Lightning Bolt released my favorite album of 2005, Hypermagic Mountain, and their live show is the stuff of legend (one of my co-workers attended a Lightning Bolt show in Brooklyn and told me that the crowd was so brutalized by the music that they started tearing umbrellas apart). I've also never seen Radiohead live, nor the Rolling Stones, nor Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, nor Rush. So it's possible that I'm missing out on something better than what I saw tonight. However, I have seen Mute Math. And I love Mute Math. I've spoken to Paul Meany, the lead singer of Mute Math, and Roy Mitchell-Cardenas, the bassist. Mute Math is one of my all-time favorite bands.

But here is the truth: Battles is better than Mute Math. Battles is what Mute Math will be in fifteen years.

Anyway, about the concert: I got there really early. The stage was set up outdoors on Pier 17 at the seaport, between a giant schooner and a giant Pizzeria Uno, in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge. There were already people waiting in front of the stage. The crowd was made up of really skinny boys and the not-so-skinny girls who love them. All the girls had blond highlights in their hair. Even the blond girls had blond highlights. One guy sitting at the front was reading Schindler's List and chainsmoking Kool XLs.

I sat and waited along with everyone else. A young man wandered over and asked me who was playing tonight, and when I said, "Deerhunter. And Battles," he looked at me like I'd just spoken Swahili. I'll bet he was expecting me to say, "Radiohead."

The opening band, Deerhunter, came on at 7:25 PM, almost an hour after I'd gotten there. The lead singer was the skinniest guy I've ever seen. This is not hyperbole at all. Every time he stepped on his stompboxes, I thought he would break a hip. But he didn't. The rest of the band wasn't nearly as interesting, but the bassist would do a stately bow to the audience at the end of each song, which was kind of funny and helpful at the same time because if he hadn't bowed, I wouldn't have known the song was over. Deerhunter made very competent noise-rock music with some ethereal banshee vocals, but they're young and have a while to go before I'd consider buying one of their albums.

Deerhunter played a forty-minute set. The guy reading Schindler's List moved on to Jodi Picoult's The Pact, but he never got up from the ground and barely looked up from his book during the entire set. This was awkward because he was sitting right at the front, and right at my feet. I figured he was just waiting for the main act.

Battles finally came on at about 8:30. The bassist came up first, noodling around with his instrument all by himself, making the signal loop and feed back into itself. Then, one at a time, the rest of the band got up on stage. Complete sonic mayhem ensued. Unless you've heard a noise-rock band, or a really loud math-rock band, I have no adequate method of describing what Battles songs sound like. I suppose you could listen to the samples on their Myspace site, but samples can't properly convey the layered noise that proceeded from the speakers tonight. I tried to put myself in the position of someone who'd only ever listened to, say, the Beach Boys. These are the questions I'd ask: Are their instruments in tune? Are they even playing instruments? Are all their amplifiers broken? Why does the drummer have to play his drums using the butt-end of his sticks? Doesn't he know that it will make his drums sounds too loud? And why do the other guys insist on playing multiple instruments at the same time? Why are they pulling cables and wires in and out of their keyboards and computers and signal processors in the middle of a song? Why all the fiddling with knobs? What? Why can't I hear you?

This reminds me of the general inability of Americans to accurately describe the smell and taste of durians.

That's the unfortunate thing. I had a blast at the Battles show, but I can't explain it to you. You'll just have to go to their Myspace site, listen to the track called "Atlas" and imagine the band performing the song live, exactly the way it sounds on the recording. And if you can imagine finding joy in seeing and listening to that live performance, in understanding how those bizarro noises are generated on stage, and in headbanging to the ruthlessly consistent drum beat along with three thousand other people, then you can imagine how it was tonight.

For those about to rock we salute you

A few days ago, I wrote a post entitled Are you experienced? in which I listed several things I have yet to do in New York that I consider part of the "New York City experience." I left out two things that I never got to do and never will: (1) Go to the top of the World Trade Center, and (2) See a punk band perform at CBGB.
Today, Hilly Kristal, the founder of New York's iconic punk rock club CBGB, died of lung cancer complications (read about it here). I didn't know Kristal personally, of course, but I used to read his recollections as they appeared on the official CBGB website. And I used to wonder why I hadn't yet found the time or opportunity to catch a show there, especially since CBGB is not more than several hundred yards away from my apartment. Did I feel too un-cool to attend a show in one of the most revered performance spaces in rock history? Was I intimidated by the lo-fi, derelict aesthetic of the place? I once spoke to Matt Thiessen, lead singer of one of my favorite bands, Relient K, over the phone (I was interviewing him for Relevant Magazine). When he heard I lived in New York, he said that he wanted to go back to New York and play a show, possibly at CBGB. Would I have gone if one of my favorite bands was playing the venue?

I'll never know the answer for sure -- Relient K never played CBGB, and never will, because the club closed last year (read more here). So I never got to enter the space where legends like the Ramones, Blondie, Television and Talking Heads made not just music, but history. I'm no punk, except in my wildest, most implausible dreams, and I can't even consider myself a real punk music fan (I don't even really like the Clash). But I've been musically influenced by so many bands who have played CBGB, including Social Distortion, Green Day and many others. Punk rock informs even the music I play in church, which may sound antithetical, but really isn't, if you think about it a certain way.

So tonight, in honor of Hilly Kristal, and in memory of the greatest rock venue I never went to, I'm wearing my CBGB t-shirt to bed. Good night.

Short notes

Old St. Patrick's Cathedral, the first Catholic cathedral built in New York, is right across and down the street from our apartment. I was on my way to work this morning and I saw a man in a black hat walking into the cathedral, looking a tad tired and downtrodden for 9:00 AM. He was wearing a black sweater with "Larry Flynt's Hustler Club" on the back. I wanted to ask him many, many questions, but that would have been rude. I left him alone.
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Tonight, I made dinner for my brother-in-law, Aaron, and a family friend, Al. I couldn't decide what to make, but Sarah suggested I make fish, so I looked online and came upon this stellar recipe for grilled tuna steaks. If you decide to make it, I highly recommend making a cold cucumber and carrot salad to go with it (just julienne some fresh cucumber and carrots into very, very fine strips and place in a pile on top of the fish after grilling).
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I'm going to see Battles, a math-rock band, at the Seaport Music Festival next week. I'll blog about the experience and perhaps take some pictures.