Things I Like Vol. 41

Ok, so it's a New Year and I promised to keep this here thing up, so here goes.


Ten People/Places/Things That Rock My World:

1) Vodka tonics. I have recently rediscovered the joys of Absolut over ice. Yay.

2) Panera, all locations - I know, it's a franchise. But damn, that sourdough bread is addictive like crack.

3) Speaking of crack - Clancy's, Neptune NJ - the potato soup is, well, you guessed it...

4) Scene of the Crime - Bettye Lavette. Yeah, right on, sis. Being an older chick fucking rules! Don't even try to tell me I'm irrelevant cos I don't dig Hannah Montana--this is music by and for adults, baby!

5) Just A Little Lovin' - Shelby Lynne. All of the above, plus it's all (or mostly all) Dusty Springfield music. Righteous.

6) The Twisted Tree, Asbury Park NJ - Acoustic Maybe Pete, candlelight, health food and BYO wine. Plus it's stumbling distance from my front door.

7) The New York fucking Dolls. Better than most bands even on a bad night (sorry to disagree with you, JM). Coming soon to the legendary Stone Pony for a return engagement. Gotta love Syl's gold Les Paul!

8) Hillary. Ok, so I'm not a huge fan. I thought she and the hubby kinda sold out. But I'll admit it, the crying bit got me.
Can anyone say America's Family Reunion (on the Mall) Volume 2? (If you don't know what that is, use the Google, dummy!)

9) "Lowlife (Livin' the Highlife)" - Kid Rock. Ok, so he didn't get the joke. It's still a great song, and the money goes to one of my oldest, dearest friends. What's the downside?

10) Peter Criss lives in Wall NJ. No no no...in WALL NJ! I know a couple people who might be up for some stalkin'...

Hero of the Week: John Edwards. Everyone's counted him out, and yeah, he probably is out. But he's not going without a fight. Not bad for someone who continues to accept no corporate donations.

Villain of the Week: Roger Clemens. I'm sorry, but you're a lying sack of sh*t. You have been blessed with one of the best arms in the history of the game, and you go and blow your reputation for the sake of a couple of extra years. Say it ain't so.

Another Year

Listen to me watch me
I will hold you in my thrall and
You too will be stars

In the light the moths flit to and fro
Vacant eyes
Different dresses same pain
Dissipated dance
Vodka and hesitance will you won’t you
One night full of empty
Desperation but

The hole will not be filled until you dig deeper.

The Malin in Crawdaddy

Just in case you might have missed it (hey, I was in non-self-promoting mode back in July), here's my Crawdaddy piece on my favorite drinking buddy (that is, when the McGraths are not available).

Jesse Malin Comes Full Circle


Thank you and good night.

"God helps those who hype themselves..."
(hey, Dave Marsh said it...)

Kyle Krone

Is fucking badass. If you don't know who he is, well that's your problem. Merry Christmas!

Things I Like 2007

Yeah, I haven't done one of these things in a long time. I know, they're supposed to be weekly. Welp, what with school work and shows and um, a little too much overindulging, I have been seriously crunched for time this past year. That will change in January, when I promise to get back to the job of annoying y'all with my opinionated self on a more regular basis. In the meantime, go see/hear/read/check out the following. (You can thank me later.)

No Country For Old Men - dir. by Joel & Ethan Coen. The best film I have seen in years, and the Coens at their creative peak.

Everyman - Philip Roth. Yeah, it's not his latest, but novels don't get much better than this. And it's got a couple Jersey Shore references too. Give the man his Nobel already.

The Other Side of the Mirror: Live at Newport Folk Festival 1963-1965 - dir. by Murray Lerner. Further proof of Dylan's genius. As if we needed any.

The Live Stuff:
The Hold Steady at The Stone Pony, Asbury Park NJ - 1/19/07
Jesse Malin at The Mercury Lounge, New York NY - 4/21/07
Southside Johnny & the Asbury Jukes at The Stone Pony, Asbury Park NJ -7/3/07
The New York Dolls at The Stone Pony, Asbury Park NJ - 7/20/07
Two Cow Garage at The Saint, Asbury Park NJ - 7/23/07
Ryan Shaw at The Highline Ballroom, New York NY - 7/31/07
Marah at Johnny Brenda's, Philadelphia PA - 9/7/07
Marah at Union Music Hall, Brooklyn NY - 9/13/07
Hudson Falcons at The Stone Pony - 11/30/07
Maybe Pete - anytime, anywhere
I'm sure there were more, but that's what I can think of for now. Damn, July sure was a great month for live music.

Petal Pusher - Laurie Lindeen. Yeah, it's not perfect, but it's well-written and engaging, and it makes you want to start a band despite it all. Can't ask for much more from a musician-type memoir.

She's About to Cross My Mind - The Red Button. Power pop at its finest.

Federico's Pizza, Belmar NJ - Try the white pizza with garlic and tomato. So what if they don't have a liquor license.

Back to Black - Amy Winehouse. Totally badass.

Fins, Bradley Beach NJ - Tortilla soup. 'Nuff said.

The Beach Cinema, Bradley Beach NJ - Movies and organ music for under 5 bucks.

Tearing Down the Wall of Sound: The Rise and Fall of Phil Spector - Mick Brown. Well-researched and incisive, not just about Phil, but about the Brill Building era as a whole. Not to be missed if you're a music fan.

Eastern Promises - dir. by David Cronenberg. Viggo Mortensen's performance is nothing short of astonishing.

Fontana's, Chinatown, NYC. Cool not-so-new hangout for what's left of the NY punk scene. Also the Lit Lounge on 2nd Ave. And Midway on Ave. B, Lakeside Lounge on Ave. B and Manitoba's, on um, Ave. B.

Little Steven's Underground Garage -- The website, the radio show, the live shows, the merch, and now a record label. Further proof (as if we needed any) that Little Steven is the living embodiment of rock'n'roll as it was meant to be, as well as just badass in general.

The Sopranos, the finale.

Coney Island, Brooklyn NY - long may it live. The Mermaid Parade, The Cyclone, The Wonder Wheel, and Ruby's Bar to take the edge off. It's Disneyland for adults.

Booeymonger's, Washington DC. How can you not love a place that still has a sandwich named after Patty Hearst?

Asbury Lanes, Asbury Park NJ - How could a venue this cool be in danger of extinction? (Answer: Asbury Partners.)

The Twisted Tree, Asbury Park NJ. The heart of the acoustic music scene in Asbury Park, and the only cool place left on Cookman Avenue. Go before they f**k that up, too.

The Jefferson Market Branch, New York Public Library - One of the few real landmarks left in Greenwich Village. It's got a clock tower that rings on the hour, and it's in at least one Woody Allen movie. Plus it just looks cool.

Electric Lady Studios, New York NY. Thanks JM, for giving me one of the coolest days of my life.

Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee - dir. by Yves Simoneau for HBO films. Required viewing for every American.

Rick Shapiro at the Sidewalk Cafe, New York NY - Comedy that jolts you awake.

The French Roast, 6th Ave., New York NY - Candlelight, great food and more coffee drinks with alcohol than I even knew existed. And you never know who will be at the next table. The epitome of Greenwich Village cool.

There are more CDs and films and stuff that kick ass, but I can't think of them now, so check back for updates.

Oh, and thanks to all my friends for being there when I needed you, and for putting up with me all year long (you know who you are). You guys rule.

That is all. Happy Holidays and shit.

Angels on a Passing Train

Just posting a link to my piece on Marah for Crawdaddy online. Enjoy. Or not.

Marah: Angels on a Passing Train

Peace.

Vote.

Impeach.

Dice Behind Your Shades

Some of this is true, some of it only marginally so. Figure it out for yourself.

I am a cancer survivor.
I drink too much.
I love cheese and salt and garlic on just about everything.

I can check the oil and drive stick but can't change a tire.
I hate washing my hair but love long hot showers.
Ryan Adams is a genius and so is Paul Westerberg. Neither one of them will talk to me, though.

I stay up way too late and drive when I probably shouldn't.
I am loud and opinionated and uptight.
Most of my friends are men but they don't understand me any better than I do myself.

I am lonely and bitter and confused, and I don't like myself very much.
I have a pretty good sense of humor despite all outward appearances, and I make a mean grilled cheese sandwich.

I used to play the piano but I don't anymore. I wasn't that good at it anyway.
I can sing a little bit but no one ever asks me to anymore.
My favorite color is blue, and I can quote extensively from just about any Barry Levinson movie.

I don't get kissed nearly enough and listen to way too much Hank Williams for my own good.
I like tequila and whiskey and Mexican beer, and can probably drink you under the table if you'll give me a chance. (Alcohol tolerance courtesy many late nights with Mr. Jesse Malin.)

I used to think Hemingway was overrated but lately I think he's pretty amazing. (Though I do think drinking oneself to death like Fitzgerald is an infinitely superior method of suicide than a gun to the head.)

Jon Bon Jovi has a great ass and is a pretty good guy, too. (Hey, we can't all be Townes Van Zandt…)
I think sex is great but there's not nearly enough to go around.
Ipods and iPhones and video games and Blackberries can all go to hell—the best form of portable entertainment is still a good book.

I spend way too much money going out to eat and can't live on a budget to save my life.
I love rollercoasters and bumper cars and hot dogs.
NASCAR confuses me.

We would all be better off if everyone turned off all their gadgets for one hour a day and took a long walk. But that being said, I love my laptop.
I secretly dream of being carried off by a hot young musician. Ok, it's not such a secret.

Happiness is where you find it. So is sadness...

Livin' in the Future

Bill Flanagan wrote something in his review of Bruce Springsteen's new release Magic that really resonated with me. While I disagree with his overall review, I really liked what he said about Bruce himself:

"[He is] more defiant and less sure that the comforts of old friends and shared experience is a real defense against the world's darkness."

After the events of the last few years--election debacles, Katrina, and countless other disappointments that have made me lose faith in just about everything, that's pretty much how I feel, too. I guess I've always had an affinity for Bruce outside his music because I seem to see the world the same way as he does, and like me, he has gotten more bitter, cynical and disgusted as he's aged. Not much to be done about this I suppose except continue to do what you do and hope someone's listening. But it's gotta be frustrating to be producing some of the best work of your career with material like the Seeger Sessions and know that most people just wanna hear "Badlands" for the 95th time.

For what it's worth, Bruce, though I have some issues with your new record, I'm still with you because, like me, you live with the darkness every day and still manage to come out on the other side. Thanks for everything.

What is a Friend?

I have been thinking a lot this past week about what being a friend really means. I looked up the definition and found this:

n.
1. A person whom one knows, likes, and trusts.
2. A person whom one knows; an acquaintance.
3. A person with whom one is allied in a struggle or cause; a comrade.
4. One who supports, sympathizes with, or patronizes a group, cause, or movement: friends of the clean air movement.

After the events of this past week, I don't like or trust a bunch of people I thought were my friends. Goodbye and good riddance. Guess I needed the wakeup call. I suppose I ought to think of it as a blessing in disguise, but I can't help feeling sad and hurt and confused just the same.

I guess I just want to believe that people are basically good until proven otherwise. Sadly (and ironically) it takes Bruce Springsteen--a performer known for his generosity and humanitarianism--to really bring out the absolute worst in people. It's been real easy to feel sorry for myself this week, but I'm not going to do it, not while there are kids lying in hospital beds missing legs, arms, sight or hearing, kids who have become vegetables before they were even old enough to take a drink legally. So no, I won't feel too bad about things. I'll just work really hard at remembering what true friendship and sacrifice are, and at not taking anything I have for granted. That's what Bruce's message has always been--living each day to the fullest, being in the moment, treating each other with courtesy and respect. After all, even if I didn't get into any of the three rehearsal shows this week, I still have ears to hear them with. And even if several of my so-called friends were nowhere to be found, I know that I am still a good person. I will not sell myself out for the companionship of people who only think of themselves.

If it takes being a liar, a conniver or a cheat to get in to see Bruce Springsteen, I guess I'm not going to be attending too many shows on this upcoming tour. Which is good, because other people need my money and support more than he does.

"Step into the light."
--Marah

In Memory of Diana

It has been ten years since the tragic death of Diana Frances Spencer, former Princess of Wales. Yes, it was a tragedy. Look up the definition and try to tell me otherwise.

Diana never thought she was special; she never thought she was important. She was told she was dimwitted, shallow and common by her own family—those who should have given her nothing but unconditional love. But happily, she had the support of several key people who made her believe in herself, and you could see the transformation happening before your eyes. All at once, she knew who she was, and the world was a better place for it.

Because she had come to believe that her calling was to help people. She discovered that she had an enormous heart, a deep compassion for others that came from her own sense of what it was like to not feel loved. She could be manipulative and melodramatic—she lived in a world not of her own choosing, a media hell that she sometimes responded to less than admirably. But she made a choice to put her power over the media to good use. She forced them into places they didn't want to go—AIDS hospitals, minefields, hospice facilities—and made people see what she knew and understood intuitively—that everyone—everyone--deserves love and respect.

So say what you want about her sometimes petulant nature, her narcissistic tendencies, her mood swings and manipulation. There were so many good things about her that far outweighed her flaws. She taught the world how to truly live, to be present and alive and in the moment. To look deeper and give more. She was so much more beautiful on the inside than she was on the surface, and no one can take that away from her.

Diana's death is still an open wound for many. It still hurts, not because of the "glamour," or because she was a princess. It hurts because she loved without judgment, because she reached out without fear. A previous generation looked up to Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy as a kind of heroine or role model. But Diana was from my generation. She was my age; we went through so many similar things in parallel lives, and I felt a deep kinship with her, a tremendous sympathy and understanding that are difficult to explain even now. I never met her, but she was my hero for so many reasons, and I still miss her every single day.

So R.I.P. Miss Di. Maybe we'll meet someday.

Things I Like Vol. 40

Ten People/Places/Things That Rock My World:

1) Made in the Shade - The Rolling Stones. Yeah, I know it's a cheesy collection and not a proper album, but the song selection is pretty badass.

2) The Washington Nationals. Say what you want, but we Washingtonians had baseball taken away from us and then waited 30 years to get it back. You think you're a baseball fan? Try not having a hometown team to root for, pal...

3) Backbeat - dir. by Iain Softley. Damn, I love The Beatles.

4) Status Green - the best new band on the Jersey Shore, and a bunch of great guys too.

5) Federico's Pizza, Belmar NJ. Best pie on The Shore.

6) Da Vinci chianti. Wine doesn't have to be expensive to be good.

7) Oh Brother Where Art Thou? - dir. by Joel and Ethan Coen. Brilliant and subversive and cool.

8) The Terror - Dan Simmons. How have I never read this guy before?

9) Two Cow Garage. The best band you've never heard of. Like Westerberg and Black Flag rolled into one, Ohio-style.

10) Lakewood Blue Claws. Baseball, single A style. Who needs Shea when you've got it in your backyard?

Hero of the Week: Terry Magovern - R.I.P, brother. Also that guy who jumped in and rescued the school kids from the bus in Minneapolis.

Villain of the Week: Barry Bonds, Bud Selig, Michael Vick, and all the other morons ruining professional sports. Oh, and that guy being a d*ck about A-Rod's home run ball. And I don't even like the Yankees...

I Got Soul

You may not have noticed it but—be very quiet—there’s a soul revolution goin’ on. It’s not making headlines—yet. Yeah, I know, there’s Amy Winehouse and—eek—Joss Stone. But that’s not it; they’re not there yet.

No, I’m talking about SOUL. The kind that makes you wanna get up and shout, the kind that lifts you up, that hits you in your stomach and your throat and your hips, the kind that that sends shivers down your spine and makes your feet move and your butt shake and your spirit soar. SOUL. It’s hard to define, but you know it when you experience it.

There are lots of cheap imitations out there, lots of wannabe Dreamgirls. But soul isn’t something you can manufacture—you either have it or you don’t. Otis Redding. Sam & Dave. Wilson Pickett. Aretha Franklin. Ryan Shaw.

Who?

No kidding, folks, this kid Ryan Shaw is the greatest raw talent I have ever seen. I’m not talking about polished professionalism; I’m talking about untapped ability, limitless possibility, star quality. This kid from Decatur, Georgia is the real deal. He came to New York to appear in a gospel musical a couple years ago and did some gigs on the side, including a regular slot at the Motown Café. He eventually settled in Brooklyn, and was soon recruited into Johnny Gale’s Fabulous Soul Shakers. The rest, they say, is history. His debut disc came out earlier this year and has received excellent reviews, and he just completed a major tour opening for the aforementioned Ms. Stone. But that’s not the whole story.

This kid is on his way somewhere, and he’s moving fast. Shaw made his debut headlining appearance at the Highline Ballroom in Manhattan this past Monday, and more than lived up to the hype. Now, the Highline is not my idea of a warm friendly room. This place has the B.B. King’s money grab gouge going on from the minute you walk in the door. We’re talking they serve ice cream on a plate with garnishes, people. So it took some doing for Mr. Shaw to warm the place up, especially because the folks running the show made us wait close to an hour after a tepid opening set on acoustic guitar by Atlanta singer/songwriter Anthony David.

But this kid has balls. He walks onstage and opens the show with “A Change is Gonna Come.” It probably wasn’t the right Sam Cooke song—“Let the Good Times Roll” might’ve been a better choice—but you have to give the kid props for trying. He had me. And then he proceeded to knock the show out of the park. Shaw has style and power and charisma. He doesn’t just hit the notes; he feels them way down deep. He’s a gospel singer, and he sings the only way he knows how—with his soul.

The set was brief because he doesn’t have much material yet. The record, comprised of soul almost-weres and near misses like Bobby Womack’s “Lookin’ For a Love,” sounds like the great lost Stax record that’s missing from your collection. His originals sound like classics, and it’s hard to tell them apart. Interspersed with songs from This is Ryan Shaw (even the title is retro!) were several jaw dropping covers, including a gospelized “Let it Be” and, of all things, a sing-along to the folk standard “If I Had a Hammer.” Introducing it as a song he used to sing with his mom, Shaw performed it as a rousing testament to the power of love to change minds. And before you could pick yourself up off the floor from that, he was on to the dance portion of the program, “Mish Mash Soul,” calling the audience down front to join him. Closing the set a few minutes later with a rousing “Do the 45,” (which kind of sounds like “Shotgun” with different lyrics), he had everyone up and dancing again (I defy anyone to sit still when this man is onstage). And then he was done. It was short, sweet and to the point. It was energizing and joyous and deeply satisfying in a way you can’t get from rock’n’roll (well, except when said rock’n’roller performs soul shaking gospel-influenced material--that his fans hate…but I digress.) Nope, I love rock’n’roll as much as the next guy, perhaps a lot more, but this music is different. Soul gives you hope. It makes you see life’s possibilities, gives you the strength to go out and face the world. It’s not “head” music, it’s “heart” music. It’s muscle and power and nerve. And it’s uniquely, profoundly American.

Whew. It was 90 minutes of pure unadulterated joy. And the best part is, like all great soul music, it’s sensual without being dirty, it’s spirited but not obscene. It’s life affirming. It makes you feel like dancing and shaking your groove thing, like moving your hips and shouting to the rafters, “I am alive!” This kid Ryan Shaw has resurrected the true soul magic of yesteryear. He’s all about love and hope and positivity, a one-man self-help seminar—and it's all genuine. Midway through the show, he introduces one of his songs by prowling the lip of the stage proclaiming, “I want you to think about that heartbreak, that bad break, that bad job and scream ‘It’s OVER AND DONE!’” This would be cheesy in lesser hands, but it’s clear he believes so strongly, his faith is so deep and pure, that you are carried along with him, and so you shout “Over and done!” right along with him. And just like that, your pain is washed away, your frustration is exorcised.

The show was not perfect; Shaw needs to work on smoothing out the set list, developing his onstage persona, and most importantly, learning and/or writing new material. But his natural talent, his ability to silence a room, is something that you can’t teach. You either have it or you don’t. So go see him now, before you have to pay $100 to sit in the back of Radio City or something. Cos this kid’s not stickin’ around the $10 rooms for long…

Frustration and Heartache

Last night the New York Dolls saved my life.

I know that sounds melodramatic but let me explain. It’s been a bad week. No. I take that back. It’s been a bad couple of months. A fender-bender I can’t pay for. Job interviews that didn’t pan out. Too many bills, too much debt. Family drama and more family drama. Each item not enough to be more than a petty annoyance individually, but taken together, along with my usual low self-esteem and tendency toward depression, enough to send me on a downward spiral. Usually when I hit these black moods, I look forward to a good rock’n’roll show because it is often the only thing that lifts me out of it. Takes me out of myself. Awash in the music, I know I am not alone.

On top of the aforementioned issues, I had been looking forward to a couple weekend getaway shows to see a friend of mine play whom I have not seen a lot this whole summer. He’s been away on tour, and being around him always makes me fell better about myself, so I had really been anticipating these shows as a chance to get away from the routine, to get my mind off some stuff and just enjoy. So it was with great disappointment that I learned in the last couple days of the cancellation of four upcoming shows that I had planned to attend.

Suffice to say I was low—really low—and being surrounded by Harry Potter-mania all week didn’t help. So it was that, feeling miserable and alone (all my friends had bailed on me) I lined up by myself at 6:30 outside the venerable Stone Pony for a night with the New York Dolls.

These guys are professionals. Entertainment is their life as well as their profession, and they take it very seriously. You know when David Jo and the boyz take the stage it’s going to be a night to remember. The Dolls are the band everyone stole from: oft imitated but never duplicated, as the saying goes. They have every reason to be bitter –and after the loss of four band members (3 of them founding members), every reason not to ever set foot on a stage again. But they are showmen at heart, and they can’t help themselves. So when Morrissey called David J up 3 years ago and requested a reunion performance, it wasn’t really too hard to say yes, and the result was one of the most talked about events of the decade. I myself had never seen the Dolls in their previous incarnation—I was too young and certainly not knowledgeable enough—so it was all very new to me. New and yet instantly familiar. Attending their first NYC show after the reunion with a friend who is a hardcore Dolls fan, I was enraptured and in awe. These guys live and breathe rock’n’roll—ooze it from every pore. They have grit and style and class. Musicianship and showmanship and skill. Raunch and debauchery and lust and lasciviousness. But most of all, they know how to Bring The Rock. They are the masters of their domain, kings of rock’n’roll the old fashioned way, and they know it. They start each show with “Lookin' for a Kiss,” [“When I say I’m in love, you best believe I’m LOVE, L-U-V!!”] their Shangri Las homage, and from that point on, they have the audience eating out of their hands.

A word or two about the audience. It is, in my estimation, the epitome of what a rock’n’roll audience should be. It is, in a word, democratic. Old and young, gay and straight, punk rockers and office workers, urban and suburban, male and female. It’s a place where no matter who you are you always belong. And that’s truly what rock’n’roll is all about. Going to a Dolls show and being a part of the audience is that gentle pat on the shoulder, that warm embracing hug, that voice in your head that tells you it’s all going to be all right. That most rock’n’roll audiences are not like this speaks volumes about the shoddy state of the music at present.

Back to last night’s show. So it took longer than it usually does for me to break out of my funk. I was tired and cranky and didn’t feel much like dealing with people. The opening band bordered on Spinal Tap parody, while the second band was good but went on too long. As it was, I stood there for 3 hours until the Dolls finally took the stage around 10:30. It took a while but it happened. The moment of breakthrough came at the end of the night on the penultimate song, “Personality Crisis.” Long a Dolls signature song, it sums up best what the band is really about: sex, love, rock’n’roll, and fucking triumph, man. I had been smiling all night as I always do when the music overtakes me, but still felt a lingering funk that it seemed nothing could cure.

And then suddenly … “Frustration and heartache is what you GOT!!” belted David Jo.

And it hit me. YES! YES! YES! That’s it, that’s what I feel, and those guys get it. They understand! It hit me, and suddenly tears were running down my cheeks. Here these guys were—a bunch of misfits, a band that had never truly been understood by the rock’n’roll world—a world that had saved their lives—much less the world at large. They had suffered the same frustration and heartache and had SURVIVED. Goddammit, despite the tragedy and illness and despair and death, they were still here. They were on stage smiling smiles that lit the room, exchanging knowing glances and playful banter and enjoying every minute of their time up there like it was their last. It seemed that after all they had been through, they were just happy to still be here on this earth playing rock’n’roll, David looking at Syl and Syl winking back at David and Steve and Sami smiling and wailing away on their instruments like madmen, Brian Delaney pounding the drums behind them. These guys have been through so much—endured so much of their own frustration and heartache—and goddammit, they’re still here. They know in their bones that they still have the power to save lives, and that is a fundamental part of what drives them every single night.

So on this night, though nothing in my life had really changed, I regained some of my faith in the world when I needed it most. I felt, finally, that I could go on. Because (with help from David and Syl and Co.), I saw that no matter how the world treats me, how many bad breaks, how many disappointments and cruel twists of fate I am forced to endure, the Dolls will be there. They’ll be there, and they’ll understand because they get it, because they know. Standing there with tears in my eyes, I realized at last that as long as the New York Dolls are alive and well and playing shows, there will always be a place where I am accepted for who I am, a place where I will be welcomed into the fold with open arms.

Because it’s the Dolls, and in their world, everyone belongs.

John Doe

John Doe is my husband. Shhh, don't tell Mr. Westerberg...

Oh, and that Dave Alvin wrote some pretty amazing songs. What a great f'ing band. Screw those pesky bands from "over there."

The Seventies Ruled

Yeah, I know they did. Here's a few of the reasons why:

1) Television.
Laugh-In. Saturday Night Live. M*A*S*H. The Odd Couple. All in the Family. Sonny & Cher. Dick Cavett. Merv Griffin. The Mary Tyler Moore Show. And that's just for starters.


2) Movies.
Too many to list, but a few of the best would include: One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, the Godfather films, Taxi Driver, Mean Streets, The French Connection, Deliverance, Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore, Doctor Zhivago, Rocky.

3) Music.
Top 40 Radio. Album Rock. Progressive Radio.
The Stones, The Who, Earth Wind & Fire, TSOP, Springsteen, Parliament, Sweet, Jackson Browne, The Clash, The Ramones and on and on...


From the depths of the cultural wasteland of 2007, we can only wonder if our American culture will ever reach those heights again.

PS-The '70s ruled even in high school. Check out Richard Linklater's classic film Dazed and Confused if you don't believe me.

Things I Like Vol. 39

Ten People/Places/Things That Rock My World:


1) Tequila. Margaritas that give you that buzz, shots that freeze your face.

2) F.D.R. - Now more than ever. This country would be fortunate to elect a president with half of his talent, energy, intellect and integrity in 2008. If you don't believe me, read the excellent new biography by Jean Edward Smith.

3) White Stripes - "You Don't Know What Love Is (You Just Do What You're Told)." This song would rule for the title alone, but it rules even more because it rocks so hard.

4) Starland Ballroom, Sayreville NJ. Great sight lines, excellent sound system, plenty of room, enough bars to handle even a packed house, and -- wonder of all wonders -- air conditioning that actually works!

5) Booeymonger's, Washington DC - Ruling the sandwich world in DC since 1975. How can you go wrong with a sandwich named after Patty Hearst?

6) Cary Grant. Do I need a reason?

7) "Get Smart" - No, not the dumbass movie remake, the original and brilliant TV show created by the most excellent mind of Mel Brooks. [Man was TV great in the '70s. Man does it suck now.]

8) Coney Island. How can you not love an amusement park where you can get wasted and then get on America's greatest rollercoaster? See it now while you still can. And don't forget to ride the Cyclone.

9) Joe Strummer. Can't wait for Julien Temple's documentary.

10) Washington DC. My hometown, and possibly one of the most underrated and misunderstood cities in the world (for too many reasons to get into here). A great place to grow up and a great place to live. (Shh, don't tell...)

Hero of the Week: The McGraths--for understanding what real friendship is all about and living it every day. And for making some pretty cool music to boot.

Villain of the Week: Asbury Partners. For oh so many reasons.

Revolutionize This

Over the years, The Beatles' "Revolution" has been called naive, pessimistic and wrongheaded. But they never mention the most important thing: it ROCKS!

Exiled

My friends and I have been arguing Beatles vs. Stones forever, or so it seems. My friends are dyed-in-the-wool Stones fans. I, on the other hand, grew up on the perfect pop of the Beatles. I was only 6 or 7 when I fell in love with John Lennon's voice on "Tell Me Why." Then of course, there was Paul...Hey, when I was a kid, they were ubiquitous. On the radio. On television. In the movies. On your lunchbox. I didn't even know who the Stones were until several years after the Beatles broke up. (Yeah, ok, I was a little bit sheltered, but I did listen to Top 40 radio...)

Unfortunately, the 35th anniversary (can you believe it?) of what is arguably the best pure rock'n'roll album of all time, Exile on Main Street, is upon us, and with it, a steady stream of articles in the music press about what geniuses they were on this disc, etc. Well who can argue? I'm not even gonna try. If you want reasons, read Bill Janovitz's excellent addition to the 33-1/3 book series, aptly titled The Rolling Stones' Exile on Main Street (wow, how did they think of that title?). Anyway, much to my great disappointment, all these articles have done nothing whatsoever to bolster my case because not one music journalist has stood up for the Fabs as being equals, at least none that I have seen. What the?

Anyway, the debate has been revived amongst us for the umpteenth time because some ninny on the network of the OTHER New York baseball team hosted the great Little Steven on his show and one of the totally dumbass questions he asked him was (apropos of his Underground Garage empire), "Beatles or Stones?" What an idiot! You have one of the great rock'n'roll historians in for a Q&A and that's what you ask him? Unbelievable.

So we were discussing Steven's guest appearance on that network [shudders] prior to watching the final Sopranos episode, and the subject came up. It was, naturally, 3 against 1--not even close. (Where are all my Beatlefriends when I need them?) I got creamed with the "World's Greatest Rock'n'Roll Band" argument once again. Ouch. It was truly ugly. Of course, I thought of all my snappy comebacks on the drive home. As a matter of fact, it wasn't until a week or so later that I finally had the proper ammunition with which to counterattack, and by then it was far too late. Figures.

Well, in my humble opinion, there shouldn't even be an "either/or" question when it comes to The Beatles and The Stones. They were both unbelievably great, and it's apples and oranges. But since most of the rock world insists on forcing the issue, I'll play along. So, without further ado, below are some of the arguments I've seen and heard on this issue. C'mon, which side are you on? Read and decide for yourself...

Beatles: They came, they saw, they rocked, they broke up.
Stones: Still around 30 years later. Um, why?
Beatles: 3 out and out geniuses in one band, and the 4th guy wasn't bad either
Stones: Mick & Keith.
Beatles: 4 solo careers, a couple of which have been pretty damn impressive in their own right. Two of them are in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame as solo artists, for god's sake.
Stones: Xpensive Winos aside, not even a question.
Beatles: They did it all first: met Dylan, smoked pot, went psychedelic, etc.
Stones: They're bad boyz playin' rock'n'roll. It's all about stealing from your influences. Who cares who did what first?
Beatles: They could go from raw and raucous to unabashedly sexual to poppy and sweet to joyfully alive to heartbreakingly sad all on one record -- and it was never forced.
Stones: Um, Exile on Main Street.
Beatles: They practically invented power pop, but who's counting.
Stones: They are a genre unto themselves.
Beatles: Perfect and polished on vinyl, raw and real live.
Stones: Sloppy and messy and unforgettable. The essence of rock'n'roll.

I would say it's a draw. But my Stones friends always insist that they win because the Stones play rock'n'roll--understand the American musical tradition--better than the Beatles ever could. To which I say, check out the following Beatles covers:

"Please Mr. Postman"
"You Really Got a Hold on Me"
"Anna (Go With Him)"
"Long Tall Sally"
"Roll Over, Beethoven"
and last but most definitely NOT least:
"Twist and Shout" - the definitive version of a definitive rock'n'roll song. Yes, it's rock'n'roll, not pop, because it comes from R&B roots. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, pal...

I rest my case.

Oh, and Paul's new record is pretty good for a 64 year old. Sigh.

Beatles vs. Stones? Who cares? It's all great! Just to show that I have no allegiances, I will state that though my new favorite record is by this L.A. duo called The Red Button who play note perfect Brit pop--and they're both huge Beatleheads to boot--shocking, I know (please do check out their new disc, She's About to Cross My Mind--totally rules, right?)--though I love love love this record, I do also love (on the more rockin' side) The Shys and their most excellent garage rock. And they're also from L.A. Wait'll I tell my Stones friends. Could be a new battle in the making. Stay tuned...

Things I Like Vol. 38

Ten People/Places/Things That Rock My World:

1) Live in Dublin - Bruce Springsteen with the Sessions Band. Fantastic performances of amazing material beautifully shot and reproduced. Why have we had to wait so long for something of this caliber from Our Boy?
2) Easy Tiger - Ryan Adams.
3) Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee - dir. by Yves Simoneau for HBO Films. Impossible to watch, impossible to look away. It will break your heart over and over again. And the book ain't bad either.
4) Waitress - dir. by Adrienne Shelly. Start fresh.
5) Petal Pusher - Laurie Lindeen. For those of us chicks who will never be in a band but wish we were. And there might be some stuff about Mr. Westerberg in there, too...
6) Adam & Dave's Bloodline - the band, the record, the live show, the guys.
7) Johnny Brenda's, Philadelphia, PA - cool new venue in a cool town
8) Exile on Main Street - the Stones, natch. Well, why not?
9) Johnny Pisano, the coolest guy I know and the nicest, too.
10) Sunday nights at the Headliner, Neptune, NJ - cold Coronas (with lime) for $2.50 and some pretty good Springsteen covers. Great way to bid adieu to the weekend.

Hero of the Week: Francis J. McGrath. For saving my life by playing rock'n'roll.
Villain of the Week: Lewis I. "Scooter" Libby. Go to jail. Go directly to jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.

Sunday Morning, 2 a.m.

Some people get it. They understand that because of rock’n’roll music, the world can be a better place. And so they consume it compulsively, listening to it on the radio, shouting along to it in their cars when they think no one can hear, discussing it endlessly with their friends late into the night, falling asleep with its healing magic echoing in their headphones. And if they’re lucky, some people even get to play this music, get to be part of its history and traditions themselves.

It’s a compulsion for these people, they don’t do it for the money or the fame, but because they don’t know what else to do. And so they learn to play the guitar or the drums or the piano, they write songs and form a band and rehearse till 4 a.m. in their parents' garage. They all have jobs and lives but they make time because they have to. And if they’re lucky they get booked to play shows and perform before a real live audience. Sometimes they even get paid for it.

Some bands are just passable; they borrow and steal from those who have gone before them and get away with it because mostly people are just there to drink and don’t really notice or care that much who’s up there on the stage. But there those that are good at this; they come up with their own sound, their own look and style and presence, and after a while people begin to notice. People come out to see them regularly, and they ask them if they have a record out. And they say no, not yet, and then they write some more songs and go into some cheap studio and do the best they can, and actually it’s not half bad at that.

And they’re not on a major label—they sell their CDs at the shows and on the Internet, and local papers that practically no one but other musicians and writers even reads give them good reviews, and they take heart from this and keep working hard and the bookings increase. And the same handfuls of people keep coming to see them. And they find out that not only are these people talented musicians, they are also warm and generous and funny. And they get to be friends.

And that is the best part of all, because these are the only people who really get you, who really understand your compulsion to be out every night listening to music, to get drunk and scream and shout along, to voraciously consume and then memorize everything you can find on your favorite artists, to purchase endless books and CDs until they spill over into every nook and cranny of your tiny apartment. They really get you, and you love their music and you can’t believe that they let you hang out with them, that they actually think of you as a friend. You can be yourself with them, you can say or do whatever you want and it doesn’t matter. And when you’re with them, you’re more alive somehow, every moment is electric. You feel you are at your best, that perhaps there really is a place for you in the world after all. You laugh until your stomach aches, you eat and smoke and drink and suddenly it’s 2 a.m. and the place is closing and how will you get through the week now without them? You wake up the next morning and wish you could have put it all in a bottle and taken it with you so you could open it up and enjoy some of it when life becomes too dull and painful and meaningless. You wish it would all last forever, but deep down you know that what makes these nights truly special is that they will, like everything else in life, eventually come to an end.

These people save your life again and again, and you do whatever you can to help them, but they are modest and self-effacing and really, you don't have that much power in this world; there is not much you can do but write the occasional essay and hope someone reads it, submit queries to magazines and pray the editors bite on them. Like them, you can learn to believe in yourself a little, to be persistent and hope it pays off. But in the end, all you can really do is say thank you.