Every stevedore fells a picture

Don't care about music because I'm past the 3-aughts and music is for those still with livers and nostril canals -- it makes me wish "Skunk" Baxter was still snorting coke off of Stevie Nicks and not toting for the Man, and that MacKaye wasn't still wearing that ridiculous stevedore hat -- talk to the Greek, muthafucker, and pretend you're tough then.

Dig the Crewdson to-do on Aperture's site. He's formulistic (sp?) and movie-centric and I'm pretty sure he never even clicks to the to-do button, but he's a something-or-whatever so attention must be paid -- in thousands per pic if you gots that itch to scratch.

Baby You Know That We Hate Fighting

Our "mystery" commenter complained about YM's overabundance of pigmentation (music-wise, that is. Biologically, we light up the Magician like giant, luminescent plankton). The above is an example of how maybe sometimes YouTube is magical. The Equals! Live! Four songs! Matching Ork uniforms!

Baby, you know that we hate fighting.
The Equals, Black-Skinned Blue-Eyed Boys

Carney in a Coal Mine

Magician John Carney:


Not Magician John Carney:
"In some part of my mind it is always brunch at Public in 2004."

R.I.P. Buddy Miles

Being from Seattle, and a Garfield High alum, I have a fetish for all things James Marshall Hendrix. So when I heard Buddy Miles had died it was only too obvious to post something from Band of Gypsys. Recorded on New Years Eve, 1969 at the Fillmore East, the album was released as part of a court settlement over a disputed contract Hendrix signed in 1965.

Hendrix' backing band had become a game of musical chairs after splitting up the Experience before Woodstock (with the then-ubiquitous Al Kooper even making an appearance in some sessions). Here, Hendrix' friend Billy Cox from the 82nd Airborne lays down the proto-funk bassline. It was Cox who brought on Miles, a veteran of Wilson Pickett's rhythm section.

It's a stirring contemporary critique of Vietnam-era militarism. Hendrix had already employed onomatopoeia for his Star Spangled Banner, and Miles' rapid fire fifths on the one and march cadences (and plaintive wails) toward the end of the song compliment the sounds of whistling bombs and shells from Hendrix' guitar. Those notes were themselves shaped by the Octavia, Univibe, Fuzz and Wa-Wa pedals developed by a former naval sound engineer Roger Mayer. The Miles-penned, straight-ahead "Changes" follows as the first track on the flip side.

Machine Gun by Band of Gypsys

The photo above includes the 20 watt, Williamson circuit tube amp I use as a monitor -- manufactured by the same Bell that brought you the Huey chopper. I'd recommend a 150 gram re-press to fellow collectors.

Arab-Israeli Conflict: Golf & Swimsuit Edition

Israelis adopt the "skin to win" strategy. More photos here.

In other news, Bucky Turco sends along a press release for Israel by the Sea, a $150 million ultra-luxury "Eco-Resort" (environmentally friendly and culturally sensitive, of course) to be built on historic Mt. Arbel, the Sea of Galilee's most prominent landmark, as Israel's premier resort property.

"I am committed to creating spaces of the earth, for the spirit, where nature works in harmony with the values of the royal and ancient game," said Robert Trent Jones, Jr. "It is a great honor to design a golf course on a historic mountain that has been ruled through time by Jewish Kings, the Roman Caesars and the Crusaders, in an area of Galilee where Jesus spent most of his life, and on green pastures where King David wrote his psalms. Where else can history and golf meet like this?"

Standard USGA definitions for hazards and bunkers will be slightly modified.

Sweet to the Core

The more I read about and listen to Betty Davis, the more I love the woman. Once married to Miles Davis, rumored to have slept with Jimi Hendrix, and collaborator with Sly Stone, Carlos Santana and Herbie Hancock. But let's not define the woman by the men in her life -- I'd rather think of them as a constellation of stars in her sexy-ass galaxy. Her style and her sound is all her own. Or at least it was until Macy Gray copped it.

But as a model-slash-musician with a deep kinky streak, Davis embodies the intersection of sweet and tough, smooth and rough that's Capital-F Funk's appeal. She doesn't have the vocal chops of James Brown protege Lyn Collins of "Think (About It)" fame, but she doesn't settle for euphemisms and brings the kind of sense for tension and release a dominatrix might bring to the job of tickling the listener before whipping them -- with her turquoise chain.

Don't Call Her No Tramp by Betty Davis (From They Say I'm Different)

I'm not the only fan here at YM -- 99 (Emeritus) shouted Davis out in his year-end music roundup. For the hardcore collector further research turns up a third album, Nasty Gal, and a fourth from 1979 but not released until 1995, Hangin' Out in Hollywood, along with a host of UK and US re-releases and assorted 45s.

I don't have to prove that I am creative

My thoughts: Holy shit, it's like Children of the Corn, except they killed all the black people and all the women ... I feel like I've scanned past the same photo 352 times ... and as though Winer and Searls should be intoning, ominously, As you are now, I once was ... that Little Green Assholes guy looks like Ed Gein and I am unsurprised ... I will never achieve success as a blogger until I grow tits and become Asian ... apparently, once you move out of your parents' house you can smoke all the cigars you want.

...Oh, and: SUCK IT, DOBKIN!

Killing 'Em Softly

Now that I've decided to strike a tone of reconcilliation, how about a soul classic originally written and performed by honkies, then covered by a brother? While Blood, Sweat and Tears is an otherwise forgettable blue-eyed soul revue, the band's eponymous first album was largely written and arranged by Al Kooper, who left before the band could cash in. (A leading theory among physicists is that the massive amounts of dark matter in the universe is actually the residue of Kooper's ego, which might explain why he could never stick with a band.)

Donny Hathaway, an accomplished writer-producer in his own right, is probably best known as the answer to the trivia question, "Who's the real-life inspiration for Roberta Flack's 'Killing Me Softly?'" His funk-forward pop-smash "The Ghetto" (which, as it happens, I have on 45) means he's generally regarded as a one-hit wonder. The album this track appears on, Extension of a Man, is texturally rich and rather eclectic, and exists as one of those overwrought producer projects generally doomed to relative obscurity (I'm looking at you, Bobby Digital).

I Love You More Than You'll Ever Know by Donny Hathaway

You can purchase this track, and album, on iTunes. But this also happens to be the only album I have in Quadrophonic Sound, which iTunes doesn't offer.

Googlebummed: Lindsay Robertson, You're Next

Remember the lazy prop post in blogging days of bore when people would list the top search terms that brought traffic to their site? It was usually wacko stuff like "french anal monkey batter" and other web backwash involving robots and rape. Maybe even a good ol' tmesis like "bed fucking time." (I'm sure Lindsayism circa 2004 cataloged and mocked this practice.) Well, not that it's a matter of pride or importance, but I never did it. To make up for lost yuckity-yucks, I'm giving it a go now that YM results are comprised mainly of specific people names.

Probably not coincidence (or shocking), but I would fuck almost everyone on this list. In descending order of popularity*:

lauren bush
jared kushner
nate hill
jessica stam
will leitch
sloane crosley
emily gould
linda ronstadt
leigh lezark
jessica pressler
alex balk
dana vachon

And just think, 3lizab3th 5pi3r5 (hacker-style!) used to worry that Googling her name would lead people here with a list of all the places that fired her.

*Of course, "ass sex" and its fraternal twin "sex ass" (where you can catch a glimpse of my roommate's butt) are perennial favorites too.

Kisses to the Crying Cooks

"Road traffic injuries are the number one killer of young people between the ages of 10 and 24 worldwide. Africa has the world’s highest rates of road traffic injury." Source: Amend.org


Credit: Environmental photographer Noah Greenberg

Right now I am snacking on Source Chocolate. You should be too. It could provide the protection a school-bound child in Ghana needs from the crushing impact of a DAF 95 curtainsider with broken headlights or a non-attentive driver. TIA, man. TIA.

Below is the menu from Last Night's Benefit. Imagine this scene: National Review editor Rich Lowry double-fisting venison burgers as I made unintelligible, loosey-goosey remarks including an italic-faced analogy to running chicken fingers through Larry Kudlow's hair. Later, a hired card trickian seriously fucked with our minds. I left more confident in my decision to support Ralph Nader '08.

PUBLIC Canapes

- Confit duck, foie gras and vanilla ballotine with pineapple chutney
- Marinated white anchovies on quinoa croquettes with spicy saffron aioli
- Mushroom ceviche with miso aubergines and a ginger ponzu sauce
- Dahl spring roll
- Mini venison burgers on a miso bun with tomato chili jam
- Raw oysters with Thai mignonette
- Mini pavlovas
- Chocolates

Wine Selection

Thanks to our friends at Vintus Wines, we have a remarkable selection of wines for you this evening. Here are descriptions of tonight's wines:

Schiopetto Blanc des Rosis 2005, from Friuli, Italy
Mario Schiopetto founded this legendary estate in 1965, making it one of the oldest wine estates in the prestigious Collio area. More importantly, Schiopetto pioneered the movement towards serious, quality winemaking in Friuli, and the estate, now run by Mario's three children, continues to set the standard for white wines from the region, and from Italy.

The Blanc des Rosis is an assemblage of Tocai Friulano, Pinot Grigio, Sauvignon, Malvasia and Ribolla. It is the product of a need to represent, in one unique wine, the vine variety present in the area. The manual harvest and the soft pressing are followed by a brief period of aeration with no presence of sulfur dioxide. 95% of fermentation takes place in stainless steel and 5% of Malvasia is fermented in barrels. The wine remains on its yeast for 8 months. With a straw-yellow color with golden reflections, the wine develops an intense perfume characterized by the presence of the different but well balanced vine varieties. It is harmonious, with wonderfully complex aromas and flavors of pear, peach and other stone fruits, and with a minerality and earthiness that works through firm structure of the wine.

Domaine Marcel Deiss Pinot Blanc 2004, from Bergheim, Alsace
The descendant of a family of wine growers who settled in Bergheim in 1744, Marcel Deiss created the Domaine Marcel Deiss in 1947. However, it is Marcel's grandson, Jean-Michel Deiss, that began the modern era of the Estate. Jean-Michel rejects varietal purity in favor of vineyard expression. As much philosopher as wine grower, he seeks the maximum expression from each of his vineyards. His goal is low vigor in order to drive the vines' roots deep and thereby transmit the character of the subsoil.

Jean-Michel is an obsessed, brilliant, and somewhat disturbed man [that's an editor's note]. His wines are unlike any you will taste elsewhere, and this Pinot Blanc is certainly representative of that notion -- what is often a thin, forgettable wine is instead here a wine with serious richness, depth and complexity, all balanced by a beautiful acidity, and typically not released until it is several years old. The wine is actually a blend of several Pinot family grapes, all harvested and vinified together. After you finish the glass the floral, fruit and honeyed notes linger for minutes.

Quinta do Noval Cedro do Noval 2004, from the Douro, Portugal
One of the oldest port houses, Quinta do Noval is also arguably the greatest. It is unique among top port houses in that most of the ports are made from estate-grown fruit and, notably, all of the vintage Noval wines are from the single Quinta do Noval vineyard. Since the day the current owners of Quinta do Noval came to the property, in 1993, they knew that the Douro valley was one of the great vineyard sites of the world and had incredible potential for unfortified wines. 2004 is the first release of the Noval dry wines, after a period of ten years spent studying how the Noval vineyards might best produce a dry red wine.

Cedro do Noval has luscious fruit that comes right to the front; it displays rich, dark fruit, mocha and even herbal notes, while maintaining balance and freshness due to its acidity. Cedro is a reference to the famous 100 year old cedar tree that sits next to the Quinta, overlooking the Pinhao and Douro rivers. Made from Touriga Nacional (40%), Tinta Roriz (40%), and Touriga Franca (20%).

Telmo Rodriguez Lanzaga 2004, from Rioja, Spain
Telmo Rodriguez is one of Spain's pioneer winemakers, advocating native grape varietals tied to the climates and conditions of their sites, and making world-class wines from undiscovered as well as known regions. Perhaps most impressive, while Telmo Rodriguez makes rare and limited wines of astonishing character and quality, his everyday wines have been equally praised, and widely recognized for the tremendous value they offer.

The Rioja vineyards for Telmo Rodriguez' wines are in the eastern part of the region, in Lanciego. It is here, on the clay and calcerous slopes, that some of the most interesting vineyards of Rioja coexist with hundred year old olive groves. Descendents of the same families that pruned these vines over two centuries still work in the bush vine vineyards, using the same methods of cultivation. Telmo's wines come from a combination of estate vineyards (biodynamically farmed) and those of growers in the area who cultivate under Telmo's supervision. Lanzaga exhibits the character of the Lanciego vineyard's fruit: a beautiful cohabitation of strength and elegance. The Tempranillo grapes for Lanzaga come from slopes that are protected from erosion by the vineyard plantings, and create a seductive wine spiced red fruit notes on the nose and palate, and a beautiful, balanced structure, that stands in contrast to some of the overripe, over-extracted wines from the region.

Sandrone Valmaggiore Nebbiolo d'Alba 2004, from Piedmont, Italy
Luciano Sandrone is one of the leading Barolo producers, and owns 63 acres of vines in the best parts of Langa and Roero, in Piedmont. Since the first harvest in 1978, Luciano and his brother Luca have devoted tremendous efforts towards cultivating the finest fruit in their vineyards. Sandrone's Barolos are made in a modern style: elegant, attractive and easy to appreciate right from their first years in bottle, but with no less power and structure than traditional Barolos.

"Valmaggiore" Nebbiolo is obtained exclusively from the historical Valmaggiore zone of Vezza d'Alba, in the heart of the Roero. It shows wonderful floral, earth and tar Nebbiolo character through the beautifully pure fruit. A balanced, refined wine that shows the potential of the region.

Telmo Rodriguez Molino Real 2005, from Malaga, Spain
Telmo Rodriguez named these rarities "Mountain Wines" after the 17th century English expression for sweet moscatel wines from the Malaga region. The vineyards are dramatic and spectacular, situated in steep shale slopes where not even donkeys can climb.

Molino Real is made in the traditional method of "paseras", whereby women pick the Moscatel grapes and leave them to dry under the sun. For 10 to 15 days the "paseras" clean and turn the bunches, removing the poor grapes. Later, vertical presses formerly used to press olive oil are used, and the first musts of the pressing are fermented in casks for about 2 months. Aging is in wooden casks. Remarkably, in order to get a half liter bottle, more than 10 pounds of grapes are needed. It shows tremendously complex and rich floral and fruit flavors, with gorgeous concentration and purity, while maintaining a vibrancy. Tropical fruits, stone fruits like apricot, and honeysuckle notes go on and on.

Oppositional Tendencies

Okay, I admit I was a bit harsh on the rest of the Young Manhattanite crew. But hey, looks like I brought some new readers via search, so it all works out in the end, no? Point is, having lived in the East Bay I was always hyper-aware of the fact that white Oakland seemed to define themselves by their Big Sandy-obsessed "Punkabilly" sensibility in opposition to the ghost-riding, collar-popping Hyphy sentiment predominant in the rest of The Suburb.

Hence, while Jack Boulware's Journey to the End of the East Bay will profitably chronicle the local punk scene, I bet KMEL's killing of Hyphy won't get much national attention amidst a dying record label business model fomented by democratic production and distribution on the part of MySpace-enabled MCs and DJs.

But Clear Channel-battling hip-hop producers have been fighting for promotional exposure with honkie-produced samples for some time. Not only Glen Campbell, but Herb Alpert, Bob James and Burt Bacharach have popular entries in The Holy Book of Hip Hop. Lyrics Born's "Call Me" used a baseline from a Canada-based prog-jazz quartet (and paid dearly for it) as I understand. So I present Kool and the Gang's take on Campbell's "Wichita County Lineman" as a nicely over-arranged compromise between it all.

Wichita County Lineman by Kool and the Gang from Live at the Sex Machine

Listen and learn.

Plus Ca Change.

Sorry, guys. I've just gotten too lazy to write. You'll get the point of it soon enough.

Those Days Were Gay Days When Grandma Was A Girl: Live from 1941, It's The Nifty Nineties.

We're a bit of a retro-outfit here, having been stuck in the 80's for as long as I can remember. So I figure this isn't all too far off target, at least in case you needed a reminder that our generation don't have a monopoly on nostalgia.

American Folkways

I haven't posted any hip-hop here because, frankly, I'm a little worried that it wouldn't be welcome. And no, it's not like I'm some sort of hip-hop expert -- I'm just a lover of breakbeats. Still, as New Yorkers, if you're not willing to embrace hip-hop, then you're denying one of the most creative cultural forces the five boroughs ever engendered, and at your own peril.

Afrika Bambaataa knows every writer that Banksy copped style from; hung out with Joe Strummer, Sid Vicious and Jean-Michel Basquiat; and was one of a holy trinity of creative forces that reshaped music and music technology forever (joining DJ Kool Herc and Grandmaster Flash as inheritors of Lee Perry's ingenuity). Find me a guitarist who can claim such a pedigree -- besides Jimi Hendrix or Bootsy Collins.

Anyway, I'll go to my grave knowing that I shook hands with the man, which is as close to the shoulder of a giant I've ever been able to stand on. The meeting and the photo were all the work of my friend and uptown native Bayete Ross-Smith, an accomplished artist and MC in his own right. If you can't hear the Village discos, London pubs, Bronx parks and Jamaican sound systems in this extended EP, then you aren't listening.

Death Mix Live by Afrika Bambaataa and Friends

What makes me think you can't buy this on the iTunes store or Amazon? If you can, great. If not, try here.

Will Barack Obama be the Black Jimmy Carter?

I generally avoid political punditry and furthermore, I don't know dick about dick (as I commented before: "I stopped following or caring about national politics for the same reason I did with professional sports - the spectators of both are assholes, the 'game' is rigged and most importantly, none of it means shit - was that too Simonish? - and I prefer to make political statements by volunteering") but I think that's what Peter Feld is saying about Obama in this NY Post op-ed. I imagine he'll be a great ex-President too, building bomb shelters for Palestinians or something.

For the record, I'm totally backing the Obama bid but ONLY because he's black. (Notice how I didn't say "exotic" or "international"?) Hillary would probably be a better President but that doesn't matter. I'm as sick of the Clintons as everyone else and as much as I was once thrilled at the prospect of a woman president, I think our country needs a black man (though to be honest I'd vote for Jocelyn Elders over all of them) at the helm even more. He's a better face (I didn't say "clean"!) for the U.S. to show the rest of the world, if only to prove we're not all a bunch of racist rednecks. And yes, that's about all the credit I give to a U.S. president - a face to show the rest of the world. Lobbyists, party politics, etc control actual policy and everything else.

BTW, if you think it is mere coincidence (and how fortunate!) that when the Democratic Party finally fielded a viable non-white-male candidate, they were forced to mix their race and gender cards and play 50 state pick-up with a round of Poke Her and Black Jack Kennedy, then you're an idiot. I'll pray to Allah for anyone to beat McCain.

Snap, Crackle, Pop

I bought this for an obscenely overpriced $10 at some tourist rip-off of a record store on Haight one an afternoon I got off work early at Shockwave.com and walked all the way to Ocean Beach exploring San Francisco. Ate something delicious, got cruised atop Buena Vista park, waited forever for a Muni bus and realized that I probably should have moved straight to The City instead of being stuck without a car in thoroughly suburban North Oakland (getting a car, of course, being out of the question).

When I got home I discovered the album had a huge warp in it (which, come to think of it, was the case with a number of VP Records releases I'd purchased in Brooklyn). But hey, it still played (take that, CDs) and it was such a sweet relief from the thousands upon thousands of repeat listenings of "Legend." The hardcore skank on this early four-track recording of Marley singing a Tosh-penned classic over Motown-tight four-part harmonies makes musicology concrete in a way a dissertation never could.

Simmer Down -- Bob Marley and the Wailers, Featuring Peter Tosh

Buy it here, shrinkwrap-fresh, for $11.99. And pick up a Ben Sherman while you're at it.

More Dusty 45s

I picked this track up for dollar from a table near Vox Pop in Borough Park, figuring a dollar spent on anything with "Funky Butt" in the title is a dollar worth spending. Which it was, as "Funky Butt" presents a straightforward grind on a Hammond (with a bassline sampled by KMD). But it's not by "The Delegates," since they don't really exist. It's just a throwaway track backing the novelty hit of 1972, "Convention '72," a sketch compiled by a radio DJ in Pittsburg that cracked Billboard's top ten.

The Kissinger bit is an easy laugh, but the whole thing makes a lot more sense if you've read Thompson's Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail or Crouse's Boys on the Bus. Or, you know, lived through the 72 election. Because it proved so popular, it's pretty easy to find on vinyl -- and now MP3.

Convention '72 by The Delegates

Note: I can only hope that my needle-dropping ways inspired in some small way the boss's renewed efforts to archive analog ephemera.

Orange County Rhyming Dictionary

I finally bought a USB turntable and now I feel ashamed about all the vinyl I previously digitized on Krucoff.com. I knew my old set-up lacked the proper amplifier but I figured the sacrifice in sound quality wasn't a big deal given the less-than-chaste original material. (Punk aesthetic, man. Rub those records with peanut butter and nails if you have to.) But damn, now that I've compared two copies, it's like the difference between an MRR-ordained classic and a Weird Al cover version.

I'll work on reparations later, but for now here's one I haven't offered before. It hasn't aged as well as I thought it would, but the 2nd side of D.I.'s "What Good is Grief to a God" has a few decent stompers, even without the Agnew brothers. The bad horror flick theme of "The Puppet" compels me to label this Chucky-core but the galloping rhythm section makes it a late night suburban cemetery party favorite.

D.I. - "The Puppet"

Because Making Kids Wear Orange Jumpsuits Just Wouldn't Be Right

Next stop on the YM Save the World Tour is this Amend.org benefit. If you can take a break from looking at nude pics of Lindsay Lohan or talking about an election that will have no measurable impact on you, please think about joining us.

Attempt at Daily Momentum

You know that voice in your head that keeps telling you to write that screenplay? You know the one I'm talking about -- Serpico meets Shaft? If you could just package it with David Cronenberg and Peter Weller, you could totally sell that to the Weinsteins. The LA sunshine would certainly do your pasty winter ass some good.

The good news is that the theme song has already been written and performed -- by a relatively contemporary act, no less.

Charlie's Theme by The Jimi Entley Sound

Note: I have an all-clear from the boss, but warn him that according to the Stuff White People Like rules, I'm actually making this blog even whiter.

This Is a Music Blog?

Somebody should have told me before I chose to post self-indulgent nonsense while I was in New York. Rather than try to make my case to replace Tad "Mrs. Amanda Hesser" Friend as the New Yorker's California correspondent, I'll jump right into the spirit.

Dana's link to that Clash bootleg inspired me to post "Straight to Hell" to Pownce (which is kind of like Tumblr, but allows for comments -- and as a San Franciscan, I like to support local businesses). Which reminded me that I've been meaning to get some value out of the records I purchased during the dot-boom when an HTML codemonkey could make $40 an hour without even trying.

So expect some crappy lo-fi digital remasters from vinyl of music you may or may not be able to buy on CD, with accompanying crappy lo-fi cellphone pic of the packaging (note the hand-lettered Eagles "On The Border" in colorful marker on the insert -- ah, the joys of buying second hand).

So without further ado, Green Onions by Mongo Santamaria from Mongo Santamaria's Greatest Hits. Incredibly infectious arrangement by Marty Sheller. Yes, you may have to friend me on Pownceto listen and download, but hey, at least you don't have to fly here from New York or park in North Beach. (Fixed, per the boss's instructions.)

Note: If the boss kicks me off the blog for posting something with horns instead of guitars, you will all know that at least I tried.

We're All Little Fat Girls in Ohio Now. Via Coppola.

Not much more to add to that. You know the angle.

"There's No Scene Anywhere So Why Say What Ever Happened To The New York Scene?" In Which We Ask Ourselves What Ever Happened To Public Access TV?

Dana's Nick Zedd blip has us on an a tear through the New York of the 1980's on this chilly Saturday evening, and so we stumbled across this here interview with Lydia Lunch on Videowave from 1983. Says Videowave's producer, Alan Abramowitz, who we suspect has yet to get his due: "Videowave has been on the air continously since Feb 20, 1982. Started as a final project at a tech school (INCA) it was a mockup of what I thought MTV would look like; with graphics to represent music videos. MTV reached NY 6 months later. The program focused on punk/new wave; with such bands as The Comateens, Diehausfrauen, The Raybeats, Pulsallama, Richard Hell, Sonic Youth,etc. It was indicative of nascent scenes in NY, London, Boston, and Athens, Ga.... Videowave was shot at YoungFilmmakers 1982-4, remote studio setups (apts, restaurants: F-Stop Cafe 1985, Blue Willow 1987, The Chase 1990, and Bob Spector's studio in Chinatown.)1985-90. SVHS, VHS, and Hi8 Camcorder style 1990-present. 99% of guests here were one guests on my TV program. Madonna? Well, maybe not Madonna. I called her in her apartment on Avenue A in 1983 and she confirmed she'll be there. Young Filmakers TV Studio was a short walk away. But she never showed up..."

Who Says We've Run Out Of Coincidences. Wherein Nate Hill Comes Through For Us In The End, After All.

So, not only does it turns out Nick Zedd is born in Maryland. Via the infallibility that is Wikipedia: "He is the director of photography on another TV series called "Chop Chop" (2007) produced by Nate Hill." Looks like you're back in the circle, dear Dana. At least once you move the hell out of Queens.

If New York Is The New San Francisco,What Is China?

We're pretty sure we're falling into a trap of another man's making by posting this here youtube clip, with dividends to be reaped by one vagabond renegade internet-type or another. We'll leave it to 99 to clarify the why and the how, though at first blush it would seem like the kind of thing with a quasi-mid-to-late 90's backstory going on.

Live From Young Manhattan, New York's Only Online Public Access Station, It's The Mummies! Or: Punk Equals Dada Minus Art School.

Know of any other way to justify our Lo-Fi Aesthetic? More interestingly, saith ifyouseekay58 via comments: "This was done at a cable access studio about late 80`s or early 90`s in Whittier Ca. I believe it was The south Whittier Public cable access at the time,run by United Artist Cable,then it was TCI,then Aldelphia,now Time/Warner..." A shot of jet fuel to anyone who catches the Nixon angle here.

I'm Not Locked in Here with You, You're Locked in Here with Me

Whatever with you Johnny-come-latelies and your super-seekrit clubs. Ten years ago I found myself at an after-hours place on Ridge and Delancey. It was a garage, as I recall. You had to knock to get in. Nick Zedd was bartending. War Is Menstrual Envy was being projected on the wall. The crowd was a mix of models and "back in the day" LES types. I only had five bucks so I sipped the same Heineken for 2 hours and mulled over whether I really wanted to be a part of this scene, so ultrahip, so everything I'd hoped my life would be like once I got here. Then I made some perceived faux pas in the presence of the cool kids who'd vouchsafed my entry* and it was decided for me. Now I live in Queens!

*The evening, by the way, began in a tony apartment on Park Avenue. For those of you keeping count of my bourgeois points. It's a fact that everyone who lives and hangs out on the LES is rich. This includes Krucoff. How do you think he can afford to work at a nonprofit?

If Adolf Hitler Flew in Today, They'd Take Him to Balthazaar Anyway

This is a music blog, right? So, here's something white people like: cultural appropriation via music. The other day I found this 1985 Clash bootleg. Acoustic. (Please trust me on this.) Repeated listening is the only thing that has kept me from Plath-ing myself this morning.

Overture in New York

She: What is the definition of "intern-hot" anyhow? I always thought of it as being ok face, sylvan bod. There's a work study kid sitting outside right now that I'd tap in a heartbeat, speaking of.

He: Based on [indecipherable acronym] interns I met and your comment, I'd have to revise that to something more obviously degrading.

Astoria-not-going-to-the-gym-enough-in-their-thirties-but-coasting-not-
really-on-the-fact-that-drunk-guys-wanted-to-fuck-them-in-college-and-
never-thought-about-how-much-more-competitive-a-place-like-New-York-is-
yet-still-see-themselves-as-fabulous-as-Carrie-Bradshaw-without-realizing-
she-looks-like-a-horse-a-Jew-horse-hot?

She: Ouch. Yet still, it's pretty easy for a girl to get laid in this town, even if she is rode-hard-and-put-away-wet.

I want all of you to do this now

Sing the part of L.A. Woman by the Doors where Morrison sings, "Mr. Mojo Risin'" except say, "Mr. Peabo Bryson." I guarantee it will get you through the days when you go to your dark place.

Curt Does Not Have a Monopoly on Music Videos (That Only Three People Care About)

Have I mentioned I work at a non-profit?

From today's Manhattan Users Guide:

Given the number of performances, talks and events at the 92nd St. Y, you'd expect a blog about same to be compelling reading and viewing (lots of videos). And so it is.

Primary Punk: It's Not All About DC

Been listening to Naked Raygun's Jettison a lot lately. One of those records I bought because I liked the album cover, then flipped my wig when it also included a poster of the same. Jeff Pezzati almost "whoa-oh-ohs" himself to death in the second half of the first song here.

"Hammer Head" and "The Mule"

Previously: Chicago 1985 and Young Manhattan 2007

We don't need no goddamn taxi fare

Possibly the best aspect of this bumbaclot Tumblr feed we got goin' on next door is its relative anonymity. The YM Brethren all use the same log-in. (You can differentiate my posts from the others' because they contain the funniest jokes and the fewest typos and broken links. Not important.) So, which one of you is pretending to be all riled up about alleged wage disparity?

Because I'm going to go out on a limb here--this is what dudes always say--and posit that it's really because you need to get laid. Which one of you is it? The Wandering Jew? The camelhair Whit Stillman fan? Pop Quiz: Have you tried restocking your dating pool? Maybe look outside of the second-tier socialite/Five Towns/UES charity contingent.

Nah, probably not. Was it Mr. I-CAN-HAZ-Henry-Darger? Or the one who spent college searching for a Notary Public so that he could get a beejer?

(I know it wasn't sac, because I can't think of a pithy insult for him.)

The Clovers, Rotten Cocksuckers Ball

[I need to pretend that Jezebel doesn't exist. I just need to do that. I wish the boys would stop reminding me. Because listen, woman: If you honestly believe that you shouldn't be required to pay for your half of the meal because makeup is expensive or because it's some sort of Gender Inequality Tithing or because math is hard or you're still waiting for your 40 acres and a mule, then you might as well just spread your legs across Hollywood Boulevard, because that's all a woman is really about anyway, right? Sucking and shopping, sucking and shopping, sucking and shopping.]

The YouTube Variations Or: Why Waste Your Sunday Afternoon Bitching About Some Page Six Tell-All That Has Nothing Whatsoever To Do With You.

"Hey what up? I heard that you're one of the world's greatest pianists. I really am a big fan of yours because music is my biggest passion. Sorry to say this, but I haven't got any movies because I just joined this YouTube today. You're really good, man! One of the best recordings! By the way, do you write your own music? If you do, then that'll be really awesome! Good luck!"

Full of Shmuley

Sorry Hitchens, you're wrong (again), because there is a Jewish hell and it involves video editing and compression software. I finally got the full 90-minute Hitchens/Boteach "Does God Exist?" debate loaded onto YouTube. I will not mention or think of these gentlemen for a long, long time.

You Won't Find Change in a Voting Booth

Dear Andrew,

On behalf of the public school children we serve, my colleagues and I want to thank you for the $2,581.76 you generously contributed to DonorsChoose.org during 2007. We hope this consolidated acknowledgment will make your tax filing a bit easier.

Thanks to contributions like yours, it’s been an eventful year! Check out the top 5 highlights of 2007 on our new blog.

Here’s a formal statement to make this acknowledgment official:

Andrew Krucoff, your $2,581.76 donation is tax deductible as no goods or services were provided in exchange for this contribution. The IRS requires that you retain this receipt in order to substantiate the charitable contribution you may wish to claim on your income tax return.

Sincerely,
Charles Best
Founder, DonorsChoose.org

# # #

No, thank YOU, Charles. Keep up the great work.

Of course this is just the tip of my conscious-mandated community service. It doesn't include the $500 and 50+ hours of volunteering I contributed through New York Cares. It doesn't include the camel, sheep and toilets I bought my dad, nieces and nephews from Oxfam. It doesn't include my Globe Aware voluntourism efforts in Romania, which ran me about $3000 when all was said and donated. It doesn't include the Charity Is: Water benefit I attended with models and Iggy Pop. It doesn't include the $50 I paid for the Seeds of Peace comedy benefit where I got to admire Chelsea Peretti from an uncomfortable, though undeniably arousing, distance. It doesn't include the $20 in pocket change I gave out or bought M&Ms with on the subway. It doesn't include the times I've talked to Brian Van in a bar which is most definitely charity. And it doesn't include the $850 pledge I made to the University of Maryland Alumni Association to become a lifetime member which obviously isn't tax-deductible because I received goods and services - like the backpack beer cooler they recently sent me, an odd gift given my year of graduation and zip code but if they Googled my name and found this blog, they know it's the PERFECT gift. Thank you, Testudo.

I'm sure I'm leaving out other stuff but WHO'S COUNTING?

Oh yeah, I work for a non-profit. That's probably another $20-30K I am giving up in potential salary to help make the world a better place. Please, hold your applause until the end of the year.

I Don't Care What Anybody Says. There Was Something About The Nineties And One Day We'll Know What It Was.

My guess: the lack of any effort to emulate any of our predecessors is what made it unique, no matter how good or bad it really was. Also, Mary Timony went to Duke Ellington, so there's your DC angle for you purists out there. 99, please insert anti-post-post feminist situation here.

Open Letter To The Guy Who Started Stomping On My Feet Yesterday On The Subway Since He Thought I Was Trying To Trip Him

You were the angry black guy with the fake Timberlands and a black baseball cap, the kind that doesn't affiliate you with one franchise but (in fact) all franchises, as if to say you simply love the game in general. You were that guy, and you were standing, and you were wearing a heavy winter coat and were probably hot; I was the guy whose feet you started stomping on when the A pulled into High, or around that point, under the supposition that I was trying to trip you, perhaps because it's like, Mets or Yankees, Phils or Pirates, pick a side already. I would like to clarify a few things for you:

1. I was sleeping--an important detail for two reasons. The first reason is, how could I be trying to trip you if I was sleeping?!?! What the fuck! The amount of deep subconscious hatred I would have had to harbor against you or your kind, and the amount of blind mind/body/feet/atomic coordination I would have needed to a) know you were in front of me and b) stick my feet out with minimal anachronism, are qualities well beyond me.

The second reason is, while I was sleeping I had an LL Bean bookbag with me, perched on my lap. Perhaps you remember this bag; you kind of like, leaned on it a little when you got up in my face and started yelling at my face, in a manner that made several people in our little area on the subway car repopulate other, less yell-y areas. Anyway look: It would have been impossible for me to stretch out my legs and trip you without losing control of the bag on my lap. It would have fallen to the side, or started sliding down my legs, or done something most likely pretty offensive to you. But the fact is that the bag was still on my lap when you started stomping on my feet, heel first, like my foot was a skateboard and you were trying to heelflip my ass. The bag hadn't moved, and my knees were still bent at around a 90-degree angle--which is to say my feet were well within the margin of acceptable non-tripping placement. You are giving me a lot of credit, way too much, if you think I went to this much covert trouble in an attempt to get one on you, e.g. only "pretending" to sleep.

2. For the sake of the other passengers, I said to you, "I am sorry." I am not sorry. I did absolutely nothing wrong. This is admittedly one of those Schroedinger's Cat-type thoughts I find myself having now and then, but: If I knew how much of an asshole you were, maybe, maybe I would have imagined myself tripping you. I would have thought to myself, "By some incredible power I have just inherited, I know that this guy in front of me is a total asshole. Knowing this, I would feel slightly more justified in tripping him than not." That's as far as it would have gone though. I definitely wouldn't trip you.

3. Both of us got off at Jay Street. I let you get off first, entirely because at this point you struck me as a free radical and I didn't want to have my back turned to you. I did not let you get off first, as your body language implied, because I wanted to devastate you with a blindside elbow to the back or because, with a twist of irony, now I really wanted to trip you. Your frequent glances in my direction, as we both waited for the F cross-platform, did not go unnoticed.

4. You didn't even trip! This is probably the thing that bothers me the most. You stomped on my feet, which still hurt, under the supposition that I was trying to trip you. Pardon me for being philosophical, and rhetorical, but how were you measuring my try exactly? Does the mere existence of my legs constitute a threat? Does close proximity, such as what we shared on the subway, i.e. something I had neither control over nor knowledge of, since (remember) I was sleeping--tell me, was this the loot, the warrant, or the crook, you know what I mean? I hope you enjoyed the rest of your Ash Wednesday.

I Don't Think She's On J-Date

...but conversion is the only sensible strategy to me. Go here for unblurry versions.

Thanks, Robert

The country right now just wants to be soothed

Of course I've already voted today. Why wouldn't I? The state voting laws dictate that I'm allowed to stroll into work an hour late just for performing my civic duty. I'm not giving that up to vote after work, even if they serve cocktails at my polling site, which they very well might. As one might expect, everyone in the temporary employ of the Board of Elections was a total clown, and this was compounded by the fact that we had two precincts voting at one site. Two Precincts, One Cup! Oh, that never gets old. I didn't get that little card you're supposed to get, then hand over, before you're allowed into the booth. What's the point of that card? Can someone look that up on wikipedia?

At work I got a phone call from my neighbor who was undecided on whether to vote today. I've been in a "fuck with me, you'll be famous" sort of mood, and he's a masochist. I spent five minutes upbraiding him. "Have you not been awake the past 8 years? Because if we don't get the right candidate [not like I'm confident of who that is, really, but polls seem to indicate that Independents prefer Obama and I'd sooner drink from the dick of a goat ™ than vote for Hillary Clinton, so imagine how she'll go over in Dubuque?] to oppose McCain then we'll be in for another 4 years of the same shit. But hey, then we can look forward to some more Jello Biafra spoken word records! Maybe even something from Michael Franti if we're lucky! You'll be single-handedly responsible for keeping Alternative Tentacles in business."

And LARD will almost certainly get back together.

LARD, The Power of LARD