Peter Hook‘s New York City show (and first date of his U.S. tour) was moved from Irving Plaza (1,200 capacity) to the smaller Gramercy Theatre, catching a number of walkups off-guard when the show sold out.

I wasn’t so hot on the t-shirts for sale. They would have been so much cooler if they didn’t say “Joy Division” and “Manchester” at the bottom. Strangely, even though Hooky was going to perform Closer in its entirety at certain stops on the tour, no Closer shirt.

No opening band, either, but the audience was “treated” to video that seemed to be about 35 minutes long. I say “treated” because it didn’t give anything new to the Joy Division fan, particularly the fan who was enthused enough to see one-fourth of the band perform its second album. I definitely didn’t need to see Ian Curtis’ spastic dances with 80s video effects interspersed with unintelligible (due to accent and volume issues) interview segments with Peter Hook. I took a seat in the back to wait it out. Every time there was some quiet, people yelled, “Just play!” I’m sure the entire audience felt that way.

Finally the screen lifted and Peter Hook, with the members of his backing band The Light, took to the stage: Hook’s son Jack Bates (bass), Nat Watson (guitar), Andy Poole (keyboards), and Paul Kehoe (drums). Why two bassists? Well, Peter can’t sing and play at the same time, so he plays the more distinctive bass intros (“Love Will Tear Us Apart,” “Isolation” and “24 Hours,” for example) and then drops out to sing. Too bad, too, because Jack does a well-enough job but isn’t able yet to fill those shoes (or provide simultaneous low- and high-frequency ear-thumping that his dad does).

Not sufficiently enigmatic.

Yes, Hooky still slings the bass low and has a wide-leg stance. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his body and does an in-place shuffle of an outlaw ready to duel in the Old West.

They kicked off with the instrumental “Incubation,” one of the b-sides to the “Komakino” flexi. It was angry and menacing, a sonic reaction to the news the previous week that New Order was reforming with all original members except for Hook, who wasn’t even asked to rejoin. A slew of interviews originally slated for this tour pried for his reactions to the reformation. I wondered if he would kick of a number saying, “See you in hell, Barney!” but Hooky didn’t address the audience directly until the encore.

In terms of Hooky’s singing, I don’t think he was trying to emulate Ian directly but there is a similarity in their vocal tone, particularly during more anguished passages in songs and most eerily in the whole of “Transmission.”

Some may ask what right the bassist has in presenting himself as the front man in a Joy Division tribute. Actually Hooky has more of a right to sing these songs than guitarist Bernard Sumner. Sumner went on to be the singer of New Order, but it was Hooky who sang backup vocals in Joy Division. A few days after the gig, I can’t imagine anybody else singing.

The first beats of “Isolation” sent scattered parts of the crowd pogoing. “Heart and Soul” also audibly roused people. After the album closer to Closer, the haunting “Decades,” Hook unhooked his bass and walked offstage for The Light to finish out the two minutes instrumental close.

“Ice Age” in the encore was a surprise and came off great but in the middle of the song Jack’s bass strap unhooked and he had to finish on his knees to keep playing. Hooky chastised him for the slipup.

Before “Atmosphere,” Hooky addressed the New Order reformation without him. “I thought I’d have the fucking week from hell,” he said, but thanked crowd for coming as it lifted his spirits.

There was some altercation in the audience during “Atmosphere” and Hooky stopped the band and refused to play until about six people were hustled out.

No other song could close the show and Hooky dedicated “Love Will Tear Us Apart” to Tom Atencio “because you know who your fucking friends are when the going gets tough.” Atencio was New Order’s North America manager for 18 years and was a producer of Joy Division, the documentary directed by Grant Gee.

During the song, Hooky ran off to both extremes of the stage, managing to topple himself halfway through “Love.” He looked like a turtle on his back and Nat Watson had to help him up.

“Don’t you bastards be putting that on YouTube, will ya?” he shouted at the end of the show before walking off.

A minute later Hooky returned to the stage bare-chested and threw his shirt out to the crowd. After it was clear that another encore wasn’t coming, a 50-year old white male leaped onstage and sing “Louie Louie” into the microphone but was swiftly escorted off.

Set List: Incubation, Dead Souls, Auto-Suggestion, From Safety to Where, Atrocity Exhibition, Isolation, Passover, Colony, Means to an End, Heart and Soul, 24 Hours, The Eternal, Decades

Encore: These Days, Ice Age, Atmosphere, Transmission, Love Will Tear Us Apart

I wore my fringe like Roger McGuinn’s!

Like everyone else I’ve been following the recovery of Edwyn Collins — erstwhile Orange Juice frontman and solo one-world-wide-hit wonder (“A Girl Like You“).

The man suffered two major cerebral hemorrhages in 2005, for a while rendering him in a condition where he could only say four things: “Yes”; “No”; “Grace Maxwell” (his wife); and “The possibilities are endless.” It seemed that the great voice of anti-masculinity was in danger of being silenced.

Collins’ roots are shambolic and twee, yet he has won back his abilities with the tenacity of an ultimate fighter. He has since completed two solo albums, Home Again and Losing Sleep, which was released in the UK in 2010, but wasn’t released in the U.S. until March 22, more than a week after his recent show at the Rock Shop in Brooklyn.

I missed the opening act, solo guitarist/singer James Walbourne, who is in the latest incarnation of The Pretenders and the also bassist for Collins’ band. Walbourne wasn’t listed on the site as an opening act and had I known about it, I would have caught it. I’m enough of a live-music enthusiast that I have to see every act. Oh, I’ve seen some pretty mediocre acts over the years but I’ve also been blown away by seeing amazing live bands I’d never heard of such as Sunny Day Real Estate (opening for Velocity Girl at CBGBs) and The BellRays (opening for The Damned at Irving Plaza).

Second opening act The Kinbeats are a foursome (three brothers and a cousin on drums) who said they left their native Germany to come to the U.K. to look for Edwyn Collins. Guess they found him! But their sound also owes a large debt to the other Orange Juice singer/guitarist, James Kirk, known for writing and singing slower, softer songs. (It’s telling that Kirk’s Orange Juice-era composition “Felicity” was sang by Collins in an upbeat nearly bombastic fashion but Kirk reshaped the song into a mid-tempo, low-key melody on his 2003 solo album You Can Make It If You Boogie.)

Dave Ruffy, despite his name, is rather smooth.

Patrick Ralla, a Kinbeats guitarist, resumed the stage with the rest of Collins’ band on this tour: Tom Edwards on blonde-hair guitar; Walbourne on bass; Dave Ruffy on drums; and Sean Read on sax and keyboards. Ruffy, a punk legend for his time in The Ruts, replaces for this tour Collins’ other punk-legend drummer, Paul Cook.

Collins stepped up to the stage with the assistance of a cane and Grace Maxwell. After he was seated on an unused amplifier beside a music stand holding lyrics sheets, he greeted New York quickly and launched into the title track from the new album, “Losing Sleep.” No longer able to play guitar due to the loss of use of his right arm, Collins didn’t elect for an easy set in the comfort zone. The big hits and favorites were played but he took a huge risk by playing seven out of the new album’s 12 tracks (keep in mind that American audiences weren’t familiar with any of the new album) yet they sat well with his back-catalog and even complemented the hallowed Orange Juice tracks.

Collins expressed minor irritation early on when there was some delay getting the second song started. “Dying Day! C’mon, now!”

It should be noted that while Collins doesn’t have complete facility of his unmistakable baritone voice, he has a great deal of it. His voices sounds as if he has a mild head cold. Mind you, Edwyn Collins with a head cold is still miles above most bands on their best days! As one ponders the mysteries of the brain, one could observe that Collins seems to have difficulty speaking words (such as song titles) that he is able to sing with ease.

I think my favorite part of the show was in “Consolation Prize” right before the guitar break when Collins held anticipation by saying, “Wait!” There were many other highlights. Ralla and Edwards on twin-guitar attack raised a great funk gnash during “Falling and Laughing” (introduced by Collins with “From 30 years ago, imagine that!”). Collins only did one song (“Wheel of Love”) from his excellent first solo album, Hope and Despair, but it is definitely a keeper for the set.

“Don’t Shilly Shally,” his first solo single and one of my favorite songs period, stretched out as Collins rose to his feet and tried to adjust the microphone stand. Thankfully a crew member raised the mike so Collins could sing “A Girl Like You” standing.

Are these the real Collins Kids?

For the encore, Collins called for a harmonica for “Searching for the Truth” in order “to do it justice” and pulled off a crisp solo. Collins’ son William stepped up to sing the chorus in “See It in Your Eyes,” at first expressing reluctance (“Let’s get this done with quick,” he muttered) but more than acquitted himself. In fact, he probably got the loudest applause of the night. A raucous “Blue Boy” closed the night as Collins gave a wave and a smile and thankfully didn’t say goodbye.

Set List: Losing Sleep / Dying Day / What Presence!? / Make Me Feel Again / Consolation Prize / It Dawns on Me / Wheel of Love / Home Again / Humble / What Is My Role? / Rip It Up / Falling and Laughing / Do It Again / Don’t Shilly Shally / A Girl Like You

Encore: Searching for the Truth / See It in Your Eyes / Blue Boy

And Stuart said, “Let there be light.”  And there was light.

I can’t remember for certain the last time I’ve been to a show that I knew every song performed, apart from the artist’s yet-to-be-released album.  Maybe Grant Hart?  And now I was seeing Belle & Sebastian, a band whose songs I really love.  I know the words, man!

Along with punk and metal, I do enjoy a lot of twee.  Hell, I love the stuff Orange Juice did for Postcard (collected on Ostrich Churchyard and The Heather’s on Fire) along with the Pastels, the Vaselines and Camera Obscura.

But, man, B&S songs have worked their way in deep into me. I think they would show up in my hair roots.  Hell, I’ll stop slobbering over the band and just review the show from this point on.

Remember that big monsoon that was going to drown New York City with a foot of rain and 60-mile-per-hour wind?  It was supposed to happen Thursday, Sept. 30 — the same night that Belle & Sebastian were going to play the outdoor stage at the Williamsburg Waterfront.

Suffice to say it didn’t happen.  In fact after that afternoon not a drop of rain fell until the next morning.  The wind had kicked up some, but not enough to take off a slightly muggy feel the the evening.

The members came out under the cover of pulsing blue light and kicked into “I Didn’t See it Coming,” the first song on the new album, Write About Love, set for Oct. 12 release. “Oh, what a great job,” singer Stuart Murdoch sighed at the end.  His witty remarks — never as deadly dragged out as Robyn Hitchcock — are entertaining segues  of the show.  They need them because Bobby Kildea, Mick Cooke and Stevie Jackson switch around from guitar, bass and trumpet.  At another point, Murdoch pointed out the hugeness of the stage, noting that it “looks like the set of a sitcom.”  About the supposed monsoon, he quipped “We have good luck with weather.  We have God on our side.”  Then he immediately withdrew the comment.  “I should never have said that,” he said sheepishly.  “I’m tempting fate.”

Stevie Jackson took lead vocals for “I’m Not Living in the Real World” but not before instructing the crowd how to “Woo ooh ooh ooh” for the chorus.  It’s a fine song that fits in with the 60s-feel typical of a Stevie Jackson song.

“I Want the World to Stop,” another new song, fit in well with the wide-ranging set list.  After it, Murdoch threw out some signed toy footballs for the kids in the audience.  “It gets a bit boring when you’re a kid,” he said about 12-and-unders being dragged to the show by parents who are fans.  “Even if the kid doesn’t get it, give it to the kid,” he admonished grown-up souvenir-seekers.

And Stuart said, “Let there be strings.”  And there were strings.

Murdoch also took a stand for Obama and said the U.K. would take him if we didn’t like him because he’s “great.”  “Anyway, I’m preaching to the converted,” he said in response to the applause and introduced “Sookie in the Graveyward” as “a song about an apolitical hussy.”

Belle & Sebastian even had the guts to pull out a B-side to the Jonathan David single, “The Loneliness of a Middle Distance Runner,” which of course is collected in the Push Barman to Open Old Wounds compilation album.

Murdoch brought up several audience members to clap along to “There’s Too Much Love” and “The Boy With the Arab Strap.”  He bestowed medals on the clappers but ran out, so the tall lanky guy got only a hug and a promise that one would be mailed to him.

There really is too much love. And haze.

Murdoch screwed up the acoustic guitar intro to “Judy and the Dream of Horses,” and gave a grimacing look to an amused Jackson.

For the encore, Murdoch introduced each member as they began playing “Me and the Major.”  Apart from Kildea, Jackson and Cooke, there were big cheers for drummer Richard Colburn, violinist and vocalist Sarah Martin, keyboardist and Powerbookist Chris Geddes and celloist Sarah Wilson (a new official member?).

For the end of the show, Murdoch encouraged the audience to help sing “Get Me Away From Here I’m Dying,” because “I usually mess up the words pretty bad.”  Just one encore but there were no grumbles in the crowd as the show tipped near the two-hour mark.  There was nothing else Belle & Sebastian could have possibly done to make it a better show.

Set list: I Didn’t See It Coming/I’m a Cuckoo/Step Into My Office, Baby/Like Dylan in the Movies/I’m Not Living in the Real World/Piazza, New York Catcher/I Want the World to Stop/Lord Anthony/Sookie in the Graveyard/We Rule the School/Another Sunny Day/The Loneliness of a Middle Distance Runner/Write About Love/There’s Too Much Love/The Boy With the Arab Strap/If You Find Yourself Caught in Love/Judy and the Dream of Horses/Sleep the Clock Around

Encore: Me and the Major/Get Me Away From Here I’m Dying

If you’ve worn one of these on your wrist, you’re going to Hell.

I don’t know how long the Brooklyn Masonic Temple has been putting on shows, but it was a trip for me to go to my old neighborhood, Fort Greene, to see a concert.

The crowd (read, “men and boys”) dressed appropriately in decayed metallic wear for the bill of four Southern Lord acts: Eagle Twin, Pelican, Earth and headliner Sunn 0))).

My takeaway is that I have seen the future of heavy music and that Pelican is that future.

Twin Eagle, you guys definitely look cool and I will listen to your new album “The Unkindness of Crows” many more times.

Twin Eagle is a duo of a guitar player who can also throat sing and a tireless drummer who soon became shirtless. They did have a full and developed sound, but it isn’t really for me, at least not this night.  Their new album is growing on me, though.

Pelican! Yes! Yes! Yes!

Next up were Pelican. Did they get their name from the fact that all four members are tall and lanky?  They are an all-instrumental band and there are elements of various species of metal and tuneful punk.
Sound good to you?

Here’s another cool thing about the band.  They are down with tapers, so check out some of their live shows on archive.org.

Despite the lack of a traditional frontman, Pelican did have a rapport with the audience. One of the guitarists would move to a microphone on the side and speak in modest words.

“Thanks for coming early,” he said early on. Later he noted they were playing songs from a forthcoming album on Southern Lord.

Pelican won fans that night, and the applause grew with each song.

Down to Earth.

Earth, another vocal-less band, was up next, but their set was delayed by apparent problems with the drum set up. Leader Dylan Carlson was friendly and affable from the start, but while playing, he would turn his back on the crowd to concentrate. They opened with “Omens and Portents II.”  At the end of the song, somebody yelled out a loud “Yee haw!” and Carlson chided him with, “You’re at the wrong show!”

The title track to The Bees Made Honey in the Lions’ Skull was next.  The acoustics for the temple were perfect for Earth’s slow-core, epically cinematic sound.  Every instrument – guitar, bass, drums and keyboards – was distinct and yet also came together at key points as if jazz were the genre.

Then they played a new song from their as-yet-unrecorded new album. Fans won’t be disappointed when said album is released next year.

Three songs and that was it for Earth, barely more than half an hour of playing time. The crowd bellowed for an encore, but Carlson shrugged. The matter was out of his hands, as Sunn 0))) had to set up.

Sunn o))) of a. . .

They should have let Earth do an encore.  Sunn 0))) was supposed to go on at midnight, but well past 12:30 am, the only thing moving on stage was concert fog accompanied by pre-recorded throat singing.  The crowd grew antsy and there was a palpable annoyance running throughout the fully attended sold-out show, particularly among those standing on the ground floor.

Finally Sunn 0)))’s two principals, Stephen O’Malley and Greg Anderson, came out in hooded black robes.  They proceeded to wield guitars and basses in front of their amps, slashing away in the air to get better howls of feedback.  This went on for almost 20 minutes before vocalist Attila Csihar came out in a robe and narrated a story about humankind and rituals before a few rounds of throat singing punctuated with guttural grunts.

I remember thinking at the time that this portion of the show was painfully boring. Yet, as I turn to my recording of the show, I actually find it interesting and yielding more with each listen. The guitars, but the way, were turned up in accordance to the band’s mantra, “Maximum Volume Yields Maximum Results.”  (It was the second-loudest show I’ve ever been to.  My Bloody Valentine at Roseland last year was several-fold louder – it was the only show I’ve been to where I could feel my clothes rippling on my body from the soundwaves alone.)

After that section, Csihar made a costume change into a goth Statue of Liberty complete with mirror pieces and shooting red lasers from his fingertips.  He later changed into an outfit that resembled a tree growing through a burlap sack.

Sunn 0))) finally sets.  It’s past 2 AM at this point.

At the end of their set, Csihar crawled out of his costume, baring his upper body, and all three men bowed,  waved and raised their arms in triumph — acknowledging the crowd for the first time in their 90-minute set.

Oh, and by the way, if you were looking for Sunn 0)))’s latest album Monoliths and Dimensions on vinyl or the (初心) Grimmrobes Live 101008 cassette (!), the merch table on the current tour is the only place to get them. (Whoops!  Wrote too soon!)

Congratulations to the Blackened Music Series for putting up such an unforgettable show. I didn’t enjoy every minute of it, but it was continuously challenging in the aural, intellectual and spiritual senses.  I’ll be back.

Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors. Cyril Jordan (left) and Roy Loney (right) throwing off some heat at Maxwell’s. A-Bones pounder Miriam Linna flails away in the background.

I was so bummed that I couldn’t make the Ponderosa Stomp back in April in New Orleans for a number of reasons but most of all for missing the reunion of Cyril Jordan and Roy Loney, who hadn’t shared a stage since 1971 when Loney left the Flamin’ Groovies and Jordan carried on.  (For quite a number of years, actually — the last studio album was 1993′s Rock Juice, which I like a lot, but I’m incredibly biased.)  So when the two New York-area shows were announced, I shook some action and got my credit card out like so fast.

Who else but the ragged and righteous A-Bones could back these two?  I don’t know how the Ponderosa shows were, but you have to give it up to them for opening both Maxwell’s and Southpaw shows and then backing Cyril and Roy.  And give it up big time for Cyril and Roy for reuniting!  In the time they were apart, the Ramones got together, had their entire careers and then passed away.

The A-Bones slug it out. Left to right, Marcus the Carcass, Miriam and Billy Miller.

Up first at the Maxwell’s show were the A-Bones, who have a new album out, Not Now, I guess a play on Flamin’ Groovies Now.  If you want to party hardy but don’t want to wait for the Sonics to come back out east, hey, this band is your only shot.  The dirty grinding music was so good, I picked it up on vinyl at the show.  Yeah!

They brought up a special guest to introduce and sing along with “The World’s Greatest Sinner” — Romeo Carey, the son of Timothy Carey, one of the most distinctive actors ever.  When they finished their set, the room was completely packed and the anticipation had reached a sweat-dripping-off-the-walls quality.

Down in F-L-A!  Cyril, Roy and A-Bones’ Bruce Bennett.

Cyril and Roy were low-key about walking through the Maxwell’s crowd to get to the stage.  Cyril was eerily youthful-looking — he could pass for a man in his 30s. Roy looked like a carny with a mischievous swagger who would toss out expired candy to passersby. Both still had an unsettling amount of hair — one of the perks of being groovy!

They wasted no time before ripping into “Second Cousin.” With hardly a breath, “Can’t Explain” was next, with Cyril noting, “We always used to warm up with this.”  Cyril’s hands seemed as fast as ever, playing leads like the band had never taken time off. Roy still has the menacing growl that all school principals seem to put on when they know they can’t legally hit you.

Introducing “Golden Clouds,” Cyril explained they were doing the song because A-Bones’ keyboardist/guitarist Ira Kaplan loves it. “We haven’t done this song since ’68. What is that, 50 years or some shit? Argh, I’m getting old. I still feel like I’m fucking 17.”

“You look like you’re 17!” countered Roy.

“Maybe 117!” replied Cyril, adding, “Be prepared for a disaster that might be kinda OK.”

Of course it was more than OK and, like the entire night, great.  Not tight, as beginnings and endings of songs were fudged a bit, and “Shake Some Action” fell out of sync on both nights, but hell, great in the way that rock and roll should be.  Loud, dirty and jumpin’.

Cyril shared the story of how his dad liked to listen to classical music on the radio and that one day Cyril tuned in to a rock show and was blown away by the opening to Freddie “Boom Boom” Cannon‘s version of “Tallahassee Lassie.”

“I think that’s the reason why I ruined my life,” he confessed, chuckling.

If that’s the case, the Groovies “ruined” many lives, judging by the sold-out Maxwell’s crowd and the packed house at Southpaw in Brooklyn the next night, which looked like it was sold out if it wasn’t.

“Damn, Cyril, we’re playing Southpaw together!”

One senses that Roy’s departure from the band in 1971 may still be a bit of an issue. At Maxwell’s they mentioned the split twice briefly and it wasn’t mentioned at all at Southpaw. The set list only had a few songs from the Cyril-helmed Groovies era, nearly the opposite of the 1989 compilation Groovies Greatest Grooves, the last major-label release for the band in the U.S. that cut down Loney’s contributions to only two songs out of 24.

In fact, at Maxwell’s while introducing “Jumpin’ in the Night,” the regular set closer, Cyril said with a degree of contrition, “I wrote this about 10 years after Roy had left the band, but I was thinking of Roy when I wrote it. I was trying to go back to the old style we were doing and I hope I kinda got close.”

Also, about a decade ago Roy said in an interview that he and Cyril were “pretty much incommunicado.”

In any case, I’m glad they were at long last able to rejoin their considerable powers and blast the hell out of Hoboken and Brooklyn. Different encores each night, so you really did have to go to both, natch!

Pretty early into the Maxwell’s show. Roy’s jacket came off about three songs in! That’s Ira Kaplan on the far right yowling into his mike.

The A-Bones more than held up their end.  Miriam Linna bashed away like her spring had been wound too tightly and Marcus the Carcass on bass was nimble in a way that would have made Groovies’ bassist George Alexander proud.  Bruce Bennett was game enough to play slide guitar on “High-Flyin’ Baby.”  Singer Billy Miller came up and throttled “In the U.S.A.” while Ira co-sang “Shake Some Action” with Cyril, yelling out the “Make it all right”s on the chorus along with the whoops.

In the U.S.A.!  Billy Miller guests on lead vox while Lars Espensen wails it out at Maxwell’s. Bruce Bennett in the back.

Some fans may consider this desecration, but I now consider the live “Teenage Head” and “Slow Death” with Lars Espensen on sax and Miller on maracas to be the definitive versions of those songs. “Head” simply had a more-threatening edge with Espensen but “Slow Death” built up to a five-minute maelstrom not unlike the Stooges’ “L.A. Blues.”

During their set at Southpaw, the A-Bones brought up Wreckless Eric to sing a spirited rendition of “Wooly Bully.”

There was a third band at the Southpaw show that opened the night, the Underthings. They didn’t play very long, but their bluesy rock (somewhere, Johnny Thunders is smiling) struck some pretty good sparks before the flames later that night.

Set list:  Second Cousin / Can’t Explain / Sweet Little Rock n Roller / Comin’ After Me / High-Flyin’ Baby / First One’s Free / Golden Clouds / Have You Seen My Baby? / Road House / Tallahassee Lassie / Evil-Hearted Ada / In the U.S.A. / Shake Some Action / Teenage Head / Slow Death

Maxwell’s encores: Round and Round / Jumpin’ in the Night

Southpaw encores: Doctor Boogie / Johnny Bye Bye / Jumpin’ in the Night

Singing while balancing a Farfisa on your head helps dull those sharp notes.

I’ll fess up right off the bat.  When the three New York-area shows for The Mummies were announced I was one of those jerks who bought tickets for all three and cleared those days for vacation at work.  The boys were playing an early and a late show at Maxwell’s in Hoboken on a Tuesday night and then one show at Southpaw in Brooklyn the next night.  I was going to need the rest.  I mean, hell, even when I was in college, it was tough getting out of a show at 2 AM at Maxwell’s and walking the mile and a half or so to the PATH stop to get back to the city.

Expectations were pretty high for The Mummies’ first shows in the U.S. in 18 years — and the fact that the first was taking place at the site of the last one in 1991, you knew there wouldn’t be a dry eye in the house. Certainly not from those who dropped $50-$60 to scalpers after the shows sold out immediately ($15 face value for each ticket!).  But could anyone really miss these shows?  In fact, you’ll see those strange orbs floating around in my pictures.  Maybe they are the spirits of Mummies fans who have died in the intervening 18 years who wanted to cross to the other side see their favorite band?

For those who don’t know, The Mummies are/were a garage rock band from the Bay Area who wrap themselves up in guaze and generally act like idiots on stage.  Of course, that all serves to mask their talent, which is pretty obvious when they crank out Wailers and Sonics covers along with their own original Budget Rock (a phrase that they claim to have trademarked) such as “(You Must Fight to Live) On the Planet of the Apes).”

The early show started with the drummer coming out.  He warbled, in a voice uncannily similar to Joey Ramone (who started in the Ramones as the drummer), “You paid the money to see a professional show.  Let’s not waste any more time. . .let’s go with. . .professional show business!”  Then he kicked off a beat.  Mummy bassist came on and started playing, as Maxwell’s capacity crowd of 200 recognized the lines from “Food, Sickles and Girls.” Then the guitarist came on and started playing.  At this point people were chanting, “Food, sickles and girls!”  And then the lead singer/keyboard playing mummy jumped on and said into the mike, “Okay, everybody.  Grab your ankles.  You’re gonna get screwed!”  After hitting a few chords on his Farfisa, the band lurched into the song with full gusto and bodies both on and off stage jumped around like grubs on a hot plate.

The Mummies are known for trash talking as well.  Early on the singer said, “We’re gonna have to clear you guys out for the V.I.P. show,” referencing the later show.  “This microphone taste like shit. . .did G.G. Allin just play?”  About halfway through the set, a few songs after a version of “He’s Waiting” that blew apart, the bassist asked, “Hey are we skipping something here?”  “Shhh!” said the singer, “that’s for the V.I.P. show, man!”

Some in the crowd yelled for The Mummies to just stop the banter and play.

“You know, back in the old days,” the singer countered, “you know, when your parents used to come see us, they’d be lucky to get, like, 15 minutes of actual music, so stop fucking complaining, all right?”

Encore: “Zip a Dee Doo Dah” and “Justine.”

The later show was even more high-energy.  In fact, I can’t remember the last time I felt the entire Maxwell’s crowd moving that fast and in all directions.  This time, they all came onstage at the same time.

The bassist announced that they “saved all the good songs for this V.I.P. show.”  People were screaming pretty much anything.  “Don’t get too excited,” said the drummer, “you may be disappointed.”  The singer added, “Too bad you guys missed the V.I.P. show that happend a little while ago.”  Then he said, “You can feel free to sing along to this one.  Except Russell.”

The Mummies launched into a hi-speed and raunchy version of “Skinny Minnie” and the floor seemed to convert into a junction of moving walkways as torsos twisted and slammed against each other.

A few songs in, the bassist chided, “If you were here at the last show, please stand in the back so the other people can see.”

“This place is a dump, look at this!” said the singer, referring to the cups and other crap that people thew on the stage.

As the bassist tuned up, the singer said to his bandmates, “Let’s see how long we can make them wait.  The funny thing is, they can’t make us actually play, and they can’t make us play good.”

Encore: “(My Love Is) Stronger Than Dirt,” (bringing things full-circle) “Food, Sickles and Girls” and “Show Me.”

It was kinda more of the same at Southpaw the next night, which, in The Mummies’ case, is a great thing!  The Brooklyn club actually had curtains drawn as the boys set up, so when they parted, as the drummer keeping a beat on the high hat, it was actually pretty dramatic.

They opened with a ferocious cover of “Come on Up” that saw the singer stand on his Farfisa, grab a ceiling beam and swing from it.  Of course, someone else in the audience later in the show got a boost from a buddy and did the same thing.  How original.

I have to say that the crowd of 500 were more vocal than the Maxwell’s crowds, although the latter were way more physically active.

When the regular set was over, the crowd chanted “food, sickles and girls!”  And they got it for the first song of the encore. Then there was “(My Love Is) Stronger Than Dirt.”  After that, the bassist asked the crowd, “Are you guys getting bored?” to a resounding “NOOOO!!!!”

The ultimate (in many ways) song followed, “(You Must Fight to Live) On The Planet of the Apes.”  The crowd continued to roar for more, but the boys were done, off to some shows in Europe.  Will they ever play in the U.S. again?

For more pictures, check out my fan page on Facebook.

Grant Hart, a one-man band who knows how to wage psychic warfare.

Well a whole bunch of things have happened lately that I haven’t been blogging about.

I’ve seen The Vaselines twice again when they came through Manhattan and Brooklyn in mid-May.  I didn’t bother write about the shows because they have been so extensively covered I didn’t know what else I could add to it and also I wrote about their two shows in the New York City area a year ago.

I’ve also got another book coming out sorta soon, Snakes Can’t Run.  It’s the sequel to This Is a Bust, and it’s coming out in hardcover (my first!) on St. Martin’s/Thomas Dunne/Minotaur in winter 2010.  I haven’t written too much about this because there are still some things that need to be done, including the cover design, which I’m sure will be an awesome graphic for a blog entry.

And, well, I recently turned 40.

Forty!  Jesus, am I really 40?

I won’t lie.  I was freaking out a decade ago when I was going to turn 30.  I thought it was going to be The End.  Y’know, the end of fun and the beginning of getting a will hammered out.

In all honesty, I have to say I have had more fun in my 30s than in my 20s.  I used to worry a lot more.  I’d work every extra overtime shift at the news service to try to make more money to move out of my large but ultra-crappy apartment in Boerum Hill in pre-cool Brooklyn.  What was so crappy about it?  Well, the month after I moved in the kitchen ceiling collapsed because it apparently had been holding a quantity of water that had leaked in from somewhere.  A few months later I had a flood that left two inches of water on the floor.  The worst part about that was there were mice parts (not whole mice, for some reason) floating in the murky water.

But it was there, on that then crappy place on State Street that I’d fire up my Mac clone and helplessly punch out a short story or another page to a another doomed novel.

It was tough.  It was the hardest thing in the world to do.  It would have been so easy to stop at the bullet-proof Chinese place on the way home from work and pick up half a fried chicken and french fries with Chinese hot sauce, and then zone out in front of the TV.  Or hit the PlayStation with my neighbors.  That happened often enough, but the fear pushed me.

Fear and worry.  Fearing that I wasn’t cut out to write a book.  Worrying that I wasn’t trying hard enough. I pushed myself like my parents wished I did for my piano lessons.  I spent many nights huddled in my futon, wondering if I could put together a manuscript before my apartment caved in and killed me and worse, knock out my hard drive.

Those days seem so long ago because they are — nearly two decades.  I need to thank that guy for all his effort because it helped instill the writing discipline that I have now.

My 30s were spent writing regularly and certainly at a more-measured pace.  I started going to a gym for cardio/upper body/lower body workouts, and I think I’m probably in better physical shape than I have ever been.

I also started going to see live music again.  I had stopped attending in my mid-20s EA Sports days.  I think it started when the Knitting Factory had three great shows in a row in spring 2004 — the Undertones, the Weirdos (with the essential Cliff Roman in the lineup) and D.O.A. It was awesome being there (although my wife still wants to kill me for exposing her to the “pit” at the Undertones show — it was a small place and there really weren’t any “safe” corners).

I have been to many more shows since.  In fact, in the last two weeks or so, I’ve seen the two Vaselines shows, Kylesa (who are awesome!) and Grant Hart.

One rule I have in going to see shows is that I actually attend early enough to catch all the support acts.  While this has led to stretches of pure agony (though such experiences are awesome for future writing material), I’ve also discovered amazing bands that are astoundingly good live acts.  Back in 1989, I saw Nirvana open up for Tad at Maxwell’s.  I saw Sunny Day Real Estate open for Velocity Girl in 1994.

This year I saw the BellRays open for the Damned.  And “damned” if they didn’t top the headliners in pure adrenaline, sweat and effort.

But I broke my rule on Monday when I went to see Grant Hart.  You see, Grant was opening for Death Vessel, a band I’m not familiar with and whose music doesn’t rub me the right way.

Grant, next time you come, play “Now That You Know Me”!

Grant was awesome, just him and his electric guitar (“One thing you can say about little amplifiers,” he chirped between songs, “They’re real easy to carry.”), starting out with “The Girl Who Lives on Heaven Hill,” from New Day Rising, one of 15-year-old Ed Lin’s favorite albums.  The last time I saw Grant perform was 19 years ago at CBGBs when he cranked out songs from his recent solo album, Intolerance.  I had asked him after the show why he didn’t do any Husker Du songs, and he had spat out, “If I start playing Husker Du songs, that’s all anybody will want to hear.”

But that wasn’t true back then and certainly wasn’t true Monday night at the Bell House.  Thing is, he now treated us to many other classic Husker songs, including “Flexible Flyer,” “Terms of Psychic Warfare” and “She’s a Woman and He’s a Man.”  He shook in some expected solo stuff, including “2541.”

The goofy and lovable Grant — a man closing in on 50 — belted out songs, clearly feeling the pleasure in playing songs he loves.  Watching him on stage made me try to remember what I was like in 1990 at CBGBs.  Even back then, although I was only writing two short stories a year, I wanted to write novels.  I had no idea how far I had to go.

After Grant’s set, I noticed that the top knuckles of my big toes were hurting for some reason (I hadn’t been standing on my toes, I swear).  Ed Lin from two decades ago would have stuck it out, seeing a band he didn’t necessarily like just to be true to the integrity of the show.

But I left.  There was no way it was going to be better than Grant Hart singing Husker Du songs and I wanted to leave on a high.

When you’re 40, you owe yourself some breaks.

Crocodiles, not bad, but definitely an off-night!

This was Asobi Seksu‘s big homecoming gig, the last in a long international tour.  Somehow, though, something was missing.  I dunno, it just felt kinda joyless, if I may say so, though the music sounded great and Asobi Seksu (a duo of singer and keyboard player Yuki Chikudate and guitarist and vocalist James Hanna), rounded out with a touring bassist and drummer, were tight.  Or maybe it was just me who felt empty at the end of the night.

First opening band was Crocodiles, two guys, one who sings and the other who plays guitars and handles the drum/bass/keyboard programming.  It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t so great, either.  They sounded a bit like The Jesus and Mary Chain live — great songs played shittily.  In fact, I think both guys were sick.  The singer was spitting like an old man in Chinatown while the guitarist’s nose visibly leaked at regular intervals.

At one point, the guitar cut out completely, but the pre-programmed drums/bass/keyboards — and the singer — completed the song no problem.

Tyvek, I’m not into you guys.

Up next were Tyvek, from Michigan.  Female bass player and a drummer playing a stand-up kit, what’s not to like?  A lot.  This six piece looked like an intramural softball team that was thrown together with people who didn’t get picked by anybody else.  How did they sound?  It was like bad pop played at Minor Threat speed.  Their songs were frantic and about a minute long each.  And, boy, did they have a lot of songs.  I think they did like 30 of them!

Asobi Seksu, yes!

Before Asobi Seksu came on, the roadies rolled out huge sheets of white paper, either to go with the theme of the cover of their new album, Hush, or to cover up the phlegm that Crocodiles left on stage.

They came galloping out with “Sing Tomorrow’s Praise,” off of Hush, an odd choice for an opener, in my opinion.  Then “New Years” from Citrus (a favorite album of mine) crashed in.  “It’s good to be home!” Yuki exclaimed.  “It’s been a long time!”

The venue was pretty packed at this point.  If it wasn’t sold out, it was pretty darned close.  Whole lotta Asians there, very cool, and an incredibly diverse crowd overall.  The songs seemed evenly split between Citrus and Hush.

After “Strawberries,” someone yelled out, “Yuki, I love you.”  She answered, “I love you, too.”  It just seemed too perfunctory an exchange and that was when I started to worry.

My unease continued throughout the night.  I wasn’t sure what was bothering me.  The Hush songs meshed well with the Citrus songs, even though I’ve read that on the latest album they were trying to get away from the noisy guitar pop (Hanna himself was “sick” of playing guitar) that characterized their earlier work.

Before introducing the closing song of the regular set, Yuki noted that many of the bands’ family members were in the audience but her own parents were in L.A.  “Don’t hate me,” she added.  Then Asobi Seksu launched into “In the Sky,” which then built into a My Bloody Valentine-worthy maelstrom.  Yuki then took off her necklace, hanged it on her microphone and stepped behind the drum kit and slammed it like a madwoman.  John Zorn would have been proud.

The feedback continued as the band walked off and then came back to slip into “Strings.”  Last song of the night: the single “Me and Mary.”

Then it was over.  Over over.  Only one encore.  My unease spread from my stomach up into my slumping shoulders.  Only one encore and no “Nefi and Girly“?  But that’s one of my favorite songs and definitely a signature song of Asobi Seksu!  So much so that it’s on the Live From Soho and Spaceland Presents live EPs.

I think Lemmy said it best in his rambling (in every sense of the word) autobiography, White Line Fever.  Basically, he’s done with “Ace of Spades,” but it wouldn’t be a Motorhead show if he didn’t play it.  And when he goes to see Chuck Berry, he’d better play “Roll Over Beethoven.”

Even if a band is just sick to death of a song or style, they should still play their touchstone pieces.  Asobi Seksu, I will buy (and have bought) all your albums and EPs and all your new music.  But when I go see you play live, I want me some “Nefi and Girly”!

I have the sense that many in the crowd felt the same way.

Kuroma, I wasn’t really into you, to be honest.

I don’t know about you, but I was psyched as hell to see that Scotland’s Primal Scream was coming to play.  I got on the bandwagon late, having been turned off by 1991′s Screamadelica, which I considered trippy hippy crap back in the day.  But I checked back on them for 2000′s XTRMNTR for two huge reasons: awesome bass player Mani (late of the Stone Roses) was now a full-fledged member; and I found a copy on double vinyl (thank you U.S. label Astralwerks!).  I was hooked right from the start with the annihilation funk of the first track, “Kill All Hippies” and loved the album all the way through to closer “Shoot Speed Kill Light,” lyrically inspired by Motorhead’s eponymous track.

Time hasn’t been kind to the Scream.  I’ve heard conflicting information, but this was their first New York show and American tour in years.  Mani said onstage that they haven’t played here in nine years, but singer Bobby Gillespie later said that “five years” has been too long to not play the city.  On top of this, the Scream’s new album Beautiful Future isn’t yet available domestically in the U.S. (not even on iTunes!  C’mon, Steve Jobs, you hippy!)

Opening band Kuroma came out with just two members, one on guitar and one on recorder and vocals.  It was a bit of a head fake, as the rest of the band piled in later, but it was annoying enough so that I kinda tuned them out.  Unlike most of New York, I make it a point to show up on time to catch the opening bands, because you never know what you’re going to see.  I got to see huge upsets, such as Sunny Day Real Estate opening for Velocity Girl at CBGB in 1994, and Nirvana opening for Tad at Maxwell’s in 1989 (with about 25 people in the audience), but tonight wasn’t one of them.

Bobby: “I’m gonna scream and scream again!”

About 9 o’clock the Scream hits the stage.  Bobby is looking stringbean thin, tall with black hair.  Christ, he even looks hapa!  Longtime guitarist Robert Innes has a jaunty hat and western shirt on.  With his graying hair, he seems like Captain Sensible‘s older brother who is just a touch more reserved. Mani, with striped shirt on, is bouncing like a kid coming down the stairs Christmas morning. A nice touch is that he’s hacked out the “Marshall” nameplate on his bass amp and replaced it with “Mani”!  To his right is Barrie Cadogan on guitar, or maybe it’s 70′s Jimmy Page’s doppelganger.  Can’t see the drummer too well and a keyboardist is similarly hidden behind his equipment.

Maybe it’s too obvious to start out with “Kill All Hippies”?  But, whatever, man, it’s great.  “Miss Lucifer” makes an early appearance, as well, and sounds better than the studio version.  Innes riffs like hell all over the place and actually upstages Bobby in terms of providing visual enthusiasm.

You go, Robert Innes!

There were  John Edward (he of “Crossing Over”) moments on the choruses to “Movin’ On Up,” when disembodied background female voices chimed in.  There were some flourishes on the keyboards and someone (a male) back there waved to the crowd.

“Country Girl” on the first encore was great, if coming off as calculated.  The second encore was an extended “Accelerator,” ending with, what else, bass and guitars against the amps, pouring feedback over the crowd.

It’s only 10:30 pm on a Saturday night and the show’s over, but not for me.  Not until I buy my “Kill All Hippies” shirt from the merch table, put it on and head out into the rainy New York night.

Yeah, you guys!

Okay, so you’ve left your tiny American label Merge and gone on to 4ad, so I guess this stunt was to generate publicity for that storied label.

Yeah, I called it a stunt!  You book two shows at tiny places in New York City and they sell out immediately (and creating buzz as people scramble to get tickets).  One at Mercury Lounge (an old trick for that venue — Echo & the Bunnymen played a semi-secret show there in 1996 when they first reunited and Swervedriver played there in 1997 when they switched to label Zero Hour) and another at the Bell House.   What the fuck is the Bell House?  Nobody’s even ever heard of it!

So when both of your March shows sold out immediately, the “fans” who snapped up your tickets started hawking them on Cragislist and eBay immediately — at 200%-500% markups!  Those jackasses are your fan base now.

Remember when you played the South Street Seaport in 2007?  I couldn’t make it, but it lives on here, here and here.  That was cool!  Dude, you played a free show!  For the people!  For your fans!

You know how much I love/loved you guys?  I have your fucking albums on vinyl!  Do you know how hard they were to find?  Really hard!

I pushed your songs on everybody I knew!  I even forced my wife to listen!  She hates much of the music that I love!  She still wants my head for forcing her to go to the Undertones reunion show!

I wasn’t ready to be heartbroken, but now I am.  <sniff!>  And one thing’s for sure — I won’t be seeing you live, not this month, anyway.