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.

The iPhone’s camera captures everything with amazing resolution: Robyn at Symphony Space.

I’ve had mixed feelings about Robyn Hitchcock for many years but now I love him.

The first song I ever heard by him was “Sounds Great When You’re Dead” on the local college radio station probably around 3 in the morning.  (Funnily enough, years later I would have a radio show at my college station from 1 to 5 in the morning on Thursdays.)

What struck me was that it was so grim and subversive despite only having an acoustic guitar and piano.  There wasn’t even any cursing.  Yet it fit in great with the hardcore punk of Dead Kennedys, Black Flag and D.I.  In fact, I seem to recall that Robyn Hitchcock’s song followed D.I.’s “Richard Hung Himself.”

But the problem was that Robyn Hitchcock’s albums were expensive imports and the albums of his previous band, The Soft Boys, were selling for upwards of $100.

Then a few years later, his song “Balloon Man” blew up!  It was huge!  Robyn was all over MTV all the time!

He went on a huge tour of America and A&M records, his label in the states, gave my radio show a pair of tickets to give out on air for promotion.

Yeah, right!

I did announce the show, several times, but I put myself down as the winner of the tickets.  No one in New York City wanted to go more than me, anyway.

I believe the show was at the Ritz, which is now Webster Hall.  It’s a pretty big place and it was sold out.  Robyn and his backing band the Egyptians (which included two former Soft Boys) found themselves playing in front of thousands when they previously probably only played to crowds a tenth of that size.

But something happened in front of that huge audience.  I noticed that Robyn liked to go off on what I’ll call improvised psychedelic non-sequiturs between songs.

It completely drained the energy out of the room!  No one had any idea what he was talking about!

That room had been pumped, too.  Many had bought Robyn’s A&M debut “Globe of Frogs.”  They hadn’t counted on 2-3 minutes of one-way banter from the stage before each song.  “Dude!” I wanted to tell him, “just shut the fuck up and play!”

It was such a turnoff I didn’t think about Robyn for years.  I later picked up his earlier solo albums on cassette for 99 cents each, “Element of Light” and “Black Snake Diamond Role.”  I listened to them once each, thought they were crap and tossed them into a drawer.

What an idiot I was.

Earlier this year, I saw that Yep Roc was reissuing Robyn’s back catalog.  They had audio samples of every one of his songs.

I went to select the first song on “Element of Light,” which is “If You Were a Priest.”

“I remember this was crap,” I muttered to myself.

What an idiot I was, again.

It was a great song.  It was a fantastic song with clever lyrics and a busy bass.

I desperately dug out my cassette of “Element of Light,” popped it into my portable cassette player and went to Au Bon Pain.  I listened to the entire album as I drank a 28-ounce iced coffee.

It was amazing from start to finish.  I was stunned.

Why hadn’t I been able to recognize it as such nearly 20 years ago?

I have to admit, memories of that odd gig overshadowed my impression of Robyn and prejudiced my ears.

I next popped in the cassette of “Black Diamond Snake Role,” but to my horror, the tape was nonfunctional.  So tapes are mortal, after all.

So, to compensate and to atone for my sins of ignoring Robyn unjustly for so long, I went ahead and bought both box-set reissues put out by Yep Roc, “I Wanna Go Backwards” and “Luminous Groove.”

Every single song is intelligent, if not catchy, with pop hooks that are familiar and yet wholly original.

I was happy to see that Robyn was set to play Symphony Space on the Upper West Side in late November.  I had a chance to see Robyn with new eyes and ears.

The program provided, written by Robyn himself, mentioned that he had gotten his start playing in folk clubs even before forming the Soft Boys.
Ah, that explained a lot.  That’s why improvised snippets between songs became part of his craft, in live performances, anyway.

The program also detailed a man — an artist — clearly not only unaccustomed to promoting himself but in fact doing the opposite.  I quote from the chronology:

“1981 I release “Black Diamond Snake Role” [sic -- yes, Robyn himself got the title wrong!] and promote it by doing nothing; Inner city riots throughout Britain; Spandau Ballet are huge.

“1982 My second solo album, “Groovy Decay”; I promote it by doing even less, except tour of Norwegian fallout shelters, playing to AC/DC fans; Falklands War guarantees Thatcher a second term; Decide to hibernate.”

Robyn took the stage and recreated his album “I Often Dream of Trains” in its entirety, opting to “play” “I Wish I Were a Pretty Girl” on a cassette player instead of singing it himself.

The old improvised talk came back up, but knowing more about Robyn, I found it as integral to his music and off-kilter lyrics.

This was clearly not the college-rock superstar A&M tried to package in the wake of “Balloon Man.”  In fact, Robyn probably still resents A&M’s meddling to the degree that his years with the label (1986-1992) were dashed off in two lines out of nearly 200 lines in the program’s chronology.

Here what brings it full circle.  He did “Sounds Great When You’re Dead,” fifth song, first side of “I Often Dream of Trains.”

Sounded great to me and I’m glad I came around before I died.

Sorry and thank you, Robyn!

 Ha ha ha, ho ho ho, hee hee hee!

Killing Joke stormed into New York City for a two-night stand at “The Fillmore NY,” which is really the Irving Plaza — the only city one in three cities in America that sees the original quartet reunited: Jaz Coleman on vocals and stage creeping; Geordie on guitar; “Big Paul” Ferguson on drums; and Youth (Martin Glover) on bass.

The first night focused on the first two albums while the second night was focused on latter-day hits.  Of course signature songs such as “Wardance” and “Eighties” were played both nights.  Coleman wore a one-piece uniform both nights, ghastly makeup melting down his face.  He pranced around like an animated voodoo doll.  When not singing, he held his mike tilted to the sky, his arm like a pole arm of an electric trolley.  And the voice: Announcer of the Apocalypse.

If Coleman embodies the Killer, than Youth is surely the Joker.  Wearing a visor and clowning around a bit like Captain Sensible, Youth seemed to be enjoying the night immensely.  Ferguson pounded away on his kit like he had four arms — is this man really 50 years old?  Geordie was aloof and cool to the audience while raining down abrupt shards.  To the dude on keyboards: Welcome!  You rock that rig back and forth, you!

Coleman broke character a few times, dedicating a song “Love Like Blood” to late long-time bassist Paul Raven and also to give thanks that all four originals were able to regroup and tour because “the four of us haven’t been in the same room together since 1982.”

Great shows, both nights.

Oh, and a note to the Fillmore: How the hell am I supposed to tape the show when you make me check my bag! I have all my recording equipment in there!  Ha-rumph!

Wow, I’m not really into you guys at all.

Le Volume Courbe kicked off the show.  It’s really a vehicle for singer Charlotte Marionneau backed by a nu-folk band.  Her vocals come off like a flat night for Bjork fronting the Flying Burrito Brothers.  If that sounds interesting, it really wasn’t my intention to make it sound so.

Distorted acoustic guitars and flute?  What’s next? Distorted handclaps?

Wounded Knees were next.  The band includes Head Bloody Valentine Kevin Shields’ brother, Jimi.  Two heavily distorted acoustic guitars, a distorted flute and drums.  But nothing really worked until. . .

Ever hear of dinosaur rock before?

J. Mascis walked on, plugged in and all of a sudden, everything sounded great!  He’s got a gut now and seems to waddle a bit, but he’s Wounded Knee’s missing ingredient.  Funnily enough, Mascis used to be in a band called Deep Wound, before Dinosaur Jr.  Hmmm.

Lovely.

My Bloody Valentine are striking because the two singer/guitarists Kevin Shields and Bilinda Butcher (real name) live up to the shoegazing ethic by not really moving much despite the tectonic waves of sound issuing forth.  Bassist Debbie Googe and drummer Colm Ó Cíosóig were as kinetic as Shields and Butcher were restrained.  In fact, I was struck by how Butcher often wouldn’t even play her guitar, not touching it at all during “To Here Knows When,” which she sings.  About a dozen strobe lights encouraged followers to keep their eyes averted from the Bloodys.  I’ve read that they’ve been crappy live, but hell, they sure sounded like they wanted it tonight.

Raise your hands if you’re deaf!!!!!

The night ended with “You Made Me Realise,” which devolved into a 15-minute maelstrom of sound that swallowed up the entire room.  It was so loud the noise sent ripples through the air that formed a beat pattern when one breathed in.  The floor was shaking, my organs were shaking and if the financial sector hadn’t already crumbled, it would have been flattened.  Listening to my recording of the show, it sounds like a jet flying around indoors.  I can only compare it to one other real-life experience, being on the NJ Transit platform when an Amtrak train whips past, only one would have to be directly on the tracks and the Amtrak would have 10,000 cars.  People spontaneously raised both arms up in the air, maybe out of a primitive instinct to worship the divine earthquakes that just leveled one’s immoral city?

At one point Googe’s bass amp blew out a circuit and Shields had a fit, forcing a technician to fix the problem, although the overall volume dipped only 1% or so during the mishap.

No encore.  Just a simple but sincerely muttered, “Thanks,” and something about blowing out the PA system from Shields at the end.