THE HUMAN STROBE

One of my Cardiff friends is in town (that would be LeeG), so last night I invited him and his lovely girlfriend to join me and some friends at the Living Room on Ludlow for a free acoustic performance by Vince from Army of Me. Said group of friends (that would be Vince, Josh, Junior and DWall) went out for some crazy pizza afterwards and discussed the finer points of um... religion and remixes? Anyway. This morning DWall and I had the following conversation. Which I find worthy of blogging purely because I'm bored of counting down the days to my LA vacation.

DWall: you know what we didn't discuss last night?
Me: do tell
DWall: how fucking good was this past season of Law & Order?
Me: oh man i missed it all!
DWall: for real? the new cast is so good
Me: ive been really bad about tv. i just watch sports and a few select reality shows.
DWall: just the high brow shit. got it.
Me: hahahaha. ive caught a couple of episodes when theyre repeated but i wasnt particularly impressed with the cast. i miss the gritty new york steeze.
DWall: i like the two new detectives. i miss McCoy as the ADA, but - i think the writing and story lines are good again. whereas SVU has turned into "Law & Order: Retards on Patrol"
Me: hahahhaha
DWall: it really puts the special in special victims unit
Me: i miss the old detectives. and frankly i miss the crap film quality. i liked l&o as a new york show. gritty. ugly. etc. its too sleek now.
DWall: i hear you on the grit. i think SVU and CSI forced their hand in terms of the production value.
Me: yeah but i dont think that was a competition worth fighting. let them be the flashy ones.
DWall: and I think NY is also not as gritty as it was when the show was in it's first few seasons
Me: i know. but isnt tv for escapism? it was a better show when it felt dangerous and skeevy. and all the people had craggy faces and were not hot
DWall: i love watching them pre-cell phone. where they're always stopping to make calls on pay phones
Me: yeah! exactly! pre cell phone. and all the small characters looked wonky. now every criminal is hot.
DWall: or benjamin bratt whipping out his American Psycho cell phone
Me: hahahahahah
DWall: to the dismay of Briscoe
Me: man, briscoe really didnt know what to make of damn kids and their devices
DWall: or damn kids and their anything
Me: hahahhahahaha
DWall: he was always too busy reminiscing about betting on the ponies and drowning his sorrows in a fifth of Old Granddad
Me: HAHAHAHAHAHA. wasnt vodka his thing though? didnt he have vodka on the rocks the night bad hair died?
DWall: yeah. definitely a smirnoff man. but don't you ever speak ill of Jill Hennesey. just cos she stole her hair from jackie o's grave. not her fault.
Me: i loved her. but that HAIR. speaking of hair.... http://10.media.tumblr.com/dDbZF4lJrp4klxgi5atUoKMso1_500.jpg


Man, I love Law & Order. Bringing nerds together for nearly 20 years.

I DON'T LIKE IT IF IT DON'T GLEAM CLEAN

It's been a rare thing having new music to get excited about. Obviously I've gone on at (not-too-much) length about the Horrors and White Rabbits and Art Brut... not to mention my fully unbiased appreciation for that Ladyhawke record and the debut from Hatcham Social. And now this. I've been waiting for the green light to share this with everyone. And today I got it. Behold...

The newest offering from my boy Ian's L'Amour La Morgue project.

It's a remix of the song "Black Magic" by the Magic Wands, and, as the band themselves have said, should be the next James Bond theme song.

(Which was the perfect thing for them to say really, considering my hopes to see Duran Duran in Vegas next month).

(For those of you who don't know, Duran Duran is responsible for one of the best Bond themes of all time - "A View to a Kill").

(And Ian may as well be James Bond).

HERE INSIDE I LIKE METAL


I have been wearing the fuck out of my "Sleep Now in the Fire" playlist. I originally put it together as a going-to-sleep aid (hence the name), but eventually, it became the soundtrack to my October stint of London living. And now, coming off the high of NIN/JA mania, it's pretty much all I can listen to (though, I will say, it doesn't sound quite as perfect as it did on those hungover autumn days, despite the fact that current NY weather is doing its best to mimic the UK mood). It's basically With Teeth abbreviated and amplified:

"Dawn of the Dead" - Does It Offend You, Yeah?
"Sunspots" - NIN
"Love is Not Enough" - NIN
"All the Love in the World" - NIN
"Beside You in Time" - NIN
"Right Where it Belongs" - NIN
"The Four of Us are Dying" - NIN
"Cry Little Sister" - Gerard McMann
"No Shelter" - RATM
"Sleep Now in the Fire" - RATM
"Testify" - RATM
"Guerrilla Radio" - RATM
"Calm like a Bomb" - RATM

I can't stress enough how much I love With Teeth. I think I made the Rubins nuts over the weekend, threatening to kick some Trent ass each time Ilan unveiled the setlist. The two shows that I saw included one song off the album - "The Hand that Feeds," which, while awesome, is hardly my favorite. Of course, T. Rez decides to throw in "Right Where it Belongs," aka my RINGTONE (oh man, I'm a nerd), last night, when I was slipping in and out of consciousness in my living room. (No really, I was like, sleep texting - Aaron IMed "guess what song they're playing right now" and my response was... "where?" Ovv).

The shows were absolutely amazing anyway - I always knew Ilan was an incredible drummer having seen him with the 'Prophets all those times, but watching him play shit like "Wish" and "March of the Pigs" took it to a whole other level. I was in awe. Other things that had me in awe: sitting next to Debbie Harry and Chris Stein in catering at PNC and standing onstage behind Daisy of Love at Jones Beach. I am ashamed that those two experiences are in the same category.

Anyway, after the excitement of last week (five nights of Art Brut followed by these two NIN/JA gigs), this week feels like a bust. I'm tired. I'm bored.

Speaking to me right now... words of wisdom from Jane's (pictured above):

I chip away
'Cause I'm not ok
So I
I chip away
Poked a hole right into myself
And inside I found someone
Who said I was ok
Still I don't feel easy

As an addendum:

Wow, look at the difference 15 years makes:





The power is most definitely still there... its just the danger thats gone.

And for one last fuck in hell:

A DARK BLACK PAST IS MY MOST VALUED POSSESSION


(photo above by my buddy Guy Eppel)

So far so good. Have managed to get through two of the five Art Brut nights without falling over and without being late to work. I think we've collectively matured to the point where I can announce an early exit (early being say... 2 am), and the guys are quick to follow (not literally). Maybe we relish being able to greet each other each night without the cloud of hangover that used to permeate our friendships. Maybe it's just that vice is expensive (fucking hell, who knew drinks were so expensive at Mercury Lounge! Or anywhere else for that matter! Plus Jasper informed me that the cigarettes he bought last night set him back 11 bones! And I thought my xanax fund was exorbitant... jeez...). Whatever the case, I think we've set a good pace and I'm actually not dreading the rest of this week the way I thought I would.

Team Rubin, aka Aaron and Ilan, arrive in NYC tomorrow which kicks off the NIN weekend of joy. Cannot fuckin' wait. Apart from the fact that it's been nearly a year since Ilan and I have shared a backstage debate (or ten), extra bonus hilarity points for my plus one on Sunday - an old buddy from high school. Nothing says "reunion success" like trying to integrate one's childhood with a life side-o-stage.

L'Amour La Morgue is getting better all the time. Ian's version of "Death" by White Lies is getting an official release at the end of the month which I'm not even remotely surprised by considering I wept with joy upon first hearing it. As much as I want to kick his ass a lot, I am so fuckin proud of him.

And finally (for now), I don't know if Kim and Davo read this anymore, but if they can take a break from celebrating their feckin amazing news of joy, I beseech them to rally their London friends (and anyone else that may happen upon this blog whilst in London) to attend this gig:


Chief is beautiful. Both musically and facially. And while I'll probably be flogged for mentioning this, every time I've gone to see them in New York an Olsen twin has been in attendance. So you never know who may turn up in Kilburn. Could be... like... I dunno, Posh Spice?

THE SKY SET OUT LIKE A PATHWAY


That's what happens when you leave a friend alone with your laptop. Faris the menace. Anyway, having the boys back in town was really good fun, albeit draining to the max. They played two gigs with the Kills and ruled em like the champs I've always known them to be. It's so great seeing a band get their critical due (though of course it would've been nice for the press to wake the fuck up when I was actually in charge of wrangling it). The afterparty on Saturday night was one of those typically loud affairs that would've had the gossips at NME salivating (with appearances by Winona Ryder, Noel Fielding, some Strokes, and the bands being feted, natch).

Faris crashed in my spare room and between two brutally hungover brunches managed to get some flea market shopping in. He came home one day clutching a plastic bag and proceeded to show me his purchases.
Me: "What the hell's all that?"
Him: "It's a jar of shells. And a miniature bust of Teddy Roosevelt."
Me: *bursts out laughing*
Him: "What? Is that weird?"
I fucking love the kid.

HORRORS VIDEO, 'SEA WITHIN A SEA' = YAY, THEY'VE GROWN UP!


In between all that madness I had my ten-year high school reunion. What a trip. My grade was small - I think we had about 100 kids by the time we graduated. And we were all pretty friendly back then. But as it goes, ten years can create a helluva lot of distance. More than I expected, actually. And being in this gallery surrounded by people that looked familiar but were not necessarily the same as I remembered really threw me. I found myself with little or nothing to say. How can you explain a life of music and touring and fun to a former classmate clutching a screaming infant? It's almost cruel.

That's pretty much been it. I'm heading back over to the warm coast soon (yeah, hello? Mother Nature? Can we maybe get some fuckin SPRINGTIME up in this New York piece already??) - can't wait for that. And shortly thereafter, Sarah and I will be testing our DJ skills again (retirement ain't all it's cracked up to be) - this time at an indoor/outdoor BRUNCH party in Williamsburg. Details to come. Woooooo!


*** POSTSCRIPT ***

Just to give you guys an idea of why I quit the PR business... at the second Horrors gig (Monday), I got to chatting with an industry friend. An editor at a top music magazine. This friend was marveling at the growth of the Horrors and telling me that he had pitched a story on them to one of his superiors. His superior's response? "Nah, the Horrors are old news. We need something new." Ok. See... this is precisely what is wrong with the fucking music business. Sure, this magazine in question had covered the Horrors the first time around, but what kind of self-respecting MUSIC publication can refuse coverage of a band that has so completely transformed itself simply because they've been around for a few years??? How is that even remotely logical??? The biggest gripe I have about music these days is that no new bands can hold my attention. The MySpace/hype/blog era has completely killed the ability for bands to grow and seep into your consciousness and actually take hold as something that might have some semblance of long-term impact on the musical landscape. People are so fucking concerned with being the first to jump on "the next big thing" that they pay no attention to DEVELOPMENT. It makes me so fucking furious (if you couldn't sense that from my overuse of the word FUCK, as in... FUCK YOU OLD-HAT MUSIC MEDIA).

NME Review of new Horrors record
DrownedInSound Review
Pretty great interview with Tom from the band

THE GAME OF PERFECT MOMENTS

For the most banal even to become an adventure, you must (and this is enough) begin to recount it. This is what fools people: a man is always a teller of tales, he lives surrounded by his stories and the stories of others, he sees everything that happens to him through them; and he tries to live his own life as if he were telling a story.

I wanted the moments of my life to follow and order themselves like those of a life remembered.

You know, it's quite a job starting to love somebody. You have to have energy, generosity, blindness. There is even a moment, in the very beginning, when you have to jump across a precipice: if you think about it you don't do it.

First you had to be plunged into something exceptional and feel as though you were putting it in order. If all those conditions had been realized, the moment would have been perfect.

Well, this is the first time in years that a man has seemed moving to me.



What a book.

IN THE SHADOW OF THE NEW YORK SKYLINE

My coworker knows to remind me to watch American Idol. See, I'm really crap at watching television. And it's not that I don't like it - I just don't have the interest/gumption/attention span/memory/whatever to remember when things are on. Yes, yes, I know that's what DVR is for, but my DVR is pretty logjammed with old movies. Things like Faster Pussycat, Kill! Kill! and Cleo from 5 to 7 that are far too expensive to find on DVD. (Not to mention the fact that my DVD player is still not hooked up properly, where's my fuckin handyman???) Add this to the fact that I watch too many sporting events and my TV schedule is pretty much fixed. (Ed note - the only series I DVR at the moment are Rock of Love (RIP), America's Next Top Delusional Talk Show Host, and Make Me a Supermodel).

Anyway, that said, I DVRed Idol last night (of course, I only remembered to do so about 15 minutes in and therefore in my mind there is only one female contestant). My assessment is as follows: somebody needs to punch Adam Lambert in the fucking face. Yes, he's an incredible talent, but JESUS H CREESTO he is a Ken doll!!! (Not a good thing, Ken dolls don't have bits). Break something, Lambert, even if it's just a sweat. My favorite is Kris. But he needs some serious, serious tattoos. And probably shouldn't have blown his marriage load so quickly. Lil girls gotta dream, don't they? I would rather he win than Alison because ultimately, the world of Idol throwaways has room for only one Kelly Clarkson.

And, just as a side note - why the hell was Vince Neil invited to DISCO NIGHT?

Fun times, like big brunches on Sundays.

LOVE THE LIFESTYLE IF YOU FEEL IT

Brain salad cuz my brain is, well... salad. Spent a few days holed up on the UWS - entertained because of the memories it invoked and because my idle chatter was most likely the catalyst for the Wat's dream about us being on Gossip Girl, despite the fact that neither one of us has seen an episode. (Imran, if you're reading this - you were in the dream as well. Don't get any ideas).

The Rock of Love Bus finale proved anti-climactic. While Taya threw us for a loop by using the "hold out and win" method, any thrill was lost when Bret in fact chose her. The two of them had ZERO chemistry in their embrace, and he didn't even give her the fucking ring she so painstakingly selected! As Gurj said this morning, it was something along the lines of "Taya, I'll give you the ring so long as the 1% of me that is perturbed by your eyebrows shuts off." The major upside was the preceding marathon that made me realize how fucking amazing it would be for MTV to relaunch that Singled Out show with Ashley as Jenny McCarthy. You would know all this by now if you read my Twitter.

I got the new Doves album but haven't had a chance to listen. Been listening to the L'Amour LA Morgue remixes and - of all things - Hundred Reasons. Fuck that band is good. "Dissolve" came up in my iPod's shuffle and I've been revisiting ever since. Speaking of the shuffle, I now have the Prodigy and Primal Scream vying for "best strut soundtrack" honors.

Either them, or John Carpenter's score when the Duke arrives in Escape From New York. That film, coincidentally, is also the inspiration for this year's new look for hunks. Take note. This is the future.



**Just an addendum: Listened to the first half of the Doves record on the way to work this morning... so good. Not sure that it touches The Last Broadcast, but then again, little can. When it came out, Broadcast became the perfect soundtrack to my life in London. "There Goes the Fear" was played in every indie disco and every radio station and I distinctly remember going to the record store right off the Camden tube to buy the album the day it was released. So yeah, its tough for Doves to top themselves, but Kingdom of Rust is far better than their last offering, thats for sure.

SAVE IT TIL THE MORNING AFTER


I have discovered a new species of predator. Hockey wives. Or girlfriends. Or, wannabe hockey wives and girlfriends. PA and I went to the Ranger game last night and spent the post-game hour or so in the green room. I've never felt so uncomfortable in a green room in my life - and I mean, I've been in a lot of fuckin green rooms. I think girls can smell the fear when someone is new. I obviously didn't know anyone apart from PA and thus spent a great deal of time looking around, getting a sense of who was hanging out at what was essentially an afterparty for a sporting event. The bathroom was a trip. I stood in the queue, sipping my beer in my sparkly Rangers cup (through a straw, no less), watching the girls watching me. They were eyeing my outfit which, in fairness, was not nearly as elaborate/night-appropriate/girlie as theirs. They were eyeing my makeup which, in contrast, was not caked all over my face and topped with cheeseball razorsharp mascara overload. I mean, I looked like me. Not like them. And I guess it was painfully obvious that I had never been to one of those affairs before. I tried to break the proverbial ice by offering everyone Purell - because the soap dispenser was malfunctioning, but the looks I got implied that niceties were not welcome in that there ladies room. Oh well.

I rejoined PA and his friends Billy and Lianne just in time to catch the first stream of Rangers as they emerged from the Garden depths into our area. Man oh man, the contrasts continued. The last time I had been in that room was after the Killers gig in January. Those guys, as dapper as they seem on-stage, still made the casual decision to come hang with us in t-shirts and jeans, as any normal exhausted person would. But not these Rangers. They came to hang in suits. With their hair all neatly combed and slicked back and OMFG OK... it was a bit of turn-on overload. PA introduced me to Brandon Dubinsky and I felt like a schoolgirl. Henrik Lundquist stood a few feet away speaking to friends in Swedish and I just stared. It's funny - I've probably spent the majority of my nights out at afterparties, surrounded by people who in theory could be considered celebrities, and I have never felt as speechless as I did last night (ok, with the two exceptions of meeting Robert Plant and Brian May). I couldn't talk to anyone. Just stood there with my sippy cup and let PA make fun of me for not getting to meet Sean Avery. I'd say it was a night well spent. Rangers, get in.

EAST LONDON IS A VAMPIRE

Had dinner with Russell and his amazing fiancee Mel before the Bloc Party gig on Tuesday. Russell and I always take time out for hangs when we're in the same city - usually to reminisce about past shenanigans, but also to catch each other up on recent activities. Quite a bit of Tuesday's dinner was devoted to Ian's new DJ project, L'Amour LA Morgue. I've been chasing up old friends for songs - he's just done "Spaceman" for the Killers and is working on a treat for Mystery Jets... so I figured Bloc Party was as good a source as any for another potential remix. I'd say we're still in the "discussion" phase - apparently Ian was quoted in the NME years ago slagging off BP (though no one can quite remember the specifics - Kele said he thinks it was something along the lines of Ian saying the Bloc has "no choruses," but again, this was NME, and as much as I love it, multiple grains of salt are in order). Cross those fingers for peace and order to be restored and a L'Amour LA Morgue/Bloc Party marriage to emerge.

In the meantime, let's just revel in how far BP has come. Gone is the fear of crowd interaction and in its place, Kele's incessant energy, bright red tracksuit, and a little dash of rafter-climbing. (The latter was fucking terrifying on Tues. One minute Mel and I were having a laugh about some drunk guy in the mosh pit (yes, there was a mosh pit at Bloc Party) and the next there were fingers gripping the railing in front of us. Kele had climbed the side of the venue mid-song and was scaling the balcony onto our table. Matt gestured from the stage for us to shove him (oh, Matt), but instead we joined Simon in the effort to deliver him to safety).



After two encores, the soundtrack switched to Dirty Dancing and the remaining crowd broke into an impromptu recreation of the movie's finale. It was fucking awesome.


Not as awesome as Kele's post-show t-shirt.


Which itself is not as awesome as my own wolf tee (which is not pictured, because my fucking camera is broken and I was left snapping random shots on my BBerry). In its place I will share the pic my darlings Jenny and Gurj sent me from Austin... they found my dream store:


Oh, and another thing... I caved. I am now on Twitter. I feel like I'm cheating on this blog. Nevertheless, follow. (Is it just me, or should the creators of Twitter come up with a different verb. If slaves to the internet didn't feel like sheep already....)

twitter.com/karenplusone

DON'T SURROUND YOURSELF WITH YOURSELF

Adam and I were just having a chat based on his iTunes selections. One thing led to another and I've come to realize that I was in fact a Twitterer before tweeting was even remotely imposed on the human condition (seriously, its now reached freakish levels). Back in the day, ie, around the time I started this blog, Brigid and I had the most ramshackle t-shirt factory concocted in our living room. Piles and piles of iron-on letters, random jars of paint, stencils, the works. Every idea we ever came up with whilst watching tube became an idea for a t-shirt. I mean, hell, we were making shirts based on Law & Order marathons. "Briscoe is god," "McCoy can press my charges,"shit like that. I think I had two shirts inspired by the Darkness. I know I wore one that said "If that's 30, sign me up!" to Carlos' 30th birthday party. If you think about it, that was essentially tweeting. Nowadays, rather than the initial thought being "oh, you should totally put that on a t-shirt" its "oh, you should totally Twitter that." Could that be why I hate Twitter? Could it be the lazy production values? Is Twitter the Snuggie to my Slanket? It may very well be.

Anyway I now have an arts & crafts assignment. Which is only slightly problematic because the last time I went to American Apparel, my friends and I were politely asked to leave (yes, I'm aware that there are probably better places to buy tees anyway, but fuck off I like theirs).




Love you mean it, you crazy DIY porn shop!

I CAN FEEL IT, I CONCEAL IT

Apparently Papa Roach have been a band for ten years. Apparently the singer is called Jacoby Shaddix, formerly known as COBY DICK. Really? Coby Dick? How could I not have known this? (Okay, truth - I probably did know this at some point, but conveniently forgot before accepting Galea's invitation to join him at Blender last night). Had I been able to ignore the fact that this aforementioned dick - I mean, Dick - shaves his armpits, I might've taken the experience more seriously. Now don't get me wrong - it was a fun time, but I think said fun was more a result of being with my old Agency friends and less a result of having beer poured on my feet by a drunk nu-metal chick making out with her drunk nu-metal boyfriend.

Upon leaving the venue, security bestowed free Monster drinks and Jeremy captured my stokedness.


I mean, what else does a girl need when leaving a gig apart from energy sauce and an all access pass?


Jeremy seemed to think I needed those. Thanks, J. Ho. Papa Roach called, they're looking for a few good street-teamers.

Anyway, as much as I love shows where people throw genuine metal signs, I cannot in good faith devote this entire post to Papa Roach. So check it. Brand new Art Brut. Featuring cameos by Keith TOTP, Dyan from the Blood Arm, and those kooky, kooky Indelicates.



Furthermore, have a nice lil nugget of band-swapping goss: Skully, former drummer for Men Women & Children, is the new drummer in Razorlight. Amaze.org.