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subject appears to be a white male, early 50's, pathologically tall/skinny. brain patterns show evidence of a life in alcohol - first swimming in it then running from it. fingers show wear from years of guitar playing. heart presents slow repair, through writing, from being broken by rock and roll.
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Fear and Self-Loathing in Las Vegas: cbgb Goes West, Old Man
Hot enough for ya? Been hovering 'round the 105 mark for the last 2 weeks here in the next to the middle of nowhere. Apparently, though, our great nation in it's entirety has been subjected to much the same prelude to hell these days. In these times of fragmented, channel driven media infostreams the concept of the shared experience has been all but lost.
Don'tcha think?
Having been away from the computer (and in the middle of another self-induced mess, everything's fine now. Thanks for asking) for over a week, I had to stop by my old pal antimusic.com to check e-mail and see what, if anything, was up w/that old debbil rock and roll. Two items caught my eye: The new New York Dolls record - there's a review at the following link: http://www.rocknworld.com/features/06/NewYorkDollsL.shtml
This record has been uniformly and faintly praised in all the media I've seen, both mainstream and hatemetal website. Having seen the Dolls in their heyday on more than one occaision and managing, barely, to not cringe at the footage from their Meltdown Festival reuinion in 2004 I'm probably not gonna press my luck as far as damaging the dream goes. These are not yr father's, that is, my,. New York Dolls. David Johansen has pranced through more characters from his Jaggerobics in the admiteddly glorious original Dolls, to the quasi-Springsteen/Cougar of his Richard Perry solo albums, the Sebastian the Crab antics of Buster Poindexter, the earnest folksinger of his recent 'Harry Smith' experiments to, now, flailing away like a Mick Jagger I can respect again, atop grinding bubblepop guitars, sharing the stage w/the only original Doll left, Sylvain Sylvain, an enigma if there ever was one in rock; notable only for not being the late Johnny Thunders.
Reunions like this are almost always tawdry affairs. After all, one can't go home again and all that never putting one's foot in the same river etc. I hope, of course, that the record sells millions and launched Dave and Syl into the TRL stratosphere, introducing a vast new audience to the power of a well tuned garage band going off. I hope Dave winds up marrying Christina Aguilera and sells phot rights to their first born to People magazine for an undisclosed sum somewhere in the gazillions. I hope the Dolls are so successful in their comeback that they bring back Suicide and Wayne County and the Electric Chairs, flinging them to the top of the charts as old school Lower East Side punkparty decadence becomes the sound of the age as it all falls apart.
And, what the hell, let's make Richard Thompson a megapopstar. It's not like he hasn;t earned it and I bet he'd be a blast to watch.
The other news at antimusic.com that caught my eye was a report that Hilly Crystal, the owner of venerable vomitdive cbgb, will be 'relocating' the club to some hotel in Las Vegas after it's closing later this year. I'm not sure if it's going to be a thempark thing, like cbgbland or something ("...... come on down, folks, bring the kiddies, ride the Patti Smith Sea of Possibilities water slide, watch Television on a 3-D televison screen crafted to look exactly like Richard Hell's haircut! etc) or an out and out relication of that tiny throat of wood and glass and sweat and alcohol and yards and yards of memorized style and not a few real memories. I'm guessing somewhere in between. A theatre of sorts, big enough to hold crowds the real cbgb could only dream about. How is that gonna fly in the middle of the desert?
How do any of us?
Posted by: timbyrnes at 16:51 |
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