Archive

Archive 16
prague
amsterdam
world's worst car names
prod test: pretzel m&ms
the dominican republic

Archive 15
titus andronicus @ maxwell's
miles kurosky @ mercury lounge
dinosaur jr. @ bowery ballroom
be your own dj
big apple circus

Archive 14
greatest actor of his gen.
why sirius/xm will fail
the 2nd worst block in nyc
prod. tes: dentyne blast
the subaru

Archive 13
the decemberists
philadelphia
tokyo police club
acupuncture
the antichrist goes home

Archive 12
bubba's secret campaign
celeb sighting 8: steve schirripa
the police @ msg
celeb sighting 7: andrew mccarthy
puerto vallarta, mexico

Archive 11
kurt vonnegut: r.i.p.
worst boss ever
best purchase ever
ogunquit, me
bummer movies

Archive 10
pearl jam
dodge earthfucker
montclair: hipster central
24
halo 2

Archive 9
the cali roadtrip
celeb sighting 6: rupaul
product 1: diet coke w/ splenda
cell phone headsets
casualties of war

Archive 8
celeb sighting 5: max kellerman
booze experimentation
deus ex: invisible war
the weakest fortune ever
celeb sighting 4: christina aguilera

Archive 7
the six flags guy
celeb sighting 3: len berman
celeb sighting 2: christena pyle
max payne 2
celeb sighting 1: amber valletta

Archive 6
st. thomas, usvi
mr. hipster goes domestic
the danger of googling
halo
why i love whitney matheson

Archive 5
joe strummer tribute show
london part deux
london
new jersey state fair
lake george, ny

Archive 4
hdtv
kennebunkport, maine
the ponies
slow jams
the opera

Archive 3
ford motor company
look kids, parliament
tuesdays with morrie
snow
the blogger bash

Archive 2
freedom
the geniuses at fox
the blvd of porn & trinkets
the ugly bar
city kids

Archive 1
suburban cops
fat loss miracle
the free gift
sunflower seeds
unemployment

TITUS ANDRONICUS @ MAXWELL'S

Maxwell's is one of those places that I swear I had been to back in my early twenties when I had some reason or other to venture to Hoboken. It turns out the place I thought was Maxwell's was just some sports bar way at the other end of town. I'm a silly fuck. And apparently an old, forgetful one, too. So, after stopping randomly at Black Bear Bar & Grill for a decent burger and an overload of TV screens and waitresses young enough to be my waaaay younger sisters (ahem), we rolled out to a venue I had no idea even existed.

Walking up to Maxwell's side door, the first person I spied was Patrick Stickles, the lead singer of Titus Andronicus. He wasn't a hard guy to spot, honestly, with his big mountain man beard and a videographer sticking a camera in his face. The funniest thing was hearing him utter "man, there are some good looking women here tonight" as we strolled by. Ms. Hipster, being the modest woman that she is, thought he couldn't possibly be referring to her. One look inside at the preponderance of Anthony Michael Hall Sixteen Candles-clique-clones sitting in the small risers around the tiny performance space cemented the fact that he had to be talking about her. There were no other women there. By the time the first band, Squirrel Nuts, sorry The Spider Bags, took the stage there were at least five women there, one of whom was the lead singer's girlfriend and another so high on something that she stood on my feet for five minutes without even noticing. There was also a dad there with his son and his two friends, a dude with some sort of weird Star Wars headgear that I'm sure he thought was the coolest in Jersey fashion and some idiot in clam diggers and a crooked Yankees cap perched on his head.

The second opening band was Pitchfork darlings, Harlem. The lead singer was wearing some sort of faux African hip-hop hat that actually made him look like what Hollywood would stereotypically put on a Sean Penn I Am Sam character. And if it wasn't a low IQ, I suspect there were some d-r-u-g-s or booze involved in his bizarro slurred ramblings between songs. Granted, they put on a good show and made the stoned girl and her idiot boyfriend very happy.

And then the main attraction came out and, as the kids say, rocked my socks off. I've already declared their album, The Monitor, the album of the year--and they played the shit out of it. Throw in some of the favorites from their debut like 'Fear and Loathing in Mahwah, NJ' and you have a fun-filled romp through the punk NJ countryside. The band itself is amazingly high energy and engaging, ranging from the pure unbridled jumping joy of guitarist/fiddler, Amy Klein, to the almost serial killer intensity of lead singer, Patrick Stickles. You can't tell from my shitty iPhone photo below, but the man's sinister sideways stare could melt any cool Jersey shell. The band's anthemic tunes, rah rah chants and natural NJ fist-pumping exuberance lent itself perfectly to the small space and home state crowd. The only shame, and ultimate irony, was that we had to leave the show before it was over at 1:15 to catch a train to Jersey.

MILES KUROSKY @ MERCURY LOUNGE

When one of my favorite bands of all time, Beulah, broke up I cried. Okay, I didn't cry, but was kind of bummed out, but not surprised. After all, their last album was titled Yoko. Kind of a precursor to bad things, right? Where would I place my cup of sunshine now? Now I would never get the opportunity to repeat the incredible experience I had at the Bowery Ballroom back on 10.16.2003 when Beulah headlined a show at Bowery Ballroom, John Vanderslice opened and we were all treated to a mind-blowing experience that still ranks up there with one of the best shows I've ever seen!

I mean, I knew Kurosky would be back at some point spreading the indie rock love, but year after year went by and nothin'. And then the album announcements, the sneak EP and the album itself! And then the show at Mercury Lounge full of dudes in black-rimmed glasses and chicks who just didn't care that their side ponytail was neither ironic nor stylish. Kurosky himself, in his short-sleeved button up, looked liked any number of dads on a soccer sideline, but chattered in between songs in an oddly Tarantino patter. Checking his watch after each and every song in order to not run over the bands' time limit as the early act, you could just feel the crowd waiting for him to bust out into a Beulah song or fifteen. The horn section stood ready. The sardonic smile on his face said it all. And then "Landslide Baby," one of the best break up songs of all time, enthused the crowd and got it higher than a seventh-grade me watching Springsteen in the pot-smoked choked confines of the old L.A. Sports Arena. He went on to play a couple more oldies but goodies and quickly bid us adieu and took off.

The show cemented both Mercury Lounge and Miles in the annals of my music watching history. It should have been much longer and more people like me should have jumped on the Internets to purchase their tickets the second they went on sale for fear they'd sell out. It turns out that hipsters have a short memory and don't recall what was essentially indie rock hipster's hipster band (with a touch of nerd) once they stepped form the spotlight and took jobs working at like the Dairy Queen or whatever. Anyway, Mr. Kurosky is back, and is hopefully up to big things in the future.

DINOSAUR JR. @ BOWERY BALLROOM

I finally got my chance, albeit twenty years late, to see the now two album deep reunited Dinosaur Jr. at The Bowery Ballroom. I had seen one of the band's offshoots, Sebadoh, way back when at the now defunct Tramps, where former and current bassist Lou Barlow and his bandmate Jason Loewenstein basically played until nobody was left standing, calling for song suggestions over and over again. Ms. Hipster still has arch-flattening flashbacks of that night and probably lived silently with the fear our Dino Jr. experience would be the same. I told her that this would be quite a different time, but that our first stop on the way to the venue should be at a CVS to pick up earplugs. Thank god.

The crowd was about what you'd expect for a band that's been around for twenty-five years and has a lead singer/guitarist who majors in guitar masturbation. Meaning lots of dudes, some of whom are graying around the temples, and some younger dudes who heard their cool uncle liked these guys back in his "skating days." I was a relative latecomer to the Dino Jr. party, my first album being Green Mind in 1991. By that time Lou had already left the band pretty much to start his solo thing. Apparently head honcho, J Mascis, could be a bit of a control freak! My personal history aside, people were there to party. And from the first ridiculous guitar solo, it seemed the boys where there to play their asses off. That was until someone in the crowd decided to complain that he couldn't hear the vocals. Barlow, apparently off his meds, decided to berate the guy and asked him, "What fuckin' show did you think you came to see?" Insinuating that Dinosaur Jr. isn't about singing and lyrics, a semi-slight towards his bandmate, but kinda true nonetheless. Meanwhile, Mascis' guitar playing was absolutely amazing, but he literally didn't talk or open his eyes the entire night. Barlow, aside from his short tirade said nothing and stood bent at the waist stroking his bass with his mop of hair in his face. When your Presidents of the United States of America-looking drummer has the most personality in the band, you know you're in trouble.

As expected the tallest guy in the joint stood right in front of us. He had to literally be 6'8." And while that would normally be a bummer, he provided us with the first (and finest) example of exactly what we wanted, and knew, would happen: air-guitaring. Trust me, it's almost impossible not to, but sometimes you have to overcome your desires to keep your self-respect. Big man sold out. He was certainly not the only one, either, as we spied unembarrassed fellows in the balcony, a dude with a ponytail "playing" the solo on "Freak Scene" and several others basically playing Guitar Hero with no controller. I mean, it's tough. Mascis is like the indie/college rock equivalent of Eddie Van Halen. He can tear the shit out of a guitar. And unlike his hipster brethren, he plays the same ol' instrument the entire show, tuning up or down between songs. No banjos, no Theremins, no giant Stray Cats axe. The shit was crazy. My only issue with the night--aside from having to keep my earplugs in all night to avoid having my anvils bleed--is that with so many albums to choose from, odds are they're going to leave out some favorites. I wanted to hear "In a Jar," dude. But they did play "Wagon," so at least I walked away pretty happy. So I guess I'll see these guys again in 2035.

BE YOUR OWN DJ

It's amazing how a single iPhone application can change your life. Okay, not change your life, but allow you to do something you either never thought possible or thought could only be possible by spending hundreds of dollars. I had originally been looking at a Sonos system several years back. It basically allows you to stream your itunes collection to multiple rooms and control your collection via a Sonos remote. Problem was, it's expensive and not guaranteed to work seamlessly. So I put it off, my iTunes collection trapped in my iMac to only be played through my harman/kardon SoundSticks or shared through my library on my MacBook and rigged to my stereo via an RCA cable. That didn't allow any type of control whatsoever, and I just had to run to the iMac upstairs if some NWA song came on when the kids were present. Not a great option.

And then along came the fortuitous theft of my Nokia N95--giving me the perfect excuse to go out and finally purchase an iPhone. I've also owned an AirPort Express for several years, using it to wirelessly network my printer. And then, unbeknownst to me at the time, I completed the full DJ experience by discovering the most useful iPhone app there is, iTunes Remote. Remote allows you to see your entire iTunes collection (which in my case sits entirely on my iMac), make playlists and basically control the thing as if you were sitting at your computer--all from the palm of your hand.

And then it hit me. I could take the AirPort Express, hook an RCA cable from it to my stereo, set my iTunes to broadcast to the Airport Express and voila! So now I can broadcast to my harman/kardon DPR 2005 and Paradigm Reference Studio/80 speaker setup rather than relying on my computer speakers, which are sequestered in an upstairs room, tiny and not at all convenient for soirées. Beyond the convenience of now being able to play all of my iTunes library in a public space, I can control exactly what's playing, volume and everything else directly from my while walking around, pouring drinks, making idle conversation and telling other people's kids not to touch my television.

So every time that cool vaguely British kid in the skinny jeans tells you he DJs at some hot club in DUMBO, you too can say, "Oh yeah, I totally rocked my Christmas party this year! Went from Perry Como to The Smiths to Run-D.M.C. all with the flick of a finger!"

iTunes Remote in action

BIG APPLE CIRCUS

I hadn’t been to a circus in many years prior to attending the Big Apple Circus with Hipster Jr. But I seem to recall it being a grand event in a giant tent that included elephants and zebras and tigers and stilt walkers and 50 clowns piling out of a VW Bug. In other words, spectacle. The Big Apple Circus was more like a Black Cat firecracker to your more typical M80 bigtop event. Some might even call it quaint.

The first thing that struck me is just how small the “big” top was. I’ve seen elementary school auditoriums three times the size. While some circuses have three rings, this circus has one—one very small one. It was about the size of one of those round beds from the 60s that my aunt in Vegas sported until they stopped selling sheets that fit it. At one point the guy who balances on horseback came out with his two ponies and they proceeded to essentially turn in circles and look bored. Those beasts weren’t the only animals under the big top, though; there were also two dogs that came out at one point to dance with a couple performers. And that was the extent of the animal acts. There was a dude who spit ping pong balls out of his mouth and caught them, which was a pretty cool trick, and a pair of tiny Chinese twins in matching body suits who shoved themselves into what were essentially trash cans with no bottom, and a Russian woman who did acrobatics of a sort with ribbons extended from the ceiling. While all of these were impressive in their own way, I couldn’t get past the fact that it all lacked a certain oomph. There was a group of young male acrobats who did an abbreviated trapeze act for the finale, but they ended up falling into the safety net more times than they succeeded in completing a trick. And, once again, the tiny space made for a pretty lackluster performance.

That said, none of these folks were the main attraction. That honor goes to Bello Knock the clown. He sports a sweet Kid 'n Play sheaf of hair (to which Hipster Jr. asked why the guy was wearing a paper bag on his head) and looks bulkier than he probably is under his wacky clown outfit. He’s not so much a clown, really, as a goofy acrobat. There’s no seltzer bottle to the face, giant floppy shoes or even a squirting flower. He does, however, join other performers in things like the double hamster wheel of death (or whatever it’s called), the trampoline of ultimate bounciness and various other not-so-death-defying apparatuses of death. He was joined in his celebrity by Grandma the Clown, who was a stout dude in an old lady wig and face paint, and a ringmaster who reminded me of a kind of inexperienced Jerry Seinfeld. Grandma was especially odd, as her/his one talent was apparently doing flips, which he showed off after 90 minutes of doing nothing particularly funny. And the ringmaster was like the CIT version of a camp counselor or the starting JV quarterback—almost there, but not quite ready for the big time.

Overall the kid liked it okay, but was more into the weird lightsaber looking things and wacky lightup glasses being sold by the random carnie freaks than the show itself, and the overwhelming noise of the live band almost drove him to a five-year-old nervous breakdown, but the flying Vodka brothers finale brought him back from the edge just a bit. But, honeslty, the best part of the night for him was the crowded ride on the E train up to Lincoln Center. It would have been a lot cheaper had I known…