I Heard You Missed Us; We're Back

Devin & The Li'l Angels, Don Hill's, 8/18/09

I was going to neaten up two days of band deaths with a band birth in Devin & The Little Angels, a supergroup made up of Earth Defense Force and Jack Ferencz from TMH fronted by Devin Therriault, the howlin'est, swingin'est wolf I've met. Of course, this particular show was missing Jack and, well, they only played three or four shows in this incarnation -- Ian Cory is in Chicago, Jack F. is upstate, Sam is upperstate and Jonathan Betz is [scene missing]. Therefore, Devin needs a new band.

The result is the new incarnation of D&TLA starring Devin and a couple of guys I haven't met yet. They exist on MySpace here and wouldn'tcha know they're playing tomorrow at the Yippie Cafe. I think it's free -- a fair deal for memories that will last you a lifetime.

A quickie note about the picture -- Sam is the best guitar player for a photographer imaginable, and his knowledge of rock histrionics is vast and demonstrated often. Two observations,

1) Sam jumps no more than six times per show. Live your life and time your film count accordingly.

2) Sam has no (0) hang time. You know what they say about drinking slowing reaction time*? Monitor your drinking intake accordingly.

*"They say..."? It's science, bro.

Goodbye Bozos

The Mighty Handful (Final Show), Shea Stadium, 7/25/09

They always played best when they didn't care about putting on a show. By the time the end had come their act was a known commodity and everyone knew what to expect, and so did they. The set list was basically the same as the last four shows and they ended with Uptown Drunks, which is still my favorite song of 2008 (Paper Planes is #2). Some people were crying because something so insignificant in the grand scheme can still have meaning. We were all young and beautiful once, and now we are old and tired and have other things to do. Toil. Death. When the house cut the PA, it faded up Born to Run, which seemed appropriate.

Somewhere in this anecdote is a comment on the changing of the seasons and the coming of autumn and then winter and then spring, when things begin again.

Earlier in the night there was an older guy floating around who looked like a NARC. He was taking pictures, but it was strange because no one had seen him before; no one wanted to engage with him because he looked like a NARC. As it turns out he was shooting for Paper Magazine for an article about Shea Stadium, which is all fine and dandy except he left before the main event. He couldn't have known.

The lead picture that accompanied the article ended up being a static shot of Museyroom, and there were a few shots of kids milling about and drinking or smoking. In one picture, Rich Toledo is sitting against the wall, alone, tired. He is wearing one of the twenty or so Mighty Handful shirts that were made by hand and sold before the first 741 show. I know it's Rich because I recognize him and I know the shirt he is wearing because he wore it to every Handful show. From the picture in the magazine, however, he's just some kid in a messy shirt.

Somewhere in this anecdote is a comment on defeat being snatched from the jaws of victory or the randomness of opportunity or how fleeting things can be.

That Just Happened

Well it seems I was Flickr Blogged and it's like a valve has been released and people from all over the universe are visiting me now so.... Hello. Some background:



This picture is of Jack Lesser, guitarist from The Mighty Handful and bassist for Women. (Women. with a "." to differentiate from Women from Canada). Jack's bands, along with literally hundreds of bands in NYC, play on the all-ages circuit which includes shows put on by Todd P and Joe Ahern*. If you visit The Mighty Handful's Myspace page, you'll find links to bands like Banzai, Le Rug, Radiates, Michael Jordan, Consumer Feedback, Tunnel of Love, Antimagic and scores more. If you're in a position to visit them (you have an office job you hate, say, or are currently unemployed) and take a listen, I think you'll find something for you -- something to excite you or make you pause.

About me: This blog links to bands like this and people whose work I appreciate as well as a running commentary on my work in television and other media. It hasn't been updated recently in any sincere way (Twitter has a way of breaking things down, really) but this could change at any moment with a new job or a new experience.

Thanks for visiting and leave comments.

*At this point I'm more interested in getting content up than hyperlinking. Research and Google are your friends.

AND YET THERE IS MUSIC

IGNORE PREVIOUS BLOG POST ABORT DO NOT GO TO CRASH MANSION TONIGHT NO HAY BANDA -- THERE IS NO BAND.

Subsidized Fun for Your Entertainment in Post-bubble America.

Dear friends and well-wishers,

This is short notice and I do not expect for my readership to have much of an impact. In the spirit of your boy Barry's gift to America (le Stimulus), The Mighty Handful (above and below, bellowing) have the following offer on the table,

"alright, here's the deal:

we (the Mighty Handful) found out today (Wed March 11th) that we have a show tomorrow night (Thu March 12th) at Crash Mansion at 11:00 pm
If we bring 20 people we get paid $300
we really want to record, we have no money to do so, this would be a really good kick in the ass

the point is we need YOU to come
it might not be all ages, I don't know, It's 10 dollars, but if you need us to I am willing to pay 5 dollars to you after the show
please baby?"

So there you have it. Your checkbook will be stimulated to the tune of five (5) United States Dollars and your ass will be stimulated to the tunes of The Mighty Handful. You know you want to go. It's tomorrow (Thursday). Thursday has been the new Friday for the better part of twenty years. Go. Drink. You pansy fuckers.

We Are Dangerously Bored With Our Sex Dawrf

Dear Danielle,

I'm so sorry. I won't be giving your camera back, even if it is too hard to focus in the dark. I should have warned you this might happen. Are we still friends?

Regretfully,

--RG

P.S. Happy New Year. Was it good for you?

We Go On After Some Lip-Synch Chicks.

So I think I might put a moratorium on covering Battles of the Bands, not just because we need to think of peace in these troubled times, but because they are no less weird than they were when I was a misguided youth. Disparate acts, three song limits, a harried and hurried pace that serves no one (least of all the showcase bands) and varying qualities of M'sC succeed in keeping everyone off balance and looking for the exits once their friends' sets are done.



Frankly, this particular BoB was doubly confounding, mostly due to the latter awards giving-portion of the show where the majority of gifts and trinkets (Golden records?! Pieces of paper!?) seemed to be given to the A&R, MGMT side of the production rather than to the bands themselves. This brings me back to my original confusion with the Blast:Beat program and where the money goes, where the money lies once it gets there, and who OWNS the bands' music and who ultimately runs the promotion -- something that their website never cleared up. If I remember properly, my fwiends over at Only The Blog Knows Brooklyn described it as seeming like a '4-H Club for kids in bands,' a criticism which seems valid sonically -- meant literally, "as I say it in my head it makes me laugh" -- as well as in practice.



Stream of thought bulletin: While poking around the internet we arrive at Blastspace.com, the ground-level Facebookian arm of the BlastBeat.org website. PLEASE LOOK AT THE UPPER RIGHT BUTTON WHICH FEATURES "COCA-COLA BLASTBEAT." I ain't sayin' there's something sinister going on, but this...



...should be enough to remind anyone of the awful Coca-Cola budding filmmaker commercials they show at the movie theaters during "The 20" or whatever the fuck it's called. It should remind the oldsters of Up With People being sponsored by Gilette. It should definitely make any self-respecting punk give pause.



It occurred to me, and I said as much to Hugh Crawford, that the history of Rock Music is written by the bands whose gumption and spit determined their destiny rather than the whims or skull scratching decisions made by talent fair judges. In fact, the only two acts I could think of at the time were Stevie Wonder and James Brown, and a suspicious search of Wikipedia (sue me) quickly showed those examples to be wrong. Now, the only one I can think of is Kelly Clarkson (sue me).

Creepy Corporate Overlording aside, all of this is the ball-hording way of saying "so what?" Yes, a trip to Ireland would be a major, life altering experience for a group of teens who might not have had the privilege of traveling outside the United States, and seeing the competition might inspire even greater things from those involved but the failure to make the trip in this particular instance isn't in the ballpark of worst things to happen. The Sub-20's music scene in New York (you can call it "Kidcore" if you want, but that's bogus and sad) is too dense and rich -- and too competitive and talented -- to hold anything less than the best the age bracket/genre can provide and by extension... you know what Sinatra said. Further, the support group of enthusiastic Post-Teen bands whose song structure and public attitude implies reckless juvenilization is there to lead the way and provide access, instruction and perhaps most importantly, a valuable crossover audience:

An audience with money.

This is meant as consolation to all the bands that lost, whatever form they took. My favorites included.

They Only Played To A Few Hundred People In Their Lifetime, But Those That Heard Them Immediately Formed A Band

Greetings to those of you visiting through the Flickr back door. As part of my value-added content, I would like to point out that the additional photos of The Mighty Handful from the 17th of May, 2008 are below. However I encourage you to read the following notice to discover how you, the reader, might be able to impact the life of a misguided youth for the better.

With the possible exceptions of cash paydays and booty calls, there's very little pleasure in finding something out on short notice, and with that in mind I am happy to report to you (a week in advance!) that The Mighty Handful (my favoritest) are playing The Big Stage at the Knitting Factory on Sunday the 25th. Now, the Knitting Factory -- shitty lighting aside -- is a brand-name venue which leads to its own level of fun-ness. Amplifying the fun-ness further is the fact that this show is a Battle of the Bands. Great. Boosting the signal to tsunami-like levels is the promise of a trip to Ireland for the winning group and an invitation to an international battle of the bands.

SO WHAT DOES THIS MEAN FOR YOU?

If you care at all about the fate of these young turks (and you should at this point, especially seeing as how I won't shut up about them), then you will purchase tickets, go to the show and support them with all your might. For just ten (10) United States Dollars -- that's just $1.68 USD a day from now until Sunday -- you could change the life of a poor, Park Slope youth whose debaucherous promise is held back by a sensible Park Slope upbringing. If you have any questions regarding this matter it is in your best interest to contact the band directly as my details are sketchy at best.

Tickets are available through Ticketmaster, which is no longer an issue because the 90's are over and Pearl Jam lost.

But don't take my word for it. Let them tell you, in their own words, why you should go:

So we won that random battle of the bands.

TURNS OUT THE FUCKING PRIZE WAS
A SHOW AT THE KNITTING FACTORY.

If we win, we will go to ireland to compete against other high school bands from all over the world.

COME AND SUPPORT US
MAKE US FAMOUS
WE LOVE YOU ALL<333

SAME RULES APPLY:

BRING INSTRUMENTS
BRING CONFETTI
BRING GLITTER
BRING ANYYYTHING.

Snatching Defeat From The Jaws Of Victory

Breaking News: Rocky doesn't beat Apollo Creed, Truman defeats Dewey, and The Mighty Handful finish third (out of six) in the Battle of the Bands at Bard. They received a gift certificate to the Virgin Megastore with a value of twenty-five (25) United States Dollars. The sound system failed (after numerous microphone dropkicks), the drums fell apart, and Greenleaf bloodied himself. The principal, however, was apparently furious about the confetti. In the end, all is right and well in the universe.

Multiple Post Day (Pt. 1)

I'm back from Pennsylvania (at the Cannondale Plant) and Delaware (at the Dogfish Head Brewery). Not much to say about that other than we escaped from Delaware by boat (see above), which I would like to believe lent a certain prison-escape-ambiance to the end of the trip. Obviously I am delusional and tired.

Dogfish Head beer has, shall we say, certain alcoholic properties that are above and beyond most beers. I like to drink beer and became confused and disoriented after having no more than my regular serving of said liquid. Also, they sponsored one of the Punkin Guns from last season, giving me another chance to be self-referential on this blog. Oh well. Cannondale Bikes were pretty neat, but it was an odoriferous tour and shoot and everything was loud and squealy or windowless and air-tight so it made for a clammy, sweaty affair.

Upon my return, I shot the Handful (links down there somewhere. You know who they are at this point) and Starscream and Radiates at their (the Handful's) insistence. This proved to be a strong call.

Double reminder: ANTIMAGIC TONIGHT

Antimagic, at the Knitting Factory, 8PM. Be there, be square.

Onward and Upward

The Mighty Handful show on Saturday disappointed me because of my friends. Because of their lack of commitment to excellence I am/continue to be alone in my age group and in my appreciation of said band. I also made new friends with Dulaney Banks (just scroll down. I don't feel like hyperlinking myself) and was told to check out Calamity Sam's next show in April; the discussion of the particulars and wherefores went something like this,

Sam: Hey Richard Gin, I'm Sam.

Me: Hey dude. 'sa pleasure.

Sam: You're here for the Handful?

Me: You know it.

Sam: Yeah, they were in my band... ...supposed to be in my band.

Me: They ditched?

Sam: Yeah.

Me: Bastards.

Sam: Totally.

Me: They dropped you like Gary Young, huh?

Sam: Yeah! Exactly! Awesome! You should come shoot my band?

Me: Right on.

Sam: Yeah. We're better than them.

Me: Word. I'm on it.

END

Anyway, that should be interesting.

NEW THOUGHT:

True to form and as I suspected, the Lord Has Provided. I'll be away for the next work week in Pennsylvania and Delaware for... ...work and will likely not be updating or blogging in the mean. Hopefully this will be because I am having breakfasts across from the Holiday Inn Express at a Waffle House. This of course means no pictures for a while followed by a frantic upload on Saturday and Sunday.

Fuck it. How about some news you can use:

BEHOLD THE MAJESTY OF ANTIMAGIC

Antimagic, Ted McGrath's non-Savonarola-based project (featuring both members of Savonarola) will be at The Knitting Factory on Saturday the 22nd of this month. I will be there with bells on. Doors at 8, apparently though I'm sure that is subject to change. Past instances where Ted's solo-projects were found to be belligerently oppressive have been relegated to the past with hidden Smile-ish sub-melody. It will rule.

Following the next weekend I will be in Denver for two days (as of now -- these things change) and will hopefully be dining or drinking irresponsibly with Danny and Nina, whom I have not seen in... since they moved to Denver. Or before that. I think I missed the going away party for some reason.

Now, I rest.

He Said Captain, I Said Wot

Dulaney Banks don't need press from me -- any germane facts are on their Myspace (linked to; above. Please visit) but I'll boil them down for you nonetheless. Guy and girl are a duo that sings folk and spirituals and songs about murdering them wot done you wrong. They are will be legally able to busk in the subways once they turn eighteen (18) because they won a permit through the MTA Arts For Transit/MUNY audition. They are not yet 18, so they have no permit.

This is insane on several levels, most notably of which is the fact that they should not be performing in the subways for any reason other than for fun; they should be making the circuit through your usual medium/large touring venues with a proper sound system. Not to give short shrift to the Dulaney half (it's a great skill to do all the heavy lifting through one guitar, it's a wise man who knows when not to play), but to call the Banks half's voice "mature beyond [her] years" is an understatement and an absurd joke.

A Dramatization:

Jack: You're going to shoot Dulaney Banks?

Me: Oh yeah.

Jack: They're great, right?

Me: Yeah. I went to their Myspace link. I was like, 'who is this girl and how did she steal Nina Simone's voice?'

Jack: Yeah.

END

They are fantastic.

Something To Du

I have had a difficult time explaining why I like the Mighty Handful so much. Most of my thoughts are scattershot and age-ist of the "talented enough to be good; not good enough to care" variety and don't do them justice. The pleasure might be in the thrill of discovery -- those precious few months you have where the secret is yours to share with everyone and anyone who will listen.



Most of the seminal bands I've enjoyed in my life were discovered a few years (or more) past their sell date; The Who, The Replacements, all of the NY post-punk bands. There are notable exceptions (including Pavement, Sleater-Kinney, Neko Case, and all the new [bands] out there that sound like them), but my music has historically been acquired a day late and at a bargain price in the resale bin. Some of this was due to (my) date of birth, some due to the inevitable decline that bands go through once they stop having hard-ons for anything that moves and embrace the rapidly advancing twilight of middle age.



The Mighty Handful are nowhere near that place, so they seem fresh and new even as they chatter amongst themselves and realize that Oh Domestic Me! sounds suspiciously like Tangled Up In Blue. Developmentally, they are at the time and place where small steps are giant strides; They are tighter than when I saw them two months ago, and though Aviva keeps slinking off to the side to avoid the carnage (live, they are 5/6ths Keith Moon) they have developed the good common sense to not tack her solo song at the end of the show; the previous result led to a, "...and this is my adopted daughter Margot," sense of unease as the rest of the boys packed themselves away.



They're playing Southpaw on the 15th and I intend to go out of loyalty and curiosity and to take my "adult" drunken friends who look at me like I'm chicken little every time I start muttering about how absurdly great "Uptown Drunks" is. First one on the train gets the best seat.

They Covered Can't Hardly Wait. The Suicide Lyrics Version.

So yeah, The Mighty Handful. Great name. They are actually a sextet, and I like to think it's all part of the joke. I know them through Dan and more specifically Dan's kid, who's the drummer. My deep thoughts about this event are still gestating. in the meantime, I will offer you the rich, reduced broth of the experience.

"We're gonna play a song... ...the last time we played it someone's -- and I won't say whose -- someone's parents got upset."

(From the back of the house) "Were they yours?"

"No, they weren't mine. This song is called 'Uptown Drunks'."

(cheers)

The song is on their Facebook and Myspace pages. It has a medium tempo and a singable chorus. It's about teenagers "experimenting with each other," if you know what I mean. Just sing about sex. Of course. Cut to the chase. If you're going to make parents upset go right for the jugular. If you're trying to woo Sally from homeroom go straight for her skirt.