My friend Eric called me up late the other night from somewhere outside of Barcade, panting breathlessly in the cold. “Dude, don’t go to bed yet,” he said. “I’m bringing something over for you.”
And what a something it was! In its heyday, he looked like this, functioning as an expensive karaoke toy.
I got on the wrong subway last night and it turned out so right — while navigating through the Times Square catacombs I heard this incredible clanking funk like a groovy factory or Tom Waits in the late ’90s. Turns out it was a spectacular pots-and-buckets drummer, the godfather of all buskers knocking out rhythms simultaneously organic and industrial.
I broke out my camera to take some video and the drumemr stopped the beat to point at me with a stick and shout “Five dollars for the video!” at the top of his lungs. I didn’t get it at first, and he had to shout a number of times, to the terrific enjoyment of the crowd. Then I got it and gave the guy ten bucks. He was that good by himself, but his dancer was amazing.
You can see the drummer and dancer in my video, below. The dancer is cold stole by the rhythm at first and it is giving him a sickness that is gonna turn real good. Like how a flu shot wears you out a little but toughens you right up — this man goes from a twitching rhythmic allergy into an incredible, fluid poet.
Again, I can only shoot 30 seconds at a time, so this is cut together from a number of smaller pieces.
I tried to write a couple dozen times today but my words got jammed up in my arms somewhere. They were all hot and excited, jostling around and sprinting to get on the train but couldn’t fit out the tiny doors at the end of my fingers.
So I’m posting this mix disc instead. Some of you have heard these songs from me before - it’s got a bunch of favorites on there. But there’s new stuff, too — so click, download, enjoy. You should be able to grab a PDF of the artwork and print it out, too.
The Ramones were rock like lava: they burst from the earth in hot ear-shattering blasts, permanently changing the landscape. Their shows were surging, sweat-soaked onslaughts, loud, terrifying and utterly unbelievable.Live, the Ramones were a sonic weapon trained to a frequency only the weird could hear, a roaring NASCAR race with flawless rhythm.
My best friend’s mom took the two of us and a date to see the Ramones when I was fifteen. My glasses got knocked off and ground back into sand during the first 30 seconds of “Blitzkrieg Bop,” my hand trampled and kidneys kicked as I crawled blindly through the pit to find them.
When I came out of the show I was blind, bruised and nearly deaf and totally transformed. My Dad said “I don’t think these ‘punk’ concerts are a good idea for you, Jeffrey,” and I shouted “you just don’t get it, maaaan!”
That Truncheon Thing is hosting an awesome Ramones bootleg that pretty much perfectly captures their live sound:
