#ShepardFairey

All Tomorrow’s Parties NJ w/ Portishead, Public Enemy & more (Oct/2011)

Ok so this blog post picks right up where the last one left off – literally the next day after seeing the David Byrne installation and feeling the wrath of the Curse of Primus (read all about it here) Erin and I made our way out to Asbury Park, for yet another unforgettable experience.
This time as a journalist once again covering the All Tomorrow’s Festival I’ll Be Your Mirror – curated by none other than Portishead who would headline both nights. This marks Portishead’s first return to the East Coast in 13 years, that will be followed by a more proper return with an additional two nights at Hammerstein Ballroom in NYC – their first shows in NYC since the famed Roseland orchestra show in 1998.
Inviting some of the greatest luminaries in Hip-Hop history to join them, this was a unique festival in a unique location that oddly I had never been to.
Travel tip – rent a car – fuck the cabs.

Oct 1-

Ok so Erin and I head out to Penn Station to take the train out to Asbury Park, amid a flurry of excitement as I can’t believe I’m finally gonna see this historic area, not to mention that we are gonna see Portishead, two nights in a row – and not for the last time this week – among a slew of other activities that this festival will have in store for us.
We get off the train at Asbury Park and to get to Asbury proper and our hotel, you have to take a taxi. What seems like a good deal at first quickly revealed a sleight of hand scam, that by the end of the weekend I could have rented a freaking jet for what this cost. If you know me, than you already know that I loathe taxis and their drivers – easily one of the scummiest professions in the modern world.
The cabs pull up and will take the first 5 people and charge them all a small flat rate. In this case it would only be $6 a person and we thought we were getting a deal. When he drops everyone else off we are the last ones left and for some reason he can’t find our hotel. I call the hotel to confirm their address and they are located less than 2 miles away in a small suburb called Wall Township. I inform the driver of this and this parasite is trying to take us for another kind of ride – immediately insisting that the fare will now be double. I try to negotiate that we will agree but he has to let us check into the hotel and then take us to the festival all for the same rate, and he rejects that offer and says it will be the same rate back.
Meaning that to go from the train to our hotel (less than 6 miles) than to the festival (less than 4 miles) he was trying to take us for at least $50.00 – and we are supposed to do this all weekend? – Hell no, I could have rented a corvette for that kinda money.
I tell the driver that he will be taking us to our hotel for the original amount of $6 per person or he can let us out right here and get nothing.
Since we were the only ones left and he was to return to the train station for his next pickup, he threatened to take us all the way back.
I was sitting behind him and told him that if he didn’t pull over right now that the next vehicle he will be occupying would be an ambulance.
He doesn’t take any chances and pulls over – only to attempt to keep our luggage hostage if we didn’t pay up front.
I grabbed him by his collar and screamed in his face – ” OPEN THE TRUNK MOTHERFUCKER OR I’m GONNA STUFF YOU IN THERE!!!”
Poor Erin is having a nervous breakdown – twice in less than 24 hrs I’ve been in a fight with someone.
He gets the message and pops the trunk and as we are getting our luggage out he’s screaming threats at me – I go to close the side door, throw a $10 bill at his face and tell him to go fuck himself.
Not the best way to start a trip –
I get on the phone to another cab company and we are back in another one in literally less than 5 mins and on to our hotel for a reasonable rate.
This was the only hotel I could find, and let me tell you something – I’ve stayed in quite a few shitholes in my day, but this place was downright frightening.
We had a healthy sense of humor about it and even kinda took pride on our little shithole – its one of those hotel that only has one floor, and when you open the door you are outside and they look they have hourly rates – a real turd bowl.

 

 

 

After we check in and get settled into this fleabag, its time to get over to the festival site, so the pursuit of yet another cab is on the rise – Our third in less than two hours. The next driver guy comes and he is initially a breath of fresh air, but we soon realize that he’s probably the scummiest of them all.
We get in and we are talking music and this guy is a smooth fast talker, but he for some reason I feel comforted by him. I know he’s on the grift but he takes me off guard with a great story about some time he spent with Eddie Van Halen. I thought he might have been pulling that psychic short hand cause I’m normally wearing some piece of VH paraphernalia on me, but not this time, so lucky guess on his part.
He’s awesome but still charges us $15 for a 3 min cab ride and gives us his card and says to call him later and he will take care of us.
Ok whatever, – this festival has infested and setup shop in every nook and cranny of the park with the central focus and convention like atmosphere being at the
Convention Hall.
The festival started yesterday but the two nights of Portishead begin tonight – across the street from the convention is the hotel where all the acts are staying and where the production office has set up shop. We get over there, get our credentials – take a quick look around and grab some greasy food before finally heading in.Our spirits are high and I’m very proud to be here and the anticipation is manic as we enter the main thoroughfare –

As we enter the Convention Hall, I was shocked at how small and unoccupied it was – sure we were three bands from Portishead but it was like we were getting a treat, like we were cheating somehow – that even if this place fills up, we are getting something of a private show. The odd thing is that even till the end, though the floor will fill up, the seats will not look much different than they do here, as we get ready for the first band we wanna see – Battles.

Battles

After the departure of vocalist/guitarist Tyondai Braxton last year, the announcement that Battles would continue came as a surprise. A year later, their sophomore effort Gloss Drop revealed that Battles were mostly the same: unpredictable and rhythmically rich, but not quite as propulsive. Some of the power may have diminished, but Battles are still a force of nature live that gets the body moving. In the Convention Hall, the vocals of Braxton were played as a background sample during Atlas, as with Gloss Drop guests Kazu Makino and Matias Aguayo, effectively driving the point home that they are in control and can get along without him.

Ultramagnetic MCs
 Up next was something for the bucket list – How cool is it that Portishead invited so many important players of Hip-Hop for this festival, and some reformed just to play this show. To know me is to know my life-long obsession with Hip-Hop and is their anyone in any genre crazier than Kool Keith?
Though I’ve seen his solo show many times, to various degrees of success, his original outfit, the legendary Ultramagnetic MC’s were invited to play after being on a long hiatus and their first with Kool Keith in over a decade.
Ced Gee and TR Love came out first and got it going early with Funky/Mentally Mad from their classic 1988 LP Critical Beatdown.
That album singlehandedly introduced many new sampling techniques. Many believe that without Ced Gee, the group’s primary producer, the golden era of sampling may have looked very different. Their albums were some of the first to use many James Brown samples, which became very prominent in Hip Hop in ensuing years.
Everyone was anxious for Keith to appear, and knowing is reputation, was he even gonna show up? – and if he did, what condition would he be in? – how weird was this about to get?
The answer is yes, and shit got weird in a hurry as he took the stage –

 

PortisheadPortishead was truly a thing of pure magic-first East Coast show since their famed Roseland performance in 1998 -first of 4 nights with them.
It would be impossible to overstate my anticipation for this show nor could I ever exaggerate the role this band’s music has played in my life. If their is some type of World Record for listening to an album continuously, I might be in the running. I have listened to some piece of both of their first 2 lps everyday for the past 18 years (even today) it’s just part of my day and I don’t even think about it. When I worked for the man I used to jokingly fill out the section of the application that says “Special skills or achievements” by putting “I have seen Portishead live” –
In hindsight you could say that these two shows were mere warmups to their big return to NYC in a couple of days with two big nights at the famed Hammerstein Ballroom, and given the size of the crowd and condition theirs an argument to support that, but being there and experiencing it, it felt like anything but.

There are not many artists that can pull off headlining two nights of a festival full of fascinating artists, but one of them is Portishead. Performing their first shows on the east coast in 13 years, Portishead were the main attraction on Saturday and Sunday nights, giving their 2008 album Third the proper tour it deserves.

 

In Threads, the penultimate song of both headlining sets, Beth Gibbons unleashed an otherworldly anguish so overwhelming that the frustration behind it defined comprehension. Glory Box sounded more seductive than ever, while Wandering Star had its sensual beat stripped away to give it a delicate haunting quality shared with The Rip.
The vocals of Beth Gibbons ran the gamut from sultry to pained, and the effect never ceased to hypnotize. Gibbons appeared to be in high spirits, smiling throughout and even jumping into the crowd for a brief surf at the end of set finale We Carry On. Most unsettling of all is this uncanny ability to tap into the vastest of emotional depths seemingly at will. Disconcerting, but gorgeous, Portishead is back and better than ever.

Setlist:

Silence
Hunter
Mysterions
The Rip
Sour Times
Magic Doors
Wandering Star (Geoff/Beth/Adrian solo version)
Machine Gun
Over
Glory Box
Cowboys
Threads

Encore:

Roads
We Carry On

After the show we walked across the street to Asbury Lanes, this charmingly shitty little bowling alley for the after-party that was to be Peanut Butter Wolf w/ a surprise appearance by Prince Paul, that apparently just showed up. However the line was wrapped around the building twice and it was one in and one out. I was pleasantly emotionally drained after seeing Portishead and we had already had a long travel day and had to be back up early tomorrow so we looked forward to settling into our rat-trap hotel for the night. I called the cab driver with the cool Eddie Van Halen story to come get pick us up, and he did – for $25 bucks.

We had so much fun making fun of our own hotel and how shitty it was, and jumping up and down on the bed – One of the best and silliest nights her and I have had in a long time and it was great fun. We hadn’t really eaten today, so we walked to the McDonald’s next door and had to go thru the drive-thru on foot (that’s never embarrassing right?) – but it was just so surreal and ridiculous that we couldn’t stop laughing -Really fun.
When we got back to the fleatrap, we had a food fight with fries and started rough housing – I felt bad because I tossed Erin’s little 90 lb body a little too hard and with her infinite clumsiness she fell on her ass in hilarious fashion that we both screamed laughing at, but she bumped the old staccato wall and it skinned her elbow for a little blood.
Even more hilarious was, given the nature of the place, I think the guy next door thought I was beating her and we could hear him outside our door doing some investigating, which only led to more laughter. Good times.

Oct 2nd

So now that today is not a travel day, we had the day to take it easy, take in Asbury Park and enjoy the area and see everything it had to offer.
It’s now Sunday, only our second day here, but the third and final day of the festival. We had opted to not come on Friday because:
a) They were doing some odd thing with the credentials for just that day, surrounding Jeff Mangum (who I can’t stand).
b) We thought we were seeing Primus in Manhattan on Friday (see last entry for story).
c) We thought we would save on a night at a hotel by waiting till Saturday because their was also really only one band we wanted to see, Shellac, who we also knew we would be seeing back in Brooklyn in a few days.
d) i.e. we skipped Friday

Shellac (surprise early show)

Only to learn just what a good decision this was when we got word that Shellac was going to do an early Sunday Service show around noon at the aforementioned charmingly shitty bowling alley – Win!
An authentically ancient bowling alley Asbury Lanes. Dark, loaded with cheap beer and greasy food served by the friendly, tattooed staff, and so technologically out of the loop that score keeping had to be done on paper; the alley had the kind of charming environment that epitomizes this festival.

Main dude and all around creep Steve Albini starts the show by saying “Thank you for coming to the bowling alley, we’ve played several bowling alleys, and this is among the nicest bowling alleys we’ve played at in New Jersey.”
Albini then lead his band, a total sound and fury machine, through a blisteringly powerful set.

Not long after that Albini told us that he was hosting his usual poker game – this time at the Berkeley Hotel across the street from Convention Hall – the hotel where we checked in to get our credentials, and basically the entire hotel is the Production Office for the festival this weekend. We went over there to check it out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We didn’t stay long and I didn’t play, though I would have liked to, just to do it. Also I like poker and it would have been fun – but as cool as that sounds, it also by the same token, meant staying indoors playing cards in the middle of the day with a notorious asshole, and we hadn’t even seen the beach yet.
I’m also really good at poker so I would have enjoyed fucking with Albini – but it was fun just to watch for a bit and go check out the rest of the boardwalk.Silverball Pinball Museum

Ok, so if anyone knows anything about me, knows that pinball is a lifelong passion of mine, right up there with music and baseball. I’ve been fortunate to have played and seen some amazing machines all over the world. I’ve competed in the Brooklyn Tournament every year since 2006 and coming in 3rd in 2007. I’ve played at Redondo Beach before they took the machines out and visit Pacific Pinball everytime I’m in Las Vegas – so how could I come to the Pinball Capital of the World and not play!! – No way man, I was looking forward to this almost as much as the music!
This festival feels tailored made for me, Public Enemy, Kool Keith, two nights of Portishead, some of the best seafood I’ve ever eaten – and now I was in pinball heaven –

 

Enter – The Silverball Museum – home to more than 120 classic pinball machines. But unlike most museums, the Silverball is hands on. A 10-dollar pass will buy you an hour of time on the most popular vintage machines dating back to 1933. I wanted to drop to my knees and worship. Just look at this place!
Boardwalks and pinball go hand in hand, and here I was playing pinball on classic machines in Asbury Park – One of the best days ever.Then, as I’m walking around like a kid in a candy store, I see Portishead main man Geoff Barrow checking out an old Neptune machine from the 1960s –

I am no fanboy and normally in this type of situation I would have said nothing and certainly wouldn’t have taken a picture, but its not everyday that I see one of my idols participating in one of my passions outside of their vocation. Still wearing his ATP credentials, I thought back to that scene in the Roseland DVD where he is walking around outside the venue, still wearing his laminate – odd but kind of a full circle moment for me. We chatted for a bit and moved on – I had to see if they had Earthshaker haha (they didn’t) – but damn this place was cool. We walked out of there shaking our heads going, “Did that just really happen?”.We still had time before the bands we wanted to see started to check out a few more things. Shepard Fairey’s propaganda style art pasted on the surrounding buildings really tied everything together.

And then we finally got to take a walk on the beach before heading into the Convention Hall for another long night of incredible music – what a wonderful day.

 

Company Flow

 

This was only Company Flow’s third show in the past decade, but they appeared to have not missed a beat in their hiatus. A good way to warm up the crowd for what was to be a really incredibly performance by Public Enemy, Company Flow brought old school rap to ATP much in the same way Ultramagnetic MC’s did the night before.Company Flow together again, for what was apparently their 3rd show together in 10 years. I’ve seen El-P and Mr. Len separately, first time seeing Bigg Jus perform.

Public Enemy

The group, complete with DJ Lord (who replaced Terminator X) and full band in tow, were originally booked to play Fear of a Black Planet in full. But after the cancellation of Mogwai, they were given a two hour slot. In response, Public Enemy declared they would be playing Fear of a Black Planet “remixed” meaning we heard nearly every song off the album, in addition to numerous other PE hits. Now we were getting two hours of PE? – Could this day get any cooler?

But that meant that she show had to start and no disrespect – but we had to sit through one of the longest and most excruciating soundchecks I can ever remember, just painful. The whole thing was led by what appeared to be a older family member, probably of Chuck D’s, something to keep the gentlemen employed rather than his actual qualification to do it – and this dude was an exhausting taskmaster – (It would not be the last time we would seen him, stay tuned next month).
The show was starting, Erin took her place in the photo pit (after successfully defending her ground with some asshole from the production staff, even more impressive was that this dude looked King Kong Bundy).
Backed by a band with metal leanings and the turntable wizardry of DJ Lord (who masterfully connected the subversiveness of Public Enemy with Nirvana), Chuck D came out like a prizefighter and showed why he’s still one of the best MCs in the game.

With his politically-charged rhymes as relevant as ever, here comes his foil Flavor Flav who was a bundle of bottomless energy. Whether running back and forth from one end of the stage to another, leaping into the crowd, or commanding them to jump, Flav kept the energy levels high. Erin snapped one of my fave pics of PE ever check it –

They blew everyone away with one of the more energetic performances I’ve seen in a long time. Say what you will about Flavor Flav, the man is an iconic performer and had more onstage charisma than pretty much any other performer I had seen all weekend. Chuck D, of course, still has all the MC chops that has made him one of the most highly respected rappers of all time.
At one point as if the level of world class talent onstage couldn’t get any higher, Chuck D invites legendary drummer Dennis Davis to join them on a couple of tracks. This was now officially one of the coolest days of my life and Portishead hasn’t even gone on yet.
To educate/remind the crowd of Davis’ incomparable resume, Chuck D asked he crowd “Even heard the song Fame with David Bowie and John Lennon?, wanna know who played drums on that track?” – and proudly pointed to Davis – a jaw dropping moment.
Also need to mention how skilled a turntabalist DJ Lord is. And that famed Twitter music critic Chris Weingarten (1000 Times Yes) was brought onstage to rap Don’t Believe The Hype, which was actually the only thing he said into the mic before jumping into the crowd. The whole set was freaking awesome, and a highlight of the entire three day festival.

Setlist –

Contract on the World Love Jam
Brothers Gonna Work It Out
911 Is a Joke
Welcome to the Terrordome
Show ‘Em Whatcha Got
Bring tha Noize
Don’t Believe the Hype
Cold Lampin’ With Flavor
Can’t Truss It
Night of the Living Baseheads
He Got Game
Harder Than You Think
Anti-Nigger Machine
Burn Hollywood Burn
Power to the People
Bring the Noise
Timebomb
Who Stole the Soul
Shut Em Down
Rebel Without a Pause
By the Time I Get to Arizona
Fight the Power

Portishead

I wonder if it’s weird to be Beth Gibbons, to look out at a teeming auditorium, and to realize that everyone in the room has probably had sex to your music at some point or another.  Gibbons is basically our Isaac Hayes, our Teddy Pendergrass. And though Portishead is a studio band through and through (Geoff Barrow has said in interviews that they’ve generally not enjoyed playing live), they did an amazing job at bringing the dusky, cracking feel of their records to life onstage while at the same time playing around with their songs’ compositions.

Geoff Barrow, the group’s production mastermind, switched between percussion, guitar, bass, and turntables. He was impressive on all those instruments, but his scratch-solos were serious highlights. Barrow’s big moments didn’t’t exactly flaunt their technical mastery, but they always made perfect musical sense for their moments. Guitarist Adrian Utley ripped though delirious ’70s-soul solos or bottom-heavy fuzzbombs whenever he had to. The group’s live drummer proved to be great at recreating Barrow’s dusty breakbeats without so much as a single extraneous fill. This is a group of people very good at what it does.

With its militaristic, gunfire-like synth march, Machine Gun was as experimental as it was visceral, and tonight, Chuck D accompanied it with a verse from Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos.

Gibbons, who barely spoke a word to the audience all night, seemed small and wraith-like onstage, her face usually hidden under hair and shadow. But at the end of the set, when she smiled huge and pulled off the world’s least likely stage-dive, it suddenly became obvious that she’d been having fun all along. Her voice was warm and tremulous, and it sounded absolutely incredible throughout the night.Though the energy level was completely different than last night. I was in absolute bliss.
Setlist:  (abbreviated as it differed from last night)Nylon Smile (instead of Hunter)
Machine Gun(with Chuck D)
Chase the Tear
We Carry On (w/ Simeon from Silver Apples)

After-party with DJ Shepard Fairey – Asbury Lanes
  We learned after last night that the after -parties at Asbury Lanes fill up quick and this being the last after-party of the festival and Shepard Fairey was gonna be DJ’n, we knew we had to haul serious across the street to get over there and get in. The cool thing is that we were some of the first to arrive so we had no problem getting in. After being their for only about 20 mins I learned just how lucky as I when I went outside to smoke the line was already stretched to Pennsylvania. It was also during this smoke break where the wheels of this perfect day began to unravel. You can’t take away all that we saw/did today, one of the most unforgettable days of my life, and we were ending it at Asbury Lanes, the same place we started at this morning with Shellac, I just wished it had ended as well as it had begun.
I’m not here to divulge too much private information, I’m just trying to tell a story here for you, myself and for the sake of posterity – so if anything is revealed, its only in the name of advancing the story and that is my only agenda. So with that in mind I must tell you that Erin is not supposed to be drinking alcohol, like at all, and we had a deal on this trip that she wouldn’t.
However given the amazing day that we had, and all that we had seen, and now we were about to get down with Shepard Fairey, and I wanted a beer too, when she asked if she could have one, I relented and ordered us both a drink. Big mistake.
That’s what gets me, I always think its going to be ok – but it never is and its never just one. I wanted to smoke and they were only letting people out one at a time and normally letting me out of her sight for one sec would have caused big problems but she was totally okay with me smoking alone (that should have been my first clue).
Though I was enjoying her all day, I prolonged my cigarette break to enjoy a rare moment to myself and it would cost me. Having said that, I was still only gone for about 15 mins and when I returned I saw her before she saw me and when she did she quickly threw away an empty bottle of beer while still holding another.
I don’t know how many she managed to get down in my absence but in 15 mins time she went from the excitement of just seeing Portishead to being smashed, and I was super pissed off.
I tried to just grin and bear it but soon it would become inescapable.Shepard was setting up and it seemed like the entire festival was here – He was playing all of that fun shit that I like and that I like to spin – None of that Dubstep nonsense or trying to make some artistic statement, just getting people to dance and have fun. All the fun shit from Run-DMC to Rob Base, to Pete Rock etc.

I  tried to get into it and just forget about what was happening with her while still keeping my eye on her to make sure she didn’t hurt herself, and I did for awhile, totally losing myself in the music, but her bullshit was catching up fast. Not only did we see Geoff Barrow again but the entire Portishead crew were here.
She insisted that I go talk to Geoff and I did for a bit (dude probably thinks I’m stalking him today).

But I was just so angry that I was in a dream situation with all of my heroes,that I certainly am not likely to be in again, and I couldn’t go hang for fear of what her situation could yield (trust me on this). It wasn’t like I was gonna get pics with them and ask for autographs, but I had a chance to hang for real and I know the score, and I had to just idly keep my distance and let the opportunity pass me by. Their was no way I was gonna live with being embarrassed in front of these people so I just let it go and decided to enjoy just being there and in their presence.
I called that same Taxi guy to get us back and he shows up and takes us and four others (all to the same fleabag) – and when we get there he says that its only $9 bucks – Ok cool, and I even thought he meant $9 bucks per party, but oh no, it was $9 bucks per person. It would have been highway robbery to charge just us $18 for this 8 min cab ride, but he bled the lot of us for $60 bucks for this short ride. I’m telling you if you are ever in Asbury Park, rent a car, DON’T TAKE CABS –

Shellac – The Bell House – Oct 3rd – Brooklyn, NY

Ok so the next morning we pack up and of course we have to get into another cab, I didn’t call the EVH guy, last night was the final straw, and we lucked out with a nice dude that didn’t actually rip us off this time.
We took the series of trains to get back to Brooklyn, and even cooler was in the same car as us, and just in the seats in front of us were Public Enemy’s live band riding shotgun. The drummer had a white girl under each arm all the way back to Brooklyn.

Before we got news and eventually attended the “secret” Shellac show yesterday at Asbury Park (and even so that show was admittedly abbreviated), we were content on waiting to see then when we got back to Brooklyn. They were playing one of my favorite venues in the whole country, perfect for what they are about and it was gonna be a full set.
When we got there we discovered that the show was sold out, but the crafty door girl was enterprising. She just so happened to have an extra pair that she only wanted face value for – they were the kind of tickets you print out. We gave her the money, and she granted us access but wouldn’t let us keep the print outs of the tickets – hmmmm – I have a feeling she had been doing this all night and business was booming. Even so or even if we did get the last two tickets I was super happy to be here and excited for the show.

The Bell House was staging this for two post-All Tomorrow’s Parties hangover shows, but the next one is tomorrow, the same night as Portishead night one at Hammerstein so this was our only chance.
Ready to give their loyal (and very male-dominated) following a world of aluminum guitar-scraping hurt, their trademark side-splitting Q & A sessions and one-liner between-song zingers.

 

 

Worshiping at the Albini altar is routine, but the first of the band’s two Bell House shows displayed why the band deserves the props. The musicians were ass-tight meticulous, the song selection stellar, the sound immaculate (Albini called the Bell House “the best place to play in the NYC metropolitan area”), and the set lasted a staggering 100 minutes.

Albini’s bizarro-world, rhythmically challenged dance twitches are worth the price of admission alone, but the between-song shenanigans and banter set Shellac apart from the typically abstract inside joke jargon usually spewed at shows. Some highlights (or lowlights), if you will:

• Best joke of the evening, courtesy of Weston: “What’s brown and sticky? My Beyoncé poster.”
• Funniest song intro, courtesy of Albini: “This song is called “I Came In You.” “It’s about intercourse.”
• Best baseball-related advice for the recently manager-less Chicago White Sox, courtesy of Albini: “They need to hire Buck Showalter.”
• Best hot-dog-related advice from Weston: “Last year, I ate three hot dogs. I got sick but not from the hot dogs being bad, but because I had three. My tummy hurt.”
• Best advice from Albini about purchasing gear: Don’t go to Guitar Center. Albini bought a new guitar strap there for $44.
• Best friendly natured jab at Albini, courtesy of Weston: After being asked by an audience member “What’s better: jam or jelly?” Weston retorted with “I am going to jam (and jelly) my dick up Steve’s mom’s ass.”

Setlist – Canada
Copper
Watch Song
Squirrel Song
My Black Ass
A Minute
You Came In Me
The End of Radio
Steady as She Goes
Dog & Pony Show
Crow
Spoke

Portishead – Hammerstein Ballroom – Oct 4-5th – NYC

Ok so we had blowing and going for a week straight – everyday since she got here, and now we were gonna cap off her last two days in the city with the historic return of Portishead to NYC.
We woke up to the good news that our beloved Texas Rangers had won the ALDS last night and were headed to the American League Championship series for the second year in a row.
How do we celebrate the Texas Rangers win? How about 2 more nights of Portishead? –

Oct 4th

We had a good day in the city and the anticipation for tonight had me manic with excitement, but some of her bullshit rose to the surface right at the zero hour that we were approaching the venue for the show.
When tickets had originally gone on sale, I was past my limit on my card so we used her card and I just gave her the cash for the tickets. I had the same type of paper printouts that the door girl at Shellac wouldn’t let us have, folded in my breast pocket.
I was like Fred Astaire, dancing around, I didn’t even mind that the line to get in was almost to 10th Ave – And as we were approaching the entrance/nirvana they were two lines:
One for Will Call
Another for people who had tickets in hand.
I naturally got in the line for people who already had their tickets because like I said I was waving them around like a newborn baby, when she quietly tells me that we have to go to Will Call – oh fuck.
Not wanting to spoil my spirit she waited till we got up here and didn’t really tell me till after we got in but I knew what was up.
Remember before last week we hadn’t seen each other in almost 2 months, and even last week when we were making the plans for her to come visit we were having problems and arguments and at one point a decision for her to not come at all was close to being reached by both ends.
So, though these were my tickets, her insane jealousy allowed her to jump to the conclusion that if she didn’t come, I would take someone else, and not just anyone else but naturally someone that would render the entire evening scandalous, and so therefore without telling me, she called her Ticketmaster or whatever and said that she changed her mind and wanted to pick up the tickets at Will Call.
Meaning that what I was holding in my hand was worthless this whole time, and though they were my tickets, if she hadn’t come, I would have learned that cruel truth at the height of my excitement as I was walking into the venue, not to mention the embarrassment I would have suffered in front of whatever friend I had invited, not to mention their own palpable disappointment.
It was insanity and a viciousness I just couldn’t reconcile and once again had to suppress on a night I had been waiting for not only for months, but in retrospect for over 13 years.
However I wasn’t letting her and any of her baffling dysfunction take this from me – It was too personal and meant too much to me to let it go awry over stupidity. We soldiered on and headed into the beautiful Hammerstein Ballroom for the first of two nights – Portishead, were finally back in NYC.

The band let every piece of their show get absorbed by the environment around them. Going through the greatest tracks of their discography, the band exhausted every element of strength, surprise and subtlety, striving to exceed their own expectations. Beth Gibbons took her familiar place in front-center stage and delivered her signature, achingly beautiful vocals, never letting up in the slightest.

 

 

 

 

 

Geoff Barrow and Adrian Utley provided the unequivocal ambiance of all things Portishead, with keyboards, percussion, metallic snare drums and turntable tricks strewn about. It seemed like as the night went on, the group’s dynamic intensified throughout, with each song becoming more rigid, building up on an emotional level that made the cast of thousands simply watch in awe.

All in all, seeing Portishead live was the equivalent of the life cycle of a human heart living through the most extreme of emotions. That, in and of itself, is unforgettable.

In terms of the setlist they just repeated the same show as the first night of the ATP Festival in Asbury Park. In terms of what the crowd was like, I have to admit that I was at times beyond annoyed. This little gay dude in front of us was so obnoxious and selfish with his gesticulations as were crammed in like sardines, and given my anger from earlier, I don’t know how I didn’t punch him. I think Beth Gibbon’s unbelievable expression saved the dude a beating and myself from going completely insane.

Oct 5th

 

 

 Erin’s little tickets stunt almost came back to bite her in the ass – See this was her last night in the city and she wanted to do something different which I can completely understand. I’m the one obsessed with Portishead not her, so on her last night, I can see why she wouldn’t wanna go see the same band that she’s seen three of the last four nights, a band that until last week hadn’t ever heard of except from me. Just like in Los Angles earlier this year, she didn’t wanna spend her last in Los Angeles seeing Prince for the 5th time (and that time she got her wish as I rolled solo to that last Prince show).
So I was fine with her not going though it was her last night in NY, and though it may sound selfish if this was any other band I might have relented and said “You know what? three nights in a row is enough, this is your last night, let’s do what you wanna do” – But this was something special that I hadn’t been waiting so long for and she knew and agreed to that before hand, and also, her jealous antics with the tickets and that shit she pulled our last night in Asbury Park really wasn’t motivating me much.
But remember, at the very least since she pulled that shit, she now had to go to Hammerstein to claim the tickets and then what? So if she was gonna go through all that why not just see the show with me? Her true motivation was to keep an eye on me for sure.
Enough of this nonsense, let’s see Portishead one more time :)Everything about the show—from the wall of live video carefully manipulated in real-time behind them, to the thoughtful set-up of individual and overlapping spotlights on stage, to the crisp and perfect sound—was immaculate. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard a live performer with a better voice than Beth Gibbons. What a heartbreak machine that woman is! Don’t get me wrong, the newest material they’ve put out has been ace, but hearing her note-perfect in taking on the old Dummy torchsongs like Mysterions, Sour Times, and Glory Box was jaw-dropping. On Wandering Star, stripped down to an intimate duet with her and Geoff Barrow both crouching at center stage, she kept elevating her devastated moan, higher, higher, until the crowd just totally lost it. They lost it a lot. Every time her face flashed on the big screen, warped and ghostly from whatever distorted filter they were using, it had a grimace of emotional exhaustion. .

 

 

As a live band, with five on-stage players beside Gibbons, Portishead are double impressive. It was on this level that material from 2008’s Third really hit. Hearing them work into krautrock grooves, two drummers pounding, on something like Machine Gun, you were kind of amazed at the heaviness (it was ominously accompanied on the big screen by a slow crawl down some murderer’s warehouse hallway). Adrian Utley’s guitar solo on We Carry On is something you’d have never expected from their 90s work—aggressive and agitating rather than coolly removed. On material from their creepy-crawly 1997 self-titled album, Geoff Barrow did some live record-scratching, or most likely simulated it on some newfangled computer program. Rather than sounding dated, it added a compellingly huge dose of freaked-out noise to songs like Cowboys and Over.

It all sounded dark and fresh in the face of the ironically smooth crooning, day-glo keyboard noodles, and tiny, reverbed ditties that our borough has recently produced. For elegance, they might never top that famous Roseland show with the New York Philharmonic. For transporting power, I can’t imagine I’ll see a better show for the rest of the year.
In terms of the setlist, they did the same setlist as they did the second night of ATP – so those two shows (minus the special guests) mirrored these two, but somehow these two shows felt special and powerful and I’ll never forget them.As we were stepping out after the show that night – Brooklyn Vegan snapped a shot of us (unbeknown to me until someone emailed me to tell me) – and its got to be the worst pic of me ever – I notoriously take bad photos, but look how tired I look – I look like 15 years older than what I really am, as compared to looking 10 years younger like I normally do which is source of pride for me. I know the hustle is hard, and I hustle like no one else, but the stress is clearly getting to me.

SXSW 2009: Playboy Party w/ Jane’ Addiction + Tricky & more

Ok so every year, I like others who work in the Music Industry or just simply those that are into absorbing ALOT of music, free booze and food for a week, descend upon Austin, TX like white on rice. Nothing attracts a crowd, like a bigger crowd and every year their’s always some big promise of seeing a huge band in some impossibly small setting, or catching the next big thing. I’ve seen this festival change and grow over the years. Purists cry fowl and want it to remain smaller and intimate and resemble its original intentions of small band getting exposure on a national or international level, others embrace its steady growth every year. Whatever your take this festival does get bigger and more insane every year and this year was no different.

Day 1: The Official Start of the Music


Time to get slightly Metal, as I made my way to the Paramount Theatre to see Flight 666: The Story of Iron Maiden. I try to see a few films every year (usually documentaries) and this was the one I really wanted to see. I will watch a good documentary on just about anything if its done well. I had seen the director’s of this film, Scott Mcfayden and Sam Dunn, previous entry in 2006, Metal: A Headbanger’s Journey, and though it may sound like I making one of my regular jokes with that title, the movie was nothing short of fascinating. Totally cerebral (the filmmakers are credited Anthropologists), and yes as you can imagine, totally nerdy. I’m not an apologist about this side of my personality. Something about Metal culture is just so fun, and non-casual to me. I love how into it and dedicated they are. When I passed by the theatre earlier in the day, their were fans in Iron Maiden shirts, already lined up in like 85 degree weather. Now I realize what an easy target this makes them for the cool kids to laugh and sneer at, but I was more interested in seeing this first hand.

And again, casual they were not, as silly as it sounds, it was awesome seeing these people freak out, even in a movie theatre! Their were dude-bros in the FRONT ROW with their shirts off and swinging them over their heads! Great stuff. The movie followed with a brief Q&A with the directors.

So it was now officially time for the afterparties. I gave my wonderful hosts passes to the Red Bull Moontower Party, and they were already there, so I hopped into (yet another) cab and took the trek down Cesar Chavez. When you arrive your greeted by what looks like a spaceship landing and since the party stretched till Saturday, instead of giving you four different invites (or maybe just a wristband like the Fader Party) they apply temporary tattoos, that are supposed to survive your schedule (that apparently doesn’t include showering) for the next four days.

This party was a little boring at first. The band with the most lethal name in history, I love you but I’ve Chosen Darkness, failed to make good on their potential. It looked great though, free booze, great setup, a photo booth, and a very lavish, futuristic looking stage. Next was Shephard Fairey, who I knew was gonna be there, but I just didn’t know at what capacity. Regardless I knew because of his involvement that it would prove to be interesting at least. He performed a pretty solid DJ set, with a great visual accompaniment of a flash show if his graphic design. I’ve always found him interesting, despite his recent high-profile criticisms, but I was surprised to learn that most people there didn’t recognize the name, until I mentioned these. Even my hosts didn’t know and when I elaborated, even they responded with “You mean that plagiarist?”.

But he got everyone dancing, and I was near this group of rowdy but fun kids that were just going crazy, that you couldn’t help but go crazy with them.

After that it was time to get some more drinks, pay a visit to the fun little photo booth they had set up and get ready for Monotonix, in the best manner that one would prepare for such a thing.

It now being 330am what could wake up more than some crazy Isaraeli’s playing from inside the crowd while the singer, clad in short shorts, was singing from a trash can on top of it.
I’ve seen numerous Monotonix shows, and I know they had several shows booked, but some of those were at like noon for 20 min. This show was designed for their element. Super late, super drunk, outdoors so as to minimize potentially burning the place down. With all of the photographers, from a distance all you could see was flashes, and people scrambling for position. It looked like when Britney Spears goes shopping. Then the singer emerges on top of the crowd and proceeded to destroy everything in his wake, until the powers that be finally killed the power sometime after 4am.

 

Day 3 – The Craziness continues + Playboy Party

I knew that this was going to be a really long day so I did my best to pace myself. After getting in from the previous nights’ Red Bull party at 6am and having my first meeting at 10am, I chilled and didn’t get started on the music until about 3pm. Grabbed some food and headed to Mohawk’s for the Rhapsody Rocks Party. First band I saw was Glasvegas, whom despite the hype, I thought were really lame. I can’t tell you how many times I have that same schtick. The singer with his indecipherable Scottish accent and drunk afflections totally bored me. The place was packed beyond belief (methinks the open bar may have been a factor) and they had this awesome “white trash snack bar” , with pop tarts, chips, candy and ramen noodles.
Next up was hometown gang Trail of Dead, who were totally great as always. I’ve seen probably a dozen of their shows over the years (including an infamous one at Red Eyed Fly years ago that ended with the singer throwing the bass drum…and almost the drummer in the revine behind the club) and this time their was no infighting, just rocking.

Glasvegas

Trail of Dead

I ran into some friends from NYC and from Austin towards the end and hung out for a bit before going over to Beauty Bar to see Mike Relm. I’ve been friendly with Relm since seeing him perform a few times in the last few years. First time was with Peeping Tom in Brooklyn, and last year I saw him open for the GZA in Manhattan and it was incredible. He’s one of only a few turntablist I’ve seen to use the video outputs on his Serato interface, to create, manipulate, and basically “remix” visual images, to really create a unique performance. Pioneered by DJ Spooky, I was ready to see Relm take the shit higher, but when I got there, I was told by my friend that works there, and a few of his own people from San Francisco, that he didn’t like the setup and felt it would compromise the performance and threw some diva fit and pulled out. Another cancellation!

At least now I had time to get some more food and head to the Levi’s Fader fort again. Although it was across 5th st this year, I was totally excited about seeing Tricky (especially after Martina cancelled). I get there and see one of those Mexican Lunch Trucks, selling some BBQ across the street from the kids in line. I get in line (for food) and realize that the shirtless patron in front of me, is also the musician I have come to patronize. Seems Tricky was eager to repair his past diva persona, and have some BBQ with the commonfolk. We talked for a bit and ate our rib sandwhiches, as just two hungry people, shooting the shit. His accent was a bit much to understand so I did alot of nodding.
I was early enough to see a bit of Late of the Pier, whom I had seen this past October at CMJ. This set was even better, very energetic, great sound, and the crowd was very responsive.

I took advantage of the free booze, to wash down my just bought BBQ and chilled for a bit. They had an internet lounge set up with couches and free copies of the Fader, always one of my favorite parties.  Caught the end of Lissie Trullie , and prepared for Tricky. I had just seen Tricky perform a pickup date on Monday in Dallas , and it was the first time I had seen him perform since May ’99, and it was the first time he had performed anywhere in the U.S. besides the shows he did in LA and NYC last year, since opening for Tool in 2001. I skipped that show back then as I didn’t see the worth of seeming him perform in a huge arena to an assuming, uninterested crowd, for 30 min. I had already learned my lesson by buying an expensive ticket to just see the opening band at a Tool show earlier that year, to see Tomahawk, thinking that their crowd might be a bit receptive to something new. WRONG! Gotta hand it to those Tool guys, they always seem to take out my favorite bands, regardless of genre, I also missed shows by the Melvins and the Cows because of this.
Perfect placing as the sun was setting and you could feel the crowd get closer. The band takes their places and then we see Tricky and Francesca Belmont emerge to their respective microphones. Besides Martina (of course) I think Francesca is my favorite of all of his many (usually female) collaborators. She is just fucking intoxicating! So talented, so sultry, and so devastatingly beautiful. Tricky is hard to upstage, but I found it near impossible to look away from her every move. Few performers have the ability to entrance at that level. She has a solo record coming out and it deserves to be huge. Starting with “Past Mistake” off last year’s Knowle West Boy, his first record in five years, the show kept soaring, largely with the help of a great backing band and Belmont’s presence and voice. One of the great things about seeing Tricky live is that you will hear unreleased material, and or completely different takes on exisitng songs that maybe only performed that way, that one time, creating a very unique experience. An example of this was the show closer, an almost Metal take on “Trickykid” (how appropriate for this site eh?) that had this infectious little staccato guitar riff, that helped Tricky charge right into the crowd, where he stayed till the lights came on.

Tricky

Setlist:

1) Past Mistake
2) Black Steel
3) Puppy Toy
4) Girls
5) ‘Tricky & Francesca’s Rap’
6) Overcome
7) Council Estate
8) Vent
9) Tricky Kid

 
So now I was headed back to the Beauty Bar to see the Death Set. One of my favorite new bands and perhaps my fave of the festival. I had seen them open for Matt & Kim in Brooklyn last year and was very excited to see them again. They had already played once today while I was in a meeting. The line to get in was annoying as thankfully my friend Matt relieved one of the door guys and I was then ushered in. This band is so the real deal. Total energy, great fun, just everything that a young band should be, original, energetic, genuine enthusiasm, and a freaking blast. They were all over the place and the crowd was singing every word. It was so charmingly chaotic.

From there it was time to head over the waaayy over-hyped Playboy Magazine Party. Every year at this festival (and many others like it) their is the always ultra-exclusive hot-shit  party that everyone wants to go to just because they hear its the hardest one to get into. Nothing attracts a crowd like a crowd right? These parties couldn’t possibly live up their expectations and its seems the attraction is all about elitism than the actual party itself. In years past at first it was the Spin Magazine Party when it was super secret late night affair, until turning into a boringly predictable afternoon thang now usually held at Stubb’s on the Friday afternoon (stay tuned ha ha). What gives the hype its power is that sometimes the party does reach some pretty amazing heights. For example in addition to the ultra-strict invite list for Playboy, everyone as heard somone talk about last year’s party, that was freaking awesome!! So those two things combine create something mythical that the cool kids gotta see for themselves. They even hold them at non-traditional venues located off the beaten path just to keep out the so-called rif raff.
This year it was held (for you Austin locals) at the old Safeway across I-35 on 12th st. Adding to the mystic is that wave their money around by always having some really big band perform that otherwise would never be playing to a crowd that small, or exclusive or that ungodly hour. To prove that the attraction was mainly in the admittance, I asked everyone around me who was playing ( it was one of the worst kept secrets, but I kept hearing conflicting reports that it was Motley Crue) and NOT ONE PERSON could tell me or had any idea.
After a brief mix up at Will Call, I finally secured my bracelet and went inside. Not before I saw half the music industry trying to get into this thing. It was like a reunion, I ran into everybody it seemed. I saw my old buddy Erv (Idol Records), Michael and Tony from BMG, and Errol, my old boss at Astralwerks. As you entered you were checked three times for your bracelet (I was momentarily derailed as I came in like a loser with my backpack which they didn’t allow, so I had to hail a cab and drop it off and then return, thankfully I was only staying a few blocks away).
Then you were greeted by the obligatory Playboy Bunnies, who are gorgeous but I still felt a little embarrassed (especially when my friends insisted I take some photos with them, with their cheesy cell phone no less) then you were given a small gift bag, that had a few promotional items as well as the first season of Afro Samurai on Blu-Ray DVD, which for a super-nerd like me, I was as excited about as the surgically enhanced barbi-doll in a rabbit outfit that gave it to me.

An impressive spread of free food and Jack Daniels abound, I had just finished eating and put a few back before the start of the evening’s main attraction: Jane’s Addiction. Now I haven’t seen Jane’s since High School, and to be honest I think their great, but I was never fanatical about them like most people were and to an extent still are. I was kinda taken aback (yet thoroughly enjoyed) by the crowd’s enthusiasm, yet I just still don’t see their relevance. They looked and sounded great however, and even at the late hour after a very long day, the crowd was all theirs. I’ve just never been around anyone, let alone a gathering of people that excited about Jane’s Addiction, usually I just hear Perry Farrell used as a punchline, so it was unique to see for sure, and the show was great.

Setlist:

3 Days
Ain’t No Right
Whores
Shower
Ted
Stealing
Hadadad
Mountain
Ocean Size
Stop

They finished just after 3am, and the party was scheduled to continue ’till 5am, with a DJ set from A-Trak. However by 315am the place had cleared like a bomb scare, I mean the place was dead. As much as I enjoyed seeing Jane’s, I was in contempt in spite of myself for having gave into the same hype I criticized, while most of my friends were across town at the KVRX Explosion watching a no doubt full-scale riot of Monotonix, The Death Set, and Ninjasonik. They were seeing the real deal, while I schmoozed with fucking hipsters. However in my defense I had already seen Monotonix this festival and had seen the Death Set that day, and I see Ninjasonik all the time in Brooklyn. However, this was NOT a legendary party, this was a Jane’s Addiction concert with a velvet rope.
Soooo you would think, I would be done for the evening (for those that don’t know me, I don’t ingest cocaine) but people were texting me from the Red Bull party that the Riverboat Gamblers were killing it and Lady Sovereign was next. So I hailed a cab and back down Cesar Chavez I went for the second night in a row. I arrive just before 4am, in time to say hi to the Gamblers, grab a drink, and get ready to shake a little ass. Now I spin Ladysov all the time when I’m DJ’n but I had yet to see her perform. I know that she likes to work her bratty schtick, but she came out bitching and whining and didn’t let up. (I would learn later that this was par for the course as far as her live shows are concerned….assuming she shows up at all…stay tuned) She starts with the first song off her new record Jigsaw, called “Let’s Be Mates”, that gets things off and running, but she kills any and momentum by creating a tense vibe by openly insulting the sound guy, and just fucking complaining in general. She clearly didn’t want to be there and after about 20 mins, neither did I. She had the chance to really make a fun party that was so way more happening than that Playboy shit I just left, even greater, but instead she just kinda brought everybody down. Lame.

Photos –

Roy Turner

Barack Obama: Inauguration Day 2009

Heavy linen paper and miniscule security threads gave the invite the feel of new currency, but its purple border, puffy embossment, and sparkly foil US Capitol symbol seemed mere flourishes on an otherwise conservative palate—a far cry from Wonka’s golden ticket.  Only 240,000 people received such invites, a number both reassuringly elite and refreshingly inclusive. Jehovah’s Witnesses believe far fewer will make it into Heaven.

My buddy Joe is a photographer and has quite a voice in D.C. and he was who I was staying with and attending the events with. The night before the inauguration we were speeding through a city under siege—checkpoints, racing motorcades, constant sirens. In the flat light of early morning DC, the scene didn’t appear nearly so chaotic. Just cold. Deeply, profoundly, disturbingly, not-fit-for-humanity, mega-shittily cold.

The crowd grew denser as we approached the checkpoint for official ticket holders, and we found ourselves moving against the flow of foot traffic as if walking straight into some vast disaster. I wasn’t that far off the mark. In an inaugural first, DC Mayor Adrian Fenty requested and received a preemptive federal emergency declaration from the outgoing president (and Gen X, if Obama’s youthful tenure doesn’t make you a little uneasy about your own life goals, please note that the capitol’s ruggedly handsome mayor was born in 1970). Although attendance estimates had trickled down from an original 4 million people, the day was still expected to easily outstrip 1965’s record of 1.2 million. With the prospect of cellular logjams and medical nightmares and logistical meltdowns, the city had steeled itself for disaster. Cutting upstream through the throng, I felt the opposite. This was the closest America has thus far gotten to a pilgrimage.

The map on the ticket showed viewing areas coded by color—purple, yellow, blue, orange—leading us to a checkpoint by the mouth of the 3rd Street Tunnel. I found a lone cop at the head of a long line and asked where to pass through to the viewing area.

The cop motioned back to the crowd with a weary laugh. The line curved around a street corner, and when we crested this bend I saw, with chilly disbelief, that the mob dipped back into the tunnel and extended beyond the line of sight. We descended down into a scene from a grim sci-fi movie, a procession of somber refugees having no apparent end.

We walked and walked through the dangerously tight crowd and still couldn’t find the endpoint. Every now and then I heard Joe reconfirm my own disbelief, “This is the purple ticket line, right?” Later I read, reports of “thousands” in this tunnel, but it must have been in the tens of thousands. If someone had told me it was over a hundred thousand—more than the population of the city I grew up in—I would have accepted that figure as well. We walked steadily for twenty minutes and found no end. Eventually our side of the tunnel merged with the empty opposite lane and there was some breathing room.

Only where the tunnel opened back onto the street did we finally join the line as participants. Strangely as we inched back in the direction of crowd, less than a dozen or so people lined up behind us. The crowd slowly marched forward, and the line widened without lengthening, leaving the polite rule-followers behind while the more aggressive pilgrims simply moved forward and cut back in. This was my first inkling that I might have to significantly ratchet down my expectations of universal brotherhood.

We found one entry to the Mall closed, then another. Every passing conversation concerned the closed gates. Near the Archives/Navy Memorial Metro station, I found a stalled crowd of three of four thousand at another checkpoint. It was after 11, past the point when all of us could be admitted to the public festivities with any kind of security screening. The dull roar of distant Jumbotrons drowned out the crowd’s fatigued chants.

At Indiana and 6, I joined another blob. Somebody close to me said, “They’re not letting nobody in nowhere”. National Park Regulations call for one portable toilet for every 300 people, and we could all see the orderly rows of relief on the other side of the fence. On our side, great billows of trash swirled in waist-high eddies.

I started to get the joke: Purple tickets were the gag gifts of the day.

By the end of the tunnel, people were sprinting. I can only describe the scene as something post-apocalyptic, a slice of humanity spilling past the initial checkpoint only to crush itself against a second. Then the crowd surged again, overwhelming the police and their metal detectors, and finally we were able to run into the viewing area.

Afterwards on the edge of Chinatown, we stumbled into an open-air bazaar and I finally found the shirts that had eluded me all day—Obama the prize fighter, Obama the DJ, Obama the slam-dunking Superman. I talked with a jovial fellow named Shakir from Philadelphia who sold foam V for Victory hands. Tony B Conscious, outsider artist of Los Angeles, handed me a business card flecked with spit. A hearty young white guy spanged by the Metro entrance, his hoodie reading “I [heart symbol] B.O.” In the distance, someone yelled “Obama’s black ass, $5!” I walked from table to table, snickering and then unexpectedly tearing up without reason.

After dusk, the temperature fell to the mid-teens. Swaddled in my jacket in front of the Gallery Place/Chinatown station, I was suddenly struck with two distinct and overlapping realizations: