Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
2007-02-27-Tonight is a pretty jam, or at least, post-jam packed evening in
2007-02-28—Hay, what do you know? Apollo Sunshine at the Annex...
2007-02-29-...and Apollo Sunshine at Southpaw
And, since you are out and about, come see my boys AGP at the Mercury
Here is a tearjerker I wrote on them for Jambands.com
Monday, February 26, 2007
Above-AEII: The most Jew you’ll find under one roof outside Relix
Despite having graduated college way back in 2003 and having earned a public noise citation for a party I threw my senior year, I didn’t attended my first frat party until this weekend. Skidmore, my alama matter, didn’t support Fraternities, not because we were opposed to mass drinking, but because we were way too lazy to organize any of the ritual stuff which goes along with Greek Life. We did, however, have a number of legacy houses which allowed us to live out our Animal House fantasies without ever uttering the phrase “uggy, uggy uggy, oi, oi, oi.” While the type of students who inhabit these crash pads shifted from semester to semester, each party house’s central attraction remained the same: Stables (badass bonfires), Arabella (bands in the basement), Excelsior (a large lawn), Bloomfield (a packed porch), Alpine (a smelly septic tank), State Street (budding boybands), and Bensonhurst (kid tested, acid approved). We even ghettoized our small athletic community into a suburban commune called Gick (indeed, Skidmore is the only school with both sober and sports awareness floors).
I bunked in one of these houses my senior year and may be the only person to ever live in a party house without really, um, partying (though I was always good a figuring out the potential ratio of kegs to cops). I learned a number of valuable lessons that year and even bribed G. Love to have a cold beverage at party in September 2002 (either the “best” or “sickest” night of my life depending on my level of intoxication) If anyone is really interested in my time at Excelsior I believe there is a court ordered paper on-file at the Saratoga Springs Police Department.
Anyway, my brother Ian has always been a shade preppier than I and pledged AEII at
The evening had everything you’d want from a good, ol’ fashion college kegger (except actual kegs): a freshman puking in a garage can, a beer funnel longer than my apartment wall, and a gen-u-ine collegiate jamband (which adhered to the holy trinity of college-rock covers: DMB, Sublime, and, of course, “All Along the Watchtower.”) The guitarist even used a strand of police caution tape as his strap which may be the most rock-and-roll thing I’ve seen even since Jesse Spano started popping caffeine pills during the third season of Saved by the Bell. In fact, it felt a lot like the parties I attended in college only “Dick in the Box” is the new “Hey Ya” and I’m the new old sketchy guy (“that’s what I love about those college girls, I keep getting older, they stay just as neurotic.”) I even struck up a conversation with a junior named “Jen” who told me I was “old,” but “didn’t look it,” and “that was a good thing.” Nice!
While I’m still opposed to forced socialization outside the workplace, after this weekend I do see some value in Greek Life. Instead of having to round up money from your housemates to throw a party (and, by the way, Zimman you still owe me $100 from that G. Love night), AEII has a designated budget for its group debauchery. Plus, it is a lot easier to bribe all your neighbors to simultaneously skip town when you’re surrounded by surprisingly Jewish looking Greeks. Being a bit older than these kids I felt like I should organize a mass cleanup the following day, but, then again, blogging is much more fun than mopping my brothers’ floor and I’ve always followed Elliot Smith’s advise when it comes to party planning (“a happy day and then you pay”). As Zack Morris said, “I love school, too bad classes get in the way.”
In my day these three letters were pronounced “D M B”
Kenny, Darren, Nick, Eric, and I at Bensonhurst before our parents stopped dressing us
Friday, February 23, 2007
The three of us have gone skiing a number of times since and each year we’ve added a number of our high-school friends to the mix. It is the type of tradition I hope to continue until I’m too old to ski (or, at least, until I lose my previous bet and the ice caps have all melted and we are required to swim in Colorado), but each trip has also reminded me just how far apart we’ve all grown since our days of eating wing-dings in our high-school Cafeteria. I play Phantasy Phish, the Jons play poker; I consider Spaghetti marinara a gourmet meal, they consider it a form of capitol punishment; I see the word through music, they hear it, by and large, as background noise. Yet, without hesitation, I still consider them my closest friends. Which makes me wonder whether we’d still be close if we met on today instead of in seventh grade English class?
Someone once told me that when it comes to relationships, the impact is what matters and the context is what makes it possible. I agree with that statement whole heartedly, but wonder how ten years of growth and definition has, in many ways, resulted in ten years of limitations. From the type of food I eat to the type of music I listen to, the type of crazy girls I chase, to the type of friends I keep, I’ve become pretty set in my ways and am, by and large, proud of the fragile persona I’ve created for myself. But, at the same time, I often wonder what I’m missing or, more accurately, shutting myself off from.
So, this year, I decided to do something different and actually ventured outside my dietary comfort zone. I tried sushi, salmon, and, even, a new food called Ahi (the Headphone Jams of the fish world I wager). While it has nothing on the tuna I favor from the deli down my street, I have to say it wasn’t bad either. In return the Jons listed to a party playlist and found a great new band called “Talking Heads” (I’m working on ‘em slowly but surely). So, today, when I went out to lunch with a co-worker who is about to go “post-Relix,” I decided to try my lunch in a sushi wrap instead of on a roll. I guess all tuna tastes the same, only sprinkled with some different spices.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
In the summer of 1998 I spent five weeks in
But Monday, while I was skiing in
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Even if your jaw still hurts from last weekend’s Bisco shows these three fine offerings should get your “untz untz” going
2007-02-23-Future Rock and Friends @ Delanacy
2007-02-24-Lotus @ Bowery Ballroom
2007-02-24-Digital Frontier @ Bowery Poetry Club
and, after watching the Academy Awards Sunday, you should be all set for this star studded set:
2007-02-26-Tibet House Benefit: Lou Reed, Debbie Harry, Patti Smith, Ben Harper, Phillip Glass and More @ Carnegie Hall
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Widespread Panic-"Don't Tell the Band"
Ween "Baby Bitch"
I'd also like to formally
I'd also like to formallyapologize to my good friend Jon Peck who was offended by yesterday’s Arcade Fire chiding and say congratulations to the future Jon and Caroline Bahr who got engaged at Tuesday’s show. I’ll buy both Jons a drink at Bonnaroo!
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
I’m not sure how to describe the evening except that I held my bladder for longer than I have since the summer of 2004. Here is a review/mini-essay I composed for Relix…
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
2007-02-13-Arcade Fire @ Judith Memorial Church
2007-02-14-Akron/Family @ Club Europa
Besides being my friend Liz’s favorite sandwich shop, Europa is supposed to be a pretty cool club and Akron/Family is supposed to be a pretty cool band. If Valentine’s Day is a social blackout day for you, I recommend this
2007-02-15-17-The Disco Biscuits @ Starland Ballroom,
I was feeling like a high roller after last weekend and all ready to spend $200 for
Saturday, February 10, 2007
So, if I learned anything from my recent trip to
Thursday, February 08, 2007
I was actually on TV when I was five as part of the on stage audience for some kid's television program which, according to Jumptheshark.com, either never jumped the shark or jumped on day one (Steampipe Alley if anyone remembers that ill-fated, in retrospect slightly scary, television program). I remember crying through the whole thing after the show's host (who, in retrospective, was either really hyperactive or a child molester) picked my friend over me to wear a cat mask, a footnote in my life I am sure some therapist can peg a whole lot of my problems on. Since I prefer blogging over psychology, I decided to dedicate this week's freebie to The Slip and offer this recent podcast which features 2006's best band in a more relaxed setting
Enjoy and purchase Eisenhower
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Either way, the Duo feature I did for the December/January issue of Relix has been posted online. So check it out and remember the golden days of late-2006.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
02-06-American Babies Trio @ Living room
The latest incarnation of the post-jam world’s latest supergroup features the Duo’s Joe Russo, Brothers Past’s Tom Hamilton, and Ween’s Dave Dreiwitz (and yes I had to Google search Dreiwitz’s last name to figure out how to spell it)
02-07-Trey Anastasio @
Does it say something about the status of Phish nation that I’m equally interested in hearing Trey speak than play? Wait, who am I kidding, that was always the case
Coachella got Rage, Bonnaroo nabbed the Police, and we reunited Cryptic Fiber. ‘Nuff said
02-09-Cryptic Fiber @
02-10-Brett Dennen featuring members of ALO @ Joe’s Pub
A SoCal supergroup; a Jambands.com sit-in in the making
02-10-The Plug Awards: Stephen Malkmus, Silversun Pickups et all @
The indie-world’s answer to the Jammys has all the flair, but none of the flavor of my favorite night of the year. But it does has Stephen Malkmus
02-11-Jonah Smith @ Rockwood Music Hall
Jonah Smith would top each and every of my top ten lists if he didn’t work with me everyday. And, even so, he makes it up there a good chunk of the time.
Monday, February 05, 2007
It occurred to me the other day, while flipping through some back entries of this here blog, that I’m pretty hard on myself, especially when it comes to girls. Admittedly, while sealing the deal may indeed be my most visible typo, I have learned a thing or two about female interaction in the last twenty-five years and, especially, in the last twenty-five days. And, as it turns out, the answer to my female problems wasn’t so much at the tip of my fingers, as it was at the tip of my toes.
Yes indeed, I am talking about my new shoes or, more accurately, my new six pairs of shoes. A good six years after I gleefully declared sneakers the bastard children of my wardrobe in the Skidmore News column which preceded the semi-dormant Jambands.com column which inspired his semi-active blog, I’ve come to understand that footwear isn’t so much about comfort as it is style. Clearly most members of female gender figured this out log before Bill Haley fused country and blues to rock-around-the-clock (case-and-point, the high-heel). And, over the last month, I’ve discovered that wearing nice shoes in a room full of nice girls is kind of like speaking sign language among a group of deaf people.
Like shirts and pants, shoes are, apparently, meant to be changed along with outfits, moods, and occasions. Contrary to popular belief, certain colors even clash (just don’t ask me to explain which ones). Since I’d sit around in sweatpants and a Phish T-Shirt if left to my own devices (the maroon one with the bee-hive I purchased New Year’s ’98 seems to go well with my sofa), I decided to defer all wardrobe decisions to a series of unofficial female-stylists (if any girls are reading this, I think I speak for all non-metrosexual men when I say that the clothed foot is the only part of the female body we don’t notice). And, after a month or so of research, here’s what I’ve learned.
According to my research, (aka my friend Jenny, the shopper formally known as “drunk Jenny”) my old school sandals and my new school, but old school looking Reeves go well with the colors blue, black, or tie-dye and are perfect wet hippie festival like Mountain Jam and All Good, as well as summer trips to Urban Outfitter. Hippie chic indeed!
Not your father’s parlor shoes these lace-less loafers are perfect for lounging around my backyard, by which I mean any area south of 14th St. and east of six avenue. I like them the best because they remind me of the Velcro sneakers I was allowed to sport until 4th grade (I never mastered the art of tying laces in Kindergarten)
3) Grey Sneakers
Though I purchased this pair of New Balance sneakers to play soccer, my co-workers inform me that they are the best shoes for casual, daily life in my office. Yes, I occupy the only cubical in
4) Black Shoes
I am only allowed to wear my black shoes at formal events like weddings, funerals, and Trey Anastasio’s upcoming appearance at the
5) Brown Loafers
An updated version of the brown loafers I wore every single day in 2006, I nabbed this shoe while in
6) Browner Loafers
These loafers were actually the same color as the above mentioned pair before I attended 12 festivals in one summer. I keep them around because they are perfect for any concert where a tweaker may roll over my feet (pun very much intended).
7) Shitty Shoes
I’m currently searching for pair of “nice shitty shoes,” which I’m told can be both casual and stylish at the same time. I guess I aspire to be shitty chic one day.
Friday, February 02, 2007
I‘ve been blessed with good health over the past few years and without realizing it, never built up a network of doctors after moving to New York in the fall of 2004. I also just realized that I never officially stopped seeing my pediatrician---I just kind of slowly stopped going----which makes me wonder if there is still some FBI-like folder containing my name, date of birth, and level of ticklishness filed at the
Anyway, over the course of the past few weeks, a few minor problems (back, foot, back of my foot) have emerged, and this week, I found myself on mini-doctor tour seeing three different specialists over the course of a two day period (no interlocking sets, alas). While not as exciting as, say, seeing a concert in each of New York’s five boroughs (perhaps my true claim to fame) or managing to mangle two dates in a singe evening (consider that a coming attraction for my next blog), seeing three unrelated doctors in the same week has shed some light on the state of the American Medical Association.
First off, I love how society rephrases the simple act of “going to the doctor’s office” to fit life’s various stages. When I got sick in elementary-school I was sent to the nurse’s office (as opposed to the principal’s office), when I got food poisoning at camp I spent time at the infirmary (as opposed to a military-like bunk), and when I fell ill in college I scheduled an appointment with health services (as opposed to food or, err, custodial services). And, now, finally, I am old enough to see a “specialist,” whose specialty seems to be figuring out creative ways to make me feel guilty about siding with the Evil Empire (aka the insurance companies).
Second, with each passing day I’ve come to realize that, as President Lincoln surely said, “alloffices are created equally dysfunctional,” and I’m not sure if its comforting or alarming that my health is being determined by an team of neoteric, coffee-drinking New Yorkers who spend their days surfing MySpace.
Lastly, I’ve decided that you can tell a lot about a doctor by simply sitting in his or her waiting room: the furniture, the wall decorations, and especially the magazines. Thankfully, I’ve yet to find a doctor who subscribes to Relix (indeed, I never want to belong to any club that would have someone like me for a member or more accurately see a doctor who’d want to read what I have to say.)
You can also tell pretty quickly when you are hopelessly out of place as I learned at my first appointment. The first doctor I visited was a nice, accomplished, woman on the Upper East Side (aka
The second doctor I visited was more up my alley, a balding, 50-something Jewish guy who seems to have majored in podiatry, minored is twenty-something psychology, and failed standup comedy (though he seemed most interested in showing off his skills in the latter category). The meat of my appointment was divided into two acts: the first focusing on my toe, the second on my last name, which he acutely pointed out is more fun when pronounced The Greenhaus Effect (come to think of it he has a lot in common with my fourth grade class). Thankfully, after fifteen minutes of environmental riffing he returned to my toe, which he diagnosed as so gross, “it will impede me from getting girls into bed.” He then gave me some magic nail-polish remover, which he promised, like Mr. Clean, would make my toenail so shinny it would pull those same girls back from across the room no matter what type of shoes I have on (who says podiatrists don’t saved lives)!
My third doctor was clearly the most qualified to deal with my problems. Not only has he earned enough awards to wallpaper his entire office, but he managed to solve my medical condition without even inspecting my body! Upon entering the room he gave me a once over, realized I had ten fingers, two feet, and a low self-esteem and diagnosed my back condition before asking my problem. “You sit hunched over at a desk all day and it is hurting your back,” he declared from across the room. “But I’ve been sitting at a desk for 21 years and never pulled a muscle before,” I lobbied. “You also have never been 25 before,” he shot back.
Game point. Indeed, it took six hours, three doctors, and a seemingly infinite amount of insurance paper to determine that I am a 25-year old Jewish male named Mike Geenhaus, who works at a magazine and spends a good amount of time hunched over a computer.Come to think of it, maybe more doctors should spend time surfing MySpace.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
So, for my first freebie Thursday, I decided to offer the first two songs from David Byrne’s long out of print 1985 score, Music from the Knee Plays. For those of you outside
Unlike most fading rock-stars who embrace classical composition as a more cerebral version of scientology, David Byrne has actually done some pretty amazing things with his strings. Grown Backwards, his 2004 album on Nonesuch, is one of the best albums I’ve heard since graduating college. While Music from the Knee Plays doesn’t hold up quite as well on CD or, more accurately, on a pirated vinyl record imported into a computer, illegally traded through the web, and burned onto a disc, I’m hoping it will be more tangible in a live setting. I plan on selling caviar in the lot at 7 if anyone wants to join me…
Oh, and in a valiant attempt to protect my digital rights, here is a disclaimer. These tracks are for personal use only and should only be used to show off to overly pompous co-workers and lure unsuspecting girls with a serious Tina Weymouth complex into bed.