Time of the Season

Benjamin Franklin once said that “nothing in life is certain except death and taxes,” but if he was around today, I bet he’d amend that statement to include the Allman Brothers Band at the Beacon. For as long as I can remember, the Allman Brothers have taken over the Beacon each March and, for as long as I’ve been gone to see live music, I’ve made at least one pilgrimage to the Upper West Side to catch their annual residency. As a teenager, I remember eagerly running out of high-school to catch a train into the big city and as a slightly jaded New Yorker, I remember weighing the pros-and-cons of ordering an omelet at the diner next door or catching the Allman’s first song (in the end extra Warren beat out extra cheese).

Over the past nine years I think I’ve sat in every single section of the Beacon possible, from backstage to the back row in the upper balcony, and gone with almost everyone I’ve know, from my parents to my, at the time, permanent + 1 (be sure to bounce around the Greenhaus Effect archives for a full review of that glorious night of misplaced neuroses). I’ve gone late, left early, lingered after hours and, even, once, spent an entire afternoon before the show podcasting (or at least geeking) with ABB guru Kirk West. I’ve seen them play with Fillmore icon Johnny Winter, jazz sensation David Sanborn and American Idol champ Taylor Hicks (and that was all just in one night) and reported on the appearances of everyone from Roy Haynes to Taj Mahal to Bruce Willis to Bernie Williams to Duane Allman (or at least Dickey Betts the year the run fell on April 1st). And, through all that, I’ve only held one rule as absolute gospel: only digest one ABB show per season. With the exception of 2005’s Big House Benefit, I’ve done a pretty good job at adhering to this seasonal diet, no so much because I’m full, but because early on I observed that the more time you spend at the Beacon, the more you begin to look like an Allman Brother (not that there’s anything wrong with that).

That is, of course, until this spring.

Sometime last summer I began to hear mumblings that the Beacon had been sold and that the Allman Brothers Band’s annual residency was nearing the end. I began to panic, as if baseball had been cancelled, and bought enough seats to consider myself a season ticket-holder. In all honesty, I’ve never been a fan of baseball, mostly because I feel like I’m stuck in the stands whenever my friends start talking about fantasy baseball, but I can’t deny the cyclical beauty of the game---one of the few pastimes my grandparents would truly understand. And, much like the Allman Brothers Band’s annual trip to the Beacon, there is an understated beauty in the idea that, as much as things change, certain constants remain the same and that ---global warming pending—the arrival of the Allman Brothers Band signifies the arrival of spring. Even though I’m never quite sure who or what to expect when I enter the Beacon each March (except an extended trip to the bathroom during “drums” and a second beer during Oteil’s scat), it’s comforting to know that it’s there, counting down the years like a Turkey on Thanksgiving or heartburn after Passover dinner.

In May it will have been four years---and entire college cycle---since I graduated from Skidmore and, more than anytime since I picked up my diploma I feel as if my community is in a state of flux. Friends are leaving, friends are arriving, friends are breaking up, friends are getting married, having kids, buying apartments, graduating from grad school, taping over their Phish cassettes with Arcade Fire bootlegs. It’s not only cliché to say the more things change the more they stay the same, it’s plain wrong. In fact, something it feels like everything is changing---growing, evolving---but certain constants remain the same, small reminders that the worlds been around far longer than anyone I know (except maybe my parents). I’ve been told that one’s twenties are a time of constant transition as people grow up, find failure and stumble into success (or at least real life) and each year I’ve found myself grasping tighter and together on those few remaining seasonal constants. It’s funny how on the same day I can feel both old and young, rich and poor, quiet and loud, a failure and a success, simply depending on my surrounding. But I guess that’s the beauty of living in transition, drifting between beer pong and baby showers on alternate evenings, all the while bouncing between tax brackets like peaks in my favorite “Piper.”

It feels only fitting that I finished this column the same week Tonic, one of New York’s last avant-garde strongholds, closed its doors, the latest victim of Lower East Side gentrification. When I first moved to New York I spent many nights in that box shaped room, dipping my toes into a scene I can only describe as the jam-genre’s older, slightly more worldly brother. And, though I like to joke that you can’t hit a hanger against a drum and call it music like you used to, it was still nice to know its there, stretching the boundaries of what is considered art and, frankly, what is considered music (heck, even I enjoy watching a musician play his guitar without touching a string every once and a while).

It also feels fitting that yesterday another friend forwarded me this post from Gawker about my alma matter’s increased footprint in New York:

One of the nicer things about the Lower East Side is that it isn't Park Slope. Sadly, that nice thing became a little less true with the news that the Cocoa Bar will be opening at the end of April down at 21 Clinton Street. Those of you who've had the misfortune of stumbling on the original 7th Avenue Cocoa Bar in Park Slope might know what this arrival heralds. Dave Matthew's “Crash Into Me blaring through shitty speakers, a barista with dreadlocks and a kerchief (signed by Trey, if you're lucky) indolently doling out lattes with a malicious I-went-to-Skidmore glint in her eye. In the corner, meanwhile, two mothers passive aggressively share baby stories while their tots systematically pour coffee on the laptops of the other customers. A boob comes out, an infant suckles. Hello, reverse suburbanification. Brooklyn is winning the game.

As much as it pains me to admit, it’s often difficult to point fingers in New York’s great struggle with gentrification and, even after the “below 14^th St.” world I call my home has swallowed my three favorite clubs, I still can’t put my finger on exactly who is right (except Mike Gordon and Al Gore) and who is wrong (except Trey Anastasio and George W. Bush, but what else is new). If the Fillmore East hadn’t closed, there may never have been a Wetlands and if the Wetlands was still around there might not be a Rocks Off boat cruise. And, while “reverse suburbanification” may indeed be the proto-post-jam of the real estate industry (alas, I almost made it through a column without evoking my favorite hyphen), it’s proof that clubs seems to come and go with the seasons, seeding new sub-styles for dorks like me to waste hours upon hours annotating on Wikipedia (once again, global warming pending).

Indeed, though I fear it more than a “Shine” second-set closer, change is one of the few constants in everyday life and perhaps the only thing I can truly count on with absolute certainty as I enter my ninth semester of real life. That is, of course, until next season’s pilgrimage to the Beacon.

The Disco Biscuits, Radiohead and Cold Turkey

In the spring of 2005 Benjy Eisen and Mike Greenhaus (that's me!) co-wrote a cover story on the Disco Biscuits for the April/May issue of Relix. While working on the article the Relix/Jambands.com editors/writers decided to take their collaboration a bit further and began producing Relix’s official podcast, Cold Turkey. Almost two years later the Disco Biscuits---or half of them at least---recorded their first musical segment for Cold Turkey at the 2007 edition of Langerado. In addition to an acoustic version of the Disco Biscuits’ “The Very Moon,” Cold Turkey favorites Jon Gutwillig and Allen Aucoin learned and performed Radiohead’s “Pyramid Song” specifically for the program. The episode was recorded by longtime Cold Turkey taper Ian Stone backstage this March.

Please visit www.relix.com/radio to hear the episode. Gutwillig will also play his first solo acoustic show in a number of years April 26 at Philadelphia’s North Star Bar. The Disco Biscuits will perform at the Chicago edition of Green Apple this Sunday.

My College Makes Me Proud

From Gawker:

One of the nicer things about the Lower East Side is that it isn't Park Slope. Sadly, that nice thing became a little less true with the news that the Cocoa Bar will be opening at the end of April down at 21 Clinton Street. Those of you who've had the misfortune of stumbling on the original 7th Avenue Cocoa Bar in Park Slope might know what this arrival heralds. Dave Matthew's Crash Into Me blaring through shitty speakers, a barista with dreadlocks and a kerchief (signed by Trey, if you're lucky) indolently doling out lattes with a malicious I-went-to-Skidmore glint in her eye. In the corner, meanwhile, two mothers passive aggressively share baby stories while their tots systematically pour coffee on the laptops of the other customers. A boob comes out, an infant suckles. Hello, reverse suburbanification. Brooklyn is winning the game.

Just like 12.31.02

So the bad news (for typo fans) is that the Greenhaus Effect has been on somewhat of a hiatus while we finish production on the next issue of Relix and get ready for the second annual Green Apple Music & Arts Festival. But the good news is also that all of that stress has given me a novel’s worth of blog ideas which will no doubt make their way to the world wide web in the coming days. In the meantime, please listen to my latest podcast (located in the dated player to your right). It features STS9, the Disco Biscuits and Explosions in the Sky, as well as Benjy and I. And, if you live in New York City, I hope to catch you at Emily Haines, Brothers Past, Guster, Toubab Krewe or Young Galaxy this weekend. Now stop reading my blog and try to get Wilco tickets at noon!

Earplug Alert

Since I threw all the hipster cred. I scored thanks to my Ambulance LTD feature out the window with that last post, I’ll save my Allman Brother Band dissertation for another time. In the meantime, here is the best reason I’ve found to venture into NoHa (North Harlem) since that fieldtrip I took to the Cloisters in second grade. And, while I’m at it, I’m officially declaring “above 125^th St.” the new “below 14^th St.”

2007-03-31-Bloc Party @ the Untied Palace Theater

(Belated) Freebee Thursdays

I’m currently working on a Dispatch feature for the June issue of Relix. To be honest I haven’t listened to Dispatch since college and, sometime since graduation, forgot just how much they meant to me in my early-20s. In July Dispatch will become the first band I road all the way from the Wetlands to MSG, which is pretty cool if I do say so myself. So, here is one of my favorite Dispatch tracks from the heady days of yore.

Shameless Plug

I’m going to continue fluffing Langerado on this week’s edition of Shameless Plug. Here is a podcast we recorded with Apollo Sunshine in the media next sometime during the festival’s second day. As careful listeners will surely note, the Slip’s Brad Barr pops by during a cover of Elvis Presley’s “Hound Dog" and, even, offers the first ever Cold Turkey sit-in! Click here to listen.

Earplug Alert!

As I type this, the Allman Brothers Band is beginning its epic, 45 night version of “Whipping Post.” I usually limit myself to one ABB show per Beacon run but, since I fear the ABB’s end is slowly drawing near, I decided to pick up a few additional shows this spring. Also, apparently my friends Jon Topper and Jim Walsh have been shifting through my dreams, or at least this blog, because all my favorite currently active touring bands are actually playing under the same roof this weekend as part of snoe.down: moe., the Disco Biscuits, the Slip, Brazilian Girls, and Brothers Past. Plus I get to ski! So, without further a due:

2007-03-22-Allman Brothers Band @ The Beacon Theater

2007-03-23- moe., Tea Leaf Green, Little Feat, and more @ snoe.down, Lake Placid, NY

2007-03-24- moe., the Disco Biscuits, Brazilian Girls, The Slip, and Brothers Past @ snoe.down, Lake Placid, NY

More Than Meets the Eye

If working in the “music industry”---or at least the “jamband industry”---for the past three-and-a-half years has taught me anything, it’s that everything that was once cool will one day be cool again (or at least ironic). How else can you explain Lionel Richie’s sudden rebirth as a hipster icon besides, of course, his cool daughter and her ironically iconic friend.

Unfortunately, though, I’m the type of person who catches onto trends a tad late---at least by industry standards. I got into Phish in ‘97 not ‘94, My Morning Jacket in ‘03 not ‘01, and Cold Wards Kids last Friday not last Thursday. By the time I latch onto a trend, it’s usually preceded by a “post,” and by the time I embrace that prefix, it’s usually been amended to include the word “revivalist.”

That is, of course, until today.

Indeed, for the first time I’ve stumbled across a trend early enough to dub myself not only a trailblazer, but also a trendsetter. So, critics, bloggers, friends, and girls who will likely remove me from their “top eight” after reading this post, mark down today, March 19, as the day it became cool (again) to “transform and roll out.”

That’s right, Transformers, the small, metal toys that blurred the line between creativity and consumerism---and which taught my generation that both good and evil come with a proof of purchase---are back.

For me, this falls somewhere between the second coming and a court ordered Phish reunion for seeing Transformers: The Movie was the single defining moment of my childhood (luckily I never walked in on my parents playing with their action figures).

In retrospect, Transformers: The Movie was the first time I experienced death (RIP Optimus Prime), the first time I heard rock music meshed with animation (Stan Bush’s synth-driven hit “The Touch”), and the first time I sat through an epic tale (a Christ-like story of failure, betrayal, and redemption intended to introduce a line of new toys in time for the holidays). It is also-- no joke-- Orson Welles’ final film which allows me to call this my Citizen Kane without risking my English degree.

As an anti-social child with a vivid imagination, I remember skipping a play date with my friend Robert Blum to watch the movie after it came out on video, and as an anti-social adolescent with some pothead friends, I remember combing the film for hidden literary references (so far I can pinpoint Faust, The Sword and the Stone, and, um an appearance by Casey Kasem ). I’m pretty sure I have a copy of the film hidden under my pillow like a Playboy, but, for the past two decades, liking Transformers has been as cool as ‘80s music in the Phish-era or Phish-music in the ‘80s-revivalist era (don’t tape over your second generation copies of Gamehendge just yet, as Optimus Prime foreshadows, “we will rise again.”)

But now, two decades later, I have reached the point in my 40 Year Old Virgin-like Transformers addiction where my favorite childhood movie has gone from being cool (age 6) to embarrassing ( age 8) to really embarrassing (age 10) to endearing (age 12) to nostalgic (age 14) to stoner-approved (age 16) to, finally, ah, cool again (age 26). I’m not sure what happened during those last ten years, but, apparently, those sentiments are captured on three-different DVD box sets available for the low price of $19.99.

It helps that a live action Transformers film is slated for a summer 2007 release and that Stan Bush is pitching the film’s producers for a spot on the soundtrack (I foresee either a Disco Biscuits remix or, at least, a Come on Falcon cover in the next 6-8 months). Either way, don’t be embarrassed to bring an Optimus Prime with you the next time you go out drinking. Once again, it’s time to transform and roll out!

Langeradoooooo

Stolen from Relix, but written by me!

Photo Credit : Dino Perrucci

Langerado Music Festival, March 9-11, Sunrise, FL

After the apocalypse finally happens, and New York is completely submerged underwater and the hipsters have overtaken jam nation’s final festival stronghold, Langerado will likely be the only multi-band gathering left standing. Which is fine with me, because by that time, I will either be sealed off in a Cuban missile crisis-like bomb shelter or stowed away in a Miami retirement home with Langerado less than an hour away from both my front door and sure-to-be-overbearing wife.

Langerado has several major advantages over other festivals, many of which stem from its date and location. First off, it takes place in March, which makes it the unofficial kick-off to festival season (a mutant season which stretches a full seven months, but that is the subject for another blog all together). Second, Langerado takes place in Florida in March, which gives it a much needed Girls Gone Wild spring break feeling of liberation. It also takes place near a city and encourages “hotel camping” and, if I’ve learned one thing from my time on tour, it’s that running water generally enhances everybody’s mood (no offense to you port-a-pottie huggers out there).

Perhaps most importantly, more than any festival of its size or stature, Langerado has learned to adapt to current trends while still staying true to its core. For old-school jammers there is the holy trinity of Trey Anastasio, Widespread Panic and moe. For new-school indie rockers, there are blog favorites such as Cat Power, Band of Horses and the Hold Steady. And, for old-school jammers who fashion themselves new-school indie rockers, there is the post-jam triple entente of The Slip, Apollo Sunshine and My Morning Jacket (the latter of whom is perhaps the only band to hold dual citizenship on both sides of the Coachella/Bonnaroo border).

Photo Credit : Dino Perrucci

Like any good festival, Langerado also dips its toes into other genres, whether it is roots-reggae (Toots and the Maytals), hip-hop (Blackalicious) (classic-rock (Los Lobos), acid-jazz (MMW), organic-pop (O.A.R.), ska-punk (Pepper), roots-tonic (Matisyahu), retro-soul (Sharon Jones), jazz-funk (Soulive) or pretty much any other genre you can think of with both a dedicated following and a hyphenated name. But, much like its older cousins, Bonnaroo and Coachella, Langerado is just as much about absorbing the experience as it is about absorbing as much music as possible. In a single day one could register to vote (thanks to HeadCount), win VIP passes by sporting a Florida Marlins jersey (thanks to Major League Baseball) and spend $4 for, seriously, the best pizza I’ve seen in a festival setting (thanks to Shakedown Street inflation). And, no, its not the heat or something your friend told you to eat, that actually is Jim James waving from the sky from a hot air balloon.

In reality each day of Langerado could have stood as its own festival. Day one featured the Florida debut of northeast roots-rockers Assembly of Dust, the jam-circuit debut of current indie darlings/Weezer disciples the Hold Steady and the Langerado afternoon debut of nocturnal livetronica princes Lotus, who were faced with the difficult task of adapting its trademark “untz untz” sound for a crowd still digesting their eggs (luckily the group’s set swallowed better than the previous nights’ veggie burrito). Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings also offered a spirited mix of funk covers and retro-soul staples, including the party favorite “How Do You Let a Good Man Down?” Meanwhile, the North Mississippi Allstars invited local pedal steel heroes the Lee Boys onstage for a jam, while the Flecktones earned the weekend Warren Haynes award, sending Victor Wooten to jam with Assembly of Dust on “Filter” and Jeff Coffin to sit in with the new version of New Monsoon for “Velvet Pouch.” Proof that lightning does indeed strike twice, the Heavy Pets scored a chance to play at Langerado for the second year in a row thanks to Sonicbids.

Photo Credit : Dino Perrucci

But, for most, Langerado’s first day was all about the evening’s veteran performers: former Pavement guitarist Stephen Malkmus and erstwhile Phish guitarist Trey Anastasio. Since the early 1990s, Pavement and Phish have led parallel lives. Pavement revived indie-rock around the same time Phish ignited the second generation jamband movement. Phish is known primarily for its live work, but used the studio to show off its songwriting skills. In contrast, Pavement peaked on album, but still used the live stage to stretch its songs into the unknown. In 1999, Phish covered Pavement; two years later Malkmus referenced Anastasio in a song. Both groups cultivated dedicated followings with their DYI attitude and ended with a Y2K meltdown. Heck, last summer Anastasio debuted his new band with Phish bassist Mike Gordon the very same day, and at the very same Bonnaroo, where Stephen Malkmus reunited with Pavement bassist Mark Ibold. So, it makes sense that the strange bedfellows narrowly avoided each other the first day of Langerado, with Malkmus finishing his set with the Jicks 15 minutes before Anastasio took the stage with his current solo band. Unfortunately, while the performers delivered tight sets of music, both ultimately fell short with their song selection, failing to offer Pavement/Phish standbys or solo chestnuts like Malkmus’ “Freeze the Saints” or Anastasio’s “Goodbye Head.”

No matter, the Disco Biscuits delivered, by all accounts, one of the weekend’s most consistent performances later that night at the nearby Revolution Hall, which featured a reworked version of Frank Zappa’s “Pygmy Twilight” and a well-received take on their own “House Dog Party Favor” (even if a handful of festival tweakers did roll over my new shoes, pun somewhat intended). MOFRO also hosted the weekend’s biggest jam session at the Culture Room, with Luther Dickinson, Sharon Jones, Ivan Neville and a good chunk of Galactic stopping by throughout the evening.

Photo Credit : Dino Perrucci

Saturday boasted one of the strongest single-day lineups in recent memory. Apollo Sunshine opened the weekend’s mainstage festivities, offering weird noise jams like “Magnolia” and “Today is the Day,” as well as a fraternal jab at fellow festival performer O.A.R. Though he didn’t really go anywhere, JJ Grey earned the festival’s comeback award, rolling in with a new, horn-bolstered version of MOFRO, a new set of personal songs and a new onstage confidence which allowed the Florida native to move from being a guitarist to a true frontman, commanding a five-digit crowd. The Slip, or The SLIP as they are now called (apparently capitalizing one’s name is the rage in 2007), played a number of key Eisenhower tracks including “Airplane/Primitive.” Saturday afternoon also found Medeski Martin and Wood, thankfully, in festival mode, delivering a funky set reminiscent of their Shack-Man prime and Michael Franti and Spearhead in a playful mood, meshing a Sesame Street medley into a Sublime tribute (how you feeling Big Bird?). Meanwhile, on the Everglades Stage, the Greyboy Allstars’ reunion tour rolled into its third year (if, like me, your calendar runs from Langerado-Vegoose) and Toubab Krewe showed off the small arsenal of new instruments they picked up during their recent trip to Mali. Perhaps even more exciting, the members of Perpetual Groove were officially anointed “rock stars” when the group’s first stage diver ran onstage during a particularly arena-rock moment.

Not to fluff Relix’s Cold Turkey podcast too much, but we also had a pretty jam-packed day of “hurry-up and waiting.” In the afternoon, Apollo Sunshine played a series of humorous covers for us in the media tent, with one particularly eager fan—The Slip’s Brad Barr—joining for a rendition of Elvis Presley’s “Hound Dog.” Later, the Disco Biscuits duo of Jon Gutwillig and Allen Aucion performed acoustic versions of both their “The Very Moon” and Radiohead’s “Pyramid Song.”

The night ended with contemporaneous performances by the Disco Biscuits and My Morning Jacket. After a few hours of strategic planning, I decided to catch the first half of My Morning Jacket’s performance, which opened with 2003’s “One Big Holiday” and featured standout tracks like “The Way That He Sings” and “Golden,” and the second half of the Disco Biscuits’ set, which featured favorites like “42” and “M.E.M.P.H.I.S.”

Photo Credit : Dino Perrucci

At one point I wandered into the vendor field and heard the bleed from My Morning Jacket’s “Lowdown” and the Disco Biscuits’ “Little Shimmy in a Conga Line” and remembered why festivals are such unique experiences. Later in the evening Matisyahu wandered down a similar path and, after hearing the Disco Biscuits for the first time, wandered onstage to beatbox during “Orch Theme.” He also delivered a Jewish Peace prayer which was a pretty cool way to celebrate the end of the Jewish Sabbath, Havdalah, if I do say so myself.

According to the official festival handbook, Sunday is roots and reggae day and Langerado proved no different. After some Miami vice from the Spam Allstars and some Sublime-style ska-punk from Pepper, longtime friends Taj Mahal and Los Lobos pinpointed the exact spot rock and the blues meet. Taj Mahal also joined Los Lobos for a blues medley which segued out of an equally enjoyable tribute to the Grateful Dead. Matisyahu and Toots Hibbert both played for sprawling crowds, with the latter singer inviting out a Cohen, a descendent of the Jewish high priests, to bless the crowd. Langerado also booked an impressive indie-rock lineup in the Everglades Tent featuring Band of Horses, Cat Power, Explosions in the Sky, the New Pornographers and dance DJ Girl Talk (if you squinted your eyes just right you could even see Williamsburg, NY in the distance). Explosions in the Sky walked away with perhaps the most new fans, finding a comfortable halfway house between the Benevento/Russo Duo and Sigur Ros.

Photo Credit : Dino Perrucci

Fittingly, Widespread Panic, a band that has headlined more festivals than any other artist on the bill, closed out Langerado with a solid two-hour mainstage set. Widespread Panic’s performance doubled as the first night of the group’s spring tour and relied heavily on road staples like “Space Wrangler.” Now seven months into his tenure with the group, guitarist Jimmy Herring is finally able to leave his thumbprint on the group’s trademark southern psycadelia without stirring the group away from its proven sound. Though most fans got through an almost too long drums-and-space segment, for some reason, near riot emerged when the group decided not to encore, with fans screaming things like, no joke, “I am going to burn this place down like Woodstock ’99!” Langerado dealt with the ordeal quite well, however, letting some Beatles music pump through the PA take fans into the night.

So, even though New York and Florida now seem to share the same winter weather, I guess I’ve kind of accepted the apocalypse because at least it means a trip to Langerado will be that much easier. Who knows, perhaps by then Pavement and Phish will be headlining, the Disco Biscuits and My Morning Jacket will be collaborating and pizza will be, err, $12 a slice. I guess the only way to tell is by heading back next year.

Shameless Plug: Cold Turkey 100

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In 2005, rock scribes Benjy Eisen and Mike Greenhaus ventured past the written word and into the world of podcasting. Each week these nocturnal road warriors dig into the festival trenches, bringing you exclusive live sets, backstage interviews and rare recordings on Cold Turkey. You can hear them ham it up each week with everyone from Les Claypool to Matisyahu to My Morning Jacket at www.relix.com/radio.

As part of our 100th Episode Special, Grateful Dead archivist David Lemieux has personally combed the vaults, bringing the best soundboard recordings you’ve never heard right to www.relix.com/radio.

Check out these Classic Cuts of Cold Turkey:

David Lemieux unlocks the Dead vaults for Cold Turkey 100

Cold War Kids Go Cold Turkey

Selections from Sublime's Extensive Archives

Slipping into Langerado with, well, The Slip

ALO hits the blogs with the help of Hot Buttered Rum and Railroad Earth

Sailing on with Derek Trucks

My Bisco Jacket

David Gilmour: The Pink Floyd Podcast

Death Cab Logic: A Look at Lollapalooza

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Be sure to catch Cold Turkey at Langerado from March 8-11 and all summer. Stay tuned for Cold Turkey's summer at www.relix.com/radio

Earplug Alert!

Switching up the posting order a bit this week:

2007-03-08-Badly Drawn Boy @ Barnes and Nobles Union Square, New York, NY

2007-03-07-SeepeopleS @ the Annex, New York, NY

2007-03-07-John Butler Trio @ Hiro Ballroom, New York, NY

and, oh yes, be sure to say hi to us at Langerado. Benjy and I will be moderating a press panel on both Saturday and Sunday at 2 PM.

The Life Aquatic (Or at Least Neurotic)

Everyone deals with their midlife crisis a bit differently. Some men get new cars, other men get new wives. My dad got a new fish tank. He loves his fish tank and treats it with the same slightly frazzled paternal care which helped my brother and I age into fully functional, neurotic adults. He even wakes his fish up early on the weekends to clean their tank.

So, naturally, I included a scene about my dad’s fish tank in a semi-autobiographical play I wrote my Junior year in college. Apparently, the scene resonated with my girlfriend at the time and, the following, Valentine’s Day, she gave me a fish tank to help me through my own mid-college crisis. In an act of passive-aggressive passion, she named the fish after the only person she felt I loved more than her: Trey. While my for love both has slowly waned over the past five years, I still have that fish tank and occasionally refill it with a new batch of aquatic offerings.

I named by first new bath of fish after members of the Beatles but, within a matter of days, Trey ate both John and Paul and, within a matter of weeks, Ringo and George met a similar fate (I guess their solo careers were never meant to be). Eventually Trey got too fat and imploded and, though Adam Foley tried to save him at a party I threw, his career eventually went belly up. In the meantime, I bought another batch of fish who I named after Grateful Dead keyboardists. But, last summer, I buried Vince Welnick at sea. My fish tank sat like to a water mausoleum for months, until this afternoon when I ventured across Union Square to pick up another batch of fish. At first I was going to name them after Allman Brothers bassists, but Berry Oakley’s already looking a bit green, so I am going to try to think of a less pessimistic group name. Perhaps I’ll go with Seinfeld characters. That way I know they will at least live on in syndication forever.

Freebee Thursdays

I like this song because I'm not sure if it is happy or sad:

We meet again
Riding our divisible bodies
Feel no shame
Luck is love is on

If you need the pain
Well you are, yes you are so much like me
Seasons change--nothing lasts for long
Except the earth and the mountains
So learn to sing along and languish here
Help me languish here

It was long ago
That all of your willing dimensions
Lost the flow
And vanished in vaneer

But iI want to know
If you are, yes you are so much like me
Steel restraints
Zodiac ballet, everybody play
There's no more counting days, you languish here
Help me languish here

You said, "done is good,"
But done well is so much fucking better
Share the wealth
And cauterize the tears

If you want to know
Well you are, yes you are so much like me
Freeze the saints
Such a subtle read, exquisite pedigree
Just let yourself be and languish here
Help me languish here

and this one just makes me bounce like a British schoolboy

Shameless Plug...

Howdy everyone. Sorry for the shameless plug, but I’m incredibly excited to let you all know that this month I’ve ventured across Relix’s cubical walls to pen the cover story for our sister publication (Global Rhythm) on one of my favorite bands, Antibalas. Be sure to visit one of our websites (relix.com, jambands.com, or globalrhythm.net) to find out how you can order a copy to place on your very own coffee table (or, at least, leave in your significant other’s bathroom!) And, while I’m pimping my typos, be sure to order a copy of this month’s Relix and download my podcast Cold Turkey. Ok, now back to your regularly scheduled MySpace diet of party promotions and musician mug shots
Mikey Greenhaus

Earplug Alert

2007-02-27-Tonight is a pretty jam, or at least, post-jam packed evening in New York. Tom Hamilton and his present brothers Jim Hamilton and Joe Russo play the Living Room…Sam Champion’s forecast calls for a show right next door at Piano’s and the Slip, err, slip into Hoboken for a set at Maxwell’s….if only Apollo Sunshine was in town to complete the crew….

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

Animal Haus

Above: Bob Marley isn’t dead, he’s just hanging out in the dorms
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 Emory University (the Scarsdale of the south I’m told) a few years ago. Since he’s graduating this spring I decided to visit him one last time and, as luck would have it, stumbled quite literally into my very first frat party. According to my brother the costume party’s theme was “Woodstock,” though I’m pretty sure Northface wasn’t around in 1969.

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

TOGA! TOGA!

Phish ‘N Fish

In February of 2005 I spent a weekend skiing in Colorado with my two best---and oldest----friends, both of whom are conveniently named Jon. The night before we left I made a $1,000 bet with them that by 2/25/2025 Bill Clinton would be remembered as a better President than George W. Bush. While I certainly don’t have that kind of money, and probably never will, I figure that if I’m wrong, debt will be the least of my problems.

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.

Freebee Thursdays

In the summer of 1998 I spent five weeks in California making a music video I rarely show and studying for an astronomy test I didn’t pass. Part of some pre-college, post-adolescent study program, I bunked in the UCLA dorms with a fellow 16 year old I can only describe as your typical, level two, suburban prep-school Phishhead (lets just say his name was written on both a pair of patchworks and a Time Square theater). At the time I was about a year deep into my jamband addition and beginning to venture outside the Pharmer’s Almanac to hear new music. Eager to learn about the magical world which existed outside mainstream radio, I let my roommate DJ most of the time and, before we went to bed, he’d often play a live CD by this little band from Colorado, the Samples. Though they don’t always get credit for it, the Samples mark the point in jamband lineage where organic pop veered in its own direction, opening up the door for countless bands, from Dave Matthews Band to Rusted Root, Dispatch to Guster. Something about the group’s sound immediately touched my soul and I soaked up every second of their then new CD, Transmissions from the Sea of Tranquility. For a short while I made a conscious effort to see them when they came to town, but, sometime around my sophomore year of college, I lost touch with the Samples and sound they helped spawn.

But Monday, while I was skiing in Colorado, I randomly saw a sign-hanging in Snowmass Village for a free outdoor show headlined by that little band I learned about one summer almost ten years ago. I dragged one of my high-school buddies back to town that night and, for a few minutes at least, remembered why the Samples are so special. In retrospect their sound is somewhat dated---a snapshot of a generation raised with H.O.R.D.E. tour and hacky-sacks---but, to borrow a recent description I heard of the band Explosions in the Sky, they still offer a “sad, hopeful music” and, for me, represent a time when the word jam could, and should, have replaced pop. I didn’t recognize many of the group’s songs that night or, quite frankly, many of the musicians onstage, but that same sad, hopeful music still made me feel special. I hope they made you feel equally special this sweet Thursday.

Sacred Stones

Indiana

Shameless Plug

I'm not quite sure how far into 2007 I can look back at 2006 without completely twisting my head off, but here are my top album and singles picks from the Village Voice's annual critics poll. And, for the first time, these typos aren't my fault!