The first time I ever heard a Gang Starr song, it was from an unlikely source. I was watching a skate video called VG8 with my buddy Sampson and this dude Billy Prislin's segment was backed by "You Know My Steez". I had to look up the name of the video and who the skater was, but I'll never forget the imprint that song left on me.
It was one of those tracks that I fell in love with the first time I heard it. I didn't know much hip hop beyond what was on MTV and the radio at that point, but it was immediately apparent that what I was listening to was something different, deeper and more complex than what I thought rap music could be. Gang Starr was underground back then, and even though I probably didn't really understand what that meant, I liked the sound of it.
You Know My Steez is a typical DJ Premier track that has an bouncing, addictive beat punctuated by high tones that runs behind the verse. The chorus consists of mashup of a bunch of spoken parts from other songs (most notably Method Man saying the title, sampled from this tune) tied together with turntable scratching. Subliminally, I'm sure that caught my ear, but what initially stood out were the lyrics.
Guru rapped over the tracks with a steady flow and clever wordplay, dropping ear-grabbing lines without so much as raising his voice. He often referred to his own style as monotone - which was technically close to the truth - but his verses were never boring or droned on like the word tends to connote.
We were about 14 at the time and did what you did back then when you liked a song: went out and bought the CD it was on as soon as humanly possible. Obviously, the way we consumed music was a lot different back in 1998. If you heard a song you liked, you couldn't just bring up YouTube, listen to it again and click your way through the better part of the group's catalog. So there was a period of several days or possibly a week during which I couldn't get the song out of my head but couldn't yet buy the CD.
Maybe that waiting period made me enjoy it more than I would have if I discovered it now. It could just be the fact that we tend to cling to the music that we listened to during our adolescence. But I still think that Moment of Truth, with Premier's intricate tracks and Guru's melodic rhymes, raises a hip hop of a level of high art and is one of the finest albums the genre has to offer.
That original Moment of Truth CD is long gone. It was scratched beyond repair after a couple of years of heavy play and I bought a second copy. That one is gone too, misplaced sometime during college and that too was well-worn. I bought it off of iTunes after that, but maxed out the amount of computers I could link my purchases. I finally downloaded it again, hopefully for the last time.
Gang Starr had plenty of good material before that album and Guru and Premier have each produced a ton of it afterwards, but Moment of Truth is the one creation of theirs that boxed me right in the ears and changed the way I listened to music forever.
The reason for this post is that Guru, whose real name was Keith Elam, passed away yesterday after a battle with cancer (there's a more complete bio if you click the link). About a month ago, he was hospitalized after a heart attack, but made a full recovery and was released. I was hoping I wasn't going to have to write this post for a long time, but unfortunately he was fighting another battle that he couldn't quite conquer.
RIP Guru.
Actions have reactions, don't be quick to judge, You may not know the hardships people don't speak of, It's best to step back, and observe with couth, For we all must meet our moment of truth.
Good morning, Fackers. Today is the big day. Well, one of at least four big days, anyway.
When was the last time you were this excited in anticipation of a sporting event? If we're talking strictly about baseball, it's obviously the '03 and '04 ALCSes. Being out Boston at the time, it was engulfing. Professors talked about it in class, everyone with a hat of one team or the other had it on, and you overheard conversations about it where ever you went. I couldn't think about much else during the days when games were played - I just wanted it to be game time.
If we're talking about sports other than baseball, Super Bowl XLII was probably the last event that came close, but no one thought the Giants had much of a chance. Big Willie Style, Sampson and I had celebrated the NFC Championship like it was the Super Bowl, going out to the college bars around 80th and Amsterdam, staying out until three in the morning and handing out spontaneous high fives to complete strangers. Needless to say, we all took that Monday off.
It felt like the Giants had just earned the right to lose to the Patriots in Arizona, but that didn't really matter at the time. We were just happy that the season wasn't over and were celebrating the incredible game they won in arctic temperatures in Green Bay. The Yankees are never going to be the underdogs like the Giants were that season, but after the last six years, it still feels like an accomplishment for the Bombers to have made it this far.
Not everyone shares that sentiment, however.
There was someone conspicuously absent from Sunday night's champange celebration. Reggie Jackson was there. Hal and Jennifer Steinbrenner were there. Hank wasn't there because they don't allow smoking in the clubhouse and you know how he gets when he drinks. But there were probably numerous members of the front office partaking the festivities after Gary Matthews, Jr. went down swinging.
[Cashman] purposely avoided the scene, saying he simply chose to stay away and leave it to others.
"I'll wait to participate if we have an opportunity to win the whole thing," he said.
Yet another reason I like the cut of Cashman's jib. I realize that this would never happen, but it would be incredibly bad ass if a team didn't go for an over-the-top celebration unless they won a championship. Maybe something when they clinched a playoff berth or won the division but not in the LDS, or LCS. Save the bubbly for the ultimate glory.
Players deserve to enjoy their accomplishments and the champagne lubricates those celebrations in more ways than one - it would be awfully awkward were players just jumping around and hugging each other with dry clothes in a well-lit locker room. But at the same time, wheeling out the carts when they swept the Twins seemed a little contrived. By the time the World Series winner is awarded, we'll have already seen 14 other locker rooms protected by tarps then laden with libations.
Celebrating every step of the way is the one thing that really undermines the "championship or bust" mantra that the Yankees swear they have. If they were the one team that really was only satisfied with winning a World Series, then they shouldn't pop the Perignon until they do so. It would make it a whole lot sweeter when it finally came.
Cashman is the only guy who really thinks this way. He's got no choice. He's gone too long as the General Manager of the team with the highest payroll in baseball without winning a World Series to consider anything else a success. Let's hope he gets to taste the Taittinger soon enough.
As Matt mentioned last night, the penultimate destination of my road trip was a stop in Baltimore to see Trey Anastiasio (the frontman of Phish), play with the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra. If you aren't familiar with Phish's music, you might think this would be an unlikely match. That's probably because you didn't know that all four members of Phish are classically trained musicians and that many of their longer songs are tightly composed and would be well suited to an orchestral backing.
I've seen symphony performances before at SPAC, but never at a concert hall specifically designed for acoustics. We lucked into some pretty good seats - first row of the lower balcony - which certainly enhanced the experience as well. Above the stage at the Joseph Meyerhoff Symphony Hall there were bowed wood panels, and on the ceiling there were giant half spheres with a slot down the middle that looked like flat head screws. The doors where you entered your section were closed and soundproof, each balcony was it's own little pod, the ledges of which were gently sloped and aimed (not surprisingly) right towards ear level. Each one of these design features were put in place solely for acoustical purposes, and last night, they were put to their full use.
There was a stringed band playing in the entry way across from a cocktail bar and the crowd was an interesting mix of dreadlocks and blazers, summer dresses and t-shirts. Trey walked on stage with conductor Marin Alsop, wearing a black suit and blue dress shirt, a pretty drastic departure from his normal stage attire, and was met with a rousing applause.
Standing in front of the orchestra and off to
Alsop's left, Trey then picked up his spruce-topped Languedoc, which was plugged in to a modestly-sized Fender amp, and delved into Divided Sky. The tone was clean and and carefully balanced with the mostly stringed arrangement. The crowd sat quietly through the roughly 10 minute version of the song but erupted with what I'm guessing was the loudest applause in the history of the venue when Alsop halted the strings. These being mostly Phish fans, the typical clapping was backed by plenty of "Wooohooo!!!"s and "Yeah, Trey!!!"s. It was a breathtaking moment, and one that made it impossible for me to suppress a smile.
Next came the mellow Brian and Robert (which I simulcasted via iPhone to Sampson), followed by the short, acoustic The Inlaw Josie Wales. Trey then took a moment to thank the crowd and said how honored he was to be able to do something like this.
The most emotional moment of the night came when he dedicated the next song to his eight year old nephew. Three weeks ago his mother, Trey's sister, Kristy Manning lost a long battle with cancer and they played a beautiful rendition of Water In The Sky in her honor. As I listened, I couldn't help but think back to the heartfelt post that Matt wrote earlier in the day and appreciate one of those times when life comes together - when for a short while it all seems to make sense. Last night was one of those fleeting moments.
The title song of the show was called Time Turns Elastic and was a 13 minute opus consisting of 9 shorter, interwoven songs that they played at the beginning of the second set. Next came what they call "Guyute" the orchestral composition of what is from Trey's album Seis De Mayo, and starts and ends with the intro from My Friend, My Friend. I recorded all 12 minutes of it on my phone, but haven't figured out how to get it off. The encore, If I Could, hadn't been played live in almost nine years.
By the time I get back to New York this afternoon I will have logged over 2,000 miles on my Grandma's Mercury Sable and slept in 5 different states in 6 days. We ran into all sorts of pitfalls and obstacles and very little went according to plan, save for the show last night. I was lucky to have a traveling companion who in addition to being easy going, was a top notch iPhone navigator and text-retary who rolled with the punches at every juncture. We've been friends since Semester At Sea, so that last part came as no surprise. She's not a Phish fan, but I prepped her a little bit while we were sitting in traffic on the Baltimore-Washington Expressway and unless she was bullshitting me (unlikely), she came away almost as impressed and satisfied as I was.
So... how about yesterday?!??! That atrocity belongs right alongside the time that Sampson and I witnessed the worst loss in Celtics history. Or when I spent $300 on Giants tickets, drove down from Boston and saw the Giants lose to the Vikings on punt, kickoff and interception returns all for touchdowns. Yesterday, I had a morbid, perverse sort of feeling watching it unfold. At a certain point you knew they were going to lose by a shitload and just wanted to see how much worse it could get. After the second inning, the only cheers you heard were sarcastic ones.
The most amazing part? They actually had the number 14 for the manual scoreboard in the outfield. Really? How high do you think those numbers go?
Reading this yesterday from PeteAbe's fill-in, Kevin Devaney, Jr., at LoHud hit me:
Second, Claggett deserves a little slack. Yes, eight runs in 1.2 innings is dreadful. But we spoke to the kid before the game and he was clearly wide-eyed. He talked about driving into the city last night and seeing the New York City skyline and how “it hit me” that he was in the majors. I’m not saying you should ease up because he’s a nice guy. But he got thrown to the wolves in the second inning in a total no-win situation.
If you were pissed at Anthony Claggett to begin with, you just might be an asshole. The kid got his first chance at the Bigs and got rocked in historical fashion. He's probably more upset with himself than anyone else could possibly be. If you are still pissed at Anthony Claggett after that, you more certainly are an asshole.
The only upside is that we figured out a way to finagle our way into Field Level sections, just so as long as there are some open seats. I have a few pictures and comments that I'll probably throw up later tonight about the Field Level in relation to the rest of the Stadium, also.
Anyway, let us never speak of that game again. Life goes on, Fackers.
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Today, we'll see if A.J. Burnett can continue where he left off in Tampa Bay and once again clean up after Chien Ming Wang's mess. Once again, the bullpen needs him in the worst way.
When Carl Pavano makes his glorious return to the Bronx and is undoubtedly hailed as a hero and showered with praise and adulation, I will be here, trying to dust off my golf game and keep it under 80 (unlikely). I'll just be happy if I don't have to buy a sleeve of balls at the turn. Text me some updates if you are so inclined.
It's Sunday. Grab a cup of coffee and let Etta James take you away.
[Ed Note: This has absolutely nothing to do with sports, so feel free to take a pass. I'm taking the weekend off from blogging since I'm upstate but figured (something > nothing)]
It was about 65 today, so I decided to cue up a playlist of relatively obscure Bob Marley songs, and take a walk in my development's common land and snap some pictures. Despite what the musical selection might lead you to believe, no illegal activities occurred during the process of producing this post. Well, actually, there was about 45 seconds worth of trespassing.
I mentioned it in the Snow Day post, but here is little more about the common land, if you are so inclined: The company that developed this neighborhood had the foresight to set aside 50 of the 130 acres it is set on for the shared usage of the homeowners. Those fifty acres border on the Mohawk River and would be absolutely prime if they weren't located directly across from Knolls Atomic Power Lab and a GE Research and Development facility.
It's probably not the greatest time of year to be taking pictures back there. Actually, scratch that, it's the worst possible time. The snow is gone, aside from a few frozen waterfalls on the South side of the river, and nothing has started to come to life yet. It's gray and drab, but I think it's still incredibly beautiful in it's own way. It makes the things that are colorful stand out even more.
It was a somewhat bittersweet photo safari, as many of the trails that Sampson and I used to mosey along are totally grown over. No one really goes down there anymore, so the homeowners association has really let the place go. In a way, that's better though, because it's a lot cooler feeling like the only person to take advantage of it. It also makes the song choice even more appropriate. It's a version of The Dillard's Old Home Place performed by Phish on 06/11/98 at the Worcester Centrum.
If you watch closely, you can see Llenroc peeking through the trees in one of the pictures.
It was the season finale and they ended up back in New Zealand.
I mean... SPOILER ALERT!!!!!11!!1!!!11!
Are they really going to move back to New York and start up Season 3? Will they continue the show in the Southern Hemisphere? I really don't think so.
Hopefully you got on board like Sampson and I did from day one and caught every episode, because if that show only ends up lasting two seasons, it will still be one of my all-time favorites. Regardless if you liked an individual song, especially this season, you could appreciate the effort they put into working it into the show and producing the video.
My personal favorites: Tape of Love
"Another way that love is similar to tape, That I've noticed, Is sometimes it's hard to see the end, So you search on the roll (search on the roll), So you search on the roll (search on the roll), With your fingernail (nail) (ail) (il) (l), Again and again, Again and again..."
Inner City Pressure:
"You want to sit down, but you sold your chair, So you, You just, Stand there"
"You know you're not, In high finance, Considering second-hand underpants, Check your mind, How'd it get so bad? What happened to those other underpants you had?"
and The Girl With The Epileptic Dog:
"How’d you meet your lady? I was going for a jog and she lost a dog, I was runnin' in the area and she lost a terrier, Was this about 20 seconds ago? No about 23 seconds ago, Ooh Whoa Whoa, Oh no, Oh no"
I posed this question a while back, but in light of the nasty guitar solo Susan Tedeschi just laid down during Southbound, it must be resurrected:
Here is the question: A chick ripping a guitar solo: Hot or Not?
Check out the look of pride on Derek Truck's face (and the one of surprise on Warren's) if you think I'm messing with you. With all due respect to Sampson, the answer is "Hot. Real, real hot".
As they were exiting the stage, this got picked up on Greg's mic:
"Thanks for letting me play man, it was fun" ~ Bruce Hornsby
Yes.
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Shut up, I had tons of other things I could have done with my Saturday night, but chose to watch this concert instead (not really, but I blame Meredith for making me start drinking at 2:00).
On a certain level, this is sort of a cop out because I'm not up to snarkicizing every one of these photos or really writing anything substantive at all. On the other hand, I trust you will enjoy this slide show commemorating my experience at Hoboken's St. Patty's day celebration.
Most of these photos were snapped from the hip so as to keep them somewhat covert, but as you will see towards the end, I got pretty sloppy and people definitely started noticing. I promise there are some gems in there, especially the one with Sampson and the guy in the yellow shirt.
It's not a coincidence that I set the show to "Keep It Pourin'" by Tha Alkaholiks.
Yup. That's her. Swear on my life. I obviously couldn't get a pic of her face because that would put me in her peripheral vision and that was a confrontation I was not at all interested in. That, and also I drew the line (for once). If I'm not going to put my face on this blog, I really shouldn't put hers, I don't think.
I really didn't know how this day could get any better. There are some things in the works that I don't want to mention for non-jinxing purposes, and the snow, and the shrimp fritters, and my new headphones...
I actually went back to Whole Foods to pick up some more those fritters, along with a sirloin for the grill tonight. I asked the guy at the meat counter for a steak that was about a pound and three quarters. He put it on the scale: 1.75lbs. Bang. I mean, who cares? But that was pretty cool.
I needed to stop by Pioneer on my way back to grab some more brews and walking in, I spotted the mythical beast known to you Fackers only as "Doris". I very nearly soiled myself.
I didn't observe her eating habits like Sampson did, but this is kind of similar as she was in hunter/gatherer mode. It's not everyday she leaves the apartment. Actually, this may have been the first time in 46 years.
We left Pioneer at about the same time, and I skittered back over the icy sidewalks, hid out in my entrance way and nabbed this shot.
Look familiar? It's blurry and everything, just like the original! There was a girl right there walking her dog who saw me do it and gave me this look. I shrugged my shoulders and went "It's a long story..." and scampered upstairs to write this post.
This was one of the best snow days ever.
Sean Daley from Atmosphere, would you do the honors?
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We should be back in sports mode tomorrow. Hopefully you enjoy the non-sports stuff too, because it's really fun to write. I don't really know where to even send these links, but if you read other blogs with similar content like Schiff's, feel free to point me in their direction or vice versa.
I had this thought walking around this morning, but it didn't make it into the previous two posts.
Maybe the reason I like seeing the Manhattan covered in snow so much is that it gives you the chance to catch The City That Never Sleeps quietly nodding off.
The snow cover dulls the sounds that typically reflect off hard surfaces like streets and branches and buildings, so it's literally quieter. Parking is suspended and lots of people from surrounding areas don't come into work. I still walked here, but I can tell by the amount of pedestrain traffic on Central Park West that most people opt for the subway. Today, the infamous line at Whole Foods in the Time Warner Center was non-existent.
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Completely random food-realted aside: This is too good not to mention. At Whole Foods today, they have Creole Shrimp Fritters for $7.99 a lb. I got 5 for $2.88. If you are in the area, get 'em while they're hot, because if you ordered them in a restaurant, they'd cost $10 at least.
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The only wall hangings at the Lenny's location around the corner from our apartment (shown in the top picture) are pictures of NYC in the snow. I'm not sure if all their spots are similarly decorated, but it's really cool.
I wasn't down here for the 26.9" dumping in 2006, but I have been assured by Sampson and others that it was epic. Not everyone likes the snow as much as I do, and part of the allure for me was having to wait so damn long to really see it. I'm still holding out hope for one more shut-down-the-city style storm before I'm done with this place.
Damn, I'm going to miss you when that time comes, NYC.
This is the third winter I've been down in NYC and this is the first real snow storm I've had the pleasure of bearing witness to. Basically every time they've predicted any significant amount of snow, it turned into a wintry mix or missed us completely. I hate wintry mixes. I hate them so much that I think I also hate Christmas music compilations and the rapper Snow by association.
Although the possibility of getting a snow day has long since passed, I still get incredibly excited when we get a healthy ground cover. Far too often growing up, I would watch the weather before I went to bed, and hear Bob Kovachic talk about the slam dunk storm headed our way, only to wake up at 5AM so excited I couldn't sleep, look out, see nothing and cry myself back to sleep. It was soul crushing.
On the other hand, when we did get hit, Sampson and I would suit up and take to the streets. And by "the streets", I mean the 50 acres of common land shared by the residents of Riverview Landing, which borders on the Mohawk River. It is serenely beautiful even when it's not covered in 10 inches of snow. There are cliffs and waterfalls, a run-down pavilion, and paths connecting everything. It's basically fucking paradise to two kids with a couple of stolen cigarettes and a water bottle filled with about two fingers worth of six kinds of liquor (so we wouldn't take too much from one bottle).
Despite the fact that I don't have any boots or snow pants, today, I got up early and took a bunch of pictures in the park. Why? Because you only live once, Fackers.
I'd guess we got about 5 or 6 inches. It was windy, so the accumulation doesn't show up as much as you'd like it to, and my camera kind of sucks, but I still think they came out really well.
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I had to make these smaller because it would have taken me 9 years to upload them all. If you would like a full size one to use for a desktop background or something, email me. If your request meets my politeness requirements, I will send you a picture or two.
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On the way to the park. 75th street, I believe.
This dog was the only life form in Central Park more excited than I was.
You won't believe this, but I had a nice conversation with a girl who was walking her dog, standing right over the spot pictured below. Imagine that. For once, I didn't even throw up like Stan from South Park talking to Wendy Testaburger. If you are out there, you divine being, please identify yourself in the comments as "The Uncontrollably Hot Woman From The Park With The British(?) Accent". Your move.
Daniel Webster was feeling it.
Kind of cool with the statue in the background, no?
My camera doesn't do well with capturing colors, so you really had to be there for this one.
It's not Spring yet, brah.
In The Ramble. Same exact spot as the picture on that link, I believe.
View of the Buildings on Central Park South from the North end of the Pond.
Calling any part of Central Park "Forever Wild" is pretty laughable since it's all man-made and adjacent to one of the most densely populated places on planet Earth.
I have a bit of a San Remo fetish. You can see it from our terrace and almighty Jesus, it makes for some beautiful pictures. The one on the top of this post is of it too.
Looking down Central Park West.
Risked my life for this one. You're welcome.
Columbus Circle.
You know it's the real deal when they've got news crews out.
The snow almost makes our building not look like the shitshow it currently is due to the makeover. Apparently re-surfacing the building gives them the right to change the address. 3 Columbus Circle? We are a block away from the circle. It's 1775 Broadway, assholes. In light of this, I've decided to change our address to 2347 Central Park West.
Oh, you came to this blog to read about sports? Sorry. Maybe next time.
The absolute best part of living in Manhattan is the preponderance of awesome things within walking distance from your apartment. I have accounts with two different banks, both of whom have a location within two blocks from my place. We have two grocery stores within the same distance. I can walk to work in just about the time it takes to listen to Shine On You Crazy Diamond Parts I & II, and Central Park is under 5 minutes away. I've mentioned the Beacon and Fairway, both of which I wouldn't swap for another theater/grocery store.
Another thing that makes the location of our apartment so perfect is (was) Westside Brewing Co. When we first moved down here, we used to go there every Sunday night in addition to the impromptu visits during the week. If I had anyone came into town, it was the first place I thought to bring them.
I would place their wings in my top five of all time, with some serious consideration for the #1 spot. I'm probably biased, but trust me, these were not your ordinary orangey, fake-looking, limp dick wings you get at TGIFriday's. The sauce wasn't sweet like a BBQ and didn't really have a buffalo twang. They never detailed any of the ingredients on the menu, and I'm not much of a gourmand, so if you've never had the pleasure, you are going to have to use your imagination a little bit. They were a deep maroon color, subtly smoky, hot, but not lingering, and... did I mention they were fucking amazing?
Westside stopped brewing their own beer long before I moved down to the city, but they kept a rotating selection of ten taps to make up for that fact. They centered on local brews like Captain Lawrence, Chelsea and Blue Point, but also drew from across and the country and world. Last time I was there, they had Green Flash Le Freak on tap and around Easter-time last year they had an incredible Rauchbier (smoked beer) from Germany.
The had a pretty fervent staff turnover, but managed to keep a cute girl hostessing with remarkable consistency. One time Sampson and I walked in, and were making some offhand comment about work, and the cutest of the hostesses smiles and says "Are you guys in the movie industry?" Sampson immediately goes "Yeah, I'm a director and he is a producer". Her eyes light right up, so we had to let her down gently. She's was like, "Oh, it seems like everyone is in the movie business around here". After we sat down, I went to Sampson, "They aren't really in the movie business sweetie, they just want to have sex with you".
The place wasn't without it's faults. For one, it was closed for strange reasons way too often. Too many times someone came into town and wanted a fairly cheap, relaxed meal, I couldn't wait to take them to WSBC. I would hype up the wings and promise I could pick them out a great beer, only to roll up to the place and see a note scrawled on the door explaining some strange circumstance which precluding them from being open.
About a year and a half ago construction began on The Harrison, which took up most of the block between 76th and 77th & Amsterdam and Broadway. It was well boarded off, but through the slats, you could catch a glimpse of the cavernous void that claimed Amsterdam Billiards.
One night I walked in to the bathroom and in the corner underneath the urinal there was a gigantic hole, looking right down into a 25 foot deep rubble-filled pit. That must have violated the health code, because two nights later they embarked a a little hiatus for a month or two.
In the three years we've been going there, they never changed their menu. It's not like it diverted us from stopping by, but as a place that had a pretty large regular customer base, you'd think they'd have wanted to switch it up a little bit.
It is also extremely close to The Beacon and it gets a lot of spillover, which can be annoying if you want to get a seat at the bar. They occasionally even play the music of the act that is on that night. One night Kelly Clarkston was in town and we got sat down right next to a table full of pre-teen girls who knew the words to every single song, and weren't afraid to sing along at full roar.
Sometime last year, our friend Ian was around and we popped into Westside to grab some food. We got the wings (as always) I ordered a Hawaiian pizza, Sampson got a burger and Ian got the tuna melt. The pizza always takes longer to begin with, but at one point I glanced over my shoulder and happen to spot the our waitress and my pizza in mid-air headed towards an inevitable demise.
She didn't think we saw it happen and about two minutes later, after the mess had been cleaned up, she came over and said "Sorry guys, your food will be up in like 5 minutes. Want another beer?" We didn't feel like correcting her just yet, and let it slide.
She eventually brought us over the food and as she's sliding the pizza in front of me, I go, "Round two on this one, huh?" She stopped for a second and goes, "Yeah, I was kinda hoping you guys didn't see that". She was cute and we laughed it off. When Ian got terrible food poisoning an hour later, he wasn't laughing. There's not way of telling, but I'm pretty sure the 20 minutes that tuna melt spent under the lamps didn't help. That didn't stop us from going back either.
The allure was obviously the beers, for me personally. It was always crowded, so I don't think I'm alone in that respect. They absolutely always had a high quality Double IPA on tap, whose hoppy character was an unlikely match for the wings. Ten beers every week allows for some pretty serious breadth and they did a pretty good job of managing the selection.
I really don't go out to dinner than much because we have a grill and SeamlessWeb (and I have no money), so I'm probably the last person who is going to get sentimental about an eatery closing it's doors. Evelyn Lounge... now that was a tragedy. But wow, this sucks a fucking lot. I was moving my car the other night, saw the papered up windows and went out of my typical loop so I could email Sampson a picture with the caption "RIP Westside Brew Co." from my iPhone.
It's not all doom and gloom though. I was trawling the message boards over at Beer Advocate and found this little gem:
I have an infallible source telling me this place will be re-opened under new management in a few weeks. And by new management, I mean guys who know how to run an outstanding beer bar. UWSers should be psyched. More to follow.
It's a message board, so I'm not going to get my hopes up, but please, please, please almighty Beer Gods, get something in there soon. It's not fair. I'm dying inside.
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I just went out to take the daytime pictures above and as I was standing there, a guy with one of those chest baby pouch/carriers and his wife walk up. The dude was probably in his 30's and with a forlorn look on his face he said "It's like, closed, man."
What were you doing with your life when you were 11 years old?
I was in sixth grade and age 11 actually marked the apex of my athletic career. That summer was the only year I played football, and as an undersized offensive lineman by default, I carried my Jr. Plainsmen team (not really) to an undefeated season. It was also the only year I made a CYO Basketball team (St. Edwards Gold, baby) and we won our Diocesan Championship on a still legendary buzzer beater by Ange Michael. I played the crucial role of 7th man, coming off the bench for 6 points in the championship game against St. Paul's. For that one year, I was like the David Eckstein of Clifton Park, except I couldn't use being short as an excuse for why I sucked.
I only ask because at 11 years of age, Derek Trucks was already doing shows with the Allman Brothers Band. It probably helped that his uncle, Butch Trucks, was an original member of the Allmans, but they weren't going to throw the kid on stage if he wasn't something truly special.
Derek was born in 1979 and named after the Eric Clapton-led group Derek and the Dominoes. He bought his first acoustic guitar at a garage sale at the age of 9 for $5. Learning to play the guitar at any age takes a toll on the tips of your fingers, but young Derek simply couldn't put enough pressure on the strings of a $5 acoustic to play it. Since his Uncle was in the Allman Brothers, and he had grown up listening to his parents' LPs of Eat A Peach and Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs, he decided to circumvent traditional playing and try the slide or "bottleneck" like his idol, Duane Allman.
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A slide is a tube-shaped device made of glass, metal, plastic or ceramics that totally transforms how the guitar is played. In a pinch, a Zippo or even a plastic lighter isn't that bad of an option. The slide has to be applied with enough pressure to keep the strings from buzzing when picked, but not so much as to make the strings touch the frets. I'm guessing the $5 guitar he bought had considerable space the between the strings and the fingerboard (action), which would make it very difficult to play normally, but perfect for slide.
When playing slide, the frets are only useful as a frame of reference as to where to position the slide itself. In that way, playing slide guitar is similar to the violin in that you don't have frets to land the note on. You have to find the notes yourself, which is done almost exclusively with your ear.
The modern incarnation of the technique is said to have come from Hawaiian guitarist named Joseph Kekuku.
He was walking along a road in Honolulu, holding an old Spanish guitar when he saw a rusty bolt on the ground. As he picked it up, the bolt accidentally vibrated one of the strings and produced a new tone that was rather pleasing. After practicing for a time with the metal bolt, Joe experimented with the back of a pocket knife, then with the back of a steel comb and still later on with a highly polished steel (bar) very similar to the sort that is used today.
Hawaii had already set a precedent for developing unique guitar traditions, inventing slack key in the late 19th century. The technique involves tuning the guitar down to form open chords, creating the mellow trademark Hawaiian sound you instantly associate with leis and luaus.
At 30 years old, Kekuku left O'ahu to pursue a recording career on the mainland, never to return to Hawaii. He spent the next 28 years touring the U.S. and Europe performing, teaching and popularizing the steel and slide guitar.
In Sub-Saharan African there were and still are one-stringed bowed instruments that are played using a smooth stone or piece of bone as a slide. This is thought to have carried over during the slave trade and morphed into a similar contraption called the Jitterbug that surfaced in the South in the 1800's.
In the early 1900's, guitars had begun to be manufactured instead of handcrafted, and this made them far more available to the masses. The reason it's also called "bottleneck", is that some of the original slides were parts of discarded broken bottles which were carefully cut with a heated blade at just the right point so they wouldn't shatter.
The confluence of these forces lead to the ubiquitization of slide guitar in blues and later country and rock music. Mississippi Delta Blues legends Willy Brown, Blind Willie McTell, Mississippi Fred McDowell, Son House, and the King, Robert Johnson (right) were among the first well known practitioners of the trade.
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When Trucks was 12 years old he got his first major gig, opening for Bob Dylan in Clearwater, Florida. He played "Highway 61 Revisited" and later recalled:
I remember leaving the show and I ran into Dylan, I was on my way out and he asked me if I wanted to stick around and sit in with him. I was only 12, but I knew how much weight he carried, I remember my dad being completely freaked out. He was much more nervous than me.
Derek Trucks was officially made a member of the Allman Brothers band in 1999 at the age of 19 and has been touring with them full-time ever since. Luckily for Sampson and I, we live a block away from the (recently restored) Beacon Theatre where the Allmans play 14 shows over a three week period every - well - every year that Gregg Allman's Hep C doesn't decide to flare up.
Another amazing thing about Derek is his stage presence. He's got a young-looking face and a long blond pony tail, and doesn't typically say much during his shows. He is also probably one of the least demonstrative lead guitarists you will ever see. He doesn't feel the need skip around the stage and bang his head or play to the crowd in any way. Instead, he stands there like a monk transfixed in prayer. Check out the clip of Desdemona below from the Beacon and you'll see what I mean. He rips an incredibly moving solo, but simply stands there without even much of a facial expression (and busts out the slide at the 2:10 mark with the sleight of hand of a magician).
Trucks met Eric Clapton backstage at a Folk Festival in 2003. Without warning two years later, he called Derek and asked him to contribute to his album with J.J. Cale, Road to Escondido. Two days into the recording, Clapton asked Trucks to go on tour with him. Having Derek along allowed Clapton to start playing more Derek and the Dominoes tunes including Why Does Love Got To Be So Sad, and Nobody Knows You When You're Down & Out (both recent YouTubes from the tour).
His own group, The Derek Trucks Band came together when Trucks was 15 years old and they have been recording and experimenting ever since. In spite of his Southern blues and rock roots, the band is extremely eclectic, also drawing on jazz, funk, Latin, Indian & Pakistani, and classical music to form their own very unique sound.
The video below is a one minute excerpt from Sahib Teri Bandi Maki Madni.
Even without the imagery I've added, you can clearly hear the Hindu influence in the song. The inspiration for this was the time DT spent studying at the Ali Akbar College of Music. The song is actually a combination of two Punjabi folk classics, "Sahib Teri Bandi" and "Maki Madni", written by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, into one song. What you heard in the beginning is called the "raga"; a section that sounds like improvisation, but is actually a composed segue to the scale the musician will be using. The melody established in the second half of the clip is "Sahib Teri Bandi". If you listen to the full version (the album cut is 9:54 long), you'll hear the "Maki Madni" melody line introduce itself about 3/4 of the way through.
Trucks' wife is singer Susan Tedeschi, and they have two children, a boy named Charlie after legendary jazz saxophonist Charlie Parker and daughter Sophie, who takes her middle name, Naima, from a John Coltrane song. In addition to his duties with The Allmans, Clapton, and theDTB, Trucks and Tedeschi occasionally merge their bands into a group called Soul Stew Revival.
The title track of this post is obviously This Sky. It's the last track off the album Songlines, but never gets played live for one reason or another. It's and laid back, soothing and almost ethereal. Without further adieu:
The Giants locked Brandon Jacobs up for at least the 2009 season by slapping the dreaded “franchise player” tag on him this afternoon. That decision — only the second time the Giants have ever used the “franchise” tag and the first time since they tagged Jumbo Elliott in 1993 — guarantees Jacobs a salary of $6.621 million next season, which is the average of the top five running back salaries last year. It also gives the Giants the right to match any contract offer Jacobs receives during the free-agent signing period.
Early last season, shortly after having discovered the video below, while watching a Giants game, Sampson and I dubbed Jacobs "The Juggernaut". The Max Kellerman Show later arrived at the same conclusion and still uses some two-second drops (which are only two seconds long because there is a curse word every three seconds) from the video on their show. If you like comic book-based cartoons, ebonics or just pretending Brandon Jacobs did the voiceovers for this video, enjoy the show. . .
... while I finish up the Billy Martin Countdown piece.
Via the NYPost, It appears as though out favorite tainted slugger has a unique way of preparing to tell the world he used steroids. That would be making out with one of three smoking hot women at the nightclub ajacent to the casino in the Atlantis. Sampson and I have a rather ridiculous story about our encounters with a Sheik from Saudi Arabia, three girls from Texas and Ice T, that took place in the same club when we were 18 and cashing in our graduation presents, but I won't bore you with that...
He showed up the Aura Club with the aforementioned brunette and - just to balance things out - a red-hot blonde. "The girls said they had come down with A-Rod from the US," said an eyewitness. "They were dancing in front of him and even kissing each other to entertain him. He seemed to like the brunette more." When he wasn't playing with his lady friends, A-Rod knocked back Grey Goose vodka as the music blasted.
>8
...he, the brunette and the blonde "all left the club together," the eyewitness said.
Fine work sir. All I can say is "it's about fucking time" (no pun intended). Does this mean he's no longer with Madonna?
I hate the Grammys. I hate every award show, actually. The pomp and circumstance is unbearable and the music they are honoring is almost always terrible. That said, since it was on after 60 Minutes and we had an hour of fast forward time saved up on the DVR, we skipped to the performances and roundly mocked them in the typical asshole fashion you have come to expect from FackYouk.
The Coldplay and Jay-Z combo was actually really sick, but look at the faggy lamp that dude had on his Piano. (touches finger to earpiece) What's that?
Oh. I have just been told that it is in fact the reflection of faggy lampshade I picked out at IKEA on our TV. That's embarassing.
Black and White, baby. Kanye is vastly overrated but this was quite a nice touch. Us FackYoukers approve.
I don't know who either of these lovely ladies are, but that's not important. Here is the question: A chick ripping a guitar solo: Hot or Not?
Sampson says "Not". I'm going to go with "Hot", which is probably because her and I play very similar guitars.
Except mine is a hollowbody, bitch!
I don't know who the chick with Lil' Wayne was either, but she was super-pregs.
Continuing with the theme of me not knowing who any of these people are, I lost a $20 bet (it was almost $100) to Sampson because the girl on the left was actually MileyCirus. The lady on the right is playing a Taylor with a Koa wood top. Gorgeous.
The first time I ever heard a Gang Starr song, it was from an unlikely source. I was watching a skate video called VG8 with my buddy Sampson and this dude Billy Prislin's segment was backed by "You Know My Steez". I had to look up the name of the video and who the skater was, but I'll never forget the imprint that song left on me. 
Standing in front of the orchestra and off to
Risked my life for this one. You're welcome. 
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