And courtesy of Mr. Tapeworm, I will be doubling my live music pleasure in the next two weeks. He of the stomach parasite has scored entry to the Long Blondes show at the Knitting Factory next week, which is swell for two reasons – first being, well:
And the second reason being that I can literally hit the Knit with a rock from my office window. There was a time, when I was a show-glutton, when I did want to pierce their windows with a rock, especially after they converted the second floor ‘Tap Bar’ into a cover-only second venue. Prior to that, it was a wonderful haunt with music excellence provided by a ‘who-needs-a-dj’ bartender. Fela followed by a Rustler compilation, followed by the Slits. And beer.
Remember in the movie Top Secret, when Val Kilmer saves the female lead’s life, prompting her breasts, through her blouse, to flush red like stoplights and literally hum? That’s what happens to J Frank’s testicles when the spoken bridge of “Fulwood Babylon” states:
Girls fantasize / on schooltrips to galleries /of men who don’t meet / their parents’ expectations /Who want to introduce them / to illicit Russ Meyer films /and dance til dawn to / old Kinks records”
And here’s another reason, just for the heck of it:
And then there’s Os Mutantes, their concert this Friday probably promising a sight-seeing fest of every Brazilian, non-David Byrne musician and David Byrne. They haven’t played in 30 years, save a recent London show, I think. It might suck. But I can say I was there. Or only partly there, if it does suck, and I drink heavily.
And thanks to the commenter who went out of their anonymous way to transcribe the lyrics to the Jorge Ben song mis-represented by my first post. That’s the last time I dig up an old file from the miscellaneous folder without listening to it first.
Jorge Ben – Take it Easy My Brother Charlie
Here’s what I meant to say:
Os Mutantes – Ave Genghis Khan