Misquote alert. Diane Cluck's lyric is "the washed out splendor of the nest unmade"
Tuesday, July 31, 2001
Monday, July 30, 2001
SUMMER ANTI-FOLK TOMPKINS SQUARE PARKFEST 2001
I played two songs at the park while just about everyone else played one. Of course, we ended the event with 20 minutes to spare; of course, after my second song I knocked over Drew Blood's keyboard. Then, when Jordan Corbin attempted to use it thereafter (she even asked me, should she, and I, the deluded prayer gambler, said sure), it didn't work. She played, beautifully, her dingbat song on the guitar. Dingbats, by the way, lodge in crevices of only the best and most decorative cathedral ceilings. So basically the only two glitches in an otherwise flawless 48 performer talent cavalcade were my dropping the keyboard and Jordan attempting to play it thereafter, the second glitch, MERELY AN EXTENSION OF THE FIRST. Congratulations everybody! John Gernarn & Lach, with Joie and Amos Elpmis ("Simple" Soma) in the background, engineered great sound with out-of-the-ballpark think-on-your-feet skill.
Another drop on my part -- you probably missed this one but here is it and its consequence. After The Moldy Peaches had completed their well-crafted conceptual pop outrage to a packed room at the Sidewalk Cafe, I pulled my video camera out of its perch by the piano. I pulled it up by the stand -- it was already up pretty high -- so it hit the ceiling and dropped off the stand onto the floor. I picked it up and returned home. The battery had fallen off.
Now Rick Shapiro, occupying the "Sidewalk Sunday at 10" spot, commands attention. He also thinks on his feet, pretty freely, in a way that I can't imagine helps him move forward. In fact the operative words here are wallow and glorify, where I, too, find art. Moving forward is not the way of Til Eulenspiegel. To quote from a nice fellow I met at The Eulenspiegel Society, Til rolls the ball up the mountain and each time, upon reaching the pinnacle, it rolls back down. Repeating the same thing twice and expecting a different result is a good definition of insanity. It also defines ritual and that's what sado-masochism is about.
Where else might we encounter such repetitive movement syndrome?
When I returned at 11:30, Rick was still on, performing to a packed house. He was doing a great Italian goomba routine.
He also does an amazing movie announcer voice when he says "Whitney Houston in a Penny Marshall Film." He repeats it with varied inflections and each is perfect in its portentiousness. There is something ludicrous about names and their associations with people. Matt Damon, Lawrence Larry Fischburn. Betty Bette Davis. Try it.
He also has a "middleclass" routine about redecorating his wife's vagina.
He did an australian aborigine routine while Dina Dean majestically stood before him. The pop song playing during his dance was a good one.
Lach returned to the audience with the tip mandolin, encouraging Mr. Shapiro to continue while he did so.
Rick embarked upon a taxi ride routine based upon an incident he reported repeatedly was really true. Apparently the "taxi driver" wanted to make some point that men would fuck even if it meant certain annihilation by asking Rick a question. Rick would walk out of the cab and the taxi driver would coerce him back in. As Rick relived the taxi driver attempting to keep Rick's attention, Rick was keeping ours, AND THAT'S IT. It's not the question, would you stick a penis with a babyface into a bunny's porcupine vagina, nor what you might answer, but simply, in the wake of this disturbance, Does attention to Mr. Shapiro continue to be paid? Exquisite torture. What kind of free-ride pay-to-get-out masochism are we honing?
Kubrick said the greatest crime is to be boring, then he tested our limits, and it's enlightening to discover in the details what was at first boring to be incredibly interesting...
The audience was relatively quiet during his performance. They certainly faced acknowledgment if, in departing, they should catch his eye.
So in much the same way as Rick did last night in getting into the baby's breath delicacy of this penis tip before returning us to its destination, the cake of nails, I return to my battery, all the way in the far corner of the room by the piano. My eyes were tearing from the smoke. I was sneezing. At last a seat opened up by Jordan Pfister, my dear friend who played bass for our set earlier in the evening. After enjoying the Jeff Lewis and The Moldy Peaches, I left to drive back Hens' drumkit. Jordan remained.
After Rick's set, all Jordan said was that the performance, at 2 hours, went on too long. As I sat by him during it, I remembered another event he helped host back in the WKCR concert fundraising days at the cusp of the repetitive new music breakthroughs of Steve Reich ("Drumming"), and Philip Glass (And Glass was achieving breakthroughs while we sat there listening to him work through his noodlings. Is Shapiro?). I mean, now that I think of it, Philip Glass achieves dizzying musical vistas, and on that day, when Jordan's friends, The Model Citizens were playing with Reich, and John Cale (with Bowie on violin) at Carnagie Hall, Glass ended the evening, people vacating in droves, by playing the organ. Who'd be there when he stopped? I was, with a kvetch like this thereafter.
The tables at Sidewalk cleared. It was 12:30. While I was feeling around the floor, Jordan found the battery on the table. The camera is ready for playback. Let's go to the videotape.
What a day! July 29th, 2001.
Through my usual tunnel vision, the Diane Cluck Wild Line of the Day That I Caught
was
"The washed out splendor of the mess she made."
I played two songs at the park while just about everyone else played one. Of course, we ended the event with 20 minutes to spare; of course, after my second song I knocked over Drew Blood's keyboard. Then, when Jordan Corbin attempted to use it thereafter (she even asked me, should she, and I, the deluded prayer gambler, said sure), it didn't work. She played, beautifully, her dingbat song on the guitar. Dingbats, by the way, lodge in crevices of only the best and most decorative cathedral ceilings. So basically the only two glitches in an otherwise flawless 48 performer talent cavalcade were my dropping the keyboard and Jordan attempting to play it thereafter, the second glitch, MERELY AN EXTENSION OF THE FIRST. Congratulations everybody! John Gernarn & Lach, with Joie and Amos Elpmis ("Simple" Soma) in the background, engineered great sound with out-of-the-ballpark think-on-your-feet skill.
Another drop on my part -- you probably missed this one but here is it and its consequence. After The Moldy Peaches had completed their well-crafted conceptual pop outrage to a packed room at the Sidewalk Cafe, I pulled my video camera out of its perch by the piano. I pulled it up by the stand -- it was already up pretty high -- so it hit the ceiling and dropped off the stand onto the floor. I picked it up and returned home. The battery had fallen off.
Now Rick Shapiro, occupying the "Sidewalk Sunday at 10" spot, commands attention. He also thinks on his feet, pretty freely, in a way that I can't imagine helps him move forward. In fact the operative words here are wallow and glorify, where I, too, find art. Moving forward is not the way of Til Eulenspiegel. To quote from a nice fellow I met at The Eulenspiegel Society, Til rolls the ball up the mountain and each time, upon reaching the pinnacle, it rolls back down. Repeating the same thing twice and expecting a different result is a good definition of insanity. It also defines ritual and that's what sado-masochism is about.
Where else might we encounter such repetitive movement syndrome?
When I returned at 11:30, Rick was still on, performing to a packed house. He was doing a great Italian goomba routine.
He also does an amazing movie announcer voice when he says "Whitney Houston in a Penny Marshall Film." He repeats it with varied inflections and each is perfect in its portentiousness. There is something ludicrous about names and their associations with people. Matt Damon, Lawrence Larry Fischburn. Betty Bette Davis. Try it.
He also has a "middleclass" routine about redecorating his wife's vagina.
He did an australian aborigine routine while Dina Dean majestically stood before him. The pop song playing during his dance was a good one.
Lach returned to the audience with the tip mandolin, encouraging Mr. Shapiro to continue while he did so.
Rick embarked upon a taxi ride routine based upon an incident he reported repeatedly was really true. Apparently the "taxi driver" wanted to make some point that men would fuck even if it meant certain annihilation by asking Rick a question. Rick would walk out of the cab and the taxi driver would coerce him back in. As Rick relived the taxi driver attempting to keep Rick's attention, Rick was keeping ours, AND THAT'S IT. It's not the question, would you stick a penis with a babyface into a bunny's porcupine vagina, nor what you might answer, but simply, in the wake of this disturbance, Does attention to Mr. Shapiro continue to be paid? Exquisite torture. What kind of free-ride pay-to-get-out masochism are we honing?
Kubrick said the greatest crime is to be boring, then he tested our limits, and it's enlightening to discover in the details what was at first boring to be incredibly interesting...
The audience was relatively quiet during his performance. They certainly faced acknowledgment if, in departing, they should catch his eye.
So in much the same way as Rick did last night in getting into the baby's breath delicacy of this penis tip before returning us to its destination, the cake of nails, I return to my battery, all the way in the far corner of the room by the piano. My eyes were tearing from the smoke. I was sneezing. At last a seat opened up by Jordan Pfister, my dear friend who played bass for our set earlier in the evening. After enjoying the Jeff Lewis and The Moldy Peaches, I left to drive back Hens' drumkit. Jordan remained.
After Rick's set, all Jordan said was that the performance, at 2 hours, went on too long. As I sat by him during it, I remembered another event he helped host back in the WKCR concert fundraising days at the cusp of the repetitive new music breakthroughs of Steve Reich ("Drumming"), and Philip Glass (And Glass was achieving breakthroughs while we sat there listening to him work through his noodlings. Is Shapiro?). I mean, now that I think of it, Philip Glass achieves dizzying musical vistas, and on that day, when Jordan's friends, The Model Citizens were playing with Reich, and John Cale (with Bowie on violin) at Carnagie Hall, Glass ended the evening, people vacating in droves, by playing the organ. Who'd be there when he stopped? I was, with a kvetch like this thereafter.
The tables at Sidewalk cleared. It was 12:30. While I was feeling around the floor, Jordan found the battery on the table. The camera is ready for playback. Let's go to the videotape.
What a day! July 29th, 2001.
Through my usual tunnel vision, the Diane Cluck Wild Line of the Day That I Caught
was
"The washed out splendor of the mess she made."
Thursday, July 26, 2001
I received Lach's Folk Fest email. He has 48 people on that park performance list. July 29th will be a memorable afternoon.
We rehearsed last night at Tu Casa. Mario, who runs Tu Casa, said the park people promised the East Village community a stage after they removed the bandshell. He used to put on park concerts but not again. Apparently he's part of a not for profit organization connected with Charas. El Bahio, perhaps?
Look to August 1st for the new status of Charas, the big abandoned public school that for many years has been a community rehearsal space, not without charge, of course.
Every week, some major new change awaits NYC.
Look to the November election for 40 new city council members, plus a new mayor.
We rehearsed last night at Tu Casa. Mario, who runs Tu Casa, said the park people promised the East Village community a stage after they removed the bandshell. He used to put on park concerts but not again. Apparently he's part of a not for profit organization connected with Charas. El Bahio, perhaps?
Look to August 1st for the new status of Charas, the big abandoned public school that for many years has been a community rehearsal space, not without charge, of course.
Every week, some major new change awaits NYC.
Look to the November election for 40 new city council members, plus a new mayor.
Wednesday, July 25, 2001
I acquired from Jordan Corbin a copy of her CD and it sounds surprisingly dreamy. Her high notes are eerie and she can really hit them. Enter her raw, intimate, exclusive world through the acquisition of her CD. Diane Cluck also has that exclusionary intimacy that seems to contradict mass production of her work. They get me dreaming, but to what end?
Sitting on lawn chairs by the lightly lapping lake as the sun, descending behind the mountain, glows us golden, we chat.
Sitting on lawn chairs by the lightly lapping lake as the sun, descending behind the mountain, glows us golden, we chat.
Sunday, July 22, 2001
We visited Coney Island on Saturday; t'was Kim's first visit there and she loved it. The occasion was the Siren Concert, with the Asto Boys to Men and Another band with the word "voices," and a band with the word Blues in it, like they were blues masters. The music sounded great. Matador records gave out free samples, including a clear plastic record for the old victrola.
Jon Berger suggested this outing. He, Grey, Matt Mason, Randi Russ, Dina Levy, Kim and I met in front of Nathan's; he was sitting on a waterplug attached to the building like he was the only one there, at its corner, while fourteen hundred people awaited Nathan's seafood to his immediate left. We headed over to Popeyes then to the jam packed alley by the rollercoaster where the bands blared. While on the boardwalk, eating, I ran into my old friend, Jordan Pfister, and I called to Grey when Jordan said he studied with Jack Cassidy. Grey thought he meant Jack Bruce, do I have this right? Of Cream. Anyway, Jack Cassidy was in Hot Tuna and Jefferson Airplane and he played Bass. We were clarifying that when I realized it meant that Jordan also played bass.
"Hey, Jordan (I had just invited him to my antifolk fest performance next Sunday) Do you want to play with me???" Hens of Monospace, Jordan and I rehearsed today. It went great. Joe Bendik will join us on Sunday. We play on the bill with Moldy Peaches, Cock Roach, Jeff Lightning Lewis and RICK SHAPIRO! That's this Sunday, after the Tompkins Square Park event which will miraculously feature preview spots by all 50 of the fest participants. I met Francis Ford Coppola today at Frank Restaurant and made sure he knew about it. He wouldn't commit, but at least he got the info.
Come to think of it, to get to Coney Island we travelled by subway over the Manhattan Bridge. That sentence strikes a nostalgic note because, in keeping with our "end of the old NYC" tradition (last week, goodbye gas tanks), as of Sunday the bridge is closed to subways until 2004.
Other visits there include an overcast Mermaid Parade in 1995, where I took a photo of the woman with the keyhole ("Hers is the keyhole to youth regained") which is at http://www.cinemavii.com/dizozza/images/keyhole.jpg.
Jon Berger suggested this outing. He, Grey, Matt Mason, Randi Russ, Dina Levy, Kim and I met in front of Nathan's; he was sitting on a waterplug attached to the building like he was the only one there, at its corner, while fourteen hundred people awaited Nathan's seafood to his immediate left. We headed over to Popeyes then to the jam packed alley by the rollercoaster where the bands blared. While on the boardwalk, eating, I ran into my old friend, Jordan Pfister, and I called to Grey when Jordan said he studied with Jack Cassidy. Grey thought he meant Jack Bruce, do I have this right? Of Cream. Anyway, Jack Cassidy was in Hot Tuna and Jefferson Airplane and he played Bass. We were clarifying that when I realized it meant that Jordan also played bass.
"Hey, Jordan (I had just invited him to my antifolk fest performance next Sunday) Do you want to play with me???" Hens of Monospace, Jordan and I rehearsed today. It went great. Joe Bendik will join us on Sunday. We play on the bill with Moldy Peaches, Cock Roach, Jeff Lightning Lewis and RICK SHAPIRO! That's this Sunday, after the Tompkins Square Park event which will miraculously feature preview spots by all 50 of the fest participants. I met Francis Ford Coppola today at Frank Restaurant and made sure he knew about it. He wouldn't commit, but at least he got the info.
Come to think of it, to get to Coney Island we travelled by subway over the Manhattan Bridge. That sentence strikes a nostalgic note because, in keeping with our "end of the old NYC" tradition (last week, goodbye gas tanks), as of Sunday the bridge is closed to subways until 2004.
Other visits there include an overcast Mermaid Parade in 1995, where I took a photo of the woman with the keyhole ("Hers is the keyhole to youth regained") which is at http://www.cinemavii.com/dizozza/images/keyhole.jpg.
Friday, July 20, 2001
Well, that's done, the Examination Under Oath proceeds.
As it's been since 1999, this time of year is Tompkins Square Park Folk Festival Time. (It's also Nutmeg Festival Time in Ridgefield)
Specifically, Summer AntiFolk Fest 2001 commences on the 28th, and during the afternoon of the 29th, the many performers come out to play at the former bandshell area. That's something to look forward to, our own little Woodstock.
Woodstock established everyone who played there, even people who were there, EVEN FANTUZZI!
Country Joe and the Fish, Canned Heat, Hendricks, Jefferson Airplane, Crosby Stills Nash, Arlo Guthrie, The Who played there too, and ShaNaNa anticipating the return 50's. why do I know this? "I will not support a concert that benefits drug peddlers," well, that's quite a position. What's that Spell, FUCK! I'm a farmer. Don't touch my bags if you please. A triple album. Naked in the mud.
OK, it got me dreamin'. I wanted to be like them.
David Bowie, OK, he got me dreamin'. I wanted to be like him.
Anybody who gives you the space to make up your own stories, thank you!
The EUO is complete.
This year's Woodstock, at Tomkins Square Park in the EAST VILLAGE, Sunday Afternoon, July 29th.
As it's been since 1999, this time of year is Tompkins Square Park Folk Festival Time. (It's also Nutmeg Festival Time in Ridgefield)
Specifically, Summer AntiFolk Fest 2001 commences on the 28th, and during the afternoon of the 29th, the many performers come out to play at the former bandshell area. That's something to look forward to, our own little Woodstock.
Woodstock established everyone who played there, even people who were there, EVEN FANTUZZI!
Country Joe and the Fish, Canned Heat, Hendricks, Jefferson Airplane, Crosby Stills Nash, Arlo Guthrie, The Who played there too, and ShaNaNa anticipating the return 50's. why do I know this? "I will not support a concert that benefits drug peddlers," well, that's quite a position. What's that Spell, FUCK! I'm a farmer. Don't touch my bags if you please. A triple album. Naked in the mud.
OK, it got me dreamin'. I wanted to be like them.
David Bowie, OK, he got me dreamin'. I wanted to be like him.
Anybody who gives you the space to make up your own stories, thank you!
The EUO is complete.
This year's Woodstock, at Tomkins Square Park in the EAST VILLAGE, Sunday Afternoon, July 29th.
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