It's weird. The bassist runs a restaurant in Red Wing, Minnesota. The guitarist is a somewhat popular DJ in D.C. with a very successful solo career. The drummer plays guitar and has no fans. Well, maybe there were 20 of us who showed up to the Knitting Factory on Friday at the ridiculously early set time of 8:17 P.M. to see Grant Hart, one third of the greatest and most important band in the history of independent rock music, Husker Du.
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I woke up this morning with one of my worst hangovers in recent memory. My ears were buzzing. My body ached. My throat was sore and dry. I hit my alarm five times before I found the energy to sit up in bed to search my disheveled brain for the mistakes I probably made last night. Then I remembered. I didn’t drink last night! What the hell is this? As I looked down at my brand new black Motorhead T-shirt I realized I had what many (maybe only me) refer to as a Motorhead hangover.
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"It's been a while since I've seen a band and been really jealous," a guy I walked by said to his friends after the Screaming Females started packing up their stuff at Mercury Lounge last night. Yea, that's pretentious, but I feel the exact same way. As I watch Marissa Paternoster rip apart her guitar, half of me is jealous of her insane abilities, the other half of me is smiling because I know I'm watching one of the best bands on the planet .
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If someone had told me when I was 14 that 10 years later I would get to see the last ever new York City Nine Inch Nails show on the last ever Nine Inch Nails tour, I probably wouldn’t have believed them. But my reasoning wouldn’t have been lack of faith in my future self for scoring those tickets, it would have been doubt for it actually being the last NIN tour of all time. My current self agrees. There is no way that was the last New York NIN show for eternity. BUT, if it was, man, what an awesome show.
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Fuck the Dead Weather. Also Fuck P.J. Harvey, Karen O., Sleater-Kinney, Patti Smith and any other clever girl-rocker comparisons people have been making to Marissa Paternoster of the Screaming Females. And not just the guitar chicks. Fuck Jimi Hendrix. Fuck Jimmy Page. Fuck power trios that don't start with Screaming and end in Females (I'm looking at you Cream and Nirvana). Fuck Jack White. Fuck Meg White. Fuck the Queens of the Stone Age. Fuck the Kills. While we're at it, fuck people who hold up their iPhones to take five-minute videos of the Dead Weather. The Screaming Females killed last night at Terminal 5. The Dead Weather, eh. I could have done without.
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I got to East River State Park just as Jemina Pearl took the stage yesterday. It was a beautiful sunny afternoon and the wait to get in wasn't too bad. As I walked towards the music, I was happy to see dodge ball and 3x3 basketball had survived the relocation from McCarren to this oddly placed park squeezed between condo construction and factories. The stage looked great positioned in front of the Manhattan skyline. I decided to grab a beer and check out the first band, but had to get in line for a wristband that would grant me access to the 21 & over zone. That's right, folks. A drinking corral. What is this, All Points West?
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I always imagined my first Meat Puppets show to be outside in a field on a hot sunny day. I don't know, but for some reason I associate the Meat Puppets with warm weather. On a cold and rainy Thursday night at the Mercury Lounge, I didn't get to live the dream, but the band was still kick ass.
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If that philosophy degree hasn’t worked out yet, why not enroll in Brooklyn’s first bartending, ahem, academy? That’s right. The Brooklyn Bartending Academy has just announced its inaugural season of classes taking place at Artland Bar on Grand St. For $300 you will learn how to be a bartender in Brooklyn. The class takes 12 hours over 4 days with a graduation party at the end of the week where you’ll get to open cans of PBR for your friends. Check out the website to enroll.
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Our friends in Black Anvil are playing a show tonight with Vermefug, Pretty Little Flower, Battletorn and Disnihil. Black Anvil plays hardcore singed black metal. Go to the show. Get their kick ass album Time Insults the Mind. Rock out. The Charleston, 174 Bedford Ave. (betw. N. 7th & N. 8th Sts.), Brooklyn; 8, $TBA
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