I've been going through boxes of papers, shredding old tax documents, and trying to clean up my apartment and my garage.
It's daunting. I have no idea where all this stuff comes from. I live sparingly, and yet here it all is.
I've come across some really good stuff in these old boxes, including this, last night. Which is timely, as Maxwell's (the greatest independent music club on the East Coast, IMHO) is closing, and I spent my early twenties there. I have no idea how we managed to get up and go to work after staying out half the night back then, but we did.
It was jarring to hear Maxwell's is going away, but Hoboken has turned into a vile pit of frat boys and extreme gentrification, so it makes sense to either move the club to somewhere with a more receptive crowd, or to just leave it. Todd, who books the bands at Maxwell's, still books Bell House in Brooklyn and a few years back, put on a couple of great shows at Loews Journal Square. I hope we see more of those.
I hardly ever go to Maxwell's anymore anyway. But still, it's a punch in the gut. A punch of aging and lost memories and a type of scene that disappeared along with a bigger changes in society. I enjoyed the scene back then, even though people who weren't a part of it typically misunderstood what was going on over there. One hideous fellow I met a few times referred to me on a group blog as a "starf*cker," which was so absurdly not the case...and he didn't even move to town until after I'd moved to Manhattan, so he obviously got his third-hand information from people even more alienated and resentful than I. A running joke of mine used to be that I'd write the book "I'm With the Opening Band," which was more a joke on the laboring lack of success of my crowd rather than what was going on behind closed doors, which wasn't a heckuva lot.
That horrible individual has recently resurfaced in LA. Yuck. They can keep him.
I don't know which Phil this is or who wrote the note. I know three possible Phils from back then. I wish the writer had put a date on this note.
It's daunting. I have no idea where all this stuff comes from. I live sparingly, and yet here it all is.
I've come across some really good stuff in these old boxes, including this, last night. Which is timely, as Maxwell's (the greatest independent music club on the East Coast, IMHO) is closing, and I spent my early twenties there. I have no idea how we managed to get up and go to work after staying out half the night back then, but we did.
It was jarring to hear Maxwell's is going away, but Hoboken has turned into a vile pit of frat boys and extreme gentrification, so it makes sense to either move the club to somewhere with a more receptive crowd, or to just leave it. Todd, who books the bands at Maxwell's, still books Bell House in Brooklyn and a few years back, put on a couple of great shows at Loews Journal Square. I hope we see more of those.
I hardly ever go to Maxwell's anymore anyway. But still, it's a punch in the gut. A punch of aging and lost memories and a type of scene that disappeared along with a bigger changes in society. I enjoyed the scene back then, even though people who weren't a part of it typically misunderstood what was going on over there. One hideous fellow I met a few times referred to me on a group blog as a "starf*cker," which was so absurdly not the case...and he didn't even move to town until after I'd moved to Manhattan, so he obviously got his third-hand information from people even more alienated and resentful than I. A running joke of mine used to be that I'd write the book "I'm With the Opening Band," which was more a joke on the laboring lack of success of my crowd rather than what was going on behind closed doors, which wasn't a heckuva lot.
That horrible individual has recently resurfaced in LA. Yuck. They can keep him.
I don't know which Phil this is or who wrote the note. I know three possible Phils from back then. I wish the writer had put a date on this note.
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