What Was Up With All The Monkees?
I apologise if some of the following photos from my New York trip look distinctly yuckified. A lot of this was taken at night, and the Blender didn't allow flash photography during the Residents show. So I lightened a few dark shots with irfanview, which makes them look grainy and washed out. Also my monitor is darker than most, so some of these might have looked better on your computer than mine anyway, and chances are I probably should have just let them be. Eh, whattayagonnado. See, barely home in less than two hours and I'm still talking like a New Yawker.
After checking in at our hostel, Paul and I headed down to Manitoba's, the pub owned by Handsome Dick Manitoba from The Dictators. Paul frequents the joint whenever he's in town and says sometimes Dick is there behind the bar, and often poses for pictures. Sadly it was Dick's night off, but Paul and I spent some time with a couple of PBR's reminiscing about old shows that we've seen and some of the funniest moments involved with them. Paul's very much a kindred spirit. Similar in age and life experience, I felt like I could understand his language, in a way that I can with few others, even fellow music geeks. It was tremendous, I gotta say.
Dick's place is wonderfully seedy, with lots of fantastic memorabilia all over the walls from back in the old punk days and beyond. Hey, I have that old Manitoba's Wild Kingdom album up there on the left!
I took pictures of these wrestling walls more for Joe than myself, seeing if he's recognize who they were. I thought at first that was "Red" up there in the left hand corner ("Nooooo, that's not Lawrence Tierney!" says Paul) but now that I reflect on it longer I think it may well be "Classy" Freddie Blassie. Man, I'll feel stupid as hell if I get that one wrong again.
On to The Residents concert, performing at The Blender @ Gramercy just a block away from our hostel. This was really quite an awesome little venue. Paul and I estimated capacity at about maybe 900-1,000, with folding chairs on the floor (where we sat) and theater seats up in the back. Small and intimate, and Paul said they made the drinks there super strong, and considering that they were almost $10 I should hope they were. No flash photography, so some of the following photos made be too hard to see.
The Residents! Finally, after all these years. The band enters and performing to the far left of the stage, replacing their trademark giant eyeballs for bunny masks. This is, after all, The Bunny Boy tour. Catch some video footage of the show we saw here, taken about six says before the NYC performance (and the band plays to the right in this one).
The old man from the Bunny Boy episodes narrates over and between the music sets, leaping and lunging about the stage during the first set draped in a red blanket. The story seems to revolve about a rabbit-obsessed man who is preoccupied with finding his lost brother Harvey, who was last seen cave-exploring with his family in Greece. Or something like that. The Residents, meanwhile, plink merrily along.
After intermission the right side of the stage reveals the old man's hovel, decorated in stuffed bunnies and bunny mobiles. The rabbits seem to comfort the man, yet they also represent something sinister, something hidden. Yes, yes, like all rabbits do.
The old man discards his blanket for an ill-fitted white bunny suit. Leaping about onstage, barking out lyrics along with long stretches of ruminations, I'm beginning to sense something increasingly familiar about this guy.
"Bunny Boy" takes a little nap with his friends while the video monitor overhead plays a snip from one of the episodes. It's at this point that I am beginning to speculate that the old man might actually be the long-time founder and lead singer of the Residents (Homer Flynn?) due to his very distinctive voice as well as strong southern accident. I could be, and quite very likely be, completely wrong about that, but even Paul seemed to notice the similarity. However, there were still four Residents performing onstage along with the Bunny Boy. A stand-in, perhaps? Either way, it was in no way Les Claypool, which back in 1991 I was convinced it was. What a dope I am (alright stop laughing).
Beautiful prism-like finale as revelations come to light. Although the series is obviously still being filmed, Paul came to the conclusion that the old man didn't kill Harvey like he himself thought -- but that he thinks he's his brother, that perhaps something happened to the old man down in that cave in Greece that made him think that he was his own brother -- or something like that. Either way... whooooooooooo...... pretty.
Bunny Boy and Los Res take a bow during the standing ovation while a classic old version of "Here Comes Peter Cottontail" plays throughout the auditorium. A gotta say, not what I expected. The show was a lot more understandable than I worried that it might not be, as little to understand as there is. And heck, the band was downright melodic compared to anything I've heard from them since their Cube-E days. Worth the trip. And if I had been on acid, really worth the trip.
A dark, murky photo of me tucked away in the corner of Mars Bar, listening to "Gary Gilmore's Eyes" and sipping quite possibly the strongest vodka cranberry I have ever had in my life. A nice night. No, a glorious night. Really, I could never have dreamed up better weather to spend an evening dive-hopping in the city. And the lame, drunken fist-fight out in the intersection really brought back old memories.
The next day was spent killing time with each other until my flight leaves, so we had breakfast, saw Quarantine at the Regal in Times Square, and hit up Kim's Mondo Video in St. Marks, which sadly looks to have seen better days. Either moving or outright shutting down, it was hard to tell, but they were having a 30% off DVD sale and I finally managed to pick up the Criterion release of Salò, which has been out of print for ages and often going for up to $1,000 used on eBay until its very current re-release within the last few months. $31.99 isn't too bad for a Criterion, especially one that comes with three documentaries on the film as well as a book. Never seen it. Not even sure if I want to see it. But I'm damn happy to have it finally in my possession. Good ole Kim's Video. If you leave, there are no words to describe how fierce I will miss you.
And we trotted across the street to St. Marks Comics, where I went looking for Guy Delisle's Pyongyang, but not having it in stock, I was persuaded to pick up his most recent release, Burma Chronicles which, like Pyongyang, focuses on one of Delisle's many trips to poor, despotic countries and, from what I read on the flight back home, doesn't skimp on the little details. And I love that. And most of all, I loved the sunset from the plane as we were landing back in Norfolk once again.
After checking in at our hostel, Paul and I headed down to Manitoba's, the pub owned by Handsome Dick Manitoba from The Dictators. Paul frequents the joint whenever he's in town and says sometimes Dick is there behind the bar, and often poses for pictures. Sadly it was Dick's night off, but Paul and I spent some time with a couple of PBR's reminiscing about old shows that we've seen and some of the funniest moments involved with them. Paul's very much a kindred spirit. Similar in age and life experience, I felt like I could understand his language, in a way that I can with few others, even fellow music geeks. It was tremendous, I gotta say.
Dick's place is wonderfully seedy, with lots of fantastic memorabilia all over the walls from back in the old punk days and beyond. Hey, I have that old Manitoba's Wild Kingdom album up there on the left!
I took pictures of these wrestling walls more for Joe than myself, seeing if he's recognize who they were. I thought at first that was "Red" up there in the left hand corner ("Nooooo, that's not Lawrence Tierney!" says Paul) but now that I reflect on it longer I think it may well be "Classy" Freddie Blassie. Man, I'll feel stupid as hell if I get that one wrong again.
On to The Residents concert, performing at The Blender @ Gramercy just a block away from our hostel. This was really quite an awesome little venue. Paul and I estimated capacity at about maybe 900-1,000, with folding chairs on the floor (where we sat) and theater seats up in the back. Small and intimate, and Paul said they made the drinks there super strong, and considering that they were almost $10 I should hope they were. No flash photography, so some of the following photos made be too hard to see.
The Residents! Finally, after all these years. The band enters and performing to the far left of the stage, replacing their trademark giant eyeballs for bunny masks. This is, after all, The Bunny Boy tour. Catch some video footage of the show we saw here, taken about six says before the NYC performance (and the band plays to the right in this one).
The old man from the Bunny Boy episodes narrates over and between the music sets, leaping and lunging about the stage during the first set draped in a red blanket. The story seems to revolve about a rabbit-obsessed man who is preoccupied with finding his lost brother Harvey, who was last seen cave-exploring with his family in Greece. Or something like that. The Residents, meanwhile, plink merrily along.
After intermission the right side of the stage reveals the old man's hovel, decorated in stuffed bunnies and bunny mobiles. The rabbits seem to comfort the man, yet they also represent something sinister, something hidden. Yes, yes, like all rabbits do.
The old man discards his blanket for an ill-fitted white bunny suit. Leaping about onstage, barking out lyrics along with long stretches of ruminations, I'm beginning to sense something increasingly familiar about this guy.
"Bunny Boy" takes a little nap with his friends while the video monitor overhead plays a snip from one of the episodes. It's at this point that I am beginning to speculate that the old man might actually be the long-time founder and lead singer of the Residents (Homer Flynn?) due to his very distinctive voice as well as strong southern accident. I could be, and quite very likely be, completely wrong about that, but even Paul seemed to notice the similarity. However, there were still four Residents performing onstage along with the Bunny Boy. A stand-in, perhaps? Either way, it was in no way Les Claypool, which back in 1991 I was convinced it was. What a dope I am (alright stop laughing).
Beautiful prism-like finale as revelations come to light. Although the series is obviously still being filmed, Paul came to the conclusion that the old man didn't kill Harvey like he himself thought -- but that he thinks he's his brother, that perhaps something happened to the old man down in that cave in Greece that made him think that he was his own brother -- or something like that. Either way... whooooooooooo...... pretty.
Bunny Boy and Los Res take a bow during the standing ovation while a classic old version of "Here Comes Peter Cottontail" plays throughout the auditorium. A gotta say, not what I expected. The show was a lot more understandable than I worried that it might not be, as little to understand as there is. And heck, the band was downright melodic compared to anything I've heard from them since their Cube-E days. Worth the trip. And if I had been on acid, really worth the trip.
A dark, murky photo of me tucked away in the corner of Mars Bar, listening to "Gary Gilmore's Eyes" and sipping quite possibly the strongest vodka cranberry I have ever had in my life. A nice night. No, a glorious night. Really, I could never have dreamed up better weather to spend an evening dive-hopping in the city. And the lame, drunken fist-fight out in the intersection really brought back old memories.
The next day was spent killing time with each other until my flight leaves, so we had breakfast, saw Quarantine at the Regal in Times Square, and hit up Kim's Mondo Video in St. Marks, which sadly looks to have seen better days. Either moving or outright shutting down, it was hard to tell, but they were having a 30% off DVD sale and I finally managed to pick up the Criterion release of Salò, which has been out of print for ages and often going for up to $1,000 used on eBay until its very current re-release within the last few months. $31.99 isn't too bad for a Criterion, especially one that comes with three documentaries on the film as well as a book. Never seen it. Not even sure if I want to see it. But I'm damn happy to have it finally in my possession. Good ole Kim's Video. If you leave, there are no words to describe how fierce I will miss you.
And we trotted across the street to St. Marks Comics, where I went looking for Guy Delisle's Pyongyang, but not having it in stock, I was persuaded to pick up his most recent release, Burma Chronicles which, like Pyongyang, focuses on one of Delisle's many trips to poor, despotic countries and, from what I read on the flight back home, doesn't skimp on the little details. And I love that. And most of all, I loved the sunset from the plane as we were landing back in Norfolk once again.Great trip. Marvelous company in Paul. Residents rulz okai. I'm off to bed.
posted by Melissa at 9:04 PM
3 Comments:
You DON'T want to see it. Which means you should.
Maybe I should read the book first. ;)
>>Small and intimate, and Paul said they made the drinks there super strong, and considering that they were almost $10 I should hope they were<<
$2 more than Chili's. lol
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