Trashed in Brooklyn Rock City

Oh man, my head!  I shouldn’t even be using exclamation points.  Too loud.

Well, we popped our NYC cherry on Saturday, perhaps having just a little too much fun in the process.  Of course I’m joking; there’s no such thing as too much fun when you want to rock for a living.  But after a banner year of 38 shows all in the Boston area, we thought it time to start sending scout ships out in ’09.  So we managed to snag a Saturday night slot courtesy of Matt’s stellar salesmanship (and presumably also on the quality of our music.  I mean it’s not like he’s selling wood stoves in the desert or anything), crawled into Tim the van around 1 in the afternoon and rode down to the sweet strains of Jesse’s comedy iPod and the smell of Jack Links’ beef jerky, which is pretty much the same going in as it is coming back out, if you know what I mean.

En route to NYC. (Are you guys in a band?)

En route to NYC. ("Are you guys in a band?")

We arrived in town on the heels of an enthusiastic fan response to our write-up on the excellent NYC rock blog, “Big Apple Music Scene.” After some minor finding-the-hotel boilerplate, we were on our way to pizza and then to the show.  So between us, Just Bill the photographer extraordinaire and Jen and Deanna along for the ride, we’re all seven of us squished into a booth at Marabella’s in Sunnyside, Queens, letting the grease from the slices drip onto our paper plates when we hear a piping little voice behind us break out in song: “I am Iron Man.  NA na NA na NA na na NA NA NA!”  We all look at one another in minor disbelief, like, “did…was that Black Sabbath we just heard?”  It was!  Little three year old Isaiah has one very cool mom to be playing the Sabbath for her little dude, and he was doin it justice, let me tell ya.  So we turned around and started talking to him and his mom Cheryl, who was as proud as could be, and she says, “you guys must be in a band right?”  Which is exactly the equivalent of your hookup asking you if you’ve ever been in porn once you’ve done the job on her, as far as I’m concerned.  And by that I mean totally the right thing to say.  Anyway, Isaiah sang a couple more of his own impromptu compositions and we were out, but not before promising to dedicate a song to him at our show that night, which we did!

The Trash Bar used to be an upscale dance club, but you wouldn’t know it was ever anything but a well kept and very stylish dive.  Old backseats of vans line the walls, there’s a dead spot in the beat up floorboards that I wasn’t too comfortable standing on, and it’s a bar with a jukebox up front and a live venue in the back, through a curtain and down a short hallway and through another curtain.  Christmas lights and more van seats, a long low room and a low stage, a soundguy named owen who looked a bit like a droogie name Alex, what with his porkpie hat and blonded luscious glory.  he turned out to be not psychotic though, just very good at mixing the room.  We were up first, and thanks largely to Adam and Jesse, we had a really strong turnout of Jersey girls, relatives,  ex-bandmates and their wives, and my buddy Alan from the band Ten Minute Turns (thanks Alan!).  The show itself was strong.  I thought we actually did better than we did the night before in Boston, which was a strong show as well.  There’s just something about being out of town to make you feel that next level, you know?  Then it was time to relax and bask in the glory.  Thanks to Aaron, the bar owner, for the shots of Jameson’s!  Good dude, that guy.

So the next day, we discovered that Brooklyn is as hipster as you’ll ever see anywhere, and it just goes on for miles.  It happened to be a great day out, so there was some dude cruising around singing Sinatra at the TOP of his lungs, and all manner of nattily dressed, creatively bearded, horn-rimmed glassed, polka dot dress wearing, hair combed forward, courderoy panted and velour sport-jacketed…well, you get the idea.  These were our people!  We had fun poking around for a bit — stopped inside Sound Fix, recommended to us by NYC music guru, Jenn Pelly — and after some baked eggs at Fabiane’s, it was off to Hartford to drop the drummer off at a conference for his day gig, and then home.  But at the last toll, as we pulled up, the dude was singing Sweet Home Alabama, again at the top of his lungs.  As I payed the toll, it was, “well I hope Neil Young will reMEMber/ a Southern man don’t need him around anyhow!”  So I sang the line with him, and we were back to the space fifteen minutes later.  It must have been the gravitational pull of our heavy, heavy load, but between three year old Isaiah and the tolltaker we got bookended pretty good.  Let me say that we’ll be reading about that Isaiah someday.  Just not before he reads about us!

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One Response to “Trashed in Brooklyn Rock City”

  1. Dougie Salomone Says:

    Hey,I am the guitar player from Cookiehead.I really dug you guys but I didn’t realise you were hangin afterward.Would have loved to say”whats up “and let you know all was good! Would love to hook up on another bill with you as I think our people dug you and i think some of yours dug us.Good luck,Dougie

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