The
Worley Gig:
Music and Mayhem in
New York City
by
Gail Worley
Intel
Me Everything
September 1998
The New York Intel
Music Festival, a mid-summer, four-night showcase
extravaganza, is something I look forward to
every year. Intel marks the midpoint between
South By Southwest and CMJ, and provides an
excuse to grind myself into a bloodshot-eyed,
sleep-deprived little nub of a human being. Intel
is all about the bare-bones of a music festival:
no panels and no convention, just great rock
shows and parties with free alcohol! And it
happens right in my neighborhood!
Somehow,
everything I wanted to do ended up happening at
Irving Plaza. Tuesday night the generous folks at
CD Now, Rolling Stone Online and MTV threw a
stylish fete to celebrate a liaison of sorts
amongst these online media giants. I'm not sure
exactly what the partnership is all about and I
don't think anyone else really knew either. They
were too busy schmoozing, milling around the food
and pushing their way to the open bar. The
Absolut and Cranberry juice flowed free like the
Ganges as I proceeded to obliterate my brain in
rare fashion. Fortunately, a kindly young music
editor escorted me safely back to the Chickpad.
Who says New Yorkers don't perform random acts of
kindness?
Wednesday, I was
excited to see my first ever Performance by the Jesus & Mary Chain. They have a new album out
on Sub Pop Records called Munki that's
maybe the greatest record of their career as far
as I'm concerned. It's pretty commercial for the
J&M Chain but it still rocks harder that
anything else getting played on the radio and has
that vibe that tells you this band has taken
their share of drugs. These masters of snottiness
played a full set and kept their legendary
attitude problem in check until one of the Reid
brothers called the audience a bunch of fucking
idiots or something equally rude. The Super Jesus
- an Australian Soundgarden with a female
singer/guitarist- and 16 Deluxe were the opening
bands.
Thursday night I
had to blow off Intel shows because I had bigger
plans (see Planet Arena Rock).
Friday night I returned to Irving
Plaza for a colorful bill including Gloritone-- a baby band out of
Arizona with a debut on Kneeling Elephant
Records-- MK Ultra, Shudder to Think and the
newly reunited Sunny Day Real Estate. What seemed
like a no-lose amalgam of pop sounds played out
as a total waste of an evening. Only one band,
Gloritone, was impressive at all. They sound like
a fresh take on an angst-free Nirvana and their
singer/guitarist is the spit and image (at least
from the balcony) of Dave Grohl, who I adore. I
thought they rocked and the crowd seemed to love
them too.
Then Shudder to
Think Came on. Ahem. This band gets hired to
score practically every indie film sound track in
the Universe, but live, on stage, they seem so
*$%^&* to me. Ahem.
There are two
bands running around right now with the name MK
Ultra. The one from San Francisco should change
their name to We Blow. Oh my God. Here is a
perfect example of a band that uses the
"novelty rock" angle to camouflage a
total lack of originality, or talent for that
matter. Their first song was called "Coffee
Girl". I will sing it for you: "Coffee
Girl, I want to be inside your world"
(repeat a million times.) They were probably the
WORST band I have ever seen in my life. They made
Semisonic sound like the fucking
Beatles. As soon as they left the stage people
all around me were going "Can you believe
how much that band SUCKED???!!!" They stunk
so bad, I can still smell them. If people hadn't
been packed in like Sardines, they would have
cleared the room in two seconds.
It was hardly
worth sticking it out for the headliner,
Seattle's Sunny Day Real Estate. What is wrong
with me that this is another band, like Sebadoh and Pavement, about whom I
just don't comprehend the attraction? Here's a
band that had the good sense to break up and
then, for some unsolved mystery of a reason, got
back together. Thus their showcase was hyped up
the ass as the alterna-rock equivalent of the
Second Coming of Christ. I actually fell asleep
during their set, woke up and snuck out early.
And here's the sick part: I was embarrassed to be
seen leaving such a cutting edge (yawn) show. I
don't understand the passion that they seem to
inspire in a lot of people whose tastes I
normally respect. The emperor is naked. Sorry.
What a yawn fest.
Saturday was
dubbed "Date Night" due to the high
Swoon Factor present at live performances of the
bands I'd chosen to see for the evening. It's
been along time since I had a hot date, so I
figured I'd just live the fantasy everyone thinks
I live anyway: i.e. dating rock stars. What this
means is I put on my sexiest little red dress and
acted like I was going on a dream date with the
Cutest Boy in The Universe. If you're going to be
delusional, go all the way - that's what I say.
My first stop was Arlene Grocery to check out a
capella crooner, Sean Altman. Now, Sean Altman is
not "cute" in the traditional sense,
but he's tall and lanky, terribly sexy and has a
godlike voice. All he has to do is open his mouth
and I forget my own name. After Sean sang about
five of his romantic, funny songs and gave out
some candy bars, I was forced to cut out early.
It was time to race over to the new Bowery
Ballroom (described by almost everyone as
"Like Irving Plaza, only nicer") to
catch Boston's Jack Drag, one of my new favorite
bands. A week earlier I'd interviewed them, so I
felt comfortable saying hello to John Dragonetti
as he wandered about on stage before their set.
When John saw me, he walked over and knelt down
on the stage in front of me (I swear this really
happened). Then he took both of my hands in his,
opened his mouth, and some words came out. Now,
he probably said "It's nice to see you"
or "I'm glad you came to the show" but
I imagined he was saying "It's too bad I
have a serious girlfriend or we could go
backstage and make out right now," because
all I could think of was "John Dragonetti is
holding my hands." He is insanely handsome.
I love Jack Drag because they do their own crazy
rad thing and they make me want to scream. This
is always a good sign. Their set was a full-on
freak-out a go-go. Hanging out in the downstairs
bar after their set, Jason Sutter (drummer)
hugged me and allowed me to kiss his face. EEKKK!
Everyone needs to buy Jack Drag's new album, Dope
Box. It's great, just trust me on this one. Album
of the Year for 1998!
The final stop of
the evening, and a fitting end to the festival,
was Brownies where my very special boys, Thin
Lizard Dawn - the most stone foxes on the planet
- blew a roomful of minds with their dayglow
sonics. Now, I've seen Thin Lizard Dawn about 20
times and their music kicks total ass, but this
was the most energetic, fun and totally rocking
I've ever seen them. They ruled and I received
three hugs and three kisses total from members of
the band. Gail enjoys kisses and hugs from cute
boy rock stars. How could you not? When Sunday
morning rolled around I felt completely retarded
and wiped out from my wild week as a rocker
grrrl. Was it worth it? Like you even have to
ask.
Next
Stop: Planet Arena Rock
When I was fifteen
years old I attended my first arena concert. In
those days, growing up in suburban Orange County,
California, there really were only big concerts.
I didn't go to my first club show until I was in
College, when punk rock was the thing and I could
drive to Los Angeles. In High School, I attended
concert after concert by bands like Queen, Pink
Floyd, Styx, Angel, The Who, Aerosmith, Yes,
Peter Frampton and Cheap Trick. Each of these
bands could sell out 55,000 seats with no
problem, and the stadium and sports arena concert
experience shaped my mind into what I still
believe rock and roll to be all about: hugeness
and excess.
One band I always
regretted missing live was Led Zeppelin. By the
time I was old enough to see them, John Bonham
was already dead from excessive drinking. But I
still love Led Zeppelin and knew I couldn't miss
the return of Jimmy Page and Robert Plant to
Madison Square Garden. First I must give thanks
to the publicist at Atlantic records who scored
me a floor seat for what will most likely prove
in retrospect to be second in excitement and pure
magic only to seeing the Beatles get back
together. Robert Plant may have turned 50 in
August, but he's still got it going on. He
swaggered like he did as a 25-year-old and he
still has all his hair. Jimmy Page, on the
extreme right hand, looks a lot worse for wear.
He hasn't aged well at all. I'd say he resembles
a melted doll and his on stage drooling is widely
reported. Page's playing is restrained and
sometimes you're not sure if he's really aware of
what's happening. It's like "Dazed and
Confused" has become his personal theme
song. Still, you have to forgive him, because
he's Jimmy Freaking Page and part of the band
that practically wrote the book on how to rock as
hard as possible. Read Hammer of the Gods if you
think I'm kidding. Led Zeppelin still makes Marilyn Manson look like a bunch of
pussies. For all intents and purposes, Led
Zeppelin were on stage at the Garden that night.
During their two hour set, Page and Plant
performed only three songs from their newest
album, Walking Into Clarksdale (I keep wanting to
call in Last Train to Clarksville) The rest of
the two hour set was all Led Zeppelin songs. Man,
it was a religious experience. Never in my
wildest dreams did I think I'd get a chance to
hear live classic Led Zeppelin songs like Bring
it on Home, Heartbreaker, No Quarter, Going to
California, Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You , How Many
More Times, Whole Lotta Love, Black Dog and Rock
and Roll. If they had done "In The
Light" (my favorite Led Zeppelin song) my
head would have exploded right there. This may
sound corny, but I feel really blessed to have
attended this concert. Page and Plant helped me
to recapture, if only for a couple of hours, a
feeling I didn't even know I missed: The feeling
of being really young and really free, back when
rock and roll was my whole world. The way you
feel as a kid before the burdens of being a
grown-up rest themselves on your shoulders.
That's something you can't package and sell in a
jewel box.
Rock and roll is
here to stay, it will never die.
Next
Month: Why Velvet Goldmine is the
greatest movie ever made, and my trip to Seattle
The
Worley Gig regularly turns in both Pandemonium
Online and The NY Hangover.
E-Mail Gail Worley
Other
Features From Gail
Worley:
Goo
Goo Dolls: Prepare to Get Dizzy
- Gail talks to Robby Takac about City
of Angels, hits in the five formats, crap
music and what chicks dig.
Nivek
Ogre's New Rx - No longer a
Skinny Puppy, this
famed industrialist dispenses Ritalin
now.
Visual
Audio Sensory Theatre
- Gail
discusses religion and revenge
fantasies with Jon Crosby, the
aspiring Gothman with a VAST array
of sounds...
Dream
Punk or Noise Pop? - Gail
goes to South Park and Melrose
Place with Carrie Clark, art
therapist and feedback diva from 16
Deluxe
God
Lives Underwater - "With a name like God
Lives Underwater, it has to be good," says Gail
Vintage
Jello Biafra -
Gail's 1996
interview with the former Dead
Kennedy
Previous
turns of The Worley Gig:
The
Worley Gig #1--
Summer, The Rules
The
Worley Gig #2-- All Tomorrow's Parties
The
Worley Gig #3-- Weaselfest '97
The
Worley Gig #4-- How I Spent Summer
The
Worley Gig #5-- Random Excerpts From My
Ass-Kicking Life
The
Worley Gig #6-- Christmas Kicks Total Ass
The
Worley Gig #7-- She's About A Mover
The
Worley Gig #8-- The Goddess and Pig Watts
The
Worley Gig #9-- Outrageously Boss Records and
What Not to Do On a Date
The
Worley Gig #10-- Marilyn Manson: The Satanist in
Winter
The
Worley Gig #11-- A Mosquito, My Libido
The
Worley Gig #12-- Sex By SexWest 1998
The
Worley Gig #13-- I'm Only Numan
The
Worley Gig #14-- Marilyn Manson, Bauhaus Reissues
The
Worley Gig #15-- The Column of the Daves
The
Worley Gig #16-- A Girl's Gotta Make a Living
Back To Your
Regularly Scheduled Pandemonium
Online
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