[kj] New York Report!

[Alex Smith]

Off to meet Coles and Dirk for some lunch and whatnot. Hope to have gig pic=
s
back by the end of the day (if not, I'll have'em by next week at the
latest). Watch this space.

Hope DC went down a storm. Onward and upward...

Alex in NYC



----------
>From: "Dirk Kingerske" <dirkingerske@hotmail.com>
>To: gathering@misera.net
>Subject: Re: [kj] New York Report!
>Date: Thu, Oct 23, 2003, 6:17 PM
>

>Sitting here at some internet cafe at 42nd street I have to admit that it 
>was a damn fine night last night.... looking forward to meeting alex and 
>colsey tomorrow at the habitat for a nice tour de yorke neuf ....  won't b=
e 
>too sure about the diggler thingy, yossy  :o)
>btw.... american beer is great... it's so watered that you can't get a 
>hangover...... time to go drinking,
>
>
>dirk
>
>p.s. enjoy baltimore and the rest of the best... hopefully longer than the=
 
>nyc gig and an exploding, moshing kraut..... crowd i mean!
>
>
>
>>From: The Exorcist <exorcist@trifocus.net>
>>Reply-To: gathering@misera.net
>>To: gathering@misera.net
>>Subject: Re: [kj] New York Report!
>>Date: Thu, 23 Oct 2003 13:53:29 -0500 (CDT)
>>
>>Hello To The gaythering Folks!
>>I'm not as a prolifc writer as sir Alex is. However, I must admit
>>that after many months, I've come to the realizatin of the gaythering,
>>and now understand the utter fascination with Rob's arse!
>>
>>Alex, point #2, it's Brooklyn, ye drunken sot!
>>
>>Point #3, Yosef is fine. But I use Yossy. And being that it's hard
>>for ya to remember all these names. Just stick with shmo!
>>
>>#4, I hope to have the pics posted by tomorrow evening.
>>
>>#5 To all you brits, and europenis's. You have no idea what dedication
>>to a band means. You did not have to suffer through listening to utter
>>trash , seeing some dumbass Naked Cowboy (apperantly some guy in his
>>underwear with a non to impressive build is considered "COOL" these days.=
)
>>paying 7 dollars a beer and being surrounded by a group of folks who seem
>>to think that music is anything you can fart out of yer ass!
>>
>>Mind you, The naked cowboy guy, I think is a sign from "the god that Dirk
>>does not belive in" to intensify the belief of "The Gsythering" as we so
>>lovingly found out.
>>
>>All in all, I wish the set was longer. The show still kicked ass. And I
>>have never met a nicer group of folks like this in all my experience.
>>(was it the gay thing?).
>>
>>Hopefully we the gaythering shall have one more meeting before they all
>>run off.
>>
>>It's been an honor a pleasure and a most enjoyable experience.
>>
>>Best Wishes to you all..
>>
>>Yossy
>>
>>(ps. Dirk, puts Dirk Diggler to shame! We should have put him on stage to
>>show the naked cowboy what a pathetic shmuck he reall is! (pun intended!)=
.
>>He's also quiet the ladies man, though he needed some motivation from
>>Senior Alex. *grin*
>>
>>
>>On Thu, 23 Oct 2003, Alex Smith wrote:
>>
>> >
>> > God Bless Chock Full'o'Nuts Coffee, by gosh.
>> >
>> > Incidentally, those of you looking for strictly gig details and a 
>>set-list
>> > are going to have to earn it, or wait for a less flowerly and 
>>self-serving
>> > report from someone else.
>> >
>> > Right. First comes the apologies. There is a troubled, private, roilin=
g
>> > rubicon of near-pantsless drunkenness that I have been handily known t=
o
>> > happily cross on many an occaission, whereupon after which I am 
>>churlishly
>> > renowned for expressing my outbursts of good will and bonhommie via 
>>striking
>> > various compadres on the shoulder, solarplexus, nape and/or sternum 
>>harder
>> > than they'd necessarily prefer, let alone expect. Suffice it to say, 
>>this
>> > point was swiftly passed in the very early hours of this morning, and =
if
>> > Tale-tellin' Todd "Fluw" Wulfemeyer, Yosef "excitable" Exorcist, 
>>Teutonic
>> > Dynamo Dirk, Sir Michael "Don't Call Me Claude Rains" Coles, veritably=
 
>>bulky
>> > brick shithouse "New Guy" Mike and/or Ted "ask me another Prong questi=
on 
>>and
>> > you're going head first into the toilet" Parsons wanted to beat the 
>>snots
>> > outta me in due course for it, I wouldn't hold it against them. Still,
>> > could've been worse, right? At least my pants stayed on, right? (pleas=
e 
>>tell
>> > me they did, fellas). All's well that ends...well, nevermind.
>> >
>> > To quote Cat "Death to the Infadels" Stevens, morning has fucking 
>>broken.
>> >
>> > Wow. Quite an evening. At around 4:30 pm, after putting on my needless=
ly
>> > silly spikey belt and blow-drying my hair just so, I bounded out the 
>>door to
>> > the now-fabled (well, not realy) Central Bar wherein I met....well, no=
 
>>one
>> > at first (though that didn't stop me from bellying up to the bar and
>> > igniting proceedings with a bang in the form of a pint of Yuengling, t=
he
>> > first of way too many). In short order (though not in short stature), 
>>the
>> > estimable artisan we all know and manfully adore as Mike Coles arrived=
 
>>(in
>> > stylish leather coat, replete with "Laugh at Your Peril" badge) to -- =
as
>> > loathesome pop harpee P!nk might've said -- get this party started. 
>>After a
>> > bit, whilst the stoically sage-like Coles regailed me with yarns of ol=
de
>> > involving the protoplasmic origins of Malicious Damge like a learned 
>>druid
>> > schooling a wide-eyed peasant lad, in walked three leggy ladies who 
>>extended
>> > a lithe, seductive didjit at my red MALICIOUS DAMAGE CLOCK shirt. 
>>"Alex?"
>> > asked the brunette. Turns out that this was big Cliff's wife, sister a=
nd
>> > sister's friend, all looking very sexy and tatooed and post-punk and a=
ll
>> > that. Suddenly, it was a genuine...er...gathering.
>> >
>> > Shortly afterwards, in walked the Hamburgian force of supernature that=
 
>>is
>> > Dirk K. and his trusty sidekick Tim (himself also sporting the red 
>>Malicious
>> > Damage clock shirt), and out went the girls (not as a result, mind you=
, 
>>but
>> > for the purposes of going home, changing and showering). Reduced again=
 
>>to a
>> > quartet of males, our little pirate ship settled in for more beers 
>>(Coles
>> > drinking Corona, the rest of us opting for Yuengling at my dubious
>> > suggestion). For those that give a toss, Devilish Dirk came swaddled i=
n 
>>the
>> > now-ancient Gathering t-shirt, rocking it "old school" as the brethere=
n 
>>of
>> > the hip hop community might say (though, he was quick to point out, he
>> > sported an Extremities t-shirt underneath). Why Dirk saw fit to wear t=
wo
>> > t-shirts when one would've handily sufficed still eludes my 
>>comprehension.
>> >
>> > After ordering some man-sized plates of charred animal flesh, loving 
>>adorned
>> > with cheese and chips, the garishly-painted doors of this fine 
>>establishment
>> > swung wide yet again, and in strutted Todd "Fluw" Wulfemeyer, straight=
 
>>from
>> > the mean, blood-splattered streets of Albany (our fine state's capital=
 
>>city,
>> > for those of you keen on that sort of trivia). Bravely sporting the
>> > eye-catching and temper-tempting "drowning Liberty" t-shirt, his 
>>Fluwness
>> > gamely ordered himself a plate of "bangers'n'mash" (how Brit of him) a=
nd 
>>a
>> > pint of Guiness and mucked right in. Having heard that the Exorcist,
>> > red-headed Robyn and various other folk were going to be late and woul=
d 
>>try
>> > to find us at the venue, it seemed our little gang of avengers was now=
 
>>fully
>> > assembled.
>> >
>> > We'd heard initial reports that the band themselves (or at least Raven=
)
>> > might come and find us at the Central Bar, but those rumours revealed
>> > themselves to be sadly unfounded. After shovelling down our grub and
>> > hoisting a few more frothy beverages, we decided to ship out, leaving 
>>the
>> > comfy confines of the Central Bar (and inexplicably repeated airings o=
f
>> > "Roundabout" by Yes on the soundsystem) behind us. Two city blocks and=
 
>>one
>> > corner later, brightly lit marquee of Webster Hall came into full 
>>view....as
>> > well as the rather worrying sight of a big line-up (or "que" as you 
>>Brits
>> > might say). Dutifully taking our place at the back of it (much to our
>> > collective grumbling), our little brood of scowling Gatherers spied th=
e
>> > crowd for any familiar faces. None found, but I spotted (and rather 
>>brazenly
>> > accosted) a rather large looking gent sporting the CONFIRM YOUR WORST
>> > FEARS/Central Point shirt, which I immediately pointed out to 
>>said-shirt's
>> > designer, Mike Coles. Turns out this big dude's name was John, and he 
>>did
>> > indeed procure that handsome garment through the Mal.Dam site, though =
he
>> > seemed to scoff at the notion that Mike Coles actually remembered the 
>>order.
>> > Why would we lie?
>> >
>> > In due course, we ticket holders were allowed to jump the line (whilst=
 
>>the
>> > indie-rock loving, CMJ-badge-holding hordes in their ironic cardigans,
>> > sensible shoes and trucker caps) were left to wait in the damp. Fluw,
>> > meanwile, vanished for a bit to prize his ticket from the wilcall line=
. 
>>In
>> > we went.
>> >
>> > Back in the day, Webster Hall was formerlly known as the Ritz and play=
ed
>> > host to every great band worth a damn in the 80s, the Joke included.
>> > Sometime around 1989, however, the owners of the Ritz pulled out of th=
e
>> > operation and the venue morphed into Webster Hall, a niteclub in the 
>>same
>> > style as the then-hip Palladium and once-prominent Danceteria. I hand'=
t 
>>been
>> > in the great room's interior since about 1994 when Redd Kross played 
>>(live
>> > music is a scarcity at Webster Hall, let alone decent live music). The=
 
>>main
>> > floor we shuffled into looked a bit like a high school prom, complete 
>>with
>> > dangling disco ball. We gawked around in a state of bemusement, orderi=
ng
>> > ourselves another round of beers (fuckin' SEVEN DOLLARS for a bottle o=
f
>> > shitty Budweiser!!?!?!?!?) and looked around for other Jokers. Fluw
>> > reappeared and we all repaired to the side bar for a bit.
>> >
>> > Finding precious little excitment at said side bar, we ambled upstairs=
 
>>to
>> > take a gander at the crowd and see the stage. Once assembled, as if on=
 
>>cue,
>> > the lights dimmed and out strode a hirsute quintet of irritating hepca=
ts 
>>who
>> > apparently call themselves The Fever, who proceeded to launch into a
>> > headache-inducing racket that couldn't have been more retrophillically
>> > derivative if earnest attempted. After giving them a brief sporting 
>>chance
>> > (much to our furrowed-brows, shaking heads and expressions of abject
>> > disdain), we collectively decided to spare our hearing and repair back
>> > downstairs.
>> >
>> > More beers followed. Dirk's buddy Tim found himself an easy chair near=
 
>>the
>> > television and settled in to soak up some baseball. The rest of us 
>>chatted
>> > amiably with a variety of CMJ characters. After a spell, in walked Yos=
ef 
>>(i
>> > believe I'm spelling that correctly), otherwise known as The Exorcist 
>>(why
>> > he calls himself this, I do not know, but suffice it to say he was not
>> > wearing a priest's collar nor, to my knowledge, in possession of any 
>>holy
>> > water). I wandered about looking for other Gatherers. We spotted Cliff=
,
>> > himself toiling under the crack of Killing Joke's roadie whip, along 
>>with
>> > the drum tech from New Zealand, who looks like he could easily slit on=
e 
>>up
>> > and down with a bowie knife before you could say "Picnic at Hanging 
>>Rock".
>> > Chatted with them briefly before they were summoned back to the trench=
s. 
>>I
>> > wobbled over to a little table in the back of the room where I'd spott=
ed 
>>Bob
>> > Mould (shorn of hair and in suprisingly fit shape) and expressed my
>> > admiration, however somewhat insincerely. Never one to miss a 
>>promotional
>> > opportunity, he slipped a BLOWOFF flyer in my hand (his new electronic
>> > project) which I then proceeded to discard almost immediately upon 
>>leaving
>> > the room. Sorry, Bob.
>> >
>> > Time passed. In my further wanderings, I was met by "New Guy Mike" and=
 a
>> > lurker who disquietingly announced my name in a somewhat sinister tone=
 
>>named
>> > Adam (I think). The merch table was hawking the clown shirts, a bag of
>> > Colesy badges and a new, heretofore unspotted design dubbed "Stone Fac=
e"
>> > (basically a pic of Jaz's face taken from the "Seeing Red" video, not =
at 
>>all
>> > unlike the homemade design Mik Raven posted some time ago). Like the 
>>dutiful
>> > fanboy, I bought one (treating the unsuspecting hordes to a thoroughly
>> > unsolicited viewing of my bare, pasty, pale torso as I slipped it on 
>>under
>> > the read MAL.DAM clock shirt) By around 10:30, we figured it would be
>> > prudent to secure a spot up by the stage, just in time to catch a set =
by 
>>the
>> > band VHS or Beta (and, honestly, can you think of a sillier name for a
>> > band?)
>> >
>> > VHS or Beta basically play a discoey approximation of Gang of Four and=
 
>>sport
>> > hairstyles that recall a Small Faces-era Ron Wood. I didn't think they=
 
>>were
>> > entirely terrible (I think Coles tolerated them as well), but needless=
 
>>to
>> > say....they're no Killing Joke.
>> >
>> > Done with that rabble, the bunch of us ploughed through the human catt=
le 
>>to
>> > the front (myself pushing aside a comely wench at the barricade, almos=
t
>> > immediately lapsing into apologies for my boorish behavior, which she 
>>seemed
>> > to buy). That mission accomplished, in very short order, the lights 
>>dimmed
>> > again and....hello, what's this? KILLING JOKE TAKE THE STAGE!!!!!!!!! 
>>Raven
>> > strides right up to the front of the stage, greeting we the grinning
>> > faithful.
>> >
>> >
>> > Honestly speaking? It's all a manic fucking blur. Jaz in now familiar
>> > Peruvian spider get-up and bug-eyed visage of impending doom, Raven in=
 
>>camo
>> > shorts, POLIZEI t-shirt, warpaint and signature wool cap, Geordie in
>> > kneepadded "interesting pants" and unbothered expression of coolster
>> > insouciance, Parsons a bald-head machine of stick-flailing death. On t=
he
>> > keybs was a fresh-faced gent named Nick, looking quite the youngster b=
ut
>> > handling his duties with aplomb. Rookie roadie Cliff sat aside the sta=
ge 
>>in
>> > the ready position, often dutifully scampering about like a ball-boy a=
t
>> > Wimbledon. Some technical problems blighted the early bits of the set,=
 
>>but I
>> > honestly didn't notice (as I was entirely busy trying to shove the 
>>metal,
>> > cattle-hurding barricades THROUGH THE FUCKING STAGE in a state of
>> > Joke-fueled apoplexy like froth-mouthed epileptic). Herewith the 
>>set-list
>> > (thank you Cliff for the artefact, by the way)...
>> >
>> > * "Communion"
>> > * "Requiem"
>> > * "Total Invasion"
>> > * "Wardance"
>> > * "Blood on Your Hands"
>> > * "Change"
>> > * "Seeing Red"
>> > * "The Wait"
>> > * "Whiteout"
>> > * "Pssyche"
>> >
>> > >From what I could tell, the crowd was pretty into it (though I would'=
ve
>> > liked to have seen a bit more movement). I believe Dirk was chastised =
by
>> > some figure of authority for attempting to get a pit going. What's New=
 
>>York
>> > City coming to? Ya can't smoke? Ya can't mosh? It might be time to mov=
e 
>>to
>> > the country, methinks. At one brief point (I want to say during 
>>"Change,"
>> > but I might be mistaken) some entirely foolhardy lad leaped down from 
>>what I
>> > believe was the BALCONY onto the stage, whereupon he was summarily 
>>treated
>> > to a roughnecked "bouncer sandwich" and jostlingly bundled off to what=
 I 
>>can
>> > only imagine was a late evening of moist-eyed wound-licking. Silly boy=
.
>> >
>> > And as soon as we were reaching that white hot level of synchronized
>> > band-crowd intensity.....it was over. Thanks for coming. No encore 
>>(which I
>> > believe was CMJ's doing, not the band's). Once we spotted the drum kit=
 
>>being
>> > disassembled, we knew the proverbial fat lady had chirped.
>> >
>> > Stumbling around, trying to organize some semblance of a plan, Fluw an=
d 
>>I
>> > bound upstairs, looking for the band. From behind th stage door, along=
 
>>comes
>> > Jaz looks suprisingly relaxed, respendent in black with signature 
>>Indiana
>> > Jones hat. Fluw and I dutifully express our boundless gratitude (I 
>>believe I
>> > told Jaz I was thinking of naming my impending child after him). He 
>>could
>> > not have been nicer. Out walks Geordie, looking a bit miffed to be 
>>honest,
>> > though I cannot say why. Fluw and I basically deduce that he is not to=
 
>>be
>> > bothered. Back downstairs we go and meet red-haired and pig-tailed Rob=
yn 
>>and
>> > her pal Sean, whom we unsuccessfully invite with us to the nearby
>> > Black'n'White Bar for a drink.
>> >
>> > Outside the venue, we give a knock on the tour bus and Raven yanks us 
>>inside
>> > for a brief, blurred momment of affable howayas. We mention that we're=
 
>>all
>> > going to the Black'n'White Bar to continue the merriment. Parsons says=
 
>>he'll
>> > be along shortly.
>> >
>> > Once back outside, off we go the bar one block away, where we are soon
>> > joined by Ted Parsons, keyboardist Nick Walker (who had to go BACK to 
>>the
>> > bus to fetch his passport to prove his age to the unsmiling bouncer), 
>>Troy
>> > Gregory (!!!!!...who looks bizarrely like a younger version of Jaz) 
>>various
>> > roadies, an ex-Swan (old pal of Ted's) and Cliff's trio of lovely 
>>ladies.
>> > Many, many drinks and photographs followed (watch this space soon for 
>>those)
>> > and it was at this point that I became more of a blabbering loon than 
>>usual,
>> > initiating the afore-mentioned practice of shoulder-hitting, much the
>> > chagrin of my fellow bar patron. Ted Parsons, Nick Walker and Troy 
>>Gregory
>> > were all complete champs and chatted with us like members of the 
>>extended
>> > family. Raven, it seems, has sworn off heavy-bevvy comsumption and 
>>remained
>> > behind to store up his strength for the next gig. I gather the night 
>>before,
>> > Coles saw the band in fighting martini-swigging form, so their batteri=
es
>> > needed a recharging I suppose.
>> >
>> > Hours and dollars later, it was all over. The boys in the band repaire=
d 
>>back
>> > to the bus. Exorcist fled back to Queens. Fluw and Colesy repaired bac=
k 
>>to
>> > the Union Square Hotel. The German contingent departed for their hotel=
 
>>in
>> > midtown, and I wobbled the two blocks back to my home, though not befo=
re
>> > Cliff handed me the setlist outside the venue (where Coles was convinc=
ed 
>>we
>> > were going to pound on the tourbus door to wake up Jaz and Geordie....=
we
>> > didn't).
>> >
>> > And that was that.
>> >
>> > Alex in NYC
>> >
>> >
>> >
>> >
>> >
>> >
>> >
>> >
>> >
>> >
>> >
>> >
>> >
>> >
>> >
>> >
>> >
>> >
>> >
>> >
>> >
>> > _______________________________________________
>> > Gathering mailing list
>> > Gathering@misera.net
>> > http://four.pairlist.net/mailman/listinfo/gathering
>> >
>>
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