[kj] New York Report!

[Dirk Kingerske]

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 be 
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, roiling
> > rubicon of near-pantsless drunkenness that I have been handily known to
> > 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 question 
>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? (please 
>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 needlessly
> > 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, the
> > 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 olde
> > 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 and
> > sister's friend, all looking very sexy and tatooed and post-punk and all
> > 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 in 
>the
> > now-ancient Gathering t-shirt, rocking it "old school" as the bretheren 
>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 two
> > 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) and 
>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 would 
>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 of
> > "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 the
> > 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 played
> > 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 the
> > 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, ordering
> > ourselves another round of beers (fuckin' SEVEN DOLLARS for a bottle of
> > 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 hepcats 
>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 Yosef 
>(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 one 
>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 trenchs. 
>I
> > wobbled over to a little table in the back of the room where I'd spotted 
>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 Face"
> > (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 cattle 
>to
> > the front (myself pushing aside a comely wench at the barricade, almost
> > 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 the
> > keybs was a fresh-faced gent named Nick, looking quite the youngster but
> > handling his duties with aplomb. Rookie roadie Cliff sat aside the stage 
>in
> > the ready position, often dutifully scampering about like a ball-boy at
> > 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 move 
>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 and 
>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 Robyn 
>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 batteries
> > needed a recharging I suppose.
> >
> > Hours and dollars later, it was all over. The boys in the band repaired 
>back
> > to the bus. Exorcist fled back to Queens. Fluw and Colesy repaired back 
>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 before
> > Cliff handed me the setlist outside the venue (where Coles was convinced 
>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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