[kj] New York Report!

[Robin Noelle McFayden]

Alex & "The Gathering Crew"....

It was great to meet everyone last night and I hope it wasn't taken
personally that Sean and I didn't partake in the drinking festivities after
the show. I really wish I could have hung out, but "Mom" had to go home. I
had two kids to get off to school in the morning and my 1 year old, Trinity,
that gets up at 6 AM........who would be fully rested and prepared to run
circles around me. Needless to say, it was a LONG day!
Last night was excellent, although I'm left craving more.........debating on
whether I could pull off making a run to Philly on Sunday night. Hmmmmm.....
found ticket info on CC.com /  http://cc.com/artist.asp?artistid=13785 - and
see that they'll also be in Minneapolis on November 3rd........my brother
lives in St. Paul.... ha, ha, ha - wow, this is addictive.
Is Raven always so intimidating? I was beginning to think if I looked at him
crooked I might regret it. Sean and I were pressed up against the metal
barricade right in front of him during the show so I was *HAPPY* - something
about those camo shorts (mind wandering). Ok, back to reality.... It was
amusing to me when he was spitting water on the photographers.......he is
definitely a character.
I must admit that you guys made my night after the show. I was starting to
feel a bit disappointed and out of the loop that I hadn't met any of you -
only to walk downstairs and hear "ROBIN" yelled in unison from across the
room. It was a great ending to a superb night. Hopefully I will have the
pleasure of meeting up with some of you again sometime.

With Jester pig-tails and smiles in New Jersey.......

Robin  :-)


----- Original Message -----
From: "Alex Smith" <vassifer@earthlink.net>
To: <gathering@misera.net>; <gathering@misera.net>; <gathering@misera.net>
Sent: Thursday, October 23, 2003 12:41 PM
Subject: [kj] New York Report!


>
> 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 ba
ck
> 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
>
>
>
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>