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Showing posts from April, 2011

Last Saturday I read Rollin's Black Coffee Blues

Black Coffee Blues by Henry Rollins is disturbing. The repetitive violent themes revolve around suicide, homoerotic fantasy, murder, and an overall misery. There is really no concrete fiction to speak of since this is a collection of random and disturbing thoughts. Henry likes to shock his audience, but the most disturbing features consisted of at least two incestuous depictions of a father and son. Did his father try something? This thin collection was the least of my favorites as I swim through Rollins this year.

My business trip to Brazil

4/25/11 1602
To get the blunt honest truth give me a couple of drinks and we’ll start the tour of San Paulo Brazil. Compare d to Rio, this is where the work horses come and feed on their scraps. Where grey clouds followed me from New York, where fucking think prick motorcycle drivers abandon the rules of the road and cut in front by inches in front of smoldering bumpers, where rotting dog carcasses, their fat basking in the sun boil line a highway. This is where the buildings are grey. Consume me Bohemia beer, meat, Novilho de Prata flesh of the metal cords, the men come to the dinner to slice off the once living blood. The creatures crawl in high heels, a warm breeze blows through the room and I consider sleep and more sleep and more Bohemia beer and the Cuban cigar I can sit and meditate outside away from the churches, you shouldn’t do that, “That’s what Sister Ray said.” The smoke of distant ghetto fires where the hunger to survive corrupts the youth. You shouldn’t do that, …

Masters of Jazz, Ravi Coltrane, Jazz Standard

Jazz Standard this past Wednesday was sold out for two shows. It was a rare treat as some masters of jazz played Coltrane’s first Impulse release Africa/Brass. Here’s my dilemma since I can’t say if Ravi Coltrane was the headliner. The occasion was a celebration of Impulse records. An amazing group that consisted of the gentleman Cecil McBee on bass, the pugnacious Dave Libeman on sax and flute, Billy Hart on drums and the blessed Phil Markowitz on piano. Mr. Liebman made a comment that Joe Lovano was supposed to be there? I vaguely remember seeing the schedule couple of weeks ago, and seeing Joe’s name. In the audience was the owner or Impulse, Ashley Kahn who wrote a jazz book on Impulse and Coltrane’s Love Supreme. Mr. Kahn was speaking to Ravi before the show, while I stood to the side trying to get a word in. I did and we spoke about the house in Dix Hills and what did he say? We’re all volunteers and there is only so much we can do…
I was lucky to get a ticket. I got t…

Reading Buk's Post Office in a day

This past Saturday I went to the library to pick up a CD and to find a good book to read. The day before I finished Knut Hamsun’s Hunger while riding the train back home. I’ve been on a mission to read more often. In the past I would consider Bukowski’s Post Office as one of my all time favorites. I took out a paperback edition and read the whole thing in one day. For me that’s quite an accomplishment. My wife, Ali can tear through a book if it grabs her. I enjoyed the book, it was a good story, but was disturbed by the Bukowski’s alter ego, Henry Chinanski brutalized women, referred to his girl friend as bitch and the outright rape scenes. What sucks is that every woman wants to fuck Henry. To depict all women this way is an insult. This book was published in the era of women’s rights, bra burning and sexual equality, but this book kicks all these rights in the ass. Instead of getting distracted by this, I’d like to point out that his writing is bare minimum, straight shoo…

Mike Watt at Maxwell's

So a couple of weeks ago I’m checking into the best radio show on Long Island Finn’s Revolution Tuesday Nights on WUSB. His guest was the legend Mike Watt from Minutemen and firehouse fame who released a new album, Hyphenated Man on his own record label, Clenched Fist. Do your ears and soul a favor - order a copy. The progressive, complex and erratic album is in your face – bold! Each song flows like a rock stuck deep in the grooves of a tire - smacking the pavement on a lone Nevada highway. The songs follow you. You know it’s there and it sounds like it belongs, that’s Watt – he belongs in our ears. On the radio, Watt was the wise master who spilled wisdom to the listeners, only possible by Finn’s knowledge of punk history. During the interview, there was a contest to give out copies of the new album and then another for tickets to see Watt and The Missingmen at Mercury Lounge. I won a copy of the CD and received the copy and the tix for the show the night before seeing them …