Field Report: New York City, June 2009, Part I

This Field Report is a little unusual in that it’s not so much based on catching a live performance, but more focused on a little musical adventure that I had while spending some time on the East Coast. Much like the record buying trip that Racer and I had in March, this trip to New York was more about what kind of odd ball and nifty nuggets I could come across. That’s not to say that there isn’t going to be a report on some live music . . . trust me, there’s live music in the future. I did travel by foot, bus, and train to catch one of my favorite bands, but that report will be addressed in the second part of this report. For the first portion, I want to share with you some of the sights and sounds that I discovered in New York City, primarily the offices of an influential record label and a few record stores of note. Oh, Waveriders . . . make sure you bring enough spending cash and suitcase room. You’re bound to find some stuff that you can’t live without.

Wednesday, June 17th started off with your fearless Pope walking the mean streets of New York. Growing up, all I ever saw on the tube, or heard from people was just how dangerous New York City is. You don’t want to make eye contact coz’ well, you’ll get stabbed. You don’t want to ride the subways . . . ever. Why not? Coz’ you’re gonna’ get stabbed. You don’t want to smile at someone passing on the streets coz’ they’ll see you as a softy or out of towner and, that’s right . . . you’re gonna’ get stabbed. Guess what folks . . . not my experience at all. In fact, I found that most people were willing to make eye contact right back at you and return a welcoming smile. But, I’m not here to poo poo on the hysteria. I’m here to tell you about this great record store that I stumbled on just off of Broadway (long f’n street, by the way) and just a hair south of Union Square. The store is called Second Hand Rose, located at 48 East 12th Street, and let me tell you . . . this joint was packed full of LP’s the likes I had never seen, and some that I immediately recognized and got all nostalgic with. http://www.shrosemusic.com/

You walk into Second Hand Rose and your head begins to spin. Do I look over there on the left and peruse the jazz section? How about the smallish box of CD’s in the middle of the store? No . . . wait! Do I spy with my wee little eye the location marker for a little ole band called Motorhead? Why, yes I do. Let’s start there, shall we? Man, this place was jam packed with albums from damn near every genre that you can imagine and there was no realistic way that I was going to see everything in one day. All of the music was used, as best as I could tell, but the quality of the merchandise was exceptional. Plus, there were a number of rarities mixed in, so if you do decide to stop by the shop, bring a miners hat, shovel, gloves, lots of water (make sure it’s in a sealable container, we don’t want to spill on the vinyl,) and most importantly, bring a good amount of time and a healthy sense of adventure. Personally, I walked out with a couple of items . . . I couldn’t very well blow my wad in the first store I chanced upon. Also, I had to make sure that I could get all of my purchases packed away in my luggage for the return trip. Anyway, I walked out with a copy of Heavy Weather from Weather Report. Yes, featuring the late great Jaco Pastorius and Joe Zawinul, and also features the superb sax talents of Wayne Shorter. I also found a copy of the latest Roots album. This pick up was kind of a stretch in that I’ve always been intrigued by The Roots, just never found the right opportunity to dig into their groove. Hell, the price was right and I was feelin’ the groove, so why not. FYI – the initial listen was pretty frickin’ awesome!

I continued walking south on Broadway, feeling the first strains of hunger kick in, ignored that nagging belly ache, and marched. Before too long, I was on Bleeker Street. Now, I knew Bleeker had record stores from my early reconnaissance leading up to this trip . . . it was just a matter of strolling past the store fronts to find what I was looking for. As I walked west on Bleeker, into the NYU area I passed countless stores pedaling coffee, electronics, clothes, and grub, and then found myself at the corner of Thompson. Just as I was stepping into the street to cross, I caught a glimpse of a red awning to my right with those magical letters scrawled across it. Record Store. Clouds parted, angels choired, I bee lined. As I walked into Generations Records (http://www.generationrecordsnyc.com/), I saw assailed by a wall of heat and humidity the likes I hadn’t felt since I was in New Orleans. Holy. I let my body acclimate to this new environment and slowly started wandering around the store. As always, I was drawn to the dark corner of the store where all of the metal was stored. I dug through some of the discs, looking for anything that would jump out at me, and at one point had an older Khold album in one hand and a Psyekup album in the other. As I continued perusing, a coupel of long haired hessian types came in, talked trash with each other, and then I heard one tell the other that he was going downstairs. Downstairs? I’m sorry . . . did someone say downstairs? So like some odd record shopper stalker guy, I followed the guys down the stairwell and, despite the overbearing heat and the reek of age, I found a new part of heaven. Vinyl to the left of me, Cd’s to the right . . . here I am, stuck in the middle . . . alright you readers can finish the line of the song if you’d like. Anyway, I began sifting through the miles of used vinyl, looking for anything and everything that tickled that special area, but I gotta’ admit . . . I just wasn’t feeling it. I wasn’t feeling that massive well of excitement from this find. Was it because Racer wasn’t a part of this adventure? Ah . . . it could be, but I really think that it was because I wanted to find something cool and collectible, not just cheap, used discs from the names we’ve all come to know and love. Ultimately, I decided to power through the new vinyl area to see if anything jumped out at me. This is when it all hit me. Long story short, I checked out of the store with a limited edition double gatefold LP from Wolves in the Throne Room (Two Hunters) on gold vinyl, the double live colored vinyl Thrash and Destroy from Hirax, the double vinyl live Killadelphia from Lamb of God, and a used, yet very clean copy of Tommy Bolin’s Private Eyes. I was suddenly very happy and fulfilled.

I walked out of the store, exhausted, with much the same feeling as a marathon night of sex, and noted the location of the store in my handy dandy tour notebook. I had to make sure that if I had more time later in this trip, or for future treks, that I had the location correct. I then made my way to a subway entrance and began my descent into the bowels of the city. I won’t go into great detail on the sheer fear I had as I took my first subway to destinations unknown. If you’re really interested, I may publish a firsthand account of The Pope’s First Solo Subway Ride for future consumption. Anyway, my main man Alex Gilbert with All About the Music contacted me and told me that he was at the offices of Earache Records (http://www.earache.com/) for an intern gig. He was basically inviting me on by the offices to hang out, meet the chaps running one of the world’s most extreme record labels, and talk with a band called Municipal Waste.

Soon, I was wandering around Long Island City, waiting for my metal brethren to guide to the mother ship. We walked through the doors of Earache and I was introduced to every person within those walls, including Al Dawson who runs the U.S. branch of the label. As many of you may know, Earache was originally formed in the late ‘80’s in the UK, releasing the first albums from Napalm Death, Carcass, Morbid Angel, Godflesh . . . I could go on and on, but these guys were responsible for dropping grindcore genre onto our unsuspecting ears. And then, as I shook hands with the good Mr. Dawson and took in the tales of the labels meager beginnings, I realized that I was in the midst of legends. Pretty fucking cool sensation, to say the least. The folks at Earache live the music. None of these guys are getting rich doing their thing, at least not in a monetary fashion. They’re probably a whole lot richer in the sense that they’re helping to create the music and art that they want to, and that which makes them happy. They’re doing it for the love. Though the atmosphere of the offices were laid back and welcoming, I got the sense that everybody there would die for their love of the music and if they had to meet some deadline, everybody would stay through the wee hours of the night to ensure the job got done.

The Municipal Waste guys had just finished up a video interview and I was asked by the PR guys if I wanted to do a quick interview. Having never heard of the band before, I graciously declined the invitation stating that it would probably be the most awkward interview the band would ever give. We’ll just go ahead and leave the awkwardness to others. And, after a slice of pizza and my first soda in about six years, I said my thanks and good-byes, wished everybody the greatest success, and limped back to my train station to get back to the city.

That night, Alex tracked me down in my neck of the woods and we planted our asses at a bar for the next five hours or so. Pints went down, music was played, and conversations were had about the music being played, about our futures with music, music, music, music . . . and the room tilted to one side and then the next. I bruised my hand in emphatic speech, my voice got louder and louder, and I only pee’d once. It was a good night and ended with me sitting up until 5:00 am playing video games. I smiled knowing that this was only day one of a ten day trip. Ha! - Pope JTE