Sax-a-ma-phone... Sax-a-ma-phone

Happy Monday after Thanksgiving. The management would like to apologize for the recent lag in post frequency.

Between the MoMA reopening and a much-needed week in Miami, it has been difficult to get up the will to write. Here's a free tip: if you're trying to dry out, don't spend a week with your party-happy parents and their 1,000-bottle wine cellar. I have reached the fat-with-a-beard-Jim-Morrison stage in my development as an alcoholic.

As promised, above is a Zutons pic from the MoMA opening. Below is Perry Farrell on the wheels of steel. Turns out camera phones take sucky pictures. Who knew?



A special thanks to all those who ventured to the mysterious heart of Brooklyn for the final nail in the coffin. Despite less-than-stellar turnout, a great time was had by all. Bacardi and Cola played a spirited debut set (if I do say so ourselves). It was an auspicious start at the very least.

As I reintegrate myself into non-vacation society, I leave you with these delectable treats:

First, from the "give me a fucking break" file, the kids who sing the "We don't need no education..." part in Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall, Part 2" are suing for back royalties. Second, LK sent me this, which he referred to as "without a doubt the best thing ever created by western civilization." I'm inclined to agree.

**UPDATE: the above link has been updated.** Also, here's a slightly exaggerated recap of the Zutons' MoMA gig from NME

MoMAnia: The Triumphant Return of a Cultural Juggernaut

The management is proud to bring you a first-hand report from Manhattan's Cultural Event of the Year: The Museum of Modern Art's opening shindig.

Here's the short version: Holy Fucking Shit.

Here's the long version: After toiling away on this reopening for the better part of two years, the culmination of our efforts is finally in sight. The museum opens to the public on Saturday, but last night was the big premiere party.

Confirmed celebrity sightings: Alan Cumming in this cool white tuxedo (That dude is seriously tiny... I wanted to hug him.); David Byrne (I swear to god I see this man everywhere.); Marisa Tomei (Who cares?); Alicia Silverstone (Wouldn't have figured her for an art lover, but whatevs.); Tom Brokaw. Rumored no-shows(?): Gwinny and Chris Martin and Renee Zelweger. Oh and earlier that day I was working at the front desk and Debbie Harry asked us for a Sharpie. We didn't have one. I was so starstruck that I stared at her with my mouth open and couldn't talk. Diagnosis: Embarassing retard.

Music: First, Ryuichi Sakamoto treated everyone to a hopelessly avant-garde DJ/laptop set that sounded like dogshit in the "soaring 110-foot-tall atrium." Apparently trustees were complaining all night about the horrible racket. Don't you just wanna punch old people? Next, an amazing live set by The Zutons up in the temporary exhibition galleries. Oh man... they were so great. And I was apparently one of three people in the building who had actually heard of them. Word is that Sigur Ros was originally scheduled for this slot, but they cancelled at the last minute. Thank the lord Jesus in heaven for small favors. If I wanted to go to sleep, I'd stay at home in bed, thank you very much. Finally, none other than Perry Farrell, looking quite dapper in a shirt and tie, played the most middle-of-the-road, lowest-common-denominator DJ set in history. If he had played "Brick House" or "Bust a Move" it would have fit in perfectly. But he was having fun and the crowd was dancing like maniacs, so well done sir. Note: The management will post pictures the moment new camera phone technology is understood. Photos are currently trapped on phone.

Drinkin', dancin', and art appreciatin' is hard work, but we sucked it up and headed to the afterparty at MoMA's pet bar, Connelly's. We had pockets full of cash, brains full of free booze, and Zutons David McCabe and Boyan Chowdhury in tow. Newsflash: Liverpudlians can drink. Left bar too drunk to see... went to breakfast... crawled into bed at 5:15 a.m. Brain cells killed: 23,000,000. Cocktails consumed: unknown. Number of times "Awesome!" was yelled: 12,345. Hours late for work: 2.

Final analysis and conclusions: Liverpudlians can drink. Saxamaphone may be poised for a legitimate return to rock-music respectability. Canadian Club whiskey is my new best friend. MoMA is an astounding place for looking at art and a bad place for listening to music. Of all people, Perry Farrell should know that "Give It Away Now" is a crappy song. The Museum of Modern Art is genuinely breathtaking and I would recommend seeing it on acid (unless you are afraid of heights... then you would go insane with fear and claw your own eyes out). I have been either drunk or hung over for the last 72 hours and I think I might be dying.

Also, you should come to the party tomorrow night.

New Heaven Resident Celebrates Arrival with Year's Biggest Party

HEAVEN, November 15, 2005 -- A "crack" team of 17 angels has been called in to perform a miracle of unprecedented scope this morning. At the request of Rick James and new resident Ol' Dirty Bastard, the winged seraphim have been deployed to cook up what officials are calling "the biggest crack rock ever seen in the Kingdom of God." According to a herald close to the Almighty, "The city in the clouds is about to produce some clouds of its own, as Rick James and ODB are planning what they have billed as 'the biggest mothafuckin' crack party they ever had up in this piece' for next weekend."

Another source close to the Lord of All Creation, St. Peter, voiced some concerns about the admission of Heaven's newest celebrity resident. "Frankly, I'm a little taken aback by Yahweh's decision in this. Of course, I'm not one to second guess the Alpha and Omega, but it did come as quite a surprise. At least [ODB] changed his name back from Big Baby Jesus. There would have been no end to the confusion up here if he was still calling himself that."

While some nearby residents have also indicated their trepidation, primarily citing noise concerns and insufficient parking, most of the Blessed and the Host of Heaven are looking forward to the celebration. In addition to several official envoys of Jahova and the First Son himself, Jesus of Nazareth, confirmed attendees include Biggie Smalls and roommate Tupac Shakur, John Belushi, Keith Moon, Jimi Hendrix, John the Baptist, Jam Master Jay, Miles Davis, and Jessica Tandy.

Although the King of Kings has thus far declined official comment, a spokesman for Jesus Christ, speaking under condition of anonymity, stated that the Messiah is "extremely excited about joining Mr. James and Mr. Bastard in the ceremonial first hit off the glass dick," Adding, "Whether your name is Big Baby Jesus, Dirt McGirt, or just plain Jesus, everyone is going to get higher than a motherfucker at this jump-off."

The End Of Innocence

**UPDATE** T-minus 5 hours and counting to the Interpol show. Should be a sweet dose of gloom and glory. Here are some treats for the weekend. This will make you laugh. This will, too. This will serve as a useful guide to people who don't already know what kind of music they like (via Lindsayism). Bon weekend!


BLOGFLYER
Originally uploaded by the management.

All the earth-shaking and doom-bringing culminates in this Bacchanalian orgy of dancing, drinking, drugging, pillaging, and grownup hugging.

If you're gonna be in the New York area, drop me a line and I can provide location and directions. It's gonna be a serious throw-down. The climax will be the management's ritual suicide at 3:00 a.m.

Vincent D'Onofrio: Portrait of a Cracked Actor

I AM In a World of Shit

I am a big Vincent D'Onofrio fan. Even his name is cool. He was great in Full Metal Jacket, Mystic Pizza, and Adventures in Babysitting, and he was perfect as Orson Welles in Ed Wood. And I'm apparently the only person on Earth who thinks Law & Order: Criminal Intent is awesome. The way he always cocks his head to one side and almost puts his ear on the table during interrogations... so friggin' weird. Plus there's that strange bump in the middle of his head. He's always quite the odd bird.

Aaaanyhooo... It comes as little surprise that ol' Vinnie is completely off his tit. Some months ago, we were having a nice birthday dinner for tobyspinks at the Maritime Hotel, and Vinny D. was there, hunched over and chain smoking and acting mysterious. He seemd a little off even then. Well, rumor has it that he's started to go all the way around the bend. Apparently he just can't deal with the Gee Dubya victory. At least he's melting down for a good reason. Not sure why this was worth a post, but cuckoo character actors are way more interesting than big stars.

Calling Dr. Dre to Surgery

I think they're forming a supergroup over in C Ward. As Marc Almond continues to recover from head injuries, Paul Weller has been admitted to the hospital with a severe throat infection. Perhaps autograph hunters should just start camping out in London emergency rooms.

Consumerism update:

Saw I ♥ Huckabees last night. Very entertaining, if a bit muddled. Actually, the film's utter incoherence was the source of its charm. The most unexpected thing about the movie was Marky "Feel It, Feel It" Mark, who was goddamned funny. Finally picked up the 3-CD DFA Compilation #2. Surprise, surprise... it's great, with the exception of any track by Black Dice, who are the worst fucking "band" in history. I wish Eye Yamatsuka and The Boredoms would fly over here and beat the shit out of the guys in Black Dice just for being so dumb.

Stay tuned for detailed commentary on the season premiere of The O.C., which I finally got my hands on today. Oh when shall our home have TiVo???

What's Wrong with this Picture?

The world is turning upside-down, people. As of last night's season premiere, The Simpsons is 100% not funny anymore. For the first time ever, they went through one entire season of mediocrity, and they started out with another loud, wet thud. The trailer for the next Star Wars film looks... pretty damn good. The Red Sox won the World Series. Damien Thorn... OOPS!... I mean, GeeDubya Bush won the election. The Secretary of Spousal Affairs has tickets to see Slayer this week... and the management does not. Something isn't right. These are dark omens, portentious and fearful.

What's next? Snow in Hawaii? Talking dogs? Will the U.S. abandon the Red, White, and Blue, opting instead for the colors of the Miami Dolphins? Maybe when we go to see Interpol this Friday, they'll open their set with the Bay City Rollers' "Saturday Night."

There can be only one reason for these strange occurrences. Only one explanation for these minute ripples in the space-time continuum.

The Management is turning 30 in two weeks.

Here's what to expect in the days to come:

"There was a great earthquake. The sun turned black like sackcloth made of goat hair, the whole moon turned blood red, and the stars in the sky fell to earth, as late figs drop from a fig tree when shaken by a strong wind. The sky receded like a scroll, rolling up, and every mountain and island was removed from its place."

Details on the culmination of these dire happenings are forthcoming. In the meantime, you may want to make your peace with your people and your god.

TTFN!

Nonalignment Pact (or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Get Out of Bed)

Jesusland
Originally uploaded by the management.

Thanks to Robbb for the new map of North America (well, the parts that count anyway... Lo ciento mucho, Mexico!!). Also, thanks to Pere Ubu for the title inspiration.

In the wake of America's decision to replace the Constitution with the New Testament, many of us have been heard to remark--half-seriously--that it's time to move to a more enlightened neck of the woods. Scandinavia comes up a lot, as does our hockey-loving neighbor in the Great White North. Not that the Quebequois would even let us in, but Vancouver could work. Anyway, the management would like to propose a slightly more... um, offbeat approach.

Instead of moving away, I propose a kind of mental and spiritual secession from the mainstream. (Here in New York that's relatively easy. For Manhattanites, the rest of the country is a slow, boring wasteland populated by toothless yokels. And, judging by the vote distribution on Monday, we're not far off.) For those of us with a brain in our heads and anything other than the love of Christ in our hearts, it's time to drop off the grid, militia-style. Of course, instead of stockpiling weapons we'll need to hoard other threatened contraband: Henry Miller novels, beer with alcohol content higher than 3.2%, the Bill of Rights, J.S. Mill's On Liberty, porn, some albums with naughty lyrics, George Carlin, and some ministers willing to perform same-sex marriages. Who's with me?

So Wednesday night was the long-awaited Futureheads show. It was one of the best things I've seen in a long while, but they didn't go on until midnight, by which time LK and I were utterly fucking plastered. For a cogent recap of the show, check out The Modern Age. Also, three new albums I must pick up in order to bask in the hottness: the three-disc DFA Compilation Vol. 2, The Soft Pink Truth's Do You Want New Wave or Do You Want the Soft Pink Truth?, and Death from Above 1979's You're a Woman, I'm a Machine. You heard it here first, pizzarty pizzeeple.

Tonight is the staff reception at the new, improved Mueum of Modern Art, home of the management's day job. We's fit to git effed up, art-history-major steez. I'ma pour one out for my dead homiez from da Italian Futurist movement. Peace!

(Just Under One Half of) A Nation Mourns

Cobra Commander's bid for President ended yesterday when he was defeated by the incumbent. Several issues were in play, but gay marriage came up big. As the eleven seperate state-level anti-gay marriage referendums indicated, Americans just aren't ready to accept the kind of inclusive lifestyle policies championed by Cobra Commander and his domestic partner (and likely Secretary of Defense), Destro. It appears that America is, however, ready to accept fundamentalist Christianity as the primary motivating force behind both foreign and domestic policy. Initial reports indicate that John Ashcroft was last seen at the Bush victory banquet, stuffing himself with spareribs and using the Bill of Rights as a bib.

Congratulations! A clear majority raised its collective voice and announced that xenophobia, bigotry, unchecked aggression, fiscal irresponsibility, corporate croneyism, the ready availability of assault weapons, the oppression of women, and the development of a borderline plutocracy are America's main priorities. Now let's get to work dismantling this pesky separation of church and state, 'cuz there's baby killers and faggots and Arabs that need persecutin'!

So for those of you considering immediate expatriation, I offer this.

The fervent liberalism of Monday night's Le Tigre show seems like another life now. Good lord, Kathleen Hannah is delectable. Too bad she'll be one of the first herded into the camps. Sugar D and I have tickets to see The Futureheads tonight, but something tells me they're going to develop sudden visa problems. Maybe Tony Blair can write them a note or something. "Dear George, these lads are okay. They are really, really fond of Jesus. They promise that they are not terrorists or subversives of any kind. Your bitch forever, Tony."

In truly important news, the Lakers won last night! That's just not the upset I was hoping for.

The management would like to take this opportunity to express its severe depression and all-consuming desire for a beer.

Your Next President

Cobra Wants You
Originally uploaded by the management.

On this, the eve of election 2004, we all have a tough choice to make. The Management urges each and every voter to consider every alternative to the current business-as-usual administration. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you your next President: Cobra Commander.