THERES NOTHING more liberating than an evening at Losers Lounge ...
The evening is full of pleasant surprises that could only be matched by Loser's Lounge covering the songs of a black person. There's also the bafflement of finding out that both couples at my table met through match.com. This makes me pine for the days of free love when your girlfriend was whatever you picked up at Jules who didn't have herpes sores showing the next morning through her Chanel Vamp lipstick.
There's more nostalgia as a snowstorm then cancels several events, but also provides the rare sight of an abandoned Brooklyn that resembles the desolate stretches once utilized in any number of cheap 1980s Italian post-apocalyptic direct-to-video movies. Fortunately, encroaching weather or years can't stop the hearty Jayne County from kicking off her April residency at Manitoba's, continuing as the best DJ in town wearing spectacles (and constantly peering over them in a bid to avoid bifocals). "Lord, honey, I can't see without them," explains the shameless Gray Punk Panther, in a Georgia twang that suggests her green wig could easily be replaced by a blue rinse.
It's also always nice to see Chris Whitley, if only because he looks like he's worth an easy 100 points in a round of Resident Evil. A soundcheck at Village Underground seems like a rare chance to find him acting coherent onstage. Instead, it turns out that the bluesman is now clean and sober, even as his labelmates note that Whitley's struggling to stay alive.
"I don't know why people think that," the amiable Whitley responds, lighting a cigarette. "I was just drinking way too much and not eating enough. People always thought I was shooting heroin because I've always been thin and I have big veins. Maybe I shouldn't have started fucking with people's heads by writing songs with drug references."
Hotel Vast Horizon, incidentally, is an amazing new album that sounds like a blues and Americana hangover. In fact, it's everything except the blues/punk cash-in that Whitley could have easily scored, especially with his close resemblance to an actual white stripe.
"I'm not into rock anymore," Whitley explains. "I just don't care for the sound of it. I can't get into jam bands, either. You know, I grew up with my parents listening to Led Zeppelin."
Now feeling older than Whitley looks, it's off to the press conference for the upcoming 22nd International Reggae & World Music Awards?which will rank high in the annals of events that make you wonder why they need a press conference. That question is partly answered by the mandatory $3 coat check at the door of Discotheque.
The event is important enough that the presenters don't bother learning the names of the special guest performers. Others find "Best Poet" nominee Tehut-Nine to be more memorable, as he gives a reading that explains, "You don't get shot 41 times because you're black in Iraq." Judging from his use of the word "faggot," though, Tehut-Nine and his fans are pretty happy about other types executed under Saddam's regime.
But nobody's here to debate politics, as further demonstrated by my skipping some big civil liberties debate at the CUNY Graduate Center, and simply making a final stop in time for the open bar at the after-party. The consensus, incidentally, is that everyone in the audience began in favor of civil liberties, but changed their mind after ACLU President Nadine Strossen wouldn't stop shouting.