Author: Ira

Closing night of our 1986 tour, in Cleveland.  Headliner Pete Shelley’s soundcheck goes so long that we are forced to set up and hastily check after doors open.  When we get back to the shared dressing room and find we have it to ourselves, we decide to make our displeasure known, and take a single cherry tomato from the catering and place it in an empty guitar case that’s been left there.  Speaking of Cleveland, twelve years later, it’s tension-free as we share a bill with David Thomas and Two Pale Boys in Edinburgh, unless you count David’s backstage dismissal of skim milk as tension.  He accepts our invitation to sing “Pushin’ Too Hard” with us, to which he adds some stellar Ace Tone work, particularly when he removes one of his shoes and places it across the keys.  And just last year, we can be found in Mexico City for a wild show that includes a bra being thrown onstage during “I’ll Be Around.”  (And its own Cleveland content: an encore of “Accident.”)

 

. . .  when you’re the only surfer boy around.  Ray from Irving, Texas writes:  I won the Yo La Tengo surfboard just a few days after my birthday in ’03!  (My birthday is August 17; the contest winner was announced on the 22nd.)  Unfortunately, I had to part with it when my wife (now ex) and I moved to Japan in ’09.  So many regrets — selling that board . . .  moving to Japan . . . getting married.

We don’t recall exactly what was required of Ray before he won, but based on this news item culled from Matador’s website . . .

Win an unbelievably cool custom-designed Yo La Tengo surfboard, or runner-up prizes of autographed Yo La Tengo CDs, by entering our complicated contest which requires you to watch amusing video clips of Ira interacting with Jon Wurster of the Midnight Pajama Jam, along with puppets Lumpy and Scott Fellers.

. . . we’re guessing that distinguishing Jon Wurster from Jon Benjamin was a key component.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Twenty-two years ago today, we’re at CBGB with Chain Gang and Love Child.  Shades of the old CBGB, we play two sets: the first one is quiet and includes the premiere of “A Worrying Thing”; the encore for the loud set is our one and only performance of the Terraplanes’ “Evil Going On.”  Sounds like a full evening of entertainment, does it not?  If you said yes, then you clearly didn’t spend a lot of time at CBGB, who were famous/notorious, call it what you will, for adding one more group to mop up after the headliner.  If the band was lucky, there’d still be a few people in the club when you went on; there surely wouldn’t be by the time you finished (as we learned first-hand when we played the late late show for our 1985 Bowery and Bleecker debut).  And for the most part, that group would never be heard from again, as was the case on this night when the night concluded with an act called . . . let me check my notes . . .  the Dave Matthews Band.

 

Old friends and new on this date in YLT history.  Our 1986 tour is in the home stretch 28 years ago today in Nashville.  We are at the Exit/In and Flaming Lips are across the street at The End.  A jumping Monday night, yes?  Or no–when the two bands compare notes years later, it turns out that both blame their empty room on the other show.  In our case, our former Hoboken roommate Danny Amis is in the audience, until we bring him up to play “Penetration” which leads to another inter-band controversy.  I’ve always maintained that Danny taking the stage reduced the attendance to zero, and Lambchop’s Kurt Wagner insists he was there.  But I’ll bet he says that to Wayne Coyne, too.  Seven years later, we are in Köln for Popkomm, Germany’s Antwort to South by Southwest, laying the groundwork for the release of Painful.  City Slang chancellor Christof Ellinghaus introduces us to Rob Challice, who becomes our European booking agent, and has remained so for 21 years and counting.

 

This is going to go on awhile.

The Water Music sessions that resulted in the four studio songs on President Yo La Tengo were produced by Gene Holder, and were tremendously important to us.  We didn’t have a bassist at the time, but Gene had agreed to play, and that in itself was very exciting for the dB’s obsessives in the group (i.e. both of us).  But in his quiet way, he also expressed belief in what we were doing–it would not be exaggerating to say more belief than we had.  I recall distinctly playing him our cassette demo of “The Evil That Men Do–Craig’s Version” (recorded by Tara Key and, frustratingly, seemingly in neither her possession nor ours), explaining that the guitar part was just a placeholder till I came up with something better.  He countered that it was great, and I should play just that, so I did.  Similarly, the inclusion of “Alyda” is entirely Gene’s doing.  Georgia and I had recently returned from a duo acoustic tour, and Gene encouraged us to record something we’d been playing on that trip (and took a sniff from Georgia’s vocal track, sampled it, and used it as percussion).  We returned to Water Music with Gene to make Fakebook.  He kept asking how many songs we were planning to record, and I kept telling him 17 (two fell by the wayside, and “What Comes Next” got added–Gene again pushing us to play our original songs).  In a cost-cutting move that still makes me laugh, we recorded on 12 tracks, instead of 24, so were all the faders turned up on the two-inch master tapes, you’d hear two songs simultaneously.

In 1990, Gene consented to play a few shows with us, and even though Georgia threw a drumstick at him at the third one, he not only remained in the lineup, he agreed to travel to Europe for a week and a half of shows.  At half of them, we opened with a short Fakebook set, with Gene on lead guitar and Janet Wygal on bass, followed by a louder one.  Twenty-four years and two days ago, we played one set in Zurich, after which we drove all night, trying and failing to nap in the van, to the small Belgian city of Nieuwerkerken, where we were to be the opening act of the Neurorock festival.  Upon reaching the site, we undertook a surprisingly fruitless search for a cup of coffee.  As we set up, we were constantly being reminded that we had to go on at 11 a.m. sharp (I think it was 11), but looking around at the half-erected p.a., it seemed like our readiness was the least of their worries.  Ultimately everything was in place for an on-time departure.  Almost everything.  As we ripped through our set, I did pause to say that we were still looking for that elusive cup of coffee.  I guess my sarcasm was lost in translation, because minutes later three piping-hot cups were brought on stage.  Though tempted to halt the show for five minutes while we sipped a restorative beverage, we decided caffeination could wait till our set was over.  (Georgia would later find a thermos of coffee at catering, and just before receiving it, be asked to confirm that she was in some band that wasn’t ours.  She assured them she was, otherwise we might be waiting still.)  We wanted to stay for the headliners, Jesus and Mary Chain, but lack of sleep won out and we split.

The next day, 24 years ago today, we drive to Hamburg where, reminiscent of our hometown Hoboken Cinemas, which in its glory days featured a main feature at 6 and 10, with a co-feature at 8, we were scheduled to play between two sets by headliner Sylvia Juncosa.  Towards the end of our set, someone came on stage to tell us that Sylvia was not going to be able to play her second set, and we started negotiating terms for one more by us instead.  A meeting of the minds ensued, and we went back on.  Everything caught up with us right there: the days of intense travel, my insistence that we play songs we hadn’t played yet (and therefore probably didn’t know), and whatever adrenaline that had gotten us this far disappeared.  We played one of the worst sets we’ve ever played.  And slept very soundly that night.

Thanks, Gene.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Twenty-eight years ago today, we pulled into Columbia, SC and made our way to Maurice’s Piggie Park, unfortunately oblivious of half of Maurice’s resume.  On his death last year, one headline remembered him as “Barbecue eatery owner, segregationist.”   “BBQ baron and unrepentant racist” said another; and not for the first time, right now I’m wishing we had (a) eaten elsewhere and (b) not used a photo of the place as the cover of That Is Yo La Tengo.  Later on, we excused Dave Schramm from soundcheck so he could get to Capital City Stadium in time for the first pitch of that evening’s Columbia Mets game.  I promised to join him when we were done.  By the time I got to the ballpark, they were no longer charging admission, so I used my ticket money to purchase a t-shirt, which I still have.

Meanwhile, back home, Doug writes: Thought I’d let you know about the time that my wife Dorothy Lee and I used “Sugarcube” for our first dance in our wedding reception on August 18, 2012.  This event took place at Attic Studios in Long Island City, Queens, New York.  Also noteworthy is that we received as a wedding gift from our friend Ryan a vinyl copy of I Can Hear The Heart Beating As One signed by Georgia, Ira and James.  This was by far the most meaningful and treasured gift we received. It was and is amazing.  Dorothy and I have also seen YLT together probably 5 or 6 times, dating back to our pre-courtship days in 2003 at the Northampton Academy of Music, and as recently as December at the Bell House. Needless to say, YLT holds a special place in our marriage and relationship.