Author: Ira

Our second show at CBGB, and our second show in New York City period, takes place 29 years ago today.  For the first time, we put our own package of bands together, and not only does the club go for it, they give us a Thursday night, and don’t even add an extra group in the graveyard shift.  On the bill is The Scene Is Now and Last Roundup.  Two years later, we’re at CBGB again–this time it’s the New Music Seminar, and we’re part of an eclectic lineup including the Wipers and the Silos.  It’s our first time in New York since becoming a trio again.

RIP Tommy.

 

Tension’s running high on this day seven years ago at Sirius radio.  Our Left of the Dial session in the fish bowl studio goes ok, despite the distraction of seeing infamous enemy of trios, Little Steven, lurking on the premises.  (And yes, I know that when Little Steven critiqued the concept of the trio, he specifically carved out an exception for those like us who are “virtuoso musician based,” but nevertheless we remain just as offended on behalf of our less technically blessed brethren and sistren.)  But then, as we’re leaving, our paths cross in the hallway.  Awkward!  Three years later–and I’ll be honest, no closer to “making it” than we were in 2007–we’ve got a high profile show in Camden: WXPN’s eXPoNential festival.  We decide to leave nothing to chance and ask four members of the Sun Ra Arkestra to sit in on our final three numbers.  I can be obstinate at times–ask anyone–but I have to admit it went very well.

 

I saw the Joshua Light Show in action at the Fillmore East in 1968 and it was something of a mindblower, even without the foreknowledge that nearly 36 years later, I would find myself collaborating with Joshua himself and Gary Panter, at the Anthology Film Archives.  Ten years ago today, in a role reversal from the Fillmore days, we set up behind the screen, and improvised to the images.  It was a tight squeeze, but the greatest challenge was convincing Josh that we could react to the moods he and Gary were creating, and that there would be no need for the pre-recorded music that he wanted us to play along with.  With Gary’s help, he agreed to let us perform unaccompanied, except for one of the five (I think it was five) segments.  There were two shows scheduled, but when demand outstripped capacity, we were asked to do a third show.  Deploying our toughest negotiation posture, we said yes, on the condition that there’d be no music but ours at the late show.

 

The summer is, in our opinion, among the hottest times of the year.  Our beat-the-heat tips do not include performing in the middle of the afternoon on a stage constructed on blacktop, but that’s frequently where we found ourselves before and after this day in 1995.  (They do include air-conditioned movie theaters, which is why on a night off in Columbus we went to see Smoke, passing up Darryl Strawberry in a rehab game with the Clippers.)  Nineteen years ago today, we’re in Chicago, in the midst of a lethal heat wave, though I don’t recall it standing out weatherwise.  The baseball obsessive in me loved the ritual of the Lollapalooza shows, comparable to getting to the park hours before the game.  We’d drink water and avoid the sun as much as possible until it was time to set up our gear, which was our opportunity to choose the music heard over the p.a.–we always selected The World of Willie Restum at the Dream Bar in Miami Beach.  If you know the Trish Van Devere episode of Columbo was well as I do (and I hope you do) then you’ll recognize how every song on that record became our personal countdown to our tasks at hand.  We played an encore in Chicago–according to my notes we found a way to turn “Tired of Waiting for You” and “Speeding Motorcycle” into a medley.  You’ll have to ask Aadam Jacobs just how.

 

It was, as they say, 20 years ago today.  Georgia and I are in Olympia, WA, playing a duo acoustic set at Yoyo A Go-Go (and boy is the internet undecided about the correct punctuation).  However it’s my appearance two days earlier that causes the bigger stir, landing me on the front page of the newspaper.  Modesty compels me to note that there might have been other factors contributing to the media deluge, specifically it being the first time that Krist Novoselic and Dave Grohl had shared a stage since the death of Kurt Cobain.  I had signed on to play guitar with the Stinky Puffs, fronted by Jad Fair’s then-wife Sheena’s son, Simon (and including both Jad and Sheena in the band).  Half Japanese, you may recall, had toured with Nirvana, and Simon had written a song about Kurt called “I Love You Anyway.”  Can’t recall when I first heard Krist would be involved, but I know for sure that he was in the dressing room with us beforehand, running through the tunes.  Dave joined the group during changeover.  A second drum set was located and that was that–I believe he is the only person I’ve ever been in a band with that I’ve never met.  Perhaps someone with better search engine skills than mine can find the live photo that names the band from left to right, identifying Eric Eble (who relinquished his bass to Krist, and joined me on guitar) and me as “two others.”

 

 

 

Four years ago on this day, we opened for Wilco in Coney Island at the Cyclones’ stadium.  Was fun playing both our set and joining Wilco on “Spiders (Kidsmoke),” but I have to say my favorite part of the night happened offstage.  The path to our dressing room was through the third-base dugout.  When some people applauded for us as we left the field, I instantly realized this was likely to be my only opportunity to take a baseball player’s curtain call, so I emerged from the dugout, waved to the fans, and went to the trainer’s room to ice my hammy.  Three years later, we opened for Belle & Sebastian in Pittsburgh while the Mets played the Pirates next door to our venue.  Hated to miss the game (which the Mets lost 4-2), but we were very happy to have auxiliary B&S members C. J. Camerieri and Max Moston sit in on “Before We Run.”  Anna writes from Toulouse, so unsurprisingly she has nothing to say about baseball, but it does include a return to Brooklyn:  My first “live” encounter with Yo La Tengo took place in Summer 2006, back when I used to live in New York City.  I was lucky enough to catch your amazing concert in Prospect Park, where you performed a goosebump-inducing soundtrack to Jean Painlevé’s “legendary but rarely seen” series of underwater documentaries.  My friend Joan and I left the concert in a state of awe, and I did not realize I had lost my wallet until I reached the subway station.  I tried my luck and went back to the park entrance, where security directed me to the band’s merchandise stand.  There, a man handed me over my precious wallet, and I profusely thanked him while checking out credit cards and banknotes, and luckily nothing was missing.  I caught Joan gaping in wonder, and as we headed back to the station he blurted out: “It was Ira!!!  It was Ira who gave you back your wallet!”, and as I turned around, sure enough it was him, the kind person who smiled at me, and was now chatting away and helping out at the stand.  This anecdote only reinforced my love for the band, and having moved to Florence, Italy, I could not miss your intimate concert at the Auditorium Flog, in November 2009.  It was another wonderful experience, and I truly hope to “meet” you again in the future, wherever I am in the world, as I always come out of your concerts renewed.