The NYPD raided Zuccotti Park early yesterday morning, sweeping up tents, tables, books, signs, bins, bags, and people; clearing it out enough that you could actually see the light panels between the paving stones. (The park's owners even turned them back on.) The Occupiers had seen it coming, sort of -- they'd published a number several weeks ago that you could text to be notified of an event like this, with the idea, I guess, that you could show up and be biomass. I didn't sign up, though, and so I learned of the raid ex post facto, waking up to the news as reported to me by NPR in my cozy Park Slope apartment. I didn't feel like I needed to go to Liberty Plaza to see the aftermath; I knew there'd be video of the destruction as it happened and that it'd be much chewed-over by everyone. And I'd also apparently slept through an early-morning rally at Foley Square. So I resolved to go before work to Duarte Square, over on Canal St. and 6th Ave., which a breathless email from the "Occupied Kitchen" address had designated as the "new" Occupy Wall Street headquarters.
Lugging my customary weekly tribute of several dozen bagels from Bagel World, I found Duarte Square less than half full, with most of the people kind of milling about on the north side of the park. Some people were perched on the top bar of the chain-link fence that separated the square from the neighboring lot owned by Trinity Church; they were holding a big yellow Occupy Wall Street banner. Everyone seemed pretty bummed out. Nobody seemed to be in charge. I couldn't figure out who to give the food to, and didn't want to be take responsibility for distributing it myself. Luckily, I found one of the heroic and perpetually beleaguered OWS medics (identifiable via their olive drab-and-red cross uniforms) who was gracious enough to "own" the bagels for me. Eventually the police started to show up, massing in the dozens on the eastern side of the park. With them was Detective Rick Lee, the infamous "hipster cop," crossing the park from Canal St. and heading in the direction of the protesters. Consistent with his reputation, he was impeccably dressed (trench coat, vest, tie) and had uniformly ecru hair. Nobody seemed tense or upset, but I took that as my cue to leave, since I was already late for work. And I flinched a little walking past the uncannily realistic cop mannequin in the window of the security camera place down the block.
That night, Chris and Alec and Nina and I went to go see Titus Andronicus and Fucked Up play a show at Warsaw. It seemed like an inappropriate time to rock out, but what could we do? We already had the tickets. When I got there there was a band on stage called Liquor Store, which hails, I think, from Glen Rock, the sort-of hometown of Titus. I'll cop to being put off by them at first, because oh man were these guys ever gross: The lead singer was a sweaty goon sporting a John Waters mustache; his weird, too-light eyes -- like those of a wharf drunk who'd fallen asleep on the beach -- bugging out below a dirty knit cap. The bass player was a downright skeletal dude with a catatonic demeanor -- a real heavy metal roadie-looking guy, like if you put Derek Smalls on the rack and fed him a bunch of quaaludes. Both guys were pretty much exactly the type of guy you wouldn't want to date your daughter, which is, I think, the look they were cultivating. But they sounded punchy and rehearsed, the songs were catchy sing-alongs a la Wimpy-era Queers, and the lead singer's insistence on conducting all of the inter-song banter in a mix of grunts and gibberish cracked me up. So I'm gonna say they're pretty cool. They're pretty cool!
Titus Andronicus took the stage after they finished up. They've changed: Amy is gone, replaced by another squirrely-looking white dude; Patrick's beard is gone, although that forehead of his still gives his glower the same Neanderthal intensity. I assumed he'd have something to say about Occupy Wall Street, on account of the big cardboard tiles (paint-lettered 'O', 'W', 'S') they'd brought up on stage with them, and, well, just 'cuz it's them, and I wasn't wrong. The raid was bullshit, he said, as soon as he got on mic. And it was bullshit that the constitutional rights of the Occupiers were violated "by the people that are sworn to uphold [them]." We agreed. "Shit is fucked up, but we're going to survive," he added, lest the proceedings wax too gloomy. And then they opened with a version of "Fear And Loathing In Mahwah, NJ" dedicated to Mike Bloomberg. And they rocked! They followed up with what is quite possibly my favorite song of theirs, "Richard II (etc.)" I danced, hard, to everything, pushing and shoving as required, reaching for Patrick's guitar when he said, "Watch me!" I thought about conspiring with Chris to put Nina up, but her venture into the pit resulted in her getting whomped in the nose by some kid's elbow, which seemed to temporarily poison the experience for her. She stalked off to drink beer. Absent from their set were some of their standards, like their theme song and "No Future Part III;" but this might have been to make room for a couple of new songs they played, from an album that is currently in the works. I really liked the one called "In A Big City," which reminded me of The Jam and The Pogues -- in a good way, although they might resent the comparison.
Nina returned, though, and we positioned ourselves off to one side of the stage, deferentially, to make room for the people who were bigger Fucked Up fans than we were. (Which put us right next to the bass player from Liquor Store.) Damian came out wearing a big purple tie-dyed shirt and carrying his son, whom he briefly presented to the crowd, Lion King style, before handing him off back stage. The shirt stayed on for maybe one and a half songs, and then he took it off and it was just like all the concert photos you've ever seen of the band. But those photos don't do justice to the spectacle in motion: A huge, sweaty, bald, hairy, mostly naked guy charging up and down the stage and down into the audience, roaring into the microphone as he's mobbed by adoring punks and boosts them up onto the stage, onto his back, onto the hands of the rest of the crowd, paying special attention to the dudes in the audience that look most like him (heavy-set, hirsute); while the band -- five comparatively clean cut and prim-looking people -- rock out in strict formation. It's pretty nuts to behold. You know me, babies, I've been to shows, but my mouth fell open involuntarily several times during their set. Damian's crowd work is like watching a crime or a bar fight or a video game "boss battle" -- it's visually arresting because of how dynamic and wonderful it is. And the band doesn't sound quite like anything else, either: Obviously it's easy to get distracted by the vocals, but I think Fucked Up is actually a guitar nerd band, what with the finnicky degree of synchronization between the three (!) guitarists they had on stage. And dig the sad, sweet intervals in the lead line for "Queen Of Hearts."
True to the bill, they played the entire album. I'm not gonna lie, it was a bit grueling, not least of all because this band is loud, babies. For the encores, Damian quit the stage, and the band played covers of songs from bands they'd been in previously -- because these people are all veteran hardcore punks, albeit of the sweater vest-wearing variety. In particular, Sandy sang a song called "Unrequited Love" by the band Redstockings -- which is listed as one of the fictional bands on the "David's Town" LP but which I think was an actual band she was in in high school, if I understood her explanation. It was a cute, funny song, whatever its origin.
After they finished, we shuffled outside and found our way to the ever-convenient Enid's, where Chris and Nina and I settled in for a post-show beer. Chris came over to my side and agreed that Titus Andronicus is, in fact, the best band in the world. We stayed out pretty late for a Tuesday. Chris biked home. We took the C/A/B line.
Bel Argosy's played two shows so far this month, the second of which was on Monday, at Otto's. But the first: Our friends in MiniBoone are releasing a new EP called "On MiniBoone Mountain." (By hearsay I am given to understand that their intent is that you pair it with their first release, "Big Changes." The two titles, side by side, give the name of their planned full-length album.) In celebration of this achievement, they're playing a three-week residency at Pianos, performing with a bunch of hand-curated at each show. We were slated to be, observers and not, uh, talent, at these events, but they had a last-minute cancellation (morning of!) for the November 10th show and asked us to fill in. Of course we said yes! But we had to scramble a bit to furnish equipment, and it looked like our time slot might be a bit tight for Chris who had just started a new and exciting job at the United fucking Nations. When Billy and I got there, amp and cymbals in tow, there was a nine-person (!) funk band on stage. They had the chuckle-worthy name New York Funk Exchange, but they were actually pretty good -- their singer was a blond lady with a rich, powerful voice, and their songs were danceable. Billy and I danced.
"Alright," the sound guy told me when I stepped on stage. "To keep things moving, I'd like you guys to set up and be ready to play in 10 minutes." "We'll try," I said. "I've seen it done before," he said. Still Chris-less, we hustled. He showed up at T minus a couple minutes (although who gives a shit) and jumped on stage with his bass, slightly winded, still wearing his work clothes like an indie rock Angus Young rushing to a gig straight from Ashfield High. Our friends in the audience said we were loud, but I gauge our sound by the on-stage mix, which was nigh perfect, and it was the first show we ever played where there was "lighting design" -- all of a sudden things would go all red or blue. It was exciting! We played our set (pretty well, I think) and then handed out some of our new "Bell" Argosy design t-shirts (want one?).
After us was MiniBoone, who played a thundering and characteristically precise set of songs, starting with the four on the EP. They were great, especially the second track, "Brand New Thing." And I always have a soft spot for "Cool Kids Cut Out Of The Heart Itself."