I was at least thirty years old, about half of my life spent in transparent attempts to become a Cool Punk Guy, before I started to understand: The people who are the coolest, punk-est people—the ones actually at the vanguard of art and behavior and politics and so on—you might think that person is The Warrior. But if you look closer, they're actually The Magician. Sensitive, at least a little out of step with the world. Scratching at the margins of experience. Doesn't seem like an easy place to be. But you know maybe that's the only way to be able to write a song that opens a portal. And those people might be difficult to be around but you have to take care of them because they're more fragile than you think.
I was sad to learn that Shane MacGowan died in November. It's none of my business of course, but it does seem like something had happened years ago to his mind, physically. Seemed like he didn't speak much. Certainly plenty of stuff had happened to his body. I was sad that he was never able to return to making music after getting his teeth fixed. The single gold tooth he'd had put in did not wind up making him a Hollywood movie star like he'd hoped. I've read several books about Shane at this point, and seen several movies. I think I get the picture about—as much as you can from The Outside. That doesn't change the ineffable power of those songs from 1984 to 1989, the songs that are literally magic spells. At the funeral, Spider and the remains of the band appeared to set aside Shane's years of mulishness, maybe in reverence to those youthful friendships that burn so bright, as Louise Stacy put it. I'm projecting. I hope people will set aside my years of mulishness when it's time.
But this was on my mind when I came across the show listing for Alex Orange Drink with Spider Stacy at Market Hotel. Alex and the So So Glos had been a durable fixture of my mental soundtrack throughout my twenties and thirties, ever since I heard Fred Astaire probably. And their venue Shea Stadium was one of my Sacred Places. After the general collapse of the Brooklyn demimonde when I became insufferable about politics but still daydreamed about booking them for a South Brooklyn DSA party—their being from Bay Ridge and all. I don't know why the band seemed to drift apart after the pandemic. Also not my business, I guess. But it seemed like one more good thing gone and over. And when I heard Alex had been sidelined with a scary health situation, I just felt like... nothing good can happen. Everything good is in the past.
But then I saw the announcement in April that Alex was done with treatment, he'd recovered and was playing this show with Spider. I bought the tickets. I hadn't been to a show in what felt like years—maybe actually years—outside of something that my close friends were playing. Hadn't been to Market Hotel I think since I saw Fucked Up play there in 2018, standing in the back with a bunch of my new DSA friends. It's always been a sort of hyper-real venue, the way the J/M/Z goes right past the window like you're in somebody's Big City Apartment in a 90's film noir. Nina and I talked about Mr. Kiwi and its extended family, and the people who've tried to visit all of them in a single day.
Re: Alex I learned he'd been working on new material while convalescing, and a lot of what they played that set was a preview of an upcoming album. It was rock music, but between his Bulls jersey and the guest performers I started to think, Maybe these guys have been anti-folk all along. Jeff Lewis was there, plus Sarah Greeensleeves and Joanna Sternberg, who I'd never heard before but who were very good. Spider came up on stage to rapturous applause and sang and played tin whistle to "Dirty Old Town" and "If I Should Fall From Grace With God." The room wasn't quite full but a small pit formed, and I rushed over to get into the middle of it even though I was wearing my goofy backpack where I keep my diarrhea pills. They closed with a cover of a song I'd never heard before by The Tremeloes but which I became immediately obsessed with, much to Nina's irritation. It lends itself to nearly infinite reprisal, and the band took full advantage, dropping out to let Alex finish it out acoustically, maybe, but then no they step on the pedals and there's a measure of feedback before everybody comes back in One More Time. It was a great trick.
After the show I was tempted to approach Spider and ask for a photo like I saw another guy doing, but I don't know. What would I have said. Your music means a lot to me. I'll say it next time. Shane MacGowan is dead, but Alex Orange Drink is alive.
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