Comedy 'Tache

So this afternoon I decided to get rid of a big stack of CD's. Last weekend I sold a bunch at Sound Fix in Brooklyn, but still had a ton left over and, let's face it, the compact disc is a dead medium. I put an ad up in the free section of craig's list stating that there was a small box of CD's outside of my apartment that included, but was certainly not limited to, things that were sure to wet the pants of any indie music snob this side of the East River. In my mind I pictured a pseudo-utopian gathering at the steps of my building; people casually picking over my discarded records and discussing the current cultural void of modern music. "Oh, that one is great, but I prefer their first record." "Have you seen them live? Yeah, they have all kinds of shit on fire like Ted Nugent.' That sort of stuff. It could have been an excersise in socialist practice. Some dick, however, decided to wander by, pick up the entire box and just carry on. So it goes. This is, once again, why we don't have nice things.

On an all together diferent note, last night at the famed and infamed Prada fiasco a bunch of my Interpol pals turned up who I hadn't seen in ages. I chatted for a bit while working. I didn't however get to see Carlos who, as I've heard, has spent the better part of his year off attempting to grow facial hair with somewhat spectacular results. There were pictures to support this fact.



















Oh, it makes me smile. He looks like the painting on the cover of a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo that I have on my bookshelf. He also looks like Gene Shallot.



















Sometimes I laugh so hard that it hurts.

Retail Rock

I just spent the better part of 3 days turning the Prada store in NY into a discotheque for the Raconteurs. Just the very thought now makes me feel dirty. Much like this:














It was a truly hellish experience, to say the least. I am accustomed to putting together a compact little rock show now and again, but this was just downright unnatural. You wouldn't set wild bears loose in a French bistro, so why would you stage a rock show in a retail store? In the end I was pretty pleased with how it looked, although there was damn near nothing artistic, creative or interesting about the entire ordeal. From the coked up fashionistas trying to articulate their definition of glamour through lighting to the d-listers elbowing their way into my afternoon it all looked a little bit like this:





















































Done...and done.
















Commence disco














The show itself was pretty garish. The Raconteurs sound a bit like throwing the MC5 down a flight of stairs and the house DJ played a crispy selection of NY post-rock-to-a-disco-high-hat-beat tunes. It was all very 2002. Did I just say that?
This is me riding home in a cab at around 3AM after deciding that I will never work for anyone ever again, especially if they are at all affiliated with fashion, fashion week, clothing, rock and roll, cocaine, feathers, hairspray, stiletto heels, tweed, evening wear, Seth Green, hours 'dourvs, stupid hats or Prada.
















Not to be negative in the least, I did make some decent money and now I have the rest of the weekend to lie around, drink wine, watch The Runaways documentary on Showtime and prepare for Alaska which is where, needless to say, my head has been for a few weeks.