C.R. Reunion Show

It's a strange thing to find yourself at two reunion shows in two days. Honestly I am totally out of shape, not ready to watch so many bands in so many days. But if my good friend Bricks Avalon comes all the way back from Colorado to play a show with his old band C.R., I have to make sure to get there. Teresa and I rode down to the Staten Island Ferry and took the trip over to "The Rock", the first time I had been on the island in a long time.

This was a completely different show from the previous day's Rorschach Reunion Show. Taking place at an obscure hole-in-the-wall bar on Staten Island's Bay Street, getting to this show was not easy unless you live on Staten Island, so those who came made the commitment to be there. It felt like an authentic show, although my feelings about the lack of context for this show are the same (see below).

This show happened for a reason. It was a benefit for the family of Richie Cunningham, who ran Happy Days Records. Rich died earlier in the month after a battle with cancer. I never knew Rich, but a number of people at the show provided eloquent commentary on his generous nature. If you are going to get an old band together, it should be for a good reason, and this certainly was one.

Another aspect of this show that made it more comfortable for me was that it was filled with old friends. In every band that played that night was someone I knew, and most of them are people I was quite close to at one time. I got to see Ray and Frank (ex-Murdoch) kill it as Ghost Armada:

Ghost Armada

I got to see my favorite hardcorepunk siblings, Matt and Mike Grande (ex-Devola), tear it up as XLR:

XLR

And I got to see Long Island legend Tommy Corrigan (ex-Silent Majority) sing for Capital:

Capital

If Bricks were co-narrating this account, he would make sure that I mention that all of these bands are actual, active bands, still playing twelve years after C.R. broke up. I agree that that is impressive, and all these bands have a quality that shows how long these guys have been dedicated to the music.

But the real show here was C.R., a band that broke up on stage a really long time ago. I have to confess that C.R. was never my favorite band musically, and although I have their records buried away somewhere in my mom's basement, I only have access to one of their songs in my MP3 library. I am put to shame by countless Staten Island kids present at the show who seemed to know every word of every short-and-sweet C.R. song. But as much as I never had a close affinity for the band's music, I have always had an incredible affinity for the people in the band. Grover, Elway, and Mike D. I have not seen in many years, but I really appreciate them as people. And Bricks, well, I try to keep him as close as I can despite the distance between us, and the highlight of my week was holding his baby boy Emmett while having dinner with him and his wife McCaren. The real thrill for me was seeing these wonderful people do their thing one more time, and thrive.

C.R.

So who can complain about seeing your old pals rock out like they used to? I cannot, but I still think that a show in the middle of nothing is not really a show at all. I left with a slightly renewed connection to my past, and still no idea where I am going next. Kind of makes me wish there was another C.R. show to look forward to next week.

Rorschach Reunion Show

In a lot of ways, it would have been really easy for me to miss this show. Several people had pointed out to me that the great New York City band Rorschach was getting back together for a series of reunion shows, but to be honest, I wasn't all that excited about the possibility.

This isn't to say that I don't love Rorschach. It's quite the opposite, really: Rorschach occupies such an iconic place in my memory that I was not quite sure that I wanted to dislodge those memories with anything more current.

Back in 1993, Rorschach came out with the "Protestant" LP. At the time I was in transition, moving back from Southern California to Long Island. Rorschach was already pretty well-known as one of the new breed of DIY hardcorepunk bands playing shows at a new venue called ABC-NO-RIO. My pal Drew Gilbert and I had played Rorschach's earlier material on our radio show on KSPC ("Hard Times"), although I have to admit that Drew was always more aware of what was going on in New York City than I was. At that point Rorschach was not my favorite among these bands -- I much preferred Born Against and the work of the already-defunct Citizen's Arrest.

The Protestant LP completely changed my view of Rorschach. Somehow their more cookie-cutter, simple earlier work morphed into this irrepressable flow of manic energy. The record was shocking in a number of ways. First of all, it embraced metal riffs unapologetically and combined them with hardcorepunk rhythm and energy; this combination has resonated within a variety of hardcorepunk scenes ever since. The mix on the record was also revolutionary, with the guitars and drums pushed way forward and Charles' scathing vocals punching out from behind the beautiful cacophany. Finally, the record never stopped... while there were transitions between songs and discernable "tracks", the record played straight through, never allowing silence to simply indicate the beginning or ending of anything (this also had a huge influence, including on my lobbying for the State Secedes record to play this way).

As soon as I owned this record, I played it relentlessly, and it definitely became the soundtrack to my life in transition. It also helped that I saw Rorschach twice on their Protestant tour. I have lost track of which show came first, but I know that I saw them in a California warehouse while I was back for my college graduation. I also saw them in the basement of ABC-NO-RIO, and if my memory of these shows is correct, they basically played the entire Protestant album without any stops. That was sick, because the album required amazing stamina just to listen to, much less play.

So if that's your memory, and it is that golden, you kind of resist the urge to mess with it.

Another factor that made me question whether I wanted to go to this show was its potential as a "hardcore high school reunion". I am still close to a number of people that I first met through hardcorepunk, but did I really want to run into every person I ever knew from the New York scene?

Apparently I was at least tolerant of this possibility, because I made the trek out on a Friday evening. I had dinner with my pal Billie and we headed over to the show. There certainly were plenty of people that I had not seen in a long time:


That's me with Aaron Pagdon, who played drums in The Judas Iscariot. As it turned out there were plenty of other folks there "from the past" and although I did not capture them all with a photo I can say to the last person that it was good to see how people were doing. People mellow out and develop over time, and this makes them a lot more interesting and pleasant to talk to (but I still won't be going to any of my college or high school reunions, so back off on that...).

With that said, the show was not all that ideal for catching up with people. I had a good conversation with Scott from Mind Over Matter and Milhouse downstairs by Will Tarrant's record stall, but after that it was hard to talk to people over the blaring soundtrack in between bands. I really miss the sound of silence between bands, and question the social intelligence of anyone who feels the need to be listening to music in between bands.

Here's my first time seeing Celebrity Murders, a band featuring Elway, Artie Phillie, and Brian Meehan (all folks I know from the days of the PWAC, The Joint, and the YMCA):


This also happened to be their last show. I guess that's an efficient way to experience a band -- their first show, their last show -- but it highlights a major problem with reunions: the have no context. For me to show up at some random show and see some bands, even bands featuring people I know, seems wrong. There's no community associated with it, no recent history and no promise of a future.


It is interesting how some people stick with hardcorepunk and really make something out of it. Folks like Artie and Brian have continued to be in bands while most of us don't even make it to shows. It shows: their bands sound really good, although there is nothing really novel going on here. They win the endurance award, the value of which will probably depend on who you ask.


Of course my old rival and friend Artie didn't seem to have much new up his sleeve. The only three people who got mentioned by Artie on stage were one of his friends who was up front texting while they played, Bricks from C.R., and me. Artie paused during an interruption in their set to say that you can hear Bricks say something impossible to understand at the next night's C.R. reunion show. I got made fun of for being there and not passing out flyers telling people not to mosh. I was hoping to fade into obscurity a little quicker than this.


And when Rorschach went on the big stage complete with a lighting system, there was a chance for me to speak out against moshing, because the kids did mosh. These kids were mostly people who seemed to know Rorschach's work by heart but were unlikely to have seen them back in the early 90's. I see this as positive in that it really speaks to the power and influence of Rorschach's work; and I see it as negative in that it has nothing to do with anything that I associate with Rorschach.


The musicians in Rorschach are amazing. Nick and Keith are amazing to watch and incredibly precise given the amount that they move around. Andrew is one of my favorite drummers, just so solid. And this reunion Rorschach in no way shamed their past glory. They played well.

But what was this? What is the point? Why was I there? What relation does it have to anything going on now? I have these questions to answer to myself.

The smell of vinyl

Flipping through records. You wouldn't think it was a remarkable act. And yet it was all I needed to take me back to a time that now seems really far away. How can something that was so important seem so distant, especially when it has left such a strong mark on me?

Jeff and Pat and I met up for dinner. Properly, they are Jeff Feinberg and Pat Fontaine, and you might know them as ex-members of Converge, Ire, or The Black Hand. They've been in other bands since those times, bands I have never heard. But tonight they are just a couple of old friends. In this case, a couple of old friends who want to go to a record store.

I haven't been in a record store in a long time. I haven't played my old vinyl records in at least eight years. And flipping through the bins, I am instantly taken back to all those times, and I don't know what to do with that experience. Am I still a hardcorepunk kid? Do I want to remember those days?