I Know The World's Got Problems, etc.
Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?
February 18, 2005 -- 381 Hooper Street, Brooklyn
I'm sure this apartment had some sort of name, but I only saw it briefly and managed to immediately forget it. These things happen. There was this party happening, that Cop On Fire, Battletorn, and HIV+ (perhaps the worst band name of all time [even if it does sort of put HIV in a positive light]) were playing. Todd talked me into meeting him at his club and then going over to the party. Cop On Fire were loading out their gear, and Bret asked me "Is Puttin' On The Ritz playing the party tonight?" I immediately called Kevin and the ink was barely dry on the deal when we arrived at the local discoteque. The show was in the basement and no one knew that we were playing. Since we were playing last, that added up to about 10 people being downstairs when we went on. Then someone unplugged the microphone, a few songs into our set. It seemed to be lacking a certain energy, anyway. So we grabbed a few drums, and set up upstairs and resumed our set. This was apparently much to the surprise (and perhaps even, delight) of the vast majority of the partygoers. The microphone was plugged back in and put in my hand. A speaker materialized from the basement, so I didn't have to shout over the records playing in the other room. People were singing along and not as bummed out as I expected them to be, perhaps they thought that a band materializing out of thin air to bang out some jazz standards was an allright way to spend a few minutes. A nice break from the monotony of trying to make out with each other, perhaps. What was nice was that our audience (and perhaps even, fans) were mostly attractive women. I did not make the obligatory remark regarding our respective dating statuses (single, and, err, single), despite the fact that I would love for Kevin to meet the love of his life at one our shows. He might even settle for the love of his evening, I would think. Unfortunately, not long after our set ended, the police arrived. No cops were set on fire, although everyone was forced to clear out, spoiling our chances to make a futile attempt at groping later in the evening, or whatever it is the kids do these days when they're drunk and feeling amorous. I cannot recall. Kevin disappeared and I did not get to rest my weary head until well after sunrise. All in a night's work, apparently.
Many of your have complained to me in the past that you would like to see Puttin' On The Ritz, but you always find out at the last minute (or several mintues too late) about our "performances". This might be attributed to the fact that we tend not to get too much notice of them, either. So I will announce, here and now, that we are playing at Trash in Williamsburg on 3/28. Mark your calendars now, if you like. Kevin already has. Don't say I didn't warn you.
February 18, 2005 -- 381 Hooper Street, Brooklyn
I'm sure this apartment had some sort of name, but I only saw it briefly and managed to immediately forget it. These things happen. There was this party happening, that Cop On Fire, Battletorn, and HIV+ (perhaps the worst band name of all time [even if it does sort of put HIV in a positive light]) were playing. Todd talked me into meeting him at his club and then going over to the party. Cop On Fire were loading out their gear, and Bret asked me "Is Puttin' On The Ritz playing the party tonight?" I immediately called Kevin and the ink was barely dry on the deal when we arrived at the local discoteque. The show was in the basement and no one knew that we were playing. Since we were playing last, that added up to about 10 people being downstairs when we went on. Then someone unplugged the microphone, a few songs into our set. It seemed to be lacking a certain energy, anyway. So we grabbed a few drums, and set up upstairs and resumed our set. This was apparently much to the surprise (and perhaps even, delight) of the vast majority of the partygoers. The microphone was plugged back in and put in my hand. A speaker materialized from the basement, so I didn't have to shout over the records playing in the other room. People were singing along and not as bummed out as I expected them to be, perhaps they thought that a band materializing out of thin air to bang out some jazz standards was an allright way to spend a few minutes. A nice break from the monotony of trying to make out with each other, perhaps. What was nice was that our audience (and perhaps even, fans) were mostly attractive women. I did not make the obligatory remark regarding our respective dating statuses (single, and, err, single), despite the fact that I would love for Kevin to meet the love of his life at one our shows. He might even settle for the love of his evening, I would think. Unfortunately, not long after our set ended, the police arrived. No cops were set on fire, although everyone was forced to clear out, spoiling our chances to make a futile attempt at groping later in the evening, or whatever it is the kids do these days when they're drunk and feeling amorous. I cannot recall. Kevin disappeared and I did not get to rest my weary head until well after sunrise. All in a night's work, apparently.
Many of your have complained to me in the past that you would like to see Puttin' On The Ritz, but you always find out at the last minute (or several mintues too late) about our "performances". This might be attributed to the fact that we tend not to get too much notice of them, either. So I will announce, here and now, that we are playing at Trash in Williamsburg on 3/28. Mark your calendars now, if you like. Kevin already has. Don't say I didn't warn you.
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