Theme song: The Freaks Come Out At Night - Whodini
Halloween is just one of those holidays that, as you get older, you're glad to see pass. New York is insane enough without giving folks a reason to get their veritable "dumb" on. I saw things last night that I am quite sure are going to haunt me until my golden years.
The day began somewhat normally. The weather had me thrown off. This whole warm one day cold enough to freeze fire the next is working each one of my nerves. I decide to wear a muffler and end up sweating like a rhino in Kenya. I come outside in a t-shirt and risk severe nipple frost. I guess I should watch the weather channel before venturing out but that would make sense and then you'd all be confused as to who stole the real Mala.
I got up and ambled over to Chuli's house because there was some serious cooking going on. In this neighborhood, they don't need a reason to pull out all of the pots. Chuli's mom is apt to make 7 different dishes on any given day and if you ask her why, the answer is usually something completely logical like, "we gotta eat, no? Si!" After loading up my tupperware with arroz con gandules and Chuli's namesake (chuletas - that girl will damage a porkchop), I headed up Amsterdam Ave in search of something to wear. Not that I was going a daggone place in a costume, I just needed a new shirt. I found a knitted kimono sleeve that plays peek-a-boo with any underlying flesh, before heading back to the house to chow down. I made the mistake of attempting to do some yoga poses after eating and woke up with rug burn on my ass and a shoe print on my face from rolling over onto a pair of mules. Not to mention my back hurt like the dickens. Note to self - no more falling asleep on the floor.
I had to run downstairs when I got up to have my shoes re-tipped. There's nothing that annoys me more than watching a chick walk on the sides of her feet because she doesn't have the sense of mind to take them to a cobbler. That shit is tres tacky.
It was out-fucking-rageous in the Heights. The kids were outside en force. muMs was right, you know you live in the hood when the kids don't knock on doors, they trick-or-treat at the local bodegas. I will amend that statement by adding that you know your ass is hood when you're like 16 with no costume and still demand candy. I sat around and watched all the little bad ass rock head babies bully their way into tooth decay while waiting for my shoes. Mercifully, dude at the shop had them fixed lickety-split and I ran for cover before another princessa could beg in that beautiful childish lisp they all seem to have.
I jawed with Ed for a bit about this or that before donning my pretties and heading out the door. Of course every crazy denizen from the underbelly of this seedy city was out by this time. The freaks really do come out at night - in droves. I made the mistake of taking the A to Canal street and had to walk a gazillion blocks before finding a bank and then having to wait like a bajillion hours for an empty cab. It took so long to get cross/uptown that I swear I aged like 5 years just sitting in the back of that yellow. Finally, with many expletives muttered by both me and HabibMuhammedAmedRasuulwhateverthefuckhisnamewas, I pulled up in front of the Delancy.
I made it in for the last of the Smyrk's 2 songs. Nice. From what I got a chance to hear, their music is pretty good but even to my untrained ear it needs to be fleshed out a bit more. There's a richness missing in it that doesn't make it soul moving. That's my opinion, take it or shove it. Then we all puttered around for a bit before Apollo Heights got on.
Let's see...
Some Japanese girl asked to take my picture for a magazine called Woofin. Dinna was there taking pictures of people's tattos (which resulted in me having to hoist my already see-through shirt up rather scandalously). Marjona was sufficiently bloody and rather impressed with my flask (thanks for the gift Haz). Marshe bounced in at some point half-deaf from the flight to NY (see Mec, you t'ain't the only one). Luq of FunkFace and LaRonda ran up in there to support. T-bone and Med of Game Rebellion were in the cut. Ed slid in at some point camera in hand - the man is a damn workaholic. Mikel had on full surgeons regalia... and the glove made me think twice about popping shit. And let me just say that Spooner's fiance Wildcat is the ONLY woman I have ever seen that can wear a leotard on a night out and make it look damned good. Kelsey of Pillow Theory and Lori came through to catch Bloodsugar and came ready to par-taaaaaaaaaay. And Danny of Apollo Heights is still two towns west of crazy but at least he let me squeeze his tail... don't ask.
Ok y'all, don't let me hear you griping about me not giving shout outs.
Pay attention closely: Major Taylor is one SERIOUS FUCKIN DJ. He did these blends of 80's pop over r&b, hip hop and reggae beats that had me dancing by my damned self for a good long while. I will never front on any party I hear he's spinning at.
Apollo Heights then took the stage. It was time for the kids to sit down because this was grown-folks music. First off, this band has a history that cannot be matched by most bands out there right now. They play off and with each other as if they were of one mind. I had goosebumps during some of the baselines. I had to smile as Daniel belted out some of the words. I swear to you it was the kind of feeling that you get when some ole good Earth Wind and Fire shit comes on. I know I'm crossing genres but it's the only way I can express it. The younger bands out now need to take notes. Every single member of Apollo Heights has incomparable talent just dripping from their fingers. It's insane. I'm glad they're back in the states so I can catch more shows. The story behind the band is even better (that one you'll read when I'm damn well good and done with it).
Moving right along if you want to see a performer with energy, check out Xavier from Bloodsugar. That guy is a one man electric generator. From the moment he stepped on stage until the moment the set ended he was a spark plug and out there. I have got to give it to him, there are not many men that have the vocal range that he does that still manage to be so damned hard when performing. Bloodsugar is hard hitting with their no holds barred approach to lyrics that anyone can relate to. I had heard so much about them from both Kels and Ed but it truly was an experience.
After the Liberation Session was over, Kelsey, Lori and I cabbed it over to Michael T's Motherfucker Party. My sensibilities still have not recovered fully. I talked so much smack looking at the partygoers that there is no way in the world that I can remember it all so I'll just give kudos to those that caught my attention the most. The tiny little man?-child? in the huge papier-mache King Tut crown: I applaud the strength of your teeny neck being able to hold that big ole hat up... (it sort of reminded me of that chick from that assignment I was on... you know, the one with the Pinky & the Brain dome). The frail guy in the fig leaves: I applaud myself for not tripping you for gp. The beauty queen: drag has never look so good. The old white guy in the afro wig: I remember your face, I catch you following me again I'm gonna hafta cutcha. The pretty little goth boy: I would have danced with you but the way you were flailing your skinny arms around I was afraid you would fuck up and hit me in the eye... then I woulda hadta cutcha. The chick on the rag: ok that costume was gross and wild. and you've got a hell of a rack. The chick dancing on the box: you needed to go-go your ass home, shaking cellulite is NOT SEXY! And the WTFlyingF!!! goes to: The damn near 300lbs gay guy dressed up as, get this, a fairy. I shit you not. Tutu and all.
I won't front though, I had fun. Seriously. We danced, we laughed, we left.
Oh yeah and a hearty fuck you to the bartender in that upstairs room (who had slamming music going by the way) who charged Kelsey 10 bucks for a skimpy ass plastic glass of Bacardi Limon that wouldn't have gotten me buzzed when I was five. And another fuck you for only allowing people to buy one drink at a time. I hope you fall out of bed one day and break your dick. Yup. I certainly do.
So that was my Halloween.
Today I straightened up and got some work done. Then I ran over to rehearsal and came back to jot this down and get back to getting together some other stuff I gotta do. I have a little freelance project that I'm working on. I'm not going to go into detail until it comes to fruition. Trust me, once my keyboard quits clicking on this one, you're not gonna be able to get me to shut the fuck up about it.
Tomorrow night? Canal Room! The Rebels will be out along with M-1 of Dead Prez, P.O.S., and Building Better Bombs. Unfortunately J*Davey won't be able to make it and we are all filled with righteous indignation about that shit. I'll be there to catch the goings on. Should be a hoot n a holla.
Friday we perform again, lord help us all... Scroll down to a previous post for the details.
Saturday I may do a shoot with Raf and then it's back to Canal Room to catch Saul Williams (yeah man it's not a joke), Shawn Hewitt, Stephanie McKay and Cody Chestnutt (sorry, no link, I don't know his page).
Sunday I'm going to lay around and look at my toes. Mala too must rest on the seventh day...
- power moves being made
P.S. I'm still dangling my dongle. Gosh I love being wireless
P.P.S. No matter what is said and done, that dude was and is still a cornball. Don't make me repeat myself.
Please?
Thanks.
Halloween is just one of those holidays that, as you get older, you're glad to see pass. New York is insane enough without giving folks a reason to get their veritable "dumb" on. I saw things last night that I am quite sure are going to haunt me until my golden years.
The day began somewhat normally. The weather had me thrown off. This whole warm one day cold enough to freeze fire the next is working each one of my nerves. I decide to wear a muffler and end up sweating like a rhino in Kenya. I come outside in a t-shirt and risk severe nipple frost. I guess I should watch the weather channel before venturing out but that would make sense and then you'd all be confused as to who stole the real Mala.
I got up and ambled over to Chuli's house because there was some serious cooking going on. In this neighborhood, they don't need a reason to pull out all of the pots. Chuli's mom is apt to make 7 different dishes on any given day and if you ask her why, the answer is usually something completely logical like, "we gotta eat, no? Si!" After loading up my tupperware with arroz con gandules and Chuli's namesake (chuletas - that girl will damage a porkchop), I headed up Amsterdam Ave in search of something to wear. Not that I was going a daggone place in a costume, I just needed a new shirt. I found a knitted kimono sleeve that plays peek-a-boo with any underlying flesh, before heading back to the house to chow down. I made the mistake of attempting to do some yoga poses after eating and woke up with rug burn on my ass and a shoe print on my face from rolling over onto a pair of mules. Not to mention my back hurt like the dickens. Note to self - no more falling asleep on the floor.
I had to run downstairs when I got up to have my shoes re-tipped. There's nothing that annoys me more than watching a chick walk on the sides of her feet because she doesn't have the sense of mind to take them to a cobbler. That shit is tres tacky.
It was out-fucking-rageous in the Heights. The kids were outside en force. muMs was right, you know you live in the hood when the kids don't knock on doors, they trick-or-treat at the local bodegas. I will amend that statement by adding that you know your ass is hood when you're like 16 with no costume and still demand candy. I sat around and watched all the little bad ass rock head babies bully their way into tooth decay while waiting for my shoes. Mercifully, dude at the shop had them fixed lickety-split and I ran for cover before another princessa could beg in that beautiful childish lisp they all seem to have.
I jawed with Ed for a bit about this or that before donning my pretties and heading out the door. Of course every crazy denizen from the underbelly of this seedy city was out by this time. The freaks really do come out at night - in droves. I made the mistake of taking the A to Canal street and had to walk a gazillion blocks before finding a bank and then having to wait like a bajillion hours for an empty cab. It took so long to get cross/uptown that I swear I aged like 5 years just sitting in the back of that yellow. Finally, with many expletives muttered by both me and HabibMuhammedAmedRasuulwhateverthefuckhisnamewas, I pulled up in front of the Delancy.
I made it in for the last of the Smyrk's 2 songs. Nice. From what I got a chance to hear, their music is pretty good but even to my untrained ear it needs to be fleshed out a bit more. There's a richness missing in it that doesn't make it soul moving. That's my opinion, take it or shove it. Then we all puttered around for a bit before Apollo Heights got on.
Let's see...
Some Japanese girl asked to take my picture for a magazine called Woofin. Dinna was there taking pictures of people's tattos (which resulted in me having to hoist my already see-through shirt up rather scandalously). Marjona was sufficiently bloody and rather impressed with my flask (thanks for the gift Haz). Marshe bounced in at some point half-deaf from the flight to NY (see Mec, you t'ain't the only one). Luq of FunkFace and LaRonda ran up in there to support. T-bone and Med of Game Rebellion were in the cut. Ed slid in at some point camera in hand - the man is a damn workaholic. Mikel had on full surgeons regalia... and the glove made me think twice about popping shit. And let me just say that Spooner's fiance Wildcat is the ONLY woman I have ever seen that can wear a leotard on a night out and make it look damned good. Kelsey of Pillow Theory and Lori came through to catch Bloodsugar and came ready to par-taaaaaaaaaay. And Danny of Apollo Heights is still two towns west of crazy but at least he let me squeeze his tail... don't ask.
Ok y'all, don't let me hear you griping about me not giving shout outs.
Pay attention closely: Major Taylor is one SERIOUS FUCKIN DJ. He did these blends of 80's pop over r&b, hip hop and reggae beats that had me dancing by my damned self for a good long while. I will never front on any party I hear he's spinning at.
Apollo Heights then took the stage. It was time for the kids to sit down because this was grown-folks music. First off, this band has a history that cannot be matched by most bands out there right now. They play off and with each other as if they were of one mind. I had goosebumps during some of the baselines. I had to smile as Daniel belted out some of the words. I swear to you it was the kind of feeling that you get when some ole good Earth Wind and Fire shit comes on. I know I'm crossing genres but it's the only way I can express it. The younger bands out now need to take notes. Every single member of Apollo Heights has incomparable talent just dripping from their fingers. It's insane. I'm glad they're back in the states so I can catch more shows. The story behind the band is even better (that one you'll read when I'm damn well good and done with it).
Moving right along if you want to see a performer with energy, check out Xavier from Bloodsugar. That guy is a one man electric generator. From the moment he stepped on stage until the moment the set ended he was a spark plug and out there. I have got to give it to him, there are not many men that have the vocal range that he does that still manage to be so damned hard when performing. Bloodsugar is hard hitting with their no holds barred approach to lyrics that anyone can relate to. I had heard so much about them from both Kels and Ed but it truly was an experience.
After the Liberation Session was over, Kelsey, Lori and I cabbed it over to Michael T's Motherfucker Party. My sensibilities still have not recovered fully. I talked so much smack looking at the partygoers that there is no way in the world that I can remember it all so I'll just give kudos to those that caught my attention the most. The tiny little man?-child? in the huge papier-mache King Tut crown: I applaud the strength of your teeny neck being able to hold that big ole hat up... (it sort of reminded me of that chick from that assignment I was on... you know, the one with the Pinky & the Brain dome). The frail guy in the fig leaves: I applaud myself for not tripping you for gp. The beauty queen: drag has never look so good. The old white guy in the afro wig: I remember your face, I catch you following me again I'm gonna hafta cutcha. The pretty little goth boy: I would have danced with you but the way you were flailing your skinny arms around I was afraid you would fuck up and hit me in the eye... then I woulda hadta cutcha. The chick on the rag: ok that costume was gross and wild. and you've got a hell of a rack. The chick dancing on the box: you needed to go-go your ass home, shaking cellulite is NOT SEXY! And the WTFlyingF!!! goes to: The damn near 300lbs gay guy dressed up as, get this, a fairy. I shit you not. Tutu and all.
I won't front though, I had fun. Seriously. We danced, we laughed, we left.
Oh yeah and a hearty fuck you to the bartender in that upstairs room (who had slamming music going by the way) who charged Kelsey 10 bucks for a skimpy ass plastic glass of Bacardi Limon that wouldn't have gotten me buzzed when I was five. And another fuck you for only allowing people to buy one drink at a time. I hope you fall out of bed one day and break your dick. Yup. I certainly do.
So that was my Halloween.
Today I straightened up and got some work done. Then I ran over to rehearsal and came back to jot this down and get back to getting together some other stuff I gotta do. I have a little freelance project that I'm working on. I'm not going to go into detail until it comes to fruition. Trust me, once my keyboard quits clicking on this one, you're not gonna be able to get me to shut the fuck up about it.
Tomorrow night? Canal Room! The Rebels will be out along with M-1 of Dead Prez, P.O.S., and Building Better Bombs. Unfortunately J*Davey won't be able to make it and we are all filled with righteous indignation about that shit. I'll be there to catch the goings on. Should be a hoot n a holla.
Friday we perform again, lord help us all... Scroll down to a previous post for the details.
Saturday I may do a shoot with Raf and then it's back to Canal Room to catch Saul Williams (yeah man it's not a joke), Shawn Hewitt, Stephanie McKay and Cody Chestnutt (sorry, no link, I don't know his page).
Sunday I'm going to lay around and look at my toes. Mala too must rest on the seventh day...
- power moves being made
P.S. I'm still dangling my dongle. Gosh I love being wireless
P.P.S. No matter what is said and done, that dude was and is still a cornball. Don't make me repeat myself.
Please?
Thanks.
added...
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