Monthly Archives: June 2006

Big Kick Plain Scrap

Hoboken is still a new wave town, at least to me I thought as I strolled around town this afternoon. I got out of the apartment when it wasn’t rainy and an occasional glimpse of the sun was seen. I listened to The Only Ones ‘Another Girl, Another Planet’. I used to think the song was about feeling like being on another planet when in love with a girl, or a boy. But I read somewhere that it was about heroin addiction. When you substitute girl for heroin it makes sense. Another clue was that Peter Perrett was a junkie at the time. Still might be.

But it was a classic power pop song regardless of the subject matter. As I walked down Washington Street I played ‘What Presence?’ by Orange Juice. That was a band that really meant a lot to me back in the day, Scottish new wave soul fronted by Edwyn Collins. No references to heroin just jangly guitars and clever wordplay. Great guitar playing by Edwyn. I had the 12” single back in the day, loved it enough that I’m sure I didn’t throw it out when I moved a few years ago.

Then I played the Raspberries, ‘Go All the Way’. I remember the song from back in the day when it came out on AM radio back in the seventies. Another power pop song. Definite sound of the seventies, crisp production. McCartney-esque vocal by Eric Carmen. That led me to Macca’s ‘Helen Wheels’ a really fun rock and roll song from Paul. One of the singles off the first LP I bought with my own money, ‘Band on the Run’. That puts it at 1973.

Then it went into Elvis Costello and the Attractions, ‘This Years Girl’. Man I loved Elvis Costello. Had many versions of the same album and single. ‘Oh this US single says it’s 3:49 and the UK single says it 3:51. I must get both.’ That’s how it usually went. Disposable income while living with the parents. I was able to afford that kind of behavior back then.

I followed that with Nick Lowe, ‘American Squirm’. Nick was one of the foremost proponents of power pop in the new wave days. His first US album, ‘Pure Pop for Now People’ is a classic and sadly unavailable on CD. I lucked out and borrowed the Nick Lowe box set from my good friend Chuckles a few months ago.

I sat by the river and remembered a few bands that used to exist. Hoboken bands, like the Individuals, the Cyclones and the Bongos who were my favorite. I first saw the Bongos at the Meadowbrook in Cedar Grove in 1981 when I had just gotten back from California. I heard a few things from my brother Frank about them and finally went to see them all on my own. I stationed myself right in front of the stage and wound up pounding the stage with my palms so hard I went home with blisters.

My love for music was one of the major reasons why I moved to Hoboken.

Suedehead

When I woke up this morning it was face to face with Bill who confessed that he was embarrassed by his inability to talk about certain issues. He was able to communicate that at least. We both agreed that he should see Philip without me at least once. After that little talk it was a near routine Saturday morning. I had my usual cup of coffee before I ventured out into the world.

I hit the street and saw my barber Tony, who I called Nick. He was walking around and I asked him if he was working. He said yes but was taking a break and if I wanted a haircut. I did and he started walking with me to the barbershop, past the guys waiting for a haircut from the other two and sat in Tony’s chair. Seeing the name Tony embroidered on the (bib? smock? lab coat?) made me realize his name wasn’t Nick. Who’s Nick anyway? Nick Lattanzio? Lemon Curry?

My hair is short enough to make me look like my next stop was Fallujah. Got some bagels for myself and then walked to the A&P for eggs. Fairly empty, Hoboken once again empties out on a weekend during the summer no matter the weather and this weather was dismal at best. That meant with the raining all day, my clothes should take quite a while to dry, hanging out to dry in the kitchen and bathroom. Luckily I have way too many clothes and felt an urge to get some new summer shirts on Bergenline Ave. in Union City.

I walked to the Path train in the occasional drizzle. I walked by the haircutting salon where Kathe works. She came out and I gave her a smoke and we talked when up walks an old friend, Eddie, from McSwells days with his wife Valki and their two sons who are gigantic, considering the boys are 4 months and two years. They had just gotten to Hoboken from the Light Rail, which I was about to ride. That was an adventure I was looking forward to.

The Light Rail is an experience. I enjoy it. It’s like a monorail, but it has more than one rail so scratch that. You have to buy a ticket and get it validated by a machine before you get on the train, but no one ever checks for your ticket. I have heard of people getting busted for riding for free, but never actually seen it happen. The train goes into a formerly disused train tunnel built into the base of the Palisades. One moment I was looking at the modern Stonehenge of Manhattan, the next I was hurtling down a tunnel lit by orange street lamps.

Got off at Bergenline and walked to the elevator which whisked me up to street level and I got out into a monsoon. I broke out the umbrella and walked down Bergenline checking out various stores for summer shirts and found a good selection, even a few Guyabera shirts, which are great to chill out in. No wonder all the old men wear them. They’re chillin’.

I walked to the store where Juan was working in his (bib? smock? lab coat?) and saw a certain someone that a certain photo technician has his eye on. Not my type, especially after walking up and down Bergenline looking at all the hot men in all different shapes, sizes and colors. Most of them looked at me and wondered why Drew Carey was shopping on Bergenline. Juan was working and couldn’t really chit chat since the local Gestapo was crawling up his butt. I didn’t want to get him in trouble so I split. Back down to the light rail where to my chagrin there were three uniformed police officers checking to see if my ticket was validated. Mine was and I was allowed to pass. I noticed there were sculptures hanging from the ceiling of the station. Dinosaurs and astronauts and meteors and a space capsule. I asked the officers if I could take some pictures of the sculptures.

They said yes but needed to see some identification first. So I gave them my ID and started taking some snapshots. They thanked me for showing them the ID, and I said you’re welcome. I suppose the only other people that would take pictures are terrorists and train spotters. I’m in good company.

and here’s some pics