Lou Reed/John Zorn at (le) poisson rouge, September 2, 2008

    Yes, another lengthy layoff between posts, as my show-going has slowed to damn near a complete halt.  My back has gotten so bad that pain has sabotaged more than a few otherwise enjoyable shows this year (most recently the free Earl Greyhound show at Southpaw) so it's increasingly rare that I actually make it out these days.  What's more, on the subject of my back, my doctor(s) have screwed me over repeatedly, with Wednesday's fuckup being so infuriating that I'm considering starting another blog in which all I do is bitch about doctors and contractors.  That'll show 'em!  Sigh.  I hate myself.

    But yeah, I was really really looking forward to this Lou Reed/John Zorn show.  When I first bought the tix I had imagined Zorn coming out to toot schizophrenically for a half hour or so, followed by a 75 minute-or-so set of Lou(uuuuuuuuuuuu!!!) and a backing band firin' up the classics... personally, I was hoping for a bass-led version of "Street Hassle," played like the awesome Cleveland 1978 Lou bootleg I have somewhere.  Alas, this was not to be, and not by a fucking longshot.  

    Of course, I was alone, which on this night provided me with a number of minuses, not least of which was overhearing some stupefyingly awful conversations (#1: some Jay Leno look/soundalike bragging about how much money he makes and forcing his G-rated schtick upon everyone within earshot ["what exactly happens on a 'hot date?'  For me a hot date is when someone lets me sleep!"].  #2: some tiny balding forty-something claiming that he "know[s] more about heavy metal than anyone in the world" and gleefully describing the time he visited an audiologist, fearing his uber-sensitive hearing had been "totally blown out" at -- get this -- a fucking Dave Alvin concert.  Seriously, fuck you both.).  And let's not forget, my back is already killing me, so my blood is pretty much boiling by this point.

    Enough of that shit though.  I've never been to (le) poisson rouge before, and I was kind of impressed.  The venue's slogan seems to be "Serving the Arts and Alcohol" or something like that which I thought was cute.   It's basically a classed-up rock club, with interior decoration more like an East Village trendhole than anything else. 

    Don't remember the name of the opening two-piece (middle-aged Asian woman on laptop beats and kwazy blonde chick making all sorts of noise with an electric harp dealie/all kinds of other crap), but no matter, I don't think that I'm really qualified to "review" something as avant-garde as this.  (FWIW inane jackass #2 from before turned to his disastrously unkempt/bloated companion about 10 minutes into the set, mouthing the words, "this is the worst thing EVER."  I was starting to like the guy.)

    Next, Lou Reed and John Zorn took the stage, simultaneously.  Of course, this meant that we would not be getting any Lou/VU chestnuts tonight; no way in hell.  Instead we'd be getting a whole mess of assorted noise.  Did this disappoint me?  Sure, but oddly it made me feel good that most of the baby boomer dickholes in the room had no inkling about the cacophonous, formless nightmare they had ahead of themselves.  No, you're not going to hear "Sweet Jane" tonight and no, it ain't gonna be pretty.

    Again, I feel like an asshole trying to describe this type of music, but here goes anyway.  At times it sounded like Lou's Metal Machine Music album, and at others like, say, a "Sister Ray"/"Melody Laughter"/"Nothing Song" freeform Velvets jam from the late '60s, all the while with Zorn tootling all over it.  There were a few distinct passages during which Reed and Zorn managed to lock into a semi-symbiotic groove, but these moments were fleeting/it was mostly incoherent.  Also of note was special guest Mike Patton (!) getting onstage to howl away during the last couple of pieces, which was pretty neat.

    The problem with this type of stuff is that my mind tends to wander, which tonight led me to focus my burning hatred on some fat fuck who mid-set trampled his way to the front of the stage (right next to me), throwing elbows and stomping, while proclaiming "it is what it is."  Bravo!  Midway through the set I had totally forgotten about the performance and was instead plotting The Perfect Beating of Said Fat Fuck.* 

    That's all I got.  Not sure what was cooler: the show itself, or the fact that these guys could sell $75 tickets to a show which basically amounted to headache-inducing nonsense. 

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That's going to be it over here for the next couple of days... I'm flying away to an undisclosed location tomorrow so I'm not going to be updating until at least Monday night, when I may get back to (le) poisson rouge (again) to catch Deerhunter for the third time this year.  We'll see how banged up I am post-weekend.  Muddd ya later. 

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*The Perfect Beating: take my glasses off, put them in my back pocket for safe keeping.  Then rip his hoop earrings through his earlobe.  When he turns towards me in disbelief/agony, hook his nostrils with my left hand while punching him in the face with my right hand.  Foolproof!