Tuddd's Muddd

Goes Cube!!! Fillmore at Irving Plaza!!! TONIGHT!!!

   

    Brooklyn's mighty Goes Cube returns to NYC tonight for a show supporting Finnish metal weirdos Lordi... if you're in the market for some primo headbangin' goodness, come on out and remember what it feels like to rock the fuck out.  I'll be there, hammered as usual. 

The Ten Most Annoying People I Met at Concerts 2007 (list #10)

    Well, it's getting to be that time of year again.  What time of year might that be, you ask?  That would be the time of the year where I'm procrastinating on finishing my year-end Best of Albums list and wasting time working on another less difficult but equally pointless and moronic list in its stead.

    This year I've seen upwards of 70 concerts, and while NYC crowds are generally the "too cool for school" type, I still managed to come across a fairly representative cross-section of overbearing dickheads along the way.  Last year I put up a similar list  and due to popular demand and overwhelming requests (okay, one person), I've decided to reprise the idea this year.  So, to paraphrase John Cougar Mellencamp, sink your teeth into my misfortune. 

The Ten Biggest Assholes I Encountered at Concerts in 2007

10.) "'No Bones' biggest fan.  Ever" at Dinosaur Jr., June 7th, Irving Plaza -- Now, more often than not, there are two things that really get my balls in a vice when I'm at shows: 1.) fat, sweaty dudes who continually elbow me during a crowded show in order to improve their position in the crowd, and 2.) cockgobblers who repeatedly yell the same unlikely song request over and over and over throughout an entire set.  With these criteria in mind, you could say that this guy had it all.  As if the constant elbowing wasn't enough to really push my buttons, his apparent life-or-death need to hear the song "No Bones" only augmented my misery.  Now, most "song requesters" usually wait until the band has actually completed the song they're playing before starting up with the shouting; not this guy, who screamed "NO BONES!  C'MON, MAN, PLAY NO BONES!" while the band was still in the middle of playing other songs.  Over and over and over again.  I had never seen that before.  To be sure, it's not that I don't enjoy the song "No Bones."  "No Bones" is a fine song.  But fortunately due to the world of internet geekery, a simple search at the Dinosaur Jr. fansite freesofree.net allows me to check how often the band has actually played the song "No Bones" in 2007 And you guessed it, the answer is zero times.  I'd like to think this guy actually got on the band's nerves enough to cause that, although I guess that's unlikely.

9.) "Not-clever innuendo guy" at Nicole Atkins, October 10th at Southpaw -- Another pet peeve of mine is "sex euphemism guy."  There was an article about this on the Onion a few years ago, so I'm not being original here, but let me explain with a hypothetical situation. Your friend from work, who's a girl, goes away for a two-week vacation, and asks you to water her plants while she's gone.  One day, noticing her absence, your douchey coworker inquires as to her whereabouts.  You reply, "oh, she's in Puerto Rico with her boyfriend.  She asked me to water her plants while she's gone."  Said douchey coworker replies: "Huh huh huh.  I'd like to water her plants."  Steam shoots out your ears and your life expectancy drops by 2 1/2 years.  So it goes.

    (Side note: Before I walked out on my pointless, ungratifying job last May, my semi-literate, knuckle-dragging boss let fly a ripe one, when referring to the secretary: "I'd like to rearrange her files."  This poorly-thought out comment resulted in the first time I'd ever used the phrase "get the fuck out of my office," and to my boss no less.) 

    Anyway, I was watching Nicole Atkins' set opening up for the Raveonettes a couple months ago and the douchey, popped-collar dickheads next to me spat out the following:
Douche #1 "Hey, what's the name of this song?"
Douche #2 "I think it's called Wrecking Ball."
Douche #1 "Huh huh huh.  I'd like to wreck her ball."
Douches #1 and #2 "Huh huh huh huh.

8.) "He Who Cracked First," opening act for Damo Suzuki (can't remember the guy's name), October 28th at the Knitting Factory --  I don't remember the name of this opening act, it was a guy who looked to be in his 60s wearing a lime green turtleneck, and in a nutshell his set consisted of basically repeating two chords on a reverbed violin over and over and over. Bronnnnnnnnnnnnng.  Brannnnnnnnnnng.   
Bronnnnnnnnng.  Brannnnnnnnng.  For 45 minutes.  Of course, this nearly drove me to the point of madness, and I had no choice other than to sit down on the floor, close my eyes, and begin rocking back and forth like a retarded person.  When in Rome, right?  What followed I really can't describe, but let's just say that this situation put me the closest I've ever been to achieving a meditative state, except instead of visualizing my "happy place," visions of eternal hellfire and brimstone flooded my mind.  Pretty f'd up, no?  After about a half hour of this, something broke through my defense mechanism-induced trance: a well dressed man, also appearing to be in his 60s, screaming "STOP IT!  STOP IT!  YOU'RE TERRIBLE!  GET OFF THE STAGE!" from a few feet behind me, and to the left.  For some reason, although I agreed wholeheartedly with the guy, this terrified me even further.

7.) "Karen O" at Deerhunter, April 26th at Mercury Lounge -- The first time I saw Deerhunter this year, I went into the show having heard that their live shows were transcendent but I was obviously eager to see for myself how they'd pull off the complex textural weirdness of Cryptograms.  I got there early and positioned myself at the very front of the stage, centered, so as to get the best overall view.  Before Deerhunter came on, I noticed that a tiny Asian girl was behind me with her equally diminutive boyfriend, and I felt sorry for them having to stand behind my  gargantuan, stage-eclipsing oaf of a self.  About midway through the set, I suddenly noticed streams of beer being shot at the stage from directly behind me, much of which was splattering all over my right shoulder and ear.  Needless to say, I felt less sorry for the tiny Asian girl, thinking "what a cunt."  Shortly, however, I noticed someone trying to elbow her way in front of me... long story short, it wasn't the tiny Asian girl at all but Karen O from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, so, soaking wet and  somewhat stunned, I let her pass.  Again, I've experienced any number of tactics at the hands of people who are trying to get in front of me at shows, but I have to say this was pretty clever.

6.) "BJ" at Z-Trip, October 19th at Studio B -- 9 of my friends attended this show.  Now, to set the scene, my pathetic attempts at "organizing" the evening had left me a nervous wreck; my dealer was late with the ecstacy, meaning I was standing outside pacing up and down Second Ave for nearly an hour while my friends were inside enjoying a delicious meal.  Then, we realized nobody knew how to get to Studio B by train from downtown Manhattan.  Then, the cabbie drops us off at Meserole St. in Brooklyn instead of Meserole Ave (the two are 2 miles apart), which... yeah.

       When we finally got to Greenpoint, a couple of my friends began screaming at each other, which, of course, solved nothing.  Then, when we finally got to the show, I noticed that literally everyone in front of the line had brought TicketNow printouts, of which I had none.  While I thought that I had ordered will call tickets, my head was pretty much spinning, and I began worrying that we weren't going to be able to get in.  Immediately upon entering the venue, I threw down a pill of what turned out to be the dopiest ecstacy ever, which combined with the evening's cumulative stress (and, presumably, the fact that I hadn't rolled in over 3 years) had me retreating into an anti-social shell with absolutely no desire to listen to the music.  I sat outside chainsmoking for the remainder of the show, sweating profusely, with my eyes closed.  Don't believe me?  Here's a picture.  [edit: picture removed.  Anonymity is ideal]

    Anyway, periodically, I'd hear my friends come outside to smoke a butt or two; eventually I heard my buddy, who we'll call "BJ," and who is the proud owner of a cock ring, come outside, and from what I could tell, he was eagerly showing said bejeweled appendage to anyone and everyone that was assembled outside Studio B whether they liked it or not.  He walked up to me and I headed him off by threatening to rip the thing out if he showed it to me.  I don't know, maybe I was a bit out of line on that one.

5.) "Grabby Gus" at Slayer, February 15th at Hammestein Ballroom -- as I've mentioned before on this blog, Slayer fans are a saucy bunch.  Having been to tons of metal/punk shows throughout the years, and due to my confusing predilection for standing waaaaaay up front, I come into the concertgoing experience basically expecting to get kicked in the back of the head countless times by crowdsurfers.  Only, at Slayer shows, the crowdsurfers are not of the "just happy to be here/if only mommie could see me now/WHEEEEEE" type that you see at, say, a Weezer show, but more of the "violently trying to bring harm to everyone over whom I pass" type.  Let me introduce you to "Grabby Gus," or, as my first draft of this list referred to him, "Guy Who Nearly Ripped My Scalp And Ear Off While Somehow Simultaneously Kicking The Fuck Out Of Me With Steel Toe Combat Boots."

4.) "Security guy" at Social Distortion, July 25th at Mulcahy's -- Yes, I know that I'm bending the rules a bit here since everyone else so far has been a crowd member, but this guy fucked my shit up so bad that I simply have to include him.  Of course, I was crammed against the stage barrier as usual, so fundamentally I have only myself to blame for the following.  Early in the set, a crowdsurfer was passing over me violently kicking and screaming.  Security guy reaches out trying to grab his foot, but misses, instead grabbing a handful of my hair and yanking it out.  Pretty painful.  He actually apologized, which in my experience is a first for security guys at punk shows.

    Later in the show, another crowd surfer was passing over me and kicked me in the back of the head, sending my expensive-ass titanium rim glasses flying over the barrier.  Now, I was 99% sure that they had landed at the security guy's feet, so I alerted him: "hey, would you mind checking to see if my glasses are at your feet?"   He gave a millisecond glance before declaring, "no, haven't seen 'em."  Of course, long story short, post-show I walked around the back of the barrier only to find my glasses had been stomped into a bizarre trapezoidal shape and completely crushed at the exact point where the security guy had been standing. FUCK!!

3.) "Rapey" at Social Distortion, July 25th at Mulcahy's -- I'll keep this one brief, because frankly I don't enjoy thinking about it.  The Social D show was filled with drunken hooligans; one such lout was being particularly rough with a woman to my right, grabbing and pulling at her in order to try to get in front and closer to the stage.  She protested, telling him to get his hands off her.  Without batting an eyelash, the guy responded, "shut up you dumb bitch before I rape you."  Shudder.  Stay classy, Long Island!

2.) "The crowd in general" at Atakke, October 1st at Don Pedro's -- Atakke's singer was late so the crowd was getting ornery while waiting for their set to begin.  People were killing the time by double-fisting PBRs, and combine that with the lack of air conditioning/ventilation, it was getting pretty ripe around the stage.  The tension was high.  As Atakke started up, blasting into their set at a billion miles an hour, the wheelchair-bound fan who was next to me was upended by a gaggle of particularly overzealous/drunk moshers, and dumped out of said chair onto the middle of the floor where people were slamming into each other with force and aggression the likes of which I've rarely seen.  Now, while this was pretty fucked up, the truly fucked up part of this is that a large percentage of the crowd saw this happen but most made no attempt to help the guy up; one bald leather jacketed dude even heckled him.  Yikes. 

1.) "Pushy wide-ass shitcunt" at Gil Mantera's Party Dream, January 13th -- I had the displeasure of having this worthless bitch over my left shoulder for the majority of the opening acts' sets and throughout the pre-Gil Mantera setbreak.  Of course, I was standing front row center, just like always, and she clearly wasn't enjoying the view from behind me.  Several times during opening band Free Blood's set she tried to pull me away from my prized spot and elbow me behind her.  Finally, during the setbreak, she got REALLY annoying, repeatedly pestering me with horseshit reasons why I should let her stand in front of me.  This included offering me free reign to play with her tits during the show.  Now, normally, this would obviously be a fantastic offer I'd willingly accept, but she was with her boyfriend and call me a prude but I derive no pleasure from feeling some random chick up in front of her sig other unless I'm hammered, which I definitely wasn't.  Plus (and perhaps most importantly) she wasn't exactly my cup of tea.  Pinched, evil Eastern European face that would have made her a good villainess in an 80's Bond flick.  ("Vee have vays of making you talk, Comrade Bond <<dramatic cigarette pull>>.")  Over and over I brushed off her "generous" offer and tried to ignore her, but GODDAMN was she persistent.  Eventually I tried the pussy route out, mentioning my constant back pain and trying to reason with her that I need to lean on the stage to support my back.  Of course, I wanted to mention to her that since her ass was approximately the size of a hot dog cart, she shouldn't have any trouble  "boxing people out" Charles Barkley-style and clearing ample space from which to view the show.  But alas I took the high road on that one.

    Okay.  Eventually when the Party Dream came onstage this spoiled whore's mode of communication morphed from verbal to physical -- lots of pinching, scratching and assorted unnecessary jostling, all directed at my back and meaty flanks.  And, of course, eventually she took advantage of a none-too-rare "Tuddd dancing off-balance" moment to claw her way in front of me, securing a spot at the front of the stage.  What I wasn't expecting, however, was that she'd instantly flop onstage, assaulting Ultimate Donny in an amusing display of White Trash affection, rolling around with him and cramming her AIDSy tongue down his throat.  Hilarious in a "cant turn your head from the trainwreck" way.

    Furthermore, what I really wasn't expecting was that the instant she got offstage she began denying the incident ever happened when confronted by her boyfriend.  "What are you talking about?  I didn't kiss him!"  Uh, riiiiiight.  If you're going to commit facerape (pronounced FAH-chay RAH-pay) and expect to get away with it, best not to do it ONSTAGE IN FRONT OF A FULL ROOM OF ONLOOKERS THAT INCLUDES YOUR BOYFRIEND.  Retard.

    Shortly (and predictably), she turned into a slobbering/sobbing drunken mess and thankfully disappeared, along with her boyfriend, presumably to throw herself in front of an oncoming bus (or so I fantasized).  I felt a bit bad for the guy because he seemed to be a legit fan, singing along with all the lyrics from the first couple of songs.  Meh, fuck 'im.

    Anyway, this has gone on long enough.  In closing let me mention that in second place for the evening's Annoying Fan crown was "Overagressive Solo Crowdsurfing Moron Who Kicked Me in the Face."  You really have to hand it to "Pushy Wide-ass Shitcunt," though.  How often is it that someone kicks you in the face at a show and they wind up being only the second biggest asshole you meet? 

Tapes 'n Tapes at Irving Plaza, May 18 2007

    A bit belatedly (and because I can't think of anything terribly interesting to report about the Mono show I saw at Bowery the night before this one), here's my take on the Tapes 'n Tapes show I saw at Irving Plaza a coupla weeks ago.  Yes, despite no substantial changes, the venue is now officially known as The Fillmore at Irving Plaza (as I noticed prior to the disappointing Type O show I saw there a couple of weeks ago).  This time I finally noticed one difference between "old" and "new": a bunch of framed photos/posters from assorted shows at various Fillmores across the country, including at least one big one of Bill Graham.  Whoop-de-fuckin'-doo!

    My first reaction after getting towards the front of the stage was one of the "holy shit, I'm the oldest schmuck in this room by at least a decade."  This was the worst I'd found myself to be out of my age class since that terrible Minus the Bear show I'd walked out of after 20 minutes at the same venue (when it was still called Irving Plaza) less than a year ago.  The major difference was at that concert, I only wanted to see the opening band, the mighty Russian Circles, so I was able to leave in plenty of time to catch Matlock.    

    Opening band, The Virgins, was super fun, although I should probably suspiciously look over my shoulder before loudly announcing such.  Guilty pleasure to-the-max uber-simple-yet-fun-fun-fun bouncy pop punk played by a quartet of drunk-off-their-asses teenagers.  Apparently, they had been drafted in to play at the last moment due to a member of the band that was originally supposed to play suffering from a bout of appendicitis.  Although I was able to stifle the urge to pogo, lots of head-bobbing was induced.  Set's highlight was the band's tiny teenage bassist ascending to the top of the bass drum then doing the Nestea plunge in a true display of rock n' roll set-closing enthusiasm-- except it was only three songs into the set.  Brief delay to reassemble the slightly askew drumkit, but the momentum wasn't lost.

    Second band... don't really remember the name.  "Ladyhawk?"  I think so.  Anyhow, these guys were plagued by *horrendous* concert sound, and I really couldn't tell what the fuck was going on musically.  Prior to their set, when they were tuning their drums, I noticed that whoever was in charge totally blew it: the floor tom, for example, instead of producing a good, deep THUD, had unnecessary noise accompanying each beat.  You know when you're listening to a tape walkman and the batteries are running low but you've still got the bass boost on?  That's what it sounded like; just really unpleasant, with a lot of unwelcome background noise.  Again, due to the simply horrendous drum sound, strangely muted guitars, and muffled vocals, I could barely tell what style of music these guys were playing.  Grade: incomplete, although the lead singer vowing to singlehandedly de-virginize The Virgins produced a hearty guffaw room wide.

    Tapes 'n Tapes took the stage a bit after 11.  I'd been really looking forward to seeing these guys live  for quite some time (The Loon was my fourth favorite new record of '06) but sadly the sound guy still hadn't figured out that the sound was shitty.  So, yeah, the guitar and keyboards were barely audible, thanks to the unnecessary BOOMing drum sound.  If this were the first time I'd heard the music of Tapes 'n Tapes, it's pretty safe to assume that I would not be a fan, because the horrendous mis-mixing really didn't suit Tapes 'n Tapes' spare style.   

    After opening with "Just Drums" and "The Iliad," I wondered how these guys would fill a whole set, what with only about 40 minutes of music to their name on their debut record, which they did by playing several new songs.  Again, I hate to blame the poor concert sound but as a result I really don't have much to report other than that they didn't really depart much from Tapes 'n Tapes' established style (read: I dug 'em).  Throughout, they mixed in a couple of changeups, notably "In Houston" being played with dramatically accelerated sections, with many songs having more energetically-delivered vocals than their album counterparts.  Finally, they ended the show with "Insistor" and "Jakov's Suite," which both really rocked.  Just as on The Loon, these guys proved that you don't have to play chunky power chords at an ear-splitting volume to really, really rock out.

    So, yeah, I wish the sound had been better, and I'm really looking forward to hearing these guys' new record, whenever that's supposed to come out.  I imagine when Tapes 'n Tapes next come around I'll be seeing them supporting that new record at Webster Hall, where, hopefully they'll be mixed by a sound guy who knows what the fuck he's doing and the instruments will have some separation instead of being buried amongst a sloppy sonic shitshow.  Next up: maybe I'll get off my fat ass and see Cheeseburger later this week. 

Type O Negative, May 8th, 2007 at Irving Plaza

    Well, I finally quit my excruciating, painful, knock-my-head-against-the-wall-for-14-hours-each-day job, so now I'll have a shitload more time on my hands.  When I first started this blog I was hoping to do indvidual pieces on each show I saw or each album I heard in a timely fashion, regardless of how good or bad, and since I was working upwards of 70 mentally-draining hours a week there wasn't much time for that.  With that workload now reduced to zero hours a week, at least for the foreseeable future, there should be more time for the truly insignificant things in life, such as entries on a blog read by nobody.  (That's you!)

    Anyhow, the first time I saw Type O Negative, they seemed primed to rule the world, or at least as close to it as a melodic thrash band with goth leanings could get.  Fresh off the release of their career defining Bloody Kisses, I caught 'em at Nassau Coliseum, opening up for the mighty Pantera at Nassau Coliseum in what had to have been either '94 or '95.  Back then, they opened up their set with the pummeling "Too Late: Frozen," a song that's part weepy break-up song ("Was everything we had just a joke?/I've run out of patience, tears and hope") and part bizarro undead cheerleader cadence ("One! Two! Fuck you!").  How the hell these guys ever got mainstream radio play with "Christian Woman" and "Black No. 1" still confuses the shit out of me to this day.  Is there any artist that seemed more out of place when situated amongst the usual Toadies/Silverchair/Stone Temple Pilots alt-rock playlist you'd hear in the mid-90s?  Not that I can think of.

    Now, don't get me wrong, I fucking LOVE Pantera, but Type O all but blew them off the stage that night.  "Unsuccessfully Coping with the Natural Beauty of Infidelity" (the song with the "I know you're fucking someone else" chorus) still ranks amongst the most bestest live songs I've ever had the pleasure of witnessing. 

    Today's Type O has slogged on through four more studio albums (plus a "Least Worst of" collection), with seemingly interminable waiting times of at least three years between each.  Their most recent, Dead Again, released last month, proved that neither the band's popularity (it debuted at #27 on the Billboard charts) nor its ferocity (the treblified buzz-saw "lead bass" tone still reigns supreme on their recordings) nor its bombast (six songs clocking in at at least 7 minutes) has diminished during the intervening years.  But how about their live show?

    I arrived at Irving Plaza a bit after 9 PM, having missed opening band Brand New Sin.  Apparently, Irving Plaza has been rechristened "The Fillmore at Irving Plaza," although I was unable to really notice any real changes to the venue other than a cordoned off area to the right side where band gear was kept.  I noticed that the same dickhead bouncer that tried to kick me out for smoking weed at a Guided by Voices show in December '04 was still working there, and in typical "that guy" fashion he elbowed his way through the crowd in order to both scold this evening's weedsmokers and establish himself as the room's Alpha Male.  I entered the hall just in time to catch the joyless monotony of classic doomsters Celtic Frost's set.  With the exception of a few classic NWOBHM licks, these guys were about as fun as a trip to the DMV.   Obviously, my back started killing me and I longed for somewhere to sit down, and, failing that, something to lean on.  Anticipation ran high.

    Unfortunately, following Celtic Frost, the band decided to severely fuck with the audience, playing "The Chicken Dance" over the in-house PA for literally upwards of 30 minutes, complete with about 10 or so fakeouts during which the house lights were dimmed, only to be raised back up along with the blaring Chicken Dance.  Not fun.  After about 20 minutes a roadie came onstage to announce that "Pete [Steele, the band's vocalist/bassist/songwriter] missed his train... he'll be late" and imploring the soundman to "just play the Chicken Dance for another half hour."  Obviously, the audience sensed this announcement to be highly dubious, but that didn't make the situation any better.  Not to mention that for me, this interim was spent with some chick behind me jabbing me with her elbows as she made out with her boyfriend.  Collectively, the two smelled like an overturned outhouse at a BBQ pork cookoff. 

    Finally, the band took the stage, accompanied by the crowd's faithful "You! Suck! You! Suck!" chant, just as on their (fake) live album, The Origin of the Feces.  The first impression was not, how you say, good.  The once-formidable Man of Steele looked pale, wan and deathly ill, not to mention that it was a bit confusing to see him sporting a pair of tits and lovehandles.  Clearly, years of cocaine abuse, alcoholism and failing mental health have not treated the man kindly.  And he didn't sound much better, either, croaking through a cover of "Magical Mystery Tour," followed by "We Hate Everyone" and "The Profit of Doom."  For some reason I was reminded of that horrible Bob Dylan MTV Unplugged album, where his unwillingness/inability to enunciate/sing properly made me wish someone would just turn his mic off so the crowd at large could perform in his stead.  Following "Profit," Steele announced that he had to leave the stage "so I can go vomit," the first of several puzzling, momentum-killing evacuations of the stage by the band during the set.

    Of course, in following with the "let's piss off the crowd" theme, these setbreaks were filled with the worst music imaginable, i.e. the Addams Family theme song and recordings of crowds cheering and booing.  Just not cool, man.  When the band returned, Steele announced that he had "eaten a half of a bad pizza backstage."  Credible, especially in light of his history of drug and alcohol abuse?  You be the judge; I'll just passive aggressively put that out there.  Steele's vocals sounded much better following this intermission, as they played several new songs quite well and dipped deep into their back catalog for the boring "Hey Pete/Kill You Tonight (reprise)."  The "two songs onstage, then a break" routine continued, to the point where I actually started to walk out in disgust right as the opening notes of "Christian Woman" started up.  Finally! After still yet the umpteenth setbreak, we got a cool instrumental jam with some Sabbath licks thrown in, and, ultimately, "Black No. 1," with the latter closing the show before a huge toilet paper fight broke out between the band/crew and the audience.  Yes, I was disappointed that they didn't play "Naturally Coping," but that complaint was really towards the bottom of my list of annoyances.  Won't be seeing these guys again.  Had I known the show was going to be such a disappointment, I would have hit Arcade Fire, which I also had a ticket to.  Oh, well.      

List #2: The 10 most annoying people I met at concerts, 2006

    Yes, I'm fully aware that '06 isn't over yet, and since I'll be seeing several more shows over these next two weeks (at least 4 shows), it's possible that I'll encounter someone that's even worse than these assholes.  But that's what the "edit post" function on this blog is for. 

THE TOP 10 MOST ANNOYING PEOPLE WHO CROSSED MY PATH AT CONCERTS IN 2006

10: "Dumb bitch who covered me in rum and Coke" at Langhorne Slim, Northsix, December.
    There I was, trying my best to avoid listening to an incredibly boring Roots/Americana-flavored opening act by sitting on the front step of the bleachers at Northsix and sending irritating, incomprehensible text messages to my brother when this stupid whore spilled her shitty drink on me.  Startled by the coldness of the liquid on my hands, I let out a half-whimper-half-yelp, expecting at least a disapproving glance (if not a full-fledged apology) from the twat.  I received neither, and she sauntered off towards the bathroom.  Fuck!

9: "Ugly naked crowdsurfing quasi-goth chick" at Social D, Warsaw, October
    As anyone who has seen too much low budget porn can attest, most people should just keep their goddamn clothes on.  Titties like pierced cellulite flapjacks; ass like a discarded piece of olive loaf; face like Fairuza Balk with a hairlip. 

8: "Kicky guy" at Mastodon, Webster Hall, September
    Okay, this one may be a bit of a stretch because I didn't actually come into physical contact with this guy.  Knowing that I was seeing Comets on Fire at Knitting Factory later in the evening, I saved my energy and avoided the 'pit at the Mastodon show, watching the show pussily from the balcony.  Now, the sound mix at this show was the worst I've ever heard, so my eyes wandered from time to time, eventually noticing this dickhead.  You know when you're like 5 years old and you do the "I'm going to twirl my arms in a windmill/punching motion and kick every few steps, so if I hit you it's your fault so consider yourself warned" thing?  This guy was using that very technique, firing away smack dab in the middle of a sold out crowd.  Hopefully someone kicked him down the stairs after the show. 

7: "Stinky-ass piece of shit fatass" at Built to Spill, Warsaw, October.
    Yes, I realize that this entry may result in some confusion, as most of the time that description could accurately describe yours truly.  But you should have smelled this guy!  Jesus Fucking Christ!  I knew that BtS attracted a lot of crappy unwashed "I'm rebelling against doing anything productive with my life"-type hippie trustafarians, but this shitheel takes the cake.  Oy vey!

6: "Spastic dickwad" at Mogwai, Webster Hall, May.
    Earth to fuckface: Mogwai aren't a death metal band!  I don't care how hopped up you are on cold medicine and pixie sticks, you're not supposed to dance like an ecstasy casualty at a fucking Mogwai show!   Especially if your style of "dancing" involves bumping into me literally thousands of times and (presumably) accidentally slapping my thighs and brushing against my ass repeatedly in the process.  I would have decked the shit out of you if this had been, like, Broken Social Scene or some shit and I had no interest in the show, but Mogwai are too good to get kicked out on your behalf, you prepubescent fudgepacker.

5.) "Spoiled NYU big-mouth teenager" at Russian Circles, Irving Plaza, October.   
    Obviously, Russian Circles RULE, way moreso than the headliner at this show (Minus the Bear).  By definition Russian Circles are an instrumental band that plays a blend of post rock and mathy metal.  I was already pissed because I hustled my ass off trying to get to this show on time, only to be fucked in the ass first by the worst westbound traffic I've ever seen on the BQE, second by a cabbie that didn't know where the fuck Irving Plaza was, third by the criminally unjust 25 minute time slot allotted for Russian Circles' set, and finally by some pussy heckling the band, repeating his unfunny "hey, write some lyrics!" quip ad fucking nauseum.  T'heh!  Good one!  HILARIOUS, RIGHT?!  Uggh.  I weighed the options: immediately beat this guy's sorry ass in front of his friends and get kicked out, or wait until the next band took the stage (Velvet Teen) and beat his ass if they sucked.  Of course, Velvet Teen turned out to be terrible, but by the time I had determined that (about 30 seconds into the first song) this little turdburglar had already vanished, probably sniffing toilet seats with his buddies downstairs.  If, on the 302,000,000-to-one-or-so chance that you're reading this and you are the kid I'm talking about, I will fight you anywhere, any time.  Please contact me.  Not taking advantage of the golden opportunity I had to harm you keeps me up at night.

4.) "Me" at Diamond Nights, Bowery Ballroom, November.
    Earth to fat fuck: Diamond Nights are not a death metal band!  Just because you're borderline blacked out doesn't give you an excuse to flail about in front of the stage like the fat, asexual moron that you are.  And what the hell were you thinking wearing that orange shirt??  You look like a less endearing version of the Syracuse Orangemen mascot, except with worse skin and bigger manboobs.  Seriously, fuck you.

3.) "Stagerushing superfan douchefuck," Robert Pollard, Bowery Ballroom, November

    Okay, I'm only going to say this once.  When Bob Pollard announces that "this will be our last song of the night, thanks kids, good night" that doesn't mean this is your time to shine by climbing onstage and wrestling the microphone away from him.  ESPECIALLY when it's the last song of the last encore.  ESPECIALLY when that song is "Goldheart Mountaintop Queen Directory," arguably Bob's greatest song ever.  ESPECIALLY when it turns out that that particular song is probably going to be the last song I ever see Bob perform, ever.  Fucknuts.

2.) "Guy who pissed on my leg" at 3 Inches of Blood, Knitting Factory, July.
    Just inexcusable.  Not cool.  Not cool at all, man. 

1.) "Blue shirt guy" at 6-band metal-fest, Northsix, August.
    It was a hot, gritty evening at the apex of the summer's unbearable heatwave.  Lack of air conditioning and adequate beverages no doubt augmented the general feeling of malaise in the air.  And a venue with sub-adequate ventilation is not by any means the ideal setting in which to view a testosterone-addled mini-metal-palooza.  During Coliseum's set, some mouth-breather started pogoing through the exhausted crowd, blindly kicking and elbowing everything in his way, including a group of girls.  Normally, this type of boorish behavior could fall under the heading of "hilarious" or "awesome," but not when said acting out involves spilling my beer.  I tired quickly of blue shirt pogo guy's antics as he had basically beaten the everloving shit out of me without so much as even opening his eyes.  Another crowd member, "tanned guido meathead," eventually got so irritated he ran full speed into blue shirt, sending him flying into his little cluster of butt buddies.  But blue shirt pogo fuckface continued undeterred.  During his next lap around the room, as he passed by (or, more accurately, through) me, he actually punched me in the face, knocking my glasses to the floor.  I had had just about enough, thank you very much.  I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he precariously stumbled towards the back of the room, promising myself that if he got close so help me god I'd choke the shit out of this punk, then throw him to the floor and beat him mercilessly.  He inched closer, closer, closer..... my blood boiled, higher, higher.... closer.... cloooooooser..... until he crunched into a smallish kid standing right behind me, who in turn proceeded to grab blue shirt bitchass around the neck, throwing him to the floor and beating him mercilessly.  Seriously, how cool is that?  I was truly awed, but not so much that I let the moment pass me by fully: in an act of true cowardice, I hopped up, landing with all my weight on blue shirt guy's chest, kicking him in the face a few times in the process.  After a couple rounds of "how you like that, motherfucker" he squirmed out from beneath my size twelves, truly dazed, and in obvious agony while I giggled and pointed.  The look of astonishment on his friends' faces was really priceless.  Faaaan-tastic!
    Needless to say, I felt so bad about this that I left the show post-haste.  Well, that and I feared a lawsuit.  Homeslice was pretty banged up!