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Bowery Ballroom Show Review 06/05/2006
by Kathleen Warnock
When there’s a NYC show on a weeknight, I usually come
there straight from work. Before I left I did divest
myself of the office shirt & sweater, and exchanged it
for a favorite t-shirt (Ripken, Orioles). It was a
relief to shed the corporate skin, and its attendant
worries, none of which would have been solved by
skipping the show anyhow. They’ll all be there
today…and tomorrow.
The F train took me to the heart of the Lower East
Side, and from there it was a three block walk to the
Bowery Ballroom. It’s supposed to be gentrifying, in
fact, there is new construction of expensive
residential buildings all around, but in early June,
the LES is still pretty smelly. Dumpsters and
trashcans decorated the sidewalks and a general
pervasive funk hung over the neighborhood like the
glowering sky.
They’d let people in (but not into the auditorium) by
the time I got there, and it was a hard core early
crowd, packed with people who meant business (by that,
I mean getting up to the front). I caught up with the
Jetthead from Boston and the Jetthead from Rhode
Island and a few other friends I don’t see nearly
often enough. To get in to the Bowery Ballroom, you
have to go down a flight of stairs past an alcove
where they check your ticket, then into a bar area
with recessed seating around the walls. At the far
right side of the bar is a set of double doors that go
UP into the auditorium proper. But we weren’t getting
there so fast. But at least there was drinking, and
the prices not so bad ($6 for a beer), so the time
passed pleasantly enough.
At a bit after 8, they let us upstairs, and the surge
left me in its wake, as I don’t run up stairs and
sprint across the room anymore. It’s a nice high, wide
stage, and there was room for us at the far stage
right end, in front of where Enzo the bass player
would be standing. There’s a second level of seating
at the Ballroom, with a balcony that reaches around
the almost to the stage, and tables and chairs and
curtained alcoves if, for some reason, you actually
want to sit down when you watch the show. But last
night that bit was roped off for VIPs, industry types
who are, after all, Joan fans too. (I have on occasion
sat upstairs at the Bowery, but only for acoustic
acts).
FINALLY, one of the deejays from Q104.3, which is
the only decent rock station left in town (FUCK Jack!)
came out and seemed to realize we weren’t all there to
see him and briefly, happily introduced JJ & the BH.
Setlist:
Victim of Circumstance
Cherry Bomb
Light of Day
Touch
Bad Rep
Androgynous
Change the World
Five
Love is Pain
AC/DC
Naked
MTM
Riddles
Roadrunner
Fetish
I Love R&R
Crimson
Hate Myself
Encore:
100 Feet Away
Real Wild Child
Everyday People
The chick next to me, Rena from the Bronx, was an
excellent companion to watch a show with. She was all
in black leather and her hair was a dark brown/red and
she had a beauty mark just over her lip. She chattered
away profanely about which songs she liked and didn’t,
the general and specific hotness of Joan, her hair,
her latex, etc.
DOUGIE NEEDLES, I noticed, has a tattoo of a skull
with NYC under it on one arm, and a snakelike one
wrapped around his other arm. His spiked hair was
standing tall and he skittered around the stage, doing
some duckwalking, generally spazzing out and making
guitar player/orgasm faces throughout. I’ve grown
quite fond of him, and it’s surprising to realize he’s
been in the band around six years. He still looks
about 21 and just off the street on the Lower East
Side.
The set started out fast, with an unusual break when
Kenny stepped to the mic and gave a short speech in
praise of Ian Copeland, who died last week. Copeland,
he said, was "a pioneer, a buccaneer…he spend 3 years
on Highway 13 in Vietnam" and had the balls to take
all these new bands from England, the new wavers and
post-punks to America. "We might not have evolved a
Green Day, a Rancid, a Fugazi without him," Kenny
said, and dedicated the NYC shows to him.
And the beat, of course, went on. Joan threw a few
"woo hoos" reminiscent of the Vacancies, her Cleveland
punk mascots, into "Light of Day" (which is, of
course, set in Cleveland). We were solidly in front of
Enzo, who wears black nailpolish and has a bass clef
tattooed to his right arm.
A cheat sheet came out for "Change the World," and
maybe it was where we were standing, but Kenny’s
vocals were LOUD. Joan gave a couple of looks off to
the side, and seemed both annoyed and amused. As Joan
introduced the song, she talked about introspection,
and self-awareness, and Rena said: Kill ‘em all, let
God sort ‘em out.
After, Joan fussed about her allergies "where your
voice comes and goes," and ploughed on.
Of the new stuff, AC/DC was perhaps the best received
(as might be expected), Joan told us we could sing
along on "Riddles" (wo oh oh oh; wo oh oh oh is pretty
easy to manage). I still remember the OTHER words
(from when the song was "Stuck in the Middle") so had
to mumble along, moving my lips as though the lyrics
were engrained in me as well as, say, Bad Rep!
Joan was dripping sweat, the way she likes it, and
leaving small puddles behind as she moved. At the end
of the set, when she turned and applauded us, she was
surrounded by a luminescent cloud of perspiration.
…and of course they were back in a minute for the
3-song encore, still at top energy.
We barely had a moment to collect ourselves and bask
in the buzz before security swept over us like a
Zamboni, urging us to GET OUT. Okay. It’s a Monday
night, almost midnight, but it was a happy,
well-behaved crowd, no fights, give us a chance to
soak up the ambience for a few more minutes. We waved
at Cherie Currie and her handsome young son Jake up in
the balcony (they were in town for a gig the night
before). Then we were suddenly on the street again on
the Lower East Side, heading back up First Avenue,
ears ringing, ducking into a deli for water and
chocolate, knowing we would see Joan & the BLACKHEARTS
again in less than 24 hours, which, if you ask me, is
the best way to leave a show.
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