Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Maxwell's




Anyone who's been familiar with Hoboken since 1995 knows that the town has experienced a radical shift in housing prices and overall cultural aesthetic.  During the ten or so years I spent in Hudson County, I was continually amazed at the way developers were able to squeeze in yet another towering condo community into a city that's only one mile square.  Back in my day, there was still a hearty contingent of locals and imported freakers who turned their noses up at the inevitable changes that come with the gentrification of a neighborhood.  From their stools in Kelly's Pub, Black Jack's and Louise and Jerry's, these raconteurs would talk themselves hoarse about the good old days of cheap rent and unsafe streets.  All of that has vanished into the mist of nostalgia.

Among the last holdouts from the "old" Hoboken is Maxwell's, one of my favorite all time rock clubs.  The official "backstage" area was in the basement next to the kegs. Bands would have to walk up the basement stairs, through the bar, and then navigate their way to the stage from the back of the club room while accepting (or dodging) pats on the back or high-fives being offered from the crowd. I always thought that was a great proletariat approach as opposed to the usual way that bands appear from the backstage wings, looking down on their audience from on high.  I remember one night when Anton Newcombe was trying to make his way to the stage when someone by the door to the back room tried to goad him into a fight. Thankfully, Todd A was able to gently coax him away and prevent the possibility of having to refund the entire crowd for a show that was aborted before it began.  The stage was barely a couple of feet off the ground so if you were in the front there was a good chance that you might be playing the role of roadie by helping adjust mic stands that were accidentally knocked down. At Maxwell's, you felt like a more integral part of the show.

I read today that Maxwell's is shutting down on July 31st.  The shift in nightlife trends combined with the fact that much of the Maxwell's crowd has grown older and moved on makes it difficult to sustain a live music venue in Hoboken.  Despite the challenges they've faced for well over a decade, Maxwell's managed to outlive CBGBs, Brownies, Tramps, and The Continental.  This is no small feat. I was lucky enough to see a lot of great shows there over the years- Mike Watt, Guided By Voices, Supersuckers, Dead Moon, Doo Rag, The Dirtbombs, Billy Childish, Reigning Sound, Brian Jonestown Massacre, and more. (Typing that list out just now reminds me of how amazing that place was).

I'm at that age now where I can share memories of adulthood that took place over 20 years ago.  Each vestige of my younger days that slips away is another not-so-gentle nudge towards middle age. I'm slowly getting better at accepting this fact and am grateful for the experiences I had along the way.  Thank you, Todd A and gang, for so many magical nights.

Monday, June 3, 2013

The Blarney Cove

    

The Blarney Cove seems to be one of the only bars in the East Village that didn’t receive the memo that the 'hood is now about expensive drinks, NYU kids, and shrieking woo woo girls who truck in from the 'burbs for a night in the big city.  Even those who visit divey shithole bars as hip anthropological experimentation tend to steer clear of the Blarney Cove's front door.  I loved it because it was a place for professional drinkers to lose themselves without inhibition. It reminded me of the line in "It's A Wonderful Life":

Hey look, mister- we serve hard drinks in here for men who want to get drunk fast and we don't need any characters to give the joint "atmosphere".

It was always dark in there regardless of the time of day. The only light I can recall noticing was the faint illumination from the bar. It gave off a weird sort of glow that made everyone look like they were terminally ill.  I would go there because I knew I didn't have to impress anyone.  I certainly was not going to run the risk of running into future wife material and if I happened to rub shoulders with anyone I might've known from my outside life, it was safe to say that the person I saw was as much of a degenerate as I was.

No one cared if you slept at the bar, chewed the shit out a straw, or talked to yourself as long as you didn't bug anyone else.  I've heard that people have been 86ed from the Blarney Cove.  If you can't keep your shit together enough to remain welcome at the Blarney Cove, there's not much hope for you as a public drinker. The next stop is either drinking alone at home or while wandering the streets because there's few other places that will tolerate your sorry ass.  It's a pretty low bar to make it as a Blarney Cove regular. Failure to meet that standard says a lot about a person's ability to co-exist with the rest of the human race.

I learned today that the bar is set to close at the end of the month.  The surprising part is that they managed to stay open as long as they did.  Per an article in the EV Grieve, the whole block is shutting down business-by-business.  What does the future hold?  Who knows? All I can say is that the march of change has claimed another uniquely New York artifact.

Photo courtesy of EV Grieve