RIP Ari Up- "You have never seen the like of me before!"

It's not easy to write about punk goddess/Slits leader Ari Up, because words on a computer screen can't do her justice.

When I heard that she died yesterday, I was crushed. I'd known her for several years and watched her drive band mates, managers, waiters and friends insane with the whirlwind of her personality but even then, you were totally awed by her. Even people half her age couldn't keep up with her as an indomitable force of nature. There was no time and no patience for bullshit with her and no half-stepping either- as a singer, songwriter, performer and fashion designer (known as Madussa in Jamaica), she was absolutely tireless. You'll note in the picture above, she's the one who just did an energetic show while I'm the one ready to pass out just from watching her.

I'd met her backstage at a New York show and later interviewed her and wrote about her for the Village Voice and elsewhere. As we became friends, I decided that I couldn't objectively report on her anymore but could instead support her with some advice and connections.

Anything I'd read or heard about her hadn't prepared me for being around around Ari. She was a character to say the least. She demanded a lot from other people but also demanded a lot from herself in her work. When she reformed the Slits this past decade, I'd see her leading the rehearsals, putting the band through the paces of her songs until she felt it was just right. Even decades after the fact, her voice was still mind-boggling- in one line, she could do a sweet sing-song and in the next line, there'd be atonal howls and screams and yet she'd still make everything sound right.

That kind of range extended to her life too. One message on my answering machine (which I wished I saved) was an extended angry swear-filled rant about her former manager, who had ripped her off and screwed her pretty badly. Another time when I spoke to her and I was sick, she actually sang me a lullaby over the phone to send me some good vibes. On her answering machine for her apartment in Brooklyn, she always had a gleeful message about some upcoming show she was doing. Other times I'd speak to her, she was down about trying to get a tour booked or a record released, plus in recent years, she had problems with her home in Jamaica that was blown apart by a storm.

She also had a somewhat strained relationship with her step-dad, Johnny Lydon. It's not worth going into trashy detail but there is one funny story I'd like to share. I called Ari at home once and was talking for a while until the voice on the other line merrily told me that she was not in fact Ari but instead Ari's mother (aka Lydon's wife) who just happened to be there house sitting. It turns out that mom and daughter not only sounded almost exactly alike but both had similarly playful personalities. After her mom related that hubby wasn't one much for holidays (go figure), she also mentioned that sometimes he would go to his bedroom to hide when he heard that Ari popped in to say hi, mostly because she was quite a handful.

And that she was. At first, I put her number on my cell phone's address list so I knew when she was calling me and I could brace myself for the conversation, which was almost always intense. Once when I arranged for a gig for her, to make sure she was in the right mood, I took her out for a meal beforehand, taxied her to the gig and even printed out lyrics for her for a song she was supposed to sing there that she hadn't sang in years ("Man Next Door") and ran interference between her and the sound guy before the show. It was pretty draining but exhilarating too. There's just certain people that drive you crazy but you love them anyway for who they are.

The last time that I spoke to her was around March and we promised to speak again after I came back from SXSW, asking me to help figure out some way to get the word out about her work. After that, I called occasionally to leave messages but didn't hear back. That wasn't unusual since she was a pretty free spirit, running around to Jamaica and visiting friends in London all the time. Her answering machine would make you wait through a dozen beeps, representing other people trying to get in touch with her too. I had no idea about how sick she was then- not that there was much that I could do, even with a few years of nursing but I would have liked to have been supportive of her, just as she had been when I was sick.

The thing that really boggles my mind is that she was so alive and of the moment, that it's almost incomprehensible that she's gone now. My favorite memory of her was a show she put on in Brooklyn in an art space where she had a camera crew following her around. She'd occasionally stay in one place for a moment to do a few songs, then should would MC other acts or drag the crew around to interview people and show some art pieces or talk a bit about whatever else was on her mind. That was the kind of freewheeling spirit she was.

As I think of her right now, she reminds me of the Ghost of Christmas Present from Dickens' "A Christmas Carol." When Scrooge meets him for the first time, the Ghost exclaims "Look upon me... You have never seen the like of me before!" And that just as well applies to Ari.



















After dinner with my girlfriend, Lower East Side, NYC















Live at CBGB's, 2006



















Backstage at CBGB's 2007




This and video below taken from camera phone (sorry about the quality) as Ari explains her plans in the depths of the NYC subway system, November 2009

Village Voice- Best of New York 2010, Lennon in the Movies and Pavement reunion

Yep, it's that time of year again and I was honored to participate in the Village Voice's annual Best of New York round-up. Here's the neat things that I found and wrote about. Hope you enjoy some of them:

• Best Place To Become One With Your Accordion
• Best Uploader of Geek Culture & Music
• Best Floating Bluegrass Jam Session
• Best Restored Subway Art
• Best Training Ground For Kid Writers
• Best Way To Disseminate Feminist Punk Culture Through A Public Institution
• Best Barber Shop That Comes To Your Home

Also, there's this slide show article that I did for New York magazine, talking about how John Lennon's been covered in the movies over the years.

And finally, alongside clips of the band themselves, the New Yorker interviewed me about the Pavement reunion. Here's me (in the black cap) trying to think of something intelligent to say:

Freshlyground vs. Mugabe- Zimbabwe calling

Best known for their Shakira collaboration ("Waka Waka," aka the World Cup song), Afro-pop band Freshlyground is a multi-cultural dream. Though based in South Africa, the band members come from several countries in the area, plus the group is mixed by race and gender. As Stewie on Family Guy would say, they're like a Benetton ad, only they're cooler.

Their latest video has P-O'd its target- President Robert Mugabe of Zimbabwe. Once upon a time, specifically after Mugabe took over and ended white rule there in 1980, his policy (which South Africa later adopted after apartheid) was to keeping the white businessmen there to help the economy going, rather than seeking bloodshed and revenge. This worked well for a while too. Up through about the end of the 90's, the country fared much better than most other countries in the region, thanks in large part to tourism. I took part in that around 1988, visiting Victoria Falls (the place where Dr. Livingston was met up with). It's a beautiful area, full of lush vegetation and wonderfully friendly people. I was looking forward to going back there.

Sad to say, that won't happen any time soon. Mugabe took a turn for the worse and become a power-hungry scumbag, deciding that holding onto power at all costs was more important than the welfare of the nation. Around 1999, he set up 'land reform,' where he would sanction groups of blood-thirsty mobs to set upon the white farmers and 'liberate' their lands: admittedly, the white farms had a disproportionate amount of prime farm land space thanks to pre-independence deals but Mugabe's program was a terrible, disastrous way to compensate for this. His thinking was that if he went down this ill-advised path, he'd get the support of most of the people there by not only brewing up racial resentment but also encouraging it and rewarding it. Some estimates are that hundreds of these farmers were driven from their lands, which happened to employ many Zimbabweans. Mugabe's plan was not a boon for the country though as the 'war veterans' (many of whom were actually too young to have been around during the independence struggle) who took over the farms didn't have any farming experience themselves.

The result was that the Zimbabwe farms went to waste and the economy collapsed. Tourism stopped also, especially after the country-wide killings and land seizures were sanctioned by Mugabe and his cronies. As for the problems that he created for his own country, he's made England and America into scapegoats for this. He's has several fraudulent elections since then too although with the last one, he was forced into a toothless power-sharing agreement with the opposing political party. Most likely, his death won't necessarily mean an end to the country's troubles as he's surrounded by like-minded people who want to keep things as they are and are no doubt worried that they might not find a safe haven to avoid eventual prosecution for their crimes.

Needless to say, in a dictatorship like this, any kind of dissent isn't tolerated. The opposing party has been brutalized for years now and independent news is scarce inside the country. In addition, any kind of art that isn't govt sanctioned or is critical of the govt is just asking for trouble.

Since they're operating out of state, Freshlyground can afford to criticize Mugabe. Their video for the lively tune "Chicken For Change" features puppets that look like something out of Spitting Image. The Mugabe figure already looks kind of like a chicken to start with but it's still funny to see him change into one by the end of the video. Of course, the Zimbabwe govt. took exception to this as this AP article explains, also saying that any Zimbabwe group would have been jailed for such an 'offense.' For Freshlyground, that's also meant that they can't play any gigs in Zimbabwe now, for obvious reasons. Luckily, the band is undeterred. As singer Zolani Mahola says in the article, Zimbabwean fans have been supportive of the band and the song's message:

"Somebody has said something for them," she said. "We have to be able to speak. You have to be able to have a voice."

Enjoy the video above and if you wanna support the band too, you can buy the single at their website.

Chicago blues mini-tour

It'd be kinda foolish to show up in Chicago and NOT take in any music, right? I was lucky enough to be there on Labor Day weekend to catch the Jazz Festival featuring Ahmad Jamal (celebrating his 80th b-day) and a grand home-coming from Henry Threadgill with his latest combo, Zooid, not to mention Ramsey Lewis being interviewed about his career by Chicago Tribune's Howard Reich (a glorious jazz nut himself).

But I needed blues fix too. Part of that came from a pilgrimage to Chess Records, now a museum called (appropriately enough) Blues Heaven. Like Sun Studio in Memphis, you can see the control room and equipment along with photos of its classic inhabitants (Muddy, Wolf, Etta, Sonny Boy and so many more), especially one of the 20th century's greatest songwriters, bassist/arranger/producer Willie Dixon, who's honored all over the place there. For the tour, you get to sit in the studio and watch an hour-long history of the label, including interviews with Muddy and an English admirer named Mick. And that's not even mentioning the memorabilia displays, the huge banners outside (see above) or the iron gate with silhouette figures of Bo Diddley, Chuck Berry and Albert King. And of course a gift shop, where we loaded up on T-shirts and fridge magnets. You really felt honored to be there and to witness where some wonderful musical history took place. Not only that but the place is also a foundation that "assist(s) in documentation and promotion of the Blues, but to also support Blues artists and the business of music."

But seeing blues history ain't the same without seeing some blues itself, dig? Buddy Guy's is probably the most obvious place to go so as novices, we did though we were advised by fans at the club that we needed to go elsewhere to hear 'real blues.' Regardless, the place is decked out with wonderful photos along the back wall and nice memorabilia from Buddy himself. We saw a good acoustic set from Jimmy Johnson (early sets are free) and then came back to see a good electric set from Quintus McCormick (pictured here, shortly before he roamed among the crowd, much like Buddy does).


Curious about what else there was out there, we also headed to Kingston Mines another night and I'm glad we did. Calling itself 'Chicago's oldest and largest real blues club,' in the Lincoln Park section of town, they offer quite a deal- two competing stages where one act plays and when they're done, another act starts in another room, all for a $12 cover. Even better, if you show up on a Sunday night and go to the B.L.U.E.S. club down the street, you also get free admission to Kingston Mines also. A word of warning though- they have good soul food at KM but be prepared to wait a while for it. The night we were there, we caught a good singer/guitarist named Joanna Connor in the first room and R&B roof-raisers Big James & the Chicago Playboys in the other room. The owner was a real no-nonsense big dude who laid down some rules for the packed crowd before the music started and assured us all that it was no newspaper misprint, that the bands were indeed going to play until 5AM (and that last call was just before that when Chi-town goes dry for several hours).

As if that wasn't enough, one more stop was needed for a real blues tour, taking me to a place simply and appropriately called Blue Chicago, again manned by an MC/owner that no sane person would want to mess around with (you can see him on the intro film of the webpage). It was small, cramped and no-frill, which is exactly what you'd hope a blues club would be. It was a decent enough joint though with a cool bouncer and bartender, plus tourists other than myself from other parts of the States, plus Australia and Japan and even some locals. The night started out with a solid four-piece band called the Troublemakers with two singer/guitarists who traded off songs well. It turns out that they were just the warm-up. The main attraction was a blues mama called Grana Louise. She was a great belter and had some nice salty talk to rev up the crowd. She definitely deserves some gigs at out-of-state blues festivals.

Even with all of that, I still missed the other blues clubs like Lee's Unleaded, Checkerboard Lounge and Rosa Lounge (one of the 'real blues clubs,' I'm told) but it was a start. And it was good enough to make me wanna go back and check out the rest too.

Ty Segall- in dreams

Last night, I went to see Ty Segall at Cake Shop and got more than I bargained for there. I showed up there late, with a humid drizzle going on as people poured out of the Lower East Side club strip for cig breaks and to socialize in a less cramped area, with taxis streaming by to pick up the floatsam and jetsam that would soon tire out. I made it downstairs in time to see the end of the set from the third band of the evening- it was almost perfect timing and even more amazing considering it was a four-band bill where I came for the last act.

People streamed out after the band finished and I made my way up to the front, near a fan mounted on the wall, which almost made it bearable to stand there near the end of the bar. I was squashed there with people trying to thread in near the stage or to order a drink but it seemed to be a decent perch. Ty and the band set up to go on soon but it seems like long time in there with the crowd and the heat. Though I was only ten feet from the stage, I couldn't see anything except a tiny sliver of Ty's face and occasionally a glimpse of his long hair manically bobbing up and down. Near the front of stage, some pretty weak moshing was going on but it didn't matter since Ty was delivering- his set was good grungry garage rock which he's now upped the ante with by adding a tuneful side to it on his new record Melted, which impressed me enough to come to out see him. Jay Ruttenberg, my friend from Time Out New York collared me and hung out there in front for a while but he couldn't see squat either and retreated to back for some air. I did likewise and was ready to stay for a while until Ty tried out some tired jokes ("what didn't the lifeguard rescue the hippie? He was too far out man!" and "What do you do if you see a space man? You park, man!") and followed up his threat to play some Skynyrd by actually doing it (not "Freebird," mind you) and a Sabbath cover. Not really into his bar band shtick and noticing that it was getting late (I have a day job, mind you), I took off and got home by midnight.

For the last few weeks, I'd been able to actually remember most of the dreams I had and when I'd share 'em with my girlfriend or some bewildered friends who guest starred in them, they had no idea what it meant either or maybe just didn't want to tell me that I'm just sick in the head.

But after Ty's show, I had one that seemed to make things clear. Here's the scenario. I'm at an outdoor amphitheater where the circus is performing. The seating looks crowded so I walk near a ground level opening where a few people are crowded around to see what's happening. Even there, it's hard to see anything. They bring a goat out and maybe other animals and everyone oooh's and ah's at it. I turn to look at the stands and I notice that there's some clowns seated near the back with their props, including spray bottles. One of them nails me with water and at first I think it's funny and then I realize that he's trying to clear me from that area- the other people there have already left. I think of trying to walk in to find a seat but I look at my watch and notice that it's getting late and that I should probably start heading home.

Oh, so it's obvious, right? I was just processing in my mind what had actually happened to me a few hours ago (dunno who the clown was, maybe me). But it was such a relief and kind of a revelation to think that I could find some bearings about what was going on in my dreams and that I was kind of reliving scenes in my life. No, I probably can't psychoanalyze your dreams and I'm obviously missing on a lot more going on but it really gave me some peace of mind.

And I to that I have Ty, a guy I could bare see, to thank for that...

PHOTO ABOVE by Denee Petracek