Mika Miko at Irving Plaza, New York, NY, September 13, 2006

Mika Miko (pronounced Mee-ka Mee-ko) encourage their fans to "pony thrash." Anyone unsure of what pony thrashing looks like needs only to listen to their music – ramalamadingdong punk outbursts that feel like a someone's savagely beating you over the head with stale cotton candy. Commence pony thrashing. Onstage, the L.A. five piece was flush with rudimentary musical skills plus lots of screaming, shouting, yammering, and other ill-defined forms of vocal flailing. It's no wonder they're fans of Reagan Youth and Bad Brains. The band itself looked like dorks du jour. Blonde, mullet'ed singer Jennifer Clavin screamed into a red telephone and resembled the title character from the Legend of Billie Jean (an under-praised tearjerker if ever there were one). Jenna Thornhill wore what appeared to be lederhosen, or maybe just little shorts and suspenders, and took care of the more guttural barking noises. Frank Zappa is totally pony thrashing in his grave.

8 Things About the Supersuckers and Social Distortion at Warsaw, Brooklyn, NY, October 11, 2006

Supersuckers main man Eddie Spaghetti is one cool mofo. He's so cool he doesn't even care if you think he's cool or not. Dude's been wearing the same get-up for years: black cowboy hat, sideburns, and aviator sunglasses. And this was years before anyone knew what the hell a "hipster" was.

When asked what's better, "good" or "awesome," the answer is always "awesome," unless you're at work and only feel like contributing to a "good" degree. Let it be known that the Supersuckers were, and will remain, awesome. After the set, Mr. Spaghetti invited everyone to meet him by the merch table to discuss the topic of awesomeness.

Playing bass guitar in a band is the number one aspiration for graduating high-school seniors. In case you're wondering, being a drummer is the lowest on the aspiration meter. And according to Mr. Spaghetti, "manhole inspector" is number four on the list.

Tonight was Social Distortion's first time playing Brooklyn. Apparently, the crowd could not contain its pride and therefore felt the need to mosh to Every. Single. Song. Dear idiots, there's no need to throw elbows during songs like "Ball and Chain," "Highway 101,"and "King of Fools." It just makes you look like testosterone-clogged dipshits who are too scared to bring your weak game to a show that actually warrants moshing. Pussies.

Mike Ness is starting to resemble a much sexier, tattooed Tony Soprano. And by that I mean he is the gangster of love. And by "love" I mean "rock and roll." Dude is thisclose to warranting his own line of bathrobes and track suits. He's so freakin' big and beautiful. AND he's the only male rock star who knows how to apply eyeliner and not look like the bastard son of Tammy Faye Baker.

Better analogy: if Frank Sinatra and Bella Lugosi (as Dracula) had a baby, the result would be Mike Ness. With his gold Gibson guitar and navy shirt buttoned to the tippy top button, the man is an imposing panty magnet for all genders.

He brought a handful of youngsters up on stage and told them "Tomorrow when you go to school, you can say to your teacher 'Yeah, history's cool, math's cool, but I've been to school already… I've been to Social D.'"

The last song of the evening, "Ring of Fire," was dedicated to Joey Ramone. "Without the Ramones, there'd be no Social D," said Ness. And then the dipshits moshed accordingly.

Joan Jett and the Blackhearts at Irving Plaza, October 15, 2006 a.k.a. Your Semi-Regular Joan Jett Perspiration Report

While every press weasel and his mother was hanging at CBGB for Patti Smith to show up and close the place down, I headed to a venue with reliable toilets and level flooring for Joan Jett. Last time we saw our venerable heroine, she was gearing up for the Warped Tour to promote her new album Sinner. It appears that the summer festival spit-shined her highness's ultra-tight hiney, because she came out of the starting gate like a horny savage dancing, gyrating, and grooving to "Hello Hello, I'm Back Again" by Gary Glitter. Any kinks (no pun intended) in her set were thoroughly ironed out from the get-go, leaving us with nothing but lots of hot, wet leather and rock 'n' roll. How hot and wet, you ask? So hot and wet, in fact, that at one point Jett had to inform the crowd, "I didn't pee." Seems that when she bent forward, the back of her vinyl vest released a stream of pent-up Jett sweat that then trickled down her butt and into a puddle at her feet. Repeat: not pee, just sweat. To quote Winona Ryder as Veronica Sawyer in Heathers, "Lick it up, baby. Lick. It. Up."

Send This Page to a Friend • Join Our Mailing List • Current Stories
Indie CD Reviews • Musicians' Classifieds • NYC Gig Listings