WFMU's Beware of the Blog

Last Night's Protest Against Varvatos

(pic left from Flickr page of Jeremoss). I for one have grown completely numb to the co-opting of cool culture for nefarious commercial means. If the Strangulated Beatoffs had a song appear in a McDonald's ad, I probably would not bat an eye at this juncture (though if they do decide to do this I sort of fear for humanity what the band would be doing with their check). So, while I am right onboard with everyone who feels that downtown's identity has been clomped over by the high-rent boutiques, wine bars and luxury condos, I can't really feel that the amount of creativity in the city has been scaled down, just sort of displaced (to places with varying degrees of accessibility). I was truly saddened by Tonic's demise, mainly because it was such a central hub of important activity for so many artists who are somewhat more scattered now, but I never got that weepy over CB's. The last show I saw there was the Chain Gang, a good couple years before it's closing, and I think I hadn't been there since 2000 before that. Hence, the fact that John Varvatos decided to buy the old CBGB space and turn it into a fancy retail outlet that happens to preserve the club's graffiti, stage, lights and postered icons amidst racks of $700 jeans isn't as appalling to me I guess as it is to all of last night's protesters down in the Bowery. The difference between 315 Bowery becoming this or a Starbucks is what seems to be really rubbing people the wrong way; I mean, if the current realty office that owns the old Pier Platters space in Hoboken decided to put a box of Flying Nun records on their reception counter I'd probably applaud them. Perhaps someone who has respect for the careers of Graeme and Peter Jefferies may be the kind of person I'd like to rent an apartment from, who knows. Regardless, I'm glad there's still a spirit of protest alive (who's headed down to the LES to get a slab of that Bruce Willis-as-roast pig effigy happening?), though I did get a laugh from a comment on Curbed, whether it be facetious or not (thanks Doron): "I can't wait to protest this abomination, I'll meet everyone at the Whole Foods on Houston at 8PM!"

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They’re Tearin’ Down the House I Was Brung Up In

I often get little messages from my subconscious in the form of song lyrics. I’ll be going along, doing something or other—taking a shower, walking to work, washing the dishes—and I’ll realize I’m humming a song, and then if I pay attention and figure out what song it is, it’ll turn out that the lyrics are making a little commentary on something that’s been on my mind. Lately I’ve found myself humming an old country tune called “They’re Tearing Down the House I Was Brung Up In,” and I sure wish I could post an MP3 of it for you, in case you’re not familiar with it, or at least put up the lyrics, but it seems that the whole wide Internet has never heard of it. But it’s a real song, I promise.

I guess the reason that song’s been in my head is that the people who own the Carpenters’ old house in Downey, California, are getting ready to tear it down. This is the house that was on the cover of some Carpenters’ album, and apparently rabid Carpenters’ fans (Who knew?!) are all agitated because they consider the house to be a SHRINE. It’s where anorexic Karen collapsed before she died! The fan who’s put himself in charge of saving the house calls it “our version of Graceland,” although apparently there are no guided tours, no souvenirs, no Richard Carpenter sightings—oh, wait: I think he’s still alive. Anyway, the people who bought the house are tired of obsessed weirdos peeking in the windows, crying through the locks, and they want to tear the place down and build a McMansion or something, while the fans are hoping the city of Downey will declare it a historic landmark. Maybe the fans should stage a hunger strike in front of Downey city hall.

A long time ago Sluggo worked the overnight shift as a proofreader at a big New York City law firm, but since he’s dyslexic he spent most of his time drawing pictures for the people he worked with. One of them happened to be an obsessed Carpenters fan, so one night Sluggo drew a picture of himself sitting on Karen Carpenter’s grave, eating a picnic. He meant it to be funny, but his colleague burst into tears and never spoke to him again. It’s kind of scary to think that if you get enough people like that together, they might make trouble for you, if you're the kind of person who would buy the former home of someone who sold a lot of record albums. In the 1970s.

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