Bad Idea Potluck Vs. David Tassy of Night Manager

This blog veers ever deeper into the sordid world of music journalism. This month we put our four favorite questions to David Tassy who plays in a band called Night Manager. He's the one in the illustration above with a mustache and no beard. And, boy, has he ever done some dumb stuff.

Claim to fame: I play bass and guitar in Night Manager. I can also throw up on command.

What's the stupidest thing you've ever done?

I've done my fair share of stupid things. One time I took acid on a Monday night in Manhattan and ended up almost getting on the Staten Island Ferry at six in the morning for no reason at all. But I honestly think the stupidest thing I've ever done was when I was fourteen. I was with my friends Bubba and Face on a Tuesday having band practice. We were bored so we got really high and drank a couple of beers. We decided to go to the golf course and just use garbage can lids as sleds and slide down the hills (it was drizzling that day and it's hard to sled on dry ass grass). Some how we ended up vandalizing most of the course. We threw the fences and barriers in the lake and filled up the holes with dirt. For some fucking reason I thought it would be really funny to WRITE MY FULL NAME on the sod of the tee-box. So I took a stick and carved DAVID TASSY. It took me about 15 minutes to do this. Well guess what? The next day I got a call from Oak Hills Golf Course, " Is this David Tassy?" They found me for OBVIOUS reasons. I had to pay them 2000 dollars for the tee-box and we had to sand like 3000 fences and barriers for the rest of the summer.  

Are you sorry?
Mhmm, I'm sorry that I was stupid enough to write my name. But I'm not sorry for fucking up their shit. I had a lot of fun that day.  

Are you going to do it again?
Honestly, I can't say that I won't!  

Would you recommend it to others?

Yes and no. If you're going to ruin or vandalize anything, don't right your fucking name anywhere. It's just plain fucking dumb. I learned my lesson, "DON'T WRITE YOUR NAME ANYWHERE, ESPECIALLY YOUR FULL NAME."

Dudecake #4: Canadian Pride is Hot

But this is probably Photoshop. No one is that awesome. Via.

Bad Idea Potluck Vs. Perry Trice

This time Bad Idea Potluck interviews noted eccentric Perry Trice about hitchhiking in middle school.


Claim to Fame
I started the rumor that Marylin Manson played "Paul" from the Wonder Years.

What's the stupidest thing you've ever done?
When I was twelve, I used to sneak out of my house at night and mess around town. One night, I was walking home and a car pulled over and offered me a ride. I wasn't in the habit of hitching rides but I had been picked up by a curious cop two weeks earlier so I guess I was anxious to get home or at least get off the street.

 The guy driving the car couldn't have been more then 25 but when you're twelve, everyone over the age of 18 looks like their 40, so I was trying to remain aware of my surroundings should things take a turn. Sure enough, we hadn't driven more then a mile down the road when the guy reaches over and starts rubbing my thigh. Had this happened to me in my twenties I might have freaked out, but at twelve I suppose there's that mix of knowing you're going to live for ever and not knowing enough to know what danger looks like, so I just squirmed a little and tried to continue making conversation. As luck would have it, about 30 seconds later we came to a stop sign. The guy didn't actully stop, he just kind of rolled it but it still gave me time to push the door open and kind of do a stumble step/jump out of the moving car. I guess we were both surprised because the guy didn't have time to grab me, although I did feel him try, but being young and agile I was able to take off running towards a section of houses I used as a short cut home from school.

Even in the dark, I knew where I was going, but to the driver it must have looked like I just vanished. I ran all the way home and collapsed at the basement steps of my house. Once I caught my breath, the reality of what had happened started to set in a little but really all I had the patience to do at that point was sneak back in the house and make it back into bed.

Are you sorry? 
I'm a pretty firm believer in character building experiences and that wasn't the last time I sneaked out of the house with unintended consequences. However, that was the first and last time I ever hitchhiked.

Are you going to do it again?
Nope. Way to scared now. To my mind, you get away with something stupid once, its because you're lucky. Trying it a second time just makes you stupid. The universe keeps score.

Would you recommend it to others?
Hitchhiking? No. Not really. But I wouldn't have taken some old dude's recommendation at that age either and, what's more, nothing really all that bad happened to me. So, no on the hitchhiking, but yes on the being open to creating your own cautionary tales.

Bad Idea Potluck Vs. Jessie Walsh-Rosenstock

 

 

It's time for the second installment of the Bad Idea Potluck Q&A! This time, jewelry designer Jessie Walsh-Rosenstock submitted to the tyranny of our four favorite questions:

Claim to fame: I make Princess Fancypants jewelry. I am also the poster child for teen smoking.

What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever done?

Went to San Francisco on a first date, with a man I had met three days before, with only what was in my purse.

Are you sorry?

No, not at all, we wound up going out for two years after that.

Are you going to do it again?

The situation probably won't come up again, but I would do something along the same lines. if you do that kind of stuff all the time, it just becomes risky and kind of dangerous, but everyone "should" at some point hop on a plane for no reason.

Would you recommend it to others?

I think it depends on the specific situation. Since then, I've decided it's a bad idea to leave the state with someone unless you know their last name. If you do, make sure that you have enough money to buy a new outfit, or get home on your own, maybe know someone or somewhere you can go in your intended destination.

Read our very first Q&A with Brian Garth, owner and engineer at Chrome Werewolf, a recording studio in Las Vegas.

The Hesher

Go see The Hesher or I'll torch your car. 

Jet Rock 'N' Roll Dreams

A long cherished dream came true last night! I finally saw Guitar Wolf in concert! They played the Knitting
Factory with Cheap Time!

As often happens when my dreams cross over into reality, I spent most of the night screaming. In this case it was because the show was loud and fun as I ever imagined and I can now die happy.

It was a little disappointing that Guitar Wolf's mic didn't shoot real flames like in Wild Zero. Maybe the Knitting Factory said no. But three encores more than made up for a lack of literal pyrotechnics. During the second one, Guitar Wolf/Seiji/Most Amazing Frontman Ever got a few members of the audience to climb up and form a human pyramid at the very edge of the stage. It was so that he could climb to the top of the pyramid and have someone pass him the mic so he could finish singing "Koukosei Action." This man is an icon of bad ideas.

Finally, a memo: the members of Guitar Wolf are allowed to wear leather pants. You are not.

All Photos Credit: Ann Yoo. Thanks again.

Until the Light Takes Us

I finally got to see this black metal documentary, Until the Light Takes Us,which came out on DVD recently. I enjoyed it in a way that I'm not really comfortable with.

The subjects are the surviving members of the Norwegian black metal scene in the '90s, a scene that imploded in the wake of a series of church burnings, a murder or two, and the subsequent media circus. The filmmakers chose to provide a more or less blank backdrop against which their completely batshit subjects could tell their own story. And then the movie is paced and edited and shot in such a way that you feel reflective, even meditative while watching it, and the filmmakers are very much invisible in the whole process. You don't hear the questions, only the answers, which are mainly culled from a series of very intimate interviews with Gylve Nagell of Darkthrone and Varg Vikernes of Burzum. Some of the figures in the movie are charming, or at least unforgettable, and each of them is also completely out of his mind to this day. So, you have this kind of freakishly peaceful and elegant encounter with some genuinely dangerous artists.

I loved it because it was such an aestheticized treatment of the characters and events, but I was also uncomfortable with it for the same reason. It featured a few visual artists, including Harmony Korine, who have been inspired by black metal to create paintings/installations/performance art for galleries. In fact, there are more visual artists who have been inspired by black metal than were included in the documentary. It's easy to see how the scene appeals to them, but their interest is also almost more unsettling than the reality of the scene itself. In the wake of the DVD release I've been seeing enthusiastic posts about black metal cropping up on hip blogs, which is similarly weird and creepy.

In the end, the subjects relate just enough of their story that a few misconceptions about Norwegian black metal are corrected (They're not satanists, okay?) and an intelligent viewer can pick up where Until the Light Takes Us leaves off and fill in a few blanks for themselves. I was happy to mull things over on my own as the credits rolled and it definitely leaves you with plenty to mull over. So, fine, it was kind of amazing and easily the weirdest movie I've watched in awhile.

On a related note, Varg Vikernes is coming out with a new Burzum album, because he's not in jail anymore. I'm not endorsing this. I'm just telling you. I'm also just telling you about these black metal greeting cards on Etsy. I'm kind of in love with Etsy's dark side lately.

Trailer:

Paula Deen's Butter Cake

So I know I've been light on the real true bad ideas lately. But it's getting warmer out so I'm sure to amend that soon. I just turned 30, I have an actual job, and I've been in a relationship for, like, four years. That kind of changes the sort of terrible decisions that I'm likely to make, and it even makes me less likely to make them, I'm afraid.

It seems that what's good for me is often bad for Bad Idea Potluck. (Oh, Atlanta, how I miss all the inspiration you offered me on such a regular basis.) But, like my friend Hank, who is this blog's patron saint in many ways, I vow to be even weirder than ever in my thirties, thus ensuring the longevity of this blog and its original mandate. Call it a renewal of vows.Things may be going well, but I feel a lot of stupid coming on.

A lot has happened since I wrote that first post in 2007. The world we live in today has Four Loko in it, for instance. I'd do a post on that beverage, but that's so unimaginative that I'm bored thinking about it. Instead, I'd like to relate one of my worst ideas lately.

I'd wanted to make Paula Deen's Gooey Butter Cake for maybe six months, but I've been too busy and too chicken. Paula is another patron saint over here. This week I found the strength to both make the cake and even consume some of it and I would recommend it to anyone. It might be the most delicious cake I have even eaten. It contains about two sticks of butter and a full package of cream cheese. Make sure you beat the cream cheese well and don't bake it too long and you're golden.

It's not a healthy snack though. You eat a piece when you are planning to stay in. It's almost as bad as this heart wrecker:



Actually, it's "I Won't Say Goodbye" by Gentleman Jess and His Men that's really been messing with me lately. But I couldn't find that online. 

Vintage '80s Weird South Carolina Anti-Satanism T-Shirt

 

You find the most amazing things if you go on Etsy and search "satan." Try it. This shirt is totally real and seems to be a relic of a particularly frightening chapter in the 1980s. Obviously, I want it.

The description is as follows:

Vintage '80s t-shirt from the South Carolina Criminal Justice Academy. Normal looking logo on the breast area, and on the back is a large image featuring black silhouettes with wolf heads dancing around a giant horned skull. Shirt is a 50/50 poly cotton blend. In very good condition other than a few small holes on the left side. Labeled size XL, closer to a modern large. Please see measurements below.
 

Mock Up On Mu

So this movie has been out for a sec, but I just watched it and it rules. The characters are fascinating and real; as in they are based on real characters who really knew each other. I want to do piles of esoteric research and see all of Craig Baldwin's movies now.

Baldwin describes the movie very well himself in this video. Don't bother looking for the trailer. It will only confuse you. Just get your hands on a copy and settle in for the ride.

Also, for Las Vegans: It's set partly in Las Vegas and you may recognize some of the settings. For instance, UNLV. It's like a scavenger hunt. Or, potentially, a drinking game.

Living Walls The City Speaks 2010

Seriously,

I have been waiting for the new B.I.P. post talking all about the awesome Atlanta conference that opened last weekend. There is NOTHING more fitting for this blog's theme. Our good friend, Monica Campana (what, what?!), was half of the team that organized street artists from all over the world converging in a warehouse in Atlanta for a week. I'm not sure there is a worse idea in exsistence; a wonderful, stupid, amazing idea. The AC in the warehouse (Eyedrum) kept the temperature inside down to about 90 degrees. You cannot possibly imagine the fatal mix of sweat, paint fumes, and more beer than the weight of everyone there. The most accurate explaination I've heard is when I was going home Thursday night (after forcing strangers into manual labor for a structurally questionable door hanging -> should have taken physics) someone said, "you can't go home now, it's street art summer camp!" I'm saving up vacation time for next year.

One corner of the wall of bikes, don't worry they were ALL fixed gear.

The borrowed studio space for artists with one bathroom to share.

New tattoo

The amazing Ms. Campana

Since everyone else in the world has posted amazing pictures of the actual art and my photos of the walls aren't all together edited yet, I'll just link to some of the pages rather than poaching the pictures (like i did with the ones above).

Official Blog

Living Walls Facebook

Creative Loafing Cover Story

Creative Loafing - search results

Brooklyn Street Art

On the Radio

Juxtapoz 1

Juxtapoz 2

Juxtapoz Here Today Gone Tommorrow

Burnaway

New York Shitty

I know I said I wasn't posting for awhile but the Nobunny show at Cake Shop last night was messed up and I need to talk. I missed Fostercare, but Daddy Long Legs and Apache were super cool and fun. Especially Apache, masters of the micro-genre I will call comedy garage rock. (Quote of the set: "Can we get some more beer in the mics?")


But, through no fault of Nobunny's own, his set turned weird and disturbing. And not in the awesome way that you expect. There were some technical difficulties early on with instruments and mic stands falling apart but that didn't seem to be too much of a problem. Nothing our heroes can't handle, even with the spotty vocals. I didn't care. I was there to feel the love, the laying on of grimy hands, as it were. Nobunny wasn't feeling the love, hard as he tried.


Some young dudes (and a young lady) up front had gotten pretty riled up during Apache's set and had turned the foot of the stage into a mini mosh pit. Broken glass appeared underfoot, seemingly out of nowhere. This is a bit odd for a Nobunny show, or almost any garage show really, and it was harshing what was left of the bunny's mellow. He requested that the aggro scene disperse and get a clue (my words) and this led to an immediate and significant improvement in the ratio of girls to boys happily bopping around up front. (This golden ratio is generally a major perk of garage shows vs. some other punk flavors.)


Everything seemed fine until someone launched a paper deli bag of shit onto the stage. Presumably, the perps were the banished moshers. Presumably, the feces belonged to one of them. I saw the thing sail onto the stage clipping Nobunny on the thigh, just below his slightly-too-tight briefs.

It was an attractive crowd last night, but it didn't smell pretty, so I did not at first connect the ensuing odor with the projectile. When Nobunny left the stage to dispose of the bag I still had no idea what was going on.  When the horrifying reality penetrated my power-pop addled skull, it seemed the show was over, and ending on the lowest note possible. Situations like this aren't good for my misanthrotonin levels, which are dangerously high under normal circumstances, and I can only imagine how Nobunny felt about things. But he went on to finish the set with "Chuck Berry Holiday," movingly demonstrating that one monkey really don't stop no show. Even if that monkey is in fact flinging poop at you. "Nobunny loves you."


Is he coming back? I don't know. (I hope so.)

 So we're all on one page when he does come back:

Only Fake Twitters are Fun

Nick Nolte


Mickey Rourke


Gary Busey

Minor Beer Update

I did get to try the Snapperhead IPA from the makers of Porkslap Pale Ale. Drinking a distinctly flavorful beer out of a can is cool. I tried it at a place called Mini Bar in Brooklyn. The bartender dispensed it with the warning that the cans have a tendency to explode, so keep that in mind. 

The warning reminded a lady at the bar of a game called "beer hunter" that she played as a girl.  The name is a play on the 1978 film The Deer Hunter. I wish someone had told me about this alcoholic version of Russian roulette before. 

The rules are explained here: The Webtender.

This video elegantly demonstrates one possible method of play:

Curry Loves Cocoa

Or so I imagine. Curry powder is good on everything. I put it on my eggs. It might even mitigate the heart disease factor in this recipe I swiped in its entirety from my friend Brian Libfeld (He's one of those guys people tend to refer to using his full name.):


Curry-Cocoa Rolls with Pineapple Filling:


Part A:
4 cups all purpose flour
4 tablespoons curry powder
2 tablespoons ground flax
1 tablespoon baking soda
1 tablespoon baking powder
3 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon salt

Part B:
1 stick of butter
2 eggs
Warm water to top off
2 teaspoons yeast

Part C:
Some chocolate (I used a leftover half bar)
Some cream (about enough to cover chocolate in a small pan)
1 pat of butter
Canned pineapple pie filling

Part D:
Some cream
1 Egg
Some vanilla extract


---

1. Thoroughly mix together dry ingredients (Part A) in a large bowl.

2. In another bowl / cup add a clarified stick of butter and whisk with a little water to cool a bit, whisk in two eggs, and the top off with warm water to about to cups worth. Be careful the butter/water isn't warm enough to cook bits of the egg. Lighty mix this custardy gloop with the yeast and let sit for a few minutes to get foamy.

3. Combine yeasty gloop of Part B with dry ingredients of Part A in large bowl. Knead into a messy ball, sprinkling flour as necessary to keep it from sticking to your everything. It will stick to everything. And turn everything it touches yellow. Doesn't seem to stain though. More flour on your hands will get the excess dough off well.

4. Cover with a damp towel and let rise for a few hours (two or three) in a warm spot.

5. Take the risen dough, maybe knock it down a bit, and roll it out on a well floured, soon to be yellow surface until its a nice thin square.

6. Over a very low flame heat the chocolate with enough cream to cover it, adding a pat of butter when it starts to melt, stirring constantly until its like the best mexican hot chocolate consistency ever. Brush a thin layer of the warm cocoa mix over the dough and fold over one to make the squarish dough into a rectangle. This stuff is gonna ooze out of the edges, fair warning.

7. Add the canned pineapple filling in a thin layer over the dough and roll up like a carpet slowly and gently. (If you folded top to bottom, roll left to right.)

8. Cut in two inch segments with a sharp knife. Set aside to rest for another hour or two. The filling will continue to ooze out all over the place.

9. Whisk together one egg, a little cream, and some vanilla extract to make an egg wash. Brush the rolls lightly with this before transferring them to your greased and floured baking dish.

10. Preheat oven and bake on 400-425 for about a half hour. Let cool.

The results can be seen above. I haven't tried it yet, but if anyone else does they should let me know. This is actually more sophisticated cooking than what usually works out for me. That's one reason why Brian is one of my heroes.

Have an Awesome Day!

I haven't posted in, like, a week or something because of all kinds of nonsense. Thanks to Joie for holding it down. It hasn't been all bad though. Partly, I've been writing a bit for the venerable Stomp and Stammer. Basically, I got buried under good music again. The Terror Pigeon Dance Revolt being one of my favorites. Except for the part where reviewing their forthcoming album I Love You! I Love You! I Love You and I'm in Love with You! Have an Awesome Day! Have the Best Day of Your Life! gave me a petit mal seizure. Here is a video of this band singing to some sheep:

I Love You! I Love You & I Am in Love With You [Vinyl]

Dear Diary ...

I don't know why I never thought to suggest this before. Trade diaries with someone. It's great, especially for summer. My friend's brother suggested it once and I took him up on it. I didn't know him well, and still don't, and his identity I shall protect. He just said, "I want to trade diaries with someone." And I think I volunteered mine.

Some would say it's a bad idea to keep a diary in the first place. Since a part of me agrees with that, it was all the more nerve wracking to swap personal diaries with a casual acquaintance but that was part of the allure. I don't know if I've ever explained about me and dares or situations that even feel like dares, but it's sorta like I have an answer to the question, "If your friends all jumped off a bridge, would you jump too?" My answer is,"Did it look like fun? Then, yes, absolutely." Never mind that none of my other friends were swapping diaries. The same spiritual principle applied here.

It turned out that this fairly bad idea came with many unusual benefits. First, the diary I got was a great read. The diarist is a talented visual artist, sensitive and questioning, and interested in all kinds of hermetic, mystical stuff. Beautiful handwriting, beautiful design, weird diagrams. A summer read to beat the beach. The enjoyment was heightened by the feeling that this was something I was not meant to read. Even if I had express permission, it was not written for my eyes, or anyone else's for that matter. No literary device can ever reproduce that.

My own journal seemed a poor thing to offer in exchange. It had a pretty design on the cover and a plastic slipcase. Inside, there were a few autobiographical cartoons, some attempts at fiction, and many meditations on romantic love worthy of someone five years my junior. I like to think it was fun for him to read but it probably didn't take him very long.

The biggest value of this emotionally risky experience for me was in letting someone else see this little collection of my thoughts. Exposing them allowed me to see them more clearly. We compartmentalize our most private thoughts and writing them down and then closing a book cover on them compartmentalizes them further. Thinking about someone else reading these things made me realize what I was spending mental energy on. I didn't like it at first, but now I'm quite comfortable admitting to the revelation: I am obsessed with love.

This is something I had somehow managed to hide from myself until the diary swap. I'm not sure that I had succeeded in hiding it from rest of the world, but no one was going to argue with me about it. However, it was clear in the post-diary swap era, because my (highly agnostic) thoughts on love and getting some or not were a good 80 percent of my book and that was a fact I could no longer ignore. How embarrassing. But knowing is half the battle, as they say on G.I. Joe. Once, you notice something like that you can get that shit under control.

My recommendation if you keep a diary is that you go to a party, wait until everyone is a couple drinks in, and then announce that you want to trade diaries with someone. It could take a few tries to find a willing diarist but it will be worth the trouble.

Failing that, you can pick up a diary published for purposes of reading. I liked this one by Anais Nin:

Fire: The Unexpurgated Diary, 1934-37

Hope Rides Alone

It really does. But it's also the title of a song by The Protomen. We recommend them and this video to all fans of Radiohead, Coheed and Cambria, Megaman, and Akira. Here's the video.

Their song, "Light Up the Night" is dad rock on fire, which is surprisingly not a bad thing at all. You can probably catch all the drama in your town soon:

Apr 15 - Mercy Lounge - Nashville, TN
Apr 17 - JJ's Bohemia - Chattanooga, TN
Apr 18 - 1982 - Gainesville, FL
Apr 19 - The Haven - Orlando, FL
Apr 21 - The Tank - Greenville, NC
Apr 22 - Blue Nile - Harrisonburg, VA
Apr 23 - Metro Gallery - Baltimore, MD
Apr 24 - The Red and Black - Washington, DC
Apr 28 - The Kyhber - Philadelphia, PA
Apr 29 - Santos Party House - New York, NY
Apr 30 - Punk Rock & Roll Club - Waltham, MA
May 3 - Mitzi's Sister - Toronto, Canada
May 5 - The Whiskey - Annapolis, MD
May 6 - Charlottesville, VA
May 7 - The Nightlight - Chapel Hill, NC
May 8 - Asheville, NC

Drinking on the G Train

I mean along that G Train. This Shecky's guide to bars near the G should keep you busy for awhile:

Ain't Nothin' But a G Train

Food Party

Food Party is a cooking show with art direction somewhere between Dame Darcy and Pee Wee's Playhouse. It's also the best food blog on the Internet. Okay, we don't really know what it is. But we're going to watch it again now.