Weston
Highline Ballroom
July 6, 2011

Weston was one of those bands that should have been huge. They had the sound of Blink 182, the lyrics of Green Day, and the look of Sugar Ray. Sadly, the band fell apart after taking a more mature direction, and a whole generation of punk rockers missed out on this awesome pop-punk quartet.

Luckily, the band saw fit to reunite for a few sold-out shows over the past few years, culminating in an opening slot for the Bouncing Souls during the Jersey band’s “We Will Play a Different Album Every Night” Tour. Weston’s set was sadly plagued with technical difficulties, and most kids under 30 didn’t have a clue who they were, but the band played on with a fun set consisting of all of our favorite songs.

On a fun note, this was a nice reunion for two bands that more than a decade and a half ago united for a killer set at William Patterson University. That show was plagued by security that refused to let fans touch one another, let alone mosh or crowd surf. The Highline Ballroom had no such rules and kids bounced off each other’s heads like bunny rabbits on crack.

Here’s a selection of photos from the evening.

“You can hate a hammer but it’s a good tool,” said Pat Todd, owner of independent label Rankoutsider Records (and front man for Pat Todd and the Rankoutsiders) when asked about the good and bad of South by Southwest. I had no idea what to expect from SXSW – how would it compare to lame-o festivals like Lollapalooza, Warped Tour and CMJ? Why the hell am I, a person who suffers regular, frequently crippling, anxiety attacks willingly surrounding myself by tens of thousands of people?

“Bands of our level spend $1000 to make $100,” continued Todd, matter-of-factly, when asked why independent bands go out of their way to play SXSW. The four-day music festival is undeniably good exposure, not just for bands that are looking for a label or management, but to get their music heard and their name out there. Todd said his label doesn’t pay to bring in its acts, they come in on their own dime and they don’t expect to make any money.

Rankoutsider Records solo artist Patrick “Salt” Ryan drove himself down from New York and seems to be enjoying the party atmosphere (I watched him do three shots of whiskey before his 12:30 p.m. set.) What a way to begin a four-day bender… I thought I should wait a few more hours before I began drinking but that plan lasted about a half hour. Read the rest of this entry »

Subway Art
Martha Cooper and Henry Chalfant
Chronicle Books

A few months back, I took my parents on a trip to Manhattan. I work there, so it wasn’t a big deal for this bridge and tunneler, but for my parents—who have not been to New York City in almost 25 years—the trip was a culture shock.

See, my mom and dad remember a very different New York. One teeming with prostitutes, drug dealers, grime, and graffiti. Watching my mom step foot on a subway in the evening to go from City Hall to 42nd Street, it was difficult to ignore that she was clutching her purse a little closer to her chest and eyeballing the homeless person in the corner. In the 15 years I’ve been going to New York on my own, I’ve never been robbed, assaulted, or even harassed. They don’t know this New York.

The Manhattan they know is the one from Martha Cooper and Henry Chalfant’s “Subway Art,” a photo retrospective of the early New York street art scene. This is the 25th anniversary for the book and it’s been reissued in a large format with a new intro and more pictures. The two photojournalists were entrenched in the underground art movement, meandering around train yards and dilapidated buildings to capture artists like SEEN and DAZE in the middle of the night.

The photos are vintage New York—dirty alleys and ugly subway cars adorned with breathtaking colorful artwork and massive bombings. It’s still mind boggling, in this day of graffiti-proof subways, that so much paint could be applied to public transportation. It’s also shocking that so much quality art trumped gang signs and scratchy tags.

The best part of the book, however, is not the art or the scenes of a chaotic New York, but the portraits of the artists as young men. You get a wonderful look into the eyes of kids who just wanted to express themselves. These are not criminals or monsters, but bored youth trying to get their voice across in a visual manner. These are kids my parents were scared of, and the ironic thing is, many of these kids are now legends.