urban folk-issue 2

8/14/2019 Urban Folk-issue 2

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on the cover: Erin Regan www.erinregan.com cover photo and design by Jamie Ferri

In This Issue:

Wayne Penlon dave cuomo tells a village icons story

Get in the Minivan brook pridemore gives tour advice and reminisces

Jeff Jacobson paul alexander looks at a local heavyweight

Stain Bar krista madsen tells her story of d.i.y. bar creation

Exegesis Department with dan penta of cockroach

Kirk Kelly jonathan berger profiles an antiFolk originator

Subway Stories dave cuomo gets busted and rejected

Poetry Page jonathan berger, tyrus gray, arlene cassarino, dave cuomoPauls Perspective paul alexander goes in the studio and battles with his producer

Alec Wonderful alec gets nostalgic for past fanzines

Air Wasnt Air fiction by krista madsen

CD Reviews amy hills, pantsuit, and more...

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Urban Folk: issue twoI want to start by thanking everyone for the great response we got from issue one. Ive learned so much about

this city and the scene from doing this, and Im thrilled to know we can keep going with it. In this issue youll

find out about some amazing artists you might never have heard of, and hopefully learn more about some that

you have. It never ceases to amaze me how alive and inspiring the community is here and I consider myself

lucky to be a part of it. The more we continue to support each other, the better it will get. Feel free to drop us

a line to pitch a story, tell us how were doing, tell us off, or just say hi. I want to thank all the contributors,

advertizers, and everyone who helps to keep this thing going. Enjoy! -Dave Cuomo, Editor

we want to hear from you: [email protected]

Be an Urban Folk friend!

myspace.com/urbanfolkzine
http://erinregan.com/http://myspace.com/urbanfolkzinehttp://myspace.com/urbanfolkzinehttp://myspace.com/urbanfolkzinehttp://erinregan.com/


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http://thecreekandthecave.com/


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of Curacao in the Caribbean, Wayne walks into a

pharmacy. The girl behind the counter gives him a once over

and continues eyeing him as he makes his way through the

little shop. Wayne is defensive at the girls accusing stair

and resents the way she so obviously and rudely assumes

he is there to shoplift. He browses the sun tan lotions while

she continues to check up on him periodically. He takes his

purchase up to the counter and squares his shoulders ready to

prove her suspicions wrong by proudly paying for his item.

She looks at him confused for a minute more before ringinghim up and finally says Hey, are you from New York?

Yes, I am.

Yeah, I used to work at the Dunkin Donuts on Christopher

St. Id see you playing down there every day on my way to

work. That was some of the most beautiful guitar playing

Ive ever heard.

I met Wayne at the Caffe Vivaldi. He seems confident

with the wisdom of someone whos seen enough ups and

downs to be comfortable with his position. I can hear this in

his playing. His lyrics tell of lives, people, and places thatare familiar, and he tells their stories with a calm wisdom

of understanding. His guitar playing is filled with expertise

and cool passion. He starts telling me his story from the end,

as a subway performer who is eager to share his experience,

and someone in the midst of a leap of fortune in the world

outside of his adoptive home in the West 4th St. station.

After years of perfecting his craft he is in the studio with a

well known and well connected producer, recording his first

solo album. It is an album that he is only now ready to make

when after many years of going where ever the music winds

were blowing, he now understands who he is as a musician,

how he fits in the tradition he has become a part of, and how

to sing for his adoptive home of Greenwich Village.

Before the island of Curacao and the W 4th St. subway

station Wayne was busy making himself heard in Rochester,

New York. In the early 90s the scene was beginning to

dry up there, and though he had written a few songs of his

own he was finding his luck more as a sideman in various

projects. He did not consider his songs anything more thana personal means of expression, written for himself rather

than any audience. He was content as a sideman and band

member. He knew Ani DiFranco and played shows with her.

He played with Bill Lambert and they recorded a college

friendly album that enjoyed a 35 second spot on All My

Children. He was part of the punk eclectic band Woody

Dodge who had some breaks opening for Hootie and the

Blowfish and other up and comers. It was in this band that

Wayne would meet the man who would end up having a huge

impact on his life and music, Jeff Buckley, who in a round

about way would lead Wayne underground to find his solovoice and the talent that puts him where he is today. Woody

Dodge was approached by BMI for a record deal only to

find themselves in the studio asked by the suits behind the

glass, Could you maybe sound a little more like Lover

Boy? Amused and frustrated, the band stopped working

with the label, but was soon being eyed by Virgin records.

Excited, they made their way back into the studio only to

have the executives once again asking if they could sound a

little more like Lover Boy. The project that Wayne seemed

If You See Something,

Say SomethingWayne Penlon finds his voice undergroundBy Dave Cuomo


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to enjoy most was playing guitar in the Kate Silverman

duo. They opened for Patty Larkin and Paula Cole and

Wayne felt comfortable and happy as the sideman to her

ambitions. Pretty soon the band members in Woody Dodge

found themselves getting older and having families and the

confining jobs that come along with such responsibility.

Kate Silverman too found herself getting frustrated, and as

Wayne tells it she was looking to become a personality in

whatever way she could so she went off to become a radioDJ. For Wayne it was never about becoming a personality or

trying to make a name or a career for himself. He was just

looking to become a better guitar player.

Wayne was profoundly affected by meeting Jeff Buckley

in Rochester. He says that along with the most amazing

voice hed ever heard, Jeff had an aura about him that could

be felt. Jeff too was appreciative of Waynes musicianship

and encouraged him to start playing in New York City.

With Rochester slowing down, Wayne took him up on this

and began making excursions to the city to make contacts

and check out the scene. When his projects began falling

through upstate, he made the move. He took a job as theguitar department manager at the legendary Mannys music,

which he considered an honor. In his time there he witnessed

the stores decline and found himself the last person to hold

the job before it was bought out by Sam Ash in 1999. They

werent just buying a name, they were buying an institution,

he tells me. It wasnt long before differing philosophies led

Wayne to seek other employment.

One day on a whim he answered an ad in the back of

the Village Voice for a guitarist wanted and soon found

himself rehearsing with Henry Cory. Cory ran a semi

national childrens radio broadcast out of Nashville until he

was ripped off by management and walked in one day tofind his office and equipment entirely sold out from under

him. He had come out to New York after that to care for

his parents and try to escape the limitations of childrens

music by playing contemporary folk. He wrote poppy,

ballad type songs that were designed to be appealing. Wayne

would then take these songs and polish them to completion.

Comfortable again as the sideman Wayne worked well with

Henry. Together they found the Fast Folk Club with its scene

and magazine that Suzanne Vega, John Gorka, and Christine

Lavine came out of. But as with much of what Wayne was

used to encountering, this scene too was in a decline and onits last legs.

About this time things began looking up for Henry and

Wayne. Far from escaping childrens music, they were

offered a deal to create an animated show for Nickelodeon.

Negotiations went well and everything was all set to go into

production when something terrible happened. Its often

forgotten all the small things got lost in the fray of 9/11, but

a childrens animated show, and a big break for Henry and

Wayne was one of those small things. Immediately after the

tragedy the production crew was laid off and Henry never

heard back from the network again. Heartbroken by what

had happened to the city and with his show, Henry calledWayne from a Nashville bound car to say goodbye.

Wayne found himself out of work again, Henry having

been paying him for his time over the last couple years.

Luckily Wayne had an independent streak that had begun

to surface itself during his time in New York. Wayne was

not a complete stranger to the idea of street and subway

performing. He had played mandolin on the street with

bluegrass bands, and also talks about a report on NPR he

once heard when he was younger about New Yorks subway

performers making a decent living. Intrigued, he had filedthe idea away in the back of his head for a rainy day. Despite

the ease and familiarity of working with Henry, a new urge

had been awakening in Wayne in their later days of working

together. He found himself wandering underground not to

play, but merely to study the art and craft of the job. How

does one perform for that kind situation, how do you deal

with cops, and what could you expect to make? How free

must it feel to sit down there and play the days away for a

passing audience. These men impressed him and the idea

of performing alone intrigued him. He still did not consider

himself a solo performer or a songwriter, but he felt the call

to take a station for his own. He was intimidated though.How to play in front of strangers so that they would not only

want to hear you as they pass by, but to appreciate and even

pay you? This was a hard thing to imagine.

When Henry left, taking Waynes livelihood with him,

the idea became a little easier to picture. He started at the

W 4th St station just trying to get his feet because he figured

Greenwich Village, with its history and lore, was the most

logical place to play. Looking for better money and bigger

crowds he moved up to Grand Central Station playing at the

end of the S train. Here the idea began to work out and he

found himself starting to make enough money to get by. But

the musicians from the Music Under New York program,with their time scheduled spots and permits, kept bumping

him, so he tried playing out in front of the turnstiles only

to get booted by the cops. The competition was frustrating

for Wayne so he made his way back to the Village and the

W 4th St tunnel. Here again he found the same problems of

competition, until one day a Guatemalan man, whose name

Wayne cant now remember, approached him.

Youre pretty good, you want to make some real money?

the Guatemalan asked. The next thing Wayne knew his solo

career was on hiatus as he fell once again into the role of the

sideman, riding the trains playing La Bamba in the cars witha man who had smuggled himself into the country and was

a husband and father to four different families in the city.

Not content just to play La Bamba they also worked out a

Santana medley that Wayne would play on mandolin. In this

medley he would lose himself and go out all out, playing on

his knees, using the bars inside the car, playing behind his

back, putting on a real show. They would do this from 7 in

the morning to 9 at night and pull in $100 - $300 each a day.

When they grew bored with their limited repertoire, Wayne

learned to play along on some traditional Spanish songs that

would haunt and delight the commuters. This went on for

a month well enough until one night he got a call from theGuatemalan asking Wayne to bail him out of jail, where he


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was stuck for getting drunk and beating up a girlfriend. He

knew Wayne had the $2000 because they had been working

together and he knew what they had made, which made it

all the more awkward when Wayne offered a roof but no

money. They tried working together again after that, but

the Guatemalans attitude toward Wayne had changed and

things never went back to the way they were. Waynes final

gig as a sideman soon ended and he knew that the time had

come for him to become his own artist.On his own again Wayne wasnt quite sure what to do

next. He tried riding the trains playing solo mandolin, but

this didnt get nearly the response that he was used to from

working with the Guatemalan. He tried singing sea chanties

on the train down to South Ferry thinking he would get a

rise out of the tourists, but unfortunately no. Not knowing

what else to do he went back to W 4th, where need and

circumstance kept driving him. Mostly Wayne played

covers and instrumentals. He had a couple originals, a few

love songs and a song to his inspiration, Jeff Buckley. In

an attitude reminiscent of early Dylan, he didnt give these

much thought and considered himself a guitarist, not asongwriter. This was about to change though, as one day

he was playing down in W 4th when the voice hit him. He

was back at the station where he always found himself when

things fell through and he had no where else to go, just

strumming the music that was on his mind when

he found himself singing, Been down this road

so long. Right there in front of the tourists and

commuters, it all burst out of Waynes throat. He

didnt write the song so

much as he found it. It

would be a year before

Wayne would finishhis next song, a song

about a homeless

man called Little

John, but from that first

heartfelt spontaneous moment he

now knew he was a songwriter

in his own right.

Today he tells me

that most of his living

doesnt come from just

playing underground alone, butrather teaching gigs and private parties that hes picked

up while playing down there. What draws him back to W

4th every week isnt the lure of getting paid, its the chance

to practice and play in front of an audience. His ambition

has always been to simply become a better guitarist, and

listening to him you get the feeling of a man on a quest for

perfection. People say of him that he knows how to make

a guitar sound acoustic, how to bring out all the melody

and tone that the wood is capable of. He is known for his

impressive arrangements of instrumental pieces. He will

spend all day working with a piece, improvising and trying

different parts, following it out as far as it will go so thatif you were to listen to it as it happened it might have a

symphonys length. Then he will go back and whittle these

down piece by piece until the shorter arrangement is packed

with exactly the melodies it needs and not a bit more. He

says that playing down there will make you intuitive. Like

his song Up Down which he wrote from the inescapable

rhythm of people trudging up and down the steps going

about their day. The songs he writes today have a feeling

of someone who knows their streets and his own place in

the history of them, with the Village and New York and thepeople who live here being at their heart. The public service

poster that reads If you see something, say something has

become Waynes inspiration for writing. He wants to write

with an understanding of the city and the Villages history,

with the sensibility of Dylan or Fred Neil. Folk music isnt

supposed to be about me, me, me, he says. Wayne sees his

job more as writing and singing about the world he is a part

of, the New York and Greenwich life and history where he

now comes from.

Wayne has built a nice life for himself underground.

Through playing W 4th St., giving guitar lessons, and side

gigs that he picks up from passersby he makes a reliableliving. For a while he did a Saturday night residency at the

Village Bistro, and was even able to pull in an

audience from the subway crowds. I asked

him if he had considered auditioning for

the Music Under New York program,

and he seemed unconcerned.

Why would I? he asked me,

pointing out that cops will still

tell you to move on when

they want to even if you have

your banner and permit, and

that nobody knows who theindustry professionals

who judge the auditionsactually are anyway. Through a

friend who is in the program, Wayne

had actually looked into the idea before,

but in a situation reminiscent of his

studio experience with Woody Dodge,

they told him they were most interested

in him doing a James Taylor tribute for

his act. In the end he is content as things

are, he gets by and plays underground

on his own, and has the freedom to

concentrate on the most important

thing, perfecting his craft. What morecould he want?


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Enter Roy Halley Jr., chief audio engineer for 60 Minutes

Two and son of the legendary producer. Wayne was

underground playing when Roy approached him a little over

a year ago, mesmerized by his arrangements and original

songs. Initially he hired Wayne as a guitar teacher, but this

quickly turned into the two of them collaborating to make

Waynes first solo album. This means free studio time for

Wayne and the chance to work with someone who knows

their way around both the control booth and the industry. Itis the break that Wayne was never counting on or waiting

for, but one that he is not going to squander. Listening to him

now, one gets the impression that Wayne knows hes come

full circle with the album he is currently recording. Having

gone from sideman to front man, Wayne is now comfortably

in command of where his music is going. He would like

this album to showcase more than just his impressive guitar

playing and arrangements, although it certainly will do that.

He would like it to be part of what he calls the Village

songwriter ethic. Something he sees Van Ronk, the Village

folksinger who was one of Dylans inspirations, as a primary

example of. This means songs about people, their stories,and the big picture that overarches them all. He says the

songs he has for the album are gems that were handed down

to him by the muses with little or no effort, and will include

instrumental pieces and folk songs about people and the

Village. He sees it as an album that will honor rather than

mimic the Village tradition.

While this album will be in a sense Waynes masterpiece,

a culmination of everything hes done and been a part of

throughout his life, it is not the last word for him. He is

already looking forward to the next album. He would like

to put together a band, and in more evidence of how far hes

come, he would like to trade in his solo work for a truly

collaborative effort in which he is neither sideman nor front

man. He would also like to free himself from the limitations

of acoustic guitar and see how it feels to go electric. He will

probably always play in the subway to cut loose and createnew music, but he wants to be a part of something larger as

well. He says he wants to see something like Jeff Buckley

come through and give the scene a kick start. He doesnt

want it to necessarily be himself who does it, but he wants

to be a part of whatever does. The way the city looks today,

and with the way Waynes album and career are shaping up,

it is a good bet there will be a lively scene with Wayne right

in the middle.
http://www.alloyradio.com/


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1. No gig is too small.

When we played Asheville, NC for the first time, the only

gig we could get a hold of was an open mic night with an

acoustic in-the-round-type hootennanny. We didnt know

anybody in Asheville, so we were facing the prospect of

sleeping in the van, in the second week of February.

My fellow songwriter on that tour, Chris Martin, realized

he was developing strep throat, so Dan and I dropped him

off at an emergency care center. We hiked over to the

bar anyway, and found ourselves warmly recieved by the

Deadheads and their Jim Croce covers. One guy had dreads

and Dan said, That guys got dreads, hell give us a placeto stay! Guys with dreads are always nice. I knew a guy in

high school who had dreads, and he was a dick.

Anyway, were playing these songs, these old tunes, and

Dan asks the waitress to point us to a cheap motel. She offers

her place instead, and we ended up staying in her house for

two nights, our whole stay in Asheville.

I dont like the word serendipity, mostly because of that

awful movie with John Cusack. Also, cause I once tried to

get a job at that serendipity place.

So, through a moment of serendipity, we ended up beingconnected with some of the coolest people in this little town.

What seemed like a wash-out, turned out to earn us some

friends weve had ever since. The point is: play every gig.

Even if its just the bartender, you probably at least get some

beer out of it.

2. Stay comfortable/ find a distraction.

Youre gonna be crammed into a small space with a

bunch of strong-willed people for an extended period of

time. Youre gonna get on each others nerves. The firsttime I went out, I kept a journal of everything that happened.

Mostly funny stuff, but also how the gigs went in different

places. It was an excuse to bury my head in something

and not talk to the other guys if I didnt feel like it. Tour

journaling got pretty dull after the first trip (although its an

easy way to talk shit about whoever gets on your nerves), so

I do a lot of reading now. I think Michael Azzerads book

Our Band Could be Your Life should be required reading

for all music people.

Another time, we were in Baton Rouge, and were

invited to a crawfish boil. Have you ever been to one of

these? Theres like a hundred pounds of bugs on a table,and a bunch of people standing around pulling them apart.

I dont eat meat, but I couldnt pass up the opportunity to

pull apart a bunch of dead bugs. They even had a crawfish

liberation ceremony, where they keep one live crawfish,

and show him all his dead brethren. Then they give him

a name and set him free. They let me name him, and I

called him Steve.

Anyway, I ate about half a ton of crawfish. It was the

first meat Id had in a long time, and I was sick for two

days. My point is, touring is a really bad time to try and

change regular things about your lifestyle, like going

vegan, or quitting smoking. Personally, Im a drunk.

3. What goes on the road, stays on the road.

Its like Vegas. Theres just some stuff you dont talk

about at home. After a trip, I find myself acting really

abrasive to the people around me, for no real reason.

I will tell you that one person Ive toured with earned

the nickname Foghorn, for reasons I will not go into.

www.brookpridemore.com

Get in the Minivansome things to help you on tour

by Brook Pridemore
http://brookpridemore.com/http://myspace.com/themorningsidegrouphttp://brookpridemore.com/


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http://www.lailalounge.com/


10/32

Despite the fact that he appears as polished as artists who

have been playing the New York City acoustic songwriterscene for years, recent finalist in the annual Williamsburg

Live Singer Songwriter Competition, Jeff Jacobson, has

really only been playing shows as a solo singer/songwriter

for just over a year. It was December of 2003 when Jeff

played the Baggot Inns Underground Music Online Sunday

open mic, and had the first song he ever played in public

recorded live and selected for inclusion on the UMOs Best

Singer/Songwriters of Greenwich Village compilation

CD. After that, it was only after many Wednesdays at the

DTUT open mic that Jeff Jacobson finally booked his first

solo show April 26th 2004, when Larry Oakes helped him

secure a gig at CBGBs Underground Lounge. All this afterJeff took a ten year hiatus from performing in public at all,

solo or otherwise, to transpose and compose.

Jeff got his first guitar when he was only five. After many

Long Island afternoons with an acoustic guitar, by age twelve

Jeff had discovered Van Halen, the electric guitar, and an

obsession with becoming a great guitar player. Honing his

music theory skills in high school and further developing

them in college at NYU through course work and private

lessons, Jeff became more than a great songwriter and guitar

player, he became a well rounded musician.

Jeff Jacobsons eclectic songwriting draws from his many

phases of listening. From early on Jeff played classical

guitar, though he began his independent musical exploration

with heavy rock. His first concert experience was the Black

and Blue Tour of Black Sabbath and Blue Oyster Cult, only

later becoming a fan of R&B music, such as Prince, Stevie

Wonder, and James Brown. Somewhere along his journey

as a fledgling virtuoso, Jeff also discovered the blues, which

he admires because he feels that the blues greats create a

lot within a limited rage of possibilities, counting Stevie

Ray Vaughn, Albert King, and Albert Collins as some of

his favorite bluesmen. Eventually, Jeff was drawn to jazz,

which he appreciates for its lush melodies and harmonies,and like R&B, its elaborate and varied chord voicings. Jazz

also shares Jeffs appreciation for the freedom of form,

something Jeff was drawn to in college when practicing

his classical repertoire. Jeff had been known to add notes

to pieces he was practicing because he thought it sounded

good blasphemy to his classical teacher who held the

written music as the messiah.

Jeff includes Van Halen, Stevie Wonder, Duke Ellington,

and Count Basie in his list of major influences, along with

jazz saxophone player Michael Brecker, who he champions

for creating so much passionate and meaningful music

within the vast vocabulary of jazz. In the future, Jeff wouldlove to have the opportunity to work with Brecker, but

he also said collaborating with Beck would be a dream

come true. Still, before having reached these lofty goals,he has already recorded an album with Rus Irwin, making

respected producer Phil Ramones cut to remain in Russ

band and play electric guitar on a major label album, later

touring the country as the band opened for Roxette. He even

go to play with Rus on the Tonight show in 1991. After his

time with Rus, Jeff continued to do session work as a guitar

player in Phil Ramones personal rolodex, playing on many

other albums including Laura Branigans Cover My Heart

album for Epic.

Besides winning over audiences almost every evening

in some musical manifestation, Jeff has also been working

with music everyday since he answered an ad in the

Village Voice in 1989. Jeff transcribes regularly for both

Hal Leonard Publishing and Cherry Lane Music, though

he has worked for other companies in the past. Jeffs job

entails getting a CD and then painstakingly analyzing every

second of the recording in order to notate all of the vocal

lines and all guitar parts, complete with chord voicings and

fret positions, both in musical notation and in guitar tab.

According to Jeff, sometimes the job of transcribing an

album is easier than others, as the last Jack Johnson album

he transcribed only required him to notate a lead vocal part

and several different guitars, while he recalls transcribingQueens album, A Night at the Opera, as one of his hardest

Jeff JacobsonHeavyweight? Undisputed.

by Paul Alexander


11/32

tasks yet. Transcribing albums may sound like an ideal job

for someone as musically inclined as Jeff, but because of his

daily onslaught of musical microanalysis, listening to music

is often tedious for Jeff, and when he first returned to the

music scene, he wanted to listen to other people, but had to

work very hard to do just that listen and not analyze.

As a finalist in the annual Williamsburg Live Singer

Songwriter Competition, Jeff has been receiving accolades

from people across the city, and paired with his membershipin a band with growing fame, the Undisputed Heavyweights,

Jeff is beginning to notice people not only coming to shows,

but returning for more. He prefers to play venues where

people come to listen to music, not just to have a beer. Jeff

finds it much harder to play when he is only the background

music, finding that places like the Rockwood Music Hall, the

Kavehazs Monday Singer/Songwriter night, the DTUTs

Wednesday open mic, and the Sidewalk Caf are his favorite

places to play primarily because people come to them for

the music.

Many people have become Jeff Jacobson fans over

the course of his relatively short playing out, but Amy Hills,host of the DTUTs open mic, has know Jeff since he arrived

on the scene just over a year ago. Amy sees so many great

songwriters every week, yet of Jeff she has

said, When it comes to his songwriting he

brings more to the table than anyone. He

has a wealth of experience and knowledge

about the guitar and music theory and how

things should or shouldnt sound that I

cannot begin to understand. He looks at the

guitar and sees a playground, and I just see

a guitarhe makes it look so easy but he

practices and decomposes and reconfiguresand has more drive and determination than

almost anyone I know. There is a reason

why he has only been performing his material for a year or

so and has achieved the success he has. He works hard. He

deserves it. Actually, he deserves way more, but he doesnt

have the god awful ego and selfishnesshes cursed with

kindness and humility and patience.

Since the Williamsburg Live Singer Songwriter

Competition, Jeff has been joining fellow finalist Jaymay

on stages across the city, most recently the Living Room.

Additionally, Jeff still regularly plays solo shows, drops in asa guest artist with other friends and songwriters around town,

and rehearses and performs regularly with his most serious

collaborative project, the Undisputed Heavyweights.

As a member of the Undisputed Heavyweights, a group

which includes Jeff, Casey Shea, and Wes Verhoeve, Jeff

has been amazed at how organically the group has come

together, genuinely songwriting as a collective, and playing

great music to an ever increasing audience. Founded to fill

out Ed Purchlas CD release party at the Sidewalk Caf,

Jeff and the Undisputed Heavyweights began their myth at

midnight that first night, and have gained momentum every

minute since, hosting their own Heavyweights Nightat Pianos Lounge, playing regularly at Rockwood Music

Hall, making the trek to play in Philadelphia, and generally

impressing audiences anywhere they go.

Being intimately familiar with the fret board, Jeff realizes

that virtuosity can bore, and both as a singer/songwriter, and

as a guitar player, he reminds himself to focus on being a

good musician, and tries not to focus on just a great guitar

line, asserting that attitude affects how you play. Jeff

even suggests to friends and fellow performers, Just do

your thing, assuring them that if they stick to that, theresno reason to be nervous, as nothing could go wrong when

you enjoy who you areenjoy it for the moment, and keep

going. According to Jeff, the secret to success in front of

an audience is to, Assume you are good and stop trying.

Although Jeff does not place overt messages in his songs,

as some songwriters may, and he does not have some agenda

which fuel his songs, he does feel like many of his songs

revolve around finding courage to do things you didnt

think you could do, not giving up, coming to terms with

who you are, and accepting oneself. Inspired not by other

music, though indebted to other musicians for turning him

onto the art, Jeff Jacobson finds his inspiration in a need tofeel alive by creating a song, in reading the autobiographical

stories of others who have spent their lives overcoming their

own struggles, and especially in his friends

and family, such as his nieces, who recently

inspired the song Castles after returning

from a trip to Spain.

Besides continuing to build a fan base one

person at a time, and undoubtedly continuing

to wow listeners of all shapes and sizes at

every turn, Jeff would love to begin playing

larger venues in the city, such as the Beacon

Theater or the Bowery Ballroom, and hehas plans to release several CDs of his solo

catalogue, even shooting to have one available

by the end of this summer. Still, beyond the music, Jeff

has been pleasantly surprised by the warmth and support

he has found in the NYC acoustic songwriter scene, calling

many of the people he has met at various open mics close

friendsoften attending shows of all the artists featured on

his website. Bringing more to the New York City singer/

songwriter scene than merely virtuoso guitar playing and

memorable songs, Jeff Jacobsons humble yet awe inspiring

presence has helped foster the warm and supportive sceneJeff has blossomed within, and despite a breakout first year,

there is undoubtedly much more groundbreaking music to

come from the undisputed heavyweight.

Jeff Jacobson:jeffjacobson.net

Undisputed Heavyweights: betterthanelvis.com
http://jeffjacobson.net/http://betterthanelvis.com/http://betterthanelvis.com/http://jeffjacobson.net/


12/32

We all have our theories on

what constitutes a New Yorker.Some say five years here, others

say never. For me it took opening

a bar in the further reaches of

Williamsburg, becoming a real

member of a neighborhood,

learning how to tear down walls

and build new ones, cranking up

and down the squeaky metal gate

every day, shoveling the walk

when it snows and attempting to

grow something in a metal-filled

dirt patch.Before all this, I was going

south. For several years I had

been reading, researching,

taking classes, and even buying

knickknacks for the arts/wine

lounge I had in my head. I knew

the name, Stain, and the logo,

the red ring a wine glass leaves

on a napkin, the dcor and the

theme. But the overwhelming

difficulty of this task, with the

added impediment of no moneyor experience, was crippling. It began to seem simpler and

slightly more realistic to do this instead in New Orleans,

perhaps the only other place in America I could ever imagine

living. As a writer Ive never been willing to hold down any

career-oriented full-time job and have made a rule against

office work, which means that for the sake of my freedom

Ive always worked far more hours in menial positions for

far less money, and I was pooped. Despite my debt and

next-to-nil bank account, I somehow managed to get pre-

approved for a mortgage that could buy maybe a plastic-

covered shed in Bensonhurst ora two-story, two-bedroom,two-bathroom Victorian cottage with a red door, a lush front

garden, and a porch swing just a ten-minute free ferry ride

across the mythic Mississippi from downtown New Orleans.

But something still tugged. I had built a life for myself in

New York in the past nine years, this was my home and Im

no quitter. Perhaps I could live in my new cottage seasonally

or not at all? I had already subletted my apartment for the

month of May and booked a flight when I finally mustered

the courage to call one of the phone numbers I had amassed

from For Rent signs I saw during my regular jogs. I

looked at one place in Greenpoint spacious, exposed brick,

perfectly clean but part of my dream life entailed ridinga girlie bike with a basket to my bar, and this seemed too

far. I looked on Craigslist to

see what the going rate was forcommercial spaces in my area

of south/eastern Williamsburg

and called the number for 766

Grand. This was it. But I had a

flight to catch.

Instead of looking at homes

or doing anything at all related

to my surroundings, I used my

trip to New Orleans as a means

to hole up anonymously in a

room of a former orphanage

and churn out a fifty-pagebusiness plan, spreadsheets,

market surveys and all. I

signed up for every credit card

I could, dizzied myself with

building code regulations and

liquor laws, bought temporary

tattoos with the Stain logo,

created a website, and started

contacting local vineyards to

see if they would donate some

wine for the benefit parties I

would throw to raise money. Atthe end of two weeks in which I slept little and ventured out

of my room only to seek out Internet access or a $2 poboy

from the nearest gas station, I did it up New Orleans-style

at last by getting a real tattoo of the Stain logo on my arm, a

pack of cigarettes and a bottle of wine.

I signed the lease for the going-out-of-business Price &

Style (a sad clothing store that seemed to feature WWJD

tee-shirts, clothespins, plastic vases, and brown nylons, all

of which were now mine) based on the weather really. The

few times I came to check out this wreck, the sky was a

miraculous shade of blue and the view to the church fromthe junkyard of the backyard looked like it belonged in

some European village. My friend calmed my jitters by

saying it didnt matter what the inside was like, itll be dark.

Phil from the hardware store came to change the locks and

he, on the other hand, peered up at the base of the second

floor bathtubs you could see from the huge rotten hole in

the ceiling, and surmised I was insane. People were also

starting to say I was brave, and I do believe signing the lease

in the first place was brave (or crazy), but the rest of this

three-month adrenaline-fueled renovation was out of pure

necessity. Now there was officially a gun to my head saying

GO, and AS FAST AS YOU CAN, a grueling race I had towin because I no longer had any choice. It was the hardest

The Big Onionbreaking through the layers to create Stain Bar

by Krista Madsen


13/32

thing Ive ever done, yet somehow I now get all nostalgic

because it turns out sitting every night in the bar Ive created

is far more challenging.

A crow bar half the length of me became my friend, along

with a long series of unexpected and lifesaving volunteers. I

was homeless for another two weeks and dragging luggage

from friends place to friends place when I stopped by my

apartment to get my mail and ran into Chris, the unemployed

actor still subletting my room. He just wanted to drop by thebar and see what I had gotten myself into, but maybe pity or

concern or simple good samaritanship set in and he wound

up spending weeks of extremely long days helping with the

demolition, broken up only by Dominican Bakery snack

breaks and Negra Modelo. I like to refer to this time as the

Dark Ages, or Vietnam, as my brother and I had yet to rewire

the place and its the closest Ive been to war. I thought wed

remove the wall paneling and the dropped ceiling with its

grid of fluorescent lights and just paint the place, instead, the

removal of one layer revealed another and another until it

felt like archeology, each new store through the years and

apparently there were a lot, perhaps this place was cursed seemed to feel the need to cover up rather than expose. I

was hoping to discover some grand artifact or time capsule,

instead there was rat shit and in the layer I figured belonged

to the 70s I found a can of Tab and a rainbow poster. A hole

above the back door was stuffed with bottles, chicken bones

(Id like to think it was chicken), and corncobs. I discovered

tin ceilings, tin doors, woodwork, a cool curve in the wall,

plaster bolstered by clumps of horse hair, the original chain

pull windows that were broken and cardboarded over

decades ago, patches of ornate wallpaper, and so many

different coats of paint it peeled off like fabric. Growing

anything in the garden required sifting deep into the dirt. Wediscovered various rusted metallic objects including what

seems to be a 38-special. In the curiously oblong pile of dirt

in the basement I dug up a boot as

the sole light flashed randomly on

and off and I repeated in order to

convince myself Im not afraid,

Im not afraid.

My demolition trash, mixed in

with roomfuls of clothes hangers

and clothing racks that the landlord

happened to overlook removingbefore I began, was reaching the

ceiling and the walls and threatening

to outgrow the room. I pulled a nail

out of my foot and decided it was

time for a dumpster and a few hired

hands. I thought this would take a

day and a $1,000 but it took weeks

and more money than I like to

think about. For fucking garbage.

When one of the biggest dumpsters wasnt enough, it got

to the point after many man-with-a-van rides to the dump,

that I solicited the help of a few local thugs and rented aU-Haul. They lowered the project to new illegal depths, but

garbage became my white whale and I would do anything

at this point to see it dead. Between them dumping bags in

abandoned lots, we started burning wooden trash in a pyre

we created in the backyard with the old air conditioning

ducts that lined the ceiling. Were it not for the drug addict

in army fatigues tending the flames and the six engines from

the Fire Department making a visit, it would have felt like

camp.

Sometimes I had to emerge from my dark cave andattempt to wear the trappings of normal citizenship (harder

and harder to pull off these days as I was becoming known in

the hood as The Girl With the Dirty Pants), and circle the

rings of Hell known as City Hall. Red tape is a euphemism. I

went to one window and they sent me to another window, as

this automated voice reads incomprehensible numbers over

the loudspeaker, and around and around again until one lady

asked for my ticket number and sent me back to the first

window to get one and so on. Finally, some kinder gentler

person took me under his wing and set me up with a teller

who would actually talk to me for a second. I came to collect

a Certificate of Occupancy for my building, but apparentlyit didnt exist, so I had to create one. This man sent me on a

scavenger hunt to do so, involving many offices and trains

to places like East New York. When I arrived back from my

two-day journey, flushed with my folder of ten found items

of maps, pictures, plots, someone closed their window in

my face. But you close at 5, I whelped. Not today. The

next day I came back only to discover that all I had done was

futile, my building did in fact already have a certificate but

it wouldnt fly for a bar so I needed to start over in the office

of My roommate at the time happened to be an architect

and I dragged myself all hangdog and demoralized to his

office. His boss mandated No More City Hall for You, ashe phoned a liquor lawyer, an expeditor and began drafting

plans for my work permits. All this help amounted to

more money than my DIY self

was prepared to pay, but in the

end Im sure my time was better

spent on that eight-foot ladder,

where I was beginning to feel quite

comfortable.

As the core of this place emerged,

I felt if I squinted I could see what

it must have been. The first recordI found of this building in my

expeditions through government

offices was from 1915, when

the retail space of the four-floor

tenement was a liquor store. Back

then a liquor store would have also

been a bar, but then Prohibition

happened. I learned from the owner

of the laundromat next door that our

buildings date back to 1890. My dad independently came up

with the same year when he saw the handcut wooden beams

holding up the basement predating mechanized saws. Mybrother pointed out the entire history of electricity on the


14/32

basement ceiling from the first delicate

wires to todays sturdy rat-proof BX.

The name Leon is spray-painted in

the basement and the back wall of the

garden and I often wondered who and

how long dead Leon was. One day,

Leon showed up and said he and five

Ukrainian siblings grew up upstairs

in a two-bedroom railroad. Hedescribed the long series of grocery

stores that would get shut down in

the 80s when they started selling

crack, and the dead body he once had

to step over to get in the building,

which was for sale not long ago for

a few ten-thousand dollars. Then the

bad clothing stores began, and the

ladies who illegally cut hair in the

back room, putting the Style in the

Price & Style. At least they werent

referring to the tee-shirts.I relish these stories, dead bodies and all, and I take pride

in knowing that I too am playing some minor role now

in the history. Through this trial-and-error education in

plastering holes, sheetrocking, plumbing, electrical work,

demolition, perseverance, the kindness of many, and simply

magic, I have changed a piece of New York, bringing it

both full circle and somewhere else entirely. My goal has

been to create more of a community

center than a bar, with an obsessive

commitment to local products (wine

and beer from the state), talent and

events (open mics, art openings,

theme parties, craft nights, readings).

Now Im trying to read as many

New York history books as I can in

order to regale patrons in the weehours with tidbits like how the first

subway was propelled down a short

tube by a fan and other stories that

make this city more of an endlessly

layered onion than a big apple. Ill

never know a fraction of all there is

to know about this city, but I thrive

on the continual challenge of a place

that never lets you be complacent.

Youre a New Yorker, I think, when

you choose to be.

www.stainbar.com.

Stain Bar, open daily, is located at 766 Grand Street (L to

Grand), in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. 718/387-7840.

Owner Krista Madsen is the author of the novels Degas Must

Have Loved a Dancer, and Four Corners (out in July).
http://stainbar.com/http://engineroomaudio.com/http://stainbar.com/


15/32

Devil Come Madness

In the padded room

Where I was born

with a million thorns

To a black eyed boy

From a cotton amnion

With cheap vinyl lining

How could I compete

With the ancient glue

The quire shreeked

Motherfucker, shoot!

I did

They locked me up for being crazy

From the day-glo trees

where they hung my head

The maggots fed on asphalt bread

Her fuzzy creepers snuff you like a faggot

Devil come madness

Youre on your ownDevil come madness

No one knows

Devil come madness

No one ever knew you

I wanna touch you but I cant even say hello

I wanna touch you but i cant even say...

You know

Dan, why the hell did you write this song?

I woke before the birds. In a darkened room. On a mattress made of

cold white viynl. Wrapped in a white sheet and a heavy blue blanket. I

was pregnant. A nest full of hatchlings. I was chewing my food and

spitting it back for them to eat.

When I was 17 my parents had me institutionalized. They had no choice

really. I was a weeping wreck. Everything was beauty to me. I felt

intense strife between people. It shattered me.

And when youre out there all alone, youre really alone. Friendship hasexpired. Blinding white bulbs now less than dim. This is where loyalties

die. They cant help you now. Except they do.

I was reading The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. Freedom. This freak flag.

Proud deformity. Running free. Like in One Flew Over the Cuckoos

Nestwhere he sees that dog escaped from the kennel sucking in the night

get hit by a car and die there in the street. A bloody death. But he dies

free.

I knew this girl Laura. Sometimes she was there. She had this pair

of creepers with fuzzy leopard print. The grace of her snuffing out a

cigarette on her front lawn. It struck me then.

I had forgotten the code. The numbers you punch to move unnoticed

thru the sane world. Psycotic, I had my own equations. What if you took

every dare. Shoot, Motherfucker! Well you asked for it.

No one really knows what its like to be anyone else. I tried to break

through but the walls were nothing but air. I knew this other girl back

there, later on. She told me people come and go. She was saying of

course that it was time for her to go. And she was right. Goodbye.

hearthmusic.net

Exegesis DepartmentJustify the music

with Dan Penta of Cockroach
http://hearthmusic.net/http://hearthmusic.net/


16/32

In the beginning, there was Kirk Kelly. Actually, if you

count - as many of us do - the beginning to be when the Anti-

Hootenanny started way back in the mid-eighties, then even

before the beginning, there was Kirk Kelly. Back when some

jacked-up punk kids were kicked out of the West Village

acoustic clubs for playing too loud or saying fuck too

much or mohawking their hair

or just not sharing their drugs,

Kelly was there. He was

kicked out, too. Its strange

to imagine Kelly abandoned

by the West Side established

folk scene, considering howtraditional so much of his

material is. After all, Kirk

Kelly is a leftist. Kirk Kelly

sings traditional folk songs:

union songs, celtic songs,

political songs, all that stuff.

Kirk Kelly is an activist, and

he covers Joe Hill in his sets.

Despite his credentials

as a card-carrying folky, he

was ousted by Folk City for

promoting some East Villageshow. So, along with fellow

rejects Lach, Roger Manning,

and his then-girlfriend

Cindy Lee Berryhill, Kelly

went East, and discovered

AntiFolk.

Kirk Kelly founded the Folk Brothers with Lach even

recorded a cassette back in 85. If youre very good and

attentive to the schedule, you can still see them play their

annual rehearsal at the Sidewalk Caf. They dont play

often, and theyre sets are shambling, absurdist events, but

theyre a lot of fun. The two acoustic players obviouslyenjoy each other and the two or three songs that theyll only

perform together.

Kirk Kelly was there at the start, and, it seems, hell be

there at the end. Of all the original AntiFolksters, Kelly

is alone in his continued presence within the community.

Lach, of course, does the same, but hes in charge of a club,

and, in essence, a scene. As a member of the scene, only

Kirk remains. Only Kirk abides.

Perhaps its Kirk Kellys relationship with communities

that keeps him involved. His professional life is, after all,

informed by his folk-singing history. Hes a unionizer.It started organically. Hed spent time as a day laborer,

picking fruit on Long Island, where he worked an honest

days work, for a half a days pay (hear all about it in

Working in the Vineyards). It got him started playing union

rallies and picket lines. Working as an airline reservationist,

he became shops steward, and has been working in, for and

around unions ever since.

His vocation and art feed off one another, as evidenced

by May 12ths Go Time!, an irregular entertainment series

that Kelly hosts. This one was to support the organizing

campaign for the IWW/Starbucks Union. As MC and

curator for the event, Kelly selected acts hes known during

his over-20 years performing in the City. Zero Boy, John S.

Hall and Seth Tobacman were old friends. Cover girl ErinRegan and Beau Johnson are newer vintage. Together, they

all did their part to raise awareness of labor movements and

help fund the IWWs effort to unionize Starbucks.

During Kellys own set, he revised an old Joe Hill song,

Rebel Girl, as a rollicking sing-along, performed the

traditional What Do you Do with a Drunken Sailor with

new lyrics about Fighting Wobblies, and sang his own usual

set-closer, We Won the War, written about the original

Gulf War, but obviously, just as resonant today.

Kelly has been called The Billy Bragg of NYC, and

theres much truth to that. Just like Bragg, Kelly has thesame first and last initial. Just like Bragg, he has five letters

Profiles in AntiFolkKirk Kelly, model citizen

by Jonathan Berger


17/32

in his last name. Just like Bragg, he does not record as often

as he should. And just like Bragg, Kelly mixes pop and

politics on a regular basis. Just like Bragg, of course, he

runs the risk of being heard as too much of a firebrand, and

not enough of a troubadour. In both cases, the love songs

resonate more strongly than the political. There is probably

nothing more powerful in his set that Shenagh Says,

recording a breakup. Kellys more recent New City, about

the changes in a regentrified New York, is also great, as areinnumerable others. His pop hits are best though, just like

Bragg.

Back in the day, Kirk Kelly was one of the first AntiFolk

artists to expand beyond the East Village. His first album

was on punk record label SST in 1988. Entitled Go Man Go,

it did about as well as youd expect an acoustic record to do

on a punk label. His next album, 1997sNew City (after than

song mentioned above) came out on Kellys own Mugsy

Records, as will future releases (based on the math of his

recording history, we should expect something new late next

year).

Kelly explains his reasons for independence: I realizedthen I had to do it myself. The entertainment industry is

organized the same way that the old robber barons organized

the railroads.

Mugsy Records has other artists, including Kellys other

project, Paddy on the Railway, which features the Violent

Femmes Brian Ritchie. The other bands, presumably adhere

to Kellys ethos: In order for us to become who we want to

be we must know who we are and no political revolution can

endure without cultural revolution. America belongs to those

who build it, fix it, run it, clean it, protect it, feed it, care for

it and educate it. In the work we do we forge a common

identity and it is the work of its most progressive artists to

give voice to that identity. Americas popular culture must

tell the real story of its people and reflect its true identity.

This is the mission of MUGSY Records.

Kirk Kelly has got lots of gigs. Between rallies, solo

shows, Paddy on the Railway, and occasional Go Time!

Events, hes always in gear. And his albums are available

over at Mugsy Records. Theres no reason not to check out

this Architect of AntiFolk.

mugsyrecords.com

Need exposure?

Urban Folk wants to help!

Over 2,000 people want to hear about your new cd,record label, open mic, club, radio station, studio,

store, or whatever it is that makes you special.

ads are cheap!

$25-$75

see page one, or contact us at [email protected] for more info
http://mugsyrecords.com/http://mugsyrecords.com/


18/32

VI. I Get Busted

I got cocky. Cops can

be dicks, but sometimes a

ticket is just evidence that

you dont know when to

shut your mouth and move

on. 110th St. had become my

home. I had been playing

there long enough to know a

lot of the regular crowd and

they were generally friendly

and keeping my bills paid.The station manager and

other attendants saw things

a little differently though, telling me to move before the

cops came and got me, and generally being snotty and rude

about me playing there. Having read way too much rhetoric

about fighting for our first amendment rights as subway and

street artists, I didnt want to be pushed around. Standing my

ground, I would always politely inform them that the law

was on my side and keep playing.

One night one of the younger attendants came out

and threatened to call the cops. I went through my usual

routine of telling him the law when he threw up his hands

in exasperation. Goddamnit, I have a headache and a long

shift and that shit is just too loud in there! he said, pointing

towards the booth. Knowing I needed the money, and not

wanting to lose my platform, I simply moved over a few

steps and kept playing.

Not ten minutes later two cops showed up. Do you have

a permit? they asked, already more unfriendly then most

transit cops I had dealt with.

I dont need a permit.

You dont tell me what you need, either move along or Ill

write you a ticket right now. Usually I would, but somethingtold me that between the cops and the station attendants, if I

left now I might lose my platform for good. Not that arguing

with a cop had ever gotten anyone anywhere.

Yeah, what for? This is perfectly legal. You have to know

that.

Dont tell me the law, you move on or Ill write you a

ticket for playing here without a permit.

You cant and you know it. My face was getting hot,

and my adrenaline started going (it never helps that cops are

always taller than me), but I think also I was a little curious.

What exactly was he going to write me up for? I figured they

had to have some kind of an actual offense to bust me on, orwere they just going to make something up? It was time to

find out. I know the exactlaw. Its transit code section

1050 c something. I can

read it to you if you want.

What are you, a fucking

lawyer? You read me the

law and Ill write you a

ticket.

For what?!

I already told you!

Fucking lawyer. By this

point a crowd had gathered

to watch, and I will say inmy defense that between

the rush of arguing with a

cop and the tension and energy the crowd brought to things,

I began to lose my head.

Pissed and exasperated I grabbed a copy of Urban Folk

issue one and opened to the part where we had printed the

transit code about subway performing. Loudly and with my

finger raised sternly in the air I quoted him the law while

the crowd around us watched on. When I was done the cop

shook his head and laughed. All right, give me your ID. I

handed it to him, my blood still boiling, but also curious as

to what they were going to do.

I watched with some amusement of my own as he and

his partner stammered around with the ticket for a while,

whispering back and forth, and apparently not knowing

what exactly to do. My ego rising, I began thinking I might

have actually won this round. I pictured them handing me

back my ID sheepishly and taking their leave when they

realized they had nothing on me. After some time of letting

my smugness rise, watching them whisper over what to do,

a man I had seen sitting off to the side in a plain hoody

got up and walked over to the cops. He was now wearing a

police badge around his neck. He leaned over and whisperedsomething about a certain section of transit code 1050.6 c,

no playing within 25 feet of a token booth. The cop nodded

and finished the ticket and handed it to me.

I felt stupid. My pride vanished instantly and I felt about

two inches tall. Of course the cops had won, was there ever

any doubt? Anything you ever do in life, a cop can find a

way to bust you for for if they want to. This wasnt about

first amendment rights, it was about me annoying a station

attendant and a cop doing him a favor. I took my $25 ticket

and left, knowing I would never bother to fight it or pay it.

Of course I told the cops that they were wrong about the

distance, and that I would measure it (I did actually measureit later, and it turns out I was just barely too close, but they

Subway Storiestricks of the trade

by Dave Cuomo


19/32

didnt know that when they wrote the ticket). See you in

court, he laughed, knowing neither of us would go to a

hearing over $25.

As I left the station a high school kid stopped me and asked

for a copy of the magazine. Man, that was so cool how

you printed the law. And then you read it right to the cop

like that. Man, thats awesome! I felt far from awesome.

I felt like a kid too big for his britches that hadnt done his

homework before opening his big mouth.Sure man, thanks, I mumbled and walked off.

I tried playing 110th St. one more time after that, standing

as far from the booth as I could while still being near the

people. The crowd was great, but within a half hour two

cops showed up. Extremely friendly this time, they told me

it was really loud in the booth and hard for the attendant to

work, and would I mind doing the guy a favor and moving

down to a different platform? They were being honest and

friendly and Im really not in the business of trying to ruin

someones day, so I complied and havent been back since.

It was a shame losing the spot that had become my home,

but no matter how well the crowd and I got along there, thenagging feeling that every song I play would be annoying

someone took all the joy out of it. I said goodbye to the

station and set out to find myself a new home downtown.

VII. The Audition

All too often it is too late before we realize the sheer joy

that performing can be. In the last verse of my audition I felt

it. When all the anxiety had faded, when I remembered that

I already knew these chords, knew this song, knew how to

say what I was trying to say, I was finally left in the momentto just play. Alone in the middle of a circle of stone faced

judges in the corner of an enormous room with all of its

excited performers, supporters, and press, I felt the weight

of it all as something great to be a part of. I sang them a

song of revolution and hope. I called it out to a hundred foot

high ceiling with all the passion that had brought me to New

York in the first place with the idea that I had something to

say if anyone walking by wanted to listen. I played as hard

and well as I ever had and in the final moments of the song

I lost myself in the dance in front of the judges knowing I

would forever miss the pure joy of singing off the stone in

that great room. I struck the last chord hard, and without

thinking I took a sweeping bow as the applause washed over

me.

I sat in my room with the envelope in my hand, not reallywanting to open it. Jennie was sitting next to me smiling,

telling me its thickness could only mean good things. It didnt

feel that thick to me. Most of my emotion surrounding the

whole thing had faded. In the weeks since my audition I had

talked and thought about it too much, and felt I had made

my peace with whatever they decided. I could play freely

wherever I wanted no matter what any panel of judges said.

Still there was something nice about the idea of New York

City putting my name on a banner and asking me to play for

them. I hated the fact that opening the envelope was going

to either make me feel like I really might be as good as I like

to think I am, or that I had failed and was still just strugglingalong with no sign of things getting any easier. Who were

these anonymous industry professionals to have that kind

of power over me anyway?

Ive heard both sides to the Music Under New York

program. To some it is an attempt by the city to control the

free world of subway performing. Other see their banners as

something to be proud of, an endorsement by the city, and

an easier way to make a living underground. For me it was

a way to tell myself that what I do really is a legitimate job

just as valid as any other. Also, it sounded like an easier way

to make a living. I was tired of the hit or miss days, neverknowing when you went down if you were going to find

a good spot, or even if you did, if the crowd would be in

any kind of a generous mood that day. I saw the permit as a

way to provide some sense of reliability and reassurance to

what I was doing. The transit board has set aside twenty or

so places in the subway system they consider to be the best

playing spots and every week a schedule is drawn up for the

Dave Cuomo + Jes Cuomo =Cuomo!tuesday 6/1410pm

at the Sidewalk Caf(NE corner of Ave A & 6 St.)

performing their full length album -Three Chord Plan of Redemptionhear the songs; myspace.com/davecuomo

[email protected] for album info
http://myspace.com/cuomomusichttp://myspace.com/cuomomusichttp://myspace.com/cuomomusichttp://myspace.com/cuomomusichttp://myspace.com/cuomomusichttp://myspace.com/cuomomusichttp://myspace.com/cuomomusichttp://myspace.com/cuomomusichttp://myspace.com/cuomomusichttp://myspace.com/cuomomusichttp://myspace.com/cuomomusichttp://myspace.com/cuomomusichttp://myspace.com/cuomomusic


20/32

artists in the program and they can pick specific times to play

at each location. Other performers can play at these spots as

long as there is not a scheduled artist there. Auditions are

held once a year in Vanderbilt Hall at Grand Central Station

for a panel described only as industry professionals. Each

year around 250 artists apply, of which about 70 are asked

back to the live audition, and around ten of these are finally

admitted. Once granted, the permit is valid for life.

When the first envelope came

I was excited. I felt confident,

but still a little scared. In all

the demos I had ever sent

out, I had never heard back

good news. Still, I had also

never been rejected after a live

audition. All I had to do was

make it to Grand Central and I

would be fine. Jennie sat next

to me anxiously while I tore

into it and pulled out the letter.Congratulations! was about

all I got to read before rolling

over and laughing happily.

Entering Vanderbilt Hall I was greeted with an excited

buzz. It is an enormous room, and I got goose bumps at

the thought of the acoustics in a place with hundred foot

high ceilings and pure stone walls. As I took in the sight of

performers milling around with any number of imaginable

instruments whishing each other luck and mumbling to

themselves, supporters gawking along the sidelines, and

all the press sticking their cameras and microphones ineveryones faces, my dark mood and fears began to fade

and give way to a calm determination fueled by the energy

surrounding me. Jennie had come to meet me and I found

her with moist eyes. I appreciated knowing that this felt

important to her too. We were ushered over towards the

judges to wait my turn. There were about twenty of them

seated in a semi circle facing the corner like some grand

council. There was a wooden flute duet taking their turn

before me, and I felt a little guilty for wishing them to sound

dull so that I might come across as fresh and exciting after

them. They finished and I took my place in the middle ofthe semi-circle. The judges faces were impassive and gave

away nothing, except for an older man seated right in front

of me beaming from ear to ear. I greeted them confidently

and started into my song. I started slow with a song that

I knew would rise, hoping that by the time I hit the high

dramatic Spanish bridge at the end that the judges would

be able to rise with me, and we could take the trip together.

Immediately after, I would launch into a fast and powerful

rendition of Dylans When the Ship Comes In, the most

empowering song I know and one with lyrics that say most

of what I would ever like to say in a song. As I went through

the buildup of the first song, I knew I was thinking too muchabout the judges. I also knew that by the time I reached the

Spanish bridge I wouldnt be thinking about anything except

the feeling I had when I originally wrote the part one night

during an insomnia fueled madness, endlessly repeating

those same chords over and over, singing as loud as I could

on the bank of a little river with no one around to hear.

Finally I made myself open the letter, with Jennie gripping

my arm excited. We scanned through the parts about how

hard the decision was and how wonderful all the performerswere, looking for the familiar

Congratulations!

Oh no, Jennie said after

a minute. I placed the letter

down and laid on the bed. I

had been telling people that

if I didnt get in I would be

surprised more than anything

else, because I really thought

I had shown them whatever

it was they might be looking

for in a subway performer. Ifound myself less surprised

than hurt. Immediately my

head began filling with bitter

rationalizations about how the program is just interested in

gimicky bullshit like one man cover bands or a guy playing

bad organ music for mechanical dancing dolls. Besides, I

dont need anyone to tell me that I can play underground.

Ive been doing it for the better part of a year. Really its just

an unnecessary system set up to try to control the free world

of subway performing. Of course a week ago I had been

walking around loudly singing the praises of the program

and the audition. For a moment I thought I should take itas a sign and go get a real job. But honestly Ive come too

far to go and do that any time soon. Id have to just take the

rejection for what it was and continue on.

In the days immediately after my audition I notice a

change in my performances. Something about the feeling

of grandeur I got while playing in Vanderbilt Hall hasnt

completely gone away. I feel like I passed some sort of a

test as a performer and will always be a stronger player for

it. Now whenever I wonder how to play for an audience, all

I have to do is picture myself in the middle of those judgesand I instantly find my feet and voice. I think it took playing

in a place as grand and historic as Grand Central Station

to remind me that every song you play can carry that same

weight and importance if you let it. Setting up my case

and tuning my guitar in Union Square I look around at the

commuters and smile at them pleasantly. Some smile back,

some dont. I strike up a C chord and sing out a song for

both.

www.myspace.com/cuomomusic
http://www.myspace.com/cuomomusichttp://www.myspace.com/cuomomusic


21/32

Poetry PageDont Play with Tachyons

if You Cant Afford the Time!

If love is c

the universal constantthe only parameter

the only thing true

in a room

with skewed perspective frustrations

a world that cannot see

the same angles

hope and joy contracting

to a bottomless stop time well

while the lovers smile remains

a constant upturned

90 light cone

an ice cream conethat always holds its shape

Than you were the Tachyon

who outran c

broke the parameters backbone

called constants stupid

shown right angles dull

arrived before it was sent

to tell us

were going to need a new theory

- Dave Cuomo

But the discipline

wed me to the staircase

And the steps were ever mounting

And determination to reach the top

Kept me moving

By then I couldnt stop.

I climbed for what seemed like hours

Then days turned into months

I realized this staircase was endless

And I was only given one hour for

lunch

So I turned with the intention

To make my descent

If I ran perhaps I could save my job

But the flight of fancy I had mounted

Had disappeared into a fog.

- Arlene Cassarino

Eventually

his uncle died badlyand Gussie grew up

and became as big as his uncle

as his dad.

Gussie was the most powerful man

anyone had ever seen

and thats when the real fucking began.

- Jonathan Berger

Afterthought

What he intended to express was for naught.And what sounded?--he can scarcely recall.

It was some awkward burst of safe words.

But in his mind, he expressed everything.

His mind enlivened with eloquent precision.

The intent mind proposed a touch...

and an eager surrender...

and an otherworldly sensation...

and a momentum...

And he doesnt even know the entirety of it...

The words never came.

- Tyrus Gray

untitled

I had become quite tired

Of my troubled mind

So, I sought the advice

Of a wise old friend

He advised I exorciseMy demons

With discipline

Run them out

Then embrace my creativity

Make love to life

Til Im plain worn out

So I climbed the flights of fancy

Counted each step

To mark the memories

The assent so high

I was breathless

I believed I could even fly

AUGUSTULUS

(for Danny)

Gussie got fucked

early and often

by his uncle

who adopted him

so he could do it more.

Gussie got raped

by his new dad

a powerful man

that no one dared contest.

Against his will

Gussie got fucked.

He didnt like itbut it didnt matter

because

at that time

with those people

no one talked about it.

His uncle had his way

and Gussie got touched

Gussie got molested

Gussie got fucked.


22/32

Doing many things doesnt always constitute doing things

well. In fact, doing many things may actually lead not onlyto doing some of those things poorly, but actually sabotage

all of the things you are doing, devour, your every waking

moment, alienate your friends and loved ones, leave you

tired, leave you poor, leave you rich but alone, leave you

wondering how with everything on your plate you ended up

starving for more accomplishing less and two steps behind

where you began or then again you could just succeed in

all of your endeavors equally well, and make people like me

incredibly jealous.

Since our special first issue extravaganza, I have been

working a day job in order to pay rent and eat occasionally,

running a weekly open mic which I hope some of you come

to checkout, booking showcases, interviewing the famous

and personable Jeff Jacobson, and when I find a free moment,

Im recording an album

Ghost tracks (Thursday March 24, 2005)

Before anything else can happen in the studio, my

producer and I had to spend some time today discussing

how my songs should be structured, how long the intro

should be, if the musical interlude I wrote really belongs,

change the ending, or modify a bridge, and then, I have to

lay down what Benjy calls ghost tracks, or a guide trackfor all the other musicians to follow as we build the album

from my solo performance up. After about an hour and the

occasional heated debate, Benjy and I were able to begin

setting click tracks for me to follow for the first three songs

we decide to tackle, Flood, Run to Me (He Said, She

Said), and Maybe. Its amazing how long it takes just

to determine the tempo of a song you swear youve been

playing at the same speed for years.

While recording the tracks, Benjy kind of conducted me

as I was playing, and sometimes it was hard to follow the

click, remember my lines, sing in the new keys weve put

a few of the songs in, and make the changes on the fly thatBenjy made as the tape was rolling, but in the end I think we

ended up with decent enough rough versions of the songs

for people to play to. I over sing and over emote a lot on

the tracks, but Benjy wanted me to give the other musicians

a feeling of the song. I cant wait to see how these songs

sound as they begin to flesh themselves out Benjys other

recordings really make it sound as though everything is

happening all at once, as though a solo artist is really in a

band.

Gone but not forgotten (Friday March 25, 2005)

While I was at work yesterday Benjy had a drummer come

into the studio and add the drums

to my first three songs. He seemsoverly confident of the drummers

ability and he assures me that they

ended up with some really great

work, but I wish I could have been

there to help in the process. I just

hope I can live with the results of

their efforts, since Benj is paying

for the drummer and without more

bread I really have no basis to object to what theyve done.

After spending more time with the rough ghost tracks

and some albums I left to him to peruse, including everything

from the Counting Crows August and Everything After

to Bob Schneiders Lonelyland, Benjy also had many

constructive comments about my voice and my vision for

the album. He reminded me that many of the albums I love

come from the mid-90s and that according to him, my album

has to sound fresh, while being more critical than before

of certain vocal tendencies I have and suggesting that we

look into the voice lessons we had discussed at one point

early on.

The Real guitar (Thursday March 31, 2005)

Tonight when I showed up I was more concerned withmy strings staying in tune and not popping off my guitar

than I was with actually recording my parts. Even though

I have been changing the strings on my twelve-string guitar

for years now, it never seems to get any easier, and they

stretch so much for what seems like forever, that since Id

only changed them two days before and even had to dust

off my old six-string to play at my open mic on Tuesday,

I was really nervous about how good it would sound. Not

to mention the fact that Ive always been especially self

conscious about my voice and I was still preoccupied with

Benjys recent barrage of critical comments, and I was

certain that despite Benjys opinion that my album shouldsound fresh, I still think my album can and should still

possess some of the flavor of all the mid-90s albums which

helped shape my vision of what an album could be, and I

happen to adore.

Still, as it turned out, the intonation of my guitar, my vocal

abilities, and the overall sound of my album really should

have been the last thing on my mind tonight. As confident as

I thought I was with the songs, some of which I have played

for years, I really got a workout tonight as we re-recorded

my guitar parts for the first three songs of my album.

Evidently unbeknownst to me, I play things in my songs that

suggested drum parts that, though probably more interesting

Pauls PerspectiveYou cant do it all...

by Paul Alexander


23/32

than others I have had put to my songs in

the past, really threw me tonight. All in all I

think I handled my self fairly well, but Ive

got to learn to shut-up and play. Benjy can

be the warmest most comforting presence at

most times, but when the tape is rolling and

were at work, I learned real fast tonight that

Ive got to just play my part, concentrate, let

my own opinions go, and just listen to hisdirections.

It sounds easy enough to just follow

directions I know, and I did hire him for

his professional advice, but he changed the

ending of one of my favorite songs after we

argued about it at length when laying down

the ghost tracks. I was so thrown by the

change tonight that I kept screwing up the

ending, and I just couldnt bite my tongue,

so we ended up arguing over the merits

of both endings, though looking back the

argument really was futile, given that hewas bound to win since he had the drummer

end it his way on the recording. Aggravating as that is, it

was even more aggravating to have my producer tell me

that it was not appropriate to end the song my way because

according to him I had just done it that way at some point

and not really thought about how it should end, when I know

I couldnt have thought more about it.

At any rate, after hours and hours of playing the same

songs over and over, the first take almost always blew the

others away, but for minor mistakes. In the end, between

the new strings, great mics, and good mic placement, the

drums and guitar tracks sound really good. In addition, Ifinally even convinced Benjy to let me bring a rough copy

to my friend Matt who I really want to have play bass on

the album because he knows my songs and I am sure he is

good enough, despite the fact that Benjy really only wants

to work with people he has experience with for the other

parts of my album. Benjy really is a great guy and he made

me feel like Id done a really professional job tonight as I

was leaving. I just hope I can learn to let go even more and

trust that Benjy knows whats best. I dont need to play all

of the parts on the album to feel ownership or know that the

line will be right, and so I need to remember that if I want

this to be the best album it can be, I need to openly accept

my own limitations and inexperience, remembering that I

cant do it all, and know that has to include not making all

the decisions.

palexandermusic.com
http://palexandermusic.com/http://palexandermusic.com/http://palexandermusic.com/


24/32

Seeing the new kids do their thing at Urban Folk, I

think back to the good old days, when I was young and

Wonderful.

I used to put out a fanzine, too. It had a slightly narrower

scope than Urban Folks, and yet, strangely, it covered

all things under the sun. It was the print organ of my fan

club, which maxxed out in the early nineties at 50 million

members. No joke. It seemed that certain Indonesian families

subscribed their ancestors and the unborn, anxious that the

club would someday cancel its open enrollment policy. How

ridiculous! As if I would ever refuse anyone the chance tolive with a Wonderful light shining upon them plus, the ten

dollar entrance fee paid for my chateau in New Jersey.

Yeah, I said Jersey. You wanna make something of it?

Anyway, the fan club, Friends of Alec, they deserved

some benefit from membership, something more than the

sense of belonging they got, knowing they were part of

something greater than themselves. So I started putting out

a fanzine called Wonderful News, dedicated to the goings-on

of everyones number one AntiFolk All-Star, which, in case

youve been dead forever, is me. To be sure that only the

best writing and morst accurate news got into the mon

urban folk-issue 2

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