Monday, June 8, 2009

Richard Cheese vs. Al Capone


I think I’m officially going to wuss out. A friend is co-organizing a comedy revue tonight at 7:30 at Comix, and I may actually pay to go to that instead of going for free to that David Byrne concert in Prospect Park. Sounds crazy, I know — especially what with it being my “Month of Rock!” and all, but I just can’t face the, uh, prospect of thousands and thousands of people packed together without pre-assigned seats. Yes, I’m paying to avoid excitement, a sure sign of aging. Tough.

Of course, in an ideal world, devoid of trade-offs and cost-benefit analysis — the world the government thinks we live in, in other words — a man wouldn’t have to choose between rock and comedy because he’d always be able to experience both at the same time. I managed to achieve that state two months ago by going to a Richard Cheese concert, and I must say, of all the events Helen and I have gone to in the past several months, I would have thought that would be one of the least likely to be written up in the Wall Street Journal, but it was. Good for Mr. Cheese.

If a guy who often sings obscene rap songs in a Sinatra-like lounge style is too gangsta and not enough gangster for you, though, you’ll be pleased to hear that a song by Al Capone about his mother (or his wife or the Virgin Mary) was also discovered around the time of that concert. I’ve heard David Byrne is a lousy tipper, though, so who’s the real criminal?

1 comment:

Todd Seavey said...

Two more reasons to wuss: 50% chance of rain and this article (pointed out to me by Helen) about even more hordes of Brooklyn hipsters being _genuinely_ poor these days (though I suspect schadenfreude would have inspired the writing of this article with or without confirming stats):

P.S. One of the most depressing articles on rock I’ve ever read was in the Brooklyn-hipster-friendly journal _n+1_, arguing that Radiohead is valuable because it captures the feeling of futile resistance against overwhelming oppression in the face of capitalism and society that is the only mood left to be articulated in our sad epoch. I prefer Interpol, myself.