South Street Seaport, NYC
The last time I was at the Seaport, I had just successfully not-puked next to John Prine, but that's another story, and the Water Taxi was entirely to blame for that moment of awkwardness. This time around I got there early (via Ground Transportation) and found a Rockstar Parking spot that turned legal at 6PM, so I did what any other self-respecting New Yorker would do, and waited in my car for 45 minutes. So what? It was a decision that I struggled with. Quite frankly, I was fucking starving and there was a late night special at a lot down the block, where I could have relegated myself to paying $15, and gotten out of my car and found some lunch/dinner to create a base of nutrition for the grueling hours of work that lay ahead, which would probably have been the smart thing to do. Or I could have waited in my car for 45 minutes next to the bag of Oatmeal Raisin Pecan Cookies that I had brought for the band, and saved $15. That's $5 for every 9 minutes. For a good 15 minutes I texted friends asking them to help me make the decision. They spoke of Pastrami Heaven, a place where I was not. At the half-hour-to-go mark, I decided I was way too hungry to wait (and with every minute, I was creating less of a bargain for myself-- if I was going to bail at that point, it had gone up to $5 for every 6 minutes left). No, the Jew in me would suck it up and pay. A $15 parking special was a pretty good deal considering the scarce parking situation down in the South Street Seaport. I released the brake and was about to shift into gear when a car pulled up alongside my driver window and mimed the "are you leaving?" motion. Survival Instinct took over and I found myself involuntarily shaking my head while I mouthed back "no, sorry." The brake went back on and I ate 2 cookies. It's all a blur from there til when the reinforcements showed up, the parking spot turned legal, and the doors opened at 6PM.
Security pretty much waved us inside, gave a salute, and told us to enjoy the show. I felt welcome. The place was teeny. Like, smaller than the original beer tent at moe.down teeny. The view was gorgeous-- looking up the East River at all the beautiful NY Bridges, with the rolling grey clouds passing overhead. This would be cool. Some of the rail had already been claimed, but there was a bit of space in between al. and rob. that no one was paying attention to. My priorities were: pee, eat, drink, claim territory. If the spot was still empty when we got back to it, then it was meant to be. While I was waiting for my snack portion of the To Do list, Gullo went over to the vicinity of the front to keep an eye on the prize. TEAMWORK! Here's where I'll tell you that the Pulled Pork Nachos that the dude at the counter recommended did not live up to his hype. They were merely a pile of okay. Look elsewhere for your nourishment, future Beekman Beer Garden patrons.
"Really? No one is going to stand here?" Nope. No one wanted to stand there. Is this because Rob doesn't smile for the first half hour of the show anymore? Well, shit- it's sad to watch, but yah-- I'll just have to take one for the team. Soon the show began with Crab Eyes, a fantastic theme for the haunted desperation lurking amongst the inhabitants of Manhattan. Other highlights: a bouncy Nebraska, an uplifting Spine, and a super rockin' hardcore core shaking MEAT. Quite cathartic. I needed that Rocking Out.
Maybe he had the Pork Nachos.
Set II was a rockin' fucking onslaught of heavy moe. madness. Highlights: SOMP -> Sensory Deprivation Bank. An energetic Threw It All Away. Hi & Lo was quite beautiful. And they had been teasing Timmy for a while, so I was psyched when they pulled out a shredding version to close the set.
As the band came out for the Encore, everyone looked on horrified as Paz De La Huerta's completely busted 3rd cousin barreled through the front 4-5 rows of people and trampled a man in a wheelchair, fist-pumped what she considered a successful relocation (or tried to figure out why she was at a concert when a moment earlier she was on her knees in a Public Parks bathroom-- it was hard to distinguish), before realizing no one appreciated her shenanigans or was going to let her stay there-- "there" being, quite literally, on top of the dude in the wheelchair's armrests. Awkward. She settled instead, for drunkenly/violently heaving her hideous (it had tassels, you guys) orange leather gigantic hobo purse onto the stage in front of Rob, who immediately grabbed it and pretended to run away. But then he was nice and put it back down and played the encore instead. I might have taken her wallet out and tossed it in the East River first, but clearly Rob is a better person than I. The terrible woman quickly reclaimed the bag about 15 seconds later, perhaps realizing she was at a concert instead of a Sample Sale or the coatroom of The Gaslight, but once again-- spastically climbing over the guy in the wheelchair to get it. Keep it classy, bitch-ho.
After we all experienced that moment of terrible humanity together (I believe our unspoken group outrage and very clear body language resulted in us emerging from witnessing the trauma as a stronger family/communiity-- ie, "We don't want that type of person up here in our Happy Zone"), the Encore was a really fucking sweet Tambourine-- and I felt it in HERE (pointing to my heart). It felt real good. A sorbet course. And then a thrashy loud Skrunk dessert to cliff-hang us into the following night.
Chuck and David Lowery have similar glasses-slipping-down-their-nose issues, but I think it's kind of endearing.
Other fun moments from the show: Rob playing with a bass pedal during a solo for a few minutes and a friend spending the entire time complaining about how awful the pedal sounded, while threatening to lean over onto the stage and smack it off. For the record, I was totally groovin' to it, but will admit that he had a point-- it did kind of almost sound like some sort of Monotoned Sustained Fart. Rob's Monotoned Sustained Fart Pedal. Eventually he stamped it off and proceeded to rock the fuck out of a crystal clear solo of fabulous non-farty goodness, and we cheered him on.
I: Crab Eyes, The Road, Nebraska, Spine Of A Dog > So Long > Meat
II: Seat Of My Pants > Sensory Deprivation Bank, Threw It All Away, The Ghost Of Ralph's Mom, Hi and Lo > Moth > Timmy Tucker
Encore: Tambourine, Skrunk
Still waiting on my favorite copy of the show. Here's a link to the search as new copies get added:
Before getting into Wednesday's recap, you should understand the geographic difficulties of driving down to the South Street Seaport on a good day. There's never NO traffic on the FDR. Now realize that on the Wednesday afternoon of the moe. show, there was an accident that completely closed the Cross Bronx Expressway at the same exact time the Yankees day game let out, and it still hadn't been cleared by 4:30PM, and Rush Hour inbound at the GWB starts roughly around 5PM, and if the Cross Bronx is closed, basically this means EVERYTHING HAS ALREADY STOPPED. And that is how my journey began: sitting in traffic for well over an hour trying to get to the fucking onramp. And THEN when they finally opened the Cross Bronx again, and I fiiiinally got across the bridge, it was only to get stuck in FDR Rush Hour Traffic. It took me 2 1/2 hours to get to the Seaport. By that time, it was barely worth looking for a parking spot, cuz I was so angry I just needed to start drinking. So, rationalizing that I parked for free on Tuesday, if I scored the $15 night special at the garage, that would be $7.50/parking for 2 nights, and that's not fucking bad at all. I should note here that I refrained from pulling a K-turn in the middle of a busy NYC street in order to score a street spot, for fear that in this particular 'hood, crawling with the Po-Po, on this day, at this hour, when it seemed the travel Gods were already conspiring against me, I was only asking for a ticket that would surely cost more than $15. I pulled into the garage and asked the attendant to please wait 30 seconds while I swigged tequila out of a Nalgene bottle (easy for travel) before finally getting out of the car at 7:00PM.
This guy got out and smoked a cigar.
Annnnd, BREATHE. Okay. I met up with Joanne, who had taken my extra, and had been biding her time while I was in traffic, by drinking beer out of a paper bag while walking around Fulton Street. This would be her first moe. show, and she was preparing herself wisely. I had been getting texts along the way, alerting me that security were being incredibly thorough this time around, but it wasn't until I saw the random latex glove on the sidewalk that I knew it was serious. Fortunately, I was not probed, though they did open my earplug and glasses cases, and checked every one of the 3 pouches in my purse at least twice. I wonder what possibly could have happened the night before that would lead to this sort of checkpoint? Oh, moe. played.
When we finally got inside, we found the regular crew, including a cameo by the one and only D. Mighty, who had apparently already gotten in trouble for stealing hors d'oeuvres off the trays of the private party that a Banking Firm was having on the "beach" patio. No respect for the velvetty ropes. Oooh, velvetty.
Side note: I just said outloud to nobody, "How did I drink all of this already? Is there a hole in this?"
Back to Dan being cheap and not buying his snacks from the Snack Bar. It was good to see the old gang back in action like this. They had situated us against the VIP fence which was separating the GA area from the East River. Throughout the first set, Gullo systematically moved the metal barrier closer to the water an inch at a time.
moe. welcomed us back with a warm Bring It Back Home -> Wind It Up. The set was pretty groovy, with Big World -> Ricky Marten -> Time Ed pushing us into the loud drunk and energetic portion of the night. Rainshine was enjoyable -> a super phatty fun Dr. Graffenberg that shoved us into setbreak.
The true highlight of Set I, however, was when D. Mighty thought the clear liquid in the plastic dixie cup I was holding was water and took a giant swig. It was tequila. He forced it down and took it like a champ. He probably didn't want to waste it.
Peep the Security standing on a chair on the right
Set II! Blue Eyed Son was a real nice treat. Zed Naught Z took it up a notch and we hit what was arguably the Drunk Plateau, where we lived for approximately -> George -> us moving to the back to be able to breathe comfortably and hang out because we were exhausted by then and also I wanted fries, which were delicious -> Billy Goat -> Zed Naught Z. By then the People Watching became a sport. Joanne had spotted her first Hula Hooper and announced, "That's not impressive."
The NYPD Marine Unit Boat Thing pulled up alongside the deck for a minute or two and their blue strobe light helped with the lightshow, which was cute. I wonder if they always do that, or if they just liked moe.?
You could tell by the Can't You Hear Me Knockin' Encore, that the NYPD on duty at the Beer Garden had had enough of us. Me too, buddy. But not before getting stuck in traffic for another 45 minutes on my way home. I'm not going back into the city for at least 2 weeks.
I: Bring It Back Home > Wind It Up, Big World > Ricky Marten > Time Ed, Rainshine > Dr. Graffenberg
II: Captain America > She, Blue Eyed Son, Zed Naught Z > George > Billy Goat > Zed Naught Z
Encore: Can't You Hear Me Knockin'
Still waiting on my favorite copy of the show. Here's a link to the search as new copies get added:
It's a tossup between which of the two nights I liked better. I enjoyed the music itself more on the first night-- the setlist was SICK and, undoubtedly, my spot up front was a huge Pro. However, the biggest Con of such a sweet spot is that it pretty much prevents me from hanging with my crew during the show, because the boys are mostly chivalrous enough to let girls stand in front of them (also because it's easier to get to/from the bar, and also because they believe that staring at the band too much from up close is a bit -- what my Grandmother might call Faygala), and always get pushed back about 4 rows. The second night was a bit of a weaker setlist in my not-so-humble opinion, but minus the traffic situation (which I really refuse to hold against the band, because I knew what I was in for when buying tickets to mid-week shows that started early at the South Street Seaport), I got to hang out with members of my beloved Running Crew for the ENTIRE night. So the Fun Levels are really on two different Fun Spectrums, but the combination of the 2 nights and all the fresh air equalled one awesome moe. 2-night NYC stand.
moe., 6/26 & 6/27/12, Beekman Beer Garden, South Street Seaport, NYC: 8.9 - 9.1 HUZZAHS!!
GOLD STAR AWARD goes to Eliot B., who was sporting 6 fresh STAPLES in his skull, the result of a gnarly accident earlier in the day--- and he still came to the show! You're hardcoooore, Eliot!!!