Dropkick Murphys Pre-Post

Oi. Just saw the Dropkick Murphys in my high school town of Montclair, NJ. Full review to come, as soon as someone can help me fill in the blanks of this setlist. Slainte.

Note: anything with a question mark is an assumption based on previous setlists from this month. They can't all be THAT different. Nonetheless, I'll fix em when I figure it out for sure.

"Cadence to Arms"
"Do or Die"
"Captain Kelly's Kitchen"
"The State of Massachusetts"
"Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ya"
"Your Spirit's Alive"
"The Warrior's Code"
"The Fighting 69th"
"As One"
"Buried Alive" (??)
"Surrender" (??)
"Citizen CIA"
"Caught in a Jar"
"Bastards on Parade"
"Forever"
"The Dirty Glass" (with Stephanie Dougherty)
"Time to Go"
"Sunshine Highway"
"Finnegan's Wake"
"The Auld Triangle"
"Walk Away"
"Heroes of Our Past"
"Black Velvet Band"
"Faraway Coast"
"21 Guitar Salute" (??)
"Kiss Me I'm Shitfaced"
"Barroom Hero"
"I'm Shipping Up to Boston"
"Skinhead on the MBTA"
"Boys on the Docks"

It's Been a While, Hasn't It

Hello,
Sorry it took me about 2 months to post. I'm sure all four of you who read this were very disappointed; a combination of winter break, winter classes, and the general need to do nothing after a murderous semester kind of shut me down for a while.

But I'm back, baby. And to kick off the new year (except for the Giants/Jets piece below, which I tried to pitch with no success), I'm gonna do something I've always wanted to do: Top 10 lists. Obviously I'm a huge music/movie fan, and I'm big into retrospectives. So, without further ado, here's my favorite movies and music from the last year, subject to change; I've still got a lot to see and hear.

Top 10 Movies of 2009

1: "Inglourious Basterds"
2: "Fantastic Mr. Fox"
3: "The Hurt Locker"
4: "District 9"
5: "Star Trek"
6: "The Hangover"
7: "Up in the Air"
8: "The Taking of Pelham 123"
9: "Where the Wild Things Are"
10: "Zombieland"

Top 10 Albums of 2009 (favorite tracks in parentheses)

1: Bruce Springsteen: "Working On a Dream" ("Queen of the Supermarket")
2: Green Day: "21st Century Breakdown" (“¿Viva la Gloria? (Little Girl)”)
3: Eminem: "Relapse" ("Medicine Ball")
4: Phoenix: "Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix" ("Rome")
5: U2: "No Line on the Horizon" ("I'll Go Crazy if I Don't Go Crazy Tonight")
6: Mastodon: "Crack the Skye" ("The Czar")
7: Dave Matthews Band: "Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King" ("Shake Me Like a Monkey")
8: Jay-Z: "The Blueprint 3" ("Young Forever")
9: Bob Dylan: "Together Through Life" ("Beyond Here Lies Nothin'")
10: Karen O & the Kids: "Where the Wild Things Are" ("All is Love")

A Bitter Giants Fan Reacts to the Jets' Playoff Run

Up is down, black is white, cats and dogs are living together: the New York Jets are in the AFC Championship game.

My Giants, meanwhile, are gone. Kaput. Exiled to the offseason after failing rather spectacularly, quitting where they would have won the past two seasons and looking nothing like the world-beating team that upset New England in ’07 and rampaged through the league in 2008 before their unceremonious belly-flop in the playoffs. And I, meanwhile, am lost at sea in this topsy-turvy version of New York City where the Giants choked in high style and the Jets (!!!) have a legitimate shot at winning a world championship.

I’m Manhattan-born, New Jersey-raised and now I go to NYU. My mom worked at the Meadowlands back in the day. I have deep ties to this city, and having been to the mountaintop with an NY team before (the Giants’ big win was during my freshman year), I love the idea of a New York team going deep into the NFL postseason, not to mention right after the Yankees added World Series No. 27 to the shelf. I wouldn’t even mind if it was the Jets, but did it have to come in a year where my beloved G-Men completely blew it? It’s like seeing your on-friendly-but-shaky-terms ex-girlfriend out with a guy far better-looking than you in the same month you two break up while you’re still striking out on the rebound.

Side note: I have yet to see my actual ex-girlfriend out with a better looking guy than myself, but her team is the Denver Broncos. So, if nothing else, I can at least hang my hat on the fact that my football team is better than hers. Thanksgiving Day game? Never happened. They lost to the Raiders and Chiefs. My logic is undeniable.

So here I am, torn, waking up every day unsure whether to support my city or my team. I’ve heard of “Jets-For-Giants” or “Giants-For-Jets” fans, and I even know a Jet fan or two who gamely stumped for Big Blue during their miracle run to the championship a couple years back. But the overwhelming consensus among J-E-T-S Nation is that Giants fans are a bunch of white-collar wimps, while Jets supporters are the salt of the earth; blue-collar men hardened by 41 years of failure. Success, they seem to think, has made Giants fans soft. I just read an article in the New York Times about a guy, a real hardcore Jets fan, who wouldn’t even speak the word “Giants” when referring to Giants Stadium. He called it “G-Stadium.”

So, yeah. I’ll admit it. Our team is generally good, while yours is generally bad. If that makes us wimps in someone’s eyes, so be it. Besides, nobody’s ever accused me of being a fair-weather fan and never ever will. I’m rocking my Osi Umenyiora jersey every Sunday when my boys take the field to play, win or lose. And this season it’s been rough. A Jet fan should know that feeling, right?

OK, maybe that was a cheap shot. Like I said, I’m torn. But in all honesty, I’m thoroughly impressed by the Jets this year, have been since Week 2 (anyone who beats Bill Belichick is OK in my book). True, they had a so-so season by anyone’s standards and only got to the playoffs because Indy laid down in Week 16, but since the wild-card round they’ve been a different team. Thomas Jones rumbles like Brandon Jacobs was supposed to this past year. Darrelle Revis lives up to every inch of his hype. And Sanchez, God help me, is transforming into the Sanchize before our very eyes. Not necessarily in completions. His numbers are still eh. But he’s a leader out there, skanky playoff beard and all.

And for the first time in a long time, they believe. I’m no football scholar, but I know a miracle team when I see one. Even if the Jets lose, to the Colts or in the Super Bowl, I don’t see a Same-Old-Jets meltdown coming. They’ll go kicking and screaming, and Brees, Peyton or Favre will be lying exhausted on the turf at the end of it all from the effort of putting them away.

That’s if the Jets go at all. I love teams like this, and wouldn’t be so unsure about supporting them if it weren’t for the fact that most Jets fans, if Mr. NY Times is the prototype for a Jets fan, would rather give Rex Ryan a sponge bath than openly support the Giants in anything.

So while it pains me to see the Empire State Building lit up green instead of blue these last couple of weekends, I have to suck it up with the knowledge that, whether or not they got into the playoffs because Jim Caldwell basically let them (they did), the J-E-T-S-Jets-Jets-Jets are playing dangerous, unpredictable football. The Giants played it safe (Jacobs up the gut on first, second, and third downs) and it got them embarrassed. Gang Green might not have seemed like the better team at first, but they played like champs and continue to do so, and now they’re two games away from the Canyon of Heroes. Like I said, I know a miracle team when I see one. Dealing with a Jets championship wouldn’t be tough. Like I said, I’m a New Yorker. I love it when my city beats all other cities, especially in football.

Dealing with Jets fans after a potential championship? I guess that, as a Giants fan, that’s going to be my biggest test.

Magnolia, or: The Reason I Can Never Get Anything Done in the West Village

Any self-respecting New Yorker knows that Magnolia Bakery is the place to go for cupcakes. In fact, anyone who’s seen “Sex and the City,” “Spin City” or “The Devil Wears Prada,” or YouTube-searched the words “Lazy Sunday,” probably knows about this pleasant little Bleecker Street bakery. Magnolia is actually a citywide presence(the business franchised to Midtown and Rockefeller Plaza after new owners Steve and Tyra Abrams took over in 2007), but the most famous location, the one from “Sex and the City,” resides in the trendy, super-exclusive West Village, Manhattan’s perennial playground for its more recession-proof citizens.

The place isn’t much to look at. But like all classic New York eateries, the food is fantastic and definitely warrants all the high-profile name-checks. The cupcakes are blissful albeit artery-clogging, and the prices ($3 per cupcake) can be a tad steep, but nobody can argue that you don’t get what you pay for; even if CitySearch only ranks Magnolia at three and a half stars out of five (one poster writes: “nothing blew us away. Not to mention…it’s pretty darn expensive!”), the line is consistently out the door.

Founded in 1996 by Allysa Torey and Jennifer Appel, Magnolia is homey to the core. Bakers bustle out trays of pastries every few minutes or so, full-blown cakes (priced from $24 to $48, depending on the type of cake) line display cases and a sign reminds buyers they’re only allowed a dozen cupcakes at a time. And since the food at Magnolia is all takeout, it shouldn’t be a surprise that a visit during peak hours is about as close to smash-mouth cupcake shopping as it comes. Sometimes foreign camera crews filming the Marc Jacobs store down the block capture their reporters grabbing a bite. OK, cameras and New York aggression aren’t homey by anyone’s reckoning, but it’s still as close to small-town sweetness as New York City gets.

And while Magnolia certainly isn’t timid with their pricing ($2.50 for a regular cupcake, $3 for “special” treats like the red velvet and pumpkin cupcakes), at least they’re not overly secretive about their tricks. Appel’s 1999 “The Magnolia Bakery Cookbook,” as well as Torey’s “More From Magnolia” (2004) outline the basic recipes for the store’s offerings, including the cupcakes.

One such tidbit: the cupcake icing contains two (!) sticks of butter. Eat too many of these bad boys and you’re on the short list for a heart attack. But there are certainly worse ways to go.

An NJ Italian's take on "Jersey Shore"

The actual Jersey shore kind of lost its mystique for me a few years ago, but MTV's "Jersey Shore" is nothing short of glorious. I mean, I was appalled from start to finish, but it was kind of like watching a spray-tanned, juiced-up train wreck. I couldn't look away.

If you've heard anything about this show, know this: it's just what it's marketed as. MTV basically rodeoed a bunch of guidos and guidettes, dropped them in Seaside Heights and told 'em to go nuts. The only sort of dues they owe is that they have to work regular hours at a Boardwalk thrift shop. It doesn't seem like they can work worth a damn or have two brain cells to rub together, but everyone loves them and their nights are always epic. My fellow New Jerseyans' Facebook statuses were pretty uniformly outraged at this depiction of the Dirty; a friend of mine who was on my high school wrestling team before I got there wrote something along the lines of "stop destroying Jersey MTV, we're doing that just fine by ourselves."

I'm not necessarily sold on that, though. Frankly, I thought the show was absolutely hilarious, if only because the people on it are absolute idiots. Well, maybe an idiot is a strong word, they're simple, and charmingly so. Like most guidos I know (and I do know a few), give 'em a blowout, a bottle of booze, and a girl with a fake tan and hair extensions and they're good to go. I may be an Italian but I'm pretty much the anti-guido; I don't have enough hair for a blowout. I'm afraid of needles, so I won't get a tattoo. And I've never set foot in Seaside Heights, a place so sketchy it's affectionately known as "Sleazeside" in the greater North Jersey community.

But they love it there, and while packing a suitcase entirely full of hair gel or nicknaming yourself "the Situation" might seem socially unacceptable to some, for these guys it's just the norm. I've never met any of them, but it seems like all they want in life is a steady job and a high school education. There's something refreshing about TV heroes with minimal ambition but a love of life, women and alcohol that knows no bounds. Also, it's worth noting that none of them seem particularlly mean; they're fools to the last man but they're basically what my mother would call "good boys." They understand the value of work, family and friendship, and they generally seem already like they might take a bullet for each other. Morons? Maybe. Demeaning to Italians? Depends who you ask; I'm inclined to think guidos are the least of our worries. But the "Jersey Shore" crew seem about as gentle souls at heart as I've ever met.

That said, I haven't seen the episode where the one girl gets punched in the face yet, so I could be eating my words very soon.

The Beat Report: The Best Hot Dog in New York City

Last Thursday I went to a place that claimed to have the best hot dogs in NYC. No idea who decided that, but according to the chalkboard outside the place it was voted by the Times and another magazine, I think it was Time Out NY. I'm fuzzy on important details like the place's name (update 12/8/09: it's called New York Hot Dog & Coffee) because 1) I was on my way to table for a fundraiser for my frat and running late, and 2)I was only on Bleecker St. to check out the record stores. Why? Because I was hoping to fulfil my quest for an original pressing of my favorite album; U2's The Joshua Tree.

No such luck on that front, but I did notice the hot dog place. Now, you don't get to be a slim 205 lbs like myself without turning down unique culinary opportunities, so I figured I'd stop in for one of the Best Hot Dogs in New York. Sure, was something like 5:45 and a bizarre time to be eating anything for me (my meal schedule is usually pretty uniform; breakfast at 9ish if I have it, lunch around 12, and dinner around 7-8). But hey, you gotta try the best, right?

So I stopped in and, wanting to save my cash for the weekend's festivities, I ordered a "New Yorker." That's just a plain hot dog with sauerkraut, relish and onions. It was $3.45 and easily the cheapest 'dog on the menu. While I waited I took a look at the place. It looks pretty nice, well-kept, walls the color of actual hot-dogs and a surprisingly extensive menu that includes burgers and fries as well. There are definitely classier places in the West Village, but it's cleaner than 80% of the Papaya Dogs floating around this island, so I was cool with it. I got my New Yorker and promptly doused that baby with ketchup and mustard, completing the masterpiece (in Jersey, we call that "the works." Probably elsewhere, too, but I don't get hung up on those details).

The verdict? Not the best hot dog ever. Definitely good, but not $4 good by a long shot. I'll probably go back and give it another shot, though. I scarfed this one down reeeeal fast and didn't have time to savor it. Also, I really wanted a chili dog, but all things considered that probably would have been a poor choice at the time.

BRUUUUUUCE (part DEUUUUUUCE)

Who but Bruce Springsteen could roll into Madison Square Garden with almost no onstage fanfare, surround himself with a bunch of other old geezers and put on one of his best concerts ever?

No one, that's who.

Bruce's concerts at MSG this past weekend were landmark events for for a number of reasons. For one, they were the only shows of his mammoth Working On a Dream tour that stopped in the Big Apple. They were also showcases for a couple of albums that the Boss and Co. had never performed in their entirety. On Sunday's show, he ran through his epic, 1980 double-album The River in its entirety; a feat he proclaimed had never been done before and, in all likelihood, would never happen again (the previous night's show got a run-through of '73's The Wild, the Innocent and the E Street Shuffle). After opening with his wacky but nicely maturing new single "Wrecking Ball" and a brief word about the River album's history, Springsteen seemed to take a deep breath, count to four, and tear through the record's 20 tracks without another word.

And oh, how he played. Springsteen is often noted for his onstage proficiency even at the ripe age of 60, but he and his heart-stoppin', pants-droppin', heart-shockin', etc. E Street Band have rarely ever sounded this good. Barnburners like "The Ties That Bind" and "Crush On You" had the audience rocking, weepies like "The Price You Pay" and "Drive All Night" had them bawling, and Hemi-flavored goof-offs like "Cadillac Ranch"(complete with its hootnanny line dance from the '80s) and "Ramrod" had them dancing.

As always, Springsteen remains the consumate performer; an occasionally ruthless bandleader, he puts the music above all else but never seems to take himself too seriously. No matter what anyone says about Bono, even U2 fans have to admit his offstage reputation sometimes casts a shadow over his onstage performance. But Springsteen is different; he rolls with the punches and the show is all the better for it. "I Wanna Marry You" had not one but two false starts, a cover of Arthur Conley's "Sweet Soul Music" was improvised literally on the spot, and a take on the King's "Can't Help Falling in Love" was minus a lyric or two ("anyone know this part?" Springsteen asked mid-song). They still sounded great.

And somehow, Springsteen still managed to play ten more songs or so after The River, including a rollicking "Atlantic City," a thunderous "Badlands" and an ecstatic "Born to Run." The old coot loved every minute of it, to. He cracked up during "Dancing in the Dark" when female fans mobbed the stage and security had to yank them down. And he embraced the crowd like his long-lost brothers during the closer, a cover of Jackie Wilson's "Higher and Higher." Maybe Jersey's favorite son felt the need to connect with his New York supporters, but it seemed like he was just having a lot of fun.


Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band performing "Cadillac Ranch" and "I'm a Rocker" at MSG, 11/8/09