
“Talking ’bout Monroe and walkin’ on snow white, New York’s a go-go and everything tastes right…” – The Jean Genie, David Bowie
There’s just something about New York City. Maybe it’s because I was born there; something genetic in the blood. I feel a calmness that seems out of place in this crazy, bustling city. A synching of biorhythms. Who the hell knows? There’s a coolness, a vibrancy, and a level of convenience – anything, anytime (such as this Japanese grocery store that happened to sell some awesome and cheap vegetable soba noodle soup on the opposite corner from a cold, windy and wet wait outside Webster Hall) – that soothes the soul. At the same time, it’s a high stakes city, the largest media market in the U.S., uber-important shows, loads of press and industry people. And, though they’re a friendlier lot than their reputation would suggest, I have to believe a pretty jaded audience. I mean, every band comes through here, right? I imagine that as a band, you just have to say “fuck it” and enjoy yourself, because thinking about it will screw you up.
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