Well, this is it. I’ve got twenty-four hours left in this city and 23499300 shows I feel I must see. Having spent yesterday bouncing around seven different clubs in Manhattan and Williamsburg, I’ve resolved to park my tush for at least two hours in each venue today. In few minutes I’ll jet over to Brooklyn to play Ms. Pacman and Mortal Kombat with some radio cats at a giant arcade. Then I’m off to a bowling alley and a midtown back alley for 12 hours of non-stop music.
The the last two evenings brought me to another killer Tamaryn set; some not-so-secret unmarked doors, behind which beers in cans and pretty post-teens danced and mingled smoked indoors (errrg); and a shared cab ride with a broadway starlet. Until I get a chance to fully lay down my musical high-nites, meet X-Ray Eyeballs, a lo-fi garage-punk band from Brooklyn. Their set at Shea Stadium (not for baseballs, silly, it’s a converted warehouse loft) was the birthday party you’ve always wanted: sexy drummer, unbearably loud guitar, and shameless songs about drugs and sex.