Photo credit: Rez at Impose Magazine

While I wasn’t posting on this blog, I spent the last several months in disenchantment with the current indie scene (and the wealth of PR emails that accompany it), while figuring out a proper/decent career path for myself (which remains unresolved). The culture of independent art is in a mess. A pointless search for originality and decent income exists in an environment that is structurally quite hostile to both originality and decent living via art. No matter how creative, everyone must sell something eventually, but with the idea of “free information” comes the question, “Must we really buy and sell culture?”. Caught in the confusion of “democracy of the internet” and the unavoidable capitalism of the market, the indie scene (who even knows what that means?) feels like a really mumbled-jumbled mess, a poor imitation of itself at this point. I have heard very few new bands that I can bring myself to care about, and it just feels like a shitty part of the cycle right now.

This amazing post-Halloween post from Patrick of Titus Andronicus somehow sums it all up. Read: The VICE Halloween Party is Decadent and Depraved

You know that website that’s going around that mocks hipster clothing? It’s not offensive at all, but neither is it funny (It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia is my gold standard for comedy), and nor is the mockery deserving. The more adventurous and expressive the clothing, the more colorful my world is as long as I don’t have to be the one wearing them, only because my taste is slightly different. But if a guy has a mohawk and it’s dyed pink, and his jeans are really skinny, is it really that funny? Does it really tickle your intellect? Secondly, who cares, why is it so terrible? With that said, here’s my own douche bag report. There is a notion amongst some assholes in New York City that when you pay the subway fare, you’re paying for the right to be seated, and that this is a right to be upheld against a toddler who by law can ride the subway for free.

There was a mother sitting across from us, who was just about to lift her kid out of the stroller and put her on the seat next to her, when a woman got on the subway and darted for that same seat. She tried squeezing herself past the stroller when the mother explained she was just about to plop her daughter there. At first it was semi-forgivable since it was difficult to immediately grasp that that’s what the mom was trying to do. But after the polite explanation, this woman started to rant about how she had paid $2 for the subway and the kid hadn’t, then she proceeded to squeeze herself in. There were technically 2 seats free there, though one was partially covered by other passengers, who shifted to make room. Both the woman and the child fit, after all. The mom responded that she had paid $2, too, to which the woman said, “That $2 was for your ass,”and the mom said, “Can you please not curse in front of the child?” After the woman continued to mumble, the mother pointed out that she was six months pregnant and with a kid, and that she wasn’t going to take any crap from her. I was plotting to somehow photograph this woman with the intention of blurring out her face, but I changed my mind when after the mother and the child got off, the woman continued bitching to another passenger about how she’d paid $2, etc. I’d thought that after the mom had revealed that she was six months pregnant, with a clearly bulging tummy, this woman must’ve felt some regret. She didn’t. She was telling some story about how she was sick, but there was a pack of Newport sticking out of her shirt pocket.

Coincidentally, one of the passengers who shifted to make room for the woman had this sticker on his suitcase.

Years ago, I witnessed another instance of a similar argument made against a mom with her toddler. The child was being difficult and the mother had just appeased her by placing her on the subway seat, when a woman got on and actually asked her to remove the child, with the same explanation that the child hadn’t paid for the subway. This mother was less feisty and placed her daughter on her lap, without saying anything at all. What’s worse, after this woman got her seat, she started reading her book of religion.

PS. Here’s my recap of The Tallest Man on Earth’s Bowery Ballroom show, over at the Tripwire.

I had told Sam and Jill from AA Bondy’s label that I would try to post a video from today’s show (which I will if the audio isn’t all crap). So I had secured myself a spot at the stage’s left corner. That, however, put my ear so close to the big speaker that a high-pitched harmonica part felt like a piercing through my skull. The room was busy enough, but not overly crowded. Everyone had a comfortable space around them. I sat on the floor, since the sound from down there was so much more balanced and clear; and most importantly, a whole lot gentle on the ear. I suggested my sister sit down too since she was struggling with the big speaker piercing her left ear as well. The douchebag (nicely labelled for you) happened to be the guy standing next to us all this time. Slowly he starts inching in front of us, blocking my view. My sister rolls her eyes, I tell her he’s probably not aware. Then he puts his left leg on the stage (while Bondy’s still playing), blocking my view, and from the corner of my eye I notice he turns around and glares down at me, but I didn’t look. Then, he casually kicks his foot against my sister’s, though it looked like an accident, except: he followed it with another clear look, and instead of apologizing and removing his foot, he kept it right there, smashed against my sister’s, squeezing her two feet between mine and his. Then he starts shuffling and stepping on our feet quite freely. Then he moves to stand right in front of me. I tap on his leg but he doesn’t respond. My sister taps on his leg but he doesn’t respond. After the song finishes, I get up and tap him on the shoulder but he doesn’t respond. So I go in front of him ask if there was a problem. If I’m mistakenly bothering a nice, decent human being, I expect to be told what the problem is because a nice, decent human being will tell you in order to solve it. Was it bothering him that I had so far filmed one song and parts of others? If so, he didn’t mention it. Was it bothering him that we were sitting down (but why, there was plenty of space for everyone)? If so, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he gave me a blank face with a smirk and said: “Problem? What?” as if he’d no clue why I was even talking to him. I said, “yeah, why are you kicking us with your foot?” He laughs mockingly and says, “How can I kick you? I’m standing up, you’re sitting down”. I get flustered, and sit right back down. Then he yells at me, “Stand up! Stand up!” I say, I don’t want to stand up. He grabs my arm and yells, “Stand up!”

AA Bondy is not really rock-out dance music. It was a one-man show on acoustic guitar and harmonica. If everyone was dancing, I’d understand that people sitting would be quite intrusive, even then you don’t go around stepping on people intentionally.

Though I’m an especially short girl, the only reason I didn’t punch his face is because to make a scene so close to AA Bondy would’ve been just disrespectful. However, if you see that guy at another show and empathize with me, then please do punch him, that’s what the photo is for, keep it in your wallet.