Howard Jones, Midge Ure, Getting Older, WLIR and the Concert Industry

I went to see Howard Jones and Midge Ure at the Patchogue Theatre for the Performing Arts last night and a good time was had by all. I’d previously seen Howard Jones’s “acoustic trio” perform at Sony Hall in New York City back in February, so I already knew that he puts on a good show. He also strikes me as a genuinely nice person. (In fact, all the people I’ve seen in concert strike me as nice people. Maybe that’s part of their success?)

Anyway, I was looking forward to this “full concert” experience (as opposed to the “acoustic trio,” which nevertheless was able to produce a great sound) and Jones did not disappoint. Mostly.

He did perform a remixed version of “The One Who Loves You,” which was a bit of a disappointment for me, as I’d been looking forward to hearing it since February. (He didn’t perform it in his acoustic show.) I know artists need to keep things interesting for themselves as well as their audience, but I’ve listened to the original version a million times and was quite satisfied with it. (You may have noticed that I’m a bit of a control freak.) Fortunately, the hits were all there and the audience sang along.

The real surprise for me this time was Midge Ure, whom I never thought I’d see in concert ever, as I was convinced he was a studio creation, as was the stereotype about many ‘80s bands. (See my review of the Tears for Fears concert at Jones Beach.) Imagine my surprise when I saw that he could actually play guitar! And despite looking quite a bit older than his Ultravox days (I know, I shouldn’t talk), his voice was still perfect! In addition to playing several of his Ultravox hits, he really blew me away when he played Visage’s “Fade to Grey,” which he co-wrote.

It’s interesting that Jones decided to play Long Island and not New York City on this tour and I’m wondering why. I’m sure part of it has to do with the fact that WLIR, the former Long Island radio station (it’s now available online) was responsible (along with KROQ in Los Angeles) for breaking many New Wave bands in America in the ’80s. But I’m wondering if part of it doesn’t have to do with the concert business itself.

The reason I mention this is because, after I saw The Psychedelic Furs at Pier 17 on Friday (see my review), I checked Ticketmaster's website to see how much tickets would be for Blondie and Elvis Costello, who are also playing there. What I found was what was being referred to as “verified resale” tickets, which basically amounts to legalized scalping. While these tickets normally sell for $49.50, the cheapest ticket for Blondie was $114 and the cheapest ticket for Elvis Costello was $225. I would have happily paid $49.50 to see them, but since I’ve already seen both of them, there’s no way I was going to pay those outrageous prices.

A large chunk of the concert industry is controlled by one company, Live Nation Entertainment, which consists of Live Nation, which promotes concerts, and Ticketmaster, which sells tickets. That’s what’s known as a vertically integrated monopoly, and it’s supposed to be illegal. (The only thing they don’t own in this arrangement is the concert venues themselves.)

So while it may seem like I’ve been seeing a lot of concerts lately (and I have), it doesn’t look like I’ll be seeing many more—unless the tickets are more reasonably priced.

The Psychedelic Furs and X

I went to see The Psychedelic Furs again at Pier 17 last night (with X opening) and, I’m happy to report, they were MUCH BETTER than their show at the Apollo two weeks ago! They cleared up the sound problem on “The Ghost in You” and the missing xylophone on “Love My Way” didn’t bother me as much. (They duplicated the xylophone part on keyboards, and the keyboard and drum parts were spot on this time.)

Opening for the Furs was X. They played a combination of—what would you call their music? Rockabilly? Surf rock? Tex-Mex? Anyway, they rocked, and their guitarist, Billy Zoom, was a virtuoso on the order of Chris Spedding (whom I saw play with Robert Gordon at Coney Island Baby a few years ago).

Also, the venue, the roof of Pier 17 (which I’ve never been to before) is a great place to see a concert, with views of Brooklyn and lower Manhattan and—especially good for these Covid pandemic times—outdoors.

The Psychedelic Furs and Tears For Fears

I recently had the chance to see two bands on my bucket list: The Psychedelic Furs at the Apollo Theater and Tears for Fears at the Jones Beach Theater. (At my age, my bucket list consists of bands to see before they die.)

I purchased my tickets for The Furs almost a year ago and their concert was postponed twice, so I was a little bit concerned before I saw them. I’m happy to say that Richard Butler can still kick ass. (Butler strikes me as a cross between David Bowie and Johnny Rotten: a crooner with a punk attitude.) I was mostly pleasantly surprised, but I had two minor disappointments. I’d been looking forward to hearing them play “Love My Way,” but when they played it, it was sort of anti-climactic. The distinctive xylophone part that opens the song was missing, replaced by a keyboard line (How do you play that song without a xylophone?!!!) and the keyboard and drum parts that have been tattooed on my brain were also gone. There was also some kind of sound problem during “The Ghost in You.” I’m not sure if Butler couldn’t hear himself (he kept touching his earpiece, as if he was saying “What the fuck?”) or he was singing to a backing track, but it sounded like two different vocals, and one of them was out of tune. At this point, “The Psychedelic Furs” has several new members, but their drummer, Zack Alford, also kicked ass--this is a rock and roll band! I also liked the song “No One,” from their new album, Made of Rain. Why isn’t WDRE playing it?

Tears For Fears is a different kind of band, but I was also pleasantly surprised. A lot of ‘80s bands have a reputation for being “hair bands” or “pretty boys,” but Tears For Fears are real musicians. They were also backed up by an excellent background singer, Carina Round, who provided great vocals on songs like “Woman in Chains” and “Suffer the Children," the latter of which she sang entirely by herself. Even though Roland Orzabal now looks like Gandalf from “Lord of the Rings,” his voice is still in excellent shape. And Curt Smith (who, I have to admit, really is a pretty boy, even now) also sounded great.

So sometimes you can see your heroes--four decades later--and they (mostly) don’t disappoint.

Supreme Death Court

I couldn’t sleep last night. I woke up this morning and I’m still angry.

Yesterday, the Supreme Court overturned New York’s concealed carry law. On the same day, the Senate passed a weak gun control law that doesn’t address any of the major issues: banning assault weapons, banning high-capacity magazines or raising the age to buy guns.

It’s like we took one half step forward and one million steps backward.

We’re becoming a society where we’re going to need metal detectors in every public building. They already have them in theaters in concert halls. Now, if you don’t like what a comedian says, you can just shoot him.

I’m trying to write jokes about this, but reality is outstripping the most cynical thing I could ever think of.

Bill Maher jokes about extreme wokeness: If it sounds like an Onion headline, don’t do it. But the opposite is also true. If the most outrageous far-right thing I can think of is reality, how am I supposed to joke about it?

Here’s my attempt at a joke: New York will now be installing metal detectors in the subway. Too far-fetched? They’re already checking people’s bags. What are they going to do now that concealed carry is legal?

Another attempt: How many guns can you hide under Supreme Court robes? I don’t know, but they’re gonna need ’em.

Too much? They’ve already asked for increased security.

Someone on Twitter said they should take away the Supreme Court’s security detail and just give them guns. I agree. They should know the fear that every American now feels.

Faith in the Supreme Court is now at its lowest level in history. Only 25% of Americans have faith in the Supreme Court.

I’m not surprised.

It’s going to be the wild West out there.

In the past, if there was an argument, it might wind up in a fist fight. Now it winds up with one or more people dead.

That’s what happens when you have a country with more guns than people.

A few years ago, after the terrorist attack on the Boston Marathon, there were police sharpshooters with machine guns guarding the New York City Pride Parade to prevent a similar attack.

The Supreme Court just made the their job a lot harder.

I no longer feel safe in this country.

America’s Uncivil War

This morning I awoke to an email from The New York Times about the latest mass shooting in Buffalo, NY, but I didn’t read the article. I didn’t read the article because, frankly, I’m exhausted and overwhelmed. I’m exhausted and overwhelmed because mass shootings have become an almost daily occurrence in the United States and our government has become powerless to do anything about it. Our government has become incapable of exercising the will of the American people.

Part of this is because our government is inherently undemocratic. From a Senate that gives the same number of senators to Rhode Island as it does to California, to an Electoral College that twice in the last 22 years has given the presidency to someone who didn’t win the popular vote, to the Supreme Court, which has become yet another partisan branch of government. (Then again, when you over 400 million guns combined with a nearly nonexistent mental healthcare system, that’s a recipe for disaster.)

Every time our democracy fails, people like Vladimir Putin use that as proof of their theory that democracies don’t work. I know that there’s a war between democracy and autocracy going on in Ukraine, but we can’t even defend our own democracy at home.

Ironically, this is precisely the kind of environment that’s a breeding ground for authoritarians and dictators. It gets to the point where people get so fed up, they just want “law and order,” even if they have to give up some of their rights in order to get it.

I keep thinking of that line in Network where Howard Beale says, “Let me have my toaster and my TV and my steel-belted radials, and I won't say anything. Just leave us alone."

That’s increasingly how I (and I suspect many others) feel, especially now that so many people are working from home. We’re all just crawling into our own personal fortresses just to stay sane.

I often joke, “Thank God I live in the independent republic of New York City” because I increasingly feel like I wouldn’t even be safe between the two coasts. I actually feel safer in New York, because of its tough gun laws, then I would in, say, Texas.

This is the kind of environment that swept Trump into power and could sweep him into power again if Democrats don’t get their act together RIGHT NOW.

For the last three days, I’ve been having conversations with my friends about the increasing incivility of American people (all people?), at every level of society, from my neighborhood, with its noise and graffiti, to comedians being attacked on stage, to the assault on the Capitol. It’s starting to feel like nobody’s in charge.

Why is this happening?

I think part of it can be traced to the Covid pandemic, which, in addition to killing one million Americans, has been far more destructive than I think anyone thought it would be. For almost two years, we’ve been essentially locked up in our homes, and I honestly think that people have forgotten how to behave in public (assuming they knew how in the first place).

I think the other part can traced to Donald Trump, who, through his words and actions, gave permission to people to say and do things that, prior to his presidency, were, at the very least, considered impolite.

What else?

Police departments (or at least New York City’s police department) that basically stopped enforcing the law (especially quality-of-life laws) after the Black Lives Matter protests.

I hate to sound like I’m defending Rudolph Giuliani’s “broken windows” theory of policing, but there has to be a way to enforce the law without resorting to his racist stop-and-frisk tactics.

Bill Maher did a segment on his show this week that showed shoplifters brazenly stealing from a drug store while security guards just stood there and watched. And anyone who’s ridden the subway in New York City (that is, anyone who still is riding the subway) can attest to the number of homeless people—some of whom are obviously mentally ill—who have made the subways their home. Yes, Mayor Adams has added more police to the subways, but a lot of times they’re just looking at their cell phones.

We shouldn’t be worried about foreign countries attacking us. (OK, we should, but not exclusively.) We should be worried about ourselves.

I have seen the enemy and it is us.

Rereading The Andy Warhol Diaries

I just finished rereading The Andy Warhol Diaries after having seen the Netflix documentary series of the same name. I have to say, it was mostly filler, which makes the Netflix doc’s accomplishment even more remarkable. By focusing on Warhol’s relationship with Jed Johnson, an interior decorator, and Jon Gould, a movie producer at Paramount, the documentary succeeded in somewhat humanizing Warhol, who always presented himself to the public as a somewhat asexual person (even though his art had an extremely gay sensibility).

The main revelation of the diaries is that Warhol was a workaholic. During the period covered by the diaries (1976-1987), Warhol was primarily known for his society portraits. It’s hard to say which came first. Did he associate with rich and famous people because he did society portraits or did he do society portraits because he associated with rich and famous people?

He was also very insecure about his position in the art world, constantly comparing himself to contemporaries like Jasper Johns and Robert Rauschenberg and members of the new guard like Julian Schnabel and Jean Michel Basquiat, with whom he had a close relationship and on whom he seemed to have a kind of crush.

Another revelation is that Warhol comes across in his diary—especially reading it in “woke” 2022—as someone who was racist, sexist, anti-Semitic and (ironically, since he himself was gay) homophobic. The most charitable explanation I can come up with (not that I condone such behavior) is that he was a product of his time and upbringing. The other explanation is that I don’t think this diary (as the word implies) was intended for public consumption; it was mainly a means of keeping track of expenses, which he details meticulously. (The shocker here is that his cab fare was often what it costs just to get into a cab these days!). But, hey, even I have been known to make the occasional off-color (no pun) remark in private.

The main value of this diary is that it records what I think of as the last great creative period in New York City’s history—and by “New York City,” I mean Manhattan. That’s because this was the last time in which artists could actually afford to live in Manhattan.

It’s also the last great period of sexual freedom, coming as it does before the AIDS crisis, which looms heavily over this book. (Jon Gould is only one of the many people in this book who died of AIDS.)

Ultimately, though, Warhol remains an enigma. Someone who was obsessed with fame, wealth and celebrity (which were often the subjects of his work) and at the same time was filled with existential dread (which could be seen as the theme of his skull and shadow paintings). His life can seem either glamorous and exciting or meaningless and empty, depending on how you look at it.

Even so, I’d trade places with him in a heartbeat.

The Slap Heard Round the World

I must admit, before the beginning of last night’s Oscars, I was seriously thinking about watching something else. (I know, that could cost me my gay card!) Unfortunately, even HBO’s Sunday night lineup sucks right now. So, I reluctantly tuned in, taking care to avoid most of the ass-kissing red carpet arrivals. (Case in point: Kristen Stewart: a beautiful woman with an awful hairdo. Why didn’t anyone tell her?!)

I thought the big story of last night’s Oscars was going to be boobs. Big boobs and lots of them. Boobs falling out of dresses as far as the eye could see. You know things are bad when a gay man (i.e., me) can be accused (as I was on Facebook) of being obsessed with boobs. But, hey, you couldn’t get away from them.

There were a number of noteworthy moments, but unfortunately, one of them is hogging all the attention, so let me get the elephant in the room out of the way right now.

I’ve never had strong feelings about Will Smith one way or the other, but his slapping Chris Rock in response to a joke Rock made about Smith’s wife, Jada Pinkett Smith’s close-cropped hair, is still bothering me a day later. Let me just state up front that violence is never an acceptable response to free speech that you don’t agree with. As a stand-up comedian myself, the idea of somebody in the audience walking up onstage and assaulting me because they didn’t like one of my jokes is terrifying, and when someone of Will Smith’s stature does it before a worldwide audience on the Academy Awards, it’s extremely dangerous.

Now, I should also say that it’s generally considered to be in bad taste to make fun of someone’s medical condition. I didn’t know until after the altercation happened that Pinkett Smith has alopecia (a condition that causes one to lose one’s hair) and I don’t know if Chris Rock was aware of it either. If he did, then he was wrong, too. But at the moment it happened, it seemed like a harmless joke (and, for the record, I think Jada looks great with a shaved head). That’s why I, along with probably a lot of other people, thought it was a staged routine at first, until I saw Smith’s angry verbal response to Rock being silenced by ABC (even though I could clearly see him saying the “f” word)

That makes Smith’s subsequent acceptance speech for Best Actor (in which he talked about being “called on” “to love people”) all the more galling. (To be fair, Jessica Chastain’s acceptance speech for Best Actress was also kind of cringeworthy.)

As someone on PBS News Hour pointed out, if there were to be any repercussions for Smith’s behavior, they should have happened immediately. As it was, he got to deliver his acceptance speech as if nothing had happened. I think this illustrates the power imbalance between a movie star like Will Smith and a stand-up comedian like Chris Rock who, even though he’s made movies and is widely considered to be one of the best comedians working today, is still that red-headed stepchild of show business: a comedian. (It also demonstrates the power of ratings: ABC isn’t going to cut away during one of the only moments of real drama in the three-hour ceremony.)

I think the reason we watch the Oscars is because it allows us a peek at a rare moment of spontaneity within the carefully constructed public persona of Hollywood celebrities. No one (except perhaps people in the film industry) cares about the actual awards.

These celebrities sometimes have an exaggerated sense of their own importance (shocking, I know), and it’s not surprising, living in the bubble of Hollywood, surrounded by sycophants.

It’s a shame that Smith’s altercation with Rock eclipsed an evening of notable firsts: first acting Oscar for a deaf male actor, first acting Oscar for an openly gay Latina actress, first Best Picture win for a streaming service.

But, hey, at least it was real.