remnants: return to the scene of the crime - little steven’s underground garage festival, August 14, 2004

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20 years ago, I got the closest I'd ever get to seeing the New York Dolls live. Thanks to Bob Gruen's Instagram for reminding me! I wish the footage would get released but according to an inside source there were a ton of rights issues. This is 20 years old and was written for the 30 people who read my blog back in 2004. I have done some basic cleanup and anything in italics is text I added in this edit. No photos because we all had flip phones!

Let us also stipulate that since this was written several individuals discussed in this piece have done some things that aren't great, and their appearance does not mean that I am excusing their behavior. Just treat this as a period artifact. Thank you.

Another update late tomorrow since I'm going to Pittsburgh to see E Street!

I am still recovering.

Do you remember what it was like when you went to your first punk rock show – and it almost doesn’t matter whether it was in 1978 or 1982 or 1992, because it’s still about that moment when you walk in the door and everyone looks like you – or rather, you don’t look different than anyone else for the first time in your life? That feeling of inclusion and solidarity and homecoming. You felt comfortable, you felt at ease, and the music kicked ass.

That’s a good start at describing what it was like at Randall’s Island this past weekend. I don’t know that that was what Steve Van Zandt was trying to create, I think he was just pissed off at the current state of the War On Suck Ass Music and wanted to take a stand. But, believe it or not (depending on what side of this you fall on) Stevie knows a thing or two about solidarity and inclusion and brotherhood/sisterhood formed through music, because the E Street Band is pretty much about all of that.

When we got up to the x80 stop at 125th Street and my friend S. exclaimed, “Look at all the freaks!” she meant it in the best, most self-referential way possible. She meant it as: “Look, it’s a bunch of people just like us!” It was ripped jeans and Converse and leather and every t-shirt imaginable. Everyone was in what looked good or what was comfortable or both. In our party, the weather had mandated giving up on skirts and fishnets (although S. did soldier on with that motif; then again, she always looks better than everyone) and feather boas and glittery makeup. It sucked, you know? I mean, how many times in my life have I had to decide what I was going to wear to see the New York Dolls??