Author’s Note: I didn’t have a real good way to celebrate America today. I jerked off, did my laundry, looked at ACs. Simple stuff which I guess is banal and liberated as anything else USA! but I would’ve liked to have gotten drunk on a roof top with hot dogs and explosives like the old days or maybe gone up with El Jefe for the Great Pig Roast of Ancram but I didn’t because…well, I just didn’t so now I’m sitting at Pinpoint HQ East, sipping a Tall Boy in star-spangled panties, listening to neighborhood youths chase cats with bottle rockets when I realize I’ve got a hot, steaming piece of American FUCK YEAH! just wasting away in my archives.
The Day Jobs, baby.
They played a blistering mess of a set last month (to the day? goddamn, am I lazy) at Pianos in between BKLYN ZULU and some dudes enjoying a dad’s rock band reunion and who cares about either of them (though those ZULU dudes were dope as hell) because for forty-five minutes, the Lower East Side screamed, shouted and shake-shimmy-sweated like it used to back when life in NYC was still reasonably cheap and all the much more terrifying and in that brief glimmer of time, no one gave a fuck about their place in the food chain. People danced. People sang. People drank too much for their own good.
It was all sex and bedlam.
American Rock and Roll Freedom.
Now please dig, if you will, these pictures.
Rockit.
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