Henry Rollins

Gojira and Machine Head (with Trivium and Lamb of God) at Roseland, New York, NY, March 22, 2007

When did it suddenly become not only okay, but almost mandatory for concert goers to show up wearing a t-shirt of one of the bands that was performing? Not too long ago, if you wore a Slayer shirt to a Slayer concert, you were "that guy" and no one wants to be him. To commit such an act was verboten, and it made you look like a complete knob. But at this particular heavy-metal blowout show at Roseland, 50 percent of the t-shirts on parade were emblazoned with the logos of the bands on the bill. Bizarre.

Machine Head at Roseland, New York, NY, March 22, 2007. Photo by Jeanne Fury.

Tonight marked a monumental moment in concert history, and I have the French phenoms Gojira to thank. The very first song of the evening was literally the best-sounding song I have ever heard at Roseland in my life. "Ocean Planet" off of Gojira's exceptional From Mars to Sirius damn near elevated my consciousness to Tibetan monk levels. "New York you are fucking sick!" gurgled Joe Duplantier. No sir, you are. In fact, they were sick enough to warrant Lamb of God's Randy Blythe joining them onstage. And during Lamb of God's set, Blythe promised the crowd that they'd be hearing more from Gojira because the band's cosmic, bombastic metal epics were going to take over the world, inspire cults, and stuff of that nature. Oui oui, bitches.

In a show of solidarity with the "brah" crowd, Machine Head took the stage with each member sporting sleeveless t-shirts. "Cheers muthafucka," barked singer Rob Flynn, and the crowd returned the salute by lovingly throwing up their middle fingers. The band tore into "Imperium" from 2003's Through the Ashes of Empires and the party officially got started – sweaty mosh pits full of angsty brahs formed every 20 or so feet. Flynn later spoke of an article that was written on the right-wing website The Iconoclast after the killing of Dimebag Darrell wherein author William Grim referred to anyone mourning Dimebag's death as "pathetic and ugly." Machine Head dedicated "Aesthetics of Hate" from their new (and awesome, sure-to-be-Top-10) album The Blackening to Dimebag. But the true climax of their set was "Davidian" which resulted in the sold-out crowd roaring "Let freedom ring with a shotgun blast" while beer and fists flew overhead. Flynn's heart-felt response: "Thank you for treating us like family." Cheers, brah.

Unofficial Last Night at Sin-e, New York, NY, March 29, 2007

The next time Debbie Harry is in the house, someone please do me a favor and hang a sign outside the venue that says, "Debbie Harry is inside. Take five minutes to gain your composure before entering to avoid a full-body spasm upon making eye contact with her. Thanks, management." Her royal Blondie-ness was in attendance along with her date Justin "Kiki" Bond for the unofficial final night at Sin-e, featuring Daddy, Miss Guy, Pretty Boys (Hopey and Galadriel of Candy Ass for the old farts reading this), Theo and the Skyscrapers, and Glass Hand fronted by her excellence Mistress Formika. Pink was there, too. It was the equivalent of an All Star line-up, if the stars were whorish glam queens.

And now, a tirade. By the time this goes to press, Sin-e (and Tonic! Fuckers!) will have shut its doors at the end of March in accordance with the Will Of Satan to turn the entire Lower East Side into a development of fugly high-rise luxury apartment buildings full of fugly people with fat wallets who wouldn't know a good time if it rocketed up their poop shoots. Sin-e was one of the remaining shithole rock clubs where you could always be assured of an attitude-free environment. It was four walls with a bar, stage, and bathrooms – unfussy and completely comfy. And now it's gone. Furthermore, the Bowery is home to a brand new Whole Foods supermarket obviously due to the increased demand for organic products by the homeless and indigent. If Johnny Thunders were alive today, he'd shit twice and croak.

Theo performing at Sin-e, New York, NY, March 29, 2007. Photo by J. Jasper.

We now return to our column.

Guy revealed his post-Toilet Boys musical ambitions – to be the singer of electro-sex-party-time tunes including "Fuck Love" which I decree should be made mandatory at every heterosexual wedding from now on. Entertainment Tonight alums and winners of Glamour magazine's Reel Music contest, the Pretty Boys put the dance spin on punk pop kinda like Candy Ass except with sunbeams coming out of their asses. Galadriel announced that their song "Hello Bonjour" went to #1 on Sirius radio's "fag station" i.e. Channel 109 OutQ. Then she promised free heroin after the show. Theo & Skyscrapers, now a trio, debuted new doom-dance-glam songs and a new look that included fake blood and enormous fake eyelashes. Rob Zombie, call them immediately for your next movie. For reals. Glass Hand, fronted by a goatee'd and cape'd Mistress Formika, married stoner metal with theatrical razzmatazz, like Alice Cooper but cuter and much gayer (two attributes that Cooper could have definitely benefited from). And so kids, that capped off a fitting farewell to Sin-e. No doubt NYRock will be covering these artists more in depth in the future. Until then, wake us the next time a line-up this fabulous comes around again.

Janeane Garofalo, Marc Maron, and Henry Rollins at the Gramercy Theater, New York, NY, April 12, 2007

I don't know what was more annoying, the fact that Janeane Garofalo was an hour late or that the two other comedians on the bill couldn't have just taken her spot and spared the audience from waiting around with our thumbs in our asses. Why couldn't Marc Maron or Henry Rollins (as if the latter's ego could deal with being an opening act...HA) go on before Garofalo? It's not like there was equipment to set up. You just get onstage with the mic and talk your shtick. But no. Someone's comedic vibe would get thrown out of whack or something. Men, such delicate flowers.

Garofalo showed up, backpack and coat still on, rushing down the aisle and panting into the mic. Her profuse apologies were followed by the declaration that lately she simply can't be on time. She just can't. The vegetarian ("except for bacon and brats") colorfully expounded on conservatives ("they're basically douchebags"), republicans ("Eva Braun and Squeaky Fromme have more dignity"), and the war ("Why aren't the Bush girls over there? Just let them have a desk job.") Garofalo's exasperated befuddlement is shared by plenty of people, but no one can deliver it quite as snarkily as she does. According to Garofalo, Ken Lay is not dead, Tony Snow doesn't have cancer, and "by the way, Karl Rove killed Anna Nicole Smith." She also carries around a children's book called Pooped Puppies (pictures of puppies asleep) and used it to break up a street fight. She fuckin' rules.

Marc Maron started his set by announcing, "Splenda causes anal leakage." His stressed-out, at-wits-end demeanor was coupled with insightful cultural criticisms: "The only way American Idol would be interesting is if they shoot the losers.... If you watch it ironically you're part of the fucking problem." His agony drew buttloads of empathetic howling. I was pretty sure the guy in front of me laughed so hard he was crying. Maron likes the word "retarded" and wants to reclaim it from the politically correct. "There's a difference between 'being retarded' and 'fuckin retarded.'" In addition, his use of the f-word was one of the best I've heard on a human being. Coming from a connoisseur of the f-word, it's a tremendous compliment. Maron says it with conviction. It's not just part of his vocabulary – he says it with a sense of fervor and disgust. Bravo.

Put a microphone in Henry Rollins' hand and he'll hold it the same way every single time: grasped in the right hand, with the cord wrapped twice around his knuckles. He stands with his left foot slightly in front of his right, body slightly twisted. Basically, Rollins looks like he's ready to clock you right in the face. And that is exactly what he does, metaphorically speaking. As Maron pointed out earlier, Henry has no filter. Anger goes into his body and directly out his mouth. He is in his purest form all the time. As he put it, "My vitamin C is confrontation."

"I love this city," he said emphatically. "I think New York can save the world." As if he needed to say anything to win us over? And then the stories began. Because he's promoting season two of his talk show on ICF, the dude is on a press rampage. "I will do all interviews because I'm desperate for attention," he giggled. And who was Rollins' first interview? FOX News. So Henry gets on camera and tells the FOX viewers not to watch his show. At least it went better than his trip to CNN. He decided not to talk about his show and instead focused on CNN's weak-ass war coverage. They promptly showed him the door. On the way out, Rollins almost beat the shit out of John Tesh just for being John Tesh. No joke. During the remainder of his two-plus hours on that stage, Rollins declared that Rick Hilton (Paris's daddy) should have been his father, told of his eye-opening trip to Tehran, and is psyched as hell for Mother Nature to kick our asses. "We need to learn a lesson in humility," Rollins said of the human race. His prediction? That wild animals are going to rise up, dinosaurs will return, and we're going to die at the hands of cougars, condors, and alligators. Nothing got him more worked up than talking about our bloody demise. Strangely, the more he talked about it, the more attractive he became. (And he's prime stud meat to begin with.) He closed with another reason New Yorkers rule. If we ever get in a jam and find ourselves with a maniac holding a knife to our throats demanding to know why he shouldn't slice us to bits, Rollins says we, as New Yorkers, can spare our lives by uttering two words: The Ramones. Once the enemy hears those words, they will realize we are the good ones.