[Editor’s Note: yes, this is a report by the Ethan Covey. Someone’s gotta write about music around here!]I saw Sonic Youth play last night at the final McCarren Pool show
was my first Sonic Youth concert. Although I don’t often pull their records off the shelves, SY have meant more to me
than pretty much any group to strap on guitars post-’69. I have no
problem admitting my complete crush on the members of that band and the
collective storm they set a-brewin’. Even cuddly Mark Ibold seems right
at home locking into step with Steve Shelley‘s thunder toms. Wicked.
I’m actually glad McCarren Pool is closing for business as rock haven. On the one hand, you lose some of Billyburg’s
gutter-punk tragedy. But no one should ever been seen sporting
Coach loafers at an SY show. The crowd on Saturday night was thick with TONY page-flippers
and the new Williamsburg elite, but the clouds of weed floating
through the humid night kept even the non-tokers tuned-in and calm. Throughout it all it was clear it’s prime time to pull the
plug. NYC evolves and now we must head elsewhere, deeper into the
boroughs to find the next powered playground.
you at the pool!" Lee Renaldo shouted as the band retreated from their
second encore and the lights came up over a wasteland of crushed
plastic cups, glowing serenely in the wash of overhead lights and the
city glow held close by banks of low-hanging clouds.
On that note, it’s time for me as well to sign off. The expressway to my skull calls for aspirin.