Believe me, I loved David Bowie. Crazy love. Second only to The Who for at least a year or so. Actually, pretty much from Space Oddity through Aladdin Sane. For some reason, he lost me with Diamond Dogs.
In light of this impending hoopla about 315 The Bowery, I thought we'd revisit a night at CBGB that ranks as one of the great Rock 'n' Roll Faux Pas Moments, perp-ed by yours truly... Here's the story...
I look back with sentimental longing for a time when I almost got my ass handed to me by actual Good Fellas... plus, a few quick bonus tales of first-hand mob woe for dessert. A name or two has been changed, okay.
The following, sorta excerpted from my book, is the least I could do to let the world know, that once upon a time, five ragamuffins from the outer boroughs of New York City bent the history of rock 'n' roll.
In 2011, Robbie Robertson's album How To Become Clairvoyant was not only one of the more satisfying releases of the year, but it also was the artist's most personal statement about his life, covering topics from spirituality to the breakup of The Band.
Jimmy Carbone of Jimmy's No. 43 hosted the "Battle of the Belgians" at his cozy, subterranean East Village bar. This festive event pitted Belgian-style American beers against their authentic counterparts.
Ever since Cat Stevens embraced Islam, the West has been clueless when it comes to accepting the former superstar. His latest release, Roadsinger, is a good start in rebuilding that emotional bridge to Stevens.