Bordertown Boy takes a bite o' the Apple

Its rare that musical up-and-comers from the 'flyover states' ever make it this far East, let alone into the heart of Manhattan's Lower East Side (unless of course they are waiting tables telling patrons what good musicians they are... right).

On Tuesday I rocked out with a genuine and talented group of guys from about as far South in Texas as you can get (where you don't know whether to drink the water or not, speak Spanish or English, or worry that the border patrol will grab your brown-eyed girlfriend, "officer, she's Jewish").

The experience took me straight out of New York and into the bars and outdoor festivals of my youth; indeed a few Bud Lights served in plastic cups helped. Ryan Bingham and the Dead Horses features songsmith Ryan Bingham whose "whiskey and cigarettes" voice, according to Texas Music Magazine, "sounds like a 50-something Tom Waits". The musically score ranged from mariachi (thankfully sans big hats), to roadhouse music, to hand-clapping, footstomp'n, dueling slide guitar-romps!!

Ryan Bingham and the Dead Horses is certainly a show worth seeing. I wasn't expecting the paired-down sound I heard the other night; I do enjoy the over-busy instrumentation from the 'Mescalito' album. This show was raw, and seemed to channel Bingham's powerful lyrics more than musical complexity.

The combination of juxtaposition of Texas grit with NYC grime, with quality unbridled talent and lyrical emotion will be logged as a great NYC memory. This might even go down as the most fun I've had in the Lower East Side that didn't involve talking my brother out of going home with drunken curious lesbians.

who needs enemies...

Sunset’s just my light bulb burning out

*before I return to my foray with rockstars... a bit about sleep.

It’s amazing that I continue to sleep the way I do. I’m not saying I’m a ‘heavy’ sleeper, because sounds and such wake me all the time; it is the act of getting to sleep that I can perform with superhuman abilities. When asked what my superpower would be if I were ever granted superhero status, I often reply “the ability to sleep soundly whenever I want”. I say this because I already have this ability – so it’s easy to imagine. And I’m attracted to the idea of dressing as a normal ‘metrosexual’ New York man during the day, but ducking into phone booths (as if they still existed) to change into flannel pajamas and a fleece throw-blanket cape.

I admit to the fear of becoming a victim of comfort – cerebrally concocting a reality in which I’m protected from loses, and thus can sleep soundly. Where each day starts anew; all worries and sins of yesterday (or yesteryear) are absolved. Where aspect of life that should prevent me from sleeping at night (thoughts of lost loved ones, people homeless, tired and poor, past mistakes and pains, worry about the state of the planet, the economy, the country) are dead-bolted out. For the most part I have to be REALLY personally unnerved to lose sleep. I have lost sleep over the last few months. Life changes and uncertain outcomes of life decisions have put pits in my stomach, and peas under my mattress. Luckily these are subsiding and sleep is once again returning.

Sleeping in the city even has become a relative piece of cake. It wasn’t easy. NYC has an amazing ability to fool people into believing that man creates time, temperature, and seasons. That man allows the sun to fuel us during the day and then gladly contracts ConEd to provide energy at night… for a price. Singer/songwriter Ryan Adams spent a lot of time in NYC and put it well when he penned, “sunsets just my light bulb burning out”. Regardless, please don’t fret too much about me not sleeping well these days. Despite the screaming children, banging trashcan lids, neurotic Dominicans with whistles, drunks with bottles, loud buses, taxis, rats, cats, dogs and tamale vendors, I still manage to sleep fairly well.