Travelpogue, or Memories to Anticipation
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Publication: Travelpogue on www.pogues.com
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Derelict81, a regular contributor to this
web site’s fora, has kindly agreed to document
his travels as he and his wife make their way to The Pogues’
2006 shows in Manhattan, New York.
Well, here we go. Just who are The Derelicts? Dave,
age 47, and my dear Jana, age (ahem) from St
Petersburg, Florida, soon to be temporary residents of
the Manhattan skyline.
This whole odyssey started around the 1st of August
2005, amid one of the wildest hurricane seasons on
record in Florida. Speaking of records, I had finally
decided that the boxes and boxes of them in the closet
had to be sorted out. They were taking up too much
space, and I knew that many were used and abused and
had to go. The boxes were labeled in
semi-alphabetical order, and the first box I picked
was “L-P.”
I opened Led Zeppelin’s “Physical
Graffiti,” to laugh at remnants of a green,
leafy-looking substance permanently adhered to the
middle fold. The mood turned somber when I looked at
“Ghost In The Machine,” by The Police.
This record belonged to a good friend of mine who is
no longer with us. The glossy, black backside of the
album ravaged and scarred by a razor blade laying out
lines of the shit that eventually took his life. Hey,
we all have “ghosts,” and I consider
myself pretty lucky to have walked away from all that
many years ago.
I continued through this box, with a good portion of
its contents headed to the trash dumpster. I paused
when I pulled out an album by a band that I truly
admired yet never had the opportunity to see
live....The Pogues.
I’ll never forget the first time I heard them in
the mid 1980s or seeing the Saturday Night Live
performance a few years later. You have to take
note....at that time, we didn’t have the luxury
of clicking a few buttons on our home computers to
learn of band activities. As odd as this may seem,
home computers didn’t exist. The only concert
news was print media, radio, or word-of-mouth. I never
read or heard anything about The Pogues, so I figured
the band had faded into oblivion like so many other
bands I once regarded as “excellent.” I
was wrong.....
All these years later curiosity got the best of me. I
did a search on the “magic machine” and
discovered “The Pogues: In The Wake of
Medusa.” Not only did I find a virtual goldmine
of info on the band, but when I ventured into the
“Forum” I soon realized that I was a real
rookie regarding affection for this band. There were
some serious, and sometimes not too serious fans here.
As this was my first foray into a fora, a smile came
across my face when I saw band members were
posting. An even wider smile resulted from the news
that the original band had been playing some gigs, and
that a collection of Christmas shows in the United
Kingdom and Ireland had been scheduled. I actually made some
inquiries about traveling to Europe to catch one of
these shows....until reality knocked me on my ass
again.
Jana, my real inspiration, has had serious health
issues, and what we thought were past problems had
returned.
When I saw the announcement a couple months later that
The Pogues were going to play in the U.S., there was
no second guessing. Problems be damned, this may be
our only chance to see the band. The initial plan was
to fly up to D.C. for a day, catch the show, and fly
home the next day. Then the hamsters in the damaged
wheel of my brain convinced me that a few days in
Atlantic City might be a better option. I even made
reservations at the Borgata, which were luckily
refundable. Ultimately the thought of concerts
surrounding, and including St. Paddy’s Day just
couldn’t be resisted. What the hell, roll the
bones and go for the gusto! You only live once!
Bought tickets for all four nights at the Nokia, made
reservations at a nice hotel in the Times Square area,
and then.....more poor news from Jana’s doctor.
There’s 25 days of radiation treatment to ensure
the “C” (still don’t like to mention
that word, as it literally makes me sick to my
stomach,) stays in remission. Current treatment will
end the first week in March. Weeks into the treatment
now and she’s doing extremely well!!!! No
problems. We’re going to New York!
We’re looking forward to upholding the dignity
of Travelpogue, and hopefully provide an enjoyable
read as others have done in the past.
Pfff.....I made myself laugh at that
one.........WE’RE GOING TO NEW YORK CITY TO SEE
THE FUCKIN’ POGUES FOR THE FIRST
TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And maybe even have some fun for a
change, and raise a little Hell in the process. We
need it!
Please fasten your seatbelt, return your seat to the
upright position, and enjoy the ride....I know we
will!
After tossing and turning through much of the night,
unable to shut down the“what if...”
questions I continued to ask myself, the 30 minute
commute from St Petersburg to Tampa to catch a plane
was not very pleasant. I’ve driven this stretch
of highway/causeway/bridge spanning Tampa Bay
countless times, and have become accustomed to the
high-speed crazy drivers one encounters on any given
day. For no apparent reason, today’s jaunt
turned into a white-knuckle ride. Perhaps I was a bit
over-cautious, not wanting to join Firehazard in
the“trips gone bad” club. The credible
explanation, was that I was nervous as hell. To raise
my blood pressure even more, the four lanes of traffic
suddenly slowed to a snails pace. My wristwatch soon
became the enemy, and the cursing commenced.
I thought of journeys to concerts back in the day when
you would pass carloads of people on the road, and you
knew you were headed to the same destination, as crazy
phrases painted on the back window of their cars would
identify them.“The Stones...Rock N Roll,”
or“The Who...Party!!!” Somehow, two
40-something adults chugging along at 10
m.p.h. with“The Pogues or Bust” on the
window just didn’t seem cool enough to fit the
bill, and would have probably just resulted in strange
looks from passers-by.
Luckily, we left home a little early anticipating any
potential problems, and arrived at the airport with
some time to spare. In the parking garage, I decided
to have one last pre-flight smoke, and complied with
the mental note to self....“lighters are not
permitted on planes, so leave this one in the
car.” I had my allowed two packs of matches to
make it through inspection. Neither of us have flown
in many years, but we were aware of the heightened
security procedures and nervously got in line and
followed all directions. Take off your shoes and put
them in the tray, empty all pockets and put this in
the tray, anything with metal in the tray. We walked
through the metal detector with no problems, and
waited on the other side for our possessions to come
through the x-ray when we heard,“WHO’S
TRAY IS THIS?!?!” All heads in line snapped to
my direction, and here comes an unhappy-looking TSA
officer with my tray in one hand, and my red
disposable lighter in the other hand! “Oh
shit!!!!” In retrospect, this would have been
the opportune moment to use“My name is
MacRua.....,” but I’d probably still be in
jail as this dude was all business. After a minute or
so of questions and scolding, the angry man let us go
on our way. He even made a joking comment and smiled
as we left, possibly seeing that I may be going into
cardiac arrest.
The relatively short 2 hour 30 minute flight to New
York wasn’t bad at all. Flight was a little
late, but at least our luggage arrived at the same
airport we did. We had reservations with a car
service, and requested a luxury car which was
surprisingly cheaper than a taxi, so all we had to do
was get our bags and call for a pick-up. Opened the
doors to go outside and wait when it hit us. Frigid
air and wind that would cut you in half. A pitiful
sight....two warm-blooded Floridians standing there
with our backs to the wind freezing our asses off.
Our Lincoln Town car arrived, and my thoughts of a
scenic, comfortable ride into Manhattan were quickly
thwarted. First, I couldn’t understand a word
our driver said, and second, I had no idea we were
entered in The Grand Prix of New York as this guy was
driving like a fuckin’ lunatic, weaving in and
out of traffic at breakneck speeds. I made the
mistake of initiating a conversation with our driver
as we approached Manhattan. “Is this the East
River?” “Jes, Ees Rived.” Through
the Midtown Tunnel and into the skyscrapers when
Mr. Indecipherable started pointing through the
windshield....“Em Peter Stat.” I had no
clue as to what he said. I looked at Jana and she
shrugged her shoulders. It was then that we saw the
Empire State Building.
Through the packed streets of Manhattan, I
couldn’t even look through the windshield as it
now appeared to be demolition derby time. Finally, at
our hotel on Broadway, I was able to pry my clenched
fingers from the armrest.
No problems at our hotel... unpack, relax, and
confirm an invite on the town. Our host, and
temporary tour guide met us in front of our hotel. We
followed his suggestion, and off to Connolly’s
we strolled. Pictures or television just don’t
capture the excitement of Times Square, and it seemed
a bit surreal walking along Broadway amidst the neon
and big screens advertising everything imaginable.
This night evolved into an enjoyable evening of
conversation and drinks with DzM. It was especially
nice for me to see Jana having a good time for a
change, and she even got a little tipsy for the first
time in many months. I love New York!!!
It was pretty amazing to get out of bed and look out
the window from the 43rd floor of our hotel. I stood
there for quite some time sipping coffee, when I
realized that I could be the winner of the office pool
in the adjacent high-rise buildings for being
the“first tourist of the day in underwear at the
window.” We bundled up as best we could, had
breakfast, and hit the streets. First stop, Grand
Central Station. This proved to be a pretty good
hike, and we quickly became acclimated to Manhattan
sidewalk etiquette....“move it or fuckin’
lose it.” We pretty much followed the herd and
crossed streets when the lights advised, but after a
while we threw caution to the freezing wind and did
the jay-walking thing when it was clear. Grand
Central is certainly a beautiful building inside and
out, and it’s stonework seems out of place in
this metropolis of concrete and steel. We wandered
around for a bit and then it was time for another
hike. Next stop....across town to the Hudson River.
Pier 83 is home to The Intrepid Sea, Air & Space
Museum. It’s centerpiece being The U.S.S
Intrepid, an aircraft carrier nearly 900 feet long and
rich with history. During the Pacific Campaign of
World War II, she suffered seven bomb attacks, five
kamikaze strikes and one torpedo hit; yet the ship
continually returned after repairs, earning her the
reputation among the enemy as“The Ghost
Ship.” During the 1960’s the Intrepid
served as primary recovery vessel for NASA, picking up
both Mercury and Gemini capsules. After three tours
of duty in Vietnam, the ship was officially retired in
1974 and has been a museum since 1982.
Everything has been kept as original as possible, and
you can basically go anywhere. We went up to the top
level of the bridge to the main wheelhouse, and to
look across the flight deck towards the bow you wonder
how something this enormous can be navigated. Down on
the deck itself, fighter planes from many eras and
countries are on display. We were hoping to tour The
U.S.S. Growler, the only intact nuclear missile
submarine open to the public anywhere in the world,
but of course it was“temporarily offsite.”
Another exhibit was a Concorde jet that you are
allowed to walk through. This particular jet made the
fastest Atlantic crossing of a Concorde, taking just 2
hours 53 minutes. Seating only allowed 75-100
passengers, and at four to six thousand dollars for a
one-way flight it’s really no surprise they
didn’t last long. Exiting the jet, I noticed a
couple guys sporting“Dublin Fire Brigade”
jackets which I asked them about. They were in New
York for the parade and when told that we came up from
Florida to see The Pogues, they had no idea the band
was in town, but became very excited
nonetheless. “Is it sold out?” “Is
Shane with ‘em?” We ran into these guys a
few times throughout the museum, exchanged
pleasantries, and were assured“ you’re
gonna have a great time.”
Back to the hotel, a famous monster NY deli sandwich,
shower, and we were off to the pre-show meet-up at
Connolly’s. As soon as we walked through the
door , I recognized faces of“the gang.”
The U.S. was pretty well represented here. Neil from
Seattle, Georgecat, Carmen and DzM from California,
the Orrocks from NY, Sheva from Philly. A great bunch
of people, and thank god no group hugs. We all
traveled quite a distance with one common denominator,
and after gab and much needed drink it was off to the
show. Just a few blocks to the Nokia, and although we
were told“it ain’t too bad tonight,”
we felt like the only things we were lacking were a
pack of sled dogs and Admiral Byrd as our guide.
The Nokia theater is a pretty impressive venue.
It’s essentially underground. Through the front
doors and down an escalator just to the lobby. Into
the concert hall at the middle of three
levels. “The pit below” down a flight of
stairs at stage level, is guesstimated about 50 feet
below street level. Opening act was already playing,
and we walked down to the floor to survey the
situation. As Jana is vertically challenged, and it
was already about 25 people deep in front of the
stage, there is no way she would have been able to see
anything so it was retreat to the mid-level where we
had a nice spot staked out right below the VIP
enclave. It was a little surprising to see how young
the crowd was but then figured, fuck it, at age 47,
everybody looks young to me at concerts anymore.
W.E.W. finished his unique set and this is when the
week’s weird shit started happening. Just
standing there listening to D.J. Scratchy when a few
ladies came up the stairs from the lower floor. It
only took one glance at the red flower in her hair and
I knew who it was, but no one else seemed to know, as
she filed through the crowd unscathed. I
couldn’t resist, and as she passed I said,
“Excuse me but aren’t you Ella
Finer?” A surprised big smile and, “why
yes I am.” My return,
“.............” Obviously sensing my
dumbfounded ness, she grabbed my wrist and
said,“very nice to meet you.” And away she
went. That was our brush with the band. At this
point we could see that the crowd down on the floor
was already starting to get a little crazy, and the
overflow had soon made it’s way to the middle
level of the hall. Our nice view was soon gone so it
was time for a drink, which turned into a few. We
decided to join the rest of the“seasoned”
fans up in the seats, and sat down just in time to see
the stage lights dim to the mesmerizing voice of
Mr. Strummer. I gave the missus a smooch and
said“this is going to be awesome,” and
soon enough, the band strolled out and took us on a
two hour ride that I could only describe as
fuckin’ mind-blowing. I’m really at a
loss for words in trying to describe this experience,
other than to say that this is going to be a fun time
in The Big Apple.
Filed out of the Nokia and into the bone-chilling wind
back to the hotel. A few blocks up Broadway and we
decided to stop at Connolly’s Pub for a
night-cap. Through the front door we heard a hell of
a ruckus from inside sounding like a bunch of drunk
revelers, and once inside we found just that. A group
of about 15 people, ladies at one table and men at the
next belting out songs at the top of their lungs. As
soon as one song ended, they flew into the next one.
They were the center of attention, and having a hell
of a good time. I didn’t recognize any of the
songs but figured they were traditional Irish songs
from what I could barely decipher. I braved my way
past them to the bar for one more night-cap, and on my
return to Jana someone from the rowdy singing gang
yanked my shoulder around. “I KNOW YOU,”
and lo and be-fuckin’ hold it was one of the
Dublin boys we met across town at the Intrepid earlier
in the day. He quickly spotted Jana across the room,
and our new friend from Ireland, Nick, was a great
guy. We discussed everything from the concert to the
recent riots in Dublin. Had to decline his bid to
join the troupe as I was now having a hard time
reading my watch. And a singing they continued. When
we finally put our coats on to leave, here comes Nick
through the crowd, and hands me an embroidered Dublin
Fire Brigade patch ... “You’re one of us
now.” Nearly teared me up as we said goodbye.
Still heard them singing a few doors away. Feeling no
pain or cold now, it was a stumble up Broadway to the
hotel. After all, tomorrow is Paddy’s Day.
The very nice thing about being on vacation away from
home is that there are few responsibilities and
obligations. No mailboxes full of bills, no mandatory
phone calls, and no alarm clocks which was especially
nice. I’m usually up at around 5 A.M., and to
sleep in until 9 or 10 is one of life’s little
luxuries. It’s St. Patrick’s Day in New
York City and this is a pretty big deal. Turned on
the local news, and the reporters on the street were
already surrounded by swarms of the clover-clad
awaiting the 245th annual parade. We had already
decided on going up to Central Park to try to find a
spot on the parade route, so following breakfast we
were off to the races again. Another very cold day
with the same unrelenting wind whipping through the
buildings. Street vendors were hawking every
Irish-themed ware imaginable, most of it being some
really tacky crap. Stopped at 5th Avenue and Central
Park South to enjoy the occasional ray of sunshine and
noticed something we’ve yet to see in
Manhattan... grass on the ground.
Streets along the parade route were railed off so we
took up a spot behind a woman with a toddler and an
elderly woman, all of whom appeared to be suffering
from hypothermia and didn’t look like
they’d be there long. Sure enough, they made
their exit and we had front row on 5th Ave. And
before long it was the distant sound of bagpipes and
snapping drums. First up the street were a contingent
of the rich and powerful including Rudy Giuliani, NY
Mayor Bloomberg, and a bunch of other unknown coattail
followers. Next were a real special group... The
Fighting 69th NY Army National Guard, recently home
from Iraq. No shiny shoes and dress garb with this
outfit... well-worn battle fatigues and proud marching
unison. And no smiles and waves... they lost 19 of
their comrades.
Endless streams of pipe and marching bands, and the
funniest moment with the loudest cheers were for three
guys carrying shovels and pushing barrels, taking care
of the remnants of a pack of mounted horses just
passed. Unsung heroes. After nearly three hours and
now frozen numb feet we decided to bow out too. We
turned to leave and nearly got run over by a woman
pushing a kid in a stroller, followed by her wimp
husband. I didn’t really pay any attention
until we were out of the crowd and Jana asked me if I
heard “the bitch.” Apparently, throughout
the parade she was voicing comments to her man about
how we were rude and inconsiderate, in not letting
them step in front of us to have the prime view
because they had a child. I’m just glad I
didn’t hear the remarks, as I’d have told
the Uptown girl to go shit in her Sak’s hat.
The kicker, was that we looked back and our former
spot at the rail was now occupied by the couple that
was next to us, and Mr. & Mrs. Society were
unfortunately still not front and center. A damn
shame. An abbreviated walk through Central Park, a
stop for some warming coffee and it was back to the
hotel where we watched the end of the parade on
television. Can’t run with the big dogs
anymore, so it was nap time for the Derelicts.
Fully refreshed and ready to roll, but too late for
the pre-show meet-up, we took a quick walk around the
corner to The Pig n’ Whistle on 47th. En route
we paused to laugh at one of the street artists
sketching a couple of young guys who obviously had a
long day of indulgence. Another cold night, and these
guys had shorts and sneakers on and that’s
it. They were painted green head to foot, sitting on
the sidewalk for a portrait to remember. Some good
food, drinks, and it was a late hustle to the Nokia.
Arrived at 9:30, just in time to grab a brew to the
sounds of, “it’s not
Coca-Cola....it’s rice,” or Guinness in my
case. Up to the seats which was a very comfortable
place. Excellent sound, unobstructed access to the
beverage center, and no hassles with my occasional
smoke. Sure, it would have been nice to see the band
up-close, but after seeing the “casualties of
war” emerging from the pit the night before, I
was sure we made the right choice again. Another
stellar performance by the band with much of the same
as the previous night... an amusing stroll around the
stage for Shane during “White City,” the
wisenheimer remarks between songs by
Spider... followed by his obvious loving dedication to
his wife. The lump in the throat throughout several
songs, with Jana repeating “what a beautiful
voice” mid “Thousands Are Sailing.”
James thrashing around the stage, and through several
instruments, Andrew out front with Darryl on the skins
and Philip on the four stringer. The consummate
bookends... Jem and Terry, rounding out one VERY
impressive spectacle of musicianship at it’s
finest. And I don’t want to forget Ms. Ella,
who put on a stunning performance. We left the
theater nearly speechless again.
Back into the cold blow where we ran into Sheva having
a tough time hailing a cab. Then it was time for some
exploration. Couldn’t resist the temptation to
visit the establishment voted “Best Dive Bar In
Manhattan,” so across 44th we went to
Jimmy’s Corner, a gem of dumps with wall to wall
boxing memorabilia, and Jimmy himself a former
trainer, pictured with all the greats. About 10 foot
wide, cheap drinks, a jukebox full of Stax music, very
friendly and no-nonsense waitresses, nasty
restrooms.....an enjoyable dive. A late-night sashay
up Broadway with the mandatory re-fueling stop at
Connolly’s, and it was “do not
disturb” time.
Finally alive at about 11 A.M., and not quite ready
for a jog through Central Park. But, I’ve
started the day with a marathon runner’s sure
routine... coffee, a headache reliever, and a smoke.
We haven’t slept in this late in a long time.
Blame it on the Pogues.
Early afternoon and we’re off to the Chelsea
neighborhood to The Atlantic Theater Company’s
presentation of “The Lieutenant of
Inishmore.” I think I’ve figured out what
happens to United Nations delegates when they finish
their respected terms... they become NYC drivers, as
our cabbie seems to be speaking anything but English.
Jana has been to several shows, but this was my first
so I honestly didn’t know what to expect. The
theater itself, looks like a renovated church along a
street of apartment buildings. Once inside, a very
intimate setting and not a bad seat in the house. Row
F, and there is Ms. Carmen and our two seats next to
her. Soon saw Neil (sans MacRua nametag,) and his
cousin from Chicago. Lights went down, and this show
came alive with one of the funniest performances I
have ever seen. Picture bumbling, fumblers trying to
cover up the death of a mad-man’s beloved cat
and you have a small premise of this play. Probably
not much of a description, but I wouldn’t want
to give too much away... but I would highly recommend
it.
Back to the hotel and I soon sensed that we
wouldn’t be going to see The Pogues tonight.
Although she would never admit it, I could see that
Jana wasn’t feeling well. Show cancelled. I
went down to the Nokia and quickly sold the tickets
for face value. Yea, I know... blasphemy, but I have
to take care of the priorities, and the concert was
number two on the list. On my way back to the hotel,
some bible-beaters on a makeshift stage were yelling
at everyone passing them, assuring all that they were
going to hell. I was in the mood to tell the messiah
who tried to hand me the “real” writings
to fuck off.
We’ve still got Sunday night’s show.
After the previous night’s timeout, it was
another restless early rise for me. A few hours of
guilty glances at the clock, and a sigh of relief when
Jana finally got up feeling fine. Time to downshift
and slow the pace, especially the long-distance
walking. Following a late breakfast, newspaper, and
the HUGE television news... another Trump on this
planet that The Donald can pay child support to when
the next flavor-of-the-month model comes around. It
must be the attractive comb-over, or comb-down in his
case.
Time for some real touristy stuff for us. A cab ride,
this time with a turban-wearing driver back over to
the Hudson River for a Circle Line boat cruise.
So we “set sail for a three hour cruise”
circumnavigating the island of Manhattan. The only
problem was the same wicked wind blowing, and once you
left the comfy confines of the lower deck it was
pretty miserable on the bow or open upper decks. It
was still an enjoyable way to kill a few hours. We
hadn’t really seen lower Manhattan, and we made
two passes by Battery Park with a detour out past
Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty.
On the bow of the boat confronting the wind, snapping
pictures, I shivered not necessarily from the cold,
but from trying to visualize two jumbo jets plowing
into the once tallest buildings in this cramped area.
Pretty eerie just thinking about what this city must
have gone through. Heading north on the “Ees
Rived” under the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges,
now on the stern staring south I was still trying to
fathom the 9/11 hell. Upriver past Queens and The
Bronx, now on the Harlem River up to the northern tip
of Manhattan I finally convinced Jana to come up to
the top deck and as soon as we rounded the point and
back on the Hudson, we were graced with a few
snowflakes. I loved it... she was freezing. Back to
the lower deck, back to port, and back to the hotel.
We splurged at a nice restaurant tonight, and although
I would hardly consider myself a food critic, an
average meal considering the bill. One more late dash
down Broadway to Connolly’s for the last muster
of Medusans. Ran into Sheva, DzM, and had a
hello/goodbye meet with photog extraordinaire Josie,
aka Chichi. Hung around for a while and overheard a
conversation from a group next to us discussing The
Pogues forum. Soon met Mr. & Mrs. redandblack78, a
charming couple from Pennsylvania, with Steve and Liz
up from Texas, who were all soon off to the show. It
was too late to rush for the coveted rail spots and
too early for the Pogues so we had a couple more
drinks before the short walk to the Nokia.
The usual pat-down and sweep with a hand-held metal
detector and we were in for the last show of the
Pogues U.S. 2006 tour. Opening acts had just finished
up, so I got in the drink line while Jana went
scurrying to the ladies room. As the line seemed to
be going nowhere, I ended up in a seemingly lengthy
conversation with a guy in front of me who’s
accent necessitated several “I’m
sorry’s?” from me. He eventually
introduced himself... Michael from London, originally
from Ireland and now living over here. He really
couldn’t grasp the fact that we flew up from
Florida to see the band. After stating that
he’s seen the Pogues “about twenty
times,” I think it finally sunk in after I
replied “Thursday was the first time we’ve
ever seen ’em.” Drinks in hand, a
“cheers” to Michael, and into the theater.
We paused at the middle level and I actually had a
very brief thought of taking a right and down the
stairs into “the pit,” but quickly laughed
that one off. Instead, it was a left turn into the
seats again where gray hair outnumbered pierced lips
by about 200-1. On came the band for yet another
premier show, and this one just seemed so bittersweet.
Instead of the lump in the throat, it was “I got
something in my eye.” There was really no change
it the set from the Thursday and Friday shows, yet
every song somehow sounded better... maybe it was the
reality that this may very well be the last Pogues
show we will ever see. The finish of
“Fiesta,“ and that was that... show over.
We sat there for a while, comfortably numb and finally
made our way down the stairs, to pause when I thought
I recognized a couple people down in front of the
stage. And sure enough, amid the piles of empty
plastic cups were DzM and Sheva looking as satisfied
and happy as we felt. Went over and bid our adieus,
and inquired about a post-show meet-up, with DzM
mumbling something about Rocky Sullivans. Adios, and
we were soon seated at Connolly’s... again.
Very mellow crowd tonight... a little bit too soft
even for a Sunday night in Manhattan. Off to the
Hotel?... Hell no, and after getting an address, it
was cab time to Lexington and 28th. Had no idea what
we were in for, but once out of the cab, who is the
first person we run into in front of the
bar... Michael from the drink line at the Nokia. This
is getting to be a little too weird... makes me wonder
if we’re being followed this week. He
introduces us to one of his mates... a dude with a
leather beret, and so much of a drunken thick accent,
that I couldn’t understand a fuckin’ word
he said. We retreated to the open spaces at the end
of the bar, and after a matter of only a few minutes,
here comes Mr. leather beret screaming incoherently,
giving us both a big hug... apparently our new friend.
We were outta there after an hour and while trying to
grab a cab, who do we see over on the corner yelling
at everything... you guessed it.
For the past few days, local news has had reports of
an identified, photographed subway robber who has
already claimed three victims up in Harlem. So what
better way to cap off our New York trip... a hungover
ride on the B train up to the American Museum of
Natural History which is located on the West side of
Central Park. My first subway ride, and it was
everything I expected... nauseating, not the least bit
enjoyable, and I now have some empathetic thoughts for
people who have to endure this underground shithole on
a daily basis. But hey, it goes with the territory.
It would be easy to spend a couple of days in this
museum, but we took the condensed version, and quickly
covered most of it in about four hours. Very
interesting, but I soon had cravings for the couch in
our hotel room. Enough of the subway madness, so it
was a cab to Broadway and 47th where I was soon
reclined. There were no more Pogues shows to produce
the early evening excitement tonight, and there was
absolutely no desire hit the pubs so it was a quiet
night at The Doubletree.
And before we knew it, it was “Tuesday
Morning,” and our return to Florida. Actually
happy to be going home, but also very sad to be
leaving this exciting city where we’ve had so
much fun, met some great people, and really had some
memorable times at concerts that we never thought
we’d see in our lifetimes. It was beyond
question, an experience that we will never forget.
The flight back to Florida was actually relaxing,
unlike the high-strung uncertain one a week earlier.
Prior to our trip, friends suddenly became New York
City experts, filling our heads with groundless
warnings about the dangers we would face. Yes,
Manhattan is a fast pace but with some plans and a
little common sense, it’s no different than any
other big city. No, New Yorkers are not rude...with
the exception of the Uptown bitch. Anywhere we went,
we found people to be very friendly and helpful with
any questions we had. No, we did not get dragged into
an alley and mugged....there was never a moment where
I felt defensive or threatened. I did however keep a
wary eye on leather beret guy at Rocky
Sullivans... probably a harmless drunk, but when we
saw him out on the street yelling at pretty much
everything, my thoughts of him being a pretty loose
cannon were justified.
There were also many misconceptions about the
concerts. I read the reviews of the shows in D.C.,
Atlantic City, and Boston preceding our trip by
so-called “journalists.” The majority I
read had too much emphasis on how fucked up and
inarticulate Shane was. Was he wasted? Don’t
know, don’t care... we enjoyed his performance,
and understood most of what he said between songs.
What these hacks should have focused on was how
impressive this entire band is live. But, what do you
expect when some of these assholes couldn’t even
get band members names or instruments right in their
summary. We wouldn’t have spent this much money
to travel so far if we didn’t think The Pogues
would put on a fine show. They really exceeded our
expectations, and then some. Would we do it again?
In a fuckin’ New York minute, without a doubt!
So here we are back in Florida, hopefully with some
long-term normality in our lives this time.
Just a few bits of gratitude... to The Pogues... some
unforgettable shows. Thank you for coming to the U.S.
Thank you DzM... if it wasn’t for your tireless
work on this site, we probably would have never seen
the band. Nice to meet you, and thank you for
tolerating my computer incompetency.
And a huge thanks to all of you people who have wished
us well during a very trying time in our lives. I
can’t tell you how many times I’ve broken
down reading your encouraging thoughts. It would be
nice to think we could meet someday... maybe at a
Pogues show.
CHEERS ALL!!!!!!!!
Discussion is here.
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