iJAMMING! is a music and lifestyle web site hosted by
author, journalist and dee jay Tony Fletcher.
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For the iJamming! mission statement click here.
Tony's daily musings are posted on this page.

Next DJ appearance:

Friday JUNE 4:

STEP ON, With guest DJ Dan Selzer of Crazy Rhythms/NY Happenings/Acute Records. (Dan rules: don't miss him!)

This Month's Happy Hour, from 10-11pm:
The Factory Tribute Hour. Cool cover versions of your fave Factory classics. Suggestions? MP3s? Put 'em up in The Pub.


DJs Tony Fletcher and Posie take you "Back to Madchester with baggy grooves, Brit-pop, northern soul and Hacienda classics" on the first Friday of every month. The Royale, 506 Fifth Avenue, Park Slope, Brooklyn, between 12th/13th Street. (718 840 0089.) 9pm-3am.



I took in two new Manhattan venues and three new bands last night. The venues mark the almost complete transformation of the Lower East Side, being buried deep in the grid of strangely British street names (Essex, Suffolk, Norfolk) that, when I first lived in Manhattan way down on Grand Street, were to be wisely avoided at pretty much all times of day and night – unless you were looking for drugs, in which case they were a conveninet 24-hour street market.

Trailblazers in the move below Houston Street included, in the very late 1980s, Max Fish on Ludlow Street and Sapphire on Eldridge, each of which required its customers to only step a few feet below Houston and the relatively comforting confines of the East Village. When my friend Rob Sacher opened Luna Lounge on Ludlow, he then brought live music into the neighborhood – specifically, he made it free all night every night, thus changing the landscape of the New York City music scene – and inevitably, as the nineties became a boom time, other bars, restaurants, clothing stores and clubs followed suit.

The downturn on Wall Street and the job losses after 9/11 have had surprisingly little effect on the increasing spread of these new ventures, proving the economists' claims that Americans – especially the young ones in downtown New York - simply chose to spend their way out of this last recession. It's safe to conclude that while, during my time living downtown, the action was in the East Village (Broadway to Avenue B, Houston up to 14th Street), the center of gravity for the current crop of youngsters, especially by way of live music, is to be found primarily below Houston, anywhere from The Bowery over to the Williamsburg Bridge

… In the very shadows of which can be found Up, on Delancey Street at the corner of Clinton, precisely where a local market once offered live chickens for slaughter on demand. (And may still do so during the day for all I know.) With a snazzy ground-floor lounge and a music room downstairs, Up offers at least one more dimension than the venue round the corner on Suffolk Street, Rothko, which, though open a couple of months now, looks distinctly (deliberately?) unfinished from the exterior, and offers only the one long room with a stage at one end, and an inaccessible DJ booth at the other. There appears to be a tendency among club owners/operators in this area of New York to assume that if they build a stage, the bands will come – and though the sound at these places often leaves plenty to be desired, they don't appear to be wrong. Pianos on Ludlow, a venue just celebrating its first birthday, managed to squeeze in three separate paying shows last night – including one by America's fave Brit tech-folkie, Beth Orton.

Not my pic for once: my camera is broken. BENZOS in performance, courtesy of the +1 web site.

No confirmed superstars among the bands I caught last night, though one could have been forgiven for thinking that Radiohead had slipped downtown to try out some new songs. Six-piece BENZOS combine that band's early era love of guitars with its later adaptation of electronics, while one of the band's lead singers (Christian Celaya, I believe) frequently slips into a wonderfully intense falsetto all too reminiscent of a certain Mr. Yorke. None of which is criticism: almost all bands start with someone else's template, and there are less inspirational blueprints to follow than Radiohead's.

Benzos certainly don't lack for ambition: six members crowded onto something that at Up barely qualifies as a stage, featuring up to four guitarists, a computer co-ordinator and a couple of retro-anaglogue synths. What marks Benzos as singularly incongruous and ultimately intriguing, is that while the front line has clearly studied at the school of impassioned English rock (does it need saying that Coldplay and Elbow are also relevant comparisons?), the back line of drummer Steve Bryant and bassist Eiko Beck were schooled in breakbeat/jungle. It makes the improvisational aspects of the show frenetic to the point of near-combustion: Benzos at their best last night sounded like they were straining to invent an entirely new genre.

[A self-pressed EP is doing the rounds, though none of the cuts expand into the furious dance beats of the live show. 'Warm Road,' which can be found on their web site, seems closest to the group's current direction.]

Over at Rothko, where Keith Tenniswood was meant to DJ but canceled his tour just as his Two Lone Swordsmen partner Andrew Weatherall did a couple months back, Warp Records tried to make amends with its new New York signing HOME VIDEO. The contemporary influences of a certain Oxford band were equally apparent - a song with the falsetto refrain "Everything as it should be" struck me as uncommonly close to the era's predominant influence - but the approach was vastly different. Home Video are a mere three-piece - drums, keys, bass – and the music is both more atmospheric and expansive than Benzos' as a result. Can't give you band members names; they don't even offer them at their own web site, but I did note that the drummer uses rounded kettle drum sticks as he beats out moody rhythms akin to Stephen Morris in his Joy Division days. That makes debut single 'That You Might,' with its disciplined electronic dance beats, highly un-representative. Either way, they made a strong impression.

Back at Up, where the performance space was encouragingly crowded though the sound was unpleasantly piercing, The HONG KONG were getting down and dirty with their hi-octane update of a classic sound: the female girl-fronted pop band. By their own optimistic description, the group's debut release, Rock the Faces "sounds like Debbie Harry were she held at gunpoint by Phil Spector in a recording studio with the Jesus and Mary Chain until, together, they finished 8 tracks." It's not as brilliant as all that, and though those influences are all present (and admirable), there's a lot more to The Hong Kong that an imitation Raveonettes. At least one uptempo song was instantly reminiscent of The Primitives at their peak, while a couple of Catherine Culpepper's more high-pitched vocal deliveries brought back fond memories of Girls At Our Best. And if you're British, of a certain age, and listen to 'Galaxies' at the band's site, you'll surely cast your mind back to C86 and the glory days of the Shop Assistants.

Not my pic either: my camera is still broken. THE HONG KONG's Catherine Culpepper in performance, also courtesy of the +1 web site.

It's infectious, teasing, sugary, addictive stuff, rendered all the more exciting onstage by guitarist Harold Griffin's buzzsaw riffs. (And less so by Culpepper's near static stance. It is possible she was simply struggling to hear herself; I certainly had a hard time deciphering the vocals from the wall of sound coming from behind her.) And it was far more powerful and enjoyable live than on the relatively restrained EP, which only bodes well for the future. As with Benzos, The Hong Kong are currently in servitude to their influences - but then they said the same thing about Blondie themselves for many years.



Ever had one of those days? Of course you have. Started out yesterday by accidentally destroying The Pub's front door (though I managed to rebuild it, bullet-proof and bomb proof and with accurate entry signs from all across the web site in a couple of hours) and spent too much of the rest of the day trying, without success, to get my digital camera accepted for repair under its expensive extended warranty. I've always been dubious of these extended warranties and now I know they're a con. But I'm not one to let people get away with ripping me off, so unless I can get satisfaction in the next few days, I'm going to go Al Goldstein on these people.

What to do when you feel like a helpless victim of the capitalist system? Why, go see a film about the same subject, of course. So I took a stroll down to BAM last night and took in Super Size Me. This highly-heralded documentary about obese America(ns) didn't exactly fill me with hope for humanity, though it did encourage me to believe that, armed with a camera, an agenda and some populist support, you can actually effect change. Turns out film-maker and fast food guinea pig Morgan Spurlock had to tack on a new ending to the movie after it was shown at the Sundance Film Festival: his prime targets, McDonald's, attempted to counteract the inevitable bad publicity of the movie (and indeed, its very name) by doing away with their Supersizes in the interim. Too little, too late, I think. Anyway, I'll digest the movie further and pass gaseous comment on it for the imminent June Hitlist.

So, time to cheer up. Here's some totally cool tribute acts for you to check out at your workdesk today.

JEWDRIVER: All Jewish skinhead band from California who, according to my ex-skinhead former New York drinking buddy Jamie 'Gadfly' Noone, adapt the songs of the notoriously racist English band Skrewdriver in a pro-Jewish light. Band members include Aryan Sharon (ouch!) and, in a tribute that would surely make the band's original lead singer turn in his it-couldn't-come-too-early grave, Ian Stuartstein. Songs include 'Boots And Bagels' and 'All Hail The Jew Dawn.' As far as I can tell, they really do play the skinhead circuit – though being that they're based round Berkeley and Oakley, the most left-wing places in America outside of Greenwich Village and Cambridge, they probably don't have too many Nazis in the audience to worry about anyway.

MANIC HISPANIC: All-Hispanic punk band, who claim to be both ex-jailbirds and ex-members of classic Cali hardcore bands The Adolescents and Agent Orange, take their fave punk classics and deliver them in Spanish. We're Brown, Down and Coming To Your Town, they say.... So when are they coming to New York? Albums include The Recline of Mexican Civilization and The Menudo Incident.

RODEOHEAD: What else but a country'n'western cover of Radiohead. Chris Hardwick and Mike Phirman cram their (real) love for the Oxford-based student heroes into one lengthy medley, and then cover The Propellerheads' 'Spybreak' on the accordion. Both are brilliant.

NOUVELLE VAGUE: Where does satire end and hipness begin? Probably right here. Two trendy Frenchmen "forget the initial punk or new wave background of each song, keep simple fundamental chords, & work with young female vocalists (six French, one Brazilian and one New Yorker) who had never heard the original versions." Sure, like there's anyone left in the world who hasn't yet heard 'Love Will Tear Us Apart' and 'Just Can't Get Enough.'

GOLDIE LOOKIN' CHAIN: Where does hipness end and tripe begin? Right here. The missing connection between So Solid Crew, Ali G and the long-standing Welsh tradition of sheep-shagging, this Newport collective sing, in an accent that would make even Tom Jones cringe, about the joys of 'Leisurewear' ("Who's got a tracksuit? I've got a tracksuit") and their local MP, spliff-supporting Paul Flynn. They've got their own patois, a couple of BBC Sessions under their belts and a gig at a place called Glastonbury later this month. Music's funny but shite, which is probably why so much of it is available for free at their web site. Bring back John Shuttleworth!

But that does remind me... The Streets and Dizzee Rascal are on the same bill here in New York. A show not to be missed. Except, no doubt, by the 5 or 6,000,000 people who've been listening to their home city's hip-hop on a daily basis these last 25 years....



I made a relatively easy but stupid mistake today and uploaded this page to the home page of The Pub. Fortunately, there are back-ups and many of you may still be finding your way to The Pub. Please use the following URL to get there and book it: this one is harder for me to accidentally erase:



So began Lester Bangs' three-part travelogue with The Clash, published in the NME through December 1977. At the time, I was thinking of starting to write about music, throwing together the first flimsy edition of something called In The City just in time for that year's Christmas holidays. And I remember reading Bangs' three essays during that process. They were different than anything we'd ever read in the British music press. The NME boasted Parsons and Burchill on their staff , who could be controversial beyond all reason, and they used a number of other writers who were eloquent, thoughtful even, when it came to disussing the new wave.

But none of them could rival Bangs' way with words. The way his thoughts flowed through the pages of the NME over the course of those three weeks, flying in the face of traditional music press coverage, rambling through discourses about the merits of journalism itself, praising The Clash as The Model For A New Society one week and taking them to task the next week, in person and in print, for allowing their personal hangers-on to beat on a fan they've invited back to the hotel…well I'm glad that enough of it went over my 13-year old head at the time that it didn't put me off my own ambition. Because anyone smarter and wiser – and admittedly, older and more cynical – would have read through those 10,000+ words and concluded that Bangs had just written everything that ever needed to be written about punk.

Bangs' three-part feature has stayed in print as part of his own anthology, Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung, and I've read it there at least once more over the years. But it doesn't sit so well within the context of his own writings; it stands out far better in the context of the NME. Most British music press coverage was, is and always will be, for perfectly logical reasons, written by British journalists for a British audience. A vast amount goes unsaid on the understanding that it's already understood. Bangs came to The Clash, on tour in the UK in late 1977, from an entirely different place, both physically and metaphorically. He wrote about The Clash – actually he wrote about British punk - the only way he knew how: from the American perspective. In the process he did a better job of analysis the movement's roots than those who were busy digging their way through from the inside. (All the more credit to NME Editor Nick Logan for hiring Bangs, presumably for that very purpose.)

You can read Lester Bangs' memorable 3-part feature on The Clash for the NME of December 1977 in his own anthology...

...Or in the NME's collection of Clash features and reviews....

Bangs' own life story (yes, he's dead) is told in this book, Let It Blurt. I have not read it.

Half the time, it seems, Bangs was letting the British readers know how they – their movement, their country, their bands - looked to an American like himself; the rest of the time he appeared to be letting the readers know how American looked to himself now that he was viewing it from across the Atlantic. Some of his observations were comical (and deliberately so; where's that sense of humor today?), and many were almost transcendental in their understanding of our cultural values – or lack thereof.

"All I ever read in NME," he writes at the start of his second installment, reminding us that he is not a regular NME contributor, "is how fucked up it is for you guys, when to me your desperations seems like health and my country's pabulum complacency seems like death… I mean, at least you got some stakes to play for. Our National Front has already won, insidiously invisible as a wall socket. The difference is that for you 'No Future' means being thrown on the slagheap of economic refuse, for me it means an infinity of television mirrors that tell the most hideous lies lapped up by this nation of technocratic Trilbys."

Later in the same feature, after coming out of a Clash concert, he observes some Teds and sees in them a sadness: "These people know that time has passed them by, and they are not entirely wrong when they assert that it's time's defect and not their own." He uses these Teds - "backed into a final corner by a society which simply can't accept anybody getting loose" - as a launching board to again analyze differences between American and English society and, noting that his own country's problems are essentially of narcissism and consumption, he then hones in on the core of England's God-awful dreariness as so frightened me too during (and after) th

ose years.

"In Britain it seems there is some ideal, no, some dry river one is expected to ford, so you can enter that sedate bubble where you raise a family, contribute in your small way to your society and keep your mouth shut... It seems like quiet desperation all the way to an outsider. All the stiff-upper-lip, carry-on shit. If Freud was right when he said that all societies are based on repression, then England must be the apex of Western civilization."

And therein lies your justification for British punk rock. The Clash, The Sex Pistols and others recognized that repression for what it was – the strangulation of creativity – and opted to rise against it. Thanks to them, and other like them – their predecessors in the rock generation of The Stones and The Who, their successors like The Smiths, and especially, in the pioneers of rave culture and their embrace of warm Mediterranean (as opposed to cold northern European) values – some of us managed to escape that dry, desperate, dour destiny.

Bangs closed out his first essay as follows. It seems to me that successive generations of rock journalists, myself included, have been rewriting these words ever since, without improving on them.

"The politics of rock'n'roll, in England or America or anywhere else, is that a whole lot of kids want to be fried out of their skins by the most scalding propulsions they can find, for a night they can pretend is the rest of their lives, and whether the next day they go back to work in shops or boredom or on the dole or American TV doldrums in mom'n'daddy's living room, nothing can cancel the reality of that night in the revivifying flames, when for once – if only then – in your life, you were blasted outside of yourself and the monotony which defines most life anywhere at any time. When you felt supra-alive, when you supped on lightning and nothing else in the realms of the living or dead mattered at all."



Goes without saying that I'm Glad All Over, what with seeing Crystal Palace promoted to the Premiership League on Saturday at the end of a season that once looked like becoming, instead, a desperate relegation battle. It's always an odd situation watching these big games from such a distance. It was a 10am kick off at Nevada Smiths in the East Village, and with most of the Palace regulars I know in New York having long ago booked their holidays for the week, we were thoroughly outnumbered by West Ham fans. Ultimately – and deservedly – victorious, 1-0, we all went loopy with glee at the final whistle… but then it's still only mid-day on a Saturday, the East Village is only gradually getting to its business, and depending whether you started drinking early or not, you're either off home to sleep it off, or geared up for the rest of a weekend in which almost no one else knows why you've got a permanent grin on your face. For my part, with it being the wife's big birthday weekend – she'd already kindly agreed to put off going Upstate till after the game Saturday – I'd stayed away from the beers during the game and didn't really see or hear another word about Palace 'till I got back last night and found the various e-mail messages and Pub congratulations welcoming me.

Palace manager Iain Dowie after the victory at Cardiff Saturday

Same place, same time: Palace captain and goalscorer Neil Shipperley

But while upstate, I read a couple of cuttings recently sent my way by Sheffield Jamie. By absolute coincidence, I read, firstly, a piece about former England player Neil Webb and then one about the current Palace manager, and undisputed architect of the club's remarkable turnaround this season since his arrival in mid-season, Iain Dowie.

Webb earned £5000 a week playing at Manchester United in the early 1990s, yet never really set about preparing himself for the back room jobs he says wanted to go onto until he was forced out of the game by late-career injuries. At which point, it was too late. As a result, he's currently working as a postman, and though he doesn't denigrate the job, he states, "You can never get used to the 4.15 alarm."

The piece, in the Observer Sport Monthly of May, closes out as follows:

"He has not given up on finding a job in the game. ' I'd love to be with a club, especially my hometown club.' Getting his coaching badges would be a good first step [suggests the reporter]. 'I'm probably too laid back about it. Maybe this summer though. Yeah, maybe this summer I'll go and get them.'"

In contrast, a piece published on the same day, in the paper's regular Sports section, about Dowie, opens:

"'You make a living by what you get. You make a life by what you give.' There is a pregnant pause. Iain Dowie looks earnestly from face to face to see if his audience have really appreciated the pearl he has just imparted. It is one of his favourite sayings and it was delivered with the intensity of a man who has been up since five in the morning juggling maxims and stories and motivational one-liners inside his head. Crystal Palace's young manager doesn't sleep much."

That's the difference right there, really, isn't it? The difference between failure and success. It's down to motivation, at which Dowie is clearly a champion, but most importantly, it's down to self-motivation. If you don't believe in yourself, you can't expect anyone else to.

I felt sorry for the West Ham fans Saturday: it's not often you see grown skinheads crying! They seemed all too aware, from their rather half-hearted singing throughout, that Palace were the Club riding both luck and form. I like the Hammers, as much as I can like any club that isn't Palace, and so, as promised, I showed up in my replica Palace shirt from 1948-49, which though I knew it was close to the current West Ham top, hadn't realized was near enough IDENTICAL. It caused a number of extremely confused looks, especially from my fellow Palace fans, who momentarily wondered if I'd gone insane and switched allegiance in the last ten days. Never. But in the car ride upstate, I did enjoy, from my Glad All Over CD, a chorus of 'Claret And Blue,' a memorably atrocious song recorded by Crystal Palace F.C. 1972, back when we still played in those colors. Altogether now:

"We are the boys who wear claret and blue, and what we're doing, we're doing for you, all our supporters are second to none, three cheers for Palace of Division 1."

They don't make 'em like that anymore, do they? Thank God. The Division 1 was the old Premiership. Palace were relegated from it the season they recorded that single.

You can read more about my introduction to Crystal Palace – an everyday story of how an 8-year old declares allegiance to his local club – at this page.

So do I eat my words about Palace chairman Simon Jordan, who I've criticized on several occasions?) Not necessarily. I mean, this is a chairman who, immediately after buying the club, managed to alienate and then sack Palace's most successful manager and loyal employee, Steve Coppell; mishandle his first managerial appointment, Steve Bruce; somehow swap Bruce for that perennial underachiever and much disliked Jasper Carrott lookalike Trevor Francis, and then see Palace fall perilously close to relegation under back room hero but front bench failure Steve Kember. You could say that sacking Kember and hiring Dowie was an act of inspiration; you could also look at Jordan's track run and suggest it was merely fifth time lucky. For the time being, it's all water under the bridge: Jordan has paid up on his promise that he'd put Palace back in the Premiership. Now the work really begins; he needs to hold on to the best players (and of course, Dowie) and convince others that Palace are a Premiership club, not just a short-term Premiership team.

On which subject, a fellow Londoner asked me to step outside Nevada Smith's after we'd been celebrating our victory for a good fifteen minutes or more. No he wasn't an irate Millwall fan. He was an Arsenal supporter, and he pointed to a picture of Thierry Henry posted outside the bar. "That's what you're gonna face next year, mate," he said as if hoping to bring us back down to earth or put the fear of God into us. Hey, if I was a Palace player I'd no doubt be thinking the same that I do as a supporter: we look forward to the honor of playing against Henry, his team and all the other Premiership greats. And until such time as we prove unworthy of their presence, we'll remain Glad All Over.

Final thoughts on football, then we'll get back to talking about wine for the rest of the week: Rivalries in sport only make sense if rivals are somewhere within each others' sights. So congratulations to Brighton And Hove Albion for their own Play Off victory on Sunday, which saw them promoted to Division 1 (along with Queens Park Rangers, who I had a soft spot for back in their 1970s glory days that has never quite gone dissipated). I hope Brighton can now get their new stadium. They've been through enough; they deserve it.

MAY 24-30: The Clash, Fear Of A Black Planet, Marvin Gaye, Sandy Bull, Richard Pryor, Stoop Sale LPs, Michael Moore, Nat Hentoff
MAY 17-23: 5th Ave Street Fair, James, Surefire/The Go Station live, Crystal Palace
MAY 10-16: Radio 4 live, John Entwistle, Jeff Mills, Wine notes, Joy Division covers
APR 26-MAY 9: Twenty Twos, Morningwood, French Kicks, Ambulance Ltd all live, More Than Nets, Mod, Turning 40
APR 19-25: 5 Boroughs Rock, The Number 3 Bus, Orbital split, MC5 reform
APR 6-19: British Press Cuttings, More Than Nets, Art Rockers and Brit Packers
MAR 29-APRIL 5: The Rapture/BRMC/Stellastarr* live, The Chinese Beatles, Freddie Adu
MAR 22-28: Singapore Sling live, Kerry on a Snowboard, Pricks on Clits, Eddie Izzard, Who's Two
MAR 15-21: TV On The Radio live, Tracking Terror, Bloomberg's Education Bloc, The Homosexuals,
MAR 8-14: The Undertones live, Winemakers Week, Madrid Bombings, Just In Jest
MAR 1-7: Rhone-gazing, Pop Culture Quiz answers, Who's Hindsight, March Hitlist
FEB 16-29: Lad Lit, American Primaries, New York novels, Candi Staton, the Pop Culture Quiz, World Musics In Context
FEB 9-15: Grammy gripes, Spacemen 3, Replacements, Touching The Void, Moon myths, Voice Jazz & Pop Poll
FEB 2-FEB 8: Suicide Girls in the flesh, Johnny Rotten's a Celebrity...So's Jodie Marsh
JAN 26-FEB 1: Starsailor/Stellastarr*/Ambulance live, Tiswas, Wine Watch, Politics Watch
JAN 19-25: Brooklyn Nets? LCD Soundsystem, Iowa Primary, The Melody, TV On The Radio
JAN 12-18: The Unicorns live, New York w(h)ines, Sex In The City, Curb Your Enthusiasm, S.U.V. Safety, Bands Reunited
JAN 5-11: Tony's Top 10s of 2003, Howard Dean and his credits, Mick Middles and Mark E. Smith, Mick Jones and Don Letts,

DEC 22-JAN 4: Blind Boys of Alabama live, Joe Strummer, Year-End Lists, Finding Nemo, The Return of The King
DEC 15-21: Placebo live, Park Slope, Angels In America, Saddam's capture
DEC 8-14: The Rapture live, Guardian readers change lightbulbs, Keep iJamming! Thriving
DEC 1-7: Cabaret Laws, Ready Brek, Kinky Friedman, Sir Ranulph Fiennes, Jonathan Lethem, Julie Burchill, Blizzard running
NOV 17-30: Lost In Music, Lost In Translation, Neil Boland, Political Polls, Press Clips, Australian Whines
NOV 10-16: Ben E. King live, Hedonism readings, A***nal, Charts on Fire
NOV 3-9: Brother Bear, Oneida, P. Diddy, Steve Kember, Guy Fawkes, Iraq, the Marathon
OCT 27-NOV 2: CMJ Music Marathon report, NYC Running Marathon preview, Prey For Rock'n'Roll, Yellow Dog, Gen Wesley Clark, Halloween
OCT 20-26: Television Personalities, defending New York rockers, Bill Drummond Is Read
OCT 6-19: LCD Soundsystem live, Renewable Brooklyn review, Blind Acceptance is a sign...
SEP29-OCT 5: New York w(h)ines parts 1 and 2, Bruce Springsteen at Shea Stadium.
SEP 22-28: Atlantic Antic, Pacifists for War: General Wesley Clark and the Democratic Debate, Danny Tenaglia, Running Wild, Steppenwolf
SEP 15-21: Radio 4/DJ Vadim live, Manhattan Mondaze, Circle of Light, Renewable Brooklyn
SEP 8-14: Central Park Film Festival, Roger (Daltrey) and me, September 11 Revisited, The Raveonettes/Stellastarr* live, Recording Idiots of America,
SEP1-7: Film Festivities, Party Monster, Keith Moon RIP
AUG 25-31: Punk Planet, Carlsonics, Copyright Protection, Cline Zinfandel, BRMC
AUG 18-24: Black Out Blame Game, John Shuttleworth, British Music mags, Greg Palast, The Thrills live.
AUG 11-17: The New York blackout, Restaurant reviews, The Media as Watchdog, What I Bought On My Holidays
AUG 4-10: Step On again, Shaun W. Ryder, Jack magazine, the BBC, the Weather, Detroit Cobras, football and Rock'n'Roll
JULY 28-AUG 3: De La Guarda, The Rapture, Radio 4, Stellastarr*, Jodie Marsh, A Tale of Two Lions, Hedonism launch photos,
JULY 14-27: Manchester Move Memories, Hedonism is Here, Holiday postcard
JULY 7-13: Chuck Jackson live, Step On, Beverley Beat, British Way of Life
JUNE30-JULY6: David Beckham, Geoffrey Armes, Happy Mondays, Step On at Royale
JUNE 23-29: Ceasars/The Realistics live, weddings and anniversaries, Cabaret laws.
JUNE 9-23: Hell W10, The Clash, Big Audio Dynamite, Nada Surf live, Field Day debacle
JUNE 2-8: Six Feet Under - Over, Field Day, Siren Fest, Crouching Tigher Hidden Cigarette
MAY 19-JUNE 1: Ian McCulloch live, New York's financial woes, Six Feet Under, Hedonism, Tommy Guerrero.
MAY 5-18: Live reviews of The Rapture, De La Soul, Carlsonics, Laptop, The Libertines, Echoboy, The Greenhornes; observations on Chris Coco/The Blue Room, The Apple Music Store, Alan Freed, Phil Spector, The Matrix Reloaded, Rare Earth, Tinnitus and Royale!
APRIL 28-MAY 4: Flaming Lips, Madonna, Bill Maher, The Dixie Chicks, the war
APRIL 21-27: Rotary Connection, War(n) Out, Cocaine Talk
APRIL 14-20: Belated London Musings on Death Disco and CPFC.
APRIL 7-13: London Musings: Madness, Inspiral Carpets, the Affair, the Palace, the Jam
MARCH 31-APRIL 6: Music be the spice of life, London Calling: Ten Observations from the Old Country
MARCH 24-30: Six Feet Under, Peaches/Elefant live, MP Frees and Busted Boy Bands
MARCH 17-23: Röyksopp live, Transmission, Worn-Out War Talk
MARCH 10-16: Live reviews: Stratford 4, Flaming Sideburns, Joe Jackson Band, Linkin Park. Why I Oppose The War (For Now).
MARCH 3-9: The Pursuit of Happiness, Weekend Players, U.S. Bombs, Al Farooq, A New Pessimism, Brooklyn Half Marathon
FEBRUARY 24-MARCH2: Orange Park, Ali G-Saddam Hussein-Dan Rather-Bill Maher-Jon Stewart TV reviews, Stellastarr*, James Murphy, The Station nightclub fire, the Grammys
FEBRUARY 17-23: Village Voice Poll, Singles Club, Smoke and Fire
FEBRUARY 3-16: Snug, The Face, Pink, Supergrass live, Keith Moon, Phil Spector, Gore Vidal
JANUARY 27-FEBRUARY 2: Communist Chic, Spiritland, Daddy You're A Hero, Keith Moon, State of the Union, CPFC and more on Iraq
JANUARY 20-26: Divisions of Laura Lee, Burning Brides, Words On War, Child Abuse of a Different Kind, Losing My Edge
JANUARY 13-19: Pete Townshend, Pee Wee Herman, South Park and more Pete Townshend
JANUARY 6-12: Interpol in concert, Tony Fletcher's Top 10 Albums and Singles of 2002, More on Joe Strummer and The Clash, Fever Pitch and Bend It Like Beckham.
DECEMBER 31 2002 -JAN 5 2003: A tribute to Joe Strummer, Radio 4 live on New Year's Eve

iJamming! Site Copyright Tony Fletcher 2004

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Mon, Jun 14, 2004 12:21 pm)

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Live in New York


Live at Tiswas
Live at Bowery Ballroom
Live at Mercury Lounge
Live on the Hudson River
With Joe Strummer
Stellastarr* album review

SUICIDE GIRLS just wanna have fun

Rhône, France,

Ten That Got Away


Tony's Top Tens

updated and re-designed

Bruce, Bowie, Iggy, Joe and Jodie...

From the Jamming! Archives

Global Techtronica

TRIPPED OUT BRITS: Nine albums of vaguely psychedelic bliss

Eargasm by Plump DJs

Paul Durdilly Les Grandes Coasses Beaujolais Nouveau 2003

Down But Not Out

THE OTHER NEW YORK MARATHON: 10 Live Reviews from the CMJ Music Marathon, October 2003

Albums from UK, USA, Canada, Australia, Iceland, Denmark, New York and New Jersey.

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

Bruce Springsteen at Shea Stadium

The biggest night out that you'll ever have in." Jockey Slut
"Hedonism will have you gripped from start to finish, guaranteed." International DJ

Tony Fletcher's debut novel HEDONISM is out now. For more information and to read excerpts, click here.

HEDONISM is available mail order in the USA from Barnes&Noble.com. It's available mail order in the UK from amazon.co.uk or musicroom.com.

American residents can also receive signed copies direct from iJamming! for just $20 including shipping and handling. Click on the PayPal button below. Please allow 7-10 days for delivery.