The Saga of the Aging White Dude Continues

http://philadelphiaweekly.com/view.php?id=10913

When the Shit hits the Fans

What it feels like when the band you love hates you.

by Jonathan Valania

We all have bands we hate, really hate-you know, with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns. You hate REM, I still hate Journey. There's a lot of that going around. But how many people can say a band hates them? Tin-eared soundmen, people who jack the gear out of their van while they sleep, and the played jokesters who still yell "Freebird!"-and that's about it.

And when you narrow it down to people who are hated by their favorite bands, well, it's a very elite club, my friend. Membership is pretty much down to me and Mark David Chapman, homicidal Beatles superfan. Misery usually loves company but I have no sympathy for my cohort-he killed John Lennon. Screw him.

My crime? Well, I wrote this pretty candid piece about Wilco for Magnet back around the time of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Everything I wrote about-the band members forced to walk the plank, the messy divorce from Reprise and the handshake drugs that were bought downtown, as well as the fact that Wilco had became the Great American Band-eventually became a matter of public record, in the documentary I Am Trying To Break Your Heart and the frank interviews Jeff Tweedy gave in the wake of his rehab stint last year. I contend, your honor, that my only crime was writing an honest story about the band before they were accustomed to people doing so.

Be that as it may, Wilco hates me. I know-boo-hoo, right? Sure, journalism isn't Friendster. It's not my job to be buddies with the people I write about, but it kinda sucks when you happen to admire them.

Last year I wrote a story about the Terror Dentist, aka Anand Rao, a 33-year-old Rittenhouse Square dentist and Wilco super-fan who was visited by the FBI after somebody, possibly a patient, made an anonymous tip. A few weeks before then-Attorney General John Ashcroft held one of his curiously timed be-very-afraid-terrorists-walk-among-us press conferences. One of the cold-blooded killers possibly hiding under your bed or mine was named Adnan. And Rao's first name was Anand. If that wasn't suspicious enough, Anand is of Indian descent and, to a nearsighted or paranoid elderly patient, could pass for an Arab.

The whole thing ended happily, with the FBI agent asking Anand for a dental appointment. In the accompanying photo, Anand posed in his beloved Wilco shirt, purchased off eBay for a princely sum and rumored to have belonged to the drummer.

Somehow Wilco sees the story and links it on their website, for like the whole summer. At one point, their Web master got a hold of me, saying the band wanted to invite Anand to see them perform at Radio City Music Hall. Free tickets, backstage passes, the whole nine yards. We'd become friends by this point, and Anand thought it was only fair that he take me-or maybe I said that, I'm a little fuzzy. I definitely told him he couldn't tell them who he was bringing because it might queer the deal.

So the big night rolls around, we stroll up to the box office at Radio City and ... no tickets. Come back later, they say. The band hasn't turned in the guest list yet. That's odd, I think. It's less than a half-hour to show time. We go out front and a couple people in line recognize Anand. "Aren't you that Terror Dentist guy?"

Anand tells me he feels like a rockstar. With the clock dwindling, we agree to drop a $100 pair of scalper tickets just to be safe. We're not going to come all this way and miss the show. As we head back inside, we check at the ticket booth one last time. No dice. We explain the whole Terror Dentist saga to this sweet old lady usher, she goes backstage, finds Wilco's road manager, explains the deal, comes back with two tickets. Don't worry about the passes, she says. Just go to the backstage door after the show.

Cool, we think. We go inside, watch the show. In a word: transplendent. But you already know that, and if you don't you can check out Kicking Television, the just-out live album recorded over four nights at the Vic Theater in Chicago. How is it? It's fucking great. They're my favorite band. What do you think I'm gonna say?

So after the show we knock on the backstage door. A smiling security guard opens the door and asks us if we're here for the party. Yes, very much so, we say. He looks for our names on the list and when he can't find them he stops smiling and slams the door in our faceS. Just then this guy walks up. British accent. Looks like he's in the Strokes.

"Blimey," he says. "You're that Terror Dentist bloke, ain't ya, mate?"

Again, rockstar moment for Anand. Turns out he's Wilco's road manager and he's gonna get everything sorted. We follow him inside and up the elevator. He tells us he's got to make preparations for the party downstairs, so he's gonna escort us up to the band's dressing room. "Wait till they see you!"

The elevator door opens up, and we're deposited in the tiny hallway outside their dressing room, crowded with the band's inner circle: manager, publicist, a few Nonesuch bigwigs. I turn around and I'm standing face to face with Jeff Tweedy. Last time I talked to him, he asked me to never call him again. Tweedy gives me the hairy eyeball and retreats into the dressing room and slams the door shut. Up walks Wilco's manager, Tony Margherita, who kinda looks like his name sounds.

"I'm gonna take you guys to the party," he says. We get on the elevator and head down, the door opens and we get out, you know, to go to the party. And then we realize we're back at the backstage door and spin around to see the Tony Margherita still in the elevator as the doors close in our face. We've just been kicked to the curb. Anand was pissed. But me, I remember thinking I would die if I could come back new.

dude blows a gasket because someone swiped his favorite barstool at bob and barbara's; pulls classic little man complex move by penning said article. im sure in the back of his mind, he's thinking "yeah, i really got them!" but honestly it reads like a bunch of gobbledygook.

but to get riled up over it? pointless. the few times i've met neil he seems like an alright dude, although i do think he he harbors an unusual fascination with hammell on trial.

people are allowed to make mistakes and get jealous, except that most of the time, they're usually not committed to newsprint -- just anonymous posts on craigslist.

No, it's people who really identified with music and thought it made them cool realizing their era has passed and yet they look at the new era and think, "That's not cool, you little twerp!" And if we're not all familiar with that feeling yet, we will be one day. I thought the reason this was so "tired" is because we've all been there, no? If we've all been there, then what's the harm in one more person "being there" at the moment? The new hipsters are in one spot in life (hating on non-hipsterism) and the old hipsters hating on new hipsters are in another. They both suck, let them be.

No they don't. I think you just wanted to use your fancy new term, "ideological cocaine." It is obvious what is hipsterism and what is not.

Gee, never thought about it that way.

I'm rapidly developing irony fatigue.

You too? I'm sensing some sort of a trend here, like an impending "death of irony," if you will.

Personally, I love all of ABBA's greatest hits (including "Voulez Vouz"), but it's a genuine love, born of an affection for huge, irrepressible, shiny, life-affirming pop

Hipsters ain't got no love for ABBA.

I was imaginging a delusional dork reciting the second article, which seemed really tired and boring. Oh wait! Bingo!

And **Dr. Martens are a timeless British fashion classic**. Why yes, they are!

Be that as it may, Wilco hates me. I know-boo-hoo, right? Sure, journalism isn't Friendster. It's not my job to be buddies with the people I write about, but it kinda sucks when you happen to admire them.

How many more times will whomever's editing (or "editing")the PW allow Valania to write this paragraph? Didn't he just lament the fact that XhukX wouldn't run same article in VV?

Best to make sure though, eh?

- If that cover story was supposed to be a satire ("We have seen the enemy and he is us"), it doesn't work.

Well, bullshit on the first half - I thought that term up while I was typing the post - and bullshit on the second, too: there's no such thing as a hipster. As a signifier, people use it to assert their own hipness: by using it, they're asserting being in on a joke. It's a defensive move against no threat at all, used by people to indicate their own cultural affiliations. There are no hipsters. Except maybe people who complain about hipsters, who don't usually fit the description of the strawmen they attack.

"...Gelflings have been responsible for some of the most heinous crimes against music known to man..."

No WAY is Morrissey a Gelfling.

neil's just right out nasty and i hope the poor people in the vice-styled photo sidebar recognize themselves and sue the philadelphia weekly out of existence. the nyt piece gets it completely wrong by thinking its OK to associate us with new york.

when will people learn that philly is perfectly happy being philly? love us for our fucked-up incongrous nature, the fact that the king of jeans sign on passyunk accidentally depicts a women going down on a man [and its considered a mini landmark], mayors can get away being being raided by the FBI and drop bombs on entire city blocks, the wonder and wtf-ness that is terrell owens, why people park in the middle of the street *only* in south philly and so much more. nothing makes sense here -- thats why people love it.

Most of my best friends are in Philly, and a lot of them are probably people Ferguson would type as "hipsters." Well, you know what, they're great people, too, so fuck off, you shallow asshole.

this was my feeling about this exactly; the mean-spiritedness of the thing makes me nuts. i don't normally attack other people's writing, but the underlying malice and incredible self-satisfaction in this made my stomach turn. there's a few dumb gestures early on toward satire (PBR, Liquid Liquid), but they seem like they were placed there to give him license to be as nasty as possible for the rest of the piece. it's an endless parade of strawmen.

I've said it for years (since I lived there): Philadelphia is the Canada of the United States.

And I MISS Silk City, dammit.

and chuck, i love silk city too. but let's not forget the bar area RULES.

Maybe he's just way better than you're giving him credit for. Remember the wisdom of Michael O'Donoghue: "Making people laugh is the lowest form of comedy."

Subject: Die Hipster, Die
To: nferguson@philadelphiaweekly.com

Dear Neal,

Please settle an argument I'm having with a friend. Is
your piece intended to be a critique (albeit, a
somewhat self-mocking one) of hipsterdom, or a satire
of critiques of hipsterdom?

Thanks,

Josh

I don't get it...isn't looking for Liquid Liquid 12 inches like even more hipster than the hipsters he hates...and he STILL drinks PBR...

I'm confused. I'm a #1 Hipster 4 Life!

I've devoted way too much time and attention to this.

Bull-crap. The preppie well-dressed white girl I saw last week wearing a $35 retro faded Metallica Metal Up Your Ass t-shirt appropos of nothing else in her ensemble, other than the fact it was overpriced and trendy, thought she was being pretty hip. Those dorks with the brand new hats with stickers on them think they are being quite hip. Hipness is relative, but that doesn't meant there are no such thing as hipsters.

this poster? got it!

http://imagecache2.allposters.com/images/19/GLA7035.JPG

"C'mon, Neil, I'll buy you a lemonade."

I didn't catch most of those isms. The classism bit I caught: "my version of hipness is much hipper than yours, you little hipsters!"

But, what were the tipoffs to you that he is homophobic, sexist, racist and "etc."?

From NF:

Dear Josh,

Good question...in this case, I'd go for the latter.

Still, it's pretty weak satire, and as said above, I'm not sure what the point of it is.

"Hipster: twenty-something stroketard whose style of clothing conflicts with their demeanor, thus resulting in a spicy pseudointellectual with more flavor-of-the-month conversations than a Long Island prostitute."

-Urban Dictionary

The preppie well-dressed white girl I saw last week wearing a $35 retro faded Metallica Metal Up Your Ass t-shirt appropos of nothing else in her ensemble, other than the fact it was overpriced and trendy, thought she was being pretty hip. Those dorks with the brand new hats with stickers on them think they are being quite hip. Hipness is relative, but that doesn't meant there are no such thing as hipsters.

-- I AM OTM (ot...), November 9th, 2005.

Perhaps, but her self-conceived hipness doesn't aspire as high as that of the person calling it out: the only hipsters are the ones who complain about the phenomenon

People call other people "hipsters" the same way they call people "assholes." Hipsters don't classify themselves as such, that's far too egotistical and embarrassing. "Psssh! I don't try to be hip! I just am!" That's why hipsters are generally two-faced phonies going through an extended personality crisis. Then the become aged hipsters pissed off that they are no longer hip and finally get to come out with it and honestly reveal themselves as the better-than-thou assholes they are, like the above author, or they can try to pseudointellictualize the whole thing away and pretend it doesn't exist.

I meant to say, "I detect a lot of poorly-concealed etc." I could be way off, but it seems like there's an implication there that good music needs to have "sex, swagger and style" and must have a high "Elvis rating," Belle and Sebastian having less than none and therefore being totally unworthy of consideration. You get the feeling this guy really, really wishes he could have been present for Disco Demolition Night.

This is what Va1an1a's article does mimetically!

Oh, I won't. Especially since both this concession and contradition in such a small amount of words: Perhaps, but her self-conceived hipness doesn't aspire as high as that of the person calling it out: the only hipsters are the ones who complain about the phenomenon .

Hate all of the above, if it makes you happy. Don't forget to hate the people who hate people who hate on hipsters or write about hating on hipsters. But mostly, hate yourself for not realizing the overlap that exists with "trendy" and "hipster."

I will, but first take off those non-trendy, unhip Doc Marten's.

person #1: Much like the sixth borough article, the purpose of this article was to be coy, to be half-ironic, to be offensive, to perplex the reader, and to get people arguing with one another about whether or not the article was accurate/good.

In this respect the article was successful.

yours truly: so thats the point of journalism these days -- to write pieces to make people question whether the article was good or not, rather than the actual issue at hand?

person #1: Well, that's the point of the NYT Style Section and most alternative weeklies. Anyone who looks to those pubs for an intelligent discussion of any issues at hand is always going to be disappointed.

person #2: yeah, the point of most alt weeklies is to make money from the sex ads, but that doesn't mean you have to accept the frightening mediocrity and out-of-touch-ness of PW and CP (all the more frightening as the long-useless Inky and DN sit prone and powerless beneath the pendulum), or the blind eye they turn towards actual issues affecting our city, or the constant focus on white people, usually young, usually involved in the cultural life of the city, and usually, by the definitions put forth in this article, hipsters. so it's completely circular. the weekly is by, for and about probably one of the smallest subsets of philadelphia, and one of the most irrelevant too. hooray. thank god i never have to read about poverty, racism, crime, corruption, the crippling septa strike, our crooked mayor, how dirty this city is, why cabs are such a ripoff, why train service can't be better, the chinatown bus, etc. etc. i can just sit back, relax and submit to complete and utter narcissism week after week.

Hi, I'm Schlegel's theory of poetic irony.

Sorry, I just lost the thread by referencing undergrad philosophy in reference to hipsters, didn't I?

(this is directed not one iota to Maria, obv.)

Yeah, because lazy writing is a positive trait.

I'm far from what you would call a "hipster" but that doesn't mean I have to sit quietly when someone prints a bunch of hate literature and serves it up as social commentary. What we've got here is the pot calling the kettle black and a ridiculous straw man argument. Not only is it trite and boring, it is tired, juvenile and downright offensive to your readership [and blah blah blah self-righteous sanctimonious up on our high horse crap, etc. you get the idea.]

Signed,
ILM

No problem, Wally.

http://hem.bredband.net/connyandersson/davidthin.JPG

-- Matos-Webster Dictionary (michaelangelomato...), November 9th, 2005.

Let's see, 1) all of my posts in this thread (all three of them!) were clearly about the Ferguson article, not the Valania one, 2) I was hardly defending either guy, 3) I'd never even heard of Valania before opening this thread, nor do I have much prior experience with PW and 4) I'm SURE there are plenty of worst music writers, but that's neither here nor there.

haha you had me till this

i miss the pancakes at silk city!

and bob & barbaras was taken over by hipsters, like, a zillion gazillion years ago.

i remember, years ago, when me & my friends lamented the influx of college kidz at our dank and dear doobies. not hip college kids. just dorky Upenn kids.

Wait, so it's not satire then.

Ha ha ha, wowwwww remember the time?