With a fresh and stunning Rich Steele remaster of 12/29/01 recently released (download here!), Crepuscular Rays collaborator, brilliant musical mind and dear friend Jay Cowit was inspired to take a deep dive into his first outing with what would become one of his most enduring musical relationships.
I'd like to invite you to take this cosmic foray with Jay:
The first song I ever saw the Disco Biscuits play was
"Eulogy," a rootsy prog-rock continuity piece from one of their two
rock operas. I thought 3 things:
1) man, these dudes cannot sing.
2) ok, they
sound a little like phish/Moe./god street wine, so I can get down.
3) holy shit. they're gonna jam everything huh?
But in the midst of those thoughts, I saw a crowd
immediately hypnotized. Fascinated and open to an experience, I let the music
of the evening wash over me, entrap me, feed me into something dark and
strange. What came after Eulogy would stay with me for the rest of my life, and
would become an intrinsic part of it. Friendships and lifelong memories born
off those notes, cascading off the Roseland Ballroom years before it became a
pit in the NYC ground. It was a true experience that shaped me. I've seen and
loved the Disco Biscuits for 17 years, since that first song.
.....And ironically, I've never seen a "Eulogy"
since.
But that's the very point of this band, right?
"Eulogy,"
as a composition, starts slow and bluntly, not taking any chances. The song is
a midway point in the Hot Air Balloon opera, a reflection point for its
protagonist. Interestingly, the band repeatedly utilizes it at the start of
shows, and while it’s rare to appear at all, its purpose as an introduction to
the Disco Biscuits makes a lot of sense. Following its demure and winding
opening, the song quickly moves into tight rhythmic bursts, back-dropping the
soaring melody of Jon Gutwillig’s guitar. The structure, suddenly fugue like and
alien, supports a reprise of the verse with rugged purpose, raising the volume
and energy. Then, a dip into minor keys and slight quiet. What follows is the
song’s greatest asset…a Technicolor glide through rustic landscapes as
Gutwillig begins to jet-set around the fretboard, building a beautiful and
steely conversation on top of the rhythmic power of Marc Brownstein, Aron
Magner, and Sam Altman. Such power and speed, in the opener? It defies concert
sense to the uninitiated. Even to jamband veterans, the speed at which the
Disco Biscuits can reach heights is breathtaking. Altman, on drums, and Barber
crash through forests, growing larger each measure. A peak guitar melody
reprises at the end, perfectly enunciated by drums on the 16th
notes, and a slight return to the soft beginnings of the song. Not a note of
electronic music has been played.
7 minutes in felt a lot longer.
“7-11” couldn’t be more different than the thoughtful
Eulogy. Its big dumb hair metal/funk approach to a breakup song is probably as
fun a track as the Biscuits have, and while it seems like a hastily arranged
jigsaw puzzle of hooks and riffs, all of those hooks and riffs are catchy as
hell. Its singsong chorus makes it easy to ignore how rough the vocals are, as
the crowd helps a ton. The chorus is a metal rave up with “I’m gonna go out and
jam” as the main refrain. For a 19 year old kid in the big city, at a jamband
show…what could be better? The song moves to a robotic cluster bomb of “you
can’t stop it” beats before instantly flexing to the traditional faux-reggae
middle jam. In later years, the band would take this part out for rides, but in
this version, it’s a tight run through high-school nightmare lyrics, followed
by a brief respite to give room for a polka Magner piano solo.
Back to the
metal, and then to the first true jam of the evening. Part of the glory of
“7-11” is how fast the jam becomes fast and fluid techno, in every year of its
existence. It’s worth the wait of its sections to get there, and this is no
exception. I had heard the band on tape, and heard their reputation, but this
style of jamming was something I’d never experienced. I was still watching 4
dudes on stages (one wearing a hockey jersey), but suddenly they had become a
robot techno machine. All frill had died instantly, the bass picked up a
liquid-ish feel, and all lines started to wrap around each other. This was no
12-bar blues, no solo on top of chords. Every musician was contributing equally
and all at once, but tastefully and…this is important…leaving tons of space.
It’s what makes the jamming so amazing right away….it is focused like a laser,
fast and complex…but the key is the dark silence in and among the four parts.
And the drums…god, those drums. Altman instantly played like
no one I had ever witnessed. Perfect, unyielding, un-tempted by fills and
turnarounds. It was revolutionary. It was ego-less. The whole band was jamming
to a gestalt, working with each other, and as a unit. No one leads this
improvisational section for 7 straight minutes. The crowd follows the energy,
waving and wobbling with the speedy pace as the band quickens from techno to
punk rage. It’s a ska fused soundscape of fierce eruptions as the band changes
key at breakneck speed…maybe even getting faster. Gutwillig comes to the front, but still
repeating line after line, beautiful melody after beautiful melody…swirling all
the while with Magner on synth.
Altman pounds the beat into a full-on punk
1-step, as Gutwillig switches to power chords along with Brownie…suddenly the
arrangement is filled with the epcot-synths of Magner, bringing in the
conclusion of “Munchkin Invasion,” a frenetic race through a brief
hyper-prog-rock section, followed instantly by a happy go lucky jam-rock
refrain that talks about random names and…well, Munchkins. It’s a furious ending to the jam, and
completes the song started on a previous night of the run. We are only 20
minutes in.
“Spacebirdmatingcall” is an absolute classic. I’m not saying
that lightly. It’s one of the best compositions ever written by humans, and is
probably 20-40 years ahead of its time. It combines all of the best parts of this
band, in a song that could be played by nobody else. Its studio version was an
early part of me loving the band, but the live versions from 2001 are blazing
sound and fury. This night was no exception. Opting out of complex segues (and
leaving that for set II), the band feels satisfied exploring the confines of
the song itself, spinning out of conformity while repeatedly bringing the jam
back to base in creative ways. The song itself is played like a torpedo, lush
and spiritual while speeding along Altman’s rock-trance hybrid beat (one that
his successor never truly figured out, even as Allen Aucoin played numerous
killer “SBMC’s.”) The jam is centered around the same ideals as “7-11,” which
is 4 rhythm parts playing in unison within the confines of a roughly electronic
beat. The fact that the beat is focused on the kick drum played on all four
beats lends a slight notion that this is house or trance, but really the music
is jazzier and the lines around it springy. The forward playing of Gutwillig
and Brownie propel the beat even as Altman keeps it simple and tough; the
frontloading of grace notes at the tail end of a phrase give the beat a forward
propulsion, even when Sammy isn’t playing four on the floor (~7:30 on the
recording). Brownie and Gutwillig perfected this over the years, but none more
than in 2001, where their work pays off even in the fastest of jams, which all
still groove and pulse. Altman eventually becomes the lead player in the jam,
spiking the playing with hard snare and open high hat work. Eventually Brownie
comes back around to the bass line, and the band is in full rock epic mode…this
is where the song is truly built for greatness…after a jam of techno-ish music
that is danceable and smart, the song suddenly becomes a stadium rock closer….Gutwillig’s
utterly insane but gorgeous composed lead line is distinctly him, his style and
genius painted on the octave skipping taps of his playing. To the uninitiated,
it seems like a random melody…until he repeats it note for note. A dip back into
the verse/chorus before another glorious run through the lead melody ends the
song, a journey within a single composition.
At this point, it’s clear the band will jam everything they
play, and furiously rage most of the endings. To a rookie…this is starting to
become a gift from heaven.
The second half of Set I is probably what truly made me a
believer, at least from my memory of the moment. You learn a lot about a band
you don’t know through their covers, and while it’s never the sticking point
for me, sometimes it REALLY helps the process. We’ll get to that in a second.
First, “The Very Moon” is a beautiful song, with a sweet intro that again takes
as much from Genesis and Yes as Phish. The intro is a built in breathing point
in any set, and certainly the 3 minutes it spends climbing the ladder to the
song itself is certainly appreciated. The breakneck verse and chorus structure
reveal smitten lyrics, part of the same rock opera as “Eulogy.” The jam begins
over a blissfully quiet and quick set of major chords, but effectively wrapping
the beat in 10, which is musically impressive and clever but even more amazing
when you get lost in the jam and realizing it feels like the most familiar
groove you’ve ever felt. This comes up later in the “House Dog Party Favor,”
but it’s a true gift of the band: grooving odd time signatures like they’re
nothing. It’s part of why they feel like techno in these sections even when
they’re not playing anything close to it. “Moon” rides on in intensity, and
then literally on Altman’s ride cymbals, speeding back up to the persistent
2001 style…Brownie and Barber hit on the return to theme seamlessly and easily,
Magner picking up on piano with them. It’s a fortunate turn but one they hit so
often in those years.
No let up, no drop…the band screams across the finish
line of the first jam, before the composed entrance to the “slow” dirty funk of
the song’s second section. Altman is in take-no-prisoner mode, so the funk
speeds a long. Gutwillig picks and pokes with a teasing line, as Brownie
gradually slaps his way to the pocket. Magner is slow to join, but the moment
gives a true sense of the Marc/Jon combo…feeding off each other in shards and
strikes, constructing the complex matrix over Altman’s simplistic 2-step. It’s
a tribal style, like Security-era Peter Gabriel. It’s not techno at all, but it
grooves so hard that it plays as such. At around 17 minutes into the song, the
band again deftly changes key mid-jam, a seamless maneuver that most bands
could never pull off with such grace and secrecy. No let up, no drop…Altman
begins to use the toms to build a wall of low end as the other three weave
their way around the changes occurring. The band has returned to the hybrid
rock beat and leaps in bounds over a single D chord progression, driving
upwards and out. The pace quickens, while Gutwillig reaps a repeated soulful
line, ridiculous and perfect among the clashy chaos. The line strays and
saunters, while Magner fills up the void with mid-tone synths,
Brownie moves to
a major key progression, and Altman opens the hats…the sound builds, and
builds…the movement of all four members in lock step as a furious flood of
emotion and notes comes to bear…higher and higher, while Gutwillig moves to a
fierce descending line…the bass fills the entire world….Altman attacks his
snare….one final dragon piercing note from Jon…..and there it is:
“RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN”
“Run Like Hell” is a Disco Biscuits song. At least the way
they play it. It has a strong resemblance to an old Pink Floyd song from The
Wall, for sure. But a song can have many spiritual owners, and one of them for
“Run Like Hell” is Bisco. The fire and intensity of first seeing the band slam
into the power chords and verse that make up the front part of the song will
never be forgotten. I’ve never seen so many raised fists…the crowd was like a
dancing army. The band could’ve asked them to go to war for them. I’d have
loved to see it. A screaming frenzy of noise and energy gives way to the first
jam (The Disco Biscuits usually improvise sections between the verses, and
after the keyboard solo, before ending the song or jamming into something
else), a short silky foray into psychedelic trance, utilizing some odd Magner
synths to punctuate the dark vap trail of the electronic beats. The pace
builds quick again tho…not much time left to experiment, although the then
rookie author of this piece couldn’t believe the band in front of him was going
to play another set after this. After all, they must’ve blown a hole in the
earth, right? Crashed the stock market?
All of this thinking is bypassed as they again slam into the power
chords of the second verse, raising all the fists again. The second jam starts
dirty, with Gutwillig laying into distorted delay spikes while Magner does
double duty, spinning a sweep pad single note among a clav-like backbone. This
jam is more funky than anything so far, and darker. Brownie keeps the bass line
lean and weird…and then with the ease of a veteran magician, calmly welcomes
the crowd back to NYC and says hi, nearly 75 minutes into the set.:) Having rushed slightly in jam 1 to get
here…the band relaxes and starts deploying singular bursts of melodic treats,
using the evil sounding robot progression to wind up the energy and tension.
Altman is simplistic as ever, but forceful on the kick…the giant ball of sound
keeps moving, even as the other members stay slow and deliberate. Remarkably,
it’s Magner who pivots the synched unit to a more major feel, grabbing the
middle of the whole, and setting up Gutwillig to fly again on top of the
bazooka fire that is the rush of the ending. The pace never dampens, the energy
never fades again. There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide…no let up, no drop.
The snare punctures the air while the suddenly gigantic guitar lead locks in,
deftly smashing what’s left of civilization as the world crumbles. Magner switches to organ, filling up the room
like a choir of ecstasy fueled angels…the punk drums return, the bass
swells….higher and higher…..
…And the power chords of the “Run Like Hell” ending crush
Roseland Ballroom into a singularity.
-This was followed by an intermission.-
Set II begins in earnest with the most rock song of rock
songs that the Disco Biscuits possess…the ZZ Top infused “M.E.M.P.H.I.S.” An
ode to a southern road trip and a canine companion, this “M.E.M.P.H.I.S.”
starts innocently enough, cruising the verses and chorus into a hip hop style
beat where Gutwillig lays low, Brownie
sits on a malevolent single note phrase, and Magner runs ghost-like cues across
the spectrum. The jam goes to dissonance before Brownie begins a bluesy take,
gently nudging Barber to do the same. Magner continues the apparitions, until
Altman’s steady beat drops to a single high hat rhythm, before breathlessly
hitting back into the groove. The licks give way to a star-trekian synth lead,
squaring deep in the spinal cord until Barber tags in to deliver a boisterous
and cascading solo….the fury of swirling notes from all three melody players is
a foreshadow of the chaos to come, but it provides it own epic scene here at
the tail end of the jam. A snare roll up
fakes an ending, Barber now unloading all over the space provided…a second
snare count up now, 4 lengthy measures long and leading to the triumphant
return of the verse. “M.E.M.P.H.I.S.” is one of the songs in the catalogue that
generally contains a second jam, moving into another song entirely…as is the
case here. Often the feel reprises the first jam to a certain degree…but this
jam entrance dissolves quickly, leading to spring-loaded Magner hits quietly
tip toeing around a diminutive beat. Altman doesn’t wait long, though…he
returns to his battle with the snare drum, punching out coordination for the
unit, before dipping again. Spacey keyboard fills the atmosphere, with the bass
nearly ambient.
The high hat remains, tapping ever so slightly...constant but
alive. Hopping. Hopping. Hopping.
A snare fill from Altman attempts to start the next song,
but the other three continue the hopping. Up and down major scales, arpeggios
of skill and grace. Ambient funk quiet as a mouse, but still holding down a
groove that could make a statue sway. Hopping. Hopping.
The jam unfastens itself. Layers of composition enter one by
one. A single guitar quarter note repeated. Then a wave of synth chords. A
rimshot beat that continues to hop. “Crickets” manifests as if from a smoke
filled dream. The band takes its time before descending into the single
refrain, lamenting the hard end of our insect friends in the dark of the
evening. The jam of a “Crickets” is a singular event in a life…no other music
on earth is quite like it. It’s form is so simplistic yet nuanced beyond
belief. It’s a happy hardcore techno beat, but that doesn’t nearly describe the
complexity of the music above it. The jazzy layering of the guitar spliced with
elevating synth notes, all rides above a fast motioning bass line. Brownie
holds this jam more than any other, keeping pace with the flurry of his
drummer, while providing the bedrock that his guitarist and keyboard to waterdance
on. His envelope filter turns his notes
into balloons of imagination, propelling a rolling mechanism of physics and
commotion. Magner and Barber are playing a billion notes in every direction,
exploding out the sides of the giant avalanche machine….Brownie holds the fort
like a laser blasting tank. His playing is beyond genre and description,
providing a giant crater of deep end while his band mates blister the higher
registers. At 5:45 into the recording, Gutwillig falls into a beautiful
mid-range complimentary line to Brownie….a calm soldier seeing about the fray.
The pace is faster, the drums take on a speed metal feel that doesn’t
surrender. The guitar is a beautiful frozen moment in time…it erases to shared
dissonance with Magner but returns as Brownie comes back to the planet on the
root note.
The phrase is echoed in everything Barber plays….and at the moment
of utter insanity and next to the point of falling apart…the band miraculously
changes key…holds for a moment…and then breaks into the major key finale of
“Shelby Rose.” Altman never breaks the
pace, thrashing through the ending as Gutwillig hits the lead perfectly, and
the band sings through the final chorus, before inverting the song and starting
from it’s beginning immediately after. The moment happens so quick, but it’s
huge and powerful and undeniable. This particular merging of the two songs is a
seminal moment in the band’s history…it shows many veterans and rookies alike
another impossible musical event that is now possible. It’s beyond a thorough
understanding of what kind of practice or rehearsal or experience leads to a 5
minute moment like that…but undoubtedly there’s some luck and magic involved.
And a lot of sweat from the band.
“Shelby Rose’s” speedy run-through is still a breather,
saving us a raspy Brownie’s otherwise soulful crooning, and moving back to the
modified jungle beat that is the staple of Shelby’s over the history of the
band. Magner tries to calm things down by laying on Rhodes chords, while
Brownie whittles a thoughtful line in the back. The beginning is liquid cool
water, gradually lead by a slow Magner synth pad that slyly brings the jam from
“Shelby” back into “Crickets,” although only the brilliant tracking of the
recording might tell you that. It’s so smooth, even though you realize all at
once that the jungle has perfectly morphed into fast ska-trance, and the major
keys barely give away the ghost. This is the most gradual jam of the night,
patience winning out until Altman begins the drum ascent back into a beat that
is happy hardcore mixed with ska…but faster than either genre has ever
produced. It transcends electronic music in every sense…no computer-made music
could have this life and vitality, but more tangibly, the speed and morphing
ability. The tempo is brilliantly absurd…and relies on inhuman snare work by
Altman to drive the point home and keep it all from escaping down the side of
the mountain. The cymbals balance the drive, the organ fills the gaps…and
Gutwillig whips through a fierce matrix of notes over the top, each phrase
hitting the energy higher. At the right moment, the lead line of the jam
appears, adroitly nailed and putting an exclamation point on an exhibit of
beauty, speed, and sadness the likes of which music hadn’t seen.
“Crickets’”
second jam, a funk extrapolation played at the thematic high speed of the
evening, features some of the ghost noises Magner used at the start of the
“M.E.M.P.H.I.S.” second jam, and a cocky Gutwillig riff takes hold of the
groove and runs with it. Brownie would spend most of 2002 playing some
incredible slap sections on his instrument…this jam was a good predecessor. It
pumps the whole room, up through his dropout with Altman, which showcases the
weird jazzy circus music of Magner and Gutwillig. The beat and purpose pick up
from there, flirting in and out of the bass riff that cues the end of the jam.
The band seems to be marching towards an end…but a second (absolutely
brilliant) dropout sequence morphs the band into a psych rock moment, rotating
the band further from home. The dissonance spreads into a slashing run towards
home, using a rock beat to further the goalposts until again, Brownie hits the
familiar notes….but wait….NOT DONE! A snare roll keeps a note sustained in the
air, Gutwillig switching to a wah part while Magner uses the synth waves of the
intro to construct one more jump from reality. At the end of this short burst,
the bassline takes over, and the band moves, ever so gradually, into the final
transition to the vocal refrain. To his credit, Brownie tries several times to
jump back out…it is wonderfully clever. A slow, drippy take of the chorus ends
the sequence, which hard stops to a moment of reflective silence, surrounded by
a massive audience cheer.
The remainder of the set is indicative of the 2001 mindset:
as a contrast to its 2.0 later years where full segue shows were the norm,
early Disco Biscuits actually preferred playing a number of standalone songs
per show. There’s an obvious confidence in being able to explore outside the
realms of the composition even within a standalone format. “House Dog Party
Favor,” thankfully, fits this mold perfectly. Effectively three huge sections
in one song, the composition begins with the 6/8 hyper-space bar mitzvah crooning of a man institutionalized,
dealing with the realities of his bondage. The song sways breezily through its
composed classical mockups, interspersing the nonchalant “oh yeahs” with fugue
like stops and stutters. The second section truly begins with a jaunt into 5/4,
plugging a very quick proggy ELP like section before a drawn out jam in the
rugged time signature. As with the first set’s “Moon” jam, the precision with
which Altman and Brownie play in the odd time is mind-blowing. There is
perceptible and skilled groove within the harder jamming circumstances, and the
band shifts dynamically in a brilliant fashion. Altman’s consistency while
playing small is a real commodity here, allowing Magner and Gutwillig to float
on the surface of the water for extended periods of times to harness hooks and
licks. Brownie channels Phil Lesh in
bouncing around the fretboard, keeping the 5/4 in place when Altman jazzes up
his own take for a few moments. The band accrues bursts of energy as they start
to move through the swinging jam…Gutwillig takes a moment to find a bearing,
but eventually grabs on to the mountain and begins to not just climb, but jump.
He leads into the main lick, as the band begins a pretentious but heartfelt
counting sequence that’s usually a wonderful indicator of how trashed the band
was/is, or how sharp they are that night....They nail it, for what it’s worth.
The verse and chorus that follow start to show signs of
fatigue, but the end of the tale brings the third and most ferocious chapter of
HDPF…the waltz. A marching cryptic techno bedrocks a 6/8 or ¾ jam that feels as
electronic as anything that night…other than most electronic isn’t in 6/8. Magner
lets loose here, summoning synth banshees that overload the synapses before
falling back in line. Altman deftly switches from a techno beat to more of a
rock…in some ways, it’s a harken to Rush. Gutwillig is barely noticeable until
you realize he’s providing an entire middle landscape moving the opposite
direction of Magner and Brownie…it’s a beautiful psychedelic ant-farm. Brownie
controls the operation, always the threat of his returning to the gigantic and
terrifying and familiar and perfect bass riff of “House Dog.” He threads this
tension out, stamping on the buried remains singed by his melody players.
Altman does not discard this energy, powering through the noise and fury of the
night and holding steady. Magner jumps over the top, peaking his synth line
early and often, pushing Gutwillig towards a final solo. The bass line returns,
glorious and like home. Gutwillig doesn’t yield, pumping out his loudest notes
of the nights to stand on top of the sound…until he slides his final note down
back to the riff of the song, played hard and mean, while the band sings the
final refrain.
The encore is more than quaint. This was a great lesson to
learn, also…most bands don’t encore with two distinct 10 minute jams. In fact,
pretty much no one does. Except the Disco Biscuits.
“Little Lai” is rickety but fun, with the nod to the streets
of New York City right outside. This version is played at a slightly slower
tick than most of the show, although you can almost tell Altman wants to move
quicker. The jam is a fun return to the hip hop style that would go on to
dominate 2002. Altman’s beat is the most interesting candidate here, with the
rest of the band playing sly support crew. It does still speak to the ego-less
playing that characterizes their more dance-able playing…nobody is stepping on
each other, they’re working in tandem. This tribal fusion continues for a
while, providing perhaps the show’s most sustained funk moment. The jam
stammers for a bit, trying to catch some lightning…Gutwillig provides with a
nifty riff, although the song generally stays within the fence. Altman grows
his presence, but stays on tempo and on track. Brownie plays some truly
interesting phrases before heading back to the ascending bass riff that ends
“Lai.”
Perhaps it’s the slightly anti-climatic take on the old
reliable Brownie standard that leads the band to fire up the burner one more
time for another Marc chestnut, the warhorse “Bernstein and Chasnof,” although
the quick count off points towards it being the original plan. “B&C” runs
through its jamband mocking lawyer
nonsense raveup to get to some interesting and weird techno spots spliced into
its composition. The bridge especially gets weird and danceable from the
get-go, featuring some moog-like synth lines that couldn’t be sexier. The jam
features an extended tease by Magner (of something I don’t recognize) that he
began toying with in the “Lai” jam, which is picked up on by Brownie and
Gutwillig. Altman keeps it straight, double kicking every so often to push the
groove. The band is at its most evil circus at this point, splaying a lazy
major key haunting over an increasingly threatening bass line. Psy-trance
swirling in the air, the rhythm section hammers the floor while Magner swirls
around the peripheral. Again, Gutwillig appears from nowhere while all the
while commanding the middle of the spectrum. As the beat picks up the snare and
grows in a controlled chaos, Brownie corners the pocket, laying down a throaty
black web of bass. Gutwillig picks up on his movements, and then Magner…at the
8:00 mark, all three are in complete lockstep, composing the healthiest of
hooks on the fly, in the midst of utter madness and rage. The mode shifts to
major and the power infuses to the whole band. The whole band, at the end of
their journey, stays with the plan. Tired, spent…they push on! The speed
actually picks up, and the bassline returns to well worn territory. Gutwillig
explodes in one final burst of thunder, shredding the top of the frets in a
waterfall like effect, against Magner’s organ and piano. The lead line pierces
the night in a speed-rush landslide, followed by the 6/8 coda that sees the
fist pumps of the crowd in full display one last time.
There are no spoken words after the show. No
announcements…just a slide whistle somewhere in the random night. The band
leaves the stage, heading to Philly to play 2 more shows over 2 nights.
“nothing, no splash, no flash and no sound
all that is left is my feet on the ground
Now I remember that life was a ball
When I was the person in search of it all
There's one in a million I'd be here today
There's one in a million that I get to stay
And if I ask my maker to see me through
When it seems there's nothing more that I can do”
The echoes of the amplifiers rang in Roseland, years before
it ceased to exist. 17 years later, I still remember a lot of it. And like I
said…it’s a part of me now.
