Rock Show

Every so often there comes a time in a man's life when he must put aside foolish pursuits and turn his mind toward more important endeavors... Such as creating quality, live rock for all the good babies out there. Once again, I find myself at that crossroads...Shall I rock? Rock I shall (or at least I'll try, ya know my back's been killing me lately...). Please join me, won't you?


Mark Bacino
Thurs. Oct 15, 2009 - 7pm
The Living Room, NYC
154 Ludlow St.
New York, NY 10002
(212) 533-7235
*No Cover*

The Band -

Cheri Leone
Matty Karas
Ed Klinger
John Lee
Jay Sherman-Godfrey
Bob Byrne

with...

The "Who Are Yous" Horns -
Rob Jost
Jesse Neuman

A Tree Grew in Brooklyn

Well, Queens actually... and just beyond my backyard to be exact.

(Warning: navel-gazing post ahead)

When people die we morn their loss. Roman Catholics organize wakes and funeral masses to mark a passing; the Jews sit Shiva to similarly pay their respects. Even when an animal or a pet passes on folks sometimes pay tribute in various ways but when something like a tree - arguably just as much a miraculous, living entity - meets its demise no one really takes much notice, do they?

One morning bright and early this week my wife and I were woken by the dulcet tones of buzzing chainsaws. Lifting the blinds and shaking off my sleepy fog, I realized that my neighbors across the way (whom I don't know) had hired a very adept team of tree killers who were unceremoniously chopping down the beautiful, healthy tree that sat at the edge of my neighbors' property. The Mrs. and I were shocked and saddened as we watched this example of nature's exquisite and patiently crafted handiwork decapitated and extinguished within a matter of minutes. Although this technically wasn't "our" tree we had both grown accustom to its stately presence; it masked a majority of our concrete surroundings, bloomed with the most amazingly vibrant white-pink flowers in the spring (a cherry blossom tree?) and could be seen from our bedroom and kitchen windows in a flurry of said white-pink, green or red depending upon the season.

A few hours after the execution I couldn't help but assess the damage up close, paying my respects to what little remained of this silently beautiful old giant. As I stepped into the alleyway behind my yard, I was surprisingly met with my lurking neighbor's unprompted, almost guilty explanation - "We had no choice, it was pushing on the fence". I said nothing and walked back inside after taking a quick look at the dilapidated, ancient and weathered-beyond-repair fence in question. A decrepit, inanimate possession obviously invaluable to this pavement loving patron of urban decay.

As those personally acquainted with me know, I'm not much of a nature lover; pretty much a city boy born and bred and maybe I'm becoming lamely sentimental in my old age (having a kid will do that to you) but today as I stare out my window at a paint-peeled, worn fence starkly illuminated by the late-afternoon sun, I can't help but notice the void and morn the loss of our pink and white homeB.

Godspeed the tree.