Back in 1982, I saw these guys at Gerdes Folk City, a bar next to the McDonalds on West 4th Street that was a Village folk institution. A place of historic interest. Last I checked A Kettle of Fish, a bar that had once been on McDougal, had moved there, but that was long enough ago that maybe J. Crew is in the space now.
The Dream Syndicate, who were written up in the Times or Voice as a formidable non-Cali-style band from LA, were pitched as the new Velvet Underground, but they were quite a bit less. At the same time, live in a tiny room sitting close to a small stage, when you’re young and big drums and careening guitars are like everything, they were fantastic.
And the record works really well, despite their limitations. This song is the title track.
One alarming thing, in addition to the vast expanse of time between the night I saw the Dream Syndicate and, um, today, I can’t recall who I saw them with. I remember the sound, I can feel the noise. I can remember buying the tickets, but I’m getting black drapes on who I was with. They were “confused” times, so maybe it was all painful fun. But there is a hole.