Still Be Wild / The Rodeo Bar
Another of my favorite NYC haunts will soon cease having live music. From Brownies and the Lakeside Lounge to Great Lakes and now The Rodeo Bar, a large part of my twenties are quickly vanishing from the New York City streets. The rooms where I celebrated rock n' roll, bought and accepted many a drink and formed the strongest friendships of my life, are quickly disappearing. And with each closing, I realize that my youth is becoming more and more distant. The endless, blurry nights. The rock n' roll bouncing off venue or apartment walls until the sun came up. Many of these memories are now 15 years+ old. Time barrels on.
Star City was the only band I really cared about on the Rodeo Bar calendar. I liked the Hangdogs alright, and seeing Lucinda Williams stumble around the room was fun to witness, but it was Jason Lewis' messy alt.country group of pros that brought me out. I'd eventually "manage" them, which really just meant that I'd collect merch money on occasion and, well, hang out with them. We almost did get that bizarre record deal, but that's not why we were in it. It was the camaraderie, the friendships, the music. We'd talk about the Beatles, Uncle Tupelo, Whiskeytown, girls, the Yankees and it all happened throughout the greatest city in the world. We were idealistic and we were borderline manic. And we just couldn't get enough.
Now we're older. Not necessarily beyond our peak years, but certainly past the raucous and boundless days that were the 90s. Seemed they'd never end. We'd sing and drink forever. Many of us are now married. Only a few remain in New York City. A number of us, myself included, no longer drink. Time marches on. But I sit here in my comfortable Northern California apartment listening to Star City's Inside the Other Days and it's like it was yesterday. The NYC streets may be cleaner and rock n' roll may not have the same impact on the city, but I'll never forget those days. They brought us together and those bonds will never break. Thanks for the music, Jason. Thanks a lot.
Star City was the only band I really cared about on the Rodeo Bar calendar. I liked the Hangdogs alright, and seeing Lucinda Williams stumble around the room was fun to witness, but it was Jason Lewis' messy alt.country group of pros that brought me out. I'd eventually "manage" them, which really just meant that I'd collect merch money on occasion and, well, hang out with them. We almost did get that bizarre record deal, but that's not why we were in it. It was the camaraderie, the friendships, the music. We'd talk about the Beatles, Uncle Tupelo, Whiskeytown, girls, the Yankees and it all happened throughout the greatest city in the world. We were idealistic and we were borderline manic. And we just couldn't get enough.
Now we're older. Not necessarily beyond our peak years, but certainly past the raucous and boundless days that were the 90s. Seemed they'd never end. We'd sing and drink forever. Many of us are now married. Only a few remain in New York City. A number of us, myself included, no longer drink. Time marches on. But I sit here in my comfortable Northern California apartment listening to Star City's Inside the Other Days and it's like it was yesterday. The NYC streets may be cleaner and rock n' roll may not have the same impact on the city, but I'll never forget those days. They brought us together and those bonds will never break. Thanks for the music, Jason. Thanks a lot.
