February 2009 Archives

Needless to say, the Allston Basement Show was an experience indeed. Aside from experiencing the the mosh pits and the colorless clothing and the cigarette smoke that invaded my lungs, I was lucky enough to be reminded of my appreciation for horns - in music that is, not animals.

 

So on Monday I dropped by In Your Ear, a music store on Comm. Ave. near my apartment, to pick up some new (and by new I mean used) discs. I looked through the jazz and funk sections for a little bit and came out with three:

• David Byrne, Uh-Oh
• John Coltrane, A Man Called Trane
• Louis Armstrong, Satch Blows the Blues

 

I don't own too much classic jazz (Byrne wouldn't really qualify as jazz...category of his own. But he's such a fucking nut I had to pick it up for $7.)...but I've always had an itch for brass. 

 My grandfather played the trumpet and I played the sax in elementary school but gave that up to devote more time to pursuing my professional sports career...so much for that:  

 

In an effort to learn a little bit more about the people I was listening to, I decided to Wikipedia the man called Trane when I got home. Gotta love Wikipedia. I never knew he died when he was 40, possibly from heroin use (everything's possible on Wikipedia, so maybe I shouldn't be that amazed).

 

But what was even more interesting was that within three clicks of my mouse, I was back in the same Allston Basement I was in last weekend.

 

Follow:

• Coltrane -->>>
• Jazz -->>>
• Ska -->>>
• The Allstonians

 

I know...I've never heard of the Allstonians, either. But who cares? It's like 6 degrees of Kevin Bacon. Except it's Allston.

Oh that's right...this guy went to an Allston basement party. A random one. One where I knew nobody except the people I came with. Well, that and a couple people in the band that was playing.




A couple of my friends - the bass and tenor sax player - in the ska band Big Lick played at a party in Lower Allston on Saturday night.  Five bands played about 50-minute sets a piece in this random house on Franklin St. And though it was only a five minute walk from my house, it seemed like I stepped into another world for a few minutes.

Here's a short list of things at the party that reminded me why I don't understand Allston:

• Everyone in the audience - except the people I came with - was wearing one shade of black, white, or gray. I felt like I was in the first ten minutes of the Wizard of Oz.
• Pabst Blue Ribbon. Everywhere. I still don't get understand the obsession with this beer. I brought a couple Sam Adams White Ales and felt so out of place cracking them I briefly thought about keeping them in my pockets and waiting until I got back to apartment to drink them. But like I said, that thought was brief. Very brief.
• Mosh pits....oh yeah. Multiple. I didn't see those coming (and luckily I kept my balance), and I guess I wasn't entirely surprised, but I've seen these guys play about a handful of times and that was the first mosh pit I've seen. I would have taken a picture but I like my camera.
• Mohawk. HUGE ONE. If you put your hands flat and place them together (unless you're Shaq), this guy's mohawk was bigger. Funny thing is he wasn't even at the party...we passed him when were almost back at my apartment after the show. I mentioned it to my buddy in the band - he stayed a little after we left - and he was like, "Yeah, I saw that guy!"

My friend Seb, the sax player (with the glasses), described it as the "rawest" show he's ever played. And he said that before he even got there. As you can see from the pic, the setting is quite raw...note the "if someone takes one bad step, this place could ignite like Great White is on stage" wiring in the background.

When I first moved into Allston last fall, I was happy to see multiple trash cans throughout my neighborhood at various street corners. As with any trash can, it offered me a chance to toss out dead weight I was carrying around before I changed my bills at the corner store and hopped on the T and pretty much stuffed my pockets with crap throughout the day.

 

It also gave me a reason not to litter, knowing I would pass a trash can at one point during my walk.

 

However, the irony of these trash cans has recently had me wondering.

 

These cans, as you can see, are decorated with various phrases and light colors and it's obvious that more work than usual was put into these than the average trash can. A phrase commonly found on these cans is, 'KEEP ALLSTON DECENT.'

 

Decent. What a word.

 

Here are the definitions of 'decent' according to Merriam-Webster.com:

1 a: appropriate b: well-formed : handsome

2 a: conforming to standards of propriety, good taste, or morality <decent             behavior> b: modestly clothed

3: free from immodesty or obscenity <decent language>

4: fairly good : adequate  , satisfactory <decent wages>

5: marked by moral integrity, kindness, and goodwill <hard-working and             decent folks> <it's very decent of them to help>

 

Out of those, I would say the most decent definition of decent that applies to my neighborhood's effort to keep Allston decent would be number 4. And that is arguable.

 

But I guess that isn't what I find ironic. Any neighborhood full of undergrads can expect a reasonably poor effort out of its residents to keep it in good shape. I just want to know who was in charge of the trash can painting operation that decided on the word 'decent.'

 

It turns out that they were set up by a group named KEEP ALLSTON DECENT. They haven't updated their site since last Fall, but I will try to get in touch with someone involved with the group in the few weeks. I will propose a name change to the trash cans...howabout these?

 

KEEP ALLSTON NICE

MAKE ALLSTON BEAUTIFUL

MAKE ALLSTON MORE THAN DECENT

 

 

I actually read in the paper today a quote that applies to this situation: "I don't see how anyone can accomplish anything if he doesn't shoot higher than he can hit."

 

I think it's common knowledge that Allston isn't exactly the nicest part of Boston. But how can people who make trash cans (or the people who order them being made) expect residents to respect the cans themselves if they only promote mediocrity in cleaning up the neighborhood that it attempts to better?

 

If I set every goal I have to only being decent, according to Webster that means I'm only trying to be "fairly good." Maybe it's just me, but that's a pretty low bar. Why should trash pickup be the same?

 

After six months of living in Allston, the one word I can most aptly find to describe it would be "confused."

 

It doesn't seem to want to make its mind up....is it an ethnic area or a college town? Alternative or mainstream? To put it in universal terms, does it like Pabst Blue Ribbon, Magic Hat Roxy Rolle, or Bud Light bottle?

 

You prefer chain restaurants? Uno's at Harvard and Comm has the same menu as the one you go to back home - and the bartender is an Emerson grad.

 

Want a club scene where you can drink red bull-vodkas, dance till you sweat through your collared shirt and try to hit on some ladies? Hit up the Kels or Wonderbar. Or both; they're about a 3 minute walk away from one another.

 

Howabout some ethnic food? Take a walk down Brighton Ave. and it's like sailing on the Beagle with Charles Darwin...everything from Brazilian to Thai to Italian to good old college, take-out, beer food...ending with a staple of the Allston Village - Super 88.

 

Which bring me back to my original point...exactly how does Allston identify itself?

 

I would say Lower Allston has its mind pretty much made up. Take the 66 Bus over the Pike onto N. Harvard Ave. and the narrow, windy streets behind Allston Wine & Spirits all look like a hard-nosed, working class neighborhood should. Ask two of my roommates - they lived on Coolidge Rd. last year and each had their cars busted into.

 

But starting at Packard's Corner and veering left onto Comm. Ave or straight onto Brighton Ave. wields a different result. And I think the reason for Allston's identity crisis stems from this intersection.

 

For those unfamiliar, coming from Boston it's pretty much the entrance into Allston. B.U. is left behind you, and if you're on the B line, Packard's Corner is the stop right after you take that unexpected, jolting turn to your left that usually results in you having to put your iPod ear bud back into your right ear.

 

If you're driving, I say 'Good luck.' And if you're not from Boston and you're driving, I say 'Please get the hell out of my way.'

 

There's a vast, open expanse in the middle of Packard's Corner that, when looked at from an aerial view, slightly resembles the demarcation zone in between North and South Korea. This can throw the average driver for a loop, especially when confronted with the question of, 'Which one is Comm. Ave?'

 The answer is: 'Both streets to the left.' Yes, Comm Ave. splits into two roads at Packard's Corner, making it even more difficult to figure out exactly what the forefathers of Boston were thinking when they planned this God forsaken city.

 

While it may not exactly scream, 'Welcome to Allston,' Packard's Corner still sits as  a central landmark in Allston. Its ability to bewilder can easily frustrate, but to me it shows that one thing is for certain - while puzzling and arguably "confused," Allston still has "Boston" written all over it. 

I only wish I had started taking pictures of this car earlier. I don't know exactly when it started squatting there. I don't know who it belongs to or who finally took it away. All I know is it sat there for far too long.

 

I passed this car every morning on my way to pick up the paper or catch the bus on a very busy cut-through road that people use to get to the Mass Pike - Linden St. It avoids the light at the end of Harvard Ave. and is a very busy street.

 

So when I first saw this car parked about 5 feet off the curb last week (or two weeks ago? I'm not even really sure), I was not surprised to see the back bumper hanging off. I was a little more surprised to see an odd bump on the hood that looked like someone had been tossed onto it by Chuck Norris. But nonetheless I got a kick out of it.

 

So I passed this car day after day, and finally - last Wednesday - it was gone. Luckily I got these photos of it the day before it got taken, but its presence sparked an idea when I was asked to think of an idea to blog about something.

 

Who lets their car get totally abused like this for over a week? Who even parks like this anyways? How drunk was this person?

 

These are questions that I will never be able to answer, but they all point to one central idea in my mind: the people of Allston.

 

Who are these people? Students pounding $1 drafts, Asians going through my (and everybody else's) recyclables, Alternos wearing tight black jeans and jackets with silver loops. The diversity of this neighborhood is something I have never experienced. I don't exactly come from a diverse background, but either way it's something new to me.

 

I'm not saying I love it here, I'm not saying I hate it. It's alright. But there are a few things I just don't get.