If It's Too Loud, Then...Turn It Down

Who's The Narc?
By Trent Buckroyd

I'm 40 years old and I still go to rock shows. I still love seeing live music, but it's now a constant seesaw of "should I or shouldn't I?" Things I use to not care about now factor in. Do I want to stand for two hours in a hot, packed room? Do I want to pay 8 bucks for parking? Do I really need to see the opening band (I use to love to see the opening band!)? Will I be able to see game 4 of the NBA Finals that I’m Tivo'ing before someone tells me the score? There’s also the sleep element, I like a good 8 hours if I can get it, but you see the alarm clock of two toddlers is going to go off at 6:00 AM without fail, and the fact that Daddy was out until 2 AM and may have enjoyed a couple of adult beverages does not really factor into the equation.

These are things I never would have questioned in my bullet-proof youth. In fact just typing these things really makes feel old, like I should be standing on my front porch shaking my fist yelling "You damn kids get off my lawn." I know all the indie kids look at me at rock shows and think, "who's the narc?" They secretly mock my “Van Halen 1982 Hide Your Sheep World Tour” throwback reproduction replica 
t shirt(http://www.vanhalenstore.com/page/VH/PROD/shirts/S82). I can't really squeeze into the original anymore so an alternate had to be purchased at the last partial re-union show. (Please don't get me started on the whole Wolfie vs. Michael Anthony debate, but is nothing sacred?). I remember that when I was in my late teens I thought that someone like myself, a music editor for a national magazine, should have an expiration date on them, just like a carton of milk. Perhaps there would be some sort of ceremony where on my 21st birthday I'd float up in the sky and be shot with a laser just like in Logan's Run. I didn't really listen to the Who at that age, (though the song that most people think of is called Teenage Wasteland but is really called Baba O’Riley was all over Dallas radio, hell it still is. Man, oh man does Dallas radio suck). I thought that was music for old people, but I was well aware and somewhat agreed with Roger Daltrey's “My Generation” sentiment of "Hope I die before I get old.” Well now I'm 40, so of course my worldview has conveniently changed. Just like Rutger Hauer says to Harrison Ford near the end of Blade Runner "I want more life, fucker."At a recent Butthole Surfers re-union show, an event where people like myself tried to "go home again" and relive the good old days of Black Sabbath riffs mixed with punk rock, tape loops, smoke machines and projected videos of penal surgery along with other assorted general weirdness the band's somewhat bewildered lead singer, Gibby Haynes walked out on stage and surveyed the crowd. After about 15 seconds of scanning the packed room he declared, "Wow, a room full of fat, old white guys" he then motioned to himself as if to say he was looking in a mirror or stupid is as stupid does. The band then launched into "22 Going On 23" and all was right with the world. Four or five songs later he started shouting out random people’s names and asking if they were in attendance. This was a hometown gig for Gibby who went to Lake Highlands High School, a school that is located just a few miles away from the venue. Aside from a few responses of "we love you Gibby" or "Sweat Loaf!" All was quiet as Gibby waited for a reply to the list of names. After a few more seconds of silence Gibby then declared well, it's a good thing nobody answered because these are all people I went to high school with and they are all dead. Slightly demented? Yes, but so right on. Painfully right on.

Perhaps this most recent scenario will shed some light on just where my head is at right now. About two weeks ago The New York Dolls were coming through town. I wanted to see them. I know that some people argue that they should be called the “New” New York Dolls since they are unfortunately minus several crucial founding members, but death, it's a bitch, what are you going to do? I was too young to catch them the first time around, they are historically important, and the new record "Cuz I Sez So" is good. It's so good that I'm almost willing to forgive David Johansen's whole Buster Poindexter "Hot, Hot, Hot" period so I figure sure, why not? I'm literally picking up my keys to walk out the door when I felt a sharp pain in my side. A really sharp pain. I thought to myself I'll just lie down for five minutes and then go. By the time I get to the bed I'm thinking this isn't going to work, I need to get to the hospital. That's big for me. Most people hate hospitals. I “REALLY” hate the hospital. I go to the emergency room and I'm admitted. They perform a CT scan. I don't know what CT stands for, canned tuna perhaps? I do know that they make you drink a really nasty drink that they will say tastes like Gatorade but in truth tastes nothing like Gatorade. All I can think about when they scoot me inside the big metal cylinder is "but I'm missing the band," well that, and I might poop myself. Turns out I have diverticulitis. Diverticulitis! That is what old people get! Even my doctor said "well, you're a little young for it, but that's what you have. You are going to be with us for a few days." I just find it somewhat ironic that I'm missing seeing the elder statesmen founding fathers of punk rock because I have diverticulitis. Anyway, after four days of "nothing by mouth" I go home. (Big, big shout out to nurses: Devena, Daisy, Mary Beth, Larry, and the whole Presbyterian Hospital crew!) As it turns out, my doctor says you really shouldn’t eat red meat every day. Who knew? Even though pork is the other white meat, I think the straw that may have broke the camel's back for me was that just the day before I had decided to make Tyler Florence's Ultimate Ribs (picture and recipe enclosed). Just a side note, did you know that Tyler's real, full name is Kevin Tyler Florence? Go ahead, Wikipedia that shit (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tyler_Florence). Not quite as cool now is it? I can see why he goes with Tyler. Anyway I made Kevin's ribs and they put the hurt on me something fierce. I’m considering a lawsuit. They were delicious.

Ingredients

* 2 slabs baby back ribs (about 3 pounds)

* Kosher salt and freshly groundblack pepper

* Extra-virgin olive oil

* 2 bacon slices

* 4 sprigs fresh thyme

* 1/2 onion

* 3 smashed garlic cloves

* 2 cups ketchup

* 1 cup peach preserves

* 2 tablespoons Dijon mustard or 1 tablespoon dry mustard

* 2 tablespoons brown sugar

* 1/4 cup molasses

* 2 tablespoons red or white wine vinegar

* 1 teaspoon ground cumin

* 1 teaspoon ground paprika

Directions

Special equipment: Kitchen twine

Preheat the oven to 250 degrees F. Put the ribs on a baking sheet, season with salt and pepper and drizzle with olive oil. Stick them in the oven, and let the ribs bake, low and slow for 1 1/2 hours.

Meanwhile, make the sauce. Wrap the bacon around the middle of the thyme sprigs and tie with kitchen twine so you have a nice bundle. Heat a 2-count of oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add the thyme bundle and cook slowly for 3 to 4 minutes to render the bacon fat and give the sauce a nice smoky taste. Add the onion and garlic and cook slowly, without coloring, for 5 minutes. Add all of the rest of the sauce ingredients, give the sauce a stir, and turn the heat down to low. Cook slowly for 20 minutes to meld the flavors. Put some sauce in a separate bowl for basting, reserving the remaining sauce for serving.

Baste the ribs with the sauce and let them continue cooking, basting twice more, for 30 more minutes. When the ribs are cooked, take them out of the oven. You can let them hang out like this until you're ready to eat. When ready to eat, preheat the broiler for 5 minutes and broil the ribs, basting with the sauce. They should become crisp and charred, about 5 minutes on each side. Pick the onion and garlic out of the sauce and serve with ribs.

To email Trent Buckroyd - donkeymilkshake@gmail.com