Some will cheer, "The Greatest Game in the Greatest City! NYC 2014, baby!"
But make no mistake, this is New Jersey's Super Bowl. New York might host the parties and (hopefully) the victory parade, but everyone knows that the Giants and Giants Stadium are New Jersey. Period, end of sentence. And yeah, that's Giants Stadium. You can stick your $500 million naming rights where the sun don't shine... South Jersey.
Last night was noteworthy as far as Schiff Happens late night tv watching is concerned, which is completely unrelated to the fact that this post is first going up around 3pm. Completely unrelated.
First, Adam Sandler made a fantastic appearance on the Tonight Show as one of Conan OBrien's final guests (check the full show here to see how Conan wasted $1.5 million of NBC's money, and witness the return of an old furry friend). Sandler, rocking the faded green Jets tee (Gang Green don't say I never gave you any love!), serenaded the host and revealed the story of how he and Chris Farley didn't leave Saturday Night Live on their own terms but were actually fired by NBC in 1995 despite being pretty much the funniest humans on the planet at the time. The moment recalled better days at SNL and NBC, when Conan, Sandler, Farley and a generation of standard-bearing comedians collaborated each week to produce some of the most hilarious moments we've ever witnessed. But it also served to show that genius truly is so often unappreciated in its time. The interview fittingly ended when Sandler summed
things up with his then-manager's reaction to the situation those 15 years ago (and Smellson's new favorite quote from now on I can almost guarantee), "NBC: Nothin But C***s!"
After that, I caught "Jersey Shore: Spoof'd!" on MTV. It has apparently been rerunning for a week already, but try as I might, I can't be everywhere this insanely overexposed show is all the time, so I was seeing it for the first time. It was a collection of all the spoofs and sketches that have been passed around to no end since the show stormed into our lives as the greatest reality train wreck in television history, and was noteworthy for just one reason: If the guidos liked a clip, they threw a fist pump as a seal of approval, complete with a fancy graphic.
This is important because, as my tens of faithful readers will no doubt concur, the whole gimmick, is just a repackaged ripoff of The Jersey Fist - my Jersey Fist! I invented rating things on a scale of fist pumps, damn it! I had even just recently resized this photo, featured in this post, to serve as our new official Jersey Fist in future posts.
It's the same as MTV's graphic! Unbelievable. These are the perils of being famous. You pay homage to the glory of the great Garden State and a bunch of Sleaseside guidos rip you off.
So how do we plan to fire back at this outrage, you ask? Well, Schiff Happens is here to officially announce the Jersey Shore Boycott! Won't you join me? Just say "No" to guidos!
Just kidding. I could never stay mad at you, Shnookieshpookies. Finale party is officially on tonight, and the RonRon juice will be flowing! Drop me a line for details. Until then, can we please get Snooks into one of those Snickers commercials? I can see it now...
Inside Karma, a crowd of guidos are battling on the floor.
Voiceover: "Hungry? Grab a Snickers!"
Russ aka "Ron" grabs Snooki and takes her for a piggy-back ride to the beach, where he proceeds to not fuck her. Snooki returns to the house, dejected.
Snookers: "Waaahhh! Nobody wants to f*** me in this town! What the f***?! I'm the f***ing Princess of F***ing Poughkeepsie!"
RonRon: "Still not smushed, err, satisfied? Would you f*** a Gatorade bottle at this point? Try one of these."
Tosses Snickers a Snickers, who voraciously sucks the nuts out of the candy bar, then proceeds to do herself with it.
Well hey there, stinky britches! Didn't see you hangin around. I thought everyone had left. I certainly got the hell out of there. I guess after the Thriller was gone I just couldn't see a reason anymore.
Look, I have no idea why I abruptly vanished from these airwaves way back in June. This year just sort of shook out that way. Sure, the good moments included some all-time memories, and I intend to give thanks for that. However, for me, navigating through 2009 mostly felt like spelunking through a long, dark cavern of suck. I know I'm young in the big scheme of things, but this was by far the worst year I have ever experienced. And so, with that in mind, Schiff Happens presents to you not the Best Of, but simply "The Rest Of 2009." Here's hoping that we remember the few good times and otherwise ready ourselves to say good riddance to bad rubbish in the final moments of this decade. I can't promise that 2010 will be better, but can it really get any worse?
I guess I should probably begin where I so rudely left off by finishing the story of Bonnaroo. The short version is that we saw a bunch more music, attended the lamest Lebowski-Fest of all time, and witnessed the coming-true of my live music wet dream - Bruce and Phish, together on stage - from the front freaking row. Now you might be thinking to yourself, "Schiff, what in your wide fist-pumping world could possibly top rocking out to a Trey vs. Bruce 'Glory Days' guitar battle from mere feet away?" And you'd be right to ponder that question - until you heard the tale of Schiff's Epic Bonnaroo '09 Springsteen Miracle.
This isn't even the greatest story to come out of Bonnaroo '09. I know, seriously.
Saturday night's E Street set was obviously the most anticipated moment for our Bonnaroo group, and we decided we were going to rock out from the pit, or not rock at all. This proved to be excessively easy, as all we had to do was stand in a line beside the main stage while watching Wilco's set. Tough life, I know. Soon enough after Wilco finished up, the line was moving and we were there. And I mean there. Front row. Center. FIST. I had come prepared with my new video camera, knowing that I wouldn't want to miss a moment. The show came and went and E Street of course brought the power, as they do night after night after night after night. You all have seen the setlist by now so you know all the highlights (If you haven't, Backstreets has your back. Light scrolling required). Growin' Up. Thunder Road. Hell, Santa Claus even came to town. But what made this show a life-changer for me and our crew was our spot. When Bruce came down into the crowd during the "Badlands" opener, we were feet away. When Bruce brought a delirious hippie chick out of the crowd to Courtney Cox with him during "Dancing in the Dark," we could hear her squealing with joy. And when The Boss motioned for all of E Street to join him in the crowd for the final flourish of "American Land," we were feet away from the most hard-rockin accordion you ever saw. After that, I knew I'd only be able to see a Springsteen show from the floor for the rest of my life. How could I return to the seats after that experience? The best part? I captured all the highlights in 720p thanks to my trusty camcorder.
Needless to say, after the show we were wiped, so we took a seat toward the back of the main stage field to reflect and munch on some snacks. With the big stage closing for the night, a nearby festival vendor started shouting, "Free food!" Clearly we jumped at the opportunity, powered through a plate of some sort of festival grub or another, and headed back towards Centeroo to get started on Saturday's late night sessions. Approaching the fountain, I paused for one of my famous paranoid patdowns, checking each of my pockets for vitals. Wallet. Check. Phone. Check. Car key. Check. Video camera... Video camera?! In my haste to get up and chow down on free food, I had forgotten to grab the camera, which I had taken out of my back pocket and placed on the ground beside me so as not to crush it when I sat down. I grabbed my brother and cousin and we raced back toward the main stage.
Predictably, the entire area was closed off, with security guards flanking the entrances. I pleaded my case with a few of them to no avail. "Please!" I begged. "I know exactly where we were sitting!" Refusing to resign myself to the lost and found, I raised my voice one last time and demanded to speak to someone in charge. An older gentleman approached, looked me in the eye and asked if I could really take him to the exact spot where we were. "If I don't," I replied, "then you can give me a hard time. How about that?" He agreed and we were off again, trying to put as much distance between him and us so as to maximize our search time. I mean, I had an idea of where we had been, but it was dark and that field is huge. Soon we reached what I thought was the spot and frantically started looking around. I noticed an enormous truck circling the premises and feared that I'd find my camera in the shape of a pancake. My brother and cousin weren't seeing it. The truck passed by. Still nothing. My body froze over in a cold sweat. Then I heard someone calling out to me. It was the security geezer. He had caught up to us. My heart sank, fearing our last gasp was over. I honestly don't even remember what he said to me. All I remember is looking up, and seeing him toss something towards me. A black pouch. My camera case. Inside...the camera, fully intact! In that moment, my friends, I became the Luckiest Guy at Bonnaroo '09.
The true miracle here isn't just that we found the camera. It's that if we had not, the world would have been deprived of this. And this. And of course this. And you wouldn't all get to relive with me the greatest moment of my concert-going life. Observe below and enjoy while I steel myself for the rest of what I have to believe is the first-ever "Rest Of" countdown. Clearly I thought that the highs of '09 were few and far between enough to include in a single post, but we're going to have to make this a multi-parter. I promise I won't abandon you like last time. Believe in the Promised Land that is 2010.
Bruce decided to take most of last week off and let us all catch our breath after his PR blitz leading up to the Super Bowl frenzy and the Crotch Heard Round the World (gonna be a long time before that one gets old) necessitated a massive recap of all his activities. He showed up for a minute to post his Super Bowl Journal on his official page, which alone is worth revisiting for its sheer brilliance (That's your cue to go check it out if you showed up late to the party. Don't worry, we'll still be here when you're done). Luckily, in the week since, The Boss has returned to his usual headline-grabbing, so we have a little bit more material to run through this week than a single-item recap, which I suppose wouldn't be much of a recap at all but more like a repost, which seems a bit redundant. What the hell was I talking about?
Is there anybody ALIVE out there???
Oh, right. Thanks, Boss. As I was attempting to say before I went all ADD, my Google reader was alive this week with all manner of Bruceness, so it is once again time to bring you the most fist-pumping feature in the history of these here interwebs and review the week that was in Bruce news. As per last time, we'll rate each item on a scale of one to five Rockin New Jersey Fist Pumps. Five Jersey Fists if the story makes you want to powerslide into someone's face, one Jersey Fist if the story is so miserable that you'd rather listen to Bon Jovi than read about it ::Imagines actually wanting to listen to Bon Jovi. Punches self in face with solitary Jersey Fist:: (Quick side note, I'm going to need a sweet name for these Jersey Fist Bruce Springsteen recaps if the guy is gonna keep making news. "Keeping Up With The Boss?" "Fist Week Ever?" Help me out here, people).
First things first, Pitchfork Media's interview series with up-and-coming, youngish artists about how Springsteen has influenced them has expanded and is now being hosted on Bruce's official site under the title "Hangin Out on E Street" (apparently I'm not the only one who needs help thinking of titles). Jersey guys the Gaslight Anthem, Ted Leo, Bouncing Souls and Schiff Happens inspiration Wyclef Jean - as well as some other folks who, though talented, can't say they hail from the great Garden State - talk about The Boss and then play a cover of one of his tunes. The point of the thing is to show how Bruce's influence has widened beyond the scope of mainstream rock. I've never been much for indie rock, but I'm all for this. It's just one more talking point for Springsteen fans when the non-Jersey people and the too-hip-for-you-old-man indie kids continue to fail or be unwilling to understand the magnitude of Springsteen's appeal, influence and legend. Face it, indie kids - The Hold Steady made it cool to dig Bruce, and if you don't like it, here's 3 Jersey Fists right in your face. Now wash your damn hair and put a smile on your face you miserable skinny jeans wearing fuck. (Scoring Note: This would have been a 4-Fister, but apparently BruceSpringsteen.net doesn't have much of a budget for acoustics quality control).
Next on the Bruce Watch, Springsteen debuted his video for "The Wrestler" about 2 months too late to prevent the Oscars from snubbing him for Best Original Song. I still have yet to see the movie but I truly do dig this song, and not just because it's simple enough to play that even I can strum along with it on guitar, but because I can't help but get choked up by toned-down acoustic Bruce singing sad songs about one-legged dogs and melancholy characters searching for meaning in this lonely life when society has turned its back on you. I also get emotional for run-on sentences. The fact that the Oscars so obviously effed up by snubbing Bruce and only nominating three songs is made all the more hilarious by Peter Gabriel's refusal to perform his “Down To Earth” from Wall-E in protest of the ceremony's 65-second-per-song rule. Now the Oscars are left with only a pair of Slumdog Millionaire tunes and are so desperate for performers that they've beggedoffered to let new mum M.I.A. perform Slumdog's "O Saya" from "some sort of fabulous bed on stage." An outdated awards show blatantly effs up and Bruce has the last laugh? That'll get you 4 Jersey Fists every time.
Meanwhile, while we were watching "The Wrestler" video, Bonnaroo posted live Springsteen videos on its web site - "Thunder Road" from Live in New York City and "Promised Land" from Live in Barcelona. There's absolutely nothing here that can't be purchased from your local public television station for a recession-friendly donation of only $200 - hey, at least it's a tax write-off - but it validates this pipe dream that I had that Bruce Springsteen and the legendary E Street Band were headlining freakin' Bonnaroo (BOSSaroo? BonnaRUUCE?) this summer! New Jersey 'Roo domination is the ultimate hype generator around here, so for that we give this one 3 Jersey Fists (if only because the videos themselves really are nothing new) as we are compelled to ask again, "Who's comin with me?"
Finally, Point Blank alerted us to upcoming albums that feature The Boss, which wouldn't necessarily matter one way or another except that one of those albums belongs to none other than Bernie Williams! Before Bernie became a superstar musician, he patrolled centerfield for the Dynasty Yankees, and his penchant for clutch hits launched a new era of awful John Sterling home run call nicknames. Bernie's new album "Moving Forward," due out April 14, includes a live version of "Glory Days" recorded with The Boss himself at Joe Torre's Safe At Home benefit in November 2007. Bruce and Bernie, the Bombers and The Boss together? Are there any 2 more dominating, legendary figures in their respective fields than Springsteen and the Yankees? More importantly, is there any combination more apt to stir Schiff Happens into a screaming, fist-pumping lather? Bruce cedes the floor to that other Boss, as this one gets an obvious 5 Jersey Fists.
It has only been a week since we last checked in on him, but Bruce Springsteen has been so damn busy making headlines that it feels like we need to run a weekly recap on all things Boss. In true Garden State fashion, we're going to attempt to bring you up to speed on The Bruce by rating his recent newsworthy moments on a scale of one to five Rockin New Jersey Fist Pumps. Five Jersey Fists for the most bitchin possible news, one Jersey Fist if you'd rather pump your own gas than read that story. And away we go!
So, back in January, Springsteen released a greatest hits collection exclusively with Wal Mart. Just ten bucks for E Street's greatest hits? Not a bad deal, right? Well, not until you recall that Wal Mart has been accused of anti-union practices, paid major fines for violating labor laws, basically represents all that is soulless and evil in the world of corporate sleaze, and, you know, pretty much violates all of Bruce's core principles. The fans called him out on it, and Bruce issued a heartfelt mea culpa, calling the Wal Mart deal a "mistake." We can't let him off the hook entirely for the Wal Mart exclusive, but for hearing his fans and copping to his misstep, Bruce gets 2 Jersey Fists here.
Springsteen's PR blitz continued and really kicked into high gear at the Super Bowl, where he and the band gave their first press conference since 1987 (this still makes no sense to me) to joke about The Boss' complete lack of interest in football and speculate on the highly anticipated halftime show. No details were given, but Springsteen promised a "12 minute party," and on Sunday that's exactly what went down. The show was every bit the electric, rollicking performance that Springsteen fans have lauded for the last 30 years, and The Boss cemented his Super Bowl legacy when he delivered the most widely watched crotch-first into-your-living-room power slide in television history. Around the world, it was Boss Time. This is a no brainer: 5 Jersey Fists. Great 4-song set, vintage Springsteen ebullience, and a power crotch slide smack into a cameraman...come on. The look he gave to the camera right when it happened was worth 3 fist pumps by itself (Yes, I am aware that only Bruce's vocals were actually "live," but if the National Anthem can be pre-recorded, then so can Steve, Max and the Big Man. My opinion on this will not change. The 5 Jersey Fists stand).
Everyone loves the halftime show, except for Stephen Metcalf, Slate's resident high-minded shit-eater who trashed the performance because the set list failed to include "The Wrestler." Really? Granted, the song is wonderful and just won a Golden Globe, but really? Stephen Metcalf, you sir have earned yourelf one single solitary Jersey Fist - right in your fucking eye. That's how we handle things in the Meadowlands.
Not long after the Super Bowl performance (the very next morning in fact), tickets for Springsteen's "Working On A Dream" world tour went on sale on Ticketmaster. Legions of fans tried to log on and buy tickets at 9:00AM, but many encountered erroneous error messages and, worse still, were automatically redirected to Ticketmaster's reselling secondary site, TicketsNow, which offered tickets at far above face value. Once again, corporate America was putting the screws to The Bruce. Bad idea, Ticketmaster. You do not fuck with E Street Nation. Having learned quickly from the Wal Mart flare-up, Bruce, manager Jon Landau and the Springsteen Tour Team posted a strongly worded apologetic letter to fans on Springsteen's official site, condemning Ticketmaster and publicly railing against a possible merger between Ticketmaster and LiveNation, who just one week prior had infuriated Phish fans with a similar fiasco (and actually managed to make hippies everywhere nostalgic for their longtime nemesis, Ticketmaster, which has in fact always sucked). The New Jersey Attorney General announced an investigation into the incident, and Ticketmaster has since apologized to Springsteen and vowed to make amends to befuddled fans (riiiight....). You have to applaud The Boss' reaction to the situation, and at least Ticketmaster is admitting that they effed up, but none of that changes the fact that I didn't get tickets for shit. 2 Jersey Fists.
Late Monday night into Tuesday morning, long-standing rumors were finally confirmed when Bonnaroo announced its lineup, which will be headlined by 2 nights of Phish and one night of Springsteen and the E Street Band. I stated my opinions (and got Cartman's thoughts) on this matter months ago when the rumors came out, and I have since made it abundantly clear that I plan to be haulin ass to Tennessee come June. The lineup could not possibly be better, but it's worth raising an eyebrow over the fact that fans of Bruce and Phish just experienced epic ticket on-sale disasters, and as the two companies who perpetrated said disasters now talk of merging, the two bands will meet as headliners of the biggest festival of the summer. I'm no less excited, but there is reason for pause when the first wave of 'Roo tickets go on sale Saturday at noon, and though we can be glad that Bonnaroo at least takes care of ticket sales through its own site, this tiny seed of doubt knocks this news down a peg to 4 Jersey Fists.
Finally, Wednesday we learned that "Working On A Dream" became 2009's biggest debut, selling nearly 224,000 copies in its first week for a No. 1 ranking on the Billboard top 200. Most of those sales actually came before the Super Bowl performance. The album was given a 5-star review in Rolling Stone, and following all the crotch-sliding, Bonnaroo hype, and Ticketmaster hoopla (any publicity is good publicity!) should only go on to sell even more. More importantly, Springsteen finally knocked Taylor Swift (ok, I'm sorry, but... who?) out of the top spot after an eight-week reign. Long live The Boss! 4 Jersey Fists.
So now that you're all caught up, don't forget to buy your Bonnaroo tickets on Saturday. Until next week, when I'll inevitably have to recap yet another blitz of Springsteen news, enjoy Conan O'Brien's best attempt to recreate Bruce's Super Crotch Slide. This should keep you well entertained all weekend.
Which exit? How about that one, smartass?
