Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band - "Songs From The Promise"

Alternately titled, "Please-Oh-Please-Announce-A-Tour-Already!! Of The Day."

I haven't even watched this yet but I'm posting it here for you and I don't believe I need to explain why.



Endless Fist Pumps.

Happy Bruceday!

The Boss is 61 today, and I can only hope that someone saw fit to give him a gift as beautiful as the one he gave to that lucky photographer and couple whose engagement shoot he photobombed earlier this week (Stories like this remind us once again that Bruce is the coolest, and the Jersey Shore is magical). I have no idea what you get for the man who has everything, but my Springsteen birthday wish would probably be that someone give him that beard and hat back. I'll be sure to buy him a cone if I spot him out at Jersey Freeze tonight. At the very least, can we finally get this guy a fuckin' elevator? He's fuckin' sixty(-one)!

I guess all I can say is, "Here's to you, Boss Man." I'd wish you another 61 years, but we all know that wouldn't matter, because legends never die. So in the spirit of gift-giving, thanks for giving me the greatest gift of all at Bonnaroo last year. (You know there's no way I could pass up a chance to post this video again).

Recently, we heard rumors that two Schiff Happens favorites may have cosmically collided over the winter. However, while tales of Springsteen roaming the same halls as Sitch Sorentino, DJ Pauly D, and The Grenade are completely unsubstantiated, The Boss truly did appear on this favorite show of mine.

What is (the one night I fail to watch) Jeopardy?

Via Fuckyeahtheboss (again, I really can't emphasize enough the awesomeness of Tumblr), check out last night's Springsteen Jeopardy clues. How much richer would your Boss knowledge have made you? I certainly would have made it a true daily double.

For those who missed the Bruce Springsteen category on Jeopardy:

• $200 - After a 1976 gig in Memphis, Bruce scaled the wall of this music icon’s home and was busted by a security guard.
• $400 - In July 1984, this Boss album began a 7-week stay atop the charts, it stayed on the survey for 139 week
• $600 - In an unprecedented move in 1975, these 2 rival magazines both featured cover stories on Bruce.
• $800 - On August 11, 1989, Bruce joined this noted drummer onstage for 4 songs, including “With A Little Help From My Friends.”
• $1000 - Bruce’s 2006 album “We Shall Overcome” paid tribute to this folk music legend who turned 87 that year.

There also non-Springsteen related categories entitled “The Boss” and “Born To ‘Run.’”

"Is there anybody alive out there?!?"

Worlds Are Colliding! [Needs More Bruce]

Just saw this headline on NJ.com that nearly blew my mind:

Did Bruce Springsteen stay at the MTV 'Jersey Shore' house?

New cast-mates enjoying the infamous hot tub?

Could it really be? Did these two great New Jersey institutions and Schiff Happens favorites come together at some point this winter? The video in the article gives us only a thinly veiled, winking acknowledgment from the Seaside Police Chief that The Boss may have visited the house, so I'm gonna bet that it didn't happen on account of the world didn't explode. However, if these allegations are true, does this make the Jersey Shore house Springsteen's most famous residence since 7 1/2 West End Court? Did he get any classic songwriting done like he did back in that little Long Branch house?

"Well, Paulie D and The Situation well you know they're gonna be there.
Sloppy Snooks, RonRon, and Vinny they'll be comin' up for air..."

One thing we do know for certain: The Guidos got hoagies. Also, is there a more Situation sandwich than baloney, cheese, and mayo? I'm so glad this show is almost back.

Conan and Sandler Flip Off NBC, Jersey Shore Rips Off This Blog

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.

Snooks: "What? I eat it a certain way!"

It basically writes itself.

Wherein I See Phish and the World Series for $5 Total [Rest Of 2009]

We're coming down to the wire and there's no time to lose, so here's the rest of The Best Rest Of 2009.

A few months after the most glorious concert experiences of my life, a friend of mine was offering around extra tickets for the last leg of Springsteen's tour, which included a mini-residency at Giants Stadium. These concerts would be the last for Bruce in the venue that vaulted him into worldwide arena rock superstardom, as the new Giants Stadium (and I'll be calling it that regardless of whatever corporate name gets stickered all over it, so deal with it, Jets fans) is set to open in 2010. Clearly I had to be there and jumped at the chance. I was met with an interesting choice: General Admission floor seats for the second-to-last night, or 100-level seats for E Street's last ever Giants Stadium show? For some, it seems like a no-brainer. Go for the tour and stadium closer, where the band is bound to pull out all the stops and, given the historical significance of the venue, there may even be a special guest or two. However, recall my Bonnaroo epiphany and you'll see why I made the choice that I did. It simply had to be the floor. After being so close to The Boss that I could see the sweat flying off of his pumping Jersey fists, there was just no way I was opting for the seats, even if it meant gambling that the second-to-last E Street show at Giants Stadium would measure up to the finale. Observe below to see why I clearly made the right choice.



My favorite part about this is that more than once in the video you can clearly hear me muttering, "Where's The Boss man? Where is he?" only to have him emerge into view mere feet from our position. My second favorite part is the fact that we somehow managed to not notice the mini stage in the center of the floor just to our right until Bruce was standing on it. We were just in the right spot at the right time, and you're just going to have to believe me that it worked out that way. Oh, and 60-year-old Bruce crowd-surfing a solid 40 yards. I guess that's my third favorite part. It's the story of 2009 in a nutshell, really. All-time highlight memories sporadically cropping up amongst an otherwise murky sea of confusion and doubt.

This now puts us right smack in the thick of October, my favorite month of the year. If ever there was a saving grace for 2009, it was October. Not only did it include the aforementioned Bruce experience, but the YANKEES WON THE WORLD SERIES! If you know me or have read this here blog at all, you'll know how much the 2009 MLB Playoffs lifted up my Worst Year Ever. Some of you reading right now may have been there for this guy's birthday celebration, watching me jump for joy during Game 2 of the ALDS as A-Rod tied it with a HR in the bottom of the 9th and Teixeira walked it off with a wall-scraper in the 11th.

In the next round, I was able to score tickets for the Littlest Bro (who is ironically the biggest of we 3 Schiff Brothers) and I to see the Yanks take care of the Angels and capture their 40th pennant in Game 6 of the ALCS. Of course, our first attempt to see the game was rained out, but, as we saw time and time again in '09, out of the FAILstorm emerges a WIN. Because of the rainout, Littlest Bro was forced to head home, so myself and Middle Bro went to drop him off with our Aunt and Uncle who were heading back to Jersey after seeing John Stamos star in Bye Bye, Birdie on Broadway. That's right, folks, Uncle Jesse himself. Here at Schiff Happens, we have sung Stamos' praises before, but never did we expect to actually meet the proprietor of the Smash Club.* However, the stars aligned that night, leading to one of the greatest pictures ever taken of the Schiff Brothers.


Yes, I'm well aware that only half of my face is visible. I stand by my statement. Note to all of you out there who will now attempt to stake out the Stamos: Try to avoid saying "Uncle Jesse on 3!" just before you snap the picture. Ask Littlest Bro about it.

As October turned into November, the Yankees ended nine long years of frustration with World Series win number 27 and another parade down Broadway. Yes, I'm well aware that complaining of the Yankees "struggles" is ridiculous. I apologize for nothing. I also should probably mention that I was in the house to watch the Bombers take down the Philthadelph in Game 2 of the World Series alongside Middle Bro, which was especially satisfying since we got to chant "Who's your daddy?" at Pedro Martinez all night. Probably should also mention that it was free. Hey, I said the highs were all-timers.

The final positive of 2009 was Phish's fall tour. For the first time ever I decided to try and check out an entire multi-night run, procuring tickets for Wednesday and Friday nights at Madison Square Garden, and Saturday night at my alma mater, The University of Virginia's John Paul Jones Arena. Of course, Thursday - the one night of the four I went into without a ticket - was the night of note. I joined my friends at the bar near MSG for their pregame, and just as I was about to go do a lap around the arena to scour for an extra, the guy next to me at the bar leaned over and said, "You need a ticket? Here you go." He pulled out a mail order ticket, I managed to mutter something along the lines of, "Are you serious?" and he said, "Sure, why not? I was gonna eat it anyway. Buy me a beer and it's yours." So, for the price of the beer I was able to ensure that I saw "Fluffhead" for the first time live. I'd call that a victory. Of course, that was also the night I learned that Jonathan Larsen, creator of RENT, died of an aortic aneurism, and didn't even have a little bit of AIDS. I'd call that a loss. A major loss. I have never felt so bamboozled in my life, and to be honest, I'm still getting over it a little bit. The story will have to wait for another time, because I'm getting emotional just thinking about it, and because quite frankly, it's 8:30 on New Year's Eve and we've all got some drinking to do.

So before you head out to whatever loft party, watering hole, or slump buster you're hitting up tonight, take a minute to view perhaps my favorite video of 2009. I call it, "How Not To Shoot a Concert Bootleg," and when you consider that this hilarious piece of pure, unadulterated FAIL was shot just moments after the incredible joy and good fortune captured in the "Hungry Heart" video above, it's the perfect sendoff for 2009, the Worst Year Ever. May 2010 be the most epic of WIN for all of us.



Happy New Year.


*Wow, definitely didn't remember that the original Stamos post was Yankees-related. Weird. Awesome.

Welcome to 2009, Now Get The F Out! [Rest Of 2009]

Alright, so the Springsteen Bonnaroo story was a little long-winded, but deservedly so I think. If you haven't already, check the Picasa stream for all the highlights of Bonnaroo '09. The general gist of the festival is there, but with so little left of this year, we've got precious little time to waste as we continue to remember the Best Rest of 2009. I can almost guarantee that the highlights of the entire rest of the year won't take up as much space as the camera story. And we're off!

So, right after we made it back from Bonnaroo, I moved downtown and was fired from a shitty job that I hated anyway for showing up late to do something I wasn't hired to do in the first place. So it goes. It was a pretty miserable experience to have to deal with, but I figured it was life's way of telling me, "You'll thank me later."

A few weeks later, the night before I was supposed to fly down to Florida to watch one of my fraternity brothers walk the plank aisle* I found myself in the hospital with appendicitis. I figured that was life's way of telling me, "Nope, you were wrong." Looking back, though, this was a great moment. It was around this time when I decided that I'd had enough bullshit negativity. From that moment on, I would devote myself to being one of those positive people I can't stand. It has been a struggle, and while I can assure you that my cynicism and penchant for hatin' will never quite disappear, I have to admit that little by little, I started to feel the whole optimism thing coming back to me. Friends and family even told me they were noticing a change, and despite being jobless and recovering from surgery to remove a useless, vestigial organ, more quality memories emerged from the Worst Year Ever. Less than a week after the surgery, I was trucking up to Saratoga to see Phish once again, relying on my brother as a personal lean-to while nearly passing out for the entire second set to wrap up Summer Tour 2009.** Next, I hit Cape May for a week of relaxation before a bachelor party and another wedding Labor Day Weekend (this time I was able to attend), making Summer Sans Appendix a success.

Allow me to pause here, if I may, during the Cape May portion of this recap, to acknowledge that while 2009 may have been the WYE, it brought us perhaps the greatest television show of the Aughts. Of course I speak of the now-legendary Jersey Shore. I'm not going to dwell on this too much, especially since Cajun Boy has done such an admirable job of keeping us up to speed on all the fist-pumping madness over at Animal NY, but isn't it fitting that 2009, which was beyond awful, gave us a show so far beyond awful that it's truly amazing? I groaned in disgust when I first learned the premise of Jersey Shore, but I'm already hoping for a second season*** and tonight's new episode is pretty much the only part of New Year's Eve that I'm looking forward to (Aside from, of course, saying "Good thefuck riddance!" to 2009. You really can't understate just how craptastic this year was).

Actually, this seems like a good time for yet another short commercial break, but chill out, Freckles McGee - The Rest Of 2009 continues momentarily. In the meantime, amuse yourself with one of the most talked about viral videos of the year below. Snooki Punch '09, never forget.

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

*Another 2009 phenomenon, by the way: My friends getting married. No, I have no idea what they're thinking either. I mean, uh, Mazel Tov, guys! Many happy returns! Hope getting married questionably young during the Worst Year Ever works out for you!

**Totally worth it.

***MTV, if you're out there, I have a few friends from back in the old neighborhood that you have to meet, ASAP!

The Worst Year Ever is Finally Over [It's safe to come out!]

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.

Strikes and Gutters, Ups and Downs

It's been a long, draining week -- the kind that leaves you shaking your head, speechless, numb. When faced with a similar situation toward the end of The Big Lebowski (perhaps my favorite movie of all time, and one that has been there for me time after time), the flawed, if not passionate, Walter Sobchak is left with just one timeless thought:

"Aww, fuck it Dude. Let's go bowling."

I always thought that meant that when times get shitty, you turn to the things that have always been there to comfort you, even if they seem excessively ordinary and couldn't possibly offer more than a momentary escape. Maybe deep symbolism was never intended. Either way, I'm goin bowlin tonight.

Appropriately enough, as I ready myself for my first ever NYC bowling experience, I find an abundance of Dudeness on the interwebs. First:

"The New York Yankees have announced the addition of strictly kosher food offerings and Shabbat accommodations at their November 2009 and January 2010 Fantasy Camps. Glatt kosher food will be provided by Weberman Foods with OK supervision, and a Friday “Dream Game” will be played so Shomer Shabbat Jews can participate."

Walter would certainly be there, except he has to take Cynthia's Pomeranian bowling while she and Marty Ackerman are in Hawaii.
Walter Sobchak Approves [Fack Youk]

And secondly, Bonnaroo thought they didn't completely make my summer enough when they brought Phish, Bruce and the Beastie Boys (arguably the 3 cornerstones of my proverbial musical pyramid) together under one festival, so they decided to throw in their very own Lebowski Fest at the air-conditioned Bonnaroo Cinema tent. I guess now I need to bring along my purple Jesus Quintana bowling outfit in addition to my big suit. The big 'Roo starts exactly 2 weeks from today. There's your long overdue countdown alert. Meet me there for a much needed White Russian.
Bonnaroo Cinema [Bonnaroo.com]

The Dude abides.
I don't know about you, but I take comfort in that.

Rupert Jee does not appreciate your blog neglect

I get so mad at myself each time i come back to one of these blog neglect posts. I'm going to do the same thing this time as I always have when confronted with a dearth of inspiration or an apparent lack of available hours in the day: resolve to write more, stay creating, and soak up all the things that make me happy.

There really has been a ton going on, too. It's like the boulder has just begun gathering steam, and I get the feeling that summer is going to get here and crush everything in its path like a steamroller. But that's no excuse not to express something close to a story, an insight, a joke, a passing thought, a couple of times a week. If anything, I should have that much more to say.

What bothers me most is that while I haven't been posting, I've been tweeting away at the exact same rate as I ever have (as you can see just to your left in ye olde sidebar). I've definitely used twitter as a crutch, which is ridiculous because twitter sucks now anyway (SuperNews, you're really outdoing yourselves).

I guess I'll close for now with a story I've been meaning to tell for too long. Two weeks ago I was on my way to play volleyball for (soon to be ZogSports' first ever Schportng Sampler champions) team Purple Haze when I had a little bogus celebrity moment. My schporting activities are a different post entirely, but I got you, don't worry.

So I'm walking down 53rd St, and I realize I'm going to need some H20 for the game. I follow what looks to be a father/son duo - a pair of slightly portly fellows wearing matching 5k race shirts and looking like they could use some hydration themselves - into the first storefront I pass. Glancing inside I can see a deli counter and a fridge with cold beverages. Perfect.

I don't even realize I'm in Hello Deli until I go to reach for my water and I have to excuse myself around a photo op with Dad and the one and only Rupert Jee. Now, being a bit of a big deal myself, I'm not at all thrown by the sight of one of New York's most beloved late show punch lines. The Dad in the 5k race t-shirt, however, is awestruck, thanking Rupert and telling him, "I've been in here before, but you weren't around." Grabbing two Poland Springs out of the fridge, I can't help but overhear Rupert's response:

"Hey, man, I gotta work."

And I smile.

UPDATE: Wow, this is why I love the internet. A Google image search for Rupert Jee reveals a pretty damn accurate approximation of the exact photo op moment I accidentally walked into. Only difference is instead of me grabbing bottles of water in the background, there appears to be a sweat-soaked Kevin Youkilis struggling to interpret the directions on his beverage.

Oh, and one last thing. Looks like that Countdown to Bonnaroo really worked out. Riiiiight. So, about that -- the last countdown mention came with 65 days to go. As I type, we are exactly 30 days away froom the Big Rooskie.


Well you better learn to move fast when you're young or you're not long around
Cat somehow lost his Kitty down in the city pound
So get right, get tight, get down
Well who's that down at the end of the alley?
She's been gone so long

The one where I see David Byrne's Big Suit

Great day for Los Schiffs Saturday. Baby bro turned 16, which just blows my mind. He got a classic 16th birthday present: his first electric guitar. Both middle bro and I got a visit from the Papa Schiff Chuck Wagon, and the whole family roadshow kept it rockin with a visit to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Annex in Soho.

I've visited the Rock Hall in Cleveland, but never the one on Mercer Street, despite the fact that I have walked past the Annex many times on my way to and from work. It was a fun little space with many great artifacts to look at. The tour is accompanied by a headset which reacts to sensors around the museum exibits and plays songs by the artists you're looking at. My favorites, not necessarily in order:

1. Bruce Springsteen's '57 Chevy, purchased in 1975 for $2000
2. Johnny Cash's spangled n' studded black leather cowboy boots
3. Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel's letters to each other from Camp Lake Vu in New Brunswick, NJ.
4. John Lennon's piano (with "Imagine" playing in the headphones. I stood and stared, dumbfounded, at this for several minutes)
5. THE BIG SUIT!!

Stop Making Sense is probably my all-time favorite concert movie. I was mesmerized by it from the opening strains of "Psycho Killer" and dove face-first into the Talking Heads immediately after the final notes of "Crosseyed and Painless." It was an incredible joy to turn around a corner at the Annex and see David Byrne bending and bouncing around as the movie played on what I thought was just a big screen embedded in the Talking Heads exhibit. But my heart truly went aflutter when the image of the film faded to reveal behind a glass window... the suit!

During said Talking Heads obsession, I developed a pretty mean David Byrne impression and eventually developed a not so secret desire to dance around in the big suit and bust out "Girlfriend Is Better." Mr. Byrne himself will be performing a set at Bonnaroo this year, and though I wouldn't dare try to upstage him by wearing his iconic outfit to his set, there's another artist on the bill who welcomes and encourages costumed audience members. Bonnaroo just keeps giving me more and more signs that this is the year I must return.



I admit that I definitely need to brush up on Byrne's solo work, and I'm excited to get into it. That being said, he's bound to bust out a few choice Heads jams, and I'll cheer loudly. Hey solo David Byrne, what do you think of Big Suit David Byrne? I'd like to write a song about hairdos...

I said it last Sunday, and I'll say it now since the season (series?) finale just wrapped up not too long ago. Flight of the Conchords need to stage their hit B'way show at B'roo. Hippies won't care if you're illegal immigrants -- they have their own priors to worry about.

Also, open of tonight's Eastbound & Down finale, FTW!!

The Oscars, Shaq and Conan [The Weekend that Was]

Friends, it seems we've developed a bit of a pattern here at Schiff Happens:

1. Blog a bunch of shit during the week
2. Promise to self and/or SH Faithful to continue our unparalleled coverage and commentary over the weekend.
3. Completely neglect weekend.
4. Return Monday with too much to discuss and more empty promises to self and/or SH Faithful to improve weekend posting habits.
5. ...............
6. Profit.

On the one hand, I should have no excuse for basically ignoring this space over the weekends, especially since I have more than my share of free time during these freezing cold, winter-in -New-York lazy Sunday weekends. On the other hand, I don't get paid for this shit, so if you have a problem with my business model then step up and show me the money. Until then, Step 6 is 'Profit' and that's the story I'm sticking with. Right now, a few things that happened over the weekend.

Hail King Shaq, High King and Protector of Twitteronia I recently declared that I had joined Shaq Fu's legion of twitterputian followers in the hopes of connecting with the Big Fella whom I hold in such high esteem (shameless follow me plug). I tweeted his way a few times, not expecting any response, just to let him know that he had yet another admirer. Not two days later, the Big Tweet was reaching out to his people:

"Incredible!" I thought to myself. I replied, wanting to know how many people mob the Big Shaqtus when he posts his location like that, and moments later came another tweet:

If anyone were to doubt the realness of THE_REAL_SHAQ, clearly this post would offer definitive proof. Someone had to respond to this call to arms from the Twitter King himself, and sure enough, people did. Not long after that, Lord Shaq addressed the Twitterpeople one final time with an official decree:

To me, this is just one more example of how Shaq gets it. What other pro athlete puts himself out there like that and actually backs it up? I like to think that this is a response to my homage, albeit indirect. I reached out to the Diesel, and he reached out to the people. Of course, his most recent tweet should not be construed in any way as a response to yours truly.

Come on, Shaq! We all know that toilet texting (or twittering) is the quickest way to lose a phone. I guess it's true what has been said through the ages: For every king, a throne. Long live THE_REAL_SHAQ, King of Twitteronia.

The reports of Conan's death are greatly exaggerated On Friday night, the world bid farewell to Conan O'Brien...sort of. It was Conan's final show as host of Late Night before he takes over for Jay Leno in LA on The Tonight Show. As Conan tore apart his set to give to the crowd, welcomed back Andy Richter and reflected on his long, strange Late Night trip, I understood his emotion, but in the back of my mind I couldn't help but think, "This is effing stupid. He's not really going anywhere - he's just moving to a different time and coast. You don't even have to change the channel!" I do need to commend Conan for his heartfelt farewell, thanks-for-the-memories address toward the end of the show, during which he became obviously choked up and revealed a side of himself that fans generally don't get to see behind his zany antics. As I've been in the habit of wildly praising celebrities for doing so, I'd be sort of a hypocrite not to in this case. However, I'm glad I'm not the only one questioning the funeral of these last few shows. Conan deserves to and should reflect emotionally over the transition, but it just doesn't affect me all that much as a consumer.
The biggest impact I'll feel from the move is now I'll be getting the inside info from Smellson on Jimmy Fallon's musical guests instead of Conan's. Speaking of which, you can totally spot our boy in the big crew photo they showed toward the end of the broadcast. I'll post a screen grab later and you guys can play "Where's Pel?" Actually, Mr. Pel had a decent story of his first and only interaction with Conan. Having introduced himself and explained his role in music licensing to Conan, Pel looked on in wide-eyed wonder as the host of Late Night smiled and said, "Oh, so you're that dick!" Nobody deserves it more than you, my friend.
As far as the actual episode itself, a few quick thoughts. I thought Will Ferrell did a great job and contained all the things I usually hate about him. Ever since Bonnaroo '06, John Mayer has delightfully surprised me - awesome job by him on his "LA's Gonna Eat You Alive" send-off for Conan. I enjoyed the White Stripes and thought that their song choice and delivery was appropriate for what seemed to be a legitimately moving moment for them and Conan, even if we know that they could have rocked Studio 6A to the ground had they so chosen. Finally, Conan played our favorite clip of all time! Better still, he introduced it as his favorite thing he's ever done. Clearly we have great taste.

The White Stripes perform "We're Going to be Friends" on the Late Night with Conan O'Brien finale.


And the Oscar goes to...who cares, you haven't seen any of this shit Every year I get suckered into the Oscars thinking I'll find something new to enjoy despite not having seen any of the movies. Nope. Wrong again. Springsteen was snubbed for Best Original Song long before Sunday night, and there were obvious shenanigans afoot as his buddy Mickey Rourke was hosed for Best Actor. Yea, I formulate opinions without seeing the actual work. Wanna fight about it? The best moments were Ben Stiller having a go at Joaquin Phoenix and Seth Rogen and James Franco's Pineapple Express-inspired look back at the year in comedy. I always preferred them in Freaks and Geeks myself.
The one silver lining this year was that Twitter made the show bearable, specifically the hilarious running commentary of Kevin Pollak. If I didn't have his sardonic, bitterness-infused, 140-character jokes to keep me company, there's no way I'm staying up late enough to see the entire city of Mumbai accept the Best Picture award for Slumdog Millionaire. Slumdog, incidentally, was the only "Oscar buzz" movie I saw this year - besides The Dark Knight, but, you know, that doesn't count because it's a superhero movie. FML - so maybe it's because I have no basis for comparison, but before last night, I hadn't considered that people might have actually not liked the movie. Yet there were my roommate and his girlfriend, returning from the theater as the awards were just beginning, telling me they weren't huge fans and trying to understand what the big deal was. While I enjoyed it, it's hard to read this and not find yourself agreeing with a whole bunch of it. But that's America - we're still gonna go for the underdog love story every time.

That's why you have to root for me, America. I may be sloppy on weekends, but with your support - Please make my day and weigh in on any of this stuff. I'd truly love to hear your opinions - my underdog story will have a happy ending that you saw coming miles away but gets you all choked up anyway. And then, on that glorious day....

...Profit.

The Boss is back! (As if he ever left)

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 begged offered 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.

Put down the chicken fingers and read Bruce's Super Journal

Great stuff this week from Mr. Springsteen, in a slow week for Bruce news which most likely won't require an extensive recap. The Boss' official site has published Bruce's Super Bowl journal, complete with some awesome behind-the-scenes photos by Danny Clinch. It's just a thoughtful and intimate look inside the mind of an artist - let alone an artist of Springsteen's stature - that you don't get to experience all that much these days. And please don't tell me that the caps-locked ravings of a mulleted lunatic qualify. Ye might rap about being self-conscious, but his self-serving egomania can't touch Bruce's candid journal entry, in which he admits that his last thought before taking the stage was "Lord Don't Let Me Screw the Pooch in Front of 100 Million People." The Boss goes on about the intense camaraderie shared by the E Street Band; his on-stage thoughts of his career journey, reflected in the setlist; and of course the details of his now-famous crotch crash, and how his powerslide went awry. Bruce declined to do the Super Bowl gig for years, but to me, his diary entry makes it clear that he made the right decision at the perfect time for him and for all of E Street to finally accept the challenge this year.

It should be pretty obvious that this journal entry blew me away, so do yourself a favor and read it already so you don't have to rely on my ramblings to convey its awesomeness. Of course, when you're done, come right on back and let me know what you thought.

Everybody form a line (More Bruce on SH):
The Boss doesn't pump his gas - he pumps his fists

Sans GMen, Sunday was still Super

PHISH! SPRINGSTEEN! BEASTIES! BONNAROO!

Who decides? The Boss decides

It's (almost, ok not really but pretty much) official!

Suck it Philly: Springsteen Edition

Phish Happens? [Rumors, speculation and hearsay]

The Boss doesn't pump his gas - he pumps his 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.