Tuesday, November 15, 2011

…on your head buddy

I never met j garino.

well maybe I did.

I've been to so many shows in the q-ville.

I've been to so many BBQ's in the q-ville as well.

so I may have met him.

but it doesn't really matter. j garino's music had touched my life before his sudden death last year.

I think he died of an aneurism.

but that doesn't matter either.

I just know that the civic pride I feel for my old hood is built around the two bands he was in that I'd see on the regular and along with no redeeming social value, they paid tribute to the man on Saturday night.

a bastard never felt so honored to hand over his cover charge knowing that it was going to something better than a case of pbr's for the trash bar's inventory.

you see

his old band mates from Norman bates and he shower heads and the six and violence set up a scholarship in his name so that some young kid who wanted to make some music could do so one day.

and there was a show.

it always astounds me how queens village will always come correct and show Brooklyn how to throw a punk rock show.

that's not just some bluster I'm throwing out there to make you feel bad Brooklyn, it's a known quantity. you don't have to cry about it.

we know you ain't got it in ya.

—the bastard

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