the singing knives

Bay View neighborhood of Milwaukee, WI

August 2025

Leicaflex SL2

Bay View neighborhood of Milwaukee, WI

August 2025

Leicaflex SL2

Television - CBGB, New York City, June 30, 1976

A half-century ago this evening, Television were doing that thing they'd been doing for more than two years — playing CBGB! Since helping jumpstart the Bowery scene in '74, they'd delivered dozens upon dozens of sets at the tiny club, sometimes soaring into the heavens, occasionally crashing down to earth.

This better-than-average audience tape is almost 100% celestial, letting us listen in on a band on the cusp of greatness. Dizzying / dazzling versions of "Elevation," "Venus" and "Foxhole" show Verlaine, Lloyd, Ficca and Smith in pure go-for-broke mode, confident enough in these songs to bend them to various breaking points, tighter than a tight toy night. The closing, 12-minute "Marquee Moon" is unreal, Verlaine's imagination running riot on the fretboard during the long instrumental section, the rest of the players responding to every beautifully twisted note.

The crowd at CBs knows something is happening ... and they might even know what it is. There are multiple hollered song requests for songs that hadn't yet made it to wax — and even someone making up (?) a title. "Toxic Infatuation"? Well, it sounds like something Richard Hell might've written. The audience is clearly enjoying the privilege of being in the coolest place in the world, seeing the coolest band in the world. And we can enjoy a little bit of that, too, 50 years later. The tape is a sweet you-are-there document, with a waitress floating from one side of the stereo spectrum to the other, asking if we need anything. Maybe a Jack and Coke?

Oh and hey, anyone score anything good from Tom Verlaine's record collection?

Tell me any color— sea lavender, limonium, marsh-rosemary— I tell you l believe in any memory come from water.

A sky full of foam, a fire burning down the hatchery, that’s the madness of July. Give me the herb, the everlasting calyx.

Dry me a bouquet and quiet the wind. Let night put out even the boldest blues, the most outrageous purples and dissolute creams.