Brooklyn Pizza Gossip

Last night, I had one of the great experiences of my life, and not only because it allowed to love Tufts University by hating Tufts University. Mike Doughty (which, if you are not familiar with his work by now, you, sir or madam, are simply not paying attention to me) graced Walnut Hill with his presence for the rather conspicuously titled "Jumbo Jam" held in Dewick-MacPhie Dining Hall.

That's right, one of the great poets and musicians of our generation, a man tortured by genius and drug abuse (though fastidiously living the clean life these days, and making better music for it) played in the very same place where I have been eating PB&J sandwiches to cure hangovers for the last five years. Concert Board, however, is some combination of Lo-Fi and Bush League. By the time Doughty, clad in what he described as a "clean" shirt, and old school DC kicks, and Andrew "Scrap" Livingston took the stage at 9:30 there were less than forty people in the room. This mostly due to the fact that Concert Board kept this show a closely guarded secret. Seriously, you wouldn't have known this show was even happening unless you happened to see the ONE advert they placed in the Tufts Daily. Their shortcomings were enunciated by a skeptical Doughty who took the stage and thanked us for the invite to "Jumbo Jam" informing us that since we brought the Jumbo, he would bring the Jam. Thank god he didn't phone it in.

The show opened with "Put It Down" one of Doughty's newest concoctions, a song which needed some tightening to be sure, but has a lot of promise. I can't wait to hear it on the new record. He and Scrap then launched into a grab bag of his greatest hits, reaching all the way back to Ruby Vroom with True Dreams of Wichita and later Janine, along with some of his solo greatness with selections like Thank You, Lord, For Sending Me The F Train and Madeline and Nine. The set was action packed and pleasing to the superfan like me, despite the fact that my demands for a rendition of "Firetruck" were not met.

But, it was after being asked where the rest of the band was that the show got real interesting. He made a joke that Scrap had eaten them. Now, this joke brought in a new wrinkle. Doughty had mentioned several time on his blog (which is linked on the blogroll) that he and his bandmates - including the aforementioned man of mystery, Mr. Livingston - enjoyed the pizza at Brooklyn institution DiFara's. In the course of my blog reading last week, I came upon an article at SliceNY saying that DiFara's had been shut down, apparently for health code violations. It later turned out those violations had to do with rat feces being found in the food prep area. Anyway, cut back to the show, James decides to shout to the stage, in reply to the Scrap eating the band joke that Scrap was hungry because he couldn't get a slice at DiFara's as it was closed. Doughty laughed, and said "No, I think it's open." At this point, since no one else in the room was really paying attention, Mike Doughty and I start having a conversation. It is reproduced below, in its entirety:

Me: "Oh, really? Did they reopen it?"

Doughty: "What? RE-open?"

Me: "Yeah, the Board of Health shut it down."

Doughty: (obviously shocked and horrified) "WHAT!?!?"

Me: "Yeah, two weeks ago."

(Insert a very uneasy look between Scrap and Doughty here)

Doughty: (realizing the audience is still in the room) "Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm sorry, I need to engage in some Brooklyn pizza gossip."

We then agreed we would talk more about it after the show.

So, when Doughty was done with his masterful set, punctuated by Looking at the World From The Bottom of the Well, James and I stuck around to give him more information about DiFara's. He was agog to learn. Scrap was mortified, saying to me "I eat there like every day when I'm in Brooklyn." And Doughty informed me that he would google the incident as soon as he got back to Brooklyn.

Anyway, that was my brush with fame. I shook both their hands and thanked them for a great set as they headed back to Brooklyn to celebrate Scrap's daughter, Larry, and her birthday. In a way, I feel like I know what it must have been like for Bernie Gilmore, my old College Bowl advisor, when, at Yale in the early '80s, informed a young woman on the quad that President Reagan had been shot. That young lady was Jodie Foster, the object of affection for John Hinckley, and the point behind his rampage.

In any case, it was a great show. Zox followed. They were really terrible. And Concert Board made me remember why I hate this university so very, very much.