*JAZ COLEMAN IN NYC SHOCKAH!*

So, because of a stupid softball injury I did unto my stupid self last week, I've had to make a few visits to my chiropractor on the other side of town. Her office is way up on the Upper West Side of Manhattan (whereas I am down on the lower, easterly side of Greenwich Village). It's not so bad, however, as her office is but a stone's throw away from NYCD, one of the finest-if-incongruously-located compact disc shops in the city. One of the fleeting specialty shops staffed by actually knowledgable people (ala Nicky Horby's most celebrated fiction) in the face of the murderous onslaughts of 200-copies-of-the-new-J.Lo-disc-megastores, NYCD has long been a favorite of mine even to just hang out in and chat trivia with the gents behind the counter anytime I'm in the neighborhood. Arriving uptown today with time to spare before having my ribcage wrenched back into some semblance of allignment, I popped into NYCD to see what was shakin'.

After a blithe perusal of the racks with no discernible treasures to be found, I strolled back up front and quizzed the dwarves behind the counter (for some reason, NYCD seems to hire either stumpy short people or tall, elfin watusi types...it's very odd) if they'd spotted any promo stuff or advance copies or *ANYTHING* from Killing Joke (the album is due out towards the end of this month). Dwarf Number One shook his head dissapointingly, adding insult to injury by saying "Is it going to be out on Cleopatra or something?" Dick. Dwarf Number Two, however, said: "One of them was in here about two weeks ago!" After I re-attached my eyebrows (being that they'd jumped off my head at this news), I pestered him for details. According to my diminutive disc clerk, a "guy with thick jet black
hair and bushy eyebrows, about your height (edit.note: 6'1") came in here piss fucking drunk. He rifled through the back racks then came back here, and was all loud at me. 'HOW COME YOU DON'T HAVE ANY FUCKING KILLING JOKE??' he yelled, spraying the entire counter with alcohol-flecked spittle. He was wearing all sortsa leather shit and an Indiana Jones hat." "That's our Jaz," I confirmed. For fear of any violent reciprocity from the great man, Dwarf Number Two vowed that when said album arrives, he shall display it prominently.

Now, why is it that when I'm out and about the town, I only run into
ex-members of the fucking Cars and Television and not the JOKE!!!!!!! There is no justice.

Anyway, thought I'd share that with y'all.

http://www.an-irrational-domain.net/images/jaz/9690.jpg