Monday, August 17, 2009

And the last one (at the moment)

Vincent Gallo: The King of Conceptual Confidence*
posted by philip sumner on August 17th, 2009
*another perspective on two shows with Vincent Gallo and Sean Lennon

I’ve been a fan of Vincent Gallo’s since a screening of The Brown Bunny at the Nuart Theatre. This was soon after the Cannes debacle and the curse, the notorious billboard, etc.

At the Nuart I found his film to be a carefully crafted, beautiful piece of work. The elements; the van, the motorcycle, the wardrobe; seemed thoughtfully and lovingly considered, and the care put into these things glowed from the screen. To those within the audience who were receptive, it was an aesthetic philosophy. I certainly will never think of Gordon Lightfoot the same way… or Jackson C. Frank. Come on. I was floored by this film.

What is seldom, if ever, mentioned when The Brown Bunny is discussed is the tension that spreads through the audience as the climactic scene nears. I had never felt anything like it in a movie-going experience. The air seemed thick. And this, the finale to something that moments ago felt on its own so entirely different and new.

After the film, the Q&A began. Gallo’s answers were thoughtful and delivered in a fierce, intelligent manner. I witnessed something very special. Something modern, well planned and real. Something that pushed the language of film and aesthetics into the future– and right here in my lifetime. I didn’t have to look back for Godard or Dylan. (I’d term Gallo the “anti-Dylan,” as Dylan relies on mystery and avoidance in interviews.) I didn’t have to wonder what any of those revolutionary times were like– those moments you read about. This was mine, it was right here and, thankfully, far more subtle.

Vincent Gallo and Sean Lennon at the Red Devil Lounge, San Francisco
So here now, five years later I find myself catching a flight up to San Francisco– literally hours before the show– to see Gallo perform at the Red Devil Lounge with Sean Lennon. I had read about RRIICCEE and felt I had a good idea of what I was in for: it was to be an example of spontaneous composition. This concept though turned out to be much more complex and its reception certainly differed from my expectations.

Sean Lennon played first with his band, or rather, with his girlfriend, Charlotte. Together, they compose The Ghost of a Saber Toothed Tiger (The GOASTT). Their set was fairly traditional. I found Lennon’s voice and presence soothing and was impressed by his kindness, self deprecating humor and skilled guitar work. Charlotte’s vocals were wonderful as well. It seemed clear her personality was well balanced by Lennon’s, and they were very pretty together. They finished their set, Lennon’s guitar blaring and cutting through the room louder than all the other sounds of the night.

Then came Gallo, and here is what literally happened: He, Lennon and Rudy (whose name was mentioned once by Lennon) walked on. Gallo sat in the corner, his back to the audience, and played alternately guitar, bass and a melodica. Rudy played a synth and sometimes guitar, Lennon played drums and guitar.

They played melody lines and simple progressions that melded into each others’. At times Gallo created different levels and tones of feedback. There seemed to be a moment fairly early on in which the three came together and the very unstructured sound, sonically nearly crescendoed. It did not. At another point Gallo played a touching line on the melodica. Again, as the trio moved toward unison, the momentum dissipated and the moment ended. Gallo sang a short, delicate, improvised song, and they walked off stage. Throughout the show, the din of the crowd had grown, and with their departure, the crowd’s confusion continued.

Later, Lennon played a set with Bob Weir, and the crowd hooted and hollered to traditional tunes like “Oh, Boy!” and “Pretty Peggy-O.” Gallo stood off to the side as a line of girls 15-to-20 deep waited to meet him.

Vincent Gallo and Sean Lennon at Anthology, San Diego
Anthology was quite a different venue, an upscale dinner and Jazz club. This time Gallo took the stage first. He was joined by Rudy and two other performers. His only comment to the audience was to the effect of “We’ll play first, The Ghost of a Saber Toothed Tiger will play next.” They started with two players on drum sets at opposing ends of the stage, Gallo on guitar, and the other performer (a young girl in a red dress with a flower in her hair) sat on the floor with a keyboard. Gallo played facing away from the crowd on the far corner of the stage.

The band was projected onto a large screen above; the image looked as though there was no band playing. At times Gallo glanced upward at the image and seemed to remove himself farther toward the outskirts of the frame. Again, there was a buildup somewhat reminiscent of the pre-show tuning of an orchestra, and the group played into what nearly became a song. This time, due to the superior sound of the club and the extra players, the sound was large, and full and spread out– built of the intertwining melodies, loops and beats. In all, this, the first movement of the night was subjectively the most impressive, although it seemed the audience had not yet realized the show had begun. As soon as it seemed the song was found, one that could satisfactorily be improvised and embellished upon, it dissipated.

The show went on similarly. Gallo played melodica and bass. He sang more than at the Red Devil, and the quality of his voice was apparent here on the better system, his notes floating among the other instruments. One vocalization was similar lyrically, though not structurally, to another he sang at Red Devil. The final vocal was lyrically compelling, though I won’t document the lyrics here. They left the stage with a quiet “thank you” to the audience, who had chattered throughout the performance.

Lennon and Charlotte played their set next, and again it was traditional singer-songwriter, and very well done. Again Lennon’s guitar work and, more notably, his progressions were very interesting. I look forward to reading through The GOASTT’s lyrics, as they were hard to catch at times.

Much conjecture ensued through the nights following each show, in the cold parking lot of the Travelodge in San Francisco, and, ironically, over a cup of Ghirardelli’s chocolate in San Diego. Why was there so little contact with the audience? Why was his back turned? Why was the audience allowed to disengage itself? My friend Leona thought perhaps we were over-thinking things. I did not.

Gallo is, after all, the man responsible for arguably the most controversial and best film of the 90’s, and easily the most controversial and most progressive of the new century. This is the man who just finished working with Coppola, who lived briefly with Burroughs, played with Basquiat and who collects hi-fi gear 99.99 percent of the population can not even dream exists. EMT turntables?? The man whose 300-square-foot apartment was worthy of a magazine spread. Yes, the same man who gained the friendship and respect of Mr. Discipline, Johnny Ramone. Whether or not Gallo had the charisma to charm a crowd was not in question. In fact, a few words of explanation would have done the trick. Whether or not his actions were calculated was not in question.

After the first show, late into the night, I declared Gallo’s performance “perfect” to Leona. I did not fully understand why yet, but I knew that in its own way, it was. We had both yearned for the audience to be controlled and impressed– or at least for them to have been more receptive. That had not happened. I was beginning to understand that that was not an objective, though. And I was beginning to understand the magnitude of Gallo’s conceptual confidence, his willingness to commit to his conceptual vision.

Gallo has said: “I’ve been booed before, my parents booed me. No booing is going to hurt me.” And over the years he has made it known that he is not afraid to attack public figures with whom he disagrees or who have meant to harm him in any way– Kusturica, Harmony Korine, Tarantino, Christina Ricci, Roger Ebert and Steve Albini, to name a few.

This drums up publicity, but as well, lends an element of protection and personal preservation. You would be hard-pressed to find more vicious public attacks than those expressed by Gallo. In turn, you would be hard-pressed to find someone else who so determinedly injects their own personal, singular vision into the public spectrum. Vincent Gallo, the man with “the vengeance of a thousand men,” whose explanation of the public’s expressed opinion toward himself is most closely mirrored by that of Charles Manson.

I thought about my last moments in the Red Devil Lounge. Leaving, I’d passed Gallo and the line-up of girls and glimpsed his interactions. In them there was a sense of delicate joy and love. But it was more than that. It was as if a girded wall had been built and above it flew something gentle and light, understanding itself to be free in its recognition of its own safety. (Even that is not quite right, and I’ve been trying to express this feeling for four days.)

After the second show, falling asleep in my bed after a long drive home, I tried to figure out the riddle of these performances. I envisioned myself walking onto the stage, not knowing what I’d play or sing. I realized that the thought of addressing the audience did not sit well in this imagining. What would I say? Would I explain my intentions? Would I say: “We are going to approach these instruments innocently and play them as if none of us has any experience? We are going to try and find new voicings and if it seems like we slip into something redundant we’ll stop and laugh with you? We’ll chat about it?”

I envisioned facing the audience, but it didn’t make any sense. How would I make the presentation when it does not yet exist? I imagined quieting or controlling the audience, and it seemed wildly narcissistic. I thought of how our waitress had all but apologized for his act and how the bathroom attendant had put him down. I thought of the drunk lady outside the club shouting, “The one night I come out and this is what I get?” And then I fell asleep soundly, but before I did, I remembered Gallo saying to Howard Stern (of all people), “One would have to be slightly unpopular to have a profound vision”

And one more...

Vincent Gallo and Sean Lennon: Two Shows*
posted by Leona Laurie on August 15th, 2009

*note: this one is all text, baby. gallo & lennon say “no” to video/audio.

vincent gallo & sean lennon. photo by user marquis_de_sad

This week I went to two shows by Vincent Gallo and Sean Lennon, each of which also featured Lennon’s band with Charlotte Kemp Muhl, The Ghost of a Saber Toothed Tiger (The GOASTT). The first involved a whirlwind trip to San Francisco to catch the acts at the Red Devil Lounge. The second was a 180-mile round-trip drive to San Diego to see them at Anthology. Both shows were sold out.

I didn’t know what to expect at all from the first show. My companions for the evening were Phil, an ardent admirer of Gallo’s, and Marcia, always game for an adventure. We stood in line outside the venue, wondering what the common denominator(s) in the accumulating crowd were and whom they’d come to see. Was it Sean Lennon’s crowd? Was it Vincent Gallo’s? We couldn’t tell. They skewed a great deal older than we’d expected, although there were enough youthful people in vintage clothing to convince us we were in the right place.

It had been years since I’d been to the Red Devil, and I’d forgotten how bad the sight lines are. I’ve enjoyed every show I’ve seen there so much that my lingering impression is positive, but we settled on the balcony for what turned out to be an evening of straining to see the musicians through chandeliers. Phil went down on the floor at one point to see if it was better, but it was so crowded and hot down there that he returned to the relative comfort of leaning against a cast-iron balustrade and craning to see past lighting fixtures.

The GOASTT went on first, and I never caught a clear look at Charlotte’s face through their entire set. Sean Lennon apologized for their unprofessionalism and explained that this was only their third show together. They implied that they were a couple (Wikipedia says boyfriend/girlfriend, although it looked like Charlotte’s ring finger was sparkling last night), and since I couldn’t see Charlotte, I watched Lennon for visual cues.

Perhaps it’s gauche of me to say, but we were all struck by how much Lennon looks and sounds like his father. I guess it makes sense, and that it’s something we could have expected, but it was still remarkable. Charlotte’s voice sounded a little limited in range, but well-suited to the kind of music they were playing, and she seemed solid on both piano and electric bass. Their music didn’t break any new ground in the world of mellow boy/girl duets, but Lennon is a talented guitar player, and their song India really gave him a place to show off.

They finished their set, and after a short break, Vincent Gallo took the stage with Lennon and someone named Rudy. I learned Rudy’s name from Lennon, who said a few things to the audience during the set. If he hadn’t, no-one would have. They did not introduce themselves. They did not banter with the audience. Gallo spent most of the set sitting in a corner of the stage with his back to the audience, hiding in his hair and focusing on what he was doing. The music was experimental/noise. They only played for between 20-30 minutes, and when they left the stage without comment or explanation, the audience murmured in confusion and discontent. They didn’t sound polished. I got the distinct feeling that they weren’t playing for us– we were just there.

I watched the sound tech in his crow’s nest across the way, and he made no move to bring up the lights or dismiss the audience. He was exchanging hand signals and messages with someone backstage, and eventually he picked up a mic and asked us all to hang in for a special treat. During the lull, though, about 1/3-1/2 of the crowd filtered out of the club.

After a long pause, Sean Lennon returned to the stage with Bob Weir of The Grateful Dead and RatDog. They played a long jam session, throughout which Weir was made suggestions to Lennon– and the fact of their friendship and appearance of a mentor/student relationship was fascinating. The crowd responded so well to Weir’s appearance that I suspected they’d known either that he was in the building or that he might be joining. Aside from a long piece that sounded eerily like the Cialis commercials, the set was fun to watch. Gallo emerged from backstage to stand in a corner and watch, and I watched him intermittently, wondering about the structure of the show and the thought behind it– because there did seem to be thought behind it.

Both venues had been instructed by the artists to forbid cell phones, cameras, and audio or video recordings. The audiences in both venues were cautioned several times that using a forbidden device would result in ejection from the show. There was an opportunity to demand silence from the crowds, but neither crowd was quiet. In fact, the seemingly deliberate disengagement of the band from the audience during the experimental set seemed to encourage the crowd to get gradually noisier and less respectful. I kept waiting for the reprimand or at least a request from the stage for silence, but nothing came. It must have been on purpose.

After the San Francisco show, Phil and I talked about what we’d seen for a couple of hours. I felt like my pleasure in the evening was based on having entered the venue without expectations, and he eventually declared the show “perfect.”

The next day, my plans for Friday night fell through, so I grabbed tickets to the San Diego show at Anthology. We hit the road at 3pm, arrived in San Diego at about 6:30, and settled into counter seats in the raised bar-area above the main dining floor.

The menu was so tempting that we went a little crazy, ordering four appetizers to share and then an entree and a fifth appetizer. Anthology feels like an upscale jazz supper club. There’s a loosely enforced dress code, mood lighting, cloth napkins… and to our surprise, a second show that means the audience is asked to leave at the end of the first show. We were out the door at about 9pm. In any case, the venue seemed like a mis-match for what we expected the show to be, and the crowd was as varied and curious as the San Francisco crowd.

When the announcer took the stage to introduce The GOASTT, Vincent Gallo emerged and explained into the mic that The GOASTT would actually be going on second, and they’d be going on now. With him was Rudy and a woman and a man he didn’t introduce. (Lennon later identified the man, who played the drums through Gallo’s set, as “Stephen.”) A man in the seats below us responded to Gallo’s announcement with, “Who are you?”

This set sounded richer and tighter than Wednesday night’s. It also lasted quite a bit longer, and included three pieces during which Gallo sang. He’d sung once in San Francisco, but I wasn’t really able to hear the quality of his performance over the din of the instruments and the crowd. In San Diego, though, I discovered that he has a beautiful voice. When they left the stage this time, he said a brief “thank you” to the audience (excluding the group below us who had walked out 1/2 way through), and Lennon and Charlotte emerged to help switch the equipment for their set.

The GOASTT’s set was tighter than Wednedsday’s, too, and this time I had both a clear view of the stage and the assistance of a large screen behind the artists that enlarged their images, so I was able to get a clear look at Charlotte. I guessed that she must have been a model, and the Internet has confirmed that. She had a self-conscious and “on” energy about her that I hadn’t picked up in San Francisco. I wasn’t sure what I thought of her overall until she picked up her bass. When she was playing that, her energy mellowed, and her focus seemed complete and joyful. She won me over. Lennon’s guitar playing on India was again the highlight of their set for me, and we were hoping for a little post-lineup treat again, but were disappointed when the venue politely asked all of us to leave.

During Gallo’s set, our waitress approached us at one point to ask if we needed anything else. Phil was so focused on the stage that he didn’t acknowledge her, and she responded to that by assuring us that if we ordered food right then, we wouldn’t miss anything, because this was not the main event. I corrected her, but she pushed a button for me with her assumption that we were not enjoying the show. An assumption I guessed was based on the conversations I’d witnessed her having with other patrons on her way to us.

After the show, Phil and I adjourned to the restrooms, where we had almost identical experiences of hearing other people’s negative reviews of the show we’d both been happily and sincerely engaged in. The washroom attendant in the ladies’ room couldn’t stress strongly enough how terrible it had been– the worst thing she’d ever seen there. Her comments, combined with our waitress’ comments and the general grumbling of both crowds left me wondering: What were you expecting, people?

When I go to a show by a mega-band on a major label during an arena tour to promote a new album, I have a reasonable expectation of what the show’s going to be, and if it seriously diverges from what I thought I was in for, I’m disappointed. When I attend something like this, though, a barely-announced show by two personalities with no promises of what it will be and no agenda in terms of promotion or merch sales, I feel like I’m walking into the unknown, and it’s my responsibility to show up ready for anything. Since that’s how I approached these shows, I thoroughly enjoyed them. They were an experience. They were interesting. There was something special about them. I felt buoyed by being there. I don’t know what the grumblers were expecting, but I wanted to shake them for interfering with my experience and making their discontent audible enough that the artists must be able to hear it.

In closing, I think I’d recommend that you check this dog-and-pony show out if it comes to your town– but only if you’re in the mood for surrender. Oh– and in answer to the question I posed the other day, I do think Vincent Gallo is kind of sexy.


More Reviews of the Show

Thanks to Leona Laurie and an Anonymoous poster more reviews of the show :-) First one here, second one in the next post:

Last Night: Vincent Gallo, Sean Lennon, Bob Weir at Red Devil Lounge
By Jennifer Maerz in Last NightThursday, Aug. 13 2009 @ 12:06PM
​Vincent Gallo, Sean Lennon, Bob Weir, & The Ghost of a Saber Toothed Tiger
Wednesday, Aug. 12, 2009
Red Devil Lounge

Better than: Getting what you expected, every time.

Going to a Vincent Gallo show is a bit like dropping money into one of those claw arcade games. You pay the fee and hope to grab a valuable jackpot, something worth the price of putting your trust into such a fickle, teasing instrument. You do this in part because when the claw grabs a tangible prize (a giant teddy bear! a performance where Gallo engages his fans and plays fleshed out songs!) it makes all the touch and go worth it. But the odds are too often on the hollow--or nonexistent--spoils.

Last night the actor/cultural provocateur/musician/sperm salesman sold out the Red Devil Lounge, bringing together a room full of people hoping to grab the Gallo prize. And what'd we get for paying into his prima donna playbook? A night of truly bizarre, unscripted, and yeah, frustrating entertainment. It was either a total bust or exactly the theater of the absurd fans appreciate from this slippery musician who, at the very least, keeps them in pursuit.

For my part, I enjoyed the show, in part because the whole event was so offbeat. But the tease wasn't for everyone-- one woman gave the entire bathroom line an earful about how she didn't pay $16 to "hear Vincent Gallo play one long song and leave." She obviously saw the claw as half empty.

The night opened on a normal enough note. Sean Lennon and his (latest beautiful waif-model-girlfriend) musical partner Charlotte Kemp performed together as The Ghost of a Saber Toothed Tiger. They were the warmest and most enthusiastic act on stage, Lennon playing guitar as Kemp played piano from somewhere behind a curtain. From there Kemp joined Lennon on stage and in harmony, their voices spinning tender ballads like cotton candy, all light and pink and sweet and melting away in the heat of the room. The pair don't have the dynamic punch of a She & Him, in part because The Ghost's music is so AM radio soft and the couple's falsettos blend into one another so completely (even their whistles became one). But under the red lighting of the lounge, there was something intimate and inviting about their set, even if it was more memorable as a whole then from any of its individual song parts. And Lennon's constant self-effacing banter broke down any diva impressions you could've had about John Lennon's kid.

That diva wall was erected for the second act, which comprised Gallo, Lennon, and a third musician trading off of drums, guitars, and synths for a half hour of half-baked, improvisational jams. Gallo sat on the floor for the most part, his back to the audience--or he'd hit the synths to rev up the prog vibe. He skipped his gorgeous, ghostly folk repertoire to instead expose us to an art-damaged band practice, the fragmented melodies like fever-dreams that only snapped awake with a final bout of feedback at the very end. I liked it in theory, although the concept was better executed when Gallo did his post-rock instrumentals with greater focus and different musicians at the Swedish American Hall a couple years back.

Whether you dug it or hated it, the Gallo portion of the evening was shorter than the line for the bathroom, and with a quick wave the headliner was off the stage after like a half hour. The crowd looked confused as to whether this was the end of the show, but an announcer told folks to stick around, as there was a "very special surprise" on next. This was the same announcer who'd also warned us, multiple times, that there was absolutely no cell phone use during the show, per Gallo's request: no texting, no chatting, and no taking photos.

So what was the grand finale? No Gallo.

Instead the show took another 180 and Lennon introduced a "local we wanted to bring on stage tonight," at which time Bob Weir appeared out of nowhere. From there, it became the Grateful Dead hour. The two men enthusiastically strummed their way through "Peggy-O" and "Big Boss Man," which both cleared out the room and made those remaining pack tight against the stage. It also made a couple Grateful Dead fans in the balcony hug each other and gush, "This is so fucking awesome! I'm so glad we came!" Lennon and Weir played well together, their presence and pairing working in part because it was so out of left field.

Whether the guest appearance was as improvised as Gallo's set, or as caculated as the actor's briefest of stints on stage, only the headliner knows for sure. In the end, I feel like I came away with the prize--playing an amusing game that's more of a challenge than your standard show, with a few real grabs at strange and haunting music along the way.

Critic's Notebook

Critical Bias: I wish Gallo and Lennon would've played last night like they did at Bimbo's a couple years back. At that show the two paired up on acoustic guitar for some quirky anti-folk ballads. Gallo seemed more at ease that night than at any gig I've seen him play since. (Perhaps it was all the ladies in the front taking photos.)

And Tetro, Francis Ford Coppola's movie starring Gallo, is one of my favorite films of '09.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Article on the Show

Keli - who I think is also the writer of the article - posted this link in reply to the announcement of the show. As I like it pretty much and don't want it to get lost somewhere in the replies, here it is again:

Vincent Gallo and Sean Lennon with The Ghost Of A Saber Toothed Tiger

Ambient art pop from John and Yoko's son and the notorious actor.


No pictures. No promotion. Make sure to put Vincent Gallo's name before Sean Lennon's.

That was the official word from the PR guy at Anthology, where the eccentric pair are playing at 7:30 p.m. Friday, Aug. 14.

And just what are the indie Republican (seriously Wikipedia?) and the son of a Beatle playing? A despairing kind of ambient art pop. It sits on a soft, dark cloud next to the late Elliott Smith, poring over photos of ex-girlfriends.

On Vincent Gallo, solipsism and hookup tunes

I bought Gallo's sedated lounge album "When" (Warp Records) back in 2001. I'd say listening to it alone in my studio was better than playing it during makeout sessions. But just barely.

Anyway, I emailed Gallo, asking for a photo. I added something about when I liked to play "When," and he asked for a picture of ME instead.

Gallo's an eccentric nearing 50, and all that living means his path's crossed with many New York nuts and luminaries. He once played in a band with Brooklyn artist Jean-Michel Basquiat.

Yet his music is not stuffed and overripe with experience (or something offensive, Gallo is L'enfant terrible in interviews, and upset the world over his oral sex scene with ex-girlfriend Chloe Sevigny in "The Brown Bunny").

Instead Gallo goes for musical minimalism ... a vintage keyboard, his voice just above a lover's whisper ... like Joao Gilberto, whose delicate "Besame Mucho" cover is also a good hookup backdrop.

On Sean Lennon, Xanax and celebrity hounds

Sean Lennon's melodies are well-suited to those quirky, sometimes intense intellectuals who dress in ironic kitten T-shirts, who are looking for an escape hatch back into their adolescence, who pass out Xanax pills at their house parties.

I actually like Lennon's piano progressions: They walk sleepily over slowed down rhythms. But his vocals are delivered a little timidly for my tastes. He tries to be heard, but comes off like a sensitive kid at an all boys' school being bullied into selling chocolate.

I wonder how many anti-anxiety drug users will be at this show? How many who just want a sneaky-poo because of Lennon's parentage (and Gallo's movies)? And can people with panic disorders be celebrity hounds, too?

Sean Lennon's last album "Friendly Fire" came out in 2006. "Into the Sun" got a better reception back in 1998.

On The Ghost of a Saber Toothed Tiger

The opening act, The Ghost of a Saber Toothed Tiger, stars Sean Lennon and a hottie he's kissing in the band's MySpace pics, Charlotte Kemp Muhl. Her voice is wistful, sparkling, something I could hear over a Paul Williams score, singing a duet with Kermit the Frog.

She adds something to the Lennon melodies. That something would be stronger vocals.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Vincent on Howard Stern (old)

As you all might or might not know, Vincent was on Howard Stern quite a while ago. Someone uploaded the audio version on youtube, so for those who haven't heard it, listen to it as long as it's there :-)

Part 1:

Monday, August 10, 2009

And how much did I miss Gawker?

As usual, they hate Vincent once again. Actually, to be honest, I am always looking forward to the shit they come up about him again.

Vincent Gallo, High on Life
By Hamilton Nolan, 3:09 PM on Mon Aug 10 2009, 139 views
Hot-tempered, wild-eyed, self-pimp Vincent Gallo will have you know that he does not do cocaine.

In a column, Gawker friend Max Silvestri relays a bit of a story involving Gallo:

My drinking partner knew an employee [at a bar called The Rabbithole], whom we'll call Diego, and after serving us some french fries (which are great, owing in large part to the fact that they were french fries), Diego somehow quickly segued into a story about how one time he was allegedly hanging out with a coked-up Johnny Knoxville and a coked-up Vincent Gallo (this story was clearly already taking the bullet train straight to Integritytown). Gallo tried to hit on Diego's girlfriend (model, obviously), so Diego shoved him.

Silvestri, you see, was using a sophisticated "sarcasm" technique to deride this "Diego's" story as untrustworthy, as is abundantly clear if you read the column. Now, the column has this note appended:

(Editor's note: After this column first ran, Vincent Gallo called The A.V. Club to make it known that he does not do cocaine and thus would not, in fact, have been "coked up.")

Fine, fine. Just stop acting so cokey.

Concert in San Diego with Sean Lennon

Anyone else thinking that he won't be coming to Europe for the RRIICCEE gigs he didn't do in May and said would happen in September?

SNEAK PEEK: Vincent Gallo and Sean Lennon
Anya Moberly, Tempo Editor

Published: Monday, August 10, 2009

Is it true? Sean Lennon, son of John Lennon, and respected independent filmmaker and artist Vincent Gallo making a stop to perform in San Diego?
True, indeed. Friday at Anthology will be an epic night of Gallo and Lennon with special opening act The Ghost Of A Saber Toothed Tiger. This intimate venue is usually host to revered jazz musicians and blues acts, but this night will have all those who clapped when they saw Gallo’s “Buffalo ‘66” and scratched their head when they saw the “Brown Bunny” in awe of Gallo and Lennon’s musical chemistry.
Tickets are a mere $16 so be sure to get them quick and mark this down as the night you see Lennon the artistic intellect and Gallo the filmmaker make their musical mark in San Diego.

Visit for more event details.

Taken from