Icepack

Amorosi on the news, nightlife, gossip and bitchiness beats.

by A.D. Amorosi

W ith two unwanted casinos affecting this city's two most blue/black-collar working-class neighborhoods, it kinda feels like an already-miserable 2006 will sail out on an ugly end — as if the gods, the monsters, the Rendells and the Streets (I dunno what to think about Frank DiCicco, I honestly don't) were allowed one final fuck-you giggle before reaming the rim of their Christmas goose carcass and our citizenry in ze process. But suddenly the winds of Vichy prevailed (sorry, a Rains reference, I get all cloudy 'n' Claude during this season) and Sunday smokers could puff on Luckys till their lungs clogged. The Nexus Gallery folk leaving their Old City nook were spied moving boxes to Fishtown's Crane Arts Building. I heard Dr. Dog at Johnny Brenda's before I got my shopping done. And the day that muhfuckin' Allen Iverson got traded to the Denver Nuggets between 63 and 90 cm of snow (that's right — centimeters; we're international) hit Colo-raa-do with Biblical force. Now, that's my God talking to you, people: fire and ice made wet and fluffy. (But bad fluffy ... baaad fluffy). And I'm betting, like me, that My. God. Did. Not. Go. For. AI. No. How. And suddenly everything seemed right with how 2006 would end. I could NYE nestle with my missus and my buds at Monkey Bar. I could sweat to Making Time with Man Man at Transit. I could get all stylee at Nineteen at Le Bellevue. I may have hated 2006. But there's something about its ancient 'n' justified finale that tells me 2007 is going to be awww-reet.

► We were surprised by the Courier-Post 's Dec. 20 shock 'n' awe 'n' gripe over Joanna Pang's live music Westmont jawn. If they read my exclusive Icepack re-po two years and two weeks before theirs, they'da known Pang was making big rawk plans and needed big rawk parking. Don't fuck with Ned Gaudette, Haddon Ave. Talking about venues (Pang, whose Troc once hosted House of Blues, might laugh at this), we've heard from several employees of the LiveNation-bought House of Blues organization that they've laid off more than 79 employees, with nice severance packages. Awful that, right before holiday. But the rumors come all weird in that we hear that not only might HoB in Atlantic City give up its casino space at the Showboat sooner than later, but that the new 15th and Chestnut HoB at David Grasso's Packard Building we told you about like in 1997 — the one whose deal finally got its "i"s dotted in 2006? That too may now not happen. This could just be ex-employees bitching (they're all over the Velvet Rope). Or maybe not. Stay tuned.

► Along with readying his own doggone albums with Bitter Bitter Weeks and The Novenas, producer Brian McTear's had some work to keep him busy. "This fall's been insane," says McTear. "Early this afternoon we finished up a few B-sides with Spinto Band. Last week we finished an excellent record with Milton and the Devils Party. We're putting finishing touches on a seriously amazing record for B.C. Camplight, as well as a great record of songs by Hoots and Hellmouth." His head is spinning. And it'll only continue through January, when McTear starts recording those blunter, harder new songs that Nick and Lynn from Bebek have been promising.

► Divine Neiman Marcus Short Hills public relations manager Maria Cucciniello exits her post on Jan. 5 to do freelance PR. Crushing. Who'll get me my Natura Bisse? My pores miss her already.

► WHOWHATWHERE: After parading Gay Street for MTV's Bam's Unholy Union, CKY — Jackass Bam Margera's bro's band — guitarist Chad Ginsburg saved this for the stage of TLA. After ogling Bam-fiancee Melissa "Missy" Rothstein's upcoming Playboy spread, Ginsburg yelled: "Guys across the country are gonna be whacking off to you. I already did." Belch. Geraldine Hughes, the actress Sly Stallone fucked over Philly Rocky original Jodi Letizia for (for the "Marie" role), crashed the Walnut Room/Alfa staff Christmas party. After Balboa, crashing is gonna be the only way she's going to any party. Talking about parties: Throw Neil Stein one. Rouge's restaurateur comes home Jan. 13 — nearly 10 months after hitting Schuylkill's fed-pen for tax evasion. Bet he strolls the Square first thing.

► D'ja notice? Philly-to-New Orleans sprouted wings, moving from its first home at World Cafe Live (Still there. They're adding a monthly Toulouse St. Tuesdays) to last Thursdays at Ortlieb's Jazzhaus to Tin Angel where they picked up traveling-to-Nola helpers Devin Greenwood and John Francis. Those troubadours join Melody Gardot Jan. 11 as the next batch of volunteers. Speaking of Nola, that's where King Britt's heading. After his Orleans classic Sister Gertrude Morgan, King's producing "Buried by the Storm" with Preservation Hall Jazz Band. Then Britt's got a Deep and Sexy compilation for Francois K's Wave label with singer Lisa Shaw (check "Love for You"); collaborations with a bunch-a singers he met on MySpace (man, is he trusting!), Digital Angels; his last Sylk130 record; and a gig producing the shock-rocking Shinbite with Chuck Treece of da Goats.

► Talking 'bout Goats, Blue Maxx Goat's dirty Black Landlord opens for Electric Six (should be the other way around) at Khyber Dec. 29. Request "Coffee and Smokes." Insist.

► Anyone who loves Tony Sparacino like I do — the snug shirts and pointy shoes he wears and sells, those goofy clothing store commercials, that not-too-smug way he looks at you when something you're buying ain't right — say a prayer. (No phone calls.) Tony's got a spot of sepsis. But he's strong and will be back criticizing your sartorial skills shortly.

(a_amorosi@citypaper.net)