The main reason that Stylus took a publishing break on Friday of last week was the fact that I was in New York City for the CMJ conference. I have plenty of things to say about the fantastic shill operation that they have going on there- I got into as many shows as I was shut out of- but the musical highlight of the weekend was one of the few shows that I did get to see.

Dirt McGirt. After a long introduction by the Brooklyn Zoo crew and the able hyping duties of Buddah Monk, who apparently is a vegetarian nowadays (and thank God, considering his immense weight), Dirt took the stage and stood front and center for a majority of the time.

Russell stood immobile for most of the evening, each movement suffused with a subtle import. He stared straight ahead, letting the audience know that he was indeed deep in thought about the trials and tribulations that he has endured. At times he would stop- mid-flow- refusing to start or finish lines of popular songs that most of the crowd would shout for him anyway, in reference to the pain inflicted during his jail term. This was in the past, he silently let the crowd know. We can't go back there, fully, we can only look back and learn from the mistakes and pick out the good times to hold onto them tightly, fervently. It was a graceful performance.

It was a performance by a man so messed up on drugs that he could barely speak or move.