- 10 Mar 03
Everybody’s talkin’ about Jesse Malin, a man who isn’t shy about powdering his nose – literally! – before a gig.
Jesse Malin is so New York that even on a wet night in Dublin he manages to locate maybe the only taxi driver in the city who’s playing Lou Reed’s Rock ’N’ Roll Animal on the deck. He’s so New York he does not betray one iota of self-consciousness as he produces a compact and powders his nose before entering Whelan’s on Wexford Street. He’s so New York he was once directed by Scorsese (okay it was only a bit part in Bringing Out The Dead, one of the director’s worst-rated movies, but that’s still better than a day in the bog).
He’s also very rock ‘n’ roll, so much so that he doesn’t have any money in his pockets and I end up paying the cab driver and the tour manager ends up paying me. In the dressing room he has a friend read him the Blender write-up of his debut album The Fine Art Of Self Destruction down the phone, getting agitated because the reviewer spent the first paragraph casting aspersions on his transformation from mascara-eyed singer with glam-punk NY outfit D-Generation to check-shirted troubadour drinking buddy of Ryan Adams.
Malin protests that he’s never worn a check shirt in his life. Or maybe it was a cowboy hat, I forget. Anyway, his point was that it’s an urban slice-of-life record, not some Johnny come lately alt-country effort (despite being produced by Adams, but don’t let that put you off).