Sheepishly, obligingly, Azazel Jacobs trespasses into the apartment where he used to live. On Avenue A and 10th Street, above where the now-defunct Brownies used to showcase indie bands back when Jacobs was a postpunk post-grad, he pushes open an unlocked door and bounds up the steamy, unrenovated stairwell. He talks briefly of life here in the ’90s, but is not feeling very nostalgic—just as quickly as he entered the building, he’s back out and around the corner,... More >>>