Rich kids on A.R.E. and the sober Miamians who hate them

Portions of this article have appeared on and in the New York Post’s Page Six

It’s a humid-as-hell Fourth of July and an edgy Brain McPeck is sizing me up like he’s two seconds and two feet away from flinging a punch at my face inside the downtown club I/O. Sitting beside him sipping a Red Stripe, relatively vexed, is bassist and longtime friend Matt McAuley. One question into the interview and I’m already wondering if these guys are for real.

“We’ll pull the fucking interview right now. Seriously, no more questions about it,” growls the junkie-framed Brain, front man for the utterly insignificant but train wreck chic NYC outfit A.R.E. Weapons.

Color-drained images of Sex Pistol Johnny Rotten pulling this bullshit on Kurt Loder years back mix with muffled fireworks competing in the light-polluted sky outside. Repressed Southern boy confidence aroused from hours of holiday libation and barbecuing diminishes this decidedly minor threat even further. Practically the same build, I can take this guy. So, with a little rephrasing I decide to inquire once more about the band’s thoughts on The Brown Bunny, the recent cinematic Cannes fiasco in which actress Chlo