The best CMJ shows are the unofficial ones in the daytime at tiny venues. It’s actually fun finding the bathroom in the basement, the stage on the second floor, and with the ground and mezzanine it makes a total of four floors begging to be explored. The bands usually float around too for a short, friendly chat. Case in point, Brooklyn Vegan threw another show at Piano’s (old legitimate Piano sign still decorates facade) and the line-up was difficult to pass up: The Muslims, Japanese Motors, Pretty and Nice, Friendly Fires, Crystal Antlers, etc.
I was able to squeeze in an interview with The Muslims, recent L.A. transplants from San Diego, who I had seen at the Echo unexpectedly in the summer. Their sound is garage rock-ish, reminiscent of several key rock acts of past decades, but refreshing and new. We tried hard to make my tiny travel recorder work among weekday street noise, and hopefully the quality is good enough for me to post when I return. The band has been super busy at CMJ, but the too-short interview is hopefully the precursor to a real, grueling, hot-seat style interview in the studio.
For playing so early in the day, Boston boy band Pretty and Nice really got me in the dancey mood. They have extraordinary energy, joking about their malfunctioning equipment, soliciting a snare drum from the crowd, and playing really edgy punky pop (not pop punk). They toed the line between rebellious and out of tune, but luckily stayed on the first side.
I had no interest in Eagle Seagull at all. Don’t get me wrong, the keyboards were great and so were the violin solos, but I really saw nothing special with their music or performance. Six musicians produced a really full sound with great coordination, but somehow the creativity was lost. The band utilized repetitive hooks and relied on the talent of the vocalist, who could not produce enough variety to perpetuate interest.
In the evening, I went to Webster Hall to finally catch one of Fujiya and Miyagi’s performances at CMJ. I didn’t know until I saw the massive line of teenz that Crystal Castles was actually the headliner. The earlier comment about enjoying small venues is directly related to the fact that this place was pretty darn big and packed (with annoying, illicitly drunk teens).
Lymbyc System opened the night, and man, I have been so lucky catching worthwhile openers. I doubt this is P.C., but the band is two unassuming-looking guys with Jew-fros playing shoegazey, experimental electronic. They reminded me a whole lot of Tortoise, only less Jazzy. While at times they sounded like a tiny music box lullaby, L.S. definitely brought the volume and the beat in, and the show peaked in several climaxes. The scrawnier guy played keyboards, and was obviously trained on piano, while the slightly less scrawny fella played both drums and bells. They’re on tour with Crystal Castles.
Whomadewho was hilarious, wacky, and totally lovable. I will scan my drawings of them later, but for now, just look at their myspace. The dude played guitar with a Heineken bottle. Need I say more?
Now, I have never seen a live video of Fujiya and Miyagi or, well, even a photo. I had no clue what to expect. The best part of the show was seeing how the sounds were made and who was making them. Surprises:
1) The guitarist is the main vocalist, but the keyboardist and bass player contribute as well. It’s pretty subtle on the album, and I couldn’t tell if the singer just layered his own vocals.
2) The guitarist is amazing. It’s subtle on the album, but F&M really let those solos shine.
3) The album sounds so cohesive that you could believe one person was recording everything, but really it’s just almost-perfect coordination.
Every day has been discovery, disappointment, and pure satisfaction. My ears are aching, even after wearing earplugs, and probably from the HUGE speakers at Webster. I left before Crystal Castles not just because I’ve seen them before, but because I was going to strangle the kids in the crowd. Whatever I.D. check lady gave these young babies liquor should get the boot. They yelled “Crystal Castles!!!” during Fujiya and Miyagi’s set and kept talking about how much they sucked. FAIL.
(Pictures and stuff soon. Sorry I write so much. Sorry this is unedited. More tomorrow!)
CMJ Day Two: The KSCR folk were able to wake a little earlier, a sign that we are adjusting to the time difference. I trekked on over to Cake Shop in the lower east side, which is a two-floored bar that also serves vegan pastries. Terrorbird’s showcase included Frontier Ruckus, Rainbow Arabia, Starfucker, Shugo Tokumaru, Faunts, Tobacco, Women, Takka Takka, Marine Stern, and School of Seven Bells.
Cake Shop is sort of a cruddy place to see bands. The visibility is horrible, such that if you are 8 rows back you can’t see anything. I pushed and slid my way through the crowd, only to catch a slight glimpse of someone in the band.
Shugo Tokumaru was a highlight of the show AND of the day for me. Their music would make an excellent soundtrack to just about any foreign film. The combination of Japanese vocals, French-pop-ish accordions and elements of folk/bluegrass was really something striking. Shugo Tokumaru’s vocals weren’t dominating, nor detracting from the music. I’m sure the parallel has been drawn with Beirut, although the two are quite different (no horns, for one). The pacing was really compelling: he and his band made beautiful, nostalgic music go fast!
Tobacco was exactly what I expected, and a little more. Musically, the set was not much different from the album. Perhaps aware that watching people do a little ditty on the keyboard ain’t the most exciting thing to watch, the band set up a corresponding video show with grandmas eating ice cream, a montage of women in pornos (without nudity), vintage exercise videos, and girls blowing bubbles. The two members were hilarious to watch, sporting black hoodies and serious faces (which broke later with a sound gaffe).
All in all, I was totally satisfied with the Terrorbird event (yeah, free Sparks) and took a little break before the Carpark/Paw Tracks showcase at Le Poisson Rouge (I think it means red fish). I am still recovering from the event, and deciphering my notes which indicate that I had very strong (negative) feelings about the bands. Rings was the worst thing I have ever put myself through. To say something broad, and keep in mind I left after four acts, the show was filled with experimental bands who couldn’t quite justify the use of cacophany and painful pitches OR were simple because they were unskilled.
Tickley Feather was a disappointment, and I was underwhelmed. Annie’s vocals were the highlight: delicate, ultra-feminine, and very bird-like. She channeled a very eerie and whimsical mood, and it was hard to imagine those sounds coming out of a person and not a keyboard. Overall, though, the product was pretty and not beautiful, and the show was unique but not special. Of course, it was enjoyable but very much lacking depth and variety; I could not imagine where else they could go with this.
So, I couldn’t wait for Beach House, but I’m sure I’ll see them around. Pictures and interviews soon, when I’m not blogging from an Internet Cafe.
Okay so this is a year old but as I write this I am laughing hysterically at something I just discovered last night. So last year, underground rapper Aesop Rock had his own cable access show on mtv.com called “I’m Trying to Help,” in which he and some friends (producer Blockhead & rapper Rob Sonic) hosted a talk show featuring Irish dancing, a monkey trainer, live performances, and advice on love.
One could compare these episodes to The Tim & Eric Awesome Show except these guys seem like they’re serious about what they’re doing, which makes it all the more hilarious. The awkwardness is not forced, it just exists due to circumstance and also to the fact that it’s a cable access show. Plus, the punch lines are fantastic (”I’m not a player but I do blog a lot”) and at one point this Russian guy calls them saying that he has information from the KGB that “salt and pepper, they may be here, and in effect and may want you to push it. Is this correct?” Amazing.
With that, I leave you with the whole show in hopes that you may find it as hilarious as I did.
I was surprised and touched by the number of men scattered amongst the still predominately female crowd at Ground Zero, silenced and awed as they stared up at the stage where the lovely speaker gestured at the screen as cheery, colorful slides sped by. Dressed chic in all black, with black lustrous fur and incomparable thick, black rubber skin. She was a Guerilla Girl, appearing at USC in her full badass regalia of head to toe black and the iconic rubber gorilla mask. As she turned her head to address the audience, we could see flashes of glittering red from behind the cut out eyeholes; either wicked glasses frames, or the flames of her ardor for activism burning in her eyes. Whichever, just seeing one of the founding Guerilla Girls on the stage was one of the coolest things I’ve gotten to do at USC, or, y’know, ever.
The Guerrilla Girls are a band of female activists who work through art and anonymity to protest the under representation of women and/or minorities in the art world, Hollywood and politics. Through posters, billboards and biting wit they’ve been working since 1985 to redress wrongs and be “the conscience of the art world.” The anonymity is key; all members assume the name of dead female artists, and never appear without their masks. When asked how they settled on this particular persona, she answered: “We decided to be anonymous from the beginning… you couldn’t hate what we were doing because you hated us. Then we realized we needed an identity. One of our early members was a terrible speller, and during one of our meetings she was doodling GO-rilla girls the animal as opposed to GUE-rilla girls the freedom fighters… it confounds expectations and pushes people’s buttons.”
She entered the room after the lights were turned off and the bar closed the curtain to business, and broke the ice by handing out bananas on the way to the stage. The presentation then started with a PowerPoint talk covering the history of the Guerilla Girls activism, a sort of lite intro into what they were all about. It covered them from the beginning, when they were a small band of outsiders and renegades in New York, going out late at night to plaster the city with posters and stickers to the present, with their posters hanging in the TATE permanent collection, and shows at contemporary galleries around the world from Shanghai back to New York again.
Not that the recent somewhat ironic embrace from the art world has dulled their acerbic commentary any. At the recent opening of the Eli Broad gallery at LACMA, the Guerilla Girls protested the under-representation of women artists and artists of color at a tax supported museum, whose mission is purportedly to “educate a culturally diverse population.” When the curator of the Broad collection claimed that Cindy Sherman has forty-nine pieces on display, the Guerrilla Girls responded with another letter, pointing out that there were only four female artists out of thirty, and one black artist out of thirty. These numbers don’t coordinate with the number of women artists, and of artists in minority groups just in the Los Angeles area. It runs into the problem of museums, as elucidated in the Guerilla Girls activity book, as “places where rich people put their stuff.”
Not that they are limited to the art world; they have pointed out similar failings in the Hollywood system, and especially recently in the problems of government. My favorite is the “estrogen bomb” a poster and billboard campaign to bomb the various houses of government with estrogen pills to chill them out. They approach everything with a sense of humor; “communication is really important to us… if you don’t have a sense of humor we cannot speak to you.”
It was in that swinging sense of humor that she ended the presentation by getting a guy into skirt. There’s a cool story behind it, of course: the New York Times published an article and accompanying photo entitled “Arnold Glimcher and his Art World All Stars;” all of which were white men. The Guerrilla Girls did a responding poster entitle Hormone Imbalance Melanin Deficiency, catching the attention of Village Voice art critic Betsy Hass. Hass called Glimcher to ask him about his collection, and the skit was a re-enactment of the transcript of that telephone conversation. The guy from the audience was called up to play Hass; the Guerrilla Girl took on the role of Glimcher. It was both funny and disturbing, especially Glimcher’s lines—“we only represent artists who fit into our program,” and the suggestion that they continue the conversation “maybe over lunch.”
For the Guerilla Girls, it’s not a matter of men versus women, but of enlightened human rights and equality for all, and for not settling for tokenism. Their verve and jocularity were refreshing and inspiring, especially in the recent political and social climate, which considers the battle for equal rights basically won, and demonizes feminism. And their attraction isn’t an isolated phenomenon. They apparently receive tons of mail, especially in response to one of their earlier posters “Advantages of Being a Woman Artist” from female artists, most of which tend to be musicians, saying that this is the story of their lives.
By the end of the talk, the general excitement was such that the news that the Guerilla Girls weren’t looking for any new members, that in fact they preferred to stay small, and so didn’t solicit members in any way cast a tangible pall of disappointment over much of the room. She advised us to “find your own crazy way to be an activist… Speak out against what you think is wrong. The art world is a very f*cked up place.” She ended with this call for more activism, with undertones of addressing the type who make up the USC community especially–young people with all the advantages of education. The most important thing is to be active; after all “you wouldn’t be paying attention to a woman wandering around in a gorilla mask if it wasn’t attached to a body of work.”
As learned by last night, the key to CMJ is to commit to one venue for the evening. I trekked to the Music Hall of Williamsburg, an amazing 3-floor venue for the Brooklyn Vegan showcase. Somehow, I stood throughout 5 acts, albeit my legs were shaking, my feet were aching, and I was totally dehydrated.
The Sammies were unfortunately an unpleasant start to the night. The dorky four piece from Charlotte were the typical pop-punk outfit with lead, rhythm, bass, and drums. Charming as they were, the music was utterly forgettable–predictable and repetitive–but well-rehearsed. Their best songs were near the end with some obvious southern rock ‘n roll influence, but overall, I liked the karaoke band at Arlene’s better (see: Jeff’s blog).
Shearwater was a super awesome, older fivesome playing dreamy, somber, country-inspired rock. The highlight was Thor, their drummer/clarinet player who had a sleeveless blouse, bangs, and one pigtail braid. On stage sat two keyboards, a tambourine, banjo, trumpet, three bass guitars (two electric, one standup [with and without the bow]), acoustic and electric guitar, and the aforementioned clarinet and drums. They were a pleasant surprise.
Ponytail totally took me back to L.A. ‘cos they remind me of so many Smell bands. Four kids playing the funnest noise pop/tropical-y punk is fronted by this little androgenous yelling kid who had some sort of ADD. The energy on stage just permeated through the crowd, and the night really began to take off. I loved seeing two Telecasters battling. Ponytail plays well-coordinated, well-practiced pop.
Restless for Jens Lekman, I thought I would not survive Passion Pit, but I actually was pretty absorbed in their set. Five of the cutest boys from Cambridge, MA played (suprisingly not annoying) keyboard/synth dominated electronic pop. The lead singer looked like a skinnier, hip Booger from Revenge of the Nerds and had a voice like a (less annoying) version of the Mars Volta dude. Three keyboards alternating with bass and guitar made for dreamy but energetic, fun dance music.
I have to admit, when the moment finally came, and Jens Lekman appeared like a god descending from the sky, in a pink parrot sweater, I was disappointed. I suppose I expected more singing from the “singing DJ” gig, but the set was still tons of fun. The people around me had been standing up for more than four hours at this point, but managed to dance their feet until they were numbed.
Jens was set-up on the far back corner of the stage. His pale complexion was reflecting 100% of the spotlights, so that he glowed orange, pink, and green while mouthing Mariah Carey’s Fantasy and doing his characteristic old man clapping. The point was hammered home that Jens likes American female pop… a lot.
All in all, Brooklyn Vegan put on an excellent showcase and I may go to their other events this week. Tonight, I must choose between Tobacco and Fujiya and Miyagi at the Mercury Lounge, or the Carpark/Paw Tracks showcase (Beach House, Tickley Feather) at Le Poisson Rouge. I will blog again tomorrow, probably from this $2/20 minutes computer. Missin’ you, L.A.
The first in a series of articles from the KSCR contingent at the CMJ Music Marathon in New York City.
We all have a pretty strong idea of who we are as social creatures — how outgoing we are, which lines we’ll cross — but there’s an interesting mix of energy, encouragement, and ample liquor that can help us discover how inaccurate our self-images can be, how different a person can be hiding inside. That was certainly the case for the crowd at Arlene’s Grocery last night.
In the Lower East Side grocery store turned rock venue, Monday night is karaoke night, but calling what happens at Arlene’s karaoke is kind of like calling Times Square an intersection.
Arlene’s offering differs from the familiar Koreatown karaoke experience in two ways:
You’ve got an audience — no, a crowd. Not a bunch of Japanese businessmen trying to drink away the day either; these are the kind of diehard rockers who always seem to pose a few articles of clothing during an extra-wicked solo. And they’re all cheering for you.
Forget TVs and tinny PAs; you’re accompanied by a full live band that’ll play you through any song in “the Bible,” a 4-inch binder filled with lyric printouts, from memory.
Giving amateurs the chance to song real rock classics in a real stage at a real rock club with a real audience is the vocal equivelant of Guitar Hero: you get caught up in the simulation. Otherwise shy patrons vanish into themselves and become Nikki Sixx or Blondie or Johnny Rotten.
Case in point: Julie from Belgium. Small, stylish, thick European accent, first visit to Arlene’s, first time on stage. Say goodbye to Julie and hello to Bono, circa 1992.
Some regulars did pitch-perfect versions of Rage Against The Machine or The Clash without so much as a glance at the lyrics book, but it was the performers like Julie, the live-band karaoke virgins caught up in the electricity of the moment, that really set the room on fire.
And we, the audience, eat that shit up. From the second you grip the mic you are our personal Jesus. When you say, “Rock,” we say, “How hard?”
It’s the kind of magic that stays with you long enough to make the late-night trip back uptown on the Hydra-headed New York subway system pass by like a dream.
Check out CMJ Music Marathon here. Got a band you want us to catch? Restaurant that can’t be missed? Leave us a comment!
It’s the happiest time of year! A time of generosity, family, and playboy bunny costumes. Every year I look forward gleefully to the Halloween season, with its fantastic television programming and free Milky Way bars, but I have to admit my last Halloween was a bust. So I started researching early this year, to make sure that the campy fun doesn’t end until November.
Here’s something cool to do before the parties around campus get into swing—and you don’t have to pay a cover charge.From six to eleven on Halloween night, Santa Monica Boulevard will become a party ground for children at heart to troop around in costume. Every year West Hollywood hosts the Halloween Carnaval, which will culminate in an outdoor costume ball of expected raunchiness and glitter. Thousands are expected to roll out, so if you’re going, carpool or take the bus.
For the bus from USC, just take Metro 38 heading west from Jefferson and Royal to Fairfax and Apple, and catch the 105 to West Hollywood.
And if you’re feeling up to going out the day after, celebrate the Day of the Dead on Olvera St., located conveniently next to all the other historic neighborhoods (read: Chinatown and Little Tokyo.) Decked out with handicraft skulls on any day, it becomes a Tim Burton-esque paradise every November 1st. It’s fun, and again free, and there’s good food all round.
