GUEST BLOGGER: My Cool Reggae Friend

Half of a phone conversation taking place one fateful Wednesday afternoon...

Dude, like what's goin on? 

U chillen? 

Me 2 man, always chillen.

Oh ur at work? Bummer, I'm just ripping some tubes, watching cartoons, staring at my Rasta colored Christmas lights, burning some Nag Champa so Mom doesn't get pissed.

"Just a colorful vase Mom!"

Yeah I can totes write 4 ur blog man, I don't need to put on pants right?

Sweet, lemme pack this Bart Simpson shaped steamroller and I'll hit these Internet folk with the most groovy, Irie of vibes.

Ok, I'll stop typing my responses as I say them.

HEY INTERNET DUDES

I'm the guest Blog Wizard today, so brace yourself for some serious vibrations. I had a dream one time I was born in Trench Town and had huge nappy dreads and said things like Wagwonn and riddim.

Then, my poser sister woke me up with our fat dog and I was exiled back to Babylon forever.

#Poser

#DolphinSwag

Ever since then, I have become a quagmire (not like Family Guy, although remember that one where Quagmire married Peter's maid and they saw talking dolphins and then he faked his own death by dinosaur and robot ninja? Man, that show is the best. Oh right, lemme get out of this parenthetical…) of
knowledge on the topic of Caribbean music. 

You all have that friend, the stereotypical stoner cliche who listens to mostly reggae and Sublime, owns at least 3 tapestries and whs embedded many a smokeable word into their lexicon. You know, the easily distracted friend who giggles at everything you say and eats all your Cheez-Its. Well I'm definitely not that bro guys, I'm like, pretty high functioning.  One time I even wrote a piece about Caribbean music for my friend's blog My Cat Took My Acid.

Dick move bro

So here is some significantly less rootsy island music from Zion to impress your highbrow stoner friends with. No Bob Marley (although Bob is like, super awesome) or cheesy caricature reggae, just some selections from PRINCE BRETT DA RIDDIM MASTER RUNNIN JAH SOUND SYSTEM FOR I AND I!!!!!!!

(oh shit, can we take that part out? I don't want people knowing my name, in case the government reads this and finds out I downloaded the Snoop Lion album and Jorge Cervante's DVD Collection on The Pirate Bay.)

My cat, Mr. Whiskerbunz

Mighty Chalkdust:::Ah Fraid Karl

Written as a response to the Sedition Act, the Jamaican government's attempt to quell the negative criticism they received from their people, Ah Fraid Karl is a politically charged song with a groovy beat. The name comes from former Jamaican Attorney General Karl Hudson-Phillips and his part in the Sedition Act, with the song effectively dismantling Karl's hopes of becoming Prime Minister [via sticking it to the man.] Even if you have no interest in the political scandal it hints at but won't directly address, you can like totes throw it on and groove out to the island riddims. Irie as fuck.

Niney the Observer:::Blood & Fire

A reggae classic, Blood & Fire is driven by a thick riddim, and is chock full of ganja-friendly Rastafarian lyrics.  The repetitive guitar riff rings in your head for days and the bass wibble wobbles all over the place (but not in a dubsteppy kind of way, obviously) but the rhythmic elemtns unify to create a stellar groove perfect to burn to.  It was also sampled by some chick named PJ Harvey on her allegedly incredible album Let England Shake.  I once rolled a doobie on my sister's copy of that album, she totally vibes to it, but being a reggae connisseur I know nothing of these hipster vibes.

King Tubby:::A Murderous Dub

King Tubby was the father of Dub music, a true legend who started out as a studio engineer and had the idea to "re-dub" existing recordings through his 12 track mixer and twist the production around, emphasizing various parts of the music and pulling them in and out of the track, creating something that sounded entirely different than the source material. A Murderous Dub (and all of King Tubby's work really) is good for people who maybe don't like reggae, but listen to bands like Animal Collective and Godspeed You! Black Emperor who make lots of weird noises that hipsters dig. He has a boatload of good tunes, and you can't really go wrong with any of his dubs, so this song should serve as a good jumping off point. Bonus points: sophisticated stoners dig dub over reggae, so play them some Tubby to show off how relevant you are.



Peace out Internet dudes, I'm about to make a T-Bell run, I only need one more punch on my Taco Bell frequent flyer card to get a free Crunchwrap Supreme, #bitchin!

Crunchwrap Supreme [via American Horror Story]

LOCAL PRODUCE: Wry Climate-Radio Tower Pulse EP

New York's Wry Climate is the musical vessel of Brunswick, ME native Dan Nelson.  Serving up a complex blend of hypnagogic shoegaze and noisy nostalgic jangle, Wry Climate makes music that both embraces and transcends its environment.  

What makes them even more interesting is that, despite many a blogger attempting to pigeonhole them into a genre and draw comparisons to other bands, they produce a sound that is uniquely their own. Sure, you might hear a swirling guitar riff reminiscent of Lotus Plaza, and the personal fables may evoke the same heartstring tug as your favorite Real Estate song, but by the time you draw a sonic parallel, the music has drifted off into a different daydream.  

Wry Climate, keeping glowing sheds safe since 2k10

As it progresses, this EP feels an Alice-esque rabbit chase through the mind of someone who simply doesn't want to be found.  The cryptic lyrics tell stories in a hazy way that feels instantly relatable yet frustratingly unattainable, like a drunken fever dream.

Keeping true to his conservatory background, the intricacy of Nelson's compositions rarely leave you enough time to appreciate the beauty of any one particular movement; the songs flow like the Androscoggin River, continuously in motion like Nelson himself. Yet it is this aesthetic that makes Radio Tower Pulse such a rewarding listen: the music is astoundingly multifaceted and presents enough avenues of exploration and interpretation to keep you intrigued with each re-listen.


You don't need a blog to tell you how great this album is, the music handles that fine on its own. Moral of the story? Close your eyes, calm your mind and let it ride.

Check out the band's Tumblr and listen to/download the entire Radio Tower Pulse on Bandcamp 

Christmas Wishes to the Supreme Being

Dear Yeezus,

This year for Christmas/Hannukah/Kwanzaa/Winter Solstice/Chrismukkah/#OtherObscureHoliday, I would really like it if you saved indie.  Since I'm just a wee lad click clacking away on a typewriter in my Midwest bedroom, (p.s. I live at 407 Barnes Lane in Chillicothe, Ohio...come visit me, gosh!)

#Selfie

I know my wishes will fall short of those made by Drake (new iced out wheelchair biddies via Degrassi throwbacks) or North BB, but I really hope that you and Frank Ocean can bring a lil holiday joy to my drooping face.  So to really drive my point home and in honor of Thanksgiving, I share this, a heartwarming holiday tale...

#WheelchairSwag

Once upon a time,

The face of evil

Winner of 47 Emmys

In a world where Ryan Schreiber was never born and Pushing Daisies was sweeping the ratings in their 5th season, a gale force wind of evil was a-brewin. Everything else in the world was riding some serious #chillwaves; people were vibing 2 hot indie records, the Tea Party switched to coffee, things were pretty nice, except for the aforementioned evil breeze.  

Said evil (whom we shall refer to as Chad Kroeger) was hiding far away in his evil lair of icy evil, (located in Canada, naturally) plotting his evil plots, practicing his evil laughs, and waiting for the perfect moment to destroy music as we knew it.   

One fateful day, 

Recent Instagram of Morrissey, with #Inkwell filter

Chad Kroeger looked into his crystal ball (aka the Canadian Internet) and saw that Morrissey and The Smiths were putting out a new album. (In this magic world they never broke up, Moz never went vegan and proceeded to marry a fabulous male hairdresser, ahem, cosmetologist. They also served bangin beefy gyros and almond champagne at the reception, I was there, it was awesome...but I digress...) 

"Best new music ya hoser!"

Not Pictured: 2Pac, Selena

This frustrated ChadBroChill and so he logged onto Canadian Pitchfork (aka a large moose) and much to his chagrin saw that Taylor Swift (who in this world is a prominent indie songstress a la Laura Marling/Jenny Lewis and makes #relevant albums that blogs drools over. Also, we're married and have 6 children, all of whom are already Internet famous. We also have a dog, his name is Marmaduke and he is a cartoon) was doing a sweet collab with 2Pac and John Lennon (who are also not dead and play cricket with Selena), a bleep bloop chiptune concept album praising the philantropic work of President Betty White. Since Chad Kroeger is evil and Canadians hate 'Murricans, he swore his revenge and pledged to make indie rue the day they pissed off ChadBroChill. (who was def being super unchill)

In a Canadian bedroom,

#LeagueofDarkness

ChadBroChill brought together his minions to form a menacing team of evil (are you getting the whole evil thing now?) to take down indie and all of its sweet vibes.  He called upon creatures from the darkest pits of Hades, gruesome figures like Celine Dion (before she got hot post-puberty); Chris Brown (pumped on mad steroids and harboring a MEAN insecurity complex, so essentially the Chris Brown you know); Internet music destroyer Patrice Wilson and everyone in that awful bro-club-nonsense band #KREWELLA. 

"Don't forget me y'all!"

This League of Darkness and all of their Twitter followers stormed into the World Indie Headquarters (Williamsburg, but a cool version with free open bars and bitchin spaceships) and demanded the heads of all #relevant indie artists.  Since everyone was busy riding #chillwaves and getting 10.0 Best New Music's on AntiPitchfork, they never had the time to strike back and Chad's League of Darkness took over the airwaves, both digital and terrestrial, blasting vomit inducing Bro rock and lamestream EDM all across the land.  They stormed into the record stores, stole all of the fantastic vinyl and made them into tacky arts & crafts projects, like ashtrays for their Canadian weedz, or bowls for their Dorito's Locos Tacos or cups for their Mountain Dew Code Red Bull. Oceans wept, skies crumbled and people jumped off bridges in terror. Basically, shit was pretty weak.

St. Yim Yames & Friends

Until the sky opened...

And down floated a Heavenly army.

The mysterious bearded angel spoke in a voice that drowned out the thumping bass and awful singing.

"I AM ARCHANGEL YIM YAMES AND BY THE POWER OF YEEZUS, I DECLARE THIS EARTH #IRRELEVANT!!!" (He said the word hashtag too, I thought that might be important.)

Archangel Yim Yames (who follows me on Twitter) raised a fiery sword that looked like a 1976 Gretsch Broadkaster and smote (smited?) the #KREWELLA kids and their #KREW, which calmed the oceans thrown so asunder. Celine Dion opened her mouth and let out a glass shattering wail that blew the archangel's majestic hair asunder, but his great mouth opened and swallowed it.  So stunned was the hellish She-Devil by his resilience, her head exploded and sent assorted penny candies flying across the world.

Aw man, Jelly Nougats again??

But the King of these lamestream nether beasts was not so easily deterred.  Kroeger's hair grew endlessly and shot towards St. Yim, trapping him in wicked streams of greasy Top Ramen.  But right before Chad Kroeger took the head of St. Yim for his Canadian mantle, a beam of light shot down in from the Heavens and a great stallion rode across the horizon.  The being on that noble horse was none other than Saint Jack White (who didn't become a sellout, never met ICP and ended the White Stripes on a far better album than Icky Thump), who raised a peppermint striped staff and plunged it through the heart of the nether being.

Artist rendering

Stunned, Chad Kroeger vomited up every Nickelback CD ever made (far more than were sold), and drowned his tone deaf fans in sorrowful plastic death.

Yet to every holiday story, there is a happy ending:

So being the benevolent being that he is, Yeezus descended from his platinum cloud crib and waved a righteous hand, cleaning up the mess made by the League of Darkness, forever ridding the world of their sinister sonic suffering.  

Then, in a final act of kindness, Yeezy dropped Obama's bangin holiday album and the world could celebrate once more.

Thanks Yeezus!!!

THE END.

I hope this heartwarming tale will open your heart enough to grant my Christmas wish (my Pa says I'm not financially savvy enough for Hanukkah and ahve too many freckles for Kwanzaa. I think he's just scared of the Menorah burning down the house [via David Byrne]), and that we can save indie together, and that waiter can hurry up with our damn croissants.

Love,

Little Timmy Brown

Thanksgiving Miracles

My dearest digital comrades,

Family holidays <3

Thanksgiving (aka pre-Christmas brunch) is almost upon us, which means millions of families will be gathering around tables of assorted shapes and sizes, where mom and Aunt Melissa will drink too much wine and proceed to slur their words before starting controversial conversation about their daughter's sex life or (heaven forbid) their own.  

Good thing the kids are all baked as the pie and don't care, since every good young American knows that smoking 'mad dank' is part of the Thanksgiving sacrament. I can't wait to be a drunk Aunt and embarass all the youngins.

The real reason I bring up Thanksgiving though is because this guy Jack White III has this lil record shop in Nashville called The Third Mans and they're offering sweet vinyl goodness for turkeys to donate to a charity. No joke, you can bring a turkey in and Maestro White will transform it into the Third Man 7'' of your choice! 

From what I've read on Fox News and Christwire, this basically means Jack White is Jesus so we should all bow down and give him all of our holiday fowl. 

TOLD YOU, bitches.

[Editors Note: Due to the all of the Chtulu business during the Times Square Rapture of 2k13, I did not have time to confirm this allegation with St. Jim James when he descended to Earth, but we can just assume it is true, Fox News never lies.]

Well sexy Internet I'm off, I gotta go burn up all my food stamps on a barrel of turkeys so I can be the proud owner of some #relevant vinyl! Until I return, here are some fantastic White Stripes rarities (a relative term in this overwhelmingly connected age) for your vibetastic pleasure:

SMALL FACES/HAND SPRINGS

A lo-fi gem with a rapid fuzzy heartbeat, Hand Springs tells a tale of love lost in a bowling alley. Gentlemen take note: never try to make up with your girlfriend at a bowling alley with a country pinball machine called Stand By Your Man: you'll only drop her Coke before causing some serious property damage and leaving broken hearted. Pretty sure that's in the Bible somewhere, probably in the Gospel of Jack (now available as an Amazon E-book, download straight 2 yr Kindle!) 

Also, fun fact: I was at this show, you can kind of see my bobbing head in the shadowy front.

Relevancy Note: Record Store Day 2k12 officially made this not so much of a rarity, but that's ok, Tumblr Jesus forgives their indiscretion and lack of 'cred' waves. 

LORD, SEND ME AN ANGEL

The White Stripes covered a multitude of classic blues songs throughout their career, but this rendition of Blind Willie McTell's pining ballad is notably intriguing. The studio version is great, but this live version from an outdoor New York shows the more playful nature of the often abrasive Mr. Jack White, changing the words to fit the NY crowd and bringing his charismatic vibes to the forefront, something that came over time with this song as he got more and more comfortable and relaxed with his own renditions of it.

RATED X

Almost uncomfortably appropriate, this cover of Loretta Lynn's ode to divorce was a live staple for the band in their first few years. This version is taken from an early performance at the Detroit Institute of the Arts. The most interesting part of this early video is seeing Jack & Meg nowhere near as tight and in tune as they would grow to be, yet they still hold their classic charm and the creative chemistry between the two is blatantly visible.

THE UPHOLSTERERS:::PAIN (GIMME SYMPATHY)

And as an added bonus, here is a song from Jack White's pre-Stripes band The Upholsterers. Started with Brian Muldoon while Jack served as an upholstery apprentice, the group recorded three songs that share a similar sound to another Jack White two piece act...

 According to Jack White's expansive apocrypha, he and Muldoon used to slip 45's into the furniture they'd upholster, some of which have probably never been discovered but would be a vinylphile's wet dream/holy grail/etc. This unconventional method of distribution makes a lot more sense when put into the context of Third Man's 'unique' approach to record packaging.

VIRAL INFECTION: Under the Covers Edition

re: All (Bigotry) In The (Patriarchal) Family

Has anyone told you how goddamned attractive you look today?

I'd holla, just saying.

As some of you more loyal (re: attractive) readers may recall, previous installments of Viral Infection have dug up some nifty covers from the depths of the Internet, but these were mostly poorly recorded live versions in a video quality only your (also attractive) mother would love. Nevermore.

This time, we've decided to give you some more incestuous covers of indie bands covering other indie bands, since we like to keep it all in the family. So hop in bed with your cute sister or 3rd cousin twice removed cause we're about to get tender.

SUN KIL MOON:::CONVENIENT PARKING

For those of you too young in your relevancy to remember this interesting experiment of a cover album, Sun Kil Moon aka Mark Kozelek attempted to do a spanning revue of the Modest Mouse back catalog in his ethereal acoustic style. While his dedication is applaudable, the songs kind of end up sounding the same and most are pretty watered down versions of fantastic source material. (something Sun Kil Moon had no issue with on their John Denver covers since fuck John Denver) However, this version of Convenient Parking is pretty nice and the accompanying video is not too bad either, like a light mushroom trip to Banner of Youth.

 

DR. DOG:::HEART IT RACES

Make no mistake, Dr. Dog is not a band that needs to rely on kitschy covers to prove themselves: although their studio albums are rarely flawless cover to cover, all of them contain at least several truly brilliant pieces. I could wax poetic ad nauseum on the genius of 100 Years or Die, Die, Die or That Old Black Hole but I'll save that for another post.  [Note to self: actually do that.] 

Yet here we have a cover of a band that most artists would have trouble covering, Australian darlings Architecture In Helsinki. Dr. Dog takes a firm grasp on the material, maintaining its integrity while adding their own signature sound to the song. Also, all the surfers are nice to look at, I must be feeling the contact high of our GUEST BLOGGER [note to self: actually don't do that. ever again.]

DEER TICK:::ALL APOLOGIES

Although Nirvana doesn't technically count as any sort of indie band anymore, the curious inception of Deervana certainly does. Deer Tick recently ended their tour as Deervana where they would play Nirvana albums in their entirety, this time around it was In Utero, and this is an acoustic rendition of All Apologies full of grit and flaws that would make Kurt proud, right down to the cigarette in the headstock.

Viral Infection: Unicorn Sandwich Edition

This week has been filled with nonsense work that has fried by brain and forced my attention span to narrow so much that I can only consume the most mindless of media.  I decided this meant I should watch warped versions of songs that have become Internet memes.  [Note: Rebecca Black will not be featured] amongst other ridiculous shit.  So here are some audio treats (generous term) best served with a blank mind, a burning nostalgia, and maybe a bong.

Gimme Pizza ('Chopped & Screwed')---Mary-Kate & Ashley Olsen

This song has been haunting me the past few days.  A selection from the You're Invited video series, which incited a smorgasbord of envy from me as a child, Gimme Pizza explores the childhood dream of putting every weird thing you can find on your pie, a fantasy brought to life once people watching this video start smoking pot and making poor sexual decisions.  The slowed down version also has a bangin Kitty Pryde feeling beat; (in fact, this could be a Kitty song, maybe she'll cover it...In fact, for comparisons sake, listen to
 Okay Cupid)

Anywho, so beware of watching either of these videos because they'll be stuck in your head ad nauseum and you may commit Internet suicide aka not update your Tumblr for a week or tweet n00dz.

Jonny McGovern:::The Gayest of All Time

K. Urbz & Adele stood, but Chris Brown was too tired from beating his current flame

Basically the most fabulous song ever written, about a massive dance party with every queerfolk in the universe coming together on the dancefloor with an open bar...essentially, Heaven. Plus side: everyone knows how to dance and is dressed fabulous. And Chris Brown isn't invited. 

[Frank Ocean totally is though]

Eddie Noack:::Psycho

A song written by Leon Payne, this tune has been covered by many an artist, (Elvis Costello being one of the more famous ones, although Amanda Palmer & Neil Gaiman did a cute married couple version) Noack's version is by far the most unsettling. Another Internet bro made an 'edgy' video to go with it, chock full of found footage and other weird shit that serves merely as a moving pastiche of visual stimulation.  You can also close your eyes and draw the pictures Noack paints in yr skull, they're more terrifying anyway.

Viral Infection: Animal Rescue Edition

Well hello there dear Internet strangers!  Pardon my absence, I've been hiding in the forests of somewhere super indie, making woodland creatures sing me #relevant buzztunes and tell me the secrets of dirt.  So here are a few selections from some of Mother Nature's critters that need YOUR love/Internet buzz to survive! [Insert sad Sarah McBlahBlah song here]

''Dear Tumblr Jesus: please make me Internet famous''

Frightened Rabbit:::Good Arms Vs. Bad Arms

Poor Scott Hutchison and his Frightened Rabbits, hiding away in Scotland from all the <3-breakers and hAtErZzZ.  He even shaved his beard for this stripped down version of my personal favorite FR tune, so he needs your warm lovin arms more than ever to heat up his naked face.

[via Sleepover Shows]

Okkervil River:::Black Sheep Boy

Once upon a time, Tim Hardin wrote this beautiful song about sheep vibes, then Will Sheff and the Okkervil Rivers covered it and wrote an equally beautiful album to further explore the emotionalism behind said sheep vibes and interweave the sheep struggles into Sheff's own heartbreak.  Then, some girl from the Internet used her MacBook to appropriate the aforementioned vibes/angsts and put them into a video with her and her awesome BFFs in black & white smoking cigarettes and vibin 2 landscapes. Help the Black Sheep Boy maintain his relevance, donate today!

Andrew Bird:::Tables & Chairs (Live at Bonnaroo '06)
Every June, a fuckton of vibed out folk make the pilgrimage/vision quest to a little town called Manchester, Tennessee where they proceed to join together in a tight knit little community that shares a farm where they vibe 2 groovy tunes, do copious amounts of drugs and fuck each other.  It is in this idyllic setting that we find our next animal in need of rescue, a young Bird named Andrew. This is no regular Bird: he whistles better than yo mama's bluebird (they whistle right?) and can play lots of isntruments and is so painfully attractive you almost want to vomit.  [Really, he should be rescuing us.  I WANT TO WHISTLE LIKE THAT! Everytime I try I just spit all over myself and have to drink away all the bad feelings my failure brings...but I digress....] Anyway, Mr. Bird brought his Apocalyptic visions to the blissed out crew at Bonnaroo and was met with enthusiastic whoops and BONNAROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOs, but no one took him seriously.  With the recent Rapture in Times Square, people need to be hearing this message and really vibing to it, just letting it drift through the bong smoke and soaking it into their remaining brain cells.  [Also: LOLZ when he tells the crowd there will be snacks and they lose their shit.  Don't do drugs kids.]

CMJ Friday Wrap-Up

Friday was a blur of blurriness for me, between free shows, free booze and free love, but here's a nice concise little highlight reel for those who missed it:

*The Brooklyn Vegan party at brand new Williamsburg hotspot Baby's All Right was absolutely fantastic from the get-go.  Add in the free drinks and tattoos compliments of Sailor Jerry and it was easy to see why this was the place to be all day.

The first band to christen the stage was none other than Seattle's The Head & the Heart who played a stripped down acoustic set to kick the day off. Seeing a band that is playing a sold out show at Terminal 5 in a few weeks in such an intimate and colloquial setting was a treat, and the band seemed to appreciate the relaxed feel of the show, joking around about hangovers, brunch and poking fun at the NYC lifestyle.  "How do you guys live without driving? I'm sitting here on this stage thinking Fuck, I miss my truck right now," quipped singer/guitarist Jonathan Russell, a sentiment shared by the audience.  The set was brief, but beautiful, with the trio's stunning harmonies reverberating through the freshly wallpapered halls of the venue.

Kirin J Callinan was up next, and unfortunately turned away a large portion of the audience that showed up to see Head & the Heart, although I found his freaky vibes pretty interesting once I got past the uncomfortable stares he and his band kept giving the crowd.  A man as intense as he is enigmatic, Kirin is definitely someone to watch in the upcoming months, but is definitely not for the faint of heart.

Caught the end of Veda Reys at The Flat and Pity Sex at Shea Stadium before heading over to Brooklyn Bowl to check out We Are Scientists,  who are surprisingly better than I remember them being in high school.

If only Saturday were already here...oh wait, it is!

CMJ Thursday: Panache Booking Showcase @ 285 Kent

For those of you reading that have never been to 285, whether due to lack of indie cred or geographical irrelevance, you should probably stop reading now and go to a show there.  It's dirt cheap, delightfully grimey and has an absurd amount of excellent bands playing there by the bushel.  Such was the case for Thursday's show from Panache Booking, [also the most buzzed about show in NYC that night, whatever the fuck that really means to anyone] a mix of bands diverse enough to keep the show entertaining but similar enough to keep a steady vibe going throughout the night.

Calvin Love spreading the love (and some legs)

First was Big Ups, a rowdy local favorite playing some loud abrasive proto-gutter punk that I was unfortunately not yet drunk enough to enjoy all that much. But whatever.

The next act I caught was Calvin Love, who worked his good looks and better songs to drop some serious panties in the front row.  There were several girls clammering and clawing at Love's blazer, groping his legs and offering him drinks, which set the mood for the frenetic energy that would rip through 285 as the night went on.  Also, Calvin is quite the friendly Canuck, in the realm of Mac Demarco bro-ness (who was actually at the show as well) and it was quite a pleasure hanging out in his van smoking cigarettes before his set.

Hunters and Ex-Cult were quite the intense back-to-back set to watch.  Isabel from Hunters is a fierce frontwoman who emanates an intense blend of radical riot grrl and raucous sexuality [think Karen O and Jemina Pearl of Be Your Own Pet] and she led the band through a romping set of quick numbers.  Once Ty Segall favorites Ex-Cult took the stage though, shit got pretty real.  Thankfully, I had consumed more alcohol than before so I was prepared for the mosh pit madness that inevitably appears when a band as rowdy as this plays.  Frontman Chris Shaw growls onstage like a child of Henry Rollins just as much as 70's Bowery punk and the rest of the band is tight throughout their fierce setlist, one that resulted in a few minor injuries and many a spilled beer.

Finally, headliners and blogosphere favorites Speedy Ortiz closed out the show close to 1 AM.  If you've been loving under an Internet rock and not heard of this fantastically authentic noise-pop (another terrible pigeonhole) group, I implore you to first slap yourself across your pallid face and then go check out Major Arcana, one of the best records of this last summer.

I feel dirty even talking about their show to those who haven't heard them, but for those who have, you've inevitably seen them and know that Sadie and Co. put on an amazing, truly rock n roll show.  Lester Bangs would be proud to call himself a Speedy Ortiz fan, and so am I, so the multifaceted moral of tonight's story is as such:

a)  Speedy Ortiz is amazing and if you don't listen to them you're probably a total dick.

b) Panache Booking is a fantastic boutique crew that love what they do, so give them lots of Internet buzzpoints and check out their site here

c) Don't bring anything valuable to an Ex-Cult show, and don't expect to leave with your dignity [which is basically my way of saying go see them ASAP]

d) Keep supporting independent music and their respective entities, venues, etc. We're all a team y'all, share the love.

CMJ Thursday: Dingo Pop and Indie Rock from the Sounds Australia Showcase

The Sounds Australia showcase at CMJ's College Day was an Aussie-tastic taste of up and coming musical goodness, starting off with a personal favorite of mine from Down Under, Ball Park Music.  These guys (and gal) play some radio friendly guitar pop full of vibrant harmonies and non-abrasive instrumentation, at least until they take a solo, which is when you hear a bit of J. Mascis and Stephen Malkmus popping out of their guitar pickups, something that is a welcome compliment to the wavy mix of happiness and frustration throughout the tone of their songs.

The next band ended up being by surprise favorite of this showcase, Brisbane's Sheppard.  They opened with their single Let Me Down Easy, a song that carries even more weight in the live performance.  Beginning with some saccharine sweet (in the most positive way) acapella harmonies before strolling into some handclappy, jangle pop vibes.  Their other selction, Halfway to Hell was stuck in my head for the rest of the day, a significant departure from the lighthearted feel of the first number, and really showcased (natch) the diversity in the band's sound.  Although, it has to be said that their main streamline is unashamedly hooky pop songs ready for dancing. They struck me as a significantly less weird Dirty Projectors live, in an alternate universe where Dave Longstreth grew up in Australia and listened to FM radio and didn't take himself so seriously, instead of drawing weird dudes with baby peens on his album covers and shrieking all the time. 

Amber Coffman: Indie BB Crush 5Ever

 [While this opinion may be due in part (or totally) to the fact that there are two color haired alt baguette QT's holding down some swoony harmonies,  it also is a good excuse to put up a picture of Amber Coffman, before I deny ever comparing the two groups and put this to rest forever, since they really sound absolutely nothing like Dirty Projectors #FooledYa]

[Also, I feel it necessary to say that Dirty Projectors are a huge favorite of mine and I <3 Longstreth and all of his weird culty vibes to the most #XTREME of levels. .]

My one complaint about this entire showcase was that, due to time constraints, the bands were limited to 2-3 songs each which was a bummer, but also left me hungry for more material (fortunately, the Sounds Australia team were wise enough to give out lots of free downloads of the showcase soundtrack, yet another reason why they're better than America.)  Singer-Songwriter (which is amongst my least favorite descriptor/pigeonhole for an artist, but since this is CMJ related and CMJ is essentially an industry dog and pony show, I thought it appropriate) Courtney Barnett was another highlight of the showcase, but since she is scheduled to play approximately 134,277,218 more CMJ shows, we'll get to her chillness later.

CMJ Tales, Vol. 1: Thursday

YEEEHAWWWW CMJ!!!!

Now that I got in my exuberant outburst (you should've seen it in person) we can continue on in a civilized manner.

For those of you who are unaware, CMJ Music Marathon is an annual week long event in NYC where the best new, up and coming artists are showcased. Last year's highlights and breakouts included bands like Foxygen and DIIV, and this year promises to be just as bitchin, for lack of a better term.

Since I am neither rich enough to pay or relevant enough to get a press pass, I'll be working the door today at the CMJ College Radio Showcase. The labor life is a fair lady though, and I'll get to catch some panels on radio relevance and defining authenticity, not to mention some sweet performances by Ball Park Music, Sheppard, The Preatures and more. 

That was basically all the CMJ advertising I'll bore you with for now, stay tuned for an absurd amount of liveblogging (such a stupid term) all throughout CMJ.

Later on we'll have reviews of the Speedy Ortiz show at 285 Kent tonight,  maybe even some Joanna Gruesome (not to be confused with my BB Ms. Joanna Newsom) and much much more.

Until we meet again beautiful blogosphere 

XOXO,

Gossip Girl

(Ok I'm done now, for realsies)

A/Live Show: My Morning Jacket & Grizzly Bear @ CBGB Fest

You know who hates free shows by relevant not-so-indie-but-still-maintaining-a-relatively-decent-amount-of-'cred'-in-relation-to-their-prominent-exposure-to-the-mainstream bands?

Not me, that's for damn sure.

I walked the surprisingly vacant hallows of CBGB Festival in Times Square this Saturday originally just looking for a dank taco [via grindage] but to my utter delight, I found musical bliss!

Indie hunk and nasal activist Ed Drost of the Grizzly Bears was standing on a stage crooning in his high oolala for all of Times Square to enjoy.  As an added bonus, I not only got to see Eddy D but ALSO consume the absurd amount of flashing advertising in Times Square all while watching a concert.  It's like my dreams of indie stardom and rampant capitalism met and [after a long, NON-SEXUAL courting period married in a Protestant church, took out a mortgage on a fantastic home in the suburbs and] had a beautiful love child!

 Boy oh boy, was I tickled pink seeing all them hip whippersnappers click clackin away on their iPhones! I watched reeeeaallll sneaky like while they were snappin selfies with the super QT Aryan bass bro from Grizzly Bear in the background, FourSquaring their relevancy, tweeting about the aforementioned dank tacos, you know, doing things to make sure people could find them and be super jelly that they weren't in the same place. 

I personally try to stay off the grid as much as possible, I illegally downloaded The Wire and saw they use #burners so I decided to jump on that bandwagon because if it works for Stringer Bell, it works for me. I also don't type my own blog posts, I leave that to my legally frowned upon indentured servant (see, the joys of being off the grid!) so my IP address isn't tracked and the government/many angry creditors/ex girlfriends who could be looking for me don't come kicking my door because that would be #WeakAsFuck. 

Sidenote: #Don'tTrendMyHashtagsInCaseThey'reWatching

(but in case this does start trending: #HiMom)

What was I yammerin' on about again? Oh right, the Grizzly Bear bonanza! WOOOOOOWEEEEEEEEE what a show that was!! I felt like I had died, and gone to the heaven where all of the animal related Indie bands [that came to prominence when the blogosphere decided to get back to its roots and vibe to nature in a search for true authenticity] go when they die, a place where my troubles could be laid to rest by the sweet sounds of indie.  The band performed on a makeshift stage next to the Ed Sullivan Theatre where another dated buzzband, The Beetles, [obviously influenced by The Beets via the death of originality] played some songs one time on some lamestream late night show and many a fullback panty was soaked.  

The juxtaposition of formerly Indie bands like Grizzly Bear against this corporate Disney backdrop brought forth in me a peculiar combination of nostalgia and nausea: No longer did I have to convince the rich, popular kids that the music I listened to on antiquated mediums was good, I had ALL OF TIMES SQUARE to do it for me, [take that Kirk Dirkwood and Shannon Tupelo, I didn't want to go to prom with you bitches anyway] thus making my tastes so popular and relevant that even my father would set down his alabaster pipe and take a moment away from reading the paper to pat me on the back and say "Son, ya done good," before telling me to get a real job and threatening to cut my hair while I sleep.

 This heavy wave of nostalgia very quickly brought forth the nausea however, and I ended up puking on the side of the stage, right next to a cute intern and the soundboard guy who looked an awful lot like Perry Farrell. [I always wondered what he was doing after three failed Juana's Adicción reunions and I guess sliding sliders for bands that people actually still care about is that Something; good for him, and thanks Obama for making that job available to a former drug addict trying to get his life back together. God Bless America!]

Fuck, alright, the show though: like I promise it was super awesome, they even let their Dad on stage to sing a few of his numbers and they were some rompin boot stompers indeed! I think it's great when bands show love for the folks who bore them, even if it's only to wear them down quicker to avoid high nursing home bills not covered in recording contracts, or lack thereof. Man, Grizzly Bear are a bunch of swell dudes.

They are not, unfortunately, anywhere near as swell as Jim James/Yim Yames/Yames Yeezus of My Morning Jacket, who brought forth the rapture, thus engulfing Times Square in holy light.  

Jim James pre-Rapture

I watched in awe as The Messiah [still talking about Jim James, obvs] ascended with his band, The Grizzly Bears and some QT alt babes up into the Beyond, the Great Perhaps, the Pearly Gates, leaving all of us irrelevant, non-VIP loozers in Times Square to stare at that fucking Aerie ad with the underwear girls hula hooping and talking about gummy worms and collecting weird shit.

[RAPTURE NOT PICTURED, ANGELS STOLE MY RAZR]

James Murphy was fortunately left behind, cursed to walk the world he has exploited and economically raped under the false guise of relevance.  This is not fortunate in a schadenfreudic way, but because now we have a big name DJ to 'spin' some bangerzZz on his MacBook until Satan and/or Chtulu come in and wipe us into Oblivion. [Grimes was not available for comment, but rumour has it she was pretty Canadian pissed about those dudes using her song title for Apocalyptic intentions. However since Canadian pissed is roughly equivalent to American apologetic, no one paid attention, much to her duct tape fingered chagrin.]

Until we meet again, this is your friendly Internet pal saying Hail Satan/Chtulu!

[also, eat your veggies you little shits, Vitamin K deficiency is no laughing matter]

Oh hay y'all

Viral Infection: Take Away Show Edition

As you may or not be aware of, there is a fantastic French blog, LA BLOGOTHEQUE who does Take Away shows with #relevant indie artists where they wander the streets of France singing stripped down versions of their nifty MP3's.  So this week's Viral Infection will serve up a tasty smattering of selections from my personal favorite Take Away performances.

Throw Me the Statue Lolita

This down by the water version of Lolita by Seattle bros Throw Me the Statue makes an already brilliant song even more appealing.  These guys can really do no wrong.

St. Vincent Jesus Saves, I Spend

One of the most unique performances on this blog (and certainly the most attractive), Annie Clark plays water glasses, beer bottles and whatever else she can find. Also, you should watch her performance of 'Marry Me' from this set too; the word sultry comes to mind.

Beirut Nantes

Zach Condon being cool-as-fuck-Zach-Condon, as usual.  Anything interesting you have ever done in your life, this guy will always be able to one up ya. Sleep well with that thought, and enjoy this fantastic video.

Fleet Foxes Sun Giant/Blue Ridge Mountains

Robin Pecknold is basically Jesus if Christ had decided to hide out in Northwestern wilderness instead of the messy social pilgrimage thing. The beards are similar enough, hair too, and no human could write music that beautiful, so categorize this one with the MagnumGate Conspiracy.

Bonus: FoxFlashbacks via Josh Tillman aka Father John Misty, God damn I adore that man.

Bon Iver For Emma, Forever Ago

Starting with a hallway acapella rendition and ending in street bard harmonious goodness. This specific performance feels like For Emma, Forever Ago as opposed to just For Emma, it has a sort of flowing dynamic nature that makes it feel more complete, a tale as opposed to a story.

A/Live Show: Bill Callahan @ Webster Hall

Bill Callahan fka Smog is obviously a favorite of this blog, so seeing him live was nothing short of spectacular.  That being said, those who check out Callahan on tour expecting obscure selections from the Smog catalog will be sorely disappointed.  Billy Boy stuck mostly to new material from his majestic new record Dream River, but threw in a few selections from his past few albums and ended on two Smog songs (more on that later, Tater. Also, sidebar: he is a damn good looking gent in person…but I once again digress…)

Webster Hall was full to the brim, crowded as I have ever seen it, which really speaks to Callahan’s underground following; even though he is currently riding high on a Best New Music from Pitchfork, he has always had a strong, dedicated fanbase that supports him.  The presence of this man is astounding, almost unsettling: he looms over the crowd with one leg up on the monitor, barely moving, but still holding a firm control over the audience.  His signature baritone reverberated off the walls and straight to chest, and by the end of the first song the crowd was smitten.  When Bill Callahan sings, he doesn’t just repeat his own lyrics, he clings to the sounds as they pour out of his mouth, allowing each syllable to resonate before he sets them free.  Watching him perform is almost a struggle, as he refuses to let you merely listen: he forces you to experience.

Photo Courtesy of Bowery Presents

You would think with an artist who plays the kind of slow, dreamy, occasionally abrasive brand of folk that Callahan does would make for a docile crowd, but it couldn’t have been more the opposite.  Whenever a fan broke away from the spell of the music, they would whoop and shout, and every song ended in thunderous applause.  Eventually, after hearing his name be shouted so many times he quipped: “You don’t have to use my name, I know who you’re talking to.”  He then broke into another swirling tune before he came back on the mic to clear the air in classic Callahan form: “I was just kidding, you can use my name, it gets lonely out here on tour,” which brought forth a flurry of “Bill! Bill! Bill!” Yet just to solidify his reputation as a dry, quick wit he smirked and replied: “Ok, I’m not lonely anymore.  That should do for the next couple nights.”

What struck me as the most fascinating about Bill Callahan’s live show is something that doesn’t always translate back to the albums; the songs unfold, like brilliant tapestries of sonic emotion.  Callahan’s band is tight as well, but not overbearing, allowing what begins as a simple chord progression to ebb and flow into a sprawling landscape.  Callahan is famous for using natural imagery, (favoring horses, rivers and things of that sort) but this is an aesthetic that translates seamlessly into his songs; they progress organically, flowing very much like the rivers he sings of, with mountains becoming valleys only to ascend again before diving back to the water.

Callahan closed with the Smog the fans had been waiting for, but it was his performance of Rock Bottom Riser that was by far the most impressive.  Callahan’s earlier work as Smog is often wrought with discomfort, struggle and desperation, something that is frequently mistaken for insecurity.  But that “insecurity” was completely absent from this version of his fan favorite: Callahan’s voice bellowed with a newfound bravado, one acquired in the years after A River Ain’t Too Much to Love, one that finally puts him in his rightful place amongst the most prolific, talented and unique songwriters today.