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.