Nerds are funny. Throughout their early school years they ostracized, treated as social outcasts and left to hover over their books alone. Some of them seek comfort in computers or sci-fi board games and end up as 57 year old virgins dying of junk food overdoses in their mothers’ basements. Fortunately for the nerd community, this but a small minority of nerds. Most of them go on to have high-paying jobs with nice houses and kids and really cool electronic gadgets. Better yet, in recent years nerdism has found its way to popularity, thanks in large part to the seemingly ubiquitous ironic hipster contingent.
Now, many people proudly boast about being Scrabble nerds, or total nerds for The Simpsons. Clunky awkward glasses and ugly sweaters can be found atop many a pair of skinny jeans. I’m not saying the jocks have stopped picking on them in high school or anything, but in many US cities, the nerds (or people who look like them) have mad swagger.
Which is why I have no problem admitting that I am a total nerd for urban planning. I love the intersecting uses of sociology and architecture. I totally get off on learning random facts about population density and how urban design affects our behavior. For example, did you know that small business are more likely to succeed on streets where people feel comfortable jay-walking? Or that cities are considered more desirable when they have museums, theaters and good restaurants (obvious) - even to the people who never go to those museums, theaters or good restaurants (not so obvious)?
It’s called existence value. It’s how you describe the cultural worth of something in a city in a tangible way. It means that even if you never go to the museum, you appreciate the fact that museums attract interesting people, which attract interesting businesses, which attract more interesting people, who do more interesting things, which makes your city a desirable place to live.
Which makes me think of jazz. Jazz has taken its lumps in the past few decades. As the last of the masters from the 60s and 70s permanently retire, jazz has more and more often been dragged into the realm of academia - or found refuge with the same kind of soulless honky who thinks listening to blues automatically makes him cool.
This is really sad because I love jazz. Most people, however, people think jazz is just ok. Sure, they would be happy to go to a jazz club or listen to some jazz at your dinner party. For them the existence value of jazz is pretty good. They don’t listen to it all the time, but they’re glad to know that it’s there. The thing is, these people probably can’t tell the difference between John Coltrane and Tom Whitey’s Jive Turkey Orchestra. As long as it’s got a ride cymbal and a saxophone, they’re happy.
The nerds among us, however, we know the difference. We know when something swings and when it doesn’t. We know when the compositions have brains, when the songs snap. The jazz nerds know when something is fresh and thoughtful. We know what it sounds like when good musicians lay back a little bit and let the line sink into deeper waters.
If you’re not sure where you stand on the spectrum of jazz listeners, I suggest you check out the debut album Evening Earth from The Nathan Clevenger Group. To the casual listener this may sound like difficult music. True enough, it doesn’t have the same instant appeal of a sugar sweet pop song or a thumping urban chart topper. I’ll even go so far as to say that if that’s what you’re looking for, this record is not for you. And that’s fine. Some of us like to eat at McDonald’s and some us prefer Chez Panisse. But if you count yourself among the latter group, then I suggest you check out this record.
Clevenger’s compositions are quick and cerebral. Stand out track “Low Resolution” hums with darkness and fog, a perfect soundtrack for a hung over rainy day or a dark night of the soul. The rest of the record sizzles and pops with articulate chord changes and Clevenger’s trademark dexterity with mode and time signature. Jazz of this calibre is an interesting art form, and it should be well received by all the boys and girls who like to throw on their thinking caps every now and then.
For the rest of you, please continue to enjoy Top 40 pop songs and fast food hamburgers. Lord knows they are delicious. Just don’t forget that there is other stuff out there, and that just by existing, it adds value to everything else.
Here we are in the last waning hours of 2009 and I’m sneaking my top 10 list in right before they close the books for good on this decade. As with most things here at Tough Customer, this list will defy convention. You’re not going to see any of the bands or albums that you would find on the other big, fancy - dare I say “mainstream” - lists. These are all bands flying under the radar that we’ve covered in 2009. Of course, with any luck, some of them will work their way up to the big, fancy lists in 2010.
So remember to cross your fingers, take a shot and kiss whoever is standing next to you at midnight. It’s gonna be a good year.
“…it is with great pride that I would like to introduce you to Oakland’s very own Raised By Robots. They’re one of the first bands I’ve heard that bridges the gap between post-rock and post-indie rock. The guitars and stutter step drums recall early Tortoise albums, while the floating vocal harmonies have an ethereal Grizzly Bear-meets-Radiohead quality. RBR is also prone to throwing in snippets of xylophone or drum machine ear candy, just for those of us who are listening closely.”
“This rag tag posse of Los Angeles based troubadours has a care-free, yet highly musical vibe that rests somewhere between The Band and Arcade Fire. Their songs reel back and forth between camp fire sing-a-longs and full gospel revival. In between they get weird, they get funky and they get loose. It’s the kind of sound that makes me want to grow out my hair and jump on the free love express. It makes me want to share my wine and bang on a drum all day - which is probably exactly what Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros expect of their audience.”
“‘I sold my album out and all the haters stared hard/you put your record out for free on failblog‘
That’s just half a line from a freestyle by Tanya Morgan, which is not a person, but a three man rap group hailing from the fictional utopia of Brooklynati. Apparently these guys have already spent some time freaking out rap aficionados around the internet. No doubt this has something to do with their crazy fresh beats, sick flow, and all around hip hop mastery.
“MSHVB do more than make quirky videos. They also play distorted, tempo shifting indie rock that packs an equal amount of brains and balls into every song. Which is like having sex with a beautiful girl and then finding 20 bucks in your pocket when you put your pants back on. And as if that weren’t enough, the line-up of MSHVB offers a story that will only add to their legend. The band is fronted by a young husband and wife team who adopted the teenage drummer as their son. Rumor has it that they formed MSHVB as a gift to him for learning to play the drums so quickly. How cool is that?”
“…listening to their new album Near or Far, I hear ambling, percussive indie rock. The music is anthemic at times, but mostly reminds me of a modernized version of Wilco - like if Jeff Tweedy was 20 years younger and living in a rent controlled apartment in Williamsburg. Of course, Wilco itself is somewhat derivative, so you’d also have to pepper that assessment with a sampling from rock n roll’s recent history. In all, Near or Far is an album that grows on you, with melodies and piano solos that sneak into your brain when you think you’re not really listening.”
5. Benjy Ferree : Come Back To The Five & Dime Bobby Dee Bobby Dee
“Come Back To The Five And Dime Bobby Dee Bobby Dee sounds like an R&B album from the 60s recorded by AOR musicians from the 70s and driven to the record plant in a brand new Prius. The drums crackle with reverb and the piano player sounds like he just came from church. A string section fills out the low end while a guitar grinds through the mids and highs. Above it all is Ferree, singing his ass off about death, fear and a host of other existential concerns.”
4. Free Energy : Free Energy / Something In Common (7″ Ltd. Single)
“Everything about their first single evokes a summertime make-out session wrapped in the warm embrace of a beer buzz and a mild sunburn. It’s a teenage love affair circa 1979. It’s skinny-dipping in a backyard suburban pool on a hot August night. It’s a Camaro, a blended margarita and a new tattoo all rolled into one. It’s nearly perfect.”
“Sean Bones is actually Sean Sullivan, the guitar player for Sam Champion - another fave here at TC//Wire. Under the Sean Bones moniker, Sullivan has created a laid back EP of Specials-esque ska funk. The tunes vibrate with a tropical lo-fi rhythm that works perfectly as the soundtrack to the first beer at the end of a summer day. Chances are you’ll find yourself drunk on the sound before you get drunk from the booze.”
“This band does indie pop rock as well as, if not better than anybody from Willaimsburg or Silver Lake. Phoenix would be a pretty accurate comparison, but The Sweet Serenades are a little more gritty and lo-fi in a way that makes them more likeable. Their new album Balcony Cigarettes is full of jangling guitars, crisp 1970s drum lines and a panoply of hand claps, keyboard riffs, and Cheap Trick-esque vocal melodies.”
“The record is awash in gorgeous synthesizer riffs, dance floor ready drum beats and the band’s trademark cinematic production. The lyrics pay homage to young lust and city life. At times it is catchy pop music. At others it is brooding electro-rock. There are moments of psychedelic beauty and glimpses of haunting dreams.”
If you’ll excuse me for a second, I need to talk some shit about the American consumer banking system. I know this is a tired old trope, but what’s the point of having a blog if you can’t use it as your digital soapbox every once in a while? Besides, I just got screwed over (again) by a bank, and it has left me feeling helpless and frustrated. And there’s nothing I hate more than feeling helpless and frustrated.
First, to sum up what you already know: If you want to do anything in this country, you have to be actively involved in our convoluted financial system. Without a bank account and at least one credit card, you can’t rent a car, rent an apartment, buy a house, make a plane reservation, get a phone, or participate in any other activity that requires you to demonstrate financial responsibility to one of the huge banks that we now know to be wildly irresponsible themselves. Do you make a habit of buying things with cash so that you can only spend money that you actually have? Do you feel that banks and credit card companies engage in predatory lending practices, charging absurd fees simply because they can and, as such, refuse to participate in their government regulated loan-sharking?
If you answered yes to either one of these run-on sentences, then you probably do not have sufficient credit history to rent a slice of bread. To anyone with even an ounce of common sense it would appear that you were being smart with your money; spending only what you have and avoiding companies that charge extremely high prices for low-value services. But to any landlord, credit card company, rental car agency or bank you are a deadbeat with no money who doesn’t deserve any of the conveniences of modern living.
Which brings me to the very abbreviated version of my story. I don’t like credit cards. I like to pay in cash and I like to buy things outright - not on layaway. But several years ago, I got sick of fighting with prospective landlords about my non-existent credit history. Also, I wanted to be able to rent a car when I travel. So I broke down and got a credit card. It had like, a $400 limit and I only used it to pay for my Netflix subscription. As far as JP Morgan Chase was concerned, I was the most boring, non-profit generating customer they had - which was how I wanted it.
Then I decided to start my own business. I went to get an SBA loan and the bank offered me six times more money than I applied for. When told them I only needed 1/6th of what they were offering me, they said, “Sure, but why not take more? It’s always good to have more money than you need…” Right. Let me just go ahead and take an extra $75,000. I’m sure that will work out great for me.
Needless to say, I declined. My application was sailing through the approval process. And then the entire economy imploded and all of a sudden the bank wouldn’t loan me dime. Whereas the month before the only qualification I needed was to fog a mirror, I now suddenly needed to show tax returns with years of escalating profit. Which, as a brand new business, I did not have. So, no loan for me.
However, the filthy rat motherfuckers at American Express offered me a dozen new credit cards at a low APR. So I got one and used it to finance my business. I was very careful to keep my balance well below my limit, and I sent them at least three or four hundred dollars every month to pay down my balance. While I was not thrilled about joining the ranks of Americans carrying credit card debt, I was willing to live with it. Plus, it helped my credit score.
Then, for god knows what reason, Amex decided to lower my limit and all of a sudden I have a maxed-out credit card. This, in turn, adversely affects my credit score. The lowered credit score allows them to raise my APR, which causes them to asses a higher monthly charge, which means that I get charged overdraft fees. And only then does the real raping and pillaging begin.
I called to complain. Of course I did. But what did they say?
“Sorry sir, but we have a clause in our fine print that allows us to fuck with you however we want. Did you read that? No? I didn’t think so. That’s too bad. Not that it would have stopped you from applying for a credit card with us. Because everybody has to have a credit card, right? Otherwise, without credit, you can’t do anything in this country. And, just so you know, all credit card companies have this clause in their fine print. Banks too. So pretty much, you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.
Anyway, enjoy being our little bitch. Because until you can afford to pay us back - which won’t be for a very long time - you will be stuck at the bottom of a long, slippery slope that we specially designed just to fuck you up. Have a nice day.”
Fuuuuck! I am so fucking mad right now. All of a sudden, I understand why people send letter bombs or walk into corporate headquarters with a machine gun or watch Michael Moore movies. I have been royally screwed over and, because I’m poor, there is nothing I can do about it.
So, it is with a hate filled heart that I dedicate this Pig Destroyer song to every bank and credit card company in America. I hope it makes your ears bleed you fuckers.
I recently got rid of all my CDs. After years of buying, trading and collecting albums, after dragging them across the country, after loading most of them onto my computer and after watching them gather dust for the last two years I finally decided to get rid of them. I sold as many as I could and I gave the rest away to friends. It wasn’t easy parting ways with my collection. And at 1000+ CDs it was an actual collection, one that I had carefully cultivated and was quite proud of.
But by now you know the story about compact discs. They are outdated technology and they don’t even last as long as they’re supposed to. Not only that, but a lot of my CDs were first pressing, which is something good in the world of vinyl, but in the world of CDs it means my CDs are shitty, inferior versions of the fancy new CDs the started making in 1999 or whatever. Long story short, most of my CDs are now living out their golden years in the bargain bin at Amoeba Records.
It’s kind of funny that I feel such an attachment to these CDs. The obvious recipient of my affection and nostalgia should be the albums - i.e. the music, the cover art, the liner notes. And while the music is ultimately the most important thing to me, I still feel a real attachment to the physical CD. I liked seeing all of those CDs stacked up on the shelf. I liked looking at their spines all lined up in a row. I liked the bounty their sheer volume seemed to represent. Somehow looking at a really long playlist is just not the same to me.
What’s funny about this is that owning a physical copy of the music is a relatively recent phenomena - and it’s already dead. For most of human history, music only happened when it was played live. People only started buying vinyl in a real way after WWII. And the LP didn’t see popular use until the late 60s. Before that, you listened to live orchestras on the radio or you just bought sheet music and hoped somebody in your house learned how to play it on piano. Before that you either went to the symphony or you listened to some drunken troubadour playing lute down at ye ol’ inn.
I’m wondering if that made music more special somehow. If music was more of a rarity, something brought out for special occasions only, it stands to reason that it would be treated like a delicacy. I mean, compare that to now, where you can download pretty much any song you want whenever you want, you can see on-demand music videos and concert footage, and the most popular songs and artists end up appearing ad nauseam in commercials, movies, restaurants, bars and birthday parties. These days, silence is more of a rarity than music.
But I’m a junkie so I still crave it. Honestly, I can’t get enough. And I’ve decided that after selling all my CDs and wearing a digital hole in my iPod, I need to go back to the source for some uncut pure shit: live music. In the words of Axl Rose, I used to do a little, but a little wouldn’t do it, so now I do more and more.
That’s right, I’m putting more live music in my life and I’m starting with the Wolfmother show at The Fox next Monday. (Actually, I’m starting with the Conspiracy of Beards show tomorrow night, but that’s as much for the spectacle as it is for the music.) I’m kind of playing it safe here, since I know this will be a straight-ahead brass tacks rock show. Heartless Bastards are also on the bill which ups the ante to level 8 awesomeness. And perhaps most interestingly, thenewno2 are opening up the show.
This band features loud electric guitars, strange synthesizer noises, beautifully syncopated drums and some oddly (purposely?) amateurish drum programming, an offspring of the Beatles, wandering psychedelic flourishes and what I hope will be a whole lot of volume. This is the kind of thing you go to see live music for - a sound, a performance, an experience. Judging from what I’ve seen online (guilty!), thenewno2 definitely bring the thunder. To continue with the food metaphor, Wolfmother may be the bread and butter of this show, but I’m counting on thenewno2 to whip up something special for dessert.
thenewno2 plays The Fox Theater in Oakland on Monday 11/23/09 (with Wolfmother and Heartless Bastards)
For the first time in the history of mankind, more people now live in cities than in rural areas. For an urban planning nerd like myself, this is fascinating for so many reasons. A metropolitan city is like a giant organism itself, constantly growing and changing and adapting to its environment. Of course, the difference between a city and most other organisms, is that it is also an environment that is changed by the organisms living in it. It’s like a giant coral reef made of concrete and steel.
Often times these changes happen very quickly, as the evolutionary wheel of fortune throws a ton of shit at the wall to see what sticks. One of the most obvious ways in which these changes manifests themselves is with new businesses. In big cities like New York and San Francisco, the store fronts can some times change four or five times a year. During the two years I lived on E.5th Street in Manhattan, I watched the tiny retail space across the street from my apartment go from a Tibetan gift shop, to a trendy boutique for womens clothing, to a massage parlor, to a wine shop, to an upscale sneaker store to, eventually, a vacant 120 sq. foot room.
I often wonder what kind of thought goes into these businesses. Most big box retailers and corporate franchises do all kinds of demographic market research before setting up shop in a new location. Home Depot won’t break ground on a new warehouse until they’ve first determined that there are at least five or six mom-and-pop hardware stores that they can put out of business by doing so. I would think that anybody opening any kind of business anywhere would at least put some effort into doing the same.
For example, if you wanted to open, say, a new pizza place, you would first look at the neighboring businesses and residents. If the store front you’re looking at is wedged in between another pizza place and the Center For The Study of Bread and Cheese Allergies, common sense tells you that this is not the best place for your business. But if you find a vacant building next to a college dorm or a shitty dive bar, and nobody else is selling pizza within a 20 mile radius - bingo! You’ve found your niche.
And yet, New York is littered with combination cellphone/headshop/ethnic food stores. And most of them are within half a block of other combination cellphone/headshop/ethnic food stores. From what I can tell, they open up in the middle of the night, sell absolutely nothing to no one for two months, and then have a going out of business sale before closing permanently. Who’s idea was that? Who thought to themselves, “I’m going to spend my life savings opening up a store selling cheap junk that nobody wants in a neighborhood with three other stores doing the exact same thing?” Do people just get drunk and start signing leases?
This also happens a lot with bars and restaurants. Bars and restaurants are highly specialized businesses. They have to have the right combination of location and ambiance to even get people in the door. And to keep those people coming back, you have to have some pretty good food and/or drinks. You can’t just put up some blinking lights, turn on the radio and charge $7 for a Bud Light and expect to stay in business for more than a week. Again, this is just common sense. Anybody who has ever left the house and thought for two seconds about where they want to spend their hard-earned discretionary income could tell you this same thing.
And yet. Every day in New York somebody opens up a new, totally shitty, doomed-to-fail business. One of my favorites was a bar - excuse me, lounge - that used to be on Bowery at 3rd. The place was totally covered in mirrors and televisions. And not televisions playing, like weird nature videos or post-modern art projects or anything. Just TVs turned on to random channels, and then reflected into about a million different mirrors. Just walking by the place made me feel like I had crawled into the schizophrenic brain of my remote control.
Needless to say, nobody ever went in there. They would advertise drink specials (”Shot of Absolut Peach + bottle of Smirnoff Ice just $12!!”) and hire really horrible DJs, and every once in a while some unsuspecting girl from Long Island would have her bachelorette party there, but the place was mostly sad and empty. They were still in business when I moved out of the neighborhood, but I wasn’t holding my breath that they would be there when I came back to visit.
They were not. I don’t know what transpired in the interceding two years, but it is now Bowery Electric, which is where I found myself on the second (third?) night of CMJ. I was in a hurry, so I didn’t really check out the new decor. I can tell you that they have a pretty good venue in the basement, with two levels and a bar tucked into the back. I got there just as Brooklyn band Black Taxi was launching into their set. This is a band I’ve been hearing about for a while, but had never gotten the chance to see. I know it seems like a strange choice of adjective, but their performance left me refreshed.
At a time when everybody is playing some mutated combination of indie rock and electronica, Black Taxi are playing regular rock n roll. At a time when other bands are staring at their shoes and mumbling self-effacing gibberish in between songs, Black Taxi are sharing instruments, flailing about the stage and literally climbing the walls. At a time when everybody else is trying so hard, Black Taxi are simply getting it done.
The music on their new album Things Of That Nature is at once crisp and familiar, new and instantly likeable. This isn’t music that grows on you - it fits perfectly the first time you hear it. Listen to the lead single “Head On A Pike.” From the opening guitar riff you’re instantly won over. It’s a sound that has been missing from the sonic landscape recently, and one that I imagine will be quite popular with anybody who likes music.
In other words, they seem to be filling a need - not just adding to the whine of their already noisy neighborhood (no offense to Brooklyn, of course). I recommend you check out their new album. You can find it online, in select record shops and combination cellphone/headshop/ethnic food stores across the city.
Generally speaking, I don’t like to mix business with pleasure. This is mostly because I like to give all of my attention to the task in front of me. If it’s business time, then I make sure I handle my business. Likewise, if it’s time to party, then I want to know that all of my business has been handled so that I don’t have any responsibilities holding me back when I go on a wild, booze fueled rock n roll adventure that rages on into the early morning hours.
Of course, that is generally speaking. When we are talking specifically about CMJ, the rules about the separation of business and pleasure do not apply. CMJ is a 5 day orgy of indie music, free shwag and drink specials that goes from noon to 4am every day. There is no way that I can hope to go to that many rock shows and keep a perfectly balanced composure for all 16 hours of each day. I’m not saying that I’ll be chugging bloody marys as soon as they open the doors on the first day show, but sooner or later I’m going to have to start drinking. Combine the free alcohol with a pretty awesome roster of bands, and before you know it, it’s party time.
But you’re not here for stories about drinking. You’re here for the music - which is more interesting, honestly. Because I understand this, (and because I’m a type A personality) I committed to a close study of all CMJ shows - official or otherwise - and came up with this list of recommendations and highlights. Print it out, take it with you, get your freak on.
Tuesday 8:30pm - Free Energy @ The Studio at Webster Hall A new favorite here at Tough Customer headquarters. These kids from Philly sound like the best parts of Thin Lizzy and T.Rex as mixed by the dudes at DFA. Which is basically what it is.
10:45pm - Black Taxi @ Arlene’s Grocery An intriguing combination of indie rock, surf rock and Mark Knopfler-style riffs. New stuff sounds like cross between Kings Of Leon and Cold War Kids.
11:00pm - Saint Motel @ Kenny’s Castaways Kinda like classic rock, but more modern.
1:00am - Heavy Trash @ Santos Party House Jon Spencer’s new-ish band. Everybody likes that guy.
2:00am - Ghislain Poirier @ Glasslands “Bombastic bass lines and blazing synths dripping sizzling hot dancehall rhythms.”
Wednesday
7:00pm - The Men Who Stare At Goats @ Clearview Cinema This is actually a funny, weird-looking movie about a top-secret wing of the U.S. military. Stars George Clooney and Ewan McGregor.
8:30 - Pacific Division @ DROM New golden era hip hop from the West Coast.
9:00pm - The XX @ Mercury Lounge Might as well see what all the hype is about…
11:00pm - Ninjasonik @ Le Poisson Rouge Have you seen the video for Somebody Gonna Get Pregnant? Do you need another reason? 11:30pm - Teenage Prayers @ Southpaw This is the Futures Sounds/Rumble Party. Those guys know what they’re doing, as evidenced by the fact that they tapped this snarky faux-oldies band to play their showcase.
1:00am - Boogie Boarder @ Glasslands Gallery Loud, rhythmic garage-y rock.
Thursday
8:30pm - Bottle Up & Go @ The Studio at Webster Hall “Loud, raw, perfect bluesy mess.”
11:00pm - Shilpa Ray & Her Happy Hookers @ Pianos Haunting murder ballads. This is what I imagine Tom Waits’ wife sounds like. 12:00am - Tanya Morgan @ Southpaw Best new hip hop group of 2009. Seriously.
12:00am - Priestess @ Arlene’s Grocery This is an arena caliber rock band playing in a room the size of my basement. Something will probably explode. 1:00am - Sean Bones @ Mercury Lounge Who knew that indie rock-steady reggae pop would sound this good? Top 10 album of the year, for sure.
2:30am - Cymbals Eat Guitars @ Public Assembly Vice Mag late night party. If you’re still up and looking for something to do, this would be a good choice.
Friday 10:30pm - Red Wire Black Wire @ The Studio at Webster Hall
CD release party/homecoming/totally awesome show from Brooklyn’s best electro-pop band.
11:30pm - Yes Giantess @ The Studio at Webster Hall So smooth. Plus, you’ll already be there for the RWBW set.Might as well stay and watch these guys. 2:00am - The Postelles @ The Pure Volume House Probably the catchiest band playing at CMJ. Prepare to spend the next week humming “123 Stop” to yourself.
Saturday
5:00pm - Red Wire Black Wire @ Braur Falls In case you missed them the night before and feel bad about it.
8:00pm - Pig Destroyer @ Rocks Off Concert Cruise Bone crunching speed metal - and it’s on a boat! 9:00pm - Rumspringa @The Studio at Webster Hall Just drums and guitar, but they manage to squeeze a lot of genres into their sound.
9:45pm - Turbo Fruits @ Union Pool This is what I wished the Black Lips sounded like.
(Highly recommended shows in bold.)
When it rains, it pours. At least that’s what it says on the side of the salt shaker, and lately I’ve found it to be pretty true. I won’t bore you with the details of my personal life, but I will say that in a matter of months I have gone from having not much to do to being busier a pimp on payday. Between freelance work, label work, and trying to rebuild my house, I figure I’ve been averaging about four hours of sleep a night. I haven’t seen my friends in months, much less gone out to do anything fun. And my inbox. Jesus Effin Christ. My inbox is like a rouge wave threatening to pull me into the deep.
Sadly, that’s what happens when you run a music site that is basically a labor of love. When people offer you money to do other things - or when a lot of people offer you a little money to do a lot of other things all at the same time - your priorities shift. This blog lies neglected while I get sent out to write stories about lesbian sex wrestling and how neck size affects sleep quality (I’ll tell you about it later). And meanwhile the records just keep coming.
I try to be systematic about it, but when I have 279 unopened music submissions from the last month alone, I basically just have to start from the edges and work my way in. Sometimes I’ll go to the end of the queue and sometimes I’ll start from the beginning. It’s rare that I will say this, but in this case it’s a good thing that so much of what I get is crap. It allows me to separate the wheat from the chaff that much more quickly.
Anyway, there is finally a light at the end of the tunnel as things start to wind down toward the end of the year. I’m still crazy busy, but at least I’ve had a moment to catch my breath, get a flu shot and dig through my email. I was picking through the pile yesterday, and I came upon yet another gem of a Swedish rock band.
Seriously Sweden, WTF? Are you guys trying to steal Brooklyn’s mojo or something? It seems like every rock band, singer or DJ you send our way is fucking golden. It’s making me rethink everything I ever thought about your country - which, to be honest, wasn’t much. But now I’m thinking about getting on an airplane and checking you out. We all know you’ve got hot girls and good vodka, and now it appears that you are a musical force to be reckoned with as well. All you have to do is wait for this global warming thing to pan out and you, Sweden, might beat out Brazil for the top spot on my vacation list.
Assuming I make it over there, the first band I’m going to check out is The Sweet Serenades. This band does indie pop rock as well as, if not better than anybody from Willaimsburg or Silver Lake. Phoenix would be a pretty accurate comparison, but The Sweet Serenades are a little more gritty and lo-fi in a way that makes them more likeable. Their new album Balcony Cigarettes is full of jangling guitars, crisp 1970s drum lines and a panoply of hand claps, keyboard riffs, and Cheap Trick-esque vocal melodies.
Again, I don’t know what life is like in Sweden these days, but judging from the music they’re putting out, Swedish youth are just now living through the coolest part of 1979. I think it’s safe to say that Brooklyn better watch its back. Same goes for Portland, LA, Austin and Seattle. Stockholm is coming up fast behind you. Their bands are as good as yours and their beards are just as scraggly. If I didn’t know better I would say they are just one pair of skinny jeans away from usurping your indie rock throne.
In fact, I’m so far behind, this might have happened already. If that’s the case, would somebody please let me know? Send me an email - I’ll get to it in a couple of months.
The brand new album from the NYC electro-pop phenoms comes out today on Tough Customer Records. The record is awash in gorgeous synthesizer riffs, dance floor ready drum beats and the band’s trademark cinematic production. The lyrics pay homage to young lust and city life. At times it is catchy pop music. At others it is brooding electro-rock. There are moments of psychedelic beauty and glimpses of haunting dreams.
This album is at once familiar and new. Where other records simply shout in your direction, this album speaks directly to you. This is the sound of a cool autumn wind blowing through the over-heated streets of Brooklyn at the tail end of the first decade of the new millennium. This is something you’ve been waiting to hear.
Check out the first two singles below. RWBW is on tour now. Catch them when they come through your town to drink all your liquor and steal your women.
Have you ever come across someone so messed up on drugs that just talking to them made you feel high? That happened to me the other night. It was a really strange feeling. For the first three or four minutes I thought I was the one who was acting really weird while the rest of the world was staring at me cock-eyed. Turns out I was just talking to two people deep in the throws of some mysterious drug experience.
We were at a place called Baggy’s down by the lake. The bar looks like it might have been swanky back in 1964 or whenever it first opened. Now it just seems like a smokey rec room with equal parts hipsters and vintage alcoholics. Baggy’s is pretty much empty most of the time, but this being a weekend there were about a dozen people in there. Still, we had no problem finding a few seats at the end of the bar with a commanding view of the sidewalk and the chicken and waffles joint across the street.
My friend Jon went to grab drinks while Scott and I sat down to watch drunks outside through the picture window. Next thing I knew, a young girl with a sideways grin and oddly practical shoes was standing uncomfortably close to Scott. Scott looked at me, then at the girl. Several awkward moments of silence passed with the girl just grinning at us, like she had been a part of our conversation since we got there - and like she knew Scott well enough to dismiss any thought of his personal space.
Finally Scott said, “Uh, hello?” - not greeting the girl as much as verifying that she was aware of her surroundings. She just laughed and said “yeah.” Then she smiled at us both. Scott asked if they knew each other. She offered a few words, although nothing that could be misconstrued as a sentence or coherent thought. She smiled again and sipped her drink. Then she said “I was just…yeah,” looking at us as though she was saying something that required a response. Scott started to ask another question, but she cut him off, nodding her head and agreeing before he had even said anything. It’s important to note that at this point, she was practically in Scott’s lap.
Jon had been gone for a while, so I started thinking that this was somehow a practical joke of his making. Like, maybe he knows this girl, saw her on his way to get drinks and told her to go fuck with his friends while he paid for the beers. So I asked her. “You’re fucking with us, right? This is some kind of weird performance art or something? Or your friends are secretly taping this for YouTube? Do you know Jon?” She chortled into her glass and came over to stand uncomfortably close to me.
At this point I realized she was actually at the bar with another guy. He was sitting behind us and staring at Scott like he had just fallen out of a tree. None of us said anything for a full 30 seconds. The girl looked at Scott, looked at me, smiled and said, “Ha ha. Yeah, I know…ha ha ha! Maybe.” Then she and her weird friend stepped out side and smoked at least a dozen cigarettes in a row.
Jon came back with beer and I tried in vain to explain how weird these people were acting. Actually, first I tried to convince him to hit on the smiley chick standing outside. But I guess I was a little too eager because he didn’t take the bait. He knew we were trying to mess with him, but he couldn’t understand what we thought was so weird about a smiling girl in a bar who likes to stand close to you. In theory, that sounds like exactly the kind of thing most guys go to a bar on a Saturday night to find.
Then he looked out the window. The girl was playing full on tonsil hockey with some stranger who seemed to have just been walking by the bar, while her friend was sucking down cigarettes and staring at us with his face pressed up against the glass. We waved, flipped him the bird, mimed the words “what the fuck?” Nothing. It was like he was staring into a mirror and seeing outer space.
Eventually the guy, the girl and her new found love interest made their way back inside. They were joined by a couple of creepy looking older dudes who were drinking gin and shaking pill bottles, with the same lewd grins plastered to their faces. One of them must have taken a detour to the jukebox, because the ambiance at Baggy’s suddenly took a turn for the worse. Whereas before we were sitting in a dark bar listening to the standard assortment of generic rock songs, we were now accosted by a slow mix of Leonard Cohen ballads and the most depressing songs from the Morissey discography.
Which brings us to the moral of this tale. If you’re going to get loaded on horse tranquilizers and go down to the local bar to harass strangers with your weird narcotic behavior, at least have the decency to put on some good drug music. It shouldn’t be that hard, considering that more than half the rock n roll canon would easily qualify.
Or, since you’re already expanding your horizons, why not try something new? I suggest “£10 Bag” from the North London artist known as Rescuecat. The song sways from church choir interludes to flamenco guitar riffs to bouncy-yet-menacing electro pop. More to the point, RC himself assures me that it’s “about 80s computer games, childhood and heroin.” Perfect for somebody at the bottom of a K hole and the guys sitting next to her at the bar, just trying to have a beer and talk about the best lines from District 9 (winner: “I will eat your arm and gain your powah!”).
Did you catch that, weirdos? If you’re going to get so high that you don’t care what other people think of you, at least understand that you should care what they think about your taste in music.
I don’t get a lot of opportunity to watch TV when it’s actually on TV. With the exception of live sports events, most of the stuff I watch is way after the fact. I have a DVR full of stand-up comedy specials and old Discovery Channel shows that I will probably never watch. If I’m lucky, I’ll catch an episode of Family Guy or The Daily Show online a week or two after it airs. Also, I will admit to being a complete nerd for Battlestar Galactica. I’ve got the second disc from season 4 siting on top of my TV right now, and I am totally going to watch the whole thing in one sitting this weekend.
It should come as no surprise then that I completely missed out on Breaking Bad when it first aired. People we’re all “this show is fucking bananas son!” and “Dude! He killed the drug dealer and then melted the body in his bathtub!” I have to admit, this last part intrigued me, but I still didn’t even bother to look to see if I got the AMC Channel or not until about a month ago. However, I did put the show on my Netflix queue. Then, because of a wait list issue for some other disc, the whole first season showed up in my mailbox at the same time.
OMFG! Have you seen this show? It is fucking bananas son! The dad from Malcom In The Middle kills a rival meth dealer and then his partner melts the body in the bathtub! I can honestly say it is one of the best things on TV, even if I didn’t start watching it until it had already been on for a year. The characters are insane and the writing is great. The basic underlying plot of the show is one of the most creative things I’ve seen on television since forever.
Perhaps best of all, the show’s music supervisors do a great job. I’ve heard them slip in tracks from Darondo, TVOTR, Holy Fuck and The Walkmen. Keeping with this stellar “track record” (zing!), a preview for the second season that I just found online uses a bang-up track by Denver band The Knew. This only goes to show that the music supes hear what I hear when they listen to The Knew: a dusty sounding rock band whose whiskey soaked songs sound like the The Strokes after they’ve been lost in the desert for a few days. Guitars growl and drums clang while singer Jason Hansen howls into the wind. Perfect for a show about a desperate man living in New Mexico and racing death to the bank.
Weird when you think about it: what should be the best stuff on the radio is actually part of the best stuff on TV. And I’m only just hearing about it now. I guess it just means that next time somebody starts talking about melting bodies in a bathtub I should listen - literally.
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