MySpace Music Reviews, Vol. 31

Some first-attempt-ever live recaps, to supplement the few bands i feel like reviewing. Perhaps it is because i am doing this instead of catching Padre Pio in the city this evening. I'll catch you next time, boys.

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Saturday, November 4th: As you may have willfully missed, New York's wonderful CMJ Music Festival. For those of you unfamiliar event, keep in mind first that the word 'festival' in the name makes about as little sense as the word 'party' in GOP. Bands, fans and even venues tend to view the event as essentially an inconvenience. Nonetheless, the more career-minded acts send in press packets months ahead of time, giddy at the prospect of a gig bearing the faint whiff of legitimacy, only to get stuck playing at some bar no one has ever heard of uptown, at 4pm on a weekday afternoon. In front of who, exactly? It was also disconcerting to see just how many bands panned in this forum had some key slots at some fairly reputable venues, but it was oddly reassuring to have proof that the whole affair is essentially pretty bogus. Considering how far flung all the venues participating are, it's not like the streets were teeming with music, unless you happened to be hanging out at the Javitz Center.

Not the most original set of observations i know, and most in New York were sick of the topic before the "festival" even began. Nonetheless, my badge-free self did manage to catch a nice performance or two during the week, the best of which was Death of Fashion's wing-ding of a set in front of a nicely into-it crowd at the otherwise drab and not-very-good-sounding Fontana's. If ye have not yet, please sample this L.I.C. (Qns) quartet as soon as possible. Bouncy, driving, shambolic, simple, stretched out, young, seemingly effortless and just weird enough to be distinct without being annoying, with an A+ rhythm section and without an obvious flaw. Two singers volley with borderline-belligerent crooning (from the part-time keyboardist) and demented, slightly unnerving yelps (from the band's sublime, but eerie guitarist). Think the Fall with notes, the Doors without the "poetry" angle, the Strokes with personalities. Actually, chuck all that aside – you probably hate all those bands – and just give them a listen. They are the masterminds of this reviewer's 2nd most-listened-to CD of 2006 (Creeps and Lovers being the first, of course).

The Tom Waits-y brass and muscular, gypsy-like ululating of Nervous Cabaret followed nicely, but not nearly soon enough, as seeing them involved first slugging through B-Monster's K-mart cowboy racket. Which is too bad because the songs on B-Monster's profile come across not-half-bad, but live it was clear they were dabbling with forces (American 50s hot-rod rock) they didn't understand. A bassist might have helped, of course, but regardless, rodeo regalia on Brits is just plain wrong. Better luck next band.

All that said, the highlight of this show, though, came during a wait for the bathroom. I stood amidst a group of young folks from not-New York, but, presumably, an outlying area. Along the wall to the right hanged a tryptic of late 70's-era photos of New York rock legends Lou Reed, Patty Smith and Joey Ramone. One meathead asked "who's that lady in the middle?" And, the guy next to him, with a faint trace of disgust said "Patty Smith," and though he said nothing, it was pretty clear Patty Smith was not even remotely on the first guy's radar. "Ah, okay" he said, then adding, pointing to Reed, "'cuz i know that's Al Pacino."

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Meanwhile, not far away, high, high CMJ-related ticket prices caused me to miss pals Breakup Breakdown, but apparently, their show was a right smash, especially when experienced in the context of being the only non-suburban emo band of the evening ...We had attempted earlier to see Stuart A. Staples of Tindersticks fame, but apparently he was Being A. Jerk and insisted on no photography for the performance. Thus, the Girl, with badge, was turned away for having her rather comprehensive collection of camera gear in tow. I was ambivalent (i wouldn't have been able to get into the $30 show anyway) and the Girl was actually relieved to not have to muck through more yuppie quiet-music, having already endured the dim, sanctimonious Lavender Diamond, the doughy shirtlessness of huckster-hicksters O'death and a whole other cavalcade of ersatz non-rock over the course of the week. In fact, you can see it all here. We departed and briefly wandered through douchebag-ville (read: Dumbo) until we stopped in for a drink at a bar that had roaches and a stunningly annoying bartender.

The only other CMJ show i had the pleasure of somehow getting in to was Brooklyn's favorite mustachioed rapscallions, The Giraffes at Greenpoint's ex-Polski pick-up disco, Studio B. In fact, MsMR even got backstage, which would've been a real hoot had there been something other than Red Bull and French onion dip in the Green Room. Drew Giraffe (god, i love calling people in bands by their first name and their band name!!) was kind enough to share some whiskey with me though, and the band, playing to an out-of-the-woodwork gaggle of goth kids there to see the entertaining but purely venal Mindless Self-Indulgence, managed to win quite a few converts despite awful sound. Some crummy band opened, and human beat-box Kenny Muhammad rounded out the slapped together, only-during-CMJ, bill, but i missed the remainder of this show to play one of my own. As for the venue itself, sure, a former Polish disco sounds like a real trip, but the intrigue ends once you transverse the club's trapezoidal entryway.

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Saturday, November 11th: This was a fun day. Tipped off by a pal to a mini-tour of two Bay Area rock bands, i set out to catch a free show at Passout Records on Grand St. A 3pm start time resulted in the first band going on at roughly 5, as the shops' co-owning couple were having a very public and at least half-drunken tiff, all to the street strains of a live Oblivians record. But the show must go on, and once it did, the mood lightened and everything was swell. The Husbands were out for blood, but had to settle for being a smash. Three girls with matching dresses and an average of 31.3 teeth (do the math) banged and belted their way through a fun, scary garage set. Especially rocking were a song with the hilarious chorus "B-I-L-L-Y Spells Heartbreak" and a perfectly executed cover of the Shanrgi-Las "Never Again." Predictably, no bass, but the girls' wisely went the Oblivians route - of course - with simple drum bashing, and one guitar sludgy enough to fill the sonic role of the bass adequately ... Poppy trio The Makes Nice (featuring a great fucking guitarist from the otherwise annoying Fucking Champs) opened the show and did a fine job, too, considering the weirdness that preceded them. They also taught me an awesome card game, commonly known as "Shithead" but shown to me as "Shit Stack," which is of course, much funnier. An MsMR salute to pal Lauren, for introducing me to these bands, and getting me a beer … Boston's Turpentine Brothers - yet another bass-less band - were a snooze, as are most Boston bands, so MsMR split to get some tacos. Yum!

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Zachary Freshkill (see "Drew Giraffe" above) was in attendance and, being in a record store and similarly fascinated with obscure and burgeoning bands, he had a few musical suggestions and notions for me, the most lasting of which were:

A. M83 are the worst band in history (and check them out, they are almost diabolically treacly), and

2. Check out Live Fast Die. Pretty good stuff, too - reminds me of Guitar Wolf - and i can go for any band that has a song named "PIZZA AND VOMIT."

Nonetheless, upon sampling the works of those two bands, i considered my column and thought, "ah, i hear stuff that good / bad every damn week." So, thus motivated, i attempted to put together twin lists from bands sitting in my "friend request box" that meet one of those two divergent criteria. Here's what i came up with (put another way, some actual reviews!):

Even worse than M83:

Aaron Schroeder (Indie / Folk / Punk)
You know, when Johnny Cash was making music like this, people like Aaron Schroeder were listening to Pat Boone. It's depressing when if you really think about it.

Puzzle Muteson (Acoustic / Folk / Shoegaze)
By the sounds of it, this guy misses Elliot Smith so much, it gave him cerebral palsy.

benjijustbenji (Folk Rock)
shittyjustshitty.

KILLOLA (Rock / Indie / Ghettotech)
This sounds like No Doubt being impersonated in a 12:55 am skit on Saturday Night Live.

FUTURE IN PLASTICS (Rock / Experimental / Pop Punk)
Hey, how come nobody told me Judy Tenuta was singing for Blue Oyster Cult now?

A Denver Mile (Shorts / Sandals / Whiney)
Bazooka Joe: "Say MsMR, how long could you tolerate A Denver Mile?"
MsMR: "A New York Minute!"
Plop!

Hannah Speller (Pop / Alternative / Rock)
Dilettante mom makes Kate Bush for divorcees. Thanks, lady.

Autopilots (Indie / Pop / Rock)
"Your eyes! Are a sight for sore ... E-ey-ey-ey-eys!" Just when panning bands is starting to feel like scrubbing the kitchen, these guys are a self-cleaning oven.

Poop Yer Pants (Experimental / Indie / Folk Rock)
A band named Poop Yer Pants can go one of two ways: a noisy, unwittingly "experimental" band by a group of high school smart-asses, which i would prefer; or third-generation Moldy Peaches folk stoner-in-the-woods stuff. Why do i get my hopes up?

Some Guy (Acoustic / Folk Rock / Indie)
"You call yourself a reviewer? Any PROFESIONAL reviewer would NOT delve into SPECULATION about someone's PERSONAL life.

If you had actually reviewed my music I would laugh off your opinion of the music. Instead you make smart-ass remarks about what you believe my social life to be.

I guarantee you I get laid more than you and for you to go on your website and speculate otherwise is wrong.

Here's what you do: Remove my name and anything about me on your website and I won't have my lawyer get in touch with you about the charges he will present to you of personal slander.

This is a one time warning."

(Guy in Question).

Almost as good as Live Fast Die:
(This proved tougher)

BRUSH (Indie / Alternative / Electronica)
Hilarious but sly, hooky electro-schmaltz, with simple melodies. Finally, a live with laptop act that won’t make you want to make the "hey can i check my e-mail?" joke. I never thought i'd say it.

grand ole party (Big Beat / Club / Rock)
The Yeah Yeah Yeahs comparisons are uinevitable, but the g.o.p. is a bit simpler, blues-ier, more primal, and - get this - they have a bassist. I'm sold.

Car-sick Cars (Rock / Indie / Shoegaze)
Chinese lucky art garage. You know i can't say no to a band with the headline "Enjoy our panda noise ! "

Ahoi (Rock / Tropical / Other)
Demos made in haste reveal big croon-y poppy business. It is nice to hear Mike Realistic on the bass again. It’s been too long. Good stuff and these cats are just getting started so stay tuned.

Well, that cinches it: writing about stuff i *don’t* like is a whole lot easier.

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Mondaay, November 13th: A quick note about the Beat the Devil residency at the Knitting Factory. Go. See them. Their sound and show are really beginning to take great shape - you could almost hear the harmonium this time - and they are just the band to expose just how demented Bo Diddley's "Who Do You Love" really is. They'll be there Mondays through the 4th of December. Worth the schlep, and the ducats.

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Tuesday, November 14th: Michael McDonald performed at the Waldorf=Astoria. Yes, THAT Michael McDonald. I was working as a will call guy / gift bag hander-outer for the Rita Hayworth Alzheimer's Gala (and i defy you to come up with a joke about THAT that i haven't heard before), and Mr. McDonald was the live entertainment for the $1000 / plate dinner. Apparently i arrived just in time to miss his soundcheck, but caught a song or two of his short set. Though most of the beard is gone, McDonald's voice has not changed one bit, as he lead a three piece band (himself on keys, plus a drummer and a neck-bobbing five-string bass player) and a McDonald's commercial-quality gospel backing through a short set of mostly Motown covers. No "What a Fool Believes" and no "Ya Mo B There" either, sadly. He did end with "Takin' It to the Streets", which had Dan Aykroyd and his wife busting some funky white-folks dance moves. By the way, i'm not making any of this up. Actually, the best part: Michael's outfit to such a fancy star studded evening? A too large black t-shirt and some beat up loafers. Making this the second event i've been to as an employee of this company featuring an out-of-place performance by a former star in a too-big black t-shirt (The Smithereens at a trade show at the Javitz Center being the first). Incidentally, you'd be surprised how excited people who make hundreds of thousands of dollars a year get when you give them a complimentary umbrella on an unseasonably warm evening, or maybe you wouldn't.

Lastly, Michael McDonald is very nice and has a firm handshake.

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Phew. A more conventional column next week ...