The last two days of CMJ went by in a manic 48 hours uninterrupted for me by any real type of sleep, so I feel it's fitting to mash them together into one long mega-post.
Friday I attended the Matador showcase at the CSV center, despite having been annoyed by the venue's faulty electricity before. Despite still-crappy speakers, things went more smoothly this time, with Lemonade delivering a solid set of bumpin' bass, live drums (which almost always improve an electronic act), human vocals, and fun samples, like a reiteration of the phrase "we're all having a good time" in various people's voices.
Cold Cave teased out the tiny amount of movement that had appeared during Lemonade's set into some full-on audience dancing, which isn't normally a difficult feat for them but at the serious, arms-crossed affair that is CMJ, it is. Former hardcore kid Wesley Eisold handled the mic with the poise of a massively understated Bowie or, at times, Robert Smith, and industrially produced beats added a Goth flavor to the band's electronic dance beats. Vocal harmonies and tradeoffs between Eisold and his female bandmate were spot on, and when, in the end, the beats devolved into drones, I was still swaying along.
Matador newcomer Ted Leo and the Pharmacists were in punk rock mode that night, going faster and louder than I've seen them play in the past. T.L. was even sporting a fauxhawk to go with the faux-punk. Leo likes to get philosophical between songs, and this was no exception, though the crowd wasn't very receptive (or just couldn't hear him through the buzzy speakers). "You're not interested in life lessons?" he asked. "You're right not to be, it's Friday night!" Then, later: "it's cheeky of me to engage you at this point." I felt guilty seeing an old favorite during CMJ but all the dancing and singing along did much to lift my spirits on such a miserably rainy night.
I headed over to the last of Vice's halfhearted "late nites" at Public Assembly in time to see the Duchess and the Duke, a pretty but boring acoustic act which I suppose in this day and age qualifies as "freak folk." I might enjoy this group at a coffee shop in San Francisco as I sipped a fair trade soy chai latte, but at party o'clock in Brooklyn, I was disappointed. I did find it amusing, however, that the gum-chewing percussionist kept blowing bubbles even as he played a stand-up drum, a tambourine and various shaky things.
So then it was Saturday, and Myopenbar and Todd P were throwing a party at that "above the autoparts store" space in Bushwick. It had easily the best lineup of any showcase I'd been to that week; this may have had something to do with the fact that it wasn't an official showcase. Sisters kicked it off with some great jangley garage rock. They reminded me a little bit of No Age, and it wasn't just because they're a guitar-drums two piece. Like their L.A. brethren, they're not afraid to do weird things with the genre, like when guitarist Aaron Pfannnebecker was playing and singing a slow song but Matt Conboy was still freaking out on drums, with energetic fills all over the place. Like two songs at once that just happened to go together.
Despite having a tough act to follow, Surfer Blood made a good showing of it with poppy, aggressive songs with a hint of tropicalia. Becky of myopenbar told me they were the most-booked band of CMJ this year, so I was impressed they had any energy left. I was especially impressed with the percussionist, who jumped up and down and bobbed his large afro feverishly as he played drums, woodbocks, maracas and mutiple cowbells.
Jeff: The Brotherhood brought things back to 70's riff rock with a class of music I'm going to call "garage metal." Two good looking dudes, Black Sabbath monster riffs, moshing, stage dives, and a sick, grinding finale of noise. What more could I want at this late hour? Energy never flagging, the kids in the audience kept up their insane pace of moshing, stage diving and breast baring to the very end.
With my last ounce of energy, I pedaled over to Don Pedros, thanking Brooklyn's uneven topography for sloping downhill as one goes west on Myrtle Ave. I'd heard Impose had been killing it all week and I wanted to catch the last bit of their program. A buzz band from last year, Crystal Antlers had aged well with their sprawling compositions and dramatic chord progressions. But it took the weird craziness of the K-Holes to get me up out of my chair. Featuring members of Golden Triangle, these folks do not fuck around. Singer Vashti Windish wailed and pounded the floor as if exorcising a demon while the music lurched and staggered like an old blues band from hell (extra points for gloomy saxophone). There is a curious intersection between blues, ‘60s surf rock, the nebulous concept of "Goth" and bands that could play Rubulad, and this band lives in it. It was a great, sloppy ending to a week that had contained more disappointments than discoveries (but oh, what discoveries!). Thanks Boogie Boarder, the Antlers, Le Rug, Screaming Females etc...you make CMJ worth slogging through and life worth living.
Photo by http://www.flickr.com/photos/brandi666/
