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Archive for November 2006
Loudersoft decided that Black Friday sales would be fun. Off we go into the wild black yonder searching for Easy Bake Ovens and DVD players. WORD.
It’s no secret that I don’t hang out at Newby’s (a long story that has to do with the clientele rather than with the always awesome “Too Tall” Todd or the people who work there). However, I might break my own rules for this show. You should, too.
I received an invitation to an awesome show last week. Unfortunately, while the show was happening, I was standing in the middle of a casino in Reno coughing my head off to the dry, filthy indoor ventilations system while talking to college students about the label I work for. So, sadly, I couldn’t make the Cat Power show at Young Avenue Deli on Wednesday night. Fortunately for you, Rory from My Best Friends Are Blues made it in my place and here’s what he had to say about it. Sound like it was pretty good, sorry I can’t be everywhere.
Up until I discovered The Greatest, I’d been looking; and looking vainly let it be noted, for a 3 A.M. voice to caress me in the way Hope Sandoval’s does; a caress born in the evening in bars and married to the shimmer of red, red wine. I stood there lightly, with my hands jabbed into my pockets. The only thing I could think of while I watched Chan Marshall performing was how much more I wished I actually hurt…how much better it would feel, were I perched high upon some shredded bar stool, silky smoke from my craved cigarette smiling, and that voice in the background, in the background but somehow above all those clacks and clatters of glasses, a voice high above yet so attuned to those saddened patron soliloquies. And I don’t even smoke.
So many years of sighs were pressed into that voice. Every note seemed alive; alive with an immutable childlike veracity. She danced on the stage like a little girl with nowhere else to be. Marshall is the kind performer you’d probably expect she is, whatever that means to you. I saw an artist so exceptionally sensitive as to habitually look back at her band and clap along with the audience after every number; an artist painfully aware of the attention that her talent garnered but not nearly pompous enough to allow herself to soak even a second of it in.
As a sort of explanation for the Marshall-aided clapping, much ado has been made here in Memphis regarding the collective of Memphis-based musicians Marshall adopted to record and tour on The Greatest. And while certainly each member of the twelve person outfit is immensely talented, each adding a layer of professional confidence to the writhingly arcane Marshall, I got the feeling that if any moment the members (excluding the magnificent pianist Rick Steff) where to lay down their instruments and walk offstage, the songs would elevate themselves to a place even more immediate and emotionally inviting.
Too true, after enveloping the audience in the smoky elegance of the title track, “The Greatest”, a count-off from an excited percussionist abruptly curtailed my relaxed, dreamy situation. Slamming through what on record was of a medium forte dynamic at best, the percussionist ushered the members into the outstanding “Living Proof.” Almost immediately, the playful interchange of Steff’s piano and Marshall’s guitar on record was swept away in a wash of cymbal and the dull clang of a snare drum. Perhaps as a sign of something amiss, I could see the strain in the visages of both Steff and Marshall as they tried to retain the front-porch feel of the song despite having to elevate their volumes to compete with the percussion. The voluminous effects of percussion elsewhere on stage were considerably more severe.
Stellar axmen Teenie Hodges and Doug Easley were seen, and they did seem excited. But the best one could do amidst the shards of cymbal and stick was admire how fluidly their fingers streamed as they wove quilts of sound, sound which on record added a lantern-esque shimmer to that darkened, aforementioned, lauded and loved voice. For us here tonight though, the joyful looks on both their faces would (and sort of did) have to suffice enough.
The highlight of show for me was unquestionably the duet between Hodges and Marshall on the stunningly beautiful cut, “Where is My Love.” The squeamishness of Marshall was rivaled only by that of a vocalized Hodges, the result being an extremely endearing and terrifically poignant ballad with Hodges’ broken and weary tenor adding an effect which Marshall alone could never hope to achieve. Indeed after bearing witness to such a beauty; such an emotion as only a worn southern man and jilted southern girl are capable, ladies and gentlemen, it is intensely advised that you attend to Cat Power and her Memphis Rhythm Band on this tour.
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Until the end of the year, I’m asking artists from various bands to hijack my Hipcast to do whatever they want to do — call in a song, talk about a party, share a conference call with us, whatever you want to do. In this edition of the Hipcast Hijack, Tim from Airpushers took this thing for a test drive while he and Printz (the other half of Airpushers) prove their globetrotting skills as they cruise around the world on tour with the inimitable Fergie. Today’s hipcast finds Tim down in Brazil. Short but sweet, you get the idea.
I’m from out of town, it’s true. I used to live in New York City, and I’m used to some of the self-important attitudes that are naturally occurring in the city. It’s a dog-eat-dog world, and particularly in a city of 8 million people. You have places to go, so do I. I understand entirely that often, you’re actually more important than I am. You’re an important person and people should respect you, right?
Well, there’s a difference between commanding respect and demanding respect. I wish that the door staff at Bowery Ballroom would recognize this distinction because they’re inciting people to behave badly towards them. You gotta recognize: it’s not the golden ’70s and ’80s where velvet ropes and hand-picking who comes into your club is the rule of thumb. CMJ brings millions of dollars into the economy of New York City — drinks, dinners, hotels, taxi cabs — on an annual basis. Among the arrangements they have, one crucial one is with the venues, to allow a certain number of badge holders in for each event. There is usually a “cut-off”, but as anyone who has ever been to CMJ will tell you that figure is consistently arbitrary. By arbitrary, I mean someone decides to make a cut-off at a certain point even before the club is at capacity — in some cases before it’s anywhere even close. It has long been suspected that this cut-off happens to encourage additional ticket sales from badge holders who desperately want to see the show. The club knows they can get away with it, and an extra $20-50 a pop in their pocket is money that doesn’t have to be paid out to anyone but themselves.
I can’t tell you what a hassle I’ve had, both last year and this year, getting into shows with my CMJ badge. Some, I could understand before I even got there (The Knife at Webster Hall was way oversold, I knew I couldn’t get in). But at Bowery Ballroom, I went to two seperate showcases well before midnight and was turned away with my badge. I saw lines formed down the street in front of the club. To my good fortune, I was escorted into both of those shows by folks who had some pull with the organizers, and what I found inside was upsetting to me.
The place was barely half-filled both times.
After paying for a CMJ badge, which “doesn’t guarantee admission”, there should at least be some system in place where you know whether or not you’ve even got a chance to get in. Instead, people come to the venue, wait, and are treated like shit by the unfriendly and defensive security team at the door. I understand needing to keep a clear path and to keep people safe, but do you really have to talk threateningly to that tiny, unassuming girl who accidentally blocked the door for two seconds, unaware she’s causing a problem? Do you really have to approach people in an agressive manner and talk to them like they’re ruining your night just because they’re smoking? Is it necessary to talk down to people just because it’s so obvious that you hate your job? Are you aware that people mistake your aggressiveness as racism? I don’t take it that way because, look, I understand everyone comes from some rough & tumble shit in their lives at some point. But I heard more than one person say to me, thinking I would agree with them, “Can you believe those fucking n*****s at the Bowery?”
I can’t decide what’s worse: hearing someone call these hard-working people a bunch of n*****s or having those same hard-working people treating the club patrons like dirt. And believe me: I went to a lot of clubs in Manhattan and Brooklyn on my last two CMJ trips. It *really is* just Bowery Ballroom and nowhere else.
I’m not suggesting that anyone do anything untoward. In fact, it would only make things worse if you did. But it frightens me to think that one day, one of those door people is going to act towards some lunatic the way they acted towards me and the people I was visiting with and that person isn’t going to take it anymore. That lunatic is going to be so incensed by the way they were treated, they’re going to go home and get a gun and start shooting at the door people at Bowery Ballroom. Someone is going to get hurt or die, and to think it could have all been resolved by simply having some basic fucking manners.
I know your job is hard. Life is hard. Life sucks. Was I killing myself to be at Bowery that night for some show? Would it have killed you to show some fucking human decency to the people I was there with? Even when my name was on the list, could you have mellowed out for a second? Who is telling you to behave like animals towards the patrons of your club?
We just want to see some good music, have a few drinks, and hang out with our friends.
On the flip side of this whole thing, if people were a bit more conscientious about their surroundings and figured out the difference between right and wrong, it’s possible a lot of the unpleasant exchanges could be avoided.
But really it comes down to that arbitrary number of CMJ badge holders who are allowed into the club and the bloated guest lists generated by people who don’t even bother to show up for the shows. If you RSVP, then show up. If you’re not sure, then *don’t RSVP*. Your RSVP means someone who actually wants to see the band, who likes the band, doesn’t get to go in because you had to have your option in place.
If we can all work this shit out, life will be much better for visitors to NYC like me, for club patrons, and for the people who work there.
I’m just saying, yo. Think about this shit. None of it is solid gold, right?
I’m not just another Shins fan who heard them on the Garden State soundtrack and had them change my life. I respect people who had that happen. But I’ve been a Shins fan since before Sub Pop, and I’ll be one no matter what happens from here forward. I found it interesting, then, that during their session for KEXP live at CMJ, James Mercer made it patently clear that they were looking to the future with plans for something bigger. Cheryl Waters made mention, during the session, of the impending end of their contract with Sub Pop. James answered, “Yep, after this record we are free agents.” A moment of hushed, prideful silence came over the visitors booth, but one of recognition for what has already come to pass. Here’s some pics and, after you check these out, head over to the KEXP blog for some more.
Loudersoft greatfully acknowledges April, John, Chris, Cheryl, and the whole KEXP Staff because they are beautiful people. Loudersoft also greatfully acknlowedges the help of Derek from Good Weather For Airstrikes for his help.
Click Here For More Pics of The Shins et. al. from CMJ Music Marathon 2006.
Happy Craig
Surprised Craig
VHS or Beta will start work on a new album in January of 2007 for Astralwerks.
In this very column, I’ve stepped on the neck of Sub Pop records more than once. I’ve stepped on it, crushed the adam’s apple, laughed openly, pointed my finger, and said a bunch of nasty things. Oh, wait, maybe not in this column, but trust me I have.
I take it all back.
Before I get there, let me start by talking about American Princes, already on my hit list as one of the most underrated of the up-and-coming rock bands I’ve seen. After their appearance at the Yep Roc afternoon showcase, doubters were set straight and new fans were made. The Princes took the stage and ripped through a strategically powerful 45 minute set, completely without artifice and totally on fire. The boys from Little Rock left little question in anyone’s mind about the power they bring to the game, doing righteously impressive performances of songs from Less And Less including a blistering rendition of “This Is The Year” that made people dance away their hangovers. From the comfotable confines of Piano’s, I headed down to Chinatown for some delicious (and really cheap) pho at Pho Grand, followed by an appearance at The Fader House Party. Stockholm’s precociously inventive Lo-Fi-Fnk crushed the standing room only crowd as they engaged in an electronic battle for fun.
After wiping the blood off my ears, I took time out to visit the IODA party where visitors were treated to a DJ set from Thurston Moore and piles of Two Boots pizza so good it was sinful. I took back to The Fader party for a peek at deservingly super-hyped Raleigh-Duramites Annuals. Before I could catch my breath, I blazed off to Hiro Ballroom for the Filter party where the Marie Antoinette soundtrack was being promoted in full effect. A surprisingly well-done set by 80’s act Bow Wow Wow capped off the show with BWW’s own Annabelle Luwin decked out in a full Marie Antoinette costume just for the occasion.
Blazing back to the Lower East Side, I found The Fader House’s doors closed and I couldn’t decide what to do next. Andrea and I decided to see if we could manage our way into the Sub Pop showcase at Bowery Ballroom to which I alluded earler. Badges were, of course, sold out by the time we got there. However, by great fortune, I ran into Dave Hernandez from The Shins. Having not seen each other in three years, Dave was nonetheless kind enough to invite us into the catacombs of the Bowery to join the fracas. Once inside, I scored like 300 hipster bingo points by running into David Cross, Eugene Mirman, and Albert Hammond, Jr. of The Strokes. I also ran into Patrick from Pop Tarts Toasted Suck and had the feverish realization that we might be the only two music bloggers in the whole place. When social hour ended, we went upstairs where we were treated to insanely good performances from CSS, The Thermals, The Album Leaf, and the perennially wonderful boys from Portland known as (guess….) The Shins.
If that weren’t enough, it was refreshing to see Jonathan Poneman himself at the gig along with longtime Sub Pop impresario Megan Jasper who, for the record, looked more beautiful and healthy than I can ever remember seeing her. There was an intense warmth and depth from all the Sub Poppers that felt strangely out of place. I kept thinking to myself, “Can this be real? Sub Pop friendly? Fun?” I lived through years of torture at the hands of the Sub Pop uber-hipster-cronyism in Seattle that was at times rather unpleasant. Suddenly, on this night, instead of seeing a bunch of claw-digging hipsters trying to out cool each other, I was standing in a room full of grown ups who love music so much they came all the way across the country supporting the music they loved. I applaud Sub Pop and their incredible roster and for their newly-found generosity of spirit.
I wanted to go to Vice Afterhours for a chance to check out another band who has been buzzed about lately called The Black Lips, but I got there just in time for puking and breaking down to be the only things in full effect. Fucked Up had cancelled earlier in the evening leading to an appearance by Cold War Kids. Summarily, there were numerous P.A. problems and, according to those in attendance, I didn’t miss much because of the P.A. problems.
Oh well. Maybe next year.
If you are seeing this message, then it means that I'm someplace other than at home & whatever I'm calling in about was worth posting about. Listen, listen, listen….