Friday at CMJ -- What is this thing the kids are doing with their hips?
CMJ- You are a DELIGHT.
Friday night's bands have raised the bar even higher.
Friday night and I am feeling shiny and bright. I put on my beige pixie kicks with the pink piping and walk over to Tonic to see The Break Up. I arrive in time to observe this very pleasant occurance: Julia Marvel in the lobby squealing with glee upon seeing a stack of the new Deli Magazine. They each take a copy and page to the back where their new album "The Turkey Sessions" has been reviewed. They read their review, seem pleased with it, and then set about deciphering which Deli icons have been attributed to them. Banana, French Fries, Hamburger, Pizza and Steak. While decoding what they mean, they offer a couple more ideas for icons: half a bag of Utt's potato chips, a jar of pig's semen. Hmmm, guys, maybe you should come and write for us. Only then did I introduce myself to Hans, their drummer. A great bunch of guys.
While watching the pulsing, hip shaking members of The Break Up, it hits me; this is going to be a good night. The Break Up, in suits and ties, are coooool with an inordinate amount of "o's." Their lead singer has more hair than he needs and immediately infuses the room with revelry and merriment. They will no doubt be asked to be the "high school band" on some future episode of The OC so it's a good idea to check them out before they are dating coked up Hollywood starlets.
I am beginning to notice a pattern at The Living Room (still soap in the soap dispenser, still towels in the towel dispenser). Bring us your morose, your downtrodden, and we will give them an hour during CMJ. Don't get me wrong, sadness is infinitely interesting, but thumping through my head while watching Kevin Devine's set at The Living Room was this simple feeling; I've heard this before. Kevin Devine, beautiful head of hair, beautiful voice, sounds like a cross between Conor Oberst and Conor Oberst later that day, except his political dissension is less thinly veiled. "They say support the troops in Iraq/ I support the troops/ I want them all to come back." Absolutely. Yes. However, once in a while this indie pixie would love to see one of these moppy headed young lads get up on a mic with an original idea like, "instead of writing a song about why I hate George Bush, I am going to support my country and enlist. So long, scenesters, I'm headed for WAR!"
Sadness is infinitely interesting, but artists such as Nick Drake have already gotten to a lot of it expertly, so we would do well to make it original. It's times like these when I appreciate Bob Dylan even more who, during what can arguably be considered America's most fertile period of government dissension, stayed away from the (literal) topic in his songs. Maybe this is why he is a timeless icon, and Joan Bias's songs sound flat and dated.
Paul Brill was having a bad night. He had computer disasters all day and his guitar was staying stubbornly out of tune. However, his set at CBGB's Gallery was an auditory buffet of inventive sounds. Neat things happened; the drummer scraped his cymbals with his sticks producing a jarring, train at night sound and Paul, running the strings of his guitar along the mic stand accompanied him. Together, they added a sense of friction to the seemingly pretty melodies. Paul Brill, hovering between pop and world music, is worth a listen.
A wowing love letter to early rock and roll, the music of The Harlem Shakes is as classy as it is sexy. The lead singer swaggers and lurches into the mic like a pre-Graceland Elvis, while his band is lousy with talent. During The Harlem Shakes' set, their established following flailed their arms and legs about and appeared to be in convulsions of euphoria. I got scared, I inched toward the door, but someone standing next to me assured me everything was alright, that what the kids were doing is called DANCING (I could be spelling it wrong) and it is what they do when they hear music they like. I have never seen a crowd in New York do this thing called "dancing," I worry that it will lead to blue jeans and Communism.
Deli favorite Man in Gray, always hard driving, always melodically superior, was a fitting wrap up of Friday night's festivities. I believe this may have been the best night of CMJ yet.
I was unable to see Pilot to Gunner and Ambulance because there was no room at either Pianos or Mercury Lounge for a little music writer with a pass. I could have pushed my way through but that would not have been very lady-like, would it?
THE BIG FINALE: Saturday night, we hold our Chin up Chin Up while walking through the Temple of Echoes with a Shy Child before saying Au Revoir, Simone!
I am off to look up more about what they call "dancing."
Until tomorrow I remain your,
lousy with loving CMJ,
indie pixie
Don't take my word for it, check out these websites:
www.paulbrill.com
www.harlemshakes.com
www.maningray.com
www.pilottogunner.com
Friday night's bands have raised the bar even higher.
Friday night and I am feeling shiny and bright. I put on my beige pixie kicks with the pink piping and walk over to Tonic to see The Break Up. I arrive in time to observe this very pleasant occurance: Julia Marvel in the lobby squealing with glee upon seeing a stack of the new Deli Magazine. They each take a copy and page to the back where their new album "The Turkey Sessions" has been reviewed. They read their review, seem pleased with it, and then set about deciphering which Deli icons have been attributed to them. Banana, French Fries, Hamburger, Pizza and Steak. While decoding what they mean, they offer a couple more ideas for icons: half a bag of Utt's potato chips, a jar of pig's semen. Hmmm, guys, maybe you should come and write for us. Only then did I introduce myself to Hans, their drummer. A great bunch of guys.
While watching the pulsing, hip shaking members of The Break Up, it hits me; this is going to be a good night. The Break Up, in suits and ties, are coooool with an inordinate amount of "o's." Their lead singer has more hair than he needs and immediately infuses the room with revelry and merriment. They will no doubt be asked to be the "high school band" on some future episode of The OC so it's a good idea to check them out before they are dating coked up Hollywood starlets.
I am beginning to notice a pattern at The Living Room (still soap in the soap dispenser, still towels in the towel dispenser). Bring us your morose, your downtrodden, and we will give them an hour during CMJ. Don't get me wrong, sadness is infinitely interesting, but thumping through my head while watching Kevin Devine's set at The Living Room was this simple feeling; I've heard this before. Kevin Devine, beautiful head of hair, beautiful voice, sounds like a cross between Conor Oberst and Conor Oberst later that day, except his political dissension is less thinly veiled. "They say support the troops in Iraq/ I support the troops/ I want them all to come back." Absolutely. Yes. However, once in a while this indie pixie would love to see one of these moppy headed young lads get up on a mic with an original idea like, "instead of writing a song about why I hate George Bush, I am going to support my country and enlist. So long, scenesters, I'm headed for WAR!"
Sadness is infinitely interesting, but artists such as Nick Drake have already gotten to a lot of it expertly, so we would do well to make it original. It's times like these when I appreciate Bob Dylan even more who, during what can arguably be considered America's most fertile period of government dissension, stayed away from the (literal) topic in his songs. Maybe this is why he is a timeless icon, and Joan Bias's songs sound flat and dated.
Paul Brill was having a bad night. He had computer disasters all day and his guitar was staying stubbornly out of tune. However, his set at CBGB's Gallery was an auditory buffet of inventive sounds. Neat things happened; the drummer scraped his cymbals with his sticks producing a jarring, train at night sound and Paul, running the strings of his guitar along the mic stand accompanied him. Together, they added a sense of friction to the seemingly pretty melodies. Paul Brill, hovering between pop and world music, is worth a listen.
A wowing love letter to early rock and roll, the music of The Harlem Shakes is as classy as it is sexy. The lead singer swaggers and lurches into the mic like a pre-Graceland Elvis, while his band is lousy with talent. During The Harlem Shakes' set, their established following flailed their arms and legs about and appeared to be in convulsions of euphoria. I got scared, I inched toward the door, but someone standing next to me assured me everything was alright, that what the kids were doing is called DANCING (I could be spelling it wrong) and it is what they do when they hear music they like. I have never seen a crowd in New York do this thing called "dancing," I worry that it will lead to blue jeans and Communism.
Deli favorite Man in Gray, always hard driving, always melodically superior, was a fitting wrap up of Friday night's festivities. I believe this may have been the best night of CMJ yet.
I was unable to see Pilot to Gunner and Ambulance because there was no room at either Pianos or Mercury Lounge for a little music writer with a pass. I could have pushed my way through but that would not have been very lady-like, would it?
THE BIG FINALE: Saturday night, we hold our Chin up Chin Up while walking through the Temple of Echoes with a Shy Child before saying Au Revoir, Simone!
I am off to look up more about what they call "dancing."
Until tomorrow I remain your,
lousy with loving CMJ,
indie pixie
Don't take my word for it, check out these websites:
www.paulbrill.com
www.harlemshakes.com
www.maningray.com
www.pilottogunner.com
posted by Marie from the Deli at 9:25 AM
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