The Deli CMJ Music Marathon Runner (Manhattan)

CMJ 2005 BEST MOST WORST List from The Deli Magazine

2005-09-19T04:38:00.000-07:00

In honor of The Emmys, please enjoy…

The Deli Magazine’s 1st Annual BEST MOST WORST List for CMJ 2005

Best song title: Knife Skill’s “Today I went to the doctor, and…”

Best band name: Chin up Chin up (close seconds: Au Revoir, Simone and The Harlem Shakes)

Most difficult venue to find: The Knitting Factory, which disappears and reappears like Kevin Bacon in The Invisible Man.

Most annoyed looking sound guy: Dude from CBGB’s during pre-show set up for the Paul Brill show. He is doing much to further the stereotype of tech guys hating “non-users.” Don’t think the “hands through the hair, loud sigh—musicians are nimrods eye-roll” went unappreciated—I was in the front row loving it.

Page McConnell award for turning a household object into a musical instrument: Jaymay’s back up musician blowing into bottles during her set.

Least surprising statement made by a musician onstage at CMJ: Kevin Devine: “I don’t support George Bush.”

Best hand stamp: Tonic, for their inky, detailed stamp in the shape of a martini. I didn't even want to wash it off!

Most surprising CMJ moment: New Yorkers dancing at The Harlem Shakes show.

Musician who looks most like a celebrity: Lungs of a Giant’s frontman Paul: That guy from Sweet Home Alabama.

Audience member who looks most like a celebrity: The guy standing outside of Tonic who I thought was Mark Ruffalo for ten minutes. Sorry about all the staring.

Your indie pixie,

Marie Helene

Saturday at CMJ-- Go out with a cowbell.

2005-09-18T15:43:00.000-07:00

CMJ: Once again you've gone and hit the road on me.

Marie Helene is unwell.

Due to a Surprise Party (Happy Birthday, Indie Pixie), today's commentating is brought to you by my good friend Ben Riskin. You may know Ben, he was that guy hitting on you last night on the LES.

***

My first thought during Shy Child's set at Scenic was "Oh shit, a keytar! Someone catch me while I swoon!" Can I call this “extravagant communist electro rock” – who is gonna stop me if I do? I danced to Shy Child as if it were a DFA Records extravaganza – watch out The Jaun McClean. Each song is dying to be remixed, spawning three thousand different versions each with their own approach to the austere keyboards and militant drumming. Kind of a Mates of State meets Atom and His Package type ensemble – just to provide the necessary comparison to other bands.

If I had to choose one venue for this band to play in it would be: basement party with a whole bunch of hot friends. Both boys were using a vocal effect that blends all the vocals right into the music. On one side, it leaves the crowd questioning for a coherent word, on the other it reminds me of some low-fi My Bloody Valentine complexity.

Nine Forty-Seven PM: I heard a cowbell. I might have peed my pants. I love cowbells in non-cowbell genres.

Since someone used the word Analog to describe a genre yesterday, I will continue the pattern and bring attention to the joys of DIY Analog which Shy Child seem to get the monthly newsletter about.

Seen in the crowd:
a. best friend who won’t stop clapping to the beat.
b. gay guy who wishes he was David LaChapelle but still needs to graduate from Parsons in two years and lose a few accessories. I mean a kerchief a hat and suspenders? What is this, the sixties?

If I was Shy Child's voice machine setting, I would be called: my subway conductor is a robot yelling into a megaphone and it makes me want to stand clear of the doors. They refused to play an encore, citing their position in the set list as reason against. This is the classiest move I’ve seen out of a band since Iggy Pop gave up his seat to an old woman on the subway.

Onto The Mercury Lounge to check out Chin up Chin Up. This show sounded great….from the outside of Mercury Lounge. Due to the greediness of certain venue owners, those with badges were let in on a “someone who paid left and isn’t coming back” basis. Even after forty minutes of hot line time, I only got to the door to be told that I was not in fact Marie Helene, and there was no way I would be seeing this show free of charge. On that note, I decided it was time to hit up a friendlier venue but first I must share two great sightings:

a. asian kid with a flat top
b. red head in a bad brains tshirt.

I love both of you for making my line time worthwhile and reminding me what music is all about – the hair.

Au Revoir, Simone is as sweet as the vegan cake upstairs at The Cake Shop. Mmmmmmmmmmm with sprinkles. Au Revoir, Simone is in the same vein as Massive Attack and Mogwai, but with that sinister girl vibe which is oh so hot and dangerous. Songs that aren’t at this pace become dance-able numbers that are wonderful in a sunday-morning-retail-store-before-it-gets-busy kind of way. Overall, they would be my request for music before the doors opened and I had to spend the day ringing. Au Revoir, Simone could fill the role of light at the end of tunnel on almost any hungover Sunday.

OMG I am matchmaker at heart and I have an idea: Shy Child dates Au Revoir, Simone.
Those babies would be beautiful and the music fused together would provide some amazing turnouts.

I would see Simone in a small venue because the sound is big, bigger than perhaps is ideal for this band but they are going to blow up and play at large venues where their sound doesn’t transfer well so you can tell your friends you saw the most intimate, wonderful show of theirs which could never be matched. If I were in a cocoon in mid-butterfly transition, this is both the music I would listen to when reminiscing about my days as a caterpillar, as well as the music that would symbolize my excitement and nervousness about life as a butterfly.

KUDU at Nublu was HOT HOT HOT. Breakbeats are where it's at and this girl is singing to them like she’s Shirley Bassey and just came from some secret Drum n’ Bass recording session and has been doing this for hours but still looks and sounds sexy as hell. She is soulful and haunting, like Whoopi in Corrina, Corrina where she plays a house keeper and a witch who uses her terrifying powers to overcome racism and class issues.

If TV on the Radio were to choose any lounge act to remix and claim was their own, it would be Kudu. They are amazing. I actually asked for an album to buy, and I’m cheap like whoa. On that note: October 23 her 12’’ comes out, while in January they’ll be introducing their album.

Nublu had the feeling of a contemporary prohibition speakeasy where Kudu told us all what was going on, but from the outside it just looked like a closed store. It's hard to compare people to Peaches, who’s pretty revolutionary in her own nature, but Kudu has that same singer/songwriter/hot/sweaty/overtly sexual thing going on without the androgyny and profanity. Neither is better or worse, but they both do things with womanhood, voice, and song that blew my mind. Main point: Kudu served me.

Seen in the crowd:
a. biggest pant cuff to have ever existed – reaching almost mid knee on its journey upward.
b. leather cabbie hat (vomit).

***

Thank you, Ben. I do hope the members of Shy Child and Au Revoir, Simone heed your advice and get it on.

And, thus concludes my CMJ coverage for 2005. Let us recap.

Happy 25th Birthday, CMJ. You are getting close to your Saturn return, when who you were as a child will return to you in your adulthood. Maybe this will mean a pared down event next year, with more emphasis on New York bands and less on movie premieres and super star bands. Or maybe you will become more ambitious; adding to the event schedule tupperware demonstrations, car races, or trapeze artists! CMJ showed its Virgo tendencies this year by keeping its musicians on task and on time. Except for a ten minute sound check delay at The Break Up and Shy Child shows, I encountered no huge glitches in the scheduling.

As far as future marathons for The Deli Magazine; I have learned more about that, too. Pack food for the road, wash up at The Living Room, bring copies of the new Deli to read between artist set up, and don't underestimate the disappearing and reappearing Knitting Factory, New York's most hard to find venue.

Thanks to Paolo for the mental Power Bars, Stephanie for inspiring me with her own kick ass marathon across the bridge, Ben for the line about mid-butterfly transition, and Brendon for the gc's for a manicure/pedicure (a pixie's got to look good) and cucumber massage for my aching pixie feet.

Oh, right. And, and to all of New York's finest musicians, tech guys, sound engineers, cocktail waitresses, bartenders, bouncers, hand stampers, ID checkers, and direction givers: this whole thing has been about you.

Until the next leg I remain your,

rested and contented Indie Pixie.

For Pete's Sake, don't believe a word Ben says, check out these websites:

http://www.shychild.com/
http://www.chinupchinup.com/
http://www.aurevoirsimone.com/
http://www.kudo2u.com/

Friday at CMJ -- What is this thing the kids are doing with their hips?

2005-09-17T09:25:00.000-07:00

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

Thursday at CMJ--Be nice to Southerners, they run our Country!

2005-09-16T12:00:00.000-07:00

CMJ, you are rocking a little harder in your advanced age!

Let’s give a shout out to exhaustion, who has an ambiguous hold on me, elongating the time it takes to perform simple tasks like three hole punching a piece of paper (five minutes), remembering the name of my boyfriend (Brendon, I think) and feeding my cats in the morning (priceless). God bless you exhaustion, you are so much better than the other human conditions, in that you make me feel high.

Thursday night’s shows at CMJ started off with a contemplative whinny (maybe to shake off the folk dust I collected at The Living Room last night), and ascended to a rollicking night of hard rock.

I found The Silent League at Scenic to be characteristically cerebral, nuanced, fey. I can’t shake a little brotherly feeling when I think of this band: Justin Russo is the little brother of Jason Russo from Hopewell, both alums of Mercury Rev, and essentially The Silent League is the side project/little brother of Mercury Rev and Interpol. Unlike what I find sometimes the aforementioned bands, The Silent League is not postured, creating a sound Shannon from the league calls “huge and joyous.”

The Fame, all jelly bracelets and good times, should have performed at The Alphabet Lounge, a venue that is accustomed to hosting 80’s nights and good humored bands as opposed to the mean and glowering Delancey, a scowl hanging off the lips of The Williamsburg Bridge. I am quoting the movie Sneakers when I say about The Delancey, “Everything about that place says go away.” I like the intentions of The Fame, they are engaging and welcoming, and it is always fun to go see them play.

Over to Pianos for some more new wave and The Ios, a band whose press mentions the word “lush” more times than it does their actual name. There is a reason for that; The Ios spreads out a lush blanket on which to enjoy your sound-scape picnic. Highly enjoyable, inventive and and rich in layers of meaning.

Knife Skills: the band whose name should always be followed by an exclamation point. Jin Moon, who is affiliated with Knife Skills! in a way she did not specify in her email, said this about the band: “They are more evil than any dirty rotten scoundrel heavy metal group, so much so that you will feel like your entire person has been shredded to pieces…they give new meaning to fucked up and fierce.” Well, Jin Moon is right: take one look at dour flower poets Anna and Fon-lin and I think the words that spring to mind is “fucked up and fierce,” old or new definitions. They also win the best song title competition no one but me knew we were having. Check out these apples: “Our Summer of Teenage Lust,” “JT Leroy, Meet Dennis Cooper,” and “Today, I went to the Doctor And…”

Then, back to the said scowl of a venue The Delancey to catch Soft’s set at 10pm. A kind Southern bloke from The Rewinds whose name I did not catch leaned against the wall outside The Delancey and gave me his thoughts on this band. “Soft sounds like something from an IPOD commercial” he said. He had a thick as traffic Birmingham accent that made some of his words sound delayed. I can see what he means. Soft’s agenda seems to be: play as loud as we can until everyone in the audience jumps up and down. I obliged and kicked my pink pixie kicks in the air, but their music is painted with one hardcore bristled brush. It would be more satisfying to see some lighter colors.

Army of Me’s set was more of a balance between loud and nuanced, expertly weaving in and out of progressions and thought. But, guess what? Indie pixie went to Indie work today and looked on her Indie computer and found out that Army of Me is not from New York City. And, The Deli Magazine only covers New York City bands. So, if you would like to go and see a band from Washington DC, Army of Me is an option. Shame on you, Army of Me. You twicked us.

I missed the My Only Hope show not realizing in time that Don Hill’s was just about as far as you can get from where I was. So, let me say this about My Only Hope: they are indeed a fist-in-the-air rock frenzy.

The Diamond Nights show was sold out, undoubtedly because of their exposure on the fifth issue of The Deli Magazine. For a glimpse of the illustrious cover, click on this business: www.thedelimagazine.com

For my parting words on Thursday at CMJ, consider this: My Southern friend from The Rewinds was sorry to find, upon encountering attractive dogs in New York and asking to pet them, owners who repeatedly yanked them away. And, upon asking people for directions, he encountered blank stares, cold shoulders, frosty glances. What sad images he will take back with him to ‘Bamy! Think about that the next time you yank your Yorkie away from a Southern hipster.

Words of wisdom from your
Preachin’, teachin’, outreachin,

Indie pixie

Tonight: Pilot to Gunner, we are getting our Harlem Shakes on after The Break up. We may need an Ambulance.

Don’t take my word for it, check out these websites:

www.thesilentleague.com
www.iwantthefame.com
www.the-ios.com
www.knife-skills.com
www.armyofmeonline.com
www.myonlyhope.com

Please send cigarettes, recipes for non-carb pasta and cab money to: marie@thedelimagazine.com

Wednesday at CMJ--Mmm Mmm Good!

2005-09-15T06:37:00.000-07:00

Warning: Indie pixie’s posts could become increasingly silly and irreverent as week goes on. Forgive her. Indie Pixie is tired. Indie pixie needs a good meal.

CMJ, you shouldn’t have! I was treated to a cornucopia of New York bands last night. Let’s dig right in.

To tempt me into hearing his band, Paul from Lungs of a Giant wrote a cryptic haiku about a protest song that would fire me up for the next venue. LOAG kicked off the CMJ music fest at Ace of Clubs, a very dark venue where I sat far from the wall for fear of roaches. I found no roaches, just unfettered rock. Paul and his staccato phrasing (he punctuated the beginning of each song with short barks I assumed were titles; Sentimental Dolphin! Gospel Christian Apesong! Magma! Think Fred Synder.) led the way to an all out assault that, according to the CMJ Guidebook conjures up early “Flaming Lips.” I would say there’s more melody here, thanks to those eclectic keyboards, and the occasional backup of Erin (chick bassist, yum). LOAG is anthemic, big, like the, ahem, lungs of a…well, you get it.

Then, to The Knitting Factory (farther away than it needs to be) to claim my honorary Panda status from Kendall Meade, indie entrepreneur, singer for the band Mascott, and founder and producer of Red Panda records. Mascott, as my friend Rocco offered, sounds like slipping into a warm bath. Red Panda records sponsored the first part of the night and then Kendall, I could be wrong, bartended for the Tap Room, cleaned up the downstairs and made it just in time for her night shift at Dunkin Donuts.

Shaggy haired Jennifer O’Conner, the ink on her deal with Matador records still shiny and wet, played for what seemed like an audience of People Who Want Her To Succeed. These happy observers took advantage of every lapse in sound to shout out “OC!” (nickname? I’m smart like that) or “How you Livin?” O’Conner’s sound is mellow, steely, mostly about love, the city, and distance.

Then to the Living Room who last night hosted a night of musicians I’d like to make a warm meal for. As satisfying as ending a sentence with a preposition, Chris Garneau’s show balanced the ethereal with the deeply morose. His voice, more of a suggestion of a voice, a minimalist “insert voice here” type deal, claws at the ins and outs of existence, akin to being licked to death by kittens. There was a long line to get his CD after his show, and I was in it.

Let’s take a breather to tie our shoes and have a sip of water. As we tie and sip, let us think about The Living Room. I know that when I am going to see a show there, it is going to be a.) unique and b.) lousy with talent. Additionally, they have soap in the soap dispensers and towels in the towel dispensers. Even though it does not look like my living room or anyone else’s I know, they are a welcome respite for an increasingly weary road warrior/pixie/panda. Moving on…

Next on the lineup at The Living Room was Jaymay, a happy sprite riding the wave of an overwhelmingly successful EP. Jaymay’s voice climbs the staircase to balconies you cannot see from where you stood on the ground. It is apparent that Jaymay has spent a lot of time exploring the nooks and crannies of her voice, carving out a labyrinth of a vocal range and providing some stunning moments. She is backed by extraordinary keyboard, cello, stand up bass/wine bottle (?) players who GET HER. Similar to my feeling when watching the wispy Garneau, I did worry how she was getting home. The optimism that fuels such sing-alongs as “You’re the Only One I love to love” (“Think about it,” she requested.) and her between and during song giggles is as adorable as it is, well, worrisome.

If I were to make Jaymay that meal, this is what I would say to her as we chopped vegetables: “Jaymay, you will have your detractors. There will be those who sit in your audience * and say things like, “This sounds like a soundtrack to a girly movie I would walk out on,” or want to throw heavy things at you, just to chip at your un-jaded veneer. Ignore them. You are a better person than they. They no doubt have ever had a man’s first words to them be “Jaymay, I love you, Jaymay, Jaymay, I love you.” Stay gold, Jaymay.

And then, the clouds rolled in. The Lower East Side showcased some torrential rain at around 11:30 last night. The rain, fresh off its tour of the Southern states, wasn’t as inventive as it was in the early days when it played small bars in Virginia under the name "Mr. Crowes Garden." The addition of Jay Ferrar on guitar is helping it out although, come on guys, 15 minutes to tune a guitar? It underwhelmed some, but did manage to make some of us very soggy pixies as we trudged across town to finish up our marathon with some good old-fashioned rock and roll.

Just last week at The Alphabet Lounge, I played my leg as a guitar to Van Halen’s “Panama.” Now, the very same space is playing host to some driving rock and roll, most notably Aeroplane Pageant. Did you ever think you’d have this much fun with some guys from Long Island? Asher from Pageant described their sound to me as Sonic Youth meets Modest Mouse, and I would add to that: the meal is prepared by Sioux chef New Pornographers.

My aching beige kicks with the pink piping then trekked back to The Ace of Clubs (symmetry, balance) to end the night where it began. NYC Smoke put on a solid show, living up to the influences Kevin their bassist listed for me in his 2 page exclamation of an email. I sat there and checked them off: Jane’s Addiction—check. Danzig—check. Statland’s voice is a hybrid of Tom Waits and a more interesting Jacob Dylan. NYC Smoke’s set left this indie pixie with a deep sense of pride in her city’s bands, rocking out with their game faces on for an inspiring, soul-welling first night of CMJ.

Ok Soft, Army of Me, Knife Skills, and the rest of you Thursday night bands, the gauntlet has been thrown down; you’d better bring your “A” game.

Going to get a good meal,

Your,

Tired, soggy, happy indie pixie/panda.

Don't take my word for it, check out my featured bands on their very own websites:

www.lungsofagiant.com
www.redpandarecords.com
www.chrisgarneau.com
www.jaymaymusic.com
www.aeroplanepageant.com
www.myspace.com/nycsmoke

*probably female

CMJ 2005 Final Schedule for Deli Marathon

2005-09-12T04:37:00.000-07:00

A heartfelt thank you to the polite and encouraging ladies and gentlemen who emailed us with creative reasons The Deli should come and hear their bands. We agreed with all of you. Because we still can’t figure out cloning at The Deli headquarters, I am unable to be at all your shows at once. If you are not on this schedule, and you haven’t already, please send your CD/press kit to The Deli Magazine so we can consider you for future issues. The Deli Magazine loves all of you!

Signed,
Your busily bee-ing indie pixie,

Marie Helene

The Deli Magazine CMJ Music Marathon (Manhattan)
Schedule of Events
Events subject to change due to exhaustion, heat stroke, event sell outs or whim.
For venue information and directions, go to http://marathon.cmj.com/

WEDNESDAY, September 14th

7pm: Lungs of a Giant (Ace of Clubs)
7:45: Mascott at the Red Panda night (Knitting Factory)
9pm: Oxford Collapse (Pianos)
10pm: Jaymay (The Living Room)
11pm: Aeroplane Pageant (Alphabet Lounge)
11:30: NYC Smoke (Ace of Clubs)
Midnight: Sean Costello (The Living Room)

Other highlights for Wednesday: At The Cake Shop, The Deli Magazine sponsors a ROIR event featuring one of our favorite favorites; Hopewell. Pianos has a great lineup of Deli approved/sponsored bands; Mommy and Daddy, whose album will be out soon, Mixel Pixel and Grizzly Bear. The Comas play Scenic at Midnight.

THURSDAY, September 15th

7pm: Silent League (Scenic)
7:45: The Fame (The Delancey)
8pm: Ios (Pianos)
8:45: Knife Skills (Cake Shop)
10pm: Soft (The Delancey)
10:45: Army of Me (The Delancey)
11:15: My Only Hope (Don Hill’s)
11:45: Diamond Nights (The Bowery)
Midnight: Blood on the Wall (Tonic)
1am: Aberdeen City (Pianos)

Other highlights for Thursday: Regina Spekter at Irving Plaza plays a 10:50 show that we just can’t make, but do consider checking her out. Cheeseburger and Tarantula play The Bowery at 10pm and 10:45, respectively, (bad pun alert) put those bands together you get a “whopper” of a lawsuit!

FRIDAY, September 16th

7:30: The Break Up (Tonic)
8pm: Kevin Devine (The Living Room)
9pm: Paul Brill (CBGB Gallery)
10:30: The Harlem Shakes (Tonic)
11pm: Man in Gray (169 Bar)
Midnight: Pilot to Gunner (Pianos)
1am: Ambulance (Mercury Lounge)

Other highlights for Friday: Friday proved to be a hectic night with a lot of bands scheduled at the same time. Consider these bands as well: The Deli sponsoring the KEXP radio show at Pianos, Say Hi to your Mom at Ace of Clubs, Robbers from 9th Street at the Mercury Lounge, The Switch at Rare who will hydrate you with their nuanced, nu-wave soul, Cake Bake Betty at Rockwood Music Hall, and everyone’s favorite stompin, confessin poetboy Langhorne Slim at Sin-E.

SATURDAY, September 17

7pm: The Picture (KNITTING FACTORY TAP BAR)
8pm: Shy Child (Scenic)
8:45: Temple of Echoes (Rare)
9pm: Giraffes (Pussycat Lounge)
10pm: Blues Explosion (Pussycat Lounge)
10:30: Chin up Chin up (Mercury Lounge)
11pm: Au Revoir, Simone (Cake Shop)
11:30: KUDO (Nublu)
Midnight: Unlove (Lit Lounge)

Other highlights for Saturday: If I could split myself into pieces, I would also go to: Hello Nurse at The Continental—The Deli’s own Ed Gross and his merry band of pranksters, Deli sponsored NESMA Surf party at The Desmond Tavern, Page Six’s darlings Group Sounds at Crash Mansion, The Madison Strays at Don Hill’s, Mike Wexler at Sin-E—The Deli’s Editor in Chief Paolo says this is one of the best he’s ever heard, and that’s saying something.

What is CMJ?

2005-09-11T09:23:00.000-07:00

What is CMJ?

CMJ: College Media Journal

For 25 years, CMJ Music Marathon has brought together musicians, artists, promoters, journalists and assorted industry professionals for a four-day think tank of concerts and, as of 11 years ago, lectures, films, panels and tutorials. Using Lincoln Center as its throbbing nucleus, CMJ extends its talons into almost a hundred venues, where musicians roll out their blankets and display their wares. It bills itself as the largest event of its kind, helping to launch the careers of Sonic Youth, The Flaming Lips, and scores of other bands that have gone on to weave themselves into America’s collective music unconscious. This year, CMJ will roll into town Wednesday, September 14th to Saturday, September 17th.

Happy Birthday, CMJ, you are almost old enough to rent a car.

CMJ: Cranky Media Journey?

With all that potential for talent and energy, you would expect the writers whose job it is to chronicle the marathon to be teeming with optimism and verve, right? Maybe not. Take this quote from thevillagevoice.com’s coverage of The 2004 CMJ festival, one of this year’s sponsors:

“Why did we do this? The Voice spent more money on beer during the CMJ Music Marathon than we're getting paid to write it up, suffered the flashlight-toting douche bags they call security guards at Irving Plaza and Hammerstein Ballroom, and wasted valuable minutes scanning the names of countless shitty non-hip-hop bands approval-stamped by the shitty College Music Journal.” VillageVoice.com, 2004

Not the most ring-y of endorsements. But sadly, the writer reflects what many music critics believe about The CMJ. Take this mopey insight from last year’s Popmatters coverage:

CMJ is here again, and everyone, including me, seems to be bored.—Popmatters, 2004

Buck up, jaded scenesters. With that kind of spirit, I worry you won’t make it past the second marker of this music marathon. I have to wonder if it is because these journalists spend their time during New York’s launch pad for new talent haunting the more well known venues to catch already well known bands who are already launched. If you’ve seen Bright Eyes 7 times, chances are you will find his live show predicable and disappointing. But if you travel further down the island, to The Cake Shop, Pianos, or Lit you may find yourself pleasantly surprised.

CMJ: Call M(ari)e Jazzed

The Deli Magazine knows that everyone has his/her own reasons for going to CMJ. For some, it is to be discovered, for others it is to discover.

Here’s mine: I remember a black and white picture I saw once of one of the thousands of bands at CMJ that year. Their lead singer Wayne had a doe-eyed face and his hair may have been pink or maroon or yellow. He hadn’t yet picked up his fife, leading a generation of jaded scenesters out of the dessert with animal costumes and ebullient melodies. He was just some dude with funny hair who probably hadn’t showered in days. I wonder who the next Flaming Lips will be. I hope they are one of the bands on my stop this year.

What’s your reason? Let me know at marie@thedelimagazine.com

Signed,
Your exhaustively researching indie pixie

Marie Helene

First Marathon Blog for CMJ

2005-09-09T08:09:00.000-07:00

September 8, 2005

Hello CMJ!

As I write, I am lacing up my indie running shoes and getting my friends in place who will sit behind tables around the LES and throw Gatorade on me as I take on the first annual DELI MAGAZINE CMJ Marathon! Horns! Whistles! Kazoos!

Why on earth would one musical and whiskey-drinking young gal ever want to affix a number 26 to her back and run elbow to elbow in a sweaty mess of Rivers Cuomo striped shirts and ultra high 70's shorts?

Because, you, the dedicated members of New York City bands, the city I love in, the city I live in, deserve, nay, DEMAND to be heard. Because you, New York City indie bands, send me emails of promises, heartache, humorous anecdotes, and sometimes (you know who you are) barely veiled threats.

Because Kendall from Mascott offered to make me an honorary panda! Because THE FAME told me they WILL NOT buy me beer and their drummer WILL NOT sleep with me to get me to see them! Because Kristina from The Switch even offered a towel boy to wipe this poor gal’s sweat after her show! What’s an overextended gal to do?

Because, and now I'm talking to everyone, New York City is on the precipice of losing one its most revered and necessary bastions of f-u music, and we must, now more than ever, fix our cat eyed glasses onto the remaining mainstream-free venues of hope and joy. So, by God, if I have to pull up my socks to my knees and breathe in through my mouth out through my nose, I will honor all you glorious, shining, gyrating bands of indie goodness, or my (pen) name isn't Marie Helene.

So, throw Gatorade on me, homeless people of New York City, cause I'm running by!

Stay tuned for a listing of my CMJ FULL SCHEDULE.

Send Balance Bars, carbs and band/marriage proposals to marie@thedelimagazine.com.

Your dedicated indie pixie,

Marie Helene