Jay Reatard Went to Junior High With Justin Timberlake

Posted by Camille Dodero at 11:06 AM, April 22, 2008

Fun fact: Jay Reatard went to a Memphis junior high with Justin Timberlake.

From up North:

They never got the chance to bond. “It was the kind of thing where you would pass someone in the hallway. Dude was basically in and out of regular school, anyway." [Boston Phoenix]

Now enjoy these nifty pictures by Rebecca Smeyne from Mr. Reatard's set last night at the Bowery Ballroom. And note that he's also playing Europa tonight with Golden Error and the Octagon. Go and get punched in the face!

Live: Yeasayer and MGMT at Bowery Ballroom

Posted by Michael D. Ayers at 1:42 PM, February 14, 2008

Yeasayer at the Mercury Lounge in December (Chris Keating's beard phase); photo by Rebecca Smeyne

Yeasayer + MGMT
Bowery Balloom
Wednesday, February 13

When Yeasayer broke last fall, I tried, for a morning, to like them and it just didn’t take. But they struck a chord with lots of folks, and the only thing I had jogging my memory before going to the Bowery last night was a quick re-listen of the record (better than I had remembered; maybe should have cared more) and, thanks to the Internet, countless pictures of mustaches. As in, the guy (or guys…I couldn’t keep track) in Yeasayer had mustaches, and this was seemingly what people found interesting? But for every Freddie Mercury, there’s probably ten-plus Eugene Hutzes ruining it for everyone, so, still, I was cautious.

It turned out that Yeasayer was nothing what I expected. With the constant flow of Kaleidoscope imagery swirling on a screen behind them, those images illustrated an overall tribal sound invoked that college “trippy” feeling. You know, when you were in college and went through that phase where things were either a) trippy or b) not trippy. Yeasayer were a) trippy.

On stage, Yeasayer has some good things and some bad things going for them. As musicians, they’re clearly technically proficient, in the way that Rush fans always describe that as one of Rush’s best qualities. I’m not saying Yeasayer=Rush, but watching them play, they know what they’re doing, in a geeky, we were in marching band, honing our skills ten years ago sort of way. Songs like “Worms” and “Sunrise” furthered fueled this belief, as they fused loud, snappy drums with mellow, snappy drum machine beats. During “Worms” the bass and guitar players, both looking like Weird Al replicas, bounce around, swaying a bit from side to side. Meanwhile, lead 'Sayer Chris Keating is kind of a spaz. He twitches around in a half circle a lot, making jerky motions with his hands and forearms; clearly, he’s immersed in what he’s doing, but, to my mind, it's annoying/uncomfortable to watch. The more slower, drawn-out tunes, well they were really slow and felt drawn out. And when you have a slow tune, there's nothing really to hone in on except . . . the bass player’s mustache.

MGMT is a different story. I actually liked their only album Oracular Spectacular, because it reminded me of the good things I enjoy about The Flaming Lips, Mercury Rev, and 70’s glam-rock that was influenced by Syd Barrett era Pink Floyd. But the general vibe I’ve caught is that, unlike Yeasayer, MGMT hasn’t been as warmly embraced within the circles that embrace things. They signed with Columbia Records for their debut, and maybe going with a major is still “uncool,” thus hate. It could be easy to hate them, and I see that appeal. Their album cover has them on a beach, draped in some weird hippie cloths, half naked. Trippy.

MGMT as a full live band – a five piece – hasn’t been active too long; as in the two guys that recorded the record, made / wrote the album this time last year, then put together a band for performance purposes. That might have worked against them. I’m not sure how they’d recreate songs without these other fellas, but instead of coming off like a modern day T-Rex, which I was really, really hoping for, they sounded a bit Supertrampy instead. For most of the night, they looked a bit freaked out to be on stage, or listless. The place was packed, yet no one really seemed that into it. Maybe there was a bunch of jaded industry types who kept thinking about the long way home. Or maybe it was the muddy mix they were getting.

There were two moments where MGMT succeeded in crowd rousing, and I remember feeling happy for them. After all, they didn’t even have mustaches, so they were forced to work extra hard. The electro-disco-rock anthem “Electric Feel” and the “ode to the rock star” song “Time To Pretend,” both when started, enticed a little roar from those people watching them. Both were adept at recreating the album’s sound, which I enjoyed, if not a bit more up-tempo.

One final thought on MGMT’s uphill battle: aside from the apparent classic-rock reference points, their single “Time To Pretend” is a riff on stereotyped, rocker-model culture. They talk about heroin and coke. Hooking up with models in Paris. Jetsetting. When those models grow up and settle down, you ditch 'em and get new ones, then die while choking on your own vomit. When your main jam celebrates these concepts, you might run the risk of attracting those that also believe in such principles. And those types, well they’re just too cool to get all excited about some “band” “playing” “on stage.”

Live: Vampire Weekend at the Bowery Ballroom

Posted by Jesse Jarnow at 10:42 AM, January 30, 2008

CREDIT

Vampire Weekend
Bowery Ballroom
Tuesday, January 29

Way #373 to feel old: when opening band Beat the Devil keeps cracking jokes about the crowd being jailbait, then wish their drummer a happy 22nd birthday. They're still not wrong. The sense of all-inclusive occasion surrounding Vampire Weekend's January 29th album release party at the Bowery Ballroom is underscored when the houselights dim part-way and I am nudged aside by a camera dude, who bares his digicam above the crowd like a stoic human tripod. There are at least three others like him in the stage's wings and in the balcony (plus auxiliary mixing technicians next to the soundboard).

The sold-out show, the first of two, is something of a send-off for the happily collegiate quartet. That, or a Viking funeral. The hype having done its job—a label (XL), an album (Vampire Weekend), and a piece in the New York Times Sunday Styles section all secured—it is time for Vampire Weekend to get to the business of being a band. Their mothers are in attendance. By the time they make it to the stage, the camera dude's shoulders are slumping slightly, and he holds his gear at shoulder-level.

On the night's second song, "I Stand Corrected," Vampire Weekend shows their hand. Plenty has been made of the group's Graceland/Afro-pop/yadda-yadda influences—which are not insignificant—but the band Vampire Weekend perhaps most resembles is another outfit from Manhattan's Upper West Side: the Strokes. Besides a common vocabulary made of sturdy guitar stabs and laconic sexual negotiations, the two quartets share a privileged swagger. Though the Vampires remain more polite musically and conceptually—indeed, guitarist/singer Ezra Koenig takes to the stage in a purple cardigan that appears embroidered with eagles—their stance is actually far more radical than the Strokes' age-old punk slumming.

It is not so much that Vampire Weekend frequently sing about being rich as they make music that channels the warmth and security that goes along with it. Who doesn't like comfort? Their references to African guitar pop, instantly obvious in the gallop of the show-opening "Mansard Roof," are not so much a channeling of third world elegance as a first world soundtrack to weekends in the Hamptons drinking white wine. "As a young girl, Louis Vuitton," Koenig sings on "Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa," the third tune of the 13-song set, his natural pronunciation of "Vuitton" as telling as the contrasts of its title. The between-verse synth-harpsichord breaks by keyboardist Rostam Batmanglij that recall Wes Anderson soundtracks don't hurt either.

Admittedly, it can be a fun fantasy to sink into, especially for a crowd whose memories of the '80s are woozy at best, if they literally exist at all. But it is also a little troublesome, at least if there any strands of egalitarianism left in indie rock. After all, how entitled does one have to be sing about being bored at Cape Cod? Vampire Weekend doesn't address the question, but sing about it anyway, on "Wolcott," the encore's final song—and perhaps their very best hook—which is received with apeshit pogoing. "In the afternoon, you're out on the stolen grass, and I'm sleeping on the balcony after class," Koenig sings earlier on "Campus," a milder statement of the concept, and as pleasant a conception of happiness as any.

But, if it doesn't make one want to saw his own arm off with a copy of Capeman, it can all be quite charming. At the Bowery, Koenig bops like a Fab while drummer Chris Tomson and bassist Chris Baio lean into grooves grown more from the naiveté necessary to channel Afro-pop than from the Afro-pop itself. They feel surprisingly durable, as do Koenig's melodies, which can linger for weeks, like a guiltily snacked-upon bag of chocolate chips. Vampire Weekend's recordings suggest a certain preciousness that, like the Shins, might only translate into a thin-sounding stage act. Live, Vampire Weekend is another beast entirely. Still precious, the songs hold up, the kids dig 'em, and it all only adds to a gnawing suspicion that they may, in fact, be real. Shit.

CREDIT

Photos: Kate Nash at Bowery Ballroom, 1.9.08

Posted by Camille Dodero at 11:06 AM, January 10, 2008

Kate Nash; photo by Rebecca Smeyne

Kate Nash
and Salt & Samovar
Bowery Ballroom
January 9, 2008
photos by Rebecca Smeyne

Status Ain't Hood on Kate Nash's show last night.

Salt & Samovar; photo by Rebecca Smeyne

More photos after the jump.

Previously

CMJ: Band of Horses at the Bowery Ballroom

Posted by Camille Dodero at 1:27 PM, October 22, 2007

A/K/A Sub Pop Had a Showcase

If the author had been one of the people snapping blurry photos, this wouldn't be a Band of Horses photo from McCarren Park Pool. Just sayin'.
photo by Rebecca Smeyne

The Brunettes + Band of Horses
Bowery Ballroom
Day 5: Oct 20

By Michael D. Ayers

By the fifth day, CMJ might have taken its collective toll on everyone; The Brunettes were playing a perfectly harmless set of New Zealand style jangle-pop (which is quite similar to all other jangle pop you might like), and I noticed in the corner a guy with a badge. Sitting down. Reading a book. It looked like a novel; there was no dust jacket, but the hardback looked new. He was devouring it, and seemed annoyed that he was working, or on call, or whatever it is that this particular badger was doing. Okay, I get that one would leave a show because he/she is really into a book, and the band on stage just isn’t doing it, but I had never seen anyone read during a band’s performance. At least not at the Bowery Ballroom. Yeesh.

Yet in a rather sad way, I think The Brunettes got the same feeling from a lot of everyone, just staring at them, probably exhausted, hungover, and generally tired of being out, surrounded by exhausted, hungover people such as themselves. Towards the end, they said something to the effect of “the band you want to see will be up next.” At least that’s what I think I heard; again I was in the back of the room, competing with other people’s various forms of not caring.

Okay, so The Brunettes really didn’t help their cause out, by doing band introductions to a reworked version of the “The Banana Song.” If you don’t remember, that’s the song you’re parents used to sing to you to bother you. The real name of that song, is “The Name Song,” so I guess it works with telling the audience who the band is, but, whatever. It was kinda dumb. I’m sure their core-audience, a.k.a. non-industry types would eat up that cutesy-pie diversion, but not us/them. Maybe that’s what made them sad, or at least have that realization that this gig might suck.

Cut away all that, The Brunettes are nothing amazing, but they have fun, they believe in themselves, and have a guy that will play the triangle for an entire song. That should be worth something, right? Standing there, I remembered that I had made a special point in 2005 to see them open for The Shins at Webster Hall. Incessant Internet chatter told me that this band was one to watch for, but I thought they were lame back then. They’ve gotten less lame since then, adding some relatively interesting changes within their song arrangements; the girl / guy vocal thing also works well, and they seem to be using a tradeoff mechanism more than I recalled. But above all, you gotta believe in the tunes you’re writing, and even before a crowd that seemed thoroughly annoyed at existing, The Brunettes plowed through anyways, hiding what was surely to be an exasperating *sigh*. I mean their music isn’t bad bad bo-bad, fee-fi fo fad.

Before I get into Band of Horses highlights, what has also been rather interesting to me about them was that video that circulated this summer of a gig where lead Horse guy Ben Bridwell went off on someone in the front row filming him to their somehow minor hit, “Funeral.” If you didn’t see it, don’t worry, he said he was sorry, but has pointed out the numerous instances of needing to document every little instance at a club concert, not to necessarily remember it (which is why you tend to record as an amateur), but instead use the documentation, that homemade media, for the spread to mass audiences- rendering the whole purpose of being at the show and capturing it for your own self, secondary. I get that, and to a degree, it does bother me when people are constantly snapping blurry photo after photo. How many times will you look at that? I often wonder.

On the other hand, I was interviewing Black Mountain a few weeks ago about their current tour, and how they’re playing songs from a forthcoming record. They told me how a lot of the people coming to their gigs are doing the same thing, but in essence, if they’re giving them free (and shitty) plugs, then maybe when the record does come out, they’ll be more motivated to buy the superior sounding product/recording/art work/data file. I see that perspective too, and had never thought of it like that.

So at a media heavy crowd such as CMJ, I wondered if ol’ Ben was going to be okay with cameras, both amateur and professional, being pointed at him for most of the night. And lo and behold, he was. Which means to me, that one Youtube video could carry a reputation with it that’s probably just an overly exaggerated form through hyperlinks and some embedding code. He definitely didn’t seem like the evil dude I saw this summer.

I thought a freak out could happen during the first song, the gorgeous track “Monsters.” He looked down at someone in the front row, bugged his eyes out a bit, and begun to flick his tongue in a way that, well, insinuates good oral skills. It seemed a bit crass, but maybe he knew the person and was just being silly. Or was suggesting a different sort of after party. Who knows. That was the only odd thing he managed to do, and for the most part, was very gracious throughout the night.

I was talking with a colleague, and we both agreed that above all, Band of Horses sounded very full. They’ve expanded their line up over the years, to include five or six people on stage. It’s grand sounding, moody, southern laced rock that has Bridwell trading off the pedal steel for a sweet looking double guitar, and his high, whiny voice sounds crystal clear with everything else going on around him.

So, they played about all the songs they could, dipping into both albums heavily. Their music isn’t revolutionary by any means, but it has the Bridwell’s southern charm that makes his sweet songs sound sweet, his rock songs sound fiery. Overall, he doesn’t seem like the a-hole that the Youtube video made him out to be.

Band of Horses plays Terminal 5 on November 4th. Guess you can bring your cameras?

Live: Interpol at the Bowery Ballroom, 06.05.07

Posted by Camille Dodero at 3:33 AM, June 6, 2007

Photo taken by this guy

Interpol
Bowery Ballroom
June 5

By Rob Harvilla

Interpol is either the suavest or the goofiest-lookin’ great band of the past decade. Possibly both. The immaculate suits, the pimp hats, the insouciant smoking… it’s all very Purple Rain. And for those of you who monitor such things, it would appear Carlos D. has entered his Father Guido Sarducci phase. Righteous ’stache, dawg. He looks like a Clue character. Distant royalty. Sir Dingleberry of Worcestershire. Are those bottles of water on the bass amp, or cologne?

I’m stalling because this "secret" show was both excellent and nondescript—only three new songs, perhaps a bit thornier and more gothic, a Concrete Blonde sort of vampiric menace that served set opener “Pioneer to the Falls” well. Paul Banks was in splendid voice (the best article ever written about his particular talents can be found here), hammering out the last verse a cappella amid a thicket of lustily hooting ladies. His talent for turning cliché into shellshocked profundity (“You fly straight into my heart” is his new come-on) is remarkable. Apparently Our Love to Admire, out in early July, has a song called "No I in Threesome." Sold.

Band is killer live. Just a monster. The rhythm section is pure liquid evil—jittery and complicated but never overbearing, pulling “Narc” from one of the band’s prettiest choruses to a brief, quiet goth reggae breakdown of a (superior) sort than the Police will spend the summer awkwardly shoehorning into every one of their hits under the auspices of “updating” them. (“Roxanne” will soon be suffering far greater indignities than she ever encountered on the streets.) Tunes from Antics, a bit samey and listless on record, tended to be highlights here, particularly “Not Even Jail” (building to a crescendo more hostile than these ordinarily restrained dudes ordinarily allow) and the nifty guitar duels of “Take You on a Cruise.” The crowd freaked out for “Slow Hands,” which the alt-rock station in San Francisco flogged endlessly back in ’04; new single “The Heinrich Maneuver,” though clever and appreciably bitter, lacks a bit of the oomph and catchiness required for such devotion.

How the fuck do you not play “NYC” at this show, incidentally? Gas face. It’s still Interpol's finest hour by miles, their opulent boredom and masterful nonchalance briefly channeled into something more romantic and transcendent—when the drums kick in at 2:07 you just wanna die, the finest, sharpest cheese money can buy, the ultimate shoegazer ballad. Antics, though serviceable, had no such moment. Will we merely admire Admire in similar fashion? The suits still fit, and the knotty, elegant, vaguely lurid tunes still dazzle—we just need a few more moments when we’re too overwhelmed to be merely impressed, when they look so good they wanna kiss themselves.

Photos: Les Savy Fav at the Bowery Ballroom

Posted by Camille Dodero at 12:57 AM, April 2, 2007

Les Savy Fav
Bowery Ballroom
April 1
Photos by Cami D

Wow.

DOWNLOAD
Les Savy Fav, "The Sweat Descends" [From Frenchkiss Records]

Live: The Ponys, Black Lips, Panthers @ Bowery Ballroom

Posted by Camille Dodero at 2:03 PM, March 27, 2007

BLACK LIPS

PANTHERS

THE PONYS

The Ponys, Black Lips, Panthers at the Bowery Ballroom
Date: Monday, March 27
Photos by Sidney Lo

Course I sent the photographer to what SOTC's next-door neighbor Status Ain't Hood describes as "one of the most visually boring in recent memory," but fortunately it was sonically awesome enough for Breihan to report that he "still left the club walking on air." (Meanwhile, our intrepid photo-intern left the club with a sore throat. Poor young dude.) Breihan's live review over here.

Status ain't stupid enough to rate his shows, but Black Lips swapping spit and making out with each other = guaranteed 8.0!