Kimya Dawson, "Loose Lips" (MP3)

The venue's bigger (thanks, Juno!), and the crowd will likely skew younger, but let no one forget that Kimya Dawson was a local long before she helped make Diablo Cody famous. She is apparently unchanged by all the attention—her plans for a new, market-resistant suite of children’s songs, entitled Alphabutt, continue apace—and reportedly still ends most shows, no matter how large, with an audience-wide group hug. A pact with fellow Moldy Peach Adam Green to not play the duo’s old songs is mostly honored, so no “Anyone Else,” unless, of course, Green shows up—which he might. More likely, though, things will tilt toward the PG—expect a set appropriate for Panda Delilah, Dawson’s two-year-old and newest tour mate. With Paleface, Levy, and Graham Wilkinson & the Underground Township. — ZACH BARON

9 p.m., $20. Music Hall of Williamsburg, 66 N 6th St., Brooklyn, 718-486-5400. Tickets still available here.

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Robert Christgau on the Moldy Peaches

Another week, another run-on sentence from Mr. Everett True, Australia-bound "roving ambassador" of Plan B Magazine, a title dedicated to writing about music (and media) with barely a nod towards demographics. . .

Hugs and Kisses


The Continued Outbursts of Everett True

THIS WEEK: Everett files a column on time

PLUS: Kimya Dawson and Your Heart Breaks play a gig.

So before the show, I go up to Kimya and tentatively say hi, and Kimya says, “Hello again,” and I’m like, “I’m supposed to be introducing you tonight or something, do you want me to” (because my name is writ all over the posters large, like KIMYA DAWSON + SUPPORT + MC EVERETT TRUE and I had no idea until I got to the venue), and she’s like, “Well I don’t know, you’re not going to be a dick are you?” (because I guess Kimya used to read me back when I was music editor at The Stranger in Seattle) and I’m like, “Well, no, that’s when I write, when I’m performing I’m real nice,” and she’s like, “I’ve never seen you perform”, and all the while Clyde from Your Heart Breaks is standing kinda gawky and nervous to one side, having lost her voice wowing the gals at Ladyfest in London the previous night. So we kinda agree that as long as I don’t live up to my “dick” billing I can intro each artist, and so I get to chatting with Clyde a little and she tells me her band is normally more than just herself, but it’s kinda easier to travel this way, and that she plays with Karl Blau, and dude, I totally rate Karl’s gentle, dub-textured Olympian wonderment—and she compliments me on some book or other I wrote …

photo from Sunday's Southpaw show by Cary Conover

So no Moldy Peaches on the Conan O'Brien Show last night. As mentioned here, Kimya Dawson and Adam Green had accepted an invitation for another 'reunion' on Monday night's show. ("How could we say no to that weirdo?" Kimya wrote on her LiveJournal. "Conan. Holy shit.") That enthusiasm waned when a "wise man named John Darnielle" reminded her that there was this little ongoing thing called a writer's strike and Conan O'Brien was one of those late-nighters who'd gone back to work without his joke-scribblers. "I am not interested in crossing picket lines," Dawson wrote. "Playing outside for those picketing, YES."

Instead, expectant viewers got Conan trapped in a conversation with a granny sexpert who babbled about turning into household items like electric toothbrushes and cell phones and into sex toys. (Switch your cell to vibrate, put it down your pants, and then wait for someone to call. Yup.)

So Kimya didn't cross picket lines to meet Conan. But next Monday, she gets to meet Whoopi Goldberg when she appears on the View. In her words: "[I]t's pants poopin time."

Which brings us to, well, Rob Harvilla's piece in this week's black-and-white about Kimya, her Sunday afternoon Southpaw show, her fortuitous appearance on the Juno soundtrack, and her recent obsession with preschool scatology:

But as a solo entity since relocated to Seattle, Kimya has flourished by regressing even further, and her Southpaw set hits its stride with a string of children’s songs that sound like they were written by children as well. Farts are a major motif: There’s an alphabet song in which E stands for “elephant farts,” S for “stink,” T for “turd,” U for “uh-oh,” and Z for “farts that smell like the zoo.” The killer, in fact, is “The Smoothie Song,” in which a pregnant Kimya (she’s now got a daughter named Panda Delilah, which I couldn’t have made up in a million years) demands a smoothie because she’s scared that her unborn child hasn’t moved in awhile, and smoothies reliably create a sensation “like a fart in a tub inside of me.” [Read the rest here]

Tonight Kimya's playing the Juno soundtrack release party at Sound Fix Records, 110 Bedford Avenue, 8pm, free, all-ages. Then tomorrow, she headlines Europa, 98 Meserole Avenue, Greenpoint, Brooklyn. Better bring a change of Underoos!