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| Rebecca Smeyne |
| Kutsher's, the land of impossible indie-music dreams |
Yeah, so All Tomorrow's Parties New York. It happened this past weekend upstate and it was epic. Nick Cave played piano with the Dirty Three, who did Ocean Songs in its entirety. David Cross got so hammered Friday he could barely tell jokes. ("My goodness, fuckin' Jameson, though," he said at one poine when he went blank.) Boredoms' nine-drummer ceremonial-offering-like salvo went so far over their 75-minute time, stagehands started dismantling their kits while the drummers were still bashing away. Brooklyn's very own Oneida led a 12-hour improv jam session in a corner bar that'd been temporarily renamed the Oneida Sportsman Lounge, a fusty room that smelled, as one colleague put it, "like my mom's pants." Steve Albini, for the second year in a row, ran a poker-room that was open to anyone with ten bucks. Jim Jarmusch spoke to a tiny packed room and said things like, "When I get depressed, [I just] think of all the music I haven't heard." Crystal Castles' Sharpie-eyelined front-writher Alice did not punch anyone in the face. No Age cycled through Husker Du songs with Bob Mould; Deerhunter's Bradford Cox joined the trio for a cover of Johnny Thunders & The Heartbreakers' "Chinese Rocks." The Flaming Lips emerged on Sunday night through an LCD birth canal; Wayne Coyne crowd-surfed, per usual, in a plastic bubble. Later, Bob Mould DJ'd in the Oneida room and Bradford Cox hosted an impromptu, acoustic lakeside jam. It was, let's repeat, epic.
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