via MTV

On the L train! So wacky!

I Just Want My Pants Back protagonist Jason Strider—a receptionist and aspiring music journalist who appears to live alone in a one-bedroom apartment despite claiming to have just $100 to his name—doesn't remember what sex tastes like because it's been six whole weeks since his last encounter. "This little dry spell could easily turn into the drought of the decade," he says through a smoky exhale in the bathroom stall of a Brooklyn bar, where he and his impossibly caustic friend Tina drink "to freedom" and only ever say the opposite of what they actually mean. With this new series, MTV has finally made the full transition from producing music programming to producing music blog programming, paying homage to the concept of music with a show about people who claim to listen to it.

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So much for Wavves being King of Long Beach on September 9.
Well, that's a bummer: Because of continued cleanup after Hurricane Irene, the music component of Quiksilver Pro New York—the professional surfing contest on Long Island's south shore that's now scheduled to begin September 4—has been called off: "The situation has been changing daily, and we recognize that [Long Beach] resources are focused on hurricane restoration and cleanup as first priority. In that context, we have been informed by the City that the festival and music components of the event are no longer achievable." (Surf, however, is still up.) That means no free shows in Long Beach by Interpol, the Flaming Lips, Wavves, Taking Back Sunday, or any of these 40-odd other acts who were scheduled to perform over the next two weeks. No word on whether or not any of these artists have decided to add a free show to their area itineraries as a "sorry guys" gesture just yet, although something tells me that given recent weather patterns, it may be prudent to throw said events at someplace with a roof.

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Guided By Voices w/Wavves, Surfer Blood
McCarren Park
Saturday, June 18, 2011

Better than: Just hearing the show without seeing it, which is what everyone who lives on my street got to do anyway.

It's long been gospel that you can't tell Robert Pollard anything. Attempts by well-meaning biz types to get the pop-song savant to make things easier on people by downgrading his release schedule to merely flooding the market, or resisting his love of lyrical absurdism, were clearly not taken to heart by a man whose second 2011 release has a song called "Ash Ript Telecopter."

So if Pollard has decided that "Guided By Voices is a New York band," as he did during his reunited group's Northside Festival headlining set on Saturday, then there is no arguing the point that Guided By Voices are a New York band. Dayton, Ohio, he said, is only eight hours away from our fair city, so it's basically the same thing. Much like "people from Spokane say they're from Seattle."

Considering the enthusiastic response Pollard got earlier in his group's characteristically marathon set when, after praising the borough's beauty, he asked, "if I moved to Brooklyn, would you take care of me and my old lady?" I imagine that New York residents won't mind if Pollard fudges some geographical details as long as we can claim him as our own. (He elaborated: He'd get up, drink a lot of espresso, get a slice around 2 p.m. and head to the bar around happy hour. Get this man some sort of artisan hobby—he'd probably excel at one of The Meat Hook's butchering classes—and he would fit right in.)

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This has been Sound of the City's year-in-review rock-critic roundtable, an amiable ongoing conversation between five prominent Voice critics: Rob Harvilla, Zach Baron, Sean Fennessey, Maura Johnston, and Rich Juzwiak. We're sad to see it go.

Sleigh Bells frontlady Alexis Krauss, you deserved your own Dr. Luke co-write this year. Photo by Rebecca Smeyne.

My friends.

What might I be sick of 12 months from now? Rich, are you teeing up that "I Hate Katy Perry" piece that Rob was agitating for a few days ago? Even if you're not, let me (briefly) take the bait. To me, the Christian singer-turned-Betty Boopster is a shining example of how pop feminism has pretty much failed -- her career arc since "I Kissed A Girl" first blessed my ears a mere 19 months ago reminds me more than anything of those sex bloggers who decide to settle down and blog about their husbands and/or their offspring, and who are adamantly "MY LIFE CHOICES ARE THE BEST LIFE CHOICES" about every decision they make. She's kissing girls... but waking up with a boyfriend in the video where she bleats about her exploits! She's subjecting her cleavage to meek little Elmo... then telling anyone who'll listen that her husband's last name will take the place of her own! She's singing an empowerment anthem about being a California gurl [sic, RIP Alex]... but the perpetually leering Snoop Dogg is the song's true star! I could go on.

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Phoenix/Dirty Projectors/Wavves
Madison Square Garden
Wednesday, October 20

Better Than: Breathing normally

This year, the biggest show of CMJ had the biggest secret to keep.

I postulated recently -- maybe facetiously -- that this MSG bill fulfilled every part of the psyche. Well, the rampant rumors of a Secret Special Guest Wednesday evening similarly tested two broader outlooks: The pessimists lining the dank Lower East Side caves of the afternoon CMJ showcases refused to believe the whispers, rolling their eyes as they swilled their Rolling Rocks (that beer is ubiquitous this week), while optimists such as myself shrieked at the news, were threatened with physical harm if we gossiped beyond our present media-savvy circles (which I did anyway, vastly), and ultimately harangued and schemed our way into the packed arena, scalping comically high-up nosebleed seats if need be.

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Given the resounding success of last week's declaration that 2010 is the Year of the Indie Pet, it behooves us to provide you with more evidence of this Very Important Trend. Which brings us to "Chinchilla Mohair Room," a slightly confusing, slightly ridiculous blog dedicated to a furry Mohair creature who evidently has a penchant for indie rock. Despite running the Japanese blog through Google Translator, we're still mystified about the specifics. Does the owner have more than one cat? What's the cat's name? Where is this creature based? What makes Atlas Sound better for chasing around a watermelon balloon that, say, Animal Collective? Answers to none of those questions below.

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Best Coast Tumblr

Bobb, Bethany, and Snacks

It's become increasingly impossible to mention Best Coast, the three-person vehicle for noise-pop Cali-queen Bethany Cosentino, without referencing her pet Snacks. That darn cat is on the cover of her debut full-length Crazy For You, nonchalantly poised amid an oceanic sunset, his homestate's shape tracing his butt. He's illustrated on the cover of Cosentino's boyfriend's record, Wavves' King of the Beach, holding a spliff. The kitty's even on Twitter. But Best Coast, who headlines the Bowery Ballroom tonight, aren't the only ones this year whose muse has been a domestic creature. Behold, five reasons why 2010 is the year of the indie pet.

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Pic by Georgia Kral

"Hey what's up John Norris." And with that 50 or so minutes of reckless, mosh-worthy, judiciously reverbed surf-pop and goofy stage banter begins; NYC Taper sure got this up in a hurry. To replicate the in-person feel of this show, just jump onto your desk and then dive off.

Protip: If you're ever looking to get a show shut down as fast as possible, whip a bottle at a police car. "The plan was originally for Ryan Schreiber, founder of Pitchfork, and Patrick Stickles, lead singer of the grouchy New Jersey band Titus Andronicus, to DJ at Shea Stadium from 2 a.m. until dawn," notes the Observer's Leon Neyfakh of last night's ill-fated fete at Shea Stadium, official afterparty to the Wavves show at the Knitting Factory. Instead, some clown threw a bottle, and this happened instead:

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He's doing much better now. Pics by Georgia, way more below.

​Wavves/Cloud Nothings/DOM
Knitting Factory
Thursday, June 24

The Northside Festival opening night was a hipster frat party in which every dude (and a few dudettes) tried to out-bro the next guy. Instead of shotgunning Budweisers, though, these fresh young things chugged PBRs, moshed, and crowd-surfed.

It was a Wavves show! What did we expect?

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