artfarts

New Blog!

2009-01-13T18:38:00.000-08:00

So I just realized this site may or may not still be getting traffic from the link on Amy's old site. This blog is out of date. To see what I've been doing lately, please visit me at jamiepeck.blogspot.com. Rock!

Nous Non Plus, the Black Hollies, and O'Death at the Mercury Lounge 2/24/07

2007-02-26T22:15:00.000-08:00

This was the best $10 I’ve spent on a show in awhile. There was a long line outside and the place was packed and smelled like farts once I got in, but what then would artfarts be without the occasional petard?

Nous Non Plus play the kind of bouncy indie-pop that makes one want to put on gogo boots and dance, like, forever. They pour Sixties pop harmonies and NYC grit with unequal measure (the pop wins) into songs featuring adorably unintelligible French lyrics, delivered with what appear to be genuine smiles of enjoyment. The enjoyment was catching, and I felt like I’d seen a unicorn or something after watching the cool LES crowd dance around awkwardly to song after song. And speaking of Unicorns, they covered them! In French! With a violin, no less! Magnéfique.

I was excited to see the Black Hollies because they’d been considerably hyped up by the L Magazine and various other things I read, but they turned out to be a pretty generic 70’s-retro-tastic act. I kept thinking they were covering a well-known song, but after failing to put my finger on it song after song, I decided they were just ripping everyone off. I’m not saying it was totally awful…I bopped along to them but soon grew bored and had to go get a drink. Even their visually stimulating velvet blazers and shaggy haircuts were not enough to keep me entertained. But I think they could definitely score a place on the soundtrack to Austin Powers 4, in which the entire period from 1974-1979 boards a time machine and ends up in 2007, but there’s a glitch or something and everything gets a little crappier in transit.

And now for the act that really stole the show: O’Death! Unlike the Black Hollies, O’Death delivered on their New York media hype. Much like the naysayers described in their L interview, I was initially skeptical of a band comprised of college educated Yankees playing Appalachian country music…specifically, skeptical of their potential to rock me. But au contraire! They quickly blew my mind with their combination of man-shrieks about death and lean-tos, call-and-response audience-excitement tactics, un-nervingly fast banjo, and a crazy drummer who used chains and an oil can to make noise. I wasn’t sure if I should hoot and holler with joy for the dark spirit that was trying to git in me, or run for the hills. A crowd of city folk (who were originally from Vermont, as it turns out) was thrashing excitedly about in front, and in spite of having to dodge beer and a few flying possums, I dare say I was caught up in the hootenanny (for once, my Caucasian-shuffle did not feel out of place). My friend Jess, avowed O’Death fan (sporting a wife-beater and plaid shirt), surprised me with her ability to identify with the lead singer’s song about “going into the woods and building a lean-to cause you’re sad.” “That works if it only rains in one direction,” she added somberly, and the two shared a knowing glance. I myself have little lean-to experience, but I could still appreciate the song’s sentiments: a primal shout of "fuck!" to the pure, indifferent Appalachian sky. I think it’s funny that people apply labels like “goth-country” to this band, because the musical prefix “goth” makes me think of Bauhaus (or, let’s be honest, oily fat kids stopping in at Hot Topic to buy Marilyn Manson shirts in between trips to Auntie Em’s and Cinnabon), and I’m pretty sure Gothic in the Southern sense of the word pre-dates any of that hoo-hah. Faulkner could kick Manson’s pasty bare ass any day of the week, then skin him and cook him for dinner. And that is why, as Jess ecstatically promised me when trying to convince me to go out, O’Death is “awesomesauce…like a kentucky hillbilly back porch ho-down meets math rock chain metal…but with more beards.” Totally more beards. I will never doubt my friend again.

Hooray for Ladyfingers!

2006-09-27T00:55:00.000-07:00

This is the version I sent to the columbia spectator, only slightly different from the version they ran, which seems to have disappeared from the internet to make way for the next day of news:

The word “Ladyfingers” might make you salivate and think of spongy treats, but does it make you want to rock out? Unless you are some sort of bizarre epicurean-punk, the answer is usually no. Adam Weiner is planning to change all that, however, with his smoky mix of vintage blues, rockabilly, cabaret, and country, served with a side of pure NYC punk energy. Lead vocalist/pianist/songwriter Weiner says their name was given to them by a friend after it came to her in a dream in which, she told him, he was not Adam but Ladyfingers. “It’s not even like you need to become that person,” she said, “you are that person. That’s the name. Deal with it.”
Anyone who’s seen the band play knows that they are dealing with it just fine. Weiner describes their live show as “in your face but in a non-confrontational way,” adding that there’s definitely “a theatrical aspect to it.” During the band’s shows at Pianos, where they are playing every Tuesday in September, the audiences take all the entertainment they can handle, as promised, right in their faces. Throughout the set, Weiner morphs from a vaguely menacing carnival charlatan, to a yelping Rockabilly boy, to Frank Sinatra melodizing sensuously, to Jerry Lee Lewis standing up at the piano, and back again.
Ladyfingers’ songs often feature outlaws as narrators, though many also catch the flavor of painfully suburban Americana; “white bread/Aquanet/I’m all dressed up for the dance,” Weiner sings in the track that lends their newly-released album, “My Prom,” its name. When asked how personal the songs are, he responds “I think I’m looking for characters within my own persona, or maybe I’m trying to create extensions of my persona…I don’t like to totally detach from myself.” He says the characters he explores affect his psyche in turn; for example, when he first did the darkly smoldering “Real Live Boy,” “people thought that’s Adam doing a gag, or that’s me doing cabaret. And the more I’ve done that song, the more I’ve turned into that guy.”
Scary? Maybe a little. But it’s this open exploration of fantasies both dark and light that make for such an engaging performance. The backing band, consisting of Dave Pinzur on bass, Robbie Radack on guitar and banjo, and Raky Sastri on drums, play hard and loose, taking liberties with arrangement that can only come from trust borne of hours of practice. Raky in particular will often go off in unexpected directions. “It’s unbelievable,” Weiner says, “he plays it like it was an improvisational jazz song…it makes it a whole different genre.”
The energy of these live performances is not easy to harness, but the band recorded “My Prom” in such a way so as to let that energy shine through as much as possible. They recorded it on a vintage reel-to-reel 8-track over the course of three sweaty days in Weiner and Pinzur’s Astoria apartment, and 80 to 90 percent of it was recorded live. “There are tracks in the album where we messed up,” Weiner says, “there’s tempo shift, I stumble over some words, somebody hits a clammy note, but that’s the way we wanted to do it. It sounds like we sound live.”
This gritty sound is a far cry from previous recordings. In a brush with country stardom, Weiner once garnered interest from some heavyweight Nashville producers but quickly realized he wanted out: “we went through this whole process of making this demo in one of the best recording studios in Nashville, and I ended up liking my stupid mini disc recording that I made at a live show better than that.” Additionally, the producers’ concept for the band—“straight up country…the outfits, the string ties, everything…but as delivered by New York Jews”—was somewhat degrading. Adam has no regrets; “I would’ve been Garth fucking Weiner,” he says. “What would that have done for me?”
Not much, for the band’s likeability lies partly in their unassuming character. Unlike many bands who do “straight up vintage,” the four guys in Ladyfingers refuse to play dress-up or identify as any particular genre other than the nebulous catch-all of “rock and roll.” “If I’m doing something that I feel is just a recreation of a genre, we usually take it out of the set because it’s not ours,” Weiner says. Though this resistance to genre often makes it difficult to fit into the notoriously cold and snobby New York scene, it seems people are starting to take note. So if you crave a departure from prevailing musical trends into the forgotten wilds of America’s past, this band is for you. Or, in Weiner’s words, “there’s a lot of good stuff going on in the city that doesn’t get much press…come to our fucking shows.”

so...

2006-07-14T07:57:00.000-07:00

Mark Twain once said something like "if you want to be a writer, you should write for free for a year and after that, if nobody wants to pay you, quit." That year, for me, started last month. That means I need to update my blog more. It also means I'm now an unpaid intern at the L magazine. They're actually letting me write for them...for free! Just like Mark Twain said! Check out my feature on artstar/pornstar Zak Smith/Zak Sabbath in the current issue. Siren Fest is tomorrow, and while I do not relish the idea of difficult to see and hear bands and debilitating thirst, the only liquid available being yucky things like "Up 7" that are being marketed to my hip, young, desperate self, I know I will probably end up drunk on the mini golf course with a few long lost childhood friends, anyway. Hopefully I'll have something at least a little music-related to write about then. In the meantime, I will post a couple of things I've written in the last little while.

The Deli Magazine and stereoactivenyc.com present: many bands @asterisk, 1/14/06

2006-01-15T11:36:00.000-08:00

This was a nice, cozy, fast paced show in the neat little venue known as Asterisk artspace. There are two different rooms there, so the bands played one after the other in rapid fire fashion. Situated in the scrappy, up-and-coming neighborhood of Bushwicksburg, Brooklyn, Asterisk is a space for people to make and exhibit exciting new art and music. They also have a crazy dog.
http://www.thedelimagazine.com and http://www.stereoactivenyc.com are awesome and you should click on them.

The F-holes

The F-holes played first and were greeted by a crowd of shocked and awed faces. Everyone in the room went silent for the first song, a relentless barrage of punk rock hate. At the end of the 30 seconds, the faces lit up and the bodies went into motion as the next song began. This was a short-song kind of band, and the ADD-stricken children of McKibben street liked the idea. The members of the band combined fisty guitar, tinny drums, and baritone sax to create a skrony whirlwind of sound over which the lead singer, this totally hot girl in a misfits t-shirt, screeched, yelled, and crooned, driving the audience to frenzied madness one moment, and lulling them into lustful fantasies the next. I urge you to tell everyone you care about at all of this band, because they will not be playing $8 shows for long.

Ok, so enough with the masturbation. It was a fun fun set and there were lots of people we didn't know there (definitely a first!) One highlight was when the Asterisk dog (half pitbull, half boxer), driven mad by all the rock, started jumping on me and nipping at me while I was singing. I sang-screamed into the dog's face for a few seconds; this drove the dog away. She then concentrated on Josh, biting his strumming and fingering arms alternately, until my boyfriend bravely pulled her off him. We played all our fastest loudest songs. Soon-to-be classics like Killer Vagina and Eat Shit Fuck Off seemed to get the crowd a-boppin. I jumped around more than I usually do, and realized how tiring it was to give performing and singing your all both at once. How the fuck did Henry Rollins do it? I was so sweaty. I wanted to take my shirt off but I didn't wanna lose my indie cred, so instead I just poured water all over myself. The last song, Clever Monkey, is a slow burning rock ballad-turned-crazy-screamfest, and people seemed to like that one the most. I sang and screamed and screamed. My throat is really scratchy today. I would appreciate some tips on how to keep the vocal chords strong and healthy. Tina?

The Unsacred Hearts

The Unsacred Hearts started playing in the other room before we were done, so I didn't get to catch all of their set. I ran over right after though, and saw some good shit. Their music is kind of like ours, in that it is mostly plain old back to basics punk, with a little new stuff thrown in. The singer utilizes a sort of song-speech (or as Wagner would call it, sprechstimme) reminiscent of the technique used by Black Flag era punk bands. It was fun music and it got me bouncing up and down. I especially liked the song that went something like "hey lacky dacky oy" or some such nonsensical phrase. Unsacred Hearts, you make me smile.

Plastic East

The thing about this band was, they all wore matching sunglasses. Pretty cute, no? They played catchy, classic, jammy down home rock music. It reminded me of "the barn" back home in ct, where us baby boomletters would go in our moms' and dads' old clothes to dance to grateful dead cover bands and do drugs, before it got shut down cause drugs are "bad for kids." (I only went there once or twice, I swear it!) It gave me the same sort of feeling, like I'd smoked too much pot and was having my feet moved by infectious music I was not supposed to like; or, as some might call it, "groovy." This band is definitely parent friendly (unless you're like, way older than me and don't have baby boomers for parents). You should take your dad when he's in town.

Dirty Excuse

This band was really fun in an 80's metal sort of way. Imagine "hot for teacher" being played by girls in this year of our lord 2006 and you will basically have Dirty Excuse. I like 80's metal and girl bands and 2006 just fine, so this is a.o.k. with me. The singer/bassist has a great gravelly rock voice, and some fast fingers to boot. She also makes good rock face. The two guitarists were both pretty sick, taking some nicely timed solos to show off their virtuosity. And the drummer (the only guy in the band) also had some rather extended cadenzas. Their songs were a little on the long side due to these cadenzas, but hey folks, they're just living on the edge.

After Dirty Excuse I got pretty hungry so I went to Foodswings to shamefully devour a fried fake-meat sandwich coated in buffalo sauce. (More veggies in 2006 my ever-growing ass!) When I got back the concert was basically over. I am still working on my journalistic stay-power. Maybe if someone were to comment on this blog it would encourage me. Anyway, it was a mega fun night and I highly reccomend Asterisk to anyone seeking a good concert-party. It was still pretty full when I got back around 1am. Clearly Williamsburg is over. East Bushwicksburg is where it's at now, kids. Just don't forget to eat your vegetables.

Quarterslot and the Good Vibrations @Cake Shop, 5/25/05

2005-06-29T04:46:00.000-07:00

I first met Heidi when we were both finalists in the Hot Body Contest at Opaline’s “Panty Party.” Needless to say, I was very, very drunk. She told me I should make out with her if I wanted us to win and I complied, but we still didn’t (Peppermint Gummi Bear was partial to the guy with the muscular butt.) But losers though we were, we’ve been friends ever since (I’m still in her cell phone as Jamie Hotbod), and when she invited me to come see her band play at a neat new venue, I was excited, expecting the unexpected.
Quarterslot and the Good Vibrations turned out to be a three-piece consisting of Heidi (Quarterslot) on vocals, and a couple of dudes (the Good Vibrations) on guitar and drums. They play a fun mixture of explosive indie blues and 50’s rock-musical kitsch whose closest modern cousin I can come up with is Morningwood. Dressed in an altered version of a dress stolen from Mama-Slot (in attendance, having made the trip from Bedford; the town, not the silly street in Brooklyn), she looked like, and basically was, a naughty little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes and shoes, unfraid to show us her nice new bra and panties. She had a bowl of sugared strawberries onstage with her, which she fed to us with glee. From the very first song, I knew she would hold nothing back. She kicked her legs and jumped around, alternately singing songs about how she liked boys (don’t we all, sometimes?) and was done with them (“I’m not gonna make French toast for you!”), as well as the greatest truth of all, especially for one entangled in the jaded LES Scene: “everybody uses everybody!” She morphed curiously from Janis Joplin to Sandra Dee to full out James Brown. It was totally groovy, as if somewhere along the line the three of them had gotten frisky and made a baby. While the guitarist was mostly confined to playing simple chord progressions as a backdrop to Heidi’s theatrics, he got a good solo in while Heidi was spread eagle on the amp having pretend guitar sex with him. At the end of the half hour set, Quarterslot was sweaty and exhausted, the audience smiley and sociable. She’d given us all her hott sexy energy and I did what I could to thank her; I let her feed me more strawberries. I might be a bit biased because I love her so, but I think that Heidi and her Vibrations are going to rock this homogenous little New York world, and even the cool kids will be a-dancing.

The Mars Volta @Roseland Ballroom, 5/6/05

2005-05-26T01:07:00.000-07:00

The Mars Volta are really good; I'm not going to argue with that. They play their instruments with skill and talent and blend a wide variety of influences in a way that manages not to be jarring. They have managed to achieve fairly mainstream success with music that is difficult to say the least. I have a bunch of their songs downloaded on my ipod and whenever they come up in my shuffle, I enjoy listening to them. "What a clever band," I think, "incorporating samba into indie prog. Those adorably big-haired ingenues!" But the concert was a lot different from my ipod. The songs were longer and there was no fast-forward button. True, Cedric had happy feet the entire time and did interesting things with the mic stand, bizarre creatures decorated the backdrop, and their fros were nothing less than hypnotic...but without a controlled substance to see me through, I simply got bored. The endless guitar solos were like Carlos Santana on Viagra. Cedric's wailing was impressive, but it would've been even better if I could have understood the words. I felt exactly like I was at the opera, due in large part to the foreign language, period costume, long complicated songs, and refusal to just die already. I couldn't help thinking there was something I just wasn't getting, that if I would only put in a little more time and effort, I'd suddenly relish every second of the 2+ hour show...but the most I could manage was long periods of impressed staring between my multiple trips to the bathroom. Sadly, I think my contact with the Mars Volta will have to be confined to single songs on my ipod from now on; I'm already being forced to take Music Hum next semester, and I just don't have room in my schedule.

Unisex Salon and Billionaire Boys Club @Arlene's Grocery, 4/22/05

2005-05-05T16:58:00.000-07:00

This show was sort of an outro for the Suicide Girls fashion show, and as such it was very well-attended. My official job during the fashion show was "dresser;" i.e. I ripped clothing off of the Suicide Girls as they came offstage. After this exciting task I needed some musical release, so I was a bit disappointed when Unisex Salon played. They were really cheesy but not in a good way. Their new wave influenced dance "rock" was really repetitive and not at all catchy like good dance rock should be! I danced a little but quickly became bored and began to make fun of the male singer with Zui Suicide, one of the hottest and most elven chicks I've ever met. We made a game out of counting how many gayass clichés we could find tattooed on his body and we came up with four: nautical stars, bluebirds, flames, and playing cards. Five, since I'm sure he has a sexy devil on his ass as well or something equally lame. Anyway, we soon tired of this and went over to the bar to have drinks bought for us while we waited for Billionaire Boys Club to come on.
Billionaire Boys Club were a welcome dose of up-tempo rock and roll that shook me from my Unisex-induced stupor. These guys clearly wanted the audience to have fun. So did Unisex Salon, but the difference here was that BBC actually helped the audience to do so with their music, while Unisex simply looked like fun but failed to deliver (what a cocktease!). Their songs had some punchy guitar riffs that sounded like they came from emo territory, and this mixed remarkably well with what was mostly a blues-based rock sound that hearkened back to 90's bands like STP and Buck Cherry. The singer even sounded a little like Weiland, but at times he also reached further back into 80's glam or even classic rock territory (think Mick Jagger!). This combined with a solid rhythm section (featuring a bassist who could actually play!) and the occasional guitar solo to create an ass-shaking, head-bobbing, beer-finishing-to-facilitate-more ass-shaking, good rock show. The only thing I found slightly jarring was that every now and then the main singer would trade vocals with one of the guitarists, whose high emo-sounding voice didn't fit that well with the vibe of the band. If and when these guys get signed (and I think they could in a few years, they're doing all the right things and the hip NYC kids seem to like them), they're going to have to make their sound a little more cohesive, but from what I've heard so far, that won't be terribly difficult. Come on, Billionaire Boys Club; even the Donnas had to pick a singer, and they all sound the same! Warped Tour or Ozzfest? I think the choice is clear.

The Yard Dogs Road Show, Thomas Truax, and the Nervous Cabaret @Rubulad, 4/9/05

2005-04-25T22:20:00.000-07:00

Rubulad is an amazing party which usually takes place at an amazing space out on Flushing Ave. in Brooklyn. I've been there before and thus knew to expect many rooms of artsy, strangetastic, partyriffic fun. When I got there, the Yard Dogs Road Show were already playing. Their live show consists of a creepy, sexy, old-fashioned vaudevillian cabaret act, complete with hot burlesque girls and a sinister mustachioed drummer/singer/charlatan. At one point he tried to sell us his miracle elixir by demonstrating its "special powers" on a hypnotized member of the Black and Blue Burlesque...I was instantly hoodwinked. In the next room, there was cheap beer so I bought some. The following room featured Thomas Truax and his amazing homemade instruments. He had this spiky wheel thing called the Cadillac Beatspinner Wheel that (you guessed it) played beats as it turned. This provided a dissonant backup for his hallucinatory-looking Hornicator, which appeared to be an old gramophone horn sprouting strings and many other noisy additions. It was like one of those Edward Gorey illustration that I used to delight in running my eyes over and around for prolonged periods of time (actually, I still do). His dreamlike lyrics were about clones and car crashes and stuff. I found myself getting kind of hot for Thomas...he was clearly a man of great genius to have created such beautifully mangled, marvelously vociferous things! (Later on in the night, old movies were screened in that room, movies like "beyond the valley of the dolls," which features lesbian superheros, a man with tits, and everything else that's good in this world. "Ere this night doth wane, you shall drink the black sperm of my vengeance!!" So so good.) I should also tell you that he's opening for the Dresden Dolls. That should tell you something, considering their uber-weird, melodramatic, yet insanely successful status! It seems to me they are the harbingers of interesting taste in music, and for that I tip my tophat to them.
Then down the stairs and onto the dance floor, where I encountered my friend Ted. I was very happy to see Ted, as he recently moved to New Haven for a job and I had not seen him in awhile. We drank some absinthe. We danced like dirty hippies to world music. We went outside and saw some kickass sculptures. Then we went in the OTHER dancing room, where there was intense ravey techno music playing and also the #1 attraction of the night: the igloo! This was a 3-story, interactive sculpture that you could crawl around inside. It was basically like chilling in a big, bright, white womb. It was apparently a smaller version of a larger one that had been built at burningman. It was comfy inside and we didn't want to leave. It was an excellent igloo.
There were many different substances at this particular party, ranging from slightly to highly illegal, but (and maybe this is just the repressed sXe kid in me talking)the most intoxicating thing was definitely the music. Especially when I heard the first groans of Nervous Cabaret, the last band of the night, who were definitely smokin', and not in a controlled drug kind of way. They played a strange, gloomy, spooky, punky, ska-y, blues-y, sort of old/new time music and Ted and I danced like maniacs to it. They started their set off with the most punk rock puppet show about bunnies that I have ever seen, then proceeded to rock our socks off with their slow grinding pseudo-standards and skanktastic uptempo songs. How could I not love them???
In conclusion: Rubulad is far. Rubulad is pricey ($10). Rubulad is hard for Manhattanites (and almost everyone else) to get to. However, Rubulad is worth it. Anyone who tells you differently is a lame little pussy with no balls and deserves to be banished to Irving Plaza forever. You heard it from me, the (fair and balanced) source.

*to be added to the Rubulad mailing list, email chris@spill.net.*
**to learn more about Rubulad, read this interview.**

Man in Gray, the Infidels, Electric Turn to Me, and the Unsacred Hearts @the Luna Lounge, 4/1/05

2005-04-02T12:36:00.000-08:00

Last night I went to a really cool concert at the Luna Lounge. I like it there, since there are places to sit and it’s always FREE! I am lazy and poor, so this appeals to me. A nice guy bought my broke ass a beer, too. This is the first time that has happened to me. I should go out alone more often.

Man in Gray

This is not the first time I have seen this band. In fact, they were one of the first bands I checked out when I got to NYC last year. I immediately had to like lead singer Tina DaCosta, since she bears a striking resemblance to my cousin Heather, a hard-partying cokehead/cheerleader during the late 80’s/early 90’s, when I had the most contact with her via her babysitting of me (she’s married with children now and lives in Texas…pssh.) This is a good start towards describing Man in Gray (everything but the Texas part). Their music morphs effortlessly from good times badass beer-punk to punchy political numbers; their sticatto anti-war march “Incommunicado” bears resemblance to Sleater Kinney’s “Combat Rock,” and I’d venture to say it’s just as good. One of the songs also reminded of early No Doubt, back when they were unafraid to be melodramatic and dorky. Remarkably, Tina’s voice maintains its sweetness throughout; whether she is shouting ironic war commands or singing about a boy, she’s intense but never shrill. She spent a decent amount of time on the floor, crawling in between bassist Jared Friedman's legs at one point. Her shaggy haircut and schoolgirl uniform (reclaiming ties from Avril Lavigne is something I encourage) combined with her passionate flailing to make for some solid frontwomanship. Jared had some nice post-punk grooves, as did the two guitarists (Bryan Bruchman and Jeremy Joseph), and drummer Jeremiah McVay kept most songs at a fast, danceable pace, getting in some sick fills now and then. Everyone in the band got a turn to shine. They have an adorably sibling-like dynamic; the guitarist accidentally spilled Tina’s whiskey, so she “accidentally” spilled his mic-stand, right off the stage. Someone bought her another whiskey of course, which she downed in about five seconds in a very rock and roll fashion. They were all pretty drunk by the end of the set but they stayed tight. I actually think they’ve gotten tighter since I saw them last. This is clearly a band that doesn’t skip practice…they put in the time so they can rock out later without having to think about it. They were super nice when I met them after the show (Tina remembered me from before!) and when I told them I had a blog, they gave me a free CD. You can bet I’ll be jumping around in my underwear to it by approximately the time you read this.

Electric Turn to Me

If David Bowie were a skinny blonde chick in a New York post-punk band in 2005, this is what it would sound like. My first thought upon hearing them was that this was Corin Tucker channeling David Bowie. However, as the set progressed, I thought no, this is pure Bowie with only enough girly punk thrown in to keep it from being weird and/or a ripoff (this worked really, really well). The first song was fast and punky, but the rest of them were much more resplendent. The guitars receded into the background at times while the keyboardist had some theatrical and/or spooky bits, and the singer’s accent (I think she’s European), intonations, vibrato, and everything reminded me so much of Bowie it was downright creepy. Some of the more ballad type songs would have been right at home in a glam rock musical, probably Hedwig (only more badass). She even quoted Oscar Wilde! (“We’re all in the gutter, but we look at the stars.”) The band came in with backup vocals at all the perfect times. Sometimes the guitars used cool outer-space-like effects. The singer’s born-woman status added something different and new to the mix; I never once thought she was impersonating a female-impersonator. She was able to draw upon everything about Bowie and still keep her natural woman-angst, that angst that trannie boys can only theatricalize and imitate so much. I can’t really describe it beyond that, but if you are intrigued then you should definitely check them out and see for yourself.

The Infidels

Before they even started to play, I saw that the bassist played a 6-string and the drummer sang. This led me to believe they were probably really sick musicians, and I was right. The drummer/singer looked a little like Robbie Williams but he sang like David Byrne, at least at first. When he moved from low and yelpy to high and fluttery, he sounded more like Thom Yorke, or sometimes Isaac Brock from Modest Mouse. However, most of the time he sounded like a strange, lovely, foppish but totally rockin’ combination of the two. The bassist used all six of his strings, playing things I couldn’t begin to tablaturize. Their music sounded a little bit 80’s dance influenced but still very loud and punk...and complex, too. If I hadn’t been so tired at this point in the night, I definitely would have danced and danced. NOTE: I couldn't find their website online. If anyone knows what it is, please tell me, as they asked me to send them a link to my blog!

The Unsacred Hearts

I didn’t get there in time to see them but they gave me a CD and I promise to write about it soon.

23 Ways to Know You Are Dating a Rockist

2005-03-30T15:15:00.000-08:00

I was supposed to go see my lovable music snob ex's blues/rockabilly/americana band play at Sin-é the other night but I was sick and it was raining, so instead I just listened to his record and thought back on all the great times we had together. I came up with this list.

23 Ways to Know You Are Dating a Rockist

1. The first thing he does when he gets you in his room is show you his massive, amazing, beautiful, powerful record collection.
2. He goes down on you in an odd time signature.
3. He cares more about getting you to turn off the Kidneythieves than getting to see your boobies for the first time.
4. He will not have sex with you to Portishead.
5. He will not have sex with you to [insert artist here]. If this is the only # that applies to you, you can breathe a sigh of relief; he’s not a rockist, he’s just gay.
6. He gives you a CD titled “Jaime’s birthday CD” that should actually be called “Adam’s Musical Man-Canon.” Also, your name isn’t spelled that way, and when you tell him he gets really mad at you.
7. He thinks Bob Dylan is good sex music.
8. He will only record his rockabilly/mandolin/jug band on vintage reel-to-reel.
9. He doesn’t tell you he liked your music after your gig, and you don’t ask.
10. He won’t let you hang out with his friends until after you have passed a test based on your birthday CD.
11. He won’t let you hang out with his friends, period.
12. He has a membership to Suicide Girls but he’ll fucking kill you if you tell his bassist/best friend/roommate. He’s known him since the fourth grade but he must never know he masturbates…to girls who like My Chemical Romance.
13. He won’t help you fulfill your CBGB’s bathroom sex fantasy because they let Shakira play there.
14. He won’t kiss you when you have a cold because he’s playing at the Bitter End in a week.
15. He then catches the flu from the children’s dance studio where he plays piano and accuses you of giving him syphilis.
16. He would rather be castrated than sit through an album with female lead vocals (Nico and Sonic Youth don’t count).
17. The only bands he likes from the entire decade he grew up in are Nirvana and REM.
18. No matter how many blowjobs you’ve given him, he still comes too soon if he hears Venus in Furs or a really kickass drum solo/feedback outro.
19. He drums Ween songs on your head while receiving a blowjob, even after you’ve stopped and given him a warning bite.
20. He insists you give him head on the motel bed at the Chelsea hotel (then makes you pay for half the room).
21. His stereo is nicer than his clothing/apartment/health plan.
22. He lives in Astoria and would rather die than ever hang out in Williamsburg. Or, he lives in Williamsburg but doesn’t like to talk about it.
23. His sideburns are better maintained than the rest of his hair combined (and there’s a lot of it).

why hello!

2005-03-30T15:05:00.000-08:00

Hi cyberspace, I'm Jamie. I like music and art and stuff. Sometimes I go to arty-musicy things and have stuff to say about them afterwards. I told this to my awesome music writer friend Amy (www.moreinthemonitor.com) and she said I should start a blog about it, so I did. Hooray!