 |
|||||
|
   |
||||
19 August
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
It's the little things one tends to gloss over when there are so many other pressing and larger issues to deliberate over in one's life. Whether it be school, work, a relationship, we get so caught in our own whirlwinds of activity that we completely miss the minute details that only grow to become events that come out of nowhere and send us into shock. I was walking with a lady friend down Metropolitan this past Saturday evening en route to get a bite to eat and the discussion turned to Billyburg. The conversation included the usual. How much hipster culture has fallen into self-parody. The likelihood it will eventually soon cave into becoming part of the establishment and will have lost the plot entirely. That's always a fun topic.
While making light repartee at the expense of our pseudo-elite, we passed by the Luna Lounge...or what was the Luna Lounge and will soon become the new location of the famed Knitting Factory. Yes, that Knitting Factory formerly of Leonard Street in Manhattan. You can't help but think that it's another sign of how the slow but steady wind of change is further taking its effect on the 'Burg. Is it a good thing or a bad thing? It's hard to say but it is different. I've already gone all sentimental on you in my first couple of posts here so I'll spare you the sob stories. What I am coming to grips with is that the Williamsburg I first visited back in the early part of the decade entranced by the glitz and pesudo-glamour supplied by Larry Tee & Berliniamsburg is being replaced by an aging bunch of hipsters who are realising the jig just might be up. A lot of them are either moving to Park Slope (Williamsburg hipsters who married, became parents and now live in more expensive shoeboxes) or are also deciding they want to look into starting families in town. Why else is there a kiddie store called MiniJake around?! I see it everyday across the street from my gym and I can't tell you how frustrating it is. It just makes you wonder what the hell's going on?
Don't get me wrong. The music is still here and there are bands popping up all the time. Of course, they're moving here from other locales hoping to cash in on some Williamsburg hype while it lasts but it still makes for a worthwhile and still interesting scene. Venues come, venues go. Galapagos Art Space is now Public Assembly, NorthSix became the Music Hall of Williamsburg and pretty soon McCarren Pool will become a fully functioning pool yet again much to the chagrin of concert-goers who got quite used to standing in the middle of an empty pool on Sunday evenings to see shows by seminal bands like Sonic Youth, Bloc Party, Wilco and the like. All this creates an interesting dichotomy of sorts. The music scene is still vibrant which means there is still a culture that is alive and still pervading throughout but at the same time, strands of what we all come to fear and for the most part, tried to avoid and run away are becoming more and more apparent. Our never-never-land is starting to fade away and we're seeing the beginnings of Williamsburg becoming like every other hot spot that stagnates and ultimately sees a natural decline in relevance. After a while, we just stop caring. There's only so many fads, so many best new bands and so many parties to go to. When outsiders come in for their piece of action, everything becomes diluted but by that time, we're too jaded to notice. We're too busy moving on with our lives to care.
Sigh...
18 July
Clarity part deux
Summertime. The time of year where everyone takes a step back and just glides... No worries, no pressure under a burning sun. Bodies wander coated by sweat. Sunglasses hide wandering eyes as they subtly or not so subtly examine the contours of the fairer sex. You slave away for a measly, meager wage during the week, pining to be whisked away to some far off place, preferably Berlin for Loveparade, maybe Glastonbury for the festival to see Jay-Z own Noel Gallagher or even Los Angeles just to say you went to Los Angeles. Yeah...that would be nice... Unfortunately, it's at the moment you realise you're at your dead-end job that you swear you're going to remain employed in for a couple of months longer before you bail. The weekend arrives and it's another matter entirely. You're back to walking the streets, eating breakfast as you people-watch, window-shop at the Mini-Mall and maybe do a little sunning at McCarren Park. It beats hanging out in the apartment all day playing PS3 with no A/C.
Summertime. You come to realise after an otherwise pedestrian spring that all this beauty around you. All the opportunities for fun that await that are available during this time of year are in danger of being left for naught. Why? You're just not up to it. You realise it's not so bad to have a companion around. Someone to talk music with. Someone to laugh at you and not your jokes. Someone to go to shows with and spend the next three hours at Kellogg's...okay, well maybe not Kellogg's Diner. An eatery of some sort is where you end up and wax poetic over how amazing that show and how shocked you were that the hipsters for one night decided to put down their crossed arms and cease chin-stroking. Instead they gathered en masse and danced like their feet were on fire. That would be cool. That would be really cool, actually. Heck, it would be cool to have someone around that would lay on your bed bored as hell while you got animated and overjoyed at the success of finally nailing a prostitute in GTA 4. Now that's love.
Is it any wonder why you rarely see a smile on the face of a Williamsburger? It's not simple as chalking it up to the assumption they are simply worried about how they're going to pay for this month's rent or upset that their t-shirt just isn't ironic enough. No. It's not that. It's loneliness. It's a dreaded sickness and it can be treated. It's what we all want, right? It's what we all deserve. Isn't it true? Someone to hold. Someone to debate politics with. Someone to tell your parents but will never bring home for them to meet. You know someone like that. Personally, I've often walked down my street and just stare at the Latinos that populate the next block over. I just sit and observe how happy they seem to be and how carefree they appear to be. It's a whole different world from where I stand as it seems that simply getting together on a stoop is enough. The camaraderie is automatic and it's a party atmosphere always. Why can't I have that? What am I doing wrong? Have I given into despair so deeply that I can't get out of my own way to enjoy anything. Enjoy drawing another breath? Enjoy emotion? I don't know. I simply don't know.
Please help the cause against loneliness.
3 July
Now that what's up: the best of 08' (at the all star break)
Okay kids, I realise it's not quite the all star break and it might be a bit early for a best of list but dammit! It's my column! Besides I thought it would be a bit of fun to go over some of the best records of the year now that we've reached the halfway point. There's been a lot of time, care and enthusiasm placed into these lists so I ask that you give them the same respect as you do in the rest of my blurbs (which would be none). So without further ado, the best of 2008...thus far!
 |
15. Cadence Weapon – Afterparty Babies – Epitaph Who knew canadians besides buck 65 could rap? The debut album by cadence weapon aka edmonton's rollie pemberton is a fun nerd-rap record for people who don't like rap and don't like nerds. Simply put, it's a fun blend of a little old school rap doused with a bit of modern electro tied together with pemberton's brand of self-effacing humour. It doesn't take itself seriously which is what's lacking in a lot of today's shite that poses as hip-hop. |
 |
14. Ellen Allien – Sool – B Pitch Control The queen of german techno has returned in all her glitchy glory! Fresh off a very nice collaboration with apparat in 2006's “orchestra of bubbles”, Ms. Allien brings it back and offers up another platter of minimalist techno jams for the eggheads on the dance floor. Long live the queen! |
 |
13. Nick cave the Bad Seeds – Dig, Lazarus, Dig – Mute What is there that needs to be said about nick cave that hasn't been said already? I mean, really, the guy is simply the man. The guy doesn't know how to write a bad record. He never has either with the seeds or with the birthday party. This trend continues here, a concept record based on the biblical story of lazarus, the man who died and was brought back to life by the hand of jesus christ. Imagine if lazarus were to end up in new york city? Nick cave ponders that same thing on the title track which was also the first single and the record as a whole just clicks with its slightly garage-rock tinged vibe. Thanks heavens for nick cave. |
 |
12. Little Brother – And Justus For All – Hall of Justus To my dying day, i will continue to sing the praises of little brother. One of the more talented rap duos around who get absolutely no love outside of about five people. This new album is more of a compilation of new songs as well as songs from various recently released mixtapes. The wordplay is outstanding, the flows of both phonte & big pooh are once again on point as evidenced on tracks like “cross that line” which reunites them with former bandmate and superproducer in his own right, 9th wonder. |
 |
11. Supergrass – Diamond Hoo Ha – Astralwerks They're not the same kids who made every anglophile's face beam when they heard “alright” or “caught by the fuzz”. No, these little brat-punks from oxford who got a little boost from a little band called radiohead have grown up to be the most reliably consistent bands in recent British pop memory. Coming off a more mature, pensive effort in “Road To Rouen”, Supergrass return with some bombast, a little glam and a whole lot of flair! It's evident there was tons of fun going on recording this record as it shows in every track. Listen to the first single, “diamond hoo ha man” if you doubt me! |
 |
10. British Sea Power – Do You Like Rock Music?- Rough Trade/Worlds Fair Another slept on band. Another great band. Three albums in and the boys is bsp have created another solid effort. Bsp's sound is such it caresses you as you listen and transports you in a state of contentment and you just groove. Their music is just...right. |
 |
9. The Roots –Rising Down– Def Jam When you're talking automatic entries into a list, you're talking the roots. They put out a new record, it's going on a best of list. They are the pre-eminent hip-hop band going. Since Outkast appears to have given up the crown, the Roots have it taken it away and aren't giving it back. “Rising Down” brings more of the subversive, political and grooveable joints they've been banging out the last 15 years. That's all that needs to be said. Just buy the record. |
 |
8. Bauhaus – Go Away White – Bauhaus Musik/Red Bauhaus. One word says it all, peeps. After twenty-five years, they reformed, wrote a record then broke up again. At least they ended it right by creating a rock record for the 21st century and reminding why they are still so vital today. One listen to songs like “Too Much 21st Century”, “Adrenalin” and “Endless Summer of the Damned” will be enough to convert you. Bauhaus were and still are gods. |
 |
7. Santogold – Santogold - Downtown This is the record gwen stefani should have written except if she actually made a move without it having market tested first. The comparisons to M.I.A. Need to end as these two are very different stylistically and santi white is simply better. Everything you loved about siouxsie sioux, belinda carlisle, cyndi lauper is here on this debut record. It's eclectic, it's spunky, it's fun and it's a record we haven't heard the likes of in a long time. A record comfortable with being a treat to listen to the whole way through. Who can resist songs like “l.e.s. Artistes”, “creator”, “i'm a lady”, or “anne”? This is an artist to watch. |
 |
6. Portishead – Third – Mercury
It's been more than a decade since we've heard from these trip-hop masters. Many stops and starts. Rumours circulating throughout the internet for what seemed like aeons about the band finally coming together. Finally in 2008, we get the third album by the 'Head. All you need to know is “Machine Gun” is a candidate for song of the year by my standards. Portishead are back! |
 |
5. Foals – Antidotes – Sub Pop Who says dance-punk is dead? Who knew math-rock could be so much fun? The debut from the Foals delivers on the hype that the NME is known for. Produced by Dave Sitek of TVOTR fame, the Foals take a tired re-invention of post-punk and turn it inside out. A strong attention to song craftmanship, a little pizazz and some horns and we've got a strong debut. Personal favourite “Hummer”! |
 |
4. Coldplay – Viva la Vida or Death and all his Friends – Capitol
Before you start crying “sellout”, take a breath and come down from that ledge. Brian eno told these guys how much they suck in every sense of the word. Apparently Chris Martin listened and the band delivers their most mature record to date. Still haven't reached the heights of their idols, Radiohead and U2 but they're working on it and you have to respect the ambition. |
 |
3. The Charlatans – Your Cross my Path – Cooking Vinyl
Manchester represent! Is it possible for a band who's been together since 1989 and released countless ace singles and impeccably crafted records to have now released possibly their best record ever? I think the charlatans just did. Borrowing from fellow mancunians in new order, the charlatans rewrote their personal playbook and delivered their most infectious record since “us and us only” listen to the title track and “the misbegotten” and you will want to purchase their entire catalogue. |
| We have a tie for number one..... I couldn't decide between the two. | |
 |
1a. Cut Copy – In Ghost Colours – Modular |
 |
1b. The Presets – Apocalypse – Modular
Anyone who knows me personally knows my eternal love for the presets. The debut “Beams” was such a fierce record but no way in hell did I envision these two flipping the script and releasing perhaps the best electronic record of the decade. Yes, it's that good. It's a record that kicks in the car, makes you swoon and you can sing along to. It's a record that producers will sit up and wonder, “How did they do that?!”. It's a monster on the dancefloor and on the Ipod and very few electronic records have been able to create that effect in recent times. I'd be shocked if this isn't my record of the year when it's all said and done. |
So there you have it, folks. Feel free to comment and let me know what your faves were. I'll probably disagree but that's okay!
19 June
Clarity Part I
it really is quite overwhelming. For all the talk you may hear about Williamsburg, the artifice, the music, the vibrant social circles, the gentrification, etc... All of it, it's quite easy to forget that at the end of the day, the 'burg is really little more than a simple town in the northern part of the borough of Brooklyn. To expound, it's main claim to fame is that it's literally a hop, skip and a jump from the Big Apple proper, Manhattan. If you can't afford to revel in the pomp, circumstance and pretension that is Manhattan, then you simply get on the Williamsburg Bridge and enter Brooklyn. Your first stop? Williamsburg. So you understand, it's pretty tough to outshine Manhattan. It's the big bad brother that you always want to one-up but you never can because he's older and he will always be older and stronger. With such an overpowering shadow being cast upon us Williamsburgers, there is a bit of an inferiority complex that tends to set in. This sets the stage for something a bit murkier and a bit more subtle, a feeling of dread and loneliness.
I would say that for an outsider whose knowledge of the area is primarily reliant upon what's covered in Vice magazine, Brooklyn Vegan and the new media buzz but at the end of the day, you do tend to feel a bit alienated from the goings-on.
I mean, really. You can only allow yourself to be consumed for so long by keeping up with the latest trends in music, culture, etc... It becomes quite easy to lose track of your own being. It's hard work being the first one to know everything and run it in your less knowledgeable friends! Oftentimes, I'll take a walk around McCarren Park at night just to reflect. It's very soothing and allows me an opportunity to get away from all the hullabaloo that Williamsburg tends to attract throughout the day. It's at time like these where I really begin to analyze many of the routine things I do on a given day, things as simple as walking down Bedford Avenue and people watching. Young couples walking hand in hand looking hipster chic. The influx of young parents pushing baby carriages rushing to avoid any potential conflict with an oncoming automobile. Others simply chilling in front of New York Muffins talking about who-knows-who, who-did-what in who-knows-where. And then there's me. Simply floating along without a care in the world. Simply there. Am I overanalyzing? Am I overthinking things? Do I really want someone to hold right then and there? Perhaps. Perhaps not. I'm sure all of you can understand and even feel much the same way I do from time to time.
10 June
Dudes, I'm Melting...but I saw the Presets!
Yay! Summer's here! Summer's here! Memorial Day came and went and now it's all about fun in the sun, right?! Wrong! This heatwave stinks. It's worse when you don't have any AC unless you count the 16 inch stand fan I bought from the 99 cent store last Saturday. Nothing like recycled stale hot air to keep you motivate in early June! Don't get me wrong. I actually used to love the summer immensely. Running around like a banshee along the water's edge before jumping into the liberating water and feeling rejuvenated. Those days are over. I like that same feeling when I'm in the shower but not when I have to venture to catch a train, a bus or take a walk to a nearby destination. It's just not the same! It's weird. It's almost like every year you have to become accustomed to the heat all over again. During the fall and winter months, it's so easy. You just layer up and you're all good. You can feel warm but not too warm. You're simply comfortable and somewhat content. During the summer, you lose that luxury and now even the most flimsiest of layers feels like a second skin that you're just aching to shed. Of course when you're riding the L train that might not be such a hot idea. No pun intended. Leave that for the JMZ line aka the Jamz line where no one will give your topless self a second look.
So last week, Wednesday, to be exact. I go to the Music Hall of Williamsburg to see the almighty Presets. The amazing electronic pop band out of Oz came to grace the 'Burg with their oontz-tacular madness. I could not miss out and I sure as hell did not! Naturally as I'm pumped and headed to my destination on the L train, the train comes to a screeching halt. Why? There's a fire! Yes, that's right. There's a fire in the subway. This only happens when I'm in a rush! So i'm sitting there twiddling my thumbs away as I mutter to myself. I take a couple of moments to have a debate with myself whether or not I should get of the train and walk a couple of blocks before I catch a cab. Yes, I could very well walk the rest of the way but naturally a) I'm too lazy and most importantly, b) I don't want to be late! A couple of minutes turns to ten minutes and a near panic attack and the soothing sounds of “Stand clear for the closing door” emanates from the speakers. We're moving again and I'm able to breathe. So I get to Bedford Ave run up the steps and what do you know? It's raining! But. of. Course. Running down Bedford to make the right onto North 8th Street, I bust it to get there before the opening act, Walter Meego,takes the stage. I'm successful and mosey my way up to the front of the throng. It was a pretty healthy crowd already by the time I got there to the Music Hall. It was myself and my fellow hipsters for what promised to be a truly communal experience.
Walter Meego is up and I'm interested in checking them out as I have an EP of theirs and they had been getting a fair amount of buzz. Not so much in Williamsburg but out there in the internets. The lineup is the singer who also plays some ax, another guy on guitar and the maestro handling the synths, pedals and just plain old knob-twiddling. To be honest, they put on a pretty good set. They were very tight in not only their performance but also in their demeanour and clothing sense. So much tight clothing on stage you'd think they were trying to observe some Williamsburg ordinance that any performers must do as the Romans do and wear suffocating button down shirts out of Abercrombie + Fitch. This, of course, is a minor quibble. They were nervous and you can tell but the music didn't suffer for it at all as they did a splendid job of fusing good ol' tried and true indie rock, shoegaze with booty shaking electro. The crowd seemed to enjoy them as well as I actually saw a few bobbed heads which is good. It means that not only is the crowd awake, it also means that they somewhat found themselves pleased. Not common at all.
By the time Walter Meego had removed themselves from the stage, the crowd had grown to become near full capacity. There were some emo kids in the house, a couple of thugs and the rest was a dreary, drab sea of nothing but hipsters. At this point, there was a constant murmur of anticipation hovering over and around those in attendance. I was antsy as this was going to be the first time I've seen the Presets live after missing them on their previous visits to NYC, I was distracted temporarily as the song, “More Than Real” by the Junior Boys came on over the PA which made me happy. Looking around the perimeter of the venue, I was able to see the faces of many of my fellow revelers. It was a bit of a surprise to see so many smiling faces and fans that were just as happy to be in the building. It also helped that there were many attractive females in the house. It's just one of those things that I have to notice being a guy. Sue me. No sooner than I begin to fixate my thoughts on a pretty redhead in front of me, the lights dim to complete darkness and a faint flicker appeared from the stage. The decibel level increased exponentially. The applause deafening as the duo of Kim Moyes and Julian Hamilton aka the Presets descended from a set of stairs to the right of the stage. The lights are on and Kim is behind the drums and Julian at the keyboards where they lead right into the first song, “Talk Like That” off of their heavenly new record, “Apocalypso” which I featured here and if you like me at all, you went and bought! The crowd was in a frenzy and that's when you saw something so unbelievable, it was uncanny. Hipsters dancing! Not just head-bopping, mind you. No! This was full on booty-shaking and hip swaying. It was a sight to behold indeed and the Presets did their best to make sure the crowd did not relent. This would continue throughout the night as they would play mindblowers like “Are You The One” from their previous record, the debut “Beams”, “This Boy's In Love” and “My People”. To be honest, I don't think I ever perspired that much in my life! At least that's what I thought possible until tonight as I type this!
Now when I'm at a show I'm there to enjoy myself and dance up a storm. This is especially the case when you have an ab fab band like the Presets playing. I also have a few pet peeves that came to fruition throughout the night. A major one was this bozo in front of me who kept looking back with his cell phone in tow (I couldn't tell the type but if was most likely a Blackberry!) signalling to whom I assume were his friends up in the balcony, motioning for them to come down to the floor level. Call me anal but that annoys me to no end. Pay attention to the show, you dope! Especially when I'm in back of you trying to check up the setup on stage! Naturally you're going to have the idiots trying to pass by you by pushing to get to the front of the stage. That doesn't happen on my watch! Unless you're looking to get tripped up on your way, I wouldn't recommend it! A couple of Ray-Ban wearing, Corey Hart wannabes paid the ultimate price for their transgressions, I tell you! All in all, It was an amazing show and I can't wait for the Presets to come back later this year.
Now if you'll excuse me I'm off to take my fifth cold shower in the last five hours. Gotta keep cool somehow, right?!
3 June
Gutter chic
So. You're new to town. Just moved into the area or even just visiting to see what all the buzz is about. You realise you're late in the game but hell, it's better late than never, right? You just completed that trip up the steps from the L train at Bedford & North 7th Street and you feel overwhelmed already. People in abundance littering the streets as they prance to their destinations with cars whirring past with the boom-boom bass trailing behind. You've got your Michael Kors shades on but lift them up allowing your eyes to soak up the sun and the slightly cool breeze lightly taps at your face and plays with your hair. What to do first? Well, duh! When in Rome, dress like the Romans do! You need to get yourself some top notch threads! Not sure where to go? Might I offer a couple of suggestions? Sure you could go to the Salvation Army situated across the street but why? Sure there's no shame in wearing second-hand clothes but do you really want to be seen in a Salvation Army? Eww! Not a good way to make an impression, I'd say. You never know who you will encounter and will mark you for the rest of your days in Billyburg for purchasing such drivel at the Chateau de la Ghetto. It's just not done and just not worth it.
So this leaves you with a couple of options. You can either go to Beacon's Closet or Atlantis Attic. Now for any newbie Williamsburg newbie, you should be forewarned. If you want clothes to make yourself stick out like a sore thumb, a sore thumb dressed in copy-cat type clothes then by all means, allow me to direct you to Triple Five Soul on North 9th Street or Brooklyn Industries on Bedford & North 8th and Broadway & Driggs. You can look a true tourist within minutes and have half your life savings taken care of in exchange. So. If you want to avoid that fate, head down to Beacon's or Atlantis, they are thrift shops for the meticulous buyer and depending on how much you want to spend, they fit the bill nicely. Let's review each locale in a more in-depth fashion, shall we?
Beacon's Closet
This spot is conveniently located across the street from the Brooklyn Brewery on North 11th. Personally I don't drink but for any of the lushes, drunk bastards and proud alkies amongst you, it's a perfect opportunity for you to get your drink on after getting your clothes on without worrying about stumbling too far and getting some funny looks from the NYPD. Beacon's Closet is a thrift megastore that looks like a warehouse from the outside. You know you're there when the big freaky baby's head above the doors. You walk in and you are immersed in nothing but clothes. Lots of them. If you've got your bag or manbag with you (par for the course here in Billyburg), you'll have to check that bad boy at the cashiers' counter. You know how hipsters like to cop free stuff! So you drop off your bag and turn around to survey the area. It's pretty much a haven for second-hand clothes and those who slavishly live in pursuit of them. I've been known to frequent the locale on more than one occasion and pick up some things for myself. The clothes are your standard fare in terms of designers and if you're lucky, you may even see a pseudo a-list celebrity like Kirsten Dunst passing through and slumming through the 'Burg. You can also naturally sell your wares there as well for chump change so that's always nice. Hey, you're going to need that change later on at the Charleston so you can get your free pizza!
The positives:
- Oodles and oodles of clothes for the boys and the girls
- Not only do they sell clothes but you can also find cds and even vinyl (used, natch.)
- They also sell sunglasses, incense and some jewelry
The negatives
- Second-hand clothes for full retail price? Get that trust fund ready!
- If you weigh over 100 lbs (female) or wear anything larger than a medium (male), this might not be the spot for you. Sorry...
- Ladies, be ready to engage in battle for the couple of outfits over a size 4. It can get nasty in there.
Atlantis Attic
Gotta admit, this is my spot. Your faithful host, Jack, can be found here almost every other weekend checking out the threads. Not as big as the closet but it does look a little bit more friendly. It's located on Metropolitan Ave and Humboldt and there's a sign out front. You'll know you're there when you pass the stench that is the White Castle next door. That uncomfortable fact aside, it should be stated that Atlantis Attic is a very nice place. You walk in and it's always very bright which is a switch from most vintage shops in the area. It nice and wide open akin to a department store so you don't feel like you're shimmied into a shoebox. There's a wide array of clothing for both the ladies and the fellas. What I really like about the store is that they have a ton of button-down shirts which are what i'm all about so that's a plus in my book. The location of the store is such that if you blink, you'll miss it and that adds to its charm. The staff is friendly which is probably because the employees aren't hipsters. This fact is made known immediately when you hear the music choices blaring from the speakers. Gotta love KTU! What's cool about the attic is that not only do they carry your standard fare of clothing but they also sell accessories that are simply a must for the aesthetically minded hipster to be. They sell hats sunglasses, necklaces, chokers and even gloves and socks! I mean you can get everything and I mean everything here and then walk out and you're fully assimilated into the 'Burg.
The best part about the Attic by far: the prices. They are still a tad high when you compare them to that you will find at a Goodwill or Salvation Army but the clothes at the Attic are nowhere near as skanky smelling and don't fall apart the moment you lift the article of clothing out of the bag at home. On a couple of occasions I was able to buy a sick pair of pants and a Ralph Lauren shirt for a combined fifteen dollars. Pretty good, right? Compare that to going to Beacon's Closet and you'll be lucky to but the pair of pants themselves at fifteen dollars a pop. It's things like this you will learn living in Williamsburg. Unless you're a trust fund baby, you're probably living check to check. Don't sleep on the thrift shops. They are vital for picking up some decent clothing. There's no shame in shopping at the shops either simply because you're not the only one doing it and it's not like there's a mall nearby where you can simply go to H & M and buy new cheap designer stuff that will fall apart in a couple of outings.
The positives:
- The employees are nice and they leave you alone when you're shopping which is always appreciated
- The music – because there are times where you just don't want to hear Wolf Parade
- The prices – I've seen shirts for as low as three dollars there. It's fun to go digging through the racks for the “bargains”!
The negatives
- Buyer beware – you really have to inspect the clothes before you buy them. It's a
store so keep that in mind. Sometimes there's a reason someone sold the article of clothing in the first place and they forgot to mention that paint stain in the right armpit to the cashier when getting their cash!
21 May
Santogold – s/t (downtown)
yes indeedy, ladies and gents. If you haven't heard the name Santogold yet, you better recognise! The artist formerly known as Santi White has been bandied about for some time in these parts for her poptastic sound. Finally we get to bear witness to what very well might be on a lot of year-end lists in the form of her debut record entitled simply, “Santogold” or what will be later referred to as the “gold vomit” record. Don't get it? Look at the record cover. Now I'm not biased and partial. Never mind the fact that parts of this record were recorded in a studio located on my apartment floor, it must be said that throughout the hype that followed the girl around, this record truly brings the goods. The most attractive aspect of this record is in its breadth, its ability to wear its influences on its sleeve but yet not become enslaved by them. You've got your ska, you've got your straight up new wave, a little bit of dancehall but it all washes out in the end as pure pop for people who forgot what that sounds like when it's done well. I've always said pop music is most effective when it's able to touch on every nerve in our bodies causing us to laugh, dance, think and feel. This record is able to do that by being simple.
What does it sound like? Well, if you guys notice by my previous reviews i generally abhor making comparisons to other artists because oftentimes they don't quite fit. Another reason, is to be honest, it smacks of lazy journalism. At the same time, i guess they do help in getting an idea of what to expect. What i will say is that if you were thinking of another artist whose music would fit very nicely on a mix tape or compilation along with Santogold, it would be MIA. This is a tenuous comparison at best in that MIA's oeuvre is much more slanted towards a dancehall/hip hop hybrid while Santogold is all over the place. For example, take the lead single and album opener, “L.E.S. Artistes”, a very delectable slice of 80s new wave electro-pop with a lyric demanding a return to individuality at the expense of the poseurs currently ruining the Lower East Side of Manhattan. This is followed immediately by “You'll Find A Way”, a bratty pseudo-punk stomper showing off a little bit of that Santogold sass that is prevalent throughout the whole record. If you thought ska was dead, I present to you a song like “Say Aha” as proof that once again when done well, no form of popular music can be truly dead. As one listens to each and every track on the record and hears how the songs just seem to work and seamlessly blend into each other without you getting the urge to scratch you head is why this record is good. It truly is a lost art in this day and age of small does, small attention spans and immediate gratification. You get all that here but the songs will stick and you will hum along. Isn't that what pop music is all about?
14 May
Boredom and a slight case of nostalgia
I have to be honest with you guys. I haven't been out much lately. I've been a hermit. A total recluse and I don't know why to tell the truth. The last few nights have primarily been spent looking out my window and at the absolutely picturesque nighttime view of the Kosciusko Bridge and the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway in all its bland, rusted glory. Add to that the lovely cacophony of loud aggro-rock blended with Merengue and Iggy Pop (coming out of my stereo), you really can't ask for much more than that. In short, I just hadn't been feeling it lately. I'm sure you can all relate. When I wasn't asleep or doing something counter-productive, i was arranging my cds. Yes, I still collect compact discs. Those shiny platters of aural goodness have save my life on many an occasion. When I felt like the world was about to collapse around me, I'd pop in a Smiths record and all would be well again. If I'm getting ready to go to the gym and need some fight music, I'll pop in some Belle and Sebastian. If there's an intimate moment and you want to set the proper mood, throw on some Nine Inch Nails or the Wu Tang Clan. Both should suffice nicely.
This being said, this past Friday night, I was left to my own devices. No roommates around. I don't even think my neighbours on either side of my loft were home either. I was completely alone with my own thoughts. It was quite relaxing. It's healthy to do this sometimes. To take a step back and assess. Assess what? I don't know really but you get my drift. I basically sat there and threw on some cds and played some songs off of I-Tunes that I either hadn't listened to ages or held some intrinsic value to me whether it be sentimental or otherwise. I laid on my bed and hummed the songs to myself in complete bliss. I even sang along with the songs without a care in the world buoyed by the knowledge that I was alone and no one would hear me. This of course lasted for all of thirty-eight minutes for while I was singing along to “She Bangs The Drums” by the Stone Roses. I start hearing a high-pitched squeal that began repeating and increasing in volume. It took me a couple of minutes to even notice it but after a while the incessant squealing began to get to me. This followed by what sounded like panting in concert with the squeals became a cause for alarm. I turned off the stereo, put on my hat and headed for the door to go out. I mean, really, hearing your roommates come home and do the horizontal kind of eliminates the buzz you have going listening to tunes, don't you think. So annoying...
So I'm out. Walking down Grand Street which is mostly an industrial zone where I live (maybe I shouldn't mention that). There's a couple of body shops, a gas station which includes a convenience store, a couple of factories across the street and another building that used to be a warehouse but like my place was refurbished into lofts so that the owners could make more money. Never mind the fact that this type of arrangement is illegal but hey, transplanted midwesterners who come to Brooklyn need housing too, right? Pretty much as one walks down the street, you will encounter the whole mixed bag of people. You've got your hipsters, the stoners, the Latinos and their five dollar NY hats they bought from a cheap corner shop, the wanna-be thugs, the uptight white kids who laughably are always on alert in the event that one of the above might accost them. It never happens and it's obvious they're not from the area. The best part about the walk is when you come to arguably the greatest thing since sliced bread. The bodega! I know you're asking, “What the hell is a bodega?”. Well I'll tell you. Simply put, a bodega is a small corner shop or convenience store and they are generally owned and operated by Latinos. It's only in a bodega when you get a full meal consisting of soda, jelly rolls and Now or Laters for three bucks. Not to mention get your toilet paper, batteries and today's edition of the Hoy! Newspaper all in one shot. Trust me when I say these places are life savers. 7-11 has nothing on the local bodega.
So after walking those four blocks I come to the L train on the corner of Grand & Bushwick and head down the steps into the catacombs that look amazingly like a subway station. It was pretty dead as it usually is on a Friday night and I can't help but start thinking of Paul Weller's lyrics in “Down At The Tube Station At Midnight” as I walk towards the far end of the platform and sit down in the last seat of the bench. The subway system in NYC is said to be the most efficient in the world when you consider how big New York City and the neighbouring boroughs as well as how many people live in the metropolitan area who depend on this vast network of track day in and day out. I don't know who those people are who made that declaration but all I know is this L train for some reason seems to slow down to a crawl just before my stop in either direction and it's always and I mean always under some kind of construction. Not very efficient in my opinion!
At any rate, the train shows up. I get on and sit down with my book in hand and head down. The natural pose of most riders on the train unless you're homeless and you take the curled-up position asleep taking up half the bench with your body and the other half with the smell due to the lack of a use of a shower. Sometimes if you're really lucky, some wise guy who couldn't wait will take a leak against the door of the train. Now that's a sight to behold indeed. The best part is in New York, we don't get fazed by that sort of thing. We look up, we watch, our attention is then led back down at our book or we turn back to our suspended conversation and act like nothing happened. On the train awaiting my destination which is Bedford Avenue which is where all the action tends to take place. We pass the various stops...Graham Avenue followed by Lorimer Street and finally Bedford Avenue. The Bedford Avenue stop is usually a madhouse and tonight is no different. Everyone and anyone is in attendance on both sides of the platform. Those waiting to go to Manhattan, all dolled up (mostly consisting of the bridge and tunnel-ers and weekend warriors) and ready for some type of action. On the other side are those headed to Broadway Junction. Generally those on this side of the platform are anything but dolled up. They look like they're ready to take a nap on the platform if they had enough energy to fall over. The mad dash up the stairs amidst the throng of fellow Billyburgers and tourists and through the turnstiles. I start to smell the stale air as I walk up the flight of steps that lead up and onto the corner of North 7th and Bedford. The night is young and I need some action. Where I find it? I'll let you know next time.
Until then, go pick up the new record by the Roots, it's called “Rising Down”. Just another in a long line of crazy good records from the true soul of Illadelphia.
Questions? Hate? Leave a comment or you can hit me up @ imstillill@gmail.com.
7 May
Welcome to the gallery
So i'm walking down Bedford Avenue here in Williamsburg, the cool capitol of the world, minding my own business. It's a brisk Saturday afternoon and I'm on my way to hit the L train to head into Manhattan. Pretty uneventful otherwise when I come to the stop and I see a threesome setting up shop in front of me alongside the staircase. The threesome were made up of two girls and a guy. They were just standing there and looking aimlessly, aloof, tilting their heads this way and that. No speech, no herky-jerky movements, just lifeless. If I tapped one of them with my index finger, i was afraid I might knock one of them over and create a domino effect. This may sound awfully weird but trust me when I say that this is pretty much a commonality around here. It's almost like I'm walking through an art gallery and everyone is part of the exhibit. Sometimes I feel like I'm the one posing as an outsider as I don't participate in whatever it is that everyone else is doing at the time. Very weird.
So I go down the staircase and wait for the train. Pleasant sounds from the buskers playing their tunes for chump change and applause capture my ear. Drop a couple of bucks into a guitar case and walk past. The platform is buzzing. There's easily a couple hundred people down there just waiting to get to Manhattan on one side while there's about a quarter that number on the other side waiting to go to Rockaway Junction in Canarsie. Since I enjoy people-watching amongst my many exploits, I lean against a beam and check out the scene. Being that it's a Saturday afternoon, it's a mixed bag extraordinaire. You've got your “thugs”, you've got your tourists (so easy to pick them out, I mean, really easy), your mommies and daddies with their kids who love nothing more than to be human road blocks when you're trying to catch a train. Last but most certainly not least, you have the rulers of the roost: the hipsters. I'm surrounded by them! Turn to the left, there's a hipster in APC gear that she bought at a mark-down sale. Turn to the right, there's another one in a shirt three sizes too small with the matching women's jeans both bought for full price at Beacon's Closet, where you pay top dollar to look like you never got rid of your clothes that you wore when you were ten.
This is the environment I live in. This is Williamsburg. As I become more and more impatient because the train that was show up in two minutes is now five minutes late, it gets me to thinking. A little bit of reflection if you will. Amongst many of my friends who don't know the difference, I get labelled as a designer whore because of my affinity for button-down shirts made by Ralph Lauren or Ben Sherman, a music snob because I think there should be standards for music and those who don't adhere to my standards shall be ostracized for crimes against humanity (I mean, really, how can anyone say with a straight face that they like Nickelback?) and just a loudmouth in general. This leads me to wonder to myself: Am I a hipster? Is it possible that I'm no different than the people I share this land mass with? I mean...I do use the L train as my main form of transportation. I can be found at Earwax or Sound Fix Records at least twice a week followed by a brief respite at the Verb Cafe or Bagelsmith on Bedford Avenue. I do go to the same clubs...occasionally. I do read Brooklyn Vegan...sometimes. Is this enough evidence to make me...one of them?
30 April
From oz with love... Modular Recordings
To any music lover who pays attention to such things, how often is it that when you look at the back of your favourite records, you find a mention of the label responsible for your aural pleasure? Any label worth its weight and your dollar prides itself on releasing quality material from extraordinary bands thus helping to shape your musical experience as you grow up. You know the names: Chess, Sun, Motown, Stax, Stiff, Fast, Beggars Banquet, Sire, Sub Pop, Domino, etc... the list is endless. It's the knowledge that you can purchase a record with no prior knowledge of the band but because it's a release from a label you trust, you know the band must be worth it. It's a shame that labels don't often think that way anymore. Good thing for the “indie” labels who still attempt to hold on to that ideal. I bring this up as one such label to add to the list is one that has not just been making waves but has sent the whole bumrush from down under north to both sides of the atlantic. That label would be Modular Recordings, home of the Presets and Cut Copy. Two outstanding electronic pop bands with two new records that command attention and tlc from your cd player (if you still have those) or i-pod.
Starting with The Presets. For those of you who copped the debut record, “Beams” , you were treated to some dirty yet fun electro with a punk edge, not to mention a cameo from Daniel Johns from Silverchair. “Beams” was noteworthy if for no other reason than the arresting single, “Are You The One”, which was enough to make my fellow Billyburgers smile and dance at the same time. Quite a feat in skin-tight trousers. Anyways...the dynamic duo of Kim Moyles and Julian Hamilton have returned with an early contender for best album of 2008 in “Apocalypso”. Beginning with the first track, “Kicking And Screaming”, there are floor-stompers abundant here. Gone is the punky undercurrent that rested as the backbone of “Beams”. It becomes pretty clear to hear once you get to the following track and lead-off single, “My People” that the Presets have decided to go full throttle and rescue pure electro from the American Apparel crowd and bring it back to where it belongs. The toe-tapping, booty-shaking onslaught continues throughout with the highlights being current single, “This Boy's In Love”, a seamless slice of pseudo-trance pop minus the pretension, “If I Know You” as well as “A New Sky”. There are elements of pure cheese on this record. Case in point: the double dose of “Yippiyo-ay” and “Talk Like That”. To be completely honest, neither song is horrid enough to ruin the fun that is “Apocalypso”. The record is consistent and a major step forward for the band and affirms their position as perhaps the most promising electronic pop band going. The only competition I see for these guys would just happen to be their labelmates who go by the name of....
Cut Copy.
I saw these guys live opening for Franz Ferdinand at the Garden in '06 and thought they were decent enough. I liked their debut record, “Bright Like Neon Love” as a very interesting throwback to mid 80s dance and thought that “Future” was pretty ace. I didn't think much else of them besides that if they were on Modular they are worth my time. Fast forward to two weeks ago when the record showed up in the mail. I buy my new records via Amazon. Yes I'm cheap like that. Amazon Prime is the bomb! Anyways, I was happy to see that the brand new Cut Copy disc, “In Ghost Colours” had arrived. Long story short, these guys stepped their game up big time. I can't think of another band in recent memory that has been as musically divergent as Cut Copy. Trust me. I say this as a very good thing. A little bit of dreampop slightly reminiscent of Mercury Rev or the Flaming Lips in opening track, “Feel The Love” gives way to a blissful club-banger in “Out There On The Ice”. It speaks to the talent of the band led by mastermind, Dan Whitford, that the ability to balance the dreamy and filthy so delicately and well. If you're looking for a should-be hit and a must for the clubs, it can be found in current single, “Lights & Music”, a perfect homage to 1985 era dance-pop. This, along with “This Boy's in Love” are the current “dance like a clown” songs that are on endless repeat in the House of Jack! Trust me, play them back to back loud and alone and I defy you to sit still. It's songs like “Lights & Music” that remind why the 80s were the last truly brilliant decade of music before Saint Kurt, the Poof Daddy & the Notorious P.I.G. came along and ruined everything.
It's records like these two that warm my heart. I'm a sucker for good old fashioned songwriting and these two records exhibit it in spades. It's a shame that these days the new breed of electronic popsters would rather write “tracks” than actual songs. It seems these days there's more concern over making sure you get your track remixed by Alan Braxe, hobknobbing with Steve Aoki and sound like a copy of a copy of Daft Punk. (Did someone just say Justice?!). So do yourself a favour and cop these two records if you're at all a fan of electronic pop tune-age and you feel the need to d.a.n.c.e. To something real. I dare say these two records will be on quite a few year-end lists and serve as proof that the peeps at Modular Recordings sure can pick 'em and in this day and age, that's still very important for music lovers everywhere. There's still something to be said for brand loyalty.
RIYL: Modular Records, Velveeta, Finger-snapping, Dancing like you've never learned before
23 April
Sports
ok so i'm back! Admit it, you missed me. I know you did so you don't have to say it. Where was i, you ask? Well, dear faithful reader, i was unwell! Too sick to bitch and moan to all of you! I can assure you now that i'm back and ready to go. One thing i should advise all of is that while i am a devout casualty of all things musical and melodic, i am also an unabashed sports nut. That's right, I'm a jock. There it is, I said it. It is quite possible, you know. To live in Williamsburg, hang out at the Verb, sip a third-rate mocha and read the paper...beginning from the back page. Now that i've completely blown your whole idea of what I'm about, I should also warn you I'm one of those peeps known as "ripsters". You know hipsters who work out at the gym as New York magazine put it a couple of years ago. If you find me at Maxim at North 9th & Driggs Sts, come say hi. If you don't, I'll beat you up! I mean it. So anyways, this week as a new wrinkle to this space called "Confessions...", I will flip the script and actually talk some sports! Those of you who are passionate about all things athletic, holla at your boy! I'd like to share a few thoughts as to what's going on in the world of sports as I see it and that's how I'm going to call 'em. That said, let's go!
Baseball:
Ahh yes! America's pastime. The grand game. Mom, Baseball, and apple pie all that jazz. It's a beautiful game, innit? In this month of April, hope springs eternal and our hometown Mets and Yankees are back in action for a year which brings with it a ton of expectations. Can the Mets shake off their epic collapse? Did someone make sure to supply Joba Chamberlain with extra bug spray? Will Chien-Mien Wang find the strike zone when it counts? Can Willie Randolph catch a break from Met fans who are taking lessons in entitlement from Yankee fans? These are questions that keep me up at night, people. The Boston Red Sox are your defending World Series Champs and the Philadelphia Phillies still stink. Did I say that out loud? Around the sport as a whole,we have the endless and quite frankly, boring talk about steroids and how they are hampering the game. On Opening Day if you can believe it, there was a hubbub over Dub Dub Dubya refusing to throw the first pitch to Paul Lo Duca aka Mad Dog, now of the Nationals before the game against the Atlanta Rednecks. I don't know about you but I found it quite off when you consider among the "achievements" our dear thief in charge has done, one of which was being the owner of a mediocre for ages team known as the Texas Rangers. The Texas Rangers while he was the owner had a few players at the time who enjoyed playing with needles that would eventually end up in the buttocks of their brethren. Whom, you ask? How's about Jose Canseco, Pudge Rodriguez, Rafael Palmeiro, Sammy Sosa, for starters. Care to guess what these gents have in common? "Juiced Jose outed his buddies in his book leading to those sham proceedings a couple of years back. Again, I don't know about you but the last person who should be taking the stance of trying to set an example of morality regarding the integrity of the game is George "Steroids On My Watch" Bush.
I realise it's a little late since we are into the season already but I figure what the heck, it's my column, right? I will share my pre-season picks wth you for the individual awards and playoff teams. If you've got some to share, feel free to leave a comment and tell me why you think I'm crazy and I'll be sure to inform you why you're completely wrong. So my picks are as folows:
nl east - new york mets
nl central - chicago cubs
nl west - arizona diamondbacks
nl wild card - atlanta braves
al east - boston red sox
al central - detroit tigers
al west - anaheim angels
al wild card - seattle mariners
nl playoffs:
mets/cubs - mets
braves/snakes - snakes
mets/snakes - mets
al playoffs
bloody red stockings/mariners - red sox
tigers/angels - angels
red sox/angels - halos
world series
the amazins' v. the halos - mets in a classic 7 games and the mets finally get their revenge on mike scioscia 20 years later with doc gooden in attendance!
nl roy - jay bruce, cincinnati reds
nl manager of the year - willie randolph, new york mets
nl mvp - david wright, new york mets
nl cy young - johan santana, new york mets
al roy - jacoby ellsbury, boston red sox
al manager of the year - john mclaren - seattle mariners
al mvp - miguel cabrera - detroit tigers
al cy young - justin verlander - detroit tigers
so there you have it!
Moving onto hockey:
as of right now, i can relax for a little spell as my new york rangers quickly dispensed with the stench coming out of the landfill known as new jersey and their pride, the devils. Someone tell martin brodeur that Sean Avery owns him and his family and the keys to Brodeur's refrigerator. All you need to know about the series is that the rangers' future is secure with the likes of dubinsky, staal and dawes leading the way.
I'm confident they can beat the Canadiens and the Penguins as the rangers have the advantage on defense and in goal which really is what it comes down to if you want to raise Lord Stanley's cup.
I'm pulling for the Blueshirts to make it to the Cup Finals. Once there, anyone really can happen. After last year's heartbreaking series loss to the Buffalo No-One-Cares, It would be nice to see them pick themselves up and go for the Cup especially when you consider this year's team is so much better than the team last year.
Football:
New York Giants: 2008 Superbowl Champions 17-14
New England Patriots – 18-1
The looks on the faces of Patriot fans everywhere after the final whistle – Priceless
Basketball:
Knicks suck. Let me know when they sign Lebron James.
9 April
Foals: Antidotes (Sub Pop/Transgressive)
Question for the all the music geeks out there: don't you hate it when you think you're over a certain style of music only to come across a band that makes you stop and fall in love all over again? I mean, there is always the first wave of the revival that sets the trend . They are followed by the coat-tail rider, who a lot of times, becomes popular at the expense of the trend-setter. These bands are then followed by the third-rate bands who get signed once the major labels who missed out the first wave feel they need their own version. By this point, you will already have lost interest, the backlash well underway and you'll have moved on to the next trend or hit the record shop for classic music shopping. Have you felt this way? I sure have. I've come across such a band lately. The sound is dance-punk, post-punk, whatever the new “it” genre description is, the band is Foals and I'm referring to their debut record simply called “Antidotes”.
This record came about the right time for me personally as I was near the end of my rope with the dance-punk revival. There's only so many angular guitars, weird synth noodling, herky-jerky dance beats one can take! Don't get me wrong, it's one of my three favourite musical genres but after falling in love with Bloc Party, Franz Ferdinand, etc... you can't help but feel the shark has been jumped when you're now left with the likes of Vampire Weekend. That's not to say Vampire Weekend is bad, mind you. I'm simply saying the bar has been lowered dramatically. Anyways, back to the Foals. Brought to you by the wonderful people at Sub Pop in the States by way of Transgressive across the pond, the Foals bring the sound back and I mean way back to the roots of post-punk. Yes, the angular guitars are omnipresent. The off-kilter oontz-oontz-oontz drums? Check. Frenetic vocals? Yup, that's here too. What Foals have going for them in my eyes is that they appear to know where their sound came from. Amidst the occasional dissonance and arpeggiated guitars, there is a strong sense of melody akin to Gang of Four blended with the experimental sound of early Wire or Forward Russia present. These guys even incorporate horns in to the fold! When was the last time you heard horns combined with dance-punk? If this sounds like a tantalising proposition to you, then listen to “Balloons”. They're all over the place!
Normally with most post-punk bands, the lyric tend to be very melancholy, of an angry nature and often veer towards the political. “Antidotes” tends to feature songs that actually are wistful and maudlin. You get the sense of longing and optimism not often found in bands going right now. Case in point: “Olympic Airways” - “Suns up we wait all day, Suns up we wait all day all day. The hell outsides kept away, if only we could move away from here. This is how we build a place, an aviary for today, an aviary for today”. Did I mention this record features horns and lots of them? That alone makes this record worthy of your hard-earned dollar. A lesson learned: Don't be so quick to jump off a bandwagon for you may miss out on that last jewel under the covers.
Standout tracks: “Hummer” “Balloons” “Olympic Airways”
RIYL: “Silent Alarm” era Bloc Party, early Wire, Gang of Four
2 April
Does the song still remain the same?
Maybe it's a case of getting older and a bit jaded. Perhaps It's a case of time simply flying by and I should just get used to it. I haven't listened to terrestrial radio in what seems like, and probably is, a decade. I don't find much point in getting satellite radio despite the hype of the myriad of choices I would have at my disposal. Let's not even get into MTV or VH-1. Is it me or do people as a whole simply not care about music anymore. When I say care, I mean appreciate. Does a well-crafted pop song still carry the same weight? Does a hook-filled chorus still have the ability to resonate within us? Does a poignant melody still have the knack of striking a chord within us? Sometimes I'm really not sure. It's disheartening to say but there are times where I really am left believing that I'm surrounded by heartless, brainless drones who could care less about songs and just want something buzzing in their ears because the silence is deafening.
Has MTV, reality television and the internet completely sapped us of our longing to feel something? To a certain extent, I think it has. Everything is so readily available that on a whim I can download the new Rihanna single on I-tunes, pop it on my I-Pod and be done within a matter of minutes. Instant gratification. Of course, if you were brought up in a time before Steve Jobs took over the world (again), you had to go to your local Mom & Pop store and ask for a cassette or cd single at the counter. Yes, there was some work involved but it was the joyous feeling one had at finally having that single in your hands! You just couldn't wait to get home, pop it into your player of choice, turn the volume up to max and dance to your heart's content in your bedroom. The same, of course, goes for records. What record collector doesn't fondly remember, or still actively participate in the weekly ritual of going to that same record store and digging through the cut-out bin littered with promos and discarded nuggets of obscure artists tossed aside by those who should know better. Hours would be spent on one's knees, on one's belly sifting through the crates. What better rush than to find that Jesus Jones “Real, Real, Rea” maxi-single with some killer remixes that would go great in your dj mix set?! You'd be there so often that the record store clerks AND the owner knew you by name and would personally call you to tell you a certain artist came in used giving you the very first crack at buying it!
Growing up, I 'd always dreamt of being a musician and being part of the “it” scene as it were. I gained my education through music videos, reading artist biographies and just listening to people whose vast record collections were treasure troves to an impressionable youth like myself. I can fondly recall spending weeknights and Saturday late mornings/early afternoons laying on my belly, head in my hands just staring with awe at the television screen at these otherwordly beings prancing and lulling me into a sense of fantasy and escape from my suburban hell. It was through this that I began my love affair with a little band called The Smiths that it exists to this day. Seeing these marvels on the screen and then having the pleasure of listening to the music, the words, the melodies were enough to make you want to be these people. If you couldn't be them, then at the very least you had to join them. They wrote the songs that saved your life, they dominated your life. They demanded your attention and devotion above all else and you were more than happy to oblige. Seeing these artists is all well and good but as much as we appreciated our heroes' style, there was still a matter of substance that had to be brought to the table in order to seal the deal. Naturally, this is what seperates the legends from the also-rans and minor footnotes in the annals of pop music. Words put to paper and heard through your speakers can cause us to swoon, they can cause us to laugh or they can make us cry. They always find a way to make us feel something and that's the vital aspect of music in general. Without that emotional bridge, the artist no matter how cool they look will soon fade from our favour and sometimes from our record collections. For example, how many people do you know admit to being a Dead or Alive fan? I mean Pete Burns looked cool but what songs are you going to point to when discussing what made them a great band? Same goes with a band like Fall Out Boy. Unless you're completely immersed in all things emo, the importance of Fall Out Boy is going to completely fly over one's head. After you strip away all the major label polishing, promotion and MTV heyday, you're back where you started. The songs. If you don't have them, you're done. Unfortunately for all of us who see through that mass-produced, market-tested veneer, we now see that the songs really don't matter.
It's a harsh reality that I and surely, my reader, have been forced to come to grips with. The deterioration of songcraft coupled with the proliferation of “tracks” based on catch phrases is the norm. How did we get here? There are a few factors that have come into play to allow this to occur. The most notable issue is our insistence on instant gratifcation and convenience. This has become prevalent throughout virtually all aspects of the society we know and live in. We want what we want and we wanted it five minutes ago. We're constantly moving and in a perpetual state of flux. We simply don't have the time or fortitude to wade through a 14 track record for the hopes of hearing that song or songs that will completely blow us away. The internet allows for this with the downloading craze, blogs, internet radio, etc.. We have more control than we ever have had before over how we consume our entertainment. Depending on which side of the fence you choose to be on, this is a good and a bad thing. Any form of technology that comes around is always a positive, it's how we use that technology that is the crux of any debate. Here I contend that our inability or complete refusal to appreciate anything that requires a bit of patience like listening to a record in its entirety rather than a single is just an example of how in general music doesn't have the same emotional pull that it once did. Today it seems with the advent of the mp3. Songs have become the new baseball card. Simply an item that has worth for a period of time before it's replaced by a newer facsimile. Soon enough, you look back and don't realise what attracted you the song in the first place.
One recent example is the song, “I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor” by The Arctic Monkeys, the much ballyhooed UK band that gatecrashed the UK and turned the industry upsidedown due to their popularity stemming primarily from word-of-mouth and blogs before the more established music media caught up. You could not escape this band if you tried in 2006 if you, like me, at all follow the UK music press. When news of the band made it across the Atlantic, you couldn't read a blog without mention of how great the Monkeys were. This was before they had even eventually signed their deal with Domino and all they had were the “Beneath The Boardwalk” demos that made their way to your favourite p2p site. On the back of “Dancefloor”, the band went on to set UK records for first day record sales and the record was a huge hit. A year and a half later, I've a confession to make. I hated that song. Alex Turner is a brilliant young songwriter but I always found myself wondering where the redeeming factor is in this song. Did i miss the boat? Is there something everyone else heard that I didn't? The fact that the followup LP, “Favourite Worst Nightmare”, didn't do anywhere near the numbers of our predecessor would lead you to believe that most people digested the Kool-Aid and moved on. All this being said, this brings up two issues. As I had mentioned before, Alex Turner is a songwriter who I feel has some great work ahead of him. He and his band have only just entered their twenties. While I personally didn't find their debut to be the bee's knees, many people did. This is great for the band and good for music in general. The first single from “Nightmare” called “Brianstorm”, wasn't as accessible as “Dancefloor”, with its lack of discernible chorus and its appearance to be one long guitar riff before it ended. That's all well and good but personally I found it to be a superior work to the debut record as there were better written songs this time around which is to be expected since the band is growing up and growing together. Where was the love? Yes, the followup did get tons of press leading to the release but surely one would think that the success of the first record garnered the band some credibility? Alas, it wasn't the case, it sold half the amount of the copies of the debut about 640,000 copies. Why the drop-off? Was it a weak first single? Very possible, although it did reach number 2 on the UK singles charts.
Or it could very well be a case that the band simply fell victim to a music-buying public that simply moved on to the next big thing. Quite remarkable when you consider there was only about a year gap between album releases. We just stopped paying attention and wanted a new bandwagon we could hop on before everyone else.
25 March
Now Hear This!.... Portishead – Third
So let's begin, shall we...? Leading off with Bristol, England's own Portishead, this is a band that really does not need an introduction. Along with their equally influential and elusive compatriots in Massive Attack, Portishead introduced us to the dark, sultry and groovy world of trip-hop, an arresting blend of hip-hop rhythm with dark, cinematic soundscapes very reminiscent of composer John Barry's 007 themes. Add the distraught yelps and heart-piercing vocals from vocalist, Beth Gibbons, and you have a sound that helped make Bristol a nexus of 90s dance culture in Britain. Any doubt to that statement? Just remember without Portishead, the chances of the names Morcheeba, Tricky, Sneaker Pimps and further down the line, Goldfrapp, being heard by anyone would be minimal at best. The frustrating thing with a band as unfairly good as Portishead is the fact that they've been around since 1991 and they until now have only three records in their canon. The remarkable 1994 debut, “Dummy” including “Sour Times”, “Glory Box”, and Numb which won the prestigious Mercury Music Prize which set the template for the trip-hop offshoot we know now as downtempo. Three years later came 1997's doom-laden self-titled opus which featured Gibbons sounding even more morose and guilt-ridden. A highly regarded live record followed and then...nothing. Nothing for almost ten years.
Finally at long last, Adrian Utley, Geoff Barrow and Beth Gibbons return reinvigorated and with a new record in tow simply known as “Third”. “Third” includes the sound we've come to expect from Portishead yet with a slight difference. Uptempo tracks? Yes, there are a couple here including the lead-off single, the menacing, “Machine Gun”, which serves as a perfect introduction to the new Portishead. Gibbons' plaintive yelps fighting to be heard amongst the cacophony of the pounding “machine gun” drum track. So inaccessible, it's perfect. Somewhere, somehow there is a pop song just pleading to come out victorious in the battle between Gibbons and the music. It's a battle that Beth is fighting against herself as well as hinted at as she coos words such as, “..what more can i say? For I am guilty for the voice that I have made. Too scared to sacrifice a choice chosen for me”. “Third” is very much a record of rediscovery through reasserting oneself in the here and now. This comes across in the music as well. The same dark cinematic overtones remain but whereas before they acted in an effort to lull the listener into a state of sullen head-bopping, they now work in concert with more authoritative beats to jolt the listener into attention. This is eveident in tracks like “Silence”, “We Carry On”, the aforementioned “Machine Gun”, and “Magic Doors”. At the same time, a song such as “Deep Water” does throw a bit of a spanner into the works as a little acoustic ditty featuring a banjo squaring itself right before “Machine Gun”. There are still elements of Portishead past on this record to keep fans of the first two records in line for the ride. I must warn you, this is still Portishead and while the record is solid throughout, there is not a song here that will make your Nickelback-loving friends stop and take notice. This is still a band where accessibility isn't always part of the operating lexicon.
18 March
Billyburg R.I.P
Yes it's true. The Williamsburg many have come to love and hate is over. Done. Kaput. Why, you ask? Just walk down Bedford Avenue and look at the second-rate poseurs and their studied walks. The oh-so-perfect shaggy beards and t-shirts so tight they look like saran wrap suffocating their skin. The God-awful and desperate attempts to look suave, debonair and so risque when you click on lastnightsparty.com or open up a copy of Vice Magazine. It's downright upsetting to anyone who has a shred of intelligence who sees through this BS as nothing more than slumming by trust fund babies and midwestern transplants who see the American dream as now being forever immortalised as a model in an American Apparel ad on the back of the l magazine. Living here as long as i have, it's impossible to not notice the changes that are taking shape. From the increasing rents and the subsequent gentrification to the whitewashing of the culture to the decimation of anything resembling to true, honest art. It's enough to break your heart. Didn't people come here to escape the reshaping of NYC in the aftermath of the almighty Rudy G? For all that "effort", we're left with the same thing happening here.
The area in which this becomes effected most, it could be argued, would be in the music scene in the area. The average Billyburger will tell you that it's never been more vibrant with bands like Vampire Weekend and mgmt being the new success stories of the moment signing deals to XL Recordings and Sony/BMG respectively. New venues such as the music hall of Williamsburg and the reopened Luna Lounge have come to represent a rebirth of sorts of Williamsburg being the new live music capital of the east coast. Of course there is always the new media telling you every single moment that these are the new "it" bands who are much cooler than last month's "it" bands. You know what i mean when a cursory look at nme.com and they're gushing about Williamsburg so much that they are setting up reporters to report from there, you know the place has blown up...again. To me, I guess I missed the memo because from where I sit, it appears that we've reached a point of no return.
Williamsburg has a certain ethic and aesthetic and to a certain degree, a certain sound. The issue here is that it is a very sterilised sound. It's distilled to the point where you feel like you're hearing a emergency boradcast system test pattern just lulling you into a state of blah-ness. Sure, songs like "a-punk" and "time to pretend" are fun, clever little ditties that'll get the locals bopping their heads approvingly for a couple of minutes, but let's be honest, neither record are those benchmark records that launch a sound, let alone a region into legendary status. Nirvana, Soundgarden or Pearl Jam, these bands are not. Heck, they're not even Interpol or Radio 4. Have we reached a point where we've thrown our hands up and come to accept any blog-approved band from Williamsburg as the second coming of last month's flavour of the month?
Something is simply amiss.
Sure we all laugh when we look back and remember to the early part of this decade to the days of electroclash and Berliniamsburg. Felix da Housecat, Ladytron and Miss Kittin were all the rage at the Luxx bar with the Scissor Sisters being the house band in the three ring circus led by the Andy Warhol of those days in Larry Tee. Personally, I miss those days. Why? It was the closest NYC came to the days of the "Factory" and mainman days when artifice and art were intertwined to an startingly magnificent effect. It was a new world in those days for those of us much too young to walk into Kansas Max's City and hang with andy, david and edie, when you walked through the doors of luxx, it was fun, lewd, and simply stunning.
There was a confluence of misfits and wannabes, rockers and nouveau disco babies, gay and straight. It's something that hadn't seen for a couple of generations and something we haven't seen since. There was a certain sense of honesty and innocence within that subculture that has been lost regrettably especially when you consider what's become of the area since. The Luxx has been replaced with the aptly named Trash Bar. There are more venues but less versatility in the artists who play there. Everyone is a hipster poseur but couldn't tell you much about the history of NYC punk past the Ramones being part of the CBGB's scene. You'd even be hard-pressed to find anyone who even knew that the Scissor Sisters were originally an electronic band before deciding they'd rather be Elton John retreads. It seemed as electroclash died, the backlash created a call for balding plaid shirt wearing white guys from Cincinnati, Ohio... Madison, Wisconsin or Cherry Hill, NJ with guitars slung across their shoulders with their Pavement and Pixies jones to set the world back on its proper axis. Gee, thanks for that, guys....
What's the solution? It's tough to say. As time passes, the war becomes more and more of a losing proposition. You can't go home, and nostalgia overcomes reason and rationale. The good old days become firmly entrenched in our minds and nothing that comes later will ever compare. What can be said and is very apparent is there is a need to bring the danger and the spirit back to the area. Let Manhattan eat itself by allowing the new yuppies from the upper east side to trudge south to the lower east side and meatpacking district creating a wasteland of wasted wealth and energy. Williamsburg is better than that. The seeds were sown and now they're trampled on by those who simply want to be able to write 11211 on their mailing envelopes or online order forms for cds from insound. We need less of the nice guy rock. Less of the inoffensive, soapy clean ditties that lull us into a false sense of being musically and artistically sated.
Gimme some truth, Goddammnit!