Author Archive
Band To Watch: Not Blood Paint
July 26th, 2010 by Brenna Ehrlich
Up-and-coming Brooklyn band destroys crowd at Stuff Hipsters Hate party
That’s it. I’m just going to go ahead and do it: I call conspiracy.
I am absolutely convinced that there is some secret warehouse somewhere in Brooklyn in which local bands congregate. There they learn to play that one, chiming guitar progression (you know the one—I think The Pains of Being Pure at Heart first busted it out in “Higher Than the Stars”). Then, after practicing how to grow appropriately floppy hair, they congregate around a seashell, which, as in “The Little Mermaid,” contains one slightly whiney voice that they all use in turns. Then, finally, they sign a contract, likely in plasma, that ensures that they will never play in front of a crowd that would stoop to dancing during a show. Thankfully, it seems, Not Blood Paint was not in on said conspiracy. Read the rest of this entry »
Live Review: Pitchfork Music Festival
July 20th, 2010 by Brenna Ehrlich
Every year the Pitchfork Music Festival is the same. The musically hungry masses flock to that glorified football field in the wilds of Chicago in search of the same thing: something new. Yes, something amid the white-washed indie haze that sparkles – that worms its way into your cranium and croons on repeat all the way back to New York, or New Orleans, or New Wherever-the-Fuck Midwest Land, U.S.A.
This year, the sentiment was no different. Although this humble reviewer was not able to take in every act that P’Fork had to offer– three stages, alluringly arrayed gig poster booths, and smothering heat will do that to ya– I was able to gauge more than the general lay of the proverbial land. Amid the performances by Big Boi, Raekwon, Wolf Parade (seriously, Pitchfork? Wolf Parade?), and veterans like the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion and Pavement, I was able to ascertain two themes: beachy, sleepy indie fuzz, and, well, weird electro shit. Here’s a breakdown of both:
Fuzzed-Out, Dissonance-Heavy Beach Music
Yup. The Jesus and Mary Chain-eque, sleepy sound was out in full force at this year’s fest. And, IMHO, the jams ranged from “why-oh-why-can-no-one-compose-a-decent-hook” coma-inducing, to “cruising-in-your-parents’-car-at-age-16-and-winking-at-hot-guys-as-you-breeze-by” enjoyable.
The former? Real Estate. Yeah, some of their songs were pleasantly poppy, but by and large lacked anything that truly stirred the ventricles — despite the venerations of the rather portly dude behind me who was practically having an orgasm during “Beach Comber.” Good listenin’ for anyone who really needs to concentrate on the road on some cross-country jaunt to “find oneself,” but after watching the band quietly sway for 30 minutes at the fest, I was ready for a dirt nap-– literally and figuratively.
Beach House came in on Real Estate’s heels as the second most somnambulant of the lot. Lead singer Victoria Legrand’s gruff yet feminine voice didn’t sound as softly desperate as that of her contemporaries. Still, in true Grizzly Bear-era style, there was not a memorable track in the set – just a wash of pleasant musical white noise that did not, despite what guitarist Alex Scally said during the set, get this reviewer “wet.” The elderly man who was beside me in the crowd, clad in cut-off jorts, leaning on cane with a Japandroids sticker slapped on it, was similarly unimpressed. When Legrand whispered huskily into the mic, “Hello New York,” he shot back, “Hello Douchebag!” And then conceded to his pal who was wearing a Nirvana T-shirt, “Yeah, they’re kinda catchy, I guess, though.”
Best Coast definitely broke away from the pack with their 1950s-inspired, simple tunes about boyfriends and romance -– and the beach balls they busted out added a playful mood to the early afternoon show. Still, their vocals failed to compete with the ambient festival sounds, which was a shame, considering they boasted one of the most original sounds at the fest. They also had one of the shittiest timeslots — 1:55 p.m. — so most of the fest-goers were too hungover/not stoned enough to sway with the abandon that their truly sway-worthy jams require. But Best Coast’s retro-throughback tunes were still intensely pleasing. They could be on the soundtrack for Beach Blanket Bingo (or Clueless, come to think of it), but they also had an edge that’s purely of the present.
Amid the cadre of Coney Island-inspired fare, Surfer Blood was undoubtedly the most likely to stay afloat. Leader singer John Paul Pitts’s voice has an edge that other bands in their ilk lack. While most dudes just croon quietly, their voices breaking with the exquisite pain of it all, Pitts growls, shouts and generally succeeds in rousing an audience to shake its stick-like limbs into a frenzy. Having seen the band play BK venues the size of a coatroom, I can say their sound is much more powerful in an outdoor setting like Pitchfork. Instead of holding back for fear of smacking some stage-side chick in the face with a guitar neck, the band poured their energy into the sweat-drenched crowd, who was all the more saturated after dancing wildly (and woefully poorly) during the set.
Electro Babies
What’s a pot-laced music fest without some psychedelic synth beats to get the crowd smashing into each other like hormonally charged 13-year-olds at their first boy-girl sleepover? This year at Pitchfork, the MGMT-esque sound, tempered with some manic drumming and huge-ass speakers, reigned supreme as a cadre of bands attempted to usurp the crown of weird. Delorean wins the prize for most schizophrenic of the fest. They started off with a string of trance-esque, drum-filled jams (reminiscent of, but better than peers like Tanlines and Brahms), and then segued into a set of dancey, poppy tracks. Truthfully, I wasn’t really listening all that closely — drums are cool, but there’s only so much Euro club-esque music I can take.
Neon Indian was the biggest surprise of the fest. I’ve seen them play before, and have generally been underwhelmed. A lot of folks looked on their first album, Psychic Chasms, as a kind of novelty deal. Like a disc entirely composed of dudes playing kazoos or something. I own the album and really enjoy it, but it does have the feel of being one super long song rather than a set of tracks.
Regardless, this time around at the Fork, Alan Palomo and Co. put on a hell of a show — wonderfully cohesive and delightfully bizarre, complete with intricate transitions between songs replete with guitar licks, thermion whines and pre-recorded noise. And believe me, the audience was feeling it. Even though I was crammed into the armpit of some 15-year-old in neon wayfarers and a Free Energy shirt — and even though the lead singer of Free Energy decided to crowd-surf and almost fell, ass-first, onto my face — there was a joy in the sea of heat-dazed concert-goers I didn’t see elsewhere at the fest. It seems like the band is really coming into their own, and perhaps — in inverse fashion to MGMT– their second album will be more distinct and rich than the first.
And if Neon Indian was a happy surprise, Sleigh Bells wins the prize for most overrated band at Pitchfork. After trucking over a shitload of speakers that had the wannabe rock star kids behind me practically crying with envy, the duo took the stage, and the kids in the front row began restlessly spraying those around them with the backwash from their water bottles and slamming their backpacks into the hapless folks behind them. And all because some chick with a super weak voice and some dude who’s pretty good at guitar made a lame attempt to blow out some expensive-looking speakers. I still dig “Crown on the Ground,” though.
Foul Play in Rap Video Featuring Chicken Restaurant
November 23rd, 2009 by Brenna Ehrlich
Apparently, there was much to-do last week after rapper Clipse’s new video hit MTV. A New York fried chicken joint named Obama Fried Chicken was featured in the video, but the name was blurred out on network television. While many thought the censorship was spurred by the rather racy name of the eatery, the real reason behind the blur was that the owner of Obama’s wouldn’t sign the location agreement unless the film crew paid him $3,000. Now, if only they had blurred out the glaring grammar mistake (“Nugget’s”)… Check out both videos after the jump.
Today In Music
November 23rd, 2009 by Brenna Ehrlich
For some reason I thought he’s be into dancier stuff: The Presidential iPod
Out of the woods and onto the runway?: Let The Joanna Newsom 2010 Rumor Mill Begins
You hearing this, Edward Droste?: The Justin Bieber Example: Use Twitter or Incite a Riot and Get Arrested (via The Daily What)
Guys like crazy chicks. We get it: 15 (Female) Literary Characters We’d Totally Sleep With
Seriously? There’s no nap couch?: The Pop-Up Cardboard Office
Edward Droste Leaves Twitter, World Dies Just a Little Bit More
November 23rd, 2009 by Brenna Ehrlich
That saddest of days has finally come: Edward Droste, of indie darling band Grizzly Bear, has left us all in the dark, reaching out with weak hands toward where the illumination he oft dispensed once streamed. No, he didn’t break up the band–Droste quit Twitter. One cannot even take a trip down memory lane by reading his old Tweets, because he has totally erased his account. Those of you who followed the musician will recall that his bio once read: “I will do this until I inevitably say something I regret and erase the profile.” Which leaves us with the overwhelming question: What was the regret-worthy sentiment that caused E.D. to beat his hasty retreat from the digital realm?
BNE Will Be Here, Soon
November 23rd, 2009 by Brenna Ehrlich
Ever since the “BNE Was Here” stickers started cropping up in my Brooklyn neighborhood, I’ve been intrigued by the elusive artist–partly because I think it’s an awesome campaign, and partly because those are my initials. (Side note: I tried to write a story about the dude way back in May and contacted an artist who was supposed to know BNE with an interview request. For some reason, I was called “racist” and “patronizing” for becoming interested in the stickers because they bore my initials. Yeah, no, that didn’t make any sense to me either.) Anyway, BNE has become an international mystery–his stickers have appeared everywhere from Tokyo to San Francisco, where there is $2,500 reward being offered for the artist’s capture. Now, he’s making like a traditional artist and having a show. The place is still TBA, but the date and time are Thursday December 10, from 7 p.m. to 11 p.m. B there.
If You're Feelin' Sinister: Goodnight Moon Reimagined
November 23rd, 2009 by Brenna Ehrlich
Check out this sweet retelling of classic kid’s book, Goodnight Moon in which the “Moon” in question is Keith. Check out the vid after jump. Warning–it gets kinda boring toward the end and may induce nightmares.
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Dukes of Stratosphear Release Awesome Box Set
November 20th, 2009 by Brenna Ehrlich
The Dukes of Stratosphear–from the folks that brought you XTC–are releasing an extremely exciting collection of discs on November 30th. The announcement on their Web site may be the most whimsical/slightly disturbing product description yet–which is why I’m just gonna paste it after the jump. Click to read and listen to the Dukes’ trippy tunes.
Today In Music
November 20th, 2009 by Brenna Ehrlich
Single serving blog of the day: Clients From Hell
Oh, man, attempt a weak smile, sad boys–previously unseen Neutral Milk Hotel videos: Live in 1998
Kids surf in sewer water, America gags: This is Disgusting, You Should Watch it of the Day
Bringing ironic facial hair to new heights: Half-Bearded Man Arrested
The Academy digs (Lazarus, digs!) Nick Cave (I could give a shit about U2): U2, Nick Cave (But Not Anvil) Among Oscar Hopefuls
Morrissey Tells Nonsensical Jokes, Tells Fan to Fuck Himself
November 20th, 2009 by Brenna Ehrlich
Yeah, um, that’s basically the gist. While the warbly voiced crooner was rocking out in Hamburg on Tuesday he made a joke. A bad joke. A joke that actually really isn’t a joke at all: Something along the lines of, “Hamburgers should be called Hamburgists.” Apparently, an audience member who never learned that most basic of kindergarten lessons, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all,” piped up and yelled at the singer: “Fuck you.” Morrissey acted accordingly–he threw the dude out and told him to fuck himself. Morrissey seems to be getting a lot of flack from fans as of late–someone even threw a plastic bottle at his head during a recent show in Liverpool. Which begs the question: Why the hell are you going to Morrissey shows, oh angry fans, if you’re just gonna throw shit and yell? I mean, if you’re going to angrily attack a singer, at least pick on someone with thicker skin than poor, sensitive Morrissey–you know, like any other musician on the planet. Watch M flip his shit after the jump.
All I Want For Christmas is DEVO
November 19th, 2009 by Brenna Ehrlich
Comin’ at ya, the perfect present for your slightly weird (but awesome!) Uncle Hank or your brother, Trey, who just discovered rock ‘n roll: the expanded Ultra Devo-lux, Limited Edition four-disc set. Pretty lofty sounding, huh? The huge-ass package, crammed with posters and CDs and whatnot, will be available online only this holiday season at www.clubdevo.com. Check out the complete track listing after the jump.
Friends Forever! Until I Unfriend the Shit Out of You
November 19th, 2009 by Brenna Ehrlich
So a few days ago it was reported that “unfriend” is the word of the year, according to the New Oxford American Dictionary. The designation of such an honor can only mean one thing: We’re all becoming assholes.
