six reasons my cmj was better'n yrs!
[Fun fact: this post was banned from the CMJ blog for being too "biting."]
I am the worst music editor in the world.
I know how to take out a serial comma and add a news hook and all that jive, but my unhip, insular tastes seem to be limited to an audience of myself. The blogerati packed all the cool shows, all of which I willingly allowed to escaped my radar. Lady Sovereign? Missed her. Clap Your Hands And Say Yeah? Them too. Arcade Fire and David Bowie? Hopefully they did “Dancing In The Street” and everyone had a Friendster group grope.
My night was spread among as many sparse-to-moderately attended shows as my dressed-to-unimpress ass could run to on a Friday night. I spent seven minutes in the Spin Lounge, feeling like the fat kid in gym class, while the DJ spun the song from Ghostbusters II. I got turned away at the door to the Vice Party. The door guy looked at my shorts and my X Wild Gift T-shirt and dismissed me with, “Sorry, sir, but this is a private event.”
Assuredly my CMJ was far superior to his, even though I didn’t witness a single minute of music that wouldn’t have a Vice or Arthur staffer upchucking a spicy mix of PBR and vegan cupcakes all over the soundboard. My therapist says I revel in my outsider status to feel superior and level the playing field, but since the playing field in the blogosphere is as level as any, here’s my guide to the most fantastic Friday night of uncool music ever. And why I'm awesome.
8:00: Richard Buckner @ Rothko
What: Indie country troubadour who looks like a badass in his photos sometimes
Awesomely Uncool: He pulled out an e-bow in like three minutes flat.
8:20: Castanets @ Sin-e
What: Dreamy free-folk freaky folks from New York with gorgeous, gorgeous harmonies.
Awesomely Uncool: They could roll with Fursaxa and Six Organs if they weren’t quacking into a clarinet mouthpiece.
9:00: P.O.S. @ Irving Plaza
What: Hulking dude who raps like Sage Francis and sings like Daryl Palumbo.
Awesomely Uncool: Would be super-famous if the indie snobs would get over their quasi-ironic worship of Juelz Santana and Young Jeezy.
10:15: Yip-Yip @ Lit
What: Wiry Orlando spazmos dorking out on analog gear. Like the Locust with no bass, drums, guitars or vocals.
Awesomely Uncool: They wear costumes and like ska.
11:15: Subtitle @ Sin-e
What: Blunted glitch-hop from six-foot tall L.A. motormouth
Awesomely Uncool: Dissed by RJD2 the night before. The Deadringster refused to let Sub borrow his direct input box at the Urb party. Get over yourself, dude, you’re named after a fucking robot!
12:30: Cryptopsy @ Don Hill’s
What: More Dillinger-than-Dillinger tech-metal complete with hair-whipping and Klingon skullets. The kids were too much in awe of their prowess to even mosh. Watching the drummer was like watching a John Holmes movie—uncomfortable, funny, and jealously inducing.
Awesomely Uncool: Metal.
I am the worst music editor in the world.
I know how to take out a serial comma and add a news hook and all that jive, but my unhip, insular tastes seem to be limited to an audience of myself. The blogerati packed all the cool shows, all of which I willingly allowed to escaped my radar. Lady Sovereign? Missed her. Clap Your Hands And Say Yeah? Them too. Arcade Fire and David Bowie? Hopefully they did “Dancing In The Street” and everyone had a Friendster group grope.
My night was spread among as many sparse-to-moderately attended shows as my dressed-to-unimpress ass could run to on a Friday night. I spent seven minutes in the Spin Lounge, feeling like the fat kid in gym class, while the DJ spun the song from Ghostbusters II. I got turned away at the door to the Vice Party. The door guy looked at my shorts and my X Wild Gift T-shirt and dismissed me with, “Sorry, sir, but this is a private event.”
Assuredly my CMJ was far superior to his, even though I didn’t witness a single minute of music that wouldn’t have a Vice or Arthur staffer upchucking a spicy mix of PBR and vegan cupcakes all over the soundboard. My therapist says I revel in my outsider status to feel superior and level the playing field, but since the playing field in the blogosphere is as level as any, here’s my guide to the most fantastic Friday night of uncool music ever. And why I'm awesome.
8:00: Richard Buckner @ Rothko
What: Indie country troubadour who looks like a badass in his photos sometimes
Awesomely Uncool: He pulled out an e-bow in like three minutes flat.
8:20: Castanets @ Sin-e
What: Dreamy free-folk freaky folks from New York with gorgeous, gorgeous harmonies.
Awesomely Uncool: They could roll with Fursaxa and Six Organs if they weren’t quacking into a clarinet mouthpiece.
9:00: P.O.S. @ Irving Plaza
What: Hulking dude who raps like Sage Francis and sings like Daryl Palumbo.
Awesomely Uncool: Would be super-famous if the indie snobs would get over their quasi-ironic worship of Juelz Santana and Young Jeezy.
10:15: Yip-Yip @ Lit
What: Wiry Orlando spazmos dorking out on analog gear. Like the Locust with no bass, drums, guitars or vocals.
Awesomely Uncool: They wear costumes and like ska.
11:15: Subtitle @ Sin-e
What: Blunted glitch-hop from six-foot tall L.A. motormouth
Awesomely Uncool: Dissed by RJD2 the night before. The Deadringster refused to let Sub borrow his direct input box at the Urb party. Get over yourself, dude, you’re named after a fucking robot!
12:30: Cryptopsy @ Don Hill’s
What: More Dillinger-than-Dillinger tech-metal complete with hair-whipping and Klingon skullets. The kids were too much in awe of their prowess to even mosh. Watching the drummer was like watching a John Holmes movie—uncomfortable, funny, and jealously inducing.
Awesomely Uncool: Metal.
posted by Christopher R. Weingarten at 1:08 PM
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