Datarock at Blender Theater
Major props to Eclipse Gum for throwing a hellofa tight party last night. The night (and free booze) was to fete Brooklyn band The Epochs—winner of the Eclipse Sets The Stage band search competition. The set was built on the band’s Postal Service vibe—beats, harmonies, keyboards—and def won them a fan or two. But let me tell you about Biffy Clyro. I really wasn’t paying attention until I noticed that the house lights were turned on high, even though the band was still playing their boring, tuneless hard rock. Some minutes passed and I am pretty certain the sound was cut, which caused the shirtless frontman to throw a tantrum, shaking his fists in the air before THROWING his detached microphone OVER the soundboard (a solid 50 feet). It seriously could have broken some teeth. What a chode. Then Datarock played. The Norwegian band’s self-titled album is one of my favorites of the year. There’s beats. There’s costumes. There’s singalongs. Datarock is Devo and knocked out one my top shows of the year. Single “Fa Fa Fa” got everybody dancing—yes, in NYC! The live drumming impressed me even more. And when the dudes finished the set, the familiar opening bars of "(I've Had) The Time of My Life" dissolved into an even more raucous dance floor. The band remained on stage for the duration, mouthing the lyrics. Everybody was feeling the weirdest non-performance I have seen in a while. Come back soon!
After a quick recharge at 7-Eleven (you know you are pretty drunk when you put ketchup on a tube steak. Yuck!) I headed back into the theater for Spoon, who were playing as part of Blender’s well-booked late night sessions. And for some genius reason they were giving everybody who walked in drink tickets for free Sparks, my favorite bev by a long shot (sorry YooHoo). There is no better way to extend the night than with a Sparks Twisted™, my home-spun aperitif elixir of three parts Sparks, one part vodka. Add a lime. The 1990s were supposed to open (another top album this year), but due to a scheduling issue Air Traffic took their place. I caught one song, so I ‘aint gonna judge. Seems meh. But here’s the deal with Spoon. I’ve seen them seven or eight times. They are always interesting live, not always great, and Britt Daniel makes funny faces throughout. Last night was no different, even when they hit the stage a little after 1 a.m. (I think). The setlist was very familiar. New tracks "Don't You Evah" and “You Got Yr. Cherry Bomb" were tight, the band having played them night after night for the past several months. Staples "The Fitted Shirt" and "Jonathon Fisk" possibly won over some new fans. The set was short and concise. Britt may have said some words, but I was paying more attention to his funny faces. Oh Sparks. —Matt Rodbard
…And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead, Yo Majesty / Highline Ballroom
They’re black, they’re big, they’re proud, they’re … topless? Yo Majesty already bring a lot of drama to the stage (and off stage, based off of indie-rock gossip sites), but the insistence of one YM member to perform without a shirt, bra or smock gave their show somewhat of a performance artist vibe. Just as well: while the trio’s old-school hip-hop/’80s rock sound collage is, like, super awesome, it’s also gonna sound more dated than a Peaches record in about a week.
Thankfully, the Austin/Brooklyn collective …And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead provided the first amount of substance I’ve witnessed during the festival. With indie-rock continually going more goofy and light-weight, it’s nice to see the Trail guys pound out a crunching, psychedelic rock tour de force that fucking browbeat the crowd into submission. Last I heard these guys were on bad terms, but everything was copasetic last night—they didn’t even smash their instruments during the finale. While I miss that sense of mayhem and danger (and their earlier, Sonic Youth-y jam freakouts), it’s nice to see a bunch of guys settle down and shape up. Maybe the rest of the indie scene can follow their lead. —Kirk Miller
Turbo Fruits, The Intelligence / Mercury Lounge; Get Him Eat Him / Arlene’s Grocery
Lesson learned on night three of CMJ: Sooner or later, your luck is going to run out. At 7 p.m. I was flush with it, though, waltzing into a cool, largely empty Mercury Lounge to catch Turbo Fruits. This Nashville trio featuring members of Be Your Own Pet confirmed their one-to-watch status, bashing out indie-punk rock with casual aplomb. Singer/guitarist "Turbo Stein" displayed a confidence well beyond his years, while the lanky bassist ("Turbo Max") bristled with frenetic energy. Good stuff!
After a dinner break (for I have learned another lesson this CMJ, too: dinner is important!) I returned to the club to check out Fall-ish act the Intelligence. Unfortunately the lead singer lacked Mark E. Smith's snarky charisma and sly humor, settling for cheap irony: "Can anybody sing better than me?" Well, yes. My cat actually sings better than him. And I've seen more energetic keyboardettes in my time, too. Luckily the band's bottom-heavy grooves made up for the lack.
A quick scurry over to Pianos to check out the Big Sleep, and I was back at the Merc in time for Jay Reatard. Sadly, this was where my winning streak ended. Hand stamps expire after five minutes, supposedly. Even if you've purchased a ticket to the entire night's show. I couldn't get in, even though I'd already been in the club twice that evening. Reatarded. And so it was on to Arlene's, where Get Him Eat Him were already playing their herky-jerky little indie-rock hearts out. After years of not seeing this vibrant band due to various scheduling conflicts, I felt lucky to finally see them. —Catherine Hopkinson
Frenchkiss Records showcase: Juiced Elfers, The Big Sleep / Pianos
We should all be Juiced Elfers. We could all get together and throw off a three-song rock show of covers and paint the crowd (literally) as a bunch of cocks and assholes in the process. It's easier said than done, of course. When half your band is comprised of indie stalwarts Syd Butler (Les Savy Fav) and Nick Thornburn (Islands, ex-Unicorns), you can pack the house with rumor and word-of-mouth promotion and just be the opening band.
This was the Juiced Elfers set, the kickoff to the Frenchkiss Records showcase. I don't think they bothered to practice despite some wonderful guitar riffing (who is that guy?) and the always sturdy bass lines from Syd. While Nick T played the tortured artist and "painted us," we were happy to be part of the spectacle. Just not willing to part with the painting's $30 cost.
The Big Sleep's opening scene was just as dramatic and utilitarian as the trio's ability to carve space in their dense, propulsive sound. A simple flood lamp bathed the band from below and released the crowd from darkness with their first break. While the Juiced Elfers set was all fun and games, we were ready to embark on the Big Sleep's dark sonic voyage. Playing some favorites like "Brown Beauty" off their excellent debut, "Son of the Tiger," most of the material was heavy on songs from their forthcoming sophomore effort. Danny Barria's guitar play could be traced to seminal shoegaze and alternate-tuned T-Rex, just as Sonya Balchandani's keyboard atmospherics might have been influenced by the Cure. Gabe Rhodes' insistent backbeat was only broken by his huge Bonham-inspired snare and tam fills. The sum of the parts equaled a great, heavy psych-rock trance. With the crowd sufficiently mesmerized, all that was left was a slow fade to black. FIN. —Carl Gambrell
Foreign Islands, Project Jenny Project Jan, Shout Out Out Out Out / Hiro Ballroom
Brooklyn’s Foreign Islands are known for their bottle-smashing live shows, but at Hiro the proceedings were downright tame. Frontman Mark Ryan did one desultory tumble to the floor; the only reaction came from a stagehand who scurried out to straighten a monitor. Ryan climbed back on stage a moment later and that was all the excitement there was. Sans spectacle, Foreign Islands’ cookie-cutter dance rock is just, well, cookie-cutter dance rock.
Luckily the second act was Project Jenny Project Jan, purveyors of smart, hook-filled electro jams. There’s something of the vaudeville spirit in singer Jeremy Haines—I kept thinking Nathan Lane would envy both his belting ability and his outfit (white wingtips, shiny pinstriped pants). Haines even has a straight man, DJ/keyboardist Sammy Rubin, who stood at his mixer with the air of a quiet mastermind. By the second song the crowd was moving. By the fourth song the crowd was getting down. By the finale (a swinging ditty called “It’s Always Sunny in Brooklyn”), I saw something I’ve never witnessed before at a rock show: audience members doing jazz hands.
Shout Out Out Out Out could just as easily be called Party Party Party Party Party—six Edmonton hipsters, five synthesizers, two drum sets plus countless cans of Bud equals a pretty good time. And indeed, fists were pumped, beers were drunk, loops were looped. These Canadians look like refugees from Williamsburg circa 2002, but they’re on to something. If you want to have a really awesome party with a gang of friends and you don’t want anyone to cut off the music, why not start a band?—Mary Phillips-Sandy
Photo by Paul Bachmann
