Archive for the 'Music' Category

Do you ever long for the days when you could join hands with 7 of your best friends & skip in a circle with innocence and glee? No need to fear… just head over to Galapagos in Williamsburg for a Square Dancing, banjo-pickin’ good time. YES- that’s right, I said Square Dancing!!! No need to scratch your head in disbelief, this event really does exist & takes place on the last Thursday each month at Galapagos, but stuffy/snobby people need not attend- must be young at heart and willing to laugh your ass off.

Singer/songwriter with a sense of humor, Andy Mullen was our caller for the evening, stylishly crooning out commands such as ‘swing your corner’, ‘bow to your partner’, ‘do-sa-do’ and ‘promenade’. Mullen introduced himself personally to pretty much everyone that walked in the door. He started slowly so we could get into the ‘swing’ of things and brush up on our dance steps, as people kept trickling in through the door.

And, Mullen’s bluegrass band The Ridout Creek Ramble had a casual groove- no silly sequined matching outfits, just good ol’ live music. They had a fun sound that put a smile on our faces.

So, if your week’s been tense and you need to escape your own reality for a while, then come on down for a little square dance therapy. Doesn’t matter if you’re the crunchy veggie girl wearing your vegan cowboy boots, the big dude in your leather motorcycle bad boy boots or even the distinguished gentlemen in the polished oxfords cause any which way your toes will be tappin’ to the tunes. Everybody gets caught up in the frenzy of the hand clappin’ and the fancy footwork. Oh, and you might even accidentally let out a ‘Yeehaw’ or two, which is totally acceptable and most likely will be returned by a friendly dancer on the other side of your square.

Okay, so I must admit, I popped my head next door into Galapagos’ other performance space a time or two to peer at the woman in the painted on shiny silver pants and bikini top (she wouldn’t have been complete without her fuzzy black fake beard & mustache) screaming at the top of her lungs & asking the audience if she had a camel toe. I decided then & there to back it up and stick with the Square Dancing. (Plus that girl band was just kinda poopy- cute, though minus all the facial hair.)

Was Square Dancing crowded? NO. In fact, we just almost completed 2 full squares (that means 1 shy of 16 people- for you citified folk who might not know the laws of Square Dancing 101.) In fact, the cute banjo player even had to take me for a spin around the dance floor when I didn’t have a partner. Seriously though, why are more people not out frolicking like mischievous children in the backroom of a bar on a Thursday night participating in ridiculously juvenile activities??? Aaahh… happy times, I’m talking happy smelly kids in 4th grade PE class- SMILE.

Overall: This event was not square and the final ‘bow to your partner’ was at 10 PM, so you still have time to go home early to call your mother (or head out to your next party of the night!) If more people would go, it’d be even better- doors open at 7 PM, but ya can’t really get started till you get at least 1 full square. And, hey- it’s cheap at $7 a head.

M!stakes.

Never heard of ‘em? Now you have. Never listened to ‘em? Go. Listen. Now. Before it’s too late, go listen to the greatest Brooklyn band that no one’s ever heard of, so you can say you knew them way back when they lived in an apartment one floor down from your brother’s apartment in the way-out-freakin’-east coast of Bushwick like I do.

Well, maybe not just like I do, just. Just listen to them. Now. Take a break from this review, and come back, I’ll still be here.

See? Wow.

M!stakes aren’t revolutionary, they’re just good. Fantastically good without being too inaccessable. And difficult to describe. That too. Perhaps because they’ve found a way to emulate some of the best aspects of just-slightly-above-the-public-radar rock, new-wave, grunge, pop and punk music from the 80’s, 90’s and 00’s. (Ed: This decade is known as the aught’s. It’s 2007 people, we need to decide on a name here, and The Aughts was good enough a hundred years ago, it’s got some classy charm, and it sounds good. There. It’s decided)

Some of the first bands that come to mind to describe M!stakes would be are The Clash, The Smiths, Depeche Mode, with slight streaks from the grunge era like Stone Temple Pilots and perhaps a dash of Soundgarden, but with compositions that you may expect from Radiohead, just without their level of weirdness and alienation. There. That describes it. I think.

M!stakes, are understandably often misspelled as Mistakes, and improperly prefaced with “The” (They’re not The M!stakes, they’re M!stakes) which may make them harder to find than other bands, but when spelled right, they’re easy to Google.

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On Tuesday night Boog City held a “40th Birthday Party” for Kurt Cobain at Cake Shop.

I’m going to wax nostalgic for a bit. I remember the teenage angst, skater sneakers, and borrowed cardigans. At my parochial school, it was pure bliss when some deejay blasted Nirvana at the school dance, an automatic allowance for moshing.  Forget slow dancing with the requisite space for the Holy Ghost between two pimply pubescents.

Kurt was the original UNCOOLKID: drawn out, dirtied, admittedly confused about his sexuality, embittered, and maybe just a little bit bored. He hated the public’s fascination with him (not like most celebrities today, who complain about the attention during sit-down interviews, then mug for the cameras as they make their ever-graceful exits). The more we loved him, the more he hated us. If he was alive, he would be disgusted with his own birthday party, and he probably would have showed up strung out, if he showed up at all.

Look, the guy was a mess. But the mess was his music, and the music was beautiful, no matter how ugly he tried to make it with his wretched voice.

In spite of all this, or maybe to spite it, it all came to a bullet in the head in April of 1994, but the intrigue lives on. Tortured souls have since tried to mimic, but it will never work the same way.

So on Tuesday my friend and I were really looking forward to hearing Nirvana tunes played in honor of Kurt’s would-be birthday. The girl working the door to the basement gave my friend’s suit the once-over as she took our money.  I noticed the sign behind her simply said “KURDT”.

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By Guest Reviewer: Eugene Slepov

Here’s one item to add to your list of things to do before you die: attend a concert of traditional Slavic music. Slavic Soul Party–a seven-man band with Shane Endsely and Ben Holmes on trumpet, Oscar Noriega on clarinet, Jacob Garchik and Brian Drye on trombone, Ron Caswell on tuba and Matt Moran on percussion–is the hottest thing this side of the Berlin Wall.

If you don’t object to going out on a workday, then take the F train to Barbès, a bar and performance space in Park Slope, Brooklyn, and pretend for two hours that you’re in Budapest, Hungary. Though the music here may not be your grandpa and grandma-style mazurka, you are guaranteed to find plenty of Old World sounds piping every Tuesday night in this diminutive performance space.

We rarely associate traditional Slavic music with hip-shaking sex appeal. Nevertheless, after consuming a few Red Stripes, I found myself swinging to the music in true bacchanalian abandon. Dancing like a drunk Slav is an interpretive performance for me; it involved waving around an imaginary gun, shooting it into the air occasionally, and goose-stepping in circles. Barbè s’s tiny stage and dance floor provides a very intimate space–twenty people here easily form a mosh pit.And why not? Slavic music, after all, is deeply influenced by the electric and carnivalesque sounds of Gypsy music. Though the melodies are generally staccato, the mood can be sultry, celebratory, or fast and raucous. Think Django

Reinhardt played on trumpets and clarinets. If that isn’t sexy, I don’t know what is–nevermind my dance skills.

Slavic Soul Party’s music is a blend of Eastern European and Mexican sounds with a touch of American soul and jazz. But, for the most part, we’re deep in the Balkans, Hungary and Romania. Yes, we’re in the land of beef goulash. I was actually reminded of that opening song from Pulp Fiction, a native Greek melody veiled as a surfer song. Highly danceable indeed. It’s unfortunate that the only song I was able to recall from that entire show was one that wasn’t even on the playlist.

The purity of their music is in itself impressive: purity of style and temperament. Yet Eastern Europe is hardly an ethnically homogenous area, hence the Balkan civil wars, nor is there really such a thing as a common Slavic culture. Since that entire part of the world was once occupied by the Ottoman Empire, there are still many lingering influences from Turkish and Central Asian cultures. You can’t miss the Middle Eastern-inspired melodies in virtually every song. You just can’t get this kind of an education in world history from watching CNN.

To sum up: your presence is kindly requested every Tuesday night at Barbès. Admissions is a “very strongly suggested” $10. You can even invite your grandmother if you feel like it.

“A refreshing new reason to LIVE!” Is how they describe themselves. Well, maybe a little hyperbolic, but glam-pop quintet The Fabulous Entourage is definitely a reason not to give up on the New York LES rock scene.

The Fabulous Entourage has been grafitti-bombing their logo across Williamsburg streets, and if it weren’t so clever, I might be put off by it: A mushroom cloud in the shape of a heart. See, the word “sensation” likes to get thrown around in the arts-world far too often, lot, and whether or not its deserved, The Fabulous Entourage treat themselves as a sensation, and often that can make all the difference. Their stage dress includes in black and white (shirts and slacks for the boys,skirts and blouses for the girls), accented with day-glow pink and green, complete with boas, bouffant wigs and striped pants. Thankfully they do it with coordination and class. Much like their music.

Comparisons have been made to Devo for image,but musical style seems more of an evolution of the Elton John vein of operatic rock, (complete with retro-kitsch outfits, lyrics and passionate delivery.) But I’d be more inclined to see them as a beautiful but shamed lovechild of the B-52s and The Cure.

Front and center are Kyle Jarrow, the lead keyboardist and vocals, with Travis Chamberlain on Bass and back-up vocals, and on dual accompanying vocals, the beautiful duet Libby Winters and Pamela Quinn on accompanying lead vocals.

If that’s not all, it’s not unknown for Libby to pick up a guitar as well, Pamela to break out a flute and Kyle, during one of their more spirited jams to pull out a small trumpet for the bridge. Though their image is right out of Love Shack, the spirit and sentiment of most of their songs’ lyrics seem more along the lines of The Cure, or Heart.

“Woe” would be the best word for the F.E.’s general demeanor. Woe to this sad, painful life of unrequited love! Woe to this world of want and desire and war, but of course, beneath it all, is a deep satisfaction that if we have to face a world of anguish and desolation, you’d better BELIEVE that we’re going to look good while we do it!

And they look damn good.

It’s official, I have a crush on Ben Gibbard.

Ok, so now that I’ve got that whole thing out of the way, here’s the review. (I know, that was so girly of me, but he’s totally dreamy!!)

Anyway, this was my first time at MSG Theater and I found it to be kind of a cold (as in sterile and unfeeling) space that reminded me of basketball. I think cause the seats were bleacher-esque, even though they weren’t bleachers, and so far away from the stage. I was pleased with my choice to buy general admission tickets so I could stand in the front. The show started promptly at 8, which sucked for me cause I didn’t get there till 8:20 so I missed half of Ted Leo’s set. Since when do shows start on time?? Someone in the audience, a late-comer like myself, shouted a request and Ted responded something like “dude, that was the second song we played. Thanks for showing up on time!” I’ve always been a casual Ted Leo fan, but seeing them live made me want more.

Then Death Cab came out. I have never seen them live before and I was a little hestiant about the $40 ticket but it was well worth it cause they were amazing. It was basically a greatest hits show with a song off their first album and a sonics cover thrown in for good measure. My favorites were What Sarah Said, Title and Registration, Brothers on a Hotel Bed (which I am obsessed with after hearing it live), Tiny Vessels, and Lightness. The band had the whole witty banter thing down and celebrated the democrats seizing control of congress and also spoke of corn as a bbq only type food. The only thing bad about this show?? I wanted more. aw. They played a long set and everything, but I really wanted to hear Lack of Color and maybe Bjork’s Joga. Really though, it was the funnest show and I’m just being greedy.

To sum up, ted leo + death cab = yay. Madison Square Garden Theater = yay IF you buy general admission standing room only seats. Keep in mind, you have to use the entrance on 8th/33rd though. They don’t let us standing room only folks use the front door. Don’t forget to show up on time if you don’t want to miss the opening act.

I went to see Regina Spektor in her second of two shows at Town Hall. She is a Russian born singer/songwriter and a darling of the NYC anti-folk scene. I love Town Hall; it’s intimate, old-timey, and cozy. The first act was a local NYC band called Only Son. To me, they sounded like a mix of those alterna-pop bands from the 90’s or maybe Death Cab for Cutie minus the thing that makes DC4C so great. They weren’t bad and they weren’t amazing, they were just there, though I did enjoy the “advertisement” at the end of their set for their myspace page.

Finally, Regina Spektor came out. She is earnest, dorky, and adorable; sincerely humbled by the adoration of her rabid fans. It would be easy to compare her to Tori Amos, Bjork, Ani Difranco, and Nina Simone; so I will, as she does have a lot in common with and has obviously been influenced by these women. However, I think the thing that easily distinguishes her from them is her sense of humor and her playfulness. She doesn’t take herself too seriously. She is effortlessly charming and hilarious and this was one of the best shows I’ve ever seen.

I had such a great time that I already checked her website to see where else she would be playing on this tour. FYI - If you’re a fan and you missed the New York shows, you could still catch her in Philly on Sat at Electric Factory.

The Flaming Lips performed to a sold-out Hammerstein Ballroom last night. The show featured Wayne Coyne rolling out into the crowd in a giant clear plastic bubble, tons of confetti shot into the air, hundreds of giant balloons let loose into the crowd, and a pack of aliens and Santas on each side of the stage to incitie the already rambunctious crowd. And that was just the first song.

Witnessing a Flaming Lips performance is like being at a ten-year-old’s birthday party on acid. While the band is not the most musical and relies on many backing tracks to deliver their synthesizer-heavy layered sound, it is certainly entertaining and a spectacle that every music fan should witness.

The opener, Dearhoof, San Francisco’s indie rock stars, both delighted and confused the crowd with their noise rock assault. Whatever confusion was left over by Dearhoof was quickly resolved by the Lips and Coyne’s message of hope, peace and the necessity of having a good time.

Admit it. You can’t think of any better place to spend a mild summer weekend than at…the Meadowlands? Surrounded by 10,000 people belting out off-key renditions of Alicia Keys? Sounds like a nightmare.

Photo from AP

That was my first thought when my brother, Gerald, jazzed up from deejaying, barged into my place at 3:30 a.m.: that I was dreaming.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Oh, and you’re driving.”

The keys hit my comforter. No, this was not a dream, I was wide-awake.

It is a well-known fact amongst my friends and family that I wake up very early most days.

But 3:30 a.m. is obscene. Ungodly. In New York City, the night is young. 3:30 a.m. is just a natural continuation of the evening. It’s unnatural to be rising then.

Even the coffee machine seemed surprised that I was up.

There was a chill in the air and dew on the car windshield. We tossed blankets in the trunk and began our trek.

Gerald asked if I wouldn’t mind stopping at a gas station. “Coffee and cigarettes,” he said, by way of explanation.

“Don’t smoke cigarettes in my car,” I said.

“I think, technically, this is my car.”

“Whatever. And I made coffee.”

“I don’t like it,” he said.

Yesterday’s phone conversation with Gerald flashed through my mind.

“Hey, it’s me,” he began. “Would you mind picking up a copy of the New York Post? It’s got an American Idol article in it. Oh, and some snacks from Trader Joe’s would be good. And listen, we’re going to be leaving pretty early, so you might as well load up the car with gas tonight.”

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Madonna came to town this week for the first set of six sold-out shows at Madison Square Garden.  I’d gotten the memo (and heard all sorts of theories on it, from bikram yoga temperatures to voice preservation methods) about the lack of air conditioning, so I’d dressed in little clothing and brought bottled waters. Still, the heat didn’t stop the guys on both sides of me from disco-dancing, singing, and sweating from the moment the lights lowered.

Madonna appeared on stage forty-five minutes after the time stated on the ticket, and made her entrance in a globe that peeled away from her like a blooming flower. For the first part of the show, she and her dancers wore black leather riding gear, complete with headgear, jodhpurs, bits, and whips. Yes, she whipped her dancers. Images of her ex-rays and vintage footage of riders tumbling off horses flashed on the screen behind her. It was clear that Madonna is marked by the accident that befell her almost a year ago. It was also obvious that she has fully recovered and she wants everyone to know it.

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