Tuddd's Muddd

7 Shows, 6 Days, 100+ Alcoholic Beverages, Edibles Galore, a Zip of Insane Upstate Outdoor, and Yes [drumroll pls], A FUCKING SPALDING. [PART II]

 
[Nuff said]

[NOTE: as indicated by the above title, the entry you are currently reading completes this post, albeit almost exactly a month later / tardiness duly noted / bite me.  Also, thanks to Ben for supplying a couple of these pictures.]

Wild Yaks at Cameo Gallery + (PARTY TYME), Saturday March 12, 2011

    At about 6 AM I got a phone call from my friend, who we'll call "Cindy Shouts," (hehehheheh), who was coming down from Buffalo for the weekend-plus for some good old-fashioned show-going and good timez... she and her friend, who we'll call "Ben," were rapidly approaching NYC.  About an hour later they were at my doorstep... pleasantries were exchanged, and I was generously bequeathed gifts the likes of which I've rarely seen, including a huge fucking tray of pot brownies (YAY!), an ounce of insane dank (DOUBLE DOG YAY!), a Buffalo Sabres beer coozie (HAHHAHA AWESOME) and a Garfield-themed promotional glass (inside joke).  Since it was still mad early, we retired to our respective sleeping quarters for a few hours before meeting up for a splendid Vietnamese sandwich lunch and, then... retiring to our respective sleeping quarters again, hahaha.

    Picked them up for dinner (Wild Ginger, yummo) before heading first to Radegast for beers and then to Cameo for the Wild Yaks show... apparently I had seen this band before a couple summers ago opening up for Brooklyn's Your Nature (who I enjoyed), but I didn't remember jack shit about 'em.  Before the show I wondered aloud what they sounded like, and was told "beards and yelling." Lamentably, this description turned out to be all too accurate.  [For the record, the yelling was horrendously off-key to boot.]  But the band's suckitude was our gain; fortch I had earlier procured a "saucy grande," AKA a "Spalding," and the time to tap that shit was nigh.

    Not gonna lie -- there are few things in life I enjoy more than combining cheap beer, expensive drugs, and gratuitous musical discussion.  Said enjoyment is amplified exponentially when one's companions have great taste in music, as was the case in this instance.  Snippets of the evening's conversation, each of which still ring true at the time of this (relatively) sober writing:

• Major Stars are FUCKING AWESOME. 
• Sleep's Jerusalem / Dopesmoker is THE SINGLE GREATEST ARTISTIC ACHIEVEMENT BY ANYONE EVER IN THE HISTORY OF EVERYTHING.
• My new apartment beats the shit out of my old place in every possible way.
• I love the new Parts & Labor album, and I'm OK with being a bit obnoxious trying to convert people.  Sue me.
• God fucking dammit do I wish Cindy still lived in Brooklyn. 

    Eventually 4:30 rolled around and my roommate and his girlfriend, who were just getting home, stepped up to the plate (um, literally) and joined the party... Cindy and Ben headed back to their hotel just after sunrise, and the impromptu shindig finally petered out at my place around 8:30 AM.  Yay. (Literally, heheh.)

Harvey Milk with Occultation at Union Pool, Sunday, March 13, 2011

 

    Harvey Milk with Occultation at Union Pool, Sunday, March 13, 2011

    With the previous "evening" not technically ending until mid-morning, none of us were feeling especially spry.  I finally rolled out of bed sometime between 2 and 3 PM before heading out to Saint's Alp on Bedford for some noodles, dumplings, and a lovely smoothie type thingy of some sort.  Bought a couple of pricey muffins (Muffins! WHEEE!) on the way home before contacting Cindy and Ben; at this point in the day, for some reason I felt like a million bucks; suffice it to say my comrades did not.  It was agreed that we would meet up at Union Pool not much before the show was supposed to start so as to provide for an ample opportunity for further recharging of batteries.

    One indication that I'm majorly scrambled is when I have trouble narrowing down my pre-show intoxicant choices.  With so many options at my disposal (blow, weed, pot brownies, ketamine, moon rocks, alcohol, nitrous, etc.) I decided a sugar-free Red Bull and a healthy portion of Cindy's pot brownies would be the evening's preferred speedball. 

    As things turned out, "doors at 8" turned into "doors at 9," with the opening band, Occultation, not starting their set until about 9:40 PM.  Ouch.  But, in this case, the good thing about an interminably delayed show was that by the time the band started playing, I was fucking FLYING, which was the perfect recipe for enjoying Occultation's doom / stoner / prog / psych / ultra-reverby bag.  I quite liked these guys. 

    By setbreak, my head was fucking spinning.  [AWESOME.]  As I hung tight to my spot on the right side of the stage, more jackasses began elbowing and jostling for position... this is what happens when you have a sold out show at Union Pool via 'small room / obnoxious entitled scenesters n' posers.'  But what can ya do.

    The mighty Harvey Milk took the stage and greeted us by playing their newest release, last year's A Small Turn of Human Kindness, in its ENTIRETY.  Yes, you read that right: top to bottom, front to back, head to toe, the crowd was treated to a complete run-thru of what's arguably the bleakest, most oppressively cheerless piece of music ever committed to tape.  To start the show.  Yep.

    Which, needless to say, was fucking AWESOME.  A Small Turn may have been described as "a huge, steaming pile of unpleasantness, completely inappropriate for anyone who spends less than half their day plotting the deaths of themselves/others" by, uh, me, but I somehow managed to glean some honest-to-goodness beauty from this live rendition.  Or maybe it was the brownies.  Either way, my grin was ear-to-ear througout the whole thing.

    Oh, but there was more.  Earlier in the set Harvey Milk main man Creston Spiers had suggested the following to the audience: "we'll play for as late as they'll let us, as long as we don't have to play an encore."  Sir, you've got yourself a deal!  They then proceeded to plow through another 40 minutes of classics, including personal faves "Shame," "Motown," and "I Do Not Know How to Live My Life."  Great show, and Harvey Milk's was easily one of the best sets I've seen all year. 

    As for post-show, we were all still pretty shot from the previous evening's coke-besotted blowout, so after a couple quick beers at my place we pulled the plug and called it a night, and wisely so.

    [I doubt any enterprising tapers captured this set, but go here for an EXCELLENT recording from the Harvey Milk set from two nights later.]

 

------

Godspeed You! Black Emperor at Terminal 5, Monday, March 14, 2011,

    Godspeed You! Black Emperor is a band that I figured I'd never see live, and for many reasons.  For one, they hadn't played a live show in nearly 10 years.  For two, there are like ten people in the band, and shepherding them all together couldn't be that simple after all this time (could it?).  For three, given Godspeed's shadowy reputation as highly principled anarcho-enviro-socialists (um, or something), they seem like the last band in the world that would reunite behind the strength of absolutely NO new material for a quick n' dirty Filthy Lucre-tastic cash-grab-o-rama world tour.

    But I'm glad that they did.  I was actually originally thinking of skipping Godspeed on this tour despite them playing so many NYC dates (was it four? five?) because, frankly, the venues they had chosen in which to perform (Terminal 5 and Brooklyn Masonic Temple) are the two absolute WORST-sounding shitboxes I've ever set foot in.  But my mind was changed by three things: 1.) Cindy's visit, and she already had a ticket; 2.) as mentioned earlier, Cindy's brownies would be visiting, and I could see Godspeed being PERFECT on one of her borderline psychedelic treatz; 3.) Tix for the Terminal 5 show could be had for a reasonable price (about $40).  SOLD!

    Anyway, the hours leading up to the show were totally uninteresting, so I'll fast-forward to meeting up with Cindy and Ben at Terminal 5.  We snuck up reasonably close on the left side of the stage, away from the seemingly constant shuffle of feet, the horrendous echo chamber, the mind-bogglingly atrocious sight lines, and the terrible echo chamber effect you get well, pretty much anywhere else in this room. 

    Once again, my enjoyment of the opening act was greatly enhanced as a result of the cartoonishly large hunk of brownie I consumed.  On this night, Colin Stetson opened, he of the cartoonishly large bass saxophone and the flawless circular breathing technique.  Stetson wrangled so many disparate sounds out of his instrument that I initially thought he was utilizing some sort of sampler, but apparently he was creating all of the tones and textures live without effects, which is pretty astounding.  Yup, I enjoyed his set (which can be downloaded here).

    Finally Godspeed was up.  And not 'finally' because setbreak took forever or nuthin' like that.  'Finally' because this would 'finally' be the 'final' set I would see over this 6 day, 7 show, 12 band shitzaster.  Deep breaths, everyone.

    Of course, this set was truly epic.  I am going to do my best to forego too much flowery fudgepackery here, but what a great, great, great band.  A few notes:

• When discussing the vaguely-defined, unfortunately-named "post rock" genre, Godspeed is undeniably king.  More virtuosic than Mogwai, grander than Sigur Ros, more dynamic and diverse than Explosions in the Sky, and just plain better in every way than bands like Tortoise, Maserati, Trans-Am, Red Sparowes, and on and on.
• For someone that has spent altogether too much time taking in limp, uninspired sets by atrocious trendy Bushwick shitgaze / laptop pop / krustcock / twee / post-smegma / whatever acts over the past several years, the Godspeed concert experience is a revelation.  And the respectful crowd combined with the emotive, dramatic nature of the music to somehow make the show seem more intimate than it should have seemed, considering the 3000-strong attendance.
• The set lasted about 2 hours, 20 minutes, lengthy by nearly anyone's standard.  However, at no point did it feel like they had overstayed their welcome.
• From what I remember, the band was accompanied by provocative images / phrases projected on the wall at the back of the stage.  That's all well and good, but in my state, listening intently with eyes closed tight worked just fine, thankyouverymuch-ah. 
• I have NEVER heard Terminal 5 sound this great, which is really a feat considering the (assumed by me) difficulty of micing and amplifying so many instruments.  [If ya don't believe that it sounded great, hear for yourself.] 

    Post show, we walked a few blocks along 11th Ave. before grabbing a cab back to the the uber-hip Ace Hotel, where Cindy and Ben had a room.  [How hip?  Well, the desk in the room was already scratched to shit due to previous occupants cutting up narcotics on its surface.  THESE ARE MY PEOPLE!!!]  After wandering around for awhile in search of ABSOLUTELY ANYWHERE THAT WOULD SELL US BOOZE, we very cumbersomely and awkwardly bought about 20 loose Bud tall boys at a Rite Aid, and the party was on. 

    As fun as the show was, the remainder of the evening > early morning was probably funner.  More music geekery, improbably vitriolic arguments (which is the poppiest Sleater-Kinney song ever?!?), dance party starring Ting Tings and Hercules & Love Affair, more Jerusalem / Dopesmoker (of course!), and let's not forget that spalding.  I seem to remember finally cabbing it back to Williamsburg circa 6:30 AM, borderline blacked out, grinning like a retard.  

    So, across the board, GREAT.  FUCKING.  TIME.  Come back any time, y'alls.   

 

[Was it something I said?]

The Best (non-arena) Concerts of 2009 [part 1]

 

  Yup, I go to see a lot of shows.  It's what I do in lieu of pursuing any type of normal social life/sex life/career.  In fact, I'm near 300 concerts attended over the last 3 years combined, which is probably A LOT more than you unless you're, like, a member of Metallica or something.  I live in Williamsburg not because of the vibrant art gallery scene, or because I have friends here (I definitely don't), or because I love looking out my window at all the funny people with their krazy-colored scarves, or because I like getting my shit ripped off, or because I'm a fan of crackheads breaking into my car.  Nope, I live here pretty much exclusively because there are so many music venues within walking distance of my front door.  That's it.

    As such, it's odd that ~200 posts into this that them thar blog(gy), this will be my first attempt at ranking the shows I've seen during a given year.  As my fictional abusive step-uncle always told me, "son, you're the type of sumbitch that ain't happy unless he's doin' shit bass-ackwards all the goddamn time.  Now either start suckin', or go cut me a switch! <fart noise>"

    So, here's the first part of the list, which (as you'll find) consists solely of ONE very, very long show review.  (More will follow later in the week.)  The only rules are that 1.) no arena shows are allowed on this list; 2.) no festival shows are allowed on this list either; 3.) each headlining band can only be mentioned once on the list; and 4.) you have AIDS.  If you are okay with each and every one of these four conditions, read on, Aidsy. 

------

And now for the single best show (according to the above conditions) I saw in 2009:

Dan Deacon/Deerhunter/No Age round robin at Brooklyn Bowl, August 2nd, 2009 -- Man, I can't believe that I didn't actually post a write-up of this show when it actually happened, but I didn't.  What a fucking wild day.  My friend Electric Carmdawg was staying at my apartment for an extended disaster weekend, as was my brother (in town from Durham).  The previous day Carm and I created the fuck out of this badboy and brought it to the b'day/pool party of a friend (who we'll call "ManEater") in Greenpoint.  Before ManEater's unpredictably temperamental landlady put the premature kibosh on said cheery get-together, my brother met us there, at which point I was so hammered from tequila(s) both cheap and free that I declared if the evening was to continue, I was going to need some -- nay, a lot of -- blow.  So we took the "party" back to my apartment, where I made everybody listen to the Crocodiles album on repeat while sobering up.  Coke dealer took for-fucking-ever, to the point that my two companions had grown weary of my pathetic "ME LIKEY DRUGZ!!!!1111!!111!!eleven!!" act.  When he did finally show up, my brother discovered he didn't have his license, dictating that our bar-going options were nil. 

    Following day, and it's raining like a mofo.  This would not bode well for the status of the day's proposed JellyNYC Pool Party at the waterfront (featuring Dan Deacon, Deerhunter and No Age), which fucking SUCKS because, of course, this was supposed to be the weekend's centerpiece for me and my friends.  Unbowed, we decided to hop into the Tudddmobile and head out to Storm King, hoping to squeeze in some nature-tastic enjoyment before coming back for the afternoon's concert.  Of course, about 5 miles into the drive I realize that I'm going THE WRONG FUCKING WAY on the BQE, and finally we agree that the shitty weather would have made for a shitty Storm King experience.  Tails between legs, we headed over to PS1 instead.

    We took Kent Ave. on the way over to Long Island City to scope out the Pool Party scene, and the Parks Department Employees that were to be ostensibly staffing the concert are packing their shit up and heading the fuck home.  We're informed that the waterfront show's been canceled and moved to Brooklyn Bowl later in the day.  Following our PS1 visit, we purchase some cheap wine, cheese, a baguette and some hummus and nosh that shit back at my place before heading back out, picking up a friend (yup, ManEater) and getting in line on North 12th St.  Fortunately, by the late afternoon, the skies had cleared up and it's kinda sunny out.  Also, fortunately the Turkey's Nest is just a couple of blocks away, so many, many "large to go" margs are purchased and consumed.  Also fortunately, I remembered to bring one of these along, and it's jampacked with wacky goodness/pure evil.  Frickity Frack, y'allz!

    So we stand in line for a couple of hours, getting fucked up and having a good ol' time.  Some of ManEater's friends show up in turn, and before you know it we've got quite the crew rolllin' (if by "rollin'" you mean standing on a line that isn't moving at all and shows no sign that it ever will).  Eventually word filters back to us that due to popular demand, Dan Deacon/Deerhunter/No Age will now be performing *two* shows at Brooklyn Bowl, one at 6:30 and one at 9.  Deerhunter main man Bradford Cox comes outside to talk to the weary and faithful, and I squeeze a few beerpisses out into empty Gatorade bottles in my car parked across the street.  All is (sort of, tentatively) well.  

    Naturally, when the line starts moving, all our little eyes (well, most of us) are bulging out of our heads due to 1.) ANTICIPATION!!! and 2.) COCAINE INTOXICATION!!!.  And naturally, they cut off attendance for the first show like ten people in front of us.  FUUUUUCK.  So we head to Wild Ginger for a lovely meal.  What's that, you say?  "Cocaine is supposed to inhibit the appetite?"  Not so, friend... you have so much to learn!  Chuckle, chuckle.  For anyone who did blow in Brooklyn during 2009, this was truly "the summer of the cocaine that makes you hungry."  Yeah, odd.  But, again, a lovely meal nonetheless.

    Post-meal, we head back to the line for the second show, but not before snagging more to go margs.  We hear thru the grapevine that the second show has been pushed back to 10 PM.  Fine, who cares, just throw another hour on there and see if we wilt.  I fuckin' DARE ya.  By now we're rockin' the line, 2 Legit 2 Quit.  Sun goes down, but we're still in beverage town.  <Flips down shades>  Eventually it becomes crystal clear to anyone with a time-discerning-apparatus that there's no way in hell that we're all going to be inside by 10 PM.  Whatevs, strong like bull.

    Finally.  Slowly, the line starts moving.  Slowly... slowly... until finally we're off the street... past the front gate... heading towards the building's actual entrance... FUCKIN' FUCK YEAH, MOTHERFUCKERS!!!  Oddly, this area is filled with too-cool-for-school jackasses smoking butts... you would have thought there would have been ample time to take care of that, oh, I don't know, DURING THE PREVIOUS FIVE-PLUS HOURS THAT WE HAD SPENT IN LINE.  Of course, being the highly suggestible type, I burn one just for the hell of it.  Sue me.  

    By 11 PM we're inside, buyin' beers, grinning fiendishly, and suffering through two unspeakably horrendous opening acts before the actual headlining trifecta takes the stage.  [Of course, in all my comic book store guy uber-nerd glory, I've already seen these three bands play on the same stage (albeit not at the same time) during this show.  If I haven't made a dick of myself by bragging about that in person, consider this bracketed interlude my way of making up for lost time.] 

    Of course, at the time of this writing, five months (and several thousand bowls) later, I'm at a bit of a loss when it comes to actual musical details of the show.  You know what that means.  Yup, bullet points.

• Dan Deacon was amazing.  I totally missed out by not seeing the shows he played with his full ensemble.  I would still be kicking myself for that but after literally kicking myself for nearly four straight months, my right leg (aka my "kickin' leg") fell off, and since I already have a kicking machine attached to my groin 24/7 as penance for a totally unrelated offense, I felt attaching a second kicking machine somewhere else on my body would be excessive. 
• Deerhunter: ahh, what is there to say.  This was at least the tenth time I've seen the band live, and to me (as I've written before) it's totally fucking rad that they've made the full transformation from blog-hyped curiosities that could barely play their own instruments/instead relied on cheesy (yet effective) stage antics to official LIVE POWERHOUSE.  Here's a previous review of a show of theirs I attended in late '08.  Love love love this fucking band.
• Normally I care not for No Age's mediocre, mealy-mouthed tunelessness, but on this night their brand of youthful exuberance and enthusiasm fit right the fuck in. 
• And about that exuberance and enthusiasm.  It's pretty rare that there's ANYBODY showing any emotion at a show in Williamsburg, but on this night the hipsters put away their skinny jeans and put on their dancin' shoes.  (See what I did there?  Neat, huh?)  People were fucking STOKED to be at this show.  
• Dan Deacon's portions of the set were filled with all sorts of awesomely goofy crowd participation.  Kind of a had-to-be-there type deal, but if you've never run full speed, hand-in-hand with a stranger, through a fifty-person-long one of these, then you should get on that.
• We wound up not getting home until after 2 AM, tired, dehydrated and sweaty, at which point, thankfully, nobody had even the least bit of interest in doing any more blow.  Naptimez. 

    Well, that was fun, wasn't it?  All it needs is some pictures.  Go here for that, while I go to bed. 

   

   

   

   

Best. Weed Cake. Ever.

Kylesa with Stinking Lizaveta, Unearthly Trance and Darsombra at Cake Shop, May 31 2009

KYLESA



STINKING LIZAVETA

------------

Happy June, assholes!  I had a slow weekend, which is nice for a change, especially considering the toxic disaster that this coming week and weekend is going to inevitably morph into.  I'll have friends in town during the week for several shows, then a road trip with still yet more friends for another show and massive afterparty during the weekend.  Pray for me.*

So, Kylesa.  I'm liking the shit out of their newest album, Static Tensions, which contains several great tunes (most notably early song-of-the-year contender "Unknown Awareness").  I'm a huge, gay sucker for awesome stoner sludge with psych flourishes, and face it, you should be too.  I'd missed Kylesa last time they were in town (I think they played the Charleston) so no time like the present etc.

Rolled up on Cake Shop a little after 8:30 and after going inside and paying for admission ($10, not too shab) was told that the show's start was going to be pushed back a bit.  Fine.  As such, I spent the next half hour or so nursing $3 PBRs at Iggys down the block.  When I got back to Cake Shop, I could hear the opening band, Brooklyn's own Unearthly Trance, wailing away.  Again, I missed a lot of their set, but from what I could tell they seemed to be a pretty decent doom outfit, and I enjoyed what I heard.

Next act was a one-man project called Darsombra, which consisted of a dude on 8-string bass, Les Paul and occasional vocals, looping his sounds and manipulating a ton of effects pedals.  Good shit, although I should say that this was a bit more riff-heavy than some of the more unstructured stuff that's out there.  Maybe like a heavier Grails?  Some of it kinda sounded like stuff from last year's Pyramids record (which I liked) if that helps. 

By now I was several beers into the evening and I figured "what the hey, time to get high."  So I whipped out my one-hitter and walked around the block (Ludlow/Rivington/Essex/Stanton/back to Ludlow).  As per usual in this area, the cop presence was massive, which kept me from toking recklessly, and with my oneie being freshly cleaned earlier in the morning, the hits were not terribly pleasant unless you consider mouthfuls of flaming weed pieces "pleasant."  Whatevs.  This brief interlude paid its real dividends when, after returning from around the block,  I saw some drunk jackass walk full-speed straight into a closed glass door and bounce off like a sparrow flying into your window, which was hilarious. 

By the time I got back inside Cake Shop, I was feeling pretty fucking good, the cheap beer and expensive weed combining to create the ideal glowing/borderline meditative/"all is momentarily well in the world" mindset.  Ahhhhhhhh.  Anyway, the evening's third band, Stinking Lizaveta, a 3-piece with guitar, electric stand-up bass (!!) and drums, ripped into their set with road-tested fury.  Apparently these guys have been around for a decade-and-a-half... well, I wish I'd heard of them at some time during said decade-and-a-half, because they are, as it turns out, ABSOLUTELY FUCKING AMAZING.  Here's a description of them from the New Yorker event listings (by way of the band's MySpace page): "heavy instrumental rock that meshes complicated and precise prog-rock passages, gloomy riffs in the Black Sabbath vein, and occasional free-jazz blowouts."  If there's ever been a more promising band description anywhere, I'd like to see it.  At this point the room was gradually getting more and more packed, and, as such, within minutes everyone -- band and audience alike -- was dripping wet.  This didn't keep the guitarist from gallivanting about the stage, ripping off insane solos while hopping onto (and off of) his amps and other equipment.  The set included a positively ripping cover of Band of Gypsys' "Power of Soul" which was exactly what the doctor ordered-- man these guys rock.  I eagerly await the delivery of their new album, which I ordered minutes after getting home from the show.

It just so happened that I sweated so much during Stinking Lizaveta's set that I didn't have to piss before Kylesa started setting their shit up, which was good because by this point the room was totally packed (definitely the most folks I've ever seen at a Cake Shop show) and people were jostling for position up front.  Kylesa seemed to be having trouble with some of their gear (notably an amp and a mic) so it was a while before any music was played.  Once they started, though... *whistling noise* man did shit get rowdy.  Yes, I go to see a lot of metal shows but usually people just kind of mind their own business, at the very most just kinda thrashing solo -- that's the NYC way.  But the evening's delays, combined with the fact that people were by and large fucking hammered, combined with the stinky sweatbox Cake Shop's basement had become, combined with the fact that people seem to legitimately love Kylesa, added up to some furious mosh-pitting up front.  Interestingly, the most flagrant of said thrashers were not necessarily your typical metal-show fare, encompassing yuppies, hippies and random hot chicks in addition to the usual assortment of chinbearded n'er do-wells, tiny Napoleonic meatheads and fat bearded stoners like myself.  Kylesa's two-drummer setup is really showcased in the live setting, as the beats have a primal, tribal element not perfected by many bands not named Sepultura.  But yeah, sick set, and a pretty great show all around. 

*NOTE: do not pray for me.

------

Expecting a "special delivery."  The timeliness of said delivery will have an effect on whether or not I get out tonight.  Muddd outward and such.

Me pukey

   

    Um, subject line pretty much sez it all.  I'm in fucking rough shape.  Also, the count for the bigtime riff on Don, Aman is 14-8-10.   Try that shit!

May Daze day 3

    Went to a bar with some cool people, drank my face off, may or may not have blacked out, brought the party back to my apartment, and definitely offered my new roommate -- who I barely know -- a rail.  She politely declined, although I do remember her smoking a bunch of my weed.  Stellar performance all around, although I'm puzzled -- and pleasantly surprised -- that I didn't piss my bed.  (Just remembering that I puked in my garbage can at about 4 AM.  Good times.) 

Catchin' Up With the Blog yet again

    Ah, the weather is getting nice again and I'm starting to remember why I love my neighborhood so much.  Schoolkids are running around in the streets loudly debating the pungency of one another's genitals; the Ice Cream Truck Jingle (which I'm actually a fan of) is already soldered into my skull where it shall remain for the next 4+ months; 60 year old dudes can be found stumbling around the block smoking blunts; drunk black dudes fly by on bicycles insulting random passersby; and perhaps most importantly, "special deliveries" are transacted courteously, comfortably and efficiently. 

    Again it's been awhile since I've updated said Muddd, but I ain't dead yet.  I've been taking it easy the last couple weeks after what has been an unusually toxic year up until this point.  Also, earlier in the month I traveled to Atlantic City (impossible to enjoy this place without drugs/fortunately I had some), Virginia (beautiful, especially the ships) and Durham (rainy) so it's nice to hunker down and get back to the essentials -- namely smoking weed and being antisocial. 

    Also, it's a good time for me to issue some, um, "updates" to last year's Best Of lists (albums and songs), so let's get these belated mea culpas out of the way first.  "But Tuddd," you plead, "yer livin' in the past!  We want to hear about new shit!"  Sadly, we're almost done with March and the New Yeah Yeah Yeahs is the first really, really good record I've heard all year.  Fear not, I thought '07 got off to a shitty start too and we still wound up with a ton of gooduns when all was said and done.  Anyway,  

• All thru '08, I avoided hearing the Titus Andronicus album mainly because of comparisons to Conor Oberst (of whom I'm not a fan) and various emo bands.  Well, it turns out I fucked up-- the Titus Andronicus album is probably the best album from '08.  Yeah, I'm'a need a mulligan on that one, thanks.
• Also, I totally whiffed in leaving Harvey Milk's Life... The Best Game in Town off of the aforementioned list.  In this case, I had actually heard the album during '08 proper (and several times at that) but I somehow retardedly managed to miss giving it a numerical ranking on the spreadsheet I was using to rank albums.  Let this be a warning to all fellow hack music bloggers: (underwhelming) music journalism and spreadsheets do not mix.  FWIW it's one of the 10 best albums from '08 I've heard.
• Missed the boat on Hercules and Love Affair, too.  Shee-it.
• In my (admittedly gay) quest to trendily update my library of garagey shit, I came across a fucking awesome compilation of female-fronted Dutch garage/psych bands, called From the Kitchen to the Garage and available from Distortions Records here (it's the third one down).  Normally I don't post links prompting people to buy shit, but 1.) it's awesome and 2.) it's only 7 friggin' dollars.  Definitely the first album I've heard from the Distortion imprint, but I doubt it will be the last.  I have no idea if this actually came out in '08, but if it did, it too would have been easily in the year's top 10. 
• I'm liking Microcastle better and better, but I still think Weird Era kind of blows.
• On the aforementioned Best Songs list, I totally left several great songs off that I didn't hear until after I wrote the list.  These include: a lot of the Titus Andronicus album, a few off Harvey Milk's record, the same two that everyone likes from Hercules and Love Affair, "Afgrunden" from Sune Rose Wagner (of the Raveonettes, of course)'s solo debut, Pyramids' "The Echo of Something Lovely," "That's Not My Name" by the Ting Tings, and, um, Usher's "Love in this Club." For some reason, this makes me want to cry with joy. 

----------

        Here's a brief rundown of the albums I've heard so far in '09.  Yes, I'm markedly behind last year's pace, but there's still a ton of good stuff I'm looking forward to.  I'll try to get a decent "Still To Come in '09" list posted before I go away for the weekend.

    1- Yeah Yeah Yeahs - It's Blitz -- I've only owned this album for 5 hours so this may be premature, but I think this is the best thing the YYY's have ever put out.  I thought their '07 EP, Is Is was their best effort to date (great songwriting and production) but this likely tops it.  Although a few of the songs are marred by repetitive phrasing, there's undoubtedly some really pretty songs on this. 

    2- Dan Deacon - Bromst -- lots more heart and depth than his Spiderman of the Rings breakthru. 

    3- Heartless Bastards - The Mountain -- Face it, it's tough for a white chick to sing soulfully without sounding cheesy, but the vocals (and primal guitar playing) of frontwoman Erika Wennerstrom make me long for a Black Keys/Heartless Bastards double bill.

    4- Death - ...For the Whole World to See -- A set of mostly unreleased protopunk songs by this trio of Detroit siblings, recorded in the mid '70s.  "Politicians in My Eyes" and "Keep on Knockin'" are the best two on here.  Read this New York Times article for the full story.

    5- Dead Mellotron - Ghost Light Constellation EP -- Pretty sure this Monroe, Louisiana band friended me on MySpace, where this album is available for free download, which is how I heard of 'em.  The best songs on here are done in kind of a fuzzy garage-ambient-trance-shoegaze style, which can lend itself to absolute awesomeness under the right circumstances.  Bonus points for choosing the right song to cover in Beach House's "Saltwater."

    6- Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavillion -- So far I'm only enjoying this as background music at a chatty party, for example.  Obviously warrants more listens.

    7- Boston Spaceships - The Planets Are Blasted -- Also needs many more listens, although this might be Uncle Bob's strongest (non-archival) effort since 2006's Normal Happiness. 

    8- These Arms Are Snakes - Tail Swallower and Dove -- Love the lead track "Woolen Heirs," and "Ethric Double" boasts the best heavy groove of the year.

    9- Franz Ferdinand - Tonight: Franz Ferdinand -- The single's the only memorable song, IMHO.

    10- Wavves - Wavvves -- Whatever, I'm old.  I don't have to pretend to enjoy this crap.

    11- The Soft Pack -- The Muslims -- Sure, I'm spoiled when it comes to sloppy garage stuff, but this album is nothing special.

    12- Nodzzz -- Nodzzz -- If you're into bands like Vivian Girls, ca-USE! co-MOTION! and the Beets, you'll eat this up.  Otherwise, you'll find it pretty generic. 

    (No, I haven't heard the new Mastodon yet... I'm waiting to blast it in my car on the way down to Pennsylvania for a wedding this weekend.)

---------------

    Finally, yes, I know I've been slacking on seeing shows this year; I'm only up to 17 so far, which is pretty piss poor.  That being said, barring random testicular electrocution (always a possibility) I plan on attending tomorrow (4/1)'s whiplash-inducing show at Europa, starring the mighty Young Widows (seen 'em several times, they're great), Tournament (saw 'em a couple years ago with Baroness and Atakke at Don Pedros/they shred) and Austerity Program (one of my faves).  Good times. 

    All right, gotta go.  Muddd outward and such.

Happy 2009 and shit!!!

    No, I'm not dead.  No, I haven't stopped making a jackass of myself in public.  No, I haven't stopped going to shows.  And perhaps least importantly, no, I haven't given up on this (pointless) blog. 

    But enough about what I haven't been doing.  What actually has been going on in said Tudddiverse (patent pending)?  Well, some shit.  I finally got a job.  Actually, come to think of it it's not really a "job" per se since I'm not being paid jack diddly.  I'm volunteering for an organization which-shall-go-nameless, helping the homeless and shit, and I should be getting about 30 hours a week out of them for this (which I'm pretty fucking psyched about) which will serve the purpose of actually getting me out of the apartment during the day for the next few months.  Which is nice.  Also, I've got a veritable shit ton of "social engagements" planned through March with people coming to visit and bachelor parties and traveling for concerts and whatnot.  In fact, I'm pretty much booked thru mid-March with the exception of this coming weekend and Valentines Day weekend.  So if you're a hot chick/convincing transsexual with free time, let's make some magic, K?

    One of said "social engagements" was last weekend, when I was visited by three pals Friday (Diggz, Robb, and Speeduardo), who I dragged to the Raveonettes show (more on that later) before we retired to their hotel room for booze, snoft, and entreprenurial chatter.  Saturday, we got stoned and ate pizza during the day, following it up with a lovely Thai dinner before blacking the fuck out at the GPT and eventually winding up back at the hotel again.  Bevs were consumed, shit was talked, and (at least in my case) legs were inexplicably bruised, and badly.  Good times. 

    Taking it easy this weekend... saving my shit for the following Thursday when I have a particularly wacky evening planned, combining live Metallica, three buddies, a limousine, and copious snofting.  I've been looking forward to seeing Metallica live for, oh, give or take two decades, so I really don't want to do/drink/snort anything this weekend that would jeopardize that shit. 

    So there you have it for now.  I'm going to try to get crackin' on a more frequent posting schedule here at the Muddd (for all two of you that give a holy horsefuck).  By tomorrow morning I will have seen six concerts in this young year, and I'll probably do a "Catchin' up With the Blog"-style post some time tomorrow detailing the bands I've seen.  Spoiler alert: Pissed Jeans are fucking amazing.  (As if I didn't know that already.)  I've heard a few new '09 albums this year, too: Animal Collective (I just don't get it), Franz Ferdinand (better than the second album, nowhere near as good as the first), Nodzzz (crappy) and These Arms Are Snakes (fucking awesome).  So maybe I'll fire up some reviews or some shit.  Or not.  Or something.  Anyway, I'm back/hooray.

"Eagles of METH Metal" is more like it! T'heh!

Boot scoot.

Deerhunter at Music Hall of Williamsburg, December 8th, 2008 (Stereogum's "Gummy" Awards)

       

    In many ways, good ol' 2008 has turned out to be "The Year of Deerhunter," at least as far as I'm concerned.  For one, "Nothing Ever Happened" is the best song of the year, so that helps, and although I'm liking Microcastle quite a bit (great at the beginning, great at the end, kinda loses me in the middle), it's really in the live setting that I've noticed the band come into their own as this year's gone on.  This was to be the sixth time I've seen them live in '08, (ninth time overall, cough cough) and as I've written before, it's incredible to realize just how far the band has come musically since the first time I saw them (April '07, for the record): earlier on the live show was more geared towards the visual spectacle, what with Bradford's dresses, bloodpellets and occasional abuse of members of his band and the crowd.  But at this point, I have to say that they're one of the finest live bands going.  No gimmickry necessary; it's all about the music, maaaaan.

    Frankly, despite the fact that I'd seen Deerhunter in the same room a month ago (at a show captured by NYC taper here)... yeah, no worries on that front.  However, all day I was wondering if my increasingly fragile back would allow me to make it out tonight, but c'mon, it's Deerhunter.  These guys are like my Phish for fuck's sake.  I had to move my car anyway, so I hopped in and drove thirteen or so blocks, parking near North 6th and Bedford right around 10 PM.  Of course, I immediately began taxing the shit out of my one-hitter, leaving me high as a fucking kite by the time I got in line for tickets.  When I got into the venue, I had already missed the opening act (Bell, about whom I know nothing) and a couple dudes from Stereogum were onstage doing standup before the second band came on. 

    Violens were up next, and they were okay, with the rock-ier aspects of their sound outweighing the many sensitive guyish moments on vocals.  Kinda reminded me of French Kicks and The Double at times, although I had trouble concentrating on the music because of the inexcusably awful sound mix.  The bass distortion was actually painful at points, no joke.  I'll probably wind up seeing these guys again at some point and hopefully I'll be able to get a better grasp on their overall sound.

    After some more standup, one of the dudes from Videogum came out and presented a brief montage of funny internet meme video thingies.  Check them out here if you like the ha-ha and whatnot.  I was pretty pleased with the lack of the Stereogum presence, especially considering that this was supposed to be the Gummies Award Show and all.  Again, I missed the first little bit of the show so I can't vouch for the entire evening, but with the exception of raffle results being decided onstage (which was actually kinda funny) there was no feeling that this being a "sponsored" show actually infringed on anything.  Tastefully done, indeed. 

    At this point, I found myself at the edge of the stage, off to the left, for the Deerhunter set.  They opened with "Cryptograms" in spirited fashion, with guitarist Whitney Petty strumming her guitar with a tambourine (!) for much of the song's noisy crescendo.  Next up was "Never Stops" before they segued the funky "Dr. Glass" into "Hazel St." with a sweet bass-led jam.  By now, it was pretty fucking obvious that due to them using borrowed equipment for this gig, their concert sound was going to be very different from the usual shoegazy cacophony: on this night they were bringing the RAWK, notably with Bradford's guitar bringing some muscle to the mix.  What followed, as a result, was undoubtedly the heaviest, balls-out rockin'est version of "Nothing Ever Happened" that I've ever heard; the finger-tapping coda sounded positively Satriani-esque (yes, that's a good thing).  

    Another set highlight was a noisy version of "Octet" (I can't remember them playing that recently) since it's probably my favorite off of Cryptograms.  Of course, frontman Bradford Cox usually whips out some witty banter, and this evening was no exception, with the evening's fixation of choice being Cox repeatedly starting into "Jane Says" (and bassist Josh Fauver threatening to walk off).  Funny shit.  The set proper ended with an audience-suggested version of "Operation" ("this will sound great on this [borrowed] gear," Cox said, and he was right) before a cataclysmically noisy version of "Twilight at Carbon Lake."  Encore concluded with "Strange Lights," noise, and headstands, if you can believe it.  

    Post-show, as I began walking towards Oasis for a $3 falafel, I overheard a couple discussing the show -- she was apparently disappointed that it seemed to be more a "rock" show than a "shoegaze" show because of the borrowed equipment.  He was trying to explain, "but... normally they're not that loud..." which was falling on deaf ears.  Their conversation was starting to grate a bit so I crossed the street to get out of earshot and to smoke more weed.  And the falafel was lovely.

SETLIST (I think this is complete)

Intro
Cryptograms
Never Stops
Dr. Glass>
Hazel St.
Nothing Ever Happened
Saved by Old Times
Octet>
noisy jam
Microcastle
Vox Celeste
Jane Says tease
Operation
Twilight at Carbon Lake
encore break
Cover Me (Slowly)
Agoraphobia
Jane Says tease
Strange Lights