Live Review: Shout Out Louds @ The Music Hall of Williamsburg 10.26.07

There is an undeniable level of immediacy associated with The Shout Out Louds - an emotional catharsis built on explosive evocation. Even their very name communicates a desire to express things quickly, vehemently, and exorbitantly. And if the method is to shout. out. loud: what then is the message? The Music Hall of Williamsburg, at about 90% capacity on a rainy Friday night was supposed to find out. Tell us what you want us to say, and we will say it. Tell us what to shout and we will shout it.

On their most recent record, Our Ill Wills (Merge), the band makes a plea for escape velocity. It is no coincidence that the first single featured a title that said "Tonight, I Have To Leave It." Even the infectious "Impossible" seems to express an inability to remember the familiar and a need to avoid the crippling stasis of a failed relationship. Perhaps the most sentimental is "Normandie" which urges us to "say goodbye to the people we don't know." Get up, get out.


But this presents some problems in the live environment. This is your concert and if you're so busy telling us to leave, what is our impetus to stay? Adam Olenius and his band have to tip-toe the lines between impermanence and togetherness. They want us here but, at some point, everybody will have to get on their way. Sound like a band who's been on tour for almost four years straight? Maybe a little.

Tonight they are tight and sharp and absolutely not messing around. They play "The Comeback" early and run through other favorites from their albums. Bringing out a female guest-vocalist for "Impossible" earns the silent disapproval of a few other females in the crowd. She has a silky-sweet voice and pants that go up to her breasts. She owns the hook on "Impossible" with the same quiet elegance it contains on the record. As the song tumbles into it's second movement, the whole crowd is mouthing or singing, "Impossible, impossible."


Olenius looks less like Jason Schwartzman than I remember and is commanding the room in an un-commanding way. When he sings lyrics with numbers in them ("and the last two weeks/were the saddest weeks") he holds up the same number on his hands. In other circumstances it would seem like cheap musical theater shill but, here, now, it feels communicative and good. As if the hand-gesture alone is adding a level of legitimacy to what is coming from his mouth.

It seems obvious they will close with "Tonight, I Have To Leave It." They don't but it arrives near enough to the end of their set to issue a "this has been fun but, like we told you, shit doesn't last forever." The Shout Out Louds head backstage and the crowd actually works for the encore. After all, the only way to fight departure is with anger or affection. We choose the later and soon enough the band is back. The play a quick-three song set and then are gone for good.

This is the second time I've come to see this band wanting to know what their message was - and it's second time I've left without quite knowing what or how they want me to feel. They are young and they are good. And, perhaps, so are we. Despite our need to keep moving and the desire to leave things behind, we can still share that in its totality. So, we say it - we shout it: We are young and we are good. But to share that for more than a night might be impossible. Impossible.

[Photos by Diana Wong]

Live Review: Johnossi at the Music Hall of Williamsburg [10.26.07]

Johnossi is a band from Sweden with a minimalist title, and is made up of two men named John and Ossi. They are on tour with the Shout Out Louds and supporting the North American release of their first album, Johnossi (October 10, Control Group). I was running late for the show and all the rain on Friday night had slowed up the transit system, so I was pretty excited when I walked up to the Music Hall of Williamsburg and heard something similar to the early Misfits coming through the doorway. I thought it was just the bar music, but discovered that it was actually Johnossi.



These guys definitely don't sound like a fiendish punk band, though they play with enough energy to do the comparison justice. John plays an acoustic electric guitar and Ossi slams the drums. Their music seems to draw on a lot of different influences, and this is usually a good thing but it seemed a little inconsistent. A little bit rockabilly and a lot of classic anthemic rock, John and Ossi play loud, beat-driven pop melodies with lyrics bordering on the political side of romantic. Strange though that sounds, it's true.




In the end, it's difficult to pin Johnossi down. I enjoyed their live set, and the energy with which they played was a definite bonus, but am undecided about whether or not I actually like their music. Whatever the case, I'll probably be there the next time they play in New York, just because I want to see what they do next. Pop to the core, but not cheesy, these guys at least deserve another look. Check their website for the rest of their North American tour dates and locations.

(Thanks to Diana Wong for the photos!)

In and Out: 2 Shout Out Louds Shows, 2 Afterparties

TankFarm Future Sounds is throwing two official afterparties for the two Shout Out Louds shows in NYC. If you are a master translator of Sw-english, you should try to talk to the band...from what I could tell when I met them last, they were quite friendly. Unless Swedes are supposed to smile as they lay hexes on you...then I'm in trouble.

Tonight's afterparty (after the Bowery Ballroom show):

Tomorrow's afterparty (after the Music Hall of Williamsburg show):

In and Out: Let's Be [AOL] Friends

Tim Harrington of Les Savy Fav "interviews" at AOL:



A very staged interview, but worth a chuckle nonetheless. Mr. Harrington is notorious for being spotted around NYC wearing a business suit...the guy's doing corporate consulting work after all.

Live Review: CMJ's Choose Your Own Ending

It was another "slow morning" today...but the last in the CMJ 2007 series. The final night of this year's new music festival concluded in the wee hours with special appearances, parties, and "secret" shows on both sides of the East River. Xtina and I were faced with the difficult choice between dancing through an unannounced Justice set at Studio B at 3am, or bopping with our Almost Gold friends to the beat of Peter and Bjorn (plus Doug from Dirty on Purpose) at Galapagos. Here is evidence of the ending we chose to this year's CMJ story:

The tiny venue of Galapagos was packed thick with bodies when we arrived, at the tail end of the Black Kids set. We waited patiently in the company of Isaac (Almost Gold), George (MuseBox), Jackie (SPIN Online), and other media folks who were barely hanging on after this week of concert insanity. Peter, Bjorn and Doug kicked off their set with a velocity that blew the tired out of our heads immediately. Peter Moren's feet were an unstoppable force. They were in hop/tap/dance hyper-drive for the duration of the show.

Towards the end, Peter got so excited that he leapt into the crowd, sacrificing the functionality of his borrowed guitar for the next song (that was Isaac's guitar).

There were a few special guests too (including Matt from Foreign Born):


The rest of CMJ Day 5 will have to be covered piece-by-piece, but I felt that this cool and cheery finale was worth reporting to you all first.

[Photos by Mina K]

Live Review: Kevin Devine, Owen & Andy Hull at Southpaw [10.20.07]

After a full week of the CMJ Music Marathon, it would seem that an early show featuring three solo acoustic acts would be a lackluster finale to an otherwise eventful festival. Generally, this combination would lead to an utterly dull and boring evening. Luckily, the three artists performing tonight are compelling enough to hold the audience’s interest and different enough to break up the monotony. The night begins at 7:30 pm with Andy Hull, who is only slightly better known as the singer/guitarist for Manchester Orchestra.

Hull is an unlikely frontman and an even unlikelier solo performer. He is slightly pudgy, heavily bearded and already drenched in his own sweat after the first five minutes of his set. Despite his atypical appearance, Hull is able to lull the entire room into complete silence in reverence of his minimalist compositions. Hull has a high-pitched, somewhat nasal voice that he modulates between a withdrawn whisper and a violent yelp.

Each song conveys devastating pain through minute everyday observations that he draws out into dense metaphors. Sometimes, his lyrics overpower his sparse guitar strumming to the point where he stops playing altogether. Hull performs several of his own songs interspersed with a few Manchester Orchestra songs thrown in for good measure. He closes his set strongly with a two-minute song that he describes as, “a story about my fictional girlfriend that cheated on me with a fictional douche bag,” which would have been heartbreaking if not for the prior explanation.

Hull is followed by Mike Kinsella, who records under the moniker Owen. Kinsella is better known as the drummer for Chicago emo pioneers Cap’n Jazz and the singer/guitarist of the short-lived yet hugely influential American Football. When a drunken fan obnoxiously screams out the name of the latter band seconds after the curtains open, Kinsella reservedly responds, “These are quiet songs, so you should probably shut the fuck up.” Kinsella stands in stark contrast to Hull, seated rather than standing, looking considerably more comfortable in his environment. He is far more involved with his guitar work, intricately finger picking the strings as though it were a harp.

The tone of Kinsella’s voice is just as delicate as his instrumentation, yet the subject matter of his songs are anything but. This style of music is usually reserved for sad, introspective songs, where the artist lyrically disembowels himself. However, Kinsella turns the focus of his songs outward, tearing down his subjects with bitter, caustic declarations, i.e. “Whatever it is you think you are, you aren’t.” He often pauses to retune or fast-forward through certain stretches of songs, but the audience is not bothered by these interruptions.

Kinsella has a dominant control over his performance, willing to indulge in anything he sees fit. He performs a seemingly improvised one-minute song about listening to the Cure’s “Boys Don’t Cry” in the car with his brother on the way home from their father’s funeral. He also entertains the idea of playing a Fugazi cover, even though he doesn’t know any Fugazi lyrics. At the end of his set, he tunes his guitar down to D and offers to play the guitar part if someone else will sing. With no takers in the audience, he says, “Yeah, I wouldn’t either. Thanks. Goodnight.”

The final act of the night is Kevin Devine, who lives right down the block from the Southpaw. This is a homecoming show for Devine, who led his entire family into the upper level of the club during Hull’s opening set. He begins alone, playing the first song from his latest record, Put Your Ghost to Rest, appropriately titled “Brooklyn Boy.” After this, he is joined by his Goddamn Band, making for a much fuller sound than the expected one man show. With an extra two guitars, bass, drums and keyboards, Devine plows through shiny, poppy tunes, with more “ba-ba-ba’s” and “do-do-do’s” than a Ben Gibbard campfire sing-along.

Though Owen and Andy Hull were able to hold the audience’s attention with their contracted individual performances, Devine and the Goddamn Band give the necessary energy boost that the show needed to keep going. Rather than a showcase for a performance, this feels much more like a birthday celebration for Devine. The audience is comprised entirely of his fans, friends, family or combinations of the three. This makes it difficult not to get enveloped in the excitement that the band creates.

This early show not only escaped the tiresome stereotype of a three-man acoustic performance, but culminated into an entirely appropriate conclusion to CMJ week.

[Photos from band MySpace page.]

Live Photos: Justice at Terminal 5 [10.20.07]

My CMJ 07 ended with a bang with Justice. By "bang," I mean dangerously high volume French electro blasted from freaking stacks of Marshall amps.

Live Review: Alberta Cross + The Felice Brothers at Bowery Presents Office [10.19.07]

I probably shouldn’t have left work two hours early on a day that was actually kind of busy, but I had the chance to share a cab ride across town towards the Bowery Presents office – a company expensed cab ride at that. There was a little CMJ happy hour party about to take place, and frankly, I felt like it was the perfect way to start redeeming myself for an extremely poor CMJ performance. Having been sick all week, I had only managed to see one or two bands each night; you know its bad when the first day of CMJ coincides with your birthday and you’re ending the night at 9:30 with a shot of Nyquil.

They had already started their brief acoustic set, but at first I could barely even hear Alberta Cross playing in the conference room. The place was hauntingly hushed. People sat crossed-legged on the floor circling the makeshift set up – a couple guitars, keys, and a garbage can plus Poland Spring water jug drum set. I immediately began to wilt as I listened to the opening notes of “Low Man” – honestly one of the most beautifully painful songs ever written. It destroys me. It gives meaning to the word heartstring. I realized I probably shouldn’t make a scene, but I felt like I could start crying any second. I eventually recovered from my full body chills as they launched into their last of four songs, “Old Man Chicago.” Pissed that I missed the first two, I was comforted by the thought of their 10pm set later that night. Part Neil Young, part My Morning Jacket, part just plain awesome, Alberta Cross are worth your time. The ballads are equally as good as the rockers, and it never hurts to have a song with your name in the title. I think I’m in love.

Against my better judgment I decided I may as well start drinking. Yeah, it’s only 5pm but I feel like celebrating the fact that I’m not at my desk. Having never before heard the Felice Brothers, I didn’t know whether to be excited or not. All bullshit aside, this was one of the best performances I’ve seen all year. It was real, it was raw, it was unbelievably fun. These guys know how to infect you with a good time – throw in an accordion and you’re good to go. A Friday afternoon hoedown on the LES. “C’mon white people, clap your hands!” they hollered. I never clap my hands in unison, but even I had to oblige.

Foot-stomping, raucous Americana born somewhere in the Catskills . . . I knew I couldn’t possibly be drunk after just one beverage - this band is seriously intoxicating. Half deranged and crazy-eyed, the percussionist actually frightened me into taking a step back. His eyes may be closed when he’s crooning, but put a stick in his hand and he’s off to the races – a wicked gaze, it penetrates. I can't imagine what the fuck those eyes have seen. He was stomping his foot so damn hard on the floor I couldn’t help but wonder if the offices below had been warned. They mentioned that they used to spend their days playing in subway stations, hence the admitted thrill of being above ground. The music is dirty, and to be honest, so were they. The room reeked of body odor, but in a way it was appropriate.

You never know what you’re missing most of the time until it is thrown in your face. True passion isn’t something you witness in music every day; the Felice Brothers have some weird light that manages to glow through the layer of dirt caked on their skin and sound. At times it was if the brothers were singing to one another – the fraternal bond was ever apparent. Three are actual blood brothers; they must have found the bassist (named Christmas?) somewhere along the way. I could picture them all seated around a campfire in the mountains singing tunes for the sheer pleasure of hearing each other’s voices. Young as they may be, it seemed like they have been through so much together. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so close to the musicians I was watching; the whole event was intimate in the truest sense of the word.

Live Photos: HEALTH at Knitting Factory [10.19.07]

Besides that one scenster, bandanna around the neck, sporting freaking humongous sunglasses (why?! nighttime? indoors? dark club?!), the one thing that was unnerving from last night's show at the Knitting Factory's Tap Bar was a conversation overheard. Two lanky individuals professed to the guitarist setting up his gear- "Yoooo, L.A. is SO COOL, we want to move there!" Then again, I wouldn't be surprised if HEALTH, who rocked phenomenally with their synth-tinged noise and cultish chants, incite an exodus to their home town.

In and Out: CMJ Panels

While most CMJ-ers in the 21-30 demographic are still in the process of nursing their hangovers, the collegiate and has-been (>38) demographics are at the Kimmel center, attending CMJ panels. I admittedly missed a handful of panels this week due to the aforementioned "slow mornings," but I was able to catch a few. Of them was "Stagediving 101," with guest speaker Peter Criss (kitty-cat drummer) of KISS and Eric Davidson of New Bomb Turks.



Here is a listed summary of what I learned at this and all other panels throughout the week:

Never take to heart the things people in bands and the music industry advise you to do.

No Q&A questions at the panels were ever in the form of a proper question.

People asking "questions" have an urge to lecture to the rest of the audience.

All but one of the questions were asked by men.

Even with auspicious panelists such as Wilson Rothman of Gizmodo and Mark McClusky of Wired magazine, a panel can veer off-topic and flop.

Techie nerds should not publicly discuss label politics.

There is really no need for anyone over 21 to attend panels.

The MuseBox panelist was a stone fox. Call me?

I would absolutely love to host a panel next year, and rather than talk, shoot pennies from my sleeves a la Gob in Arrested Development.

Live Photos: Dan Deacon, Cult Leader [10.17.07]

Dan Deacon predictably opts for the floor over the stage at Bowery Ballroom:

Live Review: The Pogues at the Fenix, Seattle [10/17/2007]

The first Pogues song I ever heard was "The Old Main Drag" when I was 12; I was immediately hooked on the crass, vivid imagery of the seedy streets of London. While my interest level has waxed and waned over the years, they have always been close to my heart, and Rum, Sodomy and the Lash has remained on my top 10 albums of all time. I have seen Shane MacGowan play with the Popes on multiple occasions, but I had never gotten to see the Pogues live until this last Wednesday night, October 17th, at the Fenix in Seattle. I am not usually one to shell out 60$ for a ticket, let alone take a day off work and drive 3 hours there and 3 hours back, but I felt my fandom of the Pogues was worthy of the effort.

The set list was great -- they catered to the loyal, opening with a raucous "Streams of Whiskey", and playing some of their lesser-known songs like "Kitty", "The Body of an American" and "Star of the County Down". I was bummed that they didn't play "The Old Main Drag", but my disappointment was appeased by "Sickbed of Cuchulainn" and "A Pair of Brown Eyes." The room sounded really good, with an excellent stage and a great crowd.

However, taking my adoring-fan-colored glasses off for a second, while the band was tight as hell, Shane MacGowan was a mess. Some years ago, he broke his nose when he fell off a bar stool and hit his face on the bar, and his singing has just not been the same; rather than being charmingly slurred, it's all nasally and downright unintelligible. He was drunk as per usual, but also out of breath and missed parts regularly. As a Pogues fan, I am willing to accept this as just Shane being Shane, but as someone who paid 60$ for a ticket and drove 6 hours, I felt like it was a marginal performance at best. I felt sorry for the band because they sounded great and it was obvious that they had prepared well for the tour. I can only imagine the frustrations of Spider Stacy and the rest of the Pogues at having to re-enact "Weekend at Bernie's" with Shane night after night.

[Photos By Mandy Becker]

Live Photos: Wednesday Wrap-up

I'm rushing out to catch some panels...more words and reviews coming when I can spend QT with the interweb. Meanwhile, don't forget to keep real-time tabs on Loose Record's whereabouts on Twitter!

Le Loup @Knitting Factory

1990s @Bowery Ballroom

Islands @Highline Ballroom

[Photos by Mina K]

In and Out: Thank You For Smoking

Deerhunter frontman Bradford Cox, everybody. Sucking on a cigarette during encore onstage at the Bowery Ballroom last night, as he mysteriously became more and more unhinged. My question is, did anyone see him pop a pill during the performance? Because I call bullshit on the drugged madman act, as much as it made me chuckle.

Regardless, thank you Brendan for breaking the law in the name of rock and roll.

CMJ Day 2 Wrap: Sound and Fury Signifying Nothing

Trying to gameplan my line-up for Wednesday night was almost impossible. Not only was I criminally hungover from Voxtrot the night before but there really is too much shit going on. Too many venues, too many bands, as we'll see, too much documentation. It's just too much. But, you can either fight CMJ or you can roll with the crowd so we hit The Delancey for one of the more impressive line-ups of the evening.

It's just after 9PM and Cut Off Your Hands is ripping through a set of post-punk brit-rock that would make you think of Bloc Party 2004 or The Wombats EPs of the last calender year. Twitchy, down-stroke guitar riffs and syrupy background vocals give this band a sound that will find an audience. The Delancey is buying it as their lead singer grabs hold of a drainpipe and swings his body out over the crowd. A photographer makes a face as he is pushed into a wall by this brief moment of rockstar posturing. After all, why get a picture of the most electric moment of the night when you could just be annoyed by it?

Cut Off Your Hands finish their set and sit leaning against the wall on stage. The guitarist mouths "I am so fucking tired" as their handler informs them he's just booked another late night showcase. It's 10pm and they've already played two shows. Presumably, they accept. You don't come all this way to turn down things that have "late night" and "showcase" involved in their name.

Soon enough, Foreign Born is hitting the stage and, at first, they are completely underwhelming. This is what all the LA kids talk about? This shit? But they build. And after a massive, Pete Townshend-inspired leg kick from their lead singer, the band takes off. The energy and the set builds to a fever pitch and the crowd is on board. This is what you come to see and by the time they're closing with "Union Hall," we're sorry it's over.

Between set changes, the girls who have been eyeing us find a reason to come over and talk. It's not entirely unwelcome but the ear-burning volume of the between-set-music makes anything approaching flirting impossible. We can be charming as hell but in the land of jet-engine French-techno, our words are useless. As we tread water and say "I'm sorry, I just can't hear you," Mina K shows up and adds a touch of class to the whole affair. Nothing makes you feel worse about flirting with 2007 college graduates than when your editor shows up to keep you in line.

Oh No! Oh My! goes on just after 11. I would love to say I'm enjoying watching the set but the flash-bulbs popping in front of me make it look like a Japanese morning cartoon. Am I about to have a seizure? How many photographs do you need? Mina takes care of her photo duties in about two songs and heads for the door. These other photographers can't stop. Oh No! Oh My! is not exactly the most animated live band and it's hard to tell why each of these shooters needs to get 75 pictures of the same thing. The lead singer isn't spitting beer at us. No one is doing anything particularly memorable. In fact, the venue is hardly packed. Why then are there 6-7 photographers dominating the front row and absolutely ruining the show with egregious flash offensives and ridiculous posing? Just how much coverage of this little band do we need?

This is all part of CMJ. I see at least three kids with notebooks, "covering" the show for someone. These photographers are getting shouted at by the crowd to "stop with the fucking flash." Can we just enjoy this moment without being so concerned about documenting it forever? And I am a part of that. This website is a part of the complete over-documentation of CMJ. But, we slam margeritas not push people out of the way to get "the perfect shot."

The challenge goes out: if you see one LooseRecord staffer ruining your concert experience, call them out. We will publically apologize. I promise, we bring way more fun than we cost. Something the photographers at The Delancey could learn a little something about.

[Photos by Mina K - No flash bulbs were used in the making of this post.]

Live Review: Ravens & Chimes at Fontanas [10.16.07]”

If you are an avid Loose Record follower (and by now, who isn’t?) you may remember that awhile back I heaped some well-deserved praise upon a little band, fronted by our very own Asher Lack, called Lost at Sea. A few things have changed for the band since the innocent days of spring 2006 – they now have a new name, new record, new band members, and well...I guess Asher still has the same haircut, though I’m sure he was wearing some new shoes or something.

Luckily, the main thing that has not changed for the band is their winning blend of grand instrumentations along with a healthy amount of toe-tapping indie pop goodness to balance out lyrics which tend to lean toward the melancholy side of the emotional spectrum.

During the show, Asher pointed out that the day marked the one-week anniversary of the release of Ravens & Chimes' debut album Reichenbach Falls (Better Looking Records). “It’s like a high school relationship”, he deadpanned. “Tomorrow I’ll buy it flowers and take it to see Superbad”. Springing for flowers on a one-week anniversary? Man, Asher must have been an excellent high school boyfriend. I think mine might have given me a can of soda to mark the occasion...?

Joking aside, the band certainly has a right to celebrate – Reichenbach Falls is a beautiful record, and though they’ve garnered comparisons to Wolf Parade, Bright Eyes, the Decemberists and the Arcade Fire (all good things); their sound comes across as distinct and fresh. Isn’t this why the CMJ Festival exists...to watch as bands come into their own? Sure, I love a good indie star-studded showcase, but I think the real treat lies in those moments spent watching as a spiffily-dressed band gives it their all on a small basement stage somewhere in Manhattan. I thought the band did a great job of translating the slow build and crescendo crashes of album opener “This is Where We Are” for the stage, and the urgency behind keyboard-driven “General Lafayette! You Are Not Alone!” was pretty much undeniably appealing.

I’ve been lucky enough to watch the band evolve over the years, and as I watched the group perform their final number (a rousing cover of Leonard Cohen’s “So Long Marianne”) it was nice to know that in the audience at Fontana’s that night, a whole new group of music fans got a chance to discover Ravens & Chimes for the first time.


[Photos by Mina K]

Live Photos: Tuesday Wrap-up

I saw some other bands on Tuesday.

Oppenheimer @Crash Mansion




The Press @Delancey

Review: Architecture in Helsinki at Studio B [10/12/07]

Lo-Fi Fnk opened for the Helsinki and they just went for whatever crazy aesthetic that was driving them. It was really like a stereotype exploded all over them, super short shorts, visors on sideways, and a synth drum kit. I had trouble believing this wasn't ironic, but their sincere, practically shy stage presence really had me believing they are trapped inside some kind of Fresh prince time warp. I know there are a ton of people trying to pull this off, but I really believed these guys. I haven't heard more than a 7" of their material which they played at the end of their set so I was happy.

I hadn't listened to much Architecture before going to see them at Studio B, but the things I liked on Fingers Crossed was the falsetto whispered vocals and crazy layers of percussion sounds. Like Radiohead's In Rainbows, there is so much to hear, with headphones, or without, the instrumentation is amazing, like a more organic sounding electronica project. Sadly none of that made it to the live set. I can't imagine the mixing nightmare of cables when 8 people playing multiple instruments take the stage but every other band I've seen there has been fine. Maybe the Greenpoint dance club wasn't up for the challenge this night.

I don't know how I missed they were Australian, which was obvious the minute Cameron started talking to the crowd, and he asked if anyone was Polish. A few claps. Apparently they just had a few perogies down the street before the show, and were shouting out Brooklyn neighborhoods. Anybody from Bushwick? Alright. Barely room to stand, members were swapping guitars and keyboards before the next song.

An ensemble this size is a tricky thing, it can elevate the music to something mind blowing or become a diluted sound nightmare. Architecture in Helsinki was somewhere in between, the few moments where everything connected were sparse but it wasn't for lack of musicianship, they obviously were working on this Zappa, captain Beefheart level. It just felt like there wasn't any heart in it, I was looking for the really inspired moments, it could be too early for the new album tour. It was a rehearsed show and the bass heavy sound wasn't helping the subtle-ness of their music.-

The new album has plenty of catchy tracks, and all of them were hit on including "Heart it Races" which they rocked out at the end of the set, still it didn't seem enough for anyone to stick around and even see if there would be an obligatory encore.... Studio B completely cleared out after the last note.

[Photos by Lizbeth Santos]

CMJ Day 1: Once More Into The Breach, Dear Friends

It is 7pm on Stanton St. and already inappropriate things are happening. To my left there is a band, we presume, leaning against the wall outside Arlene's Grocery. Someone has stuck a camera in their face and is interviewing them about their record. No one seems to notice as their lead singer runs through some rock-platitudes and the rest of the band puts on their best Casablancas pose. No one actually seems to care at all. I put on my Gucci sunglasses and mock them openly. Absurd? Absolutely. It's CMJ, people - and this cluster-fuck is just beginning.

Downstairs in Arlene's Mixtapes and Cellmates are in the middle of their set. The crowd has horse-shoe'd around the back of the room, leaving a huge space in the front near the stage. This is classic New York bullshit. Kids from Sweden travel all this way to get crossed-arms, vacant stares, and "we've seen all this before" attitude. We push to the front and some of the crowd comes with us, or maybe they just can't see past our heads. Either way.

Mixtapes and Cellmates sound like a hybrid of The Shout Out Louds and The Postal Service. We joke, "It's the Shout Out Service" as processed beats from an iPod form the backing of every song. They have a female bassist who will, after their set, open-mouth kiss a man who we can only assume is her boyfriend. She has a wonderful voice and they don't really allow her to sing. The real lead-singer is doing a rip-off Alex Kapranos routine and then the mic-stand collapses and he has to bend over to keep singing. The sound guy fixes it with an attitude that says, "yes, this is my job but I don't have to like you or your music." Soon enough the set is over and Mixtapes will head to Milan for a show next week. One CMJ show might be just enough.

The Teenage Prayers hit the stage with all the energy of an over-sized sound-check. They have six members and this is turning into the set-change nightmare of the year. If I hear, "can I have some more (fill in the blank instrument) in the monitors" I am going to throw up everywhere. And that has nothing with the margarita and the beer churning through my brain. It is 8.15pm and I need to watch the Red Sox. The night is full of hope.
Four pint glasses of tequila, triple sec, and lime mixed with the Red Sox getting their faces kicked in and we're headed to the Bowery. We hear that they're not accepting badges which is, in its own way, completely bullshit. After some wrangling, we're in just in time for another two rounds of beers and Voxtrot's sound check. We've missed about five bands but it probably doesn't matter.

Voxtrot sounds great. I've seen them before but mostly in small clubs and bars. The sound was never good and mostly, the show was fun because their EPs were so strong and created so much buzz. I could never really picture them in a venue like The Bowery Ballroom without thinking how empty it would sound. Well, they've evolved. It was like they moved into a big apartment without enough furniture. They were playing big venues but didn't have the sound to fill it. So, they bought a couch. The arrangements are tight and explode in and out of chorus and verse. The drums sound great and frankly, this is making me like their full-length record which, previously, I had completely written off. They play no encore but allow the crowd to choose the last song. "We" choose "Start of Something" which is just fine but does reveal the ways their song-writing has shifted. We're not dealing with your father's Voxtrot. This band is re-energized, hungry and sound like they could blow the pavement of Delancey St.

And just like that we wrap Day One: A band from Sweden, a band with too many members, a baseball team with not enough heart, and Voxtrot, a band who have tasted both sides of the media's love and hate - and still play on. Let's do this thing, New York.

[Photos by Mina K]

In and Out: Twitter me this, CMJ.

Loose Record NYC is all over this CMJ shit. Last night alone I saw Geoff, Alena, Xtina, and Asher out and about (and in Asher's case, fronting a band!).

A colleague of mine snorts in disgust at Twitter, labeling it one of
the "grossest forms of exhibitionism on the internet." Despite this, I
believe there is value in this little piece of innovation. In my
search for understanding (and the fountain of youth), I hereby resolve
to Twitter my way through CMJ Week 2007 (Oct 16-20). If you so choose,
you can tune into my joys, gripes, hungry spells, and unrelated
thoughts as I wade through panel discussions (with Peter Criss of
KISS!), band showcases, and parties.

Loose Record Twitters CMJ Week 2007

Please bookmark Loose Record's Twitter page or add LR to your own
feeds if you already have an account. (my personal Twitter is on hold
until CMJ ends.)

p.s. - What the heck is Twitter? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Twitter

Our Bad: Adventures in Fact-Checking or What Happens When You Write Things At Your Day Job

Last week was all about this big Radiohead excitement and we, yes we, broke a story to you about how much Radiohead possibly cleared in the process. We cited a number of 1.2 million albums (which we still stand behind) and quoted a London Times poll that put the average price-paid at eight dollars (which we still stand behind). We also quoted a figure of 9.6 million dollars - the natural extension of multiplying the previous two numbers (college proves worth the price). We also stand behind this figure until new information is revealed or until our sources tell us otherwise. This was a breaking story and for the most part, we (and by "we," I mean, "I") absolutely nailed it. And before anyone else.

Now, to paraphrase an early Daily Show promo - when news breaks, sometimes things get broken. For the sake of comparison, I used Kanye West's huge selling record, Graduation for a bellwether. Just how important is Radiohead for selling 1.2 million albums? Well, I quoted Kanye's sales figures at just shy of 900,000. That was correct ... but only for US domestic sales. I did not factor in that Radiohead 1.2m sold to a world-wide audience and that Kanye's figures world-wide were most likely larger. I said that Radiohead had managed to trump the largest selling record this year by a factor of 300,000. Well, that just wasn't true. World-wide, Kanye sold more records in his opening week. Those are the facts and I got them wrong.

The point I was trying to make was that, despite minor overhead and no infrastructure, Radiohead sold an absolute landslide of albums and would clear more cash as a result. I should have kept my argument to money and not absolute album sales. Even if Kanye sold 4 million albums, Radiohead still stood to make off with more revenue - a result of no record label, no physical production of a CD, and almost no marketing or promotional costs. The post was about cash - not sales. For my digression, lack of focus, and shotgun fact-checking I apologize.

People at Atlantic Records, good eyes and thanks for reading. Island/Def Jam, we still love your shit. Hold me down or hold me up. Peas.

Review: Control Film Forum - [playing through Tues Oct 23rd]

Joy Division was the beginning of post punk. They were everything the Sex pistols and their fashion conscious knock-offs weren't. They rejected these punk trappings and payed attention to the music only by default wearing work shirts and ties. It's impossible to imagine what Unknown Pleasures must have sounded like in the late seventies, there was nothing like it.

The director of the new Joy Division movie Control, Anton Corbijn, moved to England because of Joy Division in 1979. He quickly befriended the band and photographed them on the set of the 'Love will tear us apart' video. He would later go on to shoot iconic photos of the band used on everything from bootleg singles to t-shirts. This is the best possible person with real life experience of these events of this now mythical band to capture accurately. There are posters of Ian's music heroes hanging in his bedroom and later at clubs, hinting at subtle influences and contemporaries, but the majority of the environments are stark. I'm sure this was in part reflecting the bleakness of England with it's 1984-esque government housing, but it also allowed you to not be distracted by anything and watch Sam Riley and Samantha Morton fall apart as Ian and Deborah Curtis.

The problem with so many music biopics is they tend to want to clue the audience in to the bands genius. June Carter must have been so angry she told Johnny Cash to go burn in a ring of fire or something equally as ridiculous. It's never that easy, and it just insults the audience. I don't think there is ever that direct of a connection, it always feels forced for the sake of a story arc. To wrap up their life nicely, they got off the drugs and turned things around triumphantly. Ian Curtis ended his Behind the Music right at the beginning of the climb to stardom. Control doesn't follow those music movie stereotypes. They don't go for the contrived 'aha' moments and it doesn't try to nicely tie everything up and over explain the reasons for his suicide, or play Dead Souls while he walks along the beach in the rain at night. I don't think their genius can be summed up in an hour and a half, the combination of their original sound and Ian Curtis' lyrics, it's nothing that could have been predicted, their sound continuing to remain relevant.

The really incredible part is the authenticity of the live performances. Anton was very specific with actor Sam in reenacting Ian's trademark flailing dance moves, having been present at numerous shows from that time period. It feels more real than actual footage of those shows. The actors tested themselves playing as the band in front of hundreds of Joy Division super fan extras for numerous scenes. They learned the songs and played them to the approval of their real counterparts who were heavily involved with the film, as well as Ian's wife and girlfriend. The actors playing live captured why these songs were groundbreaking and are still exciting...down to Ian's dead on vocals. It's during these performances that are meant for the theater. Sitting with an audience in the dark and watching Joy Division, it's as close as I'll get to seeing them live. I had to refrain from head bobbing a few times.

The key to some of the movies success may lie in all of the people involved. His wife, girlfriend, all of the band, Joy Division producer Tony Wilson, all added their side to the interpretation of events, you get all of those details from all sides, what was happening while on tour and back at home. But it's not distorted by a singular vision, from the director or Ian's widow who wrote the book the film was based on; Touching from a distance. I don't think that can be said for most films which inevitably suffer from everyone's input on a project. Here they serve to create an impression of Ian and events, the facts are corroborated and the rest is left up to the audience, who all have a personal relationship to the music, it was the best choice not to spell it out for fans who have been creating their own myth the last 20 years.

I have very little bad to say, it's perfect for the Joy Division fan, that may be it's only drawback, I don't know how much the typical movie goer will take away from it unfamiliar with the genius that is Joy Division. But then again their music isn't for everyone either and I'm ok with that.

Live Review: The National at Terminal 5 [10.11.07]

The paint was still drying at the Bowery Presents’ newest music venue Terminal 5 as a sold out crowd made their way inside the massive midtown space to witness The National play the inaugural show. Signs posted around the club encouraged us to explore the three floors, and boasted "bars and restrooms on every level!" Despite the clubs’ classy chandeliers and lounge areas filled with brown leather couches, perhaps my companion put it best when he said, “this place looks like a club where a murder would take place in a bad 80’s movie.” I had to agree. Maybe it was all the blue lights?

When the band took the stage, singer Matt Berninger commented that it was nice to play the first show at the new space because “you guys are judging this place more than us.” Not that he has anything to worry about- the groups’ most recent record, Boxer, presents some of the most refined and bracingly effective melancholy rock anthems that the group have ever composed, and has rightfully been abundantly praised.

The National, composed of Berninger, along with brothers Aaron & Bryce Dessner and Scott & Bryan Devendorf (and Clogs’ violinist Padma Newsome at this show) opened the set with “Start a War”, singing “We expected something/something better than before/we expected something more.” From my spot in the crowd, as I looked around at the cavernous space above me, constantly distracted by white noise from revelers in the multiple bar/lounge areas humming in the background, I knew what he was talking about. I expected something more too.

That’s not to say that the National didn’t put on an excellent show, as usual, and despite my disappointment in the venue, songs like “Slow Show” and “Ada” still drew me in to their messy narratives (“this is a song about social anxiety”, Berninger told us of the latter). After all of his down-trodden lyrics, it does feel like something of a triumph to witness Berninger twist his mouth into a playful smile, and he, along with the rest of the band, did seem very humble and excited to be playing for the large, enthusiastic crowd. Funny that I had him pegged as a jerk after the lyric from 2005's Alligator, “Karen/put me in a chair/fuck me and make me a drink”. He’s more than redeemed himself in my eyes with the exquisite songs on Boxer ( even the trumpet and trombone-fueled instrumental climax on the haunting “Fake Empire" alone), and he doesn't seem to be ordering girls around anymore either, according to the lovely “Gospel” – “hang your holiday rainbow lights in the garden/ and I’ll bring a nice icy drink to you”.

Coming back for their encore, Berninger kept his word and did in fact bring a nice icy drink for us, popping the cork on a bottle of champagne and wishing Terminal 5 a happy birthday. After ceremoniously spilling some bubbly onto the stage, he handed the rest of the bottle down into the crowd for some lucky audience members to imbibe.

I really couldn’t think of a better band to christen Terminal 5, (heck, I’d go see the National inaugurate a parking lot), but in my fantasy world, the band will stick to playing cozier spaces in the future.



[Photos by Mucow via Flickr]

Live Review: Peter Adams @ Piano's 10.11.07

Playing in the 7 o'clock slot at Piano's on a Thursday is kind of like doing stand-up comedy at a dinner party or holding a political rally at a Burger King. You're not sure how many people will be listening and frankly, even though it's a good opportunity, it could turn into a total fucking disaster. That is, of course, unless you can pull a decent crowd of your own people, throw some strangers in the mix and manage to win everyone over and come out looking like you own the place.

Peter Adams may now have partial deed to the backroom at Piano's. He stared situational obstacles (playing early, being an out-of-market musician) in the face and didn't blink. Now, Peter Adams does not play the kind of music that lays a room flat on sheer volume or power. In fact, this was one of the few New York shows I can remember where the frontman never lost hold of his acoustic guitar. Primarily, the night was a success based on the richness of the live arrangements and the accurate audible translation from recording to stage. From the cello, to the violin, to the keyboard, to the chimes, and of course both electric and acoustic guitars Adams and his band of five made 35 minutes of beautiful music.

Adams, himself, is an onstage enigma. He holds his guitar more than like an executioner's AK-47 than a musician's tool. The body is held high and tight in his right arm-pit and the neck is aimed downward to his left, almost at a 45-degree angle. It seems like every chord change could easily result in bullets flying from the head and laying waste to everyone in the front row. Luckily, Peter Adams has much more peaceful ideas on his mind and he motors through a set, primarily composed of songs off his precocious first album, The Spiral Eyes. He periodically looks over at his guitarist, or at the kid manning the stand-up bass as if to say, "well, these are my songs but you guys are doing a pretty good job." There is quiet respect and chemistry between Adams and his band, like that of the introverted ring-leader and his multi-instrumental circus.

The night closes and soon there is another band trying to hold fans in an early time slot. They are less than successful, offering further proof of Adams' ability to pull a crowd, keep them nodding along and, eventually, exchanging cash for CDs. For a first show in New York, that's not half bad.

Peter Adams is playing a second show tonight at 9pm at Arlene's Grocery. Some of the Loose family will be there and this young musician comes with the highest recommendation.

Preview: O'Death at Death by Audio [Brooklyn, NY, 10.15.07]

I have been hearing for months about O'Death and their live show. I have been missing for months all of their live shows in Brooklyn. Well that's going to change this Monday, October 15th.

They are playing O'Death By Audio, a drop ceiling tiled office space with a stage at one end at 49 South 2nd Street between Wythe & Kent. It won't matter that the sound can sometimes suck there because O'Death comes complete with their own acoustic power. This is a mystical band from a forgotten time where people would get together on the back porch with some bathtub gin and play for themselves and friends until the sun came up. Eventually they loved music so much that they came up with a name for themselves and quit working for the man at the county store.

They love this bluegrass/hillbilly/barn stomping hootenanny mishmash as much as you will, and really that's what makes brooklyn and indie rock great in general. Play under the hipster flag if you want to. It's like the nerd table in the lunchroom...we're the only place that isn't going to kick you out.

They are just about to kick off a european tour in Ireland, and won't be back in town until christmas, so if you are going to see them, this is it. It starts at 8PM and is 7$. So cheap.

Radiohead Clear 9.6 Million Dollars

Radiohead's In Rainbows sold 1.2 million copies before the site hosting the "pay what you want" downloads crashed according to band management. A London Times poll says people elected to pay an average of four pounds or roughly eight dollars per album. After some quick calculations you end up with a figure of 9.6 million dollars in cash. We can presume the site will be back up and more records will be sold and more money will roll in.

The crazy thing is, this isn't even the real album. It's a 160kbps mp3 download. It's low quality set of zeros and ones. The real album, the physical CD with full album art, comes out sometime after the first of the year. We can imagine this will go to number one.

To put this in perspective, Kanye West sold close to 900,000 albums and was, by a factor of 250,000, the biggest opening week album of the year. Radiohead cleared him by another 300,000 copies on top of that. But Kanye has to pay for publishing, distribution, label fees, and the physical production of a CD. Profit margins on CDs are approximately 35-40%. Meaning, Kanye receives some fraction of the 35-40% that his record label clears on his album. Radiohead is label-free, doesn't have to pay for the production of a physical CD, and took in 9.6 million dollars in revenue. And with the shitty website they're using to host the downloads, they can't possibly have a ton of overhead. This is straight profit.

Radiohead has successfully restructured the idea of a "leak" and a digital release. Instead of trying to fight a digital leak of the record, they leaked it themselves. And didn't force anyone to pay anything for it. It was a free album that