Shows, Shows, Shows

Not too much time to write this week, but so far shows have included:

1). Fuzzy Cloaks, Bosco Delrey, The Pharmacy, The Puppies & Japanther: Shea Stadium

2). The Babies: The Clocktower Gallery

There are also scads tonight, so we’ll see what happens…

1). Miracles of Modern Science: The Mercury Lounge

2). Pictureplane & Class Actress: 285 Kent

3). Dustin Wong: Glasslands Gallery

Image: The Babies playing in front of “Paris, Texas”

Sorta on Trax

Soooo, my mission hasn’t been going super well. Managed to go to one show this week (partially for work). Aim to go to at least 2 next week: So So Glos at Glasslands on the 26th, Bosco Delrey at Shea on the 28th. In the meantime, you can read about the Pandora/Portugal. The Man show below. Oh, and the girl I mention with the pick gave me one as well. Yay, trinkets!

A white-shirted dude hugs his own torso in ecstasy then busts out a truly inspired range of air instruments (guitar, drums, even keyboards), finishing his one-man band act by taking the role of the lead singer, turning toward the rest of the crowd, biting his lip and nodding his head with barely contained pride. A tiny, dance-sweat-drenched girl accepts a bottle of water from the bassist (a discarded pick already in her pocket) and claps her hands under her chin with rapture. She turns to her skinny, tattooed friend, who sighs, “Man, I just want to hug that Tim guy.” Nope, they’re not talking about any member of the band before them, but Timothy Westergren, co-founder of Pandora.
 

Tuesday night, Pandora Radio held the second in its series of Pandora Presents live shows, an intimate concert at New York’s Bowery Ballroom featuring Portland, Oregon (by way of Alaska), band Portugal. The Man. The show — packed wall-to-wall with fans like those described above — was indicative of the potential Pandora has to both help fans connect with their favorite acts (and discover new favorites), as well as furnish enthusiastic concert-goers for up-and-coming and established musicians alike.

Pandora launched Pandora Presents back in December in Portland, Oregon, with the band Dawes — a favorite in that city. Pandora uses its listener data (likes, channels created, etc) to decide which bands fans in a certain geographical location are into, then invites those bands to play in that city. Pandora then invites fans who have shown a dedication to that band (those who created the channels, etc) to a small show — free of charge. The whole thing is filmed and posted on a dedicated video hub.

“One of the founding missions of the company is making a difference for working musicians,” Pandora founder Tim Westergren told the O Music Blog minutes after getting off a plane and high-tailing it to the venue. “We have a really valuable asset, which is a huge audience, an understanding of the kind of music that they like, their general geographic location and the ability to communicate with them.”

The success of Pandora’s formula for choosing bands was extremely evident at last night’s show. The majority of the audience — from the rafters to the walls — was engaged in the event (even those dudes who showed their intense ardor by repeatedly screaming, “That’s a bitching sweater, John!” at leader singer John Gourley were committed to their sartorial cause).

Granted, every band’s core audience is a little different — some fans wear face paint and mosh, some fans show their appreciation by standing stoically, arms crossed — but the uniform enjoyment was evident in a way not often seen at your average show. Absent was the girl/boyfriend who was dragged to the concert, fiddling with his/her phone, as well as other bored archetypes. Why? Because Pandora made sure — using its data — that the band in question had a sufficient New York fanbase.

According to Westergren, the concert series is anything but mini. They have the next few months blocked out already, and they don’t intend to only book bands at the level of Portugal. The Man, who are signed to Atlantic Records. In fact, he admits that the idea is only in an experimental phase at the moment.

Pandora hopes to turn this series into a much broader deal, helping smaller bands find their way as well. He didn’t wholly sketch out how such a undertaking would work, but we can see a program that provides artists with data detailing where their music is most popular being extremely useful.

Imagine being able to plan a tour not based on where you can find couches to surf, but based on how many people are actually listening to your music and in which towns. That seems a much more efficient way to further one’s career — without losing a ton of cash touring in towns where only the bartender stays to watch you play.

“It’s a poor analogy, but in golf there’s something called a Nike Tour, which is like a farm system for golfers trying to become professional golfers,” Westergren told us as the crowd below began to filter into the venue. “There’s no similar thing for musicians. And I would love to think we could be the kind of farm system for artists to make that jump.”

In remains to be seen in what ways Pandora Live will manifest in the future, but there is promise in the idea — even if that promise is just providing that air instrument dude with another venue for his next performance.

Trippple Nippples X2, Yo!

So remember how I said I was going to go to 30 shows in 30 days? Yeah, rapidly realized that that was not feasible if, 1). I wanted to keep my job, 2). Have a social life including people who do not like sweaty DIY venues that smell like sage-laced marijuana (I know, what kind of friends are THOSE?), 3). Keep my other resolution to be healthy and whatever.

Still, I did preeettty well for my first week out of the gate, racking up a total of three, count ‘em, THREE, shows attended between last Thursday and this. First, I hit up Glasslands to see Julian Lynch and Amy Klein (formerly of Titus Andronicus). Sadly, I missed Amy (and all the opening acts), as catching up with post-vacation friends was in order.

We ambled in just time to see Lynch, his name still boldly uncrossed-off on the setlist, and crammed ourselves somewhere in the back behind the rest of the herd of pre-NYE concertgoers. I blame the massive crowd on OhMyRockness, who I believe dubbed that show “the best show going on between today and tomorrow,” or something.

When it came to Lynch’s music, it just wasn’t my jam. I mean, it definitely was a jam (in that the assemblage on stage sounded like an indie jam band), but when it comes to super instrumental-laden sections and whatnot, my brain just kind of shuts off. I have ADD that way. Throw in a catchy sound effect (like, a well-executed one — not whatever’s going on that new Scissor Sisters song) and you’ve got me. Toss in some reggae or doo-wop and you have my attention. Take off your pants and start sexing up the guitar, and, hey, I’m listening. But, yeah, no, long, looping instrumentals are like cuddling — some people crave it, some people don’t (and I like to build a pillow/blanket fort and hide from the cruel, cruel world — get outta my double).

NYE saw my second show of the week — well, I guess it was more New Year’s Day than Eve. 285 Kent announced a 3am “afterparty” with Trippple Nippples and the Shea Stadium DJs, and I immediately started preaching the virtues of “pacing yourself” to my friends so that we could make it past midnight. 

By 3am, I was rendered a lame old sober person (replete with crackling 27-year-old bones), fed up with underage revelers and belligerent girls who “Just wanted to make out with SOMEONE! This is gonna set the tone for MY ENTIRE YEAR! Where is my confetti- and fireworks-laced dream boy?!” Still, I soldiered on to 285 Kent, and threw myself into a sea of 15-year-old blasted babies bobbing to the screams of Yuka and Co. I was having a wonderful time, until some chick bashed into me, muttered something akin to, “Sorry, that guy ran into me,” glared into my impassive face, and screamed, “You’re a bitch. You’re a FUCKING bitch! You’re SUCH A FUCKING BITCH!” At this juncture, the 4am New Year’s malaise (tempered with a good degree of temper) kicked in and I kicked off.

Saddened as I was to miss the various and sundry Nippples I accepted my friend Xavier’s invite to catch them again at Brooklyn’s Shea Stadium (the music venue, not the sports-games field). It was there, perched precariously on a leather spinny chair, hair wreathed in the aforementioned herbed-herb smoke, hand clutching a drink that was 8 parts whiskey and 2 parts ginger-ice, that I finally got to see the nearly naked Toyko pixies baring their teeth and poppishly keening into the assemblage, who cradled the lead singer in the most mummy-like of crowdsurfing embraces. The show was truly solid, and no one called me a bitch, so I’m going to go ahead and give it myriad thumbs up. Or Nippples.

Four Songs About Dumpster Diving

Dumpster diving is definitely a trend (or was, you know how trends go) IRL, but did you know that it’s also the theme of many ‘a song? OK, like, four songs — that I could find today. I’m guessing there are more. In the meantime, though, here are a quartet of tunes about digging in the dirt.

“Dumpster Dive,” by the Black Lips

In an interview with Spin, Cole Alexander of the Black Lips divulged:  ”I’ve had great fortune dumpster diving…. One time, after the September 11 attacks, we were dumpster diving and found five boxes of urinal pads—you know, the ones in public toilets—with stickers of Osama Bin Laden’s face on them. We gave them away at shows. But they weren’t that well thought out. When you peed the sticker stopped the hole in the toilet, so the pee would splash back on you. It was almost like Osama Bin Laden was spraying piss at you from his mouth. I love dumpster diving. It’s one of my passions.”

Like many passions — women, drinking, tractors — Alexander’s favored pastime made it into a song, one that provides the perfect soundtrack for your next dumpster pool party.

“Archebold Ivy,” Bosco Delrey

I had a pretty hard time finding the lyrics to this jam online (translation: I could not find the lyrics to this jam online), but I do know that it’s about some dude named Archebold Ivy who, while he likes dumpster diving, does not like Bosco Delrey (or whoever the protagonist in the song is).

Either way, this song is rad. It sounds like the kind of song a band containing a rockabilly Devendra Banhart and the backwards-talking dwarf in Twin Peaks would be produce.

“Dumpster,” Ekoostik Hookah

An instrumental ode to trash receptacles. 

“Dumpster Diving,” Castledoor

Did you hear about the latest BK DIY venue? No, not that one. That one’s already been raided. This one is air-tight, man. Like, literally. And SUPER limited-capacity. I hear Lana Del Rey is playing a secret show there this Tuesday at 4 a.m. 

30-Day Show Challenge

My first show (real show, not over-the-hill-swing-band-playing-in-the-park deal) was the Kaiser Chiefs. OK Go opened for them. They did one of their dance routines and Tim Nordwind gave my friend a DVD featuring the band dancing in their backyard.

This was around 2004. I was, oh, 20? That’s right, I was a late-bloomer when it came to attending live music (and engaging in normal social interactions and whatnot). 

Granted, I had a lot of obstacles in my path: 1). I lived in Mystic, CT, where most people spent their days fondling boat rudders and ironing their khaki pants. I was also not cool enough to hang with the kids who lingered outside of Mystic Disc and the Green Marble, wreathed in the subtle perfume of pot and anarchy (I know this because they stenciled that anarchy symbol all over their notebooks). Seriously. I just went puttered around, listening to XTC and Nick Drake. It was only recently — this past Christmas — that I managed to earn a ticket into the dark, Mystic underground when the owner of Mystic Disc told me about a house music party at the lumberyard. I declined to attend, sadly.

2). Most of the musicians I liked as a kid were dead. I may have had the raddest Jim Morrison memorabilia collection in all the land (flags, action figures, you name it), but it’s pretty hard to further one’s musical obsessions when the object of said obsession died 30 odd years ago. My only living favorite, at the time, was David Bowie, and my parents refused twice to get tickets to his shows: Once when NIN opened for him way back when, and again when he played at one of the local casinos, because, as my mom said, “It smelled like evil in there.”

3). The aforementioned lack of social skills resulted in a lot of nights studying AP Bio, or watching “Antiques Roadshow” with my parents. So, really, my schedule was packed.

When I moved to New York (and even before then in Chicago, where I attended the first Pitchfork Festival), suddenly shows were more plentiful than disappointing, “I spent $1,000 on this piece of shit, when it’s only worth, like, $5” moments on “Antiques Roadshow.” And for a while, I was as dedicated to attending them as I was to getting a 5 on that useless, useless AP test. It also didn’t hurt that at the time I was an intern, and then an editor at a quarterly magazine that didn’t set up shop until 11 am.

In recent months/years, however, my show-going has dropped off due to the usual litany of extenuating circumstances: 1). Laziness, 2). Fatigue, 3). Rain. And this is a sad state of affairs, because I tend to discover my favorite bands live. And when I’m not out, discovering new bands, I tend to just listen to the same old albums over and over, which, consequently, breeds laziness, fatigue, and, depending on the tribal-y-ness of said music, rain.

And that is why I’m choosing to devote the next 30 days to seeing live music. Yup, every day I will find some manner of live music to check out and subsequently listen to starting January 4.

Wish me luck. And no rain.

NOTE: Let’s be completely honest here: I probably won’t be going to shows, like, every day. But I’ll try, which, as children’s show teach us, is what really matters.

Why I Won’t Be Sharing My Spotify Activity On Facebook

When I was in high school, I would often tool around town in my sick yellow Jeep Wrangler, blasting my jams with the windows rolled down so that all of downtown Mystic, CT, could share my superior musical tastes. 

“That’s right, skater kids,” I would think smugly, “I’m into Incubus and XTC! You’ve never experienced this level of musical diversity. I bet you totally wanna have coffee with me at the Green Marble and talk about Kant now!” The skater kids, predictably, didn’t give a fuck what I was listening to, and probably judged me more for my ’90s teen movie wheels than anything else. Luckily, I grew out of this overly performative music-listening phase (mostly), which is why I’m totally not down with Facebook’s new musical integration.

As some of you may know, Facebook announced deeper integration with a cadre music services (including MOG, Rdio, Soundcloud, Earbits, Vevo, Slacker Radio and Songza) last week at the f8 developers’ conference. Mark Zuckerberg and Co. showed off how Facebook will now work with Spotify: Once you connect the two services (and give it permission to do so), every song you listen to will show up in your friends’ “Ticker” (an up-to-the-minute newsfeed), while larger actions, like making a playlist, will appear in their main newsfeed. Friends can listen to your music in-line on Facebook, thereby discovering — and perhaps purchasing — new jams. 

Sounds awesome, right? Share music with friends! Stimulate the industry! Begin obsessively monitoring what you listen to for fear of Facebook-wide embarrassment! Wait, what?

Yup, dudes, all of your guilty pleasures will now be broadcast — laid out for your friends, colleagues and former high school bullies to see. (I, for one, regularly listen to songs on repeat like some musical OCD-afflicted obsesso — a fact that no one really needs to be privy to. Especially when those jams are of the angry girl band variety, or are “pump up before a date” tunes of the “I Want You To Want Me” ilk.)

For those of us who love music — and who have a rep for loving music — this state of affairs poses an interesting situation. No longer are we safe, hidden behind huge-ass headphones from which we may pump secret shame tunes without fear. No, now we are constantly on — like that dude who reads Swan’s Way on the subway in order to look intellectual (when all he wants to do, in actuality, is pull out an US Weekly). It’s the latest in obscure jams (or something that’s universally acceptable, like The Strokes) or nothing at all! Who knows who may be watching! And, you know, everyone obviously cares deeply about everything you do.

Yes, some of you may be able to just to listen to tunes with wild abandon, not caring one lick whether everyone from your mom to your latest paramour knows that you’re really into Lit. Sadly, however, I am still in some ways that kid in the yellow Jeep, and I would much rather curate which tunes I share with the world than lay my music listening habits totally bare.

On that note, I am embedding a “Getting ready for a night out!!” song above. Which I discovered while watching MTV’s Teen Wolf. Judge away. This is your only chance.

Friday Derailment

Stop snoozing at your cube and listen to this. New single from Aaron Pfenning — ex-Chairlifter, current brain behind Rewards. Titled “Equal Dreams,” from DFA, featuring Solange Knowles and Blood Orange. I think it’s the weekend now.

Still Derailed: Due to Free Nick Diamonds Album

Sorry, too many free MP3s flying around from various and sundry members of The Unicorns/Man Man/Mister Heavenly/Islands/Modest Mouse, whatevs. Nick Diamonds is offering up a free album download on his Bandcamp, so I’ll be listening to that in lieu of a garbled assortment of orphaned tracks this evening.

Keep checking in. I promise I’ll get service back on track in a timely fashion.