Dear Man Man,
I have liked you for a while and was excited to see you perform for the first time. I heard that you were great live. Well, you started off on a bad note, torturing the audience with multiple between-set replays of “Don’t Worry Be Happy” and “Kokomo.” You didn’t really say anything once you were onstage. I wonder how much of the forty minutes it took you to set up were devoted to donning those dumb, white costumes and face paint. Your music was still fine, but it wasn’t worth it.
Love,
Judy

Dear Yeasayer,
You at least had a nicer onstage persona. But what was with that guy in the wifebeater, long, curly, hair, and mustache? Hipster fashion and redneck fashion have finally become indistinguishable.
Love,
Judy

Dear Brooklyn Masonic Temple,
You may want to look into never hosting concerts again. Your sound is horrible.
Love,
Judy

Dear Crowd at Brooklyn Masonic Temple,
I guess it’s “hip to be square” these days. Learn to hold your liquor.
Love,
Judy

The crowd skewed young and trashed at Monday’s Black Lips show. Everywhere, mini-hipsters were dancing around, all skinny and disaffected. One guy was regaling a group of friends with the story of how long his hair was the last time he saw the band.

I hadn’t seen Quintron & Miss Pussycat before, but I had heard tell of Quintron’s invented musical instrument, the Drum Buddy. It’s a strange contraption, full of holes and pipes and lights and spinning coffee cans. But it was pretty cool to see it in action. The music was a catchy but noisy blend of upbeat soul and synth pop. Quintron sat behind a keyboard decked out with a vintage Chevy grill, and Miss Pussycat contended with a fussy, flapper-like costume that involved what looked like a head band with a Koosh ball on it. I enjoyed the energy of the performance, which definitely got everyone dancing, but this is strictly party music. Great live, but I’m guessing they’re not nearly as interesting on record.

Oh, and when their performance ended, Miss Pussycat hopped behind the curtain of a big, strange, inflatable puppet theater she had brought with her and did a puppet show. Really.

Despite the drunken yelling, shoving, crowd-surfing, stage-diving, and beer-cup-throwing, the Black Lips were pretty great. They may have been rushing through songs a bit (and seeing the crowd, who could blame them?), but the frenetic element worked for them. An old-fashioned rock band that doesn’t resort to fancy outfits or contrived, onstage theatrics, they’re a purist’s dream. By the end of the set, the guys were completely soaked in sweat, and if that doesn’t signal a good night, I don’t know what does.

The headline?

“All Hail Brooklyn: Alt-Rock Thrives in Alt-Borough”

Choice excerpts?

“For rock bands this is a great time to be weird and independent in Brooklyn. After years in which the sound of New York was defined by various shades of retro monochrome — the new wave minimalism of the Strokes, the disco-punk of the Rapture and LCD Soundsystem, the moody Anglophilia of Interpol — a new generation is making music that is indefinably eclectic and complex, and finding acclaim around the world.” Wait… really?

“The success of bands like Yeasayer and Vampire Weekend is to some degree an indication of a thirst for new ideas in a rock landscape that, from mainstream radio down to the underground, has been sorely lacking in them.” I don’t know where you’ve been for the past few years, dude, but the underground ain’t lacking for ideas. They’re lacking for audiences, and paychecks.

“With the promotional powers of the Internet and a network of increasingly sophisticated independent labels, bands that don’t have an obvious shot a mass popularity are finding fewer reasons to sign with the majors.” What are these mystical “internets” of which you speak? Please, explain to us their strange and magical ways.

All in all, another beautifully redundant Times trend piece. Thanks for that, Ben Sisario. I give it 10/10. A+. Best New Music… etc.

Michael Sarnes’s take on Gore Vidal’s bestseller might as well be the video guide to “Notes on Camp.” Rex Reed, in cinema’s most obvious casting choice, plays Myron Breckenridge, a dandyish film critic who undergoes cinema’s most surreal sex reassignment surgery to emerge as Myra (Raquel Welch), a glamorous supervixen hell-bent on shattering the heterosexual imperative. Inexplicably integral to this plan is Myra’s infiltration of her Uncle Buck Loner’s (John Huston) acting school as she fights him for her portion of a sizable inheritance. But the flimsy plot is incidental to the priceless, midnight movie trash that lurks within Myra Breckenridge’s terrifically fun digressions. Brief clips from black-and-white gems of the ‘30s and ‘40s provide a constant, almost tic-like, commentary on the action. Mae West transforms the film into her own, private Sunset Boulevard, as a debauched talent agent with an insatiable hunger for young men. Thirty-seven years later, we’re still not ready for her close-up.

Watch the trailer here.

Last Saturday night, I caught a perfectly fantastic screening of Milos Forman’s early Czech film Loves of a Blonde at the Brooklyn Academy of Music and then had some wonderful barbecue at Smoke Joint. And then, quicker than you can say “white guy funk band,” my evening totally turned to shit. Upon returning to BAM to check out a free concert by White Rabbits, who I’ve heard great things about, I was faced with perhaps the most distasteful band I’ve had to see live in years.

They are called Miss Fairchild, and they are a bunch of guys from Brooklyn playing blue-eyed funk. Now, I’m as open-minded as the next girl, and I don’t think it’s impossible for white dudes to write some good songs in the genre. But this was so derivative as to actually be kind of racist. Their lead singer was a small, bearded guy in some vintage polyester. He was doing a calculated impression of James Brown. The lyrics and music were total ’70s cliches. And it was all kind of a shame, as the guy has a decent voice, a ton of energy, and the band is clearly quite competent. The only problem was… there was not an ounce of originality there. They may as well have been a cover band.

Now, it isn’t my policy to knock new, untested bands just for the hell of it. But what I see here is just another corollary to the growing trend of cultural tourism-as-music. In a way, it’s exactly like what Vampire Weekend is doing: steal some sort of music that you have no personal link to and repackage it without adding anything new. It seems soulless and boring, and frankly it’s annoying that people are so into these copies of copies of copies when there are a million great innovators out there.

What I’m trying to say is…

One, two, three, four, I declare a CULTURE WAR.

I don’t usually feel the need to repost my own articles here, but I want to make sure everyone listens to the new Mountain Goats record, Heretic Pride. It comes out tomorrow on 4AD, and it is fucking fantastic.

Suggested tracks:
“San Bernardino”
“Autoclave”
“Lovecraft in Brooklyn”
“Tianchi Lake”
“Marduk T-Shirt Men’s Room Incident”

My entire, quite lengthy, review is up at Tiny Mix Tapes. If that wets your whistle, you can stream the entire album here.

Some people are too cool to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Others are too hip for Rufus Wainwright. Well, whatever, man. I am gloriously lame, so my boyfriend and I spent this past V-Day at Radio City Music Hall watching Rufus.

Though I rarely spend so much money on tickets (anything over $20 tends to discourage me), the experience was well worth it. I’ve lived in New York for three years without once setting foot inside Radio City. The place is breathtaking: enormous stage, beautiful gold curtain, three levels of balcony, domed ceiling. Sure, all the tourists from Duluth, or wherever they come from, were kind of annoying with their glowstick-illumined frozen drinks and questionable concert etiquette, but we all have to interface with the real world sometimes.

The show began with a short, pleasant set by Sean Lennon. He joked nervously about playing depressing songs on Valentine’s Day and closed with a cute duet with his girlfriend. At one point, he mentioned that his mom was in the audience. I’m not typically so starstruck, but something felt wonderful about occupying the same room–albeit a very large room–as Yoko.

I had seen Wainwright before, and whether he gives it his all or comes across as a drink- and drug-addled sot, he always puts on quite a show. This performance was by far the most impressive I’ve witnessed from him. He played for almost two and a half hours, in two sets and a lengthy, show-stopping encore. Most of the selections came from his past three album, Want One, Want Two, and Release the Stars. Though I’m less familiar with those than I am with Wainwright’s first two albums, Rufus Wainwright and Poses, he brought every song to life with expressive singing, playful theatrics, a large band, and loud costumes.

Among the feats Wainwright performed that night were:
–a few Judy Garland songs, including “Get Happy,” performed in nylons, heels, and a blazer, backed by a chorus line of nuns;
–an un-microphoned version of an Irish folk song;
–an “Across the Universe” sing-along with Sean Lennon, his sister Martha, and his mother, folk singer Kate McGarrigle;
–a rendition of one of McGarrigle’s own songs with her and Martha;
–”Gay Messiah” as production number, complete with the obscene use of a can of Silly String;
–three costume changes;
–and onstage pyrotechnics.

It was an ambitious performance, and Wainwright surpassed even the high standards he set for himself.

1. You Can’t Hurry Love — Diana Ross and the Supremes
2. Fistful of Love — Antony and the Johnsons with Lou Reed
3. Lovers Rock — The Clash
4. Find Love — Clem Snide
5. I Love You — Beat Happening
6. Big Love — Broken Social Scene
7. Some Kinda Love — The Velvet Underground
8. Let’s Make Love and Listen to Death from Above — CSS
9. Bullets and Love — The Coup
10. Soul Love — David Bowie
11. Tuff Love — The Gossip
12. Pirate Love — Johnny Thunders and the Heartbreakers
13. Of Love and Colors — Lisa Germano
14. Drive Is that I Love You– MV & EE with the Bummer Road
15. ‘Cause I Love Her — The Brian Jonestown Massacre
16. I Let Love In — Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
17. The Desperate Kingdom of Love — PJ Harvey
18. A True Story of a True Story of Love — The Books
19. Love in Vain — The Rolling Stones
20. Loved Despite Great Faults — Blonde Redhead
21. A Lover Loves — Scott Walker
22. Ringo, I Love You — Stereo Total
23. Love, Love, Love 2 (Reprise) — Akron/Family

So what’s your favorite “love” song?

Xiu Xiu

I’m a sucker for a good cover, and the past few weeks have produced two of the best I’ve heard in a while.

Xiu Xiu featuring Michael Gira - Under Pressure

Under pressure indeed. Xiu Xiu have released a brilliant, dangerous, and sometimes ugly album that is receiving lukewarm, confused reviews. I have a feeling that Women as Lovers will look better to most people in five years than it does now. Meanwhile, listeners should at least be ready to get on board with this subtly dark cover of David Bowie and Queen’s “Under Pressure.” Jamie Stewart and Michael Gira (of Swans and Angels of Light) do self-conscious impressions of Bowie and Freddy Mercury against a background of anxious brass and and muted synth. Caralee McElroy’s voice is a refreshing surprise. And the instruments get carried away with themselves.

Jeffrey Lewis–Do They Owe Us a Living?

By releasing a full album of Crass covers, called simply 12 Crass Songs, Jeffrey Lewis is doing the ’80s crust-punk band’s fans a great service. For the first time, we can make out the lyrics. This raucous, boy-girl, call-and-response folk version is just what this classic of sorts needed.

Something just occurred to me:

Johnny’s Greenwood’s score for PT Anderson’s auteur-tastic There Will Be Blood was just about perfect. I don’t even want to talk about the way he got screwed over in Oscar nominations. But there is another album that would ALSO work fantastically as the movie’s score: The Arcade Fire’s Neon Bible. Sure, it would make the whole thing a little more postmodern and self-aware and distractingly filmic than Greenwood’s score, but I kind of dig that anyway. Though it was far from my favorite album of the year, this seems like the perfect use for it. Alternate DVD soundtrack, anyone? Perhaps muting the soundtrack and synching the movie with the record, Dark Side of the Moon-style?

Just imagine “Intervention” over the closing credits.