Photo by Matthew Fairbank

LIVE JOURNAL

JezebelMusic.com @ Cakeshop
June 18, 2010 | Pissed Jeans

Last Friday night at the Cake Shop, Allentown, PA’s Pissed Jeans played a twenty-six minute set to a room hot enough to roast marshmallows off people’s skin. Stuffed to the point that you were drinking beer evaporating off the person next to you, the room was a chamber of bodily fluid exchange, much in line with the imagery of Pissed Jeans.

Lead singer Matt Korvette strolled onto the tiny stage while the rest of the band assembled a city of amps. Grinning like mischievous Tomata du Plenty of ’70s synthpunkers The Screamers, Korvette thinly veiled the cyclone of energy that was about to erupt from him. He plodded around the stage, patient and vulnerable. You almost wanted to poke him in his soft Pennsylvanian belly, like the song “Half Idiot” on their newest LP King of Jeans advocates.

Without warning, Pissed Jeans opened with the hip-checking “I’m Sick,” which starts with two sludgey chord hits, lots of feedback from dexterous guitarist Bradley Fry, and Korvette screaming that his head is falling apart. Korvette tore the neck of his T-shirt until it ballooned out like a contaminated ballgown, which was fitting given his lyrical tendency to emasculate and make himself look foolish.

More on Pissed Jeans @ Cakeshop | 6.18.10

LIVE JOURNAL
JezebelMusic.com @ Death by Audio
May 1, 2010 | Light Asylum

If you’re hunting for dark, queer electro bands in Brooklyn, Light Asylum should be flashing on your radar. Loosely associated with other electronic locals like Mirror Mirror and Omega Jarden, the duo Light Asylum are industrial house veterans, having been involved in many NYC musical ventures, such as !!! and Telepathe.

I strolled into Death By Audio on Saturday wearing my reflective bike vest and headlamp, which was fortunate fashion for a Light Asylum gig. Instead, had I not dressed for darkwave, I could’ve picked up a glow stick crucifix from the Light Asylum merch table.

A musty crowd bounced on its heels as lead singer Shannon Funchess took precise swings at an electronic drum pad and alternated between singing long, low vibrating notes and quicker bullets of verse. Funchess’ band mate Bruno Coviello activated drum fills and samples on his two tier electronics station and played what looked like a Prophet ’08 synth. The set was tight and had no gaps, samples bled between songs, and there was little talking to the crowd.

More on Light Asylum @ Death by Audio | 5.1.10

LOCAL SPOTLIGHT NYC

Listening to the Maine Coons is like never getting fully dressed in the morning, marching down to McCarren Park to meet some friends, getting well-oiled on Tecates in 65 degree weather, calling it a day, crashing in a San Loco to eat a burrito the size of two hamsters, and stealing a garden ornament on the way home.

The Maine Coons are the one man band of lead singer anonymous, and they have been very busy this weekend. In the last two days they’ve trailblazed Williamsburg and Greenpoint, playing Glasslands, Joe’s Fresh Pad, and Coco 66.

The Coons sound like a philandering cousin to local favorites The Beets. The Coons’ songs with shouted vocals and tom and snare drums chronicle lazy playboyism and being a causeless, incorrigible musician. For instance, “My Kind of Luv” sounds like an early Starlight Mints song, replete with xylophone, whistling and melodic cadences. “Ghetto Queen” plays like the park bench observations of the fairer sex belted out above overdriven guitars.

The Maine Coons sound very Williamsburg-now, drenched in reverb and sing-songyness. You’re likely to see them alongside the Beach bands of the moment. Maybe you’ll even see them in a San Loco.

By Thomas Wilk

The adventure brings us to Union Hall, land of unisex bathrooms and Bocce ball jokes, like, what did the Bocce ball say to Mick Jagger? Or what did Mick Jagger say to the Bocce ball when they were hanging out with the Pope? Sadly, no, I can’t tell you.

Side swerving to the front of the stage, the unfortunately named band, I’m In You, starts playing. Stodgy blond guitarist flaps at his SG, and a late ‘80s post-punk sound referencing Pere Ubu flares out. Violin, trumpet, and bassist, whose five-string bass is malfunctioning tonight, evoke a violent and irritated sound. Something made me uncomfortable about this band, similar to looking at the back cover of Big Black’s “Songs About Fucking,” where you meet the gaze of the man victoriously going at it with a squinting female who’s clenching her teeth—an image of pure violation which brought me to terms with man’s animal instincts. This feeling lasted for a second while the lead guitarist delivered vocal lines with gruffness. Then a song passed and he announced that the audience should buy an I’m In You tote bag. They’ll look great at the Park Slope Co-op.

More on Wild Yaks @ Union Hall | 1.27.10

Around the coldest January corner in Williamsburg nests Glasslands, a barn full of glitter and darkwave music. On January 26th, 2010,  local arts impresario Todd Pendu brought DJs from Chicago and two local bands, Omega Jarden and Mirror Mirror, to Glasslands.

On this evening, the stage at Glasslands looked like the underside of a prom dress, or like a snug womb, depending on your life outlook. Ladies with cokebottle glasses boogied and waify boys sashayed across basslines played by DJ Harrison as the party warmed up.

More on Mirror Mirror & Omega Jardens @ Glasslands | 1.26.10

Hello! I’m your booty nurse. Listen, we need to talk. You’re having a booty crisis and you need help. Honey, all that sad energy stored in your tukkus is making your bottom unhappy. What you need is a booty-cation on Planet Rump. So, get ready to blast off!

Nurse Jezebel: Under any circumstances should anyone get butt implants, wear underwear that sculpts your tush, or wear butt pads? How about those new Skechers that are meant to firm your glutes?

Miss Strawberry: No!

DJ Tantric: Hells no! I saw a tranny once with butt-plants – it was horrible. I love trannies, though.

Nasty Ness: Hold up! It’s OK if these things help you reach self-booty love! So many people are afraid of their booties. Except butt implants. That might be too much.

I blasted off to Planet Rump this weekend and caught up with Miss Strawberry, DJ Tantric, and Nasty Ness at B-Side on Avenue B, a nice little nook for bottom worshipers. The problem from Earth I brought to these glute gurus: there are a lot of self-conscious bottoms out there, which are afraid to shake their dukes. These booty shamers sour parties and spread rotten energy. What are we Earthlings to do?
More on Alphabet City: B is for Booty Crisis!

photo by O. Mullick

Welcome, alpha-denizens! Each week in “Alphabet City” I will examine an aspect of local music that corresponds with a letter in the alphabet. The first installment, “A,” takes a look at Appalachian music, since many New York bands, from indie folksters to traditional country musicians, often describe some aspect of their music as Appalachian folk, folk, or “old time music.”

How does rural music from the Appalachian Mountains relate to us city slickers here in NYC? Well, don’t get your flannels in bunch if you can’t figure it out. Playing Appalachian music is about preserving cultural traditions, which the Big Apple is wont to do, and, of course, having some damn fun jamming on a fiddle. “Down Home Radio” host Eli Smith explains that playing Appalachian music is about “preserving the authentic music of the American rural underclass, and not just about preserving the music, but about promoting an aesthetic system which has a totally different emotional quality to the pop stuff you hear across the radio dial and on TV, and to my ear a much healthier one.”

Here’s a brief glimpse into the lives of three groups who play old time music – as Appalachian music is sometimes called – and who each preserve folk music traditions in their own way.
More on Alphabet City: A is for Appalachian Music (and secret museums)

LIVE JOURNAL
JezebelMusic.com @ Glasslands
October 4, 2009 | Tayisha Busay, Cherie Lily, Planet Rump

In a barn down by the river, skinny white boys spray glitter aerosol into their hair, and girls in bloomer dresses step spritely through theatrical smoke. An electric yellow kiddie pool is full of Sour Patch kids, and in case you didn’t notice them in the pool, one of six leotard-clad women will come over and offer you a pack.

Tonight is Brooklyn spandex-o-holics Tayisha Busay’s NASTYASS dance party, perhaps the first of a monthly dance party at Glasslands on Kent Avenue in Williamsburg. What that means is the Busay troupe has decked out the Glasslands with tinsel, glow sticks, and there’s a stop motion video booth in the back. DJ Melissa from Telepathe is DJing.

A bolt of lighting hit the stage and Planet Rump materialized to start the show. This group, coming from outer space, played three songs, one which was about fightin’ dudes off your ladies when killing it on the dance floor. Lyric of the night: “I’m just trying to get down with my funky self/ Get outta my tree you ain’t the Keebler Elf.” A fellow in a lamé jacket playing simple Casio leads and drums backed the two females rhyming. Simple wins!
More on Tayisha Busay’s NASTYASS DANCE PARTY