About halfway down the half page of scrawl I took home from last night’s performance of the McCoy Tyner trio with Marc Ribot is a note that made perfect sense at the time. It says, “This is the difference between what is and what should be.”
In the clear light of the morning, the stoner epiphany of that sentence seems exactly like the kind of thing you write down during a drug experience -- something so urgent, that life’s needle comes scratching off the record and you have to write it down immediately, fearing that your square, sober self will let the newly discovered answer to life’s mystery slip away. When you wake up the next day, head pounding and tongue thick, it’s happened again: the sagacious wisdom has melted into a bit of nonsense like “this is the difference between what is and what should be.”
Looking for a way to look back on CMJ? Well, why not electronically mosey on over to our CMJ '08 Flickr stream, and peep photos taken by our own Wendy Murray. Be sure to check out the pictures taken at our Rhapsody Rocks New York party, featuring shots of Mission of Burma, Jay Reatard and King Khan.
Ah, CMJ. Wherein the music industry converges on New York City with hopes, dreams and aspirations for the future, only to be crushed by the endless diatribes of the ruthless critics and hipster elite who are never impressed and always too cool. That's pretty much the expectation, yet the excitement -- to be part of something, whether or not it's on the cusp of making a greater splash in the music wading pool -- is still in the air as the long, fashionable line outside of Rebel NYC moves a grueling two inches every five minutes. On Monday, October 20 -- the brisk eve of the festival's kick-off -- The Syndicate hosted its 10th annual Conflict of Interest party featuring, among others, Rival Schools, and as I finally acquire a wrist band for entry, the fun has (unofficially) begun!
So we (and by we, we mean Rhapsody and the fine folks over at Matador Records) had a little get together the other day. Canadian hardcore-punk believers F*ck*d Up played, on and off, for 12 hours straight, getting by with a little help from their friends. In between their own chaotic, raucous sets, F*ck*d Up served as the house band for guests like Ezra Koenig of Vampire Weekend, Tim Harrington of Les Savy Fav, the Vivian Girls, John Joseph of the Cro-Mags, J Mascis, Moby and more, all of whom provided mosh-pit-inciting covers of punk and hardcore classics from the likes of Wire, the Ramones and the Descendents. Enjoy a little taste of the proceedings in the video above and check out a photo gallery of the event after the jump. We've got much more to come from the show (including video interviews and performance footage), so stay tuned.
Every year on the last weekend of September, 400,000 people crowd into 13 blocks of San Francisco's South of Market neighborhood to take part in the annual Folsom Street Fair. To date, this non-profit leather/fetish festival has raised over $3.5 million dollars for local and national charities. This year marked the 25th anniversary of the Folsom Street Fair and Rhapsody was there to talk to a few of the performers, female electro up-and-comers Von Iva, and the Grammy nominated Shiny Toy Guns.
[Click the "Continue Reading..." link for additional Folsom Street Fair video and a playlist featuring the music discussed in this post.]
It’s Friday at rush hour, and the show has only begun on the N Judah train line. Regular commuters clutch their briefcases, terrified, as a crowd of rowdy interlopers -- many in cowboy shirts, many in no shirts at all -- pack the car. The route is headed toward Golden Gate Park, where the eighth annual Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival commenced this afternoon, and two of the car's more enthusiastic riders are stone-giddy about the opening day headliner: "Robert f*ck*ng Plant, man," one says to the other in the blown-mind inflection that's the universal dialect of the three-day event. San Francisco might host a slew other open-air music festivals, but Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, a multi-stage festival of roots rock, country and bluegrass (paid for by San Francisco venture capitalist Warren Hellman) is probably the one that most accurately reflects the eccentricities of its host city. Starting with Robert f*ck*ng Plant.
At a glance, last night's performance by Argentinean/Swede folk phenom Jose Gonzalez wasn't much to see: the final set of a two-day, sold-out stand at Yoshi's in Oakland, CA, mostly featured Gonzalez at center stage, hunched over a nylon-string guitar. Sitting between a heavy red curtain and a curious mix of the jazz club's typical chardonnay-and-maki crowd and reverent doe-eyed fans, he was occasionally buttressed by singer Yukimi Nagamo and percussionist Erik Bodin. There was almost no banter ("This song," he said in the honeyed shush of a yoga instructor, "is about tribalism") and few frills beyond those inherent in Gonzalez's faux-traditional Brazilian finger-picking and melancholic evocation of Joao Gilberto. Even the setlist -- drawn from his similarly elegant, bare pair of albums and scattered with new material -- didn't raise eyebrows, save for a forceful cover of Joy Division's "Love Will Tear Us Apart" that was trotted out for an encore. But, Gonzalez demonstrated that he's one of the most commanding songwriters of recent years by achieving the difficult task of what architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe called "an interesting plainness." The set also made it plainly apparent, and never more serenely unobjectionable, that Gonzalez, is also someone who thrives in an industry that's seen the death of the album-based career. He could be the poster child of its passing.
Oh, and favorite artist sighting: Jack White, looking too cool for school with arms crossed and sideburns greased, watching the fab Fleet Foxes perform.
A couple of weeks ago, we (being Rhapsody) threw ourselves a nice ol' party, on our hometown turf (being San Francisco) and invited a few rock combos to provide the soundtrack. Check out video of the Rhapsody Rocks San Francisco event here and check out performances by Howlin' Rain, Two Gallants, Everest and Big Light.
Objective: Survive. Status: Just barely. [Ha!] As I began to ponder the last few days, I now know why celebs need to be bathed in unicorn's milk and massaged thrice weekly: Parties. Open bars. Free food. Late nights. No-problems-at-the-door. The sense of entitlement. Expensive hotels -- with turndown service and peanut butter cookies. What a tough life. [Sigh.] Fame (or, well, the mere observation of it, in my case), you are a fickle mistress. But just like that -- the VMAs are over. You watched the show, you be the judge. There will be no VMA punditizing here. Just behind-the-scenes moments of the big day from the Patagonial regions of the red carpet. Walk in my (luckily flat) shoes -- for 12 hours on the Paramount lot.
