31 August 2008

Parts And Labor At Market Hotel


I just got back from a show at the Market Hotel, a place that appears to be an abandoned building but is, in actuality, some kind of market or hotel.

The bands: Parts and Labor, Pterodactyl, and some drum group that saw Stomp too many times.

The gimmick: The bands took turns playing songs. Play continued clockwise around the room. This is something Dan Deacon recently dreamed up, so I'm sure they got the idea from Pitchfork. Strike one. One of the other gimmicks was that it was so hot I wanted to shoot myself.

The result: Deafness.

I think it's impossible for me to review this shindig very fairly. It was really impressive when I first got there, what with the excited crowd, the darkness, and the loud noises. This was before I realized that all the hipsters had a personal 40 of OE and that beers there were five bucks. That's, like, half a Hamilton.

Let's get one thing straight. If you're going to hold an overcrowded, understaffed, windowless state-tragedy-waiting-to-happen illegally in the open space above a grocery store whose roof cannot support the thousands of pounds worth of human bodies and expensive electrical equipment weighing down on it, you do not charge five fucking dollars for a beer. Let the Charleston do that.
Nor should you be allowing all three bands to play at the same time to close the show, deafening everyone in the room.

Parts And Labor: a pop punk band posing as a psychedelic rock band. They've got a girl guitarist who, I'm 99% sure, didn't play a note all night. But she was hot so whatever. Dude with the beard was tight-looking. Sweet glasses, man. None of them could play their instruments.

Pterodactyl: a hardcore band posing as Abe Vigoda. At one point, someone screams "You guys suck" as they start their song. They did.

The drum circle: Stomp. The only thing they had going for them was the flashing light, and the dude who screamed into the vocorder had a cowbell. That he didn't know how to play. But whatever, malt liquor makes everything seem interesting.

If I was a nicer person, I would say something like "At least it was entertaining." But I'm not. In all honesty, the next time I hear about anything like this, I'm calling the cops immediately. And not because I care about anyone's safety.

10 August 2008

Animal Collective Writes Terrible Music

If there's one thing that I have learned in the past 24 hours, aside from the fact that my legs cannot in fact take a "licking" and keep on "ticking," it's this: the sheer number of human beings who will stand in front of Animal Collective while they play terrible music is simply mindblowing.

I just got back from All Points West. Radiohead, as always, annihilated. But that isn't what I want to talk to you about. I want to talk about a little experimental electronic group called Animal Collective; a group that features a dude who calls himself Panda Bear. You might remember Panda Bear as the 2007 artist-of-the-picosecond over at Pitchfucker, the asshole of the internet. Well, apparently, he's back with his old band, and they continue to write music that somehow strikes a balance between being incomparably annoying and tragically, overpoweringly elitist. There are few bands in the history of bands that suck this much hipster clit. Here's a formula I have devised:

Set Reverb To "Stupid" + One Measure Of Keyboard Blips Repeated Indefinitely + Sing Two Notes = Animal Collective

I have never met a single person I respected who gave a horse's perineum for this band. So why did 8,000 people go to see them at All Points West? Why did their interminable, unmelodic, uninteresting sound poop enter into so many lives today? I HAVE NO IDEA. Let me repeat that, in case you didn't hear it the first time. I HAVE NO IDEA.

Sometimes, you just have to wonder.