06 October 2008

SHOW REVIEW: Extra Life @ Less Artists More Condos

Of the nine Saturday, October 4ths that I've experienced in my life, this one will go down as the most inexplicable (just edging out the October 4th when I found some lettuce in the mailbox). If you've never been to Less Artists More Condos, I highly suggest a trip (preferably in the daytime, when the owner is gone, with a crowbar. Place is loaded).

It's a show/living space above some bar in Greenwich Village, and they hold hipster concerts there. But the best part is that it's actually a condo, and judging by the size and location, the space probably costs around $20,000 a motherfucking month.

So at this point you're probably wondering how the fuck one dude can afford to live in a place that's $20,000 a month when the only income he has is, presumably, illegally selling Busch to hipsters and buying cigarettes/pregnancy tests for middle school kids. Somebody's sucking some dicks on the side, right? Well, not exactly. Let me elucidate the situation.

Mommy pays for it.

Not only do his parents pay for this arty little fuckhole, but dude's parents have another home on the West coast where they live half the time. That's, like, four houses. So why does an obnoxious indie scene sprout up around the abundantly affluent? Because that's exactly who wants to appear like they're jobless alcoholics who can't afford decent clothes. Hence my Saturday night:

Band one: the keyboardist from Parts And Labor, playing pop music on his...er...keyboard. It sounded like Parts and Labor without the guy with the beard or the drummer who looks like my ex-roommate. Or the girl who does nothing.

Keyboardist dude apparently was told by one of his friends that 'Man, I mean, when in doubt, headbang or make it louder or whatever. That would be really...aesthetic. Want to buy some more drugs from my sister?' Whenever the songs got boring, they immediately became louder and he started to headbang. Holy shit. Take the Christmas lights off your set-up, cut your hair, and learn the fucking guitar.

Band two: Drunk Driver. Holy motherfucking God. They get forty hipster points. Two instruments (+7 hipster points), a female guitarist (+3 hipster points), a drummer (-2 hipster points), a lead vocalist (-3 hipster points), mind-numbingly obnoxious (+9 hipster points), a lot of destruction of property while guzzling a 40 (+4 hipster points), and the singer started the set by saying "Just put as much reverb on the mic as you can" (+22 hipster points). You can't make this shit up. Their thing was that they make loud noise, and the guy with the microphone pretends like he's drunk and swings the mic around while molesting audience members.

Ok, I fucking get it. You're a drunk driver. Add some Christmas lights, grow out your hair, and learn the fucking keyboard. You'll be moving in the right direction.

Band three: Extra Life. If you get the chance to check out this band, please do. I try to cover horrible things, but consider this the exception that proves the rule.

Oh, and watching the dictator-of-a-vocalist lead the group with a string of percussive, Eichmann-esque commands as he put on an "I'm pooping" face was a lot like watching old films from the Holocaust, with similar audio. Am I allowed to say that?
Yes. Yes I am.