(photo credit: WOMAN myspace)

I've become so jaded these days about going to shows. If a band doesn't, well, destroy me with their live set, I'm just so not interested. And that doesn't mean that the band in question has to consist of a bunch of crabby, hollerin' loud-ass dudes, mind you. But it uh, kind of helps.

Which brings me to WOMAN. (Yes, that's all caps. Perhaps you should imagine me yelling every time you read their name in this post. It's really too bad I can't record a little mp3 of that, actually.)

Anyway, we'd been trying to catch a WOMAN set for like, 6 months. (No, really!) We kept missing them for no particular reason, much like how, not surprisingly, we're missing M83 tonight -- I've been trying to see him for like, what, 5 years? It was the usual round of excuses: We were either late getting to venues, or broke (we aren't actually rich, you know!), or out of town, or just plain old and tired.

And honestly, I'm the kind of person who avoids going out on Fridays before holiday weekends, but the promise of Portland's Magick Daggers, our dear Bellmer Dolls and the elusive WOMAN
was too much to pass up. Besides, it was at Union Pool, which we can get to via the bus. (BTW, we were recently informed that we are "totally gangsta" for taking the bus in fancy dresses and furs and stupid shoes. Um, damn, it feels good to be a gansgta?)

But I digress.

Now, I wish I could say that I was totally pleased with the Magick Daggers' set -- the first half was absolutely brilliant, Jessy Montaigne (x-Subtonix) really, really kills on bass and Maximilian Avila (x-Get Hustle, Antioch Arrow) is equally wicked on drums. The problem is, Montaigne's vocals are just kind of okay, and it's really only interesting when she's caterwauling and wailing on her bass in a way that lonely metalhead boys in suburban basements only dream of ever pulling off (and would uh, probably cream their jeans to see this fierce dervish of a woman actually doing so). Less interesting, though, is when Montaigne tries to bring the dark cabaret; without that deliciously phallic bass in her hands, she is lost onstage, and resorts to the kind of girly vamping that's uncomfortable-making and rather dull to watch. The fierce momentum that carried the first half of the set just kind of fizzled from a bang to a whimper.

Thank goodness, then, for WOMAN. The best recommendation I can give: I turned to Pinkie at some point during the set, with an insane grin plastered on my face and hollered "WHY DOESN'T EVERYONE LOVE THIS!?!?" "Because they're stupid and have no souls," she astutely replied.

We have a tendency, it's true, to kind of crush out on loud, squally swampy blues bands with tight rhythm sections (check!) and dudes who holler (they have two, even!) -- I'm sure this is surprising to no one at this point. But the thing about WOMAN is that ... well, for all the dark and dangerous poses, they're just balls out wicked and fun. (Though, I guess that part when Skeleton Boy threw his bass, with the pickguard covered in blood, across the stage at the end of the set was kind of dangerous...) Anyway, frankly, after the spring I've had, I needed a good time, and WOMAN delivered.

Oh, okay -- look, sometimes a little embedded video is the best way to show you what I'm talking about -- this is from a show @ Cake Shop at the tail end of last year, via punkcast.com.



The less we say about the plagued-with-technical-difficulties set from the Bellmers, the better. They did, indeed, actually finish the set -- but it was kind of like that time you sort of didn't memorize that recitation for 9th grade English class and you spent all of gym cramming in the outfield, but everything fell apart during lunch, and by the time it was your turn to go in 5th period, you just kind of collapsed -- but you still managed to pull it off anyway. Or maybe that was just me.

That being said, we have no doubt that things will be better this Friday when the Bellmers bring together the best of the Charleston shows -- Preacher and the Knife and Cosmicide (Josh & Brandon of Secret Machines) [ed. from Pinkie - we never said we could spell] -- for the Neighbor of the Beast (6/6/8 -- get it?) show at the CSV Theater, 107 Suffolk (yeah, the building that looks like ... a school). I have no idea what I'm going to wear, as the weather reports promise nasty, humid heat -- but hey, our trainee Ms. Churchill, who's recently back from the UK and is doing well on her Eno regimen (she's stuck on Warm Jets right now), will be joining us -- always a good thing.

Sunday we'll be at the dreadful MHOW where FrictionNYC presents These New Puritans (who we discussed recently on the Tumblr), School of Seven Bells (which is, oddly enough, the new project from Benjamin Curtis, formerly of Secret Machines, and the Dehaza twins, formerly of On! Air! Library!) and Effi Briest (yay!) -- looking forward to that, even if not too thrilled about the venue, or the fact that it's on a Sunday night. But I guess we'll live.

(These people just won an Oscar (tm), yo!)

Jonny Greenwood wuz robbed! Okay, okay -- I know why Mr. Greenwood's Penderecki-inspired score for There Will Be Blood was disqualified from consideration for an Academy Award, but still. On the other hand, we're totally chuffed that Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová won the award for Best Original Song for "Falling Slowly" from the precious shot-on-a-shoestring recording diary picture Once. And yeah, I probably didn't win my office Oscar pool (it would be a problem when you accidentally leave the best editing and cinematography choices BLANK -- if you know me, you know how ridic I felt when I realized this ...), but I totally picked them to win over the any of the dreck from Enchanted, so there's that at least! That being said, if I actually did win the pool, I'm totally running right out to buy a copy of Once on DVD -- which, if you haven't seen it, you really should. And if you aren't familiar with the music of Hansard's band The Frames, it would behoove you to that check it out as well. And clearly this probably means that Hansard and Irglová's touring act, The Swell Season, hit the road again soon.

It was kind of the weirdest, most "indie" Oscars ever, what with Tilda Swinton's win (woo!) and the Coen brothers cleaning up and Diablo Cody (née Brooke Busey-Hunt, which is a name with infinitely more caché) not wearing hosiery in front of millions of people. (Girl, what were you wearing? I mean, we all know that you can't get like, every dress at Target -- as apparently you, me and Pinkie do -- but srsly, maybe you should have called up Isaac.)

Anyway -- where was I? Oh yes, we also really must give a shout-out to Marion Cotillard, as well. We were thrilled by her performance in La Vie en Rose, being that we're giant Edith Piaf fans from way back (and Pinkie's well-known for her love of Marlene Dietrich, too, since we're on the subject -- I'm less enthusiastic, however). In order to really understand just how freakin' awesome Cotillard's performance was, exactly, we present these two amazing YouTube finds -- vintage Piaf performances from 1954 and 1963, respectively.





Edith Piaf -- Non je ne regrette rien

Jil Aigrot - Les mômes de la cloche (Aigrot provided the voice of the young Piaf in La Vie en Rose -- she's a chanteuse who's just released an album of Piaf tracks herself.)


And, in closing, it's worth remembering that exactly 10 years ago, Elliott Smith didn't win an Oscar.



Relatedly, for a bit of historical perspective, check out Mr. Smith's interview with NPR's Linda Wertheimer about providing the soundtrack to Good Will Hunting.


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(photo courtesy of the ever-awesome Kathryn Yu)

What can we say about seeing The National at the BAM on Saturday, on the second night night of their sold-out two night stand at the Howard Gilman Opera House as part of the Brooklyn Next Festival?

Perhaps it's best to start by telling you about the very first time we saw them during Rocktober 2005, at The Parish in Austin (with Clap Yr Hands Say Yeah) when we were both running from the fallout of failed long-term relationships. The crowd thinned to about 50 hushed and reverent people after CYHSY!'s crummy and dull set -- and as tears poured down our cheeks, the clinking of the bartenders unloading the Hobart couldn't even distract us from the brilliant and dazzling display of pure naked male pain that The National so readily trafficked in those days. Or perhaps I could tell you (again?), about when we saw them at Haley's in Denton a few weeks after that, opening for John Vanderslice -- and we brought cookies and we were all so extremely drunk and Pinkie sat on a speaker at the front of the stage through the whole set and at some point and we went a little crazy during the R. Kelly dance party (a J.V. specialty), Matt gave me a cut-out of Bono's nose from the cover of Rolling Stone (it's still stuck to the bulletin board over my desk...).

In short: our previous history with The National involved a lot of repressed emotions and brown liquor and beer -- so, when we saw them at Bowery last May, after the release of the still kind of sub-par Boxer, it was just strange. They weren't quite polished rockstars yet, but you could see it happening. And we had 18 months of grown-up perspective -- and weren't drunk.

And after a summer and fall of hard touring just about every corner of the world, The National returned to Brooklyn, "indie rock superstars" (as the emcee before Saturday's show so astutely noted) triumphant. And while the new songs still seem to fall flat live, The band made up for it by bringing ripping versions of old favorites "Wasp Nest," "City Middle," "Mr. November" and "Daughters of the Soho Riots," a giant disco ball during "Fake Empire," and a final encore of heart-ripper "About Today" that left us weeping at the sheer wonderfulness of the whole experience. And, in the end, I'm not sure that I ever really need to see them play live again. I'd rather remember, I think, that amazing nights at The Parish and Hailey's -- and leaving the BAM into the snow-encrusted, cold Brooklyn night moved by the final song than struggling to find the magic again. That being said, a new song was sneakily tacked on to the playlist -- and it was incredible -- so maybe that resolution isn't as permanent as I'd like to think.

The National -- About Today

BONUS: The National's Beggars Banquet labelmates, Berlin-based Aussie handsome fellows, Devastations have a great new album out called Yes, U. Here's a track from Coal, their previous effort, that's kind of the, well, antipodal version of "About Today" -- it's the same song, practically -- only upside-down.

Devastations -- I Don't Want To Lose You Tonight

Oh, and before I forget -- we were utterly charmed, as usual, by the opening set from My Brightest Diamond (the lovely and talented Shara Worden & her folklorico-gone-wrong gown). She played a favorite of ours that she's never recorded, the Kurt Weill number "Youkali." We hope she'll put it on an upcoming record. For now, we have to make do with Teresa Stratas' version on her album The Unknown Kurt Weill.

Teresa Stratas -- Youkali


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And, you know, speaking of Australians and Kurt Weill, we just have to share this video from 1995 Canadian TV production September Songs of Nick Cave doing "Mack the Knife." Brilliant.




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And, in a feat of bringing everything full circle, here's Jonny Greenwood channeling Robert Fripp on Brian Eno's "Baby's On Fire" from the Velvet Goldmine soundtrack. He's part of the Venus in Furs, featuring other members of Radiohead, Suede, and Roxy Music.

Venus In Furs -- Baby's On Fire

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Oh, btw, WOMAN are rapidly becoming that band we keep missing (much like M83 and Electrelane). Next time, guys!

(photo credit: kathryn yu)

Hello everyone. It's Friday again, which means that (much like Loverboy) we've been working for the weekend. On the calendar for this particular fin-de-semaine is The National and My Brightest Diamond at the BAM on Saturday, followed by WOMAN and The Big Disappointments at the eternally nasty Lit Lounge. It's going to be a busy night. Somewhere, beauty sleep is going to have to fit in the picture as well, because we're fine ladies.

My Brightest Diamond -- Je n'en connais pas la fin / L'hymne l'amour
The National -- Murder Me Rachael (Live)

On the slate for next week, however, we have not one, but two DJ engagements. First, on Wednesday, February 27, we'll be at the decks for the inaugural Brooklyn Based Cocktail Club happy hour at Huckleberry Bar in Williamsburg:


And then...on Saturday, March 1, we'll be at Galapagos Art Space for Neon Lights' first party of the year with Eamon Hamilton (Brakes/ex-British Sea Power), Titus Andronicus, and Crystal Stilts:


Though we have been remiss in recent dedications, we simply must send a shoutout to the young man at Jay Street tunelessly mumbling Rihanna's "Please Don't Stop the Music" on Tuesday evening. Here's the original "mama-se mama-sa ma-ma-ko-sa." Contrary to popular belief, Michael Jackson isn't particularly innovative and settled out of court with Manu Dibango after the release of "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'."

Manu Dibango - Soul Makossa