Hello all. We're not dead in a ditch, promise. We were out of town for over a week, got new hairdos (I am so blonde now, no longer everyone's favorite dyed-black grumpus. I'm still getting used to it, thx.), and then had to recover from all that travel. We're cool. Just mad busy! Oh, and our server is still in limbo, so ... hope you like words and embedded videos! I'm only partially kidding, we're working on getting that resolved ASAP.

But hey! If you need yr daily fix of Rich Girls blather, we post on our Tumblr ... a lot. (Add the RSS feed to your reader?)

Furthermore, hello to anyone directed from the Boston Metro -- thanks for the link, y'all.

So, things that we'll hit on soon:

• Seeing The Mountain Goats' John Darnielle play a solo show @ Brooklyn's lovely Masonic Lodge -- it was pretty rad. And some some drunk guy complimented me on my "glorious stockings" -- they were pretty badass, actually.
  
• Seeing John Darnielle read from his new 33 1/3 title -- Black Sabbath's Master of Reality -- at the Housing Works cafe/bookstore, the hidden gem of Soho (no really!), where we found some amazing books, including one of easy piano/guitar versions of fave New Wave joints, published in 1978 -- which means I can now play "Psycho Killer" or "Love Comes in Spurts" on the autoharp, should I so chose.
• Our shopping spree @ Austin's End of an Ear -- look for us in their print ads soon! Pinkie plans to tell you all about the awesome Crass record she found there. I, however, will probably only be reminding you how awesome ... The Style Council were. Or subjecting you to my rilly pretentious David J 12" that isn't even mentioned in his Wikipedia article!
  
• The Ting Tings record -- it's the worst thing EVER! The Madonna record -- it's possibly the best thing in recent memory!
• So where, exactly, are the summer jamz? We're with Sasha Frere-Jones on this one -- it's a little disturbing. I blame the excess of club tracks (not a bad thing, mind you...) and skyrocketing gas prices, which will make it hard to drive around blaring The Summer Jam(s) for all and sundry to hear.
  

In other news -- we'll be out an about this week -- it's my BIRTHDAY.

Blacklist and The Mary Onettes play Union Hall on 5/19
Bellmer Dolls, WOMAN, and Magick Daggers will appear @ Union Pool on 5/23
The Muggabears play the Knitting Factory Tap Bar on 5/25

And, though we've become devoted to quite a few things lately, nothing has moved us quite so profoundly as ... Fall Out Boy's cover of "Beat It." Pinkie says, "If you think Fall Out Boy suck -- or that you're too cool for them ... you clearly have no soul."

(photo courtesy of iandavid)

Well, sorry we didn't get to the post-apocalyptic playlist last week; I'll save that for another time -- promise.

What to say about The Mountain Goats show at Webster Hall? I'll admit, it was weird. It's always kind of weird to see your friends play that venue; its so huge, and hey, remember that time you saw them with 30 other people in a tiny room a million years ago? (It's an old story around here...) But it was an amazing show nonetheless; it was the first time I'd seen them play with drummer John Jon Wurster, who's amazing. And, though reports varied about the sound quality, it sounded pretty damn good on the balcony level. And I'm a little bummed that I didn't think to swing by the merch table and pick up one of the new hoodies.

And we must sincerely thank Mr. Darnielle for playing "Have to Explode" (off sentimental fave Tallahassee) during the 'solo' bit of the set -- I think that's one of my very favorite songs in the entire tMG ouevre. Also, we simply must let you know that Peter Hughes may indeed have (finally!!) ascended to the post of Best-Dressed Bassist in Indie Rock, snatching that coveted post from the grabby hands of Carlos Dengler. (Fashion-forward cardigans and sharp topcoats are rad, but NOTHING trumps Etro.)

We send our very best wishes to Mr. Darnielle & co., and hope that he's feeling better soon; illness recently forced the band to cancel the upcoming Australian/NZ leg of their spring tour.

The Mountain Goats -- Have To Explode

In the meantime, I can't help but want to share this with you: YouTube videos of Mountain Goats covers. Everyone from Ben Gibbard to teenage girls in Europe. Amazing stuff.

(photo courtesy of ryan muir)

As for The Gutter Twins -- it was sublime. We still don't have words -- especially when it comes to discussing, say, that bit of "Amazing Grace" in the midst of an 8-song (or thereabouts) encore. We'll just let Dinah Washington tell you about our general feelings.

(That being said, those guys are touring like gangbusters, and if they're headed your way, you really need to go -- I'm looking at you specifically, Europe -- if you're in need of some soul saving at the bottom of a grim, hazy, red-lit oubliette. Or something like that.)

Dinah Washington -- Fat Daddy

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One of the best things that happened at this one-two punch of shows at Webster Hall this week was the chance to see two bands that were sorta on our radar who totally blew us away in person.

The Moaners, who opened for the Mountain Goats, are some fine ladies who play some very fine blues music. We're always glad to see women who don't play like "girls" (sorry, really, it happens); and this guitar-and-drums duo pack a vicious wallop. (Also, don't listen to anyone who compares them to The White Stripes; think early, early Quasi instead.)

That being said, I have to take someone to task here: neither the band nor their label, Yep Roc, provide a sample mp3; however, you can stream their new album, Blackwing Yalobusha, at the Yep Roc site. So, go buy the album, people, okay? Because Melissa and Laura seem the type who would not appreciate you engaging in piracy.

As for Great Northern, they are consumate professionals -- L.A. scene veterans whose lush, epic sound brings to mind a bizarre hybrid of Fiona Apple, Medicine, and Slowdive. Early demos suggested a more twinkly L.A. powerpop sound (by way of the band's associations with Earlimart and Grandaddy), but the band's definitely decided that a more dark and mysterious sound is the way to go live -- or maybe it's just touring with the Gutter Twins that's brought out their wicked side.

This means, unfortunately, that any of the recordings out there, especially from their debut Trading Twilight for Daylight, frankly don't do Great Northern justice. It's hard to say that because they do have so much promise live. That being said, I very strongly believe that they need to possibly license the hell out of the following song and embed it into the brains of teenage girls, who, I believe, would totally eat it up.

Great Northern -- Telling Lies


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We're WAY busy this week; we've got a hastily-scheduled Kindling & Tinder photoshoot and two dj gigs -- Wednesday we'll be curating the music selections at Sidecar Bar in Park Slope at the second installation of the Brooklyn Based Cocktail Club. We'll be bringing the Mexican music to go with the tequila theme, so come by between 6:30 and 9pm and say hello.


And Thursday we're the guest djs at Corduroy, the new monthly at Cakeshop. Also on the bill are the inimitable DJ Jennifer and the perky pop of The Fourelles. Again, stop by and say hello!

Hello, dear readers. We've got a mad week ahead, what with The Mountain Goats tonight at Webster Hall and The Gutter Twins on Wednesday, also at NYC's moldiest venue. (n.b. The Mountain Goats play Brooklyn at the Music Hall of Williamsburg on Wednesday, btw) You should come too, yeah?

Have fun recovering from SXSW; we'll see you later this week, wherein we will post our post-apocalyptic playlist (it's a real bruiser), tell you about our misadventures at the Virgin Megastore and exhort you to go see The Vanity Set this weekend (Saturday 3/22 at Supreme Trading and Sunday 3/23 at the Annex). Also, we solemnly promise to stop bitching about the mediocrity of Southby coverage in the mainstream media. Maybe.

The Mountain Goats -- Lovecraft in Brooklyn (repost)
The Gutter Twins -- I Was in Love With You

Recap, finale. (That is, unless someone sends me some more over the weekend -- hint, hint stragglers.) I'm relatively certain that I have the best rolodex of people in bands who just also happen to be fantastic writers. Two of today's contributors, Peter Hughes of The Mountain Goats and Josh Strawn of Blacklist, are two of the finest examples of this phenomenon. They also happened to be SXSW virgins, which is doubly charming. Blogging veteran, tastemaker and SXSW veteran Dave Gutowski (aka Largeheartedboy) weighs in too.

Thanks again to everyone who contributed to this feature -- we hope you enjoyed it, dear readers. We're not sure if this is the year SXSW finally jumped the shark (what with that collapsing deck at the Elks Lodge and Damon Albarn shopping at Factory People and all), but we are sure it's pretty safe to say that we'll all be back for the fun next year.

Peter writes:

This was my first time. For years I'd listened to the stories, exactly half of them about how SXSW is the greatest thing ever and exactly half about how it is complete and utter hell to be avoided at any cost. In my normal life I tend toward misanthropy, introversion, and solitude, and I was inclined to trust the latter. I'm not sure if it says more about SXSW or my true nature that once I got down there, to paraphrase Sheryl Crow (whose set at the Cook's Illustrated/Claritin day party was a highlight), all I wanted to do was have some fun. But
that's what happened.

It helped that my only actual obligation -- our show at the 4AD night at Emo's -- was out of the way by Wednesday night. Unlike a lot of people I ran into, who had carefully prepared spreadsheets listing options and priorities for the week printed out onto micro wallet-sized cheatsheets for easy reference, I hadn't even looked at a schedule. Instead, I'd compiled a mental list of maybe a half-dozen friends I needed to hang out with, and I knew that I wanted to see Prisonshake on Friday night. Apart from that, I cast myself upon the winds of chance.

It worked out. I saw my friends. I saw Prisonshake. And I spent whole days in a giddy haze of alcohol, barbeque and music (add me to the list of people who were moved to tears by Shearwater's set at the church, by the way), and never once made it to bed before five in the
morning. Good times, on the whole.

I took my friend the consummate SXSW vet John Vanderslice's advice and left a day early, on Saturday. He'd said it would feel like getting away with a crime. Instead it felt like leaving a party too soon, but I'm still kinda glad I did, much as I hate to admit it. No matter:
I'll be back.

Peter Hughes, who is generally 1/2 of The Mountain Goats (unless they tour with a drummer, and then he's 1/3) , is a connoisseur of fast cars, New Order and BBQ.

Photo credit: Kathryn Yu

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Dave writes:

Aside from one evening a couple of years ago, this was the first SXSW I have attended since I started Largehearted Boy. I have attended SXSW at least a dozen other times, but I was still surprised at how much the SXSW experience has grown. Day parties were everywhere, and often as interesting (and difficult to get in) as the showcases. Without a badge or wristband this year, finding a showcase in the evening was often nerve-wracking.

Since this was the first SXSW for me as a music blogger, the highlight was meeting the people I have met through my blog. Sure, I saw 38 bands in three days. Some blew me away, some disappointed, but the atmosphere and the opportunity to talk music in person with people whose opinions I have come to value over the years made the trip worthwhile for me.

Dave Gutowski IS largeheartedboy.

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Josh writes:

The coordinators of SXSW probably weren't setting out to confirm yet another niche in the proliferating field of musical nooks, but the lineaments of something like anthemicmelancholymajestic did converge this past week in Austin. Denmark's Mew sounds like Black Sabbath via Slowdive and Sigur Ros. Mark Burgess of the Chameleons UK is still making luscious, shimmering rock songs. 'Scott Walker: 30th Century Man' is a documentary about the godfather of the whole dark baroque shebang. It's all quite psychedelic really, even if the aura is more Svankmajer or Bergman than hashish and Haight Street.

If you've ever felt the undertone of sadness that comes with taking that leap into the unknown, you probably identify with the string swells of Scott Walker's 'Rosemary' or the synth and guitar washes of Mew's 'Am I Wry? No.' Mark Burgess prefaced a brilliant new track 'Beast' by explaining that the lyrics would reveal why he moved to Hamburg from Manchester--the refrain being 'I don't even know if I can make a stand anymore...' There was a sense of the journey and of its lifeblood in that confession of confusion. Mark is a bit greyer than some of his nubile festmates, but more convincing. That isn't to say that age equals vitality (as the Buzzcocks proved at their MTV Spring Break-esque performance) but only that, with a few exceptions, the kids and the grown-ups alike were missing something. (I had the privilege of sharing the stage with Burgess' new band, Bird, and I rate it as perhaps the peak moment in my musical career.)

Brian Eno, when interviewed for '30th Century Man' complained that Scott humiliates artists, since nobody's gotten past those early Talking Heads or Roxy records except for Walker. It was both humble and arrogant, but nevertheless all-too-true. Arrogance and narcissism are probably intrinsic to the process of making pop and rock records. The point isn't learning to be humble or selfless--the point is making the parts you stick out for the world to see matter. The point isn't innovation for innovation's sake--it's opening someone up. I have to say that, though I missed plenty of SXSW acts, the boys from Copenhagen, the gents from Hamburg and the fellow from Hamilton, Ohio shone like bright beacons through a muck of boring, fashion-driven rock and roll conformism.

On the sleeve of 'Scott 3' there is a quote from Camus: "A man's work is nothing but this slow trek to discover through the detours of his art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened." At least a few artists at SXSW, both young and old, with pose and without, managed to touch on this for me, proving it isn't style or age--it's simply about making that trek. I suppose you only fall in love with possibility amidst a haze of stagnation--but a few times last week in Texas I did and it was pretty mind-bending.

Josh Strawn is the frontman of Blacklist and a recent graduate of the Eugene Lang College at the New School for Social Research in New York City, where he studied with the contrary Christopher Hitchens.

Photo credit: nariposa @ flickr.