Brooklyn – Page 5 – Audiofemme

INTERVIEW: Buke and Gase

When Arone Dyer and Aron Sanchez met in 2000, Sanchez had already been building instruments for years. For him, constructing the instrument came part and parcel with creating sound. When he speaks about creating his gase–a guitar-bass hybrid, and the namesake of one-half the duo Buke and Gase–there’s no sense of novelty to his tone; he makes instruments to suit the sound he wants. Arone Dyer, perhaps even more straightforwardly, made her first baritone ukelele (the buke) as a way around her carpel tunnel syndrome. Their philosophy is no-nonsense, the resulting sound otherworldly. The Brooklyn-born two-piece, more recently of Hudson, NY, uses every limb at its disposal: Dyer and Sanchez dreamt up their own breed of kick drums and something called a toebourine to accompany their primary instruments, in the name of making a heavy, cataclysmic sound filled with contradictions of darkness and delicacy, percussive rhythm and cacophony.

When I called Buke and Gase last week, they were on the road, in the latter leg of a short tour. Dyer answered the phone, her voice pleasant and frank, breaking periodically into little bursts of laughter. In Buke and Gase’s swampier songs, this voice works like a foil to the distorted instrumental lines. It rises above the chaos, clear and soaring, a homegrown instrument in itself.

AudioFemme: So, you guys are on tour. Where are you right now? How’s it been so far?

Arone Dyer: We’re on our way to Chicago from Detroit. It’s been great! We started in Boston and went to Montreal and Toronto and Detroit last night. It was a pretty short tour.

AF: Both of you live in Hudson right now. Do you find there’s a difference between being a musician in Brooklyn and being a musician in upstate New York?

AD: Um, no? Yes? There’s a lot less anonymity in Hudson. You move into town and you meet everyone. It’s a very small town. Everybody knows what we do, and we know what everybody does. In Brooklyn, you tend to like, have your scene, which is the group of people you spend the most of your time with. That kind of limits your friendship base to the size of a small town. Which is pretty much what we’ve got in Hudson. In Brooklyn, or New York, or any larger city, there’s also the influx of other people who are curious or who you wouldn’t otherwise see on a regular basis.

AF: I actually used to live in that area. I know that Kris Perry (a local artist who builds sculptures that operate as musical instruments) lives around there, too. Have you ever played with him? Do you think there are some elements in his work that resemble what you do?

AD: Oh yeah, totally [fusion_builder_container hundred_percent=”yes” overflow=”visible”][fusion_builder_row][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”][we’ve interacted.] His musical instruments are mainly sculpture that makes sound. That’s what’s really interesting about his work. Our work is not necessarily sculptural, it’s more that we make the instruments to perform the sound that we specifically want to get. Form follows function with us, whereas for him it’s the form that comes first, I think. Although he integrates it, too.

AF: Can you tell me a little bit about your songwriting process?

AD: Sure. Basically, all of our songwriting comes out of the two of us in a room together. We don’t bring anything to the table necessarily from our own personal stash, our own ideas. It’s very rare that that happens. Usually Aron and I get into a room and we sit and improvise for hours on end. We record it all and then we go back through and listen to it, just kind of sift through the whole improv, and pick out stuff that catches our ear, or that we hear some kind of potential in, and we work with that. We’ve tried taking parts and contriving them into full songs, or taking several parts from different improvisations and putting them together, or just taking an entire improv as it is and learning that. So there’s lots of different ways and it all comes out pretty organically and differently each time.

AF: And it’s a totally collaborative process at this point?

AD: Oh yeah, totally. A completely fused collaboration.

AF: How did the two of you meet? Were you involved with other projects at the time?

AD: A long time ago, in 2000. I was roommates with one of his friends. We were both musicians, but I don’t know if we were doing anything specifically at that time. We started playing music together pretty much right away.

AF: Aron, you were already building instruments at that time, right? What got you started making your own instruments?

Aaron Sanchez: When I was really, really young, it was part of the process of me learning to be a musician. I just got really into taking things apart and putting them back together. It was just natural for me to get into it like that.

AF: Did anyone teach you how to build instruments? Did you take formal music training?

AS: No, I was self-taught. It was mostly like, “Oh, I want this instrument–I’ll make it!” That kind of attitude. I studied classical piano for about nine years, and I taught myself guitar, and maybe some drums. I started playing bass. I became more of a bass player for a long time. I took some lessons here and there, but primarily I’m self-taught.

AF: Who writes your lyrics?

Arone Dyer: I do. Or it’s mostly me, probably about 90%. But we talk about them.

AF: Do they usually come after you’ve written the music?

AD: It totally depends. It’s different every time. Sometimes it’s straight from improvisation, where I’m mumbling or saying something weird and I’ll try to phonetically translate that and it becomes the base of whatever story it is. Sometimes lyrics come from a dream diary. I keep track of my dreams.

AF: That totally makes sense. Your lyrics always seem to me to be kind of surreal and dark. Do you prefer to write lyrics that don’t have an immediate, explicit meaning?

AD: (laughs) I mean, I’m human. I like to have things make sense. I look for patterns, that’s what humans do. So generally that’s what I go towards, but there are many times when it just doesn’t happen.

AF: Do you intentionally write dark lyrics?

AD: Dark, no, it’s not always intentional. Sometimes it is. Sometimes it’s born out of the feeling of the music, too, because our music kind of heavy. Or sometimes it’s not–the contradiction of having lyrics that are dark and a sound that’s very light, I think both of us find that contradiction really interesting. So lots of times the [music and lyrics] end up being contradictory or…dissonant. Or maybe I’m just a dark person. I can’t tell.

AF: On your albums–for example, on General Dome–do you have a vision for the songs before you begin to write or record them?

AD: No. Not at all. We never have a plan. Like I said–we get into a room and we improvise. What comes out of that is where we are.

AF: Interesting. Do you make new instruments specifically for certain songs, certain recording sessions?

AD: No. I mean, Aron tends to make a new instrument every three months or so. Or twice a year? Well, he’s made something like thirteen different gases, and sometimes they have the same neck but a different body, or a different neck but the same body, of they’re entirely new. He’s constantly developing a sound.

AF: Do you come across people who want to play a buke or a gase? Do they ask you for lessons?

AD: Totally. Tons of people.

AF: Do you make instruments to sell, or would you consider doing so in the future?

AD: No, we don’t sell instruments. [As for the future,] it depends. I think Aron would say the same thing.

AF: Has there ever been an instrument that ended up making a sound completely different than the sound you had thought it would make?

AD: No, I mean, we’re not just building blindly. The instruments I’ve built, or created, were for a specific thing. In the past I’ve built an instrument that I wasn’t sure how it would sound, but I basically made a tenor bass. I’ve been thinking lately about doing something different for my instrument, though. I’m kind of ready to move on to something else. Maybe in the future, I’ll come out with something where I won’t know how it’s going to end up.

Buke and Gase will keep their live act on the road in the coming months, and are slotted to appear in Ireland in December! Check out the elaborate and fragmented video for “General Dome,” off the 2013 album of the same name, below:

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What to Wear to CMJ 2014

It’s that time of year again: CMJ Music Marathon is upon us. One crazy awesome week of running around Manhattan and Brooklyn to see the newest, coolest emerging faces in music. The one problem? New York in October. It’s getting cold, it’s rainy, and you have to make it from Webster Hall to Brooklyn Bowl in a short amount of time. You need the right gear to get you through. Luckily for you, we’ve gone ahead and pinned some of our favorite show looks that will also defend you from the weather. Check out our ASOS picks on our Pinterest page!

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ALBUM REVIEW: Helado Negro “Double Youth”

After a slew of collaborations (Bear In Heaven, Devendra Banhart, Julianna Barwick, and others), Roberto Carlos Lange retreated inward to make Double Youth, his fourth full-length release as Helado Negro. Recorded largely in Lange’s home studio in Brooklyn, the album is constructed with simple tools: easy, percussive beats and lullaby-like vocals that swing between Spanish and English. The whole thing falls somewhere between abstract and danceable.

Double Youth‘s guiding theme–and its cover art–comes from an old poster from Lange’s childhood, which he had forgotten about until he pulled it out of the back of his closet one day, in the early stages of recording the album. The image of the two boys posing together, looking both twin-like and not, resonated with Lange. Twosomes crop up everywhere in the making and music of this album: the poster reminded Lange of the warmth of a familiar memory, but also of how far away from that memory he had come; his vocals overlap Spanish with English; the beats recall block party bass lines booming from car speakers, but they easily turn tranquil, with a delicate motif of watery arpeggios that cycles forlornly through this collection. Its components laid bare, Double Youth feels like a conversation, and a kind of imperfect twinship, between voice and computer.

The album’s front half floats by like a pink cloud: the bouncy single “I Krill You” and subsequent track “It’s Our Game” are the two catchiest songs on the collection, and Lange’s lullaby voice is like melted chocolate drizzled over the beat. But over the course of Double Youth, the music develops a huge amount of texture. By the time we get to “That Shit Makes Me Sad,” the cyclical and moody closer, melodies have grown into landscapes, and the early tracks’ sweetness subsides into a strangeness that’s still vaguely benevolent.

On September 2nd, Double Youth will waft gently down to earth, courtesy of Asthmatic Kitty Records. If you simply cannot wait that long to be soothed by smooth vocals and delighted by playful beats, you can stream the whole enchilada over at Pitchfork, in anticipation of the album’s release. Check out “I Krill You” to get a taste:
<a href="http://heladonegro.bandcamp.com/album/double-youth">Double Youth by Helado Negro</a>

LIVE REVIEW: A Sunny Day in Glasgow @ Baby’s All Right

A Sunny Day in Glasgow @ Baby's All Right. Photo by Karen Gardiner — A Sunny Day in Glasgow @ Baby’s All Right. Photo by Karen Gardiner

The way in which A Sunny Day in Glasgow recorded their latest album, Sea When Absent, made seeing them perform a live show all the more intriguing. The band’s current incarnation — held together by just one original member, Ben Daniels — consists of six members scattered across the globe, forcing them to record the album via email without, at any point in the process, being in the same room together. While this method worked out to glorious effect on the record — it’s a densely textured record bursting with clattering percussion and joyful melodies — I was skeptical of how it might play out live.

A little after 11 p.m. on Saturday night, the band opened their sold-out set at Baby’s All Right, bursting in with the biggest number from the album, “In Love With Useless.” Vocalist Jen Goma (who moonlights in People Get Ready and The Pains of Being Pure at Heart) bounced up and down, seemingly drawing all her energy to guide the song through its twists and turns, on a path leading to a clarifying harmony with the more restrained vocals of Annie Frederickson. Though the band is a sixpiece, it was the two women at the front who commanded much of the attention. Goma, the only one unfettered by an instrument, made for a very physical presence, and seemed to be using her entire body to conjure the big notes. Frederickson, for her part, would widen her eyes in anticipation of the soaring harmonies they reached for, the two women sharing a grin when they made it.

The band zipped through an hour-long set that was largely made up of tracks from the new album. Live, the multiple layers of the songs, perhaps inevitably, didn’t mesh quite as thoroughly as on record: the timing felt off on a few occasions, and the the two singers’ harmonies didn’t always gel perfectly. Still, the band remained confident throughout, their energy and enthusiasm never flagging, and shaking off minor mishaps such as a broken guitar strap and averting a set list mixup. True to their name, their performance was of almost child-like joy — emphasized by their use of a kazoo, maracas, a tambourine, and hand claps — and delightful exuberance. You get the feeling this band’s music could paint even the darkest and grimmest of Glasgow days in bright technicolor.

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TRACK REVIEW: Crystal Stilts “Delirium Tremendous”

After the September release of album Nature Noir, Brooklyn’s own fuzzy noise pop darlings Crystal Stilts have triumphantly returned– with new single “Delirium Tremendous.” But this time, there’s less fuzz, and more sun. The track begins with a deliciously upbeat, almost Krautrock-sounding tempo, built around singer Brad Hargett’s Ian Curtis-like croon. He makes a fervent plea to be understood: “Delirium/Delirium/Deliver me from tedium.” The lyric creates a dark, complex backdrop to the otherwise light and playful pace of drums and insistent, building guitar. Perhaps a bit of shadow lurks beneath the sunny veneer.

Without warning, things change direction and a bridge builds out– a slowed tempo oozing with a “party’s over” sense of resignation as Hargett himself resigns: “And after all/Is said and done/We have to go.” But is the party really really over? No time for contemplation– as all traces of the bridge have melted away, replaced by the resurgence of the frenzied, driving pace that you were just starting to miss.

This track has the feel of being on a spontaneous road trip; and although Hargett and Co. make a pit-stop halfway through the wild ride to get out of the car, pace around a bit and contemplate the universe, they more than make up for the break once they get back on the highway; with tires screeching, steering wheel swerving, and blissful, reckless abandon charting the course through to the song’s abrupt end. Damn right, it left me wanting more.

As it happens, this month Crystal Stilts will be rolling through a slew of East Coast (and even a few Midwest) cities with some live dates. Schedule below:

6.14.14 – Rock and Roll Hotel [fusion_builder_container hundred_percent=”yes” overflow=”visible”][fusion_builder_row][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”][tickets] – Washington, DC*@

6.15.14- Ottobar [tickets] – Baltimore, MD*

6.16.14- Cattivo- [tickets] – Pittsburgh, PA*

6.17.14- Mahall’s [tickets] – Cleveland, OH*

6.18.14- Empty Bottle [tickets]- Chicago, IL*

6.19.14- The Warehouse- Ann Arbor, MI*

6.20.14- NXNE- The Garrison- Toronto, ON

6.21.14- Il Motore- Montreal, QC

6.22.14- Space Gallery [tickets]- Portland, ME

6.27.14- Baby’s All Right [tickets]- Brooklyn, NY#

*with Juan Wauters

@ with Craft Spells

# with Christines

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ALBUM REVIEW: Parquet Courts “Sunbathing Animal”

Following their highly acclaimed 2012 album Light Up Gold, Brooklyn-based punks Parquet Courts delve into something more disembodied and fragmented in Sunbathing Animal, out June 3 via What’s Your Rupture? and Mom + Pop Music. Their sound is essentially the same – still plenty of the lively guitars and driving drums that drew the mass of listeners that religiously follow them now – but there’s something more exact about it, more complete. The 13-track endeavor was inspired by the band’s time on the road and that feeling of displacement and transit is reflected in the lyrics and sound.

The opening track, “Bodies,” is a great introduction to the album as it plays on themes of separation and introspection. As lead vocalist Andrew Savage sings of “bodies made of slugs and guts,” the accompanying guitar follows in spirals and the repetition of phrases and rhythms creates a nearly out-of-body experience where the mental becomes separated from the physical. This effect is repeated in “What Color Is Blood” and “Instant Disassembly” where a dissociation of body and spirit makes the listening experience that more meaningful.

Sunbathing Animal is an album that can be listened to – and should be listened to – from first track to last in order to get its full impact. Shorter, one-minute tracks like “Vienna II” and “Up All Night” act as transitional interludes that really capture the wandering sense of being on tour with the band, feeling their moments of freedom and captivity, and the not-much-longer “Always Back In Town” hinges on ebullient transience. That central theme is visited and revisited in different ways, and at every pace: “Dear Ramona” unwinds slowly for moments of contemplative limbo, “She’s Rollin” stretches into a dissonant harmonica jam by its end, “Raw Milk” captures stumbling, early morning disorientation, and the sneering “Ducking & Dodging” as well as the intense energy and searing drive of the title track are tailored for rowdy live iterations, built to anchor yet many more tour dates in DIY spaces and moldy basements of house shows. As a whole, the album is a strong sophomore follow-up to their early success, their sound more precise and their exploration of different themes relevant especially in times like these, when it often seems as if everything is always in transition.

Watch an animal sunbathing in the video below (+ tour dates):

June 2, 2014 Houston, TX – Fitzgerald’s w/ Radioactivity
June 3, 2014 Dallas, TX – Club Dada w/ Swearin’, Radioactivity
June 4, 2014 Memphis, TN – The Hi-Tone w/ Protomartyr, True Sons of Thunder
June 6, 2014 Columbus, OH – Double Happiness
June 7, 2014 Detroit, MI – PJ’s Lager House w/ Tyvek, Protomartyr
June 8, 2014 Toronto, ON – Horsehoe Tavern w/ Tyvek, Protomartyr
June 9, 2014 Montreal, QC – Il Motore w/ Tyvek, Protomartyr
June 10, 2014 Boston, MA – TT the Bears w/ Protomartyr
June 11, 2014 Brooklyn, NY – Sugarhill Supper Club w/ Protomartyr, Future Punx, Xerox
August 2, 2014 Chicago, IL – Lollapalooza
August 3, 2014 Happy Valley, OR – Pickathon

TRACK REVIEW: Parquet Courts “Sunbathing Animal”

Parquet Courts, besides being the only (I think) garage-punk quartet to ever show Ridgewood, Queens the limelight it deserves in “Stoned and Starving,” are both from and intensely representative of Brooklyn’s DIY culture. They keep it simple and keep it snotty, braiding basement-classic two-chord guitar parts with noisy hooks and lyrics that seethe with existential ennui but rarely use big words.

The group came crashing into mainstream view with Light Up Gold at the end of 2012, and then proceeded to have a busier year than their dope-smoking, couch-crashing, afternoon-rising music might have made you think was possible: they toured extensively in 2013 and released their Tally All The Things That You Broke EP less than a year after the full-length dropped. On June 3rd, Brooklyn’s hardest-working slackers are back with a brand new record titled Sunbathing Animal. Early in March, Parquet Courts came out with the title track off the new album–but only on sheet music. The dynamics prescribed for the song? “ffff,” aka “loud as hell.” Indeed.

“Sunbathing Animal” is now out as a single for those who can’t read sheet music, and you can buy the 7” on Record Store Day. The track doesn’t deviate from the slightly atonal simplicity that characterized the group’s first record; however, the sustained fever pitch of vocal energy that lasts the entirety of the near-four minute song marks new, exciting ground for Parquet Courts. The repetitive, rigid drum beat is almost maniacally fast, with twirling guitar solos to match. More passionate than it is disillusioned, “Sunbathing Animal” tightens the kind of instrumental sprawl that, on the first record, would have indicated boredom, and brings all that bright distortion and dissonance into what sounds like a Parquet Courts version of a highly danceable single.

The sheet music for this track suggests a tempo of “penitenziario,” which translates to “prison.” Is “Sunbathing Animal” a punishing song, or is it penitent? Check it out below and see what you think:

ALBUM REVIEW: Yellow Ostrich “Cosmos”

Since beginning his solo project Yellow Ostrich, singer-guitarist Alex Schaaf has been making music prolifically and with fanatical focus. Within a couple of years of its inception, while Schaaf was still a college student, Yellow Ostrich had recorded two full-length albums and three EPs, each of which barreled with blinders on in a direction that had little in common with that of the previous release. In 2009, one of Yellow Ostrich’s earlier releases, The Serious Kids EP, consisted of a six-track foray into acousti-fied electronic dance music. The same month, a Morgan Freeman tribute EP surfaced on the group’s Bandcamp page. Suffice it to say that Schaaf doesn’t shy away from experimentation, nor the prospect of devoting an entire album to that experimentation.

Yellow Ostrich has grown since those days. Having added drummer Michael Tapper, and then, later on, bassist Zach Rose and Jared Van Fleet on keys, Schaaf remains the center of the band. Though as a solo artist, the sheer amount of sound Schaaf was able to orchestrate was impressive, it’s difficult now to imagine Yellow Ostrich without Tapper’s drum work. But though beefier instrumentation makes Schaaf’s penchant for big, unpredictable themes a bit less obvious, those deeply delved-into concept albums are by no means an outgrown phase for Yellow Ostrich.

By way of preparation, Schaaf moved into the band’s windowless Brooklyn practice space for nine months before writing the songs on Cosmos. There, he studied astronomy, and artificially recreated of the cycle of daylight and night in lieu of going outside. When he did start to write, the album developed an obsession with darkness and light. “Pull the shades down and never let go,” Schaaf intones on “Shades,” and then inverts the image in the following track with the wearily repeated line “hiding under the brightest light.” Less poppy and more violent than anything the group had so far put out, Schaaf’s vocals cycle over delicate electronics and heavy guitars like waves crashing unenthusiastically against a wooden dock at nighttime.

For all its well-researched complexities, Cosmos retains the element that’s been threaded through all of Yellow Ostrich’s deviations: it assumes, for lack of a better term, a sense of wonder in its audience. It’s easy to find sections of Schaaf’s vocal track precious, his looping melodies boring. The group has, in interviews, expressed preference for playing college campuses, and it’s easy to see why: the ideal Yellow Ostrich fan is deeply enthrall-able and eager to suspend disbelief. Even if the group’s grand, far-flung scope won’t appeal to all listeners, the prospect of being invited to dig deep in this album adds an allure to the deceptively catchy, pulsing echoes of Cosmos.

Walk, don’t fly, over to Facebook for more Yellow Ostrich. Listen to “Shades,” off Cosmos, below:

ALBUM REVIEW: “Caveat Emptor”

An album that has a high level of alteration put into it—synth-laden vocals, electronic effects, trumpets and strings—often results in chaos. Shimmering, vocals-obscuring production can blunt the point of the music’s ability to emotionally grab. That’s not the case on Caveat Emptor, Brooklyn-based Empty Chairs’ November 5^th release. Although the new album emphasizes a kind of floating and dream-like ambiguity of intent, this somehow does not detract from the powerful connection forged with the listener, and I’m still trying to figure out exactly why that is.

The vocals, from the very beginning of the first track, demonstrate a yearning, loving vitality. The earnestness of singer/guitarist Peter Spear’s voice harnesses the often-obscured lyrics, cool, delicate detachment of the synth lines, and soft-landing drum beat into a sound that’s focused and emotive. This isn’t to say the vocals overcome an otherwise cacophonous record, though, because despite the fact that Empty Chairs incorporate a large instrumental scope into their sound, all the various lines within the music seem to work from different angles towards a common goal: deliberate chaos.

Each song begins with a set of rhythmic samples, gradually stirring in different elements as the melody repeats. But, since the album takes place on a wispy, dream-like plane, the dynamic range necessary to accommodate this kind of repetition is not present. There is no underlying driving power to kick up the intensity of the music’s progression as it cycles along, leaving the tracks to just sort of hang for minutes, suspended in time. Within a greater dynamic spectrum, this could be mesmerizing.

The last of Caveat Emptor‘s ten tracks, “The Night Sky Becomes An Ocean,” hints at this expansion of sound: the string section builds the song to a wondrous, cinematic head, and a corresponding warmth of vocals comes across earnest without seeming too navel-gazey. Including more tracks like this one, and slimming some filler in the repetitive sections of the songs, would have added depth to an already emotive collection.

Check out “Caveat Emptor” here via Soundlcoud:

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SHOW REVIEW: Sinkane, Friends, Phone Tag

There are certain nights when I wish my favorite venues in Brooklyn, all of which happen to inhabit the same square block of Williamsburg, would just band together and offer three-for-one show deals, or at least build a network of secret tunnels connecting each venue to the next – like those elaborate ferret dens you see in pet shops, all neon yellow and orange plastic. Thursday was a perfect example of just such a night, as my buddy Ahmed Gallab and his band Sinkane were opening for Sun Araw at Death By Audio and Brooklyn-based band Friends were over at 285 Kent. Additionally, Annie was amped for a Chris Cohen set at Glasslands, so we did what any good AudioFemmes would do and attended all three between the two of us.

I don’t want to go into too much detail about Sinkane’s set; this blog has not seen the last of him by any means. Frontman Ahmed Gallab is a longtime friend of mine from Ohio, where I’d see him play regularly with two of my favorite Columbus acts, Sweetheart and Pompeii This Morning. Sinkane is the most psychedelic sonic adventure he’s ever been on, and I’ve been stoked to watch it evolve from its humble beginnings as a solo project, through a move to Brooklyn and tours with the likes of Caribou and Yeasayer, and into what it is now – a four piece as much informed by seventies funk and Afrobeat as it is by indie rock. His jams get more and more solid every time I get a chance to see him play, helped along by a recent residency at Zebulon and soon to take the world by storm as he was just signed to DFA. On Thursday he debuted some great new material – stay tuned for an upcoming AF feature.

As I mentioned, Sinkane was opening up for fellow purveyors of psychedelic sound Sun Araw, though I was only able to stay for a few of their songs. I’ve liked a good many records that they’ve put out, but have never really gotten to see them live. Their first few numbers were droning and dissonant; hair hung in the faces of the flanneled band members who had turned most of the stage lights out just before playing. I’m hoping the set got better as they went on. They were sluggishly nonchalant, as though there weren’t a room filled with folks eyeing their moves, and the songs just didn’t come across as textural or integrated as they do on the albums, and the cloud of weed hovering in the front room of DBA didn’t even help. I’ll be giving them another chance, though, and soon.

I could have probably stuck around a bit longer, but I didn’t want to miss Friends and figured they’d play at 285 Kent around 11:30. When I arrived at the venue, Phone Tag was finishing up an adorably bouncy set that had the crowd (and it was a decently sized crowd for an opening band on a Thursday night) going wild. I hadn’t yet heard their self-titled 2012 LP but was definitely intrigued by the ardent fanbase, not to mention the glistening keys and synths, reverb-drenched guitar and cooing vocals reminiscent of a less grating Passion Pit. The band is led by Gryphon Graham and comprised of some pretty attractive kids. They could just as easily be a group of hip super-heroes as a band, but lucky for everyone at 285 they chose to play instruments instead of fight crime. Their songs are made for rooftop dance parties and flirting in bars, ultra catchy and very fun but never totally frivolous.

All of this made them appropriate openers for Brooklyn band-of-the-moment Friends, who will soon embark on a month-long tour opening for Two Door Cinema Club. Like Phone Tag, Friends play deceivingly simple indie pop party jams, but there’s a certain depth and skill at work that goes beyond the band’s youthful exuberance.

Friends take ultra catchy jams and infuse them with beats and instrumentation so eclectic it’s hard to pin down any definitive influences. Their live shows feature heavy, funky basslines courtesy of a new bassist known as “V” (who in a weird way looks like an avatar from Rock Band), lively synths thanks to Nikki Shapiro, and he percussive efforts of Oliver Duncan (on a drumset) and Etienne Pierre Duguay (formerly of Real Estate) on bongos, tambourine, and anything else that will make a sound when you bash, tap, or click it.

But Friends simply would not be what it is without the incredible vocals and personality of Samatha Urbani, whose aesthetic has informed the band since its inception, when she directed videos for the band’s first and very buzzed about singles, “I’m His Girl” and “Friend Crush”. Wearing high-waisted navy blue pants with double rows of gold buttons, a white shirt tied at the waist with gold beadwork cascading down her back and across her shoulders, Urbani was every bit the glamourous frontwoman.

Her flamboyant-meets-chic style is one thing, but her vocal chops are completely another. She drifts back and forth easily between a higher, sweeter coo and lower, more sultry tones delivered with a dose of sass. That much was apparent on the band’s debut LP, Manifest! released this year. But live she’s that much more captivating, peppering her performance with coquettish yelps and squeals reminiscent of Kate Pierson from the B-52’s. A friend of mine told me that she used to see Urbani perform regularly at karaoke and said that she completely slayed every song, which I not only believe but would have probably paid money to see that alone.

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SHOW REVIEW: Gang Gang Dance w/ Prince Rama

Okay, so I know I’ve been spending too much time at 285 Kent. I know you’re all sick of hearing about it. I’m thinking of getting a tattoo of a sharpie line drawn across my wrist so they won’t have to ID me anymore, maybe even the “RANDO” stamp they use on my forearm so I don’t have to pay to get in. For all you foursquare nerds out there, check out the mayor – it’s actually me. But none of this is my fault. I could quit if I wanted. It’s just that there is too much goodness going on inside those walls on a nightly basis, really.

On Sunday night, that goodness took the form of Gang Gang Dance and Prince Rama. It was the last night of GGD’s “Tour of Williamsburg” in which they played Public Assembly on Friday (with Sun Araw), Cameo Gallery on Saturday (with New Moods), and 285 on Sunday (with Prince Rama). All of these shows were put together by Brooklyn-based booking agency Bandshell, whose mission is to bring bigger bands to smaller, more intimate venues. From what I can tell their venture is a new-ish one and they don’t seem to have any events coming up, but it’s a mission we can get behind and we’d like to see it succeed.

I’d been dying to see Prince Rama but had missed the seven billion opportunities I’d been given in the past. Now I will say this: NO MORE. No more will I show up late to shows where they are opening, no more will I skip their free or cheap shows for some other free or cheap show, no more will this band play in Brooklyn without seeing me at the foot of their stage, worshipping every move. These ladies (and one gentleman) do it so, so right.

First, they were wearing ultra-eccentric outfits (think animal print, think sequins) and had gold glitter all over their faces and all of them (the boy too!) had pretty hair. The driving force of the project is sisters Taraka and Nimai Larson, joined by guitarist Michael Collins. The three met in a Hare Krishna commune in Florida and honed their psychedelic leanings in art school. Oddity can sometimes seem affected or put on, part of a performance rather than a way of life, but for Prince Rama it’s genuine and engaging.

Taraka sang the majority of the vocals and was also in charge of the synths, but abandoned them relatively often for a little audience participation. The audience this night included members of the Larson family; during the second-to-last number Taraka jumped off stage and danced with what I’d assume was maybe her mother, who seemed to know all the words. Nimai stood in a circle of drums, dancing while she played, her smile so wide and constant that she kind of reminded me of the girl muppet in Dr. Teeth’s Electric Mayhem. She was adorable and so fun to watch, but it was hard to train the eyes on any one thing. There were cool projections mirroring their movements filtered to look like some kind of crazy acid trip, and the stage was festooned with loudly printed textiles and gauze.

Musically, Prince Rama’s sound is designed to put you in a party trance of sorts; there’s plenty of chanting and call-and-response but it’s backed up by an acute understanding of what makes a song worth dancing to. I’ve been to plenty of psych shows that devolve into sort of boring drone, and this is the exact opposite. To prove that, the sisters leapt off stage during the last number and performed an incredible dance routine on the floor to close out the show; this included flips, hand motions, dramatic facial expression, and probably went on for over six minutes. Since they’d arrived late and hadn’t been able to start the show on time, yet the venue wouldn’t allow them to hold up Gang Gang Dance’s scheduled performance, the dance number ended up being a significant portion of time in their set overall. But it was absolutely enchanting. I cannot wait to see them again.

Gang Gang Dance play a similar brew of exotic psych, but there are way more people in the band and have a much heavier ratio of males to females – there are four dudes to the one lady, Lizzi Bougatsos. At this particular show there was also a strange shaman-type dude in the band; he mostly hid behind the amps but he’d peer around them with some weird antique binocular-type gadget, or hit an adjacent cymbal with a piece of rope tied to his wrist. At one point he did move to the front of the stage to hold a drum head so Lizzi could bang on it, but that was as present as he ever seemed.

I’m getting a bit ahead of myself though. Before the show even started, Bougatsos appeared onstage in a baseball cap and a homemade hijab, asking the house DJ to stop playing MIA. Despite Gang Gang Dance’s obvious affinity for world beats, exotic instrumentation, and Middle-Eastern influenced sonic tinges, Bougatsos proudly identified herself as a Long Island girl, glorious accent and all. When she sings, though, it sounds like she’s coming from some other planet. She also plays a floor tom and a smaller set of drums. The synth guy sometimes played drums too, and then there was actual drummer. Together, they caused quite a lovely racket, the band spooling out their off-center dance tunes into sprawling psychic meditations. They tackled favorites like “Mindkilla” “Adult Goth” “Egyptian” and “Vacuums”, interspersed with new songs like “Lazy Eye”, which prompted Bougatsos to keep a lyric sheet on hand, though she ended up not needing it. In addition to building kaleidoscopic jams out of their regular material, the band also debuted some expansive instrumental tracks. The only song notably missing from the set was “House Jam”, but in such a long and tight set its omission was not exactly tragic.

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It’s been over a year since Eye Contact was released, and it’s exciting to see the band develop new material, though if the time that passed between their most recent release and 2008’s Saint Dymphna is any indication it will be a while longer before we see a new full length. If this trio of performances is any indication, Gang Gang Dance are far from exhausting the font from which their reputations as experimental wunderkinds flow.

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Why You Should Always Go To A “Secret” Show

Last minute, some friends and I decided to grab tickets to Ariel Pink’s Webster Hall show. TEEN was opening and I hadn’t seen Ariel Pink in roughly two years, the last time being at Irving Plaza when I was going through some major melodrama that kind of ruined the whole thing for me. So despite the hefty ticket price and less than ideal venue, I logged on to Ticketmaster, rolled my eyes at the ‘service’ surcharges, and was just about to click on “Submit Order” when I heard a familiar gchat ding. My roommate was informing me that Holy Other had announced a secret show at 285 Kent via a Twitter message that had already disappeared. All that remained was the following cryptic tweet from the venue:

Todd P’s reply tweets seemed to confirm that it would all go down after Ariel Pink finished the Webster show. Holy Other was opening for Amon Tobin at Hammerstein, so that also seemed to make sense. 285’s facebook dangled a 3am set time like a carrot on a stick. The matter was discussed with friends; it simply made more sense to skip Webster on the chance that Ariel would play later, cheaper, and in a rad venue instead of a lame one.

My brain was buzzing while I excitedly coordinated a new game plan for the evening. Sure, I’d been excited to see TEEN, but had no doubt they’d play a CMJ showcase somewhere. Holy Other was a more than suitable consolation prize. And I was curious about R. Stevie Moore’s set as well. But something about the prospect of seeing Ariel Pink at 285 seemed so epic, even though it was nothing if not the scaled-back nature of this alternative venue that made it that much more appealing. There was something else at work here – the rumors, the hush, the knowing wink (or in this case, knowing retweets). The magic of the ‘secret’ show.

What is it that makes a secret show feel so magical? By its nature, even indulging the rumors means you are part of a club that is “in-the-know” and from there you have two options: play the part of the cool skeptic, or go all in on the chance that whatever happens might be spectacular. It’s not like buying a ticket for a bill announced well in advance; while the anticipation might be just as acute there is the added glamour of uncertainty. The venue could be jam-packed! The ensuing show could be mayhem! It might not even happen until the wee morning hours! There could be insane special guests! Suddenly, I was starring in a saga that had yet to unfold, knowing that if any one of these grandiose scenarios came to fruition, there were major bragging rights to be had.

After all, it was only about a month ago that Pictureplane and Grimes infamously took over 285, aided by surprise appearances from araabMuzik and A$AP Rocky. I had been at that show; I got tickets before they sold out without thinking about the fact that I was supposed to work that evening, but it ended up taking place much later than expected so I just went afterward. I’d had some friends in town that weekend so by the Sunday evening on which the show took place, I was exhausted, ready to keel over. I was quite enjoying Arca’s DJ set but also feeling impatient and super-annoyed by the underaged seapunks populating the crowd. Pictureplane didn’t go on until after midnight, as though enacting some backwards Cinderella clause. I was simply too worn out to stick around for Grimes and her gaggle of buzzy artists, but the next day I admittedly kicked myself for not sticking it out a little longer. A very well-known ‘journalist’ infamous for his over-use of superlatives tweeted: “Seems clear @285Kent will one day be regarded as a legendary NY scene. Easily the wildest + most creative I’ve witnessed in my 5 years here.”

285grimes — Grimes DJs 285 Kent. Photographed by Erez Avissar, photo courtesy of Pitchfork.

And it is kind of true. If there’s a venue in Brooklyn that’s really taking the reins as far as booking avant-garde artists and quirky parties, it’s 285. While it’s no doubt benefited from its proximity to neighborhood DIY stalwarts Glasslands and Death By Audio, it has also had to set itself apart from these institutions. It does so by catering to subcultures so specific to an ever-fleeting moment that, while the general populous tries to come up with a searing punchline to describe it, the nature of the ‘scene’ has already morphed into something else as explosive and as vibrant. As with any scene there are downsides and caveats, but boredom isn’t in the vocabulary.

So when a place like this announces a secret anything, be there with bells on. These aren’t just stories to tell your grandkids, these are stories that will make your relatives believe you are starting to go senile, because what you’ve described seems so fantastical. No, you’ll insist: these are things that happened. To me. And they will either commit you to a geriatric care facility right then and there, or their shining eyes will widen and they will beg you to regale them with more tales from your debaucherous twenties. You’ll play them a Grimes record, they will make strange faces.

Last Friday wasn’t quite so legendary as I’d hoped it would be, but Holy Other played an absolutely killer set. His features were totally obscured by fog-machine sputter and pitch black lighting save for a mesmerizing laser projector cutting through the darkness. Now, don’t go thinking I’m some stoner who could spend hours in Spencer gifts staring goggle-eyed at lava lamps and blacklight posters, but this laser thing was incredible. It had a presence, like you could reach out and touch it, and it made geometric shapes and waves in myriad colors. When I was living in Ohio, we had a regular karaoke spot and the DJ, Dave Castro, was the main reason behind our repeat attendance. From time to time he’d have contests and give away this DVD he’d made for cats. It was literally called Cat DVD and it was looped footage of goldfish swimming around or birds hopping through a forest or… that’s right, lasers. The idea was that when you had to leave your cat at home alone, you could put on the DVD and then instead of napping the whole day away it would watch and be stimulated. It was also really good for backgrounds at parties – much better than a lava lamp and much less likely to short out and cause a fatal blaze. Watching Holy Other and his magical laser box was like getting sucked into Cat DVD in the best way I can describe. When I talked about the show with friends afterward, the laser was the focus of conversation. We wondered where we could get one, then decided that you had to know a wizard or a unicorn who could hook you up with it.

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Holy Other’s latest album Held makes good on all the promises of his early demos, singles and EPs. Right at home on label Triangle Records, Holy Other is often associated with witch house, but he’s a front runner and a creator within that genre, not an imitator or piggy-backer. He invented the sound that would define that movement, in all its sinister glory – skeletal beats marred by thumping bass, syrupy samples, seemingly random bleeps which emerge after repeated listens into blissful sonic fractals. It’s hard not to be moved even during a subway ride with headphones over the ears or via computer speakers while you’re supposed to be casually checking email. But with the volume up as loud as eardrums can handle, letting every pulse wash over you, the experience is truly one of holiness.

His set was plenty satisfying, but we had to know if Ariel Pink would show up so we stuck around, breathless from the experience. What we got instead was bizarro pop Ariel Pink protege Geneva Jacuzzi, whose live performance I was surprised to learn just consists of her leaping barefoot around the stage in questionable attire while she howls over iPod tracks. Since it was by that time close to 3AM if not well past it, and because grilled cheese from Normaan’s Kil was calling my name ever so faintly, my friend and I reluctantly left. The reluctance was mostly mine and mostly only a byproduct of that uncertainty still reverberating through my psyche – what if Ariel Pink did show and I missed it?

While we waited for our cheeses (Solona + Vernice for LIFE!) I checked twitter for any news, mostly to no avail. Finally someone posted an Instagram of a blurry, nearly obscured R. Stevie Moore backed by a band which may or may not have been Bodyguard and may or may not have included Ariel Pink, but there was no definitive account of who was actually onstage. The person who posted the picture said they stayed at the venue until six in the morning.

In the end, the takeaway is this: the experience as a whole was totally worth it. If I’d really wanted to see Ariel Pink I could’ve gone to Webster Hall, and for that matter I’m sure I’ll have another opportunity to bask in his weirdness. In return for giving the promoters the benefit of the doubt, I was witness to an absolutely majestic Holy Other performance that I’m sure would have been nowhere near as intimate or haunting at Hammerstein. It’s a great reminder that there is only one moment, and it’s the one you’re in. You’re only a sucker if you stay home.

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SHOW REVIEW: Eric Copeland and U.S. Girls

As a founding member of Black Dice, Eric Copeland has been melting my face for years. I’d seen them live a handful of times in the early- and mid-aughts and had fond memories of sweaty thrashing and abused cilia. I was overjoyed when they were announced as openers for Animal Collective’s Celebrate Brooklyn show last summer and pleased that they were just as great as ever, even though the venue was not the sort I was used to seeing them play. Even though I enjoyed Eric Copeland’s solo material I’d never gotten a chance to see what it is exactly that he does by himself in front of a crowd. At Death by Audio on Sunday, I found out.

I was in a somewhat poisonous mood despite being very excited about the show. August was not a kind month to me, and it was beginning to wear me down; my hope was that the show would lift my spirits. I was jazzed up for opener U.S. Girls, whose moniker is misleading in that is is actually just one girl. That girl, Meghan Remy, layers her sultry but detached vocals over fuzzy electronic beats and looks damn chic doing it. She’s released a handful of records, done a split with Dirty Beaches, and has an album, entitled Gem, coming out on Fat Cat in September. She was also selling some pretty rad little collages at the merch table.

Musically, the production values remain lo-fi enough to add a little grit to a glamorous ethos that clearly informs her work. There weren’t tons of people filling the DIY space for her set, but those who were seemed to be under a kind of spell; heads bobbed but eyes were glued to the stage. She closed with her lead-off single from Gem, “Jack”, a cover of a somewhat obscure glam-rock jam from 2004 by a band called Danava. Remy also performed an awesomely perverted version of Monica and Brandy’s 1998 smash hit “The Boy Is Mine”. While you would think R&B doesn’t have much to do with the swirling, dubby haze Remy creates, it’s actually a pretty appropriate reference point; though her distorted, witchy vocals and hazy compositions are far from slickly produced pop top forty, the diva swag is the same, and the jagged spines of these songs are sheathed in beats just as infectious.

Eric Copeland was certainly more unassuming than the audaciously blonde Remy in her leopard-print wedges, dressed as he was in a dark cap and ragged shorts. Every so often, Copeland would croon into a microphone, his voice a distorted moan, and during those moments he’d direct his gaze briefly and furtively into the bizarro dance party he’d given rise to. But mostly he kept his head down, sometimes whipping it back and forth during particularly turbulent rhythms. Much like Copeland’s work with Black Dice, his solo work is layered with mashed loops and whacked-out samples, and it has followed a similar trajectory. Copeland started producing his solo records right around the time that Black Dice moved away from the harsh feedback and persistent drone of their early material, replacing it with something no less experimental but certainly a bit more synth-oriented. With the release of this year’s Limbo, Copeland’s created something that embraces that more playful ethos. The beats are almost bouncy, layered in psychedelic repetitions and oozing pitch-shifted samples. It’s still a challenging listen at times, due to its more disconnected moments. But in a live setting, you could actually pull out some weird dance moves and shake to it. I don’t think I’ll be walking into a dance club anytime soon to hear a DJ spinning “Fiesta Muerta”, but attending this show was a reminder that there are all types of grooves, and sometimes the kookiest ones are the most rewarding.

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SHOW REVIEW: Quadron

Coco Maja Hastrup Karshøj is a pretty intense name, but if there’s anyone who lives up to a moniker like that to the fullest, it’s got to be the lead singer of Denmark’s Quadron. Listening to her honey-drenched vocals on the band’s 2009 self-titled debut is enough to make the hardest heart swoon; they are equal parts sensitive and intense and delivered with a dose of pure bliss. With producer Robin Hannibal, the band’s lush, loungey blend of electronica and neo-soul has garnered quite a following stateside, prompting the band to put the various side projects they both have on hold, relocate to Los Angeles, and focus on Quadron.

I truly had no idea how large and heartfelt following this band has until I attended a recent performance at Cameo Gallery. I was expecting the vibe to be a very chill version of 1950’s sock-hop, the room mostly empty as the gig was scheduled on a Monday. Boy, was a I wrong. The show was technically sold out, though my friend and I had no problem paying a paltry 10$ at the door and waltzing our way into the the little black box tucked behind Lovin’ Cup. The place was packed. Teletextile opened, but were playing their last song by then. We settled in behind one of the tallest guys I’ve ever seen – he must have been at least seven feet tall, and he was standing front and center. Now, I’m all for everyone enjoying the show, but this guy could have seen the show from New Jersey, and was currently blocking the onstage views for at least fifteen people standing in his vicinity. If you are a tall person who goes to shows regularly, please be aware of the fact that you aren’t see-through and there are tiny people standing on tiptoe for a glimpse of the action. This guy became aware of his wall-like obfuscation when someone behind him took matters into their own hands, got a stool from the bar, and brought it to the front of the crowd so this dude could sit down. With my view now unobscured I settled in to enjoy the show.

Coco is as adorable as her voice suggests, and she was dressed to kill in periwinkle cascades of ruffles and matching pointy bustier. The sheer joy that informs many of Quadron’s musical arrangements oozes from Coco as she sways, claps, and croons, her between-song banter far more shy than her singing-style, which can only be described as a full-on serenade. She introduced crowd favorite “Pressure” as a song she wrote about living in her sister’s shadow, and “L.F.T.” as an homage to the girlfriends she left behind in the process of relocating for her career. So while Quadron’s music is informed by the Motown smash-hits of 1950’s and 60’s girl groups, it is hardly a lovesick reiteration of the genre. Coco is young but fully possessed by her own powers as a jazz singer, and the year that Quadron spent honing their sound before releasing their debut record has helped them form a sound that is unique and well-rounded, never relying too heavily on any of the genres it so expertly blends.

SHOW REVIEW: Here We Go Magic w/ Glass Ghost

Here We Go Magic are crowd pleasers. When they released the video for “Make Up Your Mind” (in which a variety of women suffer seizures instigated by frontman Luke Temple’s mystical musical powers), they unwittingly unleashed a maelstrom of indignation from a some overly sensitive viewers. Rather than embrace the controversy or use the subtle sexual undertones (some YouTube commenters noted that the “seizures” were rather orgasmic) to generate buzz for their third album, A Different Ship, out May 8^th on Secretly Canadian, they shelved the video entirely. This decision seems baffling for a band whose video projects often skew a bit bizarre and push some boundaries, but the choice was made to avoid any conflict that might take attention away from the music. That music was front and center on Thursday when the band played its sold-out record release party at The Knitting Factory. And once again, their crowd-pleasing nature came into play, with a nicely rendered set that showcased the newest album and offered surprising takes on old favorites.

Openers Glass Ghost, a Brooklyn-based band who have cultivated a creative friendship with Temple, were a nice compliment to the set. Offering a contemplative batch of eerily unspooling tunes, Eliot Krimsky’s otherworldly falsetto swirled through Mike Johnson’s ephemeral synths and diffused beats, then over an unusually reverent audience. The power of Glass Ghost lies in moody disconnect, which they achieve through an elevated sense of fragility and a slightly autistic manner of delivery. Both players were stoic to the point of coming off as robotic, interacting with the audience and each other minimally, while retro video projections flashed on the screen behind them. Though the subdued nature of the set was unusual for an opening band, whose typical responsibility is revving up an audience for the headliners, this wasn’t necessarily a detractor. As testament to how powerful ambivalence and alienation can be, the tragically gorgeous “Like A Diamond” served a perfect thesis statement, and somehow television talk-show host Marc Summers (of all people) became the poster child for that lost feeling.

Marc Summers is famously known as the wise-cracking host of Nickelodeon’sDouble Dare, which ran from the mid-eighties into the early nineties and pitted kid contestants against the likes of a giant ice cream sundae and some water balloons filled with tomato sauce; if they failed to answer trivia questions correctly they had to take a “Physical Challenge,” the end result of which often involved getting covered in some sort of goo. There were a bunch of spin-offs, including “Super Sloppy” and “Family” editions of Double Dare, which caused my parents to buy a second television when I threw a fit because the evening news theywanted to watch aired at the same time. Summers also hosted What Would You Do? in which guests were regularly doused with slime.

What does this have to do with Glass Ghost? Well, the irony in the fact that Summers spent the better part of his adulthood getting slimed and sliming others is that he suffers from Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, a mental illness which can manifest itself in a frantic need to stay immaculately clean. That dichotomy – the disjointed sensation of wanting to participate, be involved, stay there, to feelversus the failure to do so despite having these emotions and knowing what is normal, even doing what is normal but remaining out of place – is at the crux of it of Glass Ghost’s music, a lá seminal Radiohead track “Fake Plastic Trees”. So when the projections shifted to a distorted video recording of Double Dare(including many shots of Marc Summers grinning through his despair) it brought not just a wave of nostalgia, but also served as a peculiar illustration of a much deeper theme.

the beguiling Jen Turner

For all the removed grandeur of Glass Ghost’s set, Here We Go Magic brought just as much intensity to the stage, though it was of a different variety. Backed by bandmates Jen Turner (bass & keyboards), Michael Bloch (guitar), and Peter Hale (drums), Temple’s enigmatic voice soared through renditions of “How Do I Know” “Hard To Be Close” and old favorites like “Fangela” and “Casual”. The new record was produced by Radiohead’s Nigel Godrich, who became interested in the band after seeing them play at Glastonbury. For most of the tracks Godrich employed a live recording technique with few digital flourishes meant to enhance but not perfect the recordings. It’s hard to say whether that emphasis came from his initial, inspiring exposure to the band, or if the in-the-moment improvisational methods utilized in the studio have infused their latest performances with a newfound go-for-broke energy. But something magical indeed happens when the band is playing together as a cohesive whole.

It was not uncommon to see the band extend normally unassuming musical breaks into spiraling, extravagant jam sessions more apropos of arena rock bands, or hair metal even. But instead of cock rock, the audience was treated to the plaintive, dreamy “Over The Ocean” rendered epically, in all its shimmering glory. Even if it seems overwrought for more a genre of pop that is typically more humble, make no mistake: this is exactly how these songs are meant to be experienced, with all their dormant power front-and-center. It’s a bold move in these times; as the influence of technology on indie pop becomes more and more ubiquitous, it’s become increasingly uncommon to see a band who can actually rock out but that’s exactly what Here We Go Magic do, and do well. Though Temple started this project as a solo one, he’s found some tremendously talented players whose skill is so assured that they make each other look even better. And their confidence in the new material truly gives these tunes a worthy showcase. So maybe they don’t need a gimmick or a controversy to propel their own hype. No one at the show went into seismic convulsions, but the crowd was very, very pleased indeed.

SHOW REVIEW: Frankie Rose w/ Dive and Night Manager

There’s a certain art to being cool. It requires equal parts detachment, judgement, untouchability, andflippancy. Being cool might make you the envy of your less-than-coolcounterparts, but it’s ultimately an empty, lonely act. Because being vulnerable isn’t cool, being cool entailskeeping others at bay, elevating yourself to a level above theuncool, refusing to let anyone in, and never showing emotion orexcitement because it is somehow unbecoming. It’s a problem that isunique to my generation; though real “cool” barely exists anymoreexcept as a marketing concept many of us have been posturing eversince, fearful of ever revealing the uncool sides of ourselves,deprived of true connection in order to maintain the illusion ofcoolness, feeling pain only when the facade fails us. In the realworld, this looks like a dimly lit bar in which everyone nurses PBRfrom a can and no one talks to anyone. And in that bar, Frankie Rosefills the jukebox.

As a drummer for Vivian Girls, Dum DumGirls, and Crystal Stilts, Frankie Rose was at the forefront of theresurgence of a noise pop movement that took its cues from theintertwining jangle and grit of sixties garage rock and girl groups. In recording her first album as Frankie Rose and the Outs, she neverstrayed far from this sound. Her vocals had begun to take on adreamy sort of submerged quality with her first solo album, recorded under the moniker Frankie Rose and the Outs. But by and large the album, whileexpertly crafted, was nothing new. It was perfect in terms ofcontinuing the sound and vibe that made Frankie something of ahousehold name in indie rock circles. To some, the resume she’dbuilt was not only impressive but impenetrable, unapproachable. Butto be honest, it felt cold and rehearsed and well-worn to me, not arecord I could get behind on an emotional level. It wasn’t bad, butit it wasn’t life-altering and ultimately I lost interest. To jointhe Frankie cult I would have had to buy dark sunglasses and aleather jacket and thrown away all my clothing that wasn’t black, andI probably would have had to spit on anyone who talked about how intoAdele they were. But what I really wanted was license to feel andshare freely with my peers, not judge them or their tastes, not actlike mine are better than anyone else’s.

Here is what I like to imagine happenednext. Frankie was walking through the graffiti-scrawled streets ofWilliamsburg when a white light enveloped her and suddenly, the Earthwas no more than a blue speck far below. Her abductors, benevolentalien beings with glowing solar plexuses, took her on an epicinterplanetary voyage in which she witnessed incomprehensible formsof life and their bizarre customs, each of which held more meaningand beauty than her indie-rock royalty act. She was shown the errorof her ways and told to go forth to the earthly masses and write analbum with some heart, lest she be re-abducted and dissected. No longer obsessed with being cool and furthering her own reputationas purveyor of such, Frankie Rose came back to Brooklyn and wrote hergorgeous sophomore album, Interstellar.

While this may be a fanciful version of the truth, the end result is the same. Interstellar, out now on Slumberland Records, gives having your head in the clouds a whole new meaning. Frankie’s vocals sparkle and swirl like gauzy nebula gasses, the stuff of galaxies being born. The gritty guitars have been replacedby poppy riffs and spacious synths that reveal yearning and hope anda red-hot emotional core. Every second feels expansive, reminding usthat the big bang is still happening and that even as we rotate onthis rock we are hurtling through space. The lyrical content isn’tparticularly heavy and remainsrelatively carefree, but that’s not to say it suffers from any of that. Rather, it feels much more relatable thananything she’s written to date. There areinstances (particularly “Know Me” “Daylight” and “NightSwim”) that recall the most impassioned moments of new wave, thoughthat heartfelt artfulness permeates each new song. Tracks like“Gospel/Grace” are still informed by the jangle pop of Frankie’sformer work but here she has made everything bigger, warmer, moreurgent and airy. Closing track “The Fall” is like listening to adream – the kind you go back to sleep for so you can keep dreamingit. Its hushed vocals unspool over a simplistic but indelible guitarline, diffused synths and a droning cello reminiscent of Arther Russell’s “This Is How We Walk On The Moon”. Listening toInterstellar basically made me reevaluate every snap judgement I’dever made about Frankie or her tunes. There’s a line in title trackand album opener that sums up the whole endeavor perfectly -“weightless, free from predictable ways”. Amen, sister, amen.

I got tickets to attend the releaseparty for Interstellar at Knitting Factory, expecting somegrand announcement, an ushering in to a new age of Frankie Rose. She’s one of the most influential musicians in the Brooklyn indiescene, so perhaps we’d all be given a crystal and told to let ourhearts breathe, to embrace each other and stop worrying about ourhaircuts. Night Manager opened with an enthusiastic batch of precocious noise pop anthems. Somebands get on stage and act like it’s the most boring thing in theworld to be on stage, which is always annoying becauseeveryone at one point or another wants to be a rockstar. Night Manager can’t have had long to fantasize about such things –I’d say the average age of the five band members couldn’t have beenmuch over twenty – and that youthful exuberance was their strongestpoint. Their lead singer’s vibe was somewhere between Bethany Cosentino and Anne Margaret but I probably only make that connectionbecause I’ve been watching the third season of Mad Men while battlinga head cold.

I had high hopes for Dive, a(nother)Beach Fossils side project whose reverb-drenched singles are catchyand evocative of epiphanies had while staring at clouds. From thelooks of it, these guys really struggle to get dressed (evidenced by the rubber bands utilized to hold the guitarist’s pants in place) and speakingof haircuts – yikes. While their shoegazey tracks have a just-woke-up sort of haze, Dive’s performance was so boisterous it could have been a commercial for 5-hour energy shooters. The kineticset was incredibly fun to watch and included an unrecognizable take on a Nirvana song and a pornographic tee-shirt. Dive’s debut EP is scheduledfor release next month on Captured Tracks, and seeing them play the material in such a spirited manner has me psyched for it.

Frankie Rose took the stage just after11PM with four band members, opening with the title track from the newrecord. The stage was bathed in starry projections, but there wereno house lights at all on Frankie or the majority of the band, whichreduced everyone but the drummer to indistinct silhouettes. Thatmight have been cool for a song or two, but they played the entireset that way, and it was slightly off-putting. Much like when youspend a hot day at the zoo and all the animals are sleeping insidefake caves, the lack of anything to rest eyes on was disappointingand disconnecting. Perhaps the lighting guy was in the bathroom,thinking he’d have plenty of time to light the stage once the bandreally got going. But he never had a chance – the show was overpractically before it began. The crowd, myself included, was justsettling in to Frankie’s performance, and then it abruptly endedafter they’d played for just under half an hour.

I’ve seen some short sets, but this oneleft me stunned in terms of its brevity. You’d think that with twoalbums of material she could have fleshed it out for another fifteenminutes, even with stage banter or something. I didn’t evenrecognize the new songs; I assumed she’d not played many of them butwas later informed she’d played seven of the ten new tracks fromInterstellar. The thing is, they were interpreted for the stage insuch a way that they might have belonged on older albums, in the workshe’d done with bands prior to striking out solo, in the detached,too-cool-for-school manner of everything that had come before. Therewas no trouble taken to document the evolution and preserve theopenness that makes Interstellar such a great album; instead Iwas reminded of all the reasons I’d felt put off by Frankie in thepast. She returned to the stage apologetically to play one moretrack (video of the encore is below) and finally asked for the house lights to beturned up a bit, though it was done begrudgingly by the house.

My overall impression was that Frankieis somehow afraid to bring her newfound sincerity into the spotlight bothliterally and figuratively. She was hiding the entire time –playing in the dark, rushing through the set as if nervous orembarrassed, and masking the intimate vibe of the new record behindthe practiced ways of her rock-n-roll persona. Perhaps this was aneffort to make the material more stage-ready but for me it had a numbing effect. I can only hope that in time she’ll figure out howto parlay the stirring ardency that makes Interstellar so salient, will becomecomfortable with letting any pretense fall away and be truly presentin the new material. I can imagine that day – Frankie stands onstage in a halo of white, assuredly plucking each note from herguitar strings, backed only by atmospheric keys and somber drums,letting Interstellar truly explode – vulnerable, earnest and farbeyond the trappings of coolness.

SHOW REVIEW: Dum Dum Girls w/ Widowspeak

Last night, we AudioFemmes visited Music Hall of Williamsburg to see Dum Dum Girls perform a blistering set for a packed audience. We missed openers Punks On Mars (not too intrigued by that band name, sorry) but caught most of Widowspeak’s set. Below, our innermost thoughts and feelings regarding the spectacle we witnessed. – Eds.

dressed all in white and practically glowing

L: Annie, what did you think of Widowspeak?

A: Well. Here’s the thing: I have a hard time getting on board with singers who sound painfully derivative of someone whom I happen to love, in this case, Mazzy Star. It doesn’t help that Hope Sandoval is still around and making music. In fact, I hear there’s a forthcoming album slated for release this summer. However, independent of the issue of Molly Hamilton’s striking similarities, both sonically and aesthetically, to Mazzy, I have to admit I’m a sucker for dreamy sounding girl-pop.

Widowspeak

L: Oooh, I had no idea Mazzy Star was putting out new material. Yet another reason to look forward to summer. But I digress – we were talking about Widowspeak, and I agree, it is hard not to hear Hope Sandoval when Molly Hamilton opens her mouth. I’d actually seen them before at Glasslands when they opened for Dirty Beaches roughly a year ago. They covered Chris Isaak. I bought the Harsh Realm 7” (white vinyl! I’m such a sucker for that kind of thing) and I think by now I’ve worn the grooves out. I mean I’ve had nights where I put on that title track and just pull the needle back over when it’s done playing, and then repeat that about eighty times. There’s something about the lines “I thought about how it was / I thought about you because / I always think about you” that just gets to me. It’s definitely the kind of obsessive-minded song that makes playing the shit out of it feel totally appropriate…

… Seeing that live and knowing to expect it was a highlight for me, but I think that’s where the band excels – in the quieter, more contemplative moments. I could have sworn they had far fewer members the last time I saw them, and so it was a bit off-putting to have three guys backing her up. But I understand the need to amp up the performance as they are going out on tour with Dum Dum Girls.Speaking of which…..

A: Yeah, real quick: I would definitely give them another chance, and I often feel differently about a band’s sound in general when I hear the studio recording. You can lend me the 7” next time I come over. Anyway, moving on to the Dum Dum girls.

For me, a band’s first impression often sets the tone of the show, so to speak. And when the Dum Dum girls descended the stairs onto the stage of Music Hall of Williamsburg, decked out in white Grecian drapery and a myriad of fishnet-patterned stockings, I knew immediately, that we were in for a good time. Not to mention we were standing a stone’s throw from the hot new bass player, whose name thus far is unknown to us.

L: This bass player. Woah. One of the most gorgeous women I think I’ve ever seen. I was kind of disappointed when I heard their former bass player had been replaced; I thought she was a good representation of someone who isn’t super skinny and is totally sexy and kick ass, and I think it’s nice to see that, especially for people with similar body types. Not that the new bass player was a twig; she did have some booty. Whatever girl crushes I might have had on the band before were cemented when they emerged from backstage – every single one of them looked amazing. I want to go shopping for tights and vintage jewelry with them. Even if they had sucked, I would have been nearly content to watch them bop around on stage for 45 minutes. But then they proceeded to totally melt faces.

A: Before I go on about how hard they rocked out, I must say, there’s something novel, in a heavy kind of way, about seeing a band comprised exclusively of women, play so competently and so beautifully. So many bands out there have one or two female members, who are often just eye-candy more than anything else; Or there are female-led groups who have the requisite enigmatic male bass player, or crazy drummer, etc. It’s really rare to see an all chick band like that who fully embrace their femininity and are completely unapologetic for their girliness, and who write songs about falling in and out of love that aren’t sappy and quaint sounding.

L: I agree. I wish it wasn’t such a novelty, but I don’t know if I’ve seen an all female band own a stage like that since Sleater-Kinney. Maybe Warpaint. Honestly though, with all the bands trying to make it big in Brooklyn you don’t often see anyone, male OR female, playing their instruments as well as the Dums did. I’d heard their shows were remarkable but I was floored by how good they sounded, how energetic they were, and how cohesively they jammed as a whole. And I was also in love with their superfans who mouthed along with every word, including a middle-aged dude who was holding a library book the entire time! I want to know what he was reading.

A: Hmmm. I’m gonna guess some sort of self-help book. Maybe something like, “How to change your life in 5 simple steps”

L: Step One – See the Dum Dum Girls. Life-changing for sure.Step Two – Get an e-reader so you don’t have to carry around heavy volumes to rock concerts.It looked pretty thick, though… I bet it was Game of Thrones or something like that. He was adorably geeky.

A: Yeah, you’re probably right. That shit is insanely popular right now. I also liked that guy who was scribbling things down on his teeny tiny notepad like his life depended on it.

L: Maybe he was taking notes for his cool blog.

A: Not as cool as our blog.

L: Never! Although it would be cooler if we could stay on topic.

A: Yeah, we really need to get it together here.

L: Admittedly, I’ve never quite understood the hype surrounding Dum Dum Girls. Their albums are entertaining for a listen or two, but not usually ones I play over and over again. That changed for me with the release of the first few singles from Only In Dreams. Only In Dreams is, in part, a raw chronicle of the emotions lead singer Dee Dee experienced after the passing of her mother. While their previous material was carefree and and even a bit frivolous, Only In Dreams has fathoms more depth, and that thoughtfulness and truth put it over the edge for me in terms of my admiration for the band. I even went back to some of their old material, discovering “Take Care of My Baby” from the “He Gets Me High” single and falling absolutely in love with it.

A: Yeah, I never really got heavily into them. Aside from hearing their songs on random playlists here and there I never listened to much. And although I always liked what I did hear, seeing them live really changed my perception of what they are and what they do. Before I feel like my impression was that they’re kind of like a more pop-y iteration of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. And while Dee Dee does sound an awful lot like Karen O. in many ways, the songs themselves are decidedly more straightforward–but in a refreshing way–especially to hear live.

L: I don’t know if I hear the Karen O. thing. In terms of performance and in-your-faceness, I’d say they are certainly of the same ilk. But the confessional nature of Dum Dum’s newer tunes is not a place even Karen would dare go. The live rendition of “Hold Your Hand” was particularly moving. Knowing where Dee Dee’s coming from when she sings the words “I wish it wasn’t true but there’s nothing I can do except hold your hand” makes them that much more powerful, but its a sentiment that hits deep with anyone who has lost someone close to them. After playing those last chords Dee Dee kind of looked down at her guitar and swallowed hard and I remember being amazed that she had the courage to write the song in the first place, let alone play it before a huge crowd. It was very poignant.
A: I think I actually started crying a little bit during that song, because you could tell she was working so hard to keep it together. My heart really goes out to her, and I’m stunningly impressed with her fortitude and self-composure in the face of such recent adversity. Seeing her perform it was one of the many highlights. The most memorable highlight, however, for me, was the encore, for which they played “Coming Down”. It’s a quieter song, and more sophisticated then some of the upbeat pop-rock stuff they do that seems to be their signature style. I guess I like to be surprised sometimes, even if it comes at the very end of a set. And the added effect of the disco ball lent it a dream-like ambiance that made the encore actually feel like a send-off–which is to me, what encores are all about. In any case, I would definitely go see them live again.

L: I loved “Coming Down” as well. It was perfect as a set closer lyrically and melodically; like watching the last embers of a fire die before it goes out. And I love me some disco ball – it burst to life at the perfect moment, just after the bridge when Dee Dee was really belting it out . My only disappointment of the evening was the realization that I left the records I bought at the show in a booth at Lovin’ Cup, where we stopped to grab a bite afterward. I called the place today but some jerk must have snapped them up. Can’t say I blame him or her, I’d probably do the same thing.

Dum Dum Girls are touring the Northeast through most of February and then head to Europe in March. These ladies are not to be missed. For additional proof of such, check out the video Annie shot of them performing “Rest of Our Lives” from their 2010 debut LP I Will Be.

SHOW REVIEW: Blouse w/ Cosmetics & The New Lines

nice blouse, Charlie Hilton

Looking at the line-up for Tuesdaynight’s show at 285 Kent, I wasn’t sure if I was about to see ahandful of fashionable indie bands or if I was making a shopping listfor things I needed to pick up from Bloomingdales. Blouse, check. Cosmetics, check. The New Lines, check. (Original openers Beige andMosaics were replaced last minute by Beach Fossils side projectHeavenly Beat, but could have easily fit into a department storeotherwise).

Luckily for my bank account, it was theformer. I missed Heavenly Beat although heard from a photographer Istruck up a conversation with that his set was pretty befuddling. Actually, I think the term autistic might have been used, but I feelremiss to pass judgement on an act I didn’t actually catch. I mademy way toward the stage just as New Lines were setting up.

The three members of The New Lines had this adorably quirky indie rock band circa 1995 look, like they’d be scratching their feet in the dirt all sheepish-like if they hadn’t been playing a show. Unfortunately, that’s probably what they went and did after a set besieged by technical difficulties. It seems strange to say of something “It was so loud I couldn’t hear it” but that’s the sort of effect the mixing had – it seemed like every other thing was drowning the vocals, but I couldn’t tell specifically what needed turning down. Surely one guitar, or even the keyboard, couldn’t be obliterating my ear drums. Then they asked for “less iPod” followed by “less backing track” followed by some other way of saying “we don’t have a bassist, so we need to play our songs over another part of the same song that we already recorded” and I suddenly understood. After a false start, the band stopped playing their last track halfway through a second attempt and left the stage. Even so, I wanted to hug them and tell them not to give up; I could tell that given a proper opportunity to listen to their poppy, psych-influenced songs I might fall madly in love with them. Luckily, they have a bandcamp and the only thing missing there is the trippy projections that swirled behind them as they performed.

Misty Mary on the keys

After the longest equipment change of alltime, the Cosmetics frontwoman explained “We got caught in asnowstorm on the way here.” I was not sure if she meant from thebar to the stage or what, as it had been sixty degrees (!) in NYCjust hours earlier. The songstress was lovely to behold and had anice voice, while her equally attractive male compatriot backed her up on no less than three mini-synths. The overall effect was a semi-sluggishbrand of electroclash but I think given time to develop and expand ontheir sound this could be a really fun band to see again. They havetwo seven inches out on Captured Tracks (which you can listen to at bandcamp) and it will be interesting to see if they are able to movepast their sweet tooth for Glassy Candy.

Patrick tunes his bass

Blouse took the stage just aftermidnight. Leading lady Charlie Hilton repped the band name in aflowing garment, cuffed at midwrist and layered over tan short shortsworn with sheer tights and tall black wedge booties. I don’t know ifthat is relevant to anything, but it seems when you’ve named yourband after the fanciest of shirts that it might matter just a little. According to Patrick Adams’ cool haircut it matters. Misty Mary(likely not her real name) tapping her toes clad in ripped pantyhoseindicates that it matters. Everything about drummer Paul Roper saysit matters – from the suspenders to the Elvis Costello frames,partially shaved head to the vintage tee.

What definitely matters is that Blouselived up to the hype that’s surrounded their self-titled release, out last November on Captured Tracks. The set was blissed-out and dreamy, yet retained the signature new-wave throwback sound that has garnered so much buzz for Blouse. Ms. Hilton’s emotive crooning made me feel like the onlyperson bopping around in the cavernous, graffittied space. Her limitedbanter was sweet and humble. But for one song, the set was comprised entirely of material from the record, and the live renditions were flawless. They closedwith heavy-hitter “Into Black” before politely ducking offstage. You can watch my video of “They Always Fly Away” below.

no, seriously. put another dime in.

feed this jukebox. Sharlene’s, 353 Flatbush Ave. Prospect Heights, Brooklyn

I’ve seen my share of jukeboxes, butthis weekend I had my mind blown by one.

It sat there like a birthday present,hunched in the back of a crowded dive bar. My friends and I had justhad dinner to celebrate my 29^th year, and contemplatedcalling it an early night. There were simply too many people around,not enough seats, and some really intense metal blaring over thespeakers.

But then – silence. We were standingin the glow of the very thing that just moments earlier had assaultedour eardrums, and the credits stood at zero.

I whipped out some ones without muchthought. There’s nothing worse than waiting around to hear yoursongs after some idiot has blown twenty bucks to play Bob Dylan’sentire catalogue, but when given the opportunity to start a new roundI take full advantage.

The first, most obvious thing aboutthis amazing machine was that it played CDs. Now, I’m sure there arejukebox enthusiasts out there that would scoff at such a modern thingin favor of 1950’s era boxes that play 45s. Not I, not existing, asI do, in a wasteland of ugly wall-mounted digital jukeboxes. Evenbars that I consider my favorites are foolish enough believe thatthese abominations fulfill their jukebox requirement, but that ispainfully false. I can appreciate the breadth of choice offered bydigital “jukeboxes” (if you feel it appropriate to bestow such atitle on a overgrown, overly flashy mp3 player), but the highlyinflated costs per play and the sacrilegious option to “play thistrack next” offered to line-jumpers are just a few of the evilsthat permeate the atmosphere around any digital box.

So yes, I marveled, if not rejoiced,that this was an automated CD player before me, and began to selectmy plays. Choosing songs for an entire bar full of strangers holdssimilar rules to making mixtapes for friends. You don’t put onmultiple tracks by the same artist. You don’t go for the obvious –sorry, Johnny Cash, Abba, “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond, etc –unless you want to come off like an amateur. Deep cuts are alwaysmore respectable than well-known hits. Start with a banger, becauseeveryone can see you still standing there choosing the rest of yourtracks. Don’t be afraid to vary genres and eras. And while theymight be permissible on a personal mixtape, in a bar on a Saturdaynight there is just no room for downers.

The main difference in selecting songsfor a playlist and selecting songs on a jukebox is of course that ona jukebox, selections are made from a set of curated parameters. Often this includes the dregs of the bar owner’s collection ofMetallica discs. But not on this jukebox. Instead, I was flippingthrough hand-made mixes and comps. Not Weezer’s recent (read:shitty) albums, not Frampton Comes Alive! or the soundtrack toGrease. These mixes had themes and titles – WHAT IT IS! wasfleshed out by 60’s girl garage bands, WALKING THE DOG had Morrisseyfollowing Blondie, The Kinks, and Ike & Tina Turner. There werefour expert Motown collections, three assemblages of unusual covers,and a smattering of rockabilly, sixties classics, glam rock, andnineties indie darlings under headings like TEXAS FUNK, DANCINGBAREFOOT, and THE DAY BARTENDER. When a band’s repertoire warrantedrepresentation by a whole disc, a best-of mix often featured deepercuts alongside more well-known hits. Everything had personality -the Michael Jackson card was handwritten and labeled “Dead KidToucher (R.I.P.)”. It was like this jukebox was trying to animateand enliven and expound. I felt that it may even be able to teach mesomething and found myself wanting to go back to the bar in thedaytime and start with 0101 until I’d cycled through every choiceavailable.

The fact is that most jukeboxes neverstrive for more than “decent” status. My favorite jukebox of alltime was in a diner in Ohio and had the Shins before Garden Stateblew them up, and the second EP the Liars put out, among other gems. Playing the last track on “They Threw Us In A Trench and Stuck aMonument On Top”, which clocked in at thirty-plus minutes thanks toa never-ending loop (the vinyl version is locked-groove), sometimesresulted in the staff shutting the jukebox down, and once resulted inthe entire restaurant clapping when the onslaught had ended. But itwas a “prank” we pulled often, over huevos rancheros and blackbean burgers alike, at least until the old dear was replaced by adreaded TouchTunes. The jukebox I met this weekend is leagues aboveall that. It feels wholly original, personable, and thought out bythe bar’s proprietors, and that alone sets it apart. It is ameditation on bar soundscape, a chance for everyone to become themost in-the-know DJ.

Tag: Brooklyn

INTERVIEW: Buke and Gase

What to Wear to CMJ 2014

ALBUM REVIEW: Helado Negro “Double Youth”

LIVE REVIEW: A Sunny Day in Glasgow @ Baby’s All Right

TRACK REVIEW: Crystal Stilts “Delirium Tremendous”

ALBUM REVIEW: Parquet Courts “Sunbathing Animal”

TRACK REVIEW: Parquet Courts “Sunbathing Animal”

ALBUM REVIEW: Yellow Ostrich “Cosmos”

ALBUM REVIEW: “Caveat Emptor”

SHOW REVIEW: Sinkane, Friends, Phone Tag

SHOW REVIEW: Gang Gang Dance w/ Prince Rama

Why You Should Always Go To A “Secret” Show

SHOW REVIEW: Eric Copeland and U.S. Girls

SHOW REVIEW: Quadron

SHOW REVIEW: Here We Go Magic w/ Glass Ghost

SHOW REVIEW: Frankie Rose w/ Dive and Night Manager

SHOW REVIEW: Dum Dum Girls w/ Widowspeak

SHOW REVIEW: Blouse w/ Cosmetics & The New Lines

no, seriously. put another dime in.

Ticket Giveaways

Each week Audiofemme gives away a set of tickets to our featured shows in NYC! Scroll down to enter for the following shindigs.

See you there! xoxo