Virgin

Getting her cherry taken by a virgin is no mean feat for the people’s intrepid music reporter and winner of Virgin’s Global VPass competition - Eleanor Conway.  Talking to the ‘Band to Watch 2009′ - The Virgins, The Ellenoid hits the Notting Hill Arts Club in order to cater to said precocious rock starlets’ yearning to learn of who their ‘Fan to Watch 2009′ should be.  Criteria? No tasers. And the ability to be silent. Quality.

Wonder if Peaches Geldof fits the bill? Some newspapers are reporting that she is apparently ‘besotted’ with Virgins frontman Donald Cumming after splitting with husband Max Drummey from Chester French …

• download The Virgins for free: grabatrack.co.uk/thevirgins
• www.thevirgins.net
• www.eleanorconway.com

A couple months ago, in the dark basement of the NY rock den, Santo’s Party House, an impossibly skinny strawberry-blonde model came on stage in stilettos and a leather jacket, looking like Agyness Deyn’s welsh cousin. Though she was visibly nervous through her debut, Lissy Trullie’s punked power and f*ck-all nonchalance was appealing, ie: she clearly grew up listening more to The Clash than The Beatles. Throughout the short set she drawled out her lyrics slowly while frenetically strumming at her electric guitar (that dwarfed her). While truth told, on occasion her voice hovered a bit flat and icy and the set battled some sound issues, she seduced the industry-filled crowd, especially with the kickass Hot Chip cover.

At the same time, to inaugurate her into the rock scene, the showcase featured an impressive line-up of rockers (all her buddies) starting with Mark Ronson-endorsed Allido band, The Rumble Strips, who spawned happy-go-lucky fuzzy-guitar hooks to convivial pop beats. Towards the end of the night, Adam Green came onstage and flirted with the crowd with acoustic guitar stream-of-conscious ballads and a few sporadic crowd-surfs. The whole time, Mr Ronson was in the background, DJing and pouting in his slick suit. Needles to say, Lissy Trullie introduced herself to NYC with too-cool-to-eat rock-chic attitude. After all, so few chicks can pull off punked-out garage rock but Lissy can. (Um, and it helps that she’s a hot lesbian model who likes leather and calls Ronson on a regular basis. Right.)

On Feb 17th 2009, her first EP is to be released state-side if you dig it. Check her out for yourself at her MySpace.

We knew the holiday party, Rayban Remasters, would be impressive just based on the invite: a whole fake CD package, with a spinning wheel that revealed the various bands performing instead of music: White Williams, Ipso Facto and The Black Kids. However, only when we saw the entrance of Bowery Ballroom where the event was hosted did we realize how INSANELY extravagant it would be: the whole front of the music hall Bowery Ballroom resembled the front of a circus, with a big rent tent erected, and movie premier-sized spotlight shining on the hall front. Inside, there were limitless cocktails and cookies for all, and even, yes, seriously, a red velvet rope in front of the stage. Not necessarily indie rock ritual, but PR does and PR goes, and the PR machines Rogers and Cowan even managed to haul the kids from Gossip Girl into the building in full hipster plaid (and conspicuous Rayban shades at night).

While White Williams’ performance was a bit lacklustre, Ipso Facto was devilishly alluring - like a rock-infused Ladytron. (Pssst - the pic above is when I caught on of the members in the bathroom after the show; while I complemented her on her talent, she still insisted she can’t pay bills, despite talent or desire… ahhh, such is the life of suffering artists.) Afterwards, the Black Kids infused their saccharine pop to a bit more psychedelic-based riffs- which was much appreciated (they are still a bit too sweet to swallow).

Any other details pretty much melded into one by the end of the night, thanks to the cute models who kept passing out refills as soon as our vodka tonics got empty. After all, especially in these lean times, we aren’t ones to turn down free rock and roll, drinks and ginger cookies - even if served under a giant circus tent (ahhh, such is the life of suffering music journalists).

It’s winter holiday time in NYC, which means mini Xmas trees are for sale in the bodegas, Starbucks has added 5 or more new winter flavors, and Whole Foods grocery store has stocked up with Hanukkah chocolates. It also means there’s a SLEW of holiday flavored concerts to attend.

Despite there being a rampant depression, a ton of pink slips fluttering from the air, musicians will be attempt to alleviate spirits this year via microphones, electro beats, and heavy reverb. On the 19th of January, the uber-sexy record label DFA are throwing a killer fiesta at (Le) Poisson Rouge, a new, rather luxuries opium-den-for-millionaires resembling music club in Greenwich Village. Label co-founder, LCD Soundsystem frontman, and cute pug owner James Murphy is going add his special disco always-anywhere-anyhow DJing, along with Pat Mahoney, while the electro-furious Juan Maclean plans to perform a “live acid” sets. Add Italians Do It Better superstars the Invisible Conga People and you need no longer wish for “a partridge in a pear tree”.

Meanwhile, for anyone celebrating Hanukkah (or who simply like a good party), across the Hudson River in the good old Jerz (New Jersey for none you international readers), the energetic Yo La Tengo will be of its annual 8 nights of Hanukkah at Maxwell’s Pub on the 21st of December. (All Ages; $30) For those who prefer it old school, on Saturday the 27th, New York Dolls hit up the Fillmore @ Irving Plaza (16+, $30)(yes, they are stillllllll going). While understandably there’s no concerts on Christmas, (musicians do have families too), for hip hop fans, the almighty Nas plays Hammerstein Ballroom ($52 All Ages) the day after Santa’s departure.

And as for New Years Eve, while a gazillion New Yorkers will be freezing yet merry watching the ball drop at Times Square, Crystal Castles will be getting the dance party started at the Music Hall of Williamsburg. Blonde Readhead and the Islands are playing at Terminal 5. My Morning Jacket will probably turn the whole of Madison Square Garden into a tropical tiki tent. Tiesto is playing at Roseland Ballroom. For folk lovers, Patti Smith plays Bowery Ballroom 12/29; $40. As if that isn’t enough, Matthew Dear, Drop the Lime, Michna, and Mike Servito spin and groove at (Le) Poisson Rouge.

If you are in NYC, the musicians-best-friend concert guide Oh My Rockness has more info on tickets and time, place, occasion.

Happy holidays folks near and far!

If you’ve not heard of The Asteroids Galaxy Tour’s feisty psychedelic soul yet, listen up. First off, the crew has been taking the world by storm: first in the Apple i-Touch commercial “Around the Bend,” then being featured in Nylon Magazine, Anthem, NYLON, GOOD Mag, AOL and Yahoo!… They even debuted a slew of songs on the addictive Gossip Girl. But these days you never know about new bands- sometimes they could have a killer track and then flop in their live show. So we were nailbiting with anticipation when The Asteroids Galaxy Tour landed on our shore, debuting here in NY with two shows. No worries though; they were riotous live. Their music is the perfect elixir for the recession winter slump. Lead singer Mette Lindberg has a distinctive quirky voice, as well as a vibrant, pixie demeanor that effortlessly warmed up the audience. Add an impressive sax section and the shyer Lars Iversen infused various synths, bells and beats on the side and you find yourself a recipe for success. Check out their MySpace.

This is for all the music heads out in Toronto: on December 5th Keys N Krates have a huge show in their hometown of Toronto at Wrong Bar. Be sure to catch this live remix show because if you haven’t yet, then you are seriously behind. Nick Catchdubs from Brooklyn, New York will also be in the house mixing it up on the 1’s and 2’s as well.

Keys N Krates Feat. Nick Catchdubs (Fool’s Gold) & Le Pants Optional Friday Dec. 5th, 2008 Wrong Bar - 1279 Queen St. W (Toronto) Doors 10pm Cover $15 before 12am. Should be a huge show. Come out and show some love and support.

Check out this video interview that we did with DJ JR.Flo from Keys N Krates.

The New York/French indie label The Hours, recently strengthened when the mega-watt advertising company Euro RSCG bought a part of the company (evidently the ad companies are quelling their desperation by investing in new synergies), which debuted a taste of feverish rock in high style last week by hosting a private showcase featuring The Fires of Rome and the British Cazals. Even though they ran out of free beers in the first thirty minutes (the music industry during recession tends to be a very thirsty troupe and hence that’s a serious faux-pas), they made up for it in grimy, garage tunes.

First off, The Fires of Rome came out with lead singer Andrew Wyatt came out looking demonically bewitched with his face covered in white powder. While overall they seem to still be figuring out their stage presence and dynamic, tracks like Set In Stone and Love Is a Burning Thing have a strong hooks and their lead guitarist and drummer proved fierce onstage.

But truth told, the ballroom was packed to the brim with industry and press in order to see the heavily-hyped Cazals. Though the Brits complained of jet lag and all looked like they could have used a good soak and scrub, they near instantly obtained the crowd’s energy with grainy guitar reverb, ripping drums, as a filament-thin lead singer who shook the audience to attention with shrill vocals cries. Though I wouldn’t say their music is extraoridinarily original, it’s got that same energy as Bloc Party with the garage grit of The Rakes. Since that’s a surefire combination for success, it’s little surprise they are signed to uber-cool French Label Kitsune and have mega-DJs like The Crookers remixing their tracks into grinding dance hits. Good acquistion for The Hours. We look forward to what comes next from the team.

Deerticks have a bad rep. They’re pesky, little bloodsucking buggers that live innocuously on long steams of grass and in woods, until a furry animal with bad special awareness rubs up on it. Deerticks don’t just or fly but they are really good at hematophagy (ie: blood-sucking) and if a human has the bad luck of getting bitten, they can catch Babesiosis, Ehrlichiosis, Lyme disease, Rocky Mountain spotted fever, Southern tick-associated rash illness, Tick-borne relapsing fever, and Tularemia, all of which decidedly sucks (pun intended) and some of which can be life threatening.

Ok so why the history lesson? Because slowly an Americana band out of Rhode Island is revamping the Deertick’s bad reputation. Deertick the band is headed by the blond guitar plucker John McCauley, and includes Dennis Ryan on drums and Chris Ryan on bass. Their recently re-released album War Elephant is a comforting exhibit of McCauley’s whiskey-soaked and cigarette-croaked vocals and timeless lyrics. While it’s got distinct alt-country backing guitar buttress, McCauley weaves in a dreamy 60’s Franki Valli influence with desolate tone that comes from either knowing true heartbreak or true loneliness (a feat for a 22 year old). Another treat is their near addictive cover of Sean Kingston’s Beautiful Girl, which is remarkably appropriate for either a slow dance, cry or kiss. Man, that slide guitar will give you goosebumps…

When I recently saw them with the equally home-grown, Americana outfit The Felice Brothers in NYC, I have craved to be in a barren field with stars overhead, nursing a flask of my own, a chicken or dog running around in between songs. While I still predict them to grow and toughen up (after all John is only 22, having begun four years ago recording in his room with a tape recorder and a nylon string guitar), since their recorded songs are currently much stronger than their live show, I bid you to check em out if you haven’t already.

www.myspace.com/deertick

I have bad news for you. Sorry. I’ve tried to be positive in almost all my posts thus far. But truth is, I didn’t even have the guts really to inform you that NYC’s CMJ Music Festival was lacklustre which means, if history serves as a guide, this year of indie music may be lacklustre.

The problem lies in the fact that CMJ typically forecasts the year in music. Last year MIA, Spoon, Deerhunter, Dan Deacon, Vampire Weekend, MGMT, Justice, Santogold beasted onstage, each night packed to the brim with the up-and-coming. We notebook-totting reporters were seething with excitement.

This year? We lingered at the bars, shrugged our shoulders though half the sets and went home each night largely disappointed. 1200 bands and only a handful of goodies?

Sure the cute Swedish rocker Lykke Li caused a blog ruckus, with slick style, several catchy pop songs and the occasional kick-ass cover. But we’ve known about Lykke Li for more than 6 months now. (If you don’t know of her, get on your computer and DOWNLOAD NOW).

But asides from an occasional sweet thing, if CMJ is any indication, this year in music is looking light. Either thank me or hit me for being honest; I was heart-broken too. (Rest assured, there’s still the possibility that a couple of new ingénues will jump through the MySpace woodwork) That said, here’s a quick (read: short) list of indie musicians to keep an eye on:

Death Vessel: www.myspace.com/deathvessel

Sounds like demonic death metal - but it’s really a pleasant Americana folk unit lead by Joel Thibodea who looks like a Native American with long hair and dark skin, but sings like a 14 year old angel. Like nothing you’ve ever heard before.

School of Seven Bells: www.myspace.com/schoolofsevenbells

You knew the guy Benjamin Curtis of Secret Machines wouldn’t leave a good band for nothing. Instead he left his old band for two hot Guatemalan twins with voices of sweet nymphs. Together Alejandra and Claudia Deheza and Mr Curtis craft atmospheric shoegaze pop, reminiscent of Blonde Redhead and My Bloody Valentine. The twins’ ethereal voices float delicately over each airy synth, like nymphs tempting you to daydream longer.

Wale: www.myspace.com/wale

The DC ingénue brought into the spot light by music producer mastermind Mark Ronson, revs up crowds with an infectious brand of drum heavy go-go rap.

Passion Pit: www.myspace.com/passionpitjams

Honestly, these were one of the most hyped bands of CMJ. They packed in crowds. Why? Not because their music is fantastically original, but mostly just because it’s fun and feverish pop, the type that makes you forget the fact you’re broke BEFORE we’ve sunk into recession.

Violens: www.myspace.com/violensmusic

Violens (read: Vy-lenz) essentially popped out of nowhere in October but have been almost ubiquitous in the NY indie scene these days. Best comparison I’ve heard thus far is they are a mix of blissed out 60s music like The Zombies with modern saavy like Of Montreal, The Shins and Neutral Milk Hotel. Plus we love their names: Iddo Arad (synths, vocals), Ben Brantley (bass), Jorge Elbrecht (lead vocals, guitar), Kris King (drums).

On November 6th and 7th, Keys N Krates played to a packed house in Vancouver and then in Victoria. For those of you that have been reading the blog for a minute now, you know we’ve been talking about Keys N Krates quite a bit. For those that aren’t in the know, Keys N Krates are a live remix band, yeah that’s right a LIVE REMIX BAND, live drums with Adam Tune, live synths with Matisse and Jr. Flo on the turntables breaking down the samples. In the midst of their busy schedule we were able to catch up with one of the members, DJ Jr. Flo, for a quick one on one interview.

For upcoming tour information hit up their MySpace page: www.myspace.com/keysnkrates

If you liked this interview please help me out and vote for me here: music.virgin.com

Special thanks to AJK and the video editor extrodinaire Gordon Wong.

I’ve been so caught up with the election, I forgot to tell you about a fun show I saw during Halloween week, that boasted the unlikely pairing of MGMT with the old-show avant-garde post-punk band Suicide. MGMT have been huge fans of Suicide forever, but it said a lot when they actually got Suicide to open for them on October 30st. Needless to say the show sold out, but it became apparent early in the show that majority of the (high-school-age) fans were there to see MGMT. (We did however see members of The Ravonettes there at Webster Hall, as Martin Rev helped with their 2005 album Pretty In Black.)

Suicide are not for the tame of heart. If you like easy pop hooks and ‘feel good’ music, you’ll be at a complete loss with these musical legends. They bring atonal distortion to a new level, and are known for their wacky stage antics, heavy synths (till the point your ears may bleed) and devilish light displays. But any sincere lover of rock and roll know they laid the pillars upon which all shoe-gaze, new wave, no wave, pop and post-punk currently stand on. (Hell, even Bruce Springsteen cites them as critical influences.) The crazed filament of energy, Martin Rev, plays his synth kit like he’s massacring victims with chainsaw-arms flailing, bounding on the keys, goggles on in case the blood drips out. Meanwhile, Alan Vega continues to vocalize like any voice instructor tells you not to, ripping down sentences and resurrecting deep, vocal sign posts that point every non-sensical direction.

Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on your tastes, most of the crowd was there for the indie gods MGMT, who came out in FULL mariachi regalia. They made the crowd gleeful with their brand of psychedelic rock. Though they aren’t as tight live as one would hope (since there’s technically two original members and a crew of three other performers who signed to tour with them, it’s an evidently organic growth process), they were much more alive than their prior show opening for Beck a month ago. Regardless of whether you are a die-hard MGMT fan or not, songs like Kids definitely did the trick - getting the whole crowd jumping and grooving. Unlike Suicide, the crowd seemed ebullient throughout the MGMT set – which is tricky these days with the rough economic times, the domino-effect of job lay-offs and ominous cold winter chill that’s slowly invading our inner layers…

On second thought, the good cheer may have been attributed to the wave of pot smoke that hung heavy over the crowd… we’ll never know.

During CMJ, the cutting-edge creative consulting company Undercurrent organized for NY area music bloggers to take a few hours off of hectic concert hopping to see the Tony-award winning rock musical Spring Awakening. After all, the musical boasts music by Duncan Sheik (instead of an orchestra in a pit, they’ve got a band heavy with guitars and drums in the back of the stage).

What did we think? Gotta say, the pop-rock musical is not for the more conservative crowds. Though set in a small German town in 1890, it tackles complex societal issues like teen sexual tensions (read: masturbatory horniness), abortion, religion vs freedom, rape, artistic expression, via heavy reverb, bright lights and zealous pop singing. Truth told, it’s a lot of subplot to pack into two hours - one minute a chick’s singing about picking flowers, the next minute, her best friend ‘alludes’ to being raped by her dad at bed time; two songs later, two teens are heaving hot and heavy in hay; and twenty minutes later one is dead. Plus, there’s a semi-nude sex scene that’s gratuitously thrown in there to charbroil in critics’ memory that this musical is furiously avant-garde. As though pop ballads about abortion and ejaculation or ones titled ‘Totally Fucked’ weren’t clear enough…

Regardless, the musical is entertaining and unlike the Phantom of The Opera, you WON’T fall asleep between sets. Plus, it current stars the studly Hunter Parrish, known for his performance on the TV show Weeds, playing male lead Melchoir. Now, rumor is the doors of Spring Awakening will be shuttered January 18th. Bottom line, if you’ve not seen it yet and happen to roll by Broadway, definitely stop in for a wild ride. And if not, rest assured, it’ll probably be coming to a town near you very soon.

* Special Thanks to Undercurrent for throwing the event.
(** oh yes - and thanks to Undercurrent for developing this very blog for Virgin! - Bob)

We are still getting over the elation (and hang-over) election night. All day Tuesday we worried, standing in line at the poles, hearing Virginia had almost run out of ballots, biting our nails and huddling by the TV. By six pm, there was a lot of nervous energy as we watched the TV screen’s maps of the states transform blue and red, symbolic of democratic and republican wins. But by around 9:30pm (21:30), when the news stations announced it was official, it was as though 8 million people breathed a sigh of relief and then let out one massive scream. I’ve lived in New York for eight years, and I had never seen the streets like they were on Tuesday night. People ducked their heads out of every window, with pots, pans, and bells, screaming “Obama.” Strangers hugged strangers. Men and woman, young and old, cried as Obama gave his victory speech. In all the parks and central squares, people danced. Outside the Apollo Theater in racially diverse Harlem, there were tears of disbelief and marching. In Brooklyn, ad-hoc drum circles and traffic jams. Part of St Marks place in the East Village was cut off so that people could have an all out block party, releasing balloons, waving the American flags, throwing confetti, eating cake, and swigging beers. Music and merriment; relief and joy. I guarantee there’s gonna be a lot of babies born in seven months who will carry the nickname “Obama Babies” with the middle name “hope.”

Yesterday, the New York Times paper was sold out in almost every store (at least within my 10 block radius), as people crowded to read the specially added “Election” section. The editorial section simply stated the facts: “An American with the name Barack Hussein Obama, the son of a white woman and a black man he barely knew, raised by his grandparents far outside the stream of American power and wealth, has been elected the 44th president of the United States.” From Gaza, Ethan Bronner wrote: “There is a country out there where tens of millions of white Christians, voting freely, select as their leader a black man of modest origin, the son of a Muslim. There is a place on Earth — call it America — where such a thing happens.” Fact is I don’t know how it looks from afar, whether from Gaza or London. I only know how it felt from my own home, and it felt like one big national orgasm we’ll never be able to forget. There’s few times in your life where you see history woven in front of your eyes. When you don’t want to blink and you’ll etch each detail of the night in your memory, like a first love, a first loss, a death, a birth, a heartbreak. When your neighbors feel like your best friends. Well, it was such history we watched unfold on Tuesday night and our heads are still reeling from the occassion. True, we’ve only begun to comprehend the immense symbolism and historical weight of this election and the end of the Bush era. And we have no idea what change it will bring. But the idea of change and the infinity of ideas spawned by this change is enough.

Please don’t mistake this for naiveté: we know the physical and psychological ‘battle’ has only just begun: our markets are still falling, tens of millions of Americans don’t have health insurance, we’re embedded shoulder-deep in the sand storm of two wars without a clean or viable exit strategy, we’ve fucked up more foreign policies than we’ve aided; we’ve been the laughing stock of nations for almost eight years now. But for at least one night, it felt like we actually had some control over our fate. Where it felt democracy finally and fundamentally worked. We were on fire with hope. So at least let us all dance in the streets for one night.

• Obama’s Win announced at Time Square Manhattan
• Chicago, Obama’s home city, when Obama’s victory was announced
• Footage from Washington DC where horns made the music

Mark Ronson, can the man do any wrong? He may not even know a thing about CMJ, the infamous NY indie rock festival that hosts more than 1600 bands, but it didn’t matter. On Tuesday, Oct 21st, he got together a roomful of friends, as part of his Allido Record Label showcase, and it topped 90 % of the other showcases that week.

To kick off the party, Rhymefest pulled onstage Rahzel from The Roots for some shared rapping… and some serious Obama endorsing. Needless to say, the crowd got hyped on his energy. Then Ronson’s new rock acquisition The Rumble Strips showed off their slap-happy Brit rock rock. Daniel Merriweather performed with Sharon Jones’ usual accomplices, The Dap Kings… and mid-way through the set, Ronson ditched the DJ booth and played a soulful song or two.

Lastly, Wale brought DC go-go to NYC to finish off the night. If you don’t know much about DC go-go, it’s a funk-based movement that’s infectiously dance friendly- heavy on bass, snare and congo drums. And by dance-friendly, I mean grind friendly. Give the crowd drinks and go-go, and it’s bound to be merry, sloppy, and lascivious. Hence, as the new rap ingénue representing go-go with a stage full of drums, U.B.C. band members and miscellaneous rapper friends wearing heavy shades, Wale was at an advantage- beasting through tracks like “Nike Boots”, “Back In The Go-Go,” and “The Mixtape About Nothing.” To finish it off, Daniel Merriweather got back onstage and acted like old buddies with Wale and kicked off a spontaneous version of “Stop Me” (in fact, Wale almost had to grab the mic back from him). Encouraging a full-on dance-a-thon sing-along, they brought the house down.

If you’ve heard the new Secret Machines album, you know it’s heavy. But their new live show? Revamped with the same sort of intensity. It’s straight up whiskey to their old Jack and Coke style. Gone are the progressive yet upbeat hooks that made our ears ring. Maybe it’s part of Brandon Curtis, Phil Karnats, and Josh Garza growing up, maybe wising up, maybe realizing life ain’t easy, maybe they took more lessons on krautrock, whatever it is: the product is dark and dramatic. When The Secret Machines performed on October 18th with the psychedelic act TK Webb and The Visions at Webster Hall in NYC, the band was charged in a pedal heavy way. Half the set, the boys had their heads down, brows furrowed as they plucked and slide through their chord progressions. Since song from the new album carries such build-ups, when performed live it’s almost like one long, undulating musical presentation.

The three men stood under a large square frame, over which large, strings of fabric, resembling white shoelaces, were laced like a spiderweb. Designed by Es Devlin, acclaimed designer of Kanye West’s astro-spaceship designed tour, the frame was reminiscent of the string apparatus from the Michael Gondry-produced Bjork’s video “Declare Independence.” Combined with dramatic light effects, the frame glowed and cast shadows- so the three band mates were mere silhouettes. As Devlin described, “What the fans see will be a visual expression and counterpoint to what they hear allowing them the space to project their own interpretation of the music and the courage to intensify it.” I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen an indie rock concert with a dramatic stage set up. It’s rare to spend such time on visual production of a rock, unlike a DJ set or Madonna’s multi-million dollar productions. But it was worth it: rather than distract, it focused the set. As the band built up their songs, as Garza’s drums exploded, Phil Karnat’s guitar quivered, as Brandon Curtis’ voice quaked, your eyes floated up the shadows and lights- and it was otherworldly. So I bid you- go see them- knowing it’s not going to be a rock show, filled with jokes and easy hooks. And don’t go if your madly depressed; it’s bound to stick that metaphorical knife further in. Instead, go expecting to see an avant-garde piece of art- one that requires concentration and introspection to illuminate the meaning behind the noise.

Gangs are generally bad things. Followed by world poverty and a burgeoning crack habit. None of which are true of this week’s guests, Gang Gang Dance. Playing their only UK tour date this year, and set to release deeply lauded album ‘Saint Dymphna’, Eleanor Conway of music.virgin.com chats to Gang Gang Dance about collaborating with grime artist Tinchy Stryder, suprising the contemporary art snobs at the Whitney Biennial and their love of Kylie.

Gang Gang Dance’s new album Saint Dymphna is out now.
www.ganggangdance.com

Every year, the music industry descends like hawks throughout the bowels of New York City for a week in October. 100,000 people watch 1000 bands perform in 65 different venues for CMJ (College Music Journal)’s Music Marathon. Bands crash in vans and on floors in Brooklyn, bloggers crash on couches and under their computer desks, and no one gets enough sleep. It’s pretty much musical mayhem as well as euphoria for indie rock lovers and journalists like myself because CMJ remains one of the only really true “taste-maker” festivals (like SXSW and POP Montreal). True, 80 percent of the bands you see, you’ll never hear of again but it’s the sweet 20 percent you savor: those unfound music ingenues who will set the trends for the year and become legends in two years. Daftpunk, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Spiritualized, the Foo Fighters, The Beastie Boys, Lenny Kravitz and L L Cool J all performed in a small dank bar somewherein CMJ’s 28 year history.

This year, CMJ the schedule includes: A Place To Bury Strangers, Beach House, Broken Social Scene, Cool Kids, Crystal Castles, Deerhoof, Donavon Frankenreiter, Gang Gang Dance, Jay Reatard, Lee “Scratch” Perry, Lykke Li, Minus The Bear, Roisin Murphy, Mark Ronson, The Dears and Yo Majesty.

Like last year, I am shooting CMJ for CMJ, so I’ll be sure to fill you music.virgin.com peeps in on the best and worst performances, the drama behind the DJ booth, and any or all inappropriate dance moves. To give you a taste, I included my favorite shot last year of most ‘memorable moment’ of Philly-based rapper Spankrock kissing a random audience member upside down; let me know what you think. (I might add that night, Spankrock, who performed with Santogold, invited half the crowd onstage and then towards the end of his performance, simply curled up behind the DJ booth and passed out.)

Diesel sure knows how to party. By now, only sherpas in Tibet escaped the gossip surrounding the extravagant event, counted off in seventeen cities around the world. At least we finally found out where all that money on over-priced jeans has gone.

On October 11th, Diesel packed a huge tent in Brooklyn with gymnasts flying through the air, fire eaters, and thousands of thirty kids “ready for the floor,” as Hot Chip would say. Just seeing M.I.A. with her lumpy hump made the experience worthwhile (especially since she’s supposed to be (cough) retired); seeing her get the football stadium sized tent into an uproar while wearing spandex above her belly bottom was even better. She’s a powerhouse. The past week, N.E.R.D. has been making rounds around Manhattan - playing at various shows and concerts- but Pharrell as usual put on his party face and crunked it up for the special Saturday show. Other highlights? Hot Chip and Chaka Khan mashed it up; Joel and Benji Madden tried not to get booed during their DJ sets; Franz Ferdinand accompanying rapper T.I. through “Live Your Life”; and half the female audience singing along to Chaka Khan’s “I’m Every Woman.”

We did have a couple complaints. Number 1, there was not nearly enough bars for the crowd (3 for 5,000 people? You do the math). The audio was tricky and it was hard to get a good view. Regardless, kudos for a clothing brand turned lifestyle brand turned music loving party host. If only other companies took notes from Diesel on how to turn up the volume and celebrate music, fashion and everything in between.

What better way to kick off last week than by one of the hallmark indie-that’s-not-so-indie rock bands perform?

October 6th’s Death Cab For Cutie show at Radio City in NYC kicked off with the ethereal, lush vocals of Brooklyn local St Vincent, ie guitar virtuoso Annie Clarke. For those of you who don’t know St Vincent, her voice is the kind that qualifies her to sing jazz-style on top of a piano- it’s velvety yet engulfed in melancholy. It helps that she looks like a living marble cameo, haloed by little black ringlets and peachy porcelain skin. In songs like ‘Now Now’, her soprano lightly hovers over carefully-carved guitar ballads… as bits of ambient synth echos in the background. And then suddenly, she’ll spit out a furious riff that compromises her delicate demeanor. And you jolt back from day-dreaming. While some argue her songwriting still has room for development, and there’s still a visibly awkward dynamic between her and her band on-stage, she handled opening for one of the biggest rock bands of today with grace and cool resolve. Songs like ‘Your Lips are Red’ and ‘Marry Me’ caused the audience, most of whom were still taking their seats while she played, to actually shut-up and listen. Cheers for that.

Now let’s talk about, what’s their name again, Death Cab For Cutie? Now if you didn’t like ‘Plans’ or ‘Transatlantism’ before it, you may be one of the few people who don’t like their latest album ‘Narrow Stairs’. Yeah, the one that made it to Billboards #1, axing good ol Neil Diamond from his plush repose, and beating some other guy named Frank Sinatra? Now, even if you do know DCFC’s albums, and even if you are a die-hard fan, you may not have been one of the lucky ones to make it to this sold-out extravaganza. If that’s the case, you’ll probably be pissed to know they didn’t disappoint. They were as tight onstage as ever… starting out slow and building to full force throughout. The crowd was pretty passive through ‘Employment Pages’ and ‘We Laugh Indoors’ and a plethora of songs from earlier albums. Mid-way they peaked with a stellar rendition of ‘I Will Possess Your Heart’, (which was symbolically appropriate as all band members are credited have written the song).

The five song encore featuring ‘Technicolor Girls’, ‘Title and Registration’, ‘Movie Script Ending’, and ‘Marching Bands of Manhattan’ had the crowd in a visible mix of frenzy and reverie. ‘Transatlanticism’ closed it to a grand applause.

It’s funny; Death Cab For Cuties doesn’t need to be hip, nor indie, nor even cute in order to impress… they really can just ‘be’… and that will be enough.

Saturday night uptown was dedicated to hip hop. N.E.R.D. and Common filled the massive Roseland Ballroom and taught everyone how to celebrate the weekend this Saturday. This involved jumping at least one foot in the air, throbbing rap into mics as the crowd went wild, and erecting a full bar set up onstage.

Saturday, N.E.R.D. and particularly its filament of energy Pharrell Williams got the party started with a fierce, energy-packed set of songs from Seeing Sounds their new album as well as riotous favorites. It’s been a while since a ballroom turned so effortlessly into such a zoo. Meanwhile, Pharrell acted kind of like zookeeper, patting the heads of people in the crowd and picking up little kids and girls and placing them onstage. His charm worked: some chick held up a sign ” Marry Me Pharrell;” Others just shouted “I Love you!” Killer tracks “She Wants To Move” and “Rockstar” with those pounding bass lines got the whole ballroom into a dance grind. The best part? While the energy was up, Pharrell pointed up to the mezzanine level, where a spotlight showed P Diddy grooving by a big table of champagne. The two producer/rap legends winked at each other and said some sweet things like old friends. Something along the lines of “No, I love you more…” “No I promise, I love yoooou more.” The crowd was ecstatic.

Next up, Common played suave in contrast to N.E.R.D’s circus. He brought with him an ornate backdrop: a long bar with pretty girls dangling off of it. Over top shone a sign “Common/N.E.R.D. Souled Out.” But the emphasis was on the spoken word: The Chicago icon spit poetry from his upcoming “Universal Mind Control” as well as mixed beats on oldies but goodies like “Testify.” He then called Pharrell back on stage to bounce around some more. On strut another man about the town, Gnarls Barkley’s Cee-Lo Green, for a song or two. They both were drenched in sweat and sparkling by the end of the night. “Souled Out” indeed.