|
|
|
Music
You know what I say about expectations? I say who needs them. Historically, when I make them I never meet them, so I tried really hard to keep my lookout low for this weekend’s CMJ Music Marathon in New York City. CMJ happens every year: It’s a five-day conference for music professionals and the people who love them, offering dozens of panels on everything from music licensing to composing criticisms. On top of that, there are showcases. So many showcases of various genres and stature, set up at different venues across the city. Some are free to the public and some require credentials. It’s overwhelming and best thought out in small doses, like, first: Figure out how to get there. And second: See what happens.
My expectations were as follows: See some new music, see some old friends, find a bed to sleep in or a couch or floor or something, and not get irreversibly lost in Manhattan. Despite cab odyssey that took me to 92nd Street and Second Avenue —instead of my intended destination, 92 Second Ave. — I guess I can safely say that the weekend was successful by those standards. I was also able to take one shower and eat some free rotisserie chicken and I only almost cried like, three times the whole weekend. So it goes.
My weekend starts with a 6 p.m. Mega Bus that turns into a 6:45 p.m. unnamed bus with some pretty rad cosmic seat patterns. By the time I get to Union Station it’s 9 p.m. and too late to pick up my press pass, so I go to a friend’s place to snack on some bird meat and drink some beers. Two hours later we hit up Glasslands Gallery, an old warehouse converted into an art space/music venue with no line and cheap Brooklyn Lager tallboys. The venue is stuffed and I have to teeter on a raised ledge that juts out from the bar, only half confident that I won’t fall overboard. I watch Isaac Delusion, a French psych-pop outfit that plays what my friend dubs “pill music.” The sound is very mellow, cathartic, electronic, like something that would come stock on a first generation iPod.
I was tempted to keep this pair of headphones for myself, but when they're on my scrawny head I look like Princess Leia if she was a pitiful drowned rat. I bet they'd look so much better on you.
Here's the deal with them: They're called Chambers and they're designed by Wu Tang producer/occasional filmmaker Rza. Besides the actual headphones, the whole getup includes a black zip-up pouch, a twin-plug airline-system adaptor, a detachable cable (which includes a handsfree unit that works like a charm on the iPhone) and an alternate cable for your alternate-cabling pleasures.
You can read more about the fancy innerworkings here. Now let's get on to the contest details:
Since the headphones are red, we'd like you to snap some photos in the city of red things, whether it be a building, a baseball cap, a pumpkin that came out the wrong color, whatever, and upload it on Instragram (follow us @phillycitypaper!) with the tag #cpwin. On Monday we'll scroll through the entries and choose our favorite one. Then we'll contact that photographer and mail them the prize.
Are we good? If you have questions, email josh.middleton@citypaper.net. Otherwise, get to snappin'!
View galleryFor those of you who are going to your psychedelic funk-metal concerts in 2-D and in stereo, you might as well be sitting in a cave listening on a Walkman. The polka-core trio already rocked the Tower one short year ago as part of their Green Naugahyde tour, and what better excuse to come back than an upgraded multi-media experience?
It was a blast.
The set-list was great, the music was tight, the visuals were cool, and — as usual with 3-D ventures — the glasses were distracting. I personally didn’t wear my pair for a lot of the show. The 3-D rendering didn’t stretch the y-axis that deep, and many of the graphics looked just a cool without the glasses. By the way: When are we gonna get 3-D contact lenses? Mosh pits must be a real inconvenience for old-school Poindexters.
Right now I'm getting into a little Philly band called Glitter. They do some dancey, shoegazing indie-pop that's upbeat and indiosyncratic. I hear moogy synths. I hear xylophone. I hear guitars, snares, handclaps and earnest but never edgeless vocals. I like what I hear. The Glitter people are throwing a release party for their sparkling new debut album, Wyld Hrts, on Saturday at the El Bar. Listen to it here. Buy it if you like it.
Glitter plays Sat., Oct. 20, 9 p.m., with DJ CNNR, El Bar, 1356 N. Front St., 215-634-6430.
EXcellent. I did a cover story on Meghan Remy/U.S. Girls back in 2010. She directed and filmed this video. The star is Lulu Hazel Turnbull.
I am loving this song. Total danceYou can download it for free at pattycrash.com.
It’s impossible not to note the influence of Chick Corea on pianist Manuel Valera, but on his latest, New Cuban Express, he follows that star down divergent and interesting pathways. Long a proponent of melding Latin rhythms with smoking post-bop, Valera adds a fusion flavor to this new project, switching between acoustic piano and Fender Rhodes, all the time maintaining strong ties with his Cuban roots. The band includes countrymen Yosvany Terry on sax and Mauricio Herrera on percussion, whose clave-tinged rhythms blend well with those of drummer Eric Doob. Valera may expand his vocabulary to use the language of Corea’s Return to Forever on this outing, but he speaks it in his own unmistakable accent.
Fri., Oct. 12, 5:45 and 7:15 p.m., free with museum admission of $16, Philadelphia Museum of Art, 2600 Ben Franklin Parkway, 215-763-8100, philamuseum.org.
In the half decade since his previous album, Swedish softy Jens Lekman spent several years in Melbourne, Australia, where he engaged in his usual regimen of romance and heartbreak; to judge from the barely veiled poignancy that permeates his characteristically charming I Know What Love Isn’t (Secretly Canadian), it was mostly the latter. Meanwhile, his labelmate and fellow globetrotting Gothenberger (and former Concrete) Victoria Bergsman seems to have had a somewhat easier time of it elsewhere in the Pacific: To follow up her overlooked 2009 gem East of Eden, which she recorded in Pakistan, she teamed with Henning Fürst of Balearic electro-popsters The Tough Alliance and traveled to Hawaii, emerging with the suitably sunkissed, blissfully woozy and positively love-drunk Other Worlds.
Thu., Oct. 11, 9 p.m., $18-$20, Union Transfer, 1026 Spring Garden St., 215-232-2100, utphilly.com.
Barbra Streisand comes with significant weight beyond mere vocal prowess. At her start, she was the singular arc between the standard song of the great composers (Porter, Berlin), several of the new cats (Bernstein, Sondheim) its lurch into Hollywood and Broadway and finally the modern Pop era. Without touching upon the rock n’ roll immediately behind her or the British Invasion/California sound to come, she paved her own way with brass and subtlety and the unapologetic authenticity of ethnicity. She was a Jewish girl with a prominent nose and a New Yawk accent and defiantly proud of it all.
With a mix of material schmaltzy and stately (and a voice to match), the Brooklyn-raised Streisand was the new show business, an unstoppable force whose flickering mezzo-soprano vocals and forceful personality could stop traffic.
She may have touched upon soft MOR rock and mildly hinted at disco throughout the ’70s and early ’80s, but the fact that Streisand hardly wavered from her singular direction is astounding, the thing that makes her iconic. The other thing (other than her outspokenness when it comes to Democratic causes and pro-gay stance) that solidifies her stature is how reticent she’s been to sing on stage; eighty one shows since 1963 by her own count.
Therefore at age 70, in possession of most of her range and with a willingness to look backwards (to her upbringing, to songs recorded that went unreleased now on her new album, Release Me) Streisand started her Back to Brooklyn tour in Philadelphia last night at the Wells Fargo Center, not counting the weeks of rehearsal and one three hour blast for 500 friends at the Liacouras Center last Friday. Bravely, Streisand didn’t stick to any listeners’ desired script or play list, opting instead to offer a few hits (a warm “People”) amongst a majority of self-chosen vocal favorites. Maybe she yakked too much, took too many breaks, missed a few cues and added in weird lines about Brooklyn's Jay-Z to the boroughs-themed “You’re the Top” — she’s got to be bugged out nervous about her next tour date at the Barclay Center — but as far as large productions went, this was the grand wazoo and the big mamoo rolled into one glittering prize.
- Activism
- Arts
- Arts Events
- Books
- Dance
- First Person Fest
- Last Chance
- Museum
- On the Fringe
- Philly Artists
- The Curator
- Theater
- Visual Art
- Arts News
- Artist Profile
- Arts Preview
- Street Art
- Been There, Done That
- Big Ups
- Comedy
- LOL With It
- Stand-up
- Critical Mass
- DVD
- Events
- Friday Fill-in
- Ice Cubes
- In Memoriam
- Interview
- Just Do It
- Just Opened
- Kaleidoscopic
- LGBTQ
- Art Phag
- Mailbag
- Movies
- Film Fest
- Movie Review
- On set
- Scenester
- screening
- trailer!
- Music
- 10 Track Mind
- Album
- Album Review
- Concert Review
- DJs
- Local Support
- Now Hear This
- One Track Mind
- Philly Bands
- Show
- Somebody Else Was There
- Song
- The Showdown
- concert photos
- jazz
- DJ Nights Blogged
- Night Watch
- Now See This
- Poetic License
- Printed Matter
- Radio
- Shopping
- Coveted
- Fashion
- What We Heart
- TV
- 24
- Idol Hands
- Mad Men
- ProjRun
- True Blood
- Useless Lost Recaps
- Couch Potato
- Shore Trash
- Turned ONN
- TopMod
- Video Games
- Free Online Game
- PSP
- PlayStation 2
- The 1-Upper
- Wii
- Web Junk
- CAGE MATCH
- Free Online Toy
- Weekend Omnibus
- Win
