CMJ 2010: A wrap-up of highlights and lowlights
|The Body prepare to pummel the raddest drum kit|
The opportunity is a bit of a no-brainer, really. "Run around New York City and see bands." And it's exciting sometimes, and you surely expect to hear some amazing new music, and even if it's not new you are guaranteed some amazing shows (like the Blow).
"Listen, everyone comes and tries to 'win' CMJ, to find the next Surfer Blood or Best Coast or whatever," said the Village Voice's Music Editor Rob Harvilla during a panel discussion last week. It would be disingenuous to say that's not part of the plan, and it would be folly to say that there were no exciting new bands at CMJ this year. The New York Times' Ben Sisario noted via Twitter this morning:
By my count I saw 44 bands at #CMJ. Assuming a full roster of 1,000, that means I experienced 4.4% of it. Or, didn't experience 95.6%.The math is daunting and actually weighted more against the attendee than Sisario notes -- there were 1,200 official showcases and at least a couple hundred unofficial gigs throughout the week. So for me to say that "CMJ was a wash" is a bit ridiculous given the capacity one person has for the intake of live music and the statistical probability that one out of 1,500 was fresh and talented and maybe a bit genius. But that's pretty much what I'm saying. Most, if not all, new bands seemed to hew closely (like bedbugs) to the gauzy, droney, fuzzed, reverbed, smooshed-up and diaryetic mien that floods the inboxes of the dozen or so most influential music blogs every morning of the week. The bands bled together as much as their songs did. Below are some of the least and most exciting bands I saw, the difference between I'll leave to you to suss. Here's to 2011.
Playing Spike Hill early Friday afternoon, this band was so fucking loud (there's a difference between awesome loud and asshole loud) and the sound so fucking shitty in that venue that to say they weren't properly represented is a bit of a joke.
Young Adults, "Rip It Up"
While their laminate-fresh and plentiful gear (the guitarist was rocking eighteen pedals, my sightline didn't let me count the bassist's) screamed bourgeois rich kids, that's absolutely me projecting.