October
22
CMJ After the Rain: It's Good to Be Home With Band of Horses Ringing In Your Ears
Upon returning to Los Angeles from the alternating sunshine and heavy rain of New York, most music pontificators had had enough of CMJ, others were as impressed by an act we both happened to stumble upon and, not surprisingly, hyped bands secured more hype from reviewers who just can't get enough of shows that start after 1 a.m.
As the Internet wars or words raged over a (misguided?) piece about indie rock and race in the New Yorker, I was struck both by how impossible it is to assemble a true hierarchy for 21st century rock music and how CMJ plays into reinforcing that model; this was generally bill after bill of unfamiliar names with the occasional budding star thrown in. It lacks the communal spirit of any other festival, whether it be SXSW or Coachella. This was a scene made up of young people finding an identity with people of a similar stripe; music is not necessarily the bonding factor. For those of us who using the memories of the past, whether they be L.A. folk rock in the early '70s, New York punk in the '70s or Seattle, North Carolina or Omaha, Neb., after that, there's a void at the center.
Blame the democracy on the Internet: indie rock is now a generally insular world that resonates with people who prefer to learn about music through personal recommendations and via MP3-filled websites. Seeing shows at venues ill-equipped to present shows is no big deal.
And the acts on the verge of something bigger came and did their jobs: M.I.A., the Black Kids, Band of Horses and St. Vincent earned a big thumbs up from the reviewers and bloggers; the challenge now is monetizing buzz.
My favorite moment, though, was one in which about 30 people were held in rapture by a man in his 60s appearing at a party outside the CMJ official lineup. Ed Askew made an off-the-wall folk album in 1968 album for the avant-garde jazz label ESP. He is accompanied by a lute-like instrument called the tiple. A couple of years later, he made another series of recordings that were not released until 2003 and a few more were discovered and released this year; the man basically fell of the face of the earth.
He made it to his 7 p.m. show but his accompanist did not. He took it in stride and performed a capella, playing harmonica in between verses. His voice has a lovely calmness to it, no ragged edges here, and a poet's flair for combing the direct and the ethereal. It was the rare show that had obvious weight. He deserves a return visit to the recording studio.
A sprawling festival set up in the tiny clubs and spaces below Houston
and east of First Avenue, CMJ and its attendant parties attracted
audiences that nearly always seemed split down the middle between the overly
fanatical and shockingly indifferent. The overwhelming nature of the
fest - 1,000 bands playing official showcases in about 60 venues -
means most people will be lucky to see 20 or 30; geography and
transportation make it tough to get to more than three clubs per night and
there's always the danger of an act being a no-show. (The cancellations of
P.J. Olsson, a CBS Records singing, and a Friday show by Brit import
Air Traffic, signed to EMI's Astralwerks, were major disappointments).
It leaves the door open for random discoveries: The absence of Air
Traffic, for example, meant being exposed to Mink, a melodically powerful
pop-punk band with the star power of Aerosmith and David Bowie; an early
arrival at a party brought Deer Tick, a Providence, R.I., band fronted
by 21-year-old John McCauley (whom the New York Times also lauded), into my radar. McCauley takes his vocal
and lyrical cues from Townes Van Zant, Neil Young and John Prine; using
stand-up bass, electric guitar and drums, Deer Tick not only has a
command of a folksy, back-porch sound, but can stretch to give their set
some necessary dynamics.
Mink and Deer Trick share a lot with many of the bands selected to play
at CMJ. Time after time, bands performed with authority; it might not
be a sound all listeners will enjoy, but in most cases it was being
executed well. That reached across the board, from the dance-rap acts who
have found a non-rap audience in this indie rock world to the folkies
and the lo-fi rock bands. The Blakes, a Seattle band that records for
Light in the Attic, a label more known for its reissues, have a sharp and
welcoming sound that touches on the Velvet Underground; Tel Aviv's
RockFour evokes the spirits of adventurous late-' 60s rockers doused
with modern pop-rock twists.
But there doesn't appear to be an act capable of escaping the
comparison formula, i.e., a bit of column A blended with some of Column B and
accented with Column C. Even a rave for the Black Kids on the New York
Times website praised the act's ability to blend together the Cure
with punk and dance music. Nearly every performer using an acoustic
guitar and nasally voice earns a comparison to Neil Young; since there
appears to be a void between commercial rock and the indie world, many are
trying to supply the bridge by adding a strong backbeat to an
underground esthetic. Of the bands heard working in that realm, their appeal
seemed absurdly limited.
CMJ is ultimately indicative what we're seeing in music in general:
No bona fide stars and a search for a new paradigm. Unsigned acts gave
away their music freely; those with a label deals - of any sort - had
their merchandise tables set up and CDs were being sold in $5 to $10
range, a dip in price that's a reminder these acts are more likely to
make more money licensing tracks than selling individual discs. As
panel after panel discussed - and plenty of these bands realize - it's tough to make a living in the rock music business today. CMJ drove
home the point there's no wagon to hitch a trailer to here; it's all
trail blazing.
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