You'll shortly be seeing my writing on Prefix Mag too! I'm so excited to get back into music writing proper; as much as I adore fashion, I miss the music industry dearly. I miss knowing things (beyond my rather sudden addiction to The X Factor this season. Incidentally, how in the hell could they have booted Aiden? He was adorable and hopelessly awkward), and it just so happens that things are pretty darn good lately.
And in my new journey through the music blogosphere--yes, I did indeed just realize it's 2010 and has been that way for 11 months--the sudden success of Oberlin/WOBC peers Teengirl Fantasy confounds me. In a good way. You always hear about Oberlin's music scene and the bands it's spawned: Yeah Yeah Yeahs in a sense, Deerhoof, Tortoise, Liz Phair, etc. But you never quite think that the kids you see in a basement will go on to internet renown so quickly, nor do you expect to open your copy of Dazed & Confused and find them. 7AM is a really good album, although it's more evocative of 3 AM early morning/late night bad party decisions. Hazy, slowed-down house--is this considered chillwave? I damn well hope not--this song features Shannon Fuchness from Light Asylum (another great band) and is as psychedelic as the screengrab suggests. It could be that I've gotten back into early 90's acid house in a big way lately.
Basically, I like this decade. Finally. And what better way to celebrate my delayed 21st century arrival than with a man who's been kicking it since the 1970s?
Last night was Grinderman at Nokia--er, Best Buy--Theater, and what a show it was! Despite its really awful location in the heart of Times Square, it was a killer venue for the gig; not that it would have mattered, as Mr. Cave could command the attention of any and all concertgoers anywhere. A lot of friends skipped out on this one because they were underwhelmed by Grinderman's second album, and I don't blame them--many of the songs ran together, and the first half of the set was really just a cacophony of indiscernible blues. I was glad that the encore kicked off with the comparatively easier "Palace of Montezuma" to break up the loud monotony.
Again, is this really a bad thing? Not when it's Nick Cave, motherfucker. The man moves like a beast half his age, and the sweaty, sunken chest that peeked out from his unbuttoned shirt still has the power to make me swoon. Rock's greatest murderous, wayward-believer-preacher showman.
I'm also now the proud owner of a Grinderman mug.
