The New York CMJ Music Marathon is run by, you guess it, CMJ: a heavy-hitting online and print publication that prides itself on having its finger on the pulse of modern music. The “Marathon” is more of a mile-long race where you have to chug a PBR every 400 meters. The group does a darn good job all things considered, amassing an intimidatingly long list of indie artists on the bubble of buzz. Thus, the festival is a wet dream for the contemporary fan and a porn shoot for the industry. Record labels, PR companies, and prominent blogs host showcases featuring their respectively supported up-and-coming artists. The orgy starts around noon everyday and goes on for a full week. I had it described to me the first day I got to New York as “South by Southwest, but more of a shit-show.” Cheers, Brooklyn.

Removing light-blue sheets from various instruments onstage, each roadie at the Jack White concert sported suspenders, a blue tie, and a fedora—despite the inescapable Virginia humidity. Their antiquated outfits clashed slightly with the modernity of the stage backdrop, where three tall rectangles, which would later radiate an electric blue, loomed. One suspendered gentleman, timidly walking up to a microphone, politely asked that the milling crowd “watch the show live,” instead of through “those tiny screens” of their phones. This outdated request caused quite a murmur in the standing section before the stage.

“Oh, that’s just my hearing aid,” Jim Reid slurred in response to the shrill attack of feedback that emanated from the stage in a lull between songs. It’s true that The Jesus and Mary Chain are no longer the Wayfarer-wearing Scottish troublemakers of their youth, but at the 9:30 Club, they certainly knew how to, as they say, bring the noise. Even seasoned clubgoers and fans in the back were holding their ears shut in pain, and the club might have made as much in ear plug sales as they did in alcohol that night. This, of course, is part of the charm.

I am inclined to tell you these things largely because my sangria-addled mind was almost totally unable to recognize and/or record many of their opening song choices; I was limited to feeling them in impressionistic (drunk) sort of way. I walked into the Jefferson right after eating tapas for two hours in celebration of a friend’s birthday, and at first I only managed to cross my arms, drift into my own thoughts, and strike what I imagined to be a serious critical pose. Sipping my drink (water at this point), I waited for the energy of the music to steamroll my inner imbalance, as it had for many nights, years ago now, when I read Will Sheff’s lyrics as The Stage Names played in my high school bedroom.

Explosions in the Sky Concert Review June 22, 2012 at the Jefferson Theater, Charlottesville, Virginia Having never possessed any music by Explosions in the Sky, I went to the Jefferson Theater last Friday compelled only by their reputation as a great live act. The show had sold out a week before, and with most sold-out shows at small, indoor venues, I expect little to no room to move around, a …continue…

When I walked into the National last night, the first thing I noticed was the stage. It appeared fuller than normal (which is saying something because the last show I saw there was Gwar, and they turn their stages into castles) partially due to the fact that the instruments of Delicate Steve, the opener, were still there, but also because of Yeasayer’s light setup. Arched behind where the band would …continue…

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Merrill is performing at the…” Thus begins “My Country,” the first song on w h o k i l l the tUnE-yArDs sophomore album. As the driving creative force behind the band that can’t be pinned down (the music of  tUnE-yArDs has been described variously as Afro-beat, lo-fi, experimental, and even ‘wonky pop’), Merrill Garber seems to be performing everywhere, yet is nowhere to be seen. Before …continue…