Certain Prides Thus Obliged
I rode the wrong train home, adding an eight block-long walk to my odyssey from Brooklyn's hip north end. As I plugged away at retaining consciousness on the preceding line, a headful of red wine shifted my attention away from the conductor's garbled announcements and toward the bored young blond sitting across from me. My shirking faculties robbed me of heed for the proper transfer and I boarded my second-choice train, which arrived with a merciful expedience.
It was the wrong end of five in the morning when I came to and debarked – staggered off – at the correct stop in my neighborhood. This was a laudable accomplishment in itself; I was afraid that enjoying a drink and living in Brooklyn's southern boondocks would, yet again, add up to a firm rise-and-shine prodding, indelicately administered by a police officer walking the graveyard terminus beat at Coney Island. I had originally planned to sit out the night, made timid by the radio's apocalyptic pronouncements of the upcoming weather. Fortuitously, the snow had lingered long enough for my night to resolve itself, and lazily tumbled from the stars as I plodded home through the orange silence which descends hand-in-glove with every nocturnal snowfall.
Parenthetical Girls - This Regrettable End

Lemme See Yer Gavel
When, at age 20, I first started working at Freaks – the punk boutique formerly found on the East Village's renowned St. Mark's Place – my manager and I got into a conversation regarding embarrassment of one's own taste in music. Rob, who was in his 30s, told me he enjoyed the first wave of emo. I immediately responded “and you … openly admit that?” He explained that no one with a sense of self-worth should ever be ashamed of owning up to their taste. Who is anyone else to judge what you receive enjoyment from? Who worth knowing would peg an individual as a worthwhile human being based on how they like their pop music?
I can't say that conversation miraculously cleansed me of prejudice. I still harshly judge people based on their preferred genres (along with just about anything else), but I now have a little voice in the back of my head rendering me unable to ignore my own snobbery and constantly reminding me of my own guilty pleasures. I try to remember that someone who listens to – in my opinion – disposable trash may have tastes which are, for whatever reason, unrefined. Not everyone makes the time or the effort to sort through the reams of mediocre music out there. Or, god forbid, music might not be particularly important to them. I find my own habits an unreliable yardstick because I'm an obsessive, at best. If they have made conscious choices that do not meld with my own, I try to keep in mind that doing so is a respectable act in and of itself.
I guess what I'm trying to say is: listen to whatever you want and enjoy it all the same. And if you genuinely love music, feel absolutely free to be a snob! But a respectful snob. Turn your nose up at the music, not the individual inflicting it upon you.
As a sort of act of contrition for my by-gone days of judgmental prickdom (which some would say I am still smack in the middle of; all the more for writing the above) I present a guilty pleasure of which I can't get enough:
Change My Pitch Up
One of my favorite comics-based television series was the Justice League Unlimited. Its roots were the the serious-but-still-fun 1990s Batman: The Animated Series and meant as a sequel to the Justice League. JLU focused on expanding the standard, comics-DC Universe into the DC Animated Universe. While revolving mainly around the standard JL team (Superman, Batman, et. al.) each episode had guest stars and cameos ranging from the obvious (Aquaman) to the obscure-ca.-2004 (the Crimson Avenger). Again, it balanced good old fashioned superheroics – there was a drag-out fight almost guaranteed in each episode – with surprisingly consistent and three-dimensional characterization and an evolving continuity. While the episodes stood on their own, there was an overall arc which was very clearly plotted out from the beginning and expanded on within each episode.

Img. co DCAU Wiki.
The Justice League Unlimited episode “Ultimatum" presented a team of superpowered individuals named the Ultimen. Pictured above, the Ultimen consisted of , from left to right: Wind Dragon, Juice, Long Shadow, Downpour and Shifter. The Ultimen were a the face of a secret project meant to discredit the Justice League, who were growing too powerful for the shadow government's comfort.
If the character designs seem a little familiar, that's because these are all rehashed versions of the superheroes created by Hanna Barbera. Invented for the numerous incarnations of the 1970s and 80s DC comics cartoon Super Friends, they were an attempt to insert some multiculturalism an viewer-identification (the previous characters meant for the latter purpose were the unpowered Wendy and Marvin and fit in about as well as it sounds.) Wind Dragon was based on Samurai, Juice on Black Vulcan, Long Shadow on Apache Chief, and Downpour and Shifter on Zan and Jayna, the Wonder Twins. One of the numerous in-jokes about the Ultimen was that they reflected the mores of the Superfriends era. In contrast to the secretive Justice League, the Ultimen were publicly-oriented and unnaturally wholesome; even Superman, the invulnerable boy scout, had trouble withstanding their wholesomeness.
One of the other major alterations to the series was the updating of Aquaman's incarnation to that of the 1990s Peter David version. No longer the useless-on-land hero of yesteryear, Aquaman became the warrior-king of 70% of Earth's surface. It is the conflict between Aquaman and the Ultimen that is the meat of this post, referenced way the hell up at the beginning. It is also my absolute favorite scene in Justice League Unlimited. Context-wise, the Ultimen and the Justice League got into the requisite battle and Aquaman has just taken out Downpour's sibling Shifter. (It should start playing at 2:03 into the video.)
Having grown up watching Superfriends - thanks Cartoon Network - I have to say that was a long time coming.
How We Won the War
Today, take a quick tour of the Technology Wing of the War on Artistic Constraints Memorial Museum
Roy Lichtenstein wields the nigh-unstoppable Image Duplicator...

...while the Dead Boys pack the mighty Sonic Reducer.
I’m Your Biggest Fan, Pt. 3 of 3
I met Chris Onstad during his signing tour for his hardcover collection of the Achewood arc The Great Outdoor Fight (the actual book.) I’d been a fan of Achewood for years; the much-lauded webcomic having seen me through both good times and bad, and with good chunks of the dialogue and panels are now permanently burned into my brain. I have friends with whom I can carry out entire conversations with Achewood lines. Something about the humor, the mix of earnestness and obscenity studded with the offhandedly absurd (they are talking animals after all) and studded with Onstad’s utter refusal to let idols stand is a consistent fresh breath in the webcomics genre. The art – detailed black-and-white minimalism – is also a unique entry among his peers.
I showed up a little early to line up outside of Rocketship, Brooklyn’s premiere indie comic book shop. The line had already formed somewhat, populated by the exact sort of hip young things one would expect to attend a signing for a webcomic that had nothing to do with video games. I was there to meet a friend reserving a spot and in a pretty significant surprise, he was standing directly behind a former coworker of mine from the stompin’-around-all-punk-rock days. While standing a little closer to the entrance, Onstad wandered out of the shop for some air clearly enjoying both the attention and the noticeably healthy amount of liquor in his belly. This was the first time I had ever seen the man as he is/was known for a lack of identifiable photos. He wandered back inside, time passed, the signing proceeded into the store and yet he was nowhere to be seen. I had been to Rocketship a few times; it’s a small shop and even when packed with college students the back was visible. Where could he be? And why was the line vanishing into a corridor? The line continued to proceed into said corridor, cramming us shoulder-to-shoulder. There was a small merch table set up selling assorted Achewood ephemera and. Having already owned a copy of The Great Outdoor Fight - I pre-ordered it when it was but a gleam in Amazon’s eye - I purchased the Achewood Cookbook on a whim. I saw an open door into a much larger hall a little beyond me and then it made sense.
The back room of Rocketship was connected directly to the lounge next door. As we walked in, I located Onstad. He was standing at the bar, polishing off a drink and having pleasant and casual conversations with the signees. I told him how much I loved Achewood and asked him if he would be writing any more Nate Small short stories (a Hardy Boys-type series he made available on one of the paid-subscription websites.) It took him a moment to actually realize and recall what I was talking about, which gave me some considerably insight into his artistic process. He signed my book, sketching Roast Beef inside it – take a moment to consider an artist who, during a significant and free signing, draws a sketch for everyone. A photo was taken and while putting on my coat I asked him to sign the Cookbook, which I decided at that moment, was to be a gift. He looked mildly annoyed at my holding up the line, but didn’t say a word and obliged. We left immediately thereafter.

Synthetic Sharing Machine
I spent last night browsing YouTube for live sets of bands that I like and came up with two gems I've been ever-so-giddy to share. The first is a live set featuring Rap (a.k.a. Dragon, a.k.a. video artist Hari Ziznewski) opening for wunderkind Beirut in 2006. He is accompanied by the incredible Alaska in Winter. While Rap remains relatively – needlessly! – obscure, Alaska in Winter has been all over the place; his track “Your Red Dress” was featured in an episode of Gray's Anatomy (season 4, episode 15.) AIW's 2007 LP Dance Party in the Balkans has been one of my most listened to albums this year and one track features a young(ish) Zach Condon (of Beirut) on vox. So here's Rap and Alaska in Winter with “Sega Song”.
Now, this one is the real treasure. YouTube's own goldenpuppy1 has been slowly and steadily releasing a live set Neutral Milk Hotel played in New York in 1998, on their tour for the seminal indie album In The Aeroplane Over The Sea. Neutral Milk Hotel are responsible for some of the greatest music released during the 1990s and, in my opinion, In The Aeroplane Over The Sea is their crowning achievement. If you have never heard this album you absolutely, absolutely must. To certain individuals of certain tastes, lead Jeff Mangum's nervous breakdown and complete resignation from the world of music was an event with as much resonance as the death of Kurt Cobain. Considering that a twelve year old VHS transfer isn't the best introduction to this band, I'll make this offer: if you want to listen to this album that I absolutely fucking insist you listen to, drop me a line and I will hook you up. No one who claims to enjoy music should go through life without hearing In The Aeroplane at least once. Don't get me wrong; I'm not saying you'll necessary like it. Much like the styling of John Darnielle of the Mountain Goats, it is easy to dislike Jeff Mangum's unique vocals and abstract lyrics, and the band's insistence on bizarre, noisy instrumentation. Whatever. As far as the experimental aspect of 1990s indie rock is concerned, they're the origin of the species. Considering that there has been an absolute dearth of quality NMH recordings on YouTube – there are a good videos of Mangum's solo sets however – these videos are a revelation. Now here's Neutral Milk Hotel with “King of Carrot Flowers pts. 2 and 3”
And here is my single favorite song of theirs, “April 8th” from the album On Avery Island.
The rest is here and seems to be irregularly updated.
P.S.: I've gone through the archives and categorized all my posts featuring live music with the live category-tag.
Au Français
Valerie (MySpace) is a French synth-pop/new-wave-revivalist collective. I don't have much information on them as 95% of their written communiques to the outside world are in French and I don't really care enough to translate invitations to parties halfway across the world. One of their better known artists is Anoraak, and he has released the entirety of his album Nightdrive With You here. His - and by extension Valerie's - music is at once simple and nostalgic, with the occasional hilariously misstep (seriously, dude? "I had sex with another girl"? That's not a song lyric.)
What I really wanted to write about was their album cover design, which, due to my previously professed 80s futurism fetish, hits all the right notes. I love everything about it: the neon coloring on dark backgrounds, the style-over-substance sexuality and especially the technological imagery reduced ad absurdum to afunctional gadgetry:




...and here's my favorite Valerie track: Anoraak's remix of College's "Teenage Color."
Oh Bowery, Up Yours!
On Friday night I went, with much trepidation, to see Owen Pallett (the artist formerly known as Final Fantasy) play at the Bowery. For those unaware, he is primarily a violinist and had, among his numerous guest spots, arranged the strings and provided guest vocals on Beirut's The Flying Club Cup. The trepidation stemmed from the fact that the tickets were a came-home-late-and-drunk impulse buy and I really hadn't any intention to see him live. I moderately enjoyed He Poos Clouds, an album rife with two things that would endear your humble blogger to practically any album: vocal desperation and oblique Dungeons and Dragons references. However, I couldn't really latch onto the dissonance, and after a few listens shelved the album away for a rainy day. His next and most recent release, Heartland – the first to be released under his Christian name – was much better. Heartland is, ostensibly, a concept album, but I have a nearly-superheroic inability to grasp onto album narratives unless someone holds my damn hand through them (a notable exception being The Mountain Goats Tallahassee, which I have listened to, in full, maybe twelve hundred times over the years and eventually just got.) The annoying, springy dissonance of both the instrumentation and his voice smoothed out and the entire sound was de-avant-garde'd and made significantly more listenable. It was because of Heartland that I was even mildly inspired to actually show up and not just pawn the ticket on last.fm.

Image co. For The 'Records'
Imagine my surprise when this turned out to be one of the better live shows I've seen. The opening band, Avi Buffalo, was a bit too precious for my taste. (In an odd aside, I ended up exchanging Flickr messages with the admittedly skilled lead singer/guitarist's mother after she mislabeled a photo I had posted. Apparently the band's relatives keep track of these things. Adorable.) I had managed to confuse Owen for one of Bowery's sound guys, confused by his ability to tune a violin. The only other individual on stage, whose name I have forgotten, assisted with a muted guitar and a small drum set with a set of cowbells taped on. As they started playing, it all came together. He generated the backbeat to the music by looping violin plucks/melodies, occasionally processed through a bass pedal, and a synth. He would then start playing a different melody and sing in that beautiful voice of his. Seriously. I haven't heard a voice that clean and pure on stage … ever, really. While musicians generally need to have their head around timing to play, listening to Owen set up his own backing and play to it was a sight to see.
One of my most favorite things about living in the Future is that I can go to a show and a few days later watch it again via a YouTube upload from some kid with a camera I could pay my rent with. So, here's Owen Pallet playing his opening track on Friday, January 18th, 2010, “CN Tower Belongs to the Dead.”
The Junk Key
When I'm rushing on my run
Velvet Underground - Heroin (Demo)
And I feel just like Jesus' son
And I guess that I just don't know

Angry Youth Comix #2, Johnny Ryan

