Saturday 04/11/06 CMJ Music Festival, New York

CMJ 2006, October 31st to November 4th, New York

CMJ does rule, but there are some amateurs involved in the running of it – which lead to many a badge holder being screwed. Before the muckraking hits the fan, no one should miss CMJ because firstly it really is about college music. While SXSW is blowing up, naturally, into "mainstream of indie" showcases, there are a bunch of surprising, great nobodies at CMJ. Secondly, it’s in New York. At the risk of sounding like a New Age guru, the city has a liveliness that makes it feel like the center of the universe; everyone there is trying to make the biggest moves possible (and it doesn’t hurt that there are endless city blocks of bars open until 4 am).
 
Now, there are some curable elements that need to be addressed. Lineups: if you’ve got a phenomenal Sub Pop show – CSS, The Thermals, The Shins– you better have a show of corresponding hipster prowess so we don’t all end up dicking around outside a venue we have no chance of getting into (Christmas cancelled). To establish more of a community vibe at the convention, there should be booze there. Alcohol equals socializing and merriment. The last thing, and this could be the fault of the venues, was a disregard for badge holders. There were too many shows we couldn’t get into. Most insulting was the French Kicks show at the Mercury Lounge, where badge holders (who sacrificed a few hundred dollars to attain one) were told to wait in line in freezing weather while people buying tickets at the door were admitted. Not cool.
 
Commencing the festival, on Halloween, with The Presets and The Rapture? Well played. There are few opportunities so ideal for dancing. Snooty, lovable dudes you’d pay to have sex with, The Presets are perfect every show; their ominous, gay techno feels classy and smart like white zinfandel and city college. And The Rapture, coming out in full skeleton costume with choreographed dance (as if we don’t already know what we are in for) build the excitement until the whole audience is practically pulling their own hair and banging on their chests. Robert Smith with Prince attitude, coked up with maniacal cowbell and electronic beats, The Rapture are hyphy, heartless, and dominating before their aching fans.
 
Heaven forbade, but they came anyway. The Horrors: absolute magnificence at CMJ. Dramatic, elegant, and fierce, they put on a hell of a performance. Loud sounds battling each other for clarity, The Horrors’ blend of mod, electric, punk, and rock make for a show you don’t know which god to thank for. Listening to their album, the songs retain strength, but there’s no comparing to a ghostly, strobe-lightning struck, over smoke-machined rock show, where front man, Faris Badwan, mangles the whole room with his body crashing upon them.
 
Dappled Cities Fly, these Aussie boys were at the last SXSW, now signed by Dangerbird Records, are moving to New York, releasing their sophomore album ‘Granddance’, currently on tour, and well, making poppy rock not embarrassing. Catchy and cute, these guys are set.
 
If you like Fall Out Boy and want to jump on the post-punk rock wagon, your playlist awaits The Explosion and The Loved Ones. These Tarantuala Records bands give you that energetically belligerent show you expect without the hardcore, which makes for a kick-ass show where you don’t have to worry about getting hit in the mouth. The Explosion step it up with aggressive vocals, while The Loved Ones go fun apathetically.
 
Photo Atlas are very much Mars Volta meets The Stokes, a run in with Porno for Pyros, and everyone is happy. These guys are mainstream material, in a good way. And though being a great show to get down to, it takes a great PA to show off the guitar hooks and rhythms that sell the Photo Atlas. Alan Andrews’ strung out vocals are the element of danger, while the band plays a better version of what a rowdy indie audience wants.
 
Tip: At a festival like this, go see the bands you’ve never heard. You win because (1) you will probably not have another chance to see that never developing, ugly duckling again or (2) even better, you see a band at a tiny venue that may become the new Milli Vanili. You win.