Queens-based newcomers The Heart Attack-Acks have no right to sound as good as they do for a band who “didn’t have anything better to do.” The duo Cody and Candace have been testing the waters with their own brand of discoey post-punk dance tracks. Their beats are properly infectious party music with a snarky sense of humor. Candice’s vocal has this nasal sneer, with all her vowels stretched and pulled by her Lawn-Guyland accent. “Hit me with your love buuoooawmb” she says during their unbelievably tight track “Love Bomb,” and I’m in strum-a-dum-dum heaven.
One of their latest offerings is called “Love Me.” This tune has the flavor of Love and Rockets over Delta 5 bass, groovy and a little dark. The lyrics are snarky camp telling of an Instachick stalking some man prey on the internet, and it makes me excited to see what they might make this character look like. In June, they put out their third track, a roller called “My Heart/My Mind,” and I am certain they could get a dance floor in motion. Let’s hope there’s a video or a show out there on the horizon so we can see how this plays on the eyes. Their B-Movie type album art makes me think it’ll be lots of fun.
Where the fuck is it? I’m toiling around the streets, knowing I am vaguely close because of the shift in quality of graffiti. A guy as equally confused as I am is spying the environs on this corner of Wyckoff and Weirfeld, looking for a music venue. He spots it first. The name Trans-Pecos is outlined in some kind of black tape on a facade of cheap wired government glass NYC uses to build public buildings, causing this little gem to stay hidden from passers-by. But inside, this venue’s booth-lined dance floor glistens with refracted starlight and neon. Tonight, I am again following the paths of Logan Kane and Nicole McCabe further into jazz, along with sound artist Claire Dickson, and punk/jazz outfit CGI Jesus.
The show eases in with a sophistication. Brooklyn-based Claire Dickson uses her vocals and a keyboard setup to layer her sound. There may have been different songs, but the layperson couldn’t tell because her set was continuous and uninterrupted by applause. From there, she selects a sparse palate of tones, bells, and ethereal vocals and lets them waver and warp naturally, aided by gentle nudges from her toolkit. She conveys this existential kind of thing that fills up the room. There’s a mindful smallness you feel when listening to tones like this, like listening to silence at night. What do you call that, tinnitus of the sublime? It takes away all of the petty pressures of being human. And I think, I pay my therapist $20 a week to relax my mind when I could do it at a $12 show. If you have ever spent a night in bed with Tangerine Dream, it’s worth spending an evening at the venue to wash your face with these kinds of waves. I never have before.
I started chatting up Confused Guy from earlier, spreading the gospel of music I love. He was tempted to clap for Dickson, but it would have interrupted the tone and he wanted to be respectful. Still, he seems floored. He’s the type that sees what’s playing and goes out mostly blind, a sense of adventure that I can appreciate, having flown solo at most shows as of late. Suddenly his tone shifts. He’s needy, looking for a party, but I am not a party. I become uncomfortable, firstly because I had thought I might end the night with a new show-hopping bud, and secondly because I am reminded of what I have read about jazz scenes and chemical self-destruction. There’s that mortality that permeates the topic of jazz. He’s gone before CGI Jesus, and I wonder if he enjoyed the music beyond what was necessary to score. It feels grim.
Next was Dolphin Hyperspace, the LA-based duo being joined by drummer Daniel Rossi. They started with fat whomper “Buster Boy,” setting the pace for the set. The audience was awash in bouncing bodies, including mine. Kane bounces, his red-capped head bopping in full bass face euphoria. McCabe had the bounce too, though she was limited by proximity of her horn to the mic, and I wonder what she would do if she could clip one on somehow. But she was still enough that I could check out her dope tats when I wasn’t looking at her fingers gliding on the sax. I see the way they watch each other and take turns ripping it as the drummer whips out sick *kssssh kssssh* beats. At one point (I think it was Lizard Sisterz?) the combination of electronics and instruments sound like Fingathing with new ingredients, and I am in heaven. “You fucking murdered me,” I shout, because my mania is on 11 and I don’t know how to make more words than that. With a cavewoman’s cadence I ask “that was jazz?” “Well, hyperjazz.” McCabe answers, vaguely undecided. It’s too late to change. The word ricochets off the walls of my mind, lighting it up like a pinball machine. ｈｙｐｅｒｊａｚｚ .
Google yields little but this word is so coooool
The final act was CGI Jesus, a group led by bassist and composer Kevin Eichenberger. Their bandcamp suggests a combination of “trash jazz” and “chamber punk,” which are also new favorite word combinations that I have never encountered before. There were drums, guitar, and trumpet on deck for the night, although I couldn’t tell you who was “in” the band and who was “with” the band. Jazz doesn’t seem to have these kinds of clear demarcations, which makes me wonder if seeing shows and all of these different individual instrumentalists is kind of like trying all the flavor/topping/sprinkle combinations at Rita’s Italian Ices. You’ll never really get through ‘em all. CGI Jesus leaves me with a prog aftertaste, but they had so many different types of sounds and emotions going on. Sometimes you’re grooving, sometimes it’s angsty, sometimes it’s discordant, and sometimes it’s yearning. Sometimes it was mournful, like when Eichenberger dedicated a tune to trumpeter jaimie branch, who recently departed – she was my age and build – untimely. There’s that shadow again. This was probably her community.
In hindsight it was all emotional whiplash, but that’s what makes it experimental. You don’t get on a rollercoaster for a smooth ride.
On the way out, the venue is playing a cover of King Crimson’s Schizoid Man. I have seen them live twice, once with John Paul Jones of Led Zeppelin on the bill, too. How much jazz have I heard in their music, unaware? Or in Jones’s? It’s funny, my notion of jazz used to be so plain, singular. But you have to go beyond the portal to really see what’s up. There is nothing really plain about it.
Cut to a chilly Saturday night at Bowery Ballroom. The stores are closed, but whole street glistens with spray-painted names and signs. A young *somebody* in a hand-altered hoodie is having his photo and video taken by onlookers. A clown-faced goth waits for her friends in front of a tequila bar. Randoms donned in black get their last burn of rolled flower before getting their wristbands. Some fresh-faced kid tries to take a piss in the waning daylight while his friend stands guard. New York City.
I’m mostly a stranger to the many worlds of hip hop. Until recently I hadn’t found that band that gave me an “in” to start really looking around the alternative hip hop universe. Then M-S-G OG Soda invited me to a free show one Halloween night to see Ho99o9, a band he saw open for Korn. Holy fucking shit. I got to watch TheOGM tear a wedding dress off of his body while being assaulted with the most guttural cyber-queer industrial noise I have ever heard. It was glorious and terrifying at the same time. So when Soda told me they were coming around again, I knew I had to be there.
The show starts with Baseville, a duo of New Jersey locals known as The General and Hoddy the Young Jedi. It didn’t take long until the crowd jumped into a frenzy and a pit opened up. Baseville’s beats are deep and deliberate and throbbing with noise, and it suddenly occurs to me how close punk and hip-hop really are in terms of attitude and rage. “Never Nothing No More” sticks in my head as a song with a kind of frustrated gravity, while one of their other tunes held a repetitious refrain of “I’m working” that that caught me as a little mischievous. The songs rang quick and short and burned with noisy undertones. The set ends, and Soda comments about already seeing a bloodied face in the men’s room. “He’s like, ‘do I need stitches? Do I need them yet?,'” quoting a stage diver worried about the impact of his head wound on his viewing experience. That kind of night.
I had no idea what to expect from N8NOFACE, only knowing that my friends heard good things. I’m burning up the last sips of a vodka double when up on stage comes this man with a glorious moustache and crazed expression. He simply declares “I’m N8NOFACE and this is synth punk.” Seconds later this man is shouting his stories of drugs and sobriety, murder and suicide, all over fast-paced darkwave synths. Who the fuck brings Xymox to the hip hop kids? N8NOFACE does, with an austere DIY setup and his own devilish madness. He pulls his shirt up over his own head and beats his own face while screaming in a kind of excited rage, as if reveling in his self punishment. He switches between devil horns and post-punk shimmying. His gruff facade fits right in with the gangster genre, but he’s got a sense of humor about himself, too. There’s also something nougaty he’s trying to show you in his mentions of lost friends, or his request for kindness at his sole acoustic number. I immediately swarmed his table and bought the good shit. N8 is one to watch.
N8NOFACE
Then came 999. Past mixtures of punk and hip-hop were never my flavor, but the two genres become blood brothers here. Eaddy ironically sports an L.A.P.D. tee to poke at the law, a favorite song topic. The cacophony is noisy and rhythmic, and the crowd pumps in time. Someone jumps on stage at the start, brandishing a shirt that says “God is Gay” to “a roar of enthusiasm,” as Olivia Cieri of Invisible Oranges writes. Stage jumpers make OGM and Eaddy light up. “Motherfucking Action Bronson” they call one tattooed fella who jumps into the crowd. I worry that the crowd parted for his landing. Dark thumping beats vibrate the brain stem during fan favorites like “Bone Collector” and “Battery Not Included.” At one point, Hoddy sits on the side of the stage watching the show, still in his orange jumper, before using his Young Jedi mind tricks to make eye contact with the pit and launch himself into the crowd. I swallow my last double so I can free my hands to pump with the crowd.
A brief interlude as we approach the end of the show and TheOGM lights a joint and sways softly to Crystal Waters’ legendary house track, “Gypsy Woman.” I see his head and shoulders hanging backward in a cloud of smoky ecstasy, thick dreads falling down his back, *feefeefeeling* it. The lyrics thicken now that they’re nestled between Ho99o9’s biting assaults on police brutality, politics, and dystopia. He then smiles and then flirts at Eaddy, who strips off his teeshirt to reveal a tattooed musculature. Eaddy responds with a grin. TheOGM is repulsive and divine… and terrifyingly sexy.
Ho99o9 is just full of these wild juxtapositions, sometimes darkly comedic, causing them to pull up a really diverse crowd. “Punks, goths, queers and queens,” Soda says, noting the sprawl, a melting pot of subcultures others would think too insular to meld like this. In front of me, a duo of elder punks make space to avoid of the clutches of the pit. Across the floor, rave kids in bunnies and rainbows talk to hip-hop kids in all black streetwear. Kids in Los-Angelean baseball jerseys share the floor with platform-boot goth girls and genderfuckers, all united by the horror and political rage and dirt of lives lived in America’s economic taint. It seems it’s the one thing we all have in common.
Even though New York is still coated in a late-March sheet of ice, I keep trying to find the push to yank my gravitationally-enhanced behind out of my hovel and go live inside some lights and music for a few hours. So I rolled out of my house, said goodbye to my sweet little doggo, and headed out to legendary Long Island rock spot Mr. Beery’s for the release of Coventry Carols’ self-titled first album. Supported by New Haven’s He Was A God and Richmond’s Sadartha, the show was a solid three hours of guitar shredding, screaming, and rock ‘n’ roll camaraderie. These three bands vibrated the walls into Saturday morning to welcome debut album Coventry Carols into the world.
First was Sadartha. The Virginia-based duo of guitarist/vocalist Johnny Noxious and bassist Mello Cefola displayed a collection of new grunge tunes. Sadartha’s fat guitar vibrations have that dark energy that remind me of how Alice in Chains used to feel. You know, the feeling that grabs you by the back of your sinuses and pumps rage into your brain. Sadartha set the stage for an evening of heavy flavors with just a touch of vocal pomp, inspired by “the ghost of Billy Corgan’s hair” that permeated their song “Eclipsing Binaries.” Although it’s fair to say, Noxious has enough glorious-enough hair of his own. Their latest album, Sad Art, came out in October.
The show raged on with pure personality metal/prog act He Was A God. Hailing from Connecticut, this fivesome melds prog sensibilities with metal sounds. Their drummer (Chris Densky of Genitorturers fame) is an absolute beast. This group dazzles with sonic Maiden-esque solos of alternating guitarists Ray Zvovushe and Tony Pellino. With bassist Dan Perrone bringing the heavy, and the charisma of Man In Black vocalist Ben Curns, He Was A God positively melted my face into goop. With politically biting lyrics and megaphone-using showmanship, I couldn’t take my eyes off of them. Their new EP The Smile & The Scar came out in December. Check out “Two New Stars” – it was sick.
Finally, Coventry Carols’ themselves brought the house down with a warm welcome from a nearly packed Beery’s crowd. Singer/songwriter Soda Survive reunites with fellow (e)motion picture alumnus Terry “T.T.” Taylor to produce another series of hard but core-smacking tunes. With the addition of bassist Cliff “Sugarbear” Catropa, the three produce an emo-type sound with a little extra metal rage added for good measure. If Sadartha was inspired by the ghost of Billy Corgan’s hair, Soda was positively choked by it, feeling his 90s grunge fantasy with his stage antics and some healthy banter with T.T. and an audience member who was gifted with a dedication for their tune, “This Serenade.”
The losers for the night? The drummers. T.T.’s lead foot broke the last working pedal, Sadartha’s be-hated drummer Manny the Mannequin passed out after two songs (FUCK YOU, MANNY!), and HWAG’s drummer lost a stick to a joyful buffoon in the crowd that now has a prized souvenir (mind my jealousy). Still, a raucous show, and just the kind of energy a girl needs to emerge from winter frost. Gotta love a $10 show!
Finally! After years of wait, our own Soda Survive has finally brought his newest project into the daylight. Coventry Carols is a reunion of (e)motion picture’s Soda and drummer Terry Taylor, along with bassist Clifford “Sugarbear” Catropa. Together, the trio have emerged victorious from their first gig in nearby Connecticut, and have released their premiere track “The Well,” due to hit virtual airwaves on Friday (but purchasable from bandcamp at this very moment).
“The Well” is a alt-rock bopper, or as was recently noted during an interview on Bitten Apple TV, “a 90s throwback to the future.” The Well starts with a jaunty guitar riff over Terry’s tip-taps, that sound much like a rock-and-roll kid’s jaunt in a playground. Soda’s vocals come in, bringing in a little Billy Corgan flavor along with the lyrics that make me wonder if “The Well” is a metaphor for the darkness of the pandemic (Will we ever see the light again?/These times they are so cruel). Alternatively they might reference Soda’s recent years of medical challenges, a well from which he has emerged victorious. All in all, The Well is a 90s-ey, garage-y, grunge-y rock tune that will woo a few of the emo kids to boot.
The well single has four tracks, including an instrumental, and a remix by Coventry Carols album producer Joey Zampella (Life of Agony). Long Island can find Coventry Carols playing at Mr. Beery’s at the end of the month. Keep an eye open for their forthcoming cassette and CD, too – Coventry Carols has just joined the roster at Rescord!
Fresh face Smudgeout, also known as 19 year-old Deanna Fielding, delivers a driving rock track called “Cheap Jewelry.” Smudgeout tells us her frustration with crass consumption and the fashion industry’s stranglehold on people’s wallets and minds. Driving guitars and contralto vocals make me think she’s got shades of Florence sans the Machine in there. But she’s got that punk energy and anti-consumerist ethos for those of us sick of the mindless cycle of buy-break-discard-buy that comes from ugly fashion practices. This song has gotten some brain-replays, a sure sign of a keeper. Enjoy!
Dream Finisher is a self-aware record. Plain and simple. High on the current times and slick like a greaser’s coiffed hair. Ear LSD on a sonic bed of nails. Andee Blacksugar has fleshed out the end of his 2020 trilogy with his signature moves all rolled into one. Smartass lyrics adorn lead single “Twatted”, “Nobody cares what’s inside your underwear or who went to your fucking party.” A record and sound that all the current soulless pop jackoffs could only dream of having their merry men cook up. Instead, this whole recipe was concocted mostly in a Brooklyn apartment by an eloquent dude with beautiful hair and guitar licks for days who DOES NOT CARE what you think. After one listen you’ll be ready to go for a victory lap. Tracks like “A Prayer Trapped” will get your head bopping, kinda Beach Boys meets Blur. It bleeds NYC (“Thrill of a Lifetime”) and as much concrete as that may elude to it easily blasts you off to outer space in “Don’t Make It Easier”. Certainly a great achievement, better still is that Dream Finisher is part of a trilogy just as lush and lavish as it’s two counterparts. For those of us who love substance to their music, Black Sugar Transmission has all you need and more.
For enthusiasts of Shudder To Think, Abandoned Pools and Blur
And hey, if you like this review please poke your head in to my reviews of part one and two of the BST 2020 thrillogy.
Part two in the Black Sugar Transmission trilogy of 2020 continues this week with, The Flowering. Like any other great trilogy you cannot wait for the counterparts to arrive, I’m waist deep…and not disappointed. When an artist dares to release three records in a year you wonder how a blueprint may be laid out for such an endeavor. In the case of The Flowering (successor to Wandering Into the Bullseye) it’s not necessarily a step up, but more like a dynamic dart to the left. Which is wonderful. An intriguing thing I’ve always felt about Andee’s music is that it’s very familiar yet completely fresh at the same time. As The Flowering blooms, it is at times jarring like a classic NIN record (“Death Is Breathing”) and at others like a soundtrack to an 80’s movie drenched in neon (“Through the Torture”). Savory and decadent, it does its share of glamage to your ears but also has real proper indie rock street cred. This is just another trophy in the glitter lined sonic case in the Black Sugar Transmission world. I will await this quicksand to fully engulf me when part three arrives but for now I’m fully content clinging to the branches of The Flowering to stay afloat. Check out lead single and video “This Is Crazy Town” just below.
Last Tuesday night, it was Springtime in February in NYC, but…it was HOTTER. THAN. HELL. over at Berlin on Avenue A as Sate and her band took the stage for a free and early show. Small in size is Berlin but that did not deter the Toronto native and her beast of a band from making it seem like the biggest show in town. As her boys walked onto the stage the energy already felt different, a statement was about to be made. Moments later Sate would arrive right behind a sample from TheExorcist film… “Do you know what she did? Your cunting daughter!” looking like a powerful goddess with her braids tied back to appear like long ram-like horns with her head shaved on the sides in literal leather and lace boasting a shirt that read “Be Polite You Fucker” we were already all sold – You know how sometimes you’re at a gig and halfway thru it the band really hits their stride? Well, right out of the gate this outfit was absolutely on fire. As someone who reviews shows I don’t really like to be on my phone during them and I often don’t take a lot of photos or notes at gigs either, if any at all. I just stand there and try to absorb everything I can. – And on this night and millions of others I did just that – “Sate”: Satisfy a desire to the full – no namesake could ever be worn more true as this woman, this powerhouse, lead her band thru a fierce 8-song set. Covered in sweat, Sate blurs the lines of everything you think you may know…about anything. It’s so goddamn refreshing. Don’t come to her shows with any preconceived notions, cause your ass best stay out in the cold. The chemistry between the singer and her band was so powerful, I’m talking Godzilla baby! It’s just a group of people absolutely on the same page, tight and in tune. These are real songs from real people and there is very little to apologize for.
Sate setlist 2.05.19 Berlin NYC
Sate writes songs about making her mark (Famous), Family (What Did I Do), power (Warrior) and everything in between. During this show I felt like we were all a part of some killer party. The audience was a melting pot and hung on every song only wanting more in the end. To say that we were satisfied would be very true, but sated? Not at all cause everybody in that room wanted more and more and more! Brave and bold, every song was a burner, especially new single “Dirty Little Lie” which also has a killer new video to go along with it. Plain and simple, if you have the opportunity to see this outfit live, DO IT and thank me later, but thank them first.
Once in a while I’ll drop a shameless self promotion post here at MUSIC-SURVIVAL-GUIDE. This, is one of them. I just wanted to announce that my new release, Therapy Sessions:An Experiment In Sound and Word will be released this Friday, October 13th. It is not a traditional “record” by any stretch. It is somewhat stream on consciousness, storytelling, spoken work and a few songs. I’ve been explaining to people that, if an abstract painting had a voice, this might be it. I’m pretty excited about it and sharing it with all of you. It will be available physically only in a limited edition bundle in which the CD version will come with 4 other DIY components. ONLY 20, and the only way you can get it will be with the bundle. Other than that it will be available digitally through all the major sites.
Friday the 13th…seek Therapy.
Preorders are available now over at my website. Direct link is below:
Music-Survival-Guide 