Eames Armstrong, The New York Review of Cocksucking, Scant, Brandon Lopez, Lacanthrope, Sapphogeist
Monday March 6, 8 pm at Alphaville: $10
Is life even real anymore? Well, considering that we, fine people of this once and forever great city, now have a band named The New York Review of Cocksucking to call our very own, it’s hard to believe that reality right now is indeed real. How could it be? Especially when the official soundtrack to our lives, at least for a moment– jazzily improvised by none other than the duo Michael Foster and Richard Kamerman (who have done the right thing in choosing a moniker that sounds like a James Franco-produced lit mag)– is a truly alien form of avant-garde freakwave. Lend your ears to their looping tape noise (disintegration incarnate) and saxophone sounds easily mistook for the pleasure wales of fornicating dolphins, and discover that the finite world is overrated.
Hurray for the Riff Raff, Las Rosas
Wednesday March 8, 8 pm at Baby’s All Right: $12
It’s ok, guys, I think it’s safe to come out into the light again— we’ve finally, possibly, almost reached the moment everyone’s been waiting for: the post-twee order is upon us. Exhibit A: Hurray for the Riff Raff aka Alynda Segarra is “spreading a new kind of roots-conscious folk music”– as her record overlords write– “across the country from her adopted hometown of New Orleans.”
Sounds like a trap, doesn’t it? But somehow, insanely, it’s not. Segarra may not be an actual New Orleanian, but with her long black locks and brooding-babe good looks, she sure looks the part. And because this is a free country last time I checked (and believe me, I’m checking a lot these days), she can play the blues if she wants to. So wait, where is Segarra from? The Bronx, actually, and if you listen closely to her music, it’s a total rejection of twee’s awkwardly disingenuous embrace of the past (in its most idyllic, least accurate forms).
Her new album The Navigator might have Segarra looking like a perfectly-groomed indie-pop princess in the making. Not quite. Her lyrics are surprisingly raw, and unlike any other pop or rock or whatever-who-cares, she concerns herself with real people problems, and our generation’s unique set of lol-we’re-so-fucked circumstances. NPR called it nicely: Segarra “embeds the rhythms of the Latinx diaspora throughout this musical narrative, which unfolds like a Broadway musical.”
Total Slacker, Treads, The Vaughns, Ted’s Dead, Spirit of a Slain Eagle
Thursday March 9, 9:30 pm at Knockdown Center: $8
Newgaze is so hot right now– we’re seeing plenty of new bands popping up that describe themselves as such. But some existing bands have caught the fever too, including Total Slacker. The Brooklyn-based trio underwent a total transformation since they dropped their latest record, Parallels, last Fall (the band’s third release), which might be jarring for any other listeners who’ve been visiting Slacker’s bandcamp page— a strange time capsule of their former Ty Segall-tinged selves. Progress is cool, though, especially for a band that was doing just fine at what they did.
And though they might describe their newfound sound as “slimegaze,” they’re doing a rather pristine job of it– capturing what’s so tasty about the classic ’80s incarnation of shoegaze, and adding a zesty flavor of their own that’s just pop enough to sink your teeth into.
The Funs, Shellshag, Kraus
Friday March 10, 8 pm at Alphaville: $10
Inject a beginner’s dose of goth into the Jesus and Mary Chain and top it off with a psych-lover’s penchant for supremely lengthy solo-guitaring detours (so long that occasionally you get lost in them), and you’ve found yourself The Funs.
If you think The Funs (an ode to the runs?) write perfect, if not the best tunes for beanbag-bound waxing seshes, then you haven’t met Shellshag yet, have you? Still riding high on the mad chill waves of their fifth album Why’d I Have to Get So High?–which dropped in, ahem, 2015–these guys are bound to share some of that joy with you, great audience friend.