When I first hit play on A Smurf at Land’s End, the new album from Howardian, for a fraction of a second I thought I was listening to some early Flaming Lips—then there was a Talking Heads sample before it spun off into low-fi raggedy rock. I managed to catch the latest band from artist and rabble-rouser Ian Vanek at their official SXSW showcase late Saturday night in Austin.
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New Myths, made up of Rosie Slater on drums, Marina Ross on bass, and Brit Boras on guitar, claim to blend electronic elements with “fuzzy guitars and haunting vocal melodies,” and pull it off. They released their first album, Give Me Noise, in 2014, and got some nice CMJ write-ups that year from both The New York Times and The Guardian.
Brooklyn’s paperwhite is a “dream pop” brother and sister duo, Katie and Ben Marshall, about to drop their second EP, Escape, well-teased by the catchy and airy “Unstoppable.” More of-the-moment than some of their previous work, it makes one wonder where they might go from here—more EDM, more Ting Tings, or more Julee Cruise? While Ben’s other band, Savoir Adore, played several shows at SXSW this year, paperwhite had a single showcase at the Hilton Garden Inn on the eighteenth floor, which boasts the best view in Austin.
Baby Shakes released their second full-length record, Starry Eyes, last August. With Mary on lead vocals and guitar, Judy on lead guitar and vocals, Claudia on bass and vocals, and Ryan on drums (they eschew last names) they’ve toured the US and Europe, and just toured Japan in February.
ASTR got started a little late at the Speakeasy Cabaret in Austin, but were determined to bring the straggling individuals together into a crowd—not always easy after midnight at South By Southwest. The Cabaret is a funky venue—way Brooklyn, with a couple of actual bowling lanes upstairs, plus foosball, natch—and the bands play on a small stage wedged behind one end of the bar, visible from right-up-front or the overlooking balcony.
They started strong, with vocalist Zoe ASTR (nee Zoe Silverman) coming on heavy and emotive. They certainly brought a few fans of their spage-age R&B (their megafan had flown in) and early into the set the crowd was trying to move; by the fourth song there was definite swaying and sashaying, and when Zoe offered to buy the whole crowd tequila shots, none of the front line moved. She was just busting chops anyway.
Kevin Garrett is having a good year. He released his debut EP, Mellow Drama, last April, toured with X Ambassadors last fall, and with Alessia Cara this past January and February. Based in Brooklyn (previously of Philly), the singer-songwriter is clearly stretching out and finding his rhythm. I caught him at the Sidewinder in August on Thursday and found him to be considerably more self-assured than when I saw him last year at South By.
It sounds like a perfect meet cute for a teen Rom-Com: Tucker Halpern was all set to make it as a basketball player but health issues forced him to drop out, and while he was mostly hiding in his bedroom learning how to make beats, he met Sophie Hawley-Weld, a worldly, spiritual whirlwind, singing bossa nova in a warehouse. And Sofi Tukker was born.
Lauren Denitzio, singer/guitarist of Worriers, was easy to spot on the porch of the Eden House in Austin. She and her bandmates stood out, looking more relaxed, more confident, more—well, older—than the majority of other bands and music heads rolling in and out of the house on Rio Grande. Yes, a house—a full-on “DIY venue,” what we used to call “underground” and virtually identical to the scenes I remember playing in the early ‘90s: BYOB, kids with zits, slamming bands. Cassette tapes for sale. You enter through the kitchen, and can only get into the bathroom by crossing the “stage” in the living room between acts—stepping over the pedals and cords. And not a sponsor or logo in sight.
The brass band Lucky Chops was started by some kids at LaGuardia High (the “Fame” school) who cut their teeth playing in the subway. When a South American tourist shot a video of them that went viral, they started getting real gigs.
“It wouldn’t have happened as rapidly as it happened if it weren’t for all the people that were creating culture on their own terms and making it attractive.” —Kyp Malone, TV on the Radio
“The role of the artist in New York is to make a neighborhood so desirable that artists can’t afford to live there anymore.”—Mayor Ed Koch
Goodnight Brooklyn: the Story of Death by Audio, a documentary premiering today at SXSW, is all of the things you would expect it to be: a historical look at the origins and eventual demise of the Williamsburg DIY venue, a crushing story of scruffy artists’ defeat at the hands of corporate near-sightedness, and a montage of live footage from the final evenings of shows. It’s also a really good movie.
“Watching people struggle to create something on the spot is as much the joy as the joke.” —Todd Bieber
Chances are you’ve never heard of Del Close—and if you have, it’s probably a fair indication that you spend a lot of time watching, practicing, or thinking about improvisation. Not the kind where you have to quickly make up an excuse for your boss about why you’re late for work, or invent the name of a non-existent dive bar to throw your bestie off the scent of what you really did last night—no, we’re talking “improv,” the word bandied around to apply to a collection of theatrical training games that has become an entertainment form in its own right and made millionaires out of many of your comedy favorites. Some of them, including Bill Murray, Tina Fey, Mike Myers, John Belushi, and Chris Farley, studied, at one time or another, under a man named Del Close.
The first email I received about the new video for The Adventures of the Silver Spaceman (TAOTSS) from frontman Zachary James Ellis said something about a “yurt” with no cell service. When I caught up with Ellis via phone, he told me he was on a retreat, writing songs in Paonia, in western Colorado. With the Rockefeller tree about to be lit, tourist crowds reaching saturation levels, the L train acting like a jilted lover, and a drizzle erasing what few hours of daylight exist at this longitude, we could all be a little jealous.