Scully, B Boys, Decorum, NOIA, The Christian Peslak Band, Milk Dick Friday January 27, 8 pm at Alphaville: $12
The Trump opposition movement continues with more benefit shows extending well beyond Day 1, including this Friday-night gathering in support of Planned Parenthood. Tunes will be provided by Scully,a dream pop/cloud rock trio by way of Oakland (née The Splinters) still drifting on the bleary vibes running through their most recent release, No Sense.
Also newgaze from Decorum,and the music of NOIA (aka Barcelonian musician Gisela Fulla-Silvestre), which, if you can imagine such a lovely thing, is the sonic equivalent of knee-buckling onto a stack of 50 body pillows. And two just-announced acts– Milk Dick(foot-stompin’/milk-and-cookies-style garage punk, a la The Black Lips) and a “special secret band” B Boys(think: Goo-era Sonic Youth)have been tacked on to the lineup too.
Guilty Giraffe, Disco Cream, Sooner, Yairms Wednesday December 28, 8 pm at Sunnyvale: $10
Welcome back friends, orphans, Santa assassins, and gainfully employed. This is our time to shine. Join us in grabbing life by the tender parts while everyone else is still blubber-stuffed and belly-up on their parents’ couch, where life has little meaning, and existence sits somewhere between sleep apnea and dreams invaded by Wilford Brimley, who himself is napping, bloated and spread-eagle on a powder blue La-Z-Boy while diabetic sugar-plum fairies shimmy across his spittle-soaked mustache.
(Flyer by Brendan Winick, via Sunnyvale, Facebook)
White Rope, Fruit and Flowers, Sweet Baby Jesus, Grim River Tuesday December 20, 8 pm at Sunnyvale: $10
You’d be crazy to leave your apartment tonight, but if you’ve found a way to wear lipstick and keep your nose warm at the same time, then go for it. If you do so, you’ll be rewarded with some solid rock n’ roll vibes, possibly your last chance to get your fix before the holiday lockdown on all things happy and fun ensues.
Ereptile Destruction, Growler, Shitkill Tuesday November 22, 9 pm at Union Pool: $8
Once in a while, it helps to forget everything that’s happened to metal since nu metal hit, and take a trip back to our roots. Growler, a Brooklyn-based act that describes itself simply as “hard and loud” helps get us there, mainly by defying the trend toward increasingly humorless, doomed and/or blackened what-have-you. Lately, it feels like we’re so chin-deep in sludgy muck that it’s easy to forget where we started. Growler’s throwback sound plops us back in the early ’80s, with their high-pitched, falsetto, bordering on operatic vocals that recall Iron Maiden and Judas Priest.
The web’s best animators set out to prove that everything is scarier when it’s looped for all eternity at this contest from the folks at GIPHY and Brooklyn’s Animation Block Party. The coolest entries are being screened and measured up by celebrity judges at the Brooklyn Bazaar’s new four-story space — here’s hoping for lots of animated homages to the dancing pumpkin man. Plus, on Saturday BK Bazaar is doing their “Brooklyn Fright Bazaar,” with musical tributes to The Cramps and The Bee Gees, games, karaoke (guess they found a manager), a Halloween drinking game contest (yikes), food and more.
As the story goes, no one guessed that Nirvana’s Nevermind would become one of the defining rock records of the ’90s, let alone top the charts at number one.
Actually, scratch all that. Considering that Nevermind sold more than 30 million copies, it’s one of the top-selling albums of all time(that’s double-platinum 12 times over, aka a “diamond” selling record), which puts Nirvana up there in some pretty stratospheric company: Michael Jackson (Thriller), Pink Floyd (The Dark Side of the Moon), The Beatles (1). That’s not only a good indication that Courtney Love’s drug dealer is rich as shit, but it means that Nevermind has transcended the album and become something much more complicated– shared experience, a universal language, even a kind of philosophy on life (albeit a pretty angsty-teenager one that doesn’t look so great post-college).
But holy crap that’s a lot of heavy baggage to carry around. When was the last time you could listen to Nevermind or anything Nirvana recorded at all without feeling kind of weird about it?
OMG You’re a Girl Drummer?! w/ Milk Dick, Desert Sharks, Prima, Fraidycat, Rizzos Saturday August 27, 8 pm at Sunnyvale: $8
“Girl bands.” You know the term. In fact, you’ve probably even used it a few times– I know I have. It’s easy to do, and sometimes difficult to avoid, even for people who identify as feminists. But we should really stop saying it. All of us.
It happens because the image of an “ideal” rock n’ roll band has been hammered into us from day one, starting at the moment your crazy, mustachioed Uncle Frank threw on Exile on Main Street and started whirling his tubby hips around and around, sloshing beer onto your thin, porous baby skull for the first time (whether it dripped down your tufts of hair or just sat there on top determined how the rest of your life plays out– slumped over in a dark dive bar or squatting on an exercise-ball, bushy-tailed and bright-eyed at Generic Tech Startup X).
East Williamsburg’s “DIY-gone-legit” spot Sunnyvale is pulling out all the stops this Sunday—all the lady stops, that is. Their daylong festival, serving as the launch event for new “inclusive community” Brooklyn Women in the Arts, will feature ten bands, two stand-up comics, and two art installations for a solid fourteen individual doses of art to brighten up your Sunday. It’s probably healthier than plying yourself with fourteen individual doses of something else. Hey, it’s cool– everyone’s got their hangover cure!
Siege, Ultramantis Black, Lunglust Saturday August 13, 7 pm to 11 pm at Sunnyvale: $15
The Acheron’s closing got you down? (RIP BBs.) Well, here’s your chance to thrash the pain away with a seriously brutal hardcore show happening this weekend at Sunnyvale (that new-ish kid on the block). As a fire-safe venue with lounge chairs, art installations, a killer backline and, like, legit permits n’ stuff, this may not be the punkest setting, but the place has good bones and great vibes. Oh, and Sunnyvale used to be a super nasty underground punk club too, so there’s that.
Rooftop Films Premiere Wednesday May 18 through August 2016
The summer al-fresco screening series turns 20 years old this season, which officially makes Rooftop Films a millennial– meaning they’re addicted to their phones, underemployed, over-entitled, and why don’t they just grow up already and chain themselves to a cubicle desk and support the only real man in this race Donald Trump? Did that sound curmudgeonly enough to come from the desk of David Brooks or something? I figure the only way to drive the olds out of a universally beloved series such as Rooftop Films is to convince them either that it will somehow induce diabetic reactions and/or edema or that, like Snapchat, it’s something that only Millennials would understand.
Taylor Hoodlum Stevenson, Motorkiller, Boy Harsher, Soren Friday April 1, 8 pm at Trans-Pecos: $8
The super-’80s Knight-Rider-esque dark electronica of Montreal’s own Taylor Hoodlum Stevensonhas two main thrusts, er, so to speak. The first is led by aggressively cheesy/ hilariously weird rock-star vocal stylings– a kind of frontman-ery that demonstrates this dude has mastered and parodied that special testosterone-laden snarl popularized by the likes of Billy Idol– who himself bastardized what was once an oozing, sexed-up panther walk (perfected by Marc Bolan), and re-birthed it as an enormous, walking crotch-grab. The other side of Taylor Hoodlum Stevenson, the one that saves his music from treading too far into Weird Al territory, is his apparently very serious take on “horror disco,” which employs the analogue, lo-fi bits of Italo, Kraut, and proto-techno music we know and love, and pumps it up with modern danceability that’s cut with a late-late-late capitalist decadence– so rest assured, we can all dance to it without feeling like we’re breaking any cool codes.
Cellular Chaos, ONO, Paint Thinner, Weeping Icon, Maximum Ernst Thursday( March 31, 8 pm at Alphaville: $8
If real nasty, real legit, real rock music– something that rings almost of another era– is what you’re craving, then be sure to hit this Cellular Chaos show next week. You’ll be treated to a band that’s actually spewing straight-up, not-lame rock complete with real urgency, real instruments, and the sort of sweaty, underground-weary belly roar that you can never, ever fake. It’s too bad this particular species of music is in danger of becoming extinct right now– thanks to some truly demented mutations of the form, all too often manifesting as either that commercial-grade, cock-rock slop played in close proximity to vintage orange amps, a pair of leather pants, at least one divorce, and male-pattern baldness or, on the other hand, pip-pop compositions dreamed up by a pair of twee Grimaces wearing matching, hand-embroidered overall numbers, and Colonel Sanders’ ties whose highest aspiration is providing the OST for a Volkswagen commercial (sorry– is it too soon?). But there’s hope– Cellular Chaos spawns none of those rock n’ roll bastard children.