CMJ Marathon Report
CMJ New Music Marathon
New York City, New York
October 16 through 20, 2007
Much like its sister conference South By Southwest, the 2007 version of the annual CMJ New Music Marathon emerged with no clearer vision of tomorrow. No rapscallioin Midwesterners established themselves as the new “it” band, and no NME-sanctioned Brit sensation had people clawing tunnels to get in to see them.
The uncertainty that hangs over the music industry like a cloud helped pose more questions than could be answered. Buzz bands have always been a fool’s bet, and the industry’s quandry of no longer being able to control its message felt at times we were on a bus with no driver. But one message did sneak through.
If any sentiment echoed through the panels of this year’s conference, hosted by New York University in Greenwich Village, it was the changes of the past few years are irreversible. The old industry (major label) hierarchy is collapsing and will continue to do so. Control was a dominant theme: copyrights, jobs (a New York DJ union was proposed), access, royalties, percentages, and oh yes, Radiohead.
Things are in such flux, revered scribe Robert Christgau joined a panel that debated the definition and value of iconic songs rather than confronting the uncertain future.
But that doesn’t mean CMJ was without hope. Far from it. In fact, with the downfall of the majors opportunities are opening up across the spectrum, from management to distribution — most of which is falling into the newly emboldened artist’s hands. Celia Hirschman, a higher-up at the U.S. arm of One Little Indian Records, delineated an important distinction: “It’s not the music industry that’s falling apart — it’s the major label system. The music business is in great shape.” Onto the music.
Much like telling a grade schooler asparagus is better than ice cream, on the surface this year’s CMJ band showcases weren’t impressive. Only a handful of flagship bands were in town, and among the lesser-known artists must-sees were few and far between. So you had to look a little harder, and often such effort is rewarding.
A trip to Williamsburg’s Luna Lounge to see Jason Anderson nearly netted a negative when it was learned he had cancelled. Gamely venturing inside, Lena Nora politely set up her stand-in set. Recalling Shannon Wright or Mirah, she deftly switched between piano and guitar and even rolled out a Cat Power-esque cover of Ciara’s “Oh.”
Later at Arlene’s Grocery, the surprise of the tournement arrived in Tacks The Boy Disaster, an Austin-based outfit who married a number of sounds I scribbled down as “10cc meets Mineral meets Spoon” on my notepad. From there I made my only appearance at Mercury Lounge, where the mantra “No more badges” would be heard throughout the weekend (inevitably met with the response, “What did I pay $500 for?”). Inside, L.A. indie pop practitioners The Little Ones were delighting a half-full room, casting infectious hip-shaking rhythms while admonishing the audience to “face the facts.”
An afternoon session at CMJ ground zero — NYU’s Puck Building — afforded an opportunity to collect some swag while taking in Chicago’s Brighton, MA, the Scotland Yard Gospel Choir secessionists. Beginning with a handful of SYGC songs written by frontman Matt Kerstein, slowly the band revealed what they’ve learned from Wilco via volume swells, melody-shattering feedback bursts, and Kerstein’s oblivious acoustic strumming.
After a $5 Diet Coke during Walter Meego’s Webster Hall set ($8 for a beer!), the dank and cramped Lit Lounge beckoned for more unknowns. Luck would have it Triclops were as unrepresentative of their San Francisco hometown as could be. Amid a firestorm of start-stop rhythms and jagged guitars, frontman “Johnny” went and got himself a demon possession. His eyes splayed open the entire set, he thrashed to some At The Drive-In-ish grooves by somersaulting like a bowling ball into the audience, throwing himself on the ground, and lifting objects to throw before becoming entranced by them (your lawyer thanks you for not tossing that table into us).
Having completely missed what we planned on seeing at Pianos, another pleasantry welcomed our notepad in the form of The Chapin Sisters. While they could do without the bridesmaid gowns, the trio (actual sisters, though you wouldn’t know it) evoked the breeziness of both The Watson Twins and Fleetwood Mac. Conspiring with the gowns, a cover of Madonna’s “Borderline” threatens how seriously one should take them, luckily the rest of the set bore them out.
Bowery Ballroom offered the benefit of Chicago’s The 1900s (see our forthcoming November issue), who let us ride our Fleetwood Mac buzz a little further and drove the septet’s “Acutiplantar Dude” and “Two Ways” deeper into our melodic traps. Having not seen Sahara Hotnights for about four years, I was ready to put up with about 30 seconds of their Runaways fluff, but stuck around longer when it became apparent they’ve ditched the Donnas aspect and latched onto Hole’s “Malibu.”
Unexpectedly, the Hotnights articulated musically what was going on with the rest of CMJ: Drop the old pose, figure out what you’re good at, and it will all start to make sense.
— Steve Forstneger
Category: Live Reviews, Weekly
