the oh so quiet show

Kings of Convenience at Bowery Ballroom

Erlend and Eirik
Erlend and Eirik

Why is King of Convenience so awesome to see live?

  • They look happy.
  • They sound beautiful.
  • …And effortless.
  • …And intimate.
  • They tell random funny anecdotes.
  • Erlend does cute little dances.

It took four and a half years for King of Convenience to come back to New York City. The first time I saw them was one of the most memorable shows I had ever been to. And Thursday night…I’d say was the same. And not just because I’m known for having a penchant for weegies. (That is, Norwegians, not Glaswegians.)

And then Feist appeared in the balcony

They mostly played songs from their new album, Declaration of Independence, but tossed a few older ones in at the end to appease the audience, along with a cover of “It’s My Party.” There were many memorable moments—I was a particular fan of when Erlend said they had eaten at Kampuchea and that we New Yorkers were lucky to live in a city with such good food—but Feist appearing in the balcony during the encore, amplification-less performance of “The Build Up” was the final “you probably won’t forget this” moment. Her voice is what makes me love the song.

There was also that time that Eirik gave us his best steely male model pose.


Actually, they both granted the audience their best poses in return for us not taking photos during their performance. DSLRs are too loud; I don’t blame them. (I only took a few photos after that moment, during times that I felt were the least obtrusive. I swear.)

pretending to play a saxaphone

And there’s Erlend pretending to play a saxophone. Because. Why not?

Good Times with The Octopus Project

we're all gettin sweaty
Play on

Impulsive and good decision: seeing The Octopus Project two Sundays ago at Mercury Lounge due to Jim‘s suggestion. …After taking a two-hour car ride from small town Virginia to Washington D.C., a four-and-a-half-hour Bolt Bus ride from D.C. to NYC, and shoveling some mediocre food from Woorijip down my throat. Even with luggage in tow and layer of sweat masking every pore on my body, I still had a good time. And for a rare occurrence, I didn’t have to be familiar with all the songs to enjoy the music.

After seeing Yvonne Lambert rock the theremin, I feel like I ought to get reacquainted with mine at the risk of annoying the shit out of my roommate with screeching high pitched bleeps. (I bought a theremin in high school during my “I LIKE RANDOM INSTRUMENTS” phase. Fiddling with it showed me that, holy hell, this thing is hard to play. But it sounds cool. And superbly annoying if you don’t know what you’re doing—sort of like with a violin, but perhaps a smidge less painful.)

“Wet Gold” is my favorite song form their new EP, Golden Beds. You can listen to all the songs at

I Love You, Dan Deacon

fists in the air
Raise em high.

He told us to raise our fists in the air. So we did.

form a we can run around
Now go stand over there.

He told us to form a big circle and then run around in the circle. So we did.

people dancing
Now do that.

He told us to dance in pairs. So we did. (Well, I skipped this one.)

form a human tunnel, guysss
Human tunnel.

He told us to make a human tunnel. So we did. From the venue floor, down the stairs, through the bar, and back up the stairs.

the light

When I was standing outside of the Bowery Ballroom last Saturday and taking in the fumes of stale beer and cigarette smoke, I thought, “Jesus christ, no wonder I stopped going to concerts,” but seeing Dan Deacon (+ an army of band members) was great fun (the interactivity is key) and certainly worth the subjection to various smells I wouldn’t normally find myself exposed to. It would’ve been more fun if I hadn’t been lugging around a huge bag with me, but that’s the price I pay for always wanting my dSLR and water bottle on hand. My friend Erin and I were part of maybe 5% of the crowd that wasn’t high on something. That’s how we roll.

And thus I have another dream that shall never be realized: to be as cool as Dan Deacon.

Cut Copy at Studio B

Cut Copy, taken by Amy

Last Saturday (only a week ago, really?) I went to Studio B to see Cut Copy with Amy, Jess, and Alex. It was my first “real” concert in…a long time. Strange to think that in high school I had the stamina to go to a concert, say, more than once every two months, but now I kind of loathe the thought of staying out until my contacts adhere themselves to my eyeballs and potentially having to go to work the next day. (I’m going to see Caribou this Friday though. Excitement! Wee!)

The main reason I went to see Cut Copy, besides that I like their music, was because Amy asked me to. Alex was a last minute add-on when he said, “OHAI, I’m coming down from Vassar for the weekend just because!” He didn’t have a ticket, but all we had to do was wait outside in a line moving at the speed of a disabled sloth before he was allowed entrance. Our wait was enhanced by shivering fun!—neither of us had brought jackets so we could avoid checking them in. This was the first time I actually left everything at home (“home” being Tristan’s not-too-far-away apartment) aside from a few necessities I could cram into Alex’s pockets. After waiting forever to check my bag in the last time I went to Studio B, I didn’t want to relive the horror.

This also mean I couldn’t lug my dSLR with me, but sometimes it’s okay not to take photos. I guess. Also, Amy took plenty.

Cut Copy, taken by Amy

So…the concert. I’ve become increasingly horrible at being able to describe these things. Most of the songs they played appeared to be from their first album, Bright Like Neon Love, which worked for me because I hadn’t listened to their newest one, In Ghost Colours. I think I…danced. Just a tad. It’s a rare thing, to see me dancing because I’m too self-conscious and feel like an mal-coordinated idiot when I move in ways beyond walking/running/etc. The band was into it, and the screaming fans led me to believe that the crowd was too.

The only low points of the concert were 1) standing next to or behind super-tall people/hipsters when I am barely over 5 feet tall, but i guess it’s my fault for having crappy genes ill-adapted for going to concerts, 2) standing next to people who wouldn’t stop making out (when people are shouting at you to “get a room,” you know it’s not good), 3) when at least one girl attempted to crowd surf and failed, 4) when this one guy wouldn’t stop hitting on Amy even though she was obviously not interested, although not obvious enough for this guy because her personality does not include “acting like a bitch.” Dear people of the male persuasion: do not talk try to a girl WHILE THE CONCERT IS GOING ON, IT’S KIND OF AWKWARD.

Otherwise, good times were had.

Blip Festival

oo twinkly
Blip Festival

If you’re in NYC and have no plans for the weekend, check out the Blip Festival at Eyebeam. 8-BUT MUSIC UP THE WAZOOO! WITH A GINORMOUS PIXELATED SCREEN IN THE BACKGROUND!

You know you want it.

You can also buy beer, if that helps.

cute hair

My favorite artist from yesterday is Bubblyfish (myspace). It doesn’t just sound like a bunch of 8-bit goop mashed together…it’s like, oo, songs. Yup. Oo. Her live performance was way dancier than the stuff on her album. Not that people were really dancing. Maybe if half of us weren’t wearing heavy coats and carrying huge-ass cameras…

Oem cheap Adobe Contribute CS3

Buy oem software

Becky Stark, oddly funny

Becky Stark and David Byrne
Becky Stark and David Byrne

Thanks to my awesome friend Janet, on Friday night I saw Becky Stark of Lavender Diamond perform a few songs at the NYPL as part of a Miranda July fun fest. The night ended with David Byrne (who interviewed Miranda during the second half of the night) playing guitar with Becky during the song, “Garden Rose” from the latest Lavender Diamond album, Imagine Our Love. It’s perty.

Lavender Diamond – Garden Rose

Although I knew that I already liked Lavender Diamond, I wasn’t set on seeing them in concert at Maxwell’s this Saturday until seeing Becky perform solo. She is…she is…quite unique. In an awkward way. To the point that I couldn’t tell whether she was really that awkward or if she was being funny for the audience. But does it matter either way? Not really. Because she sings like an angel stuffed with the love of 10000 teddy bears. She spoke softly and lightly with a wide grin on her face most of the time, every so often breaking into a strained giggle, besides the one time she cursed herself for repeating something she had just said. I really wonder what’s going on in her head. Is it just filled with looove and joooy?

“She’s goofy!” remarked a woman sitting behind me. That wasn’t the first adjective to pop into my head—awkwardly hilarious was more like it—but I guess she fits under the category of “goofy”. You forget it all when she starts singing. Her voice rings so clear. Not mature, not immature. Just…I dunno. It’s nice. You know when you have a stuffy nose and it suddenly clears up? Like the mucus has all been whisked away by a magic nose…angel? That moment of clarity is like Becky’s voice. Kinda. I think the audience was hesitant at first, possibly wondering, “What in the…” when she started playing, but I think a little more love was spread after getting us to participate in a sing-a-long (well, I stayed silent for the benefit of everyone’s ears around me).


half an hour of Patrick Wolf

Sometimes I forget I have this blog. Other times I acknowledge it, but choose to ignore the “updating” procedure.


I used to really like concerts. Actually, I still do, but now the things that used to only bother me a little about concerts bother me a lot. Waiting for a long time for things to start is bothersome, for example. When I was younger I think I’d have little problem waiting 4-5 hours from standing by the stage to someone actually going on stage and tooting out a few notes. Now that waiting time fills me with bitter hatred and the desire to kill things, which doesn’t do wonders for my blood pressure.

Ah. Well. What can you do. My friend and I went to see Patrick Wolf on Wednesday night at Bowery Ballroom. Since no opener was listed, I naively thought there wouldn’t be one. But there was. And you know, that would’ve been okay if I had that expectation, but I didn’t. So Patrick didn’t actually come on until 11:05, or possibly later. And you know, maybe that would’ve been okay if I didn’t live in NJ and thus could only stay for about half an hour of his performance before having to catch the last train home.

It wouldn’t be much of a problem if I lived in NYC. And headlining artists starting reallllly late is nothing new. I guess I’m coming to the point where as much as I like music, all the standing around and doing nothing doesn’t make going to concerts seem worth it anymore, unless I love the artist to death.

black wig and some kind of...shirt thing
black wig

I don’t love Patrick Wolf to death, but I like him enough to have wanted to see him live.  He puts on a great show and I was disappointed that I couldn’t stay for more of it. He seems to put every ounce of his being into…everything. With the help of glitter. Buckets of it.

wigless..and shirtless...
unicorn power

I forgot what song he used the theremin for, but…he did. And that was cool. Because. …You don’t see that very often. And as one of my friends pointed out, he has a unicorn tattoo on his chest. Another thing you don’t see very often.

someone else used flaaash
costume change

He changed his outfit after a few songs into a full bodysuit with red and black stripes. Or squiggles. Or somethings. Maybe it helps soak up the…sweat.



I remember a few songs into the concert some seemingly hardcore fans (although not hardcore enough to actually come earlier) shoved/body slammed their way to the front of the crowd. Haha! Humans. Funny.

This wasn’t a concert review, more just a record of my rambling, which is what all my blogs are for. I still haven’t bought tickets for The Innocence Mission, but I’m pretty sure they’d go on stage earlier than 11 PM.


Elephant Parade video

Cute video from cute band with a cute name: Elephant Parade (myspace). You should buy their album, Bedroom Records. COS I SAID SOOOOooOOO.

Hey, it worked.

I’m pleasantly surprised that I got this “switching servers” thing to work without too much swearing or hair pulling. One lil’ problem I had was that while I used an anti-spam plugin before, all the spam comments that I thought had been deleted were actually still roaming around in my mysql database. All 9000+ of em. I didn’t have enough phpmyadmin prowess to figure out a painless way to delete the bulk of them at once while keeping the legitimate comments, so that process was kind of a huge ass pain in the bum. I think a lot of them are still there, actually.


Armchair Apocrypha

The only thing that made me happy yesterday was receiving Andrew Bird’s new album in the mail, Armchair Apocrypha. (Also, I think the redesign of his website is byootiful. Thank you, Mr. Web Dude.) This album is awesome. Because. BECAUSE. ARGH! AWESOMNESS. Listen to some new tracks; isn’t it awesome? Yes.

I had no more adjectives to give you.


I saw Mew last Thursday for my first concert-going experience in a while. And they were great. But I was really tired. And thirsty. A sip of my friend’s noxious rum and Sprite did nothing for me except make me hate alcohol even more than I already do. Mew is a magical band, but I think they’re better experienced with enough hydration and not while standing next to a girl screeching, “I LOVE YOU JONAS!” after every song and singing along during Mew’s biggest hits, or the songs I’d rather hear come out of Jonas’s mouth more so than the girl next to me. Not that I don’t understand her enthusiam…because I do. Just. God. I dunno.

Ever since I turned 21 I’ve felt like an old bearded dude trying to get young whippersnappers off his lawn. Damn kidz.

But I have to see Andrew Bird at Webster Hall on May 17th and pray I don’t stand next to a screaming Andrew Bird-obsessed fan.

notes to myself

Andrew Bird, May 17th at Webster Hall

Panda Bear, June 23 at Bowery Ballroom

I am so lazy that that’s all I want to see for the rest of the year. If at all.