A long, long way from Liverpool, Clinic kicked off the 6th show of their 2013 tour in support of their new album Free Reign at 158 Bleecker Street, New York, NY. Taking the stage in full Clinic fashion sporting surgeons face masks, Ade Blackburn’s with a small hole cut in the center for singing, amid colorful lighting, Clinic became a reality to me.
The intimate setting of Le Poisson Rouge provided the audience with the sense that they could touch the band. The feeling hummed through the enthusiastic diversely aged crowd. All in attendance were enveloped in the music, many dancing and singing along. The band was fantastic live and it was wonderful how great they sounded. It was as though we were inside a rolling locomotive. They played a well-balanced set list with the songs “Miss You,” “See Saw,” and “You” from the new album, “Orangutan” and “Lion Tamer” from Bubblegum, “Tusk” and “Children of Kellogg” from Visitations, “Walking with Thee” from the same titled album and a few songs off their early EPs. Far be it from me to argue with Clinic’s set list choices, but I very much longed to hear them play “Harvest (Within You)” and “If You Could Read Your Mind” also from Visitations. Ah…the longing continues.
Not counting that small hiccup, overall it was a very satisfying show. Well done Clinic! Being that I was seeing the band for the first time, I was unaware that they are known for notoriously short shows (about 25 min) and early in their career for never doing encores. The show was way too short for a Clinic junky like me, but the band did come back out and do three more songs. However, these songs do appear on the set list. Perhaps it’s a “faux encore” done to psychologically lengthen the show and make fans happy. Either way, I sparked like a match when they returned to the stage. After the show, I hung around and tried to snag a copy of the coveted set list, but to no avail. I did, however, meet a nice couple from Toronto who not only got a set list, but were seeing the band again when they returned home. The nice Canadian gentleman was quoted as saying, “We’re seeing them in three days, but we just had to see them in Greenwich.” Lucky lollies! The couple then let me snap a picture of their set list with my phone. Much thanks to them and to the band for making it a glorious 4/20!
The 2013 release My Shame Is True by Chicago triad Alkaline Trio has nothing to be ashamed of. Delivering a taste of days past; steeped in bitter emotion and new-age angst, this release gives die-hard Alkaline fans the flavor of the kick ass albums of yesteryear.
Frankly this album is broken up into only two categories tracks I like, and track I love. Bringing back the upbeat yet aggressive pseudo-punk sound that I fell in love with many moons ago, this EP opens up with a foot-tapping, head bopping track, “She Lied to the FBI.” From that point on in, I rarely found myself eyeballing the skip track button, and really started to get into the album when I heard “Kiss You to Death,” a song reminiscent of some of my favorite classics – “This Could Be Love” and “Private Eye” : Vaguely romantic and slightly disturbing lyrically, driving and warming melodically.
From there I got to a collaboration I really was looking forward to on “I, Pessimist” – a collabo with counter-culture-centric, post-punk front man Tim McIlrath of Rise Against. However, I do wish it was longer than two minutes and change, as their call-and-answer vocal tactics and aggressive riffs I hoped would’ve ran out for longer. From there is has some pretty solid tracks, closing with one of the best of the album, in my opinion – “Pocket Knife.” This jam echoes the sound of albums past, namely Maybe I’ll Catch Fire with hints of Crimson.
All in all, their best release in years – which isn’t saying much if you gave a listen to Agony & Irony – not their best release by any stretch – and Damnesia – which only had a couple originals and was comprised mostly of re-cuts of old hits; making it a not-quite greatest hits album. Regardless, if you grew up on staples like Goddamit and Maybe I’ll Catch Fire – I’d say go scoop up this release ASAP. Is it the same vibe as earlier work? Somewhat, but all acts mature, some in ways we like, and some we don’t. One noteworthy “evolution” if you will, is bringing God into their lyrics. Hey, whatever helps you sleep at night, I say, but this writer hopes we don’t go off the Jesus freak deep end and release an album like Brand New’s The God and The Devil are Raging Inside of Me.
That being said, the album is taking steps back into the right direction – that is the road which hooked thousands of fans like me with their simplistic song structure, introspective and damaged lyrics, and unpolished yet oh-so-catchy hooks. Check it out, nonetheless.
The World/Inferno Friendship Society has taken their circus act across the globe and in the twelve years I have been listening to them, seeing them come full circle in the Ancestral Homeland of New Jersey brought a new perspective to the cult-like cabaret. Walking in, a few first impressions were evident. Compared to the crowds of old, I found the Lanes to be emptier than I would expect for a home show. I have followed the Inferno far and wide and have found this current line up to be lack luster in presence. Although the music is still sharp, full of raucous energy and poignantly executed by the ever-charming Jack Terricloth, the band itself felt like a bunch of day players behind him. They played the fan favorites, from the classic opener “Tattoos Fade,” “Zen and the Art of Breaking Everything in this Room” and “My Ancestral Homeland New Jersey” to newer songs like “Thumb Cinema,” which is chock full of punk rock staccato momentum, and “Pickles and Gin.”
Despite the small crowd and more reserved band of players, The World/Inferno still delivered to an enamored audience with the heart of an army. Jack was his chatty self, providing history lessons and anecdotes alike in between lyrics that never seem to lose their steam. I have always loved the interaction between band and crowd, as a night with the World/Inferno Friendship Society is so much more than just the music; it’s an experience meant to be shared in by all who attend.
This year Finch decided to embark on a 10th anniversary tour in honor of their breakout album What It Is To Burn, which seems to be all the rage with bands of their variety. While most bands use this type of show to bring their careers to an end or put an era of music behind them and move on, Finch however used this opportunity as a rebirth. Over the last few years, Finch had fallen off the radar with lackluster albums sales, unsuccessful tours and dreaded lineup changes. When they first announced this tour only two dates and locations were given, one being LA and the other London. I jumped at the opportunity to see them in their home town and purchased tickets immediately. With the overwhelming response and immediate sell outs, Finch added more shows. My friends and I decided to make a vacation out of this and also see them in New York and Philadelphia when they made their way to the east coast.
We arrived in California a few days before the show with enough time to catch up with friends and prepare ourselves for this highly anticipated performance. I’ve always wanted to see a show at the Glass House in Pomona, CA. As an east coaster, I’ve seen this venue on the tour itineraries of my favorite bands. On Friday February 1st the Glass House was electric; this hometown venue was alive. As soon as the lights dropped and the first notes of “New Beginnings” rang from the speakers, the place exploded. Finch took the stage with such vigor, like a band hungry to prove something. The thing is, What It Is To Burn Speaks for itself. They have nothing to prove, except maybe to themselves. The songs still sound fresh ten years later. The band sounded tight and the sound quality was great. With a long time to prepare for this night, I would’ve been seriously disappointed if the sound wasn’t on point. The lighting and production was the best I’ve ever seen Finch have and commemorative screen printed posters were a nice touch. I was very excited for Grey Matter and they did not disappoint. The energy was high and, with a fresh voice, the guttural screams were brutal. “Stay With Me” was as fun to hear and jump around to as it was when I was 16. All of the songs sounded phenomenal but a true standout for me was “Ender.” I nearly cried. “Ender” is a beautifully crafted song and not the typical heavy post hardcore sound. It’s a soulful ballad that anyone can relate to. It brings you to a time when you are fighting for a loved one, whether it worked out or not. They ended the show with “What It Is To Burn,” obviously. By this point of the show, I was exhausted. I hung out in the back and just enjoyed the final few moments of what was an incredible night.
Fast forward a little over a month later, Finch made their way to my neck of the woods. I decided to attend their second night in NYC at the Gramercy theatre. The Gramercy is a smaller, more intimate venue with what I feel is a better setup than Irving Plaza, where they played the night before. When I walked in, it felt like I was attending a local VFW show on a Saturday afternoon. There was no one there. When the opening band The Almost took the stage there was no more than 150 people inside. The only thing I could wrap my head around was the fact that the night before was sold out and this show wasn’t nearly as promoted as the previous night. I didn’t mind though because I had a fantastic spot to view the show from. When Finch took the stage, the placed filled up but not to capacity. This show was good but didn’t have the energy that the Glass House did. There was no action in the pit but people were singing along and looked generally pleased. The band was obviously a little intoxicated and joked about it onstage. Some of the songs were a little sloppy, especially the ones with intricate picking patterns like “Post Script.” The band also seemed a bit tired, possibly from not being used to the life cycle of a touring band. The lead guitarists’ effects were also not set properly which also did not help the overall sound of the show. I mentioned these things to my friend who doesn’t play an instrument and she didn’t even notice. I was a little more critical of this show because the last show stellar. The set was exactly the same and we left a little early because working people can’t stay out late on week nights.
Two nights later, I drove down to Philadelphia to catch Finch play at the Electric Factory. The Electric Factory is a great place to see a show, especially if you are of legal drinking age because the balcony bar has great sight lines and a wide selection of beers. The Almost opened this night as well and had a little bit better of a reception than they did at The Gramercy. I was surprised at the lack of response for The Almost. Given that they had two videos on MTV2 from when they still showed videos, I would’ve at least expected a nice amount of cheers, but alas lackluster to say the least. I enjoyed them and thought they had great sound and band chemistry. Finch took the stage in the same fashion as at The Glass House, apparently sober and hungry to show that they still have it. The crowd was feeling it; sing–a-longs, hugs and high fives were abundant. The sound on the floor wasn’t so good, but the energy of the band and the crowd definitely made up for it. “Awake” and “Three Simple Words” were especially tight and a true gems of the evening. Once again I realized that I’m too old for the pit and headed to the balcony with my cousin. We watched the remainder of the show, from “Ender” on, from the balcony with fantastic seats because some other folks decided what I did the night before, to bounce a tad early. Finch ended the show with “What It Is To Burn” and we made our way into the Philly night to make drunken messes of ourselves on Saint Patty’s Day weekend.
I’m glad I went to all three shows. No band is perfect and every show won’t be a 10, but 2 out of 3 isn’t bad, and who can argue with that? It was nice to see the band having fun and you could tell they were from the banter on stage. For a band that teetered on the edge of self-destruction several times, it seems like they put the past behind them in an attempt to move forward. I mean the bad past not the good past which is What It Is To Burn. That flame will burn on way into the future whether they remain a band or not.
One day, not long ago, I fried some eggs, walked from the kitchen into the living room and turned on NBC’s The Today Show. This was a bad move to begin with. But then I heard the following:
“Jong su ke bo wi ji man nol ten no nun yo ja/I te da shi pu myon mu ko ton mo ri pu nun yo ja.”
The fork was halfway to my mouth when I stopped and looked at the TV, tilting my head to the side like a dog that gets confused by unfamiliar sounds. The eggs slid off my fork, and the fork followed, slipping from my fingers and dropping onto the plate. And then it continued.
“Eh, sexy lady/op op-op-op/oppan Gangnam style.”
It was apparently some sort of song, and it had come from the maw of a stocky South Korean man who flopped about on stage like an inebriated cowboy on the back of a horny stallion whose ass was on fire. He wore sunglasses for no apparent reason and was done up with a black bow tie and a tuxedo-like jacket that was roughly the color of the retch you’d expect to see on the floor had you overindulged on vodka and guacamole and then failed to reach the toilet.
My eggs and I had both grown cold as I watched this man pump his pelvis in grotesque ways. I presently became sweaty and short of breath, my skin got cool and clammy, and I had numbness in my right hand.
I thought I might be having a stroke.
But no: This was my introduction to Psy’s “Gangnam Style.”
I wiped some egg from my lips, put my plate aside and continued watching, listening. This man resembled most any jackass who wanders drunk after leaving a costume party after midnight, only to stroll into a nightclub about 15 minutes before last call, order a round of shots and begin dancing like an asshole.
His song follows suit perfectly. It jerks, it grinds and it breathes stench all over innocent strangers. And in that vein, it attempts to copulate with listeners using worn-out strategies: the same obnoxious gyrations, tired four-beat measures, bland instrumentation and other wishy-washy, synthesized horse hockey typically discharged amid your standard evening at the club bumping to generic house music. Listen to this and you may think of Los del Rio’s 1996 dance craze, “Macarena.” And then you’ll vomit.
Whatever. The motherfucker ruined my breakfast and left me feeling ill, so I thought I would look into the matter further.
Psy is a South Korean singer/songwriter who, just before Christmas, became the first person in YouTube history to pop the 1 billion cherry, luring this many viewers (and more) into the backseat of his van with promises of candy and making him the most-watched sideshow in the wild circus of online musical absurdity. And in achieving this high-water mark, he brushed back the likes of Justin Bieber, Katy Perry and Lady Gaga from the upper strata of the web.
“Gangnam Style,” which to me sounds like some sort of either perverse or extremely wonderful bedroom experiment, was released in July as the single on Psy’s sixth studio record. It debuted at No. 1 in South Korea, peaked at No. 2 on Billboard’s Hot 100 last fall, and has putrefied there for 27 weeks, holding now at No. 27. It’s been widely covered, parodied, remixed and in various ways regurgitated in numerous genres. And it’s topped charts in more than 30 countries, which, after doing the math, is approximately 30 too many.
And while decimating the eardrums and searing the retinae of some, Psy has reeled in all manner of high-profile folks who don’t seem to mind it. I’m talking folks like the President of the United States, the British Prime Minister, the mayor of London and the Secretary General of the United Nations. You know: them kinds of folk.
“They’re cooler than I am,” President Barack Obama told People Magazine recently, speaking of his daughters and explaining how he does Psy’s bizarre horse dance around The White House to embarrass them. “There are things I like that they think are cheesy, like ‘Gangnam Style.’ I love that.”
Obama is the only person I will not take to task for enjoying this song. Everyone else is culpable.
Psy is actually a 34-year-old man named Park Jae-sang, now the face of Korean-Pop, or K-Pop, a popular and longstanding movement that basically includes nearly every musical concept: pop, dance, rock, electronic, hip-hop and R&B, among others. He hails from the affluent Gangnam District of Seoul, South Korea, an area that he’s likened to Beverly Hills, California, and that is the subject of the song.
But as he told CNN last summer, “Gangnam Style” is actually more comedy than bling, as it mocks people who are not from the lavish Gangnam District yet pretend to be, as no one who is truly “Gangnam” ever boasts that they are; it’s only the imitators who are the braggarts. So he’s basically a Gangnam poking fun at non-Gangnams for being overly flashy in pretending to be Gangnam … I think.
Either way, I didn’t initially get the thrust of the song, since I don’t understand Korean. What I did understand in seeing and hearing Psy is that he bends and twists like an unusually flexible sea turtle dressed in various sequined outfits. He yawps more than he sings, peacocks more than he dances, and then force-feeds the upshot into the hearts and minds of listeners left weak and frail after years of shit radio.
And then he ruins people’s breakfasts.
But Psy isn’t some sudden east-to-west transplant. He attended Boston University and the Berklee College of Music (also in Boston) in the late-1990s, yet received degrees from neither school. Not coming away with big credentials, he upped the ante: He returned to South Korea to pursue a pop career and then busted out like a hell-hound bent on melting the brains of blameless people like British Prime Minister David Cameron and London Mayor Boris Johnson, both of whom apparently shamed themselves recently by doing Psy’s “inebriated-cowboy-on-the-back-of-a-horny-stallion-whose-ass-was-on-fire” dance.
The two British officials had met at Chequers, a mansion in southeast England that has long served as the country residence of the British Prime Minister. They later ate at a nearby pub. God only knows how many pints they drank, but I guess they had a fine time.
“After the lunch,” the U.K.’s Daily Mail reported in October, “the men returned to the house in relaxed high spirits. Mr. Cameron then whipped out his iPad and started playing the Gangnam video in the hall of the historic pile. To whoops of delight from their wives, and cheering from their children, he and Mr. Johnson aped Psy’s famed ‘horse-riding’ dance moves, complete with reins-holding and hands-on-hips routines.”
When I thought of the person currently residing at 10 Downing Street doing the Gangnam dance, and when I reconsidered the idea of the person currently residing at The White House doing the same, I suddenly had to hit the bathroom. I spent ten minutes in there; my memory is blurred, but it had something to do with intractable vomiting, heavy sweating and double-vision.
“Oppan Gangnam Style.”
Now, I understand that this is a viable dance song, and that Psy is a competent and veteran songwriter who has simply hit a winning lotto ticket. I also know that it’s catchy, well produced, finely choreographed and a fun thing to have thumping paint off the ceilings of bars and into the hair of frisky young adults. And sure, a deluge of club rats are riding on the backside of this romp.
But that doesn’t make it okay. Yes, it’s currently the flashiest sneaker in the stinking footlocker of contemporary music, yet it’s also the one most apt to cause injury due to untied shoelaces. In a year, I expect this song will go the way of the Reebok Pump, which swiftly attained commercial triumph and then died just as quickly in the early 1990s.
“Oppan Dodo Style.”
The English translations of the song (and there are disparities among them) roughly illustrate a man who is essentially trying to capture the interest of a high-class girl who’s really into coffee, like he is, and who’s both modest yet all about getting wild. Psy paints himself as an adoring and intelligent (yet covetous) fellow who wants to chase the biscuit as opposed to having it fed to him. Nothing we haven’t heard from Axl Rose.
The actual translation of “Oppan Gangnam Style,” according to The Wall Street Journal and ABC News, is, “big brother is Gangnam Style,” with Psy referring to himself in the third person. But there is some cloudiness about this, as some English translations have it as “Oppa is Gangnam Style,” which may have to do with the Korean-to-English translation of “oppa” and “oppan,” where “oppa” is apparently a term used by Korean women to refer to older male friends or siblings, while “oppan” is an abbreviated form of the noun phrase “oppa-neun,” a contraction suggesting that a more accurate translation might be, “Speaking of oppa, I like Gangnam style.”
By the way, I just discovered that I have a rogue nipple hair nearly half the length of my pinky finger. I took care of it, though. I also found a nickel in my shoe.
Sorry. Anyway, going back to Guns N’ Roses, the bulk of Psy’s official video is simply the same sort of butt-sniffing claptrap that some of us recall seeing every afternoon, back in the days when kids came home from school, grabbed some Ho-Hos and Fruit Roll-Ups, turned on MTV and actually witnessed music videos and not a phalanx of hormonal 16-year-old girls bitching about how they had accidentally gotten pregnant.
But let’s not forget the sins of Vanilla Ice, MC Hammer, New Kids on the Block, the Backstreet Boys, etc. Certainly, Psy is only the latest in a long line of blessed mediocrities sucked into and spat out of the same revolving door from which too many foul specters have emerged like wet belches (courtesy of such awful music deconstructionists as Simon Cowell), only to assail young innocents and leave pockmarks across their souls for eternity.
And sure, there are some dubious scenes in the Gangnam video. For instance, in the opening, he’s filmed clad in short pink shorts, his legs spread widely apart in some kind of come-hither fashion as his face seems to indicate that he’s having a major orgasm. All the while, he’s hanging out in some playground, where little kids are dancing around him.
“Oppan Gangnam Style”?
Well that’s neither here nor there. In the video, Psy mostly sticks to his dances. I mean, this guy just loves to dance! He dances under a bridge, he dances with very attractive and scantily clad women, he dances in a horse barn, he dances on a boat, he dances in a parking garage, he dances next to a carrousel, he dances in wind tunnels, he dances through busy intersections, he sits in a steam room while another guy dances next to him, and he even tries to dance in a pool.
Hell, I can’t understand why this guy sells! I mean, it’s not as though he’s drawing interest for the same reasons that exotic birds keep binocular sales booming. He’s not all that fascinating to watch, is he?
No, he is. And I suppose it just comes down to human habit: What people see, people do. Need I mention monkeys?
I must point out, however, that YouTube views of the inauguration of the nation’s first black President currently stands at 5,161,571, while views of “Gangnam Style” now stand at about 1,446,917,453. Now, to anyone interested in numbers, this means that Psy is about 231 times more popular on YouTube than the man who won the most historic presidency in the United States since George Washington. Of course this doesn’t surprise me: Many people simply love to chase things that move.
And speaking of this, I spent a painful time recently imagining this guy trying to come up with his signature dance, alone in his bedroom before a full-body mirror. He must have done this at some point. I considered these thoughts for a few moments, and then escorted myself into the woods, where I threw myself to the ground and beat myself unconscious with a slab of raw meat. I always carry beef when I walk in the woods, in case I have to redirect the attention of a coyote, or a disco horse-man.
After knocking myself out, I woke up later with a nosebleed, freezing, exhausted and missing a shoe. But I got up, stumbled back to the house, warmed up and fell fast asleep. I then had a dream, however, and it had something to do with fog machines, perfume, vodka, tight pants, heavy cologne, slutty women and the sort of insufferably repetitive bass beats you’d expect to be shot like stink-darts from the foul end of a sleek DJ set on making oatmeal of your brain.
Now, despite that this song has infiltrated the skulls of certain people currently holding the offices previously held by certain other people, like John F. Kennedy and Winston Churchill, do we need further evidence that “Gangnam Style” has become some curious form of black death?
Oh, we do? Okay, here: Psy was even lauded by the United Nations’ Secretary General Ban Ki-moon, who, according to Reuters, told him in October on a visit to the U.N., “You are so cool; I hope that you can end the global warming.”
“Fuck me!” I said as I read this. “I agree with the Secretary General! I also hope that Psy can end the global warming!”
“Oppan Cuckoo Style.”
But it’s not just powerful world leaders. Heidi Klum, at the 2012 MTV Europe Music Awards, called Psy the “undisputed king of pop.” Now, maybe I’m cuckoo style, but I thought we already had one of those. And as if belittling the spirit of our dear king of Motown wasn’t enough, the refrain, “Oppan Gangnam Style,” was entered into The Yale Book of Quotations as one of the most famous utterances of 2012. This is a publication that has for years authoritatively quoted the words of folks like President Abraham Lincoln, Groucho Marx and President Bill Clinton.
All this adds up to why I’m so gun-shy about touching the radio dial. It’s like walking by dark alleyways in bad neighborhoods: You never know when someone might throw a poison dart or slice your throat. Or it could be worse, in that someone might make your ears eat the musical upchuck of a short, chubby man who acts like he’s ordained to be musical gold, yet whose disposition suggests he would be more aptly placed entertaining at a kid’s birthday gala or as a fool in the court of some monarch.
Were the sovereign to behead him after a poor performance, however, I’m betting some crazy bastard would snatch Psy’s stupid sunglasses and sell the fucking things on eBay. I would.
Look, the current estimated world population is about 7 billion, and again, for anyone interested in numbers, this means that roughly 16 percent of the planet Earth has been exposed to this ass-stink (not accounting for repeated hits by individual viewers, of course). So I’m betting plenty of folks have heard it.
But for the few people who haven’t, I’d offer the same warning I received in the third grade from a good friend. He told me never to stand before a mirror in the dark and repeatedly say “Bloody Mary,” as this might conjure up a horrifying ghost. As such, I’d advise anyone that, if you listen to “Gangnam Style,” even once, you might summon a dreadful pop apparition that may thrust its junk at you and cause you to try pulling parts of your brain from your ear with a pair of tweezers.
I know this from experience. So please, be careful.
Anyway, after the performance ended on The Today Show, I shook off the sick and regained my appetite. I warmed up my food and tried to pretend that I hadn’t just dry-heaved for the last five minutes, and that the whole thing had been a bad dream. But it was no use. I looked at my eggs, and in the yolks, I saw the face of Psy. His mouth hung open, all orgasmic and smiling, and his neck moved as though it did not contain bones. He still wore big sunglasses, and he looked a bit like an ant or a housefly.
So I gave up and put my breakfast in the fridge. In the meantime, however, in my state of dismay and sudden lack of hunger, I had an epiphany. The music industry is like any living creature we tend to: It gets hungry, we feed it, and while it only makes us smile sometimes, it’s our job to try to nurture and clean up after it. This may mean we’re sucked into and spat out of the revolving door. But who isn’t?
I’ll say this, though: If any of us are the custodians of music’s current state, in that music is a plant or animal we’re nourishing, we ought to feed it wisely or not bitch when it tastes sour or grows to be petulant. There can be no generous output without generous input, right? So here’s how I see it: Hit radio has been hardily fed since its inception, yet for the last 15 years (with few exceptions), we’ve hardly fed it anything even approaching decent. So what has it been pooping?
On February 9th, 2013 Maryland natives Ballyhoo! brought their eclectic mix of punk, pop, rock and reggae that refuses to be pigeon-holed into one genre to NYC’s Gramercy Theater. They’ve been associated with names such as 311 and The Dirty Heads, and earned some chops on the Van’s Warped Tour, giving them a well-deserved spot among some awesome infusions of rock and reggae.
As I stood in a crowd buzzing with friendly energy and the lingering scent of cannabis smoke, anticipation for the group gaining momentum and doing it themselves, grew. A feel-good band with a light heart and soul, Ballyhoo! engages their audience from start to finish, often feeling just as comfortable as listening in your own living room. Howi, Mista J, Blaze and Big D put on a great show, playing a variety of songs from their three albums; two of which were self-released. Musically, they were tight as a military band, possibly even sounding better live than some recorded versions. The guys have a great stage presence and really know how to engage the crowd, ensuring everyone can sing along even if it’s their first time seeing the band.
They kept banter short, unafraid to launch into the next song with charisma and confidence. In doing so, the crowd was entertained the whole set through; a sea of bodies could be seen from all angles moving and dancing along with the rhythms. I really admire their overall performance. Even though the music is what everyone has come for, the band offers a well-rounded experience. Despite the venue’s set up and size, Ballyhoo! effortlessly and cheerfully adapts, engaging their fans to be a proactive part of the show’s experience which guarantees a fun show no matter what night you get to see them.
Though it’s an understatement, fun really is one of the core elements of their live show. Never boring, it’s easy to tell the guys love what they do and want to share their passion, which keeps the fans moving from start to finish; eager to jump as high as they can each time they’re told to do so.
Overall, Ballyhoo! put on an unforgettable experience, even playing two new tracks to delight their New York listeners. None the less, older tracks like “Cerveza” and “Cali Girl” were noticeable crowd favorites. Easy to listen to, great to dance to and definitely music to take with you on a long trip or a cruise to the beach, Ballyhoo! did not disappoint and I recommend feasting your senses on all they have to offer as often as possible.
When you think of New York City, you might find it hard to imagine a haunted house experience to rival any you’ve had before, nestled neatly on the second floor of a building on Varick Street. Being somewhat addicted to anything Halloween-flavored, on February 16th, Nevermind the Posers checked out Blood Manor’s Bloody
Valentine’s Weekend. A tradition usually reserved for the fall, Blood Manor provides an epic haunted house to scare the bejesus out of you year-round. With a Valentine’s Day special, screw the chocolate and the flowers…we wanted to see a little blood, mayhem and zombie pin-up models!
Zombie pin-up models you say? Yes, the models from Gorgeous and Gory were in attendance signing their 2013 calendar with, can you guess what the theme is? Calendars are still available for purchase!
Walking through these rooms of horror, one of the most terrifying was the pitch black room. Once you walked in, you couldn’t see anything but knew that you were not alone. Voices guided you “left” and “right” until you found your way into the next room. One of the most stand-out segments of the twisted walking tour was the 3D hallway maze by the master of 3D Stuart Smith, where black-lit, neon paint literally leapt off the walls – and the actors who were also splattered with the paint – courtesy of 3D glasses passed to you steps before you enter by one of the actors.
The cast of demented characters that break any sense of the safety you enjoy when watching horror movies at home, really sell the terror. There is no fourth wall, there is only…zombies who appear over your shoulder as you shudder from what you hear going on ahead of you, maniacs wielding bloody weapons your way as you scream on by, and Hollywood level special effects guaranteed to leave a memorable impression on anyone lucky enough to survive! We will definitely be going back to Blood Manor.
Check out these videos to get an idea of what went on inside, their attention to detail in each room was great!
A long, long way from Liverpool, Clinic kicked off the 6th show of their 2013 tour in support of their new album Free Reign at 158 Bleecker Street, New York, NY. Taking the stage in full Clinic fashion sporting surgeons face masks, Ade Blackburn’s with a small hole cut in the center for singing, amid colorful lighting, Clinic became a reality to me.
