Deerhoof, Nedelle, Nuees Ardentes; Northsix
I mounted into the car from a gravel path at Dartmouth and stepped out in horn-heavy traffic heading toward the Lincoln Tunnel. I ran My driver/friend (the former first, the latter second) Hie-Won (a nifty little site I made for him in high school) popped the trunk as I hurried round the back, pulled out some supplies I'd need for the night and stuffed them in my bag. I was on 44th and 11th. The highway traffic: the smell of horse stables!
My retransplantation into New York was a bloody mess.
But I eased my way into it. I made it through Midtown, through cheap shoe stores, tired day laborers and suspicious police officers. I refueled in KTown, and walked down toward the L at 14th Street. As the walk grew longer, the neighborhoods more gentrified, I eased into my comfort zone. I don't care how bloated or inflated, how superficial or commercial aesthetic comforts may be, they're comforts nonetheless, worn soft for me to settle into.
I hadn't been to show in, well, too long. I met Lauren at the corner of Bedford and 6th, shouting "fucking hooker" into a car as her friends inside looked out and away and the neighborhood took secret notice. After a cool hello (I have yet to display any cred) they rolled up their windows and took off. Good start.
Lauren and I went off arm in arm, heading the wrong way on 6th and then turning around. We arrived early, which she noted: "Why are we here so early?" I failed to provide adequate response.
Nuees Ardentes was that initial shock I should have expected. Wow: I was not in the mood. And I do not say "wow" often. Ukulele, juvenile absurdist lyrics, all predictable from a Deerhoof opener, but without any appeal beyond the kitsch.
Blood on the Wall pulled out (car accident? apparently, but I swear they're just trying to acoid me. This happens every time!) and after the opener, Lauren and I needed a cup of coffee.
We came back in time for Deerhoof. Satomi and gang shuffled onstage, backed by red blue and yellow trashcan lights. The band waded into the set, slow and steady, and the first two songs were a bit sloppy, unready. Satomi seemed shy and kept her head down. But the end of the second song marked a change; she started cooing and chirping away (I had started to worry it might be an instrumental set), with increasing enthusiasm. Half-way through the set, it became evident that the guitar was holding her down. She unhooked herself, and began a series of dancing. Her face lit up. Her arms bent at the elbow to her head, to her waist; then in boxes around her eyes; pointing at the crowd, indicating vision; hopping on one leg; tripping. It was really fantastic.
I was back in New York, albeit in Brooklyn. But still I hadn't written about a show...
My retransplantation into New York was a bloody mess.
But I eased my way into it. I made it through Midtown, through cheap shoe stores, tired day laborers and suspicious police officers. I refueled in KTown, and walked down toward the L at 14th Street. As the walk grew longer, the neighborhoods more gentrified, I eased into my comfort zone. I don't care how bloated or inflated, how superficial or commercial aesthetic comforts may be, they're comforts nonetheless, worn soft for me to settle into.
I hadn't been to show in, well, too long. I met Lauren at the corner of Bedford and 6th, shouting "fucking hooker" into a car as her friends inside looked out and away and the neighborhood took secret notice. After a cool hello (I have yet to display any cred) they rolled up their windows and took off. Good start.
Lauren and I went off arm in arm, heading the wrong way on 6th and then turning around. We arrived early, which she noted: "Why are we here so early?" I failed to provide adequate response.
Nuees Ardentes was that initial shock I should have expected. Wow: I was not in the mood. And I do not say "wow" often. Ukulele, juvenile absurdist lyrics, all predictable from a Deerhoof opener, but without any appeal beyond the kitsch.
Blood on the Wall pulled out (car accident? apparently, but I swear they're just trying to acoid me. This happens every time!) and after the opener, Lauren and I needed a cup of coffee.
We came back in time for Deerhoof. Satomi and gang shuffled onstage, backed by red blue and yellow trashcan lights. The band waded into the set, slow and steady, and the first two songs were a bit sloppy, unready. Satomi seemed shy and kept her head down. But the end of the second song marked a change; she started cooing and chirping away (I had started to worry it might be an instrumental set), with increasing enthusiasm. Half-way through the set, it became evident that the guitar was holding her down. She unhooked herself, and began a series of dancing. Her face lit up. Her arms bent at the elbow to her head, to her waist; then in boxes around her eyes; pointing at the crowd, indicating vision; hopping on one leg; tripping. It was really fantastic.
I was back in New York, albeit in Brooklyn. But still I hadn't written about a show...
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