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Fear And Loathing At CMJ #4

("Final Exit. No Re-Entry.")

Posted 1st November 2010, 5:25pm in Features, by Willis Arnold
24 October 2010: CMJ ended with a roll of the dice. For each of the previous evenings I either had some familiarity with the bands I went to see, or had received recommendation of their performance. On Saturday I simply chose one of my favorite venues, Bowery Ballroom, and a showcase of bands I new little about. Wasn’t this sort of discovery the essence of the CMJ experience, to take in the unknown, the up-and coming?

For the most part my gamble paid off, and I was presently surprised by the quality of bands that evening. Additionally, my unplanned approach had an unsolicited affect: without anticipation there was not anxiety. I wasn’t rushing to see a line-up I desperately wanted to see and in turn lost any of the frustration that came with obsessing over timeslots, venue location, and travel time.

The first band I was able to see at Bowery Ballroom was Lia Ices who took the stage in a semi-see though white gown, backlit by blue light. It was an entrance worthy of her last name. Ms. Ices music generally settles somewhere between Torri Amos and Stevie Nicks. Another entry in the catalogue of strong female voices and dramatic delivery, Ices bends her vocal patterns around her piano and regular accompaniment of bass, guitar, and drums. Unfortunately for her -and I am still unsure whether this was a choice or poor sound production - the vocals were blown out and the resultant sound quality reduced the obvious quality of her voice.

Lia Ices performance was most unique when she stepped out from behind her piano. As her voice rolled out over the upset, nontraditional, drumming and the looser bass line, a strange chord was struck in which she explored a new characteristic of an established sound. A glitchy quality entered into the music in a way that is seldom a quality of acoustic instruments. This instrumentation added the necessary dynamic to distinguish Ices’ voice.

The following band, Lower Dens, was a complete unknown to me. Like many of the bands that played CMJ, Lower Dens’ sound was heavily influenced by Eighties alternative groups like The Smiths, or My Bloody Valentine. Yet with each song I found myself enjoying their performance more and more.

Lower Dens craft hypnotic, loud, droning, songs that somehow contain a familiar quality despite their possible abrasiveness. This quality could be the product of lead singer Jana Hunter’s extensive experience as a solo artist and DIY mainstay. Over time Hunter has obviously developed both her songwriting and sonic interests. On one song the singer shares vocal duties with the bassist, inverting an accompaniment that usually occurs during the chorus of songs.

There is an epic quality to Lower Dens songs that is hard to put one’s finger on. It exists, strangely, in their more minimal pieces; where the drone and pop structures meet and find a balance. When the band pushes their songs into a more intentional complexity the effect is weirdly subversive, pulling the sound away from the expansiveness of their simpler songs.

Throughout the performance Hunter, and the rest of the band for that matter, remained expressionless as though they were merely vessels for the outpouring of sound. This presentation lasted until near the end of their set, when Hunter and the other members of the band allowed themselves a slight smile: admission that they’d done well by their songs.

DOM was the last act I was able to see that evening. Formed as a solo act in Worcester Massachusetts, DOM’s single EP to date has much in common with the multitude of other bedroom pop acts available today. Live, he looks like a kid after Jay Reatard’s mantle. Whereas his recorded material sounds somewhat thin his live show beefs up the sound with three guitars, a wall of distortion and a drummer that plays like he’s trying out for Motley Crue.

Although his voice is higher than Joey Ramone’s, it suits a similar sound to what was being kicked around the bowery and the Ramone’s catalogue in the late Seventies. With songs of teenage lust titled “Jesus,” the first lines of which are “The tears are about to begin/And the ecstasy is kicking in,” DOM seems incredibly aware of what sonic territory he is mining. With a pastiche of surf, arena, and the aforementioned punk, DOM is all about the adolescent good times exalted in those various types of rock and roll. The lyric “I just want to waste away, want to feel okay,” couldn’t be more of obvious entry point into DOM’s reasons for making music.

At the end of DOM’s set I turned from the stage and headed to the exit, glad to leave the festival with a feeling altogether different than the one in which the week began (see CMJ Fear and Loathing 1). I smiled as I saw the familiar sign, “Final Exit. No Re-Entry.” That is of course, until next year.
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