Head of Femur
Great Plains
March 25th 2008
Greyday Records
Beyond the band’s weirdness and artsy veneer, Head of Femur has a core spirit that has captured the imagination of thousands. The journey they have undertaken, from inception to contemporary form, underscores their unique and enduring qualities. Their narrative is a sort of mythos, inspirational in its own way, yet filled with difficult challenges. Great Plains, more than any other record in their catalog, portrays Head of Femur as the pioneers they are. With it they continue their uncompromised ethos, but over the last two years they have had the time to reflect on their situation and the willingness to move forward, adjust and absorb events that ultimately shaped the band’s present incarnation.
Since the release of Hysterical Stars in 2005, the boys of Head of Femur have taken it upon themselves to rework their operation. The mid-section of this decade saw great things for the band. They christened the first ever Intonation Festival and traveled across the country in support of Hysterical Stars. Head of Femur received favorable reviews from tastemakers such as Pitchfork for Ringodom or Proctor and Hysterical Stars. They released the EP Leader and the Falcon in October of 2007, the same month that they had a great showing at the CMJ Music Marathon. Expectations for their subsequent release were high.
Between 2005 and 2007 founding member Ben Armstrong (hear, hear!) and keyboardist Tyson Thurston left the band for other pursuits. Each contributed to Head of Femur’s newest release and remains part of the Head of Femur family. Colby Starck now attends to the bands percussive needs and Eathan Janney has transitioned perfectly on keys. As anyone who has witnessed will attest, their live show is not to be missed. They have been touring for the better part of two years with material that is featured on their Leader and the Falcon EP and their newest record Great Plains.
It is not that a revolving roster of musicians is new to Head of Femur. That has been the norm since the bands beginning. In fact that has been one of the defining characteristics of the band whose extended musical family numbers well over a dozen. Head of Femur has scaled down the magnitude of instrumentation with Great Plains. Some have said, “Head of Femur‘s Great Plains sheds the excessive glory of past efforts and focuses on immediate melodies.” But this line does not aptly describe the transition the band has undergone. The style and fashion that the band projects can at times be eccentric and schizophrenic, but that is not the monolith by which they should be defined.
To call their music excessive rebuts the very movement that their prior records sought to establish. As much as minimalist 3 piece rock bands have become standard fodder for music halls everywhere, Head of Femur has asserted their belief that composition and orchestration have a place as well. They have reduced their instrumentation, resulting in more manageable live shows, but do not think for a second that they have resigned only to what is immediate, forsaking their multitude of multi-phonic, multilayered, tempo driven textures.
Mike Elsener impressively sings lead on Jetway Junior and Where’s the Fire, two of his best vocal tracks ever. Covered Wagons is one of the finest crafted songs of the season. Between it and Isn’t It a Shame, Head of Femur has definitively asserted themselves as serious song writers. Their oddness does not corrupt their talent. The narrative that the band presents in their music reflects their adventures from Omaha and Lincoln Nebraska, to the neighborhoods of Chicago, where they are not simply transplants, but are ingrained into the art and music scenes.
This Message reminds me of Chicago and my Midwestern experience. The track will never get old and is among the best they have ever written. While it doesn’t quite capture the intensity of their live show, the looped riff from Napoleon’s Boots is phenomenal. Elsener’s chops are appropriately featured on this record. Song after song presents a band that knows exactly how they want to sound; they are not confused about the aesthetic they emit. However, they seem to be unaware of their greatness. If a criticism could be leveled against them, it would be that they should tour ceaselessly. Head of Femur‘s music is endearing and crisp on record, but their music is infectious and consuming live. Come see Brooklyn bitches!
Other Music
Ringodom or Proctor- 2003
Do The Tavern and Other Tall Tales iTunes EP- 2005
Hysterical Stars-2005
Leader and the Falcon EP- 2007
On Tour
April 11th 8:00PM @ Shubas- Chicago
May 15th 10:15PM @ Uptown- Minneapolis, Minnesota
May 17th 8:00PM @ Busted Lift- Dubuque, Iowa
May 18th 6:00PM @ Iowa City Yacht Club- Iowa City, Iowa
May 19th 10:00PM @ Box Awesome- Lincoln, Nebraska
May 20th 11:00PM @ The Waiting Room- Omaha, Nebraska
Born Ruffians
Red Yellow & Blue
March 4th 2008
Warp Records
This Toronto trio has finally released a full length. While they receive relatively little press, Born Ruffians deserve volumes. Red Yellow & Blue has a lot of the same charm as their intensely hip 2006 self-titled debut EP, even if it is less quirky and more refined. Not to say these guys take themselves too seriously. Quite the opposite is true. The glossed nature of Red Yellow & Blue comes completely from production quality. If their self-titled is The Velvet Underground & Nico, then Red Yellow & Blue is Transformer.
Guitarist and singer Luke Lolonde has an obsession with quaint and extended utterances like “whoa,” “oh,” and “ho!” There is hardly a song that neglects this tendency. At points the extended vowels seem not to be much more than vocal gymnastics aimed at annoying the unfamiliar ear, but these persistent melodiums give Born Ruffians a stylistic distinction that lacks in so much of today’s up-and-comers. Lolonde’s high pitched croon solicits a knee-jerk compulsion to move to the groove of the motha fuckin’ music. He unassumingly plays his guitar like a drum. Rather than play separate and complimentary parts, the drum, bass, and guitar combine into a focused and purposeful beat, all telling the listener to do the same thing. Dance bitch!
Red Yellow & Blue is long enough to include a few soft songs like Little Garçon played to the melody of a French squeeze box and harmonica. The slower, more subtle tracks of the record give it more variety than the blanket high energy of their 2006 release. The only real mistake of the record was the needless reworking of Hedonistic Me, which is the only song harvested from their debut EP. The original was grittier and comparatively raw, but its newest incarnation does not improve it. So why reuse it?
Born Ruffians are fun, creative, and original. They are wholly representative of our generation and yet they are entirely unepic. Red Yellow & Blue may not be quite as delicious as their first EP, but it definitely doesn’t disappoint. Born Ruffians are a great band and have as much of my attention as their ADHD brains can handle. When they return to New York City I promise they will be greeted enthusiastically by the masses. These guys are good and you should listen to them- even when you aren’t drunk.
Shows
Mar 14th 11:00PM @ SXSW- Austin, Texas
Mar 15th 9:00PM @ Hailey’s- Denton, Texas
Mar 17th 9:00PM @ Rhythm Room- Pheonix, Arizona
Mar 18th 9:00PM @ Casbah- San Diego, California
Mar 19th 9:00PM @ Echo- Los Angeles, California
Mar 20th 9:00PM @ Bottom of the Hill- San Francisco, California
Mar 21st 9:00PM @ Holocene- Portland, Oregon
Mar 22nd 9:00PM @ High Dive- Seattle, Washington
Mar 25th 9:00PM @ Lucky Bar- Victoria, British Columbia
Mar 26th 9:00PM @ The Media Club- Vancouver, British Columbia
Mar 28th 9:00PM @ The Velvet Underground- Edmonton, Alberta
Mar 29th 9:00PM @ The Hi Fi Club- Calgary, Alberta
Mar 30th 9:00PM @ Amigo’s Cafe- Saskatoon, Saskatchewan
Mar 31st 9:00PM @ West End Cultural Centre- Winnipeg, Manitoba
Apr 1st 9:00PM @ 7th Street Entry- Minneapolis, Minnesota
Apr 2nd 9:00PM @ Empty Bottle- Chicago, Illinois
Apr 3rd 9:00PM @ Grog Shop- Cleveland, Ohio
Apr 4th 9:00PM @ Pike Room- Pontiac, Michigan
Apr 10th 9:00PM @ Casbah- Hamilton, Ontario
Apr 11th 9:00PM @ Ford Plant- Brantford, Ontario
Apr 12th 9:00PM @ Call the Office- London, Ontario
Apr 17th 9:00PM @ Zaphod’s- Ottawa, Ontario
Apr 18th 9:00PM @ Grad Club- Kingston, Ontario
Apr 19th 9:00PM @ Casa- Montreal, Quebec
Apr 24th 9:00PM @ Vinyl- Guelph, Ontario
Apr 26th 9:00PM @ Lee’s Palace- Toronto, Ontario
The National
Phosphorescent
Maps & Atlases
Eisner and Lubin Auditorium NYU
February 28th 2008
Let’s get the negatives out of the way, shall we?
1st- There was no beer. Now this might seem to be a point of rather small stature but given points 2 and 3, the omission of alcohol was severely detrimental to the entire experience.
2nd- Don’t let its name fool you, The Eisner and Lubin Auditorium is pretty much a high school gym. The sound was pretty awful. The show was only $8 so complaints are hard to make, however, them’s the facts folks.
3rd- I was surrounded by NYU students. This isn’t inherently a bad thing, but I felt as if I was attending a hipster-slut convention.
I entered the auditorium as Maps & Atlases began their set. Mustaches make for darling bands, do they not? These guys were very talented on the music making front. Their style is very similar to Unique Chique, utilizing elements of jazz guitar tone fused with progressive rock beats. In fact Maps & Atlases are a pretty standard example of Chicago indie rock. They even use vibraphones. If Tortoise, Sea & Cake, and Unique Chique are your thing I am absolutely positive that you’ll appreciate Maps & Atlases. The vocals of Dave Davison set them apart from other bands in their genre in that they are punchy. The vocals don’t necessarily play second chair to the jazzy, experimental music. The guitars are tapped instead of strummed so that the collective punch of the drums, bass, vibraphones, and vocals combine in a free-flowing percussive orchestration. All the instruments work in syncopation.
The three bands were very different from one another. Phosphorescent has a beautiful and soft quality laden with animistic lyrics and an American Gothic aesthetic. I would not be so familiar as to outline Matthew Houck’s influences except to say they certainly hail from the vicinity of southern folk. As mentioned to me by a friend, the band seemed stuck in a perpetual state of near collapse. Each musician was very concerned with what the other band members were playing. But this looseness did not detract from the performance. Houck’s vocals were a tremendous croon. He did not shy away from experimentation, looping his voice over with octaves of bellows and screams, a sure sign that he writes his music solo. In many ways I’d compare him to O’death minus the psychosis. He seems to be pleading not seething. Fair play Southern troubadour, fair play.
When The National took the stage, it was immediately apparent that this band had their shit together. First off it must be said that even as I compared Bryan Devendorf‘s drumming to Stephen Morris from Joy Division, experiencing the on stage presence of Matt Berninger was amazing. It was as if Ian Curtis never died, grew up, and mellowed out. The resemblance is pretty astounding, if not in looks than in spirit. When he wasn’t spittin’ his poems into the mic, he turned away from the audience and let the music consume him. His stage manner is conterminously intense and timid. Especially memorable was their performance of Mr. November. Watching this guy go ape-shit was a treat. When I watch a gorilla looking metal fuck scream and wince it has no more appeal than a cow fart. When a rail thin, contemplative type, hugs him self so hard that he bellows out his sweet, sweet words, I am simply moved.
These guys definitely knew what they were doing. I got the sense that they have been around for a while. In contrast to Phosphorescent, they commanded their instruments with exactitude. Every note was hit with deliberation. Fake Empire was ridiculous. They made us certain that after our trite experience as 20 somethings, we can definitely look forward to a period of disgruntled 30 somethingness. In short through no fault of their own they made the bourgeois problems of the disaffected youth look pretty pathetic. What does a 21 year old really have to say about life? Sigh…
Band members Matt Focht, Mike Elsener, Eathan Janney, Colby Starck, and Nick “The Chancellor” Westra have decided to release their long anticipated third record at the end of March, just in time for my birthday. Great Plains is the product of a new ethos developed by the band. While still maintaining their signature style, Head of Femur have challenged themselves to delve deeper into their collective being to make a record that has all the musicality and pop-art sensibility of their former incarnations, each member putting forth more of themselves to achieve with ten hands what was once attempted by forty.
This in no way means that I expect Great Plains to sound like previous albums. I do expect Head of Femur to be forward thinking in their effort. That being said, Head of Femur does represent something. They have a deliberate weirdness, an innate sense of melody, and they stay ahead of the curve that independent music tends to follow. Their new material may be “striped down” but not in the sense that it has been derogatively reduced. Indeed I would describe the move as a refinement process. So go to Schubas people! I can’t wait to review the record and wish I could be there for the show…
The Fiery Furnaces
Widow City
October 9th 2007
Thrill Jockey
Every song on The Fiery Furnaces newest album Widow City is comprised of 45 second snippets of 15 other unpublished Fiery Furnace songs written while flipping between The History Channel and Oxygen. Widow City is a postmodern theater orchestration that can be tedious and exhausting to absorb. Even after the 5th play the record still refuses to present itself as a decent, listenable work. Just when every music loving bone in your body demands that you scrub your hard-drive, smash the disc, and write your senator emphatically instructing her to introduce legislation that would severely damage the First Amendment for all things objectionable and offensive, Widow City suddenly produces what appears to be an amazing 70’s era rock track. It is complex and groovy, imaginative and original, until Eleanor Friedberger switches gears and dribbles out a trite monologue about fuck all, which is then followed by a medley of creative malformations punctuated by boring drum solos.
The Fiery Furnaces want a restorative beer to take their mind off their tears. How great is that…a restorative beer…for their tears. I am reminded of late night channel surfing…while listening to Pippen. Other bands such as The Renfields have a similar style, but succeed where Widow City does not. It is not a matter of accessibility, but rather a matter of sensibility. The Friedbergers have in the past done their work well, but this record is an experiment gone awry. This is not to say that the actual music composed for Widow City isn’t excellent. The parts in themselves are compelling and truly solid. It is when they are assembled that one contemplates murder in the first degree. Philadelphia Grand Jury is a great track and Duplexes of the Dead follows suit. They aren’t exactly cohesive, but at least they function. It is with Automatic Husband that Widow City descends into furthest depths of schizophrenia, occasionally resurfacing for air, but then leading the listener deeper into futility. In short, the abilities of this outfit are to be commended, but the near complete lack of message or purpose in Widow City makes me regret making the purchase.
Immovable Objects “hoping it stays just this broken”
September 25th 2007
Hawnyawk Records
After listening to this record over and over again, I have concluded Immovable Objects has committed musical acts of nearly if not completely perfect proportions. It would be a shame if Matt Gagin, the orchestrator and creative force behind Immovable Objects, peaked in his career after only his first track off a debut record, “hoping it stays just this broken.” But these are the risks one takes when one decides to open strong instead of saving the best for last. Beginning with an ideal accumulation of pleasing bell beats, Raindrops in Morning Traffic introduces Gagin as an upstart who is certainly destined for greatness. In the most respectful way possible, I feel this song is directly related to Yes’ gorgeous song Soon. There is no mistaking the similarity in the beautiful vocal sensitivities of Jon Anderson and the female vocal arrangement that bursts through, fashioned with metallic and washed out guitars. The song builds upon itself with an excruciating sadness tempered with sober contemplation, resulting in one of the most artful and attentive constructions I have ever heard.
Fortunately Immovable Objects continues the record with a series of intricate shoegazing songs that legitimize the boundless nature of the first track, substantiating the extent to which Gagin has developed not only his writing abilities, but also how he conceives his music in relation to the songs themselves. While he has said that he never meant to write this record, it was indeed Gagin’s ability to delineate a very cohesive and complimentary set of songs from what might have otherwise been an unassociated and incongruent heap of shoe-goo trash that allowed “hoping it stays just this broken” to be presented with such confidence.
Like the slightly uneasy experimentation of various Icelandic bands or Canadian post-rockers, Immovable Objects utilizes dynamic and textured melodies juxtaposed with noises that ascend the tonal scale, heightening the tension and increasing the ultimate payoff when they are finally released in a wall of beautiful sound. It also seems that Mr. Gagin has learned a few lessons from My Bloody Valentine. The prime importance of atmospherics is shared by these two bands, along with other environmental disciples such as Chicago’s Airiel. The drum sequencing throughout the record is sharp and never incompetent or excessively demanding. I would suggest Immovable Objects contact Jimmy LaValle and schedule a tour or collaboration, because while Gagin’s work is not identical by any measure, he would interface extremely well with The Album Leaf.
Gagin is said to have perfect pitch and a knack for an unmentionable number of instruments. While this may be true, it is certainly not central to the thesis developed by “hoping it stays just this broken.” Gagin was injured as a child resulting in an abnormal yet formative ability to recognize pitches produced by household vacuums. While this is a skill that has its advantages in identifying a physicality or structure in music already made, it does not necessarily contribute to an artist’s ability to hear or internalize the sounds that ought to be made. Who knows what relationship Gagin’s perfect pitch has to his vision for Immovable Objects, but I would say that his heightened perception is not the sole secret to his success. This attribute originates from a creative center and is expressive rather than impressive.
I am very pleased with “hoping it stays just this broken.” It shows that the music’s creator not only knows how to execute his design, but also how to enlist contributors to provide a denser flesh and a thicker blood to his vision, intended or not. When Gagin arrives in New York, I will certainly attend his show to see how his music translates from plastic to staged passion. Successful or not, Immovable Objects is an unrelenting testament to the importance and relevance of individual creativity. I anticipate that Immovable Objects will have much more to contribute. I for one encourage others to pay attention.
This year I had three days in my schedule to attend College Music Journal’s annual marathon of music that takes place all across New York City. Over a thousand bands played over 200 venues over the past week. This does not even count the hundreds of unofficial CMJ events featuring a myriad of other shows. As a former server in New York’s late night Meatpacking District, I have come to value my nights and weekends. Now that I have a right and proper day job, I could see three nights of shows in a row. This is unheard of people.
It would have been great to have had the CMJ pass so that I could wander from venue to venue seeing only the bands I personally chose. However, I did not and was left to spectacles that only chance would provide. Sometimes, when I go to shows, I catch the rare opening act that blows my mind, or at least provokes me to think about buying their next EP. Other times I shake my head and wonder what possessed me to show up early yet again. This year at CMJ there was plenty of both scenarios. Over-all it was a great experience. I not only saw some of my favorite bands, but I also got the opportunity to introduce them to others as well. I wasn’t the least bit afraid that I had over hyped them, and they did not disappoint. The following reviews are from my notes, diligently taken over three nights and over many, many beers.
I walked into this PA fellow’s set just as it began. I was happy both to be able to see Eagle Seagull in an extra small venue and to drink free beer, but hearing Peasant, aka Damien Derose, turned out to be another pleasant reason to visit the Indaba loft for CMJ. When we entered the unassuming space, the listeners were quiet and contemplative, listening to his melodic ballads. I learned that he is signed to Paper Garden Records and that he is releasing an album called On the Ground in 2008, which I am eager to hear as soon as possible.
I received a sample of Peasant‘s work from his label and I was very impressed with the recording. His live performance was wrought with delicate and beautiful sunbursts and his demeanor was without pretension or guile. He was simple and deliberate, open but not protracted. I hope to see him again for a longer and more generous display.
7/9
Eagle Seagull
By the time Eagle Seagull took to the small makeshift stage, I noticed the temperature in the loft. The heat was beginning to make me uncomfortable. I was unsure as to how Eagle Seagull was going to proceed. It would be hard to dance in a sauna. I pumped some brew from the keg for my fiancée and myself, but it did not seem to cool my sweat factories. The crowd gathered as the band opened their set, bobbing their heads up and down, clearly interested in the music condensing on their skin with waves of heat and perspiration. One gentleman, seated on a couch in front, stood up and said to another seated next to him, “Man these guys are good.” The second man replied from somewhere in the bottom of his belly, “Uh huh!”
Kids leaning against the walls panted like cocker spaniels in the summer heat. The band played what I image to have been an excruciating set. For their part, they did not let the heat impair the music too severely, although I was afraid Austin was going to collapse at one point. Movement was an unappealing concept. Dancing was a meditation on heat stroke survival. But I danced and I sweated. I soaked myself head to toe at this sticky, steamy show. Perhaps if everyone in the joint danced like maniacs it would have been a better experience. Collective masochism could be cool.
I was especially excited to see the Chicago Showcase this year at CMJ. After all, in the recent past I have lived on both sides of our beloved Windy City. As usual, I arrived to Arlene’s a little early so I grabbed some prosciutto and mussels at a nearby bistro. After dinner I walked into Arlene’s not knowing what to expect. I had never been to the grocery store turned venue before. The bar is cut into two halves, a straight bar and a venue, both of which have a grim aesthetic of dingy neon. By the time my beer was in hand, Tom Schraeder was set to play.
I had heard some positive things about them in response to my promotion of the CMJ Chicago Showcase. One reader wrote, “Tom Schraeder & His Ego are a treat – like Ryan Adams and Gram Parsons, but with some Neil Young grit. I’d be there if I were in NY.” Truth be told, I do not really agree with this assessment. Ryan Adams is in no way represented in this band. If you have an alt-country act, or as I might label, alt honky-tonk, you can’t just compare them with names out of the air and hope they stick. I appreciate the sentiment though. This guy writes heart wrenching songs about love. But the grit involved isn’t a la Neil Young, it is a la Uncle Jesse Duke. But again I appreciate the sentiment- Tom’s Ego is not as clean as Gram Parsons.
Tom Shraeder’s live act was not the most dynamic show of the week. The band’s timing was very loose. At times the drums and melody seemed derailed and out of sync, and the songs were not very well defined from another. There were some Dylan-like moments, but it is an overall failed comparison. It should be said however, that there were aspects of the music that were excellent. One song grooved with strings, while the guitars became introverted and submissive, revealing a much more resplendent potential. The organ sounds projected them into entirely different territory. For five seconds their sound was related to Murder by Death, and it was awesome. Unfortunately the more subtle aspects of Tom and his Ego do not seem to be emphasized often. To my disappointment, the string section was certainly undervalued. Tom Shraeder & His Ego have demonstrated their talent. Now they need to trade in a bit of that steel for a tad more bow.
5/9
Unique Chique
This was a strange act to review. I think I liked them. Unique Chique concocted a mixture of jazzy elementals with high energy prog-rock. For the Chicagoans out there, they sounded like a more sing-song structured Tortoise. The vocalist had deep pockets of passion, standing among the more sincere performers at this year’s marathon. The problem is that I don’t think he liked his own band. It seemed obvious that this guy took this show very seriously, making the unpopulated room feel as if they weren’t good enough because of its lack of density. This aspect of their show split a hairline fracture through the band.
Unique Chique’s set was cut short, which is a shame because even if the music wasn’t the most amazing thing I had ever heard, they were fun to watch. Ernie the bassist looked to be a hyper-active Dungeons & Dragons playing, trench coat wearing, metal head. His skills were incredible and his awkward, stompish dance proved his commitment to the rhythm and roll of it all. The drummer reminded me of a skinny gold-town swindler whose nickname might be Ratsy or Barth. He had a slick skill with chiseled chops and a swanky style. The drum and bass section were quite the duo. Joe Starita’s lack of interaction with the rest of the musicians was simply odd. I might just have eaten a bad mussel, but the perceived tension definitely impaired the show.
6/9
Skybox
Unfortunately, at this point a few friends arrived and I began to fade in and out of a social coma. I did however catch most of Skybox. The last time I saw this band was at the Subterranean in Chicago. Back then they were dressed in brilliant white suits, projecting an eccentricity both musically and visually. At the showcase, they were comparatively dressed down. I almost didn’t recognize them in the earth-tone attire. But then I heard the music. Skybox has a very extroverted style. A friend turned to me and asked, “What would you call these guys.” I shrugged. In retrospect, vaudevillian berum-pum-pum tat-tat-tat comes to mind. This band is big, stout, and eager to slap your nose with a finger wiggling melodrama. They were off kilter and spastic, a little weird even. Dr. Suess might have had a hand in their warped sense of style. Thankfully Skybox flowed in full flavor.
7/9
Brighton MA
They took a while to set up and they played for what seemed like an eternity. It may have been the Jack Daniels talking but this band was no more than tedious hippie-rock. Return to social coma…
4/9
Head of Femur
Head of Femur came to New York with something to prove. How can a band known for having a multitude of multi-phonic, multilayered, tempo driven textures recombine itself into a rawer, more fundamental creature? Are we witnessing the replication of peacock DNA into that of a sparrow? I am not here to provide an account of Head of Femur’s origins, lore, and exploits, rather I have simply been charged to review their show at this year’s CMJ music marathon. Truth be told I have seen these guys far more as a 5 piece than as a 15 piece band. So hearing songs performed that might otherwise have been adorned with nine part orchestration is not entirely new.
An important item to remember while we contemplate our pleasure or displeasure is how the metamorphosis has imbued or slandered what we have come to know and cherish. Not only this but we must remember that Head of Femur has released a new EP and is set to release a new record in 2008. The very identity of Head of Femur is under review. I am not only speaking of the band mates themselves, but additionally to their ability to successfully negotiate such foundational change. Their appearance at Arlene’s Grocery displayed a band with a renewed sense of enthusiasm and confidence. Make no mistake, Head of Femur know what the fuck they are doing.
The show began with an introduction by a well spoken poet. I wonder if it is a Chicago tradition to be introduced by a poem. It reminded me of the many times I have seen Thax Douglas recite his words to puddles of second citizens. They were dressed to kill and had a decent crowd waiting as they ascended onto the stage. From the first note the energy was high and riddled with intention. A crowd of Neural Scientists dancing in the front row raved about how dreamy the band looked. Even my own fiancée was weak in the knees for this weird, weird band, especially as she said “the cute new keyboardist.”
The music was full, well written, and more alive than ever with hellacious hooks and melodies that did not come off as merely compensation for the inclusion of only four or five instruments. Rather older songs were reconceptualized within a new paradigm and new tunes defined the structure, the style, and the future of that paradigm. Head of Femur are no strangers to change. These kids have reshaped themselves many times, each instance renewing their commitment to all things beautiful and entertaining about obscurity.
Nick Westra’s charm and nonchalance while playing bass wooed the ladies as Colby Starck’s drumming emitted a sexual charisma unrivaled by even the most experienced of Kama Sutra practitioners. Matt Focht and Mike Elsener kept the front of the stage moving as they introduced new tunes to eager ears. Head of Femur is on the move people, and you all need to get with it and give these guys the attention they deserve.
I have chosen these three venues and evenings to check out what CMJ has to offer. I’ll be seeing three of my favorite acts along with many others. Click on dates for reviews of the shows.
Mercury Lounge NYC
217 E. Houston St, New York, NY
(corner Ave A & Houston)
(212) 260–4700
Rock And Roll 7:00
The Rosewood Thieves 8:00
The Airborne Toxic Event 9:00 Eagle Seagull10:00
The Little Ones 11:00
Robbers on High Street 12:00
Eskimo Joe 1: 00
RWIM Chicago Showcase Tom Schraeder & His Ego 7:30
Unique Chique 8:15 Skybox 9:00
Brighton, MA 09:45 Head Of Femur 10:45
Catfish Haven 11:45
Hollywood Holt 12:45
