It’s really hard to write this right now because it sounds like someone in my building is loudly producing a bad chillwave record. It normally wouldn’t be so distracting, but their contribution to the genre is breaking up the meditative, astral groove with a tom tom drop every 15 seconds or so that sounds like a fat baby tumbling down a flight of stairs. Plus it sounds like all of the vocals are being run through that Queen-style flange filter. So, if I go wild recommending Memory Tapes and Saint Pepsi shows this week, you’ll know why… [Read more…]
5) !!! at Union Pool
While dance punk faded as fast you’d expect something called dance punk to fade, a few solid bands survived the fallout, including !!! (pronounced Chk Chk Chk), who recently announced an impromptu four-night stand at Union Pool. Saturday marks the close of that run, and is a must-see for any music fan reared on print Spin’s psychotically grinning post-08 optimism, but Union Pool’s back room (still a source of confusion for the ultra-faded masses, I think) offers the additional cache with good sound, a cool setting, and an intimate cap. If you got sold out of Future Islands, here’s your backup plan.
Saturday, doors at 9pm
5) Daylight, Ratking, Young Male, and More at Europa Club
Featuring pop punk, art-rap, and DIY techno, this Saturday night highlight at Europa Club—which, contrary to rumors, is still alive and well—is one of the most diverse bills of the weekend, and that’s before we even get to the laundry list of local DJs/party purveyors who will be spinning tracks between sets. And although the scene is sure to be a fucking hipster Golden Corral, that shouldn’t stop you from checking it out. This is North Brooklyn, after all, you better be used to it by now.
Saturday, doors at 8pm
As anyone who has ever seen High on Fire live can attest, it’s a vaguely religious, albeit thoroughly pagan, experience; a medulla oblongata-snapping, Dio-horn dotted 90-plus-minute almsgiving to anti-lord and semi-savior Matt Pike, whose ageless (and shirtless) Les Paul rippage has earned the Bay Area thrashers their righteous legion of sweat-and-beer slicked apostles and the in-awe reverence of metal nerds the scorched earth over.