Illustration: Jess Kessler Cavaluzzi; Photograph: Ken Grand-Pierre
As my time in college came to a close, I realized it was time to wrap up my final letter to the fangirl, to myself. This letter is, in part, a eulogy to the younger me who valued herself primarily as reflections and projections of gendered stereotypes penned by straight, white boy rockers. Moreover, this letter is a vow to other fangirls: I promise to do my best to shape a world that values and empowers you for who you are.
As the first musical phrase issued from Lo-Fang’s aureate vocal cords, the intimate crowd at Le Pop-Up du Label audibly sighed. The small stage was set with a cello, violin, electric guitar, and some sort of small keyboard/pre-programmed Electric Drum Kit, most of which we couldn’t see because the stage was not elevated in relation to the crowd. I’d heard in passing that Lo-Fang was classically trained, so I was expecting the above setup; however, I did not expect that it would be just a duo – not a full band.
Blonde Redhead is playing a sold out show this Tuesday, December 2 at Music Hall of Williamsburg, and we’ll be giving away a pair of tickets! Just enter below and we will notify a lucky (random) winner by Monday, December 1.
The death instinct and the erotic are constantly battling it out in your head. More specifically, in your subconscious. Though this theory stems from Freud (who is obviously a point of contention for feminists), there is truth to this fight between Thanatos (death) and Eros (love) in our subconscious psyche. Foster The People’s show this Friday at Union Palace Theatre – one of the most beautiful, ornate, venues in the city – fortuitously demonstrated these opposing forces.
“I think every woman is a Goddess,” declared BANKS in her dulcet voice, informing the New York crowd at Terminal 5. Her speaking voice may be soft and lofty, but it is sure; she commands the room without having to ask for attention. From the second she strutted on stage with that clomping runway gait, dressed in sensual business attire and her cape-blazer (like a true heroine), the crowd was all hers. The way she undulated, rolled her wrists, whipped her hands, and grasped her empty fists had us all spellbound; her every motion full of emotion-laden, aggressive poise.
Glass Animals’ music is almost impossible to describe; it’s not necessarily any one genre. One concertgoer related their sound to Alt-J…which sort of works. If I were to give it a go, I’d say their music is like if Alt Rock decided it wanted to kick it for a day and chill out in the jungle with just socks on. Eat peanut butter. Speak jungle slang. That sort of thing. It’s so critical that Glass Animals have a strong vision because otherwise, their music would just be bypassed as experimental college music. Though I may not grasp their entire concept, the vibrancy of their vision is definitely leading me somewhere I’m willing to go.
It was a dark and stormy night when Meg Myers rolled into Brooklyn to perform at Music Hall of Williamsburg this past Wednesday (opening for New Zealand trio Broods.) There’s a theory that musicians are performers in everything they do, that their authenticity is always in question. However, with Meg Myers, you could see the music coursing through and out of her, feel her grainy screams straight to your core. I’ve never seen an artist embody their music more completely than the darkly talented Meg Myers.