WGTB » Emily Simpson

Did the Intern Show Up? Vol. 4: DJ Turn The Music Up

Igor — Sun, 15 Aug 2010 03:09:15 +0000

Dear KFN Resident DJs,

You used to scare the shit out of me, way back when I thought you were all the coolest dudes around. Rolling into the bar right around the time the headlining band would be wrapping up their set and preparing to clear off the stage with your cases of records and confident smiles, you had me convinced that your job more or less involved a) looking cool; b) giving lots of high fives; c) being excellent at partying; and d) the whole spinning records thing. So yeah, far be it from me, the lowly intern, to think I was rad enough to hang out with any of you.

Then, of course, I actually got to know you. Ha. Now I’m going to introduce you to everyone else, at least as well as I can given the limitations of the internet (and my vocabulary, because wow, all eloquence seemed to go out the window with the rest of my dignity on the El ride home last night). Just kidding about that last bit. Hi, Mom.

Anyway! The easiest way to organize this post is probably by day of the week, which means that Thursday’s Night Train duo, Ian St. Laurent and Dennis Wolf.fang, are up first. Night Train starts at 11:00 on the dot (give or take) every week, usually drawing a ridiculous amount of people to come party and dance to the fusion of soul/electro/rock music that these guys have become known for. But the thing that stands out most about Dennis and Ian is that they’re soulmates of some kind or another if I’ve ever seen any – nearly perfect complements to each other. Right now they’ve even got the dark-light bit going, Dennis sporting some kind of blond and Ian with his signature black. Watching them spin together, that connection is subtle but palpable, and it’s part of what makes Night Train work so well. They’re an absolute blast and really sweet, the kind of people who will meet you once back in April and still remember your name three months later.

Fridays we play host to Robotique, a dance party of the disco variety brought to you by two dudes named Billy W and Ryan T. First of all: sweetest guys ever. Huge music nerds, really passionate about what they do, always talking about the latest awesome vinyl find. Lately they’ve been hosting a lot of guest DJs, local and touring alike, to supplement their sets. Best news, even? THEY JUST HAD A BARBECUE, AND IT WAS AWESOME. With no show, we started two hours early and just ate outside on the patio. Probably one of the more chill events the bar has seen lately, all the product of Billy and Ryan being awesome and knowing good people. Robotique: spinning disco magic and grilling surprisingly edible food right here in Philadelphia. Check it.

Saturdays at KFN work on a rotation-type schedule. First Saturdays, the England Belongs To Twee DJs spin a bunch of stuff called “oi,” which is a mixture of old-school English punk and rock. Unfortunately, that’s about all I can tell you guys, as I haven’t had the opportunity to meet them personally. Second Saturdays Broadzilla rolls through with DJs KT, Thom & James behind the wheel(s). You can download their fantastic mix of Hipster Trainwreck Anthems here to get a rough idea of what they sound like live. Apparently, as they get progressively drunker throughout the evening, they break out the Gwen Stefani more and more frequently. The thought of three grown men (I may have giggled a little bit while typing that out) breaking it down to No Doubt should really be enough to make you want to check these DJzillas out in person. Third Saturdays we have Drumsong, hosted by the awesome-but-yet-to-be-encountered-in-person Sean Thomas. Sean has been an excellent Facebook friend thus far, however, providing me not only with information so I can properly promote his event, but with fun Steven-banter as well. A++++. And…that’s about it, actually. There couldn’t possibly be anything important that I’ve forgotten.

Oh hush, Shawn Ryan, you know I’m just kidding. I needed a paragraph break anyway. Months are rounded out by the 80s dance party known as Steppin Out, hosted by the aforementioned Shawn and the guy whose picture is next to the word “cool” in the dictionary – Dirty – on fourth Saturdays. There’s a rumor that this party numbers among the more successful ones at KFN, a rumor which I refuse to believe based solely on the fact that their most recent promotion technique was using Rick Astley. Every time I saw a poster, or handed out a flyer, or made the mistake of glancing at the Facebook event, it was like being Rickrolled. Granted, that song never actually assaulted the ears of anyone present, but having it stuck in my head for about a month was something akin to torture. This is the kind of stuff I have to put up with. Sympathy cards can be mailed to my Philadelphia address, thanks.

No but seriously, the DJs are a huge part of what makes Kung Fu Necktie the incredible place that it is. These guys and gals are all stupidly talented (or “stupid AND talented,” as my friend DEL so lovingly pointed out), all genuinely care about the Philadelphia art scene, all work hard to make sure that people have a good time and that the community benefits as well. I don’t really know what else to even add at this point. I feel like I always just end up gushing about people here – it’s embarrassing.

And on that note, I’m going to head out and go watch some of these guys spin. It seems crazy, but that never gets old.

Go figure,

The Intern

Review: Tokyo Police Club, Champ

Igor — Mon, 26 Jul 2010 04:27:02 +0000

Tokyo Police ClubChamp7 stoplight dance sessions out of 10 stoplight dance sessions

Tokyo Police Club has long been a go-to band for my mix CD addiction, which reached its peak during the years of high school that I had my own car and was forced to listen to the insufferable local radio if I wasn’t proactive about it. Historically, their music has made me want to dance. And yeah, maybe sing a long a little bit too. Loudly. So what I’m saying here is that I used to look like an insane person freaking out to this band in my car.

That part of me is a little bummed that their latest release, Champ, has a more toned down sound. The other part – the part that appreciates when bands evolve for the better – is actually pretty excited. Where the percussion usually drove their tracks before, the band now relies more on guitar and vocals. You can actually hear and understand singer/bassist Dave Monks on this album. And did you know there’s a keyboardist in this band? Yeah, I didn’t either. But you can now hear him as well, especially on tracks like “Bambi.” Check out the synth, too. It’s crazy.

Lyrically, Champ is an incredibly introspective album – likely the result of the two years it took Tokyo Police Club to write and produce it. Where once their songs focused almost exclusively on dating and “kid stuff” (come on, they were young!), they have now expanded to cover topics like growing old, leaving home, dealing with changing relationships, and the fear of missing out on life. Take the track “End of a Spark,” for example – when he put you to bed, / your great-grandfather always said / “Wasting is an art.” / Well, it’s a good thing I was young then. Guys, you’re still young – but I appreciate your point anyway.

This isn’t the rag-tag group of guys in their early 20s that made a splash on the blog scene almost five years ago. Meet the older, more thoughtful Tokyo Police Club. I might not be able to thrash around in my car while singing along with Champ, but I’ll definitely keep listening.
– Emily Simpson

Did The Intern Show Up? Vol. 3: They Like Me, They Really Like Me!

Igor — Thu, 08 Jul 2010 03:45:15 +0000

Yo man, I’m stoked to tell you about this jawn I’ve been thinking about all week for the column. It’ll be so punk that nothing will be able to bum you out for the rest of the day. Did you understand that? Yes? Good. That means you’ve been paying attention. If you haven’t, first know that I’m glaring at you right now. Then click on my name at the bottom of this entry and go educate yourself. This is invaluable knowledge I’m providing right here. Take advantage of it, love it, learn it. Say “thank you” in the comment section to stroke my ego.

Now that I’m done being obnoxious (because seriously, what fun is having your own column if you can’t take advantage of it every now and then?), I feel like it might be time to explore the strange dynamics of affection within an environment like Kung Fu Necktie. Keep in mind, before we begin, that the entire staff – with the exception of maybe two bartenders, oh, and me – is of the male variety. Unsurprisingly, this results in a lot of name-calling, teasing, waving around of rude hand gestures, etc. Think pulling each other’s pigtails, except…well. None of them have pigtails. Although now I can’t stop picturing Steven and Jamie with pigtails, so I’m sitting in this coffee shop laughing alone at my computer screen like a complete asshole. THANKS GUYS. I’m gonna go Photoshop that later.

That part of things was pretty easy to figure out, as it’s more or less spelled out in the dude manual or wherever the collection of appropriate male-male interactions is outlined. What’s been a little more challenging to discern are the dynamics of affection between the guys and myself, and I think that’s true for both sides. We’re now almost three weeks into the summer though, the semi-but-not-too-awkward tension of introducing a new presence into an established group fading quickly, and I think I’ve started to figure it out. So now, I would like to proudly present to you, my loyal (or maybe not-so-loyal) readers, a series of moments collectively titled “How I Know That People at KFN Don’t Hate Me.” I know, I think it’s a pretty great title, too. Remember, save your praise for the comments.

Jamie is pretty upfront about what he thinks about everything, so he’s the easiest one to start with. The day after we met, I sent him an e-mail with my phone number attached in case he ever needed extra help running shows at some of the other venues that R5 books. His response included his own phone number as well as this gem of a sentence: “It’s good that you’re not a know-it-all moron like Steven’s last intern.” Then the next time we hung out he tried to convince me that death match wrestling is the greatest sport on the planet. That’s about the equivalent of twenty gold stars in the Jamie Getz book of life.

Now I already knew that Steven liked me because he’s got some control issues (not a bad thing in this line of work, to be honest), and his allowing me to do certain things is like hanging up a flashing neon sign proclaiming approval. So that’s cool. But hey, remember the part of the last column when I admitted up-front to being a huge Facebook creep and said that it would feature prominently in this column? Yep. More screen-caps! I’m going to let this one speak for itself. Just know that when I saw it for the first time I caught myself wanting to say “Awww,” out loud. Ridiculous.

Brenden I haven’t mentioned before, but he works doors at the bar pretty frequently in addition to the management work he does for local band The Midnight Sounds (see how much advertising I do for these people? It never ends). Part of what makes him awesome is that he just doesn’t really give a shit. He knows how to do his job and do it well, so he doesn’t take crap from anyone. It was honestly a little nerve-wracking for me to hang around him at first, since I couldn’t tell if I was being interested or just plain annoying, but now I’ve decided that I don’t really give a shit either. Somehow it works. I knew I had made it into Brenden’s good graces after I helped him run the Disappears/Woven Bones/Far-Out Fangtooth show and when he came to the bar to say goodnight to the guys, he slipped me some cash and asked if I was going to be okay getting home by myself. I mean, he followed it up by flipping me off on the way out, but still. It was almost as exciting as earning a Girl Scout badge.

There are countless other examples, some more subtle and some more obvious. Like the way that Chicken feels comfortable joking around with me, whether to make fun of Steven or otherwise. Or the way that Dennis (aka Wolf.fang, one of the resident Night Train DJs) remembered me from a brief visit back in April and just smiled at me when I went to introduce myself a second time in case he had forgotten. There’s Matt, who points me in the direction of cool things to do in West Philly and asks about my continually failed search for gainful employment as if it’s a genuinely interesting topic of conversation. Bill lets me hang out behind the bar and occasionally grab beers for people, on the off chance that I might want to pick up a shift at some point in the future. Bob puts up with me getting to the bar absurdly early and chatting about everything from old kung fu movies to snowstorms, gives me dirt on my boss, and the other night even hugged me before I left to go home.

It’s the little things, really. And what makes it even cooler is that at first glance, I should have nothing in common with any of these people. Most of them are significantly older than I am, have been around the world and back, have known each other for ages. Here I am, a rising sophomore at a university in a different city, brand-new to Philadelphia and to the industry, still figuring out what I want – thrown into a life I never knew I could want or be successful in. These guys have all made it possible, whether they know it or not.

Seriously, if they do end up reading this they’re probably pissing their pants with laughter right now over how much of a sap I’m being. So I’m done now. Being sappy, at least. Tomorrow I’ll go into work and tease Steven for watching dumb YouTube videos instead of clearing out his inbox. I’ll watch Jamie’s band perform later in the week and take pictures, only to e-mail them later on with a lengthy description of how he is the least photogenic person in the universe. When Brenden mentions his garden, I’ll coo about how he’ll make a lovely wife someday. Bob will roll his eyes and toss rags at me when I sneak behind the bar, and everything will be right with the world. We’ll all get it.

Eagerly anticipating the multitude of ego boosting comments,

The Intern

Did The Intern Show Up? Vol. 2: Lingo.

Igor — Thu, 01 Jul 2010 04:04:29 +0000

Today’s post is brought to you courtesy of 75-degree days and homeless foot fetishists trying to convince me to take my shoes off in Clark Park (West Philly, I love you so much). Steven’s response to the text message I sent about that? “You should have asked him for $$$$$$!” My boss, ladies and gentlemen. Encouraging park prostitution since 2010. All of this is true.

So let’s talk for a second about how I now sound like every other middle-aged punk and skate kid in the city of Philadelphia. The first week here, I had no idea what anyone was talking about roughly 60% of the time. There would just be these words, and people would say them to each other and nod like they made complete sense while I sat in the corner with what I’m sure was a really attractive confused look on my face. Yes, of course, I understand what you’re saying. Except for the part where I don’t, not at all.

Steven finally noticed that one day when he did his whole pointing vaguely and asking me to do whatever thing and I just looked at him. He took pity on me and tried to break down the lingo so that I could a) understand what people were saying and b) actually respond without sounding like an idiot. Here’s what I learned:

jawn – functions kind of like the word “widget,” used to refer to a random thing; can also be used to refer to a girl; i.e. Can you get me that jawn over there? or Damn, look at the jawn in the purple cut-offs.
punk – used to refer to anything cool or widely accepted as being awesome; i.e. Fishtown Pizza delivers for free? That’s punk. or Ticket surcharges are so not punk.
hoagie – what people in Philly call their sandwiches
bummed out – frequently used to express disappointment, sadness, mild anger, or frustration; i.e. Man, Chicken would be so bummed out if he saw this.
yo – always an acceptable form of greeting or way of grabbing someone’s attention
stoked – really excited; i.e. I’m so stoked for the Post Post show in August! That band is rad.
man – the regional replacement for the word “dude,” which people will make fun of you for using

If you go visit KFN’s Twitter or Facebook pages (it’s my JOB to promote, okay?), you will see these phrases in constant use. As much as it pains me to admit it, they are being used constantly by me, and now I can’t seem to stop. They’re slowly creeping into other areas of my life – my text messages, my e-mails, my wall-to-walls – so be forewarned. I will probably use them in everyday conversation and you will probably be confused. Or annoyed. Or maybe both? And if you express those feelings of confusion or annoyance, I will probably grin sheepishly and point you again in the direction of this post. Blame the people of Philadelphia. Blame the punk kids. Blame the fact that I work in a bar with all dudes, all the time. If I start using excessive exclamation points, however, please for the love of all things, Radio, come and smack me in the face because I will deserve it.

On a different note, I would also like to take a moment and explain the not very long or interesting but mildly amusing story behind the title/header of this column. The other night, I decided to take the rare luxury of staying home and not going to the bar to stand around awkwardly for hours doing random menial tasks while a band with far too many amps to be legally played. So of course, I spent my time lurking on the Internet (read: Facebook). Matt, my favorite sound tech genius, uploaded a picture of the ridiculous set-up he had to attempt to do sound for (I think he eventually gave up and went outside to smoke). I went to check it out, blah blah blah, and lo and behold, I found the gem that was my boss commenting on the picture and screen-capped it because there really is no more perfect way to sum up my life/job here in Philadelphia. He still thinks it’s hilarious.

Moral of the story: if you say things on the Internet, they will end up as fodder for this column. The same holds true for real life, but I can’t really screen-cap that so it’s not as fun. Speaking of fun! It’s going to be awesome when the guys find out that I’m writing this column. I’m actually genuinely hoping that they all read it and take it as the twisted love letter that it is, a significantly less-than-Shakespearean ode to the family that opened its arms to me the second I stepped foot in the city of Philadelphia. Either that, or they’ll give me shit about it for months. I would be okay with both.

With affection, good humor, and a dying computer battery,

The Intern

Concert Review: Disappears, Woven Bones, Far-Out Fangtooth [Philly]

Caroline — Tue, 29 Jun 2010 15:10:56 +0000

Disappears w/ Woven Bones and Far-Out Fangtooth

Kung Fu Necktie (Philadelphia, PA)
June 17, 2010

by Emily Simpson

Okay, I’ll admit it. As much as I like my bearded bards of folk music and hipster heroes of indie rock, my heart will always more or less belong to the lo-fi garage rock scene. I live for the fuzzed-out noise, the relentless guitars, the almost impossible to understand vocals. If I could do nothing but go to crowded warehouse shows of this variety for the rest of my life, I would probably be the happiest person on the planet. Give me your unbearably tight black jeans, your whiskey drinkers, your crappy black hair dye.

Basically, give me shows like the one Chicago band Disappears played on June 17^th at Kung Fu Necktie, my venue drug of choice, with Austin trio Woven Bones and Philadelphia locals Far-Out Fangtooth. I wasn’t even planning to write this review, but I feel like it would be a public disservice not to after how incredible the night turned out to be. Turnout was modest, thanks to a Pissed Jeans concert around the corner and Game 7 of whatever everyone’s pretending to care about this week, but that didn’t seem to matter to the bands at all. Every. Single. One. KILLED. IT. See the excessive punctuation? See the capital letters? Yeah. That good. It’s really quite difficult to communicate just how much so without the frantic gestures I’m currently making at my computer. Use your imagination.

Far-Out Fangtooth is one of those bands that does garage with a hint of rockabilly, something that you might not initially notice by listening to their recordings on MySpace. Even the way the four of them were dressed highlighted their distinctive sound. One guitarist sported jet-black hair, a ripped jean jacket, tight jeans, black boots. The other wore a simple white shirt-blue jean combo and had the look of pre-fame Kings of Leon. Their female bassist was tiny and punkish, but also quite sweet, and spent most of the set sitting quietly off to the side. On drums was perhaps the most interestingly dressed guy of the bunch, wearing a shaman-poncho looking thing with complete normalcy. For their first show at KFN, Fangtooth were loud, confident, and unabashedly proud of what they were doing. Everyone noticed, too. Fun fact – they stuck around after the show for weekly resident DJ gig Night Train to spin a set, which they started out with Depeche Mode’s “Personal Jesus.” Yep.

Cue a quick set change to Woven Bones, a band with two permanent members (Andy and Matty) and an occasionally rotating drummer (for this tour, an awesome girl named Carolyn) based out of the SXSW hub of Texas. For three relatively diminutive individuals, they come together as a band onstage with some of the best and most intense garage rock I’ve heard in ages. Throughout their entire half-hour set, the people in the crowd were going crazy, head banging and awkward thrashing and everything. The sound was so great that even when I had to duck upstairs to handle some paperwork for settling after the show, I could hear it perfectly and continue to tap my own foot along to the beat. Afterward, I had a chance to hang out with singer/guitarist Andy, and the first thing he asked was if people seemed to enjoy themselves during their set. That’s easily the mark of an artist you want to keep an eye on, the ones who genuinely care about their craft and wonder if people are having fun or just blowing smoke up their ass.

Headlining band Disappears everyone already expected to be incredible, and I can say for sure that nobody was disappointed. Their sound is simultaneously erratic and controlled, all suppressed energy and raging guitar riffs tempered by echoing vocals. Again, they projected an incredible stage presence that I honestly would not have predicted from speaking with them both before and after the show. They’re an older band, mostly in their thirties, pretty reserved and genuinely nice people. It was fun to watch the transformation as they took the stage, picked up their instruments, and proceeded to blow the roof off KFN. I don’t really know how to add anything else. I keep wanting to return to the word “incredible,” which I’ve probably already used far too frequently in this review.

Whatever, though. That’s what this show was. It was incredible. It was as close to perfect as I’ve seen at the club so far. It was reverberations through my beer can and crappy amps and the smell of cigarette smoke drifting in from the back patio on a cool summer night. And I’m sorry to say it, but you’ll have to wait awhile before it happens again. The bands just passed through DC the night before, playing the backstage at the Black Cat while most people were probably upstairs staring at The Pains of Being Pure at Heart. Next time, though, put on some eyeliner, mess up your hair, and give me a call. We’re going, and it’s going to be awesome.

photo cred: (1) The Decibel Tolls, (2) The Singular Perspective, (3) Stereogum

Concert Review: This Will Destroy You, Light Pollution and Slow Six [Philly]

Caroline — Thu, 24 Jun 2010 10:13:43 +0000

(photo courtesy Music Underfire)

Concert Review: This Will Destroy You w/ Light Pollution and Slow Six
Kung Fu Necktie (Philadelphia, PA)
June 11, 2010

by Emily Simpson

I suppose I should begin this concert review with a disclaimer: I am currently an intern (whatever that means, even I’m not entirely sure yet) at the bar where this show took place. That means that I have exposure to all of the bands both before and after the show, that I get to deal with sound check and scheduling problems and cranky tour managers – the whole deal. Not that it should affect anything I write about the show, because it won’t. I just thought you all should know in the interest of fair and honest journalism and all that jazz.

Allow me to actually begin this review by saying a few words about the opening bands, who are each deserving of their own article of praise. First up was Brooklyn band Slow Six, a group of five guys with an obvious classical interest in music. There were two equal violinists onstage alongside a keyboardist, a drummer, and a guitarist. No vocals were necessary for the sweeping sounds of their own miniature orchestra, the songs themselves both lulling and engaging without being too overbearing or difficult to follow. At this point, I can’t say that there was much of a crowd to speak of, but those who were there found themselves unable to look away from the stage. Not showy at all, the members of Slow Six managed to grab attention solely through their prowess and obvious love of the music they were playing. And just as a fun side note from the backstage end of things, some of the guys were pretty shy and blushed a lot when they were given compliments (which happened a lot). Overall, definitely a band to look out for in the future. They’re going places quietly, but surely.

Do I really have to say anything about Light Pollution? This Chicago psych band has been blowing people out of the water at their shows for the past year or so on tour. They’ve been through DC before, not to mention most of the country, and no one can seem to stop talking about them afterward. There is good reason for this. Once onstage, everyone in the bar fell silent and stayed that way while the dreamy chords and steady percussion swirled through the room and made itself present in every molecule of air. The band is the perfect combination of quiet and sweeping, every single instrument working perfectly in tandem and the vocals of James Cicero highlighting all the right parts. I wouldn’t be surprised if these guys end up headlining their own U.S. tour sometime in the very near future, so keep your eyes peeled.

That being said – I remember listening to This Will Destroy You, well, a long-ish time ago. A couple of years at least. On their recordings they are often quiet and subdued, the kind of music that you would put on in the background while you were trying to take a nap or doze for an hour or so. I’m guilty of that. I did that before the show, actually. So imagine my surprise when I eventually see them get up onstage and start playing, and they just blast the entire bar out of the water. There is the occasional slow build-up in their songs, but it’s more similar to that of the calm before an epic thunderstorm than the calming feel of a summer drizzle. Let me just say this – the crowd was mostly there to see This Will Destroy You. The crowd was also almost entirely dudes – dudes with ponytails, dudes wearing clothes from the grunge era of the 90s, dudes headbanging and playing their air guitars throughout the entire show, stopping only occasionally to scream and hoot and holler. All in all, however, I was pretty impressed. Sometimes exactly what you need is guitar and bass and drums so loud that you can’t hear yourself think, can’t even feel the beating of your heart because everything in the building is pulsing along with the music.

I will say that I was glad to be able to hide in the booth with my favorite sound tech, so we could safely roll our eyes at the strange movements of the crowd while avoiding the hundred or so sweaty men on the dancefloor. Word.

NOTE: Since I was technically working the show, I couldn’t really take any pictures. I did find some good ones on the interwebs though, so here are links to those.

– Emily Simpson

“Did The Intern Show Up?” New Column!

Caroline — Thu, 24 Jun 2010 00:10:47 +0000

Over here at WGTB, we get pretty excited about new columns, especially in the summertime. And this one is gonna be good. Below, the first installment of DJ Emily Simpson’s “Did the Intern Show Up?”: A Diary of Long Nights & Even Longer E-mail Threads From a Philadelphia Music Club.

Hello! Welcome to my new column, a venture that could just as easily be titled “What I Did During My Summer Vacation” and exists more or less for the purpose of my telling absurd stories about the people and problems I deal with on a daily basis. Since June 1, I have held the not-exactly-coveted title of intern for Kung Fu Necktie, which is hands-down the most unique bar-slash-music-venue I have ever seen. Located in Fishtown, a neighborhood of Northeast Philadelphia, it holds about 120 people at full capacity – think along the lines of DC9 or the backstage at The Black Cat.

I’m sure you’re wondering why they would even need an intern. Sucks to be you then, because I don’t have the answer to that particular question, even after the thousandth time I’ve been asked. What I can tell you (briefly) is what I actually do. I am officially or unofficially in charge of: updating the website/calendar, maintaining the Facebook and Twitter pages, keeping track of the sound techs, working as “band liaison” (aka telling them how to get their drinks at the bar), printing will-call ticket lists, losing at pool, checking IDs, working the door, helping out the bartenders, moving amps, filling out paperwork to settle with bands after shows, and texting my boss reminders about absolutely everything. There’s more, never fear. The duties of the intern – or the slave, as some of the patrons have taken to calling me – are endless and varied.

Doesn’t my job sound fun? Don’t you want to move to Philadelphia immediately and have a cage match or drinking contest to decide who gets to keep it? No? That’s okay. I actually kind of adore it. A lot of that has to do with the people, who I swear on a huge stack of vinyl I am not making up or exaggerating at all. Here’s a brief introduction, so in the future you can pretend to have a vague idea of what I’m talking about. Or not. It’s completely up to you.

First up, we have Chicken, who actually owns the bar. His real name might be Jim, but to be perfectly honest I’m not entirely sure. Chicken is in his forties, does carpentry in his spare time, and frequently wears shirts that proudly display phrases like “Pimpalicious” across the chest. He only remembers people he thinks he might like in the future and greets everyone by saying “Hey HEY hey.” He really exists.

Then there’s Steven, whom I suppose you could call my boss. Picture Justin Vernon, but scrawnier and with a more scraggly ginger beard, then add skate shoes and a ridiculous fondness for old disco music. Bam! Instant Steven. He’s on the younger end of the spectrum at only twenty-five, which shows most especially in his absolute inability to remember anything. One day, I will show up at the bar and he will already be there with the door unlocked, and it will be magical. I have yet to see that day.

Also featuring prominently is this dude named Jamie, who happens to be thirty-three but acts ten years younger (although I’ve been told he’s mellowed out in his old age). One of his tattoo sleeves incorporates the Rice Krispy characters, cartoon vegetables, and a Dr. Pepper bottle. He plays in a hardcore band called Gods and Queens, has been on tour in Europe twenty-three times, and collects Catholic images because he finds them creepy. Jamie and I bonded the moment we decided it would be funny to text Steven when he was out of town and tell him that I was throwing myself at one of the bands. Steven has since regretted our ever meeting.

The sound guys I’ll do all at once, even though they could each easily warrant their own paragraph. Matt, this adorably tiny drummer who plays in a band called Arc in Round, seems to be at the bar most frequently. He lets me hang out in the sound booth with him during shows and we snark about the bands and various patrons that come through. Tom is also awesome, this big teddy bear of a guy who has a killer sense of humor and tells the best stories about everyone. Tim I don’t know quite as well, but he has awesome poofy curly hair and glasses like Frank from 30 Rock. He seems relatively unimpressed by almost everything. Finally, there’s Steve P, whose first show at the bar was on Tuesday. He’s currently trying to teach his three year-old daughter how to thumb wrestle.

There are far too many bartenders to list, but for some quick highlights I’ll mention: Bill, the quasi-father figure with dreads down to his waist; Bob, who is awesome even though he always leaves me to listen to the regulars ramble on once they’re drunk; Jared, who puts up with me trying to fist bump him all the time; and Scott, somehow managing to fit in despite his constantly backwards Phillies cap.

I could go on (and on and on and on and on) for about thirty or forty more people, but you would probably stop reading, and I wouldn’t even be able to blame you. Stay tuned, though, and in the future you might hear about the Joe-trifecta (Hardcore Joe, Drug Dealer Joe, and Puerto Rican Joe) or Wes and his independent contractor bodyguards. Or the DJs. The DJs might have to get their own post one of these days, because there are a ton of them, and they are all ridiculous human beings in addition to being incredibly awesome.

Anyway, I’m going to promise you here and now that every word written in this column will be the honest-to-God truth. It will seem outrageous, it will seem impossible, but it will all have happened exactly the way I describe it. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll write me letters asking why the hell I’m still doing this or if I’m going to need bail money in the future (the answer very well might be yes). Maybe someday my parents will read this and severely reevaluate their decision to let me go anywhere beyond a mile from my house. I can only hope.

Until next time,

The Intern (also occasionally called by her real name, Emily Simpson)

Review: Kurt Vile, Square Shells EP

Caroline — Tue, 22 Jun 2010 09:19:45 +0000

by Emily Simpson

9.2 chilled PBRs out of 10 chilled PBRs

I’m not going to lie about it – when I listened to the first song off of Kurt Vile’s latest EP, I wasn’t really sold. “Ocean City” is the kind of low-key song that brings to mind a chilled out Beach Boys sound, the kind of stuff that everyone seems to be making these days. Not bad by any means, but I was worried that the entire EP would follow in that pattern.

And then I got to the end of the song, and I realized that I was completely, stupidly wrong. Kurt Vile is nothing if not innovative. That particular song, with all its guitar strumming and simple melodies, fades out with the touch of electric sound that weaves its way throughout the rest of the record. Square Shells is a landscape of sound, eclectic but somehow managing to pull it off without appearing to try too hard. Some tracks incorporate samples, some rely on electric guitar, some have vocals, one might even have what sounds like an electric accordion. I could go on and on, and honestly I could not list everything on this record.

Such a wide variety of influences makes it pretty clear that composition is incredibly important to Kurt Vile, and it shows most in tracks like “The Finder,” which has no vocals at all (and it’s the one with the accordion, which makes it even better). It’s this strangely hypnotic melody, quiet in all the right ways, and by the time it’s over you will guaranteed want to listen to it again, and again, and again…until you’re either in some kind of weird trance or you’ve fallen asleep to have blissed out dreams. This is going to sound strange, but I would actually love to see him play this in a church. Maybe on an organ.

The point here being that once I start using seemingly unrelated and random associations for songs on an album, it’s just too good or too unique to put into familiar musical terms (I could throw in the phrase “lo-fi” for good measure, if that helps at all). Square Shells is brimming with everything that is missing from so much of the new music put out these days and rated by Pitchfork. It’s “found art” at its very best and its most genuine. There is absolutely no excuse not to go get this EP immediately and put it on your permanent rotation.

I’m serious. Right now.

Tracks to check out first: “The Finder,” “Invisibility: Nonexistent”

Review: Nada Surf, If I Had a Hi-Fi

Caroline — Wed, 26 May 2010 02:17:35 +0000

B+

Don’t lie to me – I know you listened to Nada Surf in the 90’s. And you loved them. You played “Popular” so many times even your mother had to sit you down and tell you to seriously, knock it off. Or at least alternate it with the similar sounds of Weezer. Then when Death Cab for Cutie’s Chris Walla produced their next semi-widely played album in 2002, you probably revisited them for kicks (until you realized that yeah, that album sounded like it was produced by someone who plays in a band with Ben Gibbard).

Well, two years after their last release – 2008’s Lucky, which got as much play as you think it did – the band has come out with their sixth studio album. Allow me to introduce Nada Surf’s latest album, a collection of covers ranging from Spoon to Kate Bush, by saying that its title incorporates two of my favorite things: a lack of capital letters, and a palindrome. Look! if i had a hi-fi. Isn’t it cool?

Yes, yes it is. The album itself is pretty cool as well. It is Nada Surf at their alternative rock pop-y best, upbeat and somehow cohesive despite the wide range in song choices. Each cover is very obviously homage to the people and melodies that impacted the members of Nada Surf, lovingly and thoughtfully crafted to reflect both the original and the band’s own particular sound. By doing so, it doesn’t seem so weird that Depeche Mode’s gloomy synthpop “Enjoy the Silence” and The Soft Pack’s garage rock “Bright Side” share the same track listing.

But why a cover album, and why now? That’s a question that the band has apparently not decided to address, at least not yet. It’s a risky move if done incorrectly – people will likely speculate that the band has run out of material, or decided to take the easy route to make a few bucks. Nada Surf doesn’t seem to lean towards either of these motives, though, which is interesting in itself. This cover album feels more like the band is rediscovering its sound by examining the sounds of others that they find appealing. In my opinion, they have succeeded in doing exactly that. This sounds like Nada Surf to me, the Nada Surf that broke out in the nineties and refused to step off the stage in the years that followed. Want to know why I think I’m right? This is also the first record that the band has produced completely independently. No DCFC guitarists, no Ric Ocasek. Just three guys in their forties looking to make the music they love, and I think that’s great.

if i had a hi-fi, with Matthew Caws’s smooth vocals and the familiar, not necessarily ground-breaking but still enjoyable, alternative nineties rock sound, will most likely be gracing my summer rotation more frequently than I ever expected a Nada Surf album to. Sitting by the kiddie pool in my tiny backyard, I will be able to listen to Kate Bush and Spoon re-imagined by a band from my youth without even getting up to mess with iTunes. Life – and this album – is good. Really, surprisingly good.

Tracks to look out for: “Bye Bye Beaute” (Coralie Clement) and “Love Goes On” (The Go-Betweens)

- Emily Simpson

Inteveniew! Behind the Scenes at U St. Music Hall

Catherine — Tue, 27 Apr 2010 05:00:30 +0000

Name: Will Eastman

Profession: DJ, co-owner of U Street Music Hall

Music at U-Hall is: “eclectic, provocative, left-of-center,” “forward-looking,” “accessible”

DJs: in his apartment, for Bliss (DC’s most famous monthly dance party)

Managing a music club: “is a lot of fucking work, at least if you want it done right. But I’m happy.”

Will Eastman has 8,000 records, a graduate degree from George Washington University, and one-sixth ownership in the recently opened U Street Music Hall. Will Eastman is maybe the coolest person I’ve met in a long, long time.

Which is fitting, really, considering the fact that the club he helps manage is definitely the coolest place I’ve been this year. Relatively nondescript on the outside front, the building opens to reveal…a staircase, of all things. The stairs lead down into a basement-style dance floor, complete with two adjoining bars, several booths, a small stage for live bands, and an impressive DJ booth lining the back wall.

“I started off DJing for parties in my parents’ basement when they were out of town,” Eastman grins unrepentantly. “Basements are the best environments for dance parties.” And though he has essentially moved from playing in one basement to, well, playing in a much larger one, he has certainly come a long way from his hometown of Neenah, Wisconsin (which is famous for the production of manhole covers, as it happens).

He began his official career as a DJ began in the same month as his job as a historian for the Smithsonian Institute, where he developed public programs and exhibitions in the areas of technology and inventors. Even there, he never strayed far from his passion. His research focused largely on the history of the electric guitar and sound recording techniques – a focus that lined up perfectly with his night job. After nine years of trying to juggle the two, both of which he loved, Eastman realized that he had to make a decision. (read more)

“It was a really difficult decision, too,” he presses. “But that was three years ago now, and there is no doubt in my mind that I made the right choice.” The choice to switch to DJ production full-time started Eastman on a whirlwind schedule that hasn’t really let up since. With three tours and one hit single under his belt (and another single in production to be released this summer), it would seem that he’s hit a pretty good stride. So what does he do next? He gets together with five of his friends and decides to open a club.

hat is, of course, a gross understatement of what actually happened. U Street Music Hall, or at least the concept that would eventually become the U Street Music Hall, has been in the works for years.

“A lot of the guys I’ve DJ’d with over the years, we would get together and talk about what we liked or didn’t like in a club, or what our ideal place to DJ would look and feel like,” Eastman explains. “It used to just be a vague idea until Brian [Miller] approached me one day and wanted to make it happen.”

His first reaction was an immediate “no.” He didn’t know how to run a club, how to get an alcohol license, how to do taxes for a business like that. But once another friend brought up the idea a couple years later, and they met the people with the right kind of expertise, the idea was closer and closer to becoming a reality. About a year ago, the six soon-to-be-owners did a walk-through of the space, and by mid-March of this year the U Street Music Hall had opened its doors to the public.

Now, there are a lot of buzz words for the club – Eastman describes it as a place with “no attitude, no bottle service, no red velvet ropes,” a “democratic place” where all are welcome to just dance. And though it is apparent that he uses these exact phrases pretty frequently to promote the space, it is also obvious that he is completely sincere each and every time. Here again it’s easy to see the connection between the owners and the space they manage – “U Hall” is unpretentious, honest, up-front, relaxed. If you love music of any and every kind, it’s the place you want to be on a Saturday night instead of fighting your way through a crowd of the over-dressed, overly-privileged-and-flaunt-it segment of DC.

Seriously. Even the bouncers are nice.

– Emily Simpson

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