If you’re gonna ride a horse of this Blondie color, do ride this one. New Young Pony Club’s Fantastic Playroom is open for business. Stop rolling your eyes and dance. Worst case scenario, you have a good time.
“Let me give you what you like…”
Eek! There’s a Mongoose on the loose! An MGX Maxim, to be exact. And yours truly hath loosed it upon the mean streets of Manhattan.
After years of resisting 70’s Cali nostalgia and being without a bike, I finally caved, found and committed to buying one on Craigslist – for $50. It retails for $150-170, but the Upper East Side Hindi guy that got it as a gift simply didn’t want it because he was too tall for it.
The back tire needed some air, and the gears need a little work, but I had Terre walk across the park with me to inspect it. After a couple minutes of chit chat and feeling it out, we all approved and exchanged cash for bike on the corner of 77th and York.
It’s been raining most of the weekend, so I haven’t had a chance to test the old adage and get my wheels back. Wish me luck. And watch out behind you…
Junior’s first cover line. Not quite a cover story, but still. Til then, here’s the Cornelius feature for BPM Magazine’s “Green/Eco” issue. To see how DJ culture’s tackling the climate crisis/fad, download the free digital issue 83/84.
Mention Shibuya to most people and they’ll say “Gesundheit”; do so to any hipster worth his iPod and he’d better name-check “Cornelius”, de facto “It” boy for Tokyo’s waning hyper-trendy enclave. As more than a few cast-asides know, however, a Beach Boys-laden Macbook alone does not an international indie-pop star make.
Even before 1997’s cut-and-paste “chip-hop” breakout, Fantasma, Keigo Oyamada (aka Cornelius) had already been in the bands Lollypop Sonic, Flipper’s Guitar; started his own record label, Trattoria; and been a fashion designer. “But,” the Planet of the Apes scientist namesake explains through a translator, “it’s just a neighborhood; it’s like saying ‘You’re Grunge’ just because you live in Seattle. It was popular once, but that’s faded.”
What has not faded is Cornelius’s musical stamina, amplified by fanfare lavished on just 3 albums in 10 years. In the 5 years since his previous output Point, and the current release Sensuous Cornelius also became a father and lost his father/band-mate, enhancing Sensuous’s creative 360 aura. (His son’s already banging the Taiko drums.) Other Sensuous textures include an incandescent Rat Pack lullaby cover “Sleep Warm”; the quirky Xerox fantasia, “Toner”; the meditative hummer “Omstart” and the lo-fi fado “Music”’ courtesy guests Kings of Convenience; and the futurist IDM funk jams “Wataridori”, “Gum” and “Beep it.”
In addition to countless remixes, Cornelius recently played guitar on Ryuichi Sakamoto’s Chasm tour and this spring returned stateside for his second Coachella gig. “Performing outside there’s more of a chance of blending in the music with the atmosphere that’s around, what’s there.” Addressing his environ’s impact on his maturing style, the musician who describes his albums as imaginary soundtracks said, “Before, [on Point] I used atmospheric sound to make you imagine where you are-a bug in the water. This time, it’s a wind chime and more what that person thinks about when he hears it. The movie’s whatever people see as they’re walking down the street with their Walkman or iPod on.” When asked who he’d like to see walking through Coachella’s desert, he exclaimed “Jesus and Mary Chain!” Amen.
Dream time.
I am approaching my family’s new house in California. A nice ranch style house, late at night. From the porch, I hear people fighting inside. I almost don’t knock, but they see me through the window.
Before I come in, I hear a loud grumbling sound, down the street, in the distance. A dark flashing cloud of debris is rolling up, rising above the houses. Mobs of people come rushing down from the surrounding hills, some of them hover on the mountain top as lookouts.
There’s some kind of invasion or attack happening. Some force has mobilized, the monsters have come to Maple drive. At first, the evacuation proceeds in a very frenzied but organized way. People are pushing and shoving and falling, but they’re moving in at a steady clip, in a uniform direction.
We are led into an underground bunker, through a maze of tunnels, that opens into a parking space where getaway cars await. The ex and I get into an old black low-rider convertible. As he starts the car, a guy with a gun jumps into the back seat. As we look back at the tunnel, the crowds are now fighting over the cars, becoming more desperate and violent. I’ve lost my family in the fray; last I remember, my brother was leading them into an SUV. In my head, I know we have a rendezvous spot, but I don’t know how to get there now.
Then the guy with the gun forces us out of the car. There is pandemonium in the streets, looting, vigilantes armed to the teeth. We duck into an alley, and begin climbing a fire escape. Some guy with Sci-Fi weapons starts shooting at the fire escapes. The ex continues on, I run out of the alley, into a thunderstorm. I bump into someone as I round the corner.
I open my eyes. It’s early, still dark. The curtains are blowing wildly. There’s a storm outside. No lightning or thunder, just gusts of wind and a heavy downpour. I get up, turn off the fan, check the clock. I still have a couple hours. I fell asleep with the the laptop open. The screensaver’s on, disco and M83 remixes playing softly. I try to get back into the dream, but it’s too late. At least, too late to remember what happened when I went back in.
Thanks to Lady Bunny and Andy….and of course, Miss Bassey!
A few years ago, during the “Back Room @ Passerby” nights, we piled a couple different parties into one. In the front bar DJ Hell threw down; in the back gallery we had an after party for Prefuse 73. It was partly a collaboration with Dante during his first RIP KFC parties.
Dan Snaith, then known as Manitoba, was among the guests. Manitoba and Four Tet opened for Prefuse.Despite the stop-start problems with the power cables and speakers, everyone hung around, including Dan; he was actually among the last to leave. As I hopped into a cab at the end of the night, he handed me a double vinyl copy of “Up in Flames“.
The name change to Caribou resulted from some crazy lawsuit with some guy whose last name was Manitoba, an aging punk rocker according to the press release I just received via Motormouth Media – based in Silverake, on Hyperion Ave – a street I walked down during and post-high school, past the LA Weekly, Cuffs leather bar, Basic Plumbing sex club, and punk-cholo boutique Y-Que. (One night, I was taken to a party at Doug Sadownick’s place off Hyperion by a gentleman I had just met on Hyperion.)
I had forgotten about this convoluted serendipity matrix until I received the new Caribou CD, Andorra today. 
A newsletter email from Dan originally prompted me to ask for a copy for an Earplug review. But after remembering all this and soaking up the cosmic wah-wah on Andorra, including a track featuring half of Junior Boys, I’m beginning to feel the itch of the tape recorder.
Considering how down I’ve been feeling lately, finding this CD among the PO Box stack on this cool, breezy evening after the recent swelter made The City feel magical again. The more I listen, the more I feel like just wandering into Central Park with the iPod and getting lost in the music among stars. If only it weren’t so tempting to stay gone.
A trio of former jocks from Brighton named for a Japanese turntable and the Karate Kid master, Fujiya & Miyagi play “exquisite corpse” with ’70s psyche rock, ’80s post-punk, and ’90s electronica. Their US debut, Transparent Things, echoes Can, Wire, Happy Mondays, and LCD Soundsystem. Head-nodding form follows hip-swaying function: lean, modernist bass lines pulsating at steady metronomic tempos as melodic synthesizers swoosh over droll, muttered lyrics. A handful of collected ten-inch singles has flipped the F&M art-rock conceit from back-page punch line to marquee sensation. Earplug’s Jorge Hernandez spoke with lead singer David Best as F&M prepared to quit their white-collar day jobs and hit the road on their first US tour.
Earplug: So what’s this about you not liking iPods?
David Best: Think about albums like Spirit of Eden by Talk Talk, and how nowadays everything’s on shuffle; you lose the album, don’t you? It’s like when you have 100 channels on TV. Without being a bit wanky, some songs need to breathe a bit. But it cuts out the snobbery because so much is available to everybody, so that’s some middle ground. I’m sure I’ll end up getting one at some point.
EP: About Spirit of Eden…
DB: It’s one of those albums you can go to sleep to. For ages and ages, six months really, I couldn’t listen to it all the way through without dropping off. Now, I do sit-ups to it. It was kind of relaxing, and then I thought, “This album’s amazing!” It’s not Purple Rain — you need to give it time.
EP: Are you tired of talking about Krautrock?
DB: I love all that stuff, but I also love a lot of other things. We grew up on stuff like Happy Mondays, Talking Heads. I don’t want to be just the sum of our record collection. Bryan Ferry’s my favorite ever, with that vocal delivery, half spoken, half whispered.
EP: How about Scott Walker?
DB: The Drift is brilliant; it has some of the best lyrics. It’s so dense and heavy. I’ll probably listen to it sporadically over the next ten years. Tilt and Climate of Hunter are that same way, too.
EP: But you also like radio-friendly, three-minute French pop?
DB: It’s just the way it sounds, really. I always listen to lyrics first. The fact that it’s in French and I can’t understand anything makes it so much more interesting. When I listen to English or American bands, I’m not that into it.
EP: You use French in lyrics; they’re very dry, but the music’s very accessible.
DB: A lot of our stuff comes from getting the groove right, the bass line and drums — we don’t put a lot of stuff on top of it. I don’t want to throw guitar solos into everything. I’d rather keep it more streamlined.
EP: Your lyrics and humor appeal to a very smart set. Do you do most of the songwriting?
DB: Yeah, then someone else might add another element — a beat, or Matt [Hainsby] might bring a bass line in — until a song miraculously appears. Most lyrics in English are about the sun shining, with obvious rhymes, and I just got sick of it.
EP: Are you a production freak?
DB: Going over hi-hats all night is not my idea of fun. Steve [Lewis] programs it all. We kind of sit there and fall asleep and wake up when he’s got something. Then between the three of us we come up with what we come up with.
EP: Do you all still live near each other in Brighton?
DB: Until the end of the month, then we stop working. Matt works in the same office as me. We’re quitting then.
EP: You mean your day job? Now you get to go on the road and be rock stars?
DB: Well, we’re recording actually.
EP: The new album?
DB: I was gonna call it Light Bulb, but we have a song on there by that name, so now we’re calling it Ventriloquism.
EP: Do you read a lot?
DB: Not as much as I’d like to. But as the title of the last album suggests, I’m a massive Vladimir Nabokov fan. I never bothered really reading [Nabokov's novel Transparent Things] before, I just got through it. But re-reading it, I was like “Oh, it’s all right.” Then I traced it back like bands that I liked before, and got into all these other Russian authors.
EP: What kind of student were you?
DB: I was gonna be one of those people who was just gonna do art, but really half-assed. I went to art school so I could start music, really.
EP: How has your music evolved?
DB: Our last album was more electronic, but it didn’t translate well live, so our songs changed. We stopped listening to so many Warp records. It’s great stuff, but I really also love Bowie, Roxy Music, [and] Wire — they’re from the same county as me.
EP: You’re also a David Niven fan. He’s part French/British, with a wicked wit. Does that explain everything?
DB: I’ve always loved that little mustache. His autobiographies are great. But it really explains nothing. That’s a recent fascination. We’ve been Fujiya & Miyagi for a while now.
Wikki Wikki shut up – and chew on this. Dante’s next Fried Chicken and Beats extravaganza features an appearance by none other than 80’s electrofunk all-stars, Newcleus.
No, it’s not Megatron. Or any of the Decepticons. Well, maybe the decepticons. In time for rush hour and the dog days of summer, a ConEd transformer blows in Midtown under pressure.
Every generation gets the heroes it deserves. Behold, Boy Shakira, the “queen” of all Shakira boy impersonators – they are legion. What will become of all these young boys shaking it on YouTube? If Boy Shakira’s any indication, with enough sequins, love from your mom, and votes – imminent celebrity, of course! Book him while you can!
Look! It’s a video mashup, a cover song, a Swede with a Spanish name – a commercial for a TV set?!
If it’s Jose Gonzalez, yes, it is.
On “Controversy” Prince asks, “Am I black or white? Am I straight or gay?” Add to that list, “Am I free or pay?”
The tiny purple terror famous for his tantrums against the old record industry has them up in arms again, wavin’ their hands in the air like they really, really do care. Business majors who went into the record industry dreaming of corporate card subsidized backstage groupies are now irate that an artist would want to bypass all the conventional modes of distribution, delivering his product directly into the hands of the U.K. masses via an insert in The Mail newspaper.
Even though Prince’s record sales have been lackluster in the last few years and the new CD Planet Earth will not be for sale anywhere in the UK, retailers are still pissed. When you consider how much plastic and transportation pollution, not to mention mark ups for shipping, promotion, etc go into getting a single CD on the shelves, it’s no surprise a musician would want to take this route.
This is a “one-off” deal that will only be available in the UK to stimulate interest in the upcoming tour. And most likely to populate file sharing services around the world. By the time it lands stateside later this summer, the CD’s expected to be riding on enough momentum and hype that Americans are likely to turn up in droves for in-store appearances to purchase the CD anyway, just because any chance to see Prince live is still a chance to see Prince live. In Minneapolis, police had to shut down his First Avenue gig, after mobs turned out to see him at Macy’s and Target.
Let’s hope the songs pack some of the righteous funk that ignited such fanaticism in the first place. Otherwise, Prince might go from being the “artist formerly known as” to being known as the artist who couldn’t even give it away.
Dream time. No surprises here.
I’m in a car, with another typical girl friend – she’s cute, dark – and driving. We’re on what looks like Chicago’s Lake Shore Drive.
“Look at that giant dark cloud rolling in. Do you think they’ll still have the pool party,” I ask.
“I don’t think that’s anything,” she replies.
I look at the skyline, the lake – or is it now New York’s East River? Then back at her. Now, she’s my dead aunt. My dying grandmother is in the passenger seat. I’m in the back.
“We’re going to some other party,” my aunt says.
When I look out the window again, we’re driving around San Fernando Valley in California. We pull into a driveway that runs along the side of a house to the backyard.
“There’s no pool!” I cry out, and put my head against the back of the seat, whimpering.
“I think he’s crying,” my grandma says.
I can’t go in that party, I’m thinking to myself.
Then I wake up.
I shower, thinking I need a shrink. I also need to figure out if I can give my Pitchfork passes to one of my friends in Chicago through will call. I was supposed to be there this weekend, but because of our court date yesterday, we were unable to change our flights on time. We thought we could get our court date changed because the cop said so, but whoever was answering the phones was uncooperative. I had already decided to let the whole weekend be a washout as proof to the universe that I was a big boy.
So, why did I wake up crying?
So, it’s Friday 13th. Not the best day to be in court, even if it’s just Midtown Community Court. Our day of reckoning had come. And wreck it did.
Unfortunately, my prior from NJ ten years ago came up. It was supposed to be expunged. I cannot believe 420′ still illegal in NYC, in 2007; it depresses me. I’ve already been feeling like I’ve outgrown the city. This just adds to my disenchantment.
We arrived at 9:00 a.m. The city’s auto dial messaging system starting calling my cell phone at 6:30 a.m. I had almost forgotten until I saw the number and heard the message again. For luck, I wore my pink dress shirt, but made sure to leave the amber aviator sunglasses in my pocket. I already look like a libertine, even on my casual days, so I thought it best to tone it down.
We sat in the gallery waiting for the court to sign us in and assign our free Legal Aid counsel. There was no food or drink allowed, so we sat there hungry and thirsty, sneaking bites of cheese and sips of water as the court went through all its motions. Most people were there for minor stuff – jumping turnstiles, public urination, disorderly conduct, petty theft, prostitution, drug possession. At one point, one of the girls from jail who hit us up on MySpace came in as well. We couldn’t really reminisce much because the court officers were not having us chit chat at all. The judge and our lawyer both seemed like good old fashioned NYC Jewish Liberals, so that gave us some hope. Sadly, when it came to my case, my prior incident put a wee dink in things.
“That was supposed to be expunged, sealed, whatever they call it,” I argued three times.
“Well, it came up, so we have to deal with it,” was all she said, also three times.
“OK, worst case scenario,” I asked.
“Since this was so long ago and was ‘No Plea/ACD’ (a conditional discharge), he’ll probably just fine you. We can’t argue ACD because it’s not your first offense. And unless both the ADA and the Judge are feeling generous, I don’t think they’ll make an exception.”
“Urgh,” I groaned. “Are you kidding me?”
We sat there as everyone got called up. Theft. Reckless driving. Prostitution (Mandarin translator). Soliciting prostitution (Spanish translator). Heroin. When a 60 year old homeless looking man shuffled in for public drinking, the entire gallery sighed their dismay in unison. He was dismissed almost instantly.
The other two went first, both were dismissed sans Plea on ACD for a year, and made to watch an anti-drug movie. When my turn came, the lawyer argued for ACD, but the ADA brought up the prior.
The judge had them both approach the bench. Whispers were exchanged, while I stood there trying not to kill anyone with eye daggers. The thought of looking “sorry” or humble angered me, but I knew at that point I had to just stand there and be neutral if I wanted to walk out unscathed. When they were done whispering, the public defender came back and whispered that it would be “a fine, a violation not a crime, no criminal record.” Again.
Still, I had to enter a guilty plea. And pay a $170 fine. When I said I could pay on the spot, none of them could conceal their surprise. The whole experience really burned because a lot of these cops don’t agree with all this themselves. (According to inside sources most of them also happen to be “in the life”, which only twists the blade more.) All the drunkards are way more trouble than any of us. But apparently this new judge in this district is keen on cleaning up Hell’s Kitchen. Ah, Gentrification – it works in mysterious ways.
On my way out of the building, the girl that was picked up with us waved goodbye – “I’ll hit you up on MySpace.”
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