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February 24, 2008
No Age/ High Places/ Rings/ Skint @ Market Hotel, Bushwick, Bklyn 02.11.08
photos by Devon Banks and myself.
The first thing you notice about freedom from corporate oppression is that it reeks of cigarettes. Upon entering the unmarked door of Bushwick’s new D.I.Y. venue Market Hotel, the combined scent of several hundred righteously lit smokes offered immediate welcome. The smell had to be tolerated due to the warmth that came with it, like begrudgingly accepting a hug from a slightly rank relative. After ten face-chapping blocks of bitter cold desolation (punctuated by oddly-named bodegas) from the nearest L train stop, we might have welcomed a chicken-storage garage with a space heater. Due to outside appearances, we could have been walking into just that. Freedom from corporate oppression is also hard to locate, obviously. Once safely inside, the sufficiently hip could dream of no better celebration for their protection from Big Brother’s gaze than to flick their Bics and inhale triumphantly. In a converted loft with no windows or ventilation of any kind, the suffocating freedom was thick enough that the clothes and hair of those lucky enough to co-mingle with its torchbearers would carry their proud scent for days to come.
The venue, a large and empty space situated above a Korean grocer, is another in a long line of creatively appropriated properties used by Brooklyn’s indie promoter kingpin, Todd Patrick, less formally known as Todd P. The man deserves a lot of credit, for the most part. His booking taste is fairly impeccable and big publications and traditional "Midas Touch" venues like the Bowery Ballroom have been following his lead for years. His attempts to stage intriguing bills in spaces beyond the traditional half dozen "anointed" prime NYC spots have empowered many people to take the reigns and throw their own events. But success is not a steady plateau that you reach and stand atop. Once you've earned your reputation as a tastemaker, more and more people are going to be flocking to what is still essentially a shoestring operation. Three hundred people crammed into a space that would have made a pleasant concert experience for a hundred and fifty isn't as "cool" as it purports to be. And all the talk about utopian inclusiveness goes right out the window when only the terminally plugged in, the responsibility free school kid, and the day job-less bohemian can get to the middle of nowhere in Brooklyn on a chilly Monday night.
In a 2005 interview, Patrick said, "I want to have people that are fairly normal, nice people working behind the door or behind the bar, because why have this uptight, alienating atmosphere? How could you have a good time with that, unless you're one of those people that enjoys the feeling of elitism? Which I don't." Now, it is very much true that the those involved in Todd's endeavors are nice people who don't project an air of superiority at all. But a scene is a scene is a scene, and those who don't fit the Euro-hip Brooklyn/Lower East Side stereotype were almost entirely absent from a truly inconvenient and uncomfortable time and place. He went on to say, "there's nothing worse than for it to be boring." Even after replacing the old standoffish order with a kinder, gentler one, that's easier said than done.
Perpetually running behind is one of the vestiges of Manhattan’s stodgy live music scene that Todd apparently deems worthy of maintaining. An urgently worded press release sent earlier in the day insisted that the show would start promptly at 9:30 and be completely finished at the mostly reasonable weekday hour of 12:30. At ten o’clock the only evident performance was a group of fishnet festooned girls on stage, theatrically reading the newspaper and giggling while raunchy rap music and well-worn college radio favorites blared from chintzy speakers. We would soon learn that these were the members of Skint, the evening’s first act. Not band, mind you, act.
Skint
Skint is an all-girl performance art/ dance troupe/ experimental music entity that likely seemed better when merely the climax to a fevered 3 A.M. conversation, and not a physical reality. Their schtick consisted of writhing on the floor in front of the stage, dressed in bright American Apparel reds, with eyes made up to look lightly punched. They staggered faux(?) drunkenly, or flipped feet over head, in presumptuously close proximity to the semicircle of confused folks who had a clear view of them.
It was hard to discern whether or not they had thought these motions out ahead of time, though some portions, like when one girl repeatedly ran full speed and flung herself against opposite walls, must have been preordained. For those gathered towards the back of the room, this spectacle was completely obscured by rows of gawking bodies. To them, the entirety of the baffling performance was the droning electronic soundtrack, peppered with live drumbeats whenever one of the girls deigned fit to climb onstage.
Occasionally they would move to one of several scattered microphones to voice an incomplete sentiment like, “Come on everybody...” only to trail off as the crowd awaited further instructions. It was the pop song equivalent of tapping your grade school classmate on the shoulder, only to duck out of view when they turned around. Though the entire thing was kind of can’t-look-away compelling, it mainly generated vicarious embarrassment. I felt most embarrassed for their blonde pixie member whose improbably tight white jeans refused to go that extra inch towards concealing a chronic plumber’s crack. In her defense, the fashion crime was considerably easier on the eyes than one perpetrated by an actual union tradesman.
It’s important to note that Skint includes two members of the band Telepathe, whose music I have lavishly praised in this very space. So, I don’t mean to say that there were no talented people involved, merely that it doesn’t take talent to do what these girls were doing. All their routine required was the balls to go in front of people to do it. So, kudos for self-confidence, I guess. But let me just say that if my girlfriend were a part of such a performance, I might be inclined to assure my friends that she was going to go on a bit later than posted, and then sheepishly apologize to them when they got to the club after the “set” was completed. “I’m sooooo sorry that you missed it, everybody,” I’d say. “They were amaaaaazing...”
Rings
This was the second time I’d seen Rings perform, though the first since they’d changed their name from First Nation. Both names were bestowed upon the same frustrating band; watching their performances almost seems like being invited to a loose practice session in order to give constructive criticism. The girls play off each other, forming loops of beats, bleats, keys, and scraping guitar that only very seldom lock into a pagan groove. Just when you’d think they had finally caught their stride, it would all crumble just as quickly. There’s an entire branch of the seventies underground that worked on the notion that pop songs were more vitally exciting when teetering on the precipice of collapse. Upstart female artists like the Raincoats created tension with their missteps, so that when a track finished without completely imploding, there was a dizzy sense of wonder and relief. But that trick only works when your rickety components gel more often than they clash. Despite any glimpses of greatness the band might cough up, they still can’t deliver on a consistent basis.
A special medal of valor goes to drummer Abby Portner, who was constantly on a different level than her band mates. She happens to be the sister of New York experimental golden boy David Portner, aka Animal Collective’s Avey Tare. Lest his influence over the Paw Tracks label her band is signed to gives you dismissive thoughts, let me assure you that she possesses formidable gifts comparable to brother's. Vocally, she can maintain a loop of distorted yelps so exact in its repetition that if her lips weren’t moving you’d swear someone was hitting buttons on a sampler. Her bashing is so powerful and intense that she ended the set by splintering a drumstick and puncturing her own hand with it. When leaving, she parted the thick crowd with a blood streaked fist. If they ever do pull it together, it’ll be because she set the standard to which her collaborators lived up.
I will note that the chances of sustained inspiration weren’t aided by a crummy sound mix that forced the performers to stoop down mid-song to frantically adjust their own levels. If Todd is going to put together bills that attract hundreds of people, he needs to put in the effort to live up to the position he’s now attained for himself. If a full-time sound man isn’t in the budget, then surely a sound check must be possible. It wouldn't harsh everybody’s homey art-vibe, I promise.
High Places
High Places were, as always, absolutely delightful--potential redeemers of any annoyance filled evening. The weatherbeaten PA system that they lug around town with them kept sound difficulties to a minimum. A few errant squawks managed to creep in anyway, but nothing short of a sarin gas attack could blunt the duo’s adorable brand of guileless sunshine.
It’s a precarious, precocious line that High Places walks. Mary Pearson's vocals might be too sweet and innocent to bear if the band's oddly specific mix didn't render them dreamlike. Her lyrics might be too blasted positive if not for the swirling abstractions that surround them. And all of it might be way too twee and airy if not for the very substantial, positively heavy rumble coming from Rob Barber's wondrous suitcase full of circuitry.
High Places - "Freaked Flight"
Take a song like "Freaked Flight" for example, with a baby bird narrative just waiting to be cynically dismissed. But its wobbly, exotic trappings, and thudding steel drum fantasia shelters such simple, forthright statements from corrosive judgment. When performed live, it's strange how exactly it adheres to the recorded version, how precise her echoed tone is and how ably he bends the warped elements to life again and again.
After the set closed with their anthemic best, "New Grace," the crowd was a unified, rippling grin. “They are so good. Every time,” started a conversation behind me, articulating the obvious.
As Rob and Mary repacked their case of with recorders, and bell bracelets, and clattering whatnot, the large crowd begin to creep forward ominously. I was momentarily distracted to the sheer size of the swelling mob by a high school girl next to me, standing in front of the shrieking speaker, clearly rolling her face off on some pharmaceutical grade ecstasy. On a Monday night. In February. She would ask anyone in her vicinity incredible questions about the music coming from the magic box she was leaning on. At one point she asked me, unironically, if the songs coming from it were “all prerecorded.” When a bearded Brooklyn youth moved between her and me, she began rubbing his back intensely and asking him questions about Guatemala. Though we’d never met, or even exchanged glances to that point, he felt it necessary to mouth the words “I don’t know her” to me in an incredulous manner. There are some moments when you just need a witness, I guess.
No Age
Considering their chosen nomenclature, No Age’s strong kiddie following is hardly a surprise. But as the band hooked up their myriad effects pedals, the sheer crush of impossibly young bodies towards the front of the stage had us feeling a bit panicked. I mean, it horrifies me to find myself typing this, but who are all these children, out at 12:30 on a Monday night in deepest Bushwick? Who sold them beers (not to mention ecstasy) and where do their parents think they are?
I can't legitimately begrudge it, of course. If there had been a place to see forward thinking art-punk and drink beer in Salem, Oregon when I was sixteen it would have been the best thing ever. That single week before the cops and city council banded together to demolish it forever would have legendary. But no single thing has perhaps ever made me feel as old as a quick 360 degree head swivel in the moments before the California band's set began.
No Age - "Every Artist Needs a Tragedy"
And when it began, dear God. As soon as the fuzzy intro to "Every Artist Needs a Tragedy" cleared and its sharp edged guitar lead set in, the front of the stage was a terrifying youthquake, with no shelter to be found. Look at the video below to get a good feel for the melee. Look at the gravity-free jumble of airborne legs, and the hundred fists all pointed skyward. Then imagine trying to mind your own business in the thick of it.
No Age - "Everybody's Down"
Teenage enthusiasm on record is one thing, but having that enthusiasm crash down violently on your head is quite another. I had flashbacks to the Nirvana-colored youth culture of my own high school days, and how an event as un-macho as a Weezer show would erupt into inappropriate moshing. Honestly, I wasn't so keen on it then, either. A song or two in, a few snapshots taken, and Devon demanded we get the fuck out of there. Cognizant of my inability to shield her from all sides, and not, you know, enjoying it myself, I quickly agreed.
From many paces back, the show's appeal was quite limited. The sound was muddy and the sightlines poor. I could appreciate the band's energy, and you'd have to tip a hat at the fervor they evoked, but it seemed like storm and bluster spurned by little. The band weren't so amazing as to incite a riot, but since that's what one does in these situations, one erupted anyway. I wasn't the only one who wasn't ready for the maelstrom. Almost immediately, the crowd's irrepressible motion knocked out a few key sound cords, and rattled the tiny speakers to the point that the band had to stop the show entirely for five or ten minutes just to set things right. That was it for us, and we sidled towards the exit.
No Age had played another show in town that week opening for Liars at Warsaw in Greenpoint, another Brooklyn space that had long ago been turned towards rock concerts from an earlier "un-hip" utility. That stage is high from the ground, and the sound professionally managed. Opinion would probably shift wildly as to which gig was more "fun," which experience was more "authentic." Whether it's a function of age or pure subjectivity, I know how I'd vote. As a car pulled up in front of Mr. Kiwi's Fruits and Vegetables, we could hear a pretty excellent riff radiating from the room behind us, where the sound had finally been restored. There wasn't even a tiny part of me that didn't want to get inside and drive far away.
Posted by Jeff Klingman at February 24, 2008 09:10 PM
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Comments
you are an old and crabby asshole!
Posted by: Anonymous at February 25, 2008 01:26 PM
That was sort of the point, man...
Posted by: Jeff K at February 25, 2008 03:15 PM
Crazy how well that guy knows Jeff.
Posted by: Sebastian at February 25, 2008 05:33 PM
Hey, he's OUR old and crabby asshole.
Posted by: david at February 25, 2008 07:49 PM
you're really good at bitching. are you good at doing anything yourself?
Posted by: Anonymous at February 26, 2008 02:26 PM
do you really believe these kids were on ecstasy? ecstasy is not easy to score these days, old man.
also, they were carding hardcore. they do not sell the underagers beer. in fact, they actively take it out of their hands when they see it.
you have a fantastic imagination. maybe you could try directing your fantasies into positive directions rather than being such an ill-informed curmudgeon?
Posted by: Anonymous at February 26, 2008 02:35 PM
I was there. That girl was CLEARLY on ecstasy.
Posted by: Devon at February 26, 2008 02:46 PM
i really doubt anyone there was sixteen.
you write well, but try not to be so bitter about lost youth.
Posted by: lauren at February 26, 2008 02:55 PM
people in their 30s often mistake freshman and sophomore NYU kids for high schoolers. I should know, I'm 35 myself and I go to a lot of these shows. I've seen it when the real teens come out, there's a difference.
mistaking a standard issue drunk college kid for a teenager on ecstasy? that's so clueless it's almost cute.
Posted by: Anonymous at February 26, 2008 03:03 PM
For the record, I'm not THAT old, but teenagers calling me "old man" is surprisingly enjoyable. "Carding hardcore," ha. But were they carding hardcore...to the max?
Posted by: Jeff K at February 26, 2008 03:10 PM
they always card everybody at these shows, not kidding. I'm 35 and I don't carry an ID. Often I get stamped on the tops of both my hands, with cirles drawn around the stamps to make it stand out that I am NOT OK TO DRINK - ha!
s'ok, I don't drink anyway. This happens at Death By Audio and Silent Barn too. there are reasons Todd P has been able to pull off these under the radar shows for so long. he is serious about certain things.
also, you're kind of wrong that the shows are perpetually running late. That Monday No Age one ran late, but it's a brand new space that they're working the kinks out of. Most of the weeknight shows of his that I got to are over by midnight, bandwise. the djs go later. The weekend ones are over by one. That Black Dice show on Saturday was over at one.
Posted by: Anonymous at February 26, 2008 03:21 PM
Well thanks for the sober analysis. I was a bit too quick to be sarcastic, and it's true that it was a mix of young college kids and for sure some actual high school kids. There was someone carding at the door, but not in a very aggressive bulletproof manner (at least when I came in) and sneaking shit in would have been beyond easy, which may just be a function of the new venue. I saw one girl who was clearly "on" something as described. I'll consider acid if that seems more plausible to everyone, but I never expanded the indictment to the crowd at large. And listen, some "bitterness" was clearly used for rhetorical effect. The end point, which I think I made fairly was that there are trade-offs made to be a part of something "underground" and I'm not sure anymore that they're worth it for me. But it's subjective...
Posted by: Jeff K at February 26, 2008 04:12 PM
When my great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather was a spry sixteen, he wished to view Francois Clouet's "Diane de Poitiers" at the gallery, but his mother wouldn't allow. His replay, and I'm paraphrasing here, was, "you are an old and crabby asshole!"
Can't we just appreciate the author's well written review? Where is it stated that reviews always have to spew positivity? As is, I got a better feel for the show than if the review were apologetic praise.
And c'mon, who else is going to take 46 words to say, "nice ass?"
Posted by: Randall Monty at February 26, 2008 04:13 PM
So...the sound sucked, the kids got wild, some allegedly with the help of illegal psychotropic drugs, the show started late, and maybe the combination of all these things led to a less than enjoyable experience for a veteran concertgoer.
Exactly what is surprising or novel about any of this? I can answer that - the one dude who can't score E on the planet earth.
Posted by: Sebastian at February 26, 2008 04:27 PM
yes, but see, the sound did not suck. Many people commented that the sound was quite good and the site lines are excellent. In fact, a lot of people were of a very different opinion about many details that Jeff here recounts.
the kids were scarcely "wild" they danced around in a very cheerful friendly way. It wasn't a Napalm Death concert or anything. it was an indie punk show, the kids jumped around harmlessly and some did stage carries. Nothing was out of control or even out of the ordinary.
Though the show did run somewhat late, it was over by around 1:30 or so. Nothing to write home about.
Nor was the space wasn't overcrowded. For one thing, the space can comfortably hold a lot more than 120 people, as Jeff estimated clumsily. the entire carpeted area in the back of the room was largely empty during No Age's and High Places' sets. The entrance room was barely filled at all. Not packed by any reasonable judgment.
I think Jeff came expecting to feel too old and too uncomfortable and so that's the experience he had. I just don't think he's objectively relating the experience most showgoers had at this show.
if you want to explore the "trade offs" of underground shows versus big, commercial ones, then please relate the details and facts without embellishing for dramatic effect. This show was hardly the sketchy, disorganized, out of control time bomb you present it as.
"let's get out of here"?? give me fucking break. This show was harmless and fun and the logistics were largely pulled off with panache.
Posted by: Anonymous at February 26, 2008 04:44 PM
Jeff is a kind of being a self righteous critic without knowing what he's talking about here.
He disses the organizers for the sound mix for Rings, but doesn't seem to understand that noise jam bands like Rings do all their own sound mixing on their own little Mackie boards and just send a single right/left feed to the house sound system. The sound guy doesn't have jack shit control over what their mix sounds like. All he can control is the volume.
Also, bands like High Places don't even use house sound systems. They have their own complete PA system that handles all the noise they produce. How's the sound guy and promoter responsible for their sound then?
Posted by: Anonymous at February 26, 2008 04:57 PM
On that one I gotta disagree man. Literally yes we did have to get out from the front of the crowd because people were slamming into my small girlfriend and I couldn't shield her from it. Life-threatening no, but a random foot to the head, crush into stage, or errant elbow to the ribs was very much a possibility. I'm talking a fat lip rather than a skull fracture, but it's still not a great time. It felt more crowded at the front, as it always does, but yes more people could have fit in the room, though I dispute that they would have all had a great view, because from the back, I didn't. I was referring more to Silent Barn as that comment was more about Todd P in general, but the writing there wasn't as precise at it should have been to make the distinction, and I'll cop to that.
The back of the crowd was an oasis from all of this, but really from there the view was diminished and like I said, honestly in my opinion, the sound wasn't great. I have been to many many concerts in the city in lots of different types of venues, alot of which I've written about here, and I always try to give a fair representation from where I was in the room. Hopefully long time readers will know that. People can go to the same show and have different reactions. I wasn't in to it, and here's why.
Posted by: Jeff K at February 26, 2008 05:00 PM
Anonymous said: "Also, bands like High Places don't even use house sound systems. They have their own complete PA system that handles all the noise they produce."
Isn't that directly addressed by the article: "The weatherbeaten PA system that they [High Places] lug around town with them kept sound difficulties to a minimum."
But, you know, good point anyways!
Posted by: Randall Monty at February 26, 2008 05:11 PM
hey anonymous,
Some day you might realize how dopey you sound. And hiding behind "anonymous' is extra lame.
Posted by: david at February 26, 2008 05:17 PM
ah Jeff just was in a shitty mood having walked from the L train. Winter in Brooklyn sucks and when you've gotten used to seeing shows at Mercury Lounge or whatever, anything seems like a squat with terrible sound and scary vibes.
as for this debate being unfair to Jeff or whatever; he's the one who put his opinions out for the world to read. When you level pointed criticism and appoint yourself journalist/critic, you have to be willing to receive the same in kind. He was pretty dismissive of a lot of people's work. Also, what's wrong with a healthy debate?
don't kid yourself, everyone's anonymous on the internet.
signed, anonymous
Posted by: Anonymous at February 26, 2008 05:38 PM
I think anonymous is making intelligent points, david. perhaps you sound dopey for being so quick to judge without justification.
by the way, just because you typed "david" into the name field doesn't make you not anonymous. where's the accountability? I don't see an email address or a website link to associate you with a real person.
Posted by: Phony McGee at February 26, 2008 05:45 PM
It's shitty to make the assertion that the people who live in this space and the people who throw shows there are selling beer to kids.
you are a) a finger-pointing prick, and b) wrong wrong wrong for suggesting that this place lets underage kids drink.
They can do nothing to stop underagers from drinking secretly or before they arrive, but
the crew who put on these shows are very responsible about not contributing to underage drinking. They go to great links to curb the kids consuming booze in the building and on the sidewalk nearby. It is not easy to physically take beers out of kids' hands, but they do it.
Shame on you for making a warrantless accusation.
Posted by: Joseph Kern at February 26, 2008 06:06 PM
Listen, I loathe keeping this going, and think I've said my peace for the most part, but on this direct point I feel like I have to comment. I said nowhere in this whole essay that I had any evidence, even anecdotal, that Market Hotel sold beer to underage kids. In an earlier a comment I said people were being ID'ed, but implied that a smart kid could get around it or bring their own booze. There were young looking people there drinking. This is true. They could very well have been legal. This is also true. I asked in the piece "who sold them beers?" If this was taken as a direct accusation it wasn't meant to be.
Posted by: Jeff K at February 26, 2008 06:14 PM
dudes, on the drinking. there is no accusations, and any implied one is misconstruing the humorous set up regarding potentially underage youths out late on a school night.
That said, if this is going to turn into a sanctimonious lesson on how live music promoters are hampering underage alcohol sales, can we just skip to the part where we all make pretend underage drinking is some sort of phenomenon with an actual cure, while ignoring the reality that under-21 people get away with boozing, just like all of us over-21 people did. Who is sounding old now? Christ, this is boring.
Posted by: Sebastian at February 26, 2008 08:09 PM
oh man i was at this concert!
high places were phenomenal.
i was able to dance and shimey and smile. the crowd was at a good place at that point.
i wish i could've done the same for no age,
i'm 21, i don't know if that counts me as an old fart aswell but the no age crowd was just too overwhelming, it was pretty much a sea of kids, and you weren't able to move the way you wanted to to the music, just caught by the sway, i had to go to the back which was boring cuz i could only see the kid hanging on to the column and the crowd infront of me and when i was "wooting" this girl looked at me like it wasn't necessary (oh man why are you at a punk/noise show?)! but there was plenty space to dance atleast.
i was by that girl too, she clearly had the signs of ecstasy, felt so bad for her poor victim.
and she started pulling and bumping at the speakers that were all too ready to topple over w/out her help, haha i thought i was gonna get crushed! oh man and an amazing plus was no age, that even with those technical difficulties right in the middle of the climax to everybody's down and completely stopping, when they started up again it was as if they didn't even miss a beat, maybe this wasn't something way special but it made me think of that oh to crazy meltdown 9-30 with a band that wasn't able to pull it off as well
Posted by: Anonymous at February 27, 2008 11:15 AM
I am going to preface this comment with the following information: I have been reading Jeff Klingman's writings for two years. So therefore I think my opinion on this post (and it's comments) counts more than that of the sporadic eyes that have visited this site.
Jeff is a bit of a snob and he knows this (hence, he writes music reviews). However, snob or not, Jeff is also fair. So to suggest that Jeff's age (and level of assholeness) has something to do with his review is wrong. Being impartial for a line-up like the the one at Market Hotel really isn't that difficult. It's not as if we are talking about bands that have had years of exposure in the media and that have been dissected many times before.
You can't take out the crowd from the music when attending a live show. It's just not possible. And after seeing No Age live here in Denver I have reason to believe Jeff's thoughts on the rowdy young ones are accurate. My boyfriend too was trying to be a wall to protect me from the elbows and other extremities of drug/alcohol induced teenagers. And concerts are supposed to be for the performers to perform...not to stop for 10 minutes to remedy sound issues caused by nutty concert goers.
Anonymous said: This show was hardly the sketchy, disorganized, out of control time bomb you present it as.
Something tells me that Anonymous is a bit sensitive. I didn't get the idea that any of the music was sketchy (maybe the performance of Skint) or that much was disorganized (describing a mosh pit means to be disorganized). And out of control time bomb? Nope, didn't get that one either. If it was an out of control time bomb I'm betting the review would have been much more interesting to read. --Just for kicks here is the Merriam-Webster definition of a mosh pit: an area in front of a stage where very physical and rough dancing takes place at a rock concert--
Jeff gave an accurate overall review of the events that took place last Monday night. That's sort of the point of being a music reviewer. If you don't agree then fine, you don't agree. Maybe you should go start a music blog of your own and present compelling arguments as to what your own opinions are. Seems to me that if Anonymous is able to represent the opinions of all the concert goers than he/she is obviously doing a lot of research and polling after concerts. And talking to your close friends, who are crazy fans of No Age, as you leave the show doesn't count.
Posted by: Kelli Douglas at February 27, 2008 07:57 PM
10 blocks to the subway? umm, isn't the venue right next to the good ole J/M/Z train?
Posted by: sd at March 12, 2008 10:33 PM
There was actually 3 video crews at this show - Pitchfork (they already posted up some of High Places) - VirtueTv (I think shooting for VLES) - and me (punkcast) - so you should eventually be able to judge it, at least musically, for yourself.
Posted by: joly at May 2, 2008 06:28 PM
