The Hundred in the Hands - Commotion

disruption at its sexiest.

The Hundred In The Hands - Commotion from Warp Records on Vimeo.

laughs, tunes, stuffs...

I'm not exactly feeling 100% today, but it's for the right reasons.

I had the pleasure of experiencing the twisted humor of Daniel Tosh, Dane Cook, and next hottest thing, Taylor Bos last night at the Laugh Factory on Sunset. It was a late show, and I definitely exceeded the 2 drink minimum the club enforces, so forgive me if the commentary doesn't match the content and this post lacks any remarkable charm or wit. Just figured it was time to throw some stuff up on the ol' blog since.. I haven't all month, and time's running out.

First, here's a clip from one of T Bos' performances earlier this month. If you're smart, which I assume you are because you're reading this, you will make a point to see one his next shows before he completely blows up to become a mega superstar.

Check it.





Annnd.. here's a few less about laughing, more about dancing things that have caught my ear lately.




I heard this song at a party months ago but only recently found out it was Dragonette. Isn't that the best? Such a small, yet substantial personal victory.

Listen.

Dragonette - I Get Around (Midnight Juggernauts remix)



Two Door Cinema Club




These kids hail from Ireland and have been blowing up here in the states. I already impulsively bought tickets to their upcoming show at the Troubador in May. I'll probably still be in recovery from Coachella, but I don't think I will be disappointed. And I've yet to hear passion pit do a less than awesome remix. Seriously. I dare someone to prove me wrong.

Radness.

Two Door Cinema Club – Undercover Martyn Flexin’ It (Passion Pit Remix)






Chew Lips.


Chew Lips. Also, fantastic. South London dance pop trio. The lead singer's name is Tigs. What more do you need?

Listen.
(via shambles)

Chew Lips - Play together



And speaking of UK awesomeness, my girl Marina just continues to kill it. All her music is just so spooky and wonderful. It's like being on some acid trip in a fun house... or something.




Listen.

Marina and the Diamonds - Oh No





Well.. there you go. Hope I was able to shed some nourishing light on your Wednesday afternoon. Go see the talented Taylor Bos perform his next show if you're in LA.

And hopefully a few of these artists will find their way to your ipod. Or maybe not. I don't really care. I'll try to make my next post less hungover.

The Skeletons of Silverlake: Dead Man's Bones

What do you get when you cross The Notebook’s Oscar nominated heartthrob, Ryan Gosling, high-heel adorning bud Zach Shields, an obsession with the supernatural, and The Silverlake Conservatory Children’s Choir?

The creepiest, most haunting yet riveting celebrity music concept since Paris Hilton’s singing career.

Say hello to Dead Man’s Bones, Gosling and Shields young frankenstein of a musical collaboration. The two work with the children’s choir, along with an array of instruments (some they’re not totally sure how to play) to create this eerie, euphonic ensemble. Sort of like School of Rock, except way more goth, and a much stronger inkling to get authorities involved.

You can download their latest lament, My Body’s a Zombie for You below. Think Righteous Brothers’, Unchained Melody meets Wednesday of the Addam’s Family. It’s ominous. It’s amateur. It’s fantastic.

For a more visual interpretation of the Dead Man’s Bones concept, check out their live video for “In the Room Where you Sleep” as the two spectral visionaries lead a choir of Halloween costume-wearing children through a dark acoustic intonation. It’s like some junior high rendition of The Rocky Horror Picture Show gone wrong. And it’s awesome.

If cadaverous children singing with celebs just doesn't do it for you, at least skip to the very end of the video where the kid concludes the song with a giant sword. I have nothing else to say.

Way to go, Gosling. Nice to meet the non-Nicholas Sparks side of you.

Dead Man's Bones - My Body's a Zombie for You {mp3}

The 8 Rules of the Concert Venue

I recently graced the charming Koreatown’s, Wiltern Theatre with my presence to see one of my all-time favorite ‘fun’ bands, Metric*. My fellow concert attendees also happen to be some of my all-time favorite fun people, so I was good to go.

Since the concert took place on a Monday night, and I happen to live outside a 50-mile radius of the venue with work early the next morning, I decided to do the semi-responsible thing and remain…relatively dry for the event.

My lack of inebriation resulted in several factors. For one, it created a holistic, concert-going experience. My senses were heightened and I took note of every detail on stage. From isolating each instrument and listening to its sound individually, to the gold sequins that lined Emily Haines’ dress, to the chemistry between her and her guitarist beau, James Shaw. I felt in tune with every aspect of the performance.

But it wasn’t just the show I paid more attention to. I also became aware of, even fascinated by, things occurring beyond the stage.

I soon realized that concerts live in a certain cultural territory in the Universe, unaffected by the normal conventions of society. They fall under the same umbrella as airport spending, the Holiday diet and Spring Break 2006 where standard social rules are powerless, and an entirely separate rule-book is enforced. They are existing locales self-governed by a unique set of laws, having no effect outside its longitudinal, latitudinal coordinates. And what laws might these be, you ask? Well let’s dive in, or should I say, crowd surf (sorry) this topic, shall we? Nourishment readers, I give you...


The 8 Unofficial rules that adhere strictly to "The Concert Venue"



#1. Can’t hate on the drunk chick.

Yes, her long frizzy hair keeps hitting you in the face every time she sways back and forth to the music. You can never get a good view of the hot bassist because her hands keep wandering over her head in an attempt to seduce everyone around her (and possibly the bassist) with her pseudo-sultry moves. Regardless of what song is about to play next, she inevitability introduces each song to her loyal, almost-but-not-as drunk friend, Jessica as “Like, OMG! Best. Song. Ever!!!” She then proves to Jessica, along with everyone else that this is in fact, the best song ever by singing along with the band, getting about 60% of the words and hitting about 50% of the notes creating a 110% obnoxious effect. You want to strangle her. Preferably with her long frizzy hair so she can also see how it feels to have that nappy stuff touching you in places you don’t want it. But alas, you refrain. Why? Because not only would that be sick, but because deep down inside, underneath those Claire’s hoop earrings, chipped Wet’n Wild nail polish and Smirnoff-Raspberry twist breath lies a fan. A true fan with love for the band and their music. A fan who rocks out to their new album driving in her car on her way to work. A fan who has been looking forward to seeing this band live just as long as you have. And you can’t hate on that.




#2. But you can hate on #1 fan

Ah, #1 fan. Every band has one. This guy knows more band trivia than you, reads more pitchfork interviews than you, has seen them more times live than you, liked them before you even knew about them, liked them before anyone knew about them, including the band. That’s how much of a #1 fan he is. And it’s always a he. Don’t ask me why, it just always is. Oh, and he’s a terrible dancer. Mesmerizing terrible. As much as you can’t stand to watch, you can’t help but stare. God this guy sucks. And here, within the constraints of a concert venue, you can let him know that he sucks. Let him know that he paid his $26.50 just like everyone else. And if Emily Haines really did make eyes at him back at their Denver show in 2004, than maybe she would have hooked him up with some back stage passes. But guess what, she didn’t. You’re not special. You’re just like everyone else here. So start acting like it.




#3. The power of charm has no effect on Concert Security.

None. Whatsoever. Either that or I’m getting older. Fml.



#4. Concert Security are the worst people. Ever.

I know that’s not a rule, but it needs to be said. These people are
worse than the freaking parking police. Their job, essentially is to contain your level of fun. To make sure you don’t have more fun than you’re ‘allowed’ to. If they could hand out "exceeded fun limit" tickets, they would do so. Happily. You get my drift.

I know what some of you devil’s advocates are thinking. That their job is actually to ensure a safe environment for us concert goers.

But let me assure you that in the context of this concert venue, my opinion is completely valid. Because when Wiltern security treats a 5'4", 110 lb (and might I add, adorable) young girl like some insane character straight from OZ, you know someone is taking their job a little too seriously.

Okay, I’ll give it to them. Maybe I was out of line. Perhaps I should have been more respectful to the strict masking tape parameters they enforce to guard the aisle ways. Maybe my left toe really was causing a potential fire hazard. And maybe, I should learn to count down from 10 when I get frustrated with strangers, instead of the alternative, which is typically yelling out some crude variation of, “Seriously? COME ON!”

I can understand how all that power can go to their head. With those tight, black t-shirts reading, "SECURITY" they get to wear. The ability to look stoic while standing in the aisle ways. Complete and total apathy towards the band. Not to mention, the dutiful privilege of manning a double A battery powered flashlight. It really is no wonder why these people are completely engrossed in power. So, like I said, concert security suck. It is not a rule. It is a fact. Okay, it’s an opinion. I’m banned from the Wiltern for 6 months.



#5. The scent of weed welcomes you.

There’s not too much to expand on here. You’re going to find pot at a concert. Any concert. From the obvious, Slightly Stoopid, to the more obscure, Hannah Montana, it will be there. And it can belong to anyone. Your friend, your dad’s friend, hello kitty backpack girl, random old guy who may or may not be homeless, yet is still oddly attractive, it doesn’t matter. Perhaps it’s even yours, in which case, all the above-mentioned people will find you. No matter the music nor the crowd, it is always there. And no one ever seems to mind. Not even the almighty concert security. So, welcome to the show.



#6. Attend a concert to see - not to be seen.

Seems as though no matter how much time you spend bullet proofing your locks with hairspray, selecting the ideal “not-trying-too-hard-cause-I’m-at-a-concert-but-I-still-look-hot-and-we-both-know-it” outfit, and applying the perfect dual shade of sweetheart vs. bitch lipstick, you’re still going to look like you were beaten by a sack of cinder blocks by the end of the evening.

And if your curls are still in tact and lips still fighting by the end of the night, then you probably did something wrong… like stand against the back wall sipping on your jack and coke the entire show.

Guess where you can lean against a wall nursing a drink looking unimpressed by the scene and listen to music? A bar. You’re at a concert for a reason. To slam shots of vodka out of an arrowhead bottle in the parking lot with your friends, attempt to flirt your way to the front row, eventually get rejected and ultimately have the time of your life (or some variation of that - not saying you have to follow my lead). You don't have to be the ring leader of a mosh pit, but experience the show a little. Dance with strangers. Get your blood pumping. And don’t be afraid to glow a little. Sweatiness is next to Godliness within the constraints of a concert venue (as well as the gym and... ok, perhaps a few other places). So get out there and live the moment, cause in a quick 90 minutes, you’ll be out of that place and back to the same old song and dance.



#7. The bartender hates you.

And will always hate you. No matter who you are. Fat, skinny, beautiful, ugly, black card holder, spare change scrounger, domestic draft or tropical drink with exotic fruit garnish, parasol and a pink plastic sword, she’ll still hate you. She will look at you with contempt as she unwillingly fixes your drink, and accept your currency like you sneezed on it before handing it to her. There’s nothing you can do to change this. She simply does not like you. And she’s freaking old too! Like, really old. Way too old to be bartending at the Wiltern. Old enough to tempt you to ask the question, “What went wrong? Honestly. How did you get here?”



#8. It’s ok to get a little feisty, so long as you’re getting real

Between youtube, facebook, guitar hero, and don’t forget good old fashioned television, live entertainment is a dying breed. Concerts are one of the last pure forms of live entertainment we’ve got here in America. We don’t have carnivál, running with the bulls, tango shows or cock fights (I hope). Even Broadway’s fading. Concerts are real live entertainment for us to experience in our real life lives. So live it. Be bold. Get messy. Jump. Scream. Do whatever it is you’ve got to do to be real. Cause this is the place where you can be.



So there you have it. The 8 rules of the concert venue. Well, they’re my rules, at least - for now. Who knows what alterations I will make to my rule book at the upcoming Kings of Leon show? I think the overall rule is that there are no rules. It’s one of those games that you make up as you go. And aren’t those games the most fun at the end of the day? So abide by these rules at your next concert, or don’t. But just remember when you're at your next show, that concerts are authentic, unique, and animated experiences. Please act accordingly.




*If you made it through this entire post, and still have no knowledge of Metric other than a system of measurement, please go to the link below and download one the songs from their latest album, Fantasies. Enjoy :)


Gimme Sympathy - Metric {mp3}

Proof that alcohol really is your friend

I can’t help but feel like a hack for allowing a commercial to introduce me to a new band or artist. The hipster in me loves to already hate whatever song is playing in the latest iPod ad. But a mojito may have changed all that for me. The moment I heard the song playing in the new Bacardi spot, I fell in love, and needed to hear more.

Moments later and with minimal effort, I discovered the song I crushed on was called ‘Daylight’ by Matt & Kim. Ah, google. Solving all life’s quandaries one search at a time.

Turns out the talented rum-enthusiasts, Matt Johnson (vocals/guitar/keyboard) and Kim Schifino (drums) hail from Brooklyn and joined forces under the Matt & Kim moniker back in 2004 while both attending Brooklyn’s Pratt Institute.

With two albums out since then, and upcoming gigs everywhere from Stockholm to Sao Paulo, it's safe to say these Brooklynites have done quite well for themselves in just half a decade.

Listen to Daylight and more of the pair’s brand of punk-tinged indie pop on their sophomore album, Grand. (I don’t know how to upload music files yet - it’s part of this whole blog exercise for me to educate myself on such matters. But for now, I will remain primitive and offer you… myspace. I believe that minor setbacks like these will make the evolution of my blog that much sweeter. And besides, the wheel’s the shit!)

If you dig their sound, you can learn more about Matt & Kim here.

Don’t you just love stumbling upon new music? It’s like making a new friend, taking an accidental shortcut to work, realizing you do like the taste of whiskey after all. It’s an exciting little discovery you make about yourself that broadens that multicolor spectrum making a more colorful, beautiful, vibrant you. And let’s face it. As beautiful as we all are, it never hurts to brighten ourselves just a teensy bit more.

Oh yeah, and check out the Bacardi commercial below. It's awesome. Seems as though a zeitgeist of generations past is in vogue at the moment. Perhaps more on that topic in the future.

Killing me brightly

If you're like me, and you too have reoccurring dreams of running wild through the Nevada Desert with Brandon Flowers, being held by his statuesque 5 ft 9 frame, gazing deep into his perfect liner applied eyes... relishing a melodramatic sensitivity that only Conor Oberst could attest to, then there is a 78% chance you will enjoy this:

The Killers - Four Winds (Previously Unreleased)