CMJ Wrap-up, Pt 2 (2nd day up until it went ass)

After bumming around with Joe Mabbot for most of the day, we discover that his badgless status prevents him from seeing the Hold Steady play an acoustic set at Lincoln Center, so he heads across town, eventually planning on meeting up with the Rhymesayers squad which has descended upon Irving Plaza. A lack of a badge has also shut out James “JG” Everest, who I’m surprised to find milling about the lobby. He couldn’t get in to see Anticon’s Why?, about whom I’ve heard good things, but they’re just wrapping up as I arrive, so it’ll have to wait for next time. I feel for them (Joe and James), I really do, but I also feel like catching the Hold Steady, so I flash the plastic and head upstairs.

I’m excited to see them setting up for an acoustic set, which I wasn’t expecting, and bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun from behind, the Hold Steady deliver one of the finest sets of the conference. A large amount of the band’s appeal comes from setting Finn’s hyper-literary and arch lyrics against a sleazy bar band backdrop, and I was surprised to find that the songs carried over rather well to the acoustic setting. It highlights Finn and lets the piano work come to the forefront. “Certain Songs” (my favorite track from their first disc) quietly brings the crowd in, and for a conference taking place in one of the busiest, noiseiest cities on Earth with some of the loudest, squallingest bands in the dankest, nastiest clubs, it’s a beautiful moment of light, marble and rock and roll devotion.

Plus, moments after they finish, George Clinton walks by. Don’t ask me why, but I’ll bet you there’s not a whole lot of 60-odd year-old black men with neon hair and glasses walking around, so he stands out a bit. A gaggle of badge holders dive for their digital cameras.

I grab a quick plate of sesame chicken at Ollie’s (why can’t anyone in Minnesota figure out how to really make sesame chicken—this stuff is amazing) and head back down to Union Square for the Atmosphere listening party at tiny Bar 119 right next to Irving Plaza. The listening party was supposed to be at Irving Plaza, but apparently, some problems have arisen and so instead we’re next door, munching on apps (tofu on a skewer (which Jay Bird (Atmosphere’s tour manager) is enjoying), some crispy chicken with scallions, calamari, tempura vegetable—all really good stuff, actually) and enjoying the open bar. An open bar is almost unheard of in NYC, so several whiskey sours make their way my way. On hand are the Rhymesayers all-stars, fresh from a crazy show at Yale the night before. P.O.S. says the tour’s been 2/3 good, meaning two good shows and one bad one so far. Slug’s had good shows so far, although he admits to being a little nervous about the new record actually dropping. He’s accosted throughout the party by various DJs looking for him to do radio drops, usually repeating, “Hey this is Slug and when I’m not teaching your girlfriend how to play strip chess I’m listening to …” I mingle with Craig Finn, who’s going to do a song with P.O.S. this evening, Destro from Boom Bap and the Atmosphere band. Finn and I discuss the story that’s been making its way through the Minneapolis community out here: The Constellations’ van was broken into last night in Brooklyn and they lost a Telecaster, Mader’s much-beloved Jazzmaster (he’d had it since high school) and an iPod. Tad Kubler from the Hold Steady apparently hooked them up with the Gibson rep and they’ve got their gear needs covered for the weekend, but it still just sucks. I guess CMJ is pretty much open season in NYC for gear-thiefs; crack open any van in the boroughs and you’re more than likely to find some equipment.

At some point I start to realize that CMJ is mostly a whole lot of schmoozing and that I barely know anyone. Mostly, I know the musicians, and they’re busy talking to all the schmoozers. Still, I’m not gonna turn down free apps and drinks. Not in New York, at least.

As I’m getting ready to head over to Irving Plaza for the show, cops suddenly descend on the place. Bet you didn’t see that coming! About six cops show up, interrupt the lovely discussion I was having with Nate from Atmosphere and Craig Finn about skateboards with giant wheels, and ask us to move towards the exit. I don’t mess with the men in blue as a rule, and especially not with NYC cops.

There are a bunch of hoops to jump through to get into Irving Plaza with a camera, but once they’re jumped through, I feel like a real reporter, complete with vinyl sticker to get me into the trough in front of the stage for the first three songs of each performer’s set. I spy Crescent Moon who’s in town for the Kill the Vultures show at Northsix the next night. He stands out like a sore thumb; who else wears a straw hat to a hip-hop show?


P.O.S. kills it. Blah blah blah. You’ve heard it before but if I have to grab your T-shirt in a bunch and spew saliva all over you to get you to pay attention, I will: Stef Alexander is it. It was a particular treat to hear some older stuff from Ipecac Neat. At Minneapolis shows, he’s mostly been playing new stuff, plus he’s usually with the rest of Doomtree, so we only get to hear a few dedicated P.O.S. songs per set. It warms my heart to hear “Kidney Thief,” “Kicking Knowledge in the Face,” and “That One.” He leads the crowd in call-and-response and calls Finn up to perform a new track from Stef’s upcoming Audition album, due out January 2006. Too long for me.

Boom Bap Project is up next. Their disc is a real treat, mostly down to Jake One’s production, but as you may know, quality sound on the tracks is the first thing to go when rap takes the stage. The beats are still great, but the MCs pale in comparison to P.O.S.’s charisma. Still, they’ve got some good tracks and they’re a great signing for Rhymesayers since they represent a distinctly un-emo and old school kind of hip-hop.

I Self Devine hits with Buddha Tye in tow and brings a much more aggressive tone to the evening. It doesn’t hurt that the guy’s absolutely larger than life. I enjoyed the set a lot, but I was already worried about making it to Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and the Robbers on High Street over at the Mercury Lounge, so I head out in the middle of I Self’s set and make my way back onto the N and down to the Merc. This is the point when I discover that Bar 119 is completely blacked out and there are closure notices from the police with language like, "By the order of the New York Police Department..." on them. I begin preparing my stories about how I was there the night it closed, for future inclusion in my memoirs.