CMJ 2001 Marathon
One Music Reviewer's Journey
New York City
By Roxanne Blanford
( www.music-reviewer.com November 2001 )
This ain’t no party, this ain’t no disco.
This
ain’t no fooling around.
This ain’t no Mudd Club, or CBGB’s.
I ain’t got time for that
now.
~~”Life During Wartime” Talking Heads
September 11,
2001 is a day that will live
on in infamy for a host of reasons. Not only will that day be remembered for the unprecedented terrorist assaults in America
that tumbled New York City’s World Trade Center towers down to the ground; ripped a searing, smoldering deadly hole
right through the Pentagon Building, and brought thousands of civilian lives to an unthinkable, soul-shattering end, it will
also be remembered for being the day that brought contemporary music’s premier talent showcase to a resounding halt.
Originally scheduled to start Thursday, September 13
in New York, the College Music Journal’s 2001 Marathon was justifiably postponed in response to the unconscionable events of
that unforgettable Tuesday morning.
Those
unfamiliar with New York City‘s landscape might assume the music fest was postponed for security concerns, respect for
the victims and in deference to the nation’s mindset. While this is true, it is not the complete story. Downtown Manhattan, which encompasses parts of Chelsea, SoHo, NoHo, Lolita, the Lower East Side, East
Village, West Village, Battery Park City, the Financial District, and the like, was virtually shut
down for weeks following the WTC attacks.
With
emergency rescue and clean-up operations taking precedence, human traffic was banned, and, as it so happens, that architecturally
dense southernmost section of Manhattan is where a number of the city’s
funkiest, most happeningest music clubs are. So, not only did no one feel like celebrating, no one could physically
get to the venues.
Simply
put: If the people can’t get there, then the CMJ Marathon can’t happen
there.
This year’s CMJ Marathon may have been down and
slightly beaten, but it was not completely out. Exactly one month later, in the middle of a city digging out of the ruins,
a nation recovering and readying to strike back against the global terrorist threat, the year’s most anticipated grass-roots
rock n roll music fest was back on and ready to go.
Yet, the CMJ 2001 Marathon’s month long postponement drastically affected the event’s line-up. Many bands
(among them, some pretty high-profile, sought after performers) either could not manage the new schedule or simply would not
fly into New York
City. Some notable
absentees for the Oct. 11-13 festivities included Oysterhead, Stereophonics, Ryan Adams, Coldplay, and Ben Folds (without
Five).
In their stead, some intrepid and conversely ‘lucky’
indie and unsigned bands (Zooloft, Cropduster, Among Thieves, The Salteens) stepped up
to the challenge (and the mic) and put themselves out
there.
As a native New Yorker and music reviewer with a primo
assignment, I felt some kindred spirit with these bands and their dedication to make
the scene despite and in spite of the chaos and insecurity.
That being said, and Osama notwithstanding, I set out
on Day One of the CMJ 2001 Marathon, adhering (as best I could) to my original agenda:
To see and hear some good new music and, perhaps, learn
a thing or two in the process.
The main thing I learned is a CMJ Marathon is all about
timing. As a spectator, you have to get to the venue early enouth to get a prime view of the band, grab a brew from the bar
(this is REQUIRED!), hear some cool music, and get out fast and to the next club without missing a beat. The beauty of a CMJ
Marathon in New
York is the proximity
the clubs have with eachother: some are on the very same street, or right next door, even. For some, you need to hop a train
to get there, or hail a cab.
But, the overall objective
is, if you can manage, to see as many different bands in as many different venues as possible. One slight err in judgment,
however, or a late train or wrong directions, and you risk missing the act you were intending to see, or, worst still, you
get there in time to see the act you wanted, but can’t see the stage.
Case in point: Clinic at the Bowery Ballroom on the
fest’s opening night.
The Bowery Ballroom is great lower east side venue;
1,000 plus capacity, three-levels and one of the best sound systems. There’s an SRO main floor, and some chairs on the
upper level. But, the standing body count can sometimes make it nearly impossible to see the band on stage. By the time I
made it to the club (8:20pm), the place was
packed and Clinic were deeply into their 30-40 minute set of neo-psychedelic rock. Wearing their signature face masks, Clinic
certainly made a topical statement, although I wasn’t sure if it was in reference to recent Anthrax scares, in honor
of Michael Jackson’s eminent new release, or as a reaction to the thick blanket of cigarette smoke in the air.
(Actually, those are ALL pretty good reasons!). But,
as I hung in the back, straining for air and resigned to only hear Clinic and not see them, I found myself thinking:
“I wonder what’s going on elsewhere?”
And this, I soon discovered, is the ultimate
irony and beauty of the CMJ 2001 Marathon. So many
bands, so many clubs. Yet, as one person you can only be in one place at one time. Then again, this is New York. And even when there isn’t a music marathon going on, the abundance
of clubs, bands and fans make this city a smorgasbord of musical choices. During the CMJ 2001 Marathon, you have a choice
between Juliana Theory’s massive and powerfully rocking, crotch-grabbing, high-tech, mosh-pit generating show at the
behemoth Wrestling Federation multi-tainment plex, The World (in the heart of the “new” 42nd Street),
and the hip-hop smooth groove of Afu-Ra, Rahzel, and The Beatnuts at the swanky BB King supper club/bar, oddly enough, also
located on the “new” 42nd Street, or, the high impact, sensual throb rock of a band like Girls Against
Boys at the Village Underground, a club with a capacity of only 200. Such hard choices, but, oh to have that dilemma!!
Personally, I prefer New York’s
Lower East Side. For the price of a pack of smokes you can watch,
up close and personal, the sweat beading off the chin of the lead singer. You can reach out and actually touch the edge of
the stage (or the lead singer’s shoe, or the lead singer’s…well, you get the idea). You not only ‘see’
the show, but you’re so damn close to the action, you almost become it.
For my money, the glory of downtown clubs like the Village Underground, exists in the intimate and low-key atmosphere
they offer. Whether nestled smack-dab in the middle of the New York University campus , or, like Arlene’s Grocery, housed
in a once dungeon-like but cool L.E.S. dive, (where the bands still play for free), or
the eclectic and nocturnal Luna Bar, the basement atmosphere of the ACME Underground, or the up and coming, but always reliable Lion’s Den, the pickings are plentiful.
These are the kinds of clubs where unknown, local bands cut their teeth and show their stuff; where over the din of urban yackity-yack and the occasional televised ballgame (yes, even during a performance),
you watch as a band performs in front of 10 people, and the very next night, it’s neck craning bodies crammed to the
rafters: and on both nights, the bands are as unknown as next week’s headlines. Whether this is typical of the New York music scene or the indie rock scene itself is hard to tell.
But during the CMJ 2001 Marathon, it’s a never-ending feast of new sounds and
new hopes.
While eskewing the big clubs for the up-close setting
of 250 capacity (or less) venues, I was privy to some of what I am certain will be the IT musical acts of tomorrow. Without
a Coldplay or a Ryan Adams to make the CMJ 2001 Marathon a huge draw,
the lure of the unknown, untried and undeterred took over.
“We basically lucked out with this gig”,
said C. Daltry of the ethereal and melodic band, Reservoir, after their set before an audience of 10-15 loyalists at the Village
Underground. “Another band was scheduled, but couldn’t make it, so we got right in. Jud Ehrbar (formerly of Space Needle and Reservoir’s lead singer/songwriter) is from around
here, but me, I can relate to what it
must be like to be from California,
or Ohio or Rhode Island, and face flying into New York at this time. I mean, it must be pretty intimidating, and scary if you’re
like, a college student or college promoter from another part of the country. I guess that’s why so many decided not
to show.”
The CMJ 2001 Marathon’s postponement was a mixed blessing. For organizers, it was a huge PR and logistics
conundrum, as well as a head-spinning ordeal to book replacement bands at the last minute. But for the bands themselves, terrorist
attacks or no, the opportunity to showcase their music was an opportunity not to be taken lightly. Although many expressed
a shared feeling of it being a ‘really odd time’, or of it ‘feeling kind of strange’, noting how ‘the
event seemed smaller and more understated this year’, they also believed performing was still an essential duty.
Mark Flaherty, the barefooted/bareheaded lead singer and principle songwriter for the New York City based modern rock band, Better Days, put it this way:
“I think what happened on Sept. 11th left CMJ no choice. The event, like all other events of any kind happening now, suffered
a bit. That’s to be expected. But, music is the language of the soul. No matter what the circumstances, even such unthinkable
things as [the attacks], music always finds a way to be heard.” Showcasing songs from their releases SOMEDAY YOU’LL
GROW UP and LEAVING THE BLUE, at the Lion’s Den, Better Days crafted a transcendental show, one that aspired to lift
weary souls up and out of the stark reality of the moment. “Anytime you can bring together fans, industry people and
musicians with the single intent of sharing music, good things can happen, and if we take anything away from this experience,
I hope THAT will be it.”
Singer/songwriter/guitarist Leslie Nuss, held court on at the Lion’s
Den on the following night. Like a true ACTION HERO SUPERSTAR (the title of her latest release), with a vocal range
that challenges Delores O’Riordan of the Cranberries and songs that pack more emotional punch than Alanis Morrisette
and Amy Mann combined, Ms. Nuss put on a rivetting, earnestly performed show. When asked to share her thoughts about performing
in the shadow of recent events, she was gracious, reflective and unabashedly honest.
“It’s been personally devastating for me.
I was in NYC at the time, and I feel greatly affected by the WTC attack. At times
like this, it’s important to talk, to communicate your feelings. Through email and my website’s message board,
I’ve kept in touch. Doing that helps a lot. My band was already booked before any of this happened and we know that
getting a slot on CMJ is a lot of hard work. And, as a woman in the rock n roll business, it’s doubly hard, so it was
real important to be here. We were determined to play, and just hoped that local people would come out. So far, it’s
been pretty good. New
York is always
a great place to play. People truly support music here.”
Boston rockers Pennywheel, whose forceful set of songs
from their MY FIRST ROCK BAND disc at Arlene’s Grocery nearly brought the house down, were just happy to be there -
and happy to be just about anywhere.
“Yeah, the event seems a little quiet, it puts
things in perspective, you know”, frontman Tom Dubitsky considered. ‘But, we’ve still managed to have a
good time. We’ve been playing New York
all this week and the audiences have been good, the turnout’s been real good. It’s important to remember that
part of being an American is having a few beers and listening to music. I mean, our prayers go out to everyone who was touched
by this thing, and being here in this city, at this time, really humbles you as a musician.
But we’re trying to make the best of a bad situation
and, you know, get on with living and play some rock n roll.”
Brian Fenske, of the local alt-rock trio, Z-Wheeler,
admitted that everyone in the band ‘all know someone directly involved’ with the WTC tragedy and sensed a cloud
over the music scene in New York
with fewer people coming out. But overall, he said, people are still supporting music and supporting the bands that made it. Fenske also found the spectre of performing particular songs ‘weird’ and
therefore, chose not to do them when they performed at Arlene’s Grocery ahead of Pennywheel.
“There are 3 songs we didn’t play this
time out because after September 11, they have different meanings. The lyrics are dark and, well, after the incident, it just
didn’t seem right to play them. This whole thing makes you step back and re-evaluate your life. But, as musicians, we
just have to do what we do. We make music and that’s what we’re gonna continue to do for as long as we can.”
From my own perspective, audiences seemed pretty routine
for New York. A lot of talking, some restlessness, and even an
aura of blasé’ boredom.
Typical New York music crowds.
What WAS alarmingly apparent, however, was the scarcity
of CMJ badges in the midst. From years past, I recall noticing an abundance of badges at small venues. It was, (dare I say
it?) a ‘badge of honor’ to be an industry insider and to be seen at low-key clubs where indie rock bands played
their hearts out to audiences who either had no idea who they were, or where mom and dad and friends fromcollege hooted for
their own.
This year, it seemed, most industry folk were holed
up in the CMJ 2001 Marathon official uptown ‘headquarters’: The New York Hilton, schmoozing, networking and panelling
their time away, far removed from the daily and nightly grind of hard-working, hard-performing musicians. Forgive me, but
for my time and effort, I was much more interested in seeing the bands perform for the masses, whether those masses are in
the 10’s, 100’s or strainging towards 1,000.
If I wanted to know ‘what’s the place of
music in times of national tragedy?’, I’d rather talk to the guy holding the guitar with blistered and bleeding
fingers, or the woman who has been staying up nights writing songs addressing the very issue, rather than listen to some talking
head sitting behind a podium with a degree in music theory, journalism, sociology or economics wax intellectually about ‘social
conscience and popular culture’. Give me a break!
Pared down, scaled down, toned down, CMJ 2001Marathon
was far from a letdown. I got to see and hear some pretty cool bands, talked to some way cool musicians and rubbed elbows
with diehard music fans down in the trenches. I, for one, had a blast and from what I could tell, so did everyone else who
made the journey.
Life during wartime has definitely given us all a reason
to pause. But for three days and three nights in the city that never sleeps, the College Music Journal 2001 Marathon certainly gave us reason for applause.
Rock On!
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