"A rare and spectacular clusterfuck" is how Pitchfork, Ian Cohen specifically, described Omni by Minus the Bear which I happen to melt into a puddle for. Further, Ian claimed Minus the Bear's vocalist Jake Snider sings like a "disinterested outsider." I need to explain some things to Ian…

http://waitingtogetthere.blogspot.com/2012/01/rare-and-spectacular-cluster-fuck-bring.html

No time for fornication
but once I quit my paper route
she'll want my body

Did he really say that? Yeah, I think he did.

Going in, I had no expectations other than some chick named Jill told me she was friends with the drummer. But Breaking Laces totally put a little salsa on my tortilla chip. It was top-shelf spicy sauce magnified by the Rockwood, a tiny tiny brick-walled hole in the L.E.S. How tiny is it? If someone in the band did a high kick they'd probably take down the bartender.

The bass player looked like Dave Faulkner…

Richard Cheese held my hand. He looked deeply into my eyes and sang about some chick in a green shirt named Vanessa's hoo-ha. It was such a highlight.

At Webster Hall (http://www.websterhall.com/), there is always this big Big big Black dude security guard named Lowes. Lowes sits stone-cold and bulging biceps cross-armed in front of the stage. For entire shows, he steely eyes the crowd and keeps us in line via the silent promise of Unilaterally Assured Destruction.

Not even once, have I seen Lowes succumb to the merest facial twitch. But when Richard Cheese broke into a little swanky…

Music Review:: Louis XIV || Hot Hot Heat || Editors at Terminal 5

After the most logistically advanced night of my music review career involving late-night car services to places named Armonk NY, a La Quinta Inn, and three people from my office who picked me up at an ungodly hour on their way to Connecticut for a full-on business pitch Friday AM, I have successfully returned to tell my tale.

Terminal 5, the new venue on 56th & 11th, is much more solid in the way of structural underpinnings than the ramshackle fire traps in the East Village where…

Fri 9 Nov – Motion City Soundtrack, Mae, Anberlin, Metro Station

In the seedy underbelly of the East Village, tickets always claim 6:45 doors; and shows never start before 9:00. We're one with it. So needless to say, mid-town traditions smacked us awares. Color us surprised. At Roseland Ballroom on 52nd Street, shows begin promptly.

Thus we missed Anberlin entirely.

I dig Anberlin. Such was the bummer.

First-string opener Mae took the stage just as we rolled into the venue. As they cranked through their set consisting of basically one very lengthy song, I got to thinking. I got to…

Tom and I travel to the cursed depths of Manhatten for a Tuesday night show at Webster Hall.

Steel Train

Opening band Steel Train consists of five dudes from Mr. Kotter's class. Their conjoined earnestness oozes from their pores and permeates the room with the faint odor Gabe Kaplan's encouragement.

Tom says they are "tight." I say one day, when moldy rockstar grime has smothered their dilligent fascination with their instruments, then, maybe, they will become intriguing enough for big-eyed girls with knapsacks to chase around.

Musically, Steel Train's songs contain an average of three notes, which the gaggling supersilious…

Thoroughly checking all sources on last night's Bowery Ballroom event, the tickets gave the show start at 6:00, the TurboFruits' website said they went on at 7:00, the Bowery Ballroom website listed 8:00, but in actuality, doors opened around 10.

Before you say we should have called the venue before just taking a weighted average of the likelihood of accuracy for all reported start times and showing up about 8:30: Please be aware they never pick up the phone and the recorded message is endless dribble relaying the phone numbers of other venues to call due to some cunning…

Ted Nugent has had a relatively inexplicable run of success. I personally cleared out of the Nuge camp in eighth grade. His sweaty with cat scratch fever self opened for Aerosmith at the Hershey Arena. Venue of Champions. He reminded me of Gilbert Godfrey, only more annoying and slightly louder.

"Word up, Captian Obvious." (This is you talking, just to clarify in case your brain missed the turn.) "Everybody knows the Motor City Madman is a hairy, lewd fashion victim. And everybody knows he legally adopted his seventeen year old girlfriend to have sex with her in the 70's. The…

The white suit changed him into a stiff-legged marmish. He kept patting his newly lengthy tresses.

Emergency! Conor Oberst has been sandwiched inside ill-fitting Wonderbread. But I still have a thing for my little pig in a blanket.

Scalping : Requires Practice

We are the Scalpers of Suck. We even suck in the hobbyist category. We should have just locked up some Karma points by giving away our extra ticket. This did not occur to us.

Opening Act Gillian Welsh feat. David Rawlings

Good. If you're into full-on folk music sung by a skinny chick in mid-calf cowboy boots and…

The Lower East Side Mercury Lounge floor shuddered under the weight of a sold out show. While the rest of the skinny, shaggy band collected on stage, TPC's lead singer and bass player, a blue-eyed hottie, charged through the crowd.

(The oddly positioned green room nestles the whole way on the other side of the club.)

Amped up sound flickered, swelled, and burst into a burning conflagration of wild staccato rhythm clamped together with barbwire melodies. Right then, according to me, a chair would have sucked like a jail cell.

The drummer wailed. Tambourines splintered under the weight of the…