pop goes the Mercury Lounge

I went to the Mercury Lounge last night with my girlfriend and one of her co-worker friends. Her friend was excited about seeing Stars. The Mercury Lounge is this tiny venue that has a bar at front, a glass door, then a square space that gives the audience the ability to stand mere inches away from the band. I'm always a sucker for places like this and I hadn't seen either of the opening bands, I Am Kloot and Apostle of Hustle, so ... I'm one of those dreadfully uncool people who wants to show up right when the doors open. Unfortunately, my wants were not being met on this frigid evening so we walked in at the end of what appeared to be a really good set by I Am Kloot. I hate it when I do that. I don't know what it is about the Mercury Lounge, but there seems to be an inherent fear of standing too close to the opening act. Maybe it's the New York culture of 'cool', in a 'cool' venture, with a performance space that is far too intimate for their sensibilities. Maybe they fear that, if the band sucks, 'uncoolness' will get stuck all over them and then they'll never find happiness and/or get laid. Like getting caught talking to a loser, it's hard to get away. If you stake a spot within 10 feet of the band, they will be obligated to stand there through the entire set. Unforunately, this leaves a swimming pool-sized space open where, inevitably, some jackass saunters front and center, pretends to listen for 1-to-2 minutes, sip from his beer, then wander off as if he were checking out a houseplant onstage.

The second band, Apostle of Hustle, was... well, I know that there are a lot of fans out there for bands like Broken Social Scene, Sonic Youth and other 'soundscape' bands for whom 10 minute ballads of feedback are sweet nectar of sonic bliss. There are also a number of men who love to get their balls stamped on by leggy women in high heels. I am not a member of either group. Interestingly, the hour of Apostle of Hustle seemed to be for fans of the former while I felt like the victim of the latter. If I was stoned on pot and had a couch to fold myself into, these bands would be perfect. No... that's not true. I still wouldn't listen to them. Bands like this feel more like intellectual exercises for the musicians than for the audience. Listening to these bands live only intensifies the feeling. Even one of my favorite bands, Wilco, falls victim to this when they're playing live. I like my extended songs, like Death in Vegas's recent album and Underworld's stuff, but, for the most part, my roots lie in blues, punk and Nirvana - I like a group that jumps into a song, gets to the point, hits it really frigging hard (not necessarily loudly), then gets the fuck out of there... and a great hook doesn't hurt.

The third band, Stars, was the reason that I had come out. Before the band could come onstage, however, it was the sound mixer's job to make the waiting period as gruesomely painful as possible. For 20 minutes, we were all treated to a deafening rendition of bad poetry and jazz-like musical pap. Just in case we didn't want to listen, the board operator made sure that he pumped the volume up until it was even louder than the 5-piece rock band that had graced the stage only minutes earlier. By the time Stars had made it onstage, the club had been beaten into submission. The lead singer nervously laughed and joked at the graveyard silence that hung over the room.

I was a little skeptical about Stars as a live band before I had arrived. They have a very alt-poppy sound and the big track that I knew was "Look Up"- one of those catchy, uplifting, light songs that seem instantly destined to be licensed for some family-drama on ABC. They really won me over, though. They had this fun, vaguely-sarcastic energy that kept the set moving along. They didn't get stuck staring at the floor or have that mood-sucking habit of re-tuning their guitars between every song. They actually interacted with the audience and one another and, believe it or not, 2 or 3 of them EVEN made eye-contact with the audience. At first, it was unnerving to see an indie band having fun AND recognizing that there was an audience present.

Tonight, my caffeine-propped girlfriend and I are hauling our asses to Brooklyn to check out Cat Power. Chan Marshall, like Alison Mosshart (The Kills), PJ Harvey and Courtney Love has become my most-recent female rocker fixation. It's been hard for me to love any female musician too much, however, after the loss of my first love, Liz Phair. Oh Liz, Liz, Liz... what happened to thee?

Wish me luck.