In Memoria: Michael Jackson 1958-2009

The early nineties were a difficult time to develop as a Michael Jackson fan. Bubbles, copious plastic surgery and Neverland Ranch magnified his spectacle while diverting from his talents. Grunge and flannel were becoming the popular standard—that is if Kriss Kross weren’t at the top of one’s list—and amongst my peers Super Bowl XXVII the game became more important than Michael the half-time show.

I was undeterred, however. I’d heard so much of this man, glimpsed the outrageous headlines in the checkout aisle, and jumped around joyously to his music even. It’s predictable that I remember nothing of the actual match—it turns out most of the country didn’t either. What I distinctly remember was the incredible sense of awe I felt when Michael took the stage. I was totally captivated. He struck such a defiant opening pose I was intimidated by the man. But I was quickly enthralled by his assertive leg kicks and supernatural twists and turns; his aggressive bandolier styling; the white collared shirt transformed into an immortal cape; the thrusting pelvis, convincing me of man’s rhythmic center. I was being confronted by this unshakable beat and ethereal image of masculinity and sensitivity that was cool. Dancing became cool. Before then dancing was for my sisters but now his music was making me want to dance.

Of course I had heard “Billie Jean” and “Black or White,” and loved their alluring bass line and dynamic guitar, but I hadn’t seen them, experienced them. The moonwalk, debuted a decade ago, was still something of a myth in my young head. But finally I witnessed it. His transcendent and transformative dance steps totally redefined my view of the art. And the crotch grab? It was there too. I ate up the iconic moves, his larger-than-life persona and the preternatural ease with which it was all delivered and felt an immediate need to share my catharsis. How could anyone I knew not fall in love with it? Even my immigrant parents—who were once wooed by Elvis’ baritone and pelvis—showed intrigue.

Managing to capture half of the 13-minute performance on my VCR, I was convinced my class would be equally amazed. So the next day, unsolicited, I brought the videotape to school to share the abridged experience. But strangely only a small fraction of my peers chose to stay inside during the snowy lunch recess to watch my recording. Why wasn’t everyone totally mesmerized by his performance? Didn’t everyone want to relive it over and over? I most definitely did.

Days after Michael’s passing, I feel similar. While I nurture my unbridled enthusiasm for Off The Wall, Destiny and anything imprinted with his talent, others gape at the manic devotion to a manufactured idol and simply don’t get it. Because my older, and wiser, sisters sat with me in choreographic awe during that half-time show did I really get how incredible Michael was. It’s the reason why my fondest Super Bowl experience has nothing to do with sports. Walking around New York City last Thursday, hearing his songs reverberate from every street-corner and bar, I relished the tacit community his music created amongst us. It’s only after his quintessentially American tragedy that we’ll begin to understand the invaluable cultural contributions he made to our society—while his descent takes on mythic proportions.

Miike Snow, the Maccabees @ Mercury Lounge w/ pics

June 22, 2009


Miike Snow is not an individual but a pseudo-supergroup of behind-the-scenes producers and songwriters, Bloodshy & Avant and Downtown Records in-house guru Andrew Wyatt. Though each is best known for pulling the strings on Madonna or Britney records, under Wyatt’s effects-laden vocals they coalesce into affable melodies and synthesizer shaped beats. At the Mercury Lounge’s intimate brick confines the group (backed by three additional musicians playing various samplers and synthesizers) still managed to eschew the spotlight, practically playing in the dark much of the time. Unfortunately the dance party intentions of their record weren’t promulgated clearly enough, so much of the brief 45 minute set was devoid of any stimulus that could match their catchy jams—or the Maccabees’ opening set. They opened with “Burial” and cruised through other hummable tracks, like their single “Animal,” “Silvia,” and “Plastic Jungle.” Canceling an earlier performance at Studio B, the group seemed to still be working out their stage dynamics and roles as performers. Not performing an encore made sense. The energy never quite evolved and the group still needs to perfect the art of working a live crowd. Hopefully Miike Snow’s hooky debut record won’t be their last.

the Maccabees


Miike Snow...

Peter Bjorn and John @ "Wonderlust" Live W Hotel w/ pics

March 17, 2009

After an awkwardly scripted, but hilariously oblivious, introduction by the night’s host Bryan Michael Cox, Peter Bjorn and John took the stage at their “Wonderlust” W Hotel gig. They’re physical and musical presence was highly anticipated, not having performed in the US for a year and their fifth album, Living Thing, arriving March 31.

Playing mostly new songs from Living Thing, their sound adhered to the stripped-down minimalist indie pop of past albums—namely the excellent Writer’s Block. But now, in their sparse arrangements synthetic sounds dominated. Peter Moren hammered away at a keyboard while John Eriksson eschewed a drum throne and kit, instead standing in front of a shelf of sampling pads, drums and cymbals while kicking a bass drum to his right.

Compared to their listless photo op upon entering the venue, the trio was animated and energetic, excited to be performing new music. In a bit of role reversal Björn Yttling played keyboard while Moren slashed away on bass for “I Want You!”

PB and J joined the Catchy-Kids-Chorus-Club with “Nothing To Worry About.” Gorgeous minor-soaked melodies scratched against Eastern flute samples and a heavy beat before Moren’s voice took over. It was the first point in the set at which everyone in the crowd was dancing and seemed to have a clue as to what the Swedes were up to.

On “It Don’t Move Me”, Yttling echoed the same piano sounds he created as producer on Lykke Li’s “I’m Good, I’m Gone.” Also the intro on title track “Living Thing” had hints of Moren’s Swedish rockabilly roots.

A few of the band’s songs were a departure from the irrepressibly catchy, but intriguing, melodies PB and J have accustomed themselves to. At some points they seemed to be veering towards the current post punk trend, one that dishevels their tight sound. Ending with “Object Of My Affection”, however, they played with precisely the type of above punk ethos their music—and facial hair—emanates.

Forty minutes later they finished with a single encore, “Young Folks.” I thought it was a bit 2007, and would have definitely preferred the “Me And Julio Down By The Schoolyard” Moren flaunted at a Mercury Lounge show a year ago.