Well boys and girls, I've almost recuperated from last week's action-packed four days of music, debauchery, and moments of outright perplexity as I navigated through the streets of New York and experienced the exhiliration of live music in some of the city's hippest dives. The Latin Alternative Music Conference pulled out all the stops this year, it's ninth, showcasing performances by some of the most cutting-edge artists in the genre I hate to call a genre just becasue it's so damn inclusive and unrestrained it defies all categorization. Besides, labels are so passé. The conference was bristling with emerging and established acts from across the Americas and Spain, as well as the usual coterie of industry people. I gotta admit though I skipped out on all the hobnobbing and panels to partake in a little urban exploration -- sometimes alone, other times in the company of my cousin Patricia, who is rather halirious in that singular Miami Cuban meets New York kind of way. So rather than sit in the ballroom at Midtown's Roosevelt Hotel on day two, for instance, to hear movers and shakers representing Billboard, IODA, and Universal Latino, amongst others, discuss whether or not a record label can be outsourced - too much for me - I grabbed some Chinese and took the subway to the Lower East Side where I hung out with some very cool people from Nublu Records, one of the most happenin' labels in town, if not the country.
But I'll start with day one, a day that began with a visit to the Met and ended with me getting lost in Brooklyn Heights at around 3AM. In between I registered for the conference at The Roosevelt, got together with my editor from Global Rhythm over a few beers at a chilled-out bar on 36th St. (between 5th and Madison) called Under the Volcano, and eventually made my way to Lower Manhattan's Mercury Lounge on Houston Street. The GoTV Indie Showcase featured performances by Forro In The Dark, Zigmat, Pilar Diaz, Don Tetto, Afrobeta, and Guajiro. But I took the F train in the wrong direction and almost ended up in Queens. Arriving late and hungry, by the time I set foot in the Mercury, Brazil's Forro In The Dark had already played to my dismay. The band was formed spontaneously about five years ago when a group of musicians came together to play Wednesday nights at Nublu, a diminutive Lower East Side club that also spawned dance/electronica group The Brazilian Girls, who coincidentally was featured at LAMC. But more about Forro In The Dark, The Brazilian Girls and Nublu later. I caught the last two song's from L.A.-based songstress Pilar Diaz's set. The Chilean-born vocalist is launching her solo career after cutting loose from the bilingual new wave outfit Los Abandoned. I thought "Ilegal," with it's overpowering bassline and punk attitude in reflecting on the underworld of immigrant smuggling across the border was bold, both in message and sound.
After that I decided to grab a bite at the famous Kat'z Delicatessen nearby, you know the eatery where Meg Ryan does her fake orgasm scene in When Harry Met Sally. Well that's great and all but I must've been on crack cause I ended up spending $20 on a pastrami sandwich and a can of Diet Coke. As I wrestled with the oversized sandwich I missed Zigmat, another band that plays at Nublu but has yet to ink a deal. Next up was Miami-based electro-pop trio Afrobeta, whose lead singer took the stage in a blond afro wig. They made a lot of noise and got me thinking that electro-pop is becoming a hackneyed trend, overused as a substitute for true musicianship. After their set I walked a couple of blocks to the Forro In The Dark after party at Nublu where I filled my cup on musicianship and some ass shakin' to top it off. The narrow, little club under a blue light, at some point grew into a record label that signs bands and collectives like the aforementioned Brazilian ensemble that plays a variation of forró, Wax Poetic, 3 Na Massa, Nublu Orchestra, Love Trio, and other sonically refreshing projects. It was great to be in a club where everybody was dancing in very close proximity to each other, getting their groove on to Forro In The Dark's blend of northeastern rhythms and urban grit. I danced so much that tributaries of sweat began running down my back. I made it back to Brooklyn Heights in one piece, but I must have lost my sense of direction due to exhaustion, getting lost within the radius of a couple of blocks. As I walked around in circles during ungodly hours, I noticed a black sedan with tinted windows slowing down behind me. I thought this is it, and imagined myself hogtied and stuffed in the trunk of a car. Finally I came upon some city workers spreading gravel on the roads and asked a black guy with a cherubic face, all coy 'n shit if he knew where Atlantic Avenue was located. He said yes, but after I asked him to point me in the right direction he responded with an arctic ice dry no. Motherfucker, I said, no wonder you're here raking gravel at 3 o'clock in the morning, bitch. Then like a miracle I turned around to see Atlantic. It was a celestial thing to see that little green sign, hanging from the electrical lines in the dead of the night, like a light in the tunnel.
Thursday, day two: More roaming the streets, particularly the Lower East Side, which I became enamored with. I imagined what it must have been like at the turn of the century in the era of the tenements and the different ethnic groups marking their territories. At night I found myself at the Bowery Ballroom on 6 Delancy St., not far from were the legendary CBGB's once stood. Spanish power punk-ska outfit La Pulqueria opened the showcase with a hard-driving, energetic set. The seven-piece band from Valencia blew the audience away with its full-throttle sound, which included a plaintive trumpet and trombone section, hyperkinetic drumming, electric guitar thrashing, funk bass forays, and a lead singer bursting with onstage bravado. They were followed by Mexico City psychedelic punk-rock, electro-pop outfit Los Fancy Free. Uniformly dressed, the band delivered quirky, enigmatic soundscapes and frontman Martin Thulin, a.k.a. Menonita Rock, even jumped from the stage and sang in the crowd during a song about global warming. The night climaxed with a breathtaking performance by 22-year-old singer/songwriter Ximena Sariñana. Following her #1 Mexico debut, Mediocre, in February, the starlet-turned-musician dropped her buzzworthy album in the U.S. on July 15. Sariñana's Bowery gig was her first ever performance in NYC and she lived up to all the hype surrounding her release. Fiona Apple en español? Maybe so. But behind the childlike demeanor, quirkiness, and indie-appeal, there's something remarkably mature and very Latin about Sariñana's music. She was a tough act to follow, but it didn't stop Alex Cuba from going on with his barebones band comprised of himself on guitar, a bass player, and a drummer. What the Cuban-bred singer/songwriter lacked in sonic muscle, he made up for with his enveloping vocals. An irony given that in his native Cuba, the British Columbia-based artist never made it far as a singer. Some of the kids in the audience didn't respond well to Cuba's simplified format but he seemed relaxed and at ease in transmitting his soulful, guitar-fueled pop songs. I was rooting for 'em though, and singing along to each and every song from his latest album, Agua Del Pozo.
Friday, day three: I actually worked on day three. I stopped by The Roosevelt to check on Alex Cuba, whose interview I had to move up, and then made my way down, on the F train, to Sound Generation. There I interviewed Ximena Sariñana right before her on air interview with L.A.-based tastemaker station KCRW's Nic Harcourt (from Morning Becomes Eclectic), in between live sets. It was Sariñana's American radio debut and I was witnessing history, for whatever that's worth. The live music and interview with Harcourt was being transmitted live into L.A., from New York of course. It was very cool. But even cooler was having legendary Argentine producer Tweety Gonzalez (Soda Stereo, Gustavo Cerati) sitting next to me on a couch, sorrounded by the siren's entourage, a sound engineer, label people, publicists, and radio personalities. I got a chance to chat with Tweety about Ximena, since he co-produced the album along with Uruguayan producer Juan Campodonico (Jorge Drexler, Bajofondo). But we also talked briefly about his other projects, and Cuban music. The short, 15 minute tête-a- tête was definitely one of the highnotes of my trip. I headed back to Midtown to interview Alex over an ice cold beer. Look out for that Q&A right here soon.
So my cousin and I did some bonding Friday night, while she bonded on the side with facebook via her blackberry. I'm hooked and I don't even have a blackberry or facebook... not yet anyway. We arrived late to the Celebrate Brookyln Show at the Prospect Park Bandshell and I missed Chicha Libre's performance... story of my life. The Brazilian Girls was already playing. They played some songs from their upcoming CD New York City and as the enigmatic lead singer Sabina Sciubba floated around stage in a puffy white outfit that looked like something Bjork would wear, I couldn't help but think she seemed like a cloud hovering in some remote sonic plane, totally disconnected from the rest of the band. The most memorable song of the set was "Pussy" from the band's 2005 self-titled album. As Sciubba taunted pussy, pussy, pussy marijuana, my cousin turned around and saw a very middle-aged couple, dressed in a perversely conservative manner, like midwestern breadbasket, or southern baptist conservative. Unsure if they had just heard what they thought they had just heard, they seemed totally out of place, as if they had just been dropped there from like another planet, and then Sciubba sang it again, and again, and again, and reality began to set in. I still LOL when I think about it. The night got better. We headed to the Lower East Side, Nublu to be more specific, laughing hysterically. We chilled at Nublu for a little while and spent time taking pictures of ourselves. From there it was off to an above ground, underground party at a loft in the Meatpacking District, a totally un-LAMC-related party. The place was a fire hazard, to use P's words. But there were awesome views of the city streets below from the tall windows and we made good use of the dancefloor. The highlight of the night was the elevator man. On our way out it seemed like we had transformed into a pack of wolves, along with other women, as we waited impatiently for the hot elevator man to transport us down. When he finally appeared we all cheered to the annoyance of a few innocent male bystanders who couldn't help but role their eyes. The elevator man unanimously became the Meatpacking District's most preyed upon carnivirous delight.
Saturday, day four: Woke up late, had a big breakfast. Did minimal shopping at SoHo and got a frontseat view of some criminal activity out on the street as a cop chased down a dude who apparently had either stolen something or was busted in a drug deal. We noticed some other undercover cops dressed as civilians involved in the chase that unfolded in the middle of the street. The cop managed to grab the guy and take him down as the entire block momentarily paused. Some people took videos and photos on their camera phones. Lovely prelude to the last LAMC show of the week featuring DJ Bitman, Plastilina Mosh, and Julieta Venegas in Central Park's Summerstage Show at Rumsey Playfield. You guessed it... we arrived late, but at least I caught all of PMosh's set, and we left early, only staying for Venegas' first three songs. I wrote the cover story on Plastilina Mosh for Batanga Latin Music's next issue so I was super excited to see them live. But of course they didn't play any of the new songs off their upcoming album All U Need Is Mosh, so that was disappointing. Still the duo from Monterrey, backed by a band, rocked the stage and deftly went from heavy guitar, fist-pumping rock to hip-hop, electronica, and funk, delivered with sense of humor and total irreverence. After the show we feasted on Vietnamese food and had more laughs as we walked through Tribeca, Little Italy, and I forget where else, but I got the foot and heel blisters to proove it. I love New York.
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