Carol's CMJ Diary, Night Two

Wherein I Realize I'm 30 and Have to be at Work in the Morning and Therefore Can't Justify Waiting Outside a Club for Two Hours Just to See if My Friend and I Can Get Into the Show

So my first night at CMJ kicked ass, and then it went on to suck ass. That happens, no biggie. Last night was a night of extremes as well, but different extremes. Early on, I was at the Bowery Ballroom rockin' out to some great bands, then later I was at home in my jammies watching cartoons. Man, CMJ is one rollercoaster ride after another.

The evening started out with my friend Maryanne and I going to the early show at Bowery to check out The New Pornographers. As luck would have it, we were able to score a ticket for Maryanne through Craigslist about two hours before the show. Nice! I was mildly disappointed that the two security guards at Bowery didn't give me a knowing smile of recognition...I mean, don't they remember me from last night? I'm used to that sort of disappointment, though. I have an irrational need to be appreciated by bouncers, bartenders and security guards. I want them to look at me and say, "You...you're different. Not like these other drunks who make my job a living hell. You're just a pleasure." At any rate, we got into the show without incident, ordered glasses of wine at the bar — $5! — and proceeded to take in the first performance of the night, Tim Fite.

Tim "MOTHERFUCKIN" Fite!!!

This was one of the more jaw-dropping, hilarious, bizarre, singular shows I've come across in a long while. Fite seems to have been influenced in equal measure by rap, torch songs and Einsturzende Neubauten, a magically delicious mix if ever I've heard one. Blue pin-stripe suits, multimedia shorts, finger-counting, electionic noise, samples galore and a projected Tim Fite accompaniment were some of the motifs. Though there was much experimentation with vocal distortion, Fite has an amazing voice to back up all that screeching, hollering and growling. You can tell that he has an artist's ear...every sound is deliberate and composed but the overall effect is immediate and unrestrained. This is the sort of performance you hope to come across during CMJ. And the showmanship didn't end with the set. Fite and his sidekick changed into blue workers jumpsuits to break down their equipment...cause you don't want to get your nice suit dirty.

Tim Fite's album Gone is Gone is available here, and they'll be opening for the Pernice Brothers at Southpaw on Sept. 23. I highly recommend you check them out.

Next up was The New Pornographers and they did not disappoint. I think I spent the whole time watching drummer Kurt Dahle, an insanely talented bundle of energy who can chug a beer while playing with one hand and throw a drumstick 6 feet in the air without missing a beat. He also sang lead on a divine cover of The Cars' My Best Friend's Girl. This was just a fun show with great musicians who are at the top of their game and are having a blast playing together. Bands of that caliber who aren't arena fare are hard to come by. Beulah was another one, alas they are no longer together. Le sigh...

When the New Pornographers were finished the venue emptied out to prepare for the late show. Maryanne didn't have a ticket for that one so after quickly grabbing a slice of pizza we rushed back to the line and began scoping out lingering concert goers to see if anyone had an extra ticket. Unfortunately, it seemed that no one was selling. I have heard good things about Diamond Nights, and I would have like to have seen The Wrens (at Mercury Lounge) or The Billy Nayer Show (at Knitting Factory) but the combination of a looming workday ahead plus a couple of freelance projects that needed to be wrapped up made the thought of snuggling up on the couch with my laptop and Futurama too compelling.

Before deciding to call it a night, we spied Tim Fite near the Bowery entrance. We took turns hitting him up for CDs, and he also gave us t-shirts at no extra charge. Woohoo! And so, with a new name to add to my list of bands to follow, I was able to return home triumphant, sober and just a little older than I should be.