With Team Robespierre, Fiasco, Los Fancy Free and Shining.
The Impose Records late night party at Cake Shop ran out of beer in a mad rush just around the time Kickball Katy pulled a Mark Ibold and jumped on the bass to double up the low end for Fiasco’s set. This was perhaps the most coherent moment of the night: 1 am, crowd teetering on the verge of alcoholic meltdown, with Vivian Girls logically pre-empting Fiasco’s bratty, effusive math punk and the Park Slope gang thrashing it out. What followed can perhaps best be described in images.
Huh?
Fiasco’s fiery set was followed by 40 minutes of the above pictured Norwegian dudes in black wife-beaters setting up their gear. Shining, the black metal band of which they are members, features a traditional guitar/bass/drums lineup supplemented by a dude who sings and plays free jazz on a tenor and some sort of synthesized/midi tubular object that one blows through. While they managed to clear about half of the packed floor (this combination of elements is not for every drunken wanderer of the CMJ circuit), they operated how many black metal projects apparently operate, by converting about a dozen people into fanatical worshippers, our photographer Alex Nathanson being one such fresh devotee.
Team Robespierre was not left to ponder with ennui an empty room once filled with anonymous drunk people, as 40 minutes after the Norwegian dudes in black wife-beaters closed their 40-minute set, they had packed their half a ton of gear away, and a round of rabid TR fans and Mexicans (we’ll get to that) had miraculously packed the house. As always, the Team won the house’s strangers over with their sweaty synth punk anthems, many of whom jumped onstage for the last few songs.
Los Fancy Free, Mexico City rock stars with anthemic, tasteful Mexican radio hits that when played live could be taken for excerpts of the more stolidly rock-based moments of Can, drew yet another crowd of idolators and gawkers, this time of the Spanish-speaking ilk. In the words of Impose label-head Derek Evers, what began as rock show (d)evolved into a raucous, crowd-surfing, anthem-bellowing futbol match. At around 4:45am, one of the bartenders grabbed the house mic and announced “we love you all dearly, but please get the hell out.”
