Of the innumerable “up-and-coming,” “rising,” “crossover-potential,” “omg like soOoOOo cool” bands that inhabit Brooklyn, many of them fall into one of two categories: those who work hard to attain a tightly controlled and hip aesthetic (though their success-rate varies widely) and those who rebel against this by being as bland and apathetic as possible (see: most bands involving four straight white dudes playing “garage rock”). Bonus points for those who manage to do both!
Blood Not Paint, who opened at Bowery Electric last Thursday, are a decent example of a band that tries a bit too hard to do something I can’t quite figure out. Although they were killing it on the matching black tights and creepy face paint front, their music wasn’t as interesting as their outfits suggested, which was stuck somewhere between power pop and post-hair metal. Although their sound was tight, the whole thing was a bit too much of a put on for me. It was more enjoyable to watch them on the screens by the bar than actually standing in front of them.
But it was cool; I was there to see Bad Credit No Credit, a band with more brass instruments than a high school marching band, a charmingly manic lead singer, and zero pretense. Lead singer Carrie-Ann alternates between playing jazzy, Baltic-influenced horn hooks on sax (where she’s joined by a trumpet, another sax, and two trombones) and singing in a voice that can jump from sultry to screaming in a matter of seconds. She is a total Performer, and her facial expressions convey as much about her dedication to drama as her tendency to unexpectedly launch herself into the crowd and play her sax from the floor. Their set was ecstatic and the crowd responded in kind, doing the Charleston, skanking, and spastically dancing in ways that most New York concert attendees would rather not be seen participating. They are always a great time, and the new material from their 2012 album, The Whole Buffalo, didn’t disappoint. (It should also be mentioned that their lead singer’s side project Clapperclaw is incredibly worth checking out — creepy looped jazz vocals with backing electronics and, or course, more horns that evoke a dream sequence from a Lynch film.)
Guardian Alien sadly cancelled, but it was a night well spent anyway, or at least I seemed to think so, as my night spiraled into raved-out oblivion at a strange Puerto Rican club where the only reasonably priced drinks were electric blue and came in fishbowls. I’m sure the members of BCNC went home and hung out with their cats or practiced the clarinet. They seem like they’ve got their shit together.
[Photo: Emily Wheeler]