CMJ 2008: Day 1
10-21-2008;
Having been forewarned of the difficulty I might have gaining entry to the Brooklynvegan showcase at the Music Hall of Williamsburg on the first day of CMJ, I craftily secured a press ticket from a publicist (thanks Brooke!). The Hall wasn't packed when I arrived around 7 PM, but coming early proved to be a wise choice as the room steadily filled over the course of the evening.
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- {Emmy the Great}
First, we were greeted by Emmy the Great, the stage name of Emma-Lee Moss, who hails from London and was originally born in Hong Kong. Her backing band, which consisted of acoustic guitars, a xylophone-playing bassist, keys, and a drum kit, could very well have been high school kids, or at least the high school dance band. Violinist Margaret White also lent her skills, as she would many more times throughout the week, appearing with about a dozen other bands performing at CMJ. Moss' voice is sweet and clear, with a slight lilt catching the end of her notes, and doo-wop melodies peppered her upbeat set.
Her songs touched on tongue-in-cheek religious themes as well as travel, specifically to Berlin, which she called "a place to renew" -- not sure Lou Reed would agree with that, but this was Emmy the Great's show, dammit! As she finished her last song, an audience member demanded "18 more songs!" Moss laughed and said, "Okay, just let me go upstairs and write for a while." Emmy the Great might need to work a bit harder on her live show to live up to her name, especially if she's going to continue to support people like Tilly and the Wall and Kimya Dawson. Still, girl's first full-length album isn't coming out till 2009, so I think she's got some time to work on it. Info on the album is scant, but her latest single, "We Almost Had a Baby," is available on Rough Trade.
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- {The Sammies}
The next band began to set up, and I spotted cowboy boots and a guitarist noodling a blues riff during the quick soundcheck. This could be good or bad. The Sammies are from Charlotte, North Carolina, with their drummer explaining, "That's why I sound like this" (referring to his Southern twang). Some middle-aged men waved wildly to my left and I realized that this band of boys had some dads in the house. Aww. The Sammies launched into a set reminiscent of The Black Lips' chaos and The Drive-By Truckers' exuberance, and I'm not surprised when I find these two bands on their MySpace Top 8 later that evening. The bassist owned this band, driving them along at a boot-stomping clip, and the drummer screamed to his heart's content when he managed to get near his mic. The Sammies urged the crowd to "do a social," and they obliged, but the house largely did the standing-still for the set. Too jaded on rock ‘n’ roll bravado? It's possible. The Sammies aren't exactly doing anything new, but for a pack of guys who look like they should still be in a basement somewhere, their chops are disproportionately polished. Sandwich, their second album, is out now on Morisen Records.
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- {Shearwater}
Next came Austin, Texas-based Shearwater, the low-key side project of Okkervil River's Jonathan Meiburg and, originally, Will Sheff. (Sheff was at the show, but sadly, did not play.) Meiburg's voice was operatic and tribal in a live setting, and there was no shortage of interesting instruments cluttering the stage. I stared at what appeared to be a very large viola de gamba turned on its end for quite awhile before realizing that Kim Burke was simply playing an upright bass with a twist. Thor Harris sported a fuzzy drum kit and drew growing appreciation from the crowd when he slung a dulcimer around his neck -- in fact, "I LOVE YOU, THOR!!!" became a rallying cry as the set progressed. Shit, if I was dressed like a caveman with one huge braid in my long mane of hair AND capable of switching my drum kit for the clarinet mid-song, I'd expect people to love me too.
The dramatic, theatrical set was a sound guy's nightmare, insofar as the myriad of instruments needed to create the dense, brooding sound of Shearwater. Meiburg's voice resembled a theremin at one point... I guess there were already too many weird things on stage. During sound check, Meiburg asked, "Hey, can you guys hear the dulcimer up there?" I'd say that pretty much sums up the mood of Shearwater's music. Languid, complicated, and sophisticated, but some of it just weird. I'd take Okkervil River if forced to choose, but that night, I enjoyed every moment. Their latest album, Rook, came out in June on Matador.
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- {Ponytail}
Our very own Judy Berman has sung the praises of Ponytail time and again, so I was pumped to see these kids from Baltimore come on next. Lead singer/noisemaker Molly Siegel sported a combed-down 'hawk, as she yipped into the mic for sound check -- a sign of things to come. As soon as the band kicked off the first song, Siegel was a woman possessed by her own voice, writhing with unspeakable joy and emitting sounds I've never heard from a human being. Her facial express vacillated wildly between a cheek-splitting grin and a grimace, and I could swear she did a bat dance at one point.
Their music is ecstatic, much like Siegel's stage stylings, with frenzied drumming and sugary melodies running up and down scales so quickly you feel like you're hanging on for dear life. "Oh no! I'm late for schooooool!!!" are the first English words I heard after about 20 minutes, and when guitarist Dustin Wong joined Siegel on vocals, the effect was hair-raising in the best way. You know how sometimes you come home from a really bad day at school/work and the only thing that makes you feel better is screaming along to your favorite song and thrashing your limbs around? That's Ponytail. Go get their second album, Ice Cream Spiritual, from We are Free. Even the Brooklynvegan crowd managed to look mildly amused:
Dr. Dog / Delta Spirit
Tractor Tavern; Seattle, WA
Dr. Dog and Delta Spirit derive their musical selves from a time when indie was nigh existent and rock was king. There’s no hint of modern necessity in their melodies, ideas, or aesthetics that tie them down to today’s prototypical banal. Delta Spirit are a brand of straight forward, no frills rock and roll that keeps small town bars alive, whether through jukebox revenue or by hosting the best bar bands to blow in from parts unknown -- the sort of rock that is faceless, replacing image with substance.
Dr. Dog are the inverse of that straight-up coin -- while they're just as detached from the modern scene in sound, they aren’t necessarily from Delta Spirit's bar band mold. Rather, Dr. Dog seem like five affable guys who dug through the used bins every day after school, discovering the best soul, pop, and rock LPs that the jocks and bubblegum gals left untouched. When they stuffed themselves full, the only way left was out. The hybrid they spew forth is one of surprise (can a modern band really sound this much like a classic rock station?) and comfort (no matter how immersed one is in the indie scene, they likely grew up with classic rock staples such as The Beatles, Neil Young, and Fleetwood Mac).
What Delta Spirit and Dr. Dog gave a sold out crowd in the tiny Seattle burrow of Ballard was a rock show devoid of any pretense -- one heavy on the old practice of engaging and entertaining a crowd. This was more than just the music, it was about the environment. The Tractor Tavern is usually reserved for the remnants of alt-country and grass roots folk. Rarely does it play host to anything outside those confines, that is, unless the bands involved can pry away hard earned money and have it deposited into bartender jars and tills. It just so happens that the PBR and whiskey sours were flowing freely thanks to the ramped rock of Delta Spirit.
The five-piece took the stage and proceeded to demonstrate why, despite their youth and relative obscurity, they command attention. It’s a lofty task to ask an up and coming act to play opener to a Dr. Dog crowd, more concerned with rehashing recent events with friends than paying attention to the unknown quotient onstage. It’s a nasty audience habit -- why pay good money to inhabit an overcrowded club and listen to a band you could care less about just to catch up on the latest gossip? Delta Spirit would have none of it. Brandishing their blend of blues rock, they quickly defeated the swells of inane conversation, warming up the crowd for the 60’s soul pop explosion of Dr. Dog.
When the Philly natives took the stage, the crowd was still in frenzy over Delta Spirit. The talk turned from yesterday’s news to friends asking each other “Can Dr. Dog top that?” The clusters of fans would be assured from song one (“The Old Days”) that Dr. Dog -- no matter how loud and powerful or quiet and understated Delta Spirit were -- were the kings of the night. Continuing to entertain the mesmerized and exuberant audience with selections from the group’s latest, Fate, everyone was soon caught up in the spectacle of it all. Sunglasses and brimmed hats could not hide the fact that the band truly loved playing to enthralled listeners who hung on every note as they seamlessly transitioned from song to song. The night ended with a few old favorites, including the sentimental dancer “My Old Ways,” before the crowd slowly crawled to the exit, tired from the warm, cramped club with loud voices speaking to ringing ears about how awesome both bands were. And for once, no one was exaggerating.
Calexico
Crystal Ballroom; Portland, OR
I had a decision to make. Either see My Morning Jacket, “the world’s greatest live band,” or saddle up and catch Calexico. It really is a quandary when two bands you like play on the same night, but I’d seen Jim James’ heroics this past summer at Bonnaroo while never catching a proper Calexico tour (I saw them tour with Iron and Wine). I decided that spending the evening with Joey Burns and John Convertino was the way to go. Upon arrival at the Crystal Ballroom, I realized that I probably wasn’t the only one who had to make that decision; the venue was woefully empty and I easily made my way up to the front. Though more people arrived as the evening wore on, there would be no heavy crush, no hot breathing down the back of my neck. Space is good; I can deal with space.
Burns and Convertino took the stage alone and Burns said, “You guys look beautiful! Must be all that sunshine you got today.” The duo then launched into the instrumental “Scout” from the band’s debut Spoke, which bolsters their famous Southwestern sound -- like Duane Eddy meets Vicente Fernandez. The five other members of the band then took the stage to play “Roka” from Garden Ruin. It's only human to make comparisons, and something in the back of my mind made me wonder if I had made the correct choice passing on My Morning Jacket. Sure, Calexico’s songs are good, but Burns doesn't have the equal stage presence of James. Besides, whoever did the sound check mixed Volker Zander’s upright bass so high that it drowned out the rest of the band.
Calexico is on tour in support of their newest album, the solid Carried to Dust. While the 22 song set mixed music from all periods, the band was here to show off its newest material. They first played “Bend To the Road,” an understated tune featuring Burns' whispered vocals that sounded devoid of intricacies thanks to the poor bass mix. Luckily, levels can be changed; soon enough the bass had been fixed and I was able to enjoy the concert.
Calexico live and Calexico recorded are two different animals. The group can almost be compared to a jazz band, containing one of the tightest rhythm sections in indie rock. Though sometimes the particulars can be separated better on tape, one can really appreciate all that goes into a Calexico tune while seeing them live. This tautness couldn't have been displayed better than on “El Gatillo,” an instrumental that sounds right from a Sergio Leone movie. According to Burns, this was the first time the track had been performed live and multi-instrumentalist Martin Wenk carried its melody with a haunting whistle. In fact, Wenk went further, showing off his accordion skills with a pair of Feast of Wire tracks: “Black Heart” and “Sunken Waltz.” So appreciative was the audience of Wenk’s performance on “Heart” that Burns said the band would “venture off the setlist” to accommodate another accordion song. Wenk wasn’t the only stand-out musician in the group. Jacob Valenzuela’s trumpet helped define that signature Calexico sound and he even did lead vocals on “Inspiracion.”
Despite music that comes from the American Southwest and Mexico traditions, it's surprising just how international the members of Calexico are. Besides Burns, Convetino, and Valenzuela (all Tucson natives), there are two Germans and a Spaniard in the band. Even though Calexico's music is geographically fixed, influences of fado, jazz, and heavy rock sneak in. One of the most popular tunes of the evening was the cover of Love’s “Alone Again Or,” a gem of sunny 1960s California rock.
But Calexico saved its most cinematic music for the end. They finished the first set with “Crystal Frontier” and returned with “Minas de Cobre,” both great workouts for the Mariachi horns and chugging rhythm section. When they finished the first encore with “Guero Canelo,” inserting lyrics from Manu Chao’s “Desaparecido,” I felt satisfied with my decision to go to the Crystal Ballroom. The band returned once more to play the icy “Red Blooms,” and as the chilly soundscapes drifted over the nearly empty room, something magical occurred. The few who stayed witnessed a band that cared nothing for on-stage theatrics and let the music speak for itself. Sometimes that is all one needs.
01. Scout
02. Roka
03. Bend To The Road
04. Across The Wire
05. Jesus & Tequila
06. The News About William
07. Writer’s Minor Holiday
08. Dub Latina
09. Two Silver Trees
10. El Gatillo
11. Inspiracion
12. Black Heart
13. Slowness
14. House Of Valparaiso
15. Man Made Lake
16. Alone Again Or
17. Fractured Air
18. Crystal Frontier
19. Minas de Cobre
20. Victor Jara’s Hands
21. Guero Canelo
22. Red Blooms
Elephant Six Holiday Surprise Tour
Bottom Lounge; Chicago, IL
Before we begin, let it be stated that Jeff Mangum did perform at the Chicago show. But that will be discussed later. Let us discuss the rest of the show first before we get there.
Clearly, one purpose of the Elephant 6 Holiday Surprise Tour (appropriately named after an Olivia Tremor Control song) is to show off the Elephant 6 film, Major Organ and the Adding Machine. The film was shown first, with a small portion of the crowd taking a vast section of the floorspace seated. I won't go into detail about the short film -- not only to avoid spoiling it for the rest of you, but also because I didn’t have a complete grasp of what was going on in the film -- but it was quite entertaining. It was particularly satisfying to see prodigal son Kevin Barnes getting attacked by a gorilla, which was further emphasized by the “renouncement” from the Holiday Surprise group that denied them any involvement concerning a sponsored after-party, saying they hadn’t “sold out.”
After the film concluded, the show truly began. And let's be clear: the “Holiday Surprise Tour” is not just made up of The Music Tapes' Julian Koster plus a few others and the occasional Mangum appearance. The bulk of the Holiday Surprise featured more well-known members of Elephant 6 coming out in full glory: most of The Olivia Tremor Control (Will Cullum Hart, Pete Erchick, Bill Doss, and John Fernandes), Apples in Stereo’s Robert Schneider, Elf Power’s Andrew Rieger, and Scott Spillane of The Gerbils, among others. Even Static, the ’50s television that served as a vocalist on The Music Tapes' first album, joined in with a Santa hat, as well as the 7-Foot-Tall Metronome.
Multi-instrumentalism was the rule of the night, with every E6er jumping from instrument to instrument, from guitars to two drum sets to two different synths to even a set of brass instruments, complete with Spillane’s tuba. The only exception was Fernandes, who rarely (if ever) strayed from his clarinet. The band’s constant shifting allowed for some interesting banter, which was set to a 45 of birds chirping to a waltz between songs, including a bit on the effects of the year 2001 on people. Another interesting moment was when Bill Doss did a seemingly random military salute.
Of course, one wonders about the purpose of the actual show. There was rarely a focus to it, and the structure was even confirmed by the Holiday Surprise crew to be loose. Koster called the show “sides” at one point, due to another film (a filmstrip slideshow), but there wasn't a distinct difference between the two “sides.” Which is not to say it was a bad thing: Every significant band in the collective had a song in, from Olivia Tremor Control’s “I Have Been Floated” and “The Opera House,” to Elf Power’s “The Arrow Flies Close,” to The Music Tapes “Songs of Oceans Falling.” Side-projects were also represented, with Pipes You See, Pipes You Don’t’s “Karaoke Free.” Even Schneider managed to eke in an Apples in Stereo song or two. In a bit of a surprise, they closed out the main set the same way as the film: Major Organ and the Adding Machine’s beautifully haunting “Life Form (Transmission Received).” The night could have ended here, and it would have been an acceptable show, despite only a Mangum cameo at that point.
Then came the aftershow, or “side 3” as Koster called it. And things got weird.
They realized the extra time they had would allow room for requests, which included the aforementioned “The Opera House,” The Gerbils’ “Glue,” and a few others. A guitar was forced upon Robert Schneider, so he played “Skyway” with a small degree of trouble. The audience, however, was okay with it. Throughout this part of the show, there were several false endings, which sometimes even confused the house engineers. A sense of drag was felt at this point.
Which leads us to Jeff Mangum. No matter how little you cared for the reclusive man of mythos, you could sense from the crowd that some of them only came to see even the slightest bit of him. Not just a reassurance that he was still around and playing, but that he was still Jeff Mangum, as the man they envisioned. And they were very kind and polite about it: While there were a few calls for Mangum to come out, there was not a single Neutral Milk Hotel song request. Even without him, Koster and crew held out to create a great, memorable show. Yet, the crowd would no doubt be disappointed, if not angry about the lack of the romanticized hero.
But he did make his presence felt throughout the night. At first, Mangum only briefly appeared at the end of an Olivia Tremor Control song, belting out the closing lines with the rest of the Holiday Surprise crew (similar to his first recent appearance in “The Arrow Flies Close” in New York). The crowd weren't particularly responsive, but they did start singing with more conviction. The rest of the main set seemed to hint and nag at Mangum’s return to the stage, from a poet commenting on “liking that Jeff Mangum” before reciting a piece on Elephant 6, to a false start by Koster after introducing Static the Television as someone “who hasn’t been in Chicago in 8 million or 9 years.” Even Spillane and Koster’s rendition of Neutral Milk Hotel’s “The Fool” in the middle of the audience seemed to be a call-out. Yet he still did not surface like he did before.
Finally, in the aftershow, after Koster concluded an unnerving rendition of The Music Tapes’ “Manifest Destiny,” he went towards the side of the stage and called out for some people. Several came back, including Mangum, all doing the haunting closer to Circulatory System’s debut, “Forever.” During this rendition, which Koster suggested as a sing-along, Mangum did something incredible: he raised his arm to the crowd, gesturing them to sing louder. While previous shows suggested some acknowledgment of the audience's presence, this is the first time the man -- who many say was a victim of his fans -- interacted with the crowd. This is surely one of the defining moment of this entire tour.
In fact, not only did the crowd respond by signing louder, but they kept singing on as the group finished. Meanwhile, Mangum grabbed a guitar and followed Koster into the middle of the crowd to close the night with the Neutral Milk Hotel B-side “Engine.” He performed “Engine” at another show recently, but it felt like, this time, he was truly addressing the crowd. Something struck deep into many people. The audience was the loudest it had ever been. Here's a video from YouTube:
Afterward, the audience maintained their poise, letting Mangum through to backstage when he finished. He waved to the crowd before leaving. And as Spillane walked back out to thank the crowd, everyone felt at ease; the crowd was clearly full of gratitude.
The Residents
Blender Theatre at Gramercy; New York, NY
Abandoning the eyeballs-in-tophats costumes for black face masks, flashlight eyes, and bunny ears, The Residents rolled through New York to debut what some are rumoring to be their final tour, though any information regarding this enigmatic group is to be taken with a grain of salt; their even more paradoxical PR company, The Cryptic Corporation, have been spreading disinformation about their sole clients for 40 years now. In fact, to this day, after nearly half a century of making music, The Residents remain anonymous at large, with no one able to say definitively where they even come from (Mars?). It's in this mode of anonymity that the group have fed and nurtured a still-growing mystique, recruited a legion of fans culled from D&D comic book nerds, punk miscreants, and all weirdos inbetwixt.
The quasi-theatrical live performance featured tracks solely from The Residents new disc Bunny Boy, a concept album that chronicles the exploits of a somewhat schizophrenic, definitively frazzled, and possibly homeless man they call the Bunny Boy. The album, live act, and accompanying 13-part webisode series (which plays like a mix between a baffling Lynch mystery and home movies of your drunk uncle) detail the exploits of said protagonist, who, with a Norman Bates-level bunny obsession, nervously tells of the disappearance of his brother Harvey, an e-mail relationship with a wealthy Nigerian prince, and a trip to the Greek island of Patmos where either Harvey or the Bunny Boy (Or both? Or were they the same person? I’m still a little confused) disappeared into the Holy Cave of the Apocalypse. Weird stuff for sure, but this type of reduction ad absurdum is typical Residents fare.
Playing in the shelter of a half geodesic dome, The Residents plodded through nearly all the songs on Bunny Boy. Rarely moving from their spots, the masked musicians consistently gave off an inhuman, robotic vibe. Their synthesizer, guitar, and drum machine attack felt like authentic Residents; it was similar to, though not quite as satisfying as Duck Stab or Eskimo nor as maddening as Third Reich ‘n’ Roll, but for a group that’s been this bizarre for this long, kudos go to them for still being able to keep it weird. An array of lights, smoke machines, videos, and projected patterns made the night a real multimedia event.
I have to admit, with some regret, that the performance's strongest moments were when the Bunny Boy would disappear through a sheeted door in the middle of the stage -- into what he dubbed his “secret room” -- while the group played on their own. Not that I didn’t find his wild antics at least partly entertaining, but often his overly bombastic dementia relegated The Residents to background-band status. Still, his contributions on songs like "Boxes of Armageddon" and "Blood on the Bunny" reached chillingly cathartic heights.
At the end of the second act (spoiler alert: the Bunny Boy’s secret room is revealed), one audience member shouted out “Constantinople!” before the encore, and I couldn’t help but nod my head in agreement. A part of me wished they would just come out and do a few standards in their classic outfits, but it wasn’t to be. I wasn't disappointed by the Bunny Boy song cycle and act, but hopefully the “last tour” rumor, like every other one started about the group, will turn out to be false, and I’ll still get a chance to see those damn eyeballs.
Shudder to Think
Webster Hall; New York, NY
My favorite shows make me feel as though I'm watching someone cheat death, the ones that seem slightly out-of-time and off-balance -- like I’m not supposed to be there, but by some miraculous twist of fate, I've managed to slip beneath the velvet rope. When Shudder to Think were at the height of their fame, I was riding the school bus with a route number pinned to my jacket. Velvet Goldmine hit movie houses during the band's split-second Lazarus, and I was trying to decide if boys were still gross or not. I think back to my other favorite live experiences, and the theme runs deep: I'm damn lucky to have caught this before it was too late. Dinosaur Jr., The Pixies, Sonic Youth... get it?
Of course, we were late to the show.
(Post-show conversation via Gmail Chat)Kevin: we missed like 6 songs
me: blech
in a way i do not feel worthy of writing a STT live review
as a first-timer
also i never know how to explain missing parts of the concert
"sorry, i got lost"?
"... in the limpid pools of paul rudd's eyes in the bathroom"?
I'm not kidding about Paul Rudd (fortunately, we seem to have similar toilet-timing and music taste) or about the six songs. This is Shudder to Think’s first “official” reunion gig -- save for a quick set at the Mercury Lounge in September, along with Cardigan Nina Persson’s A Camp -- and, unfortunately, this is what happens when you put two strong-willed music critics en route to a concert and each one insists I Am Right, We Go THIS Way, You Asshole.
So, not only do we miss the opening song, "Red House" (originally found on 1991's Funeral at the Movies), we also miss "Shake Your Halo Down," "Hit Liquor," "Love Catastrophe," "Lies About the Sky," and "Jade Dust Eyes." We're still running up the venue's entrance stairs during "Man Who Rolls," when I'm struck by the decadent, sparkling sheen that's fallen over the crowd, kind of like showing up after everyone’s already taken the first hit. Despite our tardiness, the venue is pleasantly packed rather than unbearably mobbed, so we're able to secure a decent vantage point (which I later abandon for a spot near Craig Wedren's feet).
Tonight, Wedren bears a few more lines on his face and an elaborate show of sexy/sinister facial hair. Shudder to Think lived (and live) to fuck with you, and Wedren leans back invitingly during the soaring chorus of "No RM. 9, KY," allowing us to settle into the eye of the storm before we’re thrown right back into the fray. Sure, they know how to write a classic melody line, but that doesn't mean you're gonna make them do it. They draw heavily on their first departure from Dischord, Pony Express Record, which is what most probably hoped for as they purchased their tickets. Epic Records wasn't quite sure what to do with it in 1994, and it was largely overlooked. Still, enough record geeks and magazine reviewers embraced its complexity and style-spanning beauty that it became one of the most critically acclaimed albums of the ’90s. Most of us here tonight have cut our teeth on it. I wish for blue eye shadow on the band members during the surly "X-French Tee Shirt," but I suppose that’s asking a little much.
During breaks between songs, it becomes obvious that even Wedren can hardly believe we're here. "Thank you for coming ... no, seriously. Thank you." When the singer of a long-defunct band thanks you for coming, the gratitude has much more weight than your typical touring rock singer. At shows like these, the veteran musicians get to look out on that crowd and realize they still matter, which is certainly notable in an industry that latches onto The Next Big Thing at a sharp clip. No matter how nonchalant reunited bands appear, they exude that emotion so palpably it becomes one with the bass and, thus, your heartbeat. I've never seen a band of this genre (not that I'm volunteering to define it) smile so much.
I breathe a sigh of relief at the unabashedly glam-soaked opening riff of "The Ballad of Maxwell Demon," one of STT's two contributions to the Velvet Goldmine soundtrack. I'd been afraid that this song would be too obvious for the set, but therein lies the beauty of a reunion show. Nothing's too trite, because the gauntlet has been thrown down for the band: make them remember exactly why they love you. It was also at this point when I became truly grateful for my position at Wedren's feet. No, the band members didn't adorn themselves with glitter and spandex, but I take what I can get.
"Day Ditty" from Funeral at the Movies completes an otherworldly set, with Nina Persson of the Cardigans (wife of STT's Nathan Larson) and NYC singer/songwriter Amy Miles on backup vocals, smiling fit to split, 'cause they've been in on it the whole time. Tonight, we've reached a tipping point. If Shudder to Think needed an extra push to decide whether or not they should keep doing this, I think New York City accompanied it with a healthy smack on their collective ass.
Setlist:
