The Unsaid

There's something very frustrating about not being able to do what you love. Trudging through mediocrity, staring challenges with someone else's name on them in the face. For weeks, I have felt my skill set diminish, abolished under the weight of work that does not align with my passions. My utilization, allocation, whatever term Big Brother wants to put on it, is draining me to a point where I find it hard to move forward. The essence of my being is creation, but what happens when you despise everything you create? What happens when the joy of art has been obliterated, replaced with bottom floor asks? I was put on this Earth to tell stories, and I can't do that with an X, Y, Z keyframe. 

My heart is heavy with regret, with a deep sense of unimportance. I don't feel recognized, respected. I am an outcast in a workforce I've called home for two years. My anger towards superior forces, the hierarchy that keeps me in Boston, the money that automatically belongs to a bank in Des Moines, is overwhelming. Trapped is the only word to describe this feeling. 

Every day brings me closer to an untimely end. Every day I'm denied the ability to do great work, to stoop to a denominator I never let exist before. Stepping outside myself, I'm ashamed at what I've become. Unable to move, feet in concrete, paralyzed by a fear you don't want to imagine. 

Am I letting life pass me by? I'm 24 years old, I have, all specifics aside, a decent job. I can pay my bills on time. I have friends, each unique and special individuals. I have passions that motivate me and my dedication to those passions leads to a lot of late nights dancing on vodka soaked floors. Yet, there's still something missing. Perhaps it's fear of missing out, but lately life passes through me as a series of brief moments instead of a continuous stream of memories. 

A lot of my friends and aquaintances find themselves going out constantly. Never ending Facebook posts lead me through their endeavors, conversations about DJs and meet-ups and dinner dates and "Oh my God, that was an awesome night!". I want to be out there, drinking, clubbing, rolling, laughing, forgetting where my ID might be and being overwhelmed with sensations. Yet more often than not, I'm opting to go from work to home, make myself a simple dinner and watch the night unfold in front of a television show, a work project or some combination of the two. 

$120,000 in loans hang over my head, threatening every expenditure, forcing me to question the legitimacy of every purchase. How far can I go in the name of fun and good times? How much am I hurting myself by putting all my memories in one or two baskets?

I think it’s about time I explain this.

For those not in the know, “Allein” is a progressive house track by Swedish DJ/Producer Eric Prydz. Released in 2012 on his Eric Prydz Presents Pryda album, it borrows samples from a popular track by Polarkries 18 called “Allein Allein”. The lyrics are originally in Swedish.

Wir sind allein! Allein allein, allein allein (Allein allein, allein allein) Allein allein, allein allein (Allein allein, allein allein) Sind wir allein?

And in English:

We are alone! Alone alone alone alone (alone, alone, alone, alone) Alone alone alone alone (alone, alone, alone, alone)

Are we alone?

The first time I heard “Allein” was last year, on I believe a Saturday in May. The 5th or 6th. Above & Beyond played it on episode 423 of Trance Around The World. I was sitting at home, working on an animation project. Then, as the tune began, the world just stopped.

It’s a beautiful song that could only be written by the mighty Pryda. The simple utilization of a looping vocal, the soaring build, the repetitive melody built on with various levels of instrumentation. A typical Pryda tune that in a week became the number one track on every DJ-hosted radio show. “Allein” has massive crowd appeal. It elicits cheers, lifts you up, urges you to sing-a-long. But for me it’s evolved into more than that.

Throughout my life, I have been plagued with an intense sense of loneliness. After graduating college and saying goodbye to the world I knew, events unfolded that left me teetering between a depressed existence and admittance of death. I lost friends, couldn’t find new ones, creatively frustrated, perpetually heartbroken and had a passion for dance music with no one to share it with. I was angry, so fucking angry, and so full of hatred for myself and the people around me. Yes, I thought about suicide and have a few extra scars from the whole ordeal. The apex of my turmoil was loneliness. A painful, soul-crushing, debilitating loneliness you have to experience to understand.

“Allein” came into my life at a time when the shroud of darkness finally began to disappear. There’s only one person I can credit with this achievement. A few run-ins at shows became “Hey, do you want to see this DJ with me?” and turned into what I believe to be one of the healthiest friendships I’ve ever had and will continue to have. Combined with a few weeks of incredibly rewarding and career-changing work and a week in Vegas I will never forget, for the first time in what felt like a decade I felt okay. The world was no longer painted in shades of grey and black, but full of color. I wasn’t alone anymore.

Every time I hear “Allein”, the depressing isolation surfaces. It echoes back all of my anguish and my pain and my second-guessing, my self-hatred and my questioning of existence. The week after week of going work to home, an outcast, stuck in a cacophonous rhythm of defeat. The melody propels me through the darkest parts of my life and while each call of “allein allein” puts nails in my hypothetical coffin, it also sets me free.

Euphoric builds usher a swarm of memories full of joy, friendship, family and hope. I relive every instance I’ve heard a DJ drop “Allein”. At EDC when I ran so fast towards the chants I almost fell over, at Kaskade when I dropped to the ground, my knees weak from the assault of emotion, at Roseland when my sister burst through the crowd, grinning ear-to-ear, finding me just as the first notes rang out, at my first Eric Prydz show, IDentity, when my jaw dropped and my body wasn’t quite sure what the brain was doing, singing each “Allein” with enough force that I was probably hoarse for a week.

All of these moments, all of these memories, this overwhelming amount of conflicting emotions hit me every time I hear “Allein”. Crying is the only thing I can do. It’s happened every single time I’ve ever heard the song. It’s a reaction I have never forced and have never been shy about hiding. “Allein” is as much a part of me as any Nine Inch Nails track, perhaps, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, more than anything Trent Reznor has ever done.   

A majority of the people I know have either heard or owned Neutral Milk Hotel's In An Aeroplane Over The Sea. It's the quintessential indie album and guaranteed to be any true hipster's record collection. Several years ago I bought it on vinyl knowing nothing save it's relevance and influence on music. Not having it in my collection seemed a greater sin than spending the money for something I barely knew. Jeff Magnum is the brain behind Neutral Milk Hotel. His lyrical work is devastatingly honest and he sings with the raspy whine, the kind of voice you'd expect to come from an old Southern man singing on his porch. For a while, Jeff has been touring by himself, though it's my understanding he mostly plays Neutral Milk Hotel. This past Monday I had a chance to see him (fittingly) at Lupo's Heartbreak Hotel in Providence, RI. 

Opening for Magnum was a group called The Magic Tapes, a 90's band who occupied the same musical sphere as Magnum back in the day. My friend told me a story about how one time they played in her friend's living room. It was bare bones but layered, involving the typical instruments like guitar, bass and drums, but also trumpet, a set of pipes that looked like they came from an organ, a banjo played with a violin bow and various keyboards and organs. At times someone would play a crash symbol on the ground with a stick attached to their shoe. They had a giant metronome on stage. There was a TV that "sang" a whole song. The leader of the gypsy troupe told a story about a man who's sense of rhythm could change the mood of a room from sad to happy based on how he added to the natural percussion of life.

When Jeff finally arrived on stage the crowd erupted. From my seat in the balcony he looked like Forrest Gump, circa the run across America. A dark rimmed hat, long messy beard, unkempt hair. He wore a sweater which looked like every sweater he wears in his promotional pictures. He sat in a modest chair with a rack of five or six guitars to his right. There were two lights focused on him. They never moved or changed in intensity. That was the whole show. A man and his guitar. A man and his words. A man and his fans. I've never seen a show so minimal, so stripped to its barest form. The audience sang along with conviction and passion, every word clear as day. Jeff's voice rang out through the decorative venue. I've only listened to In An Aeroplane Over The Sea once, but the tracks from that album were instantly recognizable, drawing much greater crowd participation every time. There were moments he would talk back to the audience or respond to a joke. This connection to the crowd is uncommon for him. My friend said this show was the most comfortable he's ever seen him, being a man notorious for his nervousness and lack of comfort while on stage. Near the end of the show, for the first encore (and I believe the only encore), the lead from The Magic Tapes, Julian Koster, came out and they played a song together. He played a hand saw with a violin bow.

Here's the setlist in case you are interested: http://www.setlist.fm/setlist/jeff-mangum/2013/lupos-heartbreak-hotel-providence-ri-13db2d5d.html

Jeff only performed for an hour and fifteen or so minutes which was more than enough. Despite never being attune to his music, there were three or four moments when tears started to fill my eyes. The combination of his distinct voice, the acoustic guitar and the crowd singing his words back to him was a beautiful sight to see and hear. Not bad for a Monday night.

Eric Prydz. Pryda. Cirez D. Moo. Many names, one genius. The melodic progressive house producer has been creating massive tunes since his early beginnings in Sweden. From the global sensation "Call On Me" to recent harmonic masterpieces "Everyday", "Allein", "2Night" and the Grammy-nominated remix of M83's "Midnight City", there is nary a misplaced note, a broken harmony, a tired arpeggio, every piece motivated by a driving passion to create music that rests high above the fold. You don't just listen to a Pryda track, you're engulfed by one, plunged into a world of beauty and creativity. His live shows are (literally) epic spectacles unlike any other, his sets are journeys into realms of euphoria you didn't know existed inside you and every track he puts one of his five or seven names on has a level of polish and ingenuity that many producers would need lifetimes of experience to fathom themselves. I am a fan of Eric Prydz and I will put him on a pedestal higher than anyone else in the electronic dance music scene right now. It was Boston's greatest honor and privilege to welcome him to one of our mediocre nightclubs last Saturday evening. In fact, I would have welcomed him to a basement with a ten-year-old Eon speaker and my mind would have still been split in half and soaked in musical oblivion.

First things first, here is the set: http://www.1001tracklists.com/24249 Just about two hours of playing time. Forcing him to cease DJing after curfew seems a cardinal sin but this article isn't about the uptight rules at Prime Boston. Nor is it about the crowd which may or may not have been ideal, though their champagne showers added a high-rolling flavor to the night, elevating it beyond the typical nightclub Saturday I attend in this city. No, this isn't about those people, shoved together on the small floor like it was the 1960s and The Beatles were on stage in America. No, this isn't about the minimal production, the looping one minute animation on the TV in front of the booth. No, this isn't about the sound system, which, though loud, won't win any style points with audiophiles. No, this night was about the set, the music, the journey and it's a shame some people forgot that once the house lights went up.

Eric opened with the unreleased track "Welcome To My House", a deep one with a minimal synth loop over the top that flashes in and out like a beacon to another world, literally Prydz's world, his house. Following that was another unreleased track and a personal favorite, "Rotonda" a literal rotary of strings and bongo-like percussion that culminates in a spiraling siren, ushering you into a Pryda dimension. A large handful of the tracks selected for this mix were unreleased, at least in the traditional manner of record labels. As to be expected, Prydz stuffed the mix full of exclusives that he's featured on his EPIC radio show and that have been floating around the Internet as "Creamfields ID 01" or "Circus Helsinki ID" or, another personal favorite, "EPIC Radio ID 03". The latter track possesses a funky attitude that increasingly embodies recent additions to his body of work. As he adjusted the various knobs on the CDJs, even he could barely resist a subtle dance, bopping back and forth to the beat, playing invisible keyboards in the air. A lot of the transitions were recognizable from his Essential Mix, a must listen for anyone with at least one ear. From "Rotonda" he went into Jeremy Olander's "Rorschach", "Power Drive" into "Clapham" and the Chordapella remix of "Reeperbahn" into "Border Control". Seeing as I've heard that mix countless times since its premiere, being able to witness those transitions live, in all their grace and fluidity, was immense!

There's something about the way Pryda mixes, the way he weaves tracks together in a tapestry of shimmering beats and chord progressions. For example, in that "Power Drive" transition, he left the slightest hint of the main melody in "Clapham" until the song hit a climax and the major "riffs" were swept away, reduced to its barest components. The beauty of his track selection and his sequencing is that each song becomes a part of the next, molded together, accentuating each other, calling out certain notes or samples that only rote repetition can inspire. You zone out, lost in that sea of sound. Vocal treatments barely bring your head above water, but when they do, it's an alarming hand grabbing you by the collar and lifting you out of the dark depths. "One Day", "Midnight City (Eric Prydz's Very Private Remix)" and the "Let Me Feel" remix all aided the set with their simple verses, not an overpowering chorus calling for a group sing-a-long, but an organic lifeline, short yet memorable lines like "One day we'll all be free" or the chorus sample from Adrian Lux's "Teenage Crime". You're inspired to sing along because you're inspired by what's being said not because the DJ told you to. I don't know how else to explain it. Less is more. 

The only strange moment was at the end. He began to play what sounded like an instrumental version of his "Everyday Interlude" when suddenly "Allein" began. The usual polish was lacking and I believe this was mostly due to running out of time. He shrugged to the audience as they chanted for more, mouthing apologetic words lost under the raucous cheers. "Allein" is one of my favorite tracks of all time, so I wasn't complaining. That song...wow. Every time. If I wasn't so dehydrated, I'd have broken down right there. It's been close to my heart ever since the first moment I heard that suppressed synth piano. It brings back beautiful and ugly memories alike, all united under one simple phrase so full of conviction, heartache, success and failure: "Allein, allein". Again, less is more.

Afterwards, one highlight that stuck with me was during "Border Control". The song moves along at its usual BPM, probably between 126 and 128. When ever so slowly, it drops. 120. 115. 110. It may have gone all the way down to 90. The key remained the same, the pitch unwavering. And there he kept it, at a steady funeral march for about two minutes, maybe more, Lord it could have been so many more! He slowed the whole track down, perfectly, and then gently, gently, brought the BPM up again, arriving at the native tempo right in time for the giant assault of shuffling synths and blistering white noise in the drop. I've never seen a DJ execute that effect with such skill and have it live and breath in the set rather than act as a gimmick to get the crowd cheering. It was a motivated edit, something I'm very familiar with in my line of work. You don't just make the cut or speed it up or slow it down because it will look cool, you do it to service the greater picture. Eric slowed the track down to service the greater picture his mix was painting and that's how he seems to treat all his sets, letting each track act as a giant cross dissolve into the next mood, the next voice-less chorus, the next gallery of imagery that his music will inspire in your inferior brain. 

You don't just see an Eric Prydz set, you experience it. I've experienced his set three times already and I show no chance of ever getting tired of it. Thank you, Eric. I hope I have the honor of seeing you again soon.

I won't have much to say for this one. I've waited a while after the fact to write it mostly because I'm not sure which words will come out. That inability to place phrases to nights halts all sense of obligation. But for him, I'll try to do it some justice.

Dubfire rolled into Boston the night before one of the biggest events of the year (which will be written about in the next entry). Since 1991, he was half of the Grammy-winning duo Deep Dish, a house outfit unmatched for their time. (The other half of that outfit was Sharam, who has continued to make quite a name for himself.) Leaving something so successful never seems sane, but Ali ‘Dubfire’ Shirazinia's decision to leave Deep Dish in 2007 has lead to nothing but praise for his productions and sets alike. His realm is techno, encapsulated by "dark rhythms, superior audio, and technological brilliance" says Beatport. DJ Magazine has called his music "jet-black, polished chrome techno". Check out a track or two of his, most notably "Grindhouse" or his "Plex" and "Spastik" rework and you can see how deserving he is of such language. When news of his show dropped, the overall Boston scene of tech and house-heads alike felt a quiver in their heart and spent the $20 faster than it took for their brains to comprehend the reality of his arrival.

Dubfire would be an initiation for me. Up until that point, I'd been almost exclusively bathed in "mainstream" house, electro and trance. The deepest of deep dance music had been reserved for late nights of editing or moments of reflection. While Sensation was a taste, there was enough popular, upbeat music to go around. Dubfire was going to be dark, it was going to be challenging, it was going to be hypnotic. I'm grateful to say it was all those things, but my mind has not expanded enough to understand the true brilliance of the set. I had a few drinks beforehand and gathered up a good enough buzz to feel comfortable in the typical black-neon of Bijou Boston. A new LED wall behind the DJ booth, illuminated the room somewhat, but I'm still amazed by how dark and bright that venue can be at the same time. Their sound system is also top notch; you are literally strangled with sound, grabbed in a giant bear hug from the first beat to the last.

Dubfire took to the stage at around midnight and never ceased to thrust us into the darkness of his set. He never spoke, never looked up, never even seemed to smile, embodying his music completely. The only track I could ID was an encore, novelty play of "Rocker" from years and years ago. The sounds were nonstop, noticeably heavier and more aggressive near the conclusion of the set. I can barely remember how those tracks felt, I was so mesmerized by the unchanging beat, the looping synth hits and whipping noise. Here or there, up or down, left or right, black or white, it all seemed reversed and yet the same and I'd close my eyes and fall backwards into nothingness. The screen behind him showed letters and numbers and tunnels and abstractions, blocks of deep red, flashing. There was no attention to when a track changed and if it did what it was IDed as. No part of me cared either way, too absorbed or too agitated or too distracted by my own mental divulgences when the music seemed to bore me. I left unsure whether I wanted to experience it all over again or lament the money lost on the ticket. Honestly, I had no idea. I still don't.

It's hard to listen to these sets at home in preparation. They rely so heavily on the vibe of the room, the echos of a kick drum being syncopated and reverbed under the plinks of some synth loop that sounds like it came out of the darker end of the 80s. You need to bounce off the person to your right and the person to your left who haven't stopped marching since second one. You need to be periodically blinded by the abstract visuals of shapes and colors overlaid on top of more shapes and colors that you need some shade of LSD to understand. Nothing could have prepared me for what would happen at Bijou that night. Nothing shy of repeated visits and dedicated learnings of the system that is techno music. Deep house. Tech house. All of those things, challenging on a mind that has been over-saturated with songs rather than notions. If Dubfire comes around again, I will see him. For now, I'm left reveling in the fragments of a black memory surrounded by an unwavering beat.

  The first I heard of this up and coming producer may have been during a Pete Tong Essential Selection. I recognized his name on the Ultra and Coachella lineups and vaguely knew one song of his called "Global Concepts". By chance, I checked the Bowery Boston's website and saw he was playing.

The stage was set with a full drum-kit on the right and a collection of keyboards, mixers, a laptop, video game controllers and other instruments on the left (see the picture below for a more detailed look at the setup). The short American who hails from Los Angeles, California took to the stage, wearing a t-shirt that showcased the giant orange X from his recent album cover. The X was also painted on his headphones. On his left cheek was a face-painted black and orange squiggle. I don't recall any pleasantries, just took to the stage and got to work.

Robert's music could be considered electronic dance music or perhaps just really upbeat electronic music. The lines blur the minute that electro bass line kicks in. But what you end up seeing is an awesome one man showcase that pushes the boundary slightly in terms of live dance music. Robert would go from playing the keyboard, to adjusting or creating a MIDI loop on his mixer, to playing out vocal distortions mapped to a drum pad then play out the drop using an old video game joystick, all while singing on two separate microphones (one produced a clean voice, the other had reverb effects mapped to it). My friend is convinced some of it was fake, but I am giving him more credit than that. Oh, and remember when I mentioned the full drum kit? During two or three songs, he left the giant plethora of effects and sampling and rocked out on the drum kit. By watching him, you get the sense his first love was percussion. I think he had a drum stick in his hand through more than half the set. He played with passion and noticeably tries to work this live element into his set as much as possible, a refreshing change from electronic drum samples processed through a laptop. Live percussion always makes the song more organic.

I'm going to bullet some other takeaways from the show, little bits and pieces that I found interesting but can't find a way to link to a cohesive paragraph.

One of the percussion instruments on stage was a tin can filled with beans. It had a ton of orange duct tape on one end. Orange was a big theme with the show visually. All his instruments are adorned with the same tape.

In addition to the game joystick, he also used what looked like a Genesis controller to play a drop or two. My favorite abstract reuse of a controller, though, was when he whipped out the Wii Remote to work with his vocals. He'd since into the microphone, then shake the controller to add a wobbling distortion, literally shaking the sound!

He often played out rhythms on a snare drum outfitted next to the drum pad. I don't think the snare was on too tight as it always had a very pitched, hollow sound.

He played his biggest hit, "Global Concepts" second but managed to keep the crowd engaged the whole way through. Lots of jumping and dancing from tons of people in the audience, myself included.

The BIGGEST surprise of the night and maybe the month, was when he played a cover of Filter's "Take My Picture"! I was a huge Filter fan back in the day. (They are more of a guilty pleasure now.) It wasn't until the vocals kicked in that it clicked, but the harmonic underbelly of the melody seemed familiar when the song began. Man did I freak out, cheering and dancing and singing along as it played out.

After the show, we got to talk to Robert briefly. I mentioned to him that I first heard his music through Pete Tong and how ecstatic I was to hear a Filter cover. "I heard someone freak out during that song, maybe it was you," he said. He told us that he was playing Letterman the next night. It wasn't until later that I realized how cool it was to see him perform in a little venue in Boston before playing to America on one of the biggest late night television shows running. 

Robert has popped up on a ton of "Artists To Watch" lists and, I assume, will make appearances at many of the major festivals this summer. Do yourself a favor and check him out. It's a truly unique experience in this over-saturated DJ and EDM market. Here's his soundcloud page so you can check out his music: https://soundcloud.com/robertdelong

The group hails from Toronto, Canada. A threesome of bass, keys and drums, each has an educated background of jazz and a passion for hip-hop. A friend forwarded their EP to me. I checked it out and was intrigued  especially by the James Blake covers. Jazz hasn't infiltrated my playlists in a long time but it was a welcome change, while not exactly being jazz at all. A hip-hop influence is definitely evident in their tracks, marrying the classical styles with more electronic sensibilities. Here's a nice quote that explains their sound:

"[BBNG] deconstruct the four bar loops, understanding how to work crescendos by stretching out and reshaping the music into their own vision of silky smooth key progressions, pounding drums, and tasty bass lines."

Coincidentally not long after, they had a gig at The Middle East Downstairs, their first show in Boston.

The opener was a DJ with a lot of promise and interesting tracks that seemed to walka straight line, never evolving his set, never exploring more interesting transitions. A journey was crafted, but it was mostly through the flatlands of Ohio, nothing but pasture on either side for miles.

BBNG came on stage, the crowd excitedly cheering on their arrival. It was a huge turnout and a passionate one, too. They got right into it and played a bunch of songs I don't know the names of. The "Flashing Lights" cover made an appearance and the set closed to "Bastard / Lemonade". It became evident early on that the drummer, Alexander Sowinski, was the leader of the trio, commanding the most attention with his powerfully fast and fluid work on the drums. I was hoping the bassist would have an upright in addition to an electric, but it never made an appearance. They played for about an hour and a half, maybe a little less. As I already mentioned, the audience gave their all for these kids. You'd think they been at it for a lot longer. By the end of the show, the whole floor erupted, jumping and dancing, crowd surfing, and stage diving while the drummer constantly egged them on. Louder, go crazy, counting off, that sort of thing. The guys next to us, who looked like DMB devotees, banged on the exposed air duct near the 21+ drinking area. They played a bunch of hip-hop covers that threw the crowd in a frenzy and neglected their James Blake ones, a disappointment to me.

I'm not entirely well-versed in knowing when a band like this succeeds or fails, whether they click. My observations are often on a fundamental level of rhythm. After the show concluded my friend and I discussed in greater depth how we felt about the show so I'm going to borrow his observations (or steal) and convey them here. While they are all very talented musicians it's possible they a few more years to play together, to click into each, melt into each other's sounds rather than just playing to the same metronome click. The bassist received the most criticism for his lack of harmony, never quite meshing with the drummer. It's not a sound or timing issue, (though I honestly wasn't paying too much attention to him throughout the show), but a feeling issue. As the set wore on, this issue lessened, perhaps needing a few songs to truly fall in sync with each other like a football team after one too many weeks off. Hopefully with time, they get better because there's a lot of promise in those four young gentlemen, all of them younger than 21 years old. Check out their bandcamp page if you'd like to listen to and/or support their music: http://badbadnotgood.bandcamp.com/

Well, this is kinda embarrassing. Since 2003, I've kept a master list of all the shows I've attended. This is how I knew I had been to 150 when I decided to start this 50 in 5 challenge. It's pretty comprehensive, including headliner, opener, show date, location, etc. It now lives in a Google doc and when I was referencing back to it this afternoon I noticed an error right around number 135. I doubled up. Rather than follow the normal pattern, my numbering went like this:

135. 136. 135. 136. 137.

First off, let me just say, finally this show happened. The original date was way back in November, postponed due to weather, which ended up being a laughable couple inches of snow. Maybe some rain. It was stupid.

If you've been keeping up with this blog, you know I've already seen Arty during my 50 in 5 run and you know I was less than pleased with the atmosphere at Shrine Nightclub at Foxwoods, Connecticut. Was it better? For a couple reasons, yes. Was it perfect? Far from it, and those criticisms pain me a whole lot more than the ones I maintained for the last show.

I attended Estate with a group of people I've been talking to through a great group on Facebook called "Boston House Music Meetup". A strong majority of the people in the group are mere lurkers, but those that speak out are intelligent, opinionated and passionate about dance music. Those three traits together are a recipe for heated debate and informed contemplations about everything happening in the Boston and global dance music scene. It's been a lot of fun hearing where everyone comes from, how they feel about certain styles and genres. The whole thing reminds me of The Spiral, and that's a rare, RARE achievement. While meeting up at a show can be fun, it's hard to carry a conversation with over 100 decibals of sound being blown at your face. It was decided we'd meet up before the Arty show, which worked wonderfully. None of us had hung out in real life before. See why it reminds me of The Spiral now?

While Estate was it's usual over-crowded obnoxious self, I took a bit more liberty to make space for myself by jabbing my elbow into a few sides. I felt less sexually assaulted than when I was at Pete Tong.

Arty. Arty, Arty, Arty. I loved him so much. His productions were heavenly, a soundscape that conjured sun and the cosmos and sunsets and deep love and purple aurora borealis and red-lit tunnels rushing by my face. His DJ sets included every song I wanted to hear from hits like "Trio", "Punk" and "Rebound" to popular festival anthems like "Cannonball" and "Language". On Friday night, all the usual bombs and bangers were present in his set. But, and here's where I become incredibly selfish, I don't want to hear those songs again.

A week or two prior to his booking at Estate, he spun at the renown Ministry of Sound club in London. It was recorded, the track list posted online. The set at Estate was 98% the same. "How We Do" was the only addition, the order of two tracks was swapped and he omitted three tracks at the end. Let me repeat, I really enjoy Arty's productions and I've lived some of my happiest raver moments when present at an Arty DJ set, but I've heard all of these songs before! He's still spinning tracks that I remember from the first time I saw him in Las Vegas last April. Should a DJ play their own productions, sure, but don't keep them in rotation for an entire year. "We Are Mozart's Friends" for example, a mashup between "Mozart" and the overused "Because we are your friends" sample, is guaranteed to appear in the beginning of an Arty DJ set (usually track two or three). Please note the word "overused" when I mentioned the acapella. Anyone who has attended a major dance music event in the last year or so has probably heard the "We are your friends" chant at least ten times yet Arty still includes the mashup in his sets. Stop, my little Russian darling. Please stop. 

The insanity of this reality is partly bred from the fact his radio show, Together We Are, cultivates an incredible variety of genres and moods every single week. From trance to dubstep to progressive house to electro. His "Old But Gold" selections, a track from that past that still holds relevance for him today, are fantastic. The second half of his set included some memorable selections from recent Together We Are broadcasts, but that's not really my point. It's the first half of the set that tires me out. Perhaps he changes it more often than I am giving him credit? Perhaps it's the club itself, a throwaway show to make a buck and play to some kids and move on, save the tricky stuff for later? But when is later? For what crowd do you save the deep cuts? The out of nowhere dubstep or drum and bass track? The old favorites with fresh acapellas? It can't be a festival setting, because I've seen you play those and it's always a safe set. Maybe the three-hour Vegas nights? But how often do those come? Maybe your party at Miami Music Week? I honestly don't know and it frustrates me because I know Arty has it in him to bring a wealth of unique music into the fold. Yet he keeps falling back on his past mashups, old hits and tired vocal samplings. As the night wore on, things became a little deeper, tracks became a little less easy to ID, but all I had to do was look at the MOS set to fill the blanks. 

Am I being too hard on the kid? Maybe my expectations are too high. Maybe I'm reading too many articles from DJs saying it's about the journey, giving people an experience, showing them a world of sound they never would have expected, playing to the crowd and never being afraid to drop an ID. Maybe playing the same set every few weeks is normal for a DJ, maybe this is just the way things are. Arty isn't alone. Go through DJ Mags Top 100 DJs in the world list and I bet half of them are doing the same thing. Do I have a right to be so judgmental?  Probably not. I'm not a DJ, what do I know? A lot actually and it's frustrating to see so much talent wasted away on sets that are recycled night in and night out. I've seen Arty six times since April of 2012 and I can almost predict when he'll drop certain tunes. I shouldn't be able to do that; it defeats the whole purpose of a DJ, doesn't it?

Arty, I love you. Here's some tough love from someone who's been a fan for quite some time. Mix it up, take some chances, dare to be different. You're an incredible talent and it's about time that shows not only in the studio but behind the decks as well.

Winter White Tour is a series of events in the Northeast organized by MASS EDMC and NV Concepts. Last year it showcased the talents of Dada Life, Hardwell, David Guetta and Steve Aoki to name a few. I was happy to see them resurrect this cool (no pun intended) concept this year, booking acts like Alesso, Zedd, Zeds Dead and a slew of unique openers. Guys like Kaeno, Seven Lions and Alex Metric were some of the few artists on the various undercards for each city. Bring some of the best DJs to universities and major markets, theme it as a white party, buy a shit ton of lasers, throw in a Yeti as your mascot and you have quite the concept. While it's no Sensation in terms of white out, the level of energy at Winter White last Friday was certainly on the same level. 

The chapter I attended was Alesso, Otto Knows and DSK CHK at Lupo's Heartbreak Hotel in Providence, RI. I've seen Alesso and Otto a combined 12 or 13 times and I'm sure that number will go up as the year goes on. While I could easily guess 75% or more of their sets before they even took the stage, it's hard to pass up a night of heavy progressive house and the ridiculous dancing and vibes that come with it. No matter what your opinion of these producers-made-DJs, it's hard to stand still through a whole set. I didn't really catch too much of DSK CHK, but what I heard was done well and lived in the realm of electro house more than anything else.

There's nothing to really say about this show set wise. Again, it was pretty predictable. You heard all of Alesso and Otto Knows' mega-hits but there was the occasional track, like "Wakanda" or "Rage" that varied it up ever so slightly. Alesso has a ton of mashups that he performs at every gig and I never quite know if I'm a fan. I don't think he does them on the fly and most are ripped from the sets of Swedish House Mafia, Seb Ingrosso or his other Swedish brethren. They kills clubs around the world but after you've heard them a few times, all the magic gets sucked out of the surprise. But I digress... If you'd like to see the full set, I've written it up here: http://tinyurl.com/ahfkuzt

The light production really stole the show for me. This year the traditional LED wall and DJ booth were accentuated by several lasers. I'm having a hard time trying to describe how the lasers were other than awesome. I don't know, they're lasers! How do you think they were? Laser-like and strobe-like and they changed colors and flew around above our heads, timed to each drop and surge of chords. CO2 cannons and confetti were also in abundance, a memorable moment coming as the confetti (or raver rain as I like to call it) fell around me during the great Matisse & Sadko & Steve Angello ID (that's literally been floating around for almost two years now). That song kills me every time. Tears were present. 

We had a really nice spot right on a step into the main floor so we could see over everyone and still had room to dance and be fools. The crowd was generally young, but the usual pains of an 18+ or all ages show were absent.

This show was the first one I went to after miraculously securing five Coachella tickets. Gregg, my now constant show companion, and I kept yelling "COACHELLAAAAAA!" during the encore, leaving everyone else around us completely confused. That was something DEFINITELY worth celebrating!

"One More Time". "Aerodynamic". "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger". "Around The World". "Technologic". If you listen to dance music and the melodies to those songs didn't instantly pop into your head, then you probably shouldn't ever listen to dance music again. In fact, just quit all music until you commit them to instant memory, because without some of those tracks, music as we know it would not be what it is today. Daft Punk, the Frenchman famous for their distinguishable masks as much as their infectious tunes, are easily one of the most influential musical groups of all time. You know their music, even if you shamefully don't. There are few EDM shows that I've attended where I haven't heard a Daft Punk melody or chorus sampled. They are in our dancing subconscious, their famous triangle the birth of a generation of massive LED screens and spectacular light shows. Discovery (2001) will go down as one of the greatest albums of the millenium. As elusive as they are renown, the duo hasn't toured since 2007 and I don't expect them to until 2017. You can guarantee I'll be there, no matter where.

But for now, the next best thing is a cover band cleverly titled Daft Punk'd who DJed at Webster Hall. This show came right after the Led Zeppelin cover band (http://bdelillo.tumblr.com/post/42021733713/36-of-50-bustle-in-your-hedgerow) on the night of my good friend Gregg's Birthday. These guys didn't just spin Daft Punk tunes all night. The had the robot head gear, the triangle, the light-up Tron-style suits and similar equipment at their fingertips. As close to the real thing as possible (and by close I mean 1/1,000th of it).

The show opened almost exactly the same way as Daft Punk's live album Alive 2007 began: "Robot Rock / Oh Yeah" and "Touch It / Technologic". At first we thought the whole set would just be a rip from the album, which would have been great since that live set is brilliantly crafted. But after those two mashups, Daft Punk'd forged their own unique path through the Frenchmen's back catalogue. All the usual hits made an appearance, as well as a few of my personal favorites, "Crescendolls" and "Superheros" off of Discovery. Throughout the latter half of the set, they kept bringing back the vocal sample from "Prime Time Of Your Life" which helped string together the couple weak moments. To my intoxicated brain, the show came in went in minutes, but the impostors played in the ballpark of an hour and a half. Getting so wrapped up in music does that to me; I disengage my brain and somehow cease making memories, putting all my efforts into a peak level of enjoyment. This is the explanation I have recently come up with for such circumstances of amnesia after concerts.

The lighting for the show was a bit more minimal than I expected. The triangle was made of LED walls and LED strip lights, projecting patterns and solids of light with each new movement. The rest of the light package was pretty simple, 2Ks and strobes, that never quite overpowered the triangle. Come to think of it, I think NERO's Welcome Reality Tour in 2011 was the only time light production at Webster Hall truly gave me sensory overload. Nitpicking aside, the triangle structure brought the set to life and put you that much closer to the real thing. After a short set break, Daft Punk'd came back out decked in Tron style costumes, an homage to their soundtrack for the film Tron: Legacy. 

Crowd-wise, and this pains me, not many people were as into it as we were. Luckily, we were next to a group of gentlemen who shared an equal amount of passion for the music and we often found ourselves dancing or singing along with them. There was a moment at the end of the night during a major buildup, we gathered in a circle and fed off each other's energy until the final drop. That's the best way I can describe that...like a, "hand's in!" rally before a big game, psyching each other up for when the music ultimately climaxes.

I am impatiently awaiting the arrival of Daft Punk but for now, that was a suitable substitute. At a time when their name appears on every major festival's lineup rumor list, getting the chance to see anything that resembles the genuine article is worth my time and money.

Prepare to hate me. I'm not a Led Zeppelin fan. The train just never stopped at the station for me. Their music, however groundbreaking or influential  never stuck with me. Now that that's out of the way...

Last Friday I saw a Led Zeppelin cover band. Gregg, the friend who has been tearing it up with me on this 50 in 5 run, had a Birthday and for that Birthday he wanted to go to New York and see Bustle In Your Hedgerow and Daft'd Punk. So off we went to see two cover bands of two completely different artists with two equally monumental impacts on music over the last fifty years in one night.

BIYH (as I'm calling them from now on), were playing at Brooklyn Bowl, a warehouse made bar/bowling alley/restaurant/concert venue with Brooklyn Brewery emblems proudly displayed on the outside. Gregg had been going there ever since it opened four years ago and always spoke highly of it. It was THE place for him and his friends in college. I expected a place ten times smaller than what I walked into. It's a huge open space with only one or two walls to really guide traffic to or from one area or another. The beer list is exceptional, the food was delicious and the decor was full of deep wood and brick tones, subdued warm lighting and little flourishes of design here and there that I can't quite remember at the moment. While this place is full of a multitude of options, the music is feels like the central focus. The stage area is about as deep as the bowling lanes. 

After our meal and a couple rounds of drinks we weaved through the crowd until we got five to ten feed from the stage for BIYH. Being the horrible Zeppelin non-fan that I am, I barely recognized any of the songs they played save the usual four classic radio has been beating to death since their original release. But not knowing meant I could focus on the music itself rather than song titles or lyrics or what I'd remember the record sounding like (if I'd ever listened to it, which in most cases I didn't).

I've failed to mention that BIYH is made up of Joe Russo (drums), Marco Benevento (piano, organ, effects), Dave Dreiwitz (bass), and Scott Metzger (guitar). Brilliant musicians, every single one of them. Each of them stood on that stage and played through the material like it was their own, passion gushing from every speaker in the building. "It looks like Dave is having sex with his bass, he's so into it," said a friend of ours. Marco sat behind his rack of keyboards and various distortion knobs, smiling like a goon as he played Robert Plant's famous vocals on the organ. Scott was one of the most interesting guitarists to watch, showing some restraint physically, but his subtle movements were still full of energy as he brought to life the time-tested guitar parts of legend Jimmy Page. Being a drummer, Joe Russo was the most fun to watch. Fun may not even be the right word. He basically put on a clinic on how to be the most badass drummer EVER. I don't think I've ever watched a tighter drummer, each hit of the crash or tom or snare precise, the perfect amount of pressure and sound. He flew around the kit, playing through fills that you'd need to see to believe. It was musical while still being inherently rhythmic (which can sometimes be a hard balance I find). And his smile, oh that smile, that genuine glee about the music, about the group, about the vibe on stage and the enthusiasm that was evident with every flick of the wrist. Amazing. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him, from that near blur of a human as he paid homage to the great John Bonham. It was truly a sight to behold.

The band played for about an hour and a half, maybe even two hours. The crowd was a mix of old timers and Brooklyn hipsters, with a steady amount of swaying and rocking to the music. I'm not compelled to buy a Zeppelin album just yet (though I should probably suck it up and get on it at some point this decade), but if the opportunity arose, I'd seek out a ticket to another performance of BIYH. Seeing such great musicians play with so much genuine passion is hard to come by.

We didn't have tickets to the sold out show until two hours before doors. After I realized it was sold out and buying at the venue was out of the question, I took to Craigslist and emailed the two people who posted about the show. One got back to me and what transpired was the nicest Craigslist transaction I've ever been a part of. No hassle, no bullshit, an honest guy who just wanted to give the tickets away in the fairest way possible. Special thanks to Michael for making number 35 happen as scheduled.

Mission of Burma is a Boston-based (huzzah!) post-punk band that was formed in '79, broke up in '83, then got back together in '02. I had only the most basic knowledge of them; a song in a Pandora playlist here and there when I went through my Big Black phase. They were playing at The Sinclair, a brand new venue that just opened up in Cambridge, MA. It was my first time there and I was eager to check out the venue that had a delayed opening for months.

We got there at around 9:30 during the opener's set. I can't remember their name but it was enjoyable. My eyes were transfixed on the drummer, a giant in a Freddie Kruger sweater with an unkept beard and a tiny kit. His wrists moved with the fluidity of water, racing from tom to hi-hat to crash and back again. Mesmerizing especially after the four beers. The guitarist looked like Jared Leto and had a voice a shade too pretty for the music.

Mission of Burma took to the stage at of dark thirty (miscellaneous night time, unlike the recent film), a three-some of weathered punk dreams and a million wild moments on stages like that one all over the world. The beer fucked with me more than I thought because the show felt like it lasted ten minutes, each track flowing into the next one, a collection of similar sounds and riffs and drum parts, filtered through my earplugs and venturing into my brain. All three members sang. The drummer, while not as easily visible as the last one, owned most of my attention but the other guys were equally as entertaining to watch. It was post-punk in its purest form and there's not really any more you need to know than that. 

There were four guest stars that night. Bob Weston, from Shellac, came on stage for a song (or was it two?) on bass. My friend pointed out his crazy yellow pants and noted that he always wears the wildest pants on stage. Roger Miller's brother, Ben Miller she guesses, played the trumpet during a few songs. Brass instruments make everything better, breeding energy and adding an extra layer on top of the punk sounds. Someone named Steve (we guess) Smith? Finally, during the encore, Jeff Conolly from DMZ came on stage to sing a Stooges cover. He was a round guy with stringy, grey hair and a face for a mug shot. She sang for a song (or two?), moving around on stage like a man of a lesser age, yelling at the crowd.  

Speaking of the crowd, a bunch of paralyzed oldies and timidly moving youngsters. I tried to enjoy myself, moving as effortlessly as I could because it's fucking punk you moron, why are you standing still? The woman behind me asking me to stop whipping my hair back and forth because it was getting in her way. There wasn't any full-on head banging, just appropriate head movement, to paint the picture for you all. I tried to contain myself. Failed. She pushed in front of me and stood there for the rest of the show. Oh well. Was I in the wrong, world?

The show ended in a second and the rest of the night was full of food hopping, Archer episodes and raging to an A Place To Bury Strangers vinyl. Success!

If you want to check out Mission of Burma, you can listen to all their albums for free here: http://grooveshark.com/#!/missionofburma/albums

If you visit this band's Facebook page and click on the "About" section, the only real information you get is the following: 

Artists We Also Like

Sigur Ros, Dirty Projectors, Arcade Fire, Creed

There is evidence of the above artists in all the music I have heard by Old Abram Brown. (And while nothing of their's sounds like Creed, I can only guess their inclusion is meant jokingly, which speaks to the group's personalities as people.) I'm a bit precautions about writing specifics on their sound like I do for other artists. The drummer, Erik Lund, is a coworker of mine and in the event I'm 100% wrong and he reads it, the embarrassment will sting. But if I had to put words to it, it's the kind of indie rock that acts as the background music to a smokey room full of antiques and candlelight, a dinner of hipster culture and wine, it's a summer drive through a flat countryside after a rainstorm, rays of light particularly tinged orange, top down, overgrown oaks springing from the ground every mile or two. Perhaps a cigarette on a bench in a small town occupied by pastel-colored apartments, a blue, Mediterranean sky existing above your capped head. Or maybe it's just a basement with Christmas lights as illumination and cheap beer from a keg and noise that wraps you like a blanket. It's not music that I particularly love listening to on a daily basis, but it gives you a sense of place, an environment and a world to exist in for three or five minutes at a time. Pleasant, familiar, but daring just enough to challenge your expectations.

Okay. Hopefully if he ever reads that, my words will be adequate. Their show was at TT the Bear's. I'd seen them twice before but this was the first time at that venue. The room was decently full of people for a Tuesday night. There were four bands playing that night, but due to getting there too late to see the first two and lacking interest in the fourth, we Old Abram Brown was the only one we witnessed. The band is a four piece: drums, piano, guitar and bass. The music seemed a bit heavier than I remember from past shows. A few tracks stuck out ("Tides", "I'm Not Happy") and the new ones sounded good, full of new sounds and seemed to adopt an alternative format from other songs. Less stream-lined may be the best way to put it. While the music was wonderful to listen to, there were some mistakes that stuck out. I can't pinpoint them, but I remember thinking their opening song wasn't air tight. This feeling dissipated as the set marched forward. I can't say the mixing at TT's did them justice; the lead vocals were constantly in a weird flux with pops and peaks and general noise. That said, the lead singer's voice is very mature and has the power to belt anthems in venues of five times the capacity of TT's. The guitar playing was a mix of straight and through pedals, as is the custom for most indie rock I hear. The guitar and the piano were locked in a constant ballet of sound, compliments and contrasts, in harmony but at times, in conflict. It's sweet and gentle, yet restless. There were no effects that stood out as being brand new to my ears but each was tastefully incorporated, adding depth and color when used as opposed to just a cool sound.

Every time I go to their shows, I pay closer attention to the drums, one because my friend is playing, two because they are really inventive. There is lots of rim play, interesting fills, other percussion instruments like bells and a shaker that's specific name isn't coming to me and a drum machine that I don't remember from previous shows. It's inventive without being overwhelming or too...Pert-like. If I heard some of these songs in high school or even if I heard similar percussion in a different track altogether, I'd probably scour the Internet for tabs or just figure them out myself so I could learn to play it on my drum kit. Granted, I may still do that. 

If you would like to check out their music you can listen or purchase their album Restless Ghosts on their bandcamp page: http://oldabrambrown.bandcamp.com/album/restless-ghosts. They have a tour at the end of February so if they make a stop near you, check them out.