Tonight may be Twee as Fuck night at the Cake Shop on Ludlow St., meaning I’ll hear bands that sound precise and dainty and effete a la Stars or Secret History — or, to use as an example a band that will actually be performing there, the Pains of Being Pure at Heart, whose songs Nes Weigand was nice enough to introduce me to (though they also sound a tad shoegazer, to use what is apparently the term for all those skinny neo-psychedelic bands like Stone Roses that made up most of MTV’s 120 Minutes lineup circa 1992 before the grunge completely took over).
But sometimes, a bit of manly slovenliness is OK, too (whether in music by males or females), and in that spirit I applaud things like Holly and the Italians, who sound sort of drunken and apathetic in the way that an alcoholic child of Tom Petty and Patti Smith (Petty Smith?) might. I also like the song “You and Your Parrot” by the Muffs, who verge on Joan Jett-like “too tough to perform for you” sullenness.
And I’d write more about all that, but, ah, who gives a damn, man, and what’s it to ya? So I’m spendin’ the next two days bloggin’ about low-paid fast food clerks and three-legged dogs, just see if I don’t.