Best New Music: The Morning Benders

What is it with bands from California and sounding like a day at the beach--or sometimes maybe a sailing trip on a yacht, or a late night barbeque with friends? (on the beach of course.) First there was Foreign Born, whose jangly melodies pretty much made my summer--then Girls, Best Coast, Local Natives, and now--The Morning Benders, whose sophomore album, Big Echo, drops on Rough Trade March 9, and whose laidback, playful tunes are helping me through this winter in a major way.



From lush, harmonious '60s pop to gentle sun-baked melodies, this album has it all--by which I mean, the ability to transport yourself somewhere that's not Philly. Running to listen yet? Read more at Phrequency.com.

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Department of awesome things that are no more: Sparks

Ok, yeah, I know what you're thinking. WTF Kate, Sparks died a tragic death years ago when the media decided it "encourage[d] the polar opposite of responsible drinking habits" and you know, everyone was sad and had big hooplas where we drank even more irresponsibly to send it off...

Sparks percussion. Starlight ballroom, 2006.

But then Sparks started showing up again, at Making Time and such, and I was confused. And so one night at Pure (back when it was still Pure), I asked the bartender--or rather, I had Matt ask the bartender, since the bartenders in general curiously seem to respond better to men--whether there was still alcohol in it. His response was something like:

"Well hellllllllll yes honey, there's alcohol in it. There'd be no point in drinking it otherwise!"

And so off I went on my happy way, with my Sparks, confident that my alchopop beverage was back. Pure must have bought up all the old stock when the company went under, and have a warehouse full of it somewhere, probably underground, in their inner lair of weird after-hours clubby things (one of their many secrets, I can imagine.) So it must be! It never occurred to me for a second that this could be a new impostor Sparks, that tasted the same but didn't have caffeine.

Making Time, September 2009

It didn't occur to me, that is, until this Friday (again at Making Time!), when I started to feel jittery and drunk and was grooving with my Sparks...and a friend dropped the sad truth, giggling like, "Ohhhh, Kate" and I realized I've been living off placebo effect for MONTHS! And all those nights I stayed up til 3 or 3:30 in the morning I was surviving off SHEER WILL! I guess that actually makes me kind of amazing. But I still really miss Sparks.

Sparks art project #1, Starlight ballroom 2006.
An epic evening of music and Sparks.

Oh Sparks. Now you're simply the premium malt beverage with incredible color and taste!
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Best New Music: Savoir Adore

I'm pretty much obsessed with anything French (see: Phoenix, Justice, baguettes, Swimming Pool) -- so it's no surprised I was attracted to Savoir Adore, the delightfully poppy Brooklyn duo whose sophisticated moniker (that's French for "to know love") only hints at the awesomeness within.

photo by Mardi Miskit

I first fell in love with these guys last summer -- after an exhilarating set opening for An American Chinese -- and squealed with glee upon discovering their new album, the poppy, sunshine-y In the Wooded Forest. This is imagination at its finest -- and I simply can not get enough. Read more -- including how you can stream the entire album for FREE -- at (you guessed it) Phrequency.com. Vive la français!

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Happy President's Day!

Thanks, TPFD.

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Cubicle Watch: When the forces are trying to tell you something...

For the past two days, during this large and rather monstrous blizzard, my office has been closed. Impromptu vacation! I spent it, gleefully, in cotton shorts and slipper boots, reclining on the couch watching TV and sipping tea (and sometimes Bloody Marys.) And it was gloriouis. And today--although every bone in my body fought against it--I dragged myself up early and walked the long, icy route to work, only to discover...among multiple blizzard casualties was: my computer, the crochety old clunker with which I update this delightful blog and preform other workerly duties.

And so here I am, typing on a coworker's machine at the moment (he's off skiing -- lucky bastard!) and wondering if it wasn't all a sign: one measley work day between two snow days and a three-day weekend? (We have off Monday too, for President's Day). Is this a message that I was supposed to have a SIX day weekend? And if so...why didn't someone tell me last night, when I cut myself off after the 3rd Miller High Life, and left the karoake bar before midnight? THERE COULD HAVE BEEN SHANIA TWAIN IMPRESSIONS IN IT FOR ALL INVOLVED. Oh my cubicle, why have you forsaken me?

Me, freshman year karaoke. Judging from the horrible outfit and the tie...Avril Lavigne?


Cubicle watch. Where time goes so slowly, it feels like it's cubed.

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Best New Music: Animal Tropical

If you live anywhere near the East Coast, you've probably noticed there's a MASSIVE BLIZZARD raging outdoors. Everything is shut down...which means we're all stuck in our apartments, watching It's Always Sunny re-runs and daydreaming about summer. Except for me, who's dancing around my apartment (well, not as I type this, but immediately after!!) to the sweet, island-y sounds of Miami's Animal Tropical.


That's right -- it's always a party for these boho rockers, who understand the importance of a kicky tune you can groove to, and who combine elements of doo-wop, punk, tropicalia and more. Read more, watch a vid, and find out how to score their debut EP for FREE at Phrequency.com -- then turn up the heat, bust out the bikini, vodka, pineapple juice, and blender, and have yourself a little ole beach party! It's not like you have anything better to do anyway.

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While you were snowed in and probably cold, I was here:

(click to enlarge)

...wearing a bathing suit and sipping a tropical drink in 82-degree, climate controlled weather.

Where is this glorious summertime magic land, you ask? Why it's only a train ride away at Harrah's Atlantic City. Being snowed in at the casino Friday and Saturday night was pretty much ideal -- sure, they were somewhat short-staffed (with employees driving their cars into snowbanks and whatnot)...but the Pool, the Steakhouse, and numerous bars (with names like Eden and X-hibition) were open...which means I was pretty much as happy as pig in poop.

Here are a few photos from the very long train ride home...








And on the back balcony at my apartment:


Beautiful!

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Neighborhood Watch: PYT in the Piazza has come to stand for everything Philadelphians hate about hipsters

Are you friends with Tommy Up on facebook? (Of course you are: the man has near 5,000 "friends.") Then you probably already know about the mass cultural throwdown being waged over T-Up's sweet burger child/Hipster HQ at the Piazza, PYT -- over the absolute best medium for any and all cultural throwdowns: Yelp. (as if it could be anything else!)

Tommy Up, on FB

Here are the deets:

PYT is located at the Piazza, which we already know is the center of: cocaine murders, mohawks, hundreds of overpriced/empty art galleries and way nicer architecture than everything else around it. It is inhabited mostly by (if I had to guess) young hipsters with secret money stashes (to spend on rent and overpriced art) who would just assume avoid the rest of the world and travel only in elite hipster packs for the rest of their lives (or something like that.) PYT is a burger joint; it's also a bar, it's also also a place to see and be scene (see what I did there?) And herein lies the problem. Apparently, people have MAJOR negative feelings about this concept.

Let's see what some of the more critical Yelpers had to say.

Here's what looks like an unbiased report from Ben T:

Oof. Where do I start?

I didn't expect stellar service, but man, this was just poor. The place was practically empty and it still took forever for anything to happen. We waited for a good 10 minutes to even get water while our half-naked server (seriously, her nipples were peeking out of the top of her american apparel tank-thong) chatted with her friends a few feet away. My friend ordered an adult shake, which arrived after I was already on my second beer, and clearly had been sitting around as it was half melted. Our server wasn't unpleasant, but it didn't seem like she had any interest in doing anything other than looking pretty, texting, and talking to her friends.

I DID expect a stellar burger, what with all the relentless hype bloating up my inbox. What I got was a 30-minute (!) wait for this little, overcooked patty on a potato roll. Worthless. The fries were borderline inedible; hard as a rock and soaked with grease.

Fittingly, our bill arrived with a Jameson on it that no one had ordered. Upon informing our server, she gave us a dirty look and said "are you sure?" before taking another 10 minutes to fix it. At this point the soundtrack inexplicably switched to mall-punk screamo circa 2002. Farce complete.

the famed "adult milkshake." from Yelp user Walter K.

Ed M. had similar feelings:

Everything about this place, the room, the menu, the food, the employees, the patrons, the owner, screams "I am trying sooooooooo hard to pretend I'm NOT trying sooooo hard to be all cool, that I must be cool." What the fuck happened to Philly? We used to have Balls and Cool. Now have the Piazza and PYT.

And then of course we have the eloquent "DJ. H":

That's this hipster yuppie duche bag inbred albino gentrified overpriced half-baked half-hearted half-assed shithole that smells like hipster-stink.

I'm afraid Plato's Cave allegory DOES most accurately describe this place. What I mean is - here is probably the city's largest hive of marks and social imbeciles herded up like sheep[le] in one place and they are all looking at each other as if the shit-show they are taking part in IS actually real. In Nam we had this hopeless feeling that everything we were doing was fake, one big lie -- fighting for what we thought? Johnson's little adventure in southeast asia? What's in it for us? That is the internal struggle I think the average patron of PYT goes through...

Vietnam War: practically the same thing as going to PYT?

Wow, right? What are people really criticizing here anyway -- the food, or the hipsters? I mean sure, Ben T. said his burger and fries totally blew...and maybe they did. But then on the other side of the spectrum you have people like Mikey I. who claims "Every single damned thing on the menu is just phenomenally genius" or Joy W. who says, "The food is original and good I love the PYT burger and chicken sandwich, the Onion Rings are glorious, and milk shakes are thick and creamy. My husband has had the double and the triple burger and always clears his plate."

PYT burger (unbreaded.com)

So what's the deal? It's hard to say. Maybe Ben T. and co. just had bad experiences; conversely, maybe Mikey and Joy are friends of Tommy Up, replying to his desperate facebook plea for Yelp "TLC." Maybe they're gigantic hipsters themselves. Maybe not. But it begs the question: is slamming PYT because you hate hipsters ok? (I say: yes!!) And when did hipsters become the most despised social group in Philadelphia? What have they ever done to all us anyway? (except for maybe cut us off on their bicycles or kill the Biberry Ale keg at Johnny Brenda's?)

I've never been to PYT myself (someday, maybe) and so I can't comment on the food OR the clientele. What I will say is this: as a self-consciously hipster oasis, PYT is always going to attract outsider scorn, and insider devotion...much like frat houses, NASCAR races, and Jehovah's witness gatherings. Whether this attracts or repels you is sorta up to you. Which brings me to Alicia F.'s review:

A wise woman once told me, "Tell me who you go with & I'll tell you what you are." Since then, I've tried to surround myself with good people & to not judge or "label" those around me. I'm not a "hipster," I don't hate hipsters & frankly, I couldn't care less if the place I am at is littered with self proclaimed hips/yips or otherwise. I am, however, not okay with a place littered with douche bags...and PYT usually is. The amount of people I have met here who seem to believe they are doing something better with their lives than me (or anyone else for that matter) is insurmountable. Frankly, I couldn't give two shits if you think you're going to make it as some Philadelphia celebrity. Most of you will probably amount to nothing & in the meantime, will crush anyone who gets in your path. I have no interest in you & your false personaility, so move along.

Toothpastefordinner. Always right.

BUT! Aside from the people who frequent PYT (which is by no means the business' fault), I can't complain because they make a damn good adult milkshake. I drag everyone with me so I can get one. I find myself mindlessly sucking down a "Caucasian" only to find myself somewhat intoxicated, moments later. Which is good...because then I'm more focused on how good the milkshake was instead of the people around me.

Wax philosophical with me for a moment here, won't you? At some point in the last few centuries, it seems, a restaurant became no longer just a restaurant, but something littered with complex feelings and social consequences. (Pardon my academic speak here; I just spent 30 min. editing a manuscript on I Love the 80s as postmodern nostalgia.) For PYT, it's a cultural battlefield using milkshakes and burgers as weapons. Will the hipsters win, by acting outrageously hipster-y and driving all the outsiders away, so they no longer have ammo with which to write Yelp reviews? Or will the haters triumph on this one, using their spare time and internet prowess to create fake Yelp identities, and slam the restaurant some more? Only time will tell. I'll wait with bated breath on this one.

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Best New Music: Exit Clov

I felt in love with Exit Clov at first listen years ago, and have been hooked on their seductive, bittersweet tunes ever since.

EC at JB's, December 2008. Photo by yours truly.

So of course I was pumped for Memento Mori, their debut release and 43 minutes of awesomeness. The verdict? It totally rules. Wanna hear why? (As if you have a choice.) Click here to visit Phrequency.com.

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Music from my formative years: 10 tunes that shaped my youth

Before we're old enough to choose what music we want to listen to, music chooses us. Or rather--at a young age, we encounter music selected by other people (our parents, radio DJs, TV commercials) and latch on to certain songs. In a way, it's the most "pure" selection process there is--because we're not yet influenced by outside factors, such as the name of the band, or how cool they are -- just whatever strikes us, in our naive, uneducated, music-loving souls.

Of course, that's not to say we can't be weened on certain genres and grow to love them -- or course we can. Growing up, my parents were into classic rock of the "golden oldies" variety -- lots of Beatles, British Invasion, doo-wop, soul, folk, girl groups, and sometimes Creole or psych-rock. They had a massive and impressive record collection, which they would constantly rifle through and play, boxes of mix tapes, and an addiction to oldies radio (New Jersey 101.5 -- "on weekends, the music comes out to play!"), which my brother Dan and I very quickly became acquainted with. And that was fine. In fact, it was fun! I always enjoyed record time with my dad, looking at album covers and memorizing lyrics, and singing along to songs on the radio.

Good Golly, it's a record!

Looking back, there were so many great tunes I fell in love with then -- songs by the Beach Boys and the Doobie Brothers and CCR and Herman's Hermits and the Crystals and the Ronettes and Dusty Springfield and the Moody Blues. And even more that I can't possibly detail here. So rather than try, I've selected 10 songs that I remember most -- music that helped shape my youth.

10. "Love and marriage' (Frank Sinatra). He won't admit it now, but for several years (age 4-7, approx.), my brother Dan claimed that "Love and marriage" was his favorite song. Contributing factors include the fact that our pediatrician was also named Frank Sinatra (no relation), and that this song is really easy to sing.

9. "Born to run" (Big Brucey Springsteen). Both my parents went to college in the '70s, during which time my mother--a nice Catholic Jersey girl from a blue collar background--fell in love with Bruce. And why not? He sung about things she cared about, and from what I'm told, was quite the looker too. Watch out Dad!

8. "Louie Louie" (The Kingsmen). There's something about simple melodies and repetitive lyrics that appeals to kids--just ask Raffi. "Louie Louie" was one in a series of early hits my brother and I dug, along with "Wooly Bully" (which my dad insisted was about a cat), "Duke of Earl" and "Iko Iko," which I once made my dad play about 10 times in a row on a car trip to my grandparents' house in Point Pleasant.

7. "My girl" (The Temptations). I have a distinct memory of listening to this song in the car on the way to Sesame Place, age probably about 5. At the time, I was quite convinced it was about a lion drinking milk, although now I'm not quite sure why. Anyway, I don't need to convince anyone that this is a killer tune -- that bass line will stick with me for the rest of my life.

6. "Hello goodbye" (The Beatles). This was a great song because the possibilities for extra verses are limitless. A favorite from my dad: You say fat/ I say skinny/ you say Mickey/ I say Minnie Minnie Minnie!

5. "The logical song" (Supertramp). I've mentioned before that my brother and I really liked the Breakfast in America album cover, and this song was our fave. I could never remember the exact lyrics, but liked the rhyme scheme. Also, Roger Hodgson has a great voice.

4. "Dr. Wu" (Steely Dan). The name of the album this song is on is Katy Lied, which my dad found very hilarious, considering the names of his children (Katie and Dan). We heard a lot of "Bad sneakers" too.

3. "Both sides now" (Judy Collins). This song was originally penned by Joni Mitchell, but I became obsessed with the Judy Collins version after some chick sang it in the middle school talent show, and I ran home and described it to my mom and she played her Judy Collins record. This really is a gorgeous tune.

2. "Everybody's got a cousin in Miami" (Jimmy Buffett). Fruitcakes, an admittedly decent Jimmy Buffet album (or at least: to a 4th grade me) was always a favorite for long car trips. I knew the words to pretty much the entire thing, and would sometimes steal the cassette and listen to it in my room. "Desdemona's building a rocket ship" was my favorite, but this was a good one too, if only because partway through, Buffett acknowledges his guitar player, yelling "Thank you Robert!", and then letting loose a yelp. My brother and I heard it as "Thank you robot", which was (for whatever reason) hilarious, and would wait in anticipation for this moment, then crack up.

So...apparently, this song does not exist on YouTube (!!!),
so here's "Fruitcakes" instead. Almost as good!

1. "American pie" (Don McLean). This has to be my dad's favorite song of all time, or at least in the top 10. I still know all the lyrics (all 7 verses!) and have been treated to a line-by-line interpretation of who McLean is REALLY referring to throughout. When Madonna did a cover of this, my dad almost had a brain aneurysm.

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