So this week's column is all about either being hip or shooting from the hip. And we'll start with the hip shaking their hips.
Last week, I reported from Lenny's, the Memorial Drive dive where the Selmanaires were celebrating a CD release. Well, I want to revisit that night to discuss Lenny's long-popular Trashed Friday night "dance party" for pale skinny kids who enjoy "doing the stand-still." This packed night sincerely loves post-punk jukebox jams, but I wish dancers had an ounce of the swerve Napoleon Dynamite keeps in his pocket next to his tater tots. Sometimes watching hipsters shimmy makes me want to sell my eyes to science.
Over at the competing Decatur Social Club, head honcho Preston Craig (who turned an incredible uncredible 30 this past weekend) rocks the PowerBook. Those tech-savvy indie kids love their "digital manipulation," probably because it sounds drrrty. But seriously, indie-rock "DJs," it's time to find non-"dance-punk" tracks where the drummer doesn't constantly ride the hi-hat; like that fat chick at a party -- you're just supposed to hit it for sport, not as a steady thang.
Speaking of hitting it, one of my "spies" hit an invite-only event that might make some of these hipsters shit a rare 7-inch to attend. On Sat., Nov. 12, Mr. Mosi "Poon-Tang Clan Ain't Nuttin' 2 Fuck Wit" Reeves visited Vinyl, where DJ Shit Robot and James Murphy of LCD Soundsystem presided. Peroni sponsored the event, so by Murphy's 1 a.m. set of deep disco and retro-contemporary tech-house, there was a nice, sloppy buzz from the free Italian beer. Reeves observed that while the crowd was obviously fashion-obsessed, the vibe wasn't nearly as glacial as some he'd experienced, and he enjoyed the "NYC-style" party alongside nigh ubiquitous Kim from Criminal Records, among others.
As for those hip shakers rather than hip huggers, here's a special report from CL's own Chad Radford: On Fri., Nov. 11, the third Eyedrum/Atlanta Eclectic Improv Fest kicked off two tight nights of compellingly loose music. Of course, the type of amorphous music showcased by the event doesn't make for the dance party of the year. Most attendees languished in the safety of the room's dark periphery, zoning out. Even the noise maestros of Zandosis -- well-known for clearing the room with ear-splitting volume -- kept the roar at a palatable rumble, though the group's herky-jerky movements and clutter of sound was no less cathartic. Just as it seemed the group had exorcised its demons, the wash of sound pulled back to reveal only a scant few had weathered the heavy demands put on them. Trumpeter, turntablist, et. al, Marshall Avett comically offered from the stage, "We're gonna play one more." And the band played on while the survivors snuck out. (For more on the Improv Fest, see Scene & Herd in the Talk of the Town section.)