When I first heard of the synth-rock band, through mutual friends of guitarist Dipesh Sinha, they were still known as Patchwerk. The group made a preemptive name change to avoid possible copyright issues with a studio in Atlanta of the same name. (Their current moniker comes from a character in Neil Gamon’s novel “American Gods,” a one-armed Haitian revolutionary.)

Since their incarnation, Inky Jack’s location has had a lot to do with their ability to make fast connections. When asked what advantages being a band in Brooklyn holds, Sinha’s explanation sounds pretty similar to my own reasons for wanting to move out there.

“There are so many people here, and not as in population, but as in resources. There are some of the best photographers, managers, video people, and general creators in the world over here, so it’s a good place to grow your network with like-minded people, especially when you’re trying to do it without a label. You basically have to be your own label and find people who believe in your project and work with you, and that is possible here.”

While the abundance of creative residents may make Brooklyn seem to be the perfect place for a group of aspiring artists, it does also have its drawbacks. As Sinha pointed out, the label of being an “up-and coming” Brooklyn band has become somewhat “trite,” nowadays. Drummer Sly Shippy also explained that one has to be selective about the connections made in this part of New York.

“I feel like, living in a wonderful place like Brooklyn, as a place [with] so much diversity and history, you can become a part of a music scene that feels like you’re really just floating in an ocean that’s moving around you. But you have to open your senses. If you want to see someone through, you have to ride a wave with them, or hold their hand or let them float away. You can go to a few parties or openings or plays that seem like they’ll be cool and be bummed out by it in the end; maybe it was all superficial or narcissistic or hedonism.”

There is a silver lining, though, since as Shippy says, “once in a while you go to a show where you’ll meet some great people or see old friends and you can ride a wave forever with them.” Sinha also emphasized that the band members have only played in Brooklyn, so it’s difficult to compare it to anything else. (And as a native of a city notorious for superficiality, I would say this description of Brooklyn could be applied to any town.)

The aforementioned “scene” was celebrated when I got the chance to witness Inky Jack in action at their last show as Patchwerk, at the first annual Brooklyn Indie Music Festival on September 17th. The band took the second stage at Littlefield, just after 9 p.m., for a well-received set of tracks like “Radar,” the catchy “Jump Bunny,” (fans in the audience were singing the hook, “give me your hand,” long after the band had left the stage) and the chilled out “Shortie with a Shottie.”

Since I tend to judge a band’s talent on their live performances, I wouldn’t say I am usually drawn to music with computer-generated sounds. While digitally created smusic may work well in a recording, I have found it doesn’t often translate as well live. This is not the case with Inky Jack, whose performance revealed a solid and soulful group of musicians.

It seems that the spirited sound of this band is completely intentional, as Sinha explained the goal of Inky Jack, “We just like to make honest, raw music. We feel like this honesty is what resonates with people.” This aim toward genuineness came after tiring out on working in manufactured music, though.

Sinha’s musical work began at the age of eighteen, when he started working and interning under various producers, who dabbled mostly in pop music. (Seeing as their music is so effects heavy, it comes as no surprise that Sinha’s background is in producing.) He bluntly described the result of this as “a lot of crap music.” His dislike of the material eventually led him to take an extended break from music.

A trip to Austin’s South by Southwest Festival in 2009, however, inspired him to jump back into the musical world. He decided to join forces with Inky Jack vocalist Kwame Butler, who had also come from the pop world, having previously sung in a Boyz 2 Men style group. The Sinha/Butler collaboration began as a “side project,” but blossomed into Inky Jack after the two linked up with Sly and bassist Steve “Stegro” Walker of Sinha’s other project Pterodactyl Machine, which he describes as “free rock jammage,” in December 2010.

It took seven months of rehearsals before the group was ready to make its live debut since, as Sinha explains, “ None of us were used to playing along with track in perfect time, arranging what synths we [could] play live.”

Now that Inky Jack has mastered this ability, they have been booking multiple NYC area shows, and have recorded a soon to be released EP, which fans will be able to obtain for free or by donation. They have also hooked up with manager Shay Vishawadia, who has over 20 years of experience under his belt, including as the former manager of The Skatalites and Vice President of the Knitting Factory.

2012 looks to be a productive year for Inky Jack, who are “planning on releasing a song every month (separately of the EP) and doing a New York show for that release, hopefully around the same date every month. They will be full releases, with their own artwork, b-sides or remixes (for most at least). We [also] shot a pretty high-tech video for ‘Radar’ and are working on it now. We hope to release the record with the video within a few months.”

Fans can also look forward to an EP of remixes by Dubbism label owner Tony Dubshot at the end of this year. Sinha says, “He is curating a number of remixes to one of our tracks “Under the Ground” by various producers across Europe and the U.S., including Process Rebel, Soroka, and Vendera. It will be a 5 or 6 track EP that will feature the same track in various tracks, such as dance, Moroccan dub, dubstep, and the like.”

For those in the New York area who want an immediate Inky Jack fix, the band will be hitting the stage at this year’s CMJ Music Marathon and Film Festival on October 19th. The future looks promising for this Brooklyn band, and in spite of existing in an uncertain time for musicians, Sinha seems especially optimistic about Inky Jack’s independent status.

“One of the reasons I worked/interned in all the fields is so I would learn everything and not have to be dependent on others. With the music industry in flux, no one really has the answers as to how to [go] about having a successful music career – the music labels seem to be the furthest behind in this department in certain cases. If our ideas as to how to make it are just as valid as anyone else’s, why not give it a go.”

“Alternative Pop” vocalist and keyboardista Katrine Ottosen, aka CallMeKAT, graced the stage at the Lower East Side’s Rockwood Music Hall on the evening of September 15th, the first chilly night the city has felt in months, indicating that fall is quickly making its way to the city. The angelic voiced Dane was joined by bassist Sara Lee, of the B-52’s, and drummer Joe Magistro. (The packed venue’s stage was so tiny that Magistro’s kit had to be set up just next to the stage.)

The soft spoken singer was not especially talkative, mostly speaking to inform us of song titles, and their source of inspiration, such as “Going Home,” a track she had written before visiting Denmark after several years in the states. Though some could say this was detrimental to Kat, as performers are often expected to be especially extroverted, I found her shy moments to be quite endearing, as she seemed more coy than intimidated.

When it came time to actually play, though, Kat’s stage presence immediately went from meek to bold, as she moved with confidence over her keyboard, and her vocal range hit impressive high notes. The juxtaposition of Kat’s sweet voice with the almost eerie effects of the keyboard and bass gave her music a noire-like vibe. Though the audience seemed unaffected during the mellow tempo-ed tracks, they reacted with enormous cheers at the close of each song. Attendees also got the chance to show their support by dropping a buck or two in a “tip the band” bucket that one of Rockwood’s waitresses wandered through the crowd with.

Kat’s most lengthy address to the audience came close to the end of the show, when she explained that the night had two causes for celebration. First, she was thrilled that her home country had just elected their first female prime minister. Secondly Kat was proud to announce that donations for her the physical release of her 2010 album “When Owls are Out” had reached ninety-six percent of her fundraising goal, as she is employing pledgemusic.com for financial support from her fans.

Kat’s final track, the sultry “Flower in the Night,” was briefly delayed as Kat searched for one of her instruments in a duffel bag atop one of the amps. Her charming shyness was on full display, as she told the audience to wait just a minute because, “I have to get a little thing out of the bag.” Since I was standing at the back of the house, I’m not quite sure if that little thing was the small electric bullhorn or kazoo that appeared during her closing song. Kat ended her lovely set with a sincere thank you before exiting the stage.

According to the promotional cards handed out after the show, CallmeKAT will be making her way back to Denmark country on October 14th, when she will play Copenhagen. Anyone that wishes to help Kat’s cause will now also be giving to Doctors Without Borders, since ten percent of every euro donated after the hundred percent mark will go to the organization. (As of September 24th, she is at one hundred twenty five percent.) While all pledgers will receive a digital copy of “When Owls are Out,” those who feel especially generous can receive a number of personalized gifts, from signed CDs to a “full blown house concert!” (You’ll have to shell out 3,500 euro for the latter ,though.)

As far as this blog, I can assure you that my habit of not frequently updating is about to be broken, as I have a review of last week’s Brooklyn Indie Fest in the works. Until then, good vibes everyone!

New York city may not be the same place that Smith ventured to in 1967 from her New Jersey hometown with only enough money to pay for bus fare. And being a music journalist may not be the same career that it was when Smith wrote for magazines like Crawdaddy and Rollingstone before becoming a musician herself. But the theme of her story-uprooting to the so-called “Capital of the World,” to try and “make it” as an artist with a substantial work ethic, but no plan, was exactly the kind of thing I needed to read before making a similar move (albeit in much more comfortable conditions).

Hearing her music after reading Just Kids was like hearing it for the first time. Songs like “Dancing Barefoot” and “Pissing in a River,” no longer just sounded really good to me; her music was all of a sudden one of the greatest fucking things I had ever heard. So almost needlessly to say, I was beyond ecstatic when I heard she was playing a free show at Battery Park’s Castle Clinton on July 14th, as part of the River to River concert series.

Thinking I would be arriving fairly early on a gorgeously breezy summer day, I got to Battery Park around 4:45, just over two hours prior to show time. A massive amount of people apparently also share in my immense admiration for Smith, as by the time I got there, the line of people waiting for tickets stretched from the entrance of Castle Clinton, to Battery Place and Little West. Not everyone waiting for tickets was eventually able to get in, as the rotunda fortress holding the stage was only able to hold 1200 people. (I had been doubly lucky, obtaining one pair online that went to another friend and fan of Smith’s, and another two via a family friend’s connections.)

By the time we arrived inside the “castle,” (which for you history junkies was actually the first immigration station in New York before Ellis Island), the seats were full, and the only spots available were off to the sides. Only glimpses of the stage could be caught throughout most of the standing room, since planners of the event had ruled a large walkway in the middle had to be clear at all times, but the surrounding view of the open air venue provided a great glimpse of New York city architecture.

I could only tell when Smith finally took the stage by the sound of cheers around me, as she kicked into “Because the Night.” I couldn’t see the singer at all during the Bruce Springsteen penned track, but it didn’t matter. As one of those in our group had said before the show, all that mattered was being there. Luckily by the second song, I was able to see Smith, sporting braided pigtails and a black jacket, as I stood on my toes and people in front of me briefly tilted their heads to the side.

Those who weren’t fortunate enough to actually be inside the venue had to settle for hearing the concert from outside Castle Clinton’s walls, though they didn’t seem too bummed since cheers could be heard from afar when Smith gave them one of several shout outs early in the show. Later in the set, she sang to those listening from outside, “If I cannot see you, I can feel you,” just before “My Blakean Year.”

One of the things that I love so much about Smith is how she seems to be able to cover just about any song she wants to with absolute ease. The set featured many of those moments, including Jim Carroll’s “People Who Died,” and Neil Young’s “Helpless,” which she dedicated to her late, great husband and former guitar player, Frederick “Sonic” Smith.

The highlight of these covers, however, had to be her version of Adele’s hit “Rolling in the Deep,” which may have marked the first time I have felt happy hearing that song. (I say that out of complete adoration for Adele; it just happens to be one of those songs that hits me so hard because every time I hear it I think, “Oh girl, I’ve BEEN there!”) Smith didn’t know all of the lyrics, but she played it off well, improvising hilariously to the melody on the second verse, “I wish I could remember the words…I love this fucking song, Adele, she’s great!” After the song’s end, she promised she would learn the lyrics by her 65th birthday at the Bowery Ballroom, referring to her annual NYC New Year’s Eve show.

While the quality of Smith and her band’s sound made for an amazing evening, her chats with the audience between songs stood out the most for me. She showcased her storytelling skills when describing her experience of acting on “Law and Order: Criminal Intent,” as she bragged using Vincent D’onofrio’s bathroom. As she strapped on a guitar just before “Beneath the Southern Cross,” and the audience seemed to chuckle, she responded, “Are you laughing at the prospect of me playing guitar?” and then proclaimed, “I have been taught by masters!” Her socially conscious side came out when she told the crowd she had witnessed hundreds of thousands protesting corrupt governments in her recent time overseas, before “Peacable Kingdom,” which was appropriately followed by “People have the Power.” The two-hour show ended with her classics, as “Horses” transitioned into “Gloria,” before she closed with “Rock’n’Roll Nigger.”

The above review may be one of my most gushing stories to date, but I don’t think it’s possible to overstate how much Smith’s work has meant to me recently. On my worst days, I will throw on her music, and as my mood is instantly elevated, I always think, “I haven’t had to struggle nearly as much as she did, so if she could make it, I can too.” Her parting words at Castle Clinton were simple, but a perfect example of why Patti Smith is such an inspiring figure to me. Before leaving the stage, she announced, “Life is hard; life will throw a lot of shit at you, but it’s the best fucking thing we have.”

Warren got in touch with me nearly a month ago, introducing himself, as some of you may remember from my fifth NYC blog, as the Morning Paper who breaks strings. His message was to alert me of the impending release of the band in which he front’s “Meltdown” EP, which was digitally dropped July 11th, and this past Sunday’s release party show.

I got to the Mercury Lounge just after 7 p.m., where I found Warren preparing for his set and hanging out with a couple of friends next to a counter displaying free mini pink and green frosted cupcakes for the celebratory occasion. After introducing myself, we briefly chatted about venues on the Sunset Strip, before opening act California King took the stage.

As a lover of raspy voices, I immediately took a liking to this band when I heard front- man Mike Mills melodically howling into a mic with a pink feather boa wrapped around the stand. His soulful growl, which seemed to crack at all the right moments, perfectly accompanied dance-worthy rock music, even if the thinly filled floor didn’t feel like moving much at that point.

By the time Pillow Theory took the stage, the house had developed a significantly larger crowd, as the band kicked into “Miscommunication,” a track that didn’t make the cut for “Meltdown,” but is featured on the latest Black Rock Coalition Compilation.

The first time I heard the five track EP weeks ago in un-mastered form, I was immediately reminded of Living Colour, so it wasn’t surprising at all when Warren recently said of their 1988 record Vivid, “ That album changed my life.” Apparently guitarist Vernon Reid is also a fan of Warren’s as he described Warren as “one of my favorites,” in a 2009 article for Soul Summer. Reid was also responsible for hooking the band up with producer Ron Saint Germain, who worked with the group on “Blipsters and Buppies.”

The second song of their performance, and first single off “Meltdown,” seems to be a critique of a certain pretentious group with an affinity for thick black framed glasses, stating in one verse, “Subculture revolution, Subculture prostitution, By any means necessary.” The first half of their set showcased other tracks off of “Meltdown,” like the sensual “Warm the Blood” and the distortion heavy “Tongue.” The EP translates well live; the only major difference I noticed was that Warren exercises his power of scream more frequently onstage.

Though the band’s hard rock sound would have fit in with music scenes of decades past, it became clear that Pillow Theory is existing in a modern music industry when Warren announced that rather than purchasing discs of their new release, fans could buy “download cards” for $5 at the merch table.

The latter part of Pillow Theory’s set was dedicated to their 2008 debut “Outpatience,” which was produced by another noteworthy name, Steve Albini. By the time the band closed with “Ritalin,” the more mobile audience was heavily grooving (especially Barbarita, who grabbed me and our friend and fellow journalist Will Helms to head bang with arms over each other’s shoulders.)

I left fairly soon after the band exited the stage since I was supposed to be at work early the next morning. I figured it would be an uneventful day with nothing worth writing about, as Mondays tend to be my slowest shift at the restaurant. But at the end of a relatively dull day, as I stood watching the door, contemplating what I would say in the above review, I saw smoke and flames start to pour out from underground.

Apparently the black clouds and fire were the result of some electrically caused manhole fire, but my first thought was, “what the hell just happened with the subways?” as I rushed to the back of the restaurant, frighteningly pointing at the windows. Our manager instructed us to stay away from the windows as the other hostess went to call 911, where she was placed on hold before being connected to the fire department. It didn’t take long for the customers to bolt out the side door, as did our bartender and one of the waitresses.

The odd thing was that at no point did I see anyone on the streets run away from the rising smoke and flames. Most just carried on with their business and some even walked toward the fire to snap pictures. Apparently, as I later overheard one fireman say, manhole fires aren’t unprecedented in this city. I guess it’s like to New York what earthquakes are to L.A., though the stinging in my eyes that I felt as smoke seeped into the building made me almost feeling the ground shake.

One fireman eventually barged in with an axe and headed downstairs, where it was even smokier in the kitchen. Soon two more followed and ordered us out of the building. The other hostess and I ran to the front to grab our bags, which we both knew wasn’t a good sign of our survival instincts. (She later joked, “but I’m not due for an upgrade on my phone yet!”)

Luckily no one was hurt, and no one had been crossing the street when the underground caught fire. By the time we made it out onto the streets we were all laughing it off, but the time we were stuck in the restaurant had me very nervously shaking, with a slew of terrified, but in retrospect, kind of ridiculous thoughts running through my head.

This included thanking God I had ended up staying an extra ten minutes after my shift was officially over, since I would have been on the street inhaling massive amounts of smoke, rather than watching the drama from behind the closed doors. Next I thought, “Well if this is it, at least I had a good last meal,” since it’s one of our bartender’s last week, and my hostess friend had baked some amazing cheesecake brownies. My favorite, though, was “I better not get hurt; I have tickets to see Patti Smith on Thursday!”

Fortunately, I survived, and will indeed make it to my hero’s free show at Castle Clinton tomorrow, so my next blog will be a report of what I’m sure is going to be an epic night. Until next time, good vibes everyone, and New Yorkers, be careful around the manholes!

Last Saturday, June 18, I finally got to attend one of these musical events my coworkers have been talking about, when one of my fellow staff members invited me to the Deli Magazine Showcase at Brooklyn’s Spike Hill for the 2011 Northside Festival. We went solely for Ball of Flame Shoot Fire, whose lead guitarist Tim Good also happens to be a fellow employee.

When I asked my friend whom I’d tagged along with what exactly Ball of Flame sounded like, she paused before answering with a vague smirk. “You’ll just have to see.” The band took the stage early in the night, just after the giant “human scrabble” game for the festival was being disassembled outside on Bedford Ave. I understood exactly why she gave that description as soon as they kicked into the first song, driven by keys and brightened by a brass section of saxophone and trumpet.

The band’s sound was definitely as incendiary as their name, but not in the way that I’d have expected, which was hard, and if not at the very least, fast. They could almost be classified as a jam band, but their sound doesn’t conjure up thoughts of Phish or The Grateful Dead. Their set list featured tracks off of their first full-length “Jokeland,” and their latest release, “Pots and Knives,” some of which I got a 70s vibe from. Tim described one unreleased track, “The Old Ballad Singers,” as “country.” The performance of mellow, yet cheery songs was full of instrument changes, as Jess Tambellini put down his trumpet for a guitar, and Tim picked up a bass. The majority of vocals were provided in falsetto by keyboardist Winston Cook-Wilson, but Tim and Jess also took the mic a few times.

Onstage rapport was brief, but humorous, like when Winston said in a serious tone, “We’re trying a different angle tonight,” before pausing to clarify, “I don’t usually sit at this angle.” By the end of their half hour set, which closed with “Patience,” it was apparent why Ball of Flame was named one of The L Magazine’s “8 NYC Bands You Need to Hear,” in 2010. (And what a relief it was to have sincerely enjoyed their set, since it could have made for a very awkward situation at work the next day when Tim asked what I thought, if they’d put on a mediocre show.)

We left not long after their set to hang out with band members and their friends at a nearby apartment. I decided to leave around midnight since I was scheduled to work early the next morning, and a couple of people at this “party” were heading toward the same train stop, which I didn’t want to walk to alone. One of them had left their bag at Spike Hill, so the plan was to make a quick pit stop at the venue and then get on the L.

But after we arrived, someone mentioned to my forgetful new friend that the band about to go on was “one of the best live acts he’d ever seen,” and we had to see if that statement was really true. I figured I would stay for a song or two and head home, since I didn’t want to be tired during my shift the next day. But when Not Blood Paint took the stage, I knew I’d regret hitting the road more than the exhaustion I did eventually experience.

The band made a delayed but grand entrance, having previously been onstage before insisting the audience wait another 3 minutes so they could put jump off to put on monster-like black veiled head-dresses. The group crept through the audience before jumping back onstage with a golden vessel and making spooky ceremonious gestures. They then shed their veils to reveal matching Ziggy Stardust like white and red face paint and one sleeved sparkly mini dresses, paired with black tights and red arm bands, and kicked into songs displaying as much effort as they’d put into their look.

As their style would suggest, their songs easily evoke the title “glam rock.” Influences of Queen and Bowie echoed without being ripped off. The vocals were full of perfect harmonies, but also included the appropriate scream, being backed by strong drums, and impressive guitar licks. The lyrics were as hilariously theatrical as their outfits, such as one song about “not being cut out for the army.”

Right as they wrapped their last song, the group accompanying me looked at each other with awe-struck smiles and praised the one who had left his bag for leading us back to the venue at just the right time. As we left the crowd was chanting, “One more song!” That guy was not being hyperbolic about Not Blood Paint at all. Missing an extra two of hours of sleep was worth not missing that set.

The unmarked venue was still fairly empty by the time I met up with front man Hassan Malik (aka Sunny Ali) around 8:30, just half an hour after doors had opened. We had met in person when I had visited New York last fall, while I was still making my final decision as to whether I really wanted to relocate to the Big Apple, at The Kominas’ November 18th gig for a Pakistan Flood Relief benefit at the Cameo Gallery. He introduced me to drummer Abdullah Saeed (aka The Kid), who I had only spoken to via email before then, as Woah Woah Records’ personnel were arranging cassette tapes by the night’s acts on a merchandise table behind us. Since Saeed also happens to be a writer, we chatted about the scarcity of freelance gigs before the duo decided to play a game of Alien v. Predator on an arcade-like machine in (what I guess you could call) the venue’s lobby. (I got in a game afterward, and though Saeed said I was a better player than Sunny, I assure you, I had no idea what I was doing, aside from randomly pounding the “kill” button.)

A friend of Saeed’s later commented that Death by Audio reminded her a lot of Los Angeles’ The Smell. I never made it to the Downtown venue, which is known for being a good place to see bands for cheap cover prices, so I can’t confirm this, but Death By Audio did seem to be a cool place. The walls were covered in cartoon murals of alien-esque monsters in the “lobby,” dogs with gas clouds coming from their rear ends behind the stage, and even portraits of the three deceased Ramones hidden in the corner of a wall stage left. Unlike any venue in LA (and most of NYC), smokers were free to light up inside, and you could get a view of a REAL river upon exiting the venue. (The East River is completely intimidating when all you’re familiar with is the trickle of water surrounded by concrete that is the LA River.)

The evening’s openers were The Night Manager, whose singer Caitlin Seager was apparently celebrating her 21st birthday. The group’s poppy garage sound mingled pleasantly with Seager’s sweet vocals, which were full of “wooooahhhs” and “ooo ooo ooo’s.” Their set displayed a band with a lot of potential, and I’d be enjoyably curious to see how this group progresses in the future.

Second up was surf rock two-piece Teen Witch, who I was immediately dazzled by. At the time of the show, they reminded me of a cross between The 5,6,7,8’s and The White Stripes (for their sound, as well as lack of a bass player). After hearing front woman Carol’s growly vocals though, I wasn’t the least bit surprised to see rockabilly queen Wanda Jackson cited as one of their influences, when I went searching for their music after the show. The audience seemed to agree with my favorable opinion of the band, as two crowd members jumped onstage to dance during their last song.

Sunny Ali and the Kid finally took the stage just after 11:00. I had seen them play a couple of their songs during that last Kominas’ set, but this was my first time at one of their official shows. Though I had thoroughly enjoyed hearing their tracks the last time I had been in Williamsburg, I must say, the sound was much more well rehearsed this time around. The band is often described as “country punk,” which seems to be suiting, both sonically and image wise. Malik, who was sporting his signature cowboy hat and a nonchalant stage presence, kept between song banter to a minimum as they cranked out two minute or under tracks, including new songs (like “Don’t Shoot the Boy” and their tribute to Egyptian protesters “Tahrir Square Dance.”) and “older” ones from their debut “Try Harder” EP (like the title track, “Can’t Stand Ya,” and their cover of Alice Deejay’s “Better off Alone.”) Saeed, who played with persistently shrugged shoulders, kept rhythms tight for the dancing audience members near the front of the stage, which included Kominas’ guitarist and co-vocalist Imran Malik.

As far as movement, the crowd was slightly better than most Los Angeles concert-goers, but there was still a fair amount of standing bodies throughout the show that closed with X-ray Eyeballs. (I didn’t catch enough of their set to describe, but I figured they at least deserve a mention, despite my laziness.) It’s been that way at all of the shows I’ve attended since my first “Natalie in New York” music post, so I’m starting to think that much dancing to an unknown band was only due to the fact that they were playing covers. Malik said this was probably the case when we were chatting after the show, since the band I had seen was playing songs everyone knew. He added that was Sunny Ali and the Kid’s objective, “to have everyone at shows know our songs.”

So help this band reach their goal and get to know the music I’ve provided links to, so you’re ready when they come to your town. Or if you’re not able to make it to a Sunny Ali and the Kid show (which have been restricted to the East Coast for now), check out their live album, recorded at Brooklyn’s Shea Stadium.

Until next time, good vibes everyone!

Just a couple of hours before I was supposed to leave for Della Valle’s show, I was hit with this odd feeling that the ground had started to tilt. I attempted to plow through it, but eight blocks after I had left my house on the way to the Path train, I started to feel like I was going to faint. I felt awful since Jay had gone to the trouble of landing me press passes for this little blog, but there was no way I was going to make it all the way from the Upper East side to the first city I ever lived in. (I will be featuring Della Valle on a future story, so expect to read more about him later. In the meantime, you can also check out the band’s latest single, “We’ll Always Have Midnight.”)

These dizzy spells have been forcing me to turn down quite a few invitations recently, which is why I haven’t updated this blog, in what feels like much longer than a few weeks. I was pretty sure this was going to be the case Tuesday evening, as I sat in the waiting room of an Urgent Care clinic after a long day at work. I had been put on the guest list for a show by Denise Barbarita and The Morning Papers by fellow music journalist William Helms, (who I was connected with by another writer and new friend, Abdul Fattah Ismail). I told Will to offer my ticket up, at that point convinced I was about to be diagnosed with an ear infection, because I was sure I wasn’t going to make it through the night.

But after receiving medical attention and finding out I was just experiencing vertigo leftover from my sinus infection, I walked out of the clinic, not sure which subway station to head toward. Sure, I didn’t feel all that great, but I thought I would feel much worse if I spent one more night in my apartment, sulking over one more missed opportunity to enjoy this city. So I alerted Will that I was just going to pay the cover fee, and got on a Downtown bound F train.

I met up with Will just 30 minutes before the band was scheduled to take the stage at Greenwich Village’s Bitter End , a venue so historic, July 23rd was dubbed “Bitter End Day” by the city, as I read on a plaque next to the venue’s door. Will introduced me to the band’s drummer, Rich Kulsar, who kindly informed me he would have comp’d my ticket, had he known I was coming. It was no big deal, I assured him, since I had willingly given up my free ticket. The $10 cover price was already feeling worth it, as I listened to him and Will reminisce about Rich’s previous band The Fire Men, and their favorite New York venues, which either no longer existed, (like CBGB’s, or their preferred Coney Island High), or had changed too much for their liking, such as Saint Mark’s. (I, however, am still eager to visit the latter mentioned club, since it was the site of Patti Smith’s first show, and if you’ve read my first NYC blog, you’ll know I’m sort of obsessed with visiting landmarks mentioned in “Just Kids.”) It was the kind of conversation I had been craving.

Since Rich had mentioned The Fire Man had been a hardcore punk (eventually turned ska) act, I was surprised (pleasantly) at The Morning Papers’ opening song from their November release “A Beautiful Mess,” which sounded, for lack of a better term, “experimental.” Denise played her guitar with a violin bow between grand hand gestures that foreshadowed her delightfully relaxed stage presence. After the first song, she introduced herself with an easy way of remembering her last name (“it’s like margarita with a B!”), and later joked about being relieved that we had all survived Judgement Day on May 21, even if it meant we wouldn’t be getting 72 virgins.

The set ventured into a direction that was more distinctly rock with the second number, but played around with volume and tempo in the third song, which began quietly, before kicking into a heavy chorus. On the fourth song of their short but sweet set, Denise busted out an acoustic guitar as the rest of the band stayed plugged in, and exhibited a higher vocal range than on the previous tracks, which had featured a random growl. The Morning Papers seemed comfortable in every style they played, even when lead guitarist Kelsey Warren powered through a solo with a broken string (which I wouldn’t have even noticed, had Denise not commended him for soldiering through after the song’s completion).

When I got the chance to chat with Denise after the show, she commented that critics’ main complaint about her is that she needs to “pick a genre!” I found the group’s range to be their most impressive quality, though. To be good at a specific kind of music is great, but to me the true test of one’s musicianship is the ability to venture outside one’s comfort zone. Even if the execution isn’t perfect, I will always respect an artist who is willing to try new things. But Denise Barbarita and the Morning Papers do not simply try to do this; they completely aced that test.

Speaking of musician’s operating outside their comfort zone, I highly recommend you check out the latest project from Basim Usmani (front man of The Kominas), All Y’all. “You Guessed It,” which was dropped online today, features Basim singing in an almost unrecognizable falsetto. I have written pretty extensively about The Kominas, who are currently working on their 3rd self-titled release under the line-up of Basim (bass/vocals), Imran Malik (guitar/vocals), and Sunny Ali and the Kid’s Hassan Malik (guitar/vocals) and Abdullah Saeed (drums/vocals), since 2009. So some of you may be rolling your eyes at the fact that I am mentioning their name and affiliated projects, yet again. But I think that once you hear this incredibly catchy tune, you’ll believe me when I objectively say that this is just too good not to share. So enjoy, and until next time, good vibes everyone!

It turned out to be a free exercise event, open to the public. A security guard told me I was free to check it out, and if I did, “your heart will love you for it.” When I actually got to the entrance, I wasn’t in the mood for jumping jacks, but I’m sure my heart was grateful for the long walk that followed, as I ventured off to tour what may now be my favorite place to get lost in the daytime.

I strolled past the statues and street performers (some playing saxophone, some on guitar), until I ended up on a bridge overlooking the rowboats on the lake. I stopped to snap a few pictures with my Blackberry, when I overheard a man describing the “Strawberry Fields” John Lennon memorial to his girlfriend. I had made a mental note to visit Strawberry Fields yesterday, after being reminded of its existence during the most recent episode of 30 Rock, when Alec Baldwin’s character Jack Donaghy was reminiscing about harassing hippies at the site with his now kidnapped wife. Donaghy had fondly described throwing things at drum circles, so when I heard a rhythm from afar, I decided to follow the sound, thinking it would surely lead me to my intended destination.

A map nearby seemed to indicate that I was going in the right direction, so I continued on, as I got closer to what I was completely convinced had to be a drum circle. Finally, I reached the other side of the lake- where I found one man with a bongo sitting on a bench. (I hope that was as amusingly anti-climactic for you all as it was for me.) I gave up on the Strawberry Fields search after another fifteen minutes of aimless wandering before I decided it was probably time to head back.

I stopped to ask for directions near the back of a large building, and got a very half-hearted gesture pointing south. I could see 5th Ave from where I was, so I figured it was best to head that way, and find out what street I was near. It turned out I was on 84th street, right in front of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, a landmark I had wanted to visit since my arrival three weeks ago.

I had no plans of going into any of the exhibits. The “$20 suggested donation” admission fee was way out of my price range, but I still wanted to stop by. Maybe I would be able to find a postcard for my mom in the gift shop.

On my way up, I heard Motown style singing coming from the bottom of the steps at the museum’s entrance. A quintet, accompanied by a stand-up bassist, was performing a pretty spot on version of “My Girl,” so obviously, I had to sit down and listen. I stayed for one more song after The Temptations’ hit, that I couldn’t recognize because it was being drowned out by foot and street traffic noise, before heading into the museum’s store.

I never found any postcards, but did see some beautiful silk scarves being sold for between $60 and $85. Before leaving, I took a good minute to observe the one painting visible at the entrance, which I guessed must have been Renaissance era. I couldn’t even tell if the main figure in the painting was a soldier or an angel (or maybe something else entirely), but I still felt satisfied at the free viewing I was getting. Mostly I felt like the outing had been a major achievement because of the free live music I had witnessed outside.

Speaking of live music, I finally got to see some original performances this week, at the hip hop show mentioned in my previous post. Freestyle Monday at Union Square’s Bar 13 started around 1:00 a.m. on Monday night/Tuesday morning. I was invited by Prop Anon, a seven year frequenter of the nine year running event, whom I interviewed a while ago for Mideastunes.com. The place was fairly empty when I arrived, and Prop commented that it was a pretty slow night compared to previous Mondays. Though the crowd definitely reminded me of L.A., I enjoyed myself once the cypher got going.

Anyone who wanted to get on the microphone was able to. One middle-aged woman even grabbed the mic to announce she was having a great time, but her wallet was missing. A kid named Sean kept asking my if I was “gonna rhyme?” but I firmly replied, “Hell no!” The audience may have been super supportive, but as someone who’s never been much of a lyricist or performer (or even very knowledgeable about hip hop), I couldn’t imagine competing with the talent of people like Rabbi D or beatbox artist Kid Lucky, who will be at Bar 13 for NYC Standup! on May 16th at 8:00 p.m.

I’ll be honest-I had a hard time catching most of the lyrics being spat. But Osama Bin Laden’s death was definitely a huge theme of the night. The house band’s very talented soulful back up singer Mariella dedicated a song, in which she sang, “Check your soul, before you wreck your soul” to those chanting “USA! USA!” in the streets the night before. “The war ain’t over” also became a repeated line between freestylers. After a quick stop in the dubstep room, where Prop got on the mic, and I got to witness some “serious dancers,” we left the club to go hang out in the East Village. (Apparently, Freestyle Mondays originated in that part of town.)

I ended up getting a tour of the neighborhood from Prop Anon, who stuck his promo stickers on nearly every bit of empty wall space as we walked around. The highlight for me was passing by a bar called Niagra, which used to be a favorite spot of the late, great Joe Strummer. His face is painted on the side in a huge mural that bears his famous quote (and title of The Clash documentary) “The Future is Unwritten,” on the right, and “Know Your Rights” under his portrait.

Eventually we ended up on a block somewhere close to Avenue D, which Prop informed me had been the site of many squats in the 80s and 90s. (His album is titled “Squat the Condos,” so it’s a pretty big theme for him.) I started talking about how I had been squatting with my family in our own house up until three weeks ago, though it felt odd to call it that. I mean, I’m not sure what else you call it when you’re living in a house where the mortgage hasn’t been paid for so long, but we had been living so comfortably. We were still eating as if we could afford to be part of the middle class, and the word squatting doesn’t exactly conjure up images of a fridge full of groceries from Trader Joe’s. His comment on my situation was, “Maybe that’s the way it [squatting], should be.”

I will probably be back to Bar 13 at some point in the near future, especially since I recently learned from an acquaintance of mine, who knows a promoter at the club, that there is a reggae room on Wednesday nights. So until next time, Happy Mother’s Day to all the mama’s out there, and good vibes everyone!

I was sitting at the computer in my apartment, on my last rounds of checking facebook and twitter before bed, when I saw the words “Osama bin Laden Dead” all over my news feed. My reaction was disbelief until President Obama’s speech confirmed what my friends had been saying. (Now before you read my opinions that followed, I urge you to read this post entirely before judging me.)

My consciousness then responded with a callous indifference. Obviously I wasn’t upset over the death of someone so heinously evil, but I sarcastically wondered, “Great, what exactly does this change?” I saw no need to celebrate something that seemed like nothing more than political symbolism. Did this mean our troops could finally come home? Would innocent lives in Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Iraq finally be spared from our weapons? Were my Muslim friends finally going to be rid of the racist harassment that’s been so prevalent in our country since 9/11? I still think the answer to all of these questions is an unfortunate, “no.”

As I continued to obsessively read my friends’ musings on social networking sites, I became even more disgusted. Some were on the same page as me, but some were spewing arrogantly nationalistic nonsense like “USA #1!”

“How tacky,” I thought. “Isn’t that like giving a huge middle finger to everyone who has lost a loved one to American branded explosives in the Middle East and South Asia because of the so-called War on Terror?”

Just before I planned to go to sleep (which would actually turn out to be an hour later), a friend texted to ask if I was taking part in the festivities at Ground Zero. I had work in the morning, but even if I hadn’t needed to be up early, I felt like this was a moment in history I was more comfortable observing than actively participating in. I was glad to be on my quiet block, where the only signs of this news were the sounds of loud televisions in the hallways.

I told her that was the case before scolding her for being one of the those people virtually shouting “USA #1!” It turned into a long debate that eventually ended with her agreeing it was indeed a tacky thing to say, but that she meant it not to say that our country was #1 in comparison with the rest of the world, but in comparison with itself. To her, this was the beginning of a healing process, and she hoped it at least meant a decline in Islamophobia. I agreed with her, though I was still irritated at the way she chose to express her thoughts.

As I’m sure was the case most places, this news was the hot topic of conversation at work today. None of my coworkers, most of who actually were in this city on 9/11, were thrilled. For the most part the comments were, “How crazy is that?” One person said it was just a painful reminder of the 3,000 people lost that day. When I told one waiter how unimpressed I was, he said he could see my point, but noted, “at least it’s closure for a lot of people who lost someone” when the towers fell.

After he walked back to take care of his tables, I started feeling guilty about how unaffected I was by all of it. I’ve never lost anyone close at the hands of other people, but I have lost people I love, and that pain never really goes away. My family and friends who have passed were all taken because of disease, but that never made me any less angry or hesitant to look for someone to blame.

When I look back at how I handled those losses, I regret my reactions, but at the same time, I know I was just trying to make sense of it all. I wish to this day I hadn’t retaliated against my friends and family, especially in regards to one particular death, but it’s hard to be rational when you’re grieving. I still can’t condone those who were popping champagne bottles at Ground Zero last night, especially since it’s impossible to verify if they had known victims of the World Trade Center attacks. But now I feel like I might have been a little too quick to condemn the celebrations.

When I think of 9/11, I distinctly remember the fear of not knowing whether or not my friends and family in New York were ok. I was lucky, in that everyone turned out to be fine, but maybe I would feel differently today if someone I knew had been among the casualties that day.

I still think it’s atrocious that so many other people have to live with that fear of not knowing whether their loved ones are alive on a daily basis because Americans had to deal with it for one day. And I still think there’s no excuse for the fact that so many people have used 9/11 as a reason for bigotry towards those of Islamic descent or faith. But like I said, maybe it was insensitive to judge everyone who was happy over last night’s news. I have my doubts about whether this will actually happen, but I hope my friend and coworker were right about this being a healing event.

I’m off to a hip-hop show in Union Square in a couple of hours, so hopefully my next post will be a bit more uplifting. Until then, good vibes everyone!

I wandered into the crowded bar around 12:30 a.m., where alternative rock cover band Daddy Nobux was nearing the end of their first set. I pushed my way toward the bar as the band was kicking into the Violent Femmes’ “Blister in the Sun,” and was immediately thrilled at the fact that people were actually dancing.

It felt like it had been eons since I had properly danced, despite attending a decent number of shows during my last year in LA. My hometown is notorious for being a bad audience when it comes to music, and as someone who has seen many bands throw all of their energy into a set where all the crowd does is stare in the direction of the stage, I’d have to say we totally deserve that reputation. And while dancing is one of my favorite pastimes, it always feels awkward to be the only one moving when I’m surrounded by almost statue-like still bodies, so I can’t say I haven’t foregone the desire to move because of peer pressure. But this crowd had no problem properly reacting to the music, so after grabbing a drink, I made my way to the front of the stage, and joined a group of grooving girls for the end of the band’s first, and most of their second set.

The second half of Daddy Nobux’s performance included popular rock hits spanning recent times, to a few decades back, such as Sublime’s “Santeria,” The Killers’ “All These Things That I’ve Done,” and Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run.” Session’s patrons seemed to enjoy the whole set, but especially got into it during a sing-along of Oasis’ “Wonderwall.” It was fun to be able to see a band I had never heard of and know the words to what they were playing, but frankly, I would have liked to hear at least one original song. Then again, their website advertises them as a cover band, and being critical of that seems like reviewing a horror movie and complaining about too much gore. For what Daddy Nobux does, they are pretty good at it, and they seemed like cool guys as well.

Between sets, I struck up a brief conversation with their bass player, Jason, who asked where I was from. (I think the look on my face as I gleefully observed the room of intoxicated New Yorkers must have screamed, “She’s not from around here.”) When I responded, “California,” he excitedly asked what I was doing in Manhattan.

“I moved here to be a music journalist,” I said. “Really?” he replied. “I would think that L.A. was the place to be for that.” That was the second time someone has questioned my decision to uproot from La La land in the past week, but it has not made me doubt my choice one bit.

That doesn’t mean life has suddenly become a cakewalk, or that I haven’t been given reason to be pessimistic. I have only applied for a few jobs in the past week, and I continue to hear about native New Yorkers who haven’t received any callbacks about positions in the arena I hope to some day have a career in. And I have definitely encountered some rude people since my last post. (Thus far, however, it has only been from a handful of customers at work, and I think that’s more of an indication of the occupational hazards of working in the food service industry than the general demeanor of New Yorkers.)

Something about this city just makes it feel like “my city” more than Los Angeles ever was, though. Maybe that’s because I can finally be mobile enough to go out whenever I feel like it. (At home, if I didn’t make plans by 9:00 p.m., I was in for the night. Since being here, I have already met up with friends twice after making spontaneous arrangements to hang out around midnight.) Maybe it’s because I am no longer dealing with the stress of an impending foreclosure on a day-to-day basis. (Though I still worry and desperately hope for my family’s situation to improve, especially after recently learning that the sale date of our house has been moved up.) Maybe it is simply because such a dramatic life change has forced me to adjust my attitude and approach to the way I interact with people. (I always describe myself as shy, which still holds true, but I am forcing myself to strike up more random conversations nowadays.) Or maybe I don’t need a specific reason for why I am so deeply in love with New York.

Perhaps all that matters is that I am having a blast being here. Whether or not I manage to accomplish the career goals I came her to pursue, I am enjoying the moment that I am in right now, even if my plans haven’t fallen into place just yet.

As I said in my first post, I am only going to guarantee bi-weekly updates on this blog, so don’t be surprised if you don’t see anything new here this time next week. Hopefully, I will have tracked down some original music to share with all of you by then. So until next time (because New York hasn’t beaten the corny West Coast hippie out of me yet), good vibes everyone!