Back Around Again To Square

There was a College Music Journal convention back in the ’90s where I was strolling into Sidewalk Café to see some forgotten act. The most memorable thing about the evening was the crush of young women coming out of the small back room. They all seemed positively giddy. As it turned out, a former member of Duran Duran was showcasing his indie solo album, and a lot of young college radio gals were happy to indulge their starry-eyed childhood with an intimate performance. So that’s a rare example of when it was actually fun to come across an aging rocker playing at CMJ’s Music Marathon. Now we’re entering yet another week of clubs crammed with CMJ acts, and the roster has plenty of reminders that aging rockers are simply depressing.

That isn’t to be completely ageist. There are a few CMJ acts who deserve their tenth time around this year. It’s always fun to see Del The Funky Homosapien. The same goes for Q-Tip, who’s inherently underexposed as long as he’s got great lost albums to release. The Dirtbombs remains America’s most soulful and trashy garage-rock band. The Wildhearts also deserve respect as CMJ’s ersatz Motorhead, and singularly-named frontman Ginger isn’t shy about his continual crawl for exposure.

There’s no telling how Kenny Young and The Eggplants made the cut, but maybe they’ll get to dazzle some young electrohead with their creaky East Village pop spirit. We can’t get as excited for the revived retro-pop of Nikki Corvette. At least she’s smartly billed with Holly Beth Vincent—whose new Super Rocket Star continues her growth into a surprisingly sensitive songwriter who easily outclasses those days with Holly & The Italians.

There are stealthier veterans such as AA Bondy—who’s the former Scott Bondy, formerly of a heavily-hyped band called Verbena. Now he’s another woodsy troubadour with sea shanty fever, and he’s turned the aft deck into a backyard porch with the sullen anthems on American Hearts. The Ladybug Transistor enjoyed plenty of hype during the final days of fanzines, but not enough people have noticed how frontman Gary Olson has become a country sophisticate.

The new Imperial Teen album isn’t hateful. And don’t forget old hippie Mickey Hart. The Grateful Dead’s old drummer has reactivated his Global Drum Project as a collective working deep in the chill-out lounge and thriving on electro-based wonkery.

That’s about it for the enchanting old guard. Otherwise, you’re stuck with a sad spectacle like the Meat Puppets. It’s the 25th anniversary of their debut album, so all the Kirkwood brothers had to do was promise not to play anything after 1985’s Up on the Sun. That would’ve brought in older fans with fond memories of the band’s mix of cheery country pop and sun-sick psych-outs.

Instead, they’re pushing an awful new album which sniffs around whatever remnants of psychedelia that Curt Kirkwood could manage after bringing his (hopefully sober) bassist brother back into the band. Why are the Meat Puppets at CMJ? Because the Kirkwoods have discovered that they never cultivated the eager young audience that was waiting to line up for The Pixies and Dinosaur Jr.

It’s just as creepy to see Nashville Pussy back on a CMJ stage. Bianca Butthole's still dead and Raging Slab is best forgotten, so we’re left with these poor icons of sleazoid Southern boogie. Nashville Pussy simply can’t compete with the soundtracks of Rob Zombie movies when it comes to the hearts, minds, and stereo systems of true Southern lowlifes. Their flashy moniker remains a little more accurate than the act will ever care to admit.

At least there’s some scope to those disasters. You can only sadly sigh at the thought of anyone of any age lining up to see His Name Is Alive. It’s been over 15 albums of exotic pop with folk touches, and the only thing Warn Defever has to show for it is some hipster cred as the original beardo—even before the beard. At least Ultra Vivid Scene managed one great album during a much shorter career.

Theo and The Skyscrapers are OK if you like dance-rock to sip $12 cocktails by, but it’s just as well that no one will make a Lunachicks connection. Mary Timony has spent 15 years making her own discordant pop-rock in various incarnations, and 2005’s Ex Hex was the most self-indulgent crap yet. The album only got released because her indie punk label was holding out money rightfully owed to Green Day. Her new album’s even worse, so some band on the Kill Rock Stars label should probably be checking their royalty statements.

Then there are bands who’ve only been around since the start of the decade, but already feel like ideas that are far past their prime. Chris Bathgate may have been a pioneer as a breed of whiny lo-fi folkie, but that just means he was the first to reach a punch line that was never funny. The Capitol Years’ mere existence has probably helped stifle any decent power-pop revival. Japanther has done the same damage to any art-rock movement in New York.

Maybe it’s loyalty that’s kept Matt Pryor maintaining The New Amsterdams as a side-project, but his idea of an edgy pop act would make anyone pine for more lame emo from his time with The Get Up Kids. The good news is that Bouncing Souls have already played their set on CMJ’s opening night. That’s one less unnecessary display.

To be fair, there have been years when CMJ was even more ragged. One convention had the sound of new music firmly mired in an average age of its early thirties. You know who’s helping to keep the average down this year? Liam Finn—son and nephew of two guys in Split Enz. Or, if you prefer, just the son of the guy from Crowded House. He’s a solo act now, but Finn’s already had a successful band working internationally since the start of the decade. Certain musicians, please take the goddamn hint.

CMJ Music Marathon is Oct. 16-20 and a full list of bands and venues are available at www.cmj.com/marathon.