OMG! MTV is playing music videos again

Back in The Day, Sunday night was when you heard all the good stuff. Back in NYC, there was Vin Scelsa's "Idiot's Delight" radio show; here in DC, HFS played local music and new releases and true alternatives. And MTV had "120 Minutes," where you could watch the more interesting new stuff from the American indie and underground scenes, plus breaking British stuff. But now, thanks to the teen in the house, I've found MTV2's "Subterranean," where I've just seen videos by The Shins, Postal Service, Beck and now, Interpol. Awright!

I haven't put up any photos in a while, so let me get out these few from the England trip.
It turned out that our artist's sublet was not only in the hipster territory of Hoxton Square, but also literally around the corner from a live concert venue. We didn't realize it the first night, when Terry and I went to the bar for a few drinks, but behind a curtain past the bathrooms was a square room with space for about 100 people and a raised stage. I knew something was up when I saw five guys sporting guitars and teased hair leave with a rowdy entourage. Terry came out of the men's room a few moments later to tell me about the boorish boys he'd just encountered, comparing the size of their manhoods (boyhoods?). I immediately went on a fact-finding mission and discovered the venue area, where the bartender told me that the band in question was "crap" (he didn't know their name), but Amy Winehouse's brother (posters for Ms. Winehouse were all around town during our visit) had also performed that night and he was pretty good.

So, I checked into my copy of Time Out London and lo, the next night was a triple feature of Ghosts, Jesus Licks and Arthur Brick.
(Ooops. Perhaps I spoke too soon. This video station just played Fergie's "London Bridge" nonsense and now there's a trashy Latino pop video. I'm outta here.)

The way TO described the acts it seemed like a good way to spend a night, so we left the kids in the apartment (they had a chance to come, but were tired. HA! Let the old-timers show the kids how it's done) and headed over to the bar, where a mere 5 pound cover got us in.

Can't say much about Ghosts, since we arrived during the last song, but Jesus Licks was almost comically bad. Two men, who seemed to know how to play, and two women - the world's most listless drunmer, plus a "lead singer" whose voice was so fragile that I was reminded of my daughter's vocal recital, where most of the audience held its breath nervously for fear the singers might break and leave the stage crying. The sound - a wannabe Fairport Convention-style folk-rock - and its pained execution seemed better suited to an afternoon arts and crafts fair than a professional music club. Chances are, you'll never hear of them again, but here they are:


After the awkwardness of Jesus Licks, we toyed with leaving, but chose to give the headliner a chance and I'm glad we did. Arthur Brick was everything the other band wasn't - confident, accomplished, interesting. Made up of two older guys - one on stand-up bass, the other a Jack of many trades, mostly intriguing folk-y instruments - and two young snappers - one on drums and occasional rappy vocals, the other a keyboard/sampler and theremin wizard - the Brick (is there an Arthur in the bunch?) veered from a punky. somewhat Pogues-ian, tradtional sound to beat-dominated grooves that reminded me and hubby of Talking Heads. All in all, a happy discovery, and a band I'd like to know more about.



A visit to the band's not-very-intuitve web siteoffers links (if you can find 'em) to some sound samples.