harlem shakes

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6th Street at Night

Dear Readers,

I returned from Texas on Wednesday with a persistent cough and a sinus headache the likes of which I’ve never experienced. Fortunately, my SXSW tour with Air Waves also left me with a few new friends and a lot of new favorites. TS/TS will return to business as usual this week—but first, a brief tribute.

BANDS

Dear Yellow Fever: As if it weren’t enough for you to be my new favorite band, you’re also incredibly nice and pleasant to be around. Give it a rest, guys.

Dear Vivian Girls, Woods, The Pains of Being Pure at Heart, Cause Co-Motion!, Crystal Stilts, Brimstone Howl, Hot Lava, Little Trooper, Real Estate, The Weakends, The Beets, Quiet Hooves, and all the rest: It was an honor, a pleasure, and at times an utterly surreal experience to play with you. Enchanté.

Dear Agent Ribbons and Ohbijou: Please be my friends. I’ve seen both of you play twice, and have tried each time to introduce myself with dignity, but instead ended up nerding out and gushing all over you. I promise I’m not as weird as all that; it’s just that you’re really quite good.

Dear Memphis: Your young musicians—Magic Kids, The Warble, Dorothy Jones, and Girls of the Gravitron, to name just a few—are not just talented, they’re extremely friendly and hospitable. That egg-and-biscuit breakfast we were given was such a lovely surprise.

Dear Herman Dune: Your songs kick ass and Neman’s drumming is a fucking inspiration. Also, thanks for coming to our showcase; it gave me the warmest, fuzziest feeling.

Dear Harlem Shakes: Thanks for letting me sing with you. Your new songs sound great.

Dear Thermals: You guys look so happy to be playing music; keep smiling!

PLACES/THINGS

Dear Mi Madre’s: Your food is on my shortlist of reasons to move to Austin. I didn’t know what café de olla was a week ago and now I crave it all the time.

Dear Amy’s Ice Creams: Who the hell thinks to combine doughnuts with coffee ice cream? A genius, that’s who.

Dear downtown Austin at night during SXSW (see image above): I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so thoroughly insane as I did around you. I don’t want to see you for at least a year.

Dear Carousel Lounge: Your decision to combine circus and burlesque themes is extremely creepy, and yet intriguing.

PEOPLE

Dear Rebecca, Adam & Jon, Craig, Sam, Alex, and Jennifer & Adam: Thanks for letting me sleep on your floors. I hope I can return the favor someday.

Dear Yoko, Deenah, Christy, Adam, Isabel, Andy, Max, and Fidel: It was so nice to see you all in a new city. Deenah, I’m glad we got to go swimming—I had seaweed in my hair for the rest of the day and probably smelled like a swamp, but wasn’t it so totally worth it?

Dear Nicole, Rita, and Carlos: Thanks for driving my unlicensed ass across fourteen states; sorry I sucked so bad with directions. I pledge to learn to drive before I hit 27.

Dear Daoud: Don’t worry about not handing out enough Art Sorority CDs or This Song / That Song stickers. You weren’t there to network—you were there to play and have fun, and fun is so much funner when you don’t look at it as an opportunity for self-advancement. Also, don’t be so nervous about talking to bands! These people aren’t your idols, they’re your peers.

love,
Daoud

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Arms, “Shitty Little Disco”

The New Amsterdams, “Hover Near Fame”

Like the rest of their fans and friends, I’ve been waiting what seems like forever for a full-length album from my college chums the Harlem Shakes, and there are still a few months to go (Technicolor Health is due out in March on Gigantic Music, home of the Walkmen). In the intervening time, however, I was happy to stumble upon Arms, the solo project of guitarist Todd Goldstein. Arms’s debut Kids Aflame strays from the danceability and expansive sound of the Shakes—the production is rougher, more suited for headphones than club speakers, and the arrangements are simpler, at points stripped down to bare-sounding acoustic guitar or ukulele, finger snaps, and trembling vocals. But Goldstein’s skill as a songwriter is clear, and he makes up for the lack of hooks with lyrics that evoke the sadder side of the rock and roll scene. The protagonist of “Shitty Little Disco” is notable not because he’s interesting or distinctive, but because he isn’t—he could be any of us on a bad night, going to the same terrible party with the same cynical crowd we’ve dealt with a million times, and itching for a fight just for the sake of something new. “Hover Near Fame,” my favorite New Amsterdams song, describes the same character before the fall—tunneling his way further and further into the New York nightlife milieu, not yet aware that it’s empty inside.

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