Pitchfork

Mika Miko, Marnie Stern, and Mary Timony photos by Kathryn Yu; No Age and White Williams photos by Jason Bergman; Above: No Age

Marnie Stern is a 31-year-old New Yorker with a fondness for exclamation points ("Put All Your Eggs in One Basket and Then Watch That Basket!!!") and finger-tapping guitar technique, the latter of which she reportedly learned from 1990s math-rockers Don Caballero. Early on Wednesday-- CMJ's unofficial start date, after Tuesday's official one-- she had the toughest spot: in a Gramercy Theatre more full of colored spotlights and idle waitresses than actual people. She took the stage with her new backing band (two guys from the Brooklyn-based Pterodactyl) like the entire festival depended on her starting things out right.

Marnie Stern [Blender Theatre at Gramercy; 7 p.m.]






A bad sound mix actually worked to her benefit, downplaying the shred-heavy, technical aspects of her chirping sound in favor of a more ecstatic, beatific roar; she'd incite the crowd with a head nod during a tough guitar run, or cut the instruments out, Deerhoof-style, to light up her microphone. Part spoken-word session, part confessional-- part mood music, dream therapy, guitar lesson, leadership seminar, and basement show-- Stern was all chorus.

Mika Miko [Blender Theatre at Gramercy; 8 p.m.]


Following her were the L.A. five-piece and all-female act Mika Miko, worth mentioning since this one-two punch-- with songstress Mary Timony waiting in the wings for round three-- was the rarest of occasions in the midst CMJ's reputed wealth-of-riches: three frontwomen in as many acts. Kill Rock Stars, who put together the evening's lineup, deserve credit here, and they own the precedent, too-- see last year's Erase Errata, Timony, and Deerhoof string at Hiro Ballroom.





"We need more guitar and more phone" is the way MM soundchecked, bumping the levels on their dual microphones, one of which was in fact a bright red plastic telephone receiver. Vocalist Jet Blanca showed off a trick, running from side-to-side until her Rushmore-like red beret slipped off the back of her head yet hung in the air miraculously, attached by rope to her pixie outfit. The LPs, 7"s, and CD-Rs that have leaked out of their camp since 2003 have contained various blasts of energy and chaos, but live it was all eyes on their virtuoso bass player, who channeled Erase Errata's Ellie Erickson in churning out sped-up Gang of Four rhythms and quick, unlikely turnarounds (Blanca's sax playing didn't hurt either comparison). Michelle Suarez's skittering, uptight Monorchid guitar parts anxiously played counterpoint-- there was a lot more going on than all the noise might suggest.



I was just out the door-- this is CMJ, you know-- when I heard familiar strains: Blanca shouting "Attitude, you got some fucking attitude," the band covering Misfits in what's become an unofficial marathon tradition-- the third year straight I've seen a band take that particular Danzig song on.

White Williams [Bowery Ballroom; 9 p.m.]

23-year-old local Joe Williams, who performs as White Williams, has already charmed New York some; as the icy, restrained heir to traditions in this city as diverse as Blondie and the Talking Heads, Williams is our city's antidote to the hyper, sweaty, out-of-town antics of Dan Deacon and Girl Talk-- not coincidentally, the two guys with whom he just went on the road.

An early show at the Mercury Lounge, the first with his three-piece backing band (though at the time, only two of them made it), saw Williams onstage but frozen, distant, specific-- perfect qualities for his laptop syncopation and cool-guy vocals. At Bowery Ballroom, after weeks on the road with his veteran buddies, the band was loose -- more of a wall-of-sound, bass-thump, stretch-it-out kind of a thing, less restrained-- and some in the crowd looked confused. Perfect, though, was the addition of a neon video narrative projected at the back of the stage: pulsing airplanes, palm trees (fitting for Williams' faux-reggae bounce), and dancing dollar signs; in just a month, this guy went from completely distant to full-on immersive, and his record's still not out yet.

No Age [Bowery Ballroom; 10 p.m.]


Next were the night's undisputed guests of honor, No Age, and they knew it: "How fucking stoked are you guys?!!!" Like sister band Mika Miko, the two-piece No Age are Los Angeles natives who came up in a creative scene that has roots in the art and punk worlds going back as far as Raymond Pettibon and SST. Weirdo Rippers, their first full-length, merges the various strains of creative Los Angeles-- noise bands, aging hardcore guys, skaters, visual artists, designers-- into raw charisma.

At Bowery, they dispensed some with the pretty shoegaze that pads out Rippers in favor of feedback, screaming, and frenetic drumming-- their builds were shorter, and the choruses bigger. Before long Randy Randall was teetering on top of an amplifier, the stage was stormed by an adoring crowd, and guitar duties were relegated to a particularly sweet and young-looking kid who sheepishly took the axe when Randall handed it to him; Randall then hoisted the kid up on his shoulders, like a father with his son, to finish the band's night.