Very Close to, if not actually in, the CD player:
stream full album ° seen/heard ° buy
seen/heard ° listen ° buy
seen/heard ° listen ° buy
Freeze in a Moment Do Not Move Do Not Breathe (Kinky, Prospect Park Bandshell)
“First of all, you’re supposed to have a press pass.”
Bah. I ain’t press, I’m a fan. And a victim of racial profiling. Sure, just zero in on the blonde guy at the Latin show and tell him to stop taking pictures.
I hadn’t noticed that Kinky was on this year’s Celebrate Brooklyn! schedule, this year. My eyes tend to go toward what I recognize, and I plead ignorant to the bulk of the World Music scene. It’s a dumb attitude – where better to sample new stuff than at a free concert, right? But World Music is daunting because, well, there’s a whole world of it, and I have no way of contextualizing it. Is what I’m listening to good, or just a half-assed knock-off of something better? Just think: Someone who’d never heard rock before might walk away mui impressed by that Matchbox Twenty outfit. That’s right, I’m a music snob, and should I see some starving third-worlder in a Sally Struthers ad wearing a hand-me-down Nickelback T, I’m less likely to fork over my thirty-five cents/day (though I might ship over a corrective CD mix).
Stop thinking, blanco, and dance.
I found Kinky a couple years ago because they crossed over into a world with which I was familiar: Cake frontman John McCrea appeared on the Mexican band’s second CD, Atlas, narrating their Talking Heads-flavored “The Headphonist.” I don’t know if the band had even heard Remain in Light, or was just pulling from the stuff that influenced Eno and the Heads, but the track sounds like a street version of “Houses in Motion.” Tasty.
And the rest of the CD is, too: My favorite track – most of the album, like a lot of sophomore efforts, is about touring, traveling, placelessness – is the junky, drrrty “Airport Feelings;” when frontman Gilberto Cerezo growls out the chorus, “Iiiiiii’ve got theeeeze airport filllingsss allllll over yuuuuuuu,” he sounds like a constipated Cheech Marin, and I love that. Though it’s undeniably a rock album, and undeniably Latin, it falls back very often on agreeable, playful electronica; their first, self-titled, CD is mostly straight-up dance music. There’s really no reason why Kinky – at its best, a Beastie Chicos/Dust Hermanos mash-up – shouldn’t have a crossover appeal somewhere between that of the Go! Team and M.I.A.
I was lucky enough to be in the park, yesterday evening during soundcheck; when I checked the concert schedule I saw that Kinky was smooshed – in this lousy, easy-to-ignore font – between the more noticeable “Plastilina Most” and “JD Natasha.” That’s what you get for having a name that’s short and to the point.
Kinky wound up being the headliner, which kind of screwed up plans I’d made to see 2046 (isn’t the whole point of that movie to wait for it, anyway?). Totally worth it: They’re an amazing live band, incredibly dynamic, just spewing out energy. They have, as you’d guess, a killer rhythm section: The percussionist, Omar Gongora, is surrounded by a ridiculous amount of options – bongos, cymbals, snares of all sizes, more cowbell than you could shake a stick at. Though there were several synthesizers on stage, the pulse is largely, beautifully acoustic. The band’s cowboy bassist, Cesar Pliego, gallops around the stage with such velocity that you’re sure he’s going to slam/trip/immolate someone.
Cerezo, though his vocals were often undermixed (Even when they were passing through a synthesizer... How does this happen, when there’s only a single lead singer? Bizarre.), held center by matching the entire building’s energy. He bounced, screamed, flopped, and swam in mock-slo-mo while switching off between guitar and turntable and trumpet. Not above some good old-fashioned noise, he ground his guitar against one of his bandmate’s. Though the group – other than “Headphonist” – stuck to their Spanish and instrumental tracks, the set was accessible; beat-oriented dance music can threaten boredom, but they always seemed to have something to add over the course of each number to keep it interesting.
It was also great to hear a packed house demanding an encore by chanting, “KINKY! KINKY! KINKY!”
Opener Plastilina Mosh, apparently a Beck discovery and very popular with the crowd, also put on an energetic performance – at one point they invited an audience member (who was wearing a Sex Pistols T-shirt) on stage to sing along – but musically didn’t provide enough variety. One band member returned again and again and again to a big yellow hand-drawn “I ♥ New York” poster for cheap applause. Never a good sign.
*
I don’t take photos at a lot of concerts. It’s not just that my camera is bulky and not great in low-light situations; for me it’s a concrete either/or choice between watching a show through a lens and actually enjoying it. In some situations – like this year’s Siren Fest, where the schedule didn’t look promising – it’s a welcome distraction. I thought it might be, here, too.
After P. Mosh’s set – all my shots were telephoto and fuzzy – someone came along handing out wristbands for the VIP area. To me, this meant: Better pics. I don’t like to be rightupfront; I’m tall, and conscious of that, so I was relieved to see the area between the seats and the stage fill in when the band came on. But at the start of the set, the entire area was packed with photographers, flashing away; it looked more like a press conference than a concert. I joined in, of course, snapsnapsnapping...
“Stop taking pictures!” It was the third song, I’d just let off a flash, and this very attractive woman was asserting some authoritée in my face. “After the first two songs, no pictures!” I didn’t know this... Did you know this? “No more flash?” I asked. “No pictures. No pictures after the first two songs. First of all, you’re supposed to have a press pass...”
It makes sense, though it is severely limiting... Clear the press out so the real fans could get up near the show, so the musicians don’t have a full set with flash bulbs going off in their face. Had I known, of course, I would have been much more careful about the pictures I’d taken. Between the animated nature of the band, the light levels, and my own bouncing I came away with an awful lot of soft focus stuff, and not a whole lot of variety. Oh, well.
As I turned off my camera, about a dozen other picture-takers flooded up in front of me, holding up SureShots and cell phones. I was a good boy (I take orders well – I’m half German), the camera stayed away. Probably better for me, as far as the show went – a good reminder that I was there as a fan, not as a member of the press.
