PREGAME: Electric Zoo 2010

Posted on September 1, 2010 by Nico

For electronic music fans, dreams do come true as Made Event’s ship-captains Mike Bindra and Laura De Palma dock on the shores of Randall’s Island, New York for a second year of Electric Zoo, Labor Day Weekend (9/4-9/5). With notes from last year’s raging success, this dynamic duo of New York’s uber-nightlife have curated the perfect numbers game for Electric Zoo 2010. Here are the metrics: two days, four stages, 70+ artists, 24 hours of open-air music performances, two official after-parties, the promise of 70-degree weather, and a 100% guarantee that an estimated 26,000 attendees are going to lose their minds.

Turning two years fresh, Electric Zoo is the love child of Made Event’s commitment to professional event production and a feverish desire to elevate the presence of electronic music, especially in North America. This diverse and unique open-air music experience is proud to showcase Armin Van Buren, voted the world’s number one DJ for a third year in DJ Magazine’s Top 100 list, as well as a global roster of heavy-hitter acts like The Chemical Brothers, Paul van Dyk, Axwell, Richie Hawtin, Bassnectar, Fedde Le Grand, and Major Lazer. Other crowd favorites include Flying Lotus, A-Trak, Steve Aoki, John Digweed, Kaskade, and Diplo.

Hungry audiophiles looking for new taste-makers will enjoy Electric Zoo’s buffet of the best DJs from the international underground including Davide Squillace, Matthias Tanzmann, Martin Buttrich, Paco Osuna, Paul Kalkbrenner, Reboot, Steve Bug, Adultnapper, Dixon, Dusty Kid, and Marco Carola. “Electric Zoo’s showcase of so many amazing artists will expose North American crowds to sounds they wouldn’t normally hear,” began Joe Sigmund, a top agent at Bullitt Bookings. “And the pay off is two-fold. First, Electric Zoo inspires the next generation of artists to push electronic music forward and, second, this event debuts artists who wouldn’t otherwise view the U.S. as fertile soil for musical innovation.”

Tantamount to drawing a massive crowd, Electric Zoo will bring superior audio delivered by Integral Sound, a company for which Bindra also serves as principle and “Sound Fascist.” With a sweet sound system to make any DJ weak in the knees, performing artists like the much sought-after German House DJ, Matthias Tanzmann, are already revved up, “I am excited to play Electric Zoo this weekend. It will be the first time for Martin Buttrich, Davide Squillace and myself to team up and perform together. Don’t miss it!”

Electric Zoo will also turn Randall’s Island into the land of plenty with over 20 food vendors by some of New York’s hottest eateries. This tour-de-force of sight, sound, and taste is great news for marathon dancers, foodies, and audiophiles who are ready to welcome Electric Zoo’s ‘terrible twos.’

For ticket and event information, visit here.

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You can’t ‘shush’ people in the ‘hood

Posted on August 21, 2010 by Nico

It’s true.

The only reason why I’m awake right now is because my neighbors are playing the hottest hits in da club. Normally, I wouldn’t be home to ecoute such traumatic reggaeton but I’ve had to curtail my downtown nightlife given my recent swap to uptown accommodations. Now when I say uptown, I mean all the way up there in Harlem -ahem-”Hamilton Heights” as the real estate urchins are calling it.

To be honest, I quite like this nabe. The residents are mostly families who contribute to the community vibrations; people know each other and they actually say ‘hi.’ During the day, old men sit on folding stools before a speckled array of storefronts, some tattered and some oddly pristine. Women bustle and pour over fruit stands while herding small children out of the sidewalk. People go into the corner deli with exact change and come out with their morning cuppa. I’m still getting used to the pulse of this place, which is usually the prescribed baseline of a radio hit, blasted through a car stereo.

When I first moved in, the shallow three-stair “stoop” of my building was occupied by four guys and two girls (nay, young adults), all of whom were already drunk on Coronas by 10:30AM. “I’ll hold the door for you, mami,” said the Hagrid of Hamilton Heights. Arms quivering under the weight of my luggage, I was grateful for the gesture. Then concern usurped relief and I wondered how I would function in a place where people are likely to be drunk before noon. Then I remembered Newman’s Day at Princeton and I realized that the only noticeable difference is that my neighbors speak primarily in Spanish. There’s absolutely no pretense here either.

Given this “realness,” I feel grateful for having the opportunity to see this side of New York’s dodecahedron (and counting). Foursquare even gave me the “Far Far Away” badge when I checked into a nearby market, hailing me for my efforts to go above 59th Street. First of all, yes, I did actually sign up for Foursquare two weeks ago. Secondly, when did 59th Street become such an important delineation? The latter question highlights the fact that many New Yorkers still view the northern regions of Manhattan as foreign territory; no one gets a Foursquare badge for going to Red Hook.

Perhaps this ‘attitude of the Orient’ is due to the fact that gentrification has only just begun in Hamilton Heights. Instead of the Mi Pais grocery store, you may labor over neat stacks of fruit at Fairway nearby. If you can’t find anything to suit you at Las Americanas Bakery, no sweat because we all know “America Runs on Dunkin.” Occasionally, I see a dude of pale persuasion power-walk his way through the sidewalk menagerie and I wonder if he has ever stopped to take in this masterful organism of a community. Maybe his pioneering spirit goaded him to move to the Heights so he can tell future generations of gentrifiers that he was here “way back when.”

As I become increasingly obsessed with the preservation of culture (via language, music, and culinary efforts), I wonder what will happen to Hamilton Heights in a year, or two, or ten. Will the chinos and starched polos do an Extreme Makeover on the community, bringing with them fair-trade organic coffee shops and artisanal sushi? To be honest, I’m more excited that the cafe con leche is a buck and that no one tells the old guy on the corner to do something else besides chew a toothpick for hours.

So in the name of homeostasis and preservation, I’ll just submit to the reggaeton and let it lull me to sleep because one day, we’ll have to rely on the musical.

Piragua?

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The Mellow Yellow New York Taxi

Posted on August 17, 2010 by Nico

Whether it’s a Stradivarius violin or the portable hub of your iLife, the New York City taxi cab is a robust reservoir of personal items gone lost or forgotten.  Today, a short story and some tips below.

Just yesterday, I stood on 1st avenue between 2nd St. and 3rd St. near a nondescript deli which, as I discovered during my curbside occupation, is one of the favorite swap-stops for cabbies. If you live in NY long enough, you’ll discover that catching a cab between 4PM-5PM is wildly difficult. This is because the latter is the very time when cab drivers go to their respective swap-stops to (as you might guess) end shifts, swap drivers, and pick-up dinner before they head home. This commonplace event also includes catching up with fellow cabbies and cohorts of NY’s favored form of transportation. Let’s be honest, with recent threats of increasing fares and cutting routes, the MTA can just…well, y’know.

The painful discovery was made yesterday morning when I decided to preempt my 8AM cellular alarm by effectively turning off the contraption. In the AM-darkness, I palmed my way across the top of the dresser to discover that my phone was not in its familiar location.  Eventually I coordinated an effort and a kind friend called my phone. To my surprise, a husky voice answered and I spoke with the cabbie who found my Black(bane of my existence)Berry in the backseat of his SUV last night.

“Meet me on 1st Avenue between 2nd and 3rd street on the left hand side!” he replied to my groggy query. So pleased was I that my phone had enough juusu to facilitate our parlay, I neglected more important details and simply replied, “OK. See you at 5PM at 1st between 2nd and 3rd. I’ll be wearing a green dress.”

At the prescribed time of 5PM, my Kermit-self stood at the nondescript deli swap-stop on 1st Ave. between 2nd and 3rd. Laboring over each minute from 4:45PM to about 5:30PM, I looked at every cabbie that pulled into the swap-stop with an earnest look that bordered pathetic. Is it you? I was searching for ‘the one.’ Though not The One, a cheeky bugger walked up to me and said, “I couldn’t help but notice you looking at me. Can I do something for you?” I recognized his inflection.

“Oh no, thanks, but I’m just waiting for a cab driver who has my phone,” I replied.

“Ah. I wish I had your phone! I sure do!” he chuckled. “If he says he’ll be here, he’ll be here.” I nodded with equal parts dread and hope. The cars flew past me and none of the cab drivers seemed interested in the girl in the green dress.

“What is his name?” asked the Friendly One.

“Umm,” I replied, slowly realizing that I failed to collect any useful data.

“His name?” the Friendly One paused. “Do you know his mobile number? His medallion number on the taxi?” Clueless, I scratched an itch on the back of my head. The Friendly One explained that if I had the medallion number of the taxi (metal ID on the hood and up on the roof), a dispatcher could call out on the airwaves to let The One know that I was waiting on the curb. Logic = 1, Nico = 0.

With no other choice, I sidled along the road and curled my toes over the curb in anxiety. I turned over the previous night’s events and frivolously attempted to recreate the face of the cabbie. Over the course of the next ten minutes, I paced to and from a shabby pizzeria on the corner to glance at the sober clock on the wall. When the minute-hand struck 5:30PM, I decided that my fate had been written. I turned to look at the Friendly One, standing in the doorway of the nondescript deli to keep watch over me. I made sad-smile face at him and shrugged as if to say, “My fault. Oh well.”

“Miss!” said the Friendly One, his arm outstretched indicating something of merit was just beyond me. Defeated, I turned around and saw a smallish gentleman walking towards me. I was charmed by his resemblance to the health inspector in Ratatouille (the Middle Eastern version, of course). He peered at me with wide-eyes as though asking “Are you The One?” He pressed something between his palms. Mild-excitement but no expectation, I wondered, “What’s in that hand-wich?!” With purpose, the small gentleman walked straight to me and said, “You?” He opened his palms like a mussel in steam.

“You!” I replied, the corners of my mouth raised high. I plucked my phone from its perch. “Thank you so much!” While I sang The One’s praise, The Friendly One began to admonish my angel for having kept me waiting. I made light of it all and expressed extreme gratitude. We parted ways and I went to Whole Foods to get some juice.

And now for some tips…

Tips:

1)   Charge your phone fully before you go out so that you have enough juice to call your phone once you’ve realized that you lost it

2)   Call your phone immediately and get the following information from the person on the other end: name, mobile/contact, medallion number (if a cab),

  1. Also consider leaving a friend’s number with the Finder.
  2. Also consider having that friend join you at the pick-up (which should be a public place so sketchy people can’t take advantage of you)

3)   Thank your lucky stars that someone even answered and is willing to return your phone. Try not to do it again.

4)   Take your phone charger with you to the prescribed pick-up (because nothing sucks more than having to go to your provider’s store to pretend like you’re shopping when you’re secretly charging your mobile)

5)   See if http://www.tigertag.com/ might work for you (i.e. let dreamers’ dream)

Luck be a lady…or a smallish man.

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Aug 20-22: Earth Celebration on Sado Island, Japan

Posted on August 17, 2010 by Nico

I wish I was going this year.

http://www.kodo.or.jp/ec/home/index_en.html

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7/16: The Black Seeds @ Music Hall of Williamsburg

Posted on July 21, 2010 by Nico

Three years ago, I went to New Zealand to “study” abroad. I took “courses” in Nightlife, Road-tripping, and Culture. My final exams included a 43-meter (141 ft.) bungy off the Kawarau Bridge in Queenstown, beers with Scarfies down in Dunedin, and screaming my war-painted face off during the All Blacks pre-game haka in Auckland. When I left the Land of the Long White Cloud, almost everything was checked off of my Aotearoa bucket list…almost.

By the time my kiwi mates plugged me into the scene, I was too late to catch a concert by The Black Seeds, one of the South Pacific’s most successful bands, blending big-beat funk, dub, soul, afro-beat, and roots-reggae. I returned to the States with their album Into the Dojo stuck in my head and a longing for more.

Good things come to those who wait and, on July 16, 2010, goodness spread throughout the Music Hall of Williamsburg in Brooklyn. “Kia ora, New York!” exclaimed lead singer, Barnaby Weir, as he raised a guitar strap overhead. Tuned and settled, The Black Seeds set the stage with “Fire,” a potent extension of funky horns and deep beats spun from their popular third album, On the Sun (2004). Then summer heat made room for the cool grooves of island-inspired tracks like “Make a Move” and “Come to Me” (off their 2009 North America release, Solid Ground) sending the crowd into a collective rise-and-fall. Fueled by The Black Seeds full-bodied stage presence, New Yorkers happily traded city-slick for island-ease.

Reflective of The Black Seeds’ collective taste and individual contributions, audience members relished buttery vocals by Weir bolstered by Jabin Ward’s bombastic sax, and gripping guitar solos by Mike Fabulous powered by the resonant percussion and vocals by Daniel Weetman. By the end of “Heavy Mono E,” a full house shouted for an an encore but just as the band was about to deliver to goods, Music Hall cut the supply. The hungry audience shouted for more, asking the band to “Come Back!” With grace and gratitude, Weir thanked the audience for a great show and the band began packing up under the house lights. Could five more minutes have been spared for a band coming from so far away? Maybe I’m too partial of a judge. Nevertheless, the crowd seemed to bond over a great show gone too soon.

For one night, New Yorkers finally felt the synergistic appeal of what it truly means to be from an island: Love really is a radiation. NY’s appreciation for NZ’s finest is a seed now in full bloom.

Check out the band’s website for a FREE Summer Sampler here.

Photo: Marek Kozlowski

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Salif Keita @ Central Park Summerstage

Posted on June 21, 2010 by Nico

A descendant of the founder of the Mali Empire, Salif Keita should have never become a singer or griot as defined within the Malian caste system. Compounding the restrictions of his pedigree, Keita was born an albino-a bad omen in Malian culture. Kicked out by his father and ostracized by his community, Keita left Mali to nurture his innate talent by traveling along the Ivory Coast, Paris, London, and New York. Now an internationally recognized singer Keita champions a message of respect and acceptance, especially for members of the African albino community.

The epitome of harmony, Keita is every person: black and white, upperclass and everyday, local and global. His latest 2009 release La Differance is a musical amalgam of quality recordings produced in Bamako, Paris, Los Angeles, and Beirut. Reflective of this international effort, Keita drew an eclectic crowd at New York City’s Central Park Summerstage on June 20th.

From the first pluck of the kora to the triumphant finale, audience members glistened under the  sun, grooving together among a patchwork of blankets; a true campaign for bare feet and full skirts. Fervent West African rhythms pulsed beneath the ethereal timbre of Africa’s “Golden Voice,” bolstered by backup vocals from the strong Malian community present that day.

Listen

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Keep that Toddy hot

Posted on June 14, 2010 by Nico

If I had a dollar for every time a bartender warmed my glass with piping hot water BEFORE pouring in the Toddy concoction, I’d have one single solitary dollar…

…and I’d put that dollar up on my wall in homage to Louis 649.
Though the season for Toddies has given itself over to margaritas and ice buckets, I feel better knowing that a place like Louis 649 exists. Tucked on the corner of E.9th and Ave A, Louis is a veritable oasis complete with a beautiful top shelf and expertly crafted cocktails. A sign of good taste and applicable thought, there are hooks underneath the bar as well. The far back of this rectangular cove is a nook for musicians, mostly jazz which hearkens back to original impetus for the venue/bar/heaven.
649 East 9th Street
New York, NY 10009
(212) 673-1190

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In my hood: Floyd’s

Posted on June 10, 2010 by Nico

From the folks who brought you Union Hall comes another bocce-infused, bourbon-soaked booze joint located in Brooklyn Heights. Too lazy to make it out to the LES-esque Smith Street, I simply traipsed across the street and entered Floyd’s–a cozy nook complete with old world tchotchkies and expertly shabby clientele: not too hip, not too homeless.

I had a glass of wine at Floyd’s and signed my name on the clipboard in the hopes of crashing a game of bocce. What transpired was nothing short of comical:
“Ummm, excuse me?” said a young lad, hair in a perfectly coiffed cowlick.
“Oh hi,” I said.
“Are you on a league team?” he said, already knowing the answer. “You see, Monday is a ‘league night’ so you have to be in the league to play.” BOOM. My bocce dreams shattered.
If you can handle the on-and-off pretenses of a league night, then you can hang at Floyd’s any time. Despite the territorial bocce behavior, the ambiance is amicable. Cozy chaises and wooden decor warm in the low light. The wine is probably from Brooklyn Chateau just west of Floyd’s so at least your locavore friends can actually hang out this time. The spot is also BYOF-friendly: Bring Your Own Food.
Every night is league night, baby.
131 Atlantic Avenue
Brooklyn, NY 11201
(718) 858-5810

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La Roux: The Gold EP

Posted on June 9, 2010 by Nico

La Roux‘s “Bulletproof” has a special place in the Top 25 Most Played on my iTunes. Given the latter fact, it’s befitting that I review the synthpop duo’s latest orhwhurm collection aptly titled, The Gold EP. (Yes, La Roux is actually two people: front-person Elly Jackson and composer/producer Ben Langmaid). Featuring remixes of “Bulletproof,” The Gold EP is 1-part live show and 3-parts studio renderings. While the audience participation in first track contributes to the overall catchiness, there’s seems to be a fuzzy muffle over the track which may be due to the process of capturing live audio. Fortunately, the studio remixes promote the sharpness of wit and pitch with savvy audio post-production. Clinging close to the original song, the Tim Bran and Tiborg remixes are quite catchy. My favorite remix on The Gold EP is Fred Falke’s pseudo-synthy, sometimes shoegazey sweet treat complete a noticeably positive inflection.

No bullets, just beats, baby.
Also on shortandsweetnyc.com

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mi casa es su Casa Mono

Posted on June 2, 2010 by Nico

When all is right with the world, I dream in vivid hues of perfectly marbled meats, delicately stacked tapas, and relaxed yet refined decor. In other words, I dream in the House of Mono; Casa Mono to be exact.

Perched on the corner of East 17th and Irving, Casa Mono marks another reason to brave Union Square in the pursuit of Gramercy. Sprung forth from the culinary loins of Mario Batali and Joe Bastianich, Casa Mono unassuming storefront belies the flavor within. On a sudden whim, a friend and I decided to “crash the Casa” (read: show up with no reservations on a weekday at 6PM). Our wiles and charm managed to secure a table for two betwixt the elegant top shelf display and the visible kitchen, aflame with enough heat and passion to bring Bourdain to his knees. “Just to let you know, we have a reservation coming in at 7:30,” said the self-conscious hostess. Not to worry, dear Miss, I thought to myself. They’re tiny tapas after all.

Our foray began with Mussels with Cava & Chorizo, the delicate flesh of the mussels exhaled the kick of spices in the chorizo with the smoothness of cava. House bread served as part-mop and part-swizzle stick for the juices that remained. Just in time, the Sardinas Fritas arrived in much fanfare: three whole sardines deep fried and stacked in an unnatural yet wholly aesthetic fountain formation. I had a nostalgic mental trip back to Japan and the experience of watching part of my sashimi BREATHE in front of me. “Is it…gone?” I asked my friend while he chomped right onto the fried goodness.

I awaited the next plate of Pulpo with Fennel & Grapefruit. The pulpo, or octopus, sat atop a bed of shaved fennel and grapefruit bits; the perfect base frequency for the chewy melody above. A quick look around confirmed the rumours: Casa Mono is the place to be.

Just when I thought the evening could not improve, the “main” courses arrived. I had the Confit Goat with Rainbow Chard and my compatriot had the Quail (aka “Thanksgiving Dinner”). The chard was perfectly cooked with just enough crunch to engage the palate and the goat was tender. The quail was to scale and, dare I say, cute among the berries and accompaniments that made it look like a Thanksgiving feast for a garden gnome. Though we would’ve preferred to simmer in our seats and slowly indulge, we had a time frame to meet. In a New York minute, we devoured our delectables, paid the check, and emerged into the great Gramercy outdoors. A chai at 71 Irving commanded our finale.

If you’re not a risk taker, make a reservation for Casa Mono. If you’re taking a serious date, make a reservation. If you’re wise, you’ll arrive absolutely famished.

Mono a mono, baby.

Casa Mono
 125 East 17th Street
New York, NY 10003-3447
(212) 253-2773

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