CMJ Is Overrated For The Underage
As a music enthusiast, not in possession of that special little piece of laminated plastic which marks my birth date as somewhere before 1986, New York’s CMJ Festival presents a lot of problems. Half of the shows I wanted to see had sold out the month prior, or reserved their overpriced ticket sales until the day of, where I waited in line for hours only to be turned away at the door for being too young. I guess “quality” independent music is just one of those things I’ll understand when I’m older.
Luckily there was an alternative for those of us who are simply unwilling to wait. Todd P., Brooklyn’s resident defender of all indie noise, took it upon himself to right the wrongs of this foreign festival’s infiltration. Dedicated to an all ages audience, Todd P. booked multiple shows nightly throughout Bushwick and Greenpoint, parallel to the festivities of CMJ itself.
The most spectacular night of Todd’s Not-CMJ festival was on a Friday, the last night of CMJ. The Slits were headlining the big show, along with Plot To Blow Up The Eiffel Tower, on a two stage setup at a space called Starr Street Lounge out in Bushwick. It was the big finale night, so shows organized by Todd were happening simultaneously throughout the neighborhood. ZoOoOom, this noise band from Japan, had begun to perform in the basement, under rusty piping. Their female lead was bashing away at a bass drum with a set of maracas and singing sweetly to the swaying audience. All in all, the night was progressing smoothly.
Then, around midnight, everything fell apart. The corkboard placed across the windows evidently did much less for soundproofing than originally hoped, and a staggering twenty-five police officers burst onto the scene. A room packed with that many excited kids swaying from the ceiling is a fire hazard, in the city’s eyes. As the PA cut out, and the fans were ushered out into the night, scratching their heads and disappointed about paying all the money to miss the headliners, hope seemed lost.
Unbeknownst to them, the second the cops had entered the building, Todd P. had jumped into action. Within a few moments, as the door people discussed the finer points of fire exits with the officers, equipment was being carried out the back door and the veritable army of interns working beneath Todd had begun to spread the word through to the crowd of confused kids down the street that all they had to do was walk five blocks down to The Syrup Room (where another one of Todd’s shows was already in progress, and the show would go on. Of the original 200 or so at Starr Street, almost 90% made it to The Syrup Room, where headliners The Slits had been tacked onto lineup and the night continued unheeded.
Now that’s what I respect in a rock show. Flexibility, volume, and above all, a dedication to the music. Putting yourself on the line every night to make sure your fans (and who’s more rabidly fanatic about music than teenagers?) get what they deserve is exactly what independent music is supposed to be about. In that light, what exactly does CMJ think it stands for?
The now-defunct College Music Journal doesn’t count.