By Steve Weinstein
By Devon Maloney
By Tessa Stuart
By Alison Flowers
By Albert Samaha
By Jesse Jarnow
By Eric Tsetsi
By Raillan Brooks
Downtown life in this city is a shell game: three-card cultural monte for those with the stamina to keep up and cultivate a lifestyle so profane and irrational no one else wants any part of it. And the city plays along, reserving a forever shrinking piece on the lower-right half of Manhattan for the riffraff to incubate in, and maybe never leave. So it was no surprise when self-proclaimed "downtown don" Aaron Bondaroff (a/k/a A-Ron) was caught a while back telling The New York Times Magazine he was so downtown he never went above Delanceytwo blocks south is his store, aNYthing, Hester Street's sneakers-clothes-records- record-label clubhouse. His point? Fuck Delancey: He's just more downtown than you.
So are the people he works with and occasionally releases on his label: Philadelphia four-piece hip-hop crew Plastic Little, Muppet-rap pioneers Bandy (the Kid America Club), Philly sex-rapper Spank Rock, and more. Together, they're opening the fall with a new chapter in the long and uneasy partnership between downtown and its estranged cousin, hip-hop.
"I haven't been in black pussy since '88, son/And I was twelve then," raps Plastic Little's Jayson Musson (a/k/a PackofRats), within the first minute of the first song on the group's new Tone Arm full-length, She's Mature. There are two black guys and two white guys in Plastic Little, and the rest of that song, "Creative Differences," goes like this: "Grab your shank/Pull it out/Kill a cracker."
Like the Beastie Boys, downtown white rappers who also rapped about pussy on their first single, 1983's "Cookie Puss"a track aimed at the downtown art world's dilettante obsession with the city's then burgeoning hip-hop scenePlastic Little are simultaneously defining themselves by and against the idea of downtown. Not to mention by and against the idea of hip-hop itself. On "Hola Plastique," the foursome chant, "Those Plastic Little dudes/They're not hip-hop/They make broke-pop/Sounds like Korean dance-pop" and, within a minute, proceed to beg Jesus to make them dope MCs before flipping the Smiths' "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now" into a story about how getting a job sucks. On "Rap O'Clock," they joke about how they "use rap words like 'word is bond' like 'to the rhythm yo.' " It's rap music about rap, downtown music about downtown, hipster music about being hip. Haters call it gallery rapas in, you know, art.
Art like the puffy, surreal costumes worn by Plastic Little's New York brethren Bandy (the Kid America Club). Bandy are less rappers than what you might call characters: Third Base, a crackhead and self-described "monster from Queens" who "ain't no rapper/I'm more of a guido-type verbal disaster"; Demurgatroid, who spends his time trying to fuck other famous Muppets while buying fireworks and weed with money from his trust fund; and the supervillian Lord Plek, who hates the other hipster puppets he hangs out with. "Lesbians/Actors/Phony nerds," he calls 'em on the aptly named "Downtown Anthem."
They're downtown- and generally pop-culture-obsessed: In just one 30-second stretch off their single "Hey Yo!" Bandy run through Larry Clark, Kurt Cobain, 40s, the Supreme store, Nike Dunks, skateboards, raves, and the Wu-Tang Clantheir heroes and the ostensible model for their crew.
Revenge of the Clubhouse's production, a runaway kiddie carousel blasting every Saturday morning cartoon theme you've never heard, mixes everything from the Shangri-Las and Roy Orbison to Rick Rubin guitar-rap. To make the record, which comes out this week on aNYthing, they enlisted producer Dante Ross, who's been around since the Beastie Boys and has worked with De La Soul and, more recently, ODB. With their sugar-shock rap attack, Bandy make explicit what people who live in big cities already know: Rap today is simultaneously the most accurate depiction of urban life, its most viable pop culture product, and the easiest music to make downtown. So easy that big, stuffed characters with huge heads and speech impediments can do it.
Like another New York L.E.S. avant-gardethe No Wave scene of the late '70sboth crews of burgeoning character rappers know they're onto something because of how quickly critics want to consign them to the gallery. "I object to us being called 'artists who have chosen the medium of music,' " Talking Heads keyboard player Jerry Harrison once said. "I find that distasteful and very unfunky. And we don't perform in galleries."
With chops prolific enough for the shaggiest of metalheads, Mastodon have made converts of nonbelievers by frequently allowing their maelstrom to slink from a dull roar to something more melodically populist. Their new record, Blood Mountain, arrives this week and is a holiday-level gift as close to Christmas as devil worshippers come. Webster Hall, 125 East 11super th Street, 212-353-1600, bowerypresents.com
With any luck, the Angry Samoans still have enough contrarian juice left in 'em to skewer the endless pieties attending the interminable closing of CBGB. They are rock and rock-critic royalty, and this is their first show here in 20 years: Neither fact will keep them from thoroughly debasing themselves, a spectacle the younger set from both demos could learn from. CBGB, 315 Bowery, 212-982-4052, cbgb.com
Four years ago, after a 10-year hiatus, Celtic Frost reformed and began work onMonotheist, their first record in a full 15. It marks a hell of a second go-round: Like Slayer, they've found themselves in the odd spot of leading a metal revival no one ever thought they'd see. B.B. King Blues Club & Grill, 237 W 42nd St, 212-997-4144, bbkingblues.com
Rolling Stones+Kanye West
Not much unites this bizarre double bill of genre titans except, perhaps, a shared penchant for excess and an enormous sense of self-importance. Both have songs that you know and like, however, and they are sure to play them. Giants Stadium, Meadowlands, NJ, 201-935-3900
T.I. is running out of things to prove this year, having already released 2006's best single ("What You Know") and best rap album (King) so far. These other jokers aren't the guys to challenge his spot. Nassau Coliseum, 1255 Hempstead Tpk, Uniondale, NY, 516-794-9300
The Mountain Goats
September 30October 1
John Darnielle's curious new album, Get Lonely, finds him largely sans guitar and in a fragile, falsetto modethe kind of sound that quiets a room in a hurry. It will take time to see whether these songs portend something rawer and more elemental, but there is and always has been an undeniable joy in figuring out what he won't tell. Bowery Ballroom, 6 Delancey, 212-533-2111, bowerypresents.com
The Hold Steady
The Hold Steady are the alcohol-soaked live darlings of the New York scene, a band that so regularly tops itself onstage that they currently inspire Dead-level repeat visits. They have a new record that is better than their old record, which is to say a contender for best of the year. Grant frontman Craig Finn's wish for a really big show, and touch some people you don't even know, yo. Irving Plaza, 17 Irving Pl, 212-777-6800, irvingplaza.com
Wolf Eyes+John Wiese+Thurston Moore/Prurient
Wolf Eyes are a noise band only insofar as they abandon trad song structure for explosive reggae-on-smack riddim; John Wiese, a California laptop warrior, counters with blurry units of gravelly sound; Prurient and Thurston Moore, as a duo, fall in between. These bands could probably produce a great pop song if they wanted to, but that's not really the point, is it? The Hook, 18 Commerce Street, Brooklyn, 718-797-3007, thehookmusic.com
'Nintendo Fusion Tour'
Emo-punks Hawthorne Heights recently took the noble and overdue step of suing their own record label, Victory Records, for conducting, in their name, a quasi-racist campaign against the young r&b artist Ne-Yo. Here, they're replacing last year's headliners, Fall Out Boy, on Nintendo's marketing tour/emo showcase. Roseland Ballroom, 239 W 52nd Street, 212-247-0200, roselandballroom.com