THE INDIE 500
Brandon Stusoy's dad's house, Vincentown, N.J.
July 3-4, 1993
    So Brandon and his friend Marc are starting a record label called Jiffy Boy. They chose to kick off their release schedule with a two-day fund-raiser. Somehow, Brandon convinced his father to let him set up a stage in the backyard, invite total strangers on the property for two days, and (as the homeowner) take implicit responsibility for any damage. I'd love to know what Brandon's sales pitch was. Having spent last Independence Day in NYC and hating it, this seemed like the better way to spend the holiday weekend.
    As we drove down Route 206, passing the cheap motels (including the "Slumberland Motel") Wawa convenience stores and the coin toss outside of a gas station, I pondered the whole New Jersey white-trash experience, from which I managed to escape, and how convenience stores and teenagers fleeing for college fit into it all. After making a left at the three bikers hanging around a Wawa parking lot, we were there. The stage was constructed from two hay trucks covered with a tarpaulin just low enough to obscure the heads of particularly lanky band members. In one corner of the yard was a concession stand selling fanzines, records, Shop-Rite soda and Snapple. There was a sno-cone machine later in the day. A band called Ritual was playing as we arrived. Presumably representing the Vincentown scene, they featured a singer who jumped around a lot and a sludgy Black Sabbath/Flag sound. They were the first of 14 bands that afternoon. I won't attempt to list everyone, but I will say that Sugarshock had a great animated drummer that nearly redeemed their overall ho-humness; Spent and Uncle Wiggly were both very good; Smack Dab were interesting; and the two interludes by Ian Garvey, young son of Steve Garvey from the Buzzcocks (he was the elderly-looking English man in attendance) were cute at first, irritating quickly.
    After Smack Dab's set, it seemed like a good time to score some dinner. Six of us piled into a car and found a pizza place back on Route 206. The woman at the counter seemed bemused: "Is there something going on in Vincentown? I've been seeing people with passes around their necks all day!" I tried to explain it in terms of Lollapalooza, but she just got more confused. Yeah, I'd be surprised too I bet. We got back just in time to miss Transilvia (no great loss) and to see Wally from The Lilys play with just a drummer. Next up were Poole, who shined on "Tangle Up." Beth Sorrentino even showed up to reproduce her backing vocals from the SpinART record. By now there were a couple hundred people on the property. Just as Brandon's dad was beginning to express concern over alcohol on the premises, someone lit up fireworks from behind the stage. This seemed cool for about 10 seconds until I realized some were coming perilously close to the bushes. Confusion ensued. Brandon's dad was threatening to call the cops, Todd was berating the audience from the stage, rumor had it that the state troopers were on their way, and I wondered momentarily if we were about to have our own little indie-Altamont right here in Vincentown.
    Actually everyone just stood around confused, waiting to see if the Swirlies would play. Finally, they got onstage and made it through about four songs, fueled by tension and the very real prospect of getting shut down. Amazingly, nothing foolish happened, the crowd dispersed quietly, and no cops showed up.
    Not surprisingly, the second day's festivities attracted a smaller crowd, certainly a mellower one. There was talk of cutting the lineup in half, but in the end only Azalia Snail got canceled (shame, I was looking as forward to seeing her as anyone else). Most of the afternoon's lineup blended together pleasantly. I remember a lot of Richmond bands. I also remember that two of the New Brunswick acts, Remote Control Yeti and Mr. Thumb, were the ones that most depended on gimmickry, failed humor and guitar pyrotechnics. RCY in particular seemed like something Mike Judge threw away as a Beavis & Butt-Head idea. Far better were Grit, a Rutgers guitar/drum duo who got the most out of their two-man lineup. Later, there was Joey from the Barnabys, whose set included covers of the Go-Betweens ("Rock & Roll Friend") and Jonathan Richman ("Girlfriend"), and then Small Factory, who were coming off of a cross-country tour and played a selection of rediscovered old favorites. Drummer Phoebe was having fun, and she's often the factor that differentiates a good SF show from a dull one.
    The sun began setting, and as fireworks (legit ones!) could be seen in the distance, Versus, Monsterland and the Pushdaisies closed out the weekend in Vincentown. We left Brandon's backyard to the sound of Envelope's lead singer making impenetrable comments about all the people he had to sleep with to get this gig. That seemed as good a cue to go home as any.

COLLEGE MEDIA JOURNAL CONVENTION
The Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, New York, NY
November 3-6, 1993
    Wednesday, November 3, 5:30 p.m. For some reason, CMJ granted us a press pass this year, so I walked over to the posh Waldorf-Astoria after work to pick up my pass. I met up with Elisabeth and we waited in line for about 45 minutes. We then headed up to the 18th floor to pick up our promo/giveaway bag. Freebies to be found in my Luaka Bop-logo-adorned bag: more than a dozen magazines; earplugs; a CMJ schedule with a special comics insert (w/artwork by Roberta Gregory, Craig Flanagin, Dame Darcy and more); a condom (red, spermicidally lubricated); promotional CDs from Warner Bros, Cruz, and some French music organization.
    Wednesday night, The Knitting Factory, K Records Showcase: The first thing I saw when I walked up the stairs was Gerard Cosloy backing up Jean Smith onstage. Kaia from Adickdid followed with a short but intense acoustic set. She and Mary Lou Lord had driven practically cross-country in two days to be here; as a result, she appeared ready to go to sleep right on the stage. Still, the five or so songs she played were pretty incredible, her breathy voice a great instrument. When Chin-a yelled out for "Bugs In Nevada," Kaia shaded her eyes and scans the audience in disbelief, looking for the person who actually knew the song. Fifth Column had funny/touching songs, a great spare sound and a fantastic drummer in Torry Colichio (Flying Saucer, Kickstand). Lois followed; she periodically changes her onstage presentation, and I'm still not sure what I think of her current incarnation. The material and snappy stage patter are still there, but she and the drummer just seem entirely out of sync with each other. Tiger Trap closed out the evening, triumphing over illness and untuned strings. I was feeling pretty sleepy myself by this point, so I only stayed for a few songs before heading home to catch a few hours of rest.
   Thursday, November 4. I'd managed to convince my boss to give me the morning off to attend the music licensing panel, since that is what I do for a living these days. The tone of the discussion was A&R driven; panelists and attendees alike were concerned more with pushing songs and getting that lucrative publishing deal than the mechanics of actually licensing that material. It was more valuable for managers and/or songwriters than it was for me. So I snuck out and saw The Spinanes play a low-key, heartbreakingly lovely acoustic set in an adjoining conference room. I cannot stress enough how great they were; there was this translucent glow about them this morning, particularly during "Hawaiian Baby." I felt fortunate to have been there. Went to work immediately afterward.
   Friday, November 5. Had to work during the day, so missed all of the panels. (I can just hear the staff of CMJ now, blacklisting me from "covering" next year's convention.). There were lots of shows going on tonight, and I made an effort to see as many as possible. Of particular note: The Shams, whose 7:00 p.m. set at Brownies was a mite sloppy, but whose funny/wistful songs and guileless performance always ensure entertainment, even on an off night; Caterpillar, who surprised me by not being the generic indie-rock clods their name implies, but a tight, almost Poster Children-like unit at their best moments; Epic Soundtracks, man of so many great bands over the years, playing low-key and pensive numbers on electric piano and acoustic guitar; and the Verlaines, whose many virtues seem obvious enough.
   Saturday, November 6. Couldn't decide whether to attend the SWIM show at Tilt, or My Dad Is Dead at the Knitting Factory. I chose the latter. If I'd decided on Tilt, I could've seen longtime favorites ESG, as well as Luscious Jackson and Fifth Column again; my loss. Instead I saw Archers Of Loaf (whom I found to be rather dull, despite some major head-bobbing action onstage), The Dambuilders (sorry, I still can't see what's the big deal about them) and MDID (who single-handedly saved the night: a long set full of old and new gems, including personal favorites "Without A Doubt" and "Seven Years." Mark Edwards wore a suit).