I’m not exactly sure how we decided that the number of bands included in this feature had to be eight. It’s an arbitrary amount, obviously, which was most likely blurted out about two drinks too far into a misbegotten editorial meeting a few years ago, and, eventually, because of a lack of any other more logically reasoned suggestions, simply became the number we’d stick with.
Now, it’s something of a tradition, a feature I look forward to working on every year, and hopefully a feature some of you look forward to reading every year, if only so that you can complain about it among friends. Or, you know, among your anonymous internet friends.
And, about that: We know there are bands in this city other than the eight we chose to write about. We don’t delude ourselves into thinking this feature is exhaustive, or even that it incorporates an example from every single sub-genre of the New York City rock scene. It includes eight bands that have written a bunch of songs we really, really like, and that’s pretty much it, as far as criteria. What I like most about this year’s list is that it presents, I think, a nice sampling of bands that are at slightly different points in their career. You’ve got High Places, the Lisps and Team Robespierre, who have each already embarked on successful national tours or gotten a good amount of media coverage, even outside the city. And then you’ve got bands like La Strada and Famous Amos, who’ve somehow managed to fly pretty much under the radar. Most of the bands will be new to most people, with the noted (and vocal) exception of those of you who are so securely plugged into the fast-paced world of music fandom in 2008. Though, really, we think we’ve got some stuff in here for you folks as well.
The most challenging aspect of putting together this feature, even more so than the actual act of whittling a shortlist of dozens of bands down to eight, is trying to get everyone in one place, on one long, long day, for the photo shoot. In a way, though, it’s also become the most rewarding part of the whole thing. For the second year in a row, we set up camp at the Bushwick Country Club, starting at 9:30 in the morning. (Special thanks to Reggie, by the way, the bartender who had yet to go to sleep, and who also served, at various times throughout the day, as stylist, art director and DJ for the shoot.) Bands wearily file in, eat bagels and mostly keep to themselves. Then, by the time noon (or, for nervous music editors, 11am) rolls around, people begin to drink and everyone loosens up, sharing stories about venues, local soundmen and other assorted odds and ends that are indigenous to the New York music scene. It’s a nice thing to see, considering how lonely being in a band in this city can be, how few opportunities there are for commiseration or even celebration.
And it really is a little bit of both: commiseration over the endless challenges of making anything creative work here, in the face of exorbitant rents and dwindling availability of affordable rehearsal spaces, and celebration of the fact that, well, at least they’re here, in New York, trying to figure it out. As much time as I spend writing bitchy blurbs about all the terrible bands that play here every night, I’m secretly still glad they’re around — if only because I know they’re just trying to follow in the footsteps of many of the most talented musicians in the country.
