Cold nights, warm Paris DJ duo that makes you not sleep. Last week was CMJ + friend opportunity plus getting no writing done + Greg Saunier's flourescent jacket and Minnie Mouse laugh. I miss you, Deerhoof. So, story is, our site isn't really up yet but the nice folks at CMJ gave my girlfriend and I badges anyway based on what we told them we're covering in our first "issue". Needless to say, my week got more interesting. I saw Xiu Xiu friend and weepy crooner Chris Garneau give a heartfelt performance at the R&R bar with his cello-slanging band. Very weird, like Jamie Stewart and Ben Folds in a creepy black bar talking about Chinese torture and vegan cupcakes. Then I raced over to see The Knife which were like the Blue Man Group beating up goths on acid. Very dark but also very cheesy. Shit was free, what can I say. But, I got to finally say hello again to Philip "I Will Bring my Own Needles, Hoez" Sherburne who confused hundreds of Pitchfork reading-types (more on totally socially awkward loner Ryan Schreiber later) with sick 12"'s off of liebe* label from Hamburg. JAZZ! Then I saw Kid Koala the next night, in a beautiful Merkin Hall near the Lincoln Center. John Medeski of the famed acid jazz (read: talentless) trio played after him but I was so numb from loving Kid Koala that I left. THERE WILL NEVER EVER EVER BE A DJ MORE SUCCESSFUL THAN KID KOALA THAT MEANS YOU A TRAK THAT MEANS YOU QBERT THAT MEANS YOU 14 YEAR OLD PRACTICING CRAB SCRATCHES IN YOUR BEDROOM because he takes risks and balances humility with a sheer jaw-dropping pop sensibility (Moon River? Holy shit) that no other DJ has sustained. Humor, beat juggling and making orthodox Jewish kids go nuts two rows in front of me--these things Kid Koala makes you appreciate. Deerhoof and Erase Errata (whose bassist is like watching the sun over and over burn your eyes with magic juice). Greg Saunier deserves a Nobel Prize for drumming like his arms are going to fall off and the clouds are really in his Intel brain and they tell him "Go, Greg, go!" until he just giggles and stops cause he has to get up and say "thank you" into the microphone (and hello to a good DJ friend named Mr. 1984 who has seen Deerhoof in San Francisco, Austin and now New York) while Satomi's black T-shirt read:

WO
RRI
ED

But then I spotted James Iha (of Smashing Pumpkins, mom) and his icky bleached blonde hair wandering around looking for his dignity. Similarly, Pitchfork founder Ryan "Beards are for Grown-Ups, Not Me" Schreiber was seen walking in circles looking for no one in particular waiting for some lustful indie band to offer crack and sex for a review. Fuck and then I saw Justice, of the famed Ed Banger label put on a display of turntable madness not seen since, well, ever. Two hours of head banging, Slayer-esque techno and the occasional Tone Loc jam that made me miss not being born in France.

I need to sleep now. "Warsaw" should be done by the end of the year and will hopefully be submitted to neato anthologies on Fantagraphics and Drawn & Quarterly.

Yee-haw.