The venue change didn’t create a misnomer — the Pool Parties were only ever pool parties in a loose interpretation of the phrase, with the dry McCarren Park Pool serving as the waterless initiator of the appellation. This year found them even further removed from splashing and swimmies, with the location shifted down the street to the Williamsburg Waterfront. The lineup has remained as strong as ever, though, and this past Sunday was like a dreamland for the 1000+ hipsters who managed to make it into one of the shows.

You’ve got to go read the article. This is just supplementary.

I can’t help wondering what the show would have been like in its planned setting. No doubt Deerhunter and No Age would have elicited much the same responses in the small club or the expansive waterfront. But Dan Deacon relies heavily on crowd participation — would he have been able to get thousands of people to form a circle around a single interpretative dancer and imitate her moves? Would the human tunnel (two rows of people standing side-by-side facing each other, holding hands aloft with the person in front of you) have stretched a quarter-mile or more along the East River. I’d like to think so, but I can’t be certain. But what was, has been and what might have been, has now passed into oblivion! Also, one time I saw Dan Deacon at a cheap Indian food place in Baltimore. It was pretty exciting.

Some of you may know that in just nine days I will be leaving these fair shores in favor of warmer climes. What does this mean for Tinspeaker and Hornblower devotees? Only time will tell. Because I will not be in New York, however, I would like to suggest that my dear readers attend some exciting events which may distract them from the meaninglessness of their daily lives. Future posts in this same vein will be under the new “Things To Do” category.

23 August 2009, free
Girl Talk, Max Tundra, Wiz Khalifa
at Williamsburg Waterfront
(JellyNYC Pool Party)
So, obviously this one is only for my preteen readership. The rest of you have outgrown your Girl Talk phase, right? Ha, ha, ha — of course you have! If you’re a real man, or woman, you’ll just go on down the street to Brooklyn Brewery and get your drink on — super strong.

27 August 2009, $10 (21+)
Cymbals Eat Guitars, These Are Powers, Real Estate, The Drums, TBA
at Brooklyn Bowl
(Insound 10th Anniversary Party)

Insound is a great online record store and they are celebrating, so you should join them — especially with a lineup this good. CEG are epic, noodly guitar anthems in the vein of indie rock patriarchs like Modest Mouse and Built to Spill; you’ve already read my report on Real Estate; and the Drums have been getting loads of deserved hype lately on the strength of their feel-good, 50s-influenced songs (One is called “Let’s Go Surfing” and it has plenty of whistling. Have they won you over yet?). These Are Powers have been around seemingly forever but I never listen to them just because I figure I’ll eventually get around to it but never do. I imagine they’re pretty decent. Brooklyn Bowl is a fantastic space, but you already knew that, didn’t you?

30 August 2009, free
Grizzly Bear, Beach House
at Williamsburg Waterfront
(JellyNYC Pool Party)
You don’t need links to these bands, do you? You also probably don’t need me to tell you to go to this show. Two beautiful bands, one beautiful view, zero beautiful dollars. If you’re in the area, you’d better have a damn good excuse not to be there.

16 October 2009, $15
Vashti Bunyan
at 92Y Tribeca
Awfully far in advance, this one. Awfully far. But I don’t want to forget about it and leave you, the reader, out in the cold. Vashti Bunyan is a fantastic artist, and you would do well to go and see her — and at only $15, this is an incredible deal. Her voice is so light and smooth that the only fair reference point is Nick Drake. Go get a ticket now, before there are none left to be got. There is also a screening of the new documentary Vashti Bunyan: From Here To Before that will take place before the performance. To see both, get a $22 ticket here.

This is just a smattering of the wonderful things to come in the area while I will be away. I’d post some more, but it’s not easy hunting hyperlinks on a hijacked wireless connection in the Bronx. Juan’s Network 1974 just isn’t as reliable as it used to be. But Hornblower is nothing if not devoted to his readership, so look for more events under the “Things To Do” category in the near future.

The openers for this show were Dan Friel (of Parts & Labor) and Blank Dogs, but I missed out on them. I caught Blank Dogs this past February and they were all right, but I didn’t really mind missing out on them. I was there for the hazy Black Moth jams. And hazy Black Moth jams I would get.

At first, it seemed that the band was fronted by the guy in the furry suit and weird, squinting mask. It was soon apparent, however, that, although this man was holding a microphone to his mouth (which mouth was unmoving, being a mask and all), he was not responsible for the vocals at all. What he did do, though, was toss Tostito’s into the crowd, which endeared him well to those in the first few rows.

There was still the matter of finding the source of the vocoder’d vocals. Luckily, your humble narrator is on the tall side, so I was able to crane my head above the poor, the huddled masses and spotted on the floor of the stage none other than Tobacco, the very mastermind of BMSR. Humble gentleman that he is, he was singing/speaking and manipulating with the vocoder from a rather hidden position. I suppose, then, that the bemasked, besuited man functions as a sort of proxy frontman. Fair enough. He didn’t really do anything for me — though I was out of range of the Tostito’s, which may have changed my mind.

No, what made the show for me was the rhythm section. Just like with Holy Fuck, the live drumming really got me into the songs. Black Moth are so woozy that the live set could have been a snooze fest (if only for the rhyming convenience), but the energy from the live instruments kept pushing things forward. And we all know that drum machines have no soul.