We Went To The Partisan Records Showcase In New York City
Images by Elena Saviano
Last night, Partisan Records hosted a showcase of their signees at Heaven Can Wait in Manhattan’s East Village and for some reason, invited us.
I’m not very accustomed to being invited to parties. It never happened in high school, or college, or in my mid-twenties, or now in my late-twenties. That’s why I always had to throw them myself, and is why Partisan’s invitation warmed my heart.
The room was absolutely packed near to the point of discomfort and well beyond the point of personal space, which is the classic sign of a successful event. Elena [Saviano, Monster Children photographer] and I arrived in time to catch the second half of Skinny Pelembe’s set, who, for someone with such striking and decisive sounding music that had the crowd very focused, turned into a bit of a sweetheart between songs, shouting out his friends and expressing an enormous amount of humility and charm.
We pushed and shoved the four feet from the door to the bar and I asked for two of the cheapest beers available. The bartender, visibly annoyed at having to say ‘it’s an open bar’ for what I imagine was the 50th time that hour, explained that it was in fact, indeed, and very fortunately, an open bar, which, looking back, completely shifted the course of our night. Suddenly money was no object and work had become play. By the time Body Meat - an electronic project by Philadelphia’s Christopher Taylor - got half way through his set which was as much a visual stimulation as musical which is particularly impressive considering the challenge of being the only person on stage, we were on our third beverage and Elena was on her second spilled/dropped gin and tonic.
Authenticity, comfort, and accommodation are important for an event like this. It is very easy for a show or party put on by a brand to feel very sterile and corporate, but the intimacy of the venue, the pizza boxes in the corner, and the elimination of transaction throughout the night made for a party more like a house show than a corporate mixer. While we did receive an invite from Partisan, they didn’t actually ask us to do anything in exchange. Hell, I don’t think they even know I’m writing this recap. I’m not even sure they’d want me to, but what’s done is done.
As one might expect, as the night went on, the photos got progressively worse, and so did my memory. There was free pizza but Elena insisted on a bodega burger eaten off of a trashcan, so that’s what she got. I recall yelling at her to take a photo of the door. Don’t know what I had in mind for that, but here it is.
A new Partisan signee, Angelica Garcia, played next. As much as I despise the phrase and think that the overuse in everything from music journalism to sales pitch decks has rendered the term essentially meaningless, I found Angelica Garcia’s music to be ethereal and dreamy, but with a tinge of menace, danger, and a lean toward theatrics. I recall at some point in her set, eyebrows scrunched in captivated thought, leaning over to Elena and saying, ‘I get it! This is great!’ before realizing that that wasn’t Elena I had just yelled at.
Last in the line up was Lip Critic, a band that has been cause for chatter throughout New York City’s guitar music scene, which is particularly interesting considering they don’t use guitars. What they lack in chords, they make up for in two (!) drum kits, a member with a mullet who simply and unrelentingly leers at the crowd, and incessant, enveloping electronic reverberations. Lip Critic is as unsubtle as punk rock ought to be, but as powerful and with all of the sneering, even threatening persona. One thing about the band that cut through my gin haze is how incredibly tight they are as musicians. It is not easy to have two drummers be perfectly in synch, let alone add in a singer throwing out phrases that bounce off of and rely on each snare hit in order to work. Somewhere in the middle of a fun mess of a song, the singer and one of the drummers switched places, taking up each others mantle and with equal synchronicity, showing exactly how dedicated and practiced this group actually is.
Joe Talbot of Idles closed the night with a DJ set consisting of much more danceable, electric tracks than I would have expected him to have ready on a USB, but by that point, I was fairly well exhausted and pleased with the course of the evening. Pizza was eaten, drinks were spilled on cameras, and punches were thrown. A good time if ever there was one, and on a Tuesday night, no less. Thanks again, Partisan, and also probably, sorry.
