We wandered into the Little Hamilton warehouse Saturday night to find a DIY winter wonderland waiting for us: glittery shredded paper covered the floor, somewhat resembling snow, white sheets hung down from and covered the ceiling and a fully adorned Christmas tree towered in the corner over a makeshift living room set complete with a TV and hi-fi. We were also reminded why we so often show up late to these things: Showing up early sucks.
We spent the next half-hour staring at the wall until Daniel Pujol finally took the initiative to play the opening set. Sporting a semi-new backing band featuring Heavy Cream's Daniel TV on drums and Natural Child's Wes Traylor on guitar, Pujol powered through a super-short, extra-sweet set of new jams—a slightly accelerated version of his usual roots-based punk pop, but also a hell of a lot catchier. The set lasted all of four songs, as apparently that's all they knew how to play. We then endured another 45 minutes of downtime, filled by an uncomfortably loud, awkward and distorted set of tunes courtesy of the evening's DJ, as an off-and-on dance party ensued, paper snow fights broke out on the reg and the small crowd more than tripled in size. Finally, at the stroke of midnight, a swell of guitar feedback hinted that a reunited Party Cannon might actually favor us with a tune.
They ripped straight into a continuous, Ritalin-fueled stream of speedy, meaty punk ditties reveling in hedonism and beckoning for an epicurean meltdown. Or at least that's maybe how it sounded onstage, or close to it, where the fans were just as frenzied as the band (or more so). From where we were standing, it was more just a muddy mix of rumbling bass, rapid-fire snare drum and the faint murmur of a gang chorus. But to complain would be missing the point. Whether or not Party Cannon is a "good" band is irrelevant, and while it may not have been pretty, they provided a much-needed break from the family-oriented glee and merriment we'd been enduring all week.
We were standing at the bar when the man of the hour, Justin Kase, arrived at 12th & Porter Saturday night. The last time we saw Kase he was catching a plane to join rising pop star Ke$ha (pronounced Keh-dollar sign-HA!) on tour.
At the time, the Brentwood-bred, L.A.-based Ke$ha had just entered Billboard's Hot 100 with her irresistibly trashy single "Tik Tok" (you know, the one where she wakes up in the morning "feeling like P. Diddy") and had hired Justin to be her road DJ. By the time we got to talk to Justin again, Ke$ha was sitting at No. 2 on the big chart, and Justin had already been on MTV, all across Europe and all over the continental United States. He'd gone from our friendly neighborhood disc jockey to jet-settin' professional musician, and we couldn't have been prouder.
See, even though The Spin has a reputation for being, uh, "unsupportive" of Nashville artists who see monumental success outside of the 615, we are 100 percent into Ke$ha. Sure, she moved to the West Coast like five years ago, but she's not shy about her Music City roots, and we're not shy about our affection for her raunchy, ribald dance pop. Hell, she has a video from Christmas Eve '07 at Springwater posted on her MySpace. Not only is she from here, she's one of us—seriously, that Springwater video is painful, if only because it's so familiar—and it's nice to see Music City's Middle-American sleaze scene make its way to the top of the charts. Also, Ke$ha once puked in Paris Hilton's closet—a personal dream of ours, but one that has sadly only been fulfilled by proxy.
So, yeah, Ke$ha's our favorite new pop star, a happy middle ground between Britney Spears and G.G. Allin, or Lady Gaga if she were less inclined to wear underwear on her head and more inclined to shiv a motherfucker. And even though Kase is one of our favorite platter pushers in town and we'll miss having him around—the one-two punch of his tag-team sets with Jeremy "Coach" Todd will probably become the stuff of legend—we have the distinct feeling that he's just the first in a potentially long line of Nashville electronic artists who will be moving up to the big leagues. This past year saw Nashville's electronic scene solidify with more up-and-coming out-of-towners, more weekly parties and one-offs and more people showing up to support. The talent has always been there, but now the audience is, too, and that encourages outsiders to pay attention.
But that could be the booze talking. It's easy to spout philosophical bullshit when your legs are like jelly, your pits smell like hippie and your brain is still filled with boom-chik-boom-chik. Of course, this year has seen those sorts of nights pile up, so we're thinking it just might be true this time.
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The second woe is past; and behold, the third woe cometh quickly
Ok, Daddy, if I promise to go on the potty; can I have my gun…
8-8:15 third kind
8:30-8:45 the shapschenk restagtion
9-9:15 lazer slut
9:15-9:30 tim carey
This here's mah boy Charlie
While combing through old photos, Billy's court-ordered therapist finally discovered why it all went wrong.