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So this week was my unofficial Spring break. Although unlike a real Spring break, I still had to get up for work every morning (except Good Friday, which was a vacation day, thank you Jesus.) Nonetheless I did stay out late every night for five night's straight.

Monday -- Tin Armor at Otto's Shrunken Head. Otto's is that weird tiki bar at the east end of 14th Street. They don't advertise so you never know who's playing there; usually it's four or five no-name NYC bands, often (but not always) in the garage-rock genre. The sound system's pathetic and the crowded little backroom where the bands play doesn't have much in the way of atmosphere (although there are a lot of chairs as well as booths against the walls, which is nice if you're old like me and don't like to stand up for five hours at a time.) I got there too late to see Tin Armor's tourmates Annabel and Tin Armor played a pretty short set, but it was good seeing the guys and I was able to pick up their new EP on WhoaOh Records.

Tuesday - Tin Armor, Nato Paisano, Hopalong at Lost & Found. Lost & Found is out in the middle of Brooklyn somewhere. My grasp of the geography of the area is pretty limited, all I know is that it takes two subways to get there, the 7 to the G, and the G is the worst-run line on the MTA. The trains are old, noisy, dirty, and run at their own whim. On my last trip out to L&F, I had to step over several used hypodermic needles on my way back into the station.

On the other hand, Lost & Found has a friendly grungy vibe, the beer is relatively cheap, and they give you free hot dogs (or veggie dogs) as long as you order drinks. The sound system's less than ideal, but it's certainly not the worst place to see live music. The only really bad thing is that the place runs on Punk Rock Time. I got there at nine (the designated showtime) and the place was empty, except for a couple of bartenders who were bowling on the floor with a bocce ball and old Budweiser bottles. I called half a dozen friends and got nothing but voicemails, and was starting to panic (thinking I was at the wrong place) when Joe Evans III and Jonny WhoaOh came walking up the street from the G train. I hung out and chatted with them for a while and eventually people (and bands) started to trickle in.

Apparently a bunch of the scheduled bands had to cancel at the last minute for this show and were replaced by Hopalong (a girl folksinger who did a cover of Del Shannon's "Runaway" that pissed Larry Livermore off no end,) and Nate from the Used Kids doing a solo set (including the Modern Machines' "House On Buffalo Road" at my request, and a fun Bruce Sprinsteen cover.) Tin Armor went on at about 11:30, played "The Proclaimers" at my request (thanks guys!) and sounded great. The original trio of Matt, Matt, and Matt have added Matt Umland's brother John on second guitar and backup vocals, deepening the band's sound and adding a little more range. Most pop-punk people don't think Tin Armor are really pop-punk but like them anyway, and I guess I can see the point. Like Lemuria, they're really more of an indie band that mostly plays and tours and hangs out with pop-punk bands. But who cares? I love Matt Umland's voice and I think he's one of the best songwriters of his generation; like Delay, who also hail from Columbus, there's no hint of bullshit or ironic distance or affectation with this music. It's all written and sung from the heart.

On Wednesday night, I met up with longtime Jersey Beat contributor Paul Silver, who was in NYC from Chicago at a business convention. We grabbed a vegetarian Asian dinner at a cool little restaurant called Red Bamboo and then walked crosstown to The Annex on Orchard Street (passing the former home of CBGB's so I could point out the empty storefront there now to Paul.) We were there to see Cymbal Eat Guitars, a band I've been championing since singer/songwriter Joe D'Agostino was a lonely high-school kid stuck in the no man's land of South Jersey making mind-blowing demos under the name Joseph Ferocious. Now that he's in college in Manhattan, Joe's got an excellent band that is in the process of recording their first album (produced by no less than the Wrens' Charles Bissell.)

Before we could see CBE though we had to sit through two awful bands, one a funk-rock group that would have fit right into the NYC scene of 1991 and the other a loud bombastic rock act whose members looked like they should have all should have been in different bands (the singer was dressed in Clash togs, the drummer was a skinny new-wavey dude, the guitarist was a dead ringer for John Travolta doing Vinnie Barbarino, and the drummer looked like he was there to deliver a pizza.) Somewhere mid-thru the second bad New York band, Paul turned to me and said, "Cymbals Eat Guitars better be damn good for making me sit through this!"

Well, they were. And then some. I had heard the band not that long ago at the Lit Lounge, but the superior sound system at the Annex made a big difference. This band is far too good to be playing crappy bars on weeknights, but such is the nature of the NYC music scene that they really have no alternatives at this point. They're so original that it's hard to describe them, but there's definitely a complex layered shoegazer thing going on (ala, say, Spirtualized.) You can also hear the Wrens influence in the band's impressive command of dynamics, going literally from a whisper to a scream in a few notes and making it all seem perfectly organic and seamless. The two guitars, bass, and keyboards interweave to create a dense wall of sound that's mind-blowing in person and is going to be overwhelming once they finish in the studio. I wish there was a way to flick a switch and have them playing regularly at Maxwells and Piano's, but to be honest, Joe needs to be playing these crappy bar shows just to get used to being in front of a live audience (he needs to work on his stage patter and maintaining eye contact with the crowd.) But when he's singing, he's a natural - charismatic, commanding, and utterly real. His vocals range from murmurs to bloodchilling screams but none of it comes across as affectation. Much like the Wrens, Cymbals Eat Guitars twist time signatures, dynamics, and multiple song parts into intricate puzzles that are a delight to figure out. Paul was blown away, and he's a pretty tough critic. Color me impressed too.

Thursday I was back at Otto's Shrunken Head. Again, I opted for the more cost-friendly draft beer although I really longed for a colorful frozen margarita in a tiki head mug with an umbrella sticking out of it. Maybe next time. I was there to see the Invincible Gods, 2/3 of which used to be in the Atomic Missiles. Stuck in traffic, they got to the club late and had the soundman hectoring and lecturing them, as well as providing utterly shitty sound. I'll just stop the review right there. Surprisingly, The Imperialists (featuring members of Plastic East and The One & Only Typicals) actually sounded pretty good with their updated version of what the Missiles and Plastic East used to called "street wave" - funky, bouncy, big and beaty rock 'n' roll. Mike East gave me a copy of their demo, which will be reviewed on jerseybeat.com shortly. Keep an eye out for these guys, they're smokin'. An incredibly lame garage-band whose name need not be mention followed, during which I drank beer and reminisced with Nick and Sean from the I-Gods. The One & Only Typicals ended the night with a truncated set during which the very grumpy soundman (apparently they have noise issues and have to cut off the live music fairly early) stumped around and made faces and kept threatening to pull the plug. It was one more example of how badly bands get treated in NYC.

Thankfully, I got to sleep in Friday (and nap most of the afternoon) so I was ready for my trip out to another Brooklyn club, Bar Matchless. This place is at the edge of McCarren Park, southwest of the Bedford Ave. strip in Williamsburg. My first surprise was discovering that the bartender was my old friend Artie Shepherd, whom I've known since he was a teenager playing in hardcore bands. Since then, he's been in Errortype:11, Instruction, Gay For Johnny Depp, and currently God Fires Man, and he also insisted on giving me free drinks all night. Sometimes (not often, but sometimes) it's good to be me.

This was a really good bill, although the Imperialists were made to start at 8 pm when there was no one in the club. I got there midway through their set and at least caught half of it, although with the four members of the Meltdowns.

I've been corresponding with Billy Gray of The Meltdowns (see Tris McCall's review of their new CD on jerseybeat.com) for years but this was my first time actually seeing them, and they were terrific. The bassist plays a 6-string bass and does some amazing runs, and Billy's a maniac on lead guitar. The band plays funky stretched-out rock jams with a lot of humor (at one point, Billy and the bassist put down their instruments, jumped into the crowd, and did a perfectly synchronized re-enactment of the dance moves from MJ's "Thriller" video). I mostly missed the next band (an all-female instrumental jazz-rock combo) because I had so many friends cross-secting several different scenes in the room (not to mention the free Rogue ales from Artie,) but I was back in the back room for the Used Kids (Danny and Nato from the Modern Machines with Mikey Erg on drums, and a short feisty gal named Kate on second guitar.) It was the best Used Kids set I've seen so far, mixing in a bunch of old Momacs favorites with new songs, Danny and Nato trading off lead vocals, and Kate adding a little extra crunch.

Now it's Saturday night and I'm about to head down to New Brunswick to see The Measure (SA) open for World/Inferno Friendship Society at the Court Tavern. And in case it's crossed your mind, you're absolutely right; I am way too old to be running around like this every night. Next week I intend to be in bed every night by 19.

Oh, except for Monday, when the Screaming Females are at Maxwells. I guess we'll see how the rest of the week goes.