Greenroom Catastrophe is a column that serves as an intro to the phenomenology of New York music. Join the coincidental misadventures of a lifer, Dale W Eisinger, as he searches for new noise through scene reports, reminiscences, and musings on the state of New York music, desperate for a thrill.

---

That’s my name in the headline (record scratch) and you’re probably wondering how I got here (same). Brief answers include “audacity” and “poppers.” The longer story includes a nonsensical compulsion to never go home, while documenting it all, so that I might reflect fondly on the montage of my youth, when I’m no longer capable of going out. It’s hard to explain, especially when I choose music specifically so I don’t have to talk. I’m a music guy because, in music, you don’t necessarily have to say anything. Am I an awkward person? Not as long as we’re just standing there, watching the band. And the next band. And the next band. And the next band. And then I’m playing drums in the band after that. I don’t even care what it sounds like–-there’s always something to love.

Moving On

Did you hear? Music is back! We’re all gonna get laid and rich! James Blake has come to our defense! First, to take platforms to task for devaluing music to the point of worthlessness! And then… to launch another platform? Anyway, I don’t have to pretend the theme of this issue is connected to anything at all, because this column is actually the theme of the issue–you’re welcome.

Broken Media Scene

It was such a frigid night in Gowanus the guitars went out of tune between songs. Kevin Drew, the founder and frontman of Broken Social Scene, was joined by a single guitarist. Maybe my expectations were low just because of the diminished faculty—a band that usually consists of approximately one million people on huge festival stages, reduced to two. What it revealed was the core and strength of the songwriting from his expansive catalog. In particular, “World Sick” hit like a sack of rocks. “I get world sick every time I take a stand/ Well, I get world sick, my love is for my man,” from 2010’s Forgiveness Rock Record, felt even more salient given just how sick the world has become. Maybe it was a bit of nostalgia, but I did cry a few tears.

In recent years, Kevin’s apparently been going through some heavy periods. Yet he remains an icon of light. At a point between songs, Kevin brought up the recent news of Pitchfork, a publication that undeniably helped build his career. Someone cheered this news, and the mood turned. “Don’t celebrate the destruction of art,” he said. There are so many real people doing their best behind these publications, and the naysayers tend to forget that. I agree, and like to quote an Eartheater song in these instances: “The Internet Is Handmade.”

Here’s my riposte: Y’all wanted Pitchfork to be everything for everyone. Scenes crumble, cultural consensus changes, and staff shifts in and out. Yet the correct opinions of a commentariat reduce the website to a resentment generator when the published sentiment fails to exactly corroborate one’s own. All the while, the private equity vampires at the top worry about clicks, views, and shares. Slowly, the sky-high expectations of those not willing to engage in good faith erode these publications from the outside in. Really, we all killed Pitchfork.