"Hey, you played bass for City of Caterpillar, right?"

We saw A Silver Mt. Zion on their first American show (ever) in Brooklyn last Saturday. The unwashed, sweaty bunch on the floor watched the unwashed, sweaty bunch on stage. By the end of the set, the "tarnished melody striving for survival" thing had me striving to stay awake.

Between finishing Norwegian Wood and watching the US release of 2046 in a Times Square megaplex, the Asian romantic melancholy theme hit a peak. After reaching the end of the world earlier this year, I made it back to the center of the world. Straddling Broadway and 7th Ave at 2am, I felt the cold technological thrill coursing through me as steadily as the pulsing of the electronic marqees that lit the night. "Cup O Noodles, indeed."

New York may think it's cool, but it is really, really not. Fuck, where's my Jameson?