CMJ: Wednesday [Marc Hogan]

Deerhunter and Dan Deacon photos by Jason Bergman; Xiu Xiu and Mary Timony Band photos by Kathryn Yu; Above: Dan Deacon

Marnie Stern was originally supposed to be performing in this time slot. I'm still not sure exactly what happened, but whatever. Washington, D.C.-born Mary Timony, formerly of Boston noise-pop outfit Helium, is an artist I've long respected more than listened to, and if her set lacked the fret-tapping pyrotechnics of Stern, the muso in me could still geek out over her jarring tunings and sudden rhythm changes.

The Mary Timony Band [Blender Theatre at Gramercy; 9 p.m]






Backed by Medications members Devin Ocampo on drums and Chad Molter on bass, Timony worked through a couple of older songs as well as a few from her latest album, The Shapes We Make. The high point was the Kim Gordon-like "Killed by the Telephone", which shifted between ringing guitar arpeggios and double-time aggression.

Xiu Xiu [Blender Theatre at Gramercy; 10 p.m.]


The cellphone-texting, camera-toting biz aspect of CMJ can put an unpleasant distance between audience and performer-- every show is a press conference, right? Jamie Stewart of San Francisco experimental trio Xiu Xiu cuts through some of that divide with his impassioned mien and flitting, dolorous, almost Antony-like vibrato.

Performing songs like the minimal, eerie "Sad Pony Guerrilla Girl", from 2003's A Promise, Stewart would close his eyes and gaze upward, accompanied by multi-instrumentalist cousin Caralee McElroy and the moody beats of drummer Ches Smith. Unfortunately, I had to leave after only a few songs to make sure I could see Dan Deacon at the Bowery. I guess I'm part of the problem.

Dan Deacon [Bowery Ballroom; 11 p.m.]


Seeing Dan Deacon doesn't necessarily entail actually seeing him at any point. Huddled at the foot of the stage behind his lo-fi electronic setup-- "All my equipment is total bullshit" he said in a less absurdist moment-- the Baltimore party gonzo was visible to most of the audience only as a succession of blinding camera flashes.

Accordingly, though the first few songs of Deacon's set, including Spiderman of the Rings favorites like "Rattlesnake Gun", sounded great, the crowd's enthusiasm dwindled visibly as you moved out further and further from Deacon ground zero. Not so up in front: "This level of shoving is just ridiculous," Deacon announced mid-set, calling for the house lights. Like an expert school-assembly leader, he then reorganized us throughout the room and started sending audience members running up and down the Bowery stairs.

Even in the incandescent glow, it was still tough to spot Deacon through the bodies, but getting a good look at ourselves-- narcissistically, performers too (New York is weird)-- seemed to restore a communal energy that subsided little when the lights went back out. Spiderman highlight "Crystal Cat" prompted frenzied dancing, and finale "Wham City" became an epic sing-along, as glowing and trippy as that flickering green skull perched above Deacon's bullshit equipment.

Deerhunter [Bowery Ballroom; 12 a.m.]


A show by arty Atlanta psych-rockers Deerhunter has become an unpredictable thing in every way but the music. Will beanpole frontman Bradford Cox don a dress? (No.) Will guitarist Colin Mee, who recently hinted that he was leaving the group only to apparently rejoin, show up onstage? (Yes.) Will Cox subject whatever rubberneckers stick around for the encore to a rambling, intoxicated therapy session, repeatedly intoning, "I miss my family" and berating anybody who leaves even if it's just to take a piss? (Um, yup.)

Cox expressed reservations throughout the show about being able to top spazz extraordinaire Dan Deacon's just-finished set. In terms of showmanship, the band didn't even try, wisely leaving aside the drag and horror-show sleepwalking of their early-2007 gigs for a performance underscoring their strengths as a deceptively accomplished live band-- from the "Texas Never Whispers" rush-rattling of "Hazel St." to the gauzy Spacemen 3 fantasia of "Spring Hall Convert", plus the clanging drones of "Cryptograms" and "Wash Off".

Cox certainly isn't the first young punk to light up onstage here in smoke-free New York, but his encore cigarette was a well-deserved indulgence. No matter what ridiculous shit he was saying by that point. Wait, did he just thank Jesus? (Yes.)