Back in July, the Walter Reade hosted the touring program Heroic Grace II, a sequel to a Shaw Brothers Studios retrospective that stopped at BAM last summer (and shared several titles with another Shaw Brothers retro at Walter Reade the fall before that). Got all that? Good. Because starting today, and continuing through the end of the month, Heroic Grace II is hitting up BAM, for a month of sped-up zooms, lickety-split plot reversals, and choreography for fist and sword. The program kicks off with Chung Whang-Wa's King Boxer (also known as The Five Fingers of Death).

Also tonight, the biweekly Brooklyn Independent Cinema Series, at Barbes, does some last-minute pre-midterm election riling-up, screening a politically engaged program of docs and shorts.

It was with dismay and sadness that we beheld the cover story of this week’s Village Voice: an arts and entertainment piece about a young television comedian. While we have nothing against this kind of coverage, of a talented and successful New Yorker, on the eve of one of the most important midterm elections in the last 50 years it seemed like a cruel joke. And that the nation’s preeminent source for progressive news and opinion left its only overt political expression to a syndicated sex columnist (and kudos to Dan Savage) was even more heartbreaking.

Our explicit mandate here at The L Magazine has never been as political as the Voice’s once was, but as citizens of a democracy fortunate enough to have a platform, we are doubly responsible, to both our conscience and our readers, to make an endorsement for Tuesday’s elections.

And so we endorse the Democratic Party in its manifold races across the country. And though a nationwide blanket endorsement might seem odd for a local publication, we feel that an accounting is in order for the decisions made in Washington over the last six years, an accounting the ascendant party has been unable, or unwilling to make.

And if, as you contemplate your choices in the voting booth, you find yourself worrying about safety or security, consider the following:

1. The world is less safe for our generation. North Korea and Iran have progressed to levels of nuclear capability that would never even have been possible in Iraq, a nation which now, thanks to the current administration, seethes with murderous Islamic extremism, and where young Americans are killed every day for a mistake. We are less safe, less secure.

2. The American economy is less safe for the next generation. Trade deficits, a reliance on 20th-century energy strategies, an inability to adapt to a globalizing economy, and a failing educational system portend the twilight of America’s global preeminence. Unless decisive changes are made, our children will face uncertainty and hardship unlike anything we have known. We are less safe, less secure.

3. The environment is less safe for future generations. The current administration has consistently ignored the science of the day and has refused to collaborate in any meaningful way with international initiatives to pull us back from the brink of environmental catastrophe. That nearly 200 fossil fuel processing plants are set to become operational in the very near future, while widespread alternative fuel use remains little more than a fringe pipedream, is tragic; that we, the richest and most innovative nation on earth, are reliant on an old-fashion fuel source that leads us into geopolitical conflict, is baffling; and that Americans, comprising five percent of the world’s population, consume nearly 30 percent of its energy, is obscene. We are less safe, less secure.

If safety and security truly are your primary concerns while making your choice on Tuesday, consider not the Republican versions, based as they are on fear, aggression, and secrecy. Instead, vote Democrat, and vote for change.

Thank god the really obsessive Shins fans who sold out Bowery Ballroom last night don't listen to a lot of music that isn't the Shins. Otherwise it would've been way more difficult to sidle into the beginning half of the Sub Pop showcase to see who, though there are still two more nights of ehhh-level shows to judge on, were quite possibly the highlight of this whole crazy five-day affair: the overwhelmingly pleasant and kind of brilliant Loney, Dear. One thing should probably be mentioned first: Loney, Dear's oozing Swedishness, by which I mean that his stuff is consistently pleasant but has occasional dark undertones you're maybe supposed to pick up on, and it also has that laid back, soft-rock quality of upbeat pop songs with cool jazz chords woven in. They've also got a keyboard player that looks a little like Daniel V. from Project Runway, and a requisite female vocalist/ keyboardist/tambourinist who, while we're on the subject of Swedes, might be more attractive than all of Jens Lekman's backing band put together. Considering this band has had approximately zero exposure in the US so far (though there's a healthy three or four months of prime buzzing time before the record actually drops), and that they sound as if they've been playing together for years, it's entirely possible they'll come up from out of nowhere and knock everyone on their asses, or at least, just maybe, overshadow that Shins record that comes out around the same time.

Oxford Collapse was next, and while they didn't seem totally on their game last night, there's really nothing to complain about with them. It's just nice to see a simple, no-bullshit power trio playing really loud and getting really sweaty. The only thing I can possibly think to mention about them is how baffling their bass player is: everything else about the band is very typical, sort of punky, whereas he plays with his bass high up on his chest and with really careful right hand technique, which makes me think he must be some kind of displaced band geek. Not that this is a bad thing; it's actually sort of charming, in a weird way. Not as charming: the dude they invited on stage to play saxophone for a couple songs, which I thought would culminate in some kind of crazy, Contortions-style freakout, but ended up just throwing off the whole trio synergy thing. Oh well.

It was a beautiful fall night. While other, more industrious hipsters planned ahead, saved their money and waited in line to see the Sub Pop showcase at Bowery Ballroom, most people taking part in day 3 of the Music Marathon ended up at one of the less glamorous events. The Windish Agency [event] at NorthSix was one among scores that were not sold out. That's where I travelled last night. What I found was a beautiful breath of fresh air both on my walk to the venue and from the bands I saw once I arrived.

One could have been cutting it up with The Shins, The Walkmen, or Madlib but they would have missed out on some of the real gems of CMJ. All over the city last night, lesser known artists were having their 15 (or 45) minutes of fame.

The Shins will be coming around on a world tour soon enough but Lavender Diamond have only been to New York twice. Vocalist and band leader Becky Stark is enchanting, adorable--and dare I say, pretty damn hot. The quartet plays magical, folksy tunes, mostly about peace and the spirit of Tibetan life and death, which she spoke of at great length to the audience for several minutes. This band is a must see for the freak-folk inclined.

Also noteworthy was Death Vessel, a bewitching, melancholy, and more serious take on folk-country than the band that preceded him. The solo act was defined by stunning mastery of both guitar and voice, balanced with tactful restraint. He never quite lets a song boil and instead creates something very subtle and beautiful that crowd loved.

In the middle of a thousand predictable hard rock bands, Lavender Diamond and Death Vessel were sublimely refreshing. It broke up the Marathon quite nicely. Although, I think we're all ready to rock again. On to Deerhoof!

Saturday, November 4

• Hey, you, come to the L's CMJ Party this afternoon. It's at Club Midway (on Avenue B between 2nd and 3rd), from noon to 6pm. It's free to get in (no CMJ badge required), and we've got free Red Hook beer for you once you're there. There'll be sets by Canon, Cavalier King, Hysterics, Takka Takka (who we've been all over lately), The Rosewood Thieves (who I think sound like the guy from Simian fronting the Thrills, but don't listen to me), and Dirty On Purpose (who may or may not do a cover of "Send Me An Angel," the song from The Wizard), with DJing in between sets by Margot and the Nuclear So and Sos. You should totally come.

• Hey, the New York Marathon is today. If it goes past anywhere near your house, you should probably watch it, assuming you're not too hung over to wake up at a reasonable hour. I know some people watching the Marathon hold cups of water for runners to grab and douse themselves with; personally, I plan on getting up late-ish, in time for the stragglers, and holding out a box of Munchkins. And maybe a flask.

First of, I would like to publicly apologize to New Times Voice of the Village Music Editor Rob Harvilla, who says he took Mike Conklin's advice and went to see the Muggabears the other night, only to discover that he, uh, didn't like them that much. So, on the off chance that this little incident hasn't led to Mr. Harvilla writing us off entirely, I'm going to stay on the safe side tonight:

Pianos is hosting the Showcase for Frenchkiss records, featuring the the antic punk of Plastic Constellations, the tidal shoegaze of The Big Sleep, and the Savvy Favvy drive of Thunderbirds Are Now!. Irving Plaza has The Apples In Stereo, still fresh-faced after all these years, and the kitchen sink pop of Architecture in Helsinki. And the Mercury Lounge has the pogoing Canadians in Tokyo Police Club, one of those guys from the Strokes (does it matter which?), and Longwave for the comedown.

There. I hope these acts restore the trust of all the people beguiled by our convenient pocket size.

Tonight, Symphony Space hosts Amy Sedaris, who'll be doing a hybrid talk/dinner party thing to promote her book I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence. She'll be joined by her friend David Rakoff, who recently said the funniest thing I've ever seen a Daily Show guest say.

Tonight, and continuing through Sunday, BAM is hosting its annual survey of New Czech film. The series is pretty worthwhile in terms of both quality and value to the cinephile — the selection I caught there last November ended up being one of my favorite movies of last year, and it hasn't been seen on American shores since. So keep it on your radar, I suppose. It kicks off tonight with Jan Švankmajer's Lunacy, a film which is, appropriately, batshit crazy. Švankmajer will be on hand for a Q&A; following the 7pm screening tonight; somebody should probably ask him about the significance of the dancing slabs of raw meat.

Recently, star New York Giants running back Tiki Barber, who is 31 years old, announced that he would be retiring from professional football after this season, saying, among other things, "I have a lot of interests and I've never wanted to be solely defined as a football player." And a number of commentators have been less than accepting of this decision: former player and current ESPN talking head Michael Irvin said of the decision: "To me, in my head, that's quitting. That's not retiring." In this week's Power of My Proven System, Timothy Bracy explains, using big words and historical context that Michael Irvin probably doesn't understand, why Tiki Barber is making a hell of a good decision. To summarize: football is a punishing freaking endeavor. A sport in which people like Ben Roethlisberger (pictured) go out and get hit by musclebound men in spandex a week after getting a concussion from getting hit by musclebound men in a different color of spandex. Football, in short, is a bitch, and then you die. (And usually you die sooner than normal people do. Because of the getting hit thing.) Professional athletes make profound sacrifices for dubious reasons; read the whole thing to see why Barber is doing exactly the right thing...

I walked into the basement of Fontana's last night thinking that I had possibly stumbled upon a super-secret "Weird Al" Yankovic show, which would either have been the highlight of my CMJ experience or...no, it definitely would have been the highlight of my CMJ experience. But the wild-haired, hyperactive dude jumping around the stage in front of an oversized Ohio flag was really Dave Doughman, one half of the Dayton- based guitar/drums duo Swearing at Motorists. Their slim formula makes a lot sense: if Doughman's always so livid, not having any extraneous band members allows him maximum room for jumping around and dancing with his Telecaster. The even crazier thing is that they get such a huge (or potentially huge) sound for just one guitar and a tiny drumset. Their songs are great, too: driving rock stuff that still meanders around, kind of like a harder-edged Jason Molina set, but with bigger hair. And moustaches.

Still on the early end of the Music Marathon, before the better known bands have taken the stages, I’ve discovered a few great things about CMJ. For one, it’s a great excuse to go out and drink heavily on a weeknight. After all, you wouldn’t normally pay $5 or more for every drink on just any old Wednesday—well maybe you would but you know you’d feel regret the next (too early) morning. The other great thing is the showcase format, which, when used properly, is a cheap way to discover a lot of bands you’ve never heard of, which, face it, is what you really want out of life.

I attended a pretty typical label showcase last night at R&R; in the Meatpacking District. Absolutely Kosher featured six of their lesser known bands.

R&R; is overall not a very good venue. On one hand, the small size allows you to position yourself anywhere you like and make frequent bathroom breaks. On the other hand, it’s a small venue so the mix was too loud and yet not always loud enough to drown out the air conditioner and the people hanging out at the bar.

Arriving just after Chris Garneu’s apparently well-received performance, I grabbed a drink (or two) and sat down for Two Mule Team. The duo consists of Sue Garner and Rick Brown of Run On and Fishes & Roses non-fame. Most of their songs are arranged for electric guitar, itunes, and cabinet with tambourines glued to it. Besides a charming and upbeat 3 minute closer, most of their songs were slow and brooding. It’s possible that there is a small niche of DIY minimalists and twee-lovers for this band that would adore these two and probably wouldn’t understand why they’re not everybody’s favorite. More probably, they’ll remain unnoticed, surrounded by more overwhelming artists (see The Affair and Get Him Eat Him). Judging by their position in the showcase line-up, they’re not exactly Absolutely Kosher’s top priority. There were twice as many people getting drinks in the adjacent room, who were incidentally twice as loud and fun as Two Mule Team.

The Affair, who I came to see, were fantastic, as always. Though their style is almost wholly unoriginal, it’s great to see a competent punk/new-wave show. In fact, it will be a surprise if their album, Yes Yes to Yow, in stores January 23, will come close to matching their live act. Seasoned Lower Manhattan performers, the 5 piece consistently delivers enough retro energy to keep Blondie’s batteries charged. The band is clearly well practiced and Kali Holloway’s stage-straddling motions are a little contrived but without sacrificing the overall impression of spontaneity, the kind of in-the-moment ecstasy, that is so important to the kids, equally now as in the early 80’s. Those with an appropriate sense of humor will find just enough irony to take them seriously as artists.

With everyone’s spirits lifted and bodies loosened, Get Him Eat Him were a good band to follow. One needs to feel slightly silly to get into this band. To their credit, they’re extremely tight performers, clever, crisp, invigorating and complex like a good red bull and vodka. To your ears, they taste kind of like the ultimate rock and roll version of Flinstones Vitamins. Some of the band members seem to have only just recently recovered from their high school emo phases and are still extremely conscious of their influences. If you like Sunny Day Real Estate, Islands, and Guided by Voices, you’ll love them.

At that point it was time to see if I could catch Magnolia Electric Co. at NorthSix. But clearly, the MTA didn’t have people with CMJ badges in mind when they decided to keep doing construction on the L after midnight.

There is, apparently, music being made in the world that isn't indie rock, even if you wouldn't know it from reading this blog. Some of it even plays at the CMJ Music Marathon: B.B. King's is hosting Madlib, Peanut Butter Wolf, and assorted other rappers from underground hip-hop label Stones Throw.

A couple days ago I got an email from a publicist promoting a Scandinavian music video event going on in conjunction with CMJ. The email opened: "Seems to me that you guys love CMJ, and you love Sweden/Scandinavia, so I thought this might be right up your alley." I really can't argue with logic as flawless as that, so I will in fact mention that tonight, the Scandinavia House is hosting an event called "Northern Transmissions," featuring music videos for bands like Múm, Sigur Rós, Annie, Serena Maneesh, Royksopp, The Knife, Figurines, Junior Senior, and so on. The $12 admission (free for CMJ badge holders) also includes an open bar; a party follows.

Also tonight, the Rotunda Gallery in Brooklyn Heights continues its "Stoop Series," a monthly event spotlighting Brooklyn artists. Tonight's guests are painters Wangechi Mutu (that's one of her works accompanying this post) and Mickalene Thomas; a DJ'ed reception will follow the discussion. Admission is free, as is the beer (from Brooklyn Brewery).

Sam Shepard — American Badass playwright, eminence grizzly in various Hollywood films, and likely the only person in history to have had sex with both Patti Smith and Jessica Lange (think about that for a second...) — will be appearing tonight at the 92nd St Y, where he'll be reading publicly for the first time from a new in-progress work. Appearing alongside him will be Richard Ford, whose work I sorta have to to admit I don't much care for (does anybody else think he expends an undue amount of energy proclaiming and exalting his intentions? Or am I completely wrong about this?), reading from his newest prosaic epic The Lay of the Land.

Tonight, MoMA is hosting one Chuck Statler, one of the fathers of the music video: his short films, starting with the ones he did in the late 70s with his friends in Devo (some of them are available here; the picture accompanying this post is from "Jocko Homo"), and then with other new wave icons, including Elvis Costello, Madness, et cetera, were instrumental in establishing the genre. And then MTV came along to give music videos a forum, and then MTV stopped playing videos... hmm. You could perhaps say that Chuck Statler helped start the project that recently reached its inevitable conclusion with Pimp My Ride. Or not. Anyway, tonight's event will feature clips of Statler's work, and conversation between him and Jeff Krulik, director of Heavy Metal Parking Lot.

By Mike Conklin

Rather than spending the first night of CMJ drinking free booze and hobnobbing with industry bigwigs and Next Big Thing hopefuls at some badge-only party where you wind up actually having to talk to all the people you’re only “friends” with on MySpace, I went to a show that wasn’t affiliated with CMJ at all, where badges and non-badges co-existed peacefully, brought together not only because there are more good shows on an average Sunday night in Newark, New Jersey than there were on the “official” schedule for CMJ’s opening night, but also because of a common love of one or more of the following: 1) indie rock, 2) Halloween fun, or 3) going to venues that are only minutes from where you live. For me, it was one and three. Not a big Halloween guy.

I made my first trip to Park Slope’s Union Hall, the music venue whose owners I took to task for wasting so much valuable indoor space with not one, but two bocce ball courts. I owe them an apology, I guess, because the place is actually so ridiculously big that they somehow don’t really get in the way. There are plenty of tables and a long bar with decent enough service but a serious shortage of cheap drink options. There’s a nice little outdoor area with space heaters and lots of seating, though, which always helps. The room where the bands play is downstairs, and is mostly non-descript, featuring acceptable sound and some less than ideal sightlines. So while I’m not exactly dying to see more shows there, I am considering having my birthday party there in a few weeks. You should come.

On the bill for the evening were Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin, Takka Takka and Goes Cube, but I didn’t stick around for Goes Cube. The Boris Yeltsin gang, decked out in Where’s Waldo costumes, got things started. They were tight as hell, playing the punchy, hyper-melodic post-punk that had the bloggers going crazy and eventually got them signed to Polyvinyl Records. Things were going smoothly, with singer John Rob (who, even out of costume, bears a scary, striking resemblance to Waldo) running the show. His voice is strong and refreshingly clear, his guitar playing surprisingly complex, and his command of the stage admirable, like a more excitable Ted Leo.

Which is why it was so disappointing when, two-thirds of the way through the show, the drummer stepped out from behind his kit and took center-stage, playing guitar and singing a few songs that killed much of the energy that had been built up earlier in the set. His material was a bit on the jangly side, and his singing was annoyingly nasally and generally lacking strength. Then, as they began their second to last song, shit went fucking ca-razy. The drummer-turned-frontman guy was apparently heckled by an audience member, and rather than just ignoring it or laughing along with the guy, he stopped the song and said: “I’LL KICK YOUR FUCKING ASS, BITCH.” Obviously, this is precisely the wrong way to respond to heckling, especially if you’re a member of a mostly wimpy indie rock band, and especially, if you and your indie rock bandmates are wearing Where’s Waldo costumes. I almost thought he was kidding, but when they finished their final song and he said, “I apologize to that person I was mean to. That was dumb,” I realized he wasn’t.

Next up was Takka Takka, whom I’ve said many times are my current favorite band in New York City. If only there were added elements of John Prine and Belle and Sebastian, their mix of Velvet Underground, Bob Dylan and Pavement would be pretty much exactly what I’m all about, and when I listen to them, I find myself thinking idiotic things like, “If I were in a band, this is what we would sound like.”

They’re fresh off a three-week tour with Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, and it showed last night, as their live performance is starting to shape up nicely. Dressed as lumberjacks, cops, set lists and Patrick Ewing, they played most of their debut full-length, We Feel Safer At Night. Singer Gabe Levine is far more energetic than you’d think from listening to the record, and as a result, the songs take on a slightly different feel. His vocals become more biting and acidic, and the rest of the band follows suit, playing louder and more aggressively throughout the set. Mellow songs like “They Built You Up Too Fast” are given complete makeovers in order to fit in more logically with upbeat tracks like “Coco” and “Enough.” And if there’s a complain to be made about their show, it’s that it’s lacking the wide dynamic range they captured in the studio; the laid-back swagger that serves as the record’s driving force isn’t quite there on stage, but there’s something entirely different going on, and it’s almost as enjoyable. If they can nail that down over the next few months, I could wind up liking them even more than I already do.

That’s all for Day 1. Check back tomorrow for the rundown of tonight’s action.

For tonight's CMJ shows, I would recommend that you head over to the Bowery Ballroom tonight to see a show featuring Elvis Perkins, Robbers On High Street, Dr. Dog, Cold War Kids, and Tapes n' Tapes. But it's so sold out that even people with tickets probably aren't getting in. So instead I think you should head up to the otherwise really dicey R&R; Bar for the CMJ Showcase for Absolutely Kosher Records. You should try to time it so you can catch The Affair, who are my favorite charismatic proto-New Wave band in the city (and who finally have a record coming out in... January), and Get Him Eat Him, a band fronted by a Pitchfork contributor, who worship at the alter of the Wrens and do the same sort of propulsive denseness, only with a few unmistakable squeals of glee thrown in. (Attending this show will, unfortunately, mean that you'll miss out on the versatile synth-pop quick change artists in Oppenheimer, playing the Bar None Records Showcase at Tonic. This does seem a bit unfair, but I can't seem to think my way around it.) And after that, you might want to hightail it down to the Mercury Lounge and catch Danish hookmeisters Figurines, playing at the showcase for Fanatic Promotion.

So apparently tonight, the night after Halloween, is the night all the lit events go nuts with the celebrating. (Or, possibly, I'm just pretending that it is in order to draw a clear through-line through the events I'm writing up. But hey, a little thematic consistency never hurt anybody, right? Course not.) The Poetry Project, for starters, is celebrating Allen Ginsburg ("in part to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the publication of Howl, in part to celebrate the publication of Bill Morgan’s new biography I Celebrate Myself: The Somewhat Private Life of Allen Ginsberg, and, largely, to hear the work," like, it's nice that they're so honest) by hosting more than a dozen readers to read from his work, including Sonic Youth's Lee Ranaldo. Symphony Space, meanwhile, is celebrating Canadian short story author Mavis Gallant, who'll appear at an event also featuring Russell Banks, Jhumpa Lahiri, Michael Ondaatje, etc. And the New School is hosting a celebration of the late Washington Post political columnist Marjorie Williams; Jennifer Egan and others will be reading from her collection The Woman at the Washington Zoo. Have a great time tonight, everybody: parties like these only come once a year.

Starting today and continuing for another two-plus weeks, Film Forum is screening a new, apparently gorgeous restored print of Jean Renoir's The Rules of the Game, which is about as exactly as good as people in the know seem to think it is. (Because it doesn't telegraph its greatness, and because it choreographs its crosscurrents of romance, comedy, and social satire with such grace, it's hard to notice how great it is: I mean, doesn't it just do exactly what it sets out to do? Well, yeah. But how many movies do?)

My Halloween plans generally go like this:

Are there no records coming out this week because of Halloween? Does the record-buying public really not go out and buy records because, like, they have to go home to hand out candy to trick-or-treaters? Seems crazy, if you ask me. So make the kids wait at your doorstep a little longer, while you go to the record store and consider buying these new releases:

Animal Collective – Hollinndagain
Let your freak-folk flag fly high, people. So high, in fact, that you become one of those people who likes Animal Collective so much that you even need to have a CD containing live recordings of the band from 2001.

Lady Sovereign – Public Warning
The tiny British rapper keeps referring to herself as the “biggest midget in the game” and it’s sort of annoying and maybe slightly offensive, but I still love the first single from this record, “Love Me or Hate Me.” The goal here is obviously mainstream success, and she’s certainly on the right track.

Willie Nelson – Songbird
Say what you will about Ryan Adams and his band the Cardinals, but he’s a talented son of a bitch, and exactly the spark Willie Nelson needed to make us forget his appearance in The Dukes of Hazzard. Adams (who also produced the record) and his band provide a surprisingly rocking backdrop for the Nelson, and it’s the best he’s sounded in years.

The Who – Endless Wire
This can’t possibly be any good, right? Who cares. More interestingly, Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey were supposed to be interviewed on the Howard Stern show last week, but when Townshend heard Stern mention that he planned to ask him about the child-pornography charges from a few years back, he dicked out on the interview like a baby. Daltrey, of course, stayed. Loves publicity. Hates sticking by his friends.

Exploding Hearts – Shattered
I don’t usually go crazy for collections full of b-sides or alternate versions, but I’m making an exception for this one, which compiles the singles, unreleased final recordings, and a video of the band’s final show at the Bottom of the Hill in San Francisco, just hours before the van accident that took the lives of three of the band’s four members.