By Ryan Sexton, Assistant Entertainment Editor
MTVU’s Woodie Awards were part self-aggrandizing corporate product exhibition and part sincere séance of like-minded musicians and independent culture.
If anything was indicative of how the night would go down, my trip to the bathroom was a frightening premonition. Boys were doing cocaine and fumbling with themselves in the bathroom conspicuously, maybe prepping themselves for some extracurricular activities. As I took some furtive glances around the room, I saw some sexless, urban outfitter-clad lads apply some lipstick. Leery of being contaminated, I ran, camera in hand, back up to the main level. MTV: reliably corrupting America’s youth since 1983.
Before the show began, my editor and I had been excited to receive our press passes. We instead received general admission tickets, and got to have the distinction of being one of the only news outlets to be thrown into the pit with the 1600 hipster mascots MTV unscrupulously rounded up for cheerleader purposes. Shots? No problem, just take some pictures of the mammoth American Apparel wannabee model in front of you-nice.
The show opened with a well-coordinated display of SoHo children on one-speeds riding up to the stage with Matt & Kim, and subsequently dancing on stage and taking their clothes off. At least it wasn’t false advertising- MTV was giving you what you wanted (if you were an oxygen-deprived 13 year old girl or boy covered in expensive clothes from the mall that look like they are rags). But the chanting, ethereal drum and keyboard duo set the tone for the night with the songs “Daylight,”and “Lessons learned.”
Next up was Passion Pit, with a surprisingly enjoyable and raucous electronic set. It was a weirdly erogenous, guilty pleasure in straight-up power-pop dripped in heavy electronic overtones. They were tight and focused, although the kids next to me with learners permits and pupils bigger than a Tarsier didn’t seem to care. Passion Pit played “the reeling” and made their egress with little indulgence. They were probably the best group that played that night- they played like they wanted to get signed.
Asher Roth showed up and gave a little speech. The teleprompter was behind me, and I could see that he wasn’t really using it that much. Under the hot lights, he was a perfunctory frat boy whose niche may be eroding; he did a stage dive and was supported by the crowd, but who knows if the same kids would have let him fall flat on his back in another year.
Right behind me, a little fiasco started brewing. Hoping perhaps that a member of Girl Talk had nodded off into his drink and caused a scene, I turned around to see POS perform a short rap replete with choreography and solo cups flipping on a table. It was a surprisingly vivid, weird little showcase, and a good break from craning one’s neck up to the main stage
Death Cab for Cutie played a morose but musically impeccable set, probably one of the few bands that everyone in attendance that night had actually heard of. At that point, my editor and I, in the company of a neurotic man wearing a ginger bread suit, decided we had enough standing on our tip toes and tried to exit the pit. In a single file kindergarten-line from hell we eventually got out and made our way over to a better area for shooting. Death Cab for Cutie largely played music from their new album, but the product they were pushing was actually pretty good.
Hip Hop duo Clipse and Cam’ron took the stage after and talked about some interesting things, like being “outside of Popeye’s eating chicken and fries” and said “I’m good” for an entire four-line chorus. But somehow, it worked, and even if they would have been better off pitch-wise borrowing Britney Spears’ pitch correction machine for the night, they were lyrically potent. The crowd seemed like they were enjoying it, but were ready for the next spoonful of indie culture.
Mary-Louise Parker was the last person to speak before the final act. Accordingly, she exclaimed, ” I’m so glad I came out last because you guys are so hammered you don’t give a f*ck what I say.” She hyped up the crowd to expect some “real rock and roll,” as the next act was “The Dead Weather,” Jack White’s newest musical endeavor. It seemed that it was the alcohol those crazy kids had chugged and not Parker’s words that incited the cheer that followed: rock and roll has been dead for quite some time, and MTV, as it’s murderer, probably knows this.
“The Dead Weather” was surprisingly good. Jack Black was behind the kit, but the group largely consisted of members regurgitated from his other projects. The set was surprisingly rocking, with a kind of funk dripped edge to it and some organ to augment it. It seemed that MTV had relegated its rock to the last spot. I don’t think I ever saw anything as confusing or sad as that coda, as the lights came on and we poured out of the Roseland ballroom. Much like a bar at closing time when you see the face of the person you danced with and are often repulsed. I felt the same way when I saw the MTV logo persist on the large LED screens as I walked into the stagnant, warm city air.