St James Church is a pretty great place for live music: It’s a big space with high ceilings and the reverberant acoustics that are part of any good church’s design. The sole structural downside to this spot as a venue is the fact that it is a Catholic church, and therefore there are people who will automatically get their rosaries in a wad over staging a rock show in what they believe is literally God’s House. Long story short: a rock show happened in a church and then the faithful came out of the woodwork to litter casually insane comments on the internet (mostly at
Brooklyn Vegan), like this gem left on my YouTube clip of the Beets’s.“This is absolute sacrilege, and the perpetrator is in serious danger of hell.” – youtube.com/users/jesusthroughmary You hear that, the Beets? That’s the most exciting review of your career and you should put it on the back of your t-shirts. This and other promises of eternal torment combined with vague threats of earthly legal action have spurred the blogosphere into thoughtful rumination on hot theological conundra like is PBR a fair substitute for holy wine, does Total Slacker sucks more dick than an ambitious altar boy, and are the Less Artists More Condos DIY show booking confab agents of Beelzebub. It's basically an episode of Father Ted at this point, which is to say very silly, unless you are Less Artists More Condos or the poor jerk responsible for dealing with complaints from cranky parishioners. Here is a maybe-not-so obvious question: If people are pissed at a show at a church, shouldn’t the people who run that church bear some of the responsibility? One thing that struck me as odd on the night of the show was that all of the trappings of the church remained out including a full Nativity crèche, potted poinsettias, decorative crucifixes, and sundry other Holy Hoodads whose names I have forgotten since confirmation. I have no idea whether any of these objects were disturbed over the course of the show, as I was working my live video-projection magic up by the pipe organ, but putting these things away for the evening would have been an act of supreme common sense. Nevertheless, my vantage point did offer me a God-like view of the proceedings on the main floor, from which I divined no major shenanigans aside from a few rebellious types who sat on the backs of pews rather than the seats and some very light attempted crowd surfing. People did get up and dance around in the aisles near to the stage, but it was on a level that could be easily quantified as sub-Pentacostal. Ariel Panero, the guy behind Less Artist More Condos, even came out between each set to remind people to step back and behave respectfully. And they mostly did. Ariel and his guys are not sloppy amateurs. In the past year alone, they’ve put on some of the most unique and memorable events in the city in venues ranging from a vacant lot underneath the Highline, a pirate ship, and Dame Dash’s basement. They’re able to put on shows like this on a regular basis because they’re doing it right. Furthermore, I was not aware of the presence of anyone affiliated with the church at the show. If you were responsible for renting out God’s House for a party, wouldn’t you make sure someone was around to keep an eye on His Stuff? This event took a couple of days to set up, including a lightning rehearsal on the night before where Church folks were most definitely on hand. There was ample opportunity for someone to express concern that St. James might not be an appropriate venue or for someone to volunteer to keep an eye on things. And in case this wasn’t clear to anybody: it was a Real Estate show with the Beets, Tony Castles, Beach Fossils, and Total Slacker. Google one or all of them. Thematically, these bands are about unthreatening as a shoe someone forgot to put in the mud room. I doubt there’s a single cuss in their collective discographies. Unless God takes offense at excessive reverb and latter-day attempts at channeling the sound of the Flying Nun Records catalog circa 1985 there's not really a case to be made for musical blasphemy. Honestly, I think the folks who are claiming outrage would be pretty disappointed if they actually investigated Beach Fossils’ MySpace page and saw that they are not, in fact, Ninja fucking Sonik (now THAT would’ve been something write Vatican City about). And as soon as Real Estate were done, the lights went on and everybody was flushed out of the church as volunteers with trash bags and cleaning supplies righted everything. I can’t vouch for every votive candle and book of Psalms, but the Less Artists More Condos crew was definitely on top of shooing away riffraff and sweeping up. Not to toot my own horn, but the most disrespectful or subversive act of the evening was most likely my decision to screen scenes from Carl Theodore Dreyer’s The Passion of Joan of Arc between the first couple of sets. Aside from Maria Falconetti’s crazed performance as Catholicism’s favorite martyr-cum-warrior, the film is a carnival of leering, drooling, mean-mugging clergymen with an evil itch to burn a young woman alive. In my own defense, let it be known that I left my Pier Paolo Pasolini videos at home. All in all, it was a great time and I hope there are more shows at this beautiful church in the future, but it IS a church, which means someone is going to get uptight about it. If people are hell bent on partying in a church, maybe next time they could try for St. John the Divine way uptown. I’m guessing the Episcopalians are more laid back because I’ve got a Diamanda Galas live album that was recorded there and she’s all bloody and naked on the cover. MATTHEW CARON PHOTOS AND GIF BY DANIELLE BURGOS PS: Total Slacker are totally great. They’re playing Thursday at Don Pedros in Bushwick and I’ll be projecting videos. Show up and buy one of their incredible hand-drawn t-shirts for $1 or Baby Jesus weeps. PPS: Here's some video of the sacrilegious carnage.