It's 2 a.m. in the bedroom of apartment 11M of Fordham University, Lincoln Center (FCLC)'s McMahon dorms--a brutalist style building located on West 60 Street between Ninth and Tenth Avenue in Manhattan; a building where Jesuit policies and youthful disobedience of authority clash; a place where a gang of unruly "ratfinks" from New York, New Jersey and Chicago got together for something that proved bigger than themselves; a congregation, if you will, of kid poets and Heaven Hill-fueled writers and artists that were offered the keys to Manhattan in the spirit of raw debauchery. For the inhabitants and visitors of 11M, it was one of the early beginnings of the band Cosmonaut-- a group of four guys who we now call family.
For me, my 2009-2010 freshman year is a solid memory of moving images and sounds I recall every time I attend a Cosmonaut show. For Daniel Quinn, my former Fordham roommate, Cosmonaut guitarist, best friend and one of the greatest men you could ever know, I like to think those years flicker in his mind like a neon sign as he plays and looks out into a crowd of the same people that stood and sat cross-legged in a McMahon bedroom at 2 a.m. filled with whiskey stains and scattered ash to listen to the newest track on someone's Mac.
Cosmonaut will often get comparisons to the likes of Pavement, My Bloody Valentine and Joy Division minus the authoritative Ian Curtis drowl. While that is correct, Cosmonaut don't just emit a a particular sound; they emit an attitude of a bygone era of New York City when it was a decripid shit hole that required store owners to sweep away hyperdermic needles that littered the sidewalks of the Bowery. Despite the decay however, there was something about the music of the Bowery that forced people into a cohesive unit that made them a part of something; a familiarity that was narrated by a guitar riff rather than any newspaper article.
Although the Bowery of today is far from that, littered with obnoxious clubs rather than hyperdermic needles, the demeanor inherited from the life of the Bowery exists in the angular riffs and leads of Quinn and vocalist/guitarist Jack Manley's guitars. The heart and soul performances of the Patti Smith Group are strained through the sweat filled t-shirts and button downs of bassist Brendan Picone and drummer Tom McIntyre. And on those wet, cold New York City nights, the boys' distressed leather jackets shine in the dim street lights while a chain of cigarette smoke evaporates into the early morning sky.
If you look at the cover of Television's "Marquee Moon," you can see a band whose become a tour de force but they're too humble to really know it yet. The same can be said for the members of Cosmonaut and the picture that sits atop their website. It's as if someone off camera is telling them how influential they already are, yet they humbly say "thank you" and kind of giggle at the surrealness of the comment.
From the 2 a.m. McMahon sessions to headlining "Bowery Presents" shows, Cosmonaut will remain that band who is eager to share a beer, a shot and a cigarette with you at the end of the show. They epitomize what every young New Yorker wishes they could and should be--upstanding individuals who have time for even the smallest things; a willingness to work your ass off to play your ass off. Cosmonaut, to me, are idols. Idols to literally look up to as they play above eye level of a Lower East Side stage. Idols to unwind with every time you get food with them at your neighborhood diner (Daniel, we gotta hit up the Flame soon, man). Idols that aren't above us, but with us for the long haul. Most importantly, they are our band.
Cosmonaut will play their next show at New York's Mercury Lounge on September 30, 2012. Their EP, "Hurry Up," is streaming now.
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