So after failing to see Ted Leo we headed back to the Hudson Hotel, where hotel rooms awaited us as a result of Scott's contest win. We doubted it would be a great place to hang out, but we had to at least see it. On the way in we could tell it was a pretty happening place, with people dancing and um, neon yellow-green walls. The concierge informed us that there would be a delay getting into our room, because a woman had complained about her room and was being transferred to another one, and the hotel was otherwise completely full. So we would get the complained-about room in a few minutes. While passing the time by picking up some snacks and booze we couldn't help wondering, what was it that our room's temporary tenant had found so untenable?

When we got in, that question became more a game of guessing which of many possible features of the room had driven her out. For example, was it simply the size, suitable perhaps for interrogations or small animals (or interrogations of small animals)? The window alone provided two alternate hypotheses: there was its tendency to, rather than sliding upward, fall inward. Or it might have been the view, which was of a gigantic ventilation duct approximately 4 feet away, surrounded by other strange apparatus on a small roof area so dystopian that to even photograph it seemed unwise. Then there was the bathroom, with a glass wall creating the potential for some embarrassing incidents. On the other hand, its fixtures were almost as nifty as they were ridiculous. I guess we'll just never know.

(A coworker informed me that in fact this hotel was designed by a famous guy named Ian Schrager and I'm just helplessly unhip. But after this experience, I think the point of it all is that you spend as little time in the room as possible, even as you pay dearly for it.)

NIGHT 3

BRENDAN BENSON I met up with Jonah for this show at a new venue called Crash Mansion, which has the dubious honor of being the first rock venue I've ever seen with a bathroom attendant. The sound guys had their own separate room in the back, looking as if they were in a recording studio. The show did sound good, but Jonah and I were in agreement that Brendan was very much off his game. He barely sang the songs, employing perhaps a whole half-octave of vocal range. The band members had to keep looking at each other to signal when the song ended, revealing that they hadn't been at this together for very long. Afterward we headed over to the Knitting Factory again, this time to be shut out of Q and Not U. When will I learn?

NIGHT 4

ASOBI SEKSU The final night of the music marathon, rather like the whole thing, was surprisingly sparse in really good bands. This show at Rothko was actually the most enticing one out of the 41 going on. Asobi Seksu were enjoyable but definitely not reaching their full potential. They need to find some new ways of employing their walls of guitar noise, less bound by pop song structures. And the singer's voice wasn't blending smoothly with the instruments. In fact the vocals were something of a consistent disappointment throughout the festival. In the past I've defended the indie phenomenon that most anyone can be a singer if they believe in what they're singing. But right now that doesn't seem to be working out too well.

Thanks to Scott for the badge and to Ethel for the camera loaner.