On the Turntable: Tiny Masters of Today

Whenever I come across a band like Tiny Masters of Today, a bobble-headed pair of preteen punkrock siblings from Brooklyn Ny, I want to pinch cheeks and knit fuzzy sweaters. I become a raging Grandma. I just can’t help it. One look at those moppets and I am thrown into a snickerdoodle-baking frenzy. They’re just. Too. Effing. Cute. However, like any good Grandma, I also begin to worry. Not just about how many snickerdoodles they’re going to eat (it should be around 47 by the looks of those little hipster scarecrows), but about what exactly it is that they’re doing. The music industry is a rough and tumble place, the sort of cutthroat cesspool that thrusts grown men into an early grave (or better yet, early bankruptcy) and produces crazy, fucked-up crackheads like Phil Spector and Anton Newcombe. When a group of precocious, not to mention utterly adorable, youngsters seem poised on the precipice of both commercial and critical success, I am usually a bit concerned. How exactly do a couple of ten and twelve year old kids without a full-length release to their name get a blurb in Newsweek anyway?

The answers that usually get spun in response to this kind of question can range from the epic to the asinine, but usually boil down to one word: Nepotism! Bands like Be Your Own Pet, that group of teenage adventurers who were recently catapulted to rock stardom with their addictive smash and crash anthems, tend to dwell on the epic side of the street where there is at least some sort of attempt made at a little of the old razzle dazzle. Sure there is the obligatory mention of the Nashville parents in the music biz, but really, it was the Thurston Moore seal of approval that plucked these ruffians from obscurity (if by obscurity you mean a single on Rough Trade, then obscurity indeed! And let’s be honest, if that’s obscurity, please send it my way. I know at least eleven grown men who would collectively sell their girlfriends to a band of travelling carnies for even a phone call from that label). It's an entertaining and heartwarming mythology to cling to, one that our culture has embraced since Lana Turner was fictitiously singled out at the counter at Schwab's pharmacy. But more often than not there's absolutely no attempt made to cloak the boring and predictable angle of the family insider. Take The Like, for example, a clan of teen ingénues whose record reviews (and Wikipedia page) list their pedigree with gusto. The daughters of producers Mitchell Froom and Tony Berg! And the drummer guy from Elvis Costello and the Attractions! And they’re sort of hot! And underage! Duuuuuuude! With an in on the A&R tip, how could three leggy teens not end up with a killer press kit and a sweet-ass record deal? It’s inevitable, I guess, so why not flaunt it while you still have your trust fund in tact?

With Tiny Masters of Today, it's a little harder to gauge. Perhaps because they're not yet plastered all over the major music publications. Their EP Big Noise was released on the UK's Tiger Trap this month (does this label have any affiliation with THE Tiger Trap? I'm thinking no?) and shows more promise and sophistication than their 10 and 12 years would suggest. The kids (Ada aged 10, Ivan aged12) deliver their lines with the growl and whine of two tiny Karen Os. The lyrics are clever, facetious at times, and include a twee tirade against the current administration on the new wave infused "Bushy." The music is heavy on The Ramones and (most noticeably) the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and it' s my assumption that the entire project was probably recorded on Garage Band. It’s feel-good fun, and the rudimentary nature of the E.P. lends itself to the group’s aesthetic charm. But although Newsweek recently made claims for the democratization of the music industry thanks to the advent of home recording programs (snort), I predict that if TMoT makes it into the spotlight for any extended period of time, it will be for another reason. And really, it's the same reason most bands get signed. Their musical promise is complimented by sheer marketability. That is, they have a schtick: the youthful bloom of innocence, a commodity in awfully high demand these days if only for novelty’s sake. Throw in a Myspace page, well-written press releases, a slew of shows at hip venues, and a neat-o website with a dancing Panda, and we’ve got ourselves major label material. Instead of tapes which would only be produced to embarrass these kids at family Christmas parties ten years from now, my guess is that a full length will be on record shelves before you know it. By God, I’m sure they’ll make Grandmas of us all.