New York|Fashion

Obey The Yorn

Spin, Amstel

Go HERE for more photos from this event by Etta Shon.

Though there was a distinct lack of mixed drinks, courtesy of the free-flowing Amstel, the crowd was a healthy blend of Lower East Siders, preppy-cardiganed girls just off work from the magazine sweatshops, and music industry hipster spawn. It was easy to tell the Spin people from the Amstel people: while the Spinsters held informal competitions on how many fried meatballs on toothpicks could possibly fit in one"s mouth (14 and crumbs!), the Amstel ladies were scurrying around looking slightly pained. Which no one could blame them for, given that their required uniforms for the evening struck an odd note between repressed, color-blind Hooters waitress (see shorts) and uptight, 1950"s flight attendant (see cardigans and attitude). But no matter!

There was free beer, a lively crowd and someone who felt it necessary to refer to himself in the third person beginning with "The", so, all in all, a rollicking, good time was had by all (who were drinking). Viva The Oskar!

The main attraction for the evening was, of course, former MTV darling/crooner, Pete Yorn. He was sporting a shaggy-haired lumberjack look which, coupled with his Colgate smile, seemed right at home with his audience. Rather than white-kid shuffling, everyone was somewhat impressively dancing and seemed to genuinely enjoy the tunes. Yorn"s performance was a rich, electic take on some of his older stuff and harkened back to his last release Live From SoHo (iTunes exclusive).

While it"s no Live From Fulsom Prison, Yorn pulled off an engaging, fleshed-out set of songs amid the mass of rioting fans. Ok, they weren"t rioting, but the female contingent was not subtle in displaying their affection for the singer (they were pretty Yorny. I"m sorry!). In fact, our photographer described the estrogen-laden scene as having "no real nudity, but plenty of claws. I took a few hits for my art." Thanks to Etta"s masterful photographic skills, you don"t have to miss a single moment of post-ironic young men wearing murses and "Gracias, Bushwick" t-shirts. No, no, sir. Thank you.