When The Darkness exploded onto the British music scene back in the early 2000s, I could never decide with any certainty whether or not the 4-piece glam rockers were serious about the music they made, or just out there having a laugh.

The constant radio play of the 2003 single “I Believe In A Thing Called Love”, featured the piercing operatic falsetto vocals of front-man Justin Hawkins, and was a drastic departure from all other music getting played at the time. Add the spectacle of Hawkins gleefully parading around in skin-tight 80’s hair-metal outfits; it’s not surprising I missed the fact that beyond all the distractions, The Darkness was actually a damn good rock band. Sadly, the limelight was short-lived as Hawkins struggled with substance abuse and ultimately decided to leave the band in 2006.

Most critics interpreted Peter Weir’s Dead Poet’s Society as a mournful critique of the vitality-destroying technocratic social structure of ‘50s America. While it’s certainly mournful, the film makes a more important, overlooked point. As John Keating leaves the classroom to his students defying their autocratic headmaster’s orders by standing on their desks, he is not leaving in wistful triumph, but utter defeat.

His defeat is symbolic of the final and definitive passing of one era in human history to another. Namely, poetry had died. And with it, its ability to express the range and depth of pre-electronic human emotion. Radio, mass-marketed music sold through easily replicated record formats, and quickly television, were the final nails in its coffin. By the ‘50s the slow, nature-oriented world that the poetry Keating reveled in no longer existed. In many ways poetry only makes sense in a world lit by candle light.

Last year, I attended a screening of The Miners’ Hymns during the Tribeca Film Festival.  I was drawn to Bill Morrison’s silent film because Iceland’s Jóhann Jóhannsson composed the original score. The music suited the film well—I wrote “Morrison’s curation is aided by Jóhannsson’s dignified composition to majestically illuminate a more universal message”—but did not render as resounding an impact as normally occurring in Jóhannsson’s separate work. The sound was guided by the narrative and constrained by the movie theater’s speakers.

This year, Jóhannsson was making one of his infrequent and brief trips to the United States to perform The Miners’ Hymns (aided by the Wordless Music Orchestra) as part of the New Sounds Live: Silent Films/Live Music series at the Winter Garden Atrium. Aside from a performance in Durham (the former mining community in the UK featured prominently in the film), this was only the second time a live score was set alongside the film. And to no surprise, the live music was more riveting in the cavernous atrium—no cinema screening could parallel this experience.

Portlandia The Tour stopped by a parallel universe at the Music Hall of Williamsburg on January 20 to present the live version of this cult hit on IFC. Portlandia has just started its second season, continuing on with a wide variety of recurring characters and quirky tag phrases. Starring the new comedy team of Fred Armisen (SNL) and Carrie Brownstein, the show provided fans with an up close and personal evening of bonding over this left-wing brand of bohemian skewering, which somehow never manages to cross over into pure malice. With the pair’s background in punk rock bands, there’s always music of all sorts. (Brownstein’s guitar shredding skills are featured in the ‘90s Riot Grrrl band Sleater-Kinney and currently in Wild Flag, while Armisen played drums in the Chicago band Trenchmouth and plays bass on this tour). The duo enlisted drummer Michael Benjamin Lerner and Rebecca Cole on keyboard to perform their original tunes, plus some sing-alongs, with guest appearances and videos of sketches from upcoming episodes.

It began with a filmed message from the Office of the Mayor of Portland, played by Kyle MacLachlan (Twin Peaks, Sex and The City). His fireside chat was met with cheers as he gamely told the crowd to enjoy themselves and to remember to clean up afterwards. Armisen took to the stage first to thank everyone, saying with genuine affection, “This is so, so nice”. Brownstein joined him to spoof text communication, with each of them reading each other’s missives for the day off of their phones. After some songs and clips, Beastie Boys’ Adam Horowitz appeared, only to be grilled about his favorite New York spots, which included where to get the best burger (Blarney Stone). Later on, Hugh Cornwell of The Stranglers appeared for a few songs, and Horowitz returned for the finale, “Hanging Around”.

Lafayette, Louisiana natives Givers have been touring on material from their first LP In Light for almost a year now. They’ve played New York area venues five times in that period, and still, their following and reception only increases with each performance. The buzz is not unwarranted. For one, In Light is an excellent first effort; ten up-beat and immediately replayable afro-pop indie gems.

When the studio album is this good, it’s much harder to disappoint when playing live. People are excited to hear their favorite songs, and will unwittingly fill in most flubs and gaps in their own heads. The audience at The Music Hall of WIlliamsburg on January 5th quickly realized that mentally accounting for the bands mistakes is not necessary at a Givers show. What also became immediately clear from the first song is that the band’s name is the furthest thing from a misnomer. Givers give. They give every bit of themselves at every show.