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Us v. Them: The Age of Indie Music and a Decade in New York, 2004-2014
A sweeping and in-depth history of the Brooklyn music scene over ten years in Bloomberg's New York, from a writer and concert producer who had a front-row view of it all
In the tradition of Just Kids and Our Band Could Be Your Life, Ronen Givony’s Us v. Them chronicles the generation of young artists who came to Brooklyn in the mid-2000s: a small but seismic scene that coalesced under a billionaire mayor, a series of forever wars, and a music industry in free fall. In tandem with the impresarios and unlicensed venues that lined the Williamsburg waterfront, combining elements of noise and pop, a few became unlikely superstars. Meanwhile, countless flared and vanished, reminders of an unusually fertile moment—the age of indie—that now means little more than a term of marketing.
Through reporting, research, and interviews with musicians, industry insiders, and individuals from Pitchfork, Vice, Scion, and the Red Bull Music Academy, Us v. Them examines the rise and fall of indie music in a post-Napster landscape, marked by vast disruption in technology, politics, economics, journalism, and patronage. At once a social history and an eyewitness account of an improbable decade, Us v. Them gives a critical analysis of what indie music was, is, and will be again in New York City.
In the tradition of Just Kids and Our Band Could Be Your Life, Ronen Givony’s Us v. Them chronicles the generation of young artists who came to Brooklyn in the mid-2000s: a small but seismic scene that coalesced under a billionaire mayor, a series of forever wars, and a music industry in free fall. In tandem with the impresarios and unlicensed venues that lined the Williamsburg waterfront, combining elements of noise and pop, a few became unlikely superstars. Meanwhile, countless flared and vanished, reminders of an unusually fertile moment—the age of indie—that now means little more than a term of marketing.
Through reporting, research, and interviews with musicians, industry insiders, and individuals from Pitchfork, Vice, Scion, and the Red Bull Music Academy, Us v. Them examines the rise and fall of indie music in a post-Napster landscape, marked by vast disruption in technology, politics, economics, journalism, and patronage. At once a social history and an eyewitness account of an improbable decade, Us v. Them gives a critical analysis of what indie music was, is, and will be again in New York City.
- GenresMusicHistoryNonfiction
368 pages, Hardcover
Published March 3, 2026
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Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
My thanks to NetGalley and Abrams Press for an advance copy of this book that looks at the New York in a time of flux, both politically, socially and financially, the art that was created on the crest of this energy, and how this success changed the city in ways that we are still coming to terms with.
My father loved New York way before it became a tourist slogan. Through serial killers, the national government telling the city to drop dead, subway shootings, my father loved the energy, the feeling of danger, where anything could happen. However, my father loved his family more, and he exiled himself to the country, with hopes of one day returning. Even at his most weakest, when the various ailments that would take him early made moving and even thinking weak, when he went to the city in the late 90's you could see the effect it had on him. There was a brightness, a spring to the step, a head always keeping an eye on new shops, new people, and new threats. This is the secret power of New York. It shapes people in ways, takes them in, makes them deal with others. And helps in the creation of art. There have been many scenes in New York, many changes, many myths made real, many people reborn. This book looks at the most recent, the rise of the indie music scene, maybe the gasp in creating music that seemed real and important. Though the Big Apple has a way of surprising a person, as detailed in this history by a person who was there. Us v. Them: The Age of Indie Music and a Decade in New York (2004-2014) by Ronen Givony is look at blogs, Pitchforks, musicians, Brooklyn, indie labels and scene makers, things that captured the imagination of many, which just as quickly seemed to disappear.
The book begins with the author invited to a private show, held in a loft by a reclusive artist performing for a select crowd. Jeffrey Nye Mangum singer, songwriter for the band Neutral Milk Hotel and a very private person was doing a small show, a house show, something that was becoming quite popular. This was an odd time in the history of New York city. Things had been weird for quite a while, with increased policing of Giuliani, the terrorist attack on the Trade Centers, and the pricing out of many from Manhattan, long the cauldron for arts. Those who could moved to Brooklyn, where places were cheap, and even better, venues and performance halls could be set up with little problems, though maybe the neighbors might not be so pleased. As with anyplace cheap and starting to get trendy, art types, shy people, want to be famous people began to gather. Certain bands began to rise to the surface, aided by social media and more importantly music sites like Pitchfork, which began to be a bit of a tastemaker for music. The National, Grizzly Bear, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, started small, but began to get major label attention, though many stayed on small labels, able to send music over the computer easier than sending mix tapes in the past. Venues began to sell out, people moved in, world attention was on Brooklyn, and that's when things began to change. Success has a habit of ruining things, and suddenly prices began to go up, venues began to close, and the tastemakers moved on.
Ronen Givony is a writer, a promoter of shows, and more importantly a fan of the scene that he was a part of. This is a very detailed look at a period of time in the city, possibly the last big scene for rock music. Givony is a chronicler of the time, looking at the bands, what shaped them and who things came about, and how things fell apart. The book is very well-written, with an understand of how music makes a person feel, how creating with others is important, and how money can ruin things. There are a lot of bands mentioned, many that I had forgotten about, and had to look to see what I had, along with bands that escaped me completely. This is a warts and all excursion through a magically creative period, but one that seemed doomed to fail even as it succeeded.
A good read for those who love stories about New York, about music and about creativity. Givony has a lot of good stories, and knows not only how to tell them, but to make them interesting and in some ways touching. I hope the next scene, for New York has never let us down creatively, has such an excellent chronicler.
My father loved New York way before it became a tourist slogan. Through serial killers, the national government telling the city to drop dead, subway shootings, my father loved the energy, the feeling of danger, where anything could happen. However, my father loved his family more, and he exiled himself to the country, with hopes of one day returning. Even at his most weakest, when the various ailments that would take him early made moving and even thinking weak, when he went to the city in the late 90's you could see the effect it had on him. There was a brightness, a spring to the step, a head always keeping an eye on new shops, new people, and new threats. This is the secret power of New York. It shapes people in ways, takes them in, makes them deal with others. And helps in the creation of art. There have been many scenes in New York, many changes, many myths made real, many people reborn. This book looks at the most recent, the rise of the indie music scene, maybe the gasp in creating music that seemed real and important. Though the Big Apple has a way of surprising a person, as detailed in this history by a person who was there. Us v. Them: The Age of Indie Music and a Decade in New York (2004-2014) by Ronen Givony is look at blogs, Pitchforks, musicians, Brooklyn, indie labels and scene makers, things that captured the imagination of many, which just as quickly seemed to disappear.
The book begins with the author invited to a private show, held in a loft by a reclusive artist performing for a select crowd. Jeffrey Nye Mangum singer, songwriter for the band Neutral Milk Hotel and a very private person was doing a small show, a house show, something that was becoming quite popular. This was an odd time in the history of New York city. Things had been weird for quite a while, with increased policing of Giuliani, the terrorist attack on the Trade Centers, and the pricing out of many from Manhattan, long the cauldron for arts. Those who could moved to Brooklyn, where places were cheap, and even better, venues and performance halls could be set up with little problems, though maybe the neighbors might not be so pleased. As with anyplace cheap and starting to get trendy, art types, shy people, want to be famous people began to gather. Certain bands began to rise to the surface, aided by social media and more importantly music sites like Pitchfork, which began to be a bit of a tastemaker for music. The National, Grizzly Bear, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, started small, but began to get major label attention, though many stayed on small labels, able to send music over the computer easier than sending mix tapes in the past. Venues began to sell out, people moved in, world attention was on Brooklyn, and that's when things began to change. Success has a habit of ruining things, and suddenly prices began to go up, venues began to close, and the tastemakers moved on.
Ronen Givony is a writer, a promoter of shows, and more importantly a fan of the scene that he was a part of. This is a very detailed look at a period of time in the city, possibly the last big scene for rock music. Givony is a chronicler of the time, looking at the bands, what shaped them and who things came about, and how things fell apart. The book is very well-written, with an understand of how music makes a person feel, how creating with others is important, and how money can ruin things. There are a lot of bands mentioned, many that I had forgotten about, and had to look to see what I had, along with bands that escaped me completely. This is a warts and all excursion through a magically creative period, but one that seemed doomed to fail even as it succeeded.
A good read for those who love stories about New York, about music and about creativity. Givony has a lot of good stories, and knows not only how to tell them, but to make them interesting and in some ways touching. I hope the next scene, for New York has never let us down creatively, has such an excellent chronicler.
March 16, 2026
Meanwhile—between the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges, at Empire Fulton Ferry Park—a different sort of gathering and spectacle took place. At 7:07 p.m., for seventy-seven minutes, on Saturday, July 7th (7/7/07), an orchestra of seventy-seven drummers and kits was arranged in a spiral, like a serpent: one big organism, one giant instrument. The ensemble comprised members of Oneida, Lightning Bolt, No-Neck Blues Band, Sightings, White Magic, Excepter, Aa, and other pillars of the American underground. At the center of the spiral were the Boredoms, the fabled noise band from Osaka, Japan. Formed in 1986, the group consisted of three percussionists; a battery of mixers, organs, and synths; and the dreadlocked vocalist, sorcerer, and seer known as EYE. He used a custom-made contraption with seven tuned guitar necks, played with a satanic trident. "The 77 boa-drum," he wrote, "will coil like a snake and transform to become a giant dragon!" It instantly became the stuff of modern lore.
The word went out in June. Admission was free; capacity, limited. The first 4,000 people would be guaranteed entry. 17,000 had RSVP'. It was a perfect summer day, blue skies and eighty-five degrees. At four p.m., the gates were supposed to open. By two o'clock, hundreds were waiting patiently in line. Some played cards on the concrete while other read paperbacks or magazines. The mood was equally expectant and concerned. The overmatched event staff huddled with their clipboards and walkie-talkies. The line stretched all the way down to Old Fulton Street, a few blocks south. As a measure of crowd control, cutoff points were instituted. When news began to circulate that most would be turned away, some pled their case to the staff; exasperated or incredulous, others gave up and chose to leave.
At 5:15, the gates were finally opened. Security guards did pat-downs. The crowd was orderly as we entered the park. In the words of a middle-aged blogger, it was a mix of "hipsters and hippies, rollers and stoners and euphoria seekers and experimental-music heads, friendly faces and free-show freaks, the sweaty, the scenesters, the nearly-naked, the curious, and me." There was a DJ set by Gang Gang Dance; there was food and alcohol; there was exquisite people-watching. The audience formed a crescent among the seventy-seven drum kits. Soft Circle and First Nation played. The park was maybe two-thirds full when the gates were closed; at least 5,000 people were turned away. At 6:45, we heard an announcement. "Drummers, if you're hearing this, you need to be at your drum sets now," said the event's producer, Adam Shore. "We remind the audience not to walk into the drum circle while the drummers are playing."
It was a simple and inspired idea. Every drummer would follow the pattern of the person to their right, one by one, passing swells or ebbs around the spiral, emanating from the Boredoms at the center. The skyline was in silhouette; the sun was coming down; the orchestra was waiting on its cue.
It started with a growing hiss of static from the cymbals—not a bang, but a whisper. Then a martial cadence: the sound of sacrificial ritual, of armies on the move. The pulse was steady, if just off-sync. Resembling a shaman, conductor, and mad scientist, EYE used his trident to play chords and cue changes. He hollered commands like a warrior in battle. The cymbals splashed and crested, spreading outward, to the end of the spiral. A military march was ricocheting off of warehouses and cobblestone streets on the perimeter of the park.
The magic was in the moments of unison. EYE raised his hands, and a crescendo built. The drummers flailed away; the crowd joined in, roaring, a chorus of Banshees. He played a long cathedral drone, and then a mushroom cloud of sound—like spaceships taking flight. On the East River, a passing booze cruise slowed to a crawl, clearly confused. On both the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges, hundreds watched from the railings. At the end of the show, EYE began to scream the word "Stand!" The sun had set; the sky was painted orange-red. The Boredoms stood up, and so did the drummers, and so did the thousands in the crowd. It was an undisputed achievement—for the band, for the participants, and for the sponsors: Vice Media, Nike, Sparks, Sapporo, and Scion, a youth-oriented division of Toyota.
The word went out in June. Admission was free; capacity, limited. The first 4,000 people would be guaranteed entry. 17,000 had RSVP'. It was a perfect summer day, blue skies and eighty-five degrees. At four p.m., the gates were supposed to open. By two o'clock, hundreds were waiting patiently in line. Some played cards on the concrete while other read paperbacks or magazines. The mood was equally expectant and concerned. The overmatched event staff huddled with their clipboards and walkie-talkies. The line stretched all the way down to Old Fulton Street, a few blocks south. As a measure of crowd control, cutoff points were instituted. When news began to circulate that most would be turned away, some pled their case to the staff; exasperated or incredulous, others gave up and chose to leave.
At 5:15, the gates were finally opened. Security guards did pat-downs. The crowd was orderly as we entered the park. In the words of a middle-aged blogger, it was a mix of "hipsters and hippies, rollers and stoners and euphoria seekers and experimental-music heads, friendly faces and free-show freaks, the sweaty, the scenesters, the nearly-naked, the curious, and me." There was a DJ set by Gang Gang Dance; there was food and alcohol; there was exquisite people-watching. The audience formed a crescent among the seventy-seven drum kits. Soft Circle and First Nation played. The park was maybe two-thirds full when the gates were closed; at least 5,000 people were turned away. At 6:45, we heard an announcement. "Drummers, if you're hearing this, you need to be at your drum sets now," said the event's producer, Adam Shore. "We remind the audience not to walk into the drum circle while the drummers are playing."
It was a simple and inspired idea. Every drummer would follow the pattern of the person to their right, one by one, passing swells or ebbs around the spiral, emanating from the Boredoms at the center. The skyline was in silhouette; the sun was coming down; the orchestra was waiting on its cue.
It started with a growing hiss of static from the cymbals—not a bang, but a whisper. Then a martial cadence: the sound of sacrificial ritual, of armies on the move. The pulse was steady, if just off-sync. Resembling a shaman, conductor, and mad scientist, EYE used his trident to play chords and cue changes. He hollered commands like a warrior in battle. The cymbals splashed and crested, spreading outward, to the end of the spiral. A military march was ricocheting off of warehouses and cobblestone streets on the perimeter of the park.
The magic was in the moments of unison. EYE raised his hands, and a crescendo built. The drummers flailed away; the crowd joined in, roaring, a chorus of Banshees. He played a long cathedral drone, and then a mushroom cloud of sound—like spaceships taking flight. On the East River, a passing booze cruise slowed to a crawl, clearly confused. On both the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges, hundreds watched from the railings. At the end of the show, EYE began to scream the word "Stand!" The sun had set; the sky was painted orange-red. The Boredoms stood up, and so did the drummers, and so did the thousands in the crowd. It was an undisputed achievement—for the band, for the participants, and for the sponsors: Vice Media, Nike, Sparks, Sapporo, and Scion, a youth-oriented division of Toyota.
November 12, 2025
Such a fun nostalgia trip to the heyday (for me) of NYC and the Brooklyn music scene. My favorite bands to this day came out of this DIY moment in time, and I feel so lucky that I was there to experience it. Givony paints a rich picture of the city in that specific moment in time, one that hasn't been seen again recently but may come back around someday. A must-read if you are a fan of indie music, and a significant text on art vs. capitalism.
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews