MAKE NO MISTAKE—ET: 11 ROCKS LIKES NOBODY'S BUSINESS Somewhere near the top of the CMJ-fest sewage stream this Saturday night, deftly navigating the debris of buzz-bands, badges and guest lists like a speeding car in a school zone on Route 25A, comes Error Type:11. Teamed with Hot Water Music at the Some Records showcase at Westbeth, ET:11, comprised of New York's new favorite sons (from Douglaston, Amityville and other environs), comes to play the game. They just aren't delusional about it. There's no false humility or feigned minimalism involved. Very uncool. Every step of the way is unabashedly calculated. It's simply not acceptable to be so full of yourself these days. Artie Shepherd, ET:11's notorious frontman, couldn't care less. He leads the charge at this show, a textbook example of how to fit arena-sized rock attitude in front of a few hundred friends and fans at a sold-out club on the West Side of Manhattan. As the four-man band files onstage to the tune of "The Firebird Suite" (the same music that Yes used in the '70s as its walk-on theme), the shrieking welcome of young girls is almost overpowering. Each member is uniformly clad in black, an effective contrast to the upbeat and melodic anthems in store. Guitar in hand, Shepherd accosts the crowd—"What's fucking up?"—to renewed cheering. Some girls close to the front whisper to each other and point. It would be nauseating if it all weren't so appropriate. ET:11 has all but engineered a true rock concert. "We like to do it that way," Shepherd says later, "and besides, it's so much different than all the other bands." He's right, too. Some of the other acts appearing on the bill, like Kill Holiday and Boy Sets Fire, downplay their own performances to the extent that it seems they're embarrassed to even be here. Shit, Artie Shepherd is known more for mimicking Robert Plant's demeanor than Eddie Vedder's. You got a problem with that? It's been a year of mixed blessings for Error Type:11. Five tours, most notably this summer's jaunt with their label mates, carved the band into the hearts and memories of young emo-rockers across the country. "I bring the arena wherever I go," says Shepherd of his uniformly haughty stage presence, be it in a club, bar or basement in the middle of nowhere. A few months earlier they supported a successful European tour for the veterans of Samiam. This sort of traveling, though it is the backbone of any self-respecting young rock group, can take its toll. But what did not ruin Error Type:11 has only made the band more determined to be rewarded for their efforts. And Error Type:11 remains in on the joke. "We don't play shows for industry people," Shepherd says as he and the boys prepare to play a big industry show this night. "We play shows for kids who want to see us." If, of course, they can get tickets. Opening the set with two proven crowd-pleasers, "Take a Bow" and "Adventures in Conversation" (both from ET:11's self-titled debut LP), is another clever move. The faithful can't help but sing along. The crowd shouts the verse: "Set 'em up, knock 'em down," and Shepherd's microphone becomes superfluous for the rest of the song. Eric Matheu strikes a nearly casual pose behind the drums, while guitarist Phil Hanratty and bassist Adam Marino remain on their feet but seem equally relaxed. Shepherd, meanwhile, comports himself like a true headliner—that is, were he headlining over, say, the Rolling Stones. At times I wonder if the people around me, many of them ex-hardcore scenesters, actually get the point or if they mistake his arrogance for some sort of faux-pas. "I don't care," he says. "The spotlight's on me. I'm the star. Everyone else can fuck off." "I Hope All Your Dreams Come True" is announced as the last song. It's the very first song Error Type:11 ever wrote together. "Do any of you guys own our first record?" Shepherd asks, drawing the obligatory cheers. "This is the last song on it. We're retiring this one after tonight." Minutes later, the last line is sung: "I never did anything wrong." Now you dispense with being humble and just rock-the-fuck-out, well...how could you make a mistake? — Artie Philie