Cultural Senescence

Dennis Hopper RIP

2010-05-29T13:23:00.003-05:00

As reported here, as well as about a million other places, on Oct. 30th of last year, Dennis Hopper was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Well, he didn't make it. He died this morning of the disease.

I loved and love Hoppers's "New Hollywood" counter culture movies of the late 60's and early 70's and have rarely seen him be anything short of brilliant in any role he played. He and I diverged politically in a pretty serious way when he went Republican, but when he publicly renounced Sarah Palin I think he regained quite a bit of cred with unrepentant radical left wingers like myself.

Regardless, farewell to one of the greatest actors of his generation.

The Service Industry - Calm Down (Sauspop 2010)

2010-04-08T16:15:00.004-05:00

For their fourth release, Austin's The Service Industry leave behind the simmering rage of the overlooked and underappreciated and move in a more personal direction. The band's success in achieving this so gracefully should dispel any misperceptions that this is a gimmick band. The Service Industry deliver 12 nearly flawless pop cuts that range from the jangly to garagey, low key to the energetic.

Opener "Heart Repair" is a chunky piece of melancholia that expands into a soaring melodic chorus and kicks the feel of the record off in the right direction. Remaining true to the record's vibe but exemplifying its range of styles and influences, Julie Lowery takes lead vocal from Mike McCoy on the Reivers meets The B-52s college rock of "Honey and Hair Sprayed Hair". There's so much going on here stylistically that it took real artistry to avoid disjointedness and have everything fall together so well.

Complaints? Minor to insignificant. For example, "This Town Makes My Skin Crawl" draws out a little bit too long. But it's still a damn good song.

As prolific as these folks are (what is this? The fourth release in two years?) it won't be too long before we see which way The Service Industry jumps next. So far it continues to be up.

3.75 out of 4 heart repairs

Malcolm McLaren RIP

2010-04-08T13:57:00.004-05:00

Situationist. Manager of The New York Dolls. Manager of The Sex Pistols. Manager of Bow Wow Wow (no, really). Father of Punk Fashion (that really should go to wife Vivienne Westwood, but McLaren never declined taking credit). Solo recording artist. Depending on who you're talking to - one of the greatest marketing geniuses of the late 20th century or one of the biggest shysters. Or both. Whatever, the motherfucker sure left a mighty gash in the side of pop culture using pop culture as the knife. Wasn't that what The Situationists were all about?

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club / Band of Skulls - House of Blues - Houston, TX 3/20/2010

2010-03-21T11:14:00.006-05:00

There's something about watching British white guys peel off American blues guitar licks that just bugs the shit out of me. No matter how many effects pedals the instrument is run through. Which is pretty much all Band of Skulls is. A guy wanking on guitar interspersed with repetitive, practically chanted lyrical refrains. There were a couple of songs that sounded like they might have had actual verses, but they were in short supply. The bassist was pretty easy on the eyes, and I found it endearing that she had to look at the neck of her bass to play the structures, but beyond that they didn't have much going on. Not unlistenable, just ultimately boring.

BRMC, on the other hand, left almost nothing to be desired. They could have easily held down the night with their repertoire of window rattling, reverb heavy guitar gut punches, but chose instead to mix things up, alternating those energetic post-punk pounders with mellower, quieter fare featuring acoustic guitar, keyboard, and, on one occasion, piano, largely drawn from their Howl era. Primarily, though, they stuck with their LOUD post-punk pop mixing in elements of blues, americana and pschedelia to go with the driving bass, pounding drums and overdriven guitar.

Bassist Robert Levon Been and guitarist Peter Hayes traded and overlapped vocals, with Hayes maintaining a laid back, in control stage presence while Been struck rock star poses and strutted the stage in full on performance mode. Stealing the show, though, was new drummer Leah Shapiro, who beat on her drum kit like she had caught it fucking her siggo. I've rarely seen a drummer hit that hard and use the drums that stylistically while still being completely dialed in to what the band was accomplishing as a unit.

Accompanying the dizzying array of musical styles and energy fluctuations was a stage show consisting of flashing strobes and rotating mini-flood lights backlighting the band and, thus, illuminating the audience. I would estimate fairly half the show the lighting wasn't even focused on the band. In the context of the musical environment they were creating, it was simply amazing. It also served to dissolve the barrier between band and audience, giving you the sensation that you were as much a part of making this thing worthwhile and, indeed, spectacularly successful.

I didn't have any doubts about this show being good. I didn't expect it to kick my ass half way to Heaven. I've said it so often it's become an annoying mantra - this is the best band in America. March 20th at the Houston House of Blues did nothing if not cement that opinion in my mind for some time to come.

RIP Alex Chilton

2010-03-17T21:45:00.004-05:00

Rock luminary and one of the inspirations for every cool band you know of Alex Chilton died of a heart attack today at the age of 59. He was a complete dick to the audience when I saw him in 1994, but I hear he's been a lot more accommodating with the Big Star reunions, unfortunately none of which I got to see.

Anyway, if you know his name you probably know at least as much as I do. The guy was a brilliant songwriter when he wanted to be and a legend in his own time. Goddamn shame to see him go.

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club - Beat The Devil's Tattoo (Vagrant Records 2010)

2010-03-16T12:17:00.003-05:00

Man, this thing comes rolling over you like a band of Sioux warriors from the get go. The title track and follow up "Conscience Killer" just knock you off your feet. Track 3, "Bad Blood", (my personal favorite) lets up a little with some rock driven psychedelia followed by a slinky, bluesy, fuzzed out "War Machine". After that is a blend of reverb drenched acoustic tracks, blasting rock 'n' roll with swirling psychedelic dynamics, and ear-drum pounding blues rock as unstoppable as a Sherman Tank. You're finally set free with a mellow, psychedelic "Half State" to slow your heart back down to a steady, healthy pulse.

I don't think it's any secret that I think Black Rebel Motorcycle Club is the best band in America and, man, this record did nothing to disavow me of that notion. Most impressive is the fact they've successfully integrated all the aspects of their song styling on one record. You've got the blues driven rock of their eponymous debut and Take Them On, On Your Own, the mellower, more acoustic sounds of Howl, and the reverb drenched pulverizing post punk rock with its psychedelic turns of Baby 81 woven in and out of one another.

Beat The Devil's Tattoo is the most satisfying listen I've had in a long time. I had some concerns that there was no way they could top Baby 81 but, brothers and sisters, I was dead wrong. These guys just keep getting better. Long may they reign.

5 out of 4 Devil's Tattoos

Giant Drag - Swan Song (Roar Scratch 2010)

2010-03-13T21:25:00.005-06:00

The brainchild of singer/guitarist/songwriter Annie Hardy and drummer/synth bassist Micah Calabrese, Giant Drag made a minor splash on the indie scene back in 2006 with Hearts and Unicorns (Interscope 2006) based primarily on their, granted, stupendous cover of Chris Isaac's "Wicked Game". That the single from the record, "This Isn't It", was pretty damn catchy and ingeniously clever lyrically didn't hurt it's standing as a fine little record.

What did was the endless, and to my mind fair, comparisons to Last Splash era Breeders, something which apparently threw Annie Hardy into Courtney Love-esque spasms of rage. Unfortunately, The Breeders comparisons weren't to stop with the music. Dropped from Interscope, conflicting rumors began floating around about Annie going solo, a new record in the works being held up by drug abuse, Micah Calabrese fired for drug abuse, Micah Calabrese fired and in rehab, Annie Hardy putting together a full band, etc. The fact that no product was forthcoming, not even a single, for four years seemed to indicate that this band was done.

Well, it's 2010 and we have a new four song EP from Giant Drag. For those counting, that's a song a year. Band personnel: Annie Hardy and Micah Calabrese. Is it any good? Yeah, it's a nice listen. There's nothing here as strong as "This Isn't It" (or, for that matter, "Wicked Game"), but the songs are solid. Any of the first three could have easily fit on Hearts and Unicorns without seeming out of place. Hell, maybe they're out takes.

Personally, I'm glad to see Giant Drag is still around. Breeders sounding or not, I like 'em. And frankly, Annie Hardy has more balls, so to speak, than Kim Deal has for a long time. Yes, I know - I'm going to Indie Rock Hell for saying that.

For all the noise this band can make, especially considering there's only two of them, the strongest track here is the final one, "Heart Carl", a melancholy love song featuring only acoustic guitar, Annie Hardy's amazing voice, and a nice, very recognizably themed lyric.

I'm not sure if the EP title Swan Song means what it implies, but the rumor mill has it that Annie and Micah are busy banging out another full length as I write this.

Go pick it up. It's cheap, it's a good listen, and I'd like Giant Drag to think enough people care to make it worth sticking around.

2 Hearts and 1 Unicorn for this one

Spoon - Transference (Merge Records 2010)

2010-02-04T10:30:00.009-06:00

I literally watched this band grow up. I was at their first gig. My shitty band played several shows with them. Does that make me important? No. Will it allow me to present an unbiased opinion? No fucking way.

I dug that up cleaning out our extra room the other day. What does it have to do with Tranference, Spoon's latest offering? Nothing. I just thought it was cool.

Tranference has a mellower style to it than Spoon's 2007 offering Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga, but that's not to say the music has lost any edge. Daniel's songs have always been edgy, even the mellower cuts, with a feeling that the tension and release could fall out of sync at any moment and result in almost visceral disaster. That Daniel takes such pleasure and is so adept at fucking with tension and release pop music paradigms only serves to take it up a notch.

Sound experimental? Spoon has gotten more so with each progressive release, and Transference takes Daniel's odd combinations of minimalist post-punk, krautrock, world beat, and just plain wierdness to the highest level yet. There's just no pigeonhole for this band. Nor should there be. They exist in Britt Daniel's own unique musical vision.

Album opener "Before Destruction" and "Written in Reverse" are the two big winners here, but there aren't any losers. It's also going to make the wait to see what Britt Daniel and Spoon come up with next practically unbearable.

4 out of 4 Can records

Vampire Weekend - Contra (XL Recordings 2010)

2010-02-02T14:45:00.008-06:00

Ever listened to "Graceland" by Paul Simon? Well, if not, he took a bunch of musicians from Africa and made a pop world beat record. People went nuts for it. It shipped gold and was Paul Simon's most successful record in years. The fact that Peter Gabriel had already done this and even started his own record label, which he operated at a loss, to record and distribute the artists who had helped him out when he made his own Afro-pop album seemed entirely overlooked by all but a few, myself and my sanctimonious friends among them.

What does this have to do with Vampire Weekend's latest release?

Imagine Paul Simon making "Graceland" but having to substitute samples, electronic rhythms, and poorly layered production to make up for the fact that he didn't have some 150 actual African musicians and vocalists to back him up. Imagine that he also didn't have 30 years of experience writing pop songs. Well, there you have "Contra" by NYC foursome Vampire Weekend.

Many might admire their chutzpah and ambition in attempting to recreate this blend of Afro-beat and Western pop, and I sure do. Unfortunately, they have neither the experience nor the resources to pull it off. The record sounds weak, thin, WAY too electronic, and primary vocalist Ezra Koenig tries WAY too hard to sound EXACTLY like Paul Simon.

I didn't like "Graceland" with the stunning, orchestral production and the real Paul Simon at the helm, but I admired him for doing it (even though Peter Gabriel did it first), and I don't like "Contra" with its (deliberately?) poor production and a Paul Simon wannabe at the helm.

People love this band. I do admire what they're trying to do. I just wish they were better at it. Maybe someday.

1 out of 4 vampires

Lou Barlow - Goodnight Unknown (Merge 2009) / Sons of Hercules - A Different Kind of Ugly (Saustex Media 2009)

2010-01-20T08:37:00.011-06:00

Well, I said I'd be less prolific, so here's your first post on records that have already been reviewed endlessly elsewhere.

Lou Barlow - Goodnight Unknown (Merge 2009)

One of the things I've always loved about Barlow is his ability to embrace his own myth. The testimonial sticker on the front of this record, usually a quote from Pitchfork or Rolling Stone or some other piece of shit, reads, "A cross between my later work with Folk Implosion and my earlier work with Sebadoh to my ears, anyway." The quote is attributed to Lou Barlow. Cracks me up.

His dsecription isn't far from the truth in many places, but the record contains a liberal dose of the cleaned up acoustica of his last album "Emoh". No problem, here. Fuck the fan backlash - it was a damn good record, even it it wasn't "lo-fi". Get your heads out Sebadoh's ass, idiots.

That being said, this record has something for every Barlow fan. The strongest track is the opener, "Goodnight Unknown", but there's really not a bad cut on here in spite of its ups and downs.

3.5 out 4 mopey kids

Sons of Hercules - A Different Kind of Ugly (Saustex Media 2009)

I love garage rock, and The Sons of Hercules are VERY good at garage rock. By the same token, there's something like going to a renaissance festival when listening to a garage rock record or going to a garage rock show in 2010. Yeah, it's good. Yeah, it gets the blood pumping. Yeah, it's been riding a revival wave since the mid 1990's. Maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm just getting old. But there are currently 10 bands out there doing more interesting stuff than garage rock for every 1 good garage rock band, and there are literally hundreds of garage rock bands in every burg that can be called a "city" in this country. Mostly really bad ones.

Certainly The Sons have earned their place in the pantheon of great American garage rock bands that kicked off as a response to The British Invasion. But at the end of the day it's still just garage rock. Don't hate me too much - I've been in almost nothing but garage bands for 25 years.

On a final, probably unnecessary point - it's hard for me to like this band. Frontman Frank Pugliese has been nothing but a dismissive prick to me since we met when my band opened for the Sons at Liberty Lunch way back in the mid-1990's. I've met four musicians that were in bands that opened for The Sex Pistols on their ill fated American tour - Alejandro Escovedo, T. Tex Edwards, Penelope Houston, and Frank Pugliese. Frank's the only one who seems to think such a distinction matters for shit. Call me a petty fuck. Call him one. I really don't care.

2 out 4 Frank Puglieses

Until next time,

Well, I guess I'm back

2009-10-30T10:59:00.002-05:00

Since it seems more people are stopping by this blog recently than were a year ago when I basically gave up on it, I suppose I’ll give it another whirl. I just put my old band back together so, what the fuck, here’s to new beginnings.

I doubt I’ll be quite so prolific as in the previous incarnation, but I’m going to try and maintain a steady output, comment on pop culture bullshit, note passings, and review the occasional popular release and every release sent my way by record labels and professional working bands.

A couple of items of note to kick things off:

McDonalds Rap – 18 year old Spenser Dauwalder and three of his 17 year old friends (names withheld) were cited by Salt Lake City police with disorderly conduct for rapping, rather than speaking, their order at a McDonalds drive through window. The window clerk claims she felt “threatened” (makes you wonder at the color of her skin, the four teens in question being black) and store manager Conny Kramer claimed the teens were “holding up the line”. The teens claim there was no line to be held up and ultimately left empty handed after being asked a few times to do so.

Teens pull pranks. They can be harmless, amusing, irritating, irresponsible, dangerous, and/or criminal in nature. I think Spenser Dauwalder and his friends could have been up to some much more serious shit than fucking with a McDonalds drive through clerk. I feel comfortable making this judgment stemming from the fact that the teenage pranks I indulged in tended toward the last three on the list above.

It seems to me that the response of the SLCPD and the McDonalds manager in question was disproportionately draconian. I’m no fan of rap, but gimme a fucking break. As irritating as this episode certainly was to the drive through clerk there is no implied or inherent threat in the rap music genre. What an easy collar for the cops – why go after teens carrying firearms and selling drugs when you can bust four teenagers who were just out cruising for a good time and didn’t really commit a crime at all. I wonder what would have happened if the four culprits had sung their order in a genre the clerk appreciated.

Also

Drummer Chuck Biscuits, alum of such classic American punk bands as Black Flag, The Misfits, Samhain, and Social Distortion was reported as having died of throat cancer on October 24th yesterday. This news quickly went viral and was all over the internet within hours. Chuck Biscuits is very much alive and well and continuing to live and work in Southern California. Who starts this shit? Why? If it was some self important prick like Scott Weiland then it would be understandable and even funny. But Chuck Biscuits? Who did he piss off?

Finally

73 year old actor/director Dennis Hopper, the man who went from making brilliant left-wing counter cultural films in the late 60’s to inexplicably switching sides to neoconservative Republicanism (while remaining a brilliant actor the whole time – gotta give him that) has placed his career on hold after being diagnosed with prostate cancer. His prognosis in uncertain. Political differences aside, all my hopes and concerns go out to Hopper, still one of my favorite actors.

Nothing you couldn’t pick up from a quick scan of internet news, I know, but I’m just getting back into the swing of things. Maybe I’ll review Lou Barlow’s new release next. After seeing him live the other night I have a feeling it’ll be a good one.

Mitch Mitchell RIP

2008-11-13T09:07:00.002-06:00

Eric Clapton, John Lennon and, most famously, Jimi Hendrix Experience (among an impressive array of others) drummer Mitch Mitchell was found dead in his hotel room yesterday. He was 61.

The Cure - "4:13 Dream" (Geffen Records 2008)

2008-11-04T13:23:00.004-06:00

It’s been four years since The Cure released the remarkably lackluster eponymously titled The Cure, continuing with Robert Smith’s stated intent beginning with 1989’s brilliant Disintegration to release a new Cure record every four years. Well, in spite of truckload of accolades, awards, and recognitions it’s been a rough couple of decades musically for the band. Wish, the 1992 follow-up to Disintegration, was spotty at best. It certainly had its fair share of moments but an equal weight in phoned in, weak material. 1996’s Wild Mood Swings continued this directionless direction and was an aptly titled record that didn’t know what it wanted to be. Bloodflowers, released in 2000, returned to the more familiar, melancholic ground The Cure operates most comfortably on. Smith hired nu-metal producer Ross Robinson and gave us 2004’s The Cure, referred to by Smith as “Cure heavy”. Whether an attempt to update their sound or simply an uninspired exercise in order to maintain the four year interval, or both, the record was a fucking disaster. I can think of two listenable songs on the whole thing, and that’s being generous. With longtime keyboardist and collaborator Roger O’Donnell’s departure in May 2005 and Smith’s stated intention not to replace him my hopes dimmed for the future of a band I once considered one of the best in the world.

They say high expectations can lead to disappointment, and that the inverse is true. I had pretty low expectations for 4:13 Dream, but after listening to the thing ten or more times I’ve gotta say that this is strongest Cure record since Disintegration. Not that it bears much sonic or mood resemblance to that record, but in its tight focus. Finally, after all this time, a record with a solid vision behind it. That vision is guitar drenched pop, and it turns out they’re pretty good at it.

With the stripped down lineup of Smith, Simon Gallup, Porl Thompson, and Jason Cooper, whatever keyboard is in there (Smith is credited with “keys”) is strictly backdrop. Anyone familiar with the band’s body of work knows that by 1985’s Head on the Door Smith had forsaken minimalism for lush production, and this record is no exception. Working with producer Keith Uddin (Bjork, Nick Cave, Oasis, and about a thousand others) the two produce a sonic landscape of layered guitars and subtle rhythms that just sounds fucking great.

Opening with “Underneath the Stars”, a song bearing the most familiar Cure hallmarks of the record, 4:13 Dream abruptly veers into the overtly sexual “The Only One” – both terrific pop songs but stylistically very different. The record proceeds to move around through mid to up tempo hooky numbers, almost all catchy as hell and displaying a satisfying range of the lyrical subject matter that Smith is so good at. From the bouncy, tongue in cheek “Freak Show” to the more melancholic longing of The Hungry Ghost”, it’s all in there.

While this all may give the impression of disjointedness, it’s the confidence of this record that ties everything together and really makes it work. It seems Smith has found his way to remain contemporary without resorting to ill-considered plays like “Cure heavy”. The Cure reportedly recorded 33 songs for this record, initially intended as a double record, but decided instead to pick and choose, and they really hit the mark as far as how well these songs fit together as a whole (there are band propagated rumors of a second release of “darker material” before Robert Smith’s birthday (April 21st) – something I think would be only fair considering this album’s release was delayed by seven months).

Complaints? Of course. All five of you who actually read this blog know my opinion of Jason Cooper’s drumming. There’s no way it was going to be easy to replace Boris Williams but it’s difficult to credit that Cooper was the best they could do. While a serviceable timekeeper, his uninspired electronic drum fills and general lack of creativity serve only to diminish the superb bass skills of Simon Gallup. The one song on which there is some semblance of the bass/drums interplay that was such a hallmark of The Cure prior to Cooper is “Sleep When I’m Dead”, a song apparently composed by Smith and Gallup during The Head on the Door sessions.

Also, while the intentions of a song like “Freak Show” are good, it’s a little bit much. Its jerky arrangement and almost spoken lyric make it stand out, and not in a good way. That being said, I have no doubt that it’s the big hit in all the dance clubs as I type this.

So, is 4:13 Dream a brilliant record? No. Does it give an indication that Smith has another masterpiece along the lines of Pornography or Disintegration in him? Not necessarily. But what it does show is that Robert Smith still has it in him to produce great pop records that adapt with the times without compromising that distinctly Cure essence. For me, anyway, that’s enough.

3.5 out of 4 dreams

John Daly RIP

2008-11-03T08:00:00.002-06:00

Chairman of Film and Music Entertainment Inc. John Daly died Fridy at the age of 71. He produced flicks like Platoon and The Last Emporer. There's a lot more interesting shit about his early career if you want to look it up, but I'm too sick of writing about the recently deceased to research it and cast it into my own poetic prose.

Studs Terkel RIP

2008-11-01T14:08:00.003-05:00

What can I say that you don't already know about the man if you gave a shit about him. I'm really going to have to stop noting these passings. Rest in peace, Studs. 93 is a pretty good run.

Tony Hillerman RIP

2008-10-28T13:37:00.003-05:00

I'm going to have to stop writing eulogies. This is getting ridiculous. Here we go:

Tony Hillerman was an American writer. He wrote mysteries set in the American Southwest that involved Native Americans and their spiritual beliefs. Lots of people liked his stuff and he sold millions of books. I never read anything he wrote even though a couple of people have told me I should. He died Sunday at the age of 83 of pulmonary failure.

I hate to sell him short but, while immensely popular, Cormac McCarthy he wasn't. Or so I'm told. Plus, I'm sick of this blog being a litany of dead cultural personalities and their life stories. Sorry, Tony. Maybe I'll get around to you some day.

Levi Stubbs RIP

2008-10-17T18:01:00.004-05:00

R&B wonder and frontman for The Four Tops Levi Stubbs died today at age 72 from several complications arising from cancer he was diagnosed with in 1995. The Four Tops and The Temptations pretty much defined the male side of the Motown sound in the 1960's, and Stubb's has the distinction of being the first defined "lead vocalist" in an R&B group. They couldn't have picked a better one.

Edie Adams RIP

2008-10-17T08:20:00.005-05:00

Groucho Marx once said of Edie Adams, “There are some things Edie won’t do, but nothing she can’t do.”

For an actress, singer and comedienne who could count playing the foil to comedian Ernie Kovacs on his TV show, spending twenty years as the spokeswoman for Muriel Cigars, starring most memorably in film in Billy Wilder’s Oscar Award winning picture The Apartment, winning a Tony Award for her portrayal of Daisy Mae in Broadway’s adaptation of Lil’ Abner, and numerous nominations for and winning of other awards among her achievements I’d say Groucho hit the nail on the head.

Edie Adams died of lung cancer and pneumonia yesterday at the age of 81. Nice job, Edie. I really don’t think they make ‘em like you anymore.

"Zack and Miri Make a Porno" and the Latest Loss of Childhood Innocence

2008-10-16T10:50:00.006-05:00

I suppose it started with the Comics Code Authority in 1954. For those of you who don’t know, this was an industry self imposed set of restrictions on comic book content established to avoid government regulation by The Senate Subcommittee on Juvenile Delinquency, which was set up specifically to focus on comic books (this during The Cold War – you’d think The Senate would have had bigger fish to fry. Like Joe McCarthy). Yes, to protect America’s tender, impressionable youths from lurid, immorally seductive images and ideas conveyed by fanciful cartoons drawn and pressed on paper. If you want the details look it up – it’s every bit as absurd as you might imagine.

Then came the countless studies that continue to this day on the terrifying impact that television is having on youthful minds. Television romanticizes violence, sexuality and drug use. Television reduces intelligence. Television causes autism. The Red Chinese use television to brainwash political prisoners. Tinky Winky is gay. It’s inevitable that television will at some point produce a generation of homicidal, crack smoking, homosexual, idiot-savants that will destroy the country, if it hasn’t already happened.

Need I mention rock ‘n’ roll music, which was leading our impressionable youth into Satan worship, drug abuse, and suicide in the 1980's? That one landed in The Senate as well, thanks to our latter day hero of the centrist-left Al Gore. If he’d spent that energy on environmental politics maybe people would have started listening sooner. Anyway, as Gene Simmons pointed out, had subliminal messaging in rock ‘n’ roll music worked his would have been, “Buy more KISS records!” I venture to say he’s not alone in that sentiment.

Now video games are the bugaboo. Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold wouldn’t have shot all those people at Columbine High School if it weren’t for the nefarious influence of violent video games in their lives. Nor would the handful of school shooters since. Pre-existing mental instability, unchecked bullying, and poor parenting didn’t enter into it at all. It was that one last round of Doom that pushed them over the edge. This is proven by the fact that the millions of teenagers out there playing violent video games are even now oiling their carbines.

This brings us around, of course, to movies. In 1930 The Motion Pictures Producers and Distributors Association (now The Motion Picture Association of America) adopted The Production Code to avoid any “lurid” content from making it into films (again – look it up). This was a little different in that it was intended to protect EVERYONE from the profane and vulgar imaginations of the riff-raff involved in the motion picture industry. In 1968 The Production Code was abandoned for the (now) MPAA’s film rating system, designed to keep “morally questionable” content out of films. This had more of a focus on children, arbitrarily deciding at which age a child was capable of safely absorbing which kind of content. The holds, of course, slipped here with the advent of cable television, video cassette rentals, and the DVD revolution. Still, no rabid hordes of bloodthirsty nymphomaniac teenagers running wild in the streets. At least, as in the cases mentioned above, no more than usual.

Which brings me to my point. Kevin Smith’s new movie Zack and Miri Make a Porno has raised something of a furor. Several TV stations, newspapers and cable networks are refusing to screen the ad. The City of Philadelphia has ordered all poster ads pulled from its bus stops, and The City of Boston is considering doing the same. Fox Sports has agreed, at the team’s request, to not show the ad during Dodger’s games as the ads damage the Dodgers’ “family friendly” image. Kevin Smith had to beg the MPAA to drop the film’s rating from “NC-17”, a box office killer, to “R”. Why all the hubub, bub? The last word of the film’s title. Yes – “porno”. This five letter word is now the overwhelming threat to the morals of a new generation. It doesn’t matter that the movie isn’t a porno, or even a sex comedy for that matter. It has the word “porno” in the title.

And I thought the 1954 Senate being scared of comic books was absurd.

Neal Hefti RIP

2008-10-15T08:35:00.004-05:00

Let’s face it. It doesn’t matter that Neal Hefti scored The Odd Couple and Barefoot in the Park. It doesn’t even matter that this unbelievably talented trumpet player sat in with orchestras conducted by such luminaries as Count Basie and Harry James among others. Impressive achievements all, but, in the end, they just don’t matter.

Finally, it doesn’t matter that Hefti scored what is generally agreed to be possibly the most puerile, asinine television series of the 1960’s (Adam West disagrees, and I’ll probably get my ass chewed by modpro for saying it, but that doesn’t change the ugly truth). What matters, in the final analysis, is that theme song. A song that burrowed its way into the consciousnesses of at least two generations of kids. One of the coolest theme songs of all times – right up there with The Munsters.

Hefti always said that the Batman and Robin theme song was the most difficult piece he ever wrote, and it shows. It made that piece of crap show worth watching. Well, at least the first minute of it. And usually the whole grim half hour, as aspects of the song would show up periodically throughout the episode, especially during the fight scenes. He won a grammy for that song, and a more deserved one has never been handed out.

Neal Hefti died today at the age of 85. A pretty good run and a pretty distinguished career. But man, that song…

Tin Pan Alley, Nick Reynolds RIP

2008-10-11T18:53:00.012-05:00

Nick Reynolds, one third of the legendary folk trio The Kingston Trio, died Wed., Oct 1st 2008 of acute respiratory illness at the age of 75. A little slow on the uptake for me here, I know, but it’s been a hell of a week. I’m sitting here with a bellyfull of painkillers right now and they’re hardly doing me a lick of good in any respect. Anyway, back to Nick.

It’s hard to appreciate the impact The Kingston Trio had on pop music in the early 1960’s. Brian Wilson appropriated their idea of dressing nattily in identical striped suits and utilizing soaring harmonies to make an impression. Peter, Paul and Mary pretty much wanted to be them, and The Mamas and the Papas lifted arrangements directly from their songs (something that an inner circle member of pop-culture royalty like John Phillips denied to his dying day). The Trio took great inspiration from early mainstream folkies like The Weavers and Woodie Guthrie, of course, but also, and somewhat more unlikely, from the Calypso sounds of Harry Belafonte (hence their name). Most importantly, The Kingston Trio helped usher the second wave of American folk music into popular culture, something that would result in the development of artists such as Joan Baez and Arlo Guthrie and, most staggeringly, Dave Van Ronk and an angry little Jewish kid from Duluth who went by name Bob Dylan.

It’s sad to see you go, Nick, but you certainly more than did you part.

On another sad note, the owners of a five building stretch on West 28th St. in Manhattan’s Chelsea District lovingly referred to as Tin Pan Alley have placed the buildings up for sale, the real estate listing recommending the buildings be razed to make way for a new skyscraper. From the 1890’s to the late 1950’s, when The Brill Building and it’s corresponding rise of rock ‘n’ roll (or what passed for it coming out of Brill) changed the face of things, Tin Pan Alley was one of the two cultural heartbeats of NYC, the other being Greenwhich Village. In its heyday The Alley gave us luminaries like Irving Berlin and George Gershwin, and in its latter days the respectful and nostalgic revisionism of a genius like Tom Waits.

The New York Historic Districts Council along with the local tenants are, of course, up in arms about this and ready to fight city hall in order that this cultural historic hub of American music and musical theatre be saved from demolition. Many of you probably remember how well that went over with the massive push to save punk rock Mecca CBGB. Let’s just say that I’m of the opinion that we’re about to see yet another irreplaceable landmark of American cultural development succumb to soulless big money interests. No big surprise there. With the slow, agonizing death of American culture itself, who amongst the fascist pricks want to be viscerally reminded day to day of the physical expression of the phenomenon that they've so blithely destroyed. If they even have the hearts, minds or souls to give a shit. If you get the chance, stop by while you can.

Finally and unusually I’ll go ahead and end on a positive note. I received a package today from Jeff Smith over at Saustex Media containing the advances of their two upcoming releases – The Service Industry’s Keep the Babies Warm and The Summer Wardrobes’ Cajun Prairie Fire. I love both bands, and can’t wait to give a good sit down with them and write up my thoughts on them for you folks. They say high expectations lead to disappointment, but neither of these particular bands have let me down yet.A little farther down the road we’ve got The Cure’s incessantly pushed back (over six months now – the tour has even already come and gone) 4:13 Dream and The Supersuckers Get it Together, both of which I’m excited as shit about sinking my teeth into, so the next couple of months will hopefully be short on RIPs and long on some completely unbiased record reviews. Be back atcha when I get all that writing done.

Paul Newman RIP

2008-09-29T09:21:00.002-05:00

Well, what can I say about this that hasn't already been said? Paul Newman was one of those actors that became iconic in his lifetime and, to me at least, it never occurred to me he would die. There are few actors in the entire history of film with a body of work as impressive, but if he never made a film before or after Cool Hand Luke it would be enough to place him among the greats. Safe travels, Paul. As long as there are people on this planet you won't be forgotten.

Richard Wright RIP

2008-09-18T10:57:00.004-05:00

Jeez, you try and take a break around here and cultural personalities start dropping like flies.

Richard Wright, keyboardist and founding member of Pink Floyd, died of an undisclosed form of cancer Sept. 15th.

While Pink Floyd is largely identified with Dark Side of the Moon and the bloated, self-indulgent concept albums to follow the fact of the matter is The Pink Floyd began their existence as a psychedelic outfit that, by 1967, were the biggest band operating on the famed London Underground scene. Along with guitarist/vocalist Syd Barrett (RIP 2006), considered one of the most innovative British guitarists of the time, Wright contributed to the creation of a sound, despite widespread attempts at imitation, literally and utterly unlike any other. Take a listen to Piper at the Gates of Dawn or any early Floyd singles and tell me there’s anything out there that stand up to their twisted pop genius. Barrett may have been the driving creative force, but the sounds created on those early recordings and, by all reports, their shows during this period would not have been possible without Richard Wright. It’s impossible to say what would have happened had Barrett’s musical career not succumbed to mental illness and drug abuse, but I can say with certainty it wouldn’t have been the narcissistic sledgehammer that was The Wall.

Anyway, pretty much any fan of contemporary rock ‘n’ roll, especially fans of bands like The Flaming Lips and Mercury Rev, owe an enormous debt of gratitude to Richard Wright. Not to mention the bands themselves. The stuff he did before David Gilmoure replaced Syd Barrett in Pink Floyd is more than enough to make up for all the rest.

David Foster Wallace RIP

2008-09-16T15:15:00.004-05:00

This almost slipped by me in my self-imposed isolation.

David Foster Wallace, author of The Broom of the System and, most famously, Infinite Jest committed suicide on Sept. 12th at the age of 46. I'd be lying if I said I'd read Infinite Jest. I tried but gave up on the grounds that I couldn't make heads or tails of the damn thing. Still, Wallace is the first writer from my generation who achieved "literary" status to die. While his work held no resonance for me at the time I tried to read it, I'm not going to slam a guy who earned comparisons to Juan Luis Borges and Thomas Pynchon. That's a lot more than I've, and I expect you've, done.

I guess I'll give Wallace another try. Now that I'm older, wiser, and, most importantly I suspect, sober, Infinite Jest will make a whole lot more sense to me.

Sabbatical

2008-09-08T22:16:00.005-05:00

To my 5 or 6 loyal readers and those of you stopping by, I'm taking a brief break from this enjoyable if somewhat rigorous (for a lazy slob like myself) pop culture blog. While still high Summer here (which I have every expectation will last at least until Halloween) the Autumn doldrums have already knocked me on my ass, and the attendent brutal insomnia that attends it has brought me down with one of the nastiest late summer colds I've ever had (I say that every year). If the past is any indication it will last until March.

North vs. South was a success from my point of view. I got to see old friends from the road that I literally get to see once a year, saw some terrific bands I've known forever and shared stages with in the past and got to check out some really hot shit up and comers. If you're able to find anything by Monkeytown, get it. The name doesn't match the music (I exhorted them drunkenly to change their name after their set) and their music blew me off my barstool more than once. It could have been the booze, but I don't think so. They're one mighty motherfucker of a band from good old AusTex.

I didn't get a chance to talk to any of the three promoters afterward, so I'm not sure how they felt coming out of it, but I do know that next year is on. God bless Mike McCoy, Hunter Darby and Baby Grant Johnson for keeping the fire burning.

I'll be back atcha soon enough. The new psych meds will kick in, the weather will get nice, Jeff Smith over at Saustex Media will send me his latest release to review, someone will die, or I'll pick up something that's gotta be written up. The Cure's new one is currently set to drop Oct. 14th so you know I'll certainly be back in the saddle by then. In fact, I need to start flashing my fetching virtual smile at some people to get an advance of that bad boy.

Take care, y'all, and I'll be back to the rants before you know it.
Oh, and if you want your band reviewed, please send a copy of the CD and a ONE SHEET to 5508 Coventry Ln., Austin, TX 78723. If you don't know what a ONE SHEET is, please find out. I have neither the time nor inclination to sift through a 50 page press kit, nor do I have any patience for e-kits. I don't care if I'm living in the past. I also still type with two fingers. Take some comfort in the fact that I don't like slagging unknown bands (I save that for for those already on major indie or major labels) and if I don't like your stuff, I won' trash you here. I'll send you an honest email detailing why it didn't appeal to me and even return the promo at my own expense if you like. Believe it or not, I know quite a bit about this shit and my opinions are well informed. If that gives you any solace.

Take care of yourselves, say whatever passes as a prayer to you that I don't end up under "24 hour psychological obseration" over at the Seton Psych Ward, and keep an eye out. Like herpes, I'm gonna show up again.

Thanks,MC

North vs. South Music Festival

2008-08-20T09:37:00.008-05:00

This weekend marks the 5th anniversary of The North vs. South Music Festival, held in Lawrence, KS for the last four years but moved to Kansas City for this go round.

Conceived by Mike McCoy, Hunter Darby, and Grant Johnson, three of the more prolific musicians operating along the IH-35 corridor (amongst other parts of the country), the idea originally was to take the best indie bands from the two notorious music cities at opposite ends of IH-35 (that's Austin and Minneapolis if you can't figure it out) and have them meet in the middle roughly on the anniversary of Quantrill’s Raid on Lawrence, KS during The Civil War (look it up – I ain’t your history teacher). Not a competitive event at all, the philosophy was to bring together two very different and yet oddly similar musical scenes for the purposes of fun, networking, seeing a lot of great music one might not be exposed to, and getting shit faced drunk. It has been a smashing success the last four years, and there’s no reason to expect the fifth won’t be as well.

In the last five years the festival has expanded to include acts from all over the country and, this year, even an international act (Australia). If this isn’t a sign of expanding success I’d be hard pressed to say what is.

The point here is that this is a grown from the ground up, DIY music festival showcasing unsigned and indie acts. This kind of shit doesn’t happen anymore, and it’s a Goddamn shame it doesn’t. I’ve been accused of harping incessantly on the “good old days” of the music scene of the 1980’s and it’s probably true – that was the milieu in which I came up. At the same time, there was an entirely different culture and approach to underground music at that time that seems to have all but disappeared. A music festival like North vs. South, while still cool, wouldn’t have been such an anomaly back then, as such things were cropping up in towns and cities all over the nation. In Austin alone you had the Woodshock festivals, not to mention the staggering juggernaut that is South by Southwest which had equally such inauspicious beginnings. Houston hosted The Westheimer Arts Festival, which gave more than equal time to indie bands.

What’s missing here in the 00’s? A spirit of cooperation? An idea that we’re all in this together and, while there are only so many of us that will ever make a dime off playing music, we should be supporting one another and applauding those that break out rather than treating it as a cut throat competition that plays directly into the smarmy club owners and promoters hands? An inspiration to, if the clubs won’t come across, find some like minded artists and make your own venues wherever you can? Guerilla promotion? All these things, unless I’m just missing it. The internet seems an ideal, not mention inexpensive, way of accomplishing a lot of this, but every music “cooperative” I’ve found on line smacks of some kind of ponzi scheme whereby you, the artist, shell out for a “premium” package which ultimately buys you exactly nothing, and which is even less help for those that opt for the “free” services they offer. They also, through “top rated band” bullshit, engender that same sense of cutthroat competition that is strangling the indie scene.

There are a few exceptions I know of. While exclusive, the Orange 6 collective out of Athens, GA seems to be pretty effectively circumventing the powers that be, and God bless them for that. Nothing else comes to mind at the moment, but consider I’m sleep deprived, stressed out, clinically mentally ill, and have to get on an airplane in 18 hours when I absolutely detest flying (like, panic attack detest – I have to be sedated).

I’m really not one to talk. While I have organized and promoted indie shows with some degree of success (and am currently trying to put one together with extremely limited success so far), I’ve never gotten together some like minded people and attempted something on the scope of North vs. South. The idea has occurred to me, and even entered preliminary planning stages, but fallen apart due to lack of interest and the daunting amount of work and capital it would take to make it successful. That’s not to say it can’t be done. It’s just to say I’m kinda lazy.

I’m proud to be a charter member of North vs. South, having played all four previous festivals and playing this one this coming Saturday, even when, as last year, I had to pull something together at the last minute. It reminds me of the good old days of indie music, as sick as I’m sure you are at hearing that term.

It would do America’s ailing underground music scene a universe of good to see events like North vs. South cropping up around the country. It would certainly do my ailing faith in the vitality of underground music a universe of good - people doing it just because they love it, not because they want to be Conor Oberst. In the words of a Homestead Records era J. Mascis of Dinosaur Jr. (then simply Dinosaur), “I’ll just keep on hopin’.”

You can find info on North vs. South at www.myspace.com/northvssouthmusicfestival.

LeRoi Moore RIP

2008-08-20T09:10:00.005-05:00

LeRoi Moore, saxophonist and co-composer for The Dave Matthews Band, died yesterday at the age of 46 from complications arising from an ATV accident June 30th. Talented motherfucker but honestly, with the exception that the loss of any human life is a tragedy, from a musical perspective I don't really give a shit. Dave Matthews is lowest common denominator pablum - music for the masses in the worst possible way. It's a shame to me that Moore chose such a vapid vehicle in which to express himself.

My opinion of Dave Matthews was not improved by the fact that the band went ahead and performed with the ringer who's been sitting in for Moore since his accident at The Staples Center last night, the night of Moore's death. Seems to me the death of a bandmate and, ostensibly, a friend would merit not a moment of silence, but an entire evening. Concerts can be rescheduled. Tribute shows can be planned. Dead bandmates aren't coming back. The lack of respect is reprehensible and certainly indicates where Dave Matthews priorities lie. It ain't with the music.

Isaac Hayes RIP

2008-08-11T08:03:00.007-05:00

Soul music luminary Isaac Hayes died yesterday at the age of 65 due to causes yet unreleased. Hayes survived a stroke in January 2006, but seemed in good health – he recently finished work on the upcoming film Soul Men (co-starring with, in a somewhat chilling turn, comedian Bernie Mac) and was preparing to begin work on a new album.

Hayes began his professional career in 1964 as a session musician for Stax Records, recording most famously with Otis Redding, although that was by no means the extent of his experience. He hooked up with songwriter David Porter and collaborated on a number of songs, most notably the Sam and Dave hit “Soul Man”.

His career as a recording artist began in 1967 with the release of Presenting Isaac Hayes, but it wasn’t until 1969’s Hot Buttered Rhythm that he came to prominence. Superstardom deservedly came with 1971’s brilliant “Theme From Shaft”, a number one hit that snagged him an Academy Award.

Hayes was an iconoclast for his time, musically opting for a smooth, laid back delivery as opposed to the more frantic presentations of his contemporaries and, visually, eschewing the loud colors, flared pants and afros in style at the time for a shaved head and a whole, whole lot of gold. The beginnings of many of his songs on early records are spoken word and today considered one of the predecessors of the rap genre.

In addition to an up and down musical career Hayes starred in several films, was a noted philanthropist, provided to voice of Chef on Southpark, and, unfortunately, an outspoken advocate for Scientology.

Dubious religious affiliations aside, Isaac Hayes was a brilliant songwriter, a charismatic performer ahead of his time, and a prolific, more than passable actor. That’s a pretty respectable legacy to leave behind.

Man, I’m getting sick of typing RIP after people’s names.

Bernie Mac RIP

2008-08-10T15:32:00.004-05:00

I almost missed the news on poor Bernie. My wife and I are busy tearing our house apart to lay new floors and I decided to take one last stroll through the entertainment news before I dismantled the computer. I’m sure anyone reading this knows more than I do by now.

Bernie got his start as a comedian on Chicago’s South Side, putting on performances for his peers while he was only in high school. I don’t know many details (there are very few comedians whose careers I follow – I’m far too negative a person to enjoy most comedy), but from the brief bios I read his career took a steady upward trajectory from there. Possibly his proudest moment was his inclusion the The Kings of Comedy tour and, resultantly, his segment being included in Spike Lee’s 2000 film The Original Kings of Comedy documenting the tour. That was by no means a swan song – his output has remained steady and, according to everything I could find written on him since, of professional quality.

Bernie died yesterday from sarcoidosis complicated by pneumonia at the age of 50. I’ve got a feeling that, like many comedians performing timeless and quality material who predeceased him, he’s left a legacy that will far outlive the man. Nice job, Bernie – keep ‘em laughing on the other side.

Alexander Solzhenitsyn RIP

2008-08-04T10:50:00.007-05:00

Alexander Solzhenitsyn, a titan of Western literature, died yesterday at the age of 89. The author of the seminal and essential, stunning and horrifying 1973 trilogy Gulag Archipelago was very deservedly the Nobel Laureate for Literature in 1970 for One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, The First Circle, and Cancer Ward, among others.

It’s a miracle the man lived to 89. He was arrested in 1946 for making what were considered seditious comments about Joseph Stalin in a letter to a friend and spent roughly the next decade in the brutal Soviet penal system. His first novels, starkly realistic portraits of the abuses of Stalin, were published while Nikita Khrushchev was in power and anxious to erase any Stalinist legacy. Post Khrushchev, Solzhenitsyn was continuously harassed by the KGB until he was finally exiled from The Soviet Union in 1974. His fame was likely the only thing that saved his life.

While intensely critical of the abuses of Stalin and “the dictatorship of the proletariat”, he was equally disgusted by the excesses of laissez-faire capitalism and, after 1994, voluntarily allowed himself to fade into obscurity.

Much like Albert Speer’s Inside the Third Reich, Gulag Archipelago is an almost sickeningly detailed account of the evil perpetrated under a totalitarian regime and exposed to the world that Adolph Hitler wasn’t the only monster in human skin pulling strings in the 1930’s and 40’s, and that it’s impossible to say which one was taking a page from the other book. Ostensibly bitter enemies, they certainly shared a vision on how to dispose of threats real and imagined within their respective spheres of influence.

At least part of Solzhenitsyn’s legacy is this – the idea that “it can’t happen here” is profoundly naive and the result of allowing yourself to believe it can possibly aid in the creation of the kind of dystopian hell Solzhenitsyn’s novels describe. When Thomas Jefferson, for all his failings, said, “Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.” he wasn’t fucking around. I try to keep politics out of this blog to prevent it from decaying into an online slap fight about who’s right and who’s wrong, but I think it’s applicable here. I see a lot of bile being hurled back and forth out there, but a dearth of vigilance and a complete disregard for the idea that I may disagree with what you say, but will fight to the death for your right to say it. Patriotism is loving your country, not your government. Loving your government is called nationalism, and history has shown that, before too long, it generally leads to conditions described in Alexander Solzhenitsyn’s work. Whoever you think is the better President, Congressman, Senator, or whatever, I think his novels can and should be taken as cautionary. End of political diatribe.

Another giant of Western literature is dead, and I’m wondering where the ones stepping up to take their place are. If I’m just missing them somebody let me know.

Eric Hisaw - "Nature of the Blues" (Saustex Media 2008)

2008-07-23T09:46:00.008-05:00

I first ran into Eric Hisaw at the deservedly notorious Hole in the Wall in the mid-90’s. This was, of course, before The Hole became the sterilized, family friendly, soulless thing it is today. The owners/managers took a refreshing interest in giving smaller acts a venue from which to build an audience and actually booked bands that were interesting and challenging. One of those bands was The Lone Star Queens, a bluesy cowpunk (for lack of a better term) outfit fronted by the charismatic, abrasive Hisaw. While I didn’t have the easiest time getting along with him, I fucking loved his band and there was no question that there was some serious talent going on with the songwriting.

The years have passed and both Hisaw’s personality and sound have mellowed and, while the first has made him really easy for me to get along with, more importantly the second has served to really push the nuances and subtleties of his songwriting to the forefront. Eric’s third release, 2006’s The Crosses, was something of a breakthrough for him, providing long deserved recognition both nationally and internationally. Powerful and oozing pathos, it certainly seemed like a hard act to follow.

Well, not only has Eric Hisaw followed The Crosses, he’s clearly surpassed it. Nature of the Blues is a brutally honest, often dark, and very dramatic record. The songs that aren’t obviously autobiographical spin tales of broken people, desolate places, and ends of the line with such a bona fide confidence that it would be impossible to consider that he hadn’t experienced something at least very similar in his life. Story songs, autobiographical or not, can easily become onerous to listen to. Hisaw deftly avoids this with his lyrical skill – those that won’t identify directly with the material will, like reading a Raymond Carver story, get the vicarious thrill of a tour through the dark side of one corner of the American experience, in this case that of the blue collar southwest.

While the first two tracks are by no means weak, the record really takes off on the third track, “Carnival”, an almost existential rumination on feeling trapped in the small town of your childhood and teenage years and the seeming hopelessness of finding a viable way out. It barrels along for the next five songs, each stronger than the next, before downshifting for the slower, more introspective “Tomorrow”. Things pick up again for the last four songs, the standout being “Jake”, which takes the prize for this record. Lines like “I’ve never known success / so boy you do your best / to turn out better than me” are fucking priceless and capture perfectly a bleak kind of hope that is pervasive throughout the record.

Roots rock rarely gets better than this, and it’s a shame that more mediocre artists (I’m not naming any names – enough people in Austin hate me already) take the lion’s share of the local music industry’s attention. I don’t think it will be long before somebody wakes up and notices this powerhouse that they have willfully or accidentally forgotten to give his due. I doubt he cares much – he seems to be doing pretty well outside of Austin. And it would be just like Austin to ignore one of its under-rated best until they’ve moved on.

My recommendation, to Austinites in particular but also to anyone reading this, is to pick this one up. That is if you enjoy interesting and challenging roots rock that provokes an emotional response as opposed to something you can just dance to. There’s already enough of the latter stinking up the scene.

Eric Hisaw’s record release for Nature of the Blues is Friday, July 25th at Jovita’s on S. 1st St., 7:00 PM.

3.5 out of 4 Carnivals

Old 97s / Sleepercar - Floore Country Store - San Antonio, TX - 07/18/2008

2008-07-22T13:37:00.007-05:00

I can’t say much for Sleepercar, as I only caught their last couple of songs. Gotta say that, while their energy was to be admired, the music didn’t make an impression on me. It’s pretty standard practice to close a set with a few of your best, most memorable songs (oldest rule of show business – leave ‘em wanting more). If Sleepercar was adhering to this paradigm then I unfortunately have some serious doubts about them. I’ll wait to hear the record before passing final judgment, but God knows when that will happen.

An Old 97s show, in the right venue, is always something to behold. Floore Country Store is one of those venues – large enough to comfortably hold a crowd that will generate an enormous amount of enthusiasm and energy (around 500) while not being so large that the sense of intimacy and camaraderie with the band is sacrificed. I’ve seen The Old 97s in every setting from a smallish club to an arena, and they’re never so engaging as in this setting.

The songs roll out of them like a hit parade, each one sounding at once as familiar as your favorite Old 97s song – even if you’ve never heard it before or had time to get familiar with it. Even their weaker songs, of which there are more than a few from their late 90’s/early 00’s offerings, take on a new and exciting life.

They ambled unceremoniously onto the stage with an enthusiastic “Howdy, y’all!” from bassist Murray Hammond and launched into “The Fool”. Immediate technical problems arose, as Murray Hammond’s mic had cut out sometime between “Howdy, y’all!” and his first backing vocal. Always charmingly unprofessional, Rhett Miller took a long tuning break while the band vamped on the opening riff of second song “Barrier Reef” for 16 measures or so. Once Rhett wandered back center stage and started the song Hammond’s mic kicked in and it was four on the floor for the next hour and a half.

While they're in the midst of ripping a song out of their instruments it’s difficult to believe this is a band that, by their own assertion, never practices. It’s occasionally at the beginning and often at the end of songs that it’s easier to believe. The fact that some songs lurch into gear and many others simply fall apart rather than end is part of that unprofessional charm I mentioned, and certainly feeds the camaraderie that builds between audience and band as the show progresses. It’s a beautiful thing to observe.

I think one of the reasons seeing the band in this kind of setting really appeals to me is it reminds me strongly of the punk/underground shows of the 1980’s. This is really unsurprising as all four of these guys came up in that milieu, but, man, do they engender the whole feeling of being a part of something and that there’s no real line between the guys on the stage and the people in the crowd (while avoiding the epidemic violence that ultimately, as far as I’m concerned, ruined that scene). It helps that the audience is generally so enthusiastic, and this was certainly true at Floore. Most of the crowd sang along, danced, and went nuts to almost every song in the set right up until the first encore, which is where my inevitable complaint comes in.

I’ve found the “acoustic interlude” at a rock show obnoxious since at least the days of Uncle Tupelo, which is the first band I can remember doing it. I didn’t fork over my money to watch one member of the band self-indulgently hog the spotlight and the audience’s attention to play their thoughtful, acoustic songs. It’s boring and it shatters the energy of a wonderfully careening set like a bottle hitting a wall. For the love of God, Rhett and Murray and anyone else out there doing it, save it for the fucking coffee shop. Or your solo tour. If you simply have to play these songs slap together an arrangement that includes the whole band. I don’t think I’ll be the only one that thanks you for it.

To be fair, The Old 97s as a whole band were able to more or less pick up where they left off for the final two encores and close things out with a truly rafter rattling rendition of “Timebomb”. It was hard to ask for or expect anything more after that.

Overall, this show was so close to a home run as makes no difference. I know bands dream of selling out arenas and enjoying the freedoms that such a level of success brings, but I’m glad The Old 97s have settled into the level of success they’ve found. It’s enough to keep them comfortably viable and doing what they do for years to come without shoving them into a realm in which they don’t translate. As it is, give me a medium sized room, a sound system, The Old 97s, and 500 rabid fans, and I’m sure as shit going to have the time of my life.

Alejandro Escovedo - "Real Animal" (Manhattan Records 2008)

2008-07-14T07:34:00.003-05:00

A good way to tell the difference between a true Austinite and someone who just lives here is to ask them what they think of Alejandro Escovedo. If the say, “Who?” you know you better quickly find some generic small talk to fill out the conversation if you want to continue it at all. At least if you’re a sanctimonious, opinionated ass who dwells to the point of obsession on the subjects of Austin music, art and politics. You may not be such a person. I sure as fuck am and so are most of the people I call my friends. One fairly common rule of thumb amongst people like yours truly is this – you don’t fuck with Alejandro Escovedo.

The man has led a life and had a career far more interesting than any fictional rock ‘n’ roller, or for that matter most real ones. As co-writer and guitarist for The Nuns, one of the earliest punk bands to appear on the West Coast, he opened for The Sex Pistols final show along with The Avengers at Winterland in San Francisco. He proved to be the glue in cowpunk outfit Rank and File (California version cowpunk, not to be confused with the anarchic mayhem of music so categorized in Austin and represented primarily by The Hickoids), as Rank and File lost direction and ultimately dissolved with Alejandro’s departure. He went on to front the seminal Austin roots rock legends The True Believers (to use a tired cliché, if you were able to look up “seminal Austin band” in the dictionary there would be a picture of The True Believers next to it). After leaving The True Believers he launched a solo career in 1992 with the release of the astounding Gravity, a record so passionate and emotionally charged that it’s immediately impossible to forget. A string of brilliant, passionate, primarily melancholic records followed. In the midst of all this he fronted and wrote the material for Buick McKane to allow himself an outlet for his need to play balls out rock ‘n’ roll, battled a near fatal bout with Hepatitis C, and led a dramatic personal life involving wives, ex-wives, friends, ex-friends, collaborators and ex-collaborators. He’s never achieved mainstream success, but just about every critically acclaimed serious artist out there cites him as an influence, and many of them count him among their friends.

That’s the short version. Like I said, you don’t fuck with Alejandro. Unfortunately, after some careful listens of his latest release, Real Animal, I find myself in the uncomfortable position of, if I’m to write an honest opinion piece, doing just that. Bear in mind I love Alejandro’s body of work – anyone can hit a bump in an otherwise smooth and beautiful road.

I don’t think there’s been a more anticipated release from an Austin artist since Spoon’s Merge Records debut Girls Can Tell in 2001. The promotion leading up to the release of Real Animal has stressed that it’s a collection of songs exploring Alejandro’s musical journey from The Nuns to present, including personalities encountered, befriended, and idolized. This it certainly does, and while the stories are there, this is where the record ultimately musically fails.

Where Alejandro’s best work has a natural and seemingly easy flow to it, much of Real Animal sounds forced, as though inspiration was passed over in favor of cramming these sets of story lyrics into often incompatible song structures, arrangements, and instrumentation. These failings are most evident in songs like “Chelsea Hotel” and “Chip n’ Tony”, which are trying so hard to be “rock” songs they come across as pale imitations of the same. Alejandro’s rock credentials are well established, with catchy solo songs like “Castanets” to the raw power of Buick McKane at its best, not to mention most everything that came before. It seems strangely out of character for him to be recasting himself as something he already is, and without the deftness of hand and easy grace of his earlier work.

Other problems crop up. Tony Visconti’s production and arrangements are almost uniquely unsuited for Alejandro’s brand of music. While a layered lushness, compressed guitar tone, and choral background vocals may have been perfect for other projects on his resume such as The Moody Blues, T. Rex, or David Bowie, it is glaringly out of place here. “Sensitive Boys” is certainly reminiscent of Bowie, but its disingenuous melancholic tone (when Alejandro usually does melancholy so well) makes it sound sappy and the Vegasey semi-choral background vocals are so out of place they go the rest of the way to ruining the song. This shows up again in “Golden Bear”, ruining an otherwise perfectly serviceable chorus. Alejandro has proven adept and even ingenious in incorporating strings in his songs, but the string arrangement on “Nuns Song” is positively jarring over his appropriately snotty reminiscence of the life and death of his 70s punk band.

The record is by no means a total wash. In spite of an unwieldy musical breakdown in the middle of the song, opener “Always a Friend” is a hooky singalong that pulls you in immediately. While hampered by Visconti’s over-production “Sister Lost Soul” is a definite keeper and the strongest track on the record.

All the songs on this album were co-written by Chuck Prophet, a long time contemporary and friend dating back to Alejandro’s California punk days, and I can’t help but wonder if this is what made the difference. Two old friends reminiscing about the good, or for that matter bad, old days is sure to be entertaining to them, but rarely to outsiders. In this case the phenomenon translated to the music being made, which is a shame considering both of these guys are such talented and powerful songwriters on their own.

As for Alejandro Escovedo, I’ll anxiously await his next record and hope that he allows the songs he writes to flow from within rather than directly out of the past.

2.5 Real Animals

FreakAngels

2008-07-10T09:44:00.002-05:00

I mention in my profile that I'm into comic books. Well, I am. Big old comic book fanatic and have been as long as I can remember. Not the superhero shit. I'm also not some obsessive collector type. I don't go to conventions or dress up in costumes. I read 'em and, after I've accumulated a pile, dump 'em off on the local used book store.

Anyway, it's my opinion that some of the better, more literary writing and storytelling going on in this day and age is occurring in this format. FreakAngels is a free weekly online comic written by Warren Ellis, who happens to be one of my favorite writers. I encourage you to check it out. If you dig it, sneak into a comic shop when no one is looking and buy some of his stuff. Ask the guy or gal behind the counter to recommend writers in a similar vein - he or she will talk to you way too long but you'll end up with a list of writers that will blow you away. Eventually, maybe, you'll even be able to admit to others that you're into this stuff.

So if this makes me a geek, as my wife maintains, so be it. I don't really give a shit. Check it out and see if you're one too.

George Carlin RIP

2008-06-23T09:29:00.004-05:00

"I look at it this way... For centuries now, man has done everything he can to destroy, defile, and interfere with nature: clear-cutting forests, strip-mining mountains, poisoning the atmosphere, over-fishing the oceans, polluting the rivers and lakes, destroying wetlands and aquifers... so when nature strikes back, and smacks him on the head and kicks him in the nuts, I enjoy that. I have absolutely no sympathy for human beings whatsoever. None. And no matter what kind of problem humans are facing, whether it's natural or man-made, I always hope it gets worse."

George Carlin said that in 2005. It has a lot of resonance with me. A lot of Carlin’s material does. His knack for slicing open the absurdities of human existence and American culture and mores in particular was second to none – not even his legendary pal Lenny Bruce. Everything and everybody was a target at which he had no hesitancy in taking aim, and I doubt there’s anyone who didn’t find themselves in the crosshairs, at least in a general sense, once or twice. I’m not sure it would have been nearly as effective had he not had the humility to readily confess he himself was just as guilty of many of the absurdities he so keenly dissected.

I consider myself a pretty misanthropic guy, and you’re unlikely to find anyone who knows me that would disagree. One of the more impressive things about Carlin to me was that he consistently managed to make me uncomfortable. He made the extremity of my beliefs about our culture and society look mundane in comparison.

This is what it’s all about, folks. Nothing is ever going to get better without someone throwing your inadequacies, absurdities, laziness, lack of engagement, and lack of compassion right back in your face and making you squirm. Trying is good. Carlin made you try harder.

The man is dead. He died yesterday at the age of 71. Thankfully, for once, there’s someone out there ready to have a good shot at filling the void. It’s my hope that, in time, Lewis Black might surpass Carlin as Carlin did Lenny Bruce. But there’s no question those are some pretty big giants shoulders to stand on.

If it turns out there is an Invisible Man in the Sky, I’d sure be interested in finding out who wins the slugfest. I know who I’d put my money on.

Dog Days

2008-06-19T15:30:00.004-05:00

I just wanted to let my 5 or 6 loyal readers know that posts are likely to be a little thin the next couple of months. Between Alejandro Escovedo’s new one Real Animal next week and Brian Wilson’s That Lucky Old Sun in September there’s really not a whole lot being released that I give a shit about. Courtney Love’s latest crime against humanity is due sometime in “spring/summer 2008” and you better believe I’ll be on that like a hobo on a dead junkie, but otherwise this summer just doesn’t look that promising for interesting releases good, bad or in between. At least releases interesting to me.

I’ll try and get the Alejandro review up before I leave town on the 28th (it’s already been reviewed from The Austin Chronicle to Rolling Stone so my opinion isn’t likely to have much impact anyway), write up the occasional noteworthy show I catch, note the inevitable RIPs, and certainly find a nugget or two of offensive cultural goings on to rant about, but that’s likely to be it ‘til September when things pick up again. Or maybe I’ll actually go see a movie and write about that.

Anyway, before I get too far off track, expect posts here at Cultural Senescence to succumb to the dog days of the Texas summer, as so much else has over time.

Notwithstanding slavery, The Indian Wars, Jim Crow, Japanese internment camps, institutionalized racism, sexism, and homophobia, the current administration, the last seven presidents (at least), and The Jonas Brothers try to remember that the old USA isn’t that bad a place to live and enjoy your Independence Day. With a little help… Well, a lot of help, it might be a great place to live one day.

Before you fall under the misapprehension that I’m softening in my old age bear in mind that I’m not holding my fucking breath.

The Cure, 65 Days of Static - 6/9/08 - Toyota Center - Houston, TX

2008-06-11T09:41:00.004-05:00

First, let me dispense with 65 Days of Static. They sucked. Tight? Professional? Sure. They played four songs in their half hour set, all of them long (obviously), self-indulgent instrumentals that didn’t go anywhere. Eight or nine minutes of waiting for an actual song to start before realizing you had just heard the song. Four times. Who listens to this shit?

Although The Cure has literally never let me down in terms of live performance, I had some trepidation about this tour. The line up was a more stripped down version of the band than any since their earliest days – Robert Smith on vocals and guitar, Porl Thompson on guitar, Simon Gallup on bass, and Jason Cooper on drums. Given that The Cure has relied so heavily on keyboards to fill out their sound in the past I was pretty certain the performance quality would suffer for their lack.

This didn’t prove to be the case. Robert Smith is nothing if not adaptable. While some of the songs did sound thin, the new arrangements allowing for guitar or bass to cover keyboard melodies worked surprisingly well and lent them a rawness and urgency that is unusual for this band. If you’re 100% dedicated to the more ethereal presentations of The Cure then this was not the show for you. Even typically keyboard heavy songs like “Hot Hot Hot”, “Just Like Heaven” and “Plainsong” worked well in this guitar heavy configuration – something I would have never expected.

Playing for three hours the band stuck primarily to material from Head on the Door and beyond through their main set and first encore, especially Head on the Door and Disintegration, pulling only four songs from their forthcoming record amidst a smattering of songs, both well known and obscure, from from Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Wish, Bloodflowers, Wild Mood Swings, and The Cure. They did reach all the way back to Pornography to pull out a stunningly effective “100 Years” – Smith may have just gotten really good at faking it, but he sure as hell sounded as angry as he was 25 years ago when that song was recorded.

That Smith still has a fire burning in him was, to me at least, reinforced by the (audience pleasing, I’ll grant) raw power of their second encore. Consisting of songs from The Cure’s earliest days – “Boys Don’t Cry”, a brilliant combination of “Jumping Someone Else’s Train” and the rarely heard live “Grinding Halt”, and “Killing an Arab” – this mini set really kicked things up a notch. In spite of the fact that three of the four are de rigueur crowd pleasers, the band imbued them with an energy that hearkened back to the days when Robert Smith’s vision for The Cure was one of a punk band, and they truly tore up the stage with them. We listened to Seventeen Second’s “A Forest”, the third encore and last song of the night, as we were leaving and it sounded every bit as good as everything that had come before.

It was difficult to get a feel for the new material on just one live listen, but they sounded good enough to intrigue me and fill me with hope that the upcoming album will be a dramatic improvement over the disappointment of 2004’s The Cure.

My one complaint – Jason Cooper on drums. While competent, he displays none of the creativity of Boris Williams. He doesn’t hit nearly as hard and depends way too much on electronic drums. In a band as reliant on heavy rhythms as The Cure he is, in my opinion, a real liability.

Overall, however, The Cure have done it for me again. Of the many reasons I love this band their live performance is way up there on the list. It’s not many a stadium act that can keep me entertained and at times enraptured for three hours. It’s not many a stadium act that can maintain the kind of focus and energy The Cure bring to the table and never look like they’re phoning it in for three hours. In fact, I can’t think of another. Not too bad for four old guys.

Bo Diddley RIP

2008-06-02T11:16:00.002-05:00

Bo Diddley died today at 79 after surviving a stroke and a heart attack last year. All I've been able to find out is "heart failure".

What the fuck can I say about this? I guess just this - Thank you, Bo. May your destination be as kind and inspirational to you as you were to us.

Earle Hagen RIP

2008-05-28T21:58:00.005-05:00

The man that composed and whistled that infectious Andy Griffith Show theme song died at the quite respectable age of 88 this past Monday night.

Now I know many, probably most, of you (myself included) have spent many an insomniac night with that damn tune echoing through our skulls, but Hagen was no novelty performer. He also composed and performed the themes for I Spy, The Mod Squad, The Dick Van Dyke Show, and Gomer Pyle.

Okay, maybe I'm not making such a great case for him.

But here you go - before finding TV fame he played with both The Tommy Dorsey and The Benny Goodman Orchestras. He co-scored the 1960 Marily Monroe star vehicle Let's Make Love, and later took on Gentlemen Prefer Blondes solo. He also co-wrote "Harlem Nocturne", which you probably think you don't know but would recognize in under a measure. The man performed and recorded music for 72 straight years, and while it may not have all been Mozart, it sure hit the higher rungs of pop culture (and scraped the bottom). Let's not forget that Mozart in his time was pop culture and managed both as well.

Good job, Earle. We should all be worthy of such a legacy.

Old 97s "Blame it on Gravity" (New West Records 2008)

2008-05-20T14:01:00.007-05:00

When I met my future wife in 1994 or so she had just moved to Austin from Dallas, and she wouldn't shut the fuck up about a band called The Old 97s. She was on a mission to get everyone she knew and everyone she met into this band. Being a sanctimonious music snob/geek who was certain that the only bands of worth that Dallas had produced were The Loco Gringos and, more recently, The Reverend Horton Heat I took her enthusiasm as evidence that The Old 97s were, well, a chick band. Try not to hate me too much - I'm a big enough person to admit it and, for the most part, have outgrown such off the cuff sexism. Anyway, at the the time I paid them no mind at all.

In 1996 I was driving out to a recording studio in Bee Caves to help out on a friend's record when a song came over the student radio station. I was so blown away that I pulled over to wait for the airbreak so I could write down the name of the band. You've probably guessed that the band was The Old 97s - the song was "Big Brown Eyes" off of Wreck Your Life. I don't know if I ever apologized to my wife to be for doubting her, but if I didn't I should have.

The music on that record, and especially their 1997 follow up Too Far to Care, struck about every chord in me there was to strike at that time. The songs were surly, fiery, angry, desperate, humorous, absurd and melancholy - sometimes all at once. Rhett Miller wailed exceedingly clever lyrics in one of the most engaging voices out there, Murray Hammond hit spot on harmonies, Ken Bethea laid down hooky, perfectly placed guitar licks, and Philip Peeples drove the whole thing relentlessly from behind the drum kit. They eschewed fully traditional pop structures and song lengths in the interest of telling a good story and, man, could they tell a fucking story. It was what country music, real country music, should have evolved into.

God knows it wasn't going to last. 1999's Fight Songs was a big disappointment to me. With exceptions of tracks "Crash on the Barrelhead" and "Nineteen" the record fell totally flat - the energy was gone and the songs sounded pedestrian and mundane. The clever lyricism was missing and the record as a whole was just boring - not much different than other guitar pop bands of the time. 2001's Satellite Rides was a bigger disappointment still with, to my mind, "Buick City Complex" being the only memorable song. It was after this release that the band parted ways with Elektra Records. I don't know the details, but whether they initiated it or not it was the best thing that could have happened to them at this point.

Drag It Up, released in 2004 on New West Records, finally showed signs of life. The rawness was back, things were getting clever again, and the songs, with a couple of notable exceptions, were strong and memorable. It seemed like the boys were on their way back. Blame it on Gravity proves the supposition to be the case, I'm happy to say.

From opening rocker "The Fool" followed by the gear shifting slinky Latin-8ths "Dance with Me" this record jumps right in feeling like classic, clever, attitude driven Old 97s. The pop direction they explored in the Fight Songs/Satellite Rides era is present in songs like the Posies-esque "My Two Feet", a big difference being that this is spirited, original sounding pop as opposed to the seemingly phoned in efforts on those two previous records. Mostly, however, you get a satisfying dose of Old 97s country rock goodness with everything that has made the band great intact and those elements that have weakened them largely absent.

Long time Rhett Miller collaborator Salim Nouraliah produced this effort, and what a job he did. On top of a drastic return to form on the part of the band, Nouraliah provides a healthy degree of experimentation in terms of song dynamics and especially the use of varying guitar tones within songs to give things an extra kick. It adds to the already overall listenability of the record and provides an addictive element that should lend this release a long shelf life.

I'm older. You're older. The Old 97s are older. I think one of the coolest things about this record is that they're playing to their audience again. Not to a pop crowd or a AAA format crowd, but to those that have grown up with them. We're all a little more reserved with families and jobs and such, but like to be reminded that at heart we're a bunch of surly, fiery, angry, desperate, humorous, absurd and melancholy kids who want to rock. With a touch of wisdom that ultimately makes the whole thing successful, that's a reminder that Blame it on Gravity gives us.

3.5 out of 4 Johnny Cash songs

Scarlett Johansson "Anywhere I Lay My Head" (Atco 2008)

2008-05-19T12:57:00.007-05:00

Way back in 1986 a mediocre actor named Don Johnson, who was hot shit at the time thanks to his leading role in the hit series Miami Vice, released a record called Heartbeat. Despite the fact that he pulled in some heavy hitters like Tom Petty and Ronnie Wood to lend this vanity project some kind of credibility it was still roundly panned for the steaming pile of crap that it was.

Joe Strummer was in the middle of shooting his first film appearance as Simms in Alex Cox’s Straight to Hell at the time of this record’s release. When asked in an interview if he thought it might be inappropriate that a successful musician transition to acting he self-deprecatingly replied, “When Don Johnson quits making records, I’ll quit making movies.”

Well, Don Johnson quit making records (thank God) and Joe Strummer quit making movies (RIP), but that hasn’t stopped anything. Musicians seem to have an easier time making the jump to acting – Method Man, Mos Def, Tom Waits, John Doe – than actors to music – Keanu Reeves, Corey Feldman, Russell Crowe and, finally, Scarlett Johansson.

Ms. Johansson attempts to lend her vanity project, Anywhere I lay My Head, credibility by stocking it almost entirely with Tom Waits covers. I’m not joking. I wish I were. I would have rather spent forty-five minutes listening to her belch into a microphone than be subjected to her slaughtering this iconic musician’s material.

I like her acting. Honestly, I do. That’s why I’m going to address five words to Scarlett that have been heard so many times by actual musicians it’s become cliché – don’t quit your day job.

This piece of crap falls out of Atco's ass Tuesday, May 20th 2008.

1/2 out of 4 I don’t give a damns just because she looks so damn good

Chuck's Wagon - "Chuck's Wagon" (Self-Release 2007)

2008-05-14T09:31:00.003-05:00

With song titles like “Wreckless”, “Heartbreak”, and “You Lied” you get a pretty good idea of what to expect from the Chuck’s Wagon eponymously titled 2007 follow up to their debut EP Bootleg Special. Or at least you think you do.

Chuck’s Wagon is the brainchild and songwriting vehicle for Sydney, Australia’s Chuck Stokes. With the support of an impressively competent backing band, Chuck has been making some waves in Australia since he put the project together in 2005, and he’s brought his take on honky tonk over to Texas twice since September 2007.

While drawing clear inspiration from masters of the form Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, and Kris Kistofferson, there’s a rock ‘n’ roll undertone to Chuck’s Wagon that is evocative of Gram Parsons and Bruce Springsteen’s more countrified material (which is far superior to his rock ‘n’ roll outings in my humble opinion). It may be true that none of this is necessarily breaking new ground, but it is lyrically that Stokes really stakes out his own parcel of the genre.

A couple of good examples are “3AM”, which one would reasonably expect to have something to do with last call, and “Jesus”, a song for which you could be forgiven for assuming that the name speaks to the content. Neither proves to be the case, and it is this consistent defiance of expectation that really makes the songwriting stand out from the pack. The fact that the unexpected stories being told are so clearly uncontrived and coming from an honest place only serves to make them more appealing and worthy of many listens.

The production/engineering credit goes to Steve Newtown, a venerable and well known roots music producer down under. In spite of this, to my ear at least, the production is the weakest link here. There is a kind of warm coziness to the sound that leaves very little open sonic space and is reminiscent of the often over-produced establishment Nashville sound of the 1970’s – something I’ve never found appealing. Something a little more spare, more like Lee Hazlewood’s work with Gram Parsons, would have served these songs better. The incredibly cool reverb drenched pedal steel that shows up in places would have truly been a knockout punch in that context. Still, the songs are uniformly strong enough to overcome this and by mid-record it’s less than a distraction.

Chuck is headed back Texas way later this month and into June with long time blues and roots Aussie guitar slinger Kinnon Holt at his side, and it’s my recommendation you go check him out. As a touring act from abroad he not only needs your support, he deserves it. You can check out tour dates at www.myspace.com/chuckswagon.

You can pick up Chuck’s Wagon at www.cdbaby.com/cd/chuckswagon.

3 out of 4 chuck wagons, baby.

Steve Schroeder RIP

2008-05-09T10:34:00.005-05:00

In the heart of Wichita, KS, one of the most unlikely places on earth, stands what is, in my opinion, the coolest bar and music venue in the Midwest. Kirby’s Beer Store has been an essential stopover for touring bands for decades. In spite of the fact that it has a maximum capacity of about 50 people (that’s being generous), the PA is a piece of crap, and you play for beer and tips, the very ambience and character of the place has made it a deservedly world famous place to play.

Over the course of the last 15 years or so I played Kirby’s at least a dozen times with three different bands. In that time I became good friends with Kirby’s owner Steve Schroeder. In a universe populated by self-important scumbags drunk with their miniscule amount of power and the fleeting ability to affect a band’s immediate destiny Steve was an anomaly. He was generous, friendly, and always genuinely happy to see me and whatever gang of musicians with whom I was traveling whether he had met them before or not. He never once turned me down when I asked him for a booking, something otherwise unheard of in my experience.

Steve died of an illness a couple of weeks ago. I just found out. I don’t know what killed him. I don’t know the fate of his legendary venue. Two things I do know – playing Kirby’s Beer Store was the inevitable high point of every trudgerous trip I made up and down the IH-35 corridor thanks to Steve Schroeder, and this shitty ass year just got exponentially worse with his passing.

Steve, be at peace my brother. You made the world a better place in your time here, and that’s more than most people can take with them. Especially amongst the owners of live music venues.

Eddy Arnold RIP

2008-05-08T13:15:00.004-05:00

The man who wrote and sang "Make the World Go Away" (in association with the great Chet Atkins), possibly one of the greatest country songs of all time, died this morning at the age of 89. Arnold pioneered a blend of country, folk and pop that, along with his melancholy, baritone voice, placed him among the great pioneers of the genre. Give a listen to any one of his songs and reflect on Nashville's bullshit current claims that their Botox constructed stable of stars play any kind of blend of country, folk and pop.

Safe journies, Eddy. You earned 'em.

The Political Rip Off

2008-05-02T13:36:00.007-05:00

I don't like presidents. I don't like people of "presidential caliber". In my opinion, if you've reached a point where you're able to aspire to be, arguably, the most powerful human being in the world then you've pulled some evil, Machiavellian shit to get there. Oh, I vote. I try to vote for the nitwit who's going to accelerate the destruction of our way of life more slowly than the other. Anymore, though, it doesn't seem to me that there's much of a difference. But I'm not writing this to bitch about politics - I'm writing this to bitch about the co-option of rock 'n' roll songs by these dandied up jack-booted thugs.

Now, if you're some knuckle dragging nationalist schmuck like Toby Keith who wants to endorse a fuckwad like George W. Bush, well, that's one thing. But these people use recording artists' material all the time without so much as a "please" or "thank you" in order to try and make us proles think of them when we hear certain songs. Advertising 101. In the world of advertising the artists a) grant permission for the use of their material, and b) are financially recompensed for its use. This is not true of political campaigns.

Alejandro Escovedo refused to play his song "Castanets" live for years when he found out George W. Bush was using it at campaign rallies.

John Mellencamp asked the McCain campaign to stop using his song "Our Country" at rallies as he didn't agree with McCain's politics. Surprisingly, McCain's people complied.

For an example on the other side in addition to the Toby Keith reference you had Barack Obama appearing on stage at the 2008 Austin Music Awards and "performing" with Asleep at the Wheel and Joe Ely. Presumably these two support Obama and were happy to have him. Fine.

Now, forgetting for a moment the fact that a bar showing the super bowl gets charged broadcast royalties for the songs playing at the stadium and emitting from the TV speakers while political campaigns don't get charged royalties at all, let's take a quick peek at the place of patronage in history and a (literally) little Federal agency called The National Endowment for the Arts.

In the admittedly morally questionable history of Western Civilization the importance of talented artists of all stripes has, until relatively recently, been acknowledged. Poets, composers, artists, actors, sculptors, etc. sought out patrons from the nobility. The kings, queens, dukes, earls or whatever would pay the way of select artists and thereby allow them to focus on their work. Michelangelo, Da Vinci, Mozart, Beethoven, and Shakespeare are among the many cultural luminaries that would in all likelihood be forgotten were it not for patronage. Granted, a social structure built around nobility is an autocratic, racist, classist abomination and these nobles didn't provide patronage out of the kindness of their shriveled black hearts. They did it because having a Da Vinci or a Mozart brought distinction to one's court and, ostensibly, the envy of other nobles. Still, the artist got to do nothing but make art and eat - two things mutually exclusive today.

The USA's enlightened response to this, which it took until 1965 to initiate, was an act of Congress creating The National Endowment for the Arts. Out of federal budgets exploding into the hundreds of billions of dollars the most money the NEA has ever been allotted for grants is 180 million dollars. The allotment for 2008 is 144.7 million dollars. When you consider the federal government is operating at a roughly 97 trillion dollar deficit, I'd be interested to see how much of that money actually endows any artists.

And yet our intrepid leaders don't even twitch at the thought of using artists' material to sell themselves. The honor of it should be its own reward, or some shit like that. No matter how you slice it it still smells like shit.

If you or your band want to pimp a candidate you support then more power to you. If a candidate is using your song without your approval then you're being ripped off and mis-represented. The music itself is cheapened and demeaned. And the inherently slimy somehow become even slimier.

What's the answer? I don't fucking know. It just pisses me off and I wanted to rant about it. I'm fully confident that it's only going to get worse.

As far as these asshole politicians are concerned, let me take a little bit of Bob Dylan out of context here - "Show me someone who's not a parasite and I'll go out and say a prayer for him."

Good luck finding one.

Albert Hoffman RIP

2008-04-30T12:41:00.004-05:00

Say what you will about it, the man's invention has been inextricably bound with pop culture for more than 40 years. I'm of the opinion that rock 'n' roll would have ultimately lost all potency and power without it. Feel free to disagree. For me, Dr. Hoffman, thank you for The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Byrds, Jimi Hendrix, Arthur Brown, Love, Skip Spence, Syd Barrett, Black Flag, The Meat Puppets, Brian Wilson, etc., etc., etc. They may not have all made it through intact, but what they made while they were was some truly genius shit.

The Texas Showdown and the De-Austinification of Austin

2008-04-28T13:12:00.007-05:00

Austin American Statesman writer John Kelso writes in his April 20th, 2008 article (http://www.statesman.com/news/content/news/stories/local/04/20/0420kelso.html) that he's sick of old Austinites "crabbing about Austin losing its long-standing traditions". He lists defining Austin institutions that have been forced out by rising rents/development - "Liberty Lunch, Steamboat, Chances, Club Cairo, the Black Cat Lounge, the Electric Lounge, and next month, the Texas Showdown Saloon". He goes on to say, "...I'm afraid most new Austinites don't really care if the old Austin is taking a hike. And why should they? If you didn't see Stevie Ray Vaughan play at Hut's, how would you know what you missed?"

Here's why.

Austin has maintained itself as hub of cultural oddity for as long as any long time resident can remember. My history here being filtered through alternative culture/punk rock I can say with confidence that no other city in the US could have produced bands like The Big Boys, The Butthole Surfers, Scratch Acid, or The Hickoids. Name another band in the 1960's that sounded anything like The 13th Floor Elevators. Or The Sir Douglas Quintet (technically from San Antonio, but I feel pretty secure in including them here).

I remember a time when one could walk down Guadalupe St. perusing amusing, absurd, offensive, and pretentiously artistic band flyers while passing unique, independently owned businesses serving one's needs for clothing, coffee, books, food, records, art, or general wierdness. It was a reputation for such that made Austin a destination to begin with, and the fact that newcomers "didn't see Stevie Ray Vaughn play at Hut's" has no bearing on the fact that the soul of this city is being sucked out of it.

Here's a list of defunct businesses that were located on or near Guadalupe either overlooked or forgotten in the sparse media coverage of the closing of The Texas Showdown.

Mad Dogs & Beans - Just off Guad on 24th St., this tumbledown shack of a burger joint served some of the best and cheapest artery clogging chow in the city. They also served beer to wash it down. Sometimes they had free punk rock shows in the parking lot with free beer.

The Varsity Theatre - I've read a couple of laments of the closing of Tower Records, a CD/Video superstore that was an attempt at corporate expansion originating from the first Tower Records in Los Angeles. I was glad to see it go, for no small reason that it occupied the space where The Varsity had stood. Cheap art house cinema in a cool old theatre right on the drag. What could be better? Certainly not Tower fucking Records.

Les Amis - A small, dark cafe' behind The Varsity on 24th serving vegetarian fare, good wine, a decent selection of beer, and a completely unique ambience. One of my favorite places to study.

Inner Sanctum Records - A basement record store crammed to the ceiling with vinyl of all kinds, and a proprieter who knew where you could find any specific one.

The Cadeau - Crazy ass clothing and accessories for queens, freaks, or anybody else that didn't consider tan bermuda shorts, a frat t-shirt and a ball cap fashion.

Quackenbush's - Fuck you, Seattle - this was a real coffee shop. Studying on their clautrophobic patio drinking double cappucino's, adding to the haze in the air chain smoking Silk Cuts, and watching two UT professors continue a glacial chess game that's been going on for months is not an experience one can replicate at a Starbucks. The book store next door, also now gone, the name of which I sadly can't remember, was awesome too.

Sound Exchange - THE punk rock record store in Austin. New and used. In a pre-internet era it was the only place to find copies of magazines like Maximum Rock 'n' Roll so you had some idea of what the bands you liked were up to and what new bands were worth checking out. Daniel Johnston didn't paint that mural on the outside wall for whatever lame-ass shit hole is there now.

Technophilia - As much as we resisted the Compact Disc revolution, when it became inevitable this was the coolest place to find 'em, at least before hold out Sound Exchange gave in and started carrying them.

I'm certain there are more I'm missing. The Texas Showdown, a mainstay for 26 years and occupying the site that legendary punk club Raul's once occupied, is next on the chopping block. It's literally the last business on "The Drag" with any character at all, and I don't just say that because I've been drinking there for my entire adult life. As of May 25th it's history, that part of Austin history that newcomers apparently shouldn't care about, and it's literally the last place on Guadalupe worth a tinker's damn. Some might make a case for The Hole in the Wall, but the business operating in that location, in spite of carrying on the name, is a soulless franchised shell of what The Hole in the Wall really was.

Why should they care? This is ostensibly what they fucking came here for. The most insidious thing is that the developers and landlords are cleaning up replacing these beloved places with chain or chain subsidiary operations designed to look all Austiny and unique. Go check out the Triangle development and see for yourself.

Hope springs eternal with the Red River and North Loop districts hanging on, and thank God for that. It's just too bad there are "districts" at all - most of Austin used to look like this. I suppose I should give props to S. Congress as well, though there's something way too fabricated in its aspect for me to trust it entirely - "Hey! Look folks! Here's the wierd Austin you moved here for! All on these few blocks!". As for the venerable Emo's, I remember when it was an attempt at a chain like expansion originating in Houston, and its "No Cover! Ever!" policy put all the cool downtown punk clubs right out of business. Funny how quickly the "no cover" policy evaporated after that.

But back to Guadalupe St. and the closing of my favorite bar. Right now it's hard for me to give a damn that this bullshit is happening all over town because The Showdown's fall is hitting me where it hurts. I don't drink anymore for health reasons but I'm not perfect, and when I fall off the wagon that's where I do it. Or at least I will until May 25th.

The Broken Spoke. The Continental Club. The Horseshoe Lounge. La-La's Little Nugget. The Carousel Lounge. The Poodle Dog Lounge. Those are the last of the last, and I wouldn't lay bets that any of them except The Continental will be around in five years, so get ready to pony up a $20.00 cover and pay $5.00 a beer to get a taste of what Austin was like before it was replaced with a facsimile of itself.

I'd like to think those newcomers who aren't supposed to care will somehow be able to tell the difference, but no-one's ever accused me of being an optimist.

Drink up, Austin. You don't have to go home but you can't stay here.

Danny Federici RIP

2008-04-18T09:31:00.004-05:00

The only Springsteen stuff I like is the stuff he did without the E Street Band, and even that's pretty hit or miss. Still, this guy was with The Boss from day 1 and was one hell of a player. Give "Born to Run" a listen and that latter fact speaks louder than words.

The Hickoids - 4/11/2008 - 3rd Annual Ram Jam - Sam's Burger Joint - San Antonio, TX

2008-04-13T23:16:00.006-05:00

Every year since the tragic murders of Ram Ayala and Gypsy Doug Morgan (and the serious wounding of Denise Koger) at Ram’s legendary club Taco Land, promoter “Jukejoint” Jerry Clayworth and Hickoids frontman Jeff Smith have joined forces to continue to celebrate Ram’s birthday for the last three years. Jeff and Jerry do a remarkable job of billing bands that played the storied venue or, as is the case with my band, consist of several members who were in previous bands that played there. They recruit from little known bands, again like my own, to San Antonio legends such as The Sons of Hercules, a reunited Big Drag, and The Hickoids themselves.

If memory serves, and it does less so with every passing day, I first saw The Hickoids perform in 1987 at a Houston dive called The Axiom – one of two venues booking punk bands at that time. Having been raised on Elvis and outlaw country, rebelling into punk rock, and developing a powerful appreciation for the anarchic mayhem of The Butthole Surfers it was a fortuitous night from me. Finding out there was a band that incorporated all four blew my mind, and made such an indelible mark on me that The Hickoids remain one of my favorite bands to this day. I’ve been witness to breakups, acrimonious firings, amicable partings, and tragic losses amongst the members over the last 20+ years, and seen live Hickoids experiences ranging from the transcendent to the incomprehensible and had a blast every single God damn time. I even managed to make a Hole in the Wall gig mere days after being released from the hospital after a major surgery.

The current line-up of The Hickoids includes original members, the heart and soul of the band, Jeff Smith and Davy Jones, bass player Paul Harpel (who played bass for original Hickoids bassist Richard Hays’ final band The Country Giants before his untimely death), Scott Lutz of Snowbyrd on rhythm and pedal steel guitar, and an amazing drummer whose name I didn’t catch. There are as many opinions as there have been line-ups out there as to which one was the best (including my own), but that doesn’t change the fact that the current one is certainly up there in my book.

The band kicked things off with their by turns reverent/irreverent rendition of Doug Sahm’s “Texas Ranger Man” (similar in spirit to their pals The Loco Gringos interpretation) followed by their unarguable anthem “Brand New Way”. They seemed a little slow out of the gate for the first few minutes, but by the time they hit “Hee Haw” followed by “Green Acres” they were in perfect form. The addition of Scott Lutz’s distorted, deranged pedal steel playing adds considerably to their live sound and Paul Harpel’s bass meshes with the new drummer impeccably for a rock solid engine.

Then, you have frontman Jeff Smith’s stripper on acid stage routine, involving him stubbing out cigarettes in his crotch and wiggling his ass at the audience before slapping himself upright, punctuated by him strutting back and forth across the stage like a drunken tiger in some demented zoo. Davy Jones, in his 1970’s red and black plaid leisure suit, a cowboy hat that looks like it’s going to fall apart any second, and Chuck Taylors rips lead after paint peeling lead out his screeching guitar and traditional Marshall combo amp – a piece of equipment that has had more experiences than most human beings.

Smith quipped at one point “Y’all are here to listen to some good old country music. Let us know if you hear any.” You had the inspired “Turn me on, dead man!” followed immediately by the Hickoid takes on “Burning Love” and “Corn Foo Fighting” [sic], all this amongst most of their strongest songs, and even a new one – something to do with “whose gonna wear those hot pants” – a song that “only took 19 years to write”.

Some veteran fans of this band have been heard to argue that, since the band’s reformation a couple of years ago, their shows lack the spontaneity and combustibility (sometimes literally in the old days) of the shows of days gone by. While there may be some small merit in this opinion, in mine what The Hickoids might have lost a tiny bit of in that department they’ve more than made up for in dependability. You know they’ll show up, the show is going to be almost, if not quite, as anarchic as in the old days, and they’re going to rock the shit out of whatever venue happens to be hosting them.

That was certainly the case on the opening night of Ram Jam III.

Watch the listings for the next time The Hickoids are playing your town (sadly, this is unlikely to happen outside of Texas) and, especially if you’ve never had the pleasure, get your ass down to the show. It’s arguable if they invented the term “cowpunk”, but they sure as shit defined it.

Ram, I hope you’re making Jesus kiss that baby.

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - "Dig!!! Lazarus Dig!!!" (Anti Records 2008)

2008-04-12T10:49:00.008-05:00

Throughout his career Nick Cave has deftly dodged any fan or media attempts to pigeon hole his music. Any time it appears that he’s settled into a consistent sound he changes gears and keeps us guessing at his true motivations and from where he’s drawing specific inspiration. From the aural assault of his earliest work with The Bad Seeds to the much mellower, more melodic piano ballads that came later and many other approaches in between, he’s always pulled it off to some degree and left a long list of sometimes relatively mediocre, sometimes stunningly brilliant records in his formidable wake. With Dig!!! Lazarus Dig!!! Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds have done it again.

Utterly unlike anything they’ve produced before, much of Dig!!! Lazarus Dig!!! sounds like it could have been included on one of the Nuggets collections of 60’s garage rock, including healthy doses of underground and even mainstream offerings from the same musical era. Trading piano and strings for distorted guitar and grinding Hammond organ there is a whole lot more straight up rock ‘n’ roll here than Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds have ever seemed interested in exploring.

The title track, which kicks off the record, gives immediate notice that things aren’t going to be the same. The song grooves, chunking dancily along behind a semi-spoken word vocal that’s lyrical story is strongly reminiscent of the Velvet Underground era Lou Reed. “Today’s Lesson” hits you next, and this is really where the 60’s garage band vibe kicks in – you can almost picture the band filmed in Technicolor, wearing psychedelic clothing, Cave himself bobbing his head and slapping a tambourine. “Albert Goes West” is a slab of raw power, with the music dropping down to emphasize the vocal on the chorus, only to kick back in with background vocal “ooohs” and “aaahs” and finally a “sha-la-la-la” outro. Very 1960’s.

The garage/underground element isn’t the whole story. Both “Night of the Lotus Eaters” and “Midnight Man” have a Doors thing going on, with the former taking on their more experimental side and the latter the more mainstream. The main difference being, of course, that Jim Morrison was an arrogant, narcissistic hack while Nick Cave is an actual writer. Not to mention the fact that The Bad Seeds are a much better band.

Speaking of writers, much is being made of “We Call Upon the Author”, musically something that could only come from the mind of a contemporary Nick Cave, as a humorous exercise in self-reflexivity. While I agree that there is certainly an element of this, especially in the verses so obviously about himself, it seems to me to be more of an indictment of fans and critics demanding of artists more that they’re willing or should be expected to give, be it in explaining their work or providing details of their personal life. It’s no secret that this has been a source of irritation for Cave throughout his career.

There are also moments that evoke the same feel as The Lyre of Orpheus, particularly with the return of strings and piano on “Jesus of the Moon”. Clumped toward the end of the album, these songs seem placed to reassure Nick Cave purists, at least those of his more recent work, that they haven’t been forgotten.

Dig!!! Lazarus Dig!!! closes with “More News From Nowhere”, an easy going jaunt that brings Warren Zevon immediately to mind and eases the listener out of a decidedly unpredictable experience.

While thrusting its influences into your face more than any previous Cave record, it’s that unpredictability that, in spite of this, makes Dig!!! Lazarus Dig!!! a quintessential Nick Cave album. While there may be less sonic darkness and disturbing imagery than we may have come to expect it’s still there, and there is a quality to Cave’s songwriting, style, and lyricism that no amount of tinkering with the type of delivery is going to obscure. Not only is it a quintessentially Nick Cave record, it’s very change in direction and unpredictability make it a great one.

As an afterthought, this record certainly seems to place the Grinderman release into a kind of context – Dig!!! Lazarus Dig!!! to me gives it the feel of an out-take collection. Nothing wrong with that.

4 out of 4 Bad Seeds

Charlton Heston RIP

2008-04-06T13:04:00.008-05:00

Charlton Heston went to claim his eternal reward yesterday, Saturday, April 5th 2008, at the age of 84.

My favorite movies by him tend to fall into the Omega Man, Soylent Green, Planet of the Apes cheese category, but he also did some brilliant turns in Touch of Evil (one of my all time favorite films), Dark City, and, of course, Ben-Hur. It seemed like he never turned down a role, starring in some capacity in roughly 100 films. That's loving what you do, folks. He may not have always been at his best, but he was always at it.

There is, of course, the uncomfortable issue of the reprehensible politics (depending on your point of view, I suppose) he espoused the last 30 years of his life. What a lot of people don't know is that, in his younger years he was a civil rights activist, gun control advocate, and was passionately opposed to The Vietnam War. Something happened in the years between 1972 and 1980 that turned him completely around, but we're likely to be left only with speculation.

It doesn't matter. The man could act the shit out of a part when he wanted to and let his powerful screen presence do all the work when he didn't. More than anything he should be remembered for that.

The B-52s - "Funplex" (Astralwerks 2008)

2008-04-02T09:46:00.003-05:00

I’m a huge supporter of the avant-garde. All the way back to Lautréamont I’m 100% behind what it’s trying to accomplish and find the honest practioners of it, in whatever medium, to be genius. Detractors constantly ask me, “How can you tell the difference between avant-garde and some crap somebody threw together?” Well, for me it’s an emotive thing – if whatever I’m looking at or listening to affects me on an emotional level it’s authentic. Opinions are like noses, though, right?

When I first heard “Rock Lobster” in 1985 or 1986 I fucking hated it. There was still enough small town Texan in me that something that weird couldn’t possibly have any value. Even after falling in love with the relentless weirdness of The Butthole Surfers “Rock Lobster” just sounded irritating to me. And you know what? It still does.

When I moved to Austin and became more cosmopolitan in an Austin kind of way I developed a greater and greater appreciation for avant-garde art forms, as one pretty much had to do if you wanted to hang out with anyone cool in those days, until I reached my current level of “sophistication”, ahem. I still didn’t like “Rock Lobster” and was indifferent to their further offerings like Wild Planet, Whammy!, and Bouncing off the Satellites (all recorded and released before I even knew they existed). I knew they were the real deal, though – I was driven to distraction by my older friends repeatedly and passionately insisting that a) I was too young to understand it, b) I had no idea what kind of impact a song that sounded like “Rock Lobster” had on the underground music scene when it was released, c) appreciating The B-52’s required a level of cultural sophistication I didn’t have and that if I didn’t admit “Rock Lobster” was brilliant I was never likely to reach, or d) I just had poor, one-dimensional musical taste. All of this may have had some merit. All I know is I quit getting shit when Cosmic Thing dropped in 1989.

Even though everyone I knew hated that record, it was a rare, good and lucky night if you didn’t have to listen to “Love Shack” at any parties you dropped in on. Usually you had to hear it at least twice at every single one of them. I really thought my opinion on The B-52’s was locked in for eternity at that point.

When I decided to review REM’s new one, which I didn’t expect to like, I figured I’d go ahead and do another venerable Athens, GA band’s new release that I didn’t expect to like and picked up Funplex.

“Pump”, the opening track, hit me like a punch in the mouth. A driving bass/drum combo with a little electronic noise over the top that kicks in with one badass garage guitar riff on the 8th measure. The lyrics are typically lascivious as hell, Kate Pierson and Cindy Wilson harmonize like angels when Pierson isn’t taking solo lead vocal, and Fred Schneider’s sprechgesang, one of my most consistent annoyances with this band, is actually well utilized and works. The trend continues for the next couple of songs – the B-52’s sound like a garage go-go band and it totally rocks. Immediately following the mellower, melancholy “Juliet of the Spirits”, album single “Funplex” hits like a bomb. A heavy, driving riff dropping straight off into a powerful Kate Pierson vocal makes for one killer, dynamic piece of work. Schneider shouts in the background, “Too much to do! It’s time for a pill!” – God knows I can relate to that. I was in love.

Unfortunately, that’s where the magic ends. The second half of the record is an unfocused, almost formulaic expedition into electronica. The B-52’s are certainly no strangers to this realm, which makes it all the more disappointing. The pop structures, the gorgeous harmonies, the lascivious lyrics are all there, but it is uninspired at best and downright boring at worst. The spark that so brilliantly lit the first half of Funplex is just gone.

There is a moment of redemption with “Keep This Party Going”, the closing track. That driving bass and badass guitar are back, overlaid with a super sultry Pierson vocal. The chorus is a terrific fist pumping chant and, all in all, it’s a pretty rocking way to finish off a record. It doesn’t save the doldrums of the rest of the second half, but at least that’s not all you’re left with.

Has my overall opinion of the B-52’s changed? Not entirely. I always suspected that there was a great band somewhere in there, and Funplex certainly proved it to me beyond a shadow of a doubt. Unfortunately they also gave equal time to all the reasons I haven’t liked them in the past – if that weren’t bad enough they didn’t even do it in an enthusiastic way.

I think B-52’s fans out there will be well pleased with this outing. They’re certainly not going to be as critical as I’ve been and likely a lot more forgiving. One thing I’ve never disagreed with is that The B-52’s are a good time, party band. They don’t stand to lose any of that cred with this record.

2 out of 4 beehives

REM - "Accelerate" (Warner Bros. 2008)

2008-04-01T19:35:00.014-05:00

As you're probably aware, there's an immense amount of hype surrounding the release of this record. So why should an uppity little shit like me bother reviewing it? Well, see if you can make it to the bottom and maybe you'll understand.

In 1986 the only exposure I had had to REM was the video for "Can't Get There From Here" that had been rotating on MTV. I based an assumption that they were a lame new wave band from that song and video and had put them out of my mind with the heaps of other crap being released at the time. In early 1987 it so happened I was in a car with a friend of my girlfriend's brother waiting on somebody one night (don't ask). He popped in a cassette and one of the most searing, honest to God rock 'n' roll songs I had ever heard erupted from the speakers. "Who the fuck is this?" I asked my passing acquaintance. After looking at me like I was a clueless hick dressed up like a punk rocker (let's not explore that too deeply) he answered, "REM". The song was "Begin the Begin" and the album was Lifes Rich Pageant (IRS Records 1986). My opinion of the band changed immediately. I went out and bought everything by them. I had found music that wasn't punk rock but still was the very essence of rock 'n' roll. I only wished (and still do) that I had clued in earlier.

Document (IRS Records 1987) was released later that year and I was again knocked on my ass. This was American post punk. Fuck that - this was American rock 'n' roll combining the most admirable qualities of the music of The 60's and early 70's and updating it through the filter of punk and post punk. And it was from the USA, dammit. It left Springsteen and Johnny Cougar (or whatever the fuck he was calling himself back then) so far back in the dust you could neither see nor give a shit about them. Straight up American rock 'n' roll that didn't suck. In the 1980's. Saints forefend.

Then came the disappointment of Green (WEA 1988). To me, it was downhill from there. The spirit was gone. Michael Stipe's lyrics, always introspective, became self consciously introspective and maudlin. Peter Buck's by turns fiery and beautifully melodic guitar work seemed more and more an afterthought. The music kept getting mellower and more radio friendly. There was the well intentioned attempt to return to rock 'n' roll with 1994's lackluster Monster, but you could tell their hearts weren't in it. More mellow, boring records were to follow. The songs were formulaic and all sounded the same. I gave up. In my mind one of my favorite bands had faded away without even realizing it.

As I was wandering through a certain soulless corporate chain electronic gadgets store in search of a gift today I noticed the last copy of REM's latest, Accelerate, on the best seller rack. What the fuck?, I thought, I'll give it a shot for old time's sake.

I slid the CD into the player in my van not expecting much. What came blasting out of the speakers was one of the most searing, honest to God rock 'n' roll songs I've heard in a long time. Album launcher "Living Well is the Best Revenge" is not only the strongest album opener from REM since "Begin the Begin", it's one of the strongest album openers I can bring to recent memory. Any fears of formulaic repetition are dispelled with the following track, "Man-Sized Wreath" - vintage REM with a hooky verse broken up by some minor key audial weirdness turning around into an anthemic chorus. Track three - immediate guitar hook, great vocal melody, brilliant sing-along chorus.

This is the record that should have followed Document. It's got all the pop hooks, musical experimentalism, esoteric lyrics with a strongly political undertone, and dynamics to spare that characterized the classic years of REM. "Mr. Richards" is reminiscent of "Finest Worksong", building on its intrinsic droning construction, "Until the Day is Done" is mellow and overtly political, "Horse to Water" builds on the choppy verse - smooth, melodic chorus dynamic found in many REM songs and takes the prize for strongest track, "Houston" is odd in that fashion that is uniquely REM.

This might all smack of a nostalgia record - returning to a tried and true formula to shake things up and make some old fans happy. That isn't the case. This album displays a return to the spirit of classic REM, and while they certainly pull some familiar tricks out of the bag, this record sounds as fresh and contemporary as anything out there.

I know all this is much more specific that I tend to get with a record review, but hearing Accelerate was, for me, like finding out a friend you thought was dead is actually alive and well. He's just been missing for 20 years. I had consigned REM to a relic of my youth, and here they come, spinning my head around by proving they still have it in them to be one of the greatest rock 'n' roll bands in the world.

Record labels typically generate hype to disguise the fact that they're releasing a weak product upon which they blew the bank. But occasionally, very occasionally, the hype is there because there's a fucking masterpiece worthy of it. I think you've got a pretty good idea of what I think. Go buy it and decide for yourself.

4 out of 4 fables

A Brokeheart Pro - "The Kitten Next Door" (Kitten Next Door Records 2007)

2008-03-31T08:37:00.010-05:00

It’s starting to seem de rigeur for me to begin these reviews with a boring, self-indulgent bit of personal history. Ask around the bars I used to frequent if you want an idea of how much I like to talk about myself. Well, fuck it. There is a point to this that will tie in to the actual record review. Feel free to skip down a few paragraphs.

As a kid I was lazy as shit. I hated doing anything that smacked of work. Even the dangling carrot of cash recompense was rarely enough for my long-suffering father to get me to mow the lawn. I despised playing sports. When I announced to my parents at the age of 14 that I wanted to learn to play guitar I was regarded with the level of skepticism you would expect considering I had taken interest in almost nothing but reading books my entire life. Still, I convinced my dad to let me buy a beat up Yamaha acoustic at a pawn shop with my birthday money and to get me some lessons.

It never entered my mind that I would play in a band. I wanted to play guitar because I wanted to be like Randy Rhoads. I was terrible at math and music theory was an utter mystery to me. Through grudging practice of such gems as the rhythm guitar part of “Tequila Sunrise” I learned time signatures, open chords and transitions. I then graduated to barre chords. It wasn’t long after that that I heard The Ramones for the first time. I quit wanting to be like Randy Rhoads and started wanting to be like Johnny Ramone. Trying to be like Randy Rhoads was too much like work.

After hitting some Houston punk shows it suddenly dawned on me that I could be in a punk band. While I deeply loved rock ‘n’ roll and was already well on my way to music geekdom, this had nothing to do with it. These guys in bands, even if they were socially inept and/or anti-social, as was I, got attention. Especially from girls. While I was under the legal age these guys also got free beer and they weren’t much older, if not younger, than me. Sad as it may seem, there’s my motivation for becoming a working musician.

I tell this story to use as a counter-point to the musical career of Jeannette Kantzalis, the woman, and for that matter only person, behind The Kitten Next Door, released under the name A Brokeheart Pro. She neither was nor is lazy at all and no part of her motivation is suspect.

I don’t know how I missed every aspect of this woman’s career until now. Beginning recording her own songs by age 11, she scored a job as a songwriter for publishing company Peer/Southern by age 18 and landed a record contract with A&M Records by 19, releasing the record Pink Mischief as Jeannette Katt. Mere months after a nasty split with A&M she resurfaced as Jeannette Kantzalis fronting garage pop outfit The Chubbies, a decade long project that released a couple of sides on Sympathy for the Record Industry (which is really when I should have tuned in – just goes to show that even though drunken living and chain smoking go hand in hand with living and breathing rock ‘n’ roll you still miss things).

Jeannette is back, this time on her own as A Brokeheart Pro. Disregarding for a moment the songs themselves it is stupefyingly impressive how good The Kitten Next Door sounds when one considers she produced the record and played every instrument on it. Jeannette has no formal training in any of this – a testament to how far dedication, passion, and experience can take you. Lou Barlow, eat your heart out (those of you that know me know I’d never say that lightly).

Album opener “Dark Red and Loud” grabs you immediately – a mid-tempo song with excellent use of sonic space between the instrumentation and vocals. A sparse Ry Cooder-ish slide guitar complements Jeannette’s voice – the best aspects of Kate Bush by turns with the most soulful aspects of Alison Limerick. Its tone is evocative of some lost desert highway, a feeling well reflected in the desperate, self-destructive love story of the lyric.

Don’t get lulled in or settle on any expectations, though. Track two, “You Don’t Know”, blasts out at you like The Runaways might have sounded if they’d been from Tucson. As surreal as that may seem, it works really well and you begin to get a sense of the range of influences that Jeannette can bring to bear. There’s the bouncy vamp of the title track, the sultry “Bleed On” with a vocal that would do Debbie Harry proud, and the beautiful broken-hearted ballad “Pink Mischief”, the strongest track on the record.

She throws in a couple of covers for good measure. Ryan Adams “Hard Way to Fall” (Ryan Adams and the Cardinals, Jacksonville City Lights, Lost Highway 2005), which doesn’t work for me. I’ve got a sneaking suspicion this has more to do with me than Jeanette’s interpretation. My encounters with a pre-fame Ryan Adams have left me feeling his lyrics are disingenuous at best and likely soured me on him forever. You don’t need to tell me I’m the last person on earth who feels this way. Much more to my liking is The Killers “Bling (Confessions of a King)” (Sam’s Town, Island 2006), probably because hey, I love The Killers, and Jeannette’s interpretation is such a unique take on the song.

There’s more on this record to be impressed by (Jeannette’s use of her voice as a background melody instrument in several places is stunning), but I don’t want to give it all away. It would be a crime to diminish the impact this record will have on you at first listen more than I already have.

You folks need to pick this one up. Let’s leave it at that.

You can pick up The Kitten Next Door at http://cdbaby.com/cd/abrokeheartpro and check out her MySpace at http://www.myspace.com/abrokeheartpro.

3.5 out of 4 broken hearts

Rumination on "The Flaming Lips - The Fearless Freaks" (Shout Factory 2005)

2008-03-21T01:17:00.015-05:00

It would be silly to review a DVD that came out almost three years ago, but I just watched it. Plus, the time elapsed since release didn’t deter me with The Road to God Knows Where when I reviewed it back in back in December but, hey, I was new at this and that particular documentary deserves a good hashing over every few years.

In 1987 I was listening to the Funhouse Punk & Noise Show on Pacifica radio 90.1 KPFT out of Houston (it faded in and out depending on the weather, etc. – we were pretty far out of town at that time) late one night. I don’t recall which night of the week, as the show was constantly being moved around to various late night slots due largely to indiscretions on the parts of the hosts who went by the noms de guerre Chuck Roast and Austin Caustic respectively. The Funhouse Show was my almost exclusive source for finding punk rock at that time and I listened religiously every chance I was able to find it on the dial. I even taped a few – the cassettes are lying around here somewhere waiting to be digitized.

Anyway, on the night in question Chuck Roast announced that he would be playing, in its entirety, the new Flaming Lips record Oh My Gawd!!! on the grounds that it might be the greatest record ever made. From The Beatles sample that kicks the record off through the one that ends it I found myself in whole hearted agreement and beat a path to Infinite Records at Westheimer and Montrose the very next Saturday to blow my pittance of socked away cash on it. While the whole “greatest record ever made” thing doesn’t hold up, it’s still one motherfucker of a powerful piece of work. I was an immediate fan and stuck with that band through Clouds Taste Metallic – in my opinion the last great, or even good, record they ever made.

This is where I’ll get in trouble, I know. The Lips have become international superstars on the basis of their post-Clouds music and I’m literally the only person I’ve ever encountered who holds that singular opinion stated above. Here’s the deal – The Flaming Lips went from being a powerful guitar based psychedelic pop band to a mellowed out keyboard/vocal effect prog rock pop band. As I’ve mentioned before I’m all for bands experimenting in new directions, especially if they do it in such a way that doesn’t smack of a sell out and leaves the essence of what makes the band unique undiluted. God knows The Flaming Lips did this – you can tell a Flaming Lips record, even having never heard it before, immediately upon hearing it. They're still 100% The Flaming Lips, whether I like the music they're making or not.

I’m going to start sounding old here. If it wasn’t broke, why fix it. The music contained on the records spanning Oh My Gawd!!! through Clouds Taste Metallic are textbook examples of how to make a record with a common sonic theme in which none of the songs sound the same. Every track is strong, experimental, and works in some positively viral hooks that stay with you for years (at least in my case). Why hare off in an entirely different musical direction when you haven't even fully explored the strengths you already have in spades?

What I’m left wondering, and what The Fearless Freaks didn’t address to my satisfaction at all, is how this sea change in style came to pass. A canny observer will note that this began to happen with the arrival of Steven Drozd as, initially, drummer and the subsequent departure of guitarist Ronald Jones, who was having issues with Drozd’s unconcealed heroin addiction. (as an interesting side note, to me at least, Steven was a drinking buddy of mine here in Austin during his Janis 18 days – Bryan Bowden, Hunter Darby, he and I hung out in the same small group of people catching shows, hitting parties, and generally making drunken nuisances of ourselves. He, of course, has no recollection of me now).

The documentary glosses over not only this major change in the band’s direction but several other pivotal moments in the band’s career. I’m left wondering, “Why?” If director Bradley Beesley had access unlimited enough to interview Steven Drozd about his philosophy on drug addiction while Steven is cooking and shooting up heroin it seems like he could have teased out some insight from Wayne Coyne and Michael Ivins over the different directions the band has taken through the years. The movie seems more an exploration of personal philosophies, especially Wayne Coyne’s, rather than a comprehensive or even cursory history of the band and an examination of what makes it tick and continue to be so vital after all these years.

I guess in the end I felt a little cheated. That’s probably my own fault – I went in expecting one thing and came out having received another. What I did get was certainly entertaining and insightful, but if I want personal histories I’ll read the biographies (and likely review them here). For a rock ‘n’ roll documentary I want the live footage, the tension and release, and whatever catharsis (or lack thereof) that can be achieved through a TV screen.

The Fearless Freaks is worth checking out; I just won’t be checking it out again. I got it the first time through, Wayne. And Steven, for the sake of the friendship you’ve forgotten as well as your welfare as a human being, I’m glad you’re off the junk. Keep making them records – even if they don’t appeal to me there’s definitely something going on there, which is a lot more than can be said for almost every other major label artist out there. Maybe sooner or later you guys will even release another one I like.

Arthur C. Clarke RIP

2008-03-19T08:16:00.005-05:00

1917 - 2008

His books may never be taught in high school or college literature courses, but his optimistic view of humanity's future and his technological prescience, not to mention his talent for spinning one hell of an entertaining story, certainly make him worthy of the admiration and respect a man of letters deserves. He came up with the idea of the telecommunication satellite, for Christ's sake.

Think about that the next time you're driving along the highway risking your own life and the lives of those around you by yammering away on your cell phone about what happened on "Lost" last night. Maybe, when you finally cause that fatal car accident, he'll meet you in Heaven and kick your ass.

Exile Parade - "Fire Walk With Me" b/w "Still Number One" (Self-Release - Single 2008)

2008-03-18T08:45:00.007-05:00

First of all, I'd like to thank Warrington, UK's Exile Parade for sending me 25 copies of their new single "Fire Walk With Me". I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to do with such largesse, but I can't fault them for their generosity. I would hand them out to my friends, but my phone hasn't rung anywhere near 25 times since I quit drinking. Just goes to show - never quit drinking. Never.

The cool thing about "Fire Walk With Me" is that, while it instantly brings the word "Mudhoney" to mind, it seems to be drawing more from the same source material that inspired Mudhoney rather drawing inspiration from Mudhoney itself. The similarities are glaring, but Exile Parade, on this song at least, brings its own distinctive spin to the melange of influences that came to fall under the umbrella term "grunge". The production, credited to Owen Morris, is cleaner than Jack Endino's (which, in my opinion, is no bad thing), the fuzz lead guitar riff is equal parts Wayne Kramer/Ron Asheton, and lead singer Lomax [sic] has a gravelly shout that occasionally slips into Lemmy Kilmeister territory. In short this song would not sound out of place in a "grunge" specialty show on late 80's college radio. It would fit so well because, as mentioned above, these guys seem to have a reverence for The Stooges, The MC5, and other bands that led to the rise of "grunge" as a sub-genre rather than for "grunge" itself. This makes for "Fire Walk With Me" being a fine little listen.

It's the b-side where things get a little confusing.

While I'm certainly no opponent of bands displaying their diversity I'm not sure that a two song single is necessarily the proper venue to span two opposite extremes. In the context of singles, a band should play to their strengths in exploring a certain musical style, and save the surprise of displaying their strengths in exploring another for the next single. The early Rolling Stones were masters of this (or, depending on who you believe, Andrew Loog Oldham was).

Exile Parade shifts gears dramatically for b-side "Still Number One". The aural assault of the a-side has been traded in for a much poppier sound that is honestly more reminiscent of mid-80's Big Country or, while hailing from America, the heavily British influenced The Call than big, loud, in your face rock. It's not a bad song by any means - it's just a jarring shift in style, especially in a CD format in which it follows immediately on the heels of the aggressive energy of "Fire Walk With Me". It might work a little better on vinyl, in which there's the necessary delay of flipping the record over, but I'm not convinced even that would be enough.

I'll be interested to hear Exile Parade's upcoming full length to see if they integrate the two styles more smoothly, or even make a greater diversity of sounds work. For this single, while the songs are solid and show promise, they don't really seem to indicate a direction. If these boys can get that niggling detail worked out they may just be a force to be reckoned with.

2.5 out of 4 parades

Dave Stevens RIP

2008-03-12T22:19:00.005-05:00

Dave Stevens died March 12th, 2008 of leukemia at the age of 52. Dave created The Rocketeer which, before the movie ruined it, was one of the coolest comic books out there. His style, whether in The Rocketeer or his other work, was very 1940's pin-up poster art, and he did it better than anyone from that time or this. I met Dave in LA only briefly in 1987 or so. He took my friend Keith and I out for lunch and we talked about everything from comic books to movies to rock 'n' roll to pop culture in general. While we didn't stay in close contact we kept up with one another through our mutual friend Sam Park.

Call it what you want - pop art, derivative art, not "real" art at all - and you'd be full of shit. Dave's talent was overwhelming. You will literally find no one who ever met the man who has a single bad thing to say about him as an artist or a human being. His style, grace and charm at both endeavors is at least equal to anyone I've ever met in my life.

Adios, Dave, the world is emptier in so many ways for your passing.

The Breeders - "Mountain Battles" (4AD 2008)

2008-03-11T09:28:00.009-05:00

When I first heard The Pixies Surfer Rosa in the fall of 1988 I was totally knocked on my ass. I had never heard anything like it. The track that jumped out at me the most was "Gigantic", sung by the bass player credited as "Mrs. John Murphy". When Doolittle was released in 1989 I was there to buy it and, while suitably impressed with the album, was disappointed that "Mrs. John Murphy", now revealed as Kim Deal, had a much reduced presence. I saw The Pixies on the Doolittle tour, and discovered that their reputation as a notoriously dull live band was not unearned. The one saving grace was the energetic and engaging stage presence of Kim Deal. Imagine my delight in 1990 when I caught wind of a project that Kim Deal and Throwing Muses guitarist Tanya Donelly had put together called The Breeders. I immediately rushed out and bought Pod and, to the dismay of several of my Pixies loyalist friends, decided The Breeders kicked The Pixies ass up and down the block. The Safari EP in 1991 further cemented my opinion. Then, in 1993, came Last Splash.

Few records have affected me the way Last Splash did upon hearing it for the first time. It was, and is, in a word, brilliant. Beginning to end. Easily in the top five records of the decade. I saw The Breeders live and, in spite of the relatively recent addition of Kim's sister Kelley Deal and her obvious self consciousness and stage fright, they were terrific. I couldn't stop listening to the record. When I wasn't listening to it I couldn't get the songs out of my head. I thought, This band will go down as one of the greatest American bands ever!

Then, silence. Rumors began making the rounds of serious drug abuse in The Breeders camp. Kelley Deal was busted on drug charges. The Breeders had broken up - a rumor seemingly reinforced by Kim Deal's band sans Kelley The Amps release of Pacer in 1996 (a perfectly charming record, but lacking the ballsiness, so to speak, of The Breeders). Kelley Deal re-emerged with The Kelley Deal 5000. More rumors - Kelley was back in The Breeders and they were working on an album, but the sessions were again plagued by heavy drug use and little progress was being made. Finally, in 2002, The Breeders released the lackluster and unfocused Title TK to mixed reactions and a great deal of disappointment from me.

When I heard The Breeders were at work on a new album, what would be their first in six years, I dragged up as much of that enthusiasm left over from 1993 as I could. Certainly over a six year period the Deal sisters could crank out some truly inspired stuff.

I wish I could say this is true of Mountain Battles. While not quite as lackluster as Title TK it displays the same lack of focus and exudes a laconic vibe that suggests the Deals just don't care anymore. Album opener "Overglazed" begins promisingly enough with a nice energy until you realize it's a repeating three chord riff with the words "I can feel it" sung over it again and again. That's it. That's the first song.

From this launching point you generally get a record comprised of songs like "We're Gonna Rise" - they sound kind of like The Breeders, but they don't go anywhere and sound like the band was bored during the process of recording them. Even worse, you have songs like the inappropriately named and self-indulgent "Spark" or the following "Istanbul" which is just plain stupid (I'm sorry - there's simply no other word for it).

There are redeeming interludes - "German Studies" shows off some of the old energy and, as the song is sung entirely in German, a sense of humor as well. The driving bass and catchy melody of "Walk It Off" is worth the listen, and "Here No More" is immediately reminiscent of "Drivin' on 9" from Last Splash. Reminiscent is, sadly, the operative word here. Even these standout moments are pale reflections of The Breeders' finest moments. "It's The Love", the second to last song on the record, finally sounds like The Breeders ought to sound - the riff and melody are engaging, the energy is up, and the appealing simplicity of a great pop hook is present. Would that the Deal sisters had made a whole record like this. They're certainly capable. Or at least used to be.

The record closes with the title track, "Mountain Battles" - a dense, slow, keyboard heavy exercise in avant garde self indulgence unlike anything else on the album. It's really a good summation of what you just listened to - briefly original but primarily slow, boring and uninspired.

I need to go listen to Last Splash.

Mountain Battles releases April 8th, 2008. The Breeders perform a free SXSW 2008 show in Austin Saturday, March 15th at Waterloo Park.

1.5 out of 4ADs

SXSW and the Marginalization of Austin Music

2008-03-10T15:35:00.012-05:00

In the mid to late 1980's there was quite a bit of national attention being paid to the Austin music scene. Bands like The True Believers, The Reivers, The Wild Seeds, Glass Eye, and The Texas Instruments and performers like Daniel Johnston (this is by no means a comprehensive list) had, through their uniquely Austin take on rock 'n' roll, caught the ears of record company execs everywhere. Not to diminish the talent and originality of these bands, the success of REM and the emergence of the Athens, GA music scene played a significant part in this, as record company scumbags are always on the lookout for the next local scene they can exploit and, in so doing, ultimately destroy after the money has been made. Austin was in their sights.

These industry stuffed shirts (I don't care how hip they dress - that's what they are) were ultimately unsuccessful in breaking the Austin music scene of the time nationally, possibly due to the entrenched independence of the bands or perhaps that the "Austin sound" was too unique to central Texas to be understood or commercially viable nationally. The possibility of national exposure and the ability to quit day jobs, however, very understandably resulted in a deal of collusion between the bands and the record labels early on.

If I'm not mistaken (my once razor sharp memory is failing at an alarming rate - could it be the 12 - 15 beers a day for two decades?) it was in 1986 that MTV descended on Austin and made a sort of documentary of the scene including interviews and live performances set up specifically for the film, and this was subsequently shown on MTV (this was at a time when MTV was still associated with music - you youngins won't remember it). This certainly served to maintain, if not increase, the larger music industry's interest in Austin music as an exploitable commodity. It also gave rise to a small local music festival called South By Southwest.

SXSW was conceived as an avenue by which ambitious and talented Austin bands would play over a three day weekend, allowing a specific time of year for industry types to check out local talent, as opposed to making several trips across the year to catch a performance by a band they had their eye on. While I have no direct experience with this history I was, for whatever reason, at all the hip parties shortly after that time and rubbed shoulders and had conversations with those who had put the festival together, not to mention most of the bands and performers involved.

The first SXSW was held in March of 1987 and was pretty much an instant success. From this humble beginning it has bloated into the three week long multimedia juggernaut that it is today.

I had been knocking around, playing in various short lived projects, drinking heavily, and attending all the hip parties, including the SXSW ones, for a couple of years before I became involved in the first serious band of my life in the spring of 1991. By this point SXSW had grown considerably, attracting bands from across the country and some international acts. The focus was still on indie bands trying to make that jump to some commercial success, but it was starting to become more difficult for native Austin acts to be accepted for a showcase slot. Those with consistently large local draws and any bands containing a member of that original 1986 batch were shoe-ins, but a lot of hard working, innovative bands were being passed over. The band I was in, on the strength of two self released cassettes (that was the medium an unsigned band released a record on in those days) and several strong live performances, had attracted the interest of both Atlantic Records and Rykodisc. No money had been discussed, but we were under consideration. In spite of this we were passed over for SXSW 1993.

Upon speaking with a member of the permanent paid staff of SXSW regarding this I was told that local unsigned bands, in order to receive realistic consideration, must have shown serious initiative in self-promotion, self releasing material, contacting record labels and sparking their interest, and getting self financed touring under their belt. My band had been considered four upstart drunks who had accidentally hit the right chemistry at the right time, which wasn't far from the truth. I didn't find these conditions unreasonable - it certainly improved your chances of A&R types showing up for your showcase slot, and if you couldn't count on that then why take up space that bands who had laid the groundwork could more usefully take advantage of? It bore out for me as well - my next band, in spite of (deservedly) no label interest, had dogged record labels, spent a ton of money on promotion, put out a record (on CD by now) and toured the Midwest. We were accepted for SXSW 1997. We broke up two months later.

The next band I started I took everything I had learned and worked it to the max - mailers, promos, self-financed recording, self-released CDs, self-financed tours, self-financed publicity, making sure the songs had hooks and were as marketable as anything out there on an indie label - I spent practically every spare moment I had working that band. Over the 10 years of our existence we were invited to play a SXSW showcase once. We were placed in an out of the way Tejano bar that's management had decided they had made a mistake agreeing to be a SXSW venue. How do I know this? They shouted it in my and my drummer's face during the altercation that ensued when the club management had our van towed while we were playing. The SXSW stage manager did nothing to intervene. Phone calls placed to the SXSW office to complain were never returned. We were never reimbursed for the $110.00 it took to get the van out of impound at 3AM.

It was shortly after this that it became apparent that being a big local draw was not enough to be invited to play SXSW. The bands were increasingly national bands with comfortable record contracts already in place. There were exceptions, but they were few and far between and even fewer of those called Austin home. Very prominent world-class acts such as Iggy Pop started showing up and performing "special events". Woe to the bands who's showcase slot was scheduled during such a "special event". It kept getting bigger. It's now the largest music conference of its kind in the world.

The idealistic people who started the whole thing to help musicians find some success have turned into the very ones exploiting them for pleasure and profit. Was this inevitable? It's hard to say. The intentions were good, and I'm sure that these people think they still are. From where I stand, it looks like a week long vacation for music executives (not for SXSW staffers - even with my disillusionment I know how hard they work this time of year).

I've never personally known a band that got a record contract due to a SXSW showcase performance, and I've known a lot of bands. Bands I've known that have gotten record deals during the conference have gotten them due to performances at non-SXSW parties. The best example I can bring to mind is my buddy Britt Daniel's band Spoon (this involved one of the most ingenius self promoting false rumors possibly in the history of rock 'n' roll. It never would have worked had Spoon not already been a fantastic band. If you don't know the story, well, it's really not my place to relate it here). The only time record company people came to see my band play was at these non-official, usually daytime events. At SXSW 2007 my band had secured a record deal with a European indie label and were actively looking for an American indie to release our record over here. In spite of this, we had been passed over for a showcase slot and had to organize our own event.

Getting mad at SXSW is like getting mad at the weather (which I regularly do, but I have pretty serious psychological problems). It's like a force of nature now - an unstoppable force with no immovable object to stand in its way. Maybe the silver lining around its massive bulk blocking out the sun is this - it's forcing unsigned and indie bands to go DIY again. That's something the US musical landscape has been in desperate need of for some time. A crucible from which fresh, innovative music emerges will always re-energize a co-opted art form. I have to hold on to the hope that this already is or soon will be the case.

I guess the most disappointing thing to me about all this is that SXSW is no longer a celebration of the music. It's become a celebration of the music industry, and I just find that incredibly depressing.

Alejandro Escovedo - March 2nd, 2008 - Aquarelle Restaurant Francais

2008-03-07T13:50:00.010-06:00

Alejandro Escovedo's youngest daughter and upscale Austin French eatery Aquarelle owner's daughter have something in common - both children attend Escuelita Del Alma, one of the most highly regarded daycare facilities in Austin or the surrounding area. Maybe in the country. When the beloved teacher of these two children was diagnosed with cervical cancer Alejandro and Aquarelle joined forces and did one of the things Austin does best - threw her a benefit.

At $50.00 a seat the contributor received a five star French dinner (even if it was served buffet style), an unbelievable dessert spread, and limitless free wine courtesy of a local winery. Not to mention a stellar performance from Alejandro and a back-up band that included Stephen Bruton on mandolin and guitar, Hector Munoz on percussion, and a fantastic bass player who's name I didn't catch (I've seen him play and even met him once or twice, but can't remember his name - getting old is hell).

I felt compelled to write about this because it seems like its something becoming all too rare, and perhaps dying out. Not benefits in general, which will continue to be organized for friends in need as long as there are music scenes, but benefits like this one. Rather than 8 - 10 bands in a bar or nightclub, you had a single performance by a critically acclaimed and much beloved local songwriter and performer held at a nice restaurant for a price that almost anybody could afford and was worth every penny. Alejandro can easily sell out any mid-size venue in town. You would likely spend more than $50.00 dining at Aquarelle on any given night. These people donated time, money and resources to help not a fellow uninsured musician in need, as is usually the case, but for a daycare teacher.

Obviously such an event wouldn't be economically feasible for every sick person in a city. It doesn't, however, seem outside the realm of the realistic to have similar events more frequently benefitting, say, charitable organizations or medical research groups. There are certainly enough A-list musicians in Austin, and I'm sure many other metropolitan areas, to make this possible. Maybe the tattered remains of my idealism is showing through, but as our inhumanity toward other humans continues to rise it seems one of the easier and more obvious ways to fight back. There's no reason to stop having the small benefits for ailing fellow musicians or the big ones for such things as relief for victims of natural disaster - just a way to provide a consistent, unsensationalized middle ground. I think the benefits would ultimately far outweigh the effort not only for the recipients of this largesse, but for our society as a whole. Subtle, or not so subtle, reminders of our responsibilites to one another as human beings capable of empathy and compassion not only seem like a good idea to me, but an almost urgent necessity. Bear in mind this is coming from probably the most misanthropic person you've ever come into contact with. If I can muster passion for something like this I'm willing to bet you can too.

If you're so passionate about this then why aren't you doing anything? you'd be justified in asking. Well, I think I'll probably get started on it. Having the privelege to attend the benefit I'm talking about provided some powerful inspiration.

Alejandro's performance? Outstanding. He drew heavily from his first solo release, the Stephen Bruton produced Gravity. The generally melancholic tone of his songs was complemented perfectly by roiling black clouds threatening a storm (which thankfully didn't materialize) and wind gusts that sent dead leaves spiraling around the band. He also managed to work in his two arguably biggest hits, both from A Man Under the Influence, "Rosalie" about half way through the set and an energetic rendition of "Castanets" to close things out. After a couple of minor rough moments early on the band Alejandro had assembled fell in together and shone like the professionals they are.

I think I found this all so moving because it managed to restore a tiny amount of my long faded hope that there is good to be found in people. That by itself made it worth the price of admission.

The Whigs - "Mission Control" (ATO Records 2008)

2008-03-05T09:50:00.014-06:00

What do The Smithereens, INXS, The Pixies, Pearl Jam, Foo Fighters, Guided By Voices, and The Replacements have in common? Well, they're all rock bands to begin with. And, I'd be willing to bet that you can find them all in Whigs frontman Parker Gispert's record collection.

The Whigs, hailing from Athens, GA, were responsible for quite a bit of excitement with the self-release of their debut Give 'Em All a Big Fat Lip in 2005, so much so that Dave Matthews' label ATO Records picked them up in the summer of 2006 and Fat Lip received national release. This led to The Whigs almost instantly becoming darlings of the national press, being hailed as everything from "band of the day" to what amounts to the Great White Hope of 21st century Rock 'n' Roll. Fat Lip is a raw blast of underproduced, confident rock that was certainly worthy of notice and, of course, set up expecatations for the surely brilliant follow-up. This is generally dangerous ground for young bands. Otherwise the term "sophomore slump" would not be so widely employed in the context of rock music.

Mission Control boasts a more polished production (the production credit goes to Beck's behind-the-board man Rob Schnapf) than its predecessor and moves in a distinctly more radio friendly pop oriented direction. This is not necessarily a bad thing but, while Fat Lip displayed the band's influences to a nice and subtle effect, Mission Control moves them to the forefront and leaves the record sounding like a derivative mishmash of ideas pioneered by other bands.

The record kicks off with the immediately catchy "Like a Vibration", and it's no surprise its so catchy as it is instantly reminiscent of The Smithereens, a band whose singles were catchy as shit. The fact that the song has a harder, faster edge than The Smithereens seems like an effort to make sure these instantly recognizable melodies and hooks are tailored to the aesthetics of a younger audience. "Production City" follows, and it literally sounds like it could have been an out take from INXS's Listen Like Thieves, right down to a very Michael Hutchence vocal delivery. After a couple of duds placed right in the middle of the song sequence (the tradional place for filler) The Smithereens show back up on "Hot Bed", The Replacements drop in for a visit on "Need You Need You", and INXS swings back through to help out on album closer "Mission Control". Its a rare moment on the record when an obvious comparison can't be made - I'll leave it to the listener to find the many others not listed here.

This is not to say that there aren't truly inspired moments. "Right Hand on My Heart", deservedly the album's single, stands on it's own with its driving beat, droning guitar riff, addictive vocal melody, and impressively soaring chorus. The chorus on "Already Young" is far and away the hookiest and most memorable moment on the record in spite of a recognizably Foo Fighters verse construction and a completely out of place Dave Matthews sounding pre-chorus breakdown that smacks of producer interference ("What this song needs is a dynamic!").

Mission Control is a really fun listen. With the exception of the aforementioned duds ("Sleep Sunshine" and "1000 Wives") the record exhibits a youthful energy and just the right degree of rebellious snottiness - something all too lacking in so many young bands today. It's clear they had a blast making this record and don't have any problem with people knowing it. All of this combined with comfortably familiar riffs make Mission Control a really appealing piece of work.

That being said, The Whigs are in no way the Great White Hope of American Rock 'n' Roll. They're good at what they do, they're a lot of fun, and they're sure to sell a lot of records. Perhaps in time they'll even find their own voice - one in which the inspirations are paid tribute but utilized to allow them to grow as a band without sounding so unfortunately deliberately derivative. I think they have it in them, but right now they're too busy staying on proven ground to find out.

Mission Control is being enthusiastically received critically. It's already being called "Album of the Year" by many critics although it only came out in January. That this is the case is pretty strong evidence to me that mediocrity is becoming the order of the day in the music trade again. It's not The Whigs' fault, and there are plenty of bands that deserve the mediocrity label more than they do. That a record so obviously built on the backs of truly innovative bands, both defunct and active, is being hailed as something providing salvation to a stagnant genre is, to me, a cause for alarm. It speaks to a willful ignorance or fear of music that is really pushing the envelope in the arbiters of what's considered worthy of attention in the music trade. That may not necessarily be something new, but it never gets any less insidious or depressing. My heart goes out to The Whigs who, at least for the moment, have become the inadvertent poster boys for this phenomenon. It sure sounds like they really just want to rock.

Sophomore slump? I guess it depends on your point of view.

2.5 out of 4 recycled riffs

Mike Smith RIP

2008-02-29T10:26:00.004-06:00

Dave Clark Five lead vocalist and keyboardist Mike Smith died of pnuemonia yesterday after five what must have been miserable years of dealing with a spinal cord injury that kept him hospitalized and paralyzed him from the waist down.

He cowrote "Bits and Pieces", probably the best known DC5 song, at least in the US.

While I'm glad the pain is over I hate to see you go, Mike. Here's to a life well lived.

Psychic Drive - "Cartoon Christ" EP (Riot US 2007)

2008-02-28T09:42:00.009-06:00

I knew I had heard of "Lizzy" Lee Vincent before. It took me a while to bring it back, but really listening to the new EP from Psychic Drive finally jarred things back into place.

Evoking an atmosphere that The Jesus and Mary Chain and Echo and the Bunnymen, or even The Stooges and The Ramones, would be comfortable breathing, New York based Psychic Drive's Cartoon Christ ultimately is a logical extension of an earlier Vincent project called Birdland.

Birdland emerged from the Birmingham, UK music scene in the late 80's and made a brief splash on the other side of the pond, being widely compared to the four bands in the paragraph above. I stumbled across them in '91 or '92 accidentally as a college radio DJ - I don't remember what I was looking for in the "B's" that day, but I remember seeing their record and spinning it (I routinely forget where I'm going on my way to pick up my daughter, but I remember shit like this and the fact that Lee Vincent was a member of the band. God bless a mis-spent youth). The comparisons were apt ones, with more of an emphasis on the poppier side of things with just a shade of the swagger of The Stooges or The Ramones. Even though I was expending a lot of energy on the Amphetamine Reptile roster at that time (I probably saw The Cows every time they played in Austin in spite of the fact that I never liked them enough to buy one of their records) I've always been a sucker for post-punk Brit-pop. When you add the fact that the derision I received from some other DJs for liking Birdland made me an iconoclast among inconoclasts it was inevitable that I become a lifelong fan, at least for the next few weeks. I hadn't thought about them since.

Psychic Drive more evenly balances the pop sensibilites of Brit-pop with the swagger of Detroit or NYC. The production on Cartoon Christ is polished enough to emphasize the melody and structure of the songs without detracting from the Vincent's fuzz guitar attack, while Kristen Black and Connie Yin drive the rhythm mercilessly on bass and drums respectively. Vincent's vocals are comfortably out in front of the mix, and are equal parts Ian McCulloch, Jim and William Reid, and Joey Ramone. All of this is presented in songs which are all hook - the verses grab you, the choruses are fist pumping and sing-along friendly, and the middle eights are more than after thoughts. There's a distincly Phil Spector-ish element at work which, of course, is never a bad thing. Well, at least not in the context of pop music.

While you might get the impression from reading this that Psychic Drive is derivative, and in a way they are, it hardly counts against them. With the post-punk revival in full swing there can be an almost generic quality to many bands drawing from the same influences - a trap that Psychic Drive manages to avoid by just being so damn good at it. There's nothing wrong with wearing your influences on your sleeve as long as you're wearing them well.

This is a pretty short review, but it's a pretty short EP. Four tracks total - really three, as tracks 1 and 4 are two different version of the title track, the only noticable difference being one is a couple of minutes longer than the other. It's defininitely worth checking out. I'll be interested to see what these three do next. I'll also be interested to see if the current renewed interest in post-punk serves them as well as it should. They ceratinly deserve it as much, if not more, than a lot of the bands out there claiming the influence.

You can fing Psychic Drive at www.myspace.com/psychicdrive.

3 out of 4 nostalgic middle aged bloggers.

After Long Silence...

2008-02-22T15:26:00.002-06:00

Be back next week with The Whigs and Psychic Drive. After having my wisdom teeth removed and a killer ear infection compounded by whatever the jag-off doctor did to it I needed some down time.

Hallmark Holiday Bullshit

2008-02-14T07:29:00.011-06:00

I think we all know that Valentine's Day is a money making vehicle created by greeting card companies in the mid 19th century taking inspiration from an actual Catholic Church holy day which has long since ceased to be recognized. It is notable primarily because it was the first known instance of a religious holy day being exploited to commercial ends. What an unholy, no pun intended, monster that particular trend has become.

MSN.com, which I read every morning to angry up the blood and diminish my need for caffeine to make it through the day, has taken upon itself to list the "Top 10 'I Hate You' Songs of All Time". Of all time, mind you. Now, I may be pissing on somebody's party and not getting into the spirit of the joke, but this is exactly the kind of shit that infuriates me and caused me to start writing this blog in the first place. Let's look at their list:

1) The J. Geils Band - "Love Stinks". Could this idiotic song be more obvious? Or stupid? Let's put some thought in here, fellow "music journalists".

2) Def Leppard - "Love Bites". Def Leppard sucks ass. I don't care how many arms, legs, or members they lose and how admirable it makes them for soldiering on, it doesn't change the fact that their music is lowest common denominator pablum. This idiotic song, with its vague sexual innuendo, fits right in with their other crap.

3) Nazareth - "Love Hurts". I'll give 'em this one, all though it's not an "I Hate You" song - it's a broken hearted ballad. Not to mention the fact that The Everly Brothers recorded the definitive version of it first and Gram Parsons did an amazing cover of it. Nazareth sucked.

4) Kelly Clarkson - "The Trouble With Love Is". I don't even know who this is, so I'm going to assume it's modern day Nashville "country". All of that shit sucks. Feel free to comment if you think I'm wrong.

5) Alanis Morissette - "You Oughta Know". Another completely unoriginal and obvious choice. This woman's music was unlistenable, was created by a record label to take advantage of a current musical fad, and only made salable by including famous musicians such as Flea and others writing the music to turn this crap into something resembling radio friendly songs.

6) Maria McKee - "If Love Is a Red Dress (Hang Me in Rags)". Lone Justice was okay. When they broke up and Maria started trying to sing like Janis Joplin, well, need I go on?

7) Michael Bublé With Holly Palmer - "Down With Love". No fucking idea. None. But judging by the list so far I feel safe in assuming it's nauseating.

8) Tie: John Mayer - "I'm Gonna Find Another You", Beyoncé - "Irreplaceable". I've got nothing against John Mayer - he seems like a nice guy. That being said, white guys doing radio friendly mush-mouth "blues" are inexcusable. Beyonce' - I feel bad about trashing contemporary R&B because I'm so far outside it, but to me Ms. Knowles is nothing but a money tree that looks good in a tight dress. Aretha Franklin, The Supremes, - THAT was R&B.

9) The Dixie Chicks - "Hole in My Head". Closest thing on this list I can come to agreeing with. They're at least really talented musicians who know their way around hooky pop arrangements. I like their politics, too. Still, "Goodbye Earl" would have been a much better choice.

10) Adam Sandler - "Somebody Kill Me". Adam Sandler isn't a musician. He's a comedian. I don't care if he plays guitar and writes asinine songs. He's not a musician. He's a comedian. Not a very funny comedian either. Why the fuck is he on this list at all?

Now that I've trashed MSN's list here's an incomplete one of my own. I won't be providing much in the way of explanation - if you know the songs none is necessary. I'm sure my list will elicit as much bile from readers as the MSN list did from me. I don't care. Go write your own blog about what a humorless shit I am.

1) Lefty Frizzell - "The Long Black Veil". Are you kidding? This got left off?

2) The Meatmen - "What's This Shit Called Love?". Subtle? No. Effective? Hell, yes.

3) The Cure - Tie - "The Figurehead", "Last Dance". Obviously there are a ton more from this band, but I can't list them all.

4) The Smiths - "Never Had No One Ever". Again, there are countless candidates from this band, almost all of them brilliant and mordantly humorous.

5) Giant Drag - "This Isn't It". Is GD a flash in the pan? Maybe. Still a great fucking song.

6) Alejandro Escovedo - "Follow You Down". Happy, sad, or somewhere in between, Alejandro doesn't write bad songs. His broken hearted ones are the best.

7) Big Star - "Holocaust". C'mon, Jeeves. It doesn't get any bleaker than this.

8) Dinosaur Jr. - "The Post". Ever fucked up a relationship? This is your story.

9) Gram Parsons - "$1000 Dollar Wedding". This one speaks for itself.

10) New Folk Implosion - "Releast". One of Lou Barlow's finest sets of angry, broken-hearted lyrics.

I could keep going, but I'm at work and have actual work to do. Any one of the songs on my list could swallow all ten of the ones on MSN's list whole and shit out nothing but bones.

There's my sanctimonious two cents, from my keyboard to St. Valentine's ear. Now go get your girlie or boy toy some chocolate covered strawberries and have fun in the sack tonight.

P. W. Long - "God Bless the Drunkard's Dog" (Black Diamond Records 2006)

2008-02-12T17:42:00.002-06:00

God Bless the Drunkard’s Dog rips, howls, moans and shreds its way out of you speakers and leaves you for dead. I’m not kidding. Loyal readers may recall a review from a couple of months ago for the Young James Long EP You Ain't Know the Man and my mentioning that it was the music you’d hear while getting your teeth kicked in outside a sleazy roadhouse. Well, these are the same fellas, only P.W. Long seems to have full artistic control here. This record leaps from full on Southern Rock that shows the world in no uncertain terms what a pussy Bob Seger is (if you don’t already think Seger is a pussy, you will after listening to this record) to mellower introspections on the heartless bitch that brought a whole town to its knees to loud, raunchy blues that are not just about situations you don’t want to be involved in, but don’t even want to know about. The man has a gift that rivals Bukowski for giving you a visceral taste of both the seedier side of things and the personal hell that led him there. Not without a sense of humor. The man’s a goddamn cipher.

It’s difficult to speak of specific songs as the track list seems to bear little relation to the actual song order. “Crazy Tonight” is one that stands out with its distorted, bluesy riff, immediately reminiscent of Long’s previous project Mule, and a growling lyric that strongly implies you probably don’t want to be around when this guy goes from “feeling crazy tonight” to acting on it. In any case, the song titles don’t matter. Every single one of them has teeth and they’ve got a taste of your blood. Too bad there’s nowhere for you to hide and you just need to ride this one out. In the end, it’s worth it. This album kicks more ass than a skinhead at a love-in.

Long seems dedicated to making it increasingly difficult to find his stuff. He apparently had to be bothered mercilessly by his friends to make this record, and finally only did on the condition it be released only on vinyl. Southern Records created vinyl only subsidiary Black Diamond Records just to get this wax out there. With that kind of dedication you know there’s something going on you should be checking out.

This isn’t much of a review, I know. More a testimonial. I’ll get back to the real reviews for the next one. In the meantime go online or head over to the last record store in your town that carries vinyl and pick this motherfucker up. After you spit your teeth out you’ll thank me for the recommendation.

3 out of 4, just because it’s a little less focused and introspective than his last effort. That doesn’t mean it can’t kick your ass.

The Service Industry - "Limited Coverage" (Sauspop 2008)

2008-02-05T07:56:00.001-06:00

There's nothing like the sense of anticipation waiting on the drop date for a record you can't wait to hear. It provides a great sense of relief and satisfaction when said record is everything you'd hoped it would be. Limited Coverage is one of those records.

Following up last years vitriolic debut Ranch is the New French The Service Industry once again doles out ten American working class screeds (plus a more than servicable Undertones cover), tongue firmly in cheek. Or maybe not so much in cheek. The songs generally cover topics like unreasonable bosses, ignorant customers who treat those waiting on them as servants, if they notice them at all, and other scourges of those in service jobs taken for granted by those more "successful" in our society.

It helps that songwriters Mike McCoy and Hunter Darby have joined forces on this project (they also worked together in the terrific, if slightly unfocused, garage band The American People) as they not only have, in spades, the personal experience to lend solid authenticity to these songs, but also happen to be outstanding songwriters each in their own right. McCoy fronted legendary Kansas City pop-punk outfit Cher UK, and Darby was 1/2 the inspired songwriting team behind Austin's storied power pop troopers The Wannabes. You can count on the results of these two working together being greater than the sum of their parts. In addition, Julie Lowery provides soaring harmony vocals and contributes a song of her own, "JoJo", and Andy Thomas and Robbie Araiza provide spotless guitars. Also a treat is the appearance of punk elder statesman Curt Kirkwood, main man behind The Meat Puppets, lending his guitar talents here and there. As these are veterans all, it would be a surprise if this record was anything less than a home run.

Limited Coverage is a college rock record in the best possible sense of the term. The bile of Ranch is the New French is toned down without losing any of the seething angst and, let's face it, hilarity (deliberately or not) that characterized that record. You have catchy sing alongs like "Job of Quality" and "They Fired Me" amongst, for the most part, accessible and hooky pop gems. McCoy's more experimental side surfaces on the Caribbean sounding rhythms of "Valhalla" and his punk roots shine through on the hysterical "Zippy's Lament", a song that anyone who's worked in customer service will strongly identify with. The Darby penned "Hollywood Out of Austin" provides an all too accurate portrayal of Austin's celebrity "guests", their sense of entitlement, and the locals' increasing frustration with it. Dropped right in the middle of this album's tirade is a fantastic cover of "You've Got My Number (Why Don't You Use It?)" by The Undertones which, while it doesn't necessarily fit the theme of the the record, certainly maintains the pervasive sense of frustration.

Curt Kirkwood's unmistakable guitar playing, most apparent on "They Fired Me", "Hollywood Out of Austin", and "Zippy's Lament", is delightful to hear and perfectly integrated into the songs. Kirkwood's been steady in his output over the last few years, but with the release of the latest Meat Puppets full length (Rise To Your Knees, Anodyne Records 2007) and his contribution here his inspiration seems to be firing on all cylinders again. That this is immensely to the benefit of rock 'n' roll in general should be obvious to everyone paying attention.

While "Have To Go To Work", with its exceedingly clever existential lyric cycle, is the strongest track here, there's not a weak one among them. The feel of the record hearkens back to the the college rock of the 1980's, right down to the very Reivers-esque bridge on "Now Wake Up and Die", and hearing a straight up honest to God hard pop album in the midst of all the current post-post modern crap or whatever they're calling it is damn refreshing. The songs are rock solid and hooky, and the concept of the band is timely and justifiably self-righteous without losing its sense of humor.

My only concern is that one of the main strengths of The Service Industry, its concept, could end up being its Achilles heel as well. How many times will this trick pony jump? That being said, with this group of people in the saddle you can always count on them having an endless supply of tricks up their sleeve.

Limited Coverage releases Feb. 19th, 2008 on Sauspop Records (http://www.sauspop.com/).

4 out of 4, kiddos.

Dean Station - "Raising the Root" (Self-Release 2007)

2008-01-29T08:59:00.000-06:00

Dean Station's latest release makes me wish I had an eclectic staff of writers covering most musical genres. Neo-folk is just not something I know very much about. While fairly knowledgeable about the pre-World War II folk music of Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger and the Folk Revival that brought a pre-rock 'n' roll Bob Dylan to fame, I have never paid a tremendous amount of attention to contemporary folk practitioners I didn't know personally. I do have some limited experience, which I feel like I should explain as this will be the basis of my review.

Austin in the late 80's was home to two seemingly disparate subcultures - the punk/post punk crowd and latter day hippies. I was very much in the camp of the former. Austin had an almost sentient talent, at least at that time, for blurring distinctions and bringing together groups of young people with very different world views. Maybe it still does. I've gotten too old to keep up.

Part of this unlikely comraderie was forced upon us all by the common enemy of roving gangs of drunk frat boys looking to beat up "faggots". If there are any drunk frat boys reading this know that I'm not tying to bait you. This is just how it was. Maybe it still is. Again, the age thing. Largely, though, these two groups met at the crossroads of The Butthole Surfers. It's hard to imagine for people too young to remember what it was like hearing a new Surfers record at that time. Neo-psychedelia informed by a punk rock sensibility and a relentlessly avant-garde presentation insured that you absolutely never knew what to expect. Their live shows, however, were a different matter. You were guaranteed a 2 - 3 hour long trip festival, and neither the punks nor the hippies were averse to the use of LSD. This meeting ground led to friendships that led to punks hanging out at hippie parties and vice versa with little or no hostility. It was in this context that I was first exposed to the style of music Dean Station plays.

It was inevitable at hippie parties that you would have 3 - 5 people with guitars, occasionally mandolins or banjos, and bongos harmonizing along to original or covered tunes. I would be lying if I said it didn't drive the punks, myself included, to the other side of the yard. The fact that Dean Station was formed in Albuquerque, NM and currently hails from Boulder, CO certainly suggests this kind of musical expression is still going strong and in no way unique to the Austin of 20 years ago. Apologies for the lugubrious introduction. All that being said I will now attempt to be fair to Dean Station.

Raising the Root is an appropriate title for this record. While drawing from folk and bluegrass traditions, husband and wife team Amanda and Levi Dean attempt to raise the bar on both by bringing non-standard arrangements and structures to most of the songs here. The result is something, when one brings the lyrics to bear, earthier than either. From the misunderstood protagonist of album opener "Feather" to the non-religious inspirational message of "Pocket Full of Grace" there is a very hippie sensibility saturating the lyrics on the record. Even the outrage expressed in "Mid January", the record's strongest track, has a mellow core, and this is a very mellow album. Assuming authorship by the Dean handling the lead vocal, Levi Dean's lyrics are typically more introspective, as on the sad lament "Desire", than Amanda's more outspoken and positivistic themes. There are, of course, exceptions.

While I may seem overly focused on the Dean's lyrics, it's the lyics that are on showcase throughout the record. The (beautifully harmonized) vocals are very much out in front of the rest of the mix. Since Amanda Dean admits to considering herself more of a poet than musician and the production credit goes to Doug Deforest and Dean Station (DeForest also handles some bass duties on the record) this would seem to be by design. It's not necessarily a bad thing, except for the fact that it very much overshadows the more than competent performances delivered on a range of eclectic instruments. This record would have had more resonance with me had the Dean's musical ability been given more attention.

In the end, while I admire the Dean's stretching of the boundaries of what constitutes folk music, they seem more comfortable on songs like the more traditional country stomp of "Flat Footin' Girl" or in the waltz time signature of "Stay".

I saw Dean Station when they passed through Austin on their last tour (Seven months?!? I barely lasted 21 days when I was their age (24 and 26). You've gotta admire them for that.) and was very impressed. If my description of their music sounded less than appealing to any readers out there, I encourage you to see them live. For Raising the Root I'm going to have to go half and half and remind you to consider that I'm entirely ignorant of any innovations that Neo-folk has enjoyed over the last 20 years. I sincerely hope that adherents of the genre got a resonably good impression of how this record sounds - while it's not my cup of tea I'd be ingenuous in saying that it won't serve many palettes well.

2 out of 4 on this one.

Grinderman - "Grinderman" (Mute Reords 2007)

2008-01-18T08:29:00.000-06:00

At some point I'm going to move away from records by or inspired by Nick Cave. Honest. But not now.

Grinderman was born when Nick Cave and Bad Seeds members Warren Ellis, Martyn P. Casey, and Jim Sclavunos retired to MisÃ¨re studio in Paris for a Bad Seeds songwriting session. Whether or not any progress was made on future Bad Seeds songs remains up for speculation, but what is certain is that some mighty powerful work was done, the result being the songs that constitute Grinderman's eponymously titled debut (The Bad Seeds record Dig! Lazarus, Dig! releases on March 3rd, 2008).

This is the best work Cave has produced in years, and I mean no slight whatsoever on Abbatoir Blues/Lyre of Orpheus (2004), Nocturama (2003), or No More Shall We Part (2001). It's just that this record hearkens back to an earlier incarnation of Nick Cave, one in which straight up rock 'n' roll (albeit very avant-garde) played a larger part while at the same time toning down the relentless darkness and angst that characterized those years. That's not to say it's entirely absent - this is Nick Cave we're talking about - but there's an element of whimsy here that I've never perceived in his music before. And, not surprisingly, he incorporates it well.

A good example is the song that seems to be getting the most attention from this release, "No Pussy Blues". It's a hysterical piece about the extreme lengths the narrating chacter goes to get the object of his attention in the sack, only to be told repeatedly "she doesn't want to". While amusing, the lyric, in combination with the driving fuzz bass, creates an urgent sense of tension establishing just how badly this guy has to have this girl. The release arrives in loud, wah-wah drenched fuzz guitar instrumental breaks in which our protagonist's frustrations boil over. It's a masterfully put together song that, while recognizably a Cave composition, displays a fresh perspective on his songwriting.

You get some more moments that, while not necessarily surprising per se, are certainly a departure from the rest of Cave's recent body of work. There's the blues driven fuzz rock of "Depth Charge Ethel" that contains one of the hookiest guitar riffs to come from Cave's direction in a long time. "Go Tell The Women" is a twisted, loungey number reminiscent of Tom Waits' Swordfishtrombones era, right down to a Marc Ribot-esque guitar part. Lyrics like "We are scientists, We do genetics, We leave religion, To the psychos and fanatics" woven into this audial ensemble makes the track indispensible, as well as an immediate Nick Cave classic.

While the departures are a refreshing diversion, there's plenty here to satisfy those Nick Cave fans perfectly content for things to remain as they are. Several tracks are immediately reminiscent of The Bad Seeds, even going so far as to having distinctly Blixa Bargeld reminiscent guitar runs (Bargeld is not listed in the credits, but it's not beyond the realm of possibility he showed up for some of these sessions). "Honey Bee (Let's Fly To Mars)" sonically has unmistakable overtones of The Birthday Party, albeit toned down and with conspicuously non-Birthday Party style lyrics. The record closes with "Love Bomb"- in many ways the most standard Cave offering on the record. While the music is more straight up rock than we're accustomed to hearing from Cave, it's overlaid with his signature semi-spoken Southern Baptist preacher possessed by demons vocal style. And friends, he's lost nothing over the years in assaulting you with that kind of delivery.

Grinderman has been widely compared to The Birthday Party and, while there certainly are elements of that here, I think that the comparison is selling the record as a whole short. The bile that Cave was spewing back then is only vaguely present in an offstage kind of manner, the music is not as determinedly anarchic, and the tone The Birthday Party set is, quite frankly, missing entirely. Methinks there may have been a tad bit of wishful thinking on the part of those making such comparisons.

I would say instead that this is an example of a gracefully aging iconic musician and songwriter proving to the world that he can still kick out some badass rock 'n' roll if he's so inclined. While containing inevitable elements of both, it's not The Birthday Party and it's not The Bad Seeds. It's Grinderman, and taken simply on its own merits it's one beautiful monster of a record.

Rating: 4 out of 4

The Big Sell Out

2008-01-17T13:36:00.000-06:00

I've gotten into countless arguments with musicians and others regarding whether or not selling a song for commercial use (in, for example, a commercial) is a perfectly respectable way for a band to make money and get exposure or if it cheapens and commodifies a song and strips it, and the artist, of dignity. You can probably guess what side of the argument I fall on. Then again, as a friend of mine who had just sold a song for use in a commercial once pointed out, I've never been offered $25,000 for 30 seconds of material. What would I do were I to find myself in my friend's shoes? I have to honestly say I don't know. That's some pretty weak shit from an opinionated, sanctimonious asshole like me, huh?

Anyway, here's a link to a blogger who addresses this issue much more adeptly and with considerably more humor than I could manage. Maybe it's how I'm reading it, but I think the guy's on my side.

http://featuresblogs.chicagotribune.com/entertainment_popmachine/is_this_a_sellout/index.html

As you lived, Ike...

2008-01-16T20:35:00.000-06:00

The San Diego County Medical Examiner's office released the news late this afternoon that Ike Turner died of a cocaine overdose. Hardly surprising, I guess, considering the vile lengths to which he went to keep himself in supply during his youth, but I think I covered that fully in the eulogy I wrote for him a few weeks ago. It was a well known fact that he was struggling with pulmonary emphysema (which the nose candy probably actually helped relieve), but he apparently was suffering from hypertensive cardiovascular disease as well. It doesn't take a medical professional to tell you that piling speed on top of something like that is like lighting the fuse of an M-80.

I discussed before the struggle in myself to reconcile the music geek in me who thought the man a genius and the (barely) functioning member of normal society in me that finds his actions with regards to his wife Tina, his other female back up singers, and various others utterly reprehensible. At what point can one say the ends justify the means? And, more to the point, did he really need to be such a sociopathic, selfish son of a bitch in order to make the unbelievably powerful music he created? Somehow, I think not. "Rocket 88" came from some deep part of the human soul, but it wasn't an evil part.

In the end I guess I have to be satisfied with the fact that Ike died as he lived. It seems somehow unfair that he went out flying high on the same shit that led him to cause so much misery. If life isn't fair, rock 'n' roll sure as shit isn't.

The Cult - "Born Into This" (Roadrunner 2007)

2008-01-14T09:41:00.000-06:00

The Cult has always been a band striving to keep up with the vagaries of pop culture and adapt to the prevailing musical whims of the record buying public. Unlike a band like, say, Metallica, who has seemingly shifted with the tides without ever losing the core of what they are all about, The Cult has had to work at it, and it's noticable. They pulled it off with great panache for three records in the late 1980's. 1985's Love presented an infectious set of pop songs that incorporated both post-punk ethos and the neo-psychedelic sensibility that was making the rounds at that time. 1987's Electric, largely thanks to the almost preternatural ability of producer Rick Rubin to read shifts in consumer tastes, arrived on the forefront of the return of muscular, bare bones rock that would become championed by the likes of Guns 'n' Roses. Electric was a record comprised of catchy hook after catchy hook, each stretched out to song length. And it worked. Then enter 1989's Sonic Temple and producer Bob Rock. Any pretense toward post-punk was entirely gone by this point and the band had wholly embraced the hair metal revolution. The record still yielded some infectious hit songs (and the band was at their live performance peak at this time) but it was becoming apparent that the train was about to come off the rails. How many times can a band change its stripes without beginning to look wholly disingenuous? After this point The Cult lost me entirely.

This would all be academic if the songs were there, and frankly there were fewer and fewer memorable ones as the records rolled out. All of this may seem like a blowhard's history, but it's actually pretty pertinent to reviewing Born Into This.

Produced by Martin "Youth" Glover, known for his work with the likes of Siouxsie and the Banshees, Crowded House, and Depeche Mode, Born Into This plays like a band trying to sound relevant without losing whatever cred it had accrued to itself in the past. With the post-punk revival in full swing you certainly find pervasive elements of that on the record. Of course, muscular, riffy rock is having a resurgence as well, so there is a liberal amount of muscular riffage injected as well. Sprinkle in some of the neo-neo-psychedelia (I guess?) floating around (Flaming Lips, anybody?) as well. Overlaying it all you have the ambient, dare I say New Wave, feel that a producer like Glover has made his signature. Somehow, beyond all reasonable sensibility, it works really well sonically. We're left with a record that certainly makes The Cult sound relevant and even pretty interesting after all this time.

There is a general formula in place for almost every song on the record, which consists of a sparse, driving, chunky verse building into a loud, layered, rocking chorus. Cult fans will recognize this as a standard Ian Astbury/Billy Duffy song construction that has served them pretty well across their career together. The tragedy here is that, while the formula may be in place, the hooky, memorable songs just aren't.

That's not to say the songs are necessarily bad. The title track has a nice groove reminiscent of The Jesus and Mary Chain's Automatic era, and "Citizens" hearkens back to The Cult's own Love era. "Illuminated" and "Savages" could have been re-worked outtakes from Sonic Temple, and album closer "Sound of Destruction" is an inspired slab of rock 'n' roll that almost approaches The Cult at their finest.

On the other side of things you have the nearly unlistenable "Holy Mountain", an acoustic piece that comes out of nowhere and nearly lays you flat. Lyrics have never been Astbury's strong point - it's just never mattered because they were bellowed in his unique voice in the context of a great pop hook. However, "You're a wild thing, You say wild things, But much too wild, I think" over a flat sounding acoustic strum is damn near unbearable. The "hit" on the record, "Dirty Little Rockstar", is a weak reworking of "Wildflower" from Electric with none of its power and charm.

Born Into This isn't a terrible record. It's just not a terribly interesting one. It's a shame, knowing the kind of power The Cult are capable of. Here's hoping they'll harness that muse for their next attempt.

Rating: 2 out of 4

T. Tex Edwards & Out on Parole - "Pardon Me, I've Got Someone To Kill" (Saustex 2007)

2008-01-09T09:04:00.000-06:00

Thom "Tex" Edwards has led a storied career - drop in just about anywhere and you're going to find something interesting. His Dallas based punk band The Nervebreakers may have played the first punk show in Dallas in 1977. They opened for The Sex Pistols at The Longhorn Ballroom in 1978. The Nervebreakers also backed up Roky Erikson in 1979 at The Dallas Palladium. By the end of their run in 1981 they were considered the biggest band in Dallas. "Move It", a staple of Tex's SoCal based rockabilly outfit Loafin' Hyenas, was recorded by The LeRoi Brothers. Those are the high points. That's a pretty solid career right there for an underground musician. But after all this T. Tex, for all intents and purposes, went solo.

"Pardon Me, I've Got Someone To Kill" was initially released in 1989 on Sympathy for the Record Industry and, after an all too brief flash as a "novelty record", slowly faded into obscurity. Hearing the remastered re-issue of this record (plus one unreleased track) is like a breath of fresh air for those that appreciate the below the radar, native Texan country music that displays an irreverent love of the genre.

This record is T. Tex paying a kind of twisted tribute to country songs about prison, murder and excess that span decades. Not that many of these songs need much more twisting. Most stick to traditional country arrangements and instrumentation, but that's by no means the whole story. You get Edward's take on The Bugs' 1964 freakshow "Strangler in the Night", which has lyrics penned by Albert DeSalvo, AKA The Boston Strangler. The version on this record far out does the original, with Edward's manic spoken word vocal over placid, almost Hawaiian music a paragon of sheer lunacy. Then you have the cover of Porter Wagoner's (remember him? He launched Dolly Parton's career) already exceedingly strange "Rubber Room" which, unlikely as it may seem, adds an endearingly psychotic charm to the song. Also standing out is Eddie Noack's "Dolores", bringing in a latin 8ths beat and a distinctively Western feel.

I could go on and on about the unique spins T. Tex Edwards puts on songs by everyone from Johnny Paycheck to Lee Hazlewood to Country Swing pioneer Howard Crockett, but it's better left for you to explore for yourselves. While this record is certainly de rigeur listening for late night booze and drug fueled parties, it's also a blast to listen to just about any other time. Fabulous Thunderbirds/LeRoi Bros. drummer Mike Buck's production does a wonderful job of conveying the sense that the wheels could fly off at any second while Edward's appealingly loose vocal melodies keep everything strung together. These guys clearly had a lot of fun making this record, and it's infectious.

In my research for this review I ran across quite a few write-ups decrying this record for treating what are essentially dark topics in a jocular and irreverent way. I couldn't disagree more. Poking fun at the darkness is one of the most positive ways we humans deal with the bad cards we get dealt and the insanity pervasive in the world around us. As many a Texan has been heard to say, "Gallows humor - without it we'd all lose our lunch."

T. Tex Edwards' stuff, along with much more, is available at http://www.saustexmedia.com/.

Rating: 4 out of 4

Stevie Tombstone - "Devils Game" (Saustex 2007)

2008-01-08T10:31:00.001-06:00

Stevie Tombstone has been kicking around, largely underappreciated, for more than 20 years. His seminal Atlanta, GA based "swampabilly" outfit The Tombstones made a few deserved waves in the late 1980's and have resurfaced sporadically through the present day. In between these reunions he's been turning out some damn impressive solo efforts, and Devils Game is a nice overview of his early years as a solo artist.

Devils Game is a compendium of Tombstone's now difficult to find 1999 release Second Hand Sin, three acoustic versions of Tombstones songs, released in 2000 as Acoustica, recorded live at at the Atlanta Tattoo Arts Festival, and a few alternate song versions, compilation contributions and other odds and ends to finish things off. While this description may give the impression that this record is disjointed, nothing could be farther from the truth. If anything this packaging illustrates Tombstone's sonic consistency and his ability as a songwriter.

What springs immediately to mind upon listening to Devils Game is Tombstone's vocal similarity to Jason and the Scorchers' Jason Ringenberg, although the style and themes differ considerably. These two artists may be mining the same mountain, but they've struck very different veins. It's a credit to Second Hand Sin's producer, Scorchers bassist Jeff Johnson, that he didn't succumb to what must have been a temptation to influence these songs in a Scorchers direction and instead created a sound that complements Tombstone's melancholic, cautionary tales and murder songs.

This part of the record is characterized by booming acoustic guitars backed with fuzzy electrics, slide guitar and pedal steel, all overlaid with Tombstone's by turns weary and passionate vocals. A couple of departures arrive with "Same Old Tune", a straight up country tune, and "'Til the Day I Die", a loping country prison/murder song complete with sawing violin. While these two may jump out the most, all of the Second Hand Sin songs stand on their own legs. The different story each has to tell and the subtle variations in instrumentation make for a very satisfying listen.

As mentioned above, the Acoustica part of the record was recorded live. I'm not given to appreciating live recordings, but Acoustica works for me on two levels. First is the remarkable sonic similarity to the Second Hand Sin tracks - clean up the audio slightly and get rid of the crowd noise and these three tracks could have easily been the last three on Second Hand Sin. Second, the songs here are acoustic reworkings of three of The Tombstones songs, featuring Stevie Tombstone on acoutic guitar and vocals accompanied by Tony Fox on sax and violin. It's really very entertaining hearing these songs performed this way and the the fact that they work as well as they do is a testament to Tombstone's ability.

The bonus tracks that finish off Devils Game are a pleasant surprise in an era when bonus tracks tend to be second rate studio outtakes and poor recordings of songs that didn't work. The first is a Stonesy rock alternative take of "Same Old Tune" which has every bit as much going for it as the countrified album version. "Folsom Prison Blues" is a servicable take on the Johnny Cash classic, from the Dear Johnny tribute record, which surely brought a smile to The Man in Black's face. You get "So God Damned Lonely", which is a straight up country rock/cowpunk rumbler very much in the Jason and the Scorchers tradition. "Old Wedding Ring" is a dark, powerful rumination on a failed relationship that might be the best on the record. Finally, you reach the closer, "Christmas on Red River", a blue-collar take on the ugly side of Christmas that wouldn't have been out of place on one of Waylon Jennings late 70's releases.

Hickoids frontman Jeff Smith's Saustex label is doing a hell of a job getting deserving records out there that have been lost in the shuffle, and promoting the artists responsible for same in their current endeavors. Stevie Tombstone is an excellent example, and Devils Game is well worth picking up both for those unfamiliar with his work and for fans who have been hopefully waiting to see this material released on CD.

You can find Devils Game, Stevie Tombstone's other work (solo and with The Tombstones), and a ton of other cool stuff at http://www.saustexmedia.com/.

Rating: 3.5 out of 4

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - "The Road to God Knows Where" (DVD - Mute Films 2005)

2007-12-31T10:54:00.001-06:00

The first thing you should know is this is not a concert film. It does, however, come packaged with a live performance on another disc - Live at The Paradiso - which alone is worth the purchase price. However, as anyone who's seen Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds live will tell you, it's something you've just got to see for yourself. Even on video. The Road to God Knows Where provides an entirely different, if no less interesting, perspective.

Filmed during The Bad Seeds North American tour over February and March of 1989, The Road to God Knows Where should be required viewing not only for fans of Nick Cave, but anyone interested in pursuing a career on the creative side of the music business. The pacing is slow and can seem at times to be tedious, which easily could have been deliberate on the part of filmmaker Uli Schueppel. Peppered with brief live moments, only the beginning or end of sets or songs for a large part of the movie, in combination with long intervals back stage, on the tour bus, in hotels, etc., the film provides about as realistic as possible capture of what it's like to be on tour in a rock 'n' roll band. Especially a misunderstood one skirting the fringes of success.

This isn't as apparent in the first half of the film. Cave is admittedly uncomfortable in front of cameras and his self-consciousness, along with that of the rest of the band, is apparent. It leads to some unintentional moments of comedy - Blixa Bargeld trying to pretend he knows the words and can sing along to "Lost Highway" as Cave strums and sings is pretty funny stuff considering Bargeld's musical pedigree. Primarily, though, it sticks to the soul breakingly monotonous nuts and bolts of touring - long bus rides, sound checks, waiting backstage, photo shoots, sycophantic fans, and pushy music writers. The focus is on the bands' attempts to find something, anything, to pass the time and keep it together. They do this admirably, at least while the cameras are rolling, but as things wear on and nerves start to fray the self-consciousness fades away. Things start to get really interesting.

While the band doesn't turn on each other, their frustrations emerge in almost cartoonishly exaggerated reactions to the pitfalls they encounter. This may be film trickery - Scheuppel dropping us into the middle of an altercation and not providing the context - but it certainly seems like the altercations covered went from zero to sixty almost immediately. The standouts involve promoters who were clearly not expecting a professional touring outfit to show up and had either not read the contract or willfully ignored important details.

The first is more drawn out and involves a promoter who did not, ahem, provide the agreed upon promotion. The venue is close to selling out - a development the promoter obviously thought was not remotely possible - and the band is insisting on more money versus refusing to play at all. Cave stalks off in the middle of the argument leaving Bargeld, rather unfairly, to carry on the fight. The resolution is not mentioned, but the band does play.

The second covers an explosive confrontation over the size and wattage of the venue's sound system. The contract specifications for sound have not been met and soundman Victor Van Vugt, tour manager Rayner Jesson, and Cave are facing off with the promoter over the inadequate system. The promoter ignorantly puts his foot in it saying, "This system was fine for Flock of Seagulls!", which leads to Cave again stalking off after a declaration that the band won't play if the contract isn't met. Almost immediately the promoter puts his foot in it again when he makes a derogatory reference about Cave, "that other guy", to Jesson. "Our boss," replies Jesson, "The man you signed the contract with." We're once again not privy to whatever settlement is reached, but the band does play.

In addition to these standout blow-ups, you see Cave and the rest becoming increasingly glassy eyed and distant in their interactions with anyone outside the group. There's a subtly tense backstage conversation between Jesson and Cave in which the tour manager seems to be suggesting that they cancel most of the rest of the tour. Cave's frustration with press people boils over with a writer and photographer from L.A. Weekly, towards whom he directs open eye-rolling hostility. The sense of relief at dealing with a promoter they know in San Francisco is palpable.

Schueppel shot this film in fairly high contrast black and white which, given the stark winter landscape through which the band is traveling, works well. It's not quite as effective when the band reaches Los Angeles, but that hardly ruins things.

As the film progresses and tensions mount the live performances become longer and more pervasive. This change cleverly provides the release for all the tension, both with the band and the viewers. Right before launching into "New Morning", the last performance of the film, Cave announces, "This is the last song of our North American tour. Thank God for that." After the ride just taken with him, one can easily relate.

Rating: 3.5 out of 4

Woven Hand - "Mosaic" (Glitterhouse 2006)

2007-12-28T13:18:00.000-06:00

David Eugene Edwards is perhaps the most iconoclastic musician working in popular music today. 16 Horsepower, his previous project, began as an alt.country exploration of Appalachian folk and country with Edwards' use of dramatic, heavily Christian themed lyrics lending it an air of authenticity lacking in most other bands mining the same vein then or since. By Secret South, the bands third record, Edwards had taken the band in a more experimental direction, and the lackluster Folklore, 16 Horsepower's final release, half-heartedly continued this trend. The disappointment of Folklore can likely be attributed to the fact that, by the time the album was being recorded, Edwards was pouring his creative energy into Woven Hand (16 Horsepower is the only band I've heard of citing "political and religious differences" as the reason for their breakup). In spite of giving the impression that there's a functioning band at work Woven Hand is, quite simply, what Edwards is calling his solo work (all I know about the provenance of the name is that it's a really obscure Bible reference - you'll have to look elsewhere for chapter and verse). Working as a solo artist has given Edwards the freedom to more deeply explore experimental song structures and instrumentation and deep, heavily Christian themes of sin and redemption.

With each release Woven Hand has strayed farther and farther from Edwards' unerring pop sensibility and into experimental realms, pulling influences from Middle Eastern, American Indian, and Eastern European musical instrumentation and structures (among others less prevalent). His dark vision of the sinful path, reflected in the music and lyrics, and humanity's one and only source of redemption has become more and more apparent and increasingly fundamentalist in spite of his use of arcane biblical references to spin his tales. So much so that it can make a committedly non-religious person like myself uncomfortable.

Mosaic, Woven Hand's fourth release, builds on this trend and takes Edward's music farther afield than any release yet. From the ominous, sparse instrumental opener "Breathing Bull", which seamlessly transitions into the heavily Middle Eastern influenced Bible beater "Winter Shaker", you know you've entered David Eugene Edwards' universe and you're in for a soul tempering wild ride. These songs eschew any traditional song structures for the most part and focus on mood and intensity, both of which are unbelievably heavy. The mood is almost relentlessly dark, focusing on sin and the failure to abide God's word. The lyrics always mention the path to redemption in some form or other but also stress the fact that, in this vision, anyway, the way is so hard it's damn near impossible to follow without constant, severe diligence and unquestioning faith.

The instrumentation on this record includes, and I'm guessing on some of these, guitar, banjo, piano, violin, organ, bass, standard drums, tympani drums, guiro, sorna, chemnitzer concertina, and, I'm pretty sure, didgeridoo. The tympani, concertina and didgeridoo maintain a constant low end drone on almost every track, lending the songs the ominous quality that has almost become signature for Edwards work. The guitar, where it appears, serves as both a rhythm and melody instrument - especially apparent on "Truly Golden", one of the more accessible songs on the record. The organ serves a similar purpose, alternately contributing to the ominous background wall and serving as a cathedral like melody instrument. Violin and sorna are reserved for song melody and contribute heavily, along with much of the percussion, to the pervasive Middle Eastern feel of the record.

Relief from the overwhelming Christian thematics appears in "Swedish Purse", which lyrically suggests it is a love song to Edwards' wife. Don't let the fact that it's a love song lead you to believe that you get a break from the overall sonic darkness - that remains heavy as hell (no pun intended). There is a break from the doom laden musical bent in "Bible and Bird" - a loping, country/folk instrumental in a standard 4/4 time signature. As this is the only song with musicians other than Edwards credited it makes a kind of sense that it would be the most traditionally structured piece - good luck to the most experienced musician trying to follow the logic of almost any other song on the record.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention production. Edwards is credited as producer (as he has been on every Woven Hand release) and his production is, as you have probably gathered, a dark, dense, wall of sound with very little open range. While this would be too much for many recordings it works pretty effectively considering what Edward is communicating here and often places the songs in a geographic context.

Mosaic is not a good starter album for the casual listener - hard-core fans only and those drawn to the esoteric (and perhaps some world music afficianados) will appreciate what's going on here. A good place to begin with Edwards is any of the first three 16 Horsepower records (Sackcloth & Ashes, Low Estate, and Secret South) or even the eponymously titled first Woven Hand record will do - Edwards natural ability with pop structures and hooks married to relatively unusual instrumentation will give you a good foundation from which to continue.

As a long-time and devoted fan I think this record is a knock-out. Edwards is without a doubt one of the most creative and unusual musicians out there, and the farther out he goes the more I seem to like it. The allure of the music and the poetic nature of the lyrics is strong enough to shield me from the discomfort of the heavy-handed Christian thematics. I'll venture to say the same will be true for the majority of listeners. It helps that I respect Edwards' beliefs even if I don't agree with them.

Edwards is an admitted fan of Nick Cave (as am I) and the similarities still show through his experimentation. I would say he's the light in response to Nick Cave's darkness, but there's plenty of darkness here. Let's say instead that, while Cave's songs are almost universally existential and hopeless, Edwards provides his listeners with at least a single strand of hope. I'll leave it up to you to decide which is better.

Rating: 4 out of 4

Happy Holidays

2007-12-23T11:20:00.000-06:00

I'm gone for a few days, into an actual dead zone with no internet access. Hope those few of you who check in here have a safe and happy holiday, however it is or whatever it is you celebrate. Even if it's nothing at all.
If you find yourself out and about over the next few nights, here's a suggestion: go see a local band that performs original music. If you don't like 'em you can always check out and head for that brew pub that was your original destination and only be out about five bucks and an hour of your time. As someone who's played the literal night before Christmas let me tell you - it'll mean more to them than you can possibly imagine. In addition, you might discover somebody you really like. What a nice gift that would be, eh?
Talk at you folks after the shouting is over.

They Shoot Musicians, Don't They?

2007-12-22T02:45:00.000-06:00

In Mexico, in the last 18 months, thirteen musicians have been violently murdered, some of them tortured before finally expiring. Three of these murders have occurred in the last month.

The music of Western culture has always contained an element of danger involved in its creation and aftermath. Murders abound in its history. Mozart was likely poisoned to death out of jealousy (although not by Antonio Salieri as a certain Hollywood film would have you believe). Robert Johnson was poisoned to death, likely for sleeping with a roadhouse owner's wife. Who can keep track of the murders associated with Hip Hop and Gangsta Rap anymore - Tupac Shakur, Biggie Smalls, DJ Scott LaRock, Jake Robles, Yafeu "Kadafi" Fula, Deshaun Holten (AKA Proof), King Tubby, Michael Mensen, Brandon Mitchell, The Mac, Charizma, Mr. Cee, Hitman, Seagram Miller, Jo Jo White, Dion Stewart, Fat Pat, Malcolm Howard, MC Big L, MC Ant, Bugz, Freaky Tah, Q-Don, Bruce Mayfield, Eclipse, Lloyd "Mooseman" Roberts, Tonnie Shepard, Jam Master Jay, and the list, spanning roughly 15 years, goes on. And let's not forget the suicides - Ian Curtis, Richard Manuel, Michael Hutchence (although many consider that one debatable), Kurt Cobain, of course, and a slew of drug overdoses that may or may not have been deliberate. Troubled people are drawn to creative pursuits, and their ends are often untimely. Unfortunately with the rap scene many of these performers come from criminal backgrounds in which violence is an all too common response to conflict resolution. Music is a dangerous game, as evidenced by its casualty list, but this fact has been largely ignored in the main stream press - these were not typically public deaths and there seemed to be a sense of "well, they probably had it coming" amongst those who weren't fans and didn't know the details.

Two events occurred in the U.S. that have played a role in reversing this attitude. The first was the vicious rape and murder of Mia Zapata, lead singer of Seattle punk band The Gits, on July 7th, 1993. The police and the press tried to foist this off as "bad girl gets in bad place and inevitable happens", but the Seattle music community was not content to let a brush off be the end of the story of this talented, passionate, well-adjusted and much beloved musician. Largely through donations and the help of some fairly prominent national rock stars, not to mention the dedication of one bad ass private investigator, this cold case was solved in 2004 when Mia's assailant was brought to justice. It opened quite a few eyes to the fact that musicians aren't just a bunch of junkies living on borrowed time.

The other event was the on-stage murder of "Dimebag" Darrell, former Pantera guitarist, on December 8th, 2004 at the Allrosa Villa in Columbus, Ohio. This tragedy (whatever you think of Darrell's music it was still unarguably a tragedy) opened people's eyes to the fact that musicians are as much targets as politicians, labor organizers, or other prominent public figures. That such a thing hadn't happened before in the roughly fifty years of rock history is kind of amazing.

In Mexico, we're starting to see the assassination of cultural figures as a political tool. Some of these artists performed what is known as "narcocorridos" - songs which glorify the underworld life, sometimes choosing to glorify the exploits of one gang or cartel over those of another. Some others are directly affiliated with underworld organizations and serve as a fifth column for them. These, however, appear to be in the minority. To the degree that it is understood by Mexican authorities many of these artists are being "adopted" by various gangs and cartels without their approval or often even knowledge. When one cartel wants to hit another, they take out their enemies' unofficial "mascot", both making their point and expressing to the authorities, "You can't touch us - we kill celebrities at will. Who else can we successfully target if you come after us?". It is therefore not unsurprising that all of the thirteen murders remain unsolved. This would seem to be the case with Sergio Gomez, lead vocalist of K-Paz de la Sierra, who was abducted December 2nd of this year and found beaten, tortured with a cigarette lighter, and strangled to death the next day. K-Paz de la Tierra has no political or underworld affiliations and specialized in performing torch songs of unrequited love.

How long before such tactics appear north of the Rio Bravo? As Oppenheimer put it so depressingly and succinctly after the first successful test of a nuclear weapon, "The genie is out of the bottle." It's hard enough trying to make a living as a performer without a gang of knuckle-dragging thugs hanging a sword of Damocles over your head. Such a prospect will certainly do nothing to encourage music with strident social and political messages - the kind of messages that have kept rock 'n' roll so vital for so long.

Maybe the mantra will bear out this time - "It can't happen here!" I some how doubt it. I also doubt that this turn of events will somehow reverse the long, painfully slow spiral of American culture into its ultimate, uninspired cesspool.

Wilco - "Sky Blue Sky" (Nonesuch 2007)

2007-12-21T11:55:00.000-06:00

I talked some in my review of The Drams Jubilee Dive of following certain artists through stylistic changes successfully because they retain that certain essential something that makes them them. Jeff Tweedy is an artist that has managed this masterfully. There are no two Wilco records that sound the same, but you can recognize a Wilco record when you hear it whether or not you've heard it before. This isn't easy to accomplish, and it's no less impressive considering the wide ranging experimentation Wilco has indulged in over their past three records.

Sky Blue Sky has been touted as Wilco's "return to form". I'm not sure what "form" it is being discussed here, as Wilco has never exhibited a consistency that I would say pidgeon-holed them. A.M.? Being There? While these two early records definitely harken back to the country rock/alt.country of Tweedy's former project Uncle Tupelo, they are still departures from that band's sound, and each is a departure from the sound of the other. I'll agree that A.M. and Being There are closer stylistically that any other two Wilco records, but Being There represents a definite step in a new direction that presages the revolutionary changes to come. With Wilco there's no "form" to return to. There's only forward motion, for better or worse.

Sky Blue Sky does nothing to buck this trend. The audial experimentation of Summerteeth, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and A Ghost is Born is hardly present at all in Wilco's latest offering. In much the way Summerteeth owed quite a bit of its sound and spirit to Brian Wilson's more experimental production work, Sky Blue Sky owes a considerable debt to mellow 70's songsters like Paul McCartney and, yes, even James Taylor. This is most evident in the Wings-esque "Shake It Off" and the more McCartney on his own inspired "Walken". The James Taylor reference comes more of the overall feel of the record rather than any specific sonic similarities. There are other comparisons to be made, but let's just leave it at the fact that this record sounds a lot like a mellow, mid-70's album.

That, of course, is not the end of the story. Tweedy's predilection for experimentation pops up in places, most notably in the outro to "Side With the Seeds", a turn almost ruined by the self-indulgent guitar solo that crashes into it. A similar sort of guitar histrionics shows up in "You Are My Face". This kind of instrumentation works to great effect in a song like "At Least That's What You Said" from A Ghost is Born, in which the guitar takes over from the vocals in expressing the violence of an argument between two people in the second half of the piece. Given the overall lower key feeling of Sky Blue Sky it just sounds out of place.

Looking back over this it reads like a negative review (especially if you hold mainstream 70's music in the same contempt that I do) which is hardly the case. Remember that McCartney's a master at crafting a pop song and making sure it's produced in such a way that serves the song well. The same can be said of James Taylor. You don't have to like their music, but in the construction they knew what the hell they were doing. In spades. This record may sound like it was produced in the 70's for a soft rock audience, but the production suits this set of songs very well, and there's not a bad one among them. Tweedy is a remarkably powerful songwriter, and he continues to prove it on this record. Sky Blue Sky has been described by some as "boring". While there is a noticable absence of existential and emotional angst that has characterized much of his previous work, it's not "boring". Rather it seems the ruminations of a man who's finally laid many of his demons to rest, and these stories are certainly good for some pop gems. Towards the end of the record "What Light" and "On and On and On" jump out and grab you with both hands.

The final track of the record is "Let's Not Get Carried Away", a blast of Tattoo You era Rolling Stones inspired rock 'n' roll. While Tattoo You may have come out in 1981, I still consider it the coda of 1970's mainstream rock. What perfect inspiration to end Sky Blue Sky.

Rating: 3 out of 4

The Drams - "Jubilee Dive" (New West 2006)

2007-12-20T14:11:00.000-06:00

I'm not a fan of giving a recording artist a bad time for changing their sound or style, breaking the mold or whatever. Leonard Cohen did it. Bob Dylan did it to (eventual) resounding success. Gibby Haynes made a pretty good go of it with "Gibby Haynes and his Problem", which is a damn fine record that sounds very little like The Butthole Surfers. I think what makes these changes in direction ultimately successful is that, although the sound or approach may be different, you can still hear whatever essential element it is that makes the artist unique. Dylan may have gone rock, but he's still unavoidably Dylan.

Therein lies my problem with The Drams. Switching gears from the aggressive southern rock/alt.country of Slobberbone to the much mellower, poppier, AAA formatted (that's Adult Album Alternative for all you non-radio geeks out there) sound is pretty much impossible for me to do. When you consider that three Slobberbone guys - Jess Barr, Tony Harper, and songwriter/mastermind Brent Best - created this project it just starts stinking of cashing in. Not that I can blame them - Slobberbone put out a string of great records and toured relentlessly for years while remaining unable to break the commercial ceiling. They're owed some success. I just wish they had not gone about it in such an obvious, pandering way.

The Drams remind me a lot of bands I had pretty much forgotten about - bands like Collective Soul and The Wallflowers. I'd pretty much forgotten about them because they were pretty much forgettable. Generic "intelligent" pop that is deliberately produced to be slotted into AAA format radio stations (in Austin KGSR is the big one of these). Slobberbone could have changed their name and toned down their attack, retained their spirit and vitriol, without slipping into this musical wasteland. Instead Slobberbone broke up, 3/4ths of them started The Drams, and hum drum city got a new house band.

There are moments where Best's strengths as a songwriter shine through. "Fireflies" has a clever turn of lyric: "Finally seen that it's over, See the beauty where you are, Appreciate the fireflies, baby, Just in case we never see the stars". Very nice. Unfortunately there's a completely inappropriate and annoying Nicky Hopkins-esque piano wandering around all over the already over produced song. "September's High" shows some of the old spirit, but again suffers from that bright, shiny, lush production. "When You're Tired" stands out the most - it's emotionally engaging, the lyrics are solid, the music is sparse, and the production fits the song for a change. "Des Moines" has the best set of lyrics and is melodically the strongest - the chorus works really well also, placing it just behind "When You're Tired" in my estimation.

Overall, though, this record just sounds lame to me. I've already beat the dead horse of the production, but that's to say nothing of the fact that Best's typically powerful, sometimes snarling, voice primarily sounds whiny here. "Shortsighted", the song seemingly slated for single status, brings this new vocal quality to an almost unlistenable level. I would never have believed that Brent Best could sound like a wimp, but he sure does on most of this record. When you combine this with the fact that this seems to largely be a confessional record, detailing the isolation, rigors, and ennui of living on the road, it really starts to sound like some whiny kid feeling sorry for himself. I feel plenty sorry for myself most of the time without listening to some guy complain about how hard it is being a rock star.

My old band played with Slobberbone a half dozen times or so before they outgrew us and, man, what super nice guys. They also rocked your face off. I'll wait for the next Drams record before I pass a final personal judgement - maybe they just got saddled with a shitty producer - but if this is Brent Best and the boys' new direction then I'm getting off this ride before the disappointment turns to nausea.

Rating: 2 out of 4

Young James Long (Southern Records 2006)

2007-12-18T11:38:00.000-06:00

I don't know if you've ever had the misfortune of laying on the ground in front of some shitty roadhouse while the bouncer is kicking your teeth down your throat. I never have, thank God, but I'm certain Young James Long is the band that you would likely hear emanating from said roadhouse as they tore up the stage while you were getting your ass kicked.

This is blooze rock distilled down to its essence - short, aggressive blasts of angst that are over before you get a sense of what's really going on. The brevity of the songs (the longest is two minutes and four seconds) works in their favor, and all of them launch in with a effective groove that carry the song musically. PW Long's howled, slurred, and mumbled vocals don't give you much of an idea of what the songs are about, but they definitely give you the feeling that it's some creepy, ominous, sexually charged (not in a good way) shit that you're probably better off not knowing.

A very important component of rock 'n' roll, at least for me, has been its ability to scare the shit out of parents. Elvis did it. The Beatles did it. Jim Morrison did it. All the punk bands did it. These days parents are offended by idiots like Marilyn Manson and Trent Reznor because of the staged and scripted crap they spew, but they know it's ultimately harmless. Young James Long is not harmless. Young James Long might stop your father's heart. Young James Long is like your mother walking in on you while you're masturbating. My dad's reaction when I played him The Butthole Surfers way back in 1987 was disgust, not fear. Young James Long is pissed. They sound pissed and scary. What are they so pissed about? Who knows? It might be you. That's scary.

This is down and dirty blues rock that would have fit right in at the ramshackle roadhouse where Robert Johnson got himself poisoned. Nobody would have cared that it was three white guys playing it. This record shoves everything Jon Spencer did right back up his ass. Pussy Galore could share a stage with them, but they'd end up mopping the floor - at the wrong end of the mop.

PW Long played guitar and fronted Mule and PW Long's Reelfoot, and put out a couple of solo records (the newest is "God Bless the Drunkard's Dog", available only on vinyl - it's worth buying a turntable to listen to). All his stuff kicks ass, be it misanthropic blues rumblers, introspective acoustic offerings, or something in between.

Kirkland James played slide guitar for Kansas City blooze rockers Tenderloin, no slouches in their own right. I don't know if their stuff is still available, but if it is go get it.

Taylor Young plays for both Young Heart Attack and Polyphonic Spree. I hate both bands, but his drum work on this is more than adequate to keep the adrenaline fueled bile pumping right along.

There is nary a bass guitar on this record, but don't worry. The bottom will still shake the glass out of your window panes. How? That's just how mean these guys are.

Five songs. Seven minutes thirty two seconds. That's a pretty quick ass-kicking, but it'll leave you in traction for a while. Then you'll listen to it again.

Rating: 4 out of 4

A Sad Year in Review

2007-12-17T13:31:00.000-06:00

We lost a lot of fine folks in 2007 - great musicians, not-so-great musicians, individuals that changed the industry for the better, and some other fearless folks not involved in music that did everything they could to shore up the crumbling wall of American and Western popular culture. As these great people pass, I find fewer and fewer rising to replace them. Even with those that don't impact popular culture with quite the same resonance as others we have still lost a unique entertainer that many, many people took enjoyment from.

I have been accused of being behind the times. That great authors, painters, poets, etc. exist on line - that in my relative ignorance regarding new technologies I'm missing the new generation of artistic geniuses. I admit that this very well may be true. I am not, however, convinced that one can experience such things as the chill radiating from a Mark Rothko original while standing a few feet from it, or the joy de vivre emanating from a Matisse, in an electronic medium.

I've also been accused of being American/Euro-centric in my views, which is certainly true. I don't feel like I need to rail against the death of culture in The Thirld World because it seems to be thriving in most of these places, at least the ones where artistic expression is allowed at all. I would dearly like to see particularly the U.S. reach a point where our society is culturally on a level with the rest of the world.

I believe rock 'n' roll, among other emotion based forms of music, bucks the trend of this cultural slide. That gives me hope. End of sermon.

Anyway, here's an incomprehensive list of those 2007 took from us:

Tony Wilson - Founder of Factory Records and operator of The Hacienda, the center of musical culture in Manchester in the late 70's/early 80's. He was central to the rise to prominence of Joy Division, New Order, The Happy Mondays, The Stone Roses, and Oasis, among others. If Western music had a hundred more like him there would be a lot less shitty music out there.

Hilly Kristal - What needs be said about Hilly? He opened a little shithole dive in The Bowery called CBGB in 1973, intending to cater to Country and Blues acts. Instead, he accidentally became the big daddy of American punk rock and, by extension, British punk. If he wouldn't have given Tom Verlaine and Richard Hell a shot that day in 1974 who knows what rock 'n' roll would look like today. I venture to say it wouldn't be pretty.

Linda Stein - Co-manager of The Ramones with Danny Fields. She is widely attributed with arranging The Ramones gig at The Roundhouse in London on July 4th, 1976 - a show largely considered to be the cohesive launching point for British punk.

Lee Hazelwood - Wrote "These Boots are Made for Walking" for Nancy Sinatra in 1966 - talk about your women's lib, especially from a guy known for country music. He worked with Duane Eddy and produced Gram Parsons after Merle Haggard turned Parsons down. Haggard fucked up.

Brent Liles - Original bass player for Social Distortion - his playing can be heard on "Mommy's Little Monster". He kept working his whole life, and ended his days as the bassist for Agent Orange.

Brad Delp - Lead singer of Boston. I hated Boston, at least after the 7th grade when I knew better. Still, his howling wail and asinine lyrics made tens of millions of generally stoned people very happy. Plus, he got to share the stage with Tom Scholtz - a man considered "the best guitarist in the world" for about five minutes in 1982 0r '83.

Ike Turner - I wrote extensively on Ike in my last blog. Gigantic son of a bitch. Still, "Rocket 88". Man, that song.

Porter Wagoner - Again, what needs to be said? The man was a giant. Highlights - He launched Dolly Parton's career (I don't care how you describe yourself - punk, metal head, goth, emo, OG, raver, redneck, whatever - if you don't respect Dolly in spite of the mountains of cheesiness surrounding her, you need to do some research), wrote "Green, Green Grass of Home" among a string of other hits, and opened for The White Stripes in the summer of 2007, receiving an overwhelmingly positive response at the end of his performance. Pretty cool for an old guy who expected to get booed off the stage.

Kevin DuBrow - Who cares if Quiet Riot never wrote any of their hits? DuBrow got to be a second rate David Lee Roth, live a massive 80's hair metal rock star life, and get more ass than a toilet seat for five or so years in the early 80's. His band may have sucked but, again, he made millions of mostly stoned people very happy. Well done.

Joe Zawinul - played keyboards for Miles Davis on "Bitches Brew" and, along with Davis, helped create Jazz Fusion. He went on to play with Weather Report. Jazz isn't my thing, but even not knowing much about him I'll be the first to say this guy kicked mucho ass.

Chad Butler (AKA Pimp C) - I don't really know anything about Hip-Hop or Gangsta Rap, and I think "Urban Culture" is the biggest corporate marketing sham since the hoola hoop, but I'll give this to Chad - he's the first rapper I'm aware of that didn't die from gun violence or drug abuse. He's to be commended for that.

George Osmond - Father of those annoying Osmond siblings, not to mention their manager and the person responsible for propelling them to fame. I'll leave it at that.

Bill Pinkney - Last surviving member of the original line-up of The Drifters. Yeah, there's still a band called The Drifters, but it ain't The Drifters. Man, what a voice.

Max Roach - Jazz drummer who played with the likes of Dizzie Gillespie and Coleman Hawkins. Again, don't know much about him, but what a badass.

Don Ho - No more "Tiny Bubbles" for Hawaii. It'll never be the same.

Michael Brecker - Played sax for James Taylor, Herbie Hancock, Joni Mitchell, and plenty of others. Never liked their stuff and never paid attention to the sax. I guess he must've been a pretty good side man, though.

Frankie Laine - Old Leather Lungs. A jazz singer that performed non-stop from 1930 to 2005. He was one of the most vocal white jazz performers in favor of civil rights. It didn't make him any friends. At least not any white ones. I'm not a jazz fan. Still, what a badass.

Dan Fogelberg - Looks like he'll have the distinction of being the last famous performer to die in 2007. The undisputed king of "soft rock", he's best known for the song he wrote for his father, a big band leader, on his death - "Leader of the Band". Not my thing, but he sure knew what he was doing. Even my grandmother likes him.

Donda West - Mother of Kanye West, the famous R&B performer. I'm no fan of contemporary R&B (love the old stuff, though), but that doesn't mean I don't mourn Kanye's loss and wish him my best. Not to sound mercenary, but pain like he's experiencing can often lead to some brilliant fucking music. I'll check out his next record.

Mikey Donaldson (AKA Mikey Offender) - bassist for seminal Austin/Houston/San Francisco hardcore/thrash/crossover band The Offenders. If I'm not mistaken he sat in with the Dirty Rotten Imbeciles on an occasion or two. I don't think you could find a a faster bass player who could still hit all the notes.

Byron Scott - Amazing Austin guitarist also known for his pork-pie hat, enormous smile, and ubiquitous amiability. He was also a friend of mine. Byron was in about a hundred bands, the most influential (I guess) being The Trouble Boys who got to open for The Specials, The Stray Cats, and The Clash. Rumor has it he was hanging out with Jukebox the afternoon Jukebox conceived The Hickoids, although I'm sure there are other members of The Hickoids that would vehemently dispute that.

Tennyson LeMaster - Occasional drummer for both The Hickoids and The Gay Sportscasters. An unbelievable drummer, a super nice guy, and one dapper dresser.

Hank Thompson - In 1946 Hank started a band called The Brazos Valley Boys, and in so doing introduced the world to something called Western Swing. Indeed, he would become known as "The King of Western Swing". Bob Wills, Spade Cooley, whoever else mined this genre, owed their career to Hank. He wrote "The Wild Side of Life" and "A Six Pack To Go". He was also the first performer to record a live album - "Live at the Golden Nugget" - in 1960. This is a short list of the man's accomplishments. Here's to you, Hank.

That's it for musicians, at least those I know about. Here's a shorter list of non-musicians who still made some pretty serious (most of them positive) impacts on our dying culture:

Yvonne De Carlos - Who? She was Lily Munster.

Evel Kneivel - Speaks for himself.

Calin De Forest (AKA Larry "Bud" Melman) - What can I tell you that you don't already know? Or should already know?

Kurt Vonnegut - One of the last great American literary authors.

Norman Mailer - Another one of the last great American literary authors.

Marcel Marceau - Make fun of mimes all you want. This guy did more for stage and screen acting than you ever will. A lot more.

Molly Ivins - Humorist and political commentator. This woman had balls of brass. She stood up to Dubya and told the nation what a psychopathic monster he is (with a deft turn of humorous phrase) when every other journalist and commentator was scrambling to save their jobs by calling him a hero. I think she's a big enough soul to spit on him from Heaven just to give him a little relief as he roasts in hell.

Well, there it is. Certainly not an uplifting subject, especially when the list is so long. We need to start keeping our eyes out for the next generation of good ones. Not to say that there aren't any out there now, but we seem to be losing them faster than we're getting them.

That's a pretty lame ending to this, but I really don't know what to say.

Back to music reviews next time.

See Ya, Ike

2007-12-13T09:31:00.000-06:00

Ike Turner died at the age of 76 on Wed., Dec. 12, 2007. With the release of his song "Rocket 88" in 1951 he heralded a new form of popular culture called Rock 'n' Roll. That alone is a massive achievement for which he should always be remembered. He was a remarkable songwriter with a canny ability to read what the public wanted before they knew they wanted it. His bringing aboard Annie May Bullock, AKA Tina Turner, to handle lead vocals and look fucking amazing doing it is a testament to this and the collaboration led to both of their finest work. He continued working until the end of his life, garnering accolades and awards along the way. Quite an impressive feat.

Unfortunately, for me at least, this becomes a case of the artist overshadowing the art. There's no question Ike routinely beat the shit out of not only Tina, but his other female back-up singers as well. He must have had one hell of a Svengali thing going on to convince them to stick around as long as they did. It wasn't for the money - these gals were notoriously under-paid. Even worse, Ike would pimp out the women after shows to bring in more cash to feed his drug habit. My dad saw The Ike and Tina Turner Review at a frat party in the early 60's in which this happened. He didn't recall if Tina was one of the girls on offer, but the fact that any of them were is utterly repulsive whether or not Ike's wife was involved. Even though my dad's an attorney I've never known him to lie or even exaggerate details. There's certainly no percentage in him lying about this - he loved The Review and wouldn't sensationalize his experience by inventing a sordid detail like that. One can be relatively certain that, if it happened at an OU frat party, it probably happened all the time.

Ike denied these things ever happened, but it always smacked of him protesting it a little bit too much. In interviews, were he not asked about it, he would find a way to work in the fact that he never abused Tina or any other woman he worked with. Who would want to own up to something so reprehensible?

If he had owned up, apologized, and tried to make amends, I wouldn't be facing the dilemma I find myself in now. I love the guy's music, but can't listen to it without thinking about what a horrible human being he was. Overlooking the excesses of my musical idols typically comes pretty easily for me, as long as it's not unabashed, obvious greed, cold blooded murder, or child abuse, and I can enjoy the art in spite of the words or actions of its creator. Turns out I can't get past Ike's excesses. More's the shame. He was one motherfucker of a songwriter.

Those Poor Bastards - "Songs of Desperation" (Gravewax Records 2005)

2007-12-12T11:59:00.000-06:00

I pissed off a lot of people on Amazon.com for my brief review of this record. I don't really care. I stand by that review and will expand on it here.

Those Poor Bastards have been described as "old time Gothic Country", "sounding like they were recorded in the 1930's on broken equipment", "the background music for themes of sold souls, empty lives, and certain death", a "miserable, primitive duo", and as displaying "hints of Marilyn Manson to Nick Cave, Throwrag and maybe even a hint of a demented Adam Ant with a shot of pilled up Johnny Cash". In addition to the bands named above, they are also compared to Tom Waits, The Cramps, and The Louvin Brothers. I gathered all this from their website.

When I first heard of these guys I thought, "Wow! That sounds awesome!". I'm a huge fan of the darker side of country music, low-fi production when it makes sense, creepy rural American gothicism, apocalyptic themes, and an uncompromising anti-corporate stance. I'm so fucked in the head that I have to take three kinds of psychiatric medication or else the only reason I can find to get out of bed is to try and kill myself - I have a predilection for bleak, depressing music. I love (probably unhealthily so) music that focuses on loss, despair, hopelessness, and failed redemption. This band had everything in place for me to love 'em. So what went wrong?

Well, first of all, they don't sound like they "were recorded in the 1930's on broken down equipment". They sound like they were recorded in the 2000's and used a bunch of tricks to make them sound like they were recorded in the 1930's on broken down equipment. So much so that it's overbearing. Far be it from me to criticise low-fi studio trickery, but there's a point past which such production quits serving the material and starts sounding like a couple of guys fucking around with a 4-track to see how many weird sounds they can get out of it. That "old-timey" sound shouldn't be so distracting that it's easier to get annoyed than enjoy what's happening in the music. Those old Edison tubes don't sound like shit because the people who recorded them wanted them to. Aspiring to reproduce their sound is ridiculous. That's not to say low-fi and studio weirdness can't be used to remarkable effect. Once Lou Barlow got it down he became a master at it, particularly with Folk Implosion. Even with Sebadoh, who I never liked, the songs at least sound cool. The Grifters are another one that sounded great using this kind of production. Burying the songs in a bunch of clearly contrived tape hiss, distortion, muddiness, and other gimmicks makes me wonder what a band is trying to cover up. In this case, unfortunately, it's the songs themselves.

Let's look at the comparisons made:

Marilyn Manson sucks. Period. There's nothing musical going on there - it's all gimmick. There's a place for it, certainly, and Marilyn has an illustrious string of predecessors. All of whom, actually, had a lot more going on musically than Mr. Manson. The comparison works in that way - Those Poor Bastards seem to me to be more about the gimmick than the music also. Style over substance has been the norm in American culture for at least the last half century, so TPB are hardly breaking ground in that regard. Neither is Marilyn Manson.

Nick Cave. A fucking genius. While he may be Australian he certainly did his research into the kind of American back woods mythology that fascinates the listener while making them squirm. His voice alone wrings powerful emotion out of his bleak, existential lyrics causing us to identify with his twisted characters while simultaneously being repelled by them. Just listen to "Mercy Seat". He crafts moody, ominous music to reinforce this, and almost always succeeds in creating a song in which the music and vocals intertwine to paint a compelling, layered and emotional audial picture. Those Poor Bastards lyrics sound, frankly, like a bunch of Goth kids hanging around a graveyard trying to out-Goth one another. Or a couple of guys passing a bong back and forth asking each other, "What's the creepiest thing you can think of?". They're so over the top that they venture into self-parody. When placed in the context of the contrived, scratchy, "old-timey" production it just becomes ludicrous. Lefty Frizzell wrote a simple, creepy, honest to God death song that's ten times better than anything on "Songs of Desperation". It's called "The Long Black Veil". Somebody should give these guys a copy.

Throwrag - no idea. Never heard 'em so I can't comment. If they sound like Those Poor Bastards, though, I doubt I'd like 'em.

Adam Ant - ?!?

Pilled up Johnny Cash - Johnny Cash, pilled up or not, had infinitely better ideas about death, loss, pain, redemption, the unredeemable, and a myriad of other forces at work in the human condition than these guys. I don't recall a single Cash record, even from his pilled up days, that droned on song after song about a bunch of disingenuously freaky, morbid, self reflexively weird crap.

Tom Waits. Another fucking genius. His songs, largely created with unusual, old instruments and found items, carry on a tradition begun by Kurt Weill and The Threepenny Opera. It pulls in a healthy dose of Vaudeville through a Fellini-esque filter. Lyrically his songs span points of view from the down on his luck lounge lizard on the underside of skid row to the frantic, stream of conscious ramblings of a chain gang escapee making his way through some rural hell. He delivers all this with a voice that sounds like Louis Armstrong after a six month crawl through gin mills and heroin flops while smoking five packs of cigarettes a day. Waits admits that his persona is a character he invented, but he pulls it off so well that one never feels shammed or that Waits is delivering something contrived or insincere. This is a lesson Those Poor Bastards would be wise to take.

The Cramps. I love The Cramps. They're a cartoon band. There's nothing the least bit serious about them and they don't try to pretend there is. They're also a shitload of fun, both on record and live. The closest Those Poor Bastards come to The Cramps is Lonesome Wyatt's voice sounds a lot like Lux Interior's.

The Louvin Brothers. Ira and Charlie Louvin made country songs based in Appalachian folk and Gospel music. While they wrote songs of a secular nature also, their hearts were very much in redeeming people's souls through music. When they put out "Satan is Real" (as gimmicky as it looks today) it wasn't a gimmick. They meant it and they wanted to save your soul. Whatever you think of their message or how they presented it there's one thing for certain - the Louvins were very sincere about it. There is nothing on "Songs of Desperation" that sounds the least bit sincere to me. But I think I've covered that opinion quite thoroughly already.

It boils down to this - if I knew that this band was being ironic I might be more inclined to enjoy them. I hope to God they're chrortling at the idea of anybody taking this stuff seriously while they're recording it. It would make a lot more sense and might even make the music listenable.

If you're interested in intense, dark, apocalyptic, Appalachian gothic type stuff you should check out anything by David Eugene Edwards (16 Horsepower, Woven Hand). His music has all the elements that Those Poor Bastards seem to be striving for, but does it a hell of a lot better. It doesn't hurt that he's a true believer in the evangelical sense. If you don't work your ass off for salvation, boy, you ARE going to hell. I don't for one second entertain the idea that he's right about this, but he's deadly serious about it. That alone makes his music infinitely more entertaining than "Songs of Desperation".

Those Poor Bastards are playing with Hank III (one of their biggest supporters) here in Austin on Jan. 5th 2008. Maybe they'll somehow hear about this review and find me and kick my ass. There would certainly be something sincere in that.

Rating: 1 out of 4

Interpol - "Our Love to Admire" (Capitol 2007)

2007-12-11T13:49:00.000-06:00

This was the first record I bought when I realized I was losing touch. I found myself saying all the same bullshit the 30 and 40 somethings said that really pissed me off when I was a teenager and in my twenties. I was automatically writing off bands I'd never heard because they were new and had some degree of indie cool. My bad. I went with Interpol first because I saw them compared to Joy Division - one of my favorite bands. They were a good choice for re-entering the contemporary music landscape after a decade.

The Joy Division comparison is an apt one - Interpol clearly draws a large amount of inspiration from Joy Division, from the jagged and repetitive guitar lines to Paul Banks' vocal similarity to Ian Curtis. This is no bad thing, though, as Interpol are not slavish imitators. The production, on this record at least, set them apart quite distinctly. It's layered approach gives the record a full, ominous sound. It compliments Interpol's musicality very well, and brings to the forefront the abundance of hooks these songs have to offer.

There's not a weak song on this. Standouts are "Mammoth", "All Fired Up", and "The Heinrich Maneuver" though, to be honest, they only barely stand out from the rest. Interpol slings a lot of bile - the anger in these songs is almost visceral. It's to their credit that they manage to convey this through the medium of the hook-laden pop song. Not pop in the Britney Spears sense, of course - Big Star pop, Replacements pop. You get the idea.

This was the first I'd heard of the post-punk revival. As a big fan of original post-punk I think it's really cool that this is going on. Apparently there's a lot of stuff out there for me to check out once I get done looking into Interpol's other releases. It's good to know there are angry young bands out there bucking the trend of cultural decline so evident in other art forms. But then, when you get right down to it, that's what rock 'n' roll has always been about.

Much thanks to Interpol for bringing me in from the cold.

Rating: 4 out of 4