Radical marching band, radical noise
The Milwaukee Molotov Marchers are looking to shake up your next protest… if they can find some drummers.
Jun 27th, 2011
Motionary Comics returns — with costumes in tow
Real Life Super Heroes (and Villains!) are expected at the second annual improvisational mural-painting event. Will sparks fly?
Apr 28th, 2011
Earth’s Mightiest (and most accessible) Comics
A new South side comic shop hopes to be a less intimidating option for the casual or new comic book fan.
Apr 20th, 2011
Strip Touchdowns and the ’96 Packers
The year: 1996. The school: UW-Oshkosh. The idiots: DJ and his friends, who worked a bit too hard to make the Pack's Super Bowl-winning season extra-memorable.
Feb 6th, 2011
The Rushin’ Rollettes
With ten new rookies and two star blockers gone to the Crazy 8s, is this the same team that's dominated the league since 2006?
Jan 7th, 2011
The Shevil Knevils
Team Captains Moby Nipps and Anita Bier hope to utilize multi-league experience to take "Team Pretty" to the top.
Jan 6th, 2011
The Crazy 8s
Brewcity Bruiser announcer DrAwkward previews each BCB team before the 2011 season opener on January 8. Today: Last year's cellar-dwelling Crazy 8s.
Jan 5th, 2011
Maiden Milwaukee
Will the "workin' class, kicking ass" blue-collar Maidens finally break through to their first championship? DJ speaks with team co-captain Bionika.
Jan 4th, 2011
In Hollywood with Faith No More
ROAD TRIP! DJ heads to L.A., sees one of his all-time favorite bands, loses his mind.
Dec 8th, 2010
Brewcity Bruisers announce 2011 home schedule
The 2011 home season of the skater-owned and operated all-female roller derby league will be played in its entirety at the US Cellular Arena. Oh yeah.
Nov 20th, 2010
Inhumanity and The Denny’s Fried Cheese Melt
America's self-destructive hubris laid bare, or just a huge glob of fried cheese? Either way, DJ is down.
Nov 12th, 2010
Five big years for the Brewcity Bruisers
Before the Bruisers' 5th anniversary party Friday night at Turner Hall, DJ chats with a pair of rollergirls about the league's beginning and its bright future.
Oct 15th, 2010
Anatomy of a Meme (and another fun excuse to bag on Weezer)
When James Burns offered Weezer 10 million bucks to disband, the internet went bonkers. But why?
Oct 13th, 2010
The Thermals @ The Annex, Madison
“This guitar was too sensitive. This isn’t a sensitive show,” said Hutch Harris after he'd broken a string. It couldn't handle his Mighty Rock Power.
Oct 3rd, 2010
Drugs Dragons, S/T
The 11 tracks that make up Drugs Dragons' Dusty Medical release recall nights spent in strange foreign rooms fighting off nightmares.
Sep 29th, 2010
Dear Superchunk
Because not enough people have gushed about how awesome it is that 2010's Album of the Year is by one of the best bands of the 90s.
Sep 23rd, 2010
For the love of Buzzo, go see Helms Alee tonight if you know what’s good for you
If Fan-Belt goes down in history for one thing, let it be that it got you out to this show.
Sep 9th, 2010
Gospel Gossip @ Cactus Club
Two KISS references and a Preacher reference! This review *is* about Gospel Gossip, right?
Sep 7th, 2010
The AFrames’ opening shot in the upcoming Seattle Invasion
Milwaukee's getting lots of visitors from the Pacific Northwest in the next couple weeks. DJ recaps the AFrames and previews Unnatural Helpers and Helms Alee.
Aug 22nd, 2010
FREE on Saturday
After showcasing the best of Milwaukee's local scene, WMSE strives to make the local scene even better with a ton of fascinating panel discussions.
Aug 19th, 2010
Tila Tequila Attacked By Juggalos!
Because coming up with a witty title for this is completely effing unnecessary, DJ ponders what this story means for America and YOUR CHILDREN.
Aug 16th, 2010
Torche at the Borg Ward
As I pogoed with abandon to "Across the Shields," I thought back to Jeb's Lightning Bolt review and thought, "man, it must have been a lot like this." Nope--apparently, this was hotter.
Aug 3rd, 2010
The Cougar Den is closed
One of Milwaukee's smartest and more interesting hardcore bands packs it in Sunday at The Spot.
Jul 16th, 2010
Camping with Ryan Schleicher and WMSE
Man, are we psyched for this weekend. Fan-Belt chats with WMSE's Ryan Schleicher about the second annual Radio Summer Camp.
Jul 15th, 2010
Your Band Will Never Be Your Job
...and that's ok. Should Summerfest (and for that matter, local clubs) pay local bands more? Yes or no, it ain't gonna happen anytime soon.
Jul 13th, 2010
Requiem For a Band Van
After three national tours, countless weekend trips, and even countlesser hijinks, DJ toasts the memory of the dear departed band van.
Jul 9th, 2010
But what if I want to hear music that’s NOT at Summerfest Saturday?
Then we've got you covered with the Pabst Street Party in the afternoon, followed by drunken noise at Y-Not III.
Jul 2nd, 2010
Fri 6/25
DJ gets to the Big Gig in time to catch Surgeons in Heat and PUBLIC FRICKING ENEMY. Stupid tire shop taking forever with his car.
Jun 29th, 2010
Downloading “Shaky Advice from Samwell” a not-so-shaky proposition
The "What What (in the Butt)" guy is now available on your iPhone, thanks to the gang at Milwaukee's Special Entertainment.
Jun 10th, 2010
25 Bands in 2 Days
DJ goes to both days of Verge, three other shows, and attempts to review every single band in the space of one column. He's an idiot.
Jun 8th, 2010
Nato Coles and the Blue Diamond Band @ Circle A
Milwaukee's Prodigal Modern Machine visits from yonder north in Minnesota to treat the Beer City to his latest musical project.
Jun 1st, 2010
Mono Pazza Milwaukee
DJ hops from Turner Hall to Stonefly last Friday to catch The Twilight Sad, Mono, and Mucca Pazza. Just another night in Milwaukee.
May 26th, 2010
High Frequency Media releases Juniper Tar tour trailer
Not the trailer they're keeping their gear in, either. It's like a video thing.
May 23rd, 2010
Midwest Brewhaha rolls into Franklin Saturday
Brewcity Bruiser fans experiencing roller derby withdrawal after May 8’s thrilling home season finale can rejoice, as they’re about get a heavy derby overdose.
May 21st, 2010
Juiceboxxx to kick off tour with Public Enemy Friday
Because we can't come up with a clever headline that could possibly be any more awesome than just spelling it out.
May 18th, 2010
Murder By Death @ the High Noon Saloon
Bloomington, IN's hardest-working band brings their Americana-fueled, Southern Gothic tales of 19th Century woe to Madison.
May 13th, 2010
We are the champions
Saturday was a history-making night for the Brewcity Bruisers as Milwaukee's derby queens packed the US Cellular Arena for the championship bout. Check out photos plus a bout recap from our own Dr. Awkward
May 11th, 2010
Is Summerfest Getting Good, or am I Getting Old?
Wow, Summerfest's lineup looks great this year! It usually just caters to middle-aged folk! HEY WAIT...
May 4th, 2010
Pezzettino Goes to Camp (aka Brooklyn)
Milwaukee's most polarizing accordionist heads for the big city after a farewell performance at the Eagle's Nest Saturday.
Apr 29th, 2010
Championing Milwaukee Music “Like No Other?”
Exiting 88.9 Music Director claims they are "the only [station] that gives Milwaukee artists significant, meaningful airplay." Um...whaaat?
Apr 27th, 2010
Canyons of Static — “Northern Highland”
Check out the new clip from local shoegazers Canyons of Static, courtesy Jack Packard!
Apr 26th, 2010
” Crispin Glover confounds and enthralls
Crispin Glover leaves the Oriental Theater giddy, exhausted and thoroughly disturbed.
Apr 23rd, 2010
In which DJ gets Revenge Rapped upon
Rap Master Maurice's $12 Revenge Raps are the most lyrical vengeance money can buy, as DJ learns first-hand.
Apr 22nd, 2010
High Frequency Media Will Make Your Band Look Awesome
Milwaukee music is looking a lot prettier thanks to a pair of filmmakers documenting the scene. Fan-Belt gets to partner with them! Hooray!
Apr 21st, 2010
Meat Puppets at Club Garibaldi
The thrill of seeing the country-punks live and up close is upstaged by a mind-blowing celebrity cameo.
Apr 6th, 2010
Welcome Back, Fan-Belt
Milwaukee's best local music blog is back! DJ Hostettler delivers the Mission Statement.
Apr 1st, 2010
Cultural Zero at the Milwaukee Mad March Music Mini-Movie Festival
The inaugural event showcases a diverse cross-section Milwaukee musicians and filmmakers. Who comes out on top?
Mar 25th, 2010
Holy crap, I crashed TCD
Remember how TCD's site was down for most of Wednesday? DJ says he's really, really sorry.
Mar 25th, 2010
The Ballad of Johnny D
West Allis' worst comedian rocks Mug Shotz, and it's sort of perversely inspiring. Pro Wrestler comedian, take a seat--you've been upstaged. Sorta.
Mar 19th, 2010
Amber’s $50 Challenge
DJ's friend challenges anyone to decipher the video for the Pet Shop Boys' "Always On My Mind." DJ steps up to the plate.
Mar 9th, 2010
Culture Jamming Karl Rove
A new Oakland-based compilation album featuring two Milwaukee bands seeks to spoil the coming-out party for Karl Rove's new autobiography.
Mar 3rd, 2010
Taylor Hicks’ seven minutes in Grease are phenomenal
And the rest of the show, now playing at the Marcus Center for the Performing Arts, is solid, too. DJ Hostettler has the scoop (HA!) from the Burger Palace.
Feb 24th, 2010
There You Go, white, wrench, conservatory
February kicked their teeth in. DJ says goodbye to a soon-to-be-lamented Milwaukee band.
Feb 12th, 2010
Samurai Cop and the perils of irony
How a throwaway '80s crapfest made the ICP look...sigh...tolerable.
Jan 27th, 2010
Wild at heart
Dr. Awkward and Gloria Hole host TCD's webcast recap of every Brewcity Bruisers match. The season heats up as the Shevil Knevils upset the mighty Crazy 8s, newbie Skittle tears up the track and, of course, much more.
Jan 25th, 2010
The 3rd Annual Milwaukee Air Guitar Challenge
Can Sanjar the Destroyer defend his crown? TCD's DJ Hostettler finds out.
Dec 31st, 2009
DJ’s Top 10 Albums of 2009
Of course, every year, the problem for me is that I barely listen to 10 new albums every year, because most of what gets pushed on us by Pitchfork and other useless music blogs makes me want to set the Internet on fire (seriously, the next person who tells me Grizzly Bear is good is getting slapped on the head).
Dec 26th, 2009
Christmas at the watering hole
TCD's DJ Hostettler stakes out Milwaukee's barflies to see how they're handling the holidays and finds a glimmer of excitement himself.
Dec 24th, 2009
V and Sci-Fi’s Purple Landscape
CZ chuckles at the Right Wing as they crow about how ABC’s new sci-fi series is an indictment of the Obama Administration.
Nov 10th, 2009
Balloon Boy, YouTube and Warhol’s Dystopia
We all have 15 minutes of fame, but we don’t all get to choose which 15 minutes those are.
Oct 27th, 2009
ZOMBIE THUNDERDOME!
Two zombie movies enter the Thunderdome--only one will emerge!
Oct 15th, 2009
All Tomorrow’s Parties
Music fest documentary depicts community as the ultimate 'mix tape.'
Sep 27th, 2009
Skirting Death with IfIHadAHiFi (Pt.6)
In final entry, the band takes a realistic view of its cross-country tour that allowed for travel, friends, adventure and music in front of people who appreciated it.
Sep 16th, 2009
Skirting Death with IfIHadAHiFi (Pt. 5)
The journey home begins. Denver! Wichita! Warrensburg! Energy drinks galore!
Sep 10th, 2009
Skirting Death With IfiHadAHiFi (Pt. 4)
Tire troubles may have had band members on edge, but it didn't affect their onstage performance.
Sep 5th, 2009
The Globe East
Memories of a long-lost rock club: All-ages shows, amazing bands and amusing drama.
Sep 3rd, 2009
Skirting Death with IfIHadAHiFi (Pt. 3)
The band leads the charge to San Francisco with 204,000 miles on the odometer and $302 in the band fund: better than ever. Will they make it to their set with Mount Vicious? FIND OUT!
Sep 2nd, 2009
Skirting Death with IfIHadAHiFi. (Pt. 2)
Leaving Missoula with $94, a pocketful of memories and hope for the West Coast leg. Will our heroes make it to Seattle?
Aug 27th, 2009
Skirting Death with IfIHadAHiFi
What did you do on your summer vacation? IfIHadAHiFi takes to the road - and gifts us with a tour diary. This is part 1.
Aug 25th, 2009
Cultural Zero’s 2009 Perseid Recap
A park on the lakeshore wasn’t going to cut it—with a quarter-moon rising at midnight, I wanted to be as far from city lights as possible.
Aug 15th, 2009
CRABCORE!
Thanks, mid-00s hardcore kids! You’ve given us Attack Attack! And Confide! And their stupid layered hairdos! Get off my lawn!
Aug 6th, 2009
Memo to MKE–It’s OK, you don’t have to support Chester French
This band is not very good. At all. In fact, based on their first single, they are horrible, boring, no-good limp-dicked tripe.
Jul 2nd, 2009
Day Three with Cultural Zero
Those who wander around the Summerfest grounds near the lakeshore may happen across a tiny little stage that is getting no coverage whatsoever and isn’t even listed on the Summerfest website—the Refugee Stage.
Jun 28th, 2009
Day One with Cultural Zero
Summarizing Summerfest's opening night with one easily-digestible anecdote.
Jun 26th, 2009
Steel Bridge Songfest Night One–Of Laundered Beer and Cougar Dodging
(NOTE: It should be pointed out that while the Steel Bridge Songfest is overall a wholesome, family-oriented event, especially during the daytime, the following journal of misadventures is chronicling the activities of a bunch of scumbag Milwaukee musicians, and thus, should not be considered endemic to the Steel Bridge Songfest as a whole.)
Jun 22nd, 2009
Poster Children in Champaign, IL: On Vacation For Forever and a Day
It occurred to me during the drive down to Champaign that more than any other band, the Pkids are the band of my 20s. I saw them for the first time in early 1995, when I was 20; the last time I saw them, we were opening the Champaign record release show for their No More Songs About Sleep and Fire album in 2004, the year I turned 30. But instead of honoring that sublime piece of synchronicity by turning around and driving straight back to Wisconsin, we pushed on.
May 30th, 2009
Anvil! The Story of Anvil vs. Heavy Metal in Baghdad
both films share a very important message for every struggling musician out there trying to keep the faith while grasping for the brass ring (be it rock stardom or the freedom to grow your hair long without getting lynched): stick with it long enough, and eventually, a documentary filmmaker will come along to tell your story and make you famous.
Apr 27th, 2009
Tulip, Starbuck, and the Death of Chivalry (A Reaction to Peach & Sparrow)
if the damsel in distress is going to suddenly fight back (Joss Whedon’s initial idea for Buffy the Vampire Slayer came from the idea that the classic hot blonde victim from every horror movie suddenly would turn around and kick the monster’s ass), she’s going to have to take some punches too.
Apr 23rd, 2009
Britain’s Got Talent, But Will You Care Tomorrow?
I’d like to throw a wet blanket of cynicism over our little beach blanket party and ask the following question: Will the Susan Boyle story finally expose American Idol to the general populace as a complete joke?
Apr 20th, 2009
the Nerdy Misogynists of Joss Whedon’s World
Fig.1: You think it’d kill Joss Whedon to cast some pretty people on one of his shows? Just once? February 2009 featured the premiere of new TV series Dollhouse, the latest attempt by sci-fi hotshot and badass feminist Joss Whedon to teach the FOX Broadcasting Company what a “cult fanbase” is. Having once been burned by FOX during the run of his previous series, the critically-lauded but still-underrated Firefly (which had its episodes shown out of order, among other random promotional clusterfucks), Whedon apparently has been convinced that FOX has learned its lesson, and will give his new series about human trafficking and high-concept prostitution a chance to really grow into its own. Good luck with that, Joss. While you’re wishing for things, how about a pony? In all seriousness, though, Dollhouse has started finding its legs with the 6th and 7th episodes (episode 8 of the 13-episode 1st season airs tonight). In brief, the show revolves around a girl named Echo, who has, for reasons becoming slowly revealed to us, voluntarily signed up to become a “doll” for the Dollhouse, a company that provides custom-programmed people who provide services for the super-mega-ultra-wealthy and have their entire personalities wiped clean after every engagement. The dolls hang out in a childlike blank state until they are called to duty, at which point they are imprinted with a customized personality. Need a bodyguard? The perfect date? The Dollhouse has what you need, and it is completely gross. It only takes until the second episode to see Echo sleeping with a client whom she is programmed to think is her boyfriend. Fricking EW. Fig.2: The best outdoorsy Real Girl sex toy money can buy. Note the Marc Singer-ish Beastmaster profile of the douchebag in this photograph. That’s some solid casting. Knowing Whedon’s previous work with Buffy the Vampire Slayer, however, which was a landmark of empowering feminist television, helps lesson the ick factor a tad. It’s pretty clear the Dollhouse is being set up as the Bad Guys of the show, while Agent Ballard, an FBI agent who’s the Jack McGee to Echo’s David Banner, is being established as a protagonist. It’s clear now that the first half of the season has aired that once again, Joss Whedon is hoping to make some fairly radical statements about feminism, personal identity, and individualism. Fig.3: Just good clean fun between super-powered rivals March 2009, meanwhile, marked the 10th anniversary of Women in Refrigerators, a website run by now-comic book writer Gail Simone. Women in Refrigerators is built around a list assembled by Simone and a number of her friends that catalogued the large number of female comic book characters who have been killed, maimed, raped, depowered, or otherwise messed with, often as a plot device to put a male character through some kind of trial. (The name of the site refers to a storyline where the Kyle Rayner Green Lantern comes home to his apartment to discover his girlfriend, Alex DeWitt, killed and stuffed into […]
Apr 3rd, 2009
Quiznos and the Free Gay Marketplace
Fig.1: A Quiznos mascot distributes pro-gay propaganda at Christian music festival Lifest 2008 in Oshkosh, WI When Sean Penn accepted the Best Actor oscar this year for his portrayal of the title character in Milk, he unapologetically turned his acceptance speech into a political statement on the advancing of gay rights and equality (as Sean Penn is wont to do, being a Hollywood actor whose opinions are more important than those of normal mortal humans like you and I): For those who saw the signs of hatred as our cars drove in tonight, I think that it is a good time for those who voted for the ban against gay marriage to sit and reflect and anticipate their great shame and the shame in their grandchildren’s eyes if they continue that way of support. We’ve got to have equal rights for everyone. Yes, Proposition 8 was a huge blow to the advancing cause of homosexual equality, but as many people more educated than I have noted, the slim margin with which the proposition passed compared to similar initiatives in years past shows that America is moving (albiet at a glacial pace) in a more progressive direction with regard to its stace on homosexuality. (In fact, the fivethirtyeight.com article linked discusses how divided the vote was on a generational basis–young voters overwhelmingly opposed Prop 8 while older voters supported it.) So the passage of Prop 8 was demoralizing for the forces of equality, it is true. But let’s remember, folks–we’re discussing government here, and government and politics move at a glacial pace when it comes to shifts in the cultural landscape (see: the difference between the hoopla over Bill Clinton’s pot use and the “so what?” reaction to Barack Obama’s admission of past drug use, including cocaine). To see where we really are as a culture, perhaps we should take a cue from our fellow Americans over on the right side of the aisle and see what’s happening in the free marketplace. Consumerism! Business! Advertising! The Republicans always say we should take our lead from the world of capitalism, so let’s play by their rules today. So, what’s been going on in the world of advertising lately? How are businesses looking to grab America’s ever-scarcer disposeable income? How does homoerotic fast food grab you, America? Fig.2: Put it in me, Scott…put that foot-plus slab of meaty torpedo goodness in my gaping maw The internet is buzzing over this one. No strangers to ads that, um, fall off the beaten path (remember the Quiznos rat-things?), Quiznos’ fast-food slashfic retelling of the relationship between HAL 9000 and Dave Bowman has all of Blogistan ruminating on the overtly sexual subtext. Of course, queer progress is hard to come by, or even measure. Just yesterday, the governor of Vermont said that he would veto any gay-marriage bill brought to his desk — let’s hope the lame duck is overridden. Yet some of the most optimistic evidence that bigotry is going down can be found not in the courts […]
Mar 30th, 2009
A Not-At-All Academic Comparision of Let the Right One In and Twilight
Fig.1: Frodo of the Shire checks out Arwen Evenstar’s Elven tush (I think he’s on a footstool) When it comes to horror, I’ve always been all about the zombies. Until recently, my list of favorite horror movies was probably interchangeable with my list of favorite zombie movies: Dead Alive, Dawn of the Dead (the original, although it pained me to admit that the remake was actually pretty serviceable, despite the aerial shot of “Milwaukee” with all the in-ground pools), and 28 Days Later all take some piece of the zombie mythos and make it special for me, especially Dawn and 28 Days, both of which use zombies as a mirror of humanity in some respect (which is what the best horror and sci-fi movies do). And then of course there’s Shaun of the Dead, which somehow manages to do the same while being hilarious. But in 2008, it was all about vampires. It started with the HBO series True Blood, which I will now summarize for you (because I watched every ridiculously-entertaining-despite-itself episode) in twelve words: Sookie Sookie fuck Sookie, fuck fuck, Jason’s dick, blood tits fuck Sookie. Fig.2: Compare with the Shire photo and tell me which movie you’d rather watch? But the hell with the adult vamps; 2008 was all about immortal bloodsuckers trapped in the bodies of teens and pre-teens. In Sweden, this meant the release of Let the Right One In, a beautifully understated horror drama about the relationship between two painfully lonely 12-year-olds, Oskar and Eli, one of which has been twelve for a long, long time. In America (because 200+ years later, America is still the equivalent of Europe if its mother fed it crack in the womb), this meant the premiere of Twilight, a romantic comedy about a constipated teen vampire named Edward Cullen who falls in love with Bella, the new girl in his chemistry class, simply because she makes him jizz in his pants upon first sight (according to animated gifs on the internet, anyway). Also, vampires take chemistry class, because that’ll come in handy on that college application so you can go to school and WAIT YOU DON’T NEED TO OPERATE IN EVERYDAY SOCIETY BECAUSE YOU’RE A GODDAMN VAMPIRE. It’s probably unfair to compare the two—heck, Twilight author Stephenie Meyer admits she didn’t even know that much about vampire mythology when she wrote the damn thing (then again, all the more reason to take her to task, eh?)—but plenty of reviewers took that path already, lazily mentioning both movies in the same breath even though the age of the principal characters is about all the movies have in common with each other. And heck, since when has Cultural Zero been about fairness? Having already seen Right One multiple times (and yes, I’m aware of the controversy involving the DVD’s subtitles, so everyone can stop sending me links already, Jeebus), some friends and I popped in Twilight last weekend and watched both films back-to-back. As expected, comparing the two was like […]
Mar 26th, 2009
the Comet (or Fuel, or Palomino, or wherever) “Rockstar Menu”
Fig.1: Taking Back Sunday. Would you trust these douches to hire a marketing firm to design your lunch? Hola, amigos. How’s it going with you? I know it’s been a long time since I rapped at ya. I’d like to say that I’ve been putting off my first Third Coast Digest blog post because of something important, but I won’t hose you—I’ve been playing way too damn much Lexulous over on Facebook. If the internet is an opiate of masses, Lexulous is heroin—you sit down at your desk, think “all right goddamn it, this time I’m gonna finish that rant about the majesty of broasted chicken that’s sitting on my mac’s desktop,” and suddenly you’re all, “but first, I’m gonna see if I have any Lexulous moves to make” and before you know it you’re unconscious in front of your computer at 7 AM with three games up, a bottle of Jack and a Google search that reads “Meg White COME ON SHOW ME HER NAKED” that yields no results. Anyway. So Saturday night I was at the Denny’s in Waukesha—excuse me, Rockesha–after going to see some Great Lakes Championship Wrestling with some pals (the main event of which featured Scott “50-Year-Old Beer Gut Wrapped in an ICP T-Shirt” Hall and Kevin “Debateably Sexy” Nash of the long-irrelevant nWo vs. The Old Dog Jesse James and the “Dear God you’re in your 40s and you’re wearing pink wrestling trunks with lips on them and an obvious thong, holy shit you’re embarrassing to look at” Billy Gunn, aka 90s WWE tag team The New Age Outlaws. Man, there’s no better Saturday night than one spent watching creepy old drunk dudes pretend to hit each other—am I right, North Side? They called it “the match they didn’t want you to see,” referring to some apparent cease-and-desist order sent by the WWE, but I’m guessing they didn’t want us to see it because they knew it’d be a stinker and they were concerned about our wallets in these troubled economic times). Have you been to a Denny’s lately? I mean, even if it’s just to dine ironically, it’s not a bad thing to slum once in a while, and really, it’s no worse for you than anything at Palomino (although, ok, sure, fewer vegan options for those of you who have forgotten bacon is awesome. Fine). Fig.2: Hall and Nash in happier, thinner, less Juggalo-infused times So I’m paging through the menu and I stop across the “Allnighter Rockstar menu” and I immediately begin laughing. There in front of me for my ordering pleasure are the “Taking Back Burger Fries” “by” Taking Back Sunday, and the “Plain White Shake” “by” Plain White T’s (which at least is appropriate—something vanilla and bland). Apparently I’m not the first one in Blogsylvania who’s WTF’d at this, either: I’m just not sure how to feel about this, and that’s what scares me. Should I feel guilty because it makes me hungry? Is it just biz as usual? […]
Mar 23rd, 2009
Yes, i CAN tell if a band sucks without hearing them, thank you.
Fig.1: “Are you as confused by my success as i am?” Apparently there is this female singer by the name of—wait, let me check this again—Katy Perry? Yeah, that’s her name. Apparently she’s hot shit right now thanks to some single called “I Kissed a Girl,” and another called “Ur So Gay” (note: uh, wow). Imagine my surprise when I found out that this “I Kissed a Girl” single actually wasn’t a cover of “I Kissed a Girl” by Jill Sobule! Imagine the funny in my head—apparently people were discussing the supposed “shock value” of a girl singing about making out with another girl, while I’m sitting around thinking, “but, it wasn’t shocking when it was a single thirteen years ago!” Not the same single! Oh, silly me, was my face red! Oh, goodness! Oh, my! And me, Mr. Self-Styled Pop-Culture Commentary Dude! Way to keep up on the latest haps, Deej! To date, I have heard—I think—approximately 20 seconds of music by this Katy Perry person. I am fairly confident of this because during the season premiere of American Idol (it’s an illness, back off), the background music at one point featured some song where “I kissed a girl” was being sung, and it wasn’t the Jill Sobule tune. So, had to be her, right? Here’s where I’m going with this—despite only having heard about 20 seconds of her music, I am 100% certain that this Katy Perry person is completely, unquestionably worthless. How do I know this? Easy—I did some research. I read her Wikipedia entry (and yes, I’m self-aware enough to have intended referring to a Wiki entry as “research” as a joke): After Steve Thomas and Jennifer Knapp signed Perry to their label Red Hill Records, she released her first CD Katy Hudson in 2001, a Christian gospel album. In 2004, Perry worked for the record production team The Matrix. Perry also began working on a debut mainstream album, writing with Glen Ballard, which was due for release in 2005. * * * After signing to Capitol Records, Perry began recording for her official mainstream debut album, working with Cathy Dennis, Greg Wells, Dr. Luke, Butch Walker, Max Martin, Dave Stewart and Ted Bruner. Unless one of Katy Perry’s childhood enemies has engaged in a Wikipedia hacking conspiracy and has edited her entry to make her just look like a careerist major-label pop artifice (and let’s face it, attaching Alanis Morisette producer/co-writer Glen Ballard to anyone’s name is enough to brand them as plastic phonies), the evidence all points to a musician whose work I would no doubt abhor, right down to her laughable inclusion on the Vans Warped Tour last year (pretty much stripping away any last vestigial claim to a “punk” association that package tour ever had). I’ve been criticized in the past by overly-sensitive friends who were insulted for some reason by my tendency to dismiss wholesale something they like without even listening to it. “How can you rip on it when you’ve […]
Jan 16th, 2009
Crooked X
With the demise of Atomic Records looming, now’s as good a time as any to re-examine the myriad problems that have beset the music industry as a whole: downloading, the collapsed economy, and most relevant to this review, the lack of quality in most major label product. With things so tough all over, I can’t help but listen to the self-titled debut from Oklahoma high schoolers Crooked X and wonder: the industry’s in the shitter, and this is the best they can come up with? The ten songs that comprise Crooked X’s debut sound about 14 years too late; ironic, since that’s the age of each band member. But who the hell is trying to ape Alice in Chains in 2009? Are their parents frustrated ex-grunge rockers? Songs like “Fade,” with its opening “Rooster”-style flange, and the horrifically clichéd “Rock and Roll Dream” (“I had a rock and roll dream/and I was a star/I went around the world/playin’ my guitar”— Jesus, really?) are lifted almost by the numbers from the Alice in Chains playbook, but with just enough Pantera-flavored cock-rock licks to imply that they might be closer to Alice ‘N’ Chainz (Layne Staley’s hair band before Jerry Cantrell joined him — look it up!). How bereft of new ideas are the major labels if signing a band of teenaged Creed wannabes sounded like a good idea (what’s next, is GM going to try to avoid bankruptcy by selling more Hummers)? Maybe it sounds unduly harsh to slam a band this young, but as they say on their MySpace, “We want people to hear our music, decide what they think, and THEN find out, ‘wow, they’re 14.’” Sounds fair – Crooked X would represent what’s wrong with the music biz no matter how old they were.
Jan 1st, 2009
Betamax, you’re off the hook. The makers of Sparks, not so much
Fig.1: a fish killed by Viral Hemorrhagic Septicemia, or VHS. This is not the “VHS” we will be discussing here, but as maladies go, it has a pretty cool name, don’tcha think? The era of VHS is at its close. Pop culture is finally hitting the eject button on the VHS tape, the once-ubiquitous home-video format that will finish this month as a creaky ghost of Christmas past. After three decades of steady if unspectacular service, the spinning wheels of the home-entertainment stalwart are slowing to a halt at retail outlets. On a crisp Friday morning in October, the final truckload of VHS tapes rolled out of a Palm Harbor, Fla., warehouse run by Ryan J. Kugler, the last major supplier of the tapes. “It’s dead, this is it, this is the last Christmas, without a doubt,” said Kugler, 34, a Burbank businessman. “I was the last one buying VHS and the last one selling it, and I’m done. Anything left in warehouse we’ll just give away or throw away.” … Kugler is president and co-owner of Distribution Video Audio Inc., a company that pulls in annual revenue of $20 million with a proud nickel-and-dime approach to fading and faded pop culture. Whether it’s unwanted “Speed Racer” ball caps, unsold Danielle Steel novels or unappreciated David Hasselhoff albums, Kugler’s company pays pennies and sells for dimes. If the firm had a motto, it would be “Buy low, sell low.” VHS has been very good to me over the years; my band used to “enhance” our live performances (and by “enhance” I mean “mask the lack in quality of”) with VHS footage of cheesy old sci-fi (the Desi Arnaz Jr.-anchored Automan), Japanese techno-virus art films (Tetsuo: The Iron Man), and blow-up doll porn. Sure, that could all be done with DVD now, but there’s something romantically punk rock about spackling together a cheap light show out of the refuse of your local Goodwill, and back in the early ‘00s, nothing spelled “kickass thrift store throwaway” like outmoded technology. Fig.2: VHS enabled my band to introduce Automan to literally dozens of Manitowoc punk kids But earlier today, as I read the LA Times article linked above, I didn’t find myself pondering nostalgia as much as I was thinking about how finally, at long last, the people who fucked up the marketing of Betamax are off the hook for letting the market flood with a subpar video format. Revolutionary for its day, the Betamax format was on its way to becoming the industry standard until the appearance of JVC’s VHS a year later. Betamax was probably a bit sharper and crisper, but VHS offered longer-playing ability, which made it possible to record an entire movie on one three-hour tape. The two formats were locked in a struggle that was eventually won by VHS. A number of theories as to why VHS emerged victorious have been floated, but the longer playing time was certainly crucial, as was the fact that VHS machines were cheaper […]
Dec 30th, 2008
HOLY SHIT METEOR!
So this happened in Edmonton, Alberta on Nov. 20th: Fig.1: Police dash-cam footage from 11.20.08. WTF WTF WTF WTF In the parlance of local hardcore bands named after exclamations, HOLY SHIT. How did this not make national American news? A huge white ball falls and explodes in a country right on our borders, and no one takes notice? Where was MSNBC? Where was CNN? Where was FOX News? (Wait, FOX is obsessed with the Mexican border. Never mind.) Obviously this was some sort of government cover-up where the US military got involved, possibly with the Men in Black, and forced Canadia’s accommodating news media into radio silence, as it were. Which leaves it up to that last bastion of true investigative journalism–the internet blogger–to speculate about what really happened that fateful night in Chris Benoit’s hometown. This intrepid reporter threw on some blinders, exhaustively researched his own nerdy obsessions (like any conspiracy theorist worth his salt) and came up with the following possibilities: Tesla’s Death Ray: unearthed and test-fired I’m fascinated by the life story of Nikola Tesla, the visionary Man Out of Time who solved the world’s energy crisis in his head roughly 100 years before gas hit $4/gallon while inspiring a band of farm kids in Sacramento, CA to name their butt-rock band after him (and then compose the third-best power ballad of the hair-metal era, “Love Song,” but none of this really has anything to do with astronomical phenomena). While I’m grateful to Tesla’s memory for enabling me to dismiss Thomas Edison as a no-good, elephant-frying son of a whore, I’m probably even more fascinated by the theory that the Tunguska explosion of 1908 was caused by Tesla test-firing the death ray he was supposedly working on in either Colorado Springs or Long Island, NY. In 1907 and 1908, Tesla wrote about the destructive effects of his energy transmitter. His Wardenclyffe facility was much larger than the Colorado Springs device that destroyed the power station’s generator. Then, in 1915, he stated bluntly: It is perfectly practical to transmit electrical energy without wires and produce destructive effects at a distance. I have already constructed a wireless transmitter which makes this possible. … But when unavoidable [it] may be used to destroy property and life. The art is already so far developed that the great destructive effects can be produced at any point on the globe, defined beforehand with great accuracy (emphasis added).(30) Nikola Tesla, 1915 He seems to confess to such a test having taken place before 1915, and, though the evidence is circumstantial, Tesla had the motive and the means to cause the Tunguska event. His transmitter could generate energy levels and frequencies capable of releasing the destructive force of 10 megatons, or more, of TNT. And the overlooked genius was desperate. Could it be that someone, perhaps a budding supervillain, has stumbled across Tesla’s long-dormant superweapon? If so, I’m on the first train to Colorado. America’s economic security is at its lowest point in nearly a […]
Dec 18th, 2008
Apparently I Look Like Richard Gere (and Other Reasons Why I Hate Him)
This weekend, while at a party at one Mike Shank’s pad, a young woman with whom i had spoken earlier in the night walked up to me while i was in a circle talking with Tea Krulos, J. Jason Groschopf and Mr. Dave Clay (names dropped to convey just how scene this party was. Yes indeed, i was hobnobbing with movers and shakers–as far as i’m concerned, anyway). She wanted to let me know that she thought i looked like Richard Gere in Pretty Woman, but without all the gray in the hair. Now, i realize that this was meant as a sincere compliment, but i was unable to hide my obvious discomfort at this comparison. I managed to say “really?” instead of “Oh my fucking god i HATE Richard Gere with the passion of a thousand suns OMGWTFGROSS,” but when she looked at the other guys and said, “doesn’t he?” she caught me mouthing “NO” at them. “What, isn’t that a compliment?” “No, i mean, it is! Thank you!” I stammered, but she had realized that she had unwittingly insulted me, and walked away. I felt bad. Whenever a young lady implies that you are attractive, you should say thank you, no matter how perplexed you are by her optical prescription. But two points: 1) I’m pretty sure i’ve hated every movie Richard Gere has ever been in. At least, i know for sure that i hated that streak he went on in the 1990s where he was always cast as the dashing, distinguished older leading man making crazy with the love scenes with whatever hot starlet was the “It Girl” of the day, despite the fact that he comes off like a smarmy douchenozzle. From my perspective, it started with the execrable Pretty Woman and continued with Sommersby, Intersection (where he was paired with TWO trendy starlets, for fuck’s sake), and the most offensive of the bunch, Dr. T and the Women. Now, before you start wondering why the hell a straight man is watching these abominable chick flicks, let the record show that of all of these, i have only seen Pretty Woman. Once. On VHS. Because i think my mom taped it off Showtime or something. No, my vitriol is based solely in the trailers for these movies, all of which showed Douchey Dick in the throes of passion with his leading lady, as if to say “yes, i will be in your movie, but it’s in my contract that i be naked with the leading lady, and that my love scenes get as much exposure as humanly possible. In fact, i will only do Letterman and Leno if you ensure that they’ll ask me about faux-fucking these gorgeous broads.” I mean, dig this bullshit right here: Not only do we get a little bit of nakey Richard a mere 30 seconds in, but he’s got a fresh-off Silence of the Lambs Jodie Foster tenderly shaving his face and declaring with a straight face, “Ah nevah […]
Dec 3rd, 2008
Quinn Scharber and the …
In one of his SubVersions columns several months back, our boy Matt Wild declared the basic guitar/bass/drums lineup of Quinn Scharber and the Electric Youth a refreshing novelty, or some similar turn of phrase — the implication being that bands in the Beer City have become so obsessed with attaching extra bells and whistles to their music (like, for instance, actual bells and whistles) that the simple effectiveness of a well-crafted guitar-pop song is overlooked. Maybe that’s the rationale behind titling their debut disc Being Nice Won’t Save Milwaukee; in a city where every new band is determined to throw their housemates’ thrift-store toy pianos on stage, playing a no-frills guitar riff is an act of defiance. If there’s rebellion in these songs, it’s not the type that comes screaming. Scharber is a graduate of the Pollard and late-Replacements-era Westerberg Academy, more “Can’t Hardly Wait” than “Fuck School.” In fact, the opening “Latest Flame” wouldn’t have sounded out of place on Pleased to Meet Me, as blasphemous as hardcore ‘Matheads may consider that. It’s all boxed wine and “Don’t you wanna be my latest flame/don’t you wanna make a big mistake,” delivered in Scharber’s conspiratorial half-whisper. It’s quite a feat to sing a refrain like “Keep it Legal” and sound like you’re getting away with something, yet there it is. Quinn Scharber and the Wrath of Khan (they change their name every show, so why let them have all the fun?) are doing little more than playing extremely well-crafted pop songs cobbled together by a dude, his guitar and a few of his drinking buddies backing him up. In a town overrun with banjos and glockenspiels, maybe an Epiphone will save the day after all.
Dec 1st, 2008
Chinese Democracy. LET’S DO THIS.
Fig.1: At least that godawful Asian-style font didn’t make it onto the album art, i guess If you’re on top of pop culture, you’ve probably already listened to the new “Guns ‘n’ Roses” album, as it’s been streamable on the “G’N’R” MySpace since Thursday. Me, i listened to it for the first time while at work on Friday, but since i was in an office environment, cranking the muthafugga wasn’t really an option. I did, however, hear enough of it to know that Chuck Klosterman is on crack rock. In his review of Chinese Democracy for The Onion, Klosterman (with whom i agree on some issues [the validity of hair metal as a genre] but disagree vehemently on others [the boneheaded contention that hair metal was valid essentially because it sold a lot of records]) attempts to mark the release of Axl Rose’s Citizen Kane Plan 9 From Outer Space as some sort of cultural turning point: Chinese Democracy is (pretty much) the last Old Media album we’ll ever contemplate in this context—it’s the last album that will be marketed as a collection of autonomous-but-connected songs, the last album that will be absorbed as a static manifestation of who the band supposedly is, and the last album that will matter more as a physical object than as an Internet sound file. This is the end of that. Uh…really? Says who? You? Fig.2: It’s called a camera, Chuck. When i click this button, it will create an image of you. Like magic! Oh, wait, i get it. Look at that photo…he’s totally stoned. That explains it. But still, i really did enjoy his musings on Motley Crue in Fargo Rock City, so maybe i should give the album another listen, at home where i can hear everything, yes? After all, it may be impossible to review the album in a vacuum away from the 17 years of anticipation, or whatever the hell else Chuck contends, but in the end, it’s about whether or not it’s a good record–or at least, a passable listening experience. Granted, with this much time gone, “almost as good as Use Your Illusion” would likely be a success. So, blah blah, enough with the buildup–i’m gonna hit “play” on the MySpace player and blog my thoughts as i absorb that which we thought would never see the light of day, and that which many of us plain didn’t give a shit about. But hey, that’s what obsessing about pop culture is all about–caring about shit that ultimately is pointless. So join me, won’t you? 1. Chinese Democracy Ok, opening reminds me of, like, “In the Beginning” from Shout at the Devil. I thought Axl hated the Crue? But in time, our nations grew weak, and our cities turned to slumswait, opening riff. Very processed. Ha! That first guitar lead totally sounds pasted over the top. …Man, this already doesn’t sound like a band…at least, it sure doesn’t sound like one playing live. Ooh! Big explosion at the […]
Nov 24th, 2008
a Well-Intentioned Rebuttal (Or: Oh! Matt! Gimme a Hug!)
Fig.1: This image of a packed Cactus Club witnessing Call Me Lightning is sure evidence of a dying scene Matt Wild needs a hug. If you’ve read this month’s edition of SubVersions, Matt’s back-page column in the pages of VITAL’s print edition, you may have gotten that impression. Every year, to close the annual music issue, Matt gives his take on the state of the Milwaukee Music Scene, and he’s not in a very good mood this month. “You want to know my take on the state of the scene? It sucks. What’s more, I’m glad I’m out of it. And that HiFi lyric [NOTE: Read the article and you’ll see he’s referring to “Success! Success! Success!,” a rock song by the band I drum in. Do note that I found it totally flattering that Matt referenced us! Oh, Matt]? Oh, it’s true all right, though I would argue that in Milwaukee, no one hears you, period. It doesn’t make a lick of difference whether you’re 20, 30, or 48, because the only people that are going to give a shit about your band are your friends and girlfriends, and even they’ll piss and moan if you don’t put them on the guest list. Is the idea of a bunch of slowly graying adults playing basements and barely-attended clubs inherently ridiculous? In a world of few absolutes and rampant relativism, let me just come out and say it: Yes, yes it is. Give up now. Feel the shame.” Jon Anne Willow, our fabulous Editor in Chief, the Robbie Robertson to my Peter Parker, suspects what I am certain is true. She “has known Matt for many years and has believed for a while now that he was heading for that aspirations-vs.-reality wall most young artists collide with eventually.” Since Matt ended the music issue on such a downer, I thought I’d take a stab at a well-intentioned rebuttal to his contention that the current Milwaukee Music Scene is sucky and awful. I also would like to send Matt a small ray of hope from the other side of that wall Jon Anne is talking about, not unlike the black GI who peers over the Berlin wall and rescues Hedwig from cold East Berlin in Hedwig and the Angry Inch. Only, ya know, with slightly less gay. (But only slightly.) Fig.2: Let me save you from all this strife and sauerkraut, Matt What I’m trying to say, Matt, is this: Jon Anne is 100% correct about that aspirations-vs.-reality wall. I know because I full-on smacked into it head first two years ago. The year was 2006. The Republicans were about to cede control of Congress to the Democrats for the first time in 12 years, and a little tv show called Heroes had caught the nation’s imagination before jumping the shark a season later (because, really…West? That kid sucked). And your humble narrator had just ended a 5-year relationship because he didn’t follow his lady love to grad school, choosing instead […]
Nov 12th, 2008
Weak on Facial Hair?
Former Republican candidate for President and avowed Libertarian Dr. Ron Paul was on Rachel Maddow’s show last night, and something struck my eye while he was on–something that made me squirm and rendered me unable to look away. I immediately texted K, my good friend and fellow political junkie in Chicago to ask, “Does Ron Paul wear fake eyebrows?” Watch the interview for yourself, and keep an eye on Dr. Paul’s right eyebrow. It looks askew to me, as if it is barely covering a much lighter eyebrow underneath, but is about to plummet from his face. Once K was able to view the interview later in the night, she noted that current Libertarian candidate Bob Barr has what can only be considered a most unfortunate mustache: To me, it’s obvious why no one is eager to vote for Mr. Barr. Let’s say through some wild act of god, superhero act of time travel, etc., Bob Barr won the Presidency. Would Americans be ready to watch in horror during the State of the Union address as Bob Barr’s mustache spun a cocoon, only to emerge during the National Security portion as a furry, vibrant moth? K’s text message about Mr. Barr ended with the following question: “Libertarians–weak on facial hair?” I’ve asked my old friend Gary, an avowed Libertarian, to chime in on this. Gary is the poor man’s Skeet Ulrich, who is the poor man’s Johnny Depp, and as a result has a history of tastefully executed facial hair. I will update with his insight when i receive it. In any event, i think it’s patently obvious why the Libertarian Party will never be a viable political force in this country. If you’re going to run for President and have facial hair, it had better be mighty. Witness our nation’s grand tradition of powerful Presidential facial hair: Theodore F. Roosevelt* “Trust busting: It’s the right thing to do, and a tasty way to do it.” William F. Taft The similarity to great baseball relief pitching mustaches illustrates why Baseball remains the national pastime Abraham F. Lincoln I mean, obviously Martin F. Van Buren Wait, that’s not right. Oh, here, sorry… Martin F. Van Buren “I was also Secretary of State, bub” *Obviously, when elected President while wearing powerful facial hair, your middle initial is required to be changed legally to “F,” for “Fucking.” Look it up, i’m pretty sure it’s buried in Article 2, Section 1 of the Constitution somewhere.
Oct 30th, 2008
Canyons of Static
The impression one gets from Canyons of Static is that their instrumental shoegaze jams would be perfect for a stylized horror film about hyper-fast zombies infected with rage. Sure, that’s a fancier (and nerdier) way of saying that they sound like Godspeed You! Black Emperor, but after repeated spins of the disappearance, the new Canyons disc, it’s clear that the impression goes beyond a superficial band reference — such a film’s driving sequences across washed-out video-contrast countrysides would be a perfect complement to the dreamy soundscapes offered in tracks like the 11-minute “Shelter.” The compositions follow the Godspeed template of theme, variation, but mostly theme. The band establishes a mood and slowly adds layer upon layer as they build to a crescendo a few minutes down the road. Guitars interweave with violin, bells and each other, weaving a patchwork quilt of sound the listener can wrap themselves in to keep warm when the car heater conks out in December. Canyons of Static hail from West Bend, a town with red state politics and poor economy (one of my most recent memories of hanging out there involved punks who had government-issue ham in their kitchen) that doesn’t exactly seem like a breeding ground for quality shoegaze. Then again, Milwaukee isn’t exactly known as a shoegazer town either, yet we have plenty of excellent examples (Brief Candles and White Wrench Conservatory, in addition to the Canyons). But maybe it’s more appropriate than we’d think — after all, the hypnotizing rhythms and melodies on the disappearance are wintery and desolate, yet small-town cozy. In that respect, Canyons of Static are more Wisconsin than zombie-controlled Britain after all.
Oct 30th, 2008
How I Learned to Love the Lunatics)
The lunatic fringe right wing of America is eating itself alive, and frankly, it’s cracking me up. Whether it’s the old lady claiming Obama’s an “Arab” (because suddenly there’s something wrong with that), crowds in Minnesota booing McCain when he insists no one should fear an Obama presidency, or–for fuck’s sake–a Republican Congresswoman from Minnesota calling for investigations of her colleagues for “Un-American views,” the nutter contingent has gone completely around the bend, and as Obama extends his lead, their heads are this much closer to exploding, Scanners-style. Many of my friends have expressed all sorts of rage and disgust at the long-simmering ugliness that is bubbling to the surface these days, but me? I can’t help but laugh. What else can you do but laugh? This ugliness has been there for the last eight years, or at least since September 11. It’s easy to hide racism and fear-mongering behind faux patriotism and demands for “security” when you feel like your team is solidly on the winning end (to say nothing about the sad state of affairs in America when people are more concerned with whether their team wins than with what’s best for America). But the Republicans’ politics of fear are finally being exposed with the ascent of their worst nightmare–a Black candidate with a foreign-sounding name who actually might live in the White House in 2009. HOLY SHIT, IT’S THE END TIMES! SAVE ME, JEEBUS! The frayed ends of sanity exposed themselves perhaps the most nakedly while my band was out on the East Coast, driving in deep blue Maryland and Washington, DC. When you run out of stand-up on the iPod and get sick of the music you brought along, a surefire way to stay awake in the van is to listen to conservative talk radio (back when i went to work at 9, i’d listen to Charlie Sykes on my drive downtown. Laughing at the radio is better than coffee! Really!). And lemme tellya, if you think the right-wing loonies on the radio here in Milwaukee are off the chain, you should see how bonkers they’ve gone in states where the polling’s never been close. One dude we listened to in the Baltimore market went into a commercial break saying “i really wish the mainstream media would take a closer look at where Obama’s money is coming from, because i’m convinced a good chunk of it is coming from the Middle East.” …Really? Look, the average donation sent to the Obama campaign may be $86, but even that’s a little beyond the means of the working-class Al Qaeda grunt, isn’t it? Where’s the proof, Cowboy? Watching the nutters implode, i can’t help but wonder about the effect it’s having on rational swing voters. Do you think, on the insane chance that there are still SOME people in America that haven’t decided whom to vote for yet, they look at these McCain/Palin hate rallies and react like when the earth found out that the aliens in the […]
Oct 22nd, 2008
What I Learned on My Autumn Vacation
Fig.1: Logan Jacobs takes really great photos of us In case you’re not paying attention, i play in one of those adorable “local bands” that practices in their basement and writes their own songs and tries so hard! and are totally gonna “make it” once we get in front of the right label exec when they’re just the right amount of drunk to think that signing us wouldn’t get him or her fucking fired with a quickness. Actually, if we ever seriously thought that at any point in our careers, we had it beaten out of us with the reality stick years ago. Still, because packing four sweaty dudes and their gear into a ramshackle Ford Aerostar for two weeks to travel the country and play music for a bunch of people who would just as soon watch the Phillies/Brewers playoff game without your damn racket in the background is always a bucket of laughs, we recently took a trip to the East Coast, playing 16 shows in 16 days with our pals white, wrench, conservatory. Specific tour diaries can be found elsewhere (like our website), but i thought i’d use Cultural Zero to quickly (ha) summarize a few things i learned on this tour (and over the course of several tours). Think of it as “DJ paints a picture of real rock and roll touring for you, the common man or woman who believes in such pedestrian concepts as taking vacations that involve seeing more of a city than its bullshit highway system and crap-ass rock clubs.” Or don’t, whatever: 1) The perception of a tour matters more than the tour itself. On average, my band tours about two weeks per year–day jobs and paid vacation will do that to you. As a result, it’s nearly impossible for us to build any kind of reliable draw in cities like Boston or Seattle, because we only get to them once every two years minimum, if you go by our ideal of hitting the East Coast one year and the West Coast the next (although in reality we haven’t been out west in three years). So every time we go out, it’s the same thing–pulling teeth to get shows in clubs where no one has ever heard of us, with no chance to build any kind of built-in following for next time (think about it–how many touring bands have you seen come through Cactus Club in the last year? Now how many do you remember? Exactly). It’s worked better for pals of ours, like the departed Modern Machines, who had no problem with living in squalor and working pizza delivery jobs in order to tour for months at a time and hit places multiple times per year. But we’re pussies who like job security and nice apartments. They are hard; we are soft. Still, because comparatively, there are many Milwaukee bands who don’t tour at all–or if they do, they don’t blab about it as much as we do–we get this […]
Oct 18th, 2008
In which I Attend the Forward Music Fest, Day 2, Part 2
fig.1: Droids Attack, attacking Here’s one thing i didn’t do all weekend during the Forward Fest that i feel should be pointed out—i didn’t get drunk once. There’s a reason for this; it’s because despite running into people i knew all weekend, i was essentially going it alone. And look; stories of romantic rock ‘n’ roll excess play really well when the intrepid music journalist has a traveling partner or two, but alone there’s nothing Hunter S. Thompson about being drunk on Leine’s at three in the afternoon. When you’re 34, live in Milwaukee, and a humble blogger for a local publication, that’s just sad. So yeah, not so much with the drunken antics this weekend. I point this out because when i walked from the Frequency to Wisconsin’s best live music venue, by far (sorry Cactus Club), the High Noon Saloon, i managed to meet up with some pals who took care of all the alcoholic revelry for me in spades. Not two minutes into my High Noon visit (whereupon walking into the venue my first thought was “oh sweet! I didn’t completely miss Helliphant!”), i heard a “HEY DJ!” and ran into my yes-it’s-only-9-PM-but-god-dammit-i’m-loaded Chicago buddy Tanya and her pals Ashleigh and Kara, who weren’t far behind. What rules about Tanya is that she has the best musical taste of any 21-year-old i’ve maybe ever met. Cute girls who are barely drinking age are not supposed to be fans of music that falls under an umbrella referred to in the 80s as “pigfuck,” but there you have it. Tanya’s favorite band in the universe is Killdozer, and she is here, at this festival to see Killdozer and Killdozer alone. Oh, and the Heroin Sheiks, because apparently she’d totally blow Shannon Selberg. She said so about 20 minutes after she threw up in the High Noon’s beer garden. (NOTE: Tanya’s gonna kill me for writing this. My only possible redemption will be convincing her that because this is a new blog, no one is reading it yet, so no one will know her shame. Look, Tanya, at least i didn’t run the pictures.) After a completely ripping set from my boys in the Madison stoner-riff combo Droids Attack, i was tickled to hear a bunch of people around me exclaiming sentiments similar to “who were those guys? Droids Attack? They were awesome! Why haven’t i heard of them before?” Argh. BECAUSE YOU HAVEN’T BEEN PAYING ATTENTION. Droids have been around for almost as long as my band (8 1/2 years, guh), so there is no excuse for anyone who attends shows at the High Noon on a regular basis to have not heard of them before Sept. 20, 2008. End of story. Tanya gets a pass because she’s from Chicago. Speaking of Tanya, it was around this time that her friends were cutting her off because she apparently had enough to drink for the night (it was about 10 at this point). After an extended debate among the three […]
Sep 26th, 2008
In which I Attend the Forward Music Fest, Day 2, Part 1
fig.1: The two Nicks from The Box Social yowl some words or something I spent the night at my pal Norah’s place a hop, skip, and barely a jump from the Capitol square area, which was just too damn perfect. She had met me at the Corral Room Friday night and we stood outside and chatted while the boys in Brainerd closed things out (yeah, um, sorry i missed you guys, John!). This was a good thing, as i had not seen Norah since March, when we played that very same Corral Room. The next morning she treated me to a Red Baron 4-cheese pizza breakfast (i sort of saw this weekend as an opportunity to get my digestive system in shape for our tour, which starts Friday) and a private screening of Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, which, for frak’s sake, where have i been? Joss Whedon rules at nerd musicals, as the sixth season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer obviously demonstrated. I should have downloaded this weeks ago. Anywho, you don’t care about nerd shit; you care about rocker shit (which is essentially nerd shit, but louder. Face it). As the final credits rolled i made my way from Norah’s pad to the Stage Door, the side theater of the Orpheum on State Street. I got there just in time to check out my pals in the Brewtown pop-punk power party The Chinese Telephones throwing down a fairly solid set, despite some sound issues that were beyond ridiculous. Seriously, if there were a Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares for sound dudes, these yahoos would have qualified for a season finale. The Telephones got off easy compared to Things Fall Apart, who i suppose had it coming, what with naming their band that after all. During portions of their set, the PA threw out filling-rattling bass at inopportune times and cut out entirely at others. Completely ridiculous. Things seemed to get back to some level of competence for Canadia’s Brutal Knights, who played some killer Zeke-tempo speed punk. They were followed by a band called Star Fucking Hipsters. Now, ok. When you name your band something like “Star Fucking Hipsters,” your band is going to either destroy so much that it’s the best band name ever, or your band is going to suck so badly that your name reads like a desperate way to get people to pay attention (i mean, if i see a band called “Adolf Hitler Raped My Grandfather” on a flyer, i’m going to the damn show, ya dig?). In this case, the name turned out to be a case of “oh, you’re on Fat Wreck Chords and playing the exact same music they’ve been putting out for the last 500 years, but because you dress like New York gutter punks and have neck tattoos, you need just the MOST BADASS NAME POSSIBLE, don’t you? Awwwww, so cute.” Which basically meant it was time to head to The Frequency for some rippin’ Indie Rock. After a more […]
Sep 24th, 2008
In which I Attend the Forward Music Fest, Day 1
fig.1: Screamin’ Cyn Cyn and the Pons tear it up at the Majestic Theatre So here i am, blogging for VITAL Source for some reason. Because, hey, i sure don’t do enough blogging elsewhere. Nothing like spreading yourself too thin, right? Look, i won’t lie—I’m not here to be entertaining, and I’m not here to inform. I’m here because Matt Wild told me that blogging for VITAL nets you crazy mad tail.* For my first Cultural Zero assignment, i was sent by my benevolent overlords to Madison for the first ever Forward Music Fest. A crapload of venues hosting an assload of bands for what amounted to be a shitload of bargains ($25 general admission pass plus a $10 VIP guaranteed access pass to the High Noon Saloon on Saturday night for the mighty and reunited KILLDOZER? Sign me the hizell up). Note: by “was sent by my benevolent overlords,” i mean that i said, “well, benevolent overlords, i bought a pass for this thing like two weeks ago; i suppose i could write it up for you guys.” So off i was, driving toward South Central Wisconsin (yo) in my badass Kia Optima blasting the Albini re-recording of Cheap Trick’s In Color, which knocks the original on its ass, in case you were wondering. Upon my arrival i was immediately hit with a dilemma, as often happens at a music festival of this magnitude–do i head to the Frequency to see my pals the Skintones? It turns out the answer was “no,” because i was instructed by the internet to be sure i did not miss Israel’s road warriors Monotonix, who are gaining a reputation as one of the best live bands anywhere. So it was off to the Majestic Theatre with me. The less said about the first band i saw at the Majestic, High Places, the less entertaining this entry will be, so let me consult the notes i wrote myself in my phone (take a notepad to a show? When i can send myself text messages? I am the future of music journalism!). Let’s see, what did i send myself…ah yes: “High Places: two white douchebags from New York sing over their half-assed cover of the Akira soundtrack.” Seriously, it’s a rule these days: when two people set up some boxes of noisemakers, call themselves a “band,” and then say they’re from NYC, you’re pretty much guaranteed some sort of “arty” self-indulgent bullshit which automatically commands respect simply because it’s from New York City. Sorry, i don’t buy salsa made in New York City, and i don’t buy artsy duos not named “Suicide” from there either…especially when one of them is dancing around like goddamn Robin Goodfellow playing a few electric drum pads and a woodblock. Gah. Let’s consult my phone again: “The high point of the set was when Shane from Cyn Cyn patted my ass and said ‘good hustle.'” fig.2: Make sure that woodblock is properly miked, asshole “Cyn Cyn” would be Screamin’ Cyn […]
Sep 23rd, 2008
Static Thought
Here’s a secret about music reviewers: a lot of them are incredibly lazy. It’s easy to understand sometimes; there are only, for example, so many hardcore and street punk bands one can hear before one reads a press release with quotes like “this album is ultimately about unity [and] deals with a lot of important topics such as sexism in the punk scene” and automatically assumes that they’re in for a cast-off from the glory days of Maximumrocknroll. Heck, why bother to listen to the CD when the review writes itself? That’s part of why The Motive for Movement, the second album from (MRR homebase) Bay Area punks Static Thought, comes off as surprisingly refreshing. Instead of sounding as musically predictable as their politics, the album leads off with a blistering sub-two-minute jam (“Faces”) that evokes the Rollins Band (if Hank had done time in Fugazi first), then ends by referencing early (Bay Area predecessors) Metallica on the shredtastic “Conquest of Saints.” The two tracks bookend a mish-mash of punk-centric musical styles (even throwing in an appropriate ska outro on “Third World”). At times Static Thought seem to be throwing every genre at the wall to see what sticks, but effectively enough to hold the listener’s attention during the few times the album veers dangerously close to stale punk riffs and shout-alongs. The album clocks in at a brisk 30 minutes, long enough to make its point, throw the kitchen sink at you, and get the hell out. The Motive for Movement is a solid take on punk rock in an age where its conventions have nearly been exhausted. It’s engaging, intelligent, thought-provoking rock ‘n’ roll. Good thing we reviewers actually sometimes listen to the CDs, eh?
Sep 1st, 2008
The Scenic
A few months back, SPIN ran an article on what they dubbed “emo voice” – the nasal, artless vocal style of approximately 56,000 soundalike mallpunk bands whose sense of musical history goes no further back than Saves the Day and the Promise Ring. While Victory Records has been responsible for inflicting many a tuneless warble about a relationship gone bad on the music-buying populace, they’ve baked the whitest white bread to date with The Scenic, who have to be the blandest of the bunch by far. Find Yourself Here brings all the standard junior-high target-market tropes to the table: slightly Weezerfied sensitive-boy harmonies (the opening “Lights Out” actually calls to mind Weezer’s far superior songs); that one “the guitarist is playing through a telephone” effect in the breakdowns; lyrical references to adolescent takes on love and obsession that would get normal people arrested — “I watch you from your bedroom/I’m liking what I see” (“Notice Me” — does that sound like a stalking reference to you too? Don’t people realize that MySpace stalking is safer, less obviously creepy – and legal?). Like most of these Warped Tour bands, their greatest crime isn’t that they’re untalented — it’s that they’re not particularly memorable. The Scenic could be swapped out onstage with any number of polite lip-pierced boys prepackaged for meeting Mom, and the teenage girls they’re singing to wouldn’t know the difference. Find Yourself Here advertises itself as pop-rock, but this is a boy band with guitars, O-Town learning to play instruments. The Scenic are that first group your 30-year-old friend in the good local band was in right after high school. His old band gets nostalgic wisecracks; Victory hands today’s version record deals. Dare I say it? Kids these days.
Aug 1st, 2008
Skybombers
What is it about Australian hard rock bands and aviation references? The Screaming Jets in the late ‘80s/early ‘90s? Jet (the non-screaming kind, apparently) in the aughts? Now Melbourne’s Skybombers, a band of fresh-faced recent high school grads, are playing a brand of hard-edged power-pop on their debut full-length, Take Me to Town. The sound is what you might expect from kids their age — tight and well-executed, but with an unsurprising lack of a unique and singular voice, betraying their youthful inexperience. Make no mistake: they’re hitting the right touchstones — a sprinkle of The Who here, a liberal dash of Cheap Trick there — and the performances are solid. Producer Rick Parker (Von Bondies, Dandy Warhols) has done a heck of a job polishing these guys into a well-oiled, no-frills garage-pop steam engine. The opening-chord gut punch of “On + On” is an attention-grabber, and the instant hooks provided in, well, just about every song hold onto that attention with the stubbornness of a clamped-down pit bull (or, to make that simile more Australian, a dingo chomping on the baby it’s stealing). Still, the album rocks less in an “ohmigod they sound like Cheap Trick!” way and more in an “if I want to listen to Cheap Trick, I’ll listen to Cheap Trick” way. Give these kids a few more years, a few more tours and a few more records in their collection, and they could become a blisteringly original act. For now, though, they remain catchy, solid, fun, and downright forgettable. You’ll hum along during the first spin, but five minutes later you’ll be reaching for your copy of In Color.
Jun 1st, 2008
The Black Keys
When music nerds think of Akron, Ohio, they usually conjure images of proto-punk college nerds as much influenced by neighboring Cleveland’s industrial wasteland as by whatever they were learning down the road at Kent State that semester — i.e. DEVO. But thanks to Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney, aka The Black Keys, the new sound of Akron dates past devolution and slinks back into the primordial ooze of dirty, gritty delta blues. Their latest, Attack and Release, shuffles and shambles like the soundtrack to one of those run-down city skyline montages in some old ‘70s film where the main character is just driving and driving through town. The music’s rusty, broken-in and comfortably warm. Although the Keys are a duo, Attack and Release takes advantage of the recording studio and fills out its riffage with bass, organ and even flute (!) in the intro to “Same Old Thing.” The extra instrumentation never gets in the way, leaving plenty of space for the songs to breathe. You don’t need to get the band back together to hear their brand of blues (although I doubt they’d refuse the whole chicken and toast). Drums and guitar will suffice just nicely. The Black Keys sound like road movies and cigarettes smoked at 3 a.m. while drunkenly drifting away on your couch after another Friday night at that same damn bar again. In a good way. Seriously, if I don’t turn on TBS in another 10 years and hear “Things Ain’t Like They Used to Be,” Attack and Release’s dynamite closing track, in some flick involving either Patrick Swayze and truckers or Dennis Hopper and motorcycles, I will have lost faith in Hollywood.
May 1st, 2008
The Felice Brothers
Recalling early Dylan and Woody Guthrie is certainly laudable; vacuously mimicking them, however, isn’t. On their self-titled debut release for Team Love Records, the Felice Brothers craft laid-back, charcoal-mellowed drinking chanteys that recall the earthy backwoods Americana of Dylan and Guthrie, right down to the nasal whine of the vocalist. Unfortunately, instead of bringing a new take to the genre, they prefer to coast on what came before them, choosing to supplement their sleepy delivery with equally lazy songwriting. The blueprint is followed so closely that it begs the question: why bother writing songs? Why not just become a Dylan cover band? At least then the material would be stronger. All the elements that bring the over-50 NPR set and the under-30 last-week-I-was-listening-to-metalcore-but-now-I’m-dating-a-Decemberists-fan crew together in charming “historic” table-seating venues are here: midtempo sentimentality, premature world-weariness, and plenty of those “unconventional” instruments (banjo, accordion, horns, Wurlitzer organ) that are losing their novelty faster than the 2003 post-punk revival (hey, remember The Rapture? Whatever happened to them, anyway?). No doubt, this stuff is big business right now, and the Felice Brothers are likely to blow up bigger than their Haystacks Calhoun-esque accordionist (a recent high-profile opening slot with the Drive-By Truckers was an obvious win). But instead of expertly painting with the varied palate of their heroes, the Brothers swirl and mix their colors until they emerge a homogenized, taupish brown—all earth tones and no variety. In today’s musical climate, it’s easy to imagine the Felice Brothers with huge bags of cash being thrown at them, like Ron Howard at the end of that episode of the Simpsons where he steals Homer’s movie pitch. Like Ron, the Felice Brothers are capitalizing on someone else’s ideas. Who knows what’ll happen once they run out?
Apr 1st, 2008
The Mountain Goats
There’s something truly romantic about the solo-artist-with-guitar archetype — the tortured balladeer who can only express feelings through song. Of course, the inherent populism of that simple formula (anyone can pick up a guitar and learn three chords — you can too!) attracts scores of aspiring amateurs who lack the personality to realize the conceit. All you’ve got is a guitar and your voice, pal; if you have nothing interesting to say, the coffee shop isn’t going to ask you back. Thank god for John Darnielle, the man who began the Mountain Goats with a guitar, a boom box and the most charming disquietude this side of Danny Torrance. The Goats’ latest, Heretic Pride, showcases everything that makes a great singer/songwriter — driving guitar work, fictionalized lyrics that paradoxically, chillingly bare the artist’s soul — and everything that’s not-so-slowly turning Darnielle into a borderline cult hero. The lyrics are Darnielle’s real strength, as they expose him for the confidently awkward acoustic nerdsmith he is. Who else would drop lyrical references to H.P. Lovecraft and former NFL running back Marcus Allen into a song about suspicion and paranoia (“Lovecraft in Brooklyn”)? While nothing on the slickly-produced Heretic Pride quite achieves the sing-along triumph of early low-fi classics like “Cubs in Five,” the presence of a tremendous supporting cast – including Superchunk drummer Jon Wurster – makes up for it. Erik Friedlander’s cello resonates with a warmth that recalls the immediacy of those signature boom box recordings, if not the aesthetic. But production aside, Darnielle’s broken, optimistic personality is what sets the Mountain Goats apart from your everyday jerk-off at the open mic. For Pete’s sake, he cribbed the album title from a lyric by a black metal band. Don’t you wanna just pinch his cheeks and snuggle?
Mar 1st, 2008
Bob Mould
Singer/songwriter/punk icon/former pro-wrestling scripter Bob Mould has (obviously) worn many hats during his career. With his latest solo offering, District Line, the ex-Hüsker Dü and Sugar guitarist continues hisbalancing act between modern rock balladeer and DIY wunderkind. Mould plays every instrument on District Line besides the cello, provided by Amy Domingues, and the signature drumming of Fugazi’s Brendan Canty. Canty’s distinctive dub-enhanced syncopation shines on the leadoff track “Stupid Now;” for most of the album, though, he’s content to simply lay a solid back beat. His playing echoes Mould’s songwriting; flashes of the work that made them both legends occasionally shine through what is essentially an album of sometimes competent, often excellent, generally straightforward alternative rock. Mould’s solo work is intensely personal and relationship-based. “Again and Again” recalls his 90’s alterna-pop incarnation, Sugar, with symphonic guitar driving a melancholy suicide note of dysfunctional love – “I took the bullets from the carport/tossed them in my backpack…I left the title to the house inside the piano bench/And my lawyer’s got the will.” This track, and the up-tempo (and equally Sugary) “Very Temporary,” shows the material at its strongest and catchiest. A strange fascination with vocoder (which, let’s face it, Cher ruined for everyone) threatens to undermine “Very Temporary” and otherwise fascinating tracks like the alterna-rock/disco mash-up “Shelter Me.” It’s frankly distracting to hear the voice behind incendiary punk classics like “Something I Learned Today” dabbling in NYC Eighth Avenue club music. Still, Mould’s determination to straddle the line between alternative and dance pays off more often than it stumbles on District Line. Now if only Bob would find the time to start scripting wrestling matches again. Lord knows the WWE could use him right now.
Feb 1st, 2008
Bullet For My Valentine
In the 1980s, it was demanded that metalheads swear allegiance to one subgenre and stick with it. Thrashers risked ridicule for owning a Poison album, and hairmetal kids couldn’t fathom the appeal of music so heavy that Aqua Net girls didn’t like it. So it’s amusing to listen to metal in the 21st century and hear Maiden-esque power metal, Sebastian Bach-caliber vocals and death metal growls in one band. Perhaps the emergence of grunge and indie in the ’90s convinced the metalheads that they’d better stick together. If that’s the case, then Bullet For My Valentine is tailor-made to appeal to every last one of them, be they clad in denim, leather or spandex. Scream Aim Fire, the band’s second album, is a nonstop barrage of British riffage, music school-bred twin guitar leads, and all-attack-no-decay double-kick percussion, held together with sugary power-pop vocals that could have been lifted from Skid Row’s debut (note: this is not a bad thing, indie rockers, and no, this isn’t irony talking), were it not for the occasional, and unfortunate, dive into cliché Cookie Monster metalcore. It feels like a calculated choice that will definitely sell records, but hearing Matthew Tuck’s voice soar into Rob Halford terrain would have been much more satisfying. Still, while they may be hurting in the originality department, Bullet For My Valentine is a breath of fresh harmony and — what’s this? Songwriting? — in a musical climate where headbangers seem content with mindless guitar wankery and tuneless vocals. Take the standout “Hearts Burst Into Fire,” a not-quite power ballad about (get this) life on the road, of all things. The riffage may be all Iron Maiden, but the lyrics are vintage Jovi Crüe. VS
Jan 1st, 2008
Bottomless Pit
Could Bottomless Pit have chosen a more apt title for their excellent debut release than Hammer of the Gods? The songs on this eight-song disc pummel and crack with the deliberate force of Thor’s enchanted hammer, Mjolnir.
Dec 1st, 2007
Enon
Enon waited only a year between the release of their sophomore album, 2002’s High Society, and their third disc, Hocus Pocus, and to a lot of fans’ ears, the lack of wait time showed. Perhaps the band realized this, because now it’s been a four-year wait for new material. The result, Grass Geysers…Carbon Clouds, is the best news possible for Enon fans: not only is the band back with a vengeance, but they spent all that time producing one of the best indie-rock dance records of the year.? Where Hocus Pocus featured a number of low key, mellow dinner party background tracks, Grass Geysers pushes the dinner table to the side to make room for the dance party. “Mirror on You” sets the pace, all fuzzed-out bass, handclaps and Matt Schultz’s shake-it-shake-it drums, with bassist Toko Yasuda’s pixie voice catching the listener’s attention right off the bat. A scant minute-forty-six later, “Colette” delivers more of the same; the synth-bass jam “Dr. Freeze” provides still more after that, its alien Ed-Wood-film-produced-by-Martians vibe providing the best ring entrance theme for a nonexistent luchador ever heard. The closest the album comes to taking a breather is the fantastic and instantly memorable “Mr. Ratatatatat,” a midtempo stomper that utilizes Enon’s secret weapon—the interplay of Yasuda’s demure Japanese vocals with guitarist (and ex-Brainiac gunslinger) John Schmersal’s barking croon. In an alternate universe somewhere, this song is already a smash chart-topper. That should be taken literally. This band isn’t just otherworldly; they’re multi-dimensional. The best we can hope for in this universe is that club deejays everywhere latch onto the unstoppable dance beats pounding their way out of Grass Geysers and into awaiting ears. If it takes another four years for Enon to produce a follow-up, that’ll be just fine. It’ll probably take many years beyond that to tire of this one.
Nov 1st, 2007
Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings
They spend all of their free time lending their considerable talents to other people’s work, which makes one wonder how Sharon Jones and her backing band, the Dap-Kings, have had any time for themselves. Jones recently worked with Rufus Wainwright; the Dap-Kings can be heard tearing up pop radio as the backing band on Amy Winehouse’s smash “Rehab.” Yet along comes 100 Days, 100 Nights, their third release, on their own Daptone imprint. Expending all that energy on other projects hasn’t diminished the drive to create on their own; 100 Days sizzles with the classic Motown soul of Aretha and Stevie. While the Dap-Kings’ work on Winehouse’s Back to Black carries a distinctly pop sheen, 100 Days takes wood stripper to that glossy finish, leaving behind raw trumpets, gritty rhythms and the classic two-beat guitar stabs from Motor City faves like one-time Kings’ cover “Uptight (Everything’s Alright).” The lazily upbeat “Tell Me” comes closest to what would have been considered a pop hit in the days of Martha and the Vandellas, but that’s not to say that the midtempo groove that dominates the album won’t get asses on the floor. Of course, the real star here is Jones and her bluesy, ballsy alto, which wails away on tracks like the reproachful “When the Other Foot Drops, Uncle.” Maybe she isn’t likely to become the household name that Winehouse and Lily Allen are on their way to becoming. But since Jones and her band are bringing home plenty of green via their extracurriculars, Amy and Lily are welcome to their celebrity; just occasionally leave this crew to their own devices, and if they keep turning out records like 100 Days, 100 Nights, everyone wins.
Oct 1st, 2007
Ministry
Al Jourgenson isn’t about to be considered a politically-charged wordsmith on par with Bob Dylan. Still, this hasn’t stopped him from developing an antipathetic and personal relationship with Bush, Cheney and the Holy War on Terror. Starting with 2004’s Houses of the Mole, followed by 2006’s Rio Grande Blood, the Unholy Trinity concludes with The Last Sucker, a venom-drenched and decidedly non-poetic screed against the Decider and his entourage. Anyone who remembers Ministry’s brutal indictment of Bush Sr., Psalm 69’s “N.W.O.,” is as familiar with The Last Sucker’s formula as is needed. Song after song delivers the same jackhammer drum programming and machine-gun riffage that Ministry’s produced for years, delivered with pit-bull vocals and samples of government icons hypnotically chanting sound-bite mantras. Al doesn’t mince words – lyrics like “I got twins and a Stepford wife/I never had to work a day in my life” don’t leave room for interpretation. But where the Ministry of the Bush 41 era sounded fresh in its rage, the Bush 43 edition has gone stale. The repetitive, stock 16-note chug hammers the brain into a numb paste, perhaps so the listener understands how Jourgenson’s head felt after poring through hours and hours of Bush/Cheney sound bites. Maybe then we won’t notice how cliché it is to name a song about the Veep “The Dick Song,” to say nothing about spending six minutes coming up with new ways to say “Dick Cheney/Son of Satan.” The Last Sucker is Ministry’s final recording, allowing Jourgenson to ride off into the sunset along with lame duck Dubya. Judging by the content of this release (including a baffling cover of the Doors’ “Roadhouse Blues” ), it’s possible that, like Bush the Second, his exit is about eight years too late.
Sep 1st, 2007
Bad Religion
“We’re animals with golden rules/Who can’t be moved by rational views/Welcome to the new dark ages.” Iraq’s a mess, our civil liberties are eroding and Scooter Libby was basically pardoned. Leave it to six years of an oppressive Republican regime to light a fire under Bad Religion’s ass. Anyone who’s heard a Bad Religion song, much less an entire album, knows what to expect from New Maps of Hell: hyper-intelligent lyrics, dramatically gorgeous vocal harmonies and punk riffs that spawned legions of imitators who took more time explaining what their songs were about than actually playing them. But to criticize Bad Religion for not evolving over the years would be a futile exercise; one may as well complain that AC/DC has recorded the same album 18 times. While other bands would be accused of having run out of ideas, New Maps of Hell feels more like re-visiting a favorite book, if that book were Dude, Where’s My Country? Ironically, as solid as the formula tracks are, it’s when the band changes things up a bit that we find the standout cuts – notably the single “Honest Goodbye,” which uses a thundering mid-tempo verse to anchor a sugar-coated hook. Closing track “Fields of Mars” does the same thing using piano while fantasizing about a time when we can get off this rock, away from the Neanderthals running the show. But how fun woul these guys be if they were happy? If you’re not already a Bad Religion fan, you could pick a worse starting point than this. After all, it’s important for us Americans to familiarize ourselves with our most venerable institutions. VS
Aug 1st, 2007
Great Lakes Myth Society
“Girlfriends are leaving/new girls arrive/you open the circle/to be blinded by light.” This lyric from “Heydays,” the opening track to Compass Rose Bouquet, the sophomore offering from Michigan “northern rock” music “collective” Great Lakes Myth Society, perfectly summarizes the thesis being defended throughout – melancholy is meaningless unless it’s tempered by good spirits in the heart and in hand. When guitarist Timothy Monger sings “Uncertain the future/nostalgic the past/unable to recognize/moments that last,” there’s more sun in his voice than rain. That springtime disposition carries into all aspects, from production to songwriting. The tunes crackle with energy and spark, from the cavernous drums to the silvery trumpets on the psychedelic-via-”Crimson-and-Clover” tune “Raindrops and Roses.” The band isn’t afraid to explore the myriad folk influences available to their collective, either; “Queen of the Barley Fool” and “Debutante” incorporate Irish pub choruses without slipping into affectation. “Debutante” even throws indie-rock distortion into the guitars, giving the up-tempo jig some teeth. They accompany accordion-driven waltz “The Gales of 1838,” which closes the record with a slow, six-minute build that sways like the bow of a wind-blown pirate ship complete with refrains proclaiming that we’ll have “wine, wine, wine, more wine tonight.” This is Americana anyone can get behind. Great Lakes Myth Society takes the folk-infused sound with which we’ve all become intimately familiar and polish it with a pop sheen, producing earthy, heartfelt waltzes and jigs that manage to be introspective and fun at the same time. Pass the Jameson; who wouldn’t drink to that?
Jun 1st, 2007
Amandine
Banjo. Strings. Piano. Guitar. Maybe the occasional trumpet. The acoustic over the electric; the organic over the synthetic. This is the shape of indie-pop today. From Songs:Ohia to The Mountain Goats to Paige France, Americana and folk have spread across the countryside in a blaze of unconventional instrumentation and unshaven singer-songwriters. If quiet is the new loud, a mountain-man beard is the new trucker hat. Apparently the Atlantic Ocean didn’t stop this wildfire from besieging Europe. Amandine have checked in as Sweden’s offering to this renaissance with their sophomore release, Solace in Sore Hands. Unfortunately, they journey across the pond to offer nothing new to the mix, and instead deliver a homogenized blend of formulaic indie-pop. “Faintest of Sparks” opens the album with banjo and glockenspiel and the lyrics “Started a fire with the faintest of sparks/sprung from the friction of two empty hearts.” Amandine don’t waste time setting a mood, instead opting to spin dark, pretty yarns of lovelorn weariness. The second track, “Chores of the Heart,” features the album’s high point – a waltz melody crescendos and fades with choruses that resemble many a standout Decibully track. But from there on the disc suffers from suffocating sameness. The tempo rarely varies; the mood never changes. It’s a trap that ensnares many an aspiring indie band – develop a formula, write a few songs, record them, forget to pursue variety. This being Amandine’s second release, they’ve already spent their one pass in that department. Solace in Sore Hands has its moments, but they’re lost amidst the 6/8 tempos and acoustic strings. Perhaps if Amandine hit upon a mood other than “wistful,” that’ll change. VS
May 1st, 2007
The Higher
That maddest of alchemists, the music industry, has managed to seamlessly spin the two most popular genres from the two most dominant high school cliques (punks and preps) into SoundScan gold: the Mallpunk Boy Band, personified by fresh-faced and darling (but edgy and badass) kids like Good Charlotte and Fall Out Boy. And now, Epitaph Records has jumped into the game with The Higher, a competent quintet of lads who expertly paint by numbers with their debut, On Fire. This has the makings of a top seller, so I suppose it’s hard to blame Epitaph, formerly home to politically-charged, socially relevant punk rock like Bad Religion, for releasing something this languid and dispassionate. The performances are solid, the production slick, the hooks not out of place on a Justin Timberlake album. The Higher are destined for commercial success, sure to dominate the Warped Tour mid-card for years (and getting close—so close!—to finally headlining over Motion City Soundtrack). And good for them. Having Fall Out Boy’s Patrick Stump remix one of their tracks (“Pace Yourself” ) won’t hurt, either. It just sounds like a band looking to cash in. With On Fire, one must, at the very least, hope that the kids discovering punk rock through bands like this will take note of the label releasing them, stumble upon Bad Religion and look back at this release with the critical eye of a suddenly more seasoned listener. Perhaps then they will file The Higher away as a band that served their purpose: a junior-high gateway drug to music with substance. Then, in their own special way, The Higher will have mattered. VS
Mar 1st, 2007
The Bird and the Bee
One can’t help but feel like the self-titled debut from L.A. duo The Bird and the Bee answers the question that’s burned in the minds of music aficionados for years: What would it sound like if Jewel and Stereolab grew up on Martin Denny and Herb Alpert records? The opening track (and first single), “Again and Again,” immediately calls all three touch points to mind, as it’s the perfect declaration of what the duo’s all about: providing the soundtrack to cocktail parties on Mars. The entire album speaks to a fascination for merging past with future. The exotic flavor of “Again and Again” is augmented by a thick, fuzzy synth, adding some space-age low end. “I’m a Broken Heart” ups the stakes with some ‘50s R&B/Doo-Wap stylings – if the girls were wearing vinyl and tinfoil and performing on one of those moon bases artistically rendered in atomic-age In the Year 2000 picture books. And the absence of nearly any real drums in favor of machines and sequencers brings the “yesterday’s music tomorrow” vibe home. The duo doesn’t skimp on the hooks, either – “Broken Heart” is instantly hummable, as is the fantastic chorus to “I Hate Camera” and, really, most any of the tracks on the CD. All the singing is done by the female member of the duo, Inara George (a name that is too awesome to be real), and her ability to harmonize with herself is to be envied; her background vocals move the melodies in some very interesting, attention-demanding directions. The Bird and The Bee make party music for people who like to party without raising their voices while sipping their martinis. Throw it into the disc changer at your next formal. VS
Feb 1st, 2007
…And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead
Listening to the new album from Austin’s …Trail of Dead reminds me of a 1992 quote from Faith No More’s keyboardist Roddy Bottum, regarding their tour mates Guns N’ Roses, who had morphed from a gritty LA sleaze-metal band into a bloated juggernaut: “I’m getting more and more confused about who’s in Guns N’ Roses, and it’s blowing my mind. Onstage now there’s a horn section, two chick backup singers, two keyboard players, an airplane pilot, a basketball coach, a coupla car mechanics…” One gets the same impression from So Divided. Back when TOD was unleashing chaos-rock on 2002’s brilliant Source Tags and Codes, they were lean and mean, but with their recent releases – 2005’s Worlds Apart and now So Divided – the band has chosen to expand their sound through bizarre stylistic shifts and ballooning instrumentation until you’re left wondering what these guys care about more – writing huge, epic songs, or just being huge and epic? “Stand in Silence,” the first proper song on the album, summarizes this frustration. The track opens with a classic TOD riff; the rhythm marches with a staggering, swaying funk backbeat while the vocals call the listener to action. But just as the song is about to take it to the bridge, it skids off the rails into a confusing symphonic second movement that sounds completely removed from the rock & roll book-ending it. The same thing happens to “Naked Sun,” which inexplicably transforms from a bluesy shuffle into more overwrought Tolkien-soundtrack shenanigans. When …Trail of Dead keep it simple, like on the title track, they’re still powerful, but overall So Divided is a mess with a badass rock record buried somewhere inside. VS
Jan 1st, 2007
