Bunny Mcintosh

And now it's time for ...



MUSIC THAT SPOKE TO ME:
today's band
KARATE




In high school, I had a cool college boyfriend who lead me blindly and with fervor into the world of beautiful music.  This was all back in the day of "AOL is the way to the internet" and right before Napster took it's ass kicking, mind altering place in the stage of my life, so getting exposure to solid bands was often a gamble. 

I spent a lot of time just letting amazon.com make recommendations, which is what happens when you work at a crap local steak house for $90 a night and don't have any bills to pay. I can thank them for telling me I'd like Built to Spill because I liked Low and Rainer Maria (newest album: crummy, by the way).

When you're young, you find music that happens to you like no other music after that can.  You go from thinking that the radio is a resource to seeing this entire underworld of mysterious songs and shows and people, and it's all amazing, and it's been there all along.  I went from listening to songs I liked to albums I loved. 




Karate was one of those first bands I drove around listening to, and I found their album in a stack today and listened to it again.  It doesn't grab me because it's emo now, but it does grab me depite the fact that it is.  Geoff Farina stole my heart in high school, and now he can steal yours.

Hold on to your navy blue hoodies.

From Karate- Karate

Mp3: Karate- Every Sister
Mp3: Karate- ---
Mp3: Karate- Bodies

The Streets have recently released some Mike Skinner director-style commentary on songs from his latest album The Hardest Way To Make An Easy Living. I'm particularly fond of everything he does because he's so damn honest about himself.  Below is the commentary, but where would you be without the song? Ok, that's down there too. I also added another track (When You Wasn't Famous) for you to listen to in case you aren't fond of that track-- I like it, but I also realize that maybe having backing vocals that sound like they're straight off a RENT soundtrack isn't for everyone.

Download: Commentary- All Goes Out the Window
Mp3: The Streets- All Goes Out the Window
Mp3: The Streets- When You Wasn't Famous


Watch the naughty language if you're at work, though.

I'm not even going to bother being extremely hip and awesome and showing you some cool new Japanese metal band... NAY! I am, instead, going to indulge your sensations with the Punjabi (that would be from India, genius) hip hop video sweeping the internet.






I know if I ever shot a music video, it would be of me as four different people in similar outfits nodding smugly to my own lyrics. Righteous.

If you hear voices in your head really early in the morning, one of them probably sounds exactly like the lead singer of the Candy Bars. There's a sinister whispering ghost voice gasping for air and muttering phrases like "on cutting ti-gers in half and understanding narravation" that might happen every Tuesday at 4 a.m. in psychiatric wards across America.

But don't be afraid: their album is stunning in a way that I can't express, even if Daniel Martinez's dark voice reminds me of a little old lady dying in a nightmare. "Landscape" opens their album like a Wes Anderson movie intro, with a quirky harpsichord melody played over a plucked classical guitar. Martinez's vocals don't allow the kind of relaxation the song suggests; as romantic as it is in all the senses of the word, there are layers of sheer weirdness in how grim Martinez's heavy-metal vocal tone sounds. The band shows moments reminiscent of Sparklehorse at Mark Linkous' craziest, and of The Rachels at the instrumentalists' most subdued. "Violets" is recorded with the vocals more forward in the mix, giving On Cutting Ti-Gers in Half and Understanding Narravation a subtle dynamic.

And no... I don't know what's with the title, either. I would, however, be interested in the dicey ins and outs of cutting a tiger in half, if only it weren't 1) cruel and 2) illegal.  Although, were I in a jam I'd seriously consider it.

The members of this trio pound out some of the most lush, harmonious instrumentation, and it's almost too hard to break down and listen to one instrument at any time, which means I'm obsessed with this band. OBSESSED I TELL YOU. They create an incredible chamber music bulge - they jump from little picking guitars to huge swells of sounds. There are faint, sliding instruments that sound organic for one second and electronic the next. The instrumentation waxes and wanes so fast and with such complexity it's difficult to absorb it all. They command their songs and let them throb and develop, all while maintaining focused and clever pop melodies. 

There are points when Martinez's phrasing works a little too much as instrumentation and gets a bit lost, but On Cutting Ti-Gers in Half and Understanding Narravation is still one of the most well-produced, remarkable albums I've heard recently. But you don't have to take my word for it...

Mp3: Candy Bars- Landscape
Mp3: Candy Bars- Violets
Mp3: Candy Bars- Enough to Choke a Cold Air

Happy Saturday, America. It's beautiful out in Athens, and yet I'm inside on the computer uploading music like mad.

I do it for you, my darlings, because I care.

I've come to bring you: another interview from the 13 Dangerous Questions I sent out.  I talked to Owen Ashworth, the clever  do-it-all-yourself front man from the band Casiotone For The Painfully Alone.  The name says it all, but here is some music for your longing ears.

Mp3: Casiotone for the Painfully Alone- New Year's Kiss


And now! The interview:

Who is your band and where did you come from?  

Casiotone for the Painfully Alone.  I come from San Francisco but I live in Chicago.

If a thousand house cats attacked you at once, do you think you could defend yourself from them?  

 Fuck yes.  I am practically Dr Doolittle with the conflict management.

What kind of soap do you use?  

I tried to make some cardamom oatmeal soap but I did it wrong and it turned out to be highly dangerous to touch.  Now I use lavender stuff.

What makes you self-conscious?  

Wild-ass teenagers on public transportation.

Where are you?

 I am in Berlin, in the office of a record store.  I just bought a Konono No. 1 CD and one of those instant tranquility transistor radio looking things.  Last night I played in Hamburg with Yound People and it was wikkid.

What kinds of impressive music geek equipment do you use?  

 I flew to Europe with two mixers, three delay units, a sampler, and a mess of keyboards.  The most impressive music geek equipment I own is my brain.

What's a question that you wished you'd get asked more in interviews?  

"'Roberta C.' is the saddest song I've ever heard.  I cry and cry every time I listen to it.  Is it a true story?  Is it about suicide?  Is that an Otis Redding or a Toots & The Maytals quote at the end?  Is the name of the song some sort of Roberto Clemente reference?"

Answer it then.  

 "None of your business"

Why do you play music? 

Because I have great ideas all day long.  And because film is too expensive.

I'm not trying to burn your brains out by propagating crap news, but yes I am. 


The question that everyone is asking is this:  "DID ASHLEY SIMPSON GET A NOSE JOB?"

Her reply was “Maybe. Who knows!” Yes totally! Who knows if you endured horribly painful surgery where they broke your nose in 46 different places and your face swelled up like the Michelin Man for two weeks? Hard to say!  I can't remember! Hey, didn't I used to look like a falcon?




Nose job? Who cares? DOES NO ONE NOTICE THAT ASHLEY SIMPON APPARENTLY USED TO BE A SPANISH WOMAN?

In other plastic surgery news...

 

To Wong Foo, thanks for everything...

Last week I decided to send a slew of questions to a slew of bands to see what kind of Magnum PI style insights I could drag out of people.

I sent 13 Dangerous Questions out to each band.  Brad Postlethwaite
from Snowglobe responded with the same kind of endearing candor that his driving, darling pop songs offer.  But first: some music.


Mp3: Snowglobe- At Times A Nightmare


9. What's a question that you wished you'd get asked more in interviews?

I haven't done too many interviews, and I think I always come across as sounding pompous when I try to be serious. I like reading about people's philosophies on things. Maybe a question about that. “What's important to you?” or something like that.

9 ½. Answer it then.

Terrible. Maybe the philosophy thing wasn't such a good idea. now I'm definitely going to sound pompous. Bear with me while I take my self too seriously and blabber for a bit.
Music is important to me, but not most of the stuff that goes along with it. The connection between artist and audience is a special thing, and it's incredible to create something (a record) and watch how people respond to it. The marketing industry is kind of weird, though. It's like this invisible thing that everyone pretends doesn't exist. People wonder why so much crap makes it into the mainstream...it's because (in the mainstream and popular indie world) marketing and image is more important than the music. And everyone's doing it, so it's the standard. You have to approach it from a marketing minded perspective, or you lose to the other 10,000 artists who are keeping up with the latest trends better than you are. Artists spend years paying for radio/publicity, touring, mailing out glossy photos, rubbing shoulders, and schmoozing with important people, all in order to portray a larger than life image of themselves, which they hope catches on. And if/when it does, the artist(s) act like it all just happened of its own accord because they're that good. Ridiculous. Of course it all seem so magical, if you ignore the marketing work that goes behind it.  I guess that's the point though. I don't know, I just like the music and would rather not think about all of the other crap. The best records seem to happen when you're not thinking about what style you are, or what you need to look/sound like, etc. Whew! sorry about that.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 Their album "Oxytocin" will be released on July 18th. 

It gets dicey when one of the most sincere, interesting people you've ever met happens to be a musician and you happen to write about music. 

Generally I avoid writing about people I'm friends with like the black bloody lung- hacking plague, but alas, I'm doing it now on behalf of the lovely J Dimenna.
It's not because he's an adorable creature with a group of hilarious bandmates, but because his album doesn't need excusing, nor can my little words sum up how beautiful his songs are. 

In any case, they're on tour right now, and you'd be wise to find him in your town.  His album Awkward Buildings was recently released, and his songs are quiet landscapes that have been crafted by someone most comfortable making music. 

Mp3: J Dimenna- To Meet You

And here is a tour schedule:

 

May 10 2006 8:00P	Lenny's Bar	Atlanta, GA
May 11 2006 8:00P	Georgia Theater	Athens, GA
May 18 2006 8:00P	Willamantic Street Festival	Willamantic, CT
May 19 2006 8:00P	The Nest	Bridgeport, CT
May 25 2006 8:00P	SUB ROSA - Cousin Larry's	Danbury, CT
May 31 2006 9:30P	Jezebel Songwriter Showcase - Laila Lounge	Brooklyn, NY
Jul 9 2006 9:30P	Westville Pub	Asheville, NC
Aug 12 2006 2:00P	BRIDGEPORT ABOVE GROUND	BRIDGEPORT, CT

Think About Life are promoted to “have been causing panic on dance floors and concert halls alike,” which when I first read, made me want to vomit on the dance floor because of the grandiosity of that statement: I thought panic was reserved for extreme emotional stress, like when someone kidnaps your baby or kicks over a scale model of the U.S.S. Nashville that you‘ve been working on since 1987.  Once listening to the record and feeling on the verge of an anxiety attack while doing so, I understand how, if I were in a dimly lit room in the middle of the night with a bunch of crazey-eyed youths, I might feel legitimate panic because of their experimental dance album.

But not necessarily in a bad way.

 Think About Life brings out the FUN side of your stress related mental disorders and handicaps by giving you  quick, choppy rhythms and shaken up, forceful vocals.
Their debut self titled album opens with “Paul Cries,” which is a barely-listenable semi melodic throb of a looped keyboard that’s under the heavy influence of distortion.  The drums machines come in and then the shouting and similarly distorted shout singing of Martin Cesar (the man behind Dishwasher and formerly Donkey Heart).   “Bastian and the Boar” continues with a slam of danceable noise that contains so many rhythmic elements that it fails to keep up with it’s own time.   They slow their tempo and moan and scream to “Money,” but their inclinations to more faster faster take over-- it becomes more melodic (and kind of beautiful), if a little tedious. 


Think About Life is like watching a kindergartener go for broke while trying to dance. They didn’t make this album to entertain anyone but themselves, but there is something magical and unpretentious abut the kind of insane energy they collectively dump onto these tracks. They play and layer without reservation, and, while it’s almost tough to manage, it’s worth trying grasp, and it’s defiantly worth dancing to.   Their work seems like an inside joke, but it might be one you want to get in on.

Also-- their album art is really great. It has kind of a Paperrad feel.

I get obsessed with little moments.

Sometimes they can be musical pieces from any point in history, which might explain why last year at this time I was BLASTING "Mr. Blue Sky" by ELO out of every rolled down car door window I drove in.

Today I am obsessed "The Cat's Pajamas."  The song is written by former Belle & Sebastian lady Isobel Campbell in 2003, but it gets me.  There's something menacing about how adorable the song is. It's the musical equivalent of being drugged up in a mental hospital, but with really pretty nurses...

 Isobel Campbell- The Cat's Pajamas.

I love stumbeling upon bands that I have zero frame of reference for, it makes me feel like I have found some kind of secret key that lets me into a world I know nothing about. Like a musical Narnia, only without the magical Jesus Lion.

Oh damn. How long has this been going on? Clearly I am out of the loop. Now get back in the closet before my neighbors see you.

I tend to stumble on this sort of feeling when I'm perusing around Mp3 blogs doing "research," or horsing around on THIS site or myspace or pandora or blah blah blah, but Conner showed up in my in box.

Conner is a four piece from Laurence, KS. They're kind of Television-y (yes, I know, how dare I say something that's both generic and flippant about the sacred, marvelous Television), but maybe you'll get my point when you hear them. Obviously there is something completely "modern band" (aka: they liked the Strokes) about them, but they have a catchiness that tends to evade some of the better hair cutted marvels trying for a similar effect.

Mp3: Conner- Cold Feelings

There is a piece of that melody that reminds me of Dexy's Midnight Runners in my head.

Little known fact: When Sufjan Stevens released his album Illinois, he wrote 50 songs for it.  The album was originally conceived as a double disk set, but was eventually whittled down, and never culminated into the marathon-conceptual album about Illinois that it was always meant to be.

But oh, that's all about to change.

When I first heard his record Michigan, I wasn’t sure if I cared about the hype of Sufjan Stevens. There seemed to be too many instruments, it felt unfocused, overworked. Beautiful and interesting, but all over the place. Illinois changed my mind: it’s one of those records that has a perfect mix of wild instincts and delicate intentions. He got it right, and maybe it’s because he plucked from another twenty something songs that the album came together so perfectly.

Now that the world is in capital Love with his work, Stevens is releasing the rest of the songs. They’re 21 unused tracks of neglected material, all of which were in different states of form when he left them. They’re re-worked, and many of them are counter parts to songs on Illinois.

The Avalanche will be released June 11 of this year.  And now for your listening pleasure, here is a track... Be prepared to be dazzled by the sound.

Mp3: Sufjuan Stevens: Dear Mr. Supercompupter

Be Your Own PET has gotten so much adoring press this year it makes you wonder if the Illuminati is behind them.  Their six song self-titled debut made me ask exactly what motivated all this hype, until I remembered that the songs were written by 16, 17 and 18 year olds, and very very cute ones.  The album doesn’t slay with any kind of identifiable imagination (in fact, the songs are blatantly predictable), but their nervy, unadulterated energy is what make them appealing. They’re what the kids are always dying for:  loud, vicious, erratic, raw punk rock that you can spaz around to.  Oh yes-- they’re each growled over by saucy little Jamina Pearl.  Be Your Own PET proves that every generation needs something to get violent to.  The album opens with their single “Damn Damn Leash,” which sounds like typical garage rock and  reeks of Bikini Kill-- it will go on every secret lesbian high school girl‘s mix tapes if it already hasn‘t. Pearl chants with form on “Safety Pin” over fistey, fuzzy four-four riffs in a pattern that is kind of irritatingly grating, but very rock and roll.  They become a little more pop and a little more instrumentally focused on  “Take a Walk” where Pearl shows off what a magnetic and sassy voice she has.  Their album won’t keep any production secrets from you,  and there is nothing subtle or particularly smart about how they write songs, but it’s worth listening to if you want some nice, loud ADD punk to flail around to. And you do.

They're playing Coachella in a couple of days, and I'm willing to bet that they're live shows are unbelieveably energetic and totally rock and roll.  Check it out like books.

Phoenix is a French pop outfit that formed in 1999. I know what you’re thinking: how can I ever trust the French to produce good music again after they gave us Geordie, the French rapping baby?  Well it’s time to give them a second chance.  Phoenix became popular in the French underground scene with their loungey,  swaggering debut  United six years ago.  Since then, they released Alphabetical and are scheduled for a third album, It's Never Been Like That this month.  Both Sofia and Roman Coppola use the band’s songs in their films, which has helped them gain notoriety in the US. If you’ve seen Lost In Translation, Scarlett Johansson (hot) and her crew of stylish Japanese friends were dancing to the Phoenix song “To Young” right before Bill Murry sang “More than This” in the most adorable and romantic way you ever thought possible.

Yeah yeah. I want to go to Japan too.  

The funny thing about Phoenix is that upon first listen you notice them for their mellow, syncopated and oddly produced pop songs, but eventually you’ll get listening to their translated English lyrics, which are maybe the best part. There is always something a little removed or bizarre about the way the French language, which has been meticulously maintained for hundreds of years, simply does not sound casual like English tends to. Even after a translation, there’s something stiff and methodical about their lyrics, which are sang with nonchalance.

 Take the song “Funky Squaredance:”

Under the burden of your heart of stone
You shrug your shoulders as I decompose
Please keep a eye on those red haired boys
Someday they'll play drum with my shinbones
Now your chewing-gum on my coffin
Take me where I long to be...

First of all, it’s called "Funky Squaredance," but it still tends to wax pretty poetical about love and waiting for death.  I’m not sure how any of this has anything to do with a funky squaredance, except that they repeat the phrase in a robotic voice.  Good enough, then. I’m not going to write a thesis on Phoenixes endearing metaphors, but you can if you’d like. They’ll be playing Coachella on the 30th. 

I had an incredibly amazing time at the festival two years ago-- it was the first festival I went to, and still nothing has lived up to the experience as far as festivals (or, hell, any show) goes. The audience was polite (!), and supportive; the accomidations were dazzeling, and the music changed my world.

I found my notes from 2004, and thought they'd be an interesting insight as to how to (or how not to) prepare. I got really lucky in that I didn't make a single, solitary plan and managed to find myself in a safe situation, but it was stupid blind luck of the universe, SO DON'T BE A MORON. I don't want any of you following my bad example and getting kidnapped by a band of miscreants or psychos.   

Well then, without further adieu...

Friday, April 30, 6:30 a.m.
For some reason I stayed at a bar called The Manhattan until 3 a.m. the night before setting out to L.A. for Coachella. Fortified myself with a grilled cheese, packed and hit the road until 5 a.m. I still don't know several important things: 1) how I am getting from L.A. to Coachella;
2) who is picking me up from the airport; or 3) where I'll sleep for the next three nights.
I am stupid tired and probably can't do math at this point.
If I continue to think about my dire situation, I will have a heart attack. Instead, I will play a game called "Who on this flight is a terrorist?" My guess is the chubby woman in the floral dress. Yes. She is definitely out for blood.

8:00 a.m., Denver time
Effing eff. This pen just broke all over my hand. I slept an awkward hour and a half, but I feel like a million dollars. I have suckered my amazing friend Anti to let me stay at his place in LA and he’ll take me to Coachella in the morning. In other news: the amount of time and energy put into making cell phone rings sound like they are from the future is alarming. It seems we could have invented something awesome, like hover boards, with all the masterminds at work getting "Hey Ya!" to play from a tiny speaker. Or maybe they could invent a spaceship that doesn't totally suck and kill everyone who tries to take an innocent trip to the moon.

Saturday, May 1, 12:26 p.m., California time
We're in traffic on 1-90, heading into the desert. It's 106 degrees out.

4:19 p.m.
It's Hell-hot, but I'm here at Coachella. I'm between the Hieroglyphics stage and the Desert Sessions stage. I just got here and it's 25 degrees cooler in the shade. My people were not made for this weather. I haven't been in the sun since the '80s. For a reason.

4:30 p.m.
Danish disco-pop act Junior Senior is playing in a tent, and I've lost 6–8 lbs in water weight waiting for them. Senior is awesome and wild and rowdy. Watching them go mental in the middle of the day totally sober is quite amazing. It feels like a summer night disco in here. Okay. Enough about the weather.

5-ish p.m.
Screw this weather. I am now at the Beck tent, which is a mecca of cute hair cuts and kitschy sun glasses. I hear crap quality electronic music, but I can't really see over this sea of people. My opinion of his set? All over the map. He's mini and adorable and his voice sounds good, but his guitar is totally out of tune. He's trying to play his Game Boy through his amp but telling us "it's not working good." I think this is the sort of set that happens when rock stars forget that they need to be entertain their audience when they play a show. I wish he were not just a hot rocker taking a sloppy stab at such meticulously recorded songs.

5:50 p.m.
I've never heard the Black Keys before today, but I'm impressed. The stage presence is dynamite, they're super tight, and they're tearing it up, all garage-blues style. The Pixies play in 30 minutes. I must take a booze break.

8:45 p.m.
Holy smokes:  I just saw The Pixies play. They opened with "Bone Machine" and played 21 songs. They went right into "U-Mass" and ended up tearing through "Wave of Mutilation," "Tame," "Debaser," "Hey," "Gigantic," "Where is My Mind" and "Into the White." It was a Doolittle-heavy set. Some guy next to me cried he was so happy to see them. It was amazing. I'm not saying he's not a chump, but I can see how it might have rocked you so much you cried. I'm floored. I can't imagine it getting any better than this.

9-ish p.m.
The Rapture is unadulterated dance rock on the stage right out side of the beer tent. I would be over there screaming my brains out, but I just saw the Pixies play, and I'm still losing my cool over it. Ah ha. Radiohead is starting. I think my head is going to explode.
In other news, I have yet to figure out where I am sleeping tonight. I guess technically I have three hours to work it out.

11 p.m.
Ok. One hour. I just saw my first Radiohead show. It was giant, booming, glittering, and beautiful. I think every single person in the entire place was standing around listening to the throb of their songs. I think every single person there loved it as much as I did. We were packed in, hanging on, listening to such gorgeous noises, and I don't think any of us are quite able to process the entire day yet. I would have been lucky to see any one of these acts on it's own. Thom Yorke dedicated the set to The Pixies and R.E.M. "That's all I listened to in college" he said. Nice one.
I still don't know where I'm sleeping.

Sunday, May 2, 12:20 a.m.
Apparently, I am at the Spin afterparty. Somehow, I got a VIP bracelet. Somehow I got a VIP bracelet, even though I‘m not really so much as a “VIP“ as I am a “random girl wondering around alone.” Somehow I met a bunch of kids who are all "stylists" or "assistants" or something else very Los Angeles and they have taken me with them.
One of the B-52s is behind me.
Everyone is dancing. There are gazebos and rose bushes and fancy looking shoes everywhere. There is an open bar. Tomorrow, god willing, will hurt. Apparently, these kids are letting me stay with them at their resort, but first we are going to another party. I have no idea how I managed this.

11 a.m.
I am in pain. I went to some giant house where a bunch of tanorexics were doing drugs off of a black marble table, just  like in the movies. I opted for the hot tub in my underwear instead. I talked too much to people who didn't really know or care about music, but knew a lot about hair care products. These are the movers, the shakers.
I have just been informed by the L.A. kids that we are going to the pool to drink bloody marys. Brilliant. I will then gorge myself on brunch.

5ish, I think
The L.A. kids took forever to get ready, but I just got hooked up with another VIP pass, so I'm happy. I'm watching Bright Eyes play trembling rockabilly songs. Bright Eyes is drunk. I want to smack Conor Oberst's whiney face, and the face of every single person who isn't at Air, one stage over... where I am promptly going.

5:30 p.m.
I am laying on a blanket, and Air is playing. Their set is pretty much all from Talkie Walkie, which is one of my favorite albums in the world. I am surprised at how remarkably they're pulling off all the effects that the album has. It's cosmic pop at its finest. The sun is setting and all of the hotness and tension and action of the day is melting away with the sounds. The singer is telling the audience is broken English how "good" we are for being here. He sounds like Latka from "Taxi" and sings like a romantic robot. I am in love with this.

Around 7 p.m., maybe
I have been dragged into the Crystal Method tent by the L.A. kids. It's visually insane in here. It's like a Jackson Pollock painting in motion and it's easily 100 degrees. I'm not sure what it is about house music that makes everyone dance like a dick, but it does. I have to get out of here.

8 p.m.
I aborted Crystal Method part way to catch the Flaming Lips. I've seen them play before a handful of times, and they put on a show that was better than a suburban Christmas.  Not this time, suckers. The Lips' show was the musical equivalent to a mediocre hand job. I am entirely disappointed, even though I still like hearing their songs. Wayne Coyne lectured the crowd about politics and went into all these self indulgent rants about how everybody should sing along in harmony and unity. Yeah yeah okay. Maybe I would have been inclined to feel these glorious hippie sentiments if he had played more than four songs during his set.
I'm only being mean because I love the Flaming Lips, and I love going to their shows. He did, however, crowd surf in a giant plastic hamster ball. That was a pretty radical move.

Way late
The Cure played and I teared up like a baby because it was so unbelievably good. And because I was drunk. And because, well, I too am a chump. Robert Smith's voice is one of the most flooring noises I've ever heard. Their albums can't capture it. Not even close, America. The strange thing is, he sounds like he did 15 years ago. His voice hasn't deteriorated at all, and it just seems like they've been getting better and better. He was a chubby, goth, hit machine. They played "Fascination Street," "Love Song," "Just Like Heaven," "Spiderman," etc. The entire show was this magical swell of noise. This was the best show I've ever seen. The Cure is a force: it doesn't even seem humanly possible to embody those songs and to relate them in such a perfect way. Every single song was better live. Every single song was gorgeous. I have no idea how the promoters are going to top this next year. Maybe if they resurrect and reunite the Beatles, or if God himself fronts a band, or both at the same time.
If not, give Echo and the Bunnymen a whirl. I'd go.

Super late
I am hanging out with some folks from Athens promotion company Team Clermont, who I ran into at the bar. I am glad I came with no plans and no luggage. The hot tub at this hotel would make Tony Montana jealous. The whole weekend has been pretty perfect. On one hand I want to be frustrated that I didn't get to see every single band who played, but on the other hand, I have no right to be frustrated with anything. Instead, I am overwhelmed with these ridiculously emotional sentiments about how music moves me like nothing else does. It's emotion in a handy, beautiful package. If any single person on this planet can make me love life as much or make me feel as spectacular as this weekend did - even in 106-degree weather - I will run away with them.
Don't bother to make that pun. I just did.

be your own Pet like: caffeine, sugar, candy, spicy food, vinyl records, XTC, Television, T Rex, tar pits, sea creatures - octopi, giant squid, sea horses, submarines, bicycles, climbing trees, skateboarding, asthma inhalers, fungi, making stuff up, making kids dance, Waffle House...


I agree with them about sea horses. be your own Pet happened in Nashville, TN, home of the most technical musicians this side of the Mississippi in 2002, and they can't buy beer. They’re not to be compartmentalized with the well intentioned schoolboy, myspace bands who have cute haircuts.

The growling, rock doxy Jamina Pearl Abegg and her associates are often compared to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs for their garage rock, growly rock songs and aggressive stage presence.  I think that they deserve to also be compared to seminal she-rock bands (god, I just said “she-rock”) like maybe Bikini Kill and, somewhere, Babes In Toyland in the flailing, forceful stage presence department.

Pearl is the daughter of rock photographer /  musician / videographor Jimmy Abegg (which makes him sound like an extremely interesting fellow before you realize he’s the guy in charge of the lame ass Sixpence None The Richer video. Nevertheless).  The band has become as big as their sound with their erratic rock and loose, angular punk rock drive.  Plus, they're darling.

Senoras y Senores,

Nosotros tenemos mas influencia con sus hijos que tu tienes. Pero los queremos.

And we will have them.

There has just been a quiet, unverified buzz on a couple of blogs that Perry Farrell will play with Hybrid at Coachella this year.  Still, I thought I'd propogate this rumor to let any Jane's Addiction or Satellite Party fans (oh, and the Porno For Pyros fans still left. Or the three Psi Com fans) silently freak out. Go ahead. You love Perry Farrell.

I'm not sure if "play" necessarily means anything beyond jumping around in the DJ booth and shouting and/ or throwing things, but that is neither here nor there.  Maybe he'll fall in love with you in the drunken California moonlight and take you to a land of  suede tube tops, bizzare fetishes, glittering leisure suits, and brand new boots.

At least that's what I'm hoping for.

The words “Christian Joy” tend to conjure up thoughts of a middle age southern woman describing the experience of being saved by grace. 

That was until Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs came along and changed that by showing us her underwear in fantastically stylish mini dresses. 

Christian Joy isn’t just something you feel while making out at Bible camp--  it’s also the name of Karen O’s designer.

I’m not sure if she makes her pajamas or her scuba gear, or if Karen O even scuba dives, but that isn’t really my point anyway.  Most of the geometric, painted on, loudly colored clothing that Karen O runs around in is designed by one woman.

Born Christiane Hultquist, the designer took on her pseudonym to produce clothing under the label Christian Joy.  She had no real credentials, but made one of a kind pieces that were hand painted and hand sown with phrases like “FU I’m Not Your Waitress.”

Classy.

She upped the anti by redesigning old prom dresses with glitter and blood. 

And rage.

She’s recently put out her new line, so if you have a few hundred dollars to blow, maybe you can get into one of her mouthy little numbers.

Speaking of which, did you know Karen moved to LA recently? According to a recent Pitchfork interview she moved west young woman.

Pitchfork: I did notice there seems to be a more purposeful quality to the music.

O: Yeah. I mean, I think more focused, too. Because a lot has happened since the last album was written, and actually a lot has happened in the last year of my life. I guess not being or doing anything really with the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. A lot of changes occurred to me as an artist as a person.

Pitchfork: What sorts of changes?

O: One of the most major was moving away from my friends and family, from the East Coast to the West Coast. Kinda plucking myself out of this context that I'd related to all my life and plopping myself into this other context that was much more difficult to relate to. And not only that, but being really isolated out here, you know? And having to really kinda slow down. A me-versus-me situation arose. Being too distracted by all the things and people and family and stuff that was usually surrounding me, and also all the distractions of New York City, just led to a quieter, slower, much more lonely place.

Pitchfork: Where are you?

O: Los Angeles. The desert, man.

Pitchfork: You seemed, especially in the beginning when you were building a lot of buzz, a very local band. And I know you were touring a lot, touring internationally, and I wonder if getting out of that geographically and culturally locked place opened up songwriting, or how the band performs or relates to each other.

O: Without a doubt, yeah. One of the biggest catalysts for change in us as a band was going from being a really local fuck-all kinda band, you know, to all the hype and attention and everyone was taking us seriously. That was like the biggest catalyst for us having an identity crisis back in the day, being a band that didn't take itself too seriously to having people all over the world take us seriously.

I was standing in line behind a man with a furry beard and an afro like a halo in Austin, Texas. We were going to Houston after a music conference.

“Who is that man,” I asked myself, and “why does he look like he’d be in a commercial for headsets?”

Well, because he is a commercial for headsets.  He makes the kind of music that can not be appreciated in the blown out speakers of your brother’s  1991 Ford Escort.  It takes headsets to hear all the beautiful subtleties.

After playing around on the internet, I discovered that the very man I stood inline behind was the guitarist Kyp Malone from TV on the Radio. They’re comprised of three permanent members- Tunde Adebimpe (vocals/loops), Kyp Malone (vocals/guitars/loops) and David Andrew Sitek (music/guitars/keys/loops-- he has also produced songs for The Liars and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs).  Sitek started the band in NY in 2000 when Adebimpe moved in next door. They exchanged four track recordings and became an improvisational two piece.  They later met Malone, and became TV on the radio: a name which comes from British DJ Tommy Vance, who signed off "This is T. V. on the radio,"  referring to his initials.

I find that I’m most happy when I’m listening to music that I find it awkward to write about.  TV on the Radio makes it difficult to conjure up comparisons because of how unique a sound they produce.  Their style is difficult to pin down, but when I listen to them I don’t understand how it hasn’t happened before: it’s loopy, atmospheric electro rock and roll with the soulful, effortless harmonies of all three men. It’s unselfconscious, vocally gutsy, organic art-rock. Their voices aren't controlled or over produced, but their music is deliberate and meticulous.  I hate that it sounds so grandiose and dramatic to describe such an earnest band.  Gee wiz. I like them.

I’ll let you listen, then.

Mp3: TV On The Radio- Staring at the Sun
Mp3: TV On The Radio- Mr. Grieves (pixies cover)

Oh yes-- Sitek is also a hell of a photographer and a compelling writer. He took the above picture.

Last year, I witnessed one of the best live performances of a life time: I waited all night in line to see the Go! Team with a bunch of "industry insider" businessmen, and boy howdy, was it worth it.

The Go! Team silenced the  chatty audience by ripping into their set with the force of a jet engine. SEVERAL jet engines, even.

The band hails from Brighton, England; They are a mix of guitars, harmonica, samples, melodica, keys, bass, and two sets of drums manned by two ass-kicking girls both playing at the same time. 

They're a mixed up collection of saturday morning cartoon anthems, violent rhythms, and ripping guitars. After the first song, they were joined by a girl with the alias of Ninja, who stole everyone's hearts, and then demanded that her audience dance with the force of a lioness.

She was so convincing that a guy in a wheel chair was dancing with furor. No one could hold still. Not the stuffy businessmen at the back of the bar, not the drunk girl who could barely stand up, and not me. 

Ninja's voice sounded like Donna Summer at some moments, and a squad of cheerleaders at the next. She played to the crowd with so much sass that the musicians on stage were visibly caught up in her antics. I left  the show feeling like I could destroy a city in the name of The Go! Team.

I would have too, but that requires both being evil, and having an elaborate set of plans. Instead I spent a solid year listening to Thunder, Lighting, Strike! over and over and over.

Marc took this video at SxSW this year: