By Todd Lavoie

Disco is back! Quite the polarizing announcement, I know, so perhaps I should qualify: this isn't some Yvonne Elliman/Studio 54 revival here. Sorry, but no "If I Can't Have You", no anatomy-defying Brothers Gibb falsettos, and definitely no dancefloor-anemia takes on Beethoven's Fifth, mercifully enough. Rather, the '70s flavors I've been picking up on as of late seem to skip right past club night in favor of the long, brisk walk home after closing time.

This new crop of disco-enthusiasts paints relatively few scenes of dancefloor hedonism and sweat-soaked glamorama, instead focusing on what happens when the hip young things are flat out of cab fare and decide to hoof it back home, trying their best to ignore the vague shuffling shadows in the dark and to avert the eyes of passing strangers. Their clothes are a sad shambles of how they looked only hours before, their makeup streaked and smudged. Danger lurks around every corner, and it's palpable in every rudimentary rhythm, every Giorgio Moroder-/John Carpenter-informed minimalist synth ripple.

A spooky, lights-down-low vision of neo-disco burrowed its way under the skin of many when the fittingly titled After Dark compilation (Italians Do It Better) was released earlier this year. Artists such as Mirage, Farah, Glass Candy, and Chromatics unleashed throbbing, haunting, feathered-haired odes that seem to have more in common with Halloween than Thank God It's Friday - sure, you can dance to 'em, but while you're grooving be sure to keep looking over your shoulder.

"Holla at me, Thom," says Oakland producer Amplive, regarding the cease and desist letter he received from Radiohead publishing company Warner/Chappell. The Bay Area DJ had put together a series of digital-only remixes based on In Rainbows in tribute to Radiohead and the recording. Titled Rainydayz Remixes, featuring Too $hort, Del Tha Funkee Homosapien, and others, the recordings had gotten attention from Pitchfork and the New York Times. Rainydayz, for sure.

This just in from Stephen Stills' publicists: "Two-time Rock and Roll Hall of Fame artist and legendary guitarist Stephen Stills was successfully operated on today for prostate cancer in Los Angeles. 'Stephen's procedure went remarkably well and he couldn't be better. He will be home by noon tomorrow and the pain will be minimal,' his wife Kristen Stills said.

"The legendary artist is scheduled to attend the Sundance Film Festival in Utah for the Jan. 25 world premiere of CSNY/Deja Vu. The feature, directed by Bernard Shakey, was filmed during the 2006 "Freedom of Speech" tour by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. It is a moving tribute to the power of music to provoke and provide inspiration.

"Stephen Stills is also scheduled for a North American solo tour this spring in support of his recently released Just Roll Tape album on Rhino Records."

Huddled under your soul blankets? Buffeted about, as Dante wrote of the damned lustful in The Inferno, in hell's crosswise winds like a human kite? Take comfort in the immortal stylings of the one-and-only Ann Peebles, goddess of honkytonk R&B, baby. She's your OG umbrella-ella-ella, ey ey ey.

Too bare 'n funky for ya? 12-odd years later the heavens opened up (Heaven 17, that is, who produced) and gave us Tina Turner's Fairlight-charged version (viewable here in a heat-pumping live version), which, 12-odd years later than that, drenched us in this jeep-beatin' Timbaland-Missy classic:

And then 12-odd years after that (why not?), Hungary's very own Britney, Dorina, rocks it. Czech it out.

Drip, drip, drip it by the dozens, gfs! and PS -- no. I'm not about to go into Chocolate Rain on the boys side. Enoughs!

Alas, word has come on the hot gay wires that fabulously risquee night club chanteuse of the '40s and '50s, Ruth Wallis, has passed from Alzheimer's.

Wallis, progenitress of such incredibly double entendred tunes as "Hopalaong Chastity," "The Dinghy Song" ("Davey had the cutest little dinghy in the Navy"), and, a personal favorite, “A Man, a Mink, and a Million Pink and Purple Pills” -- and who was the inspiration for 2003 Off-Broadway tribute "Boobs! The Musical" -- was 87.

Someone has just expunged all of her online clips (heirs already planning to cash in, perhaps?) but below is a fine Victrola-type dealie spinning "Johnny Had a Yo-Yo." Blush and sing along with us, for Ruth.

Thanks to Matt Sussman of Flavorpill for passing the sad news on.

Yeah, yeah, we've all been bombarded with Italo Disco the past couple years in the clubs... BUT -- what about Italodisco tracks laid down by an actual Italian? And a cute gay fuzzy one at that?

This Tuesday night at the Transfer, fabulous Paduan superstar DJ Giacomo, one half of Italo Disco/cosmic funk/hi-NRG production whizzes Disco Dromo, guests at weekly raveup Chilidog, in association with Honey Soundsystem.

You can listen to one of Disco Dromo's awesome mixes here (Galactic Zombies -- mp3).

I first ran into Giacomo while waiting for a bus in Williamsburg on a rainy Thanksgiving vacation night. Later, in the musty, moldy basement of the Cock, Hunky Beau stuck a finger up a hole in his pants. So you know he's game for anything! (I mean that in the most respectful way possible, Giacomo!)

"Honeydog"
Chilidog + Honey Soundsystem presents:
Disco Dromo
Tuesday January 8
10pm-2am
The Transfer
198 Church (at Market)
415-861-7499
www.honeysoundsystem.com

Blow me down, Sweet Crude Bill and the Lighthouse Nautical Society.

By Todd Lavoie

Another new year, another new year's resolution - but rather than going for the usual tired song-and-dance about eating less or becoming thriftier or getting more organized (yawn), how about something with a bit more spark - and sparkle! - for 2008? Here's a pinky-finger handshake I made with myself that maybe just maybe might work for you too as a new-leaf-turner: this year, I'm going to make a special point to see more shows from Bay Area musicians.

How's that? Talk about easy, painless - hell, it doesn't even require any personal sacrifice (other than a little cash and maybe the gumption to leave the house on a cold January night, an admittedly tough prospect right now as I stare out my window watching daisy chains of trash bins, plastic bags, and dead umbrellas floating downriver as that Biblical rain keeps on pouring outside, sigh).

Plus, you'll be supporting the local arts scene: better to enjoy it now, lest the renter's market goes completely nutso and sends all of the creative and underpaid - not to mention some of the most interesting - minds of the area a-packing! Mercifully, that doomsday scenario hasn't happened, and we here in the Bay can boast of having one of the most fertile musical playgrounds in the entire country, thanks to the wealth of free-thinkers and the venues that support them. Ah, we are blessed, verily and truly. So, while we're ruminating away in gratitude, here are some upcoming wingdings worthy of taking a step-outside:

I knew it! I knew that once that trashy pole of nightlife fakulousness, Misshapes in NYC, closed, all the raunchy club kidz it spawned would either run for corporate cover (you can now hire the famous Misshapes DJs for corporate events -- will they displace Michael Bolton at next year's Oracle convention?) or hit the tragic talkshow circuit. Or hit the tragic talkshow circuit AND start their own "rap" band. Well, Johnny Makeup (aka Scotty Mouthbreather) is hitting that last option hard. Watch and wince, darlings:

PLUS: He -- along with the rest of his "V.I.P. Party Boys" will be featured on the Tyra Banks show this Wednesday discussing "how sex and drugs get tangled with fame." Um, don't you need to be famous first? Good luck to all!

PS: I've just received sad word that the other trashy pole of fakulousness (but in a seriously good way), Hot Dog in LA has closed. I'm hoping Mario Diaz, possibly the hottest promoter in the world, will now be free to lodge himself firmly in my Dumpster. Even if he did go a little too far into go-go boy territory at the end with his club ...

Hi Mario! Call me, k?

I'm just walking in the rain with the one I love on my mind. That's what happens when I fall deep into the sounds of the late Gene Page, whose signature string arrangements are gorgeous throughout Gloria Scott's soul cult classic What Am I Gonna Do.

Cause nobody rocks the jailhouse like a jailbait Fergie.

By Irwin Swirnoff

When the lines of past and future become blurry there's the opportunity for a new world to emerge. The space Eric Copeland has created with his most recent album, Hermaphrodite (Paw Tracks), is one where animal meets machine, melody moves around dissonance, and the constant collision of the past and the future remind you that it’s never just one or the other. It’s always both.

Much like his friend Panda Bear who made one of 2007's best records while taking a break from the Animal Collective, Copeland has created his own sonic achievement while moonlighting from his main gig, Black Dice. There is a cinematic hand at work on Hermaphrodite, which has you in its grasp and offers in return a full, visceral experience.

This LP sounds like it was recording on old analog equipment on its last legs, by someone or something from a different dimension. With hints of gamelan and moments that feel like a secret listen in on a primitive ceremonial tradition, Hermaphrodite feels like a score to a lost film made by Alejandro Jodorowsky and Michelangelo Antonioni. It sounds like the Discovery Channel, shot on old chromatic film stock.

By Todd Lavoie

Fuzz fuzz fuzz! Douse yourselves in some sweet-lovin' reverb this Saturday, Jan, 12 - that's when LA's narco-garage thumpers Darker My Love bring the noise to the 12 Galaxies stage, promising an evening of spark-shooting feedback and deep-echoed harmonies.

If you caught them at the Fillmore this past October, opening for the Jesus and Mary Chain, then you're already well aware of the gothically monikered quintet's proclivities for welding amped-up, chemical-haze clatter to billowy, sun-soaked vocals. If you didn't - well, it's never too late to learn, is it?

I'm a total sucker for the vocals - the slightly medicated, ethereal glows drifting from the harmonies of Tim Presley (guitar) and Rob Barbato (bass) are greatly reminiscent of those hoisted into all that shoegaze-y goodness by Andy Bell and Mark Gardener on Ride's 1990 masterpiece, Nowhere (Sire). Get yourself an earful or two on their myspace profile and see what I mean: a couple of the songs currently featured ("Summer Is Here" and "Helium Heels", both from their self-titled 2006 release on Dangerbird Records) feel like the logical next step for those British luminaries, had Ride decided to continue onward with the pounding, whooshing, swirling psych-rock of Nowhere rather than trying out that their pop chops (nothing wrong with this career move, of course, but oh how I loved the headthrob of early Ride!).

By Benedict Sinclair

As far as Saul Williams albums go, The Inevitable Rise and Liberation of NiggyTardust (available for download here) is a success. As far as Trent Reznor(-produced) albums go, it’s also a success.

This all-around decent pop album includes an endearing U2 cover and on a number of songs linking up with the sounds of TV on the Radio. It has all the attitude of Nine Inch Nails - with Saul’s vocals often eerily resembling Reznor's - and Public Enemy, whose Chuck D is sampled for a loop in “Tr(n)igger” and whose influence can be seen all over Williams’s rapping. The recording is laced with the vocalist's soul and anger, which are cocooned within Reznor’s layered guitars, pianos, synths - and moments of softness and programmed, post-grime beats. For Williams it’s a Ziggy Stardust/The Love Below type of performance, borrowing Andre 3000’s dress-up delivery for the title track, a narcissistic collage playing with the "the one" archetype.

Reznor’s melodies can get a bit, erm, familiar, for an hour-long album. And Williams’s lyrics can only keep up with his performance half the time, falling in that inarticulate, lukewarm space between the rhetoric of liberation and revolution. Much of the lyrical ideas and content seem to hint at more than they can really express: the N word gets casual, ineffective treatment, in perhaps a good way.

By Erik Morse

After a long musical sojourn with former Yellow Magic Orchestra electronics magus Ryuichi Sakamoto on 2007’s Cendre (Touch), an extensive live collaboration with Mike Patton and a nomination for Best World Album by the Ethic Multicultural Media Awards (EMMA), Christian Fennesz returns to the sonorous shores of his past with a new 7-inch entitled "On a Desolate Shore a Shadow Passes By."

Released as a part of Touch’s vinyl-only Sevens series - which includes singles by Phillip Jeck, Cabaret Voltaire’s Chris Watson, and Biosphere - "On a Desolate Shore" finds the Austrian laptop composer working within his métier as the digital scion of Brian Wilson, Kevin Shields, and Jim O’Rourke. Using his patented Mac patches to splay, splice, and caress a Stratocaster, Fennesz produces layer upon layer of compressed guitar feedback and processed glitches that spread out like a beach blanket on the windy sands of the Mediterranean. When a few chords suddenly appear from the whirring microtonal din, the noise musician-turned sculptor conveys with a Proustian flourish something truly magical: the distant memories of aquamarine sunsets and tawny sand dunes seem to emanate from the speakers.

Fennesz’s greatest strength has always been in his keen ability to formulate soundscapes that capture equally the coldest blasts of alien feedback and the most summery mosaic of acoustic guitar strums, chimes, and keyboard drones. Or rather, his compositions are at their most transfixing when they seem to play in music’s littoral zones, where the shallow grounds of textural play might suddenly give way to vast oceanic harmonics. In fact, the cover of the new release - a closeup of a sand path leading to the water’s edge - is once again supplied by photographer Jon Wozencroft and most likely comes from the same rustic-meets-glossy series that provided the cover for 2004’s Venice (Touch). And it does appear after a three-year divagation, Fennesz has returned there for inspiration. While "On a Desolate Shore" might be difficult listening for some, its affecting blend of digital minimalism and seaside dreams reaffirms why Fennesz is the most extraordinary ambient composer since Brian Eno.

Don't miss Nancy Wilson -- see "An Evening with Miss Nancy Wilson" at the Herbst Theatre. It showcases a singer with one of the biggest songbooks in the world, and a way with a word like no other. Miss Wilson can make a phrase slice through the air in at least 1,000 different directions, depending on her wise whims. For proof, go to EMI's new box set of her Capitol recordings and the re-release of the stellar Nancy Wilson Show (on CFP). I recently caught up with her by phone.

Guardian: How are you doing?
Nancy Wilson: Hanging in. How’s the weather?

G: I’m here in the rain.
NW: [Laughs]. Ah, well. I remember when my son used to go to school [in the Bay Area]. He went to Berkeley. One time he called me and said, “Mom, it’s been raining for 40 days straight, I have to get out of here.”

In this week's Super Ego I dump out all the 2007 trash and ring in the new with tribute to one of my fave clubz, Surya Dub. Surya hits its first anniversary on Saturday, Jan 26 at Club Six -- be there y'all! -- and in honor of the gloriously woozy-dub, bhangra-bangin', wacky breaks occasion, I asked resident DJ and cofounder Maneesh the Twister a few choice q's.

Maneesh -- ain't he cute?

What would you categorize most of the music you guys play/host as? It seems to be so much more than dubstep/bhangra ...
Well we call this music “Dread Bass Music” because there is not really a genre that fully encompasses what we do. Obviously there is a heavy bass component which is the foundation and a prominent dub influence, but one of the main goals with Surya is to bring seemingly disparate music styles and communities together, hence our vision to bridge the gap between organic styles such as reggae, bhangra, and global beats and more ragga electronic styles such as dubstep, glitch, breakbeat, & drum’n’bass. And as a result this brings together different communities of people from more commercial reggae/dancehall crowds to more underground club culture and Burning Man folks to some of the global beats crowd.

A Bit of Surya Dub

Any comments on the state of San Francisco club music at the moment?
Well I have to say that it has been more refreshing this year than the last few years which def seemed like a slump for underground music of all styles from club culture to indie rock. There def is a nice bubbling energy of creativity again and I think everyone is feeding off of that. I really have enjoyed some of the Surefire Dubstep events, Grime City, and NonStop Bhangra and if I may be biased, dub mission. Some Bay Area artists pushing boundaries and really making a mark in my opinion are Roommate, Kush Arora, Juju, Process Rebel, & Matty G.

By Joshua Rotter

Few of the MP3 generation can recall a time when music-lovers excitedly listened to entire records. But putting needle to groove was only half of a process that included poring over the often arty jacket itself and the internal sleeve to uncover the album's many intricacies: the song lyrics and the names of the band members, studio musicians, and producers. To many aficionados the packaging was as prized as its contents.

But once vinyl became mostly obsolete in the age of iMacs, so did these once-cherished album covers. Conversely vinyl’s rarity has turned its “frames” into an art form for diehard record fanatics - and nowhere is this more apparent than in the art of so-called sleeve face, where one conceals oneself with the face or body on an album cover in a seamless fashion so that the two merge harmoniously.

In today’s climate of non-contextual music downloading, some feel compelled to buck the trend, attempting to more intimately access the artistic process by riffing Guitar Hero, lip-syncing on YouTube, or even just aesthetically, by getting "into the artist's head" via sleeve facing.

Everybody's talkin' 'bout Health - as well as Dan Deacon, who the LA noise combo plays with tonight, Jan. 17, at Great American Music Hall. It'll be an awesome show. I traded e-mails with the outfit this week, and here's what they graciously coughed up.

SFBG: How did your name come about?

John: We wanted a name like Television, an everyday word. Went down a list with the interweb. Health was left.

SFBG: What makes you play music?

John: Gets me AMPED, man. Unless you're a little kid, music is the only way you get someone to rage with you.

Jake: Is that a big question or a small question?

SFBG: What sort of "Health"-y things do you do?

John: Kombucha

Jake: Watch out for excess sodium.

By Todd Lavoie

All right, I’m giving some heads up time here so you can plan your weekend accordingly: Dolly Parton turns 62 this Saturday, Jan. 19. Oh, the possibilities for celebration are endless, aren’t they? Maybe a spin of her 1971 classic Coat of Many Colors (RCA), or how about slappin’ 9 to 5 (oh, my sweet baby Jesus, so that flick is really from 1980?! Now I feel old) into the ole DVD player, or if you’re feeling particularly ambitious, you could always fry up some catfish and hush puppies (two of the Dixie diva’s favorite dishes, which must always be paired together: “One without the other is like pickin’ without grinnin’,” she once famously declared, and who am I to disagree?) Or, how about this: you could Dolly yourself up and swing on over to El Rio this Saturday night for their Tennessee Mountain Birthday Bash! Yep, a night of Dolly music, movies, and homemade pie! Ah, pie - who doesn’t love pie? And did I mention the Dolly-look-alike contest? I smell a photo op!

Whatever your plans may be, methinks some serious Happy Haps are in order for Ms. Parton. Sure, we’ve all probably succumbed to Dolly the caricature at one point or another, but the fact remains this: she’s one of the sweetest-voiced, savviest, and most successful artists of our lifetime: 25 number-one singles at last count, and 41 top 10 country albums so far - no one else comes close, even. She has penned some of the most touching, soul-baring, achingly tender melodies of the past five decades. But wait, there’s more: a star in the Hollywood Walk of Fame, inductions into the Country Music Hall of Fame and the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame, the distinction of being honored as a Living Legend by the US Library of Congress, as well as being rewarded the National Medal of Arts (the highest honor given by the US government for cultural excellence.)

Oh, and let’s not forget: she wrote “Jolene." Covered by everyone from Olivia Newton-John to the Sisters of Mercy to the White Stripes to Susanna and the Magical Orchestra, it’s an absolute classic in the whole infidelity-song genre, an area with plenty of competition, particularly in country music. Here, in a more recent performance, she gives a shout-out to her drag-queen fans, then kicks up a mighty row with a wicked bluegrass version of the song.

My furry fourlegged friend is a 17-year-old former dog clothing model and lives in a loft in NYC (the bitch made it as a model in Manhattan and left me behind! America's Top Meanie!) Back when she was young, we'd huddle together, homeless, in shells of buildings in Detroit and Pontiac, MI. She never got the royal treatment until she was discovered by a talent scout who took one look at me and sniffed -- and I'm not sure how she'd respond to this:

Oh yes, it's real. And it gets better. This CD was "created by Skip Haynes and Dana Walden of the L.A. based Laurel Canyon Animal Company (the only record label that creates music about, for and with animals), who utilized the talents and expertise of intuitive animal communicator Dr. Kim Ogden to translate for them," according to the press release.

"Canine focus groups selected from over 250 dogs nationwide were assembled and questioned by Dr. Ogden as to their preferences in music and content. The dogs' responses were then used as guides for the music and lyrics resulting in a CD of songs that dogs love. "

The CD, apparently, has already yielded a hit, "Squeaky Deaky" -- which is accompanied by possibly one of the best videos EVER.

People on YouTube have already posted vids of their dogs reacting to the music. Straight up viral woofiness?

The Blow's Khaela Maricich is a charmer - and lord, the girl knows how to multitask, moving into her new Portland, Ore., studio while fielding questions all the while. For the first part of the talk, go here. And she performs tonight and tomorrow, Jan. 22 and 23, at Great American Music Hall, so look out!

SFBG: So Jona [Bechtolt of Yacht] won't be performing with you at Great American Music Hall?

Khaela Maricich: He hasn’t been performing with me for a year and haf. He's been doing own thing with Yacht.

SFBG: How would you describe your current act then?

KM: Well, I come at performing from a lot of different angles. I never really thought of myself as a musician. I never thought of myself as a performer either and I always thought I'd be a visual artist. As a kid I remember there being video cameras from a TV station and me being under the table, not interested at all in being the center of attention. I never had a sense of being, "I want to be a musician," and so I never think it's going to be a great music show! I look at different angles of entertaining myself and different ways of using the stage to make a show.

I think it’s a lot like stand-up and performance and karaoke. It's electronic music - there's no laptop onstage. It's just me and a microphone.

What to do when the gloom descends and the sky thunders? Double your pleasuuuur with art-music selections that didn't make it into print last week and the worthy live shows that slipped betwixt the cracks this time around.

Ingrid Michaelson
The new Lisa Loeb or... the latest waif in a Nellie McKay cute suit? Something to ponder when listening to the MySpace star best known for her Grey's Anatomy and Old Navy commercial tunes. This is so sold out I think you'll have to contact your fave Hannah Montana/soccer mom scalper for assistance. With Greg Laswell. Wed/23, 7:30 p.m., $15. Slim's, 333 11th St., SF. (415) 522-0333.

Amoebic art: Zak Wilson's acrylic My Roomate Bob Ate My Last Piece of Chicken, So I Had to Shoot Him.

"Amoeba Music's Second Annual Art Show"
Wonder what those talents scowling in the aisles do on their off hours. More than 30 toil in the trenches of art-making, we hear. The second annual event includes more than 100 pieces by staffers at the SF, Berkeley, and LA stores. Get an eyeful at the reception Fri/25, 7 p.m.-2 a.m., when organizers raffle off prizes as a fund-raiser for Creativity Explored. Show runs through Sat/26. Daily 8 p.m.–2 a.m. Space Gallery, 1141 Polk, SF. (415) 377-3325.

"Enter the Center"
Call 'em Ribbons. Call 'em Ship. Just don't call 'em late to this long-awaited exhibit. The dynamic Bay Area duo whoop it up at the opening reception honoring their new book, Enter the Center, on Sat/26, 6-10 p.m. - stay for the screening of the pair's new video album, the treeVD. And look for more special soirees at Ribbons' month-long quasi-arts center, ala Feb. 2's get-down with White Rainbow, Lucky Dragons and a classical Indian ensemble, and Feb. 9's fete with Brendan Fowler of BARR, Pocahaunted, and ARP. Eleanor Harwood Gallery, 1295 Alabama, SF. (415) 867-7770.

Gotta love those Liars, the most interesting band to come out of the turn-of-the-century NY rock scene that begat the Strokes and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Not only do they continue to turn out stellar LPs like 2006's Drum's Not Dead (Mute), they are freakin' amazingly powerful live. Magnetic frontman Angus Andrew fielded a few e-mailed questions earlier this week - you can peer at him yourself when the band headlines at Slim's, Friday, Jan. 25.

SFBG: So what's new with Liars?

Angus Andrew: We've just finished a brief but much-needed break from touring. Being let back in the world after so long on the road can be shocking and exhilarating. What is Zoey 101? Who is Hannah Montana? What are they eating in Boston? I guess you could say we've been immersing ourselves in culture, but more specifically, it has enveloped us.

SFBG: The last time I talked to you, Angus, you were about to move to Berlin, i believe. What's happened in the interim?

AA: Yes, I moved to Berlin, and we recorded our last two albums there. It's a great city that's energized in some ways by its dark history and the need to prove itself otherwise. In Berlin, quite apart from Germany, there is no economy, but rather an overcompensation of humanity.

Spud attack: Devo at the Warfield on Jan. 15. All photos by Peter Conheim.

By Peter Conheim

Devo valiantly tried to protect us from the ninnies and twits for a roughly a decade beginning in 1975. The buzz about this ferocious live beast from Akron, Ohio - the seeds of their rage sown at Kent State during the time of the National Guard shootings - eventually brought the band into the corporate maw of Warner Bros., through which they become superstars - for a while. A label fallout and the critical departure of drummer Alan Myers led to a hiatus, and then a reemergence on the smaller Enigma label with a new percussionist and pair of near-horrendous studio albums in the late 1980s.

Yet Devo never quite went away. The past decades have seen the group - which can only be loosely defined as a band, considering they no longer create new material - rearing its head only for corporately sponsored mini-tours or one-offs of an equally well-funded nature (patrons have included Vans sneakers, Acura, ZDNet, et al). Nonetheless, the majority of their performances in the past five years have been full-throttle affairs with the combo in fine form, tossing out hits and misses with nary a sampler in sight, the Brothers Four (two Mothersbaughs and two Casales) comfortably deep into middle age and completely ripping it up with abandon.

It came as little surprise, then, that these spuds would appear on Jan. 15 at the Warfield - for the first time since New Year's Eve, 1981 - as the evening's entertainment at "MacBlast," Macworld's biggest private party and the launch of Microsoft Office 2008.

Available for $19.99 on the Pez website...

You get Army Elvis! Sideburns 1960s-Hollywood Elvis (drool)! 1970s jumpsuit Elvis! Sweet! Plus you get a CD with three era-appropriate songs: "Hound Dog," "Follow that Dream," and "The Wonder of You." AND, duh, three thingies of baby aspirin-tasting Pez candy.

Still, I'm a little disappointed...no Hillbilly Cat Elvis? No Gold Suit Elvis? No 68 Comeback Black Leather Elvis (the dreamiest Elvis by far, for my money anyway)? No Hawaii Elvis? No Karate Elvis? No Elvis-Meets-Nixon double set? The possibilities are endless, really.

Quoth Guardian Calendar Editor Duncan Scott Davidson: "It's not for Priscilla anymore...now you, too, can eat candy from the King's neck."

This brings me to a larger topic...Elvis-themed candy in general. It's pretty easy to find around Valentine's Day. If you love an Elvis fan, get them some of this action.

Turn that umbrella upside down and smile to the warm Latin funk (with an edge of oh-so-nasty) of Austin's Brownout!, who'll be drizzling driving grooves, conga section included, through that undersung cumbia-and-get-'em hot spot, El Rincon this Saturday. They'll be playing a live set with DJ Chicken George, guaranteed to shelter you from the storms.

The eight-piece ensemble's work can be found on Freestyle Records, and its sunny, tequila-soaked appearance here is brought to you by the kids from rad soulful weekly Afrolicious (Thursdays at Elbo Room), accompanied by funky drimmers LaMalaMaña and DJs Señor Oz and Pleasuremaker. Check it!

Brownout
Saturday Jan/26
10pm-2am
El Rincon
2700 16th Street
(between Folsom St & Harrison St)

By Todd Lavoie

Let's get lost, shall we? Lately, whenever I'm in the mood to disorient myself in some head-scratching sonic geography, I reach for my copy of Untrue (Hyperdub/Cargo), the November-released sophomore-stunner from the let-the-music-speak-for-itself dubstep savant Burial.

While the willfully anonymous English electro-experimentalist's self-titled debut was certainly an impressive introduction to his - and here we are guessing it's a "he," based on what little I've seen in the way of public statements from whoever's lurking behind the evocative moniker - dead-city tour-guiding, Untrue feels like a bold leap forward.

More inventive, more cohesive, and definitely more affecting, the disc isn't reflective of a change in aesthetic, but rather a fully confident refinement of those artistic ideals. I could stay in these headspaces for days, but honestly I'd be a bit afraid for myself when it came time to emerge back out of 'em. The culture shock might be too great.

Grab your undergroundish dancing shoes and head to Icon Ultra Lounge this Wednesday for, really, something that's worth heading to Icon Ultra Lounge: fab weekly Love It! Wednesdays, this week the featuring currently-touring minimal-techno-electro-what-have-you geniuses behind one of Berlin's great labels, Sub Static. Label heads Michaela Grobelny (aka MIA) and Falko Brockseiper will be on deck (with MIA performing live!). Love It!'s pretty fun on its own (although the crowd can be pretty dressy), and with a turboboost of breakin' Berliners, this maybe the humpday of the year so far .....

MIA in action on tour

Sub Static tour
at Love It! Wednesdays
Weds/30, 9pm-2am
$8 b4 11, $12 after
1192 Folsom, SF
www.myspace.com/loveitwednesdays

Which is the real Coachella?

By Erik Morse

Last Monday’s announcement from Mexico City of the lineup for the upcoming Coachella Festival in Indio had more than a few prospective ticket buyers flummoxed. Where were all the celebrity headliners Goldenvoice had so skillfully assembled in years past? Where were the electro hipsters and indie-rock stalwarts whose appearances had succeeded in making Coachella the American Glastonbury?

After all the behind-the-scenes campaigning and Internet rumor-mongering that promised everyone from the Smiths to Gang of Four to Aphex Twin to Leonard Cohen, the unveiling was an extraordinary exercise in bathos. Thank goodness for Portishead. The biggest omission was the newly reunited My Bloody Valentine, who performs for the first time in over 15 years beginning this summer in the UK. After the major coup that brought the Jesus and Mary Chain to Indio last year, hopes were high that a second miracle might find Kevin Shields and co. headlining over the likes of Jack Johnson or Roger Waters.

My, my: My Bloody Valentine.

By Alex Felsinger

Until now, indie-pop band Pants Yell! seemed as if they were doing everything in their power to stay under the radar. First, they named their group Pants Yell! - seriously, what the hell? - and then in 2003 they released their first album on cassette through an obscure German imprint. This was followed closely by their home-country debut on Asaurus - a small-run, handmade CD-R label. Then, to make sure no one besides Massachusetts locals and a few computer nerds ever hear their music, they've hardly toured at all in the last five years.

But now they're making a move. Just released last month, their fourth album, Alison Statton (Soft Abuse), makes a few slight changes to their downhearted and downtempo pop melodies. The three-piece brought in a small horn section for a few songs, as well as some female friends to sing harmonies, which blend nicely with the lead vocalist's nasally, perfect-for-pop voice.

But really, even with all the changes, they're still as minimalist as a bubblegum version of Shellac. The biggest difference comes with the presentation: the release is a professionally duplicated CD with a jewel case and everything. And their new record label actually took the time to send the Guardian a promotional copy. This alone is evidence that Pants Yell! has some big plans.

We're not quite done with artist Mike Kelley, profiled this week in Sonic Reducer. Easy-going, amiable, and eager to ramble at length on the phone from his base in LA, Kelley - a founding member of influential Ann Arbor, Mich., art-noise band Destroy All Monsters - will show his first feature, Day Is Done, Thursday, Jan. 31, at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts.

SFBG: Day Is Done has been changed significantly since its installation at Gagosian Gallery?

Mike Kelley: Oh yes, it's been radically changed, completely chopped up and intercut. When it was installed, it was on multiple screens and computer-synched, and because the space was so large, we would have it run at two points simultaneously. Nevertheless you couldn't take it in as you would a normal film - it was spatialized and treated more as a sculpture, so you could sit and watch sections and follow it over to here and over to there. But it would be hard to follow it in a very linear way. And also you wouldn’t have this very purposeful crosscutting that you have in a single-channel version, where we take all the various scenes and treated them as if they were simultaneous action and played with that kind of filmic language.

It's always a stone blast chatting with Ethan Miller (above, far right) of Howlin Rain and Comets on Fire: dude loves his horror flicks, and as a onetime English major at UC Santa Cruz, he can always be relied on to come with a fresh opinion and frisky curiosity when it comes to pop culture in general. Anyway, it was good to hear that the Goldie winner has been tapped by Columbia Records co-head Rick Rubin to make the leap from the Bay Area's always tasty Birdman label to Rubin's own American Recordings imprint, starting with Howlin Rain's impressive, chance-takin', and rock-out new LP, Magnificent Fiend, a co-release by both companies. For the first snippet of our talk, see this week's Sonic Reducer. For the rest, let your eyes roam below. Howlin Rain plays with Black Mountain at the Independent Monday, Feb. 4.

SFBG: So what have you been up to?

Ethan Miller: It's getting a little busy - kind of getting hyped up for the record and stuff, starting to do some work on it. Just press stuff, deciding details about ads and posters and stuff like that, just little things. What song is gong to be a single.

SFBG: How did this arrangement with Rick Rubin come about?

EM: Oh, kind of the normal old way – maybe it seems a little abnormal, because it's Rick Rubin, and all things considered. He contacted me and asked me if I wanted to be on the label and we talked. I also think he is, like, an Arthur subscriber and an avid reader, and they did that cover piece on me, and I think that’s how he got turned on to Comets and Howlin Rain and stuff and checked it out and got ahold of me. It's probably been more than a year since Rick and I first talked.

Postcard from Bloomington: Japonize Elephants perform at a tribute to Evan Farrell at Bluebird Nightclub on Jan. 20.

By Dina Maccabee

A lot of emotions have been pouring out during the last month over the loss of once-Oakland-based musician Evan Farrell. I'm not even sure if the details that have been circulating on the Internet about what happened on Dec. 21 - when the Oakland house where Farrell was staying caught fire - are correct. For me, and I think for everyone, there are bigger questions than how the blaze started - like what is death, anyway? And how do I sort out my empathy for Farrell and his family from my own selfish fears and anxieties about living a worthwhile life and, ultimately, ceasing to exist?

Evan Farrell. Photo by Jeremy Baron.

I played with Farrell in the Japonize Elephants, which why I made the trip to Bloomington, Ind., a week or so ago to participate in the Jan. 20 memorial for him. The Elephants started out in Bloomington - and Farrell had moved back a few years ago after playing with Rogue Wave, among others - so for most of the band, the trip represented an almost overwhelming mixture of grief and nostalgia, a chance to reconnect with old friends and places under heartbreaking circumstances. I had a different perspective as a newcomer eager to discover the birthplace of this fearlessly bizarre, creative, close-knit group, whom I started playing with about three years ago in the Bay Area, hoping to offer some support and comfort to Farrell's closest friends.

Evan Farrell. Photo by Jeremy Baron.

While no one knew quite what to do in the aftermath of Farrell's death, one thing that seemed obvious was to get together and play music. It felt a little wrong to be excited about playing an Elephants reunion show back in Bloomington, with band members arriving from California, Colorado, and New York - but without Farrell. You could say we were getting back together because he would have wanted us to. But, of course, really, we wanted to. How else to recapture some of the absurdity, spontaneity, mirth, and adrenaline that were Farrell's trademarks, on and off stage?

Evan Farrell in pink with Japonize Elephants.

By Jamilah King

DJ Sake 1 isn't your average DJ. And Pacific Standard Time (PST) isn't your average party.

The city's pre-eminent hip-hop, soul, funk, and break-beat DJ has consistently packed dancefloors at Levende Lounge in the Mission for three years as its resident DJ, brewing together an ecclectic mix of old-school rarities and New Age crowd favorites. He can effortlessly weave together a narrative of fun across genres, fusing Too $hort's "Blow the Whistle" with Los Hermanos, or doing whatever's necessary to please the crowd while skillfully working to heighten its appreciation for the music.

Though it's not necessarily the music that sets Sake 1 so far apart from his fellow turntabalists so much as the message behind it. Your boy has a graduate degree in social work from University of California, Berkeley, and building community is at the heart of his work as a DJ. We've already brought you the history of his crusade to create the people's party; half of all proceeds from PST go to local community organizations such as the Center for Young Women's Development.