By Todd Lavoie

If you're going to name yourself after one of the Velvet Underground's most epic noisefests, you'd best be well prepared to bring the drone and stir the squall - we want sheets of feedback and hopefully plenty of nervous dread to go along with it. Such requirements are not an issue for Austin, Texas' Black Angels.

Named for the Velvets' signature drone piece "The Black Angel's Death Song," these folks remain one of the most convincing modern-day practitioners of late '60s/early '70s, antisocial psychedelia. Tapping into the bad acid comedowns and anti-Summer of Love vibes of the Velvets and the 13th Floor Elevators - with occasional devil dances in the direction of vintage Rolling Stones as well - the Black Angels specialize in delicious creep-outs and electrifying forays into the psyche's darker recesses. Most importantly: they know how to write riveting songs, rather than merely settling upon a mood and a groove and sticking with it. See for yourself this Saturday, June 7, when they play the Independent. In the meantime, may I suggest practicing your strut. Oh, and maybe work on your most menacing lurch as well.

The Black Angels have just released their sophomore full-length, Directions to See a Ghost, and to these ears it feels even more focused than their blindsiding 2006 debut, Passover (both Light in the Attic). I must 'fess up: I'm completely and utterly in love with the packaging as well. Boasting a day-glo pink and neon green concentric-circle op-art design - and what's more, it's embossed - there's something immensely satisfying in losing oneself in the spirals as the Black Angels rattle out a steady prowling rumble. Plus, it's embossed! Who doesn't like feeling art and having it feel you back? It's a damn shame you can't run your fingers over the computer screen right now and see - no, feel - exactly what I mean:

While I'm still trying to digest the multiple hypes about some coming country-fried "hick hop" phenomenon that I encountered while recently touring the Midwest, here's a totally hot, totally trannyrific new YouTube dance sensation that Guardian contributor and all-around cutie Matt Sussman just hooked me on: "Poak Chops"

Throw them butter beans, girl.

We loves us some Michael Tilson Thomas -- we better, because she's everywhere, darling -- but it must be hard to live and gesticulate passionately for the San Francisco Symphony in the shadow of the great MTT. It's not a competition! I know! Still, it's a treat to see SFS program a night specifically dedicated to some of the other stellar conducting talents it retains, especially for a total symphony queen like moiself.

Three great classical (bow-tied) tastes: Gaffigan, Bohlin, and Shwartz

The three-day "SFS Conductors on the Podium" series will see Associate Conductor James Gaffigan (who blew me and several thousand peeps away in Dolores Park a while back, conducting the 1812 Overture), Resident Conductor and total cutie Benjamin Shwartz, and fierce Chorus Director Ragnar Bohlin take the stage for a nice, slightly challenging change.

Benjamin Shwartz, making beautiful music

Particularly interesting will be the world premiere of Mark-Anthony Turnage's jazzy-sounding Three Asteroids: The Torino Scale, Juno, Ceres, conducted by Schwartz, and the sure-to-be-spectral a capella double-choir performance of Poulenc's Figure humaine -- a haunting setting of Paul Eluard's poems about war and spirituality, conducted by Bohlin. Gaffigan conducts Bartok's seldom-heard Suite from The Miraculous Mandarin, and the Thursday and Saturday programs will also feature Prokofiev's ragged, fiery Violin Concerto No. 1 in D Major, also conducted by Gaffigan and featuring SFS concertmaster and string-whiz Alexander Barantschik. Should be a revelation.

SFS Conductors on the Podium
Thursday, June 5 at 2:00pm
Friday, June 6 at 6:30pm
Saturday, June 7 at 8:00pm
$25-$125
Davies Symphony Hall
201 Van Ness
(415) 864-6000
www.sfsymphony.org

The Cure
May 28, HP Pavilion

By Erik Morse

The anticipation was palpable as the Cure took the stage and the opening chords of "Plainsong" overcame the hollowed din of San Jose’s HP Pavilion. Would Robert Smith’s voice hold up, or would it fade halfway through the show as it had on a previous night of the tour in Chicago, when he had disobeyed doctor’s orders to stay home and rest?

By the closing notes of "Prayers for Rain," the second song of a setlist that would deliver many treats, it was clear that the audience – and Smith - had nothing to worry about. His voice – sometimes playful, sometimes haunting – was in top form and would stay that way for the remainder of evening.

Unfortunately, the textured layers of vocal enchantment were occasionally undermined by the conspicuous absence of a long-time Cure staple: keyboards. The Cure has been keyboardless since the departure of former keyboardist Roger O’Donnell in 2005, and for some inexplicable reason, they have never replaced him. Instead, in a bold yet poorly executed move, they have supplanted the keyboard with Porl Thompson’s guitar. Live, synth heavy tracks like "Catch" and "Play for Today" were depressingly thin, and the pleasure my companion and I experienced from playing air keyboard from the comfort of our seats was fleeting, to say the least.

Rock 'n' roll clowning with Metalocalypse's Dethklok. Happy. Birthday.

Ye gads - too much as usual, especially on this very bizzy Saturday, June 7. Here are more worthies that unfortunately didn't make it to print - but made it, happily, here.

DETHKLOK
They started a joke that set a whole world of ex- and present metal heads laughing. TV yuk phenom-turned-metal phenom, Dethklok of Adult Swim’s Metalocalpyse sets Skwisgaar Skwigelf and Pickles the Drummer loose on an unsuspecting Bay Area - The Dethalbum in hand. Be sure to also catch hard-luck, yet still raging opening band Soilent Green. Thurs/June 5, 8 p.m., $26.50. Fillmore, 1805 Geary, SF. (415) 346-6000.

JOAN OF ARC
The martyred girl hero takes her latest form - as the ambitious Chicago rockers, returning with a new album, Boo!Human (Polyvinyl). Math rock? Post-punk post-structuralism? Ask Cap’n Jazz - or better, Tim Kinsella. Thurs/5, 8 p.m., $12. Rickshaw Stop, 155 Fell, SF. (415) 861-2011.

By Johnny Ray Huston

Daniel Baldelli djing

In the last three issues of ye olden newspaper version of the Guardian, I’ve used the itsy-bitsy space that I have to intro each week’s A&E section as a chance to travel the many currents of disco: present, future and retro. The fact is, in 2008, disco’s present strobe-morphs into its future, which strobe-morphs into retro disco, which then strobe-morphs back into disco’s present. Below is a guided tour of recent disco releases I mentioned in my intros, with commentary and a final note about something to look for in the immediate future.

Dancers at Baia Degli Angeli

Daniele Baldelli, Cosmic the Original (Mediane) and Daniele Baldelli Presents Baia Degli Angeli 1977-78: The Legendary Italian Discotheque of the ‘70s (Mediane)
The waves of space disco or cosmic disco activity in recent years have brought some noteworthy comps, including 2006’s Confuzed Disco: A Retrospective of Italian Records (Mantra/Vibes), Disco Deutschland Disco: Disco, Funk and Philly Anthems from Germany, 1975-1980 (Marina), and especially Dirty Space Disco (Tigersushi). But to get a true sense of the music’s energy, it’s always best to go to back to the source, and one such European font – along with Cerrone -- is Daniele Baldelli.

Daniele Baldelli (left) with Grace Jones and cute friend named Mozart at Baia Degli Angeli

The influential DJ has released two mixes that convey and revive two sides of --and two clubs from -- his heyday. Cosmic: the Original is the dark half, with new wave from Fad Gadget and even a pre-Boy George Culture Club. Baia Degli Angeli is the bright side, with ebullient moments from Cerrone, crooner John Forde (who is also on Dirty Space Disco), two tracks from Black Devil (aka Black Devil Disco Club) and the wonderfully shameless mix of Donna Summer-or-Brigitte Bardot orgasmic moans and Love Unlimited Orchestra strings that is “Pazuzu,” by Tony Silvester and the New Ingredient. Both collections are worth it for their booklets alone, with numerous amazing photos of the clubs where Baldelli made his name.

When I wrote about the glitchy-hoppy-droppy Lazer Bass phenomenon a few weeks back -- featuring local amazerz Lazer Sword -- I neglected to drop the name of hot Scot collective LuckyMe, who are def a big part of the up-and-coming scene.

But I'm glad I neglected, because I've been tripping out on LuckyMe's latest, mindbending mix for XLR8R. Click here to listen. The mix goes way beyond the lazers and grime, into some grittily beautific territory for which there is yet no name. (I refuse to say "emotronic!" Refuse! And you can hear some more great LuckyMe tracks at their MySpace page.) It was put together by LuckyMe sub-duo The Blessings, aka Dom Sum and FineArt.

A cute little stopmotion for a song by Hudson Mohawke of LuckyMe

I can't imagine jumping around a dancefloor to any of this really, but my hands were in the air nonetheless -- it's been a long time since I got ravin' in the cubicle.

JIM NOIR
Jim Noir
(My Dad Recordings/Barsuk)

By Todd Lavoie

As the sun begins shining a bit brighter and the sandals slip back out of closet-hibernation, it's time once again to think about how to best soundtrack the upcoming summer days of sandy beaches and backyard barbecues. Sure, the Beach Boys are always a good start, but maybe you're hankering for something newer?

Here's where Manchester, England's laptop electro-pop sing-song specialist Jim Noir comes in; his new self-titled sophomore effort could very well be the musical equivalent of a candy-striped beach ball bouncing and bobbing from one end of the swimming pool to the other. Frankly, it's tough to imagine this disc being recorded in a home studio in the North of England - the whole thing feels like it was written and laid to tape amid sand castles and surfers.

Noir - or, Alan Roberts to his Mum and Dad - is a whiz at sunshine-pop, to be sure, but rather than merely settling for warm harmonies and Brian Wilson-recalling arrangements, he also insists on dressing them all up in swathes of childlike surrealism. Comprising mainly circular song patterns in which lush multi-tracked harmonies glide between swirls and spirals of synth and smiley-faced psychedelic guitar, Jim Noir pays tribute to both Pet Sounds and the tripped-out sounds of British '60s pop.

I can't look away! Beyonce forgive me!

The following gems are from the new "Nightclub Dance Series" of DVDs -- and these are just the ones for women, I'm far too scared of the ones for men -- in which former backup dancers for Miss B'Day teach you "all the moves to get attention in the club." The poor too-many-Kools-voiced hostess sounds like her spandex thong's in wedgie mode, but I adore her (unlike L'Oreal). Bonus: Special Fat Burner DVD combining all the moves at once. Order now,as I just did, or you'll never "groovewalk" your way past the velvet ropes, Joey.

The Groovewalk

The Sit & Roll (her "go to" move -- and OK, I've used this to catch an eye or two)

I'm so sorry! One for the douche men. "Lead with your head."

PS -- there's actually a treasure trove of invigoratingly horrid nightclub dance how-tos online. Someday I'll do a rundown of my fleece-in-the-asscrack favorites.

By Johnny Ray Huston

With this year's French Open entering its last few dramatic days, the time is right to consult the Swedish duo Tennishero for their thoughts about the event. Alexander Berg and Jens Andersson have the qualifications. They hail from Sweden, the home country of six-time French Open champ Bjorn Borg. On MySpace, they initially described their music as "Roland Garros techno," though that witty tag has since been joined by others such as "snowjogger acid," as well as the wise declaration that they want to "sound like a David Hockney picture." They're off to a good start at that with "Alone," their first single, one version of which features Chelonis R. Jones on vocals and a Lego fragment of the two-handed great Monica Seles on the sleeve art. According to Andersson, Tennishero has left 2006's "Alone" behind to explore new realms of melody.

Tennishero's Alexander Berg and Jens Andersson shake hands

I have to genuflect for days to Andersson for telling me about a tennis movie by the great William Klein, one of my all-time favorite photographers, who is experiencing a resurgence of sorts as of late. I have to argue with his assertion below that there are no tennis players today with the good-bad taste and intellect to enjoy Serge Gainsbourg, though. I once saw some Gainsbourg albums in the background of an at-home picture of the devilishly handsome and somewhat mad Marat Safin, whose kid sister Dinara is the story of this year's tournament so far. You could say Dinara's 4th-round match with Maria Sharapova was a "requiem pour un con" -- especially since Sharapova, no wilting lily, mouthed some hilariously off-color words during the defeat.

SFBG: Who is your pick to win the French Open this year on the men's side?
Jens Andersson: I don't really know. The Swedes aren't at the top of their game right now so I have to go with (Roger) Federer. Has he ever won Roland Garros? Tennis players today are boring and mundane. Hopefully there will be some new guy with the headband over -- not under -- his hair and the attitude of Serge Gainsbourg, but we doubt it. Now, you only see players like Nadal -- I mean, come on.

The sleeve art for Tennishero and Chelonis R. Jones's "Alone"

SFBG: Do you have any favorite and least favorite tennis players, past and present? (I ask this since older or vintage tennis styles have had an influence on your look.)
JA: Actually, we are more fascinated by the atmosphere surrounding tennis in the past – for example the culture around old French tennis clubs, like in the Truffaut movie La femme d'a cote. Another great film is William Klein's The French, a documentary about Roland Garros in 1983 that captures this old charming atmosphere in a fantastic way. Back then, it was all about personality. McEnroe and Yannick Noah were inspiring in their own ways.

Anthony "Big Ant" Marin in action. Photo courtesy of Amoeba Music.

By Billy Jam

This past week the Bay Area lost one of its most dedicated music fans and musicians. Anthony Marin, a.k.a., "Big Ant," who most knew as a hip-hop DJ on the local scene for many years or from working at Amoeba Music on Haight Street, died sometime last weekend of heart failure (a full medical report has not yet been released to determine exact cause or time of death). He was 37 years old.

Born in SoCal Marin had lived in the Bay Area for most of his adult life toiling at various record stores since the '90s including at Tower Records in the South Bay, Cue's Records in Daly City, and Amoeba on Haight, where he had worked for many years and was much loved by his co-workers. In fact one of them, Jason Chavez, a.k.a., 4AM, whom he counted as his best friend and with whom he was a member of the band Black Fiction, was instrumental in discovering his body last Sunday, June 1.

Reportedly the last anyone had seen Marin was when he was at a concert last Thursday, May 29. The next day he was off work, but when he didn't show up for work on Saturday and then on Sunday without calling in sick, his buddies at Amoeba got anxious. Chavez and others went to his apartment where Marin lived alone and had the cops and landlord gain access to the unit where they found his body. Another co-worker Luis Soria said that Marin told him he had been to the doctor on Tuesday, May 27, after complaining of some weight-related ailments (including swelling feet).

Delightful electro-cumbia club Tormenta Tropical has consistently knocked my flaming knee-socks off, with its wicked combo of samba-y and reggaeton beats enlivened with tricky electronic flourishes. Bueno Buenos Aires! (And watch for those flashing Virgin Mary icons from the booth!) This Saturday the club, put on by DJs Disco Shawn and Oro11 of Bersas Discos Records, is bringing in the rockin' lowdown South Rakkas Crew from Orland, FL to titillate the crowd with raucousness.

South Rakkas Mix Up Tour 2008 (Mad Decent)

Just as good (better?) the boys from Tormenta Tropical tell me they've once again secured the services of, yes, a taco truck! To be positioned right outside the door for the duration of the club! (SFBG cannot take resposibility for what happens when tacos are consumed after large quantities of tequila and bouncing around.)

Tormenta Tropical
Sat/7, 10pm, $10, 18+
Rickshaw Stop
155 Fell Street, SF
www.rickshawstop.com

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about that crazy Tecktonik dance phenomenon sweeping Europe -- and especially Paris -- into its robotically flailing arms, and usually set to electro banger tunes. The craze has been getting a lot of mainstream attention of late, and fab online network Current TV video reporter/hottie Philipp Mayrhofer has put together this entertaining and very informative look at the scene, along with some interesting background. Yes, Tecktonik even has its own official haircut -- and this video actually takes you into the official Tecktonik salon. Them's good marketing! Plus: mimes.

I can't overstate how much I adore local playboy Richie Panic (www.myspace.com/richiepanicisagenius) of Blow Up, Frisco Disco, and the occasional Robot Rock party at Mezzanine. And I've known a lot of DJs both Biblically and non. (I swear all we've done is hug!). I wrote about the man, the machine a little in my "Ultrabananas" Super Ego clubs column a couple weeks ago, here he is chiming in with some of his favorite slices.

Boys Noize, "Oh! (A-Trak remix)"
"This track is a monster from beyond. Plus Boys Noize and A-Trak together on one club anthem is the tits for sure. And did I mention the rave siren? You can't go wrong.

Yelle, "Je Veux Te Voir (Vin Sol Re-edit)"
"Another secret weapon that gets aired out everytime I play. Chick shouting in French, check! An amazing breakdown, check. The re-edit that makes it all explode in the club, check."

Yelle, "Je Veux Te Voir (original mix)"

Clouds
We Are Above You
(HydraHead)

By Ben Richardson

In 2003, Boston metalcore band Cave In were raising eyebrows and horns in the rock world, touring in support of their major-label debut Antenna (RCA) with the Foo Fighters and gracing the stage at the resurrected Lollapalooza.

This success didn’t last, however, and the aftermath of the Foo-tour was marred by label tensions that led to the band leaving RCA. Even after they released a well-received album called Perfect Pitch Black on indie-metal beehive HydraHead in 2005, Cave In saw their momentum collapse, and the bevy of rock critics willing to bestow descriptors like “emo-metal Radiohead” suddenly turned their attention elsewhere. In 2006, the band went on an indefinite hiatus.

While fans of Cave In’s introspective, textured brand of heavy music are right to mourn the band’s demise, it had a hell of a silver lining in the form of a band called Clouds. Formed by Cave In guitarist Adam McGrath, Clouds released the preposterously titled Legendary Demo on HydraHead in 2007, concatenating stoner rock, hardcore, blues, and classic rock into a widely allusive sound that the group itself refers to as “party grunge.”

By Todd Lavoie

A honky-tonk angel and devil, all wrapped up in one? It appears so with Boston singer-songwriter Eilen (pronounced "EE-len") Jewell. The slow-drawling ambassador of old-timey sounds and rustic reveries offers equal measures of small-town charm and sassy backtalk on last year’s sublime Letters from Sinners and Strangers (Signature Sounds).

If you’ve ever been seduced by the potent country cocktail of twangy sweetness and “my man’s done me wrong” vinegar - think Patsy Cline and Loretta Lynn for classic examples of such barstool tell-alls - then Jewell will surely get you good ‘n' drunk. See for yourself - she’ll be hootin’ it up Wednesday, June 11, at the Rickshaw Stop.

Blessed with a pristine, uncluttered production - ably handled by Jewell and her band - Letters from Sinners and Strangers approaches the sounds of pre-suburban America with reverence and genuine affection. There’s no attempt here to modernize these country/folk/blues idioms, nor is there any sort of ironic distance being created between the singer and the subject. Rather, this is quite authentic, no mucking-about stuff. Other than the contemporary fullness of production, the album feels like an artifact from yesteryear, much in the same way that the work of Jolie Holland and Gillian Welch has also defied easy decade-classification.

By Kat Renz

It's official: San Francisco is too brutal for the world's most brutal band - or at least, Adult Swim's most brutal band. Or maybe it's the other way around. In any case, I was fully prepared to go forth and die, as promised, to the eagerly awaited, sold-out Dethklok show at the Fillmore. Instead, I went forth and left.

Opening band Soilent Green, who performed as the crowed continued arriving, was awesome: supertight - and frontman Ben Falgoust, who windmill headbanged along, had great energy. It boded well for the night. Then, in the midst of the third or fourth song, a Fillmore employee took the mic, calmly announcing there was a "slight big emergency" and we all had to exit the building - just as we were settling in, getting our cells resonating at the speed of some grinding Louisiana metal. Thankfully I had yet to buy beer.

So, 10 minutes after getting patted down and hand-stamped, we filed out of the building - a herd of bratty sheep. Young boys gave their full cups of beer the college chug and the curious, confused, and complaining fans were, to say the least, vocal at the offense of the inconvenience. Stepping a steel-toed foot into the chilly outside (damn, why did I coat-check my hoodie?!), I knew the sirens, with their reverse Doppler effect, were destined for us. Fire at the Fillmore. How metal is that?

By Laura Mojonnier

Twenty-five years into his career, Billy Bragg has solidified his position as England's most sensitive soul, crooning about every fresh wound with a characteristic urgency that allows even his sparest compositions to engulf entire rooms. He sings his stark but tender, often overtly class-conscious folk songs with a punk rock urgency, as if Joe Strummer and Jeff Mangum fused for just long enough to cover Phil Ochs.

In the early '80s, Bragg rarely bothered to incorporate instrumentation beyond his crudely played electric guitar, heightening the already-bleak lyrics of songs like "To Have and To Have Not" ("The factories are closing and the army's full / I don't know what I am going to do") and "It Says Here" ("Those braying voices on the right of the house / Are echoed down the street of shame / Where politics mix with bingo and tits / In a strictly money and numbers game").

As the decade progressed, Bragg began to add instruments, outside musicians, and even the occasional vocal overdub to his distinctively stripped-down style, a trend that would continue throughout his career. By 1990, he was writing full-on orchestral arrangements and collaborating with members of REM and the Smiths. While Bragg maintained his political edge, his increasingly complex compositions began to overshadow the sonorous coarseness that made his earlier work so deeply moving.

Singer through the wringer - and at Rickshaw Stop this week.

Bo Diddley's passing has bummed me out - leaving me in a drifting, low-level depression-style funk. But know what, B-Diddley wouldn't have wanted you to sit around and sulk. You got options - some very intriguing ones, in fact.

HELOISE AND THE SAVOIR FAIRE
Kylie added them to her top MySpace chums. The NY electro-rock sensations smash it up with Solid Gold references, trash, rats, and, oh yeah, microphones. Tues/10, call for time and price. Trannyshack at the Stud, 399 Ninth St., SF. (415) 252-7883.

JUDY MOWATT
The crucial member of Bob Marley's I-Three is born again but word has it that she retains that Jamaican fire, backed by the Yellow Wall Dub Squad. Wed/11, 9 p.m., $25. Slim's, 333 11th St., SF. (415) 522-0333.

SINGER
The pedigreed Chicago combo comes bearing a new LP on Drag City, Unhistories, and all sorts of challenging musical notions: what else would you expect from US Maple's Todd Rittmann and 90 Day Men's Robert Lowe? With Sic Alps and the Fresh and Onlys. Thurs/12, 8 p.m., $10. Rickshaw Stop, 155 Fell, SF. (415) 861-2011.

By Ian Ferguson

Hip-Hop has long depended on sampling and remixing beats for its instrumental tracks; why should its vocal tracks be any different? Commercial rappers bring home the bling, and for what? For spending torturous hours, pen in hand, slaving over rhyme to earn the accolades “best rapper alive” (Lil Wayne) or “Hova” (Jay-Z, as in Jay-Hova, Jehovah, God)? Judging from the numerous Swagger Jacker remixes posted on YouTube, probably not.

In urban slang, a swagger jacker is a person who steals someone else’s syle, flow, lyrics, or ideas and passes them off as their own. The two most notorious alleged swagger jackers (or at least those most dissed as biters, synonymous with swagger jacker, in cyberspace) consistently fill arena seats and stand at the highest heights of the hip-hop hierarchy: Lil Wayne and Jay-Z.

When Lil Wayne raps, “Some say the X, makes the sex spec-tacular, make me lick you from yo neck to yo back, then ya, shiverin', tongue deliverin', chills up that spine, that ass is mine,” he reanimates Notorious B.I.G.’s voice from the dead, biting off of the song “Fuck You Tonight.” Or when Jay-Z raps, “Gather round hustlers that’s if your still livin' and get on down to that ol’ jig rhythm,” he’s rapping what Slick Rick rapped back in 1987.

Marlon Asher, right, a.k.a., Ganja Farmer, and Rajah Muffin coolin' out backstage.

By Chris DeMento

The better part of you missed one of the best reggae shows of the year last Thursday, June 5, when a slew of Jamaican artists came through the DNA Lounge (which is a nice little tent - I'd never been inside before, and it has pretty good sound): the tour titled Reggae on the Move.

Headliner Marlon Asher threw down with his international hit, "Ganja Farmer," which was awesome, of course. But even without Asher it was a well-rounded lineup including Ras Kidus, Undah P, Ras Ndu, Mistah Majah P, Rajah Muffin, and Brimstone. And what an irie evening it was.

I'm not sure I'm licensed to use that word, "irie," but there you have it. The band held it down and the MCs each turned in a tight mini-set, about three songs apiece. I love posse shows like this, and when they're as green as this one was, who among us verdant San Franciscans would complain?

Fly, Eagles of Death Metal, fly.

Save your tears for the gym-ed up Alcazar and other grand old venues and theaters that have been made over as enormous drug stores. The Warfield reopens soon, under the aegis of Goldenvoice, the production company that puts on Coachella, and a slew of shows are set to go on sale via Ticketmaster on June 22.

Sept. 15 - George Lopez. Third show on sale Sunday, June 22 (third show added).

Sept. 18 - Musiq Soulchild and Ledisi. On Sale Sunday, June 22.

Sept. 20 - Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. On Sale Sunday, June 22.

Sept. 23 - the Hives/Eagles of Death Metal. On sale soon.

Sept. 24 - Bootsy Collins "Tribute to the Godfather of Soul." On sale soon.

Sept. 25 - Bullet for My Valentine. On sale Sunday, June 22.

Sept. 26-27- Rancid.

Oct. 4 - Dandy Warhols. On sale Sunday, June 22.

Oct. 11 - Julieta Venegas. On sale Sunday, June 22.

Oct. 25 - the Kooks. On sale soon.

Oct. 30 - Cassandra Wilson. On Sale Sunday, June 22.

Nov. 7 - Jim Gaffigan. Late Show added; on sale Sunday, June 22.

Dec. 6 - Frank Caliendo. On sale soon.

Dec. 21- Brian Setzer Orchestra. On sale soon.

Nick Cave, eyeball rolling back in the day.

By Todd Lavoie

Looks like the third time's a charm for Texan singer-songwriter Hayes Carll - the rough 'n' tumble country-folk outlaw has just released album number three, Trouble in Mind (Lost Highway), and it's a huge leap forward for the guy. Not only does his move to a major label give an extra boost of exposure beyond the Texan scene and onto the national level - his first couple of discs were either self-released or issued on a small regional label - but along the way he's landed himself a sweet supporting slot, opening for the similarly boot-stomping Old 97's. You'll see what I mean this Tuesday, June 17, when Carll works his storytelling woo-ha on the Fillmore crowd.

You can't miss that Texan drawl: Carll's is as thick as a brick, perhaps even given a little extra layer on top just to be sure no one's confused about his point of origin. Inevitably, Steve Earle comes to mind - particularly his first couple of decades' worth of recordings, rather than the genre-hopping excursions of recent years - thanks to a similarly evocative dusty whine, equally capable of a sneer and a leer as it is of hitting heartstrings with a broken admission of weakness.

Then there's the choice of subject matter. Much of Carll's material shares the barroom bluster of Earle's '80s and '90s output. Drugs and drink, hard-luck men and women, tight-lipped drifters itching for a brawl - sound familiar? Perhaps so, but Carll also tends to inject most of his character sketches and roadhouse recollections with plenty of wit and a no-nonsense poet's grasp of language. As much as I'd imagine he might argue that his songs are nothin' fancy, there is considerable complexity at work here. Sure, Trouble in Mind doesn't put on any airs, but the disc is a wordsmith's delight, loaded with lingering images and sly turns of phrase.

Kicking up some dust at Pioneer Town. All photos by Jen Snyder.

By Jen Snyder

I feel like I’m airing a secret by writing this, but have you ever been to Pioneer Town? If you haven’t, I’d like to suggest that you think of a reason to go there. If possible, make it a reason full of rock ‘n' roll, music critics covered in dust and beer, and plenty of the locals. On June 7 and 8 in Pioneer Town, two hours east of Los Angeles and deep in the burning June desert, Manimal Vinyl held their first major event, Manimal Festival. The LA label showcased a string of bands including the resurfacing Ariel Pink and his Haunted Graffiti as well as some up-and-coming bands and projects.

Picture a basin dotted with Joshua Trees and red rock. Pioneer Town seems to just appear out of nowhere behind the rust-colored formations, looking more like an amusement park than a bar. There’s a pod of teepees, an entire fake town - complete with bowling alley - full of weathered mannequins, miniature ponies, and tons of bikers. The bar and the outside patio both have separate barbecues. There I saw someone with a Bloody Leroy, a Bloody Mary with a barbecued rib in it.

I don’t know why people aren’t flocking to Pioneer Town constantly. It was a kitsch dream, as you can imagine, stuffed with velvet paintings and chili-pepper lights and boasting the nicest legless bouncer you ever met. To top it all off, the music was incredible. Highlights include Mariee Sioux, We Are the World, and Aeriel Pink.

By Josh Rotter

Los Angeles space-rock outfit West Indian Girl captures – with their sunny sound and meditative lyrics -- the duality of their alternately glitzy and gritty city, sandwiched between serene beaches and skid row. It's an easy, breezy beautiful oasis for some - a boulevard of broken dreams for others. But West Indian Girl’s story begins in early-'90s Detroit, with the meeting of bassist Francis Ten and vocalist-guitarist Robert James. Moving westward, the two eventually signed with Astralwerks, adding vocalist and percussionist Mariqueen Maandig, drummer Mark Lewis, and later, keyboardists Nathan Van Hala and Amy White.

After the 2004 release of their self-titled debut and remix EP, West Indian Girl moved to Milan Records for their sophomore disc, 4th & Wall (2007), named for the unsavory downtown intersection that is home to their current recording studio. But it’s the entire LA landscape that intrigues this band on their latest album, evinced by both the memorable sand and surf-set pop track "Blue Wave," and the more dire, downtown rocker "To Die in LA." If beach living symbolizes success in the music capital, downtown’s homelessness – only a 30-minute drive away – hints at the greater potential for failure.

With a headlining gig as part of the LA Invasion tour at the Rickshaw Stop on Thursday, June 19, West Indian Girl co-founder Francis Ten took an hour and 10 to talk about the band’s upcoming performance, their latest album, and the immense difficulties of making it in today’s music climate.