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.

Imaad Wasif waxes "Oceanic."

Oh, Ess-eff, as if you ever stop unfurling the good times. Here's a few more worthy shows that didn't make it into print.

RTX and Imaad Wasif
Rasp-rock pied piper Jennifer Herrema lopes into town with RaTX (Drag City), alongside Imaad Wasif and his new combo, Two Part Beast, who'll doubtless charm with his excellent, self-released Strange Hexes. With Bridez. Fri/20, 9:30 p.m., $10. Hemlock Tavern, 1131 Polk, SF. (415) 923-0923

Sir Lord Von Raven
Times Flys meets Gris Gris for off-the-cuff rock in this new combo. With Apache and Toko-Ri Get High. Fri/20, 9:30 p.m., call for price. Knockout, 3223 Mission, SF. (415) 550-6994.

RZA
Backed by a live band, Bobby Digital give us a taste of Digi Snacks (Koch). With Stone Mecca, Zeph and Azeem, and Ben Flowz. Sat/21, 8 p.m., $30. 1015, 1015 Folsom, SF. www.1015.com

Baby, you're a Richman: Jonathan Richman back in the '70s.

By Laura Mojonnier

One gets the sense that Jonathan Richman spends a lot of time alone in his room – staring at that telephone that never rings, practicing his Angus Young-style leg kicks, and listening to French lessons on tape. When he does get out of the house, his favorite activity is touring with longtime drummer Tommy Larkins, with whom he'll play the last shows of a four-night stint at the Make Out Room tonight through Thursday.

From his days as a teenage Velvet Underground fan-turned-Modern Lover to his middle-aged flirtations with Spanish guitar and Romance languages, Richman has been a hero to suburban loners for more than 30 years. He documents his chronically broken heart and his love of painters like Vermeer and Van Gogh with geeky charisma and rare candor, revealing a self-effacing wit that somehow remains totally unironic. This is the guy who once sang, "I go to bakeries all day long / There's a lack of sweetness in my life," after all.

Richman was in top form last night at the Make-Out Room. The venue's intimate atmosphere paired with a stripped-down setup – just Richman on acoustic guitar and Larkins on drums, peppered by the occasional cowbell solo – played to the songwriter's strengths as a performer. His always-amusing lyrics (did he really just encourage us to "behold the lilies of the field" three times?) and legendary stage banter were supremely audible, even when they weren't in English.

By Sam Devine

Marcus Shelby kept things light on Friday the 13th at Jazz at Pearl's, even though his band performed politically charged music including pieces from his new album, Harriet Tubman (Noir).

While the two new compositions were saved for the end of the evening, the entire night was emotionally charged, laced with spiritual and political ideas.

The first song, "The Leopard," was inspired by Quaker artist Edward Hicks' painting The Peaceable Kingdom, wherein the lion lays down with the lamb.

What would Elvis think? These New Puritans' Jack Barnett doesn't appear to be extremely preoccupied with Tha King. Instead here's five for Thursday, the albums he's been listening to of late:

• Van der Graaf Generator, Pawn Hearts (Charisma, 1971)
• Peter Hammill, Nadir's Big Chance (Charisma, 1975)
• Crystal Castles, Crystal Castles (Last Gang)
• Various artists, Dancehall's Best Ever mix CD
• Bjork, Medulla (Elektra/WEA)

By Michael Harkin

Memphis' Jay Reatard is only in his twenties, but he's already a garage-punk legend: in the last two years following stints in bands like the Lost Sounds and the Angry Angles, he's released a future classic LP in 2006's Blood Visions, as well as a metric tonne of terrific single cuts.

As a well-documented onstage punch-out in Canada recently showed, the nose-breaking intensity of his melodic chops have been bowling over tastemakers everywhere, especially the folks at the Matador label. Following some especially wonderful wax last year (the "I Know A Place" 7-inch, the "Night of Broken Glass" 12-inch), Mr. Reatard and Matador arranged this year to release a new 7-inch single every month for six months in gradually decreasing quantities, which would eventually be compiled onto a full-length disc.

"See/Saw," the A-side from single no. 1, is still the biggest scorcher of the series thus far: his double-tracked nasal yelp and ticker tape enunciation turn lines like "And that is all that I know!" into something shout-alongable and triumphant. "Screaming Hand" is delightful, too. It's got a Sparks-y, theatrical chorus ("You want a hero? No no no no no…") and a simple, infectious keyboard lick that make for an all-too-fast rave up, kinda like his notoriously short, fiery live gigs.

By Laura Mojonnier

The last time Liz Phair figured so prominently in the critical discourse was back in 2003 following the release of her self-titled collaboration with the Matrix. While Phair retained her trademark sexual frankness on the disc and even produced a hit, "Why Can't I," the album rendered her fans utterly apoplectic.

What happened? Phair had been slowly moving in the "adult contemporary" direction for years - but the Matrix? The duo that produced Avril Lavigne and Christina Aguilera? If any one had lingering doubts as to whether or not the '90s were over, this album was the fourth horseman.

With the reissue of her classic debut, 1993's Exile in Guyville (Matador/ATO), slated for June 24, Phair is back in the spotlight. This time around, the questions she's provoking about how music has changed since she arrived on the scene are tempered by a healthy dose of nostalgia. Newly signed to Dave Matthew's ATO Records, Phair seems more comfortable than ever, even telling Billboard that she's feeling "creative" for the first time in 15 years and is working on a new album scheduled for the fall.

Howl on, Howlin Rain - at Outside Lands.

This in from the publicists of Outside Lands Music and Arts Festival, the first annual ticketed large-scale multi-stage event in Golden Gate Park. (A portion of every ticket sold will directly benefit Golden Gate Park):

"Outside Lands Music and Arts Festival is proud to announce new additions to the already-stellar line-up for the first inaugural event. Howlin Rain, The Dynamites, and Carney are rounding out Friday, Aug. 22. The Walkmen, Abigail Washburn and the Sparrow Quartet featuring Bela Fleck, and Everest have been added to Saturday, Aug. 23. Toots and the Maytals, Rogue Wave, Mike Gordon, and Vienna Teng have been added to Sunday, Aug. 24.

"The multifaceted, three-day festival will take place in San Francisco’s historic Golden Gate Park on Aug. 22-24, 2008. Radiohead, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, and Jack Johnson will headline the event. Tickets for the Outside Lands Music and Arts Festival are available for purchase at www.SFOutsidelands.com.

"The updated schedule for each day is as follows:"

Friday, Aug. 22 (first band is on at 5 p.m.)
Radiohead
Beck
Manu Chao
The Black Keys
Cold War Kids
Steel Pulse
Black Mountain
The Felice Brothers
Howlin Rain
The Dynamites
Carney

Saturday, August 23 (first band is on at 1 p.m.)
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals
Primus
Steve Winwood
Lupe Fiasco
Café Tacvba
Regina Spektor
Galactic’s Crescent City Soul Krewe featuring Dirty Dozen Horns
M. Ward
Devendra Banhart
Matt Nathanson
Two Gallants
Dredg
Abigail Washburn and the Sparrow Quartet featuring Bela Fleck
The Walkmen
Sidestepper
Kaki King
The Coup
Donavon Frankenreiter
Nellie McKay
Goapele
Sean Hayes
Rupa and the April Fishes
Everest

Sunday, Aug. 24 (first band is on at 1 p.m.)
Jack Johnson
Wilco
Widespread Panic
Rodrigo y Gabriela
Broken Social Scene
Andrew Bird
Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings
Drive-By Truckers
Toots and the Maytals
Stars
Rogue Wave
ALO
Jackie Greene
Mike Gordan
The Cool Kids
Grace Potter and the Nocturnals
Little Brother
Bon Iver
The Mother Hips
Nicole Atkins and the Sea
K’naan
Back Door Slam
Culver City Dub Collective

THE LAST SHADOW PUPPETS
The Age of the Understatement
(Domino)

By Todd Lavoie

Side projects tend to be met upon arrival with more than a bit of held-breath trepidation and Doubting Thomas cynicism. So it's always nice when one shows up that not only turns out to be a rousing success, but also ends up raising the bar for the artists concerned in the process. Such is the case with the recent Last of the Shadow Puppets collaboration between the Arctic Monkeys' Alex Turner and the Rascals' Miles Kane. Their opening introduction, The Age of the Understatement, should come as a great big "who knew?' to those who have followed the pair's respective day jobs thus far.

Specifically I am speaking of Turner; while Kane's Rascals hold plenty of promise, they have thus far only released an EP, with an album expected this summer. As for Turner, however - well, who would have expected that the charming leader of the exuberant pop-punkers Arctic Monkeys would follow up two such gloriously careening albums of post-Buzzcocks delights (2006's Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not and last year's Favourite Worst Nightmare, both Domino) with a collection of lushly orchestrated '60s pop? And that it would be so successful in paying homage to that era, for that matter?

The album should be considered a turning point for the vocalist. As effective as the Arctic Monkeys' pint-raising anthems have been in getting bodies in motion, here we are seeing a whole new depth to his songwriting. Not only did he and Kane - the two share songwriting credits - fully embrace and absorb the string-laden pop of the likes of Scott Walker, but they've penned a whole new set of riveting melodramas which surpass rote re-creation and mere mimicry and instead strive for achieving similar heights. Overall, they succeed enormously, which leaves me quite anxious to hear the Rascals' forthcoming debut, to be sure, and feverishly praying away that the next Monkeys disc can't be much further around the bend.

SLOAN
Parallel Play
(Yep Roc)

By Todd Lavoie

Ah, Sloan, you're killing me with your songwriting wizardry! The Canadian power-pop quartet had lain down quite the serious gauntlet to all the other three-chord bashers last year with their sprawling 30-track masterwork Never Hear the End of It (Yep Roc), and here they come once again with another batch of instant anthems to show 'em what's what.

The just-released Parallel Play (also Yep Roc) might not boast the same sense of hugeness as its predecessor - only 13 songs this go-round - but it's just as knee-tappingly, head-bobbingly dynamic, having channeled all of the previous disc's restless energy and fierce ambition into something a bit more compact. Better still, it seems that the guys must have gotten a massive creative boost after last year's bold undertaking. Parallel Play presents Sloan sounding even more energized than before, and certainly more focused. As admirable and breathtaking as 2007's offering was, the new disc is probably ultimately easier to get one's grip around. Me, I'm in love with it already.

Time to put that psychology degree to good use and make mama proud: the term "parallel play" comes from child psychology, referring to behavior in which little tykes enjoy playing independently of each other while sharing the same space - you know, as in "Ashley stacks wooden blocks while Kelsey scribbles all over the coffee table with a new box of crayons." You get the idea. While this term might not resonate nearly as much with other bands - I couldn't see it connecting as much with Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings, for example, wherein everybody locks together in the pursuit of a tight groove - it definitely makes sense in the context of Sloan.

Charlemagne Palestine
From Etudes to Cataclysms
(Sub Rosa)

By Erik Morse

Charlemagne Palestine (real name: Chaim Moshe Tzadik Palestine) has long been an unrecognized co-star in the avant-celebrity tradition of minimalism. Born in Brooklyn and working alongside his more famous brethren for decades, Palestine blends entrancing keyboard intervals with stylized performance and mythmaking. In his newest two-CD collection of compositions, From Etudes to Cataclysms, the musician gets second billing to the unique piano he plays.

Christened the Borgato by its eponymous inventor, a musician from Padua, the instrument consists of two grand piano bodies, constructed vertically, with the first containing all 88 keys and sitting at normal playing height while the second contains only the lower 37 notes and rests near the feet. Having previously learned to perform on the carillon, a medieval bell instrument played with the fists and feet, Palestine was reportedly eager to test his dexterity on the mutant machine. Recorded over three days at the Church of Saint Apollinare Monticello in Lonigo, Italy, the end product is a 140 minute tour de force of mindful possibilities and mindless boredom.

The first disc (“Etudes”) consists almost entirely of Palestine’s exercises with repetition and formality as he builds enormous ghostly overtones from long periods of high- and low-end trilling. From the opening “super high tones” to the closing “tritone octave ½”, there is an ongoing struggle, in both performance and perception, between obscure mathematical process and arcane artistic license. The tension builds further and further as the individual notes blur into less delineated “clusters” of sound without harmonic resolution. Drones, secreted beneath the surface sounds, phase in and out with a spectral menace.

As with most extended minimalist compositions, there are various levels of intention and thus appreciation simultaneously at work. While the abstractionist and musicologist might luxuriate in so-called “microtonal” resonances spiriting between the Western intervals of the piano, casual listeners may simply gape at Palestine’s superhuman playing endurance. Regardless, the listener hangs on to this sonic maelstrom half in suspense and half in stupor. The hypnotic effect is not very different from that produced by LaMonte Young’s The Well Tuned Piano (Gramavision, 1988) or the film soundtracks of Ligeti or Donaggio. And most of the pieces do have a strong kinaesthetic component to them, eschewing the aural for a chimerical cinematography.

The second disc exudes similar hypnomonotony but the pianist’s trills reside more on the lower end as he seems to take full advantage of the “bass” piano at his feet. In “Cataclisma 2” and “Cataclisma 3," the use of tension and resolution is particularly effective, again invoking the nocturnal soundtrack moods of Eyes Wide Shut or any of a dozen “metaphysical” crime films. By “Cataclisma 4," a behemoth piece clocking in at nearly 20 minutes, the divisions between tracks seem arbitrary or beyond a dilettante’s comprehension. Unfortunately, the recording fails to present the overall image of a Charlemagne Palestine recital, where the performer in question often surrounds himself with stuffed teddy bears, books, and aged cognac. Such knick-knacks probably connote a humor and playfulness that is sorely missing in the heavy intellectual conceits of From Etudes to Cataclysms. Nonetheless, for followers of the current avant-garde, the work of this renegade pianist has few equals.

The Nightwatchman in the film Berkeley.

This just in for Rage Against the Machine guitarist Tom Morello's people:

"Tom Morello's solo project and alter ego, the Nightwatchman, will play a San Francisco benefit for anti-war activist Cindy Sheehan, best known for her extended demonstration at a camp outside President George W. Bush's Texas ranch. Sheehan's son, Casey was killed during his service in the Iraq War on April 4, 2004.

"Says Morello, 'I have never publicly endorsed any political candidate until now. It is an honor to perform at Cindy Sheehan's fundraising event because I strongly believe she is the kind of uncompromising righteous voice for justice that this country so desperately needs. Her unwavering commitment to peace and human rights as well as her intelligence and fortitude are inspiring and stand in dramatic contrast to the lame parade of mealy-mouthed sell-outs and red state war-mongers we are normally forced to choose between.'

"Morello will headline the fundraising show for Sheehan at San Francisco's Fat City on Saturday, June 28, alongside Malcontent, an acoustic performance by Travis Bilenski, and a reading by Eric Victorino.

Raging with RATM: "Bulls on Parade."

Stefan Grant and bassist Martin Morales rock the Devil at SFTV Unplugged.

By Kat Renz

A year ago, local guitarist Stefan Grant wasn't sure how he'd continue playing live shows. The drummer of his alternative/metal band, Kinetic Chain, moved to Chicago, and the tribe was further split after he and the lead guitarist suffered a falling out.

And then, as so often happens in those bummer times, epiphany struck: what if they took a different direction from the guitar riff-driven, crashing drum sound they were so used to and went acoustic instead? "Let's strip it down to what it is," Grant said, adding that he wanted to create an opportunity to play and see live music that's easy on the ears but still rock, as opposed to jazz or pop - a sweet space he considers relatively rare in the city. Thus was born SFTV Unplugged.

It's not a novel approach - remember how killer those episodes of MTV Unplugged were back in the '90s? "I think there are a lot of 30-plus people who liked Unplugged a lot," Grant said, as we proceeded to rail off a list of our favorite performances. Alice in Chains. The Cure. That legendary Nirvana performance with Kurt Cobain sarcastically commenting on everything from harp-tuning to Leadbelly's for-sale guitar amid a stage buried in star-gazer lilies.