Girls make us dance - whether we want to or not. Photo by Jen Synder.

By Jen Snyder

I know that there's a big battle going on about whether or not the Internet is evil - and whether or not technology is making people super-mean. But you've got to admit that while some things may be getting a more impersonal, others are getting a lot cooler. Like bands.

Has anyone noticed that there are a million groups out there that are actually really good? That is so weird. Remember when you used to go to the Warehouse with your dad and every other CD was completely horrible? Now I walk around a music store so bewildered by all the pretty album covers that I get an intimidation contact high and end up leaving with my 19th Leonard Cohen album. Geez. I blame the Internet and its infallible ability to get awesome stuff to anyone, even if you don't live in a cultural hub like San Francisco.

So the next time you're stumbling around Amoeba, wondering which disc has the sweet song your coworker played for you, just go to the G section and go pick out anything by Girls. Actually, they don't have an official album out, but I do know that they have some great songs on their MySpace page, including a particular favorite of mine, "Hellhole Ratrace." Their songs evoke the pleasantly masochistic feelings you get from listening to something like Nirvana Unplugged. And in an era where one can describe the '80s and even the '90s as vintage, Girls has this "yesterday" feel to them that makes you yearn for those years when you were sadder and more creative.

Continue reading "Love those Girls at Rickshaw Stop" »

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Posted by Kimberly Chun at 10:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

ABDEL HADI HALO AND THE EL GUSTO ORCHESTRA OF ALGIERS
Abdel Hadi Halo and the El Gusto Orchestra of Algiers
(Honest Jon’s)

By Erik Morse

The style and history of chaabi may be recognizable to few if any Westerners. But the examples performed on Abdel Hadi Halo and the El Gusto Orchestra of Algiers represent a unique and fascinating exchange between French, Spanish, and Algerian musical identity as well as the miscegenation of Jewish, Berber, and Arabic street culture in the heart of North Africa.

Translated from Arabic as “popular," chaabi – originating in the Casbah as part of a Moorish/Andalusian tradition that stretched back to the 15th century – reached its height during the 1950s. Primarily performed in bars and clubs where many French expats, American GIs, Sephardic Jews, and Algerian Muslims congregated and swapped native instruments and scales, the cosmopolitan interplay of chaabi marked a complex colonial parity comparable to American Delta blues. With Algeria’s independence from France in 1962, over 100,000 pied-noirs (mostly Jews and European colonials) fled north from their homes fearing reprisal from the Muslim sanctioned government. And with them went much of the cross-cultural popularity of chaabi.

Although it lost much of its mystique among younger musicians, the forefathers of chaabi played on. Some, like El Hajj Muhammad El Anka, referred to as the “father of chaabi,” continued to teach and spread the genre’s musical heritage throughout Algeria until his death in 1978.

Continue reading "Rock the Casbah: 'Abdel Hadi Halo and the El Gusto Orchestra of Algiers' revives North Africa's chaabi" »

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Posted by Kimberly Chun at 06:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

BORKO
Celebrating Life
(Morr Music)

By Erik Morse

Bjorn Kristiansson, a.k.a., Borko, is not only a chronic day-dreamer but a procrastinator as well. A music teacher and film composer living in Reykjavik, Borko has finally assembled an album, Celebrating Life, to follow his 2001 debut EP, Trees and Limbo (Resonant). The result - a collection of varying electronic and folktronic experiments that reaches back to 2002 - is a pleasing if dilettantish grab bag of bright charmers and absurd homages to the tundra. Kristiansson’s inspirations suggest an ambitious musical mind that seeks grand scope rather than minute detail.

The album’s opener, the appropriately titled “Continental Love,” is a wonderful introduction to Kristiansson’s musical topology, using synthesized horns and sampled vocal beats to simulate the expansive void of the Great North - a space more than a place - and, left largely to the romantic imagination, the perfect wintry allegory for longing. The next track, “Spoonstabber,” abandons these mammoth instrumentals for the doe-eyed vocals and electro-acoustic soundscapes of Amnesiac-era Radiohead, revealing Borko’s m.o. to be one less of tonal focus than generic catch and release. Lest we forget, this is pop and not process music.

Despite the childish titles, “Shoo Ba Ba," “Sushi Stakeout,” and “Ding Dong Kingdom” dovetail into melodrama, using heavily processed keyboards, plangent electric guitars, and hypnotic coos and chimes - not unlike fellow Icelanders múm or Air in its lush soundtracking for The Virgin Suicides. Throughout, the playful melancholia of Borko evokes the cinematic regionalism of Guy Maddin or Dagur Kári, whose works similarly equate romance not with equatorial heat but with arctic hibernation. And Celebrating Life is filled with the kind of hit-and-miss magic that comes when an imagination overburdened with the possibilities of music seeks to create not only a new genre but a whole new continent of sound.

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Posted by Kimberly Chun at 12:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By Todd Lavoie

Supergrass, “Diamond Hoo Ha Man”

Perhaps it’s perfectly fitting that the lads in Supergrass -- cheeky as they’ve always been -- are the ones in the much-ballyhooed Britpop pack having the last laugh after all. Chalk it up to their boyish exuberance, I suppose, or maybe to their steadfast refusal to take themselves too seriously, but the Oxford stompers are now deep into the double-digit years of their career, and still sounding remarkably fresh with each release, while so many of those acts once mentioned in the same breath have either broken up or lost their relevance.

The once-ubiquitous movement, which the British music press essentially heralded as something akin to the second coming of Christ, complete with its share of messianic drama and seething rivalries, had a great run for a while there, beginning around the mid-‘90s and lasting through the turn of the century. Blur, Oasis, Pulp, Suede, Elastica, Sleeper -- they were some of the big-hitters at the center of it all, unapologetically celebrating Britishness, flag-drapery and all, through a spirited revisit of ‘60s Mod culture, punk/post-punk jitters, and New Wave electro-romanticism.

When Supergrass showed up, still in their teens and hardly concealing it, the bright-eyed scruffs seemed like the younger, sillier siblings to the art-school grads of Blur and Pulp. I imagine many folks would’ve never guessed at the time of their breakthrough 1995 single “Alright” (yep, as in “We are young/ we run green/ keep our teeth nice and clean/ see our friends, see the sights/ feel alright” -- recently snagged by Walt Disney world for their feel-good commercials) that the band would still be going strong thirteen years later. Nothing against them, of course, it’s just that bands sticking together for more than a decade are a bit of a rarity.

But here they are, and their recently Brit-released sixth album, Diamond Hoo Ha (Parlophone/EMI) – to be released here 6/10 on Astralwerks -- is a winner. With the demise of Pulp and Elastica and Sleeper and Suede fading further by the day, and in view of Blur’s highly unlikely on-again/off-again reformation rumors and Oasis’s having long since lost the plot, it looks like Supergrass might strike the double-bonus of longevity and sustained relevance. Hmmm, feel alright, indeed.

Continue reading "Runnin' through the Supergrass with "Diamond Hoo Ha"" »

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Posted by Marke B. at 12:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By Joshua Rotter

Call me overly-dramatic but Duran Duran have and will forever be my favorite band. They have been since I was five. That's probably why one of my greatest regrets is opting for a Nintendo console over tickets to the "Arena" tour -- what was to be the band's final outing (with all five founding members) -- for my sixth birthday back in 1984.

While seeing reformed lineups both onstage and at record signings in the 90's, and even encountering John Taylor one fateful morning at the Noah's Bagels that I worked at in 1997, offered some consolation, nothing would come close to seeing the Fab Five together again on their 2008 reunion tour.

All pics by Quartknee Kwatek

While guitarist Andy Taylor's recent departure from the group may have sprinkled on my parade, I can't say that their Bay Area Red Carpet Massacre tour stop at Sleep Train Amphitheatre in Concord May 2 suffered for it.

The three-act show, which debuted in late 2007 on Broadway, was highly-theatrical, incorporating all the necessary show-stopping elements.

There was unique staging in the band's utilization of a simple skyscraper background and a variety of light sources -- from stage lights to bulbs -- to evoke a variety of moods instead of traditional video screens.

The musical numbers -- from the darker tracks off their Timba-Lake-produced "Red Carpet Massacre" (2007) like bass-heavy opener "The Valley", beat-driven "Night-Runner" and hip pop number "Skin Diver" complete with Timbaland rapping loop to rearrangements of the band's lighter classics such as "Hungry Like the Wolf", "The Reflex" and "Rio" -- were mixed gorgeously.

The mid-section of the show was run entirely on synthesizers and drum machines, so
tracks like "Last Chance on the Stairway" "All She Wants Is" and "I Don't Want Your Love" became even more electro-shocked, blending seamlessly with the band's cover of The Normal's "Warm Leatherette".

Josh and the boys

Continue reading "Duran Duran again again" »

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Posted by Marke B. at 03:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

By Todd Lavoie

Vieux Farka Touré, "Bullet the Blue Sky"

Oh, U2 -- they might not have changed the world as much as they’d hoped (or, not yet, anyway), but at least they’ve made it a warmer, more hopeful place, yes? Hard to fathom a band more deserving of the tag “global phenomenon,” but there it is, slapped upon every stirring chorus and grand sweeping gesture from Bono’s anointed fingers -- the sheer enormousness of it all would be mighty hard to take if the guys didn’t have the goods to back it up. But they do, and what’s more, they’ve kept the flow for longer than some listeners have even been alive -- to whom else on the international airwaves could we ever say such a thing? Michael Jackson? Once upon a time, sure, but not anymore. Mariah Carey? Please. And you’d best bite that lip before suggesting Britney! But honestly: has anyone else in modern-day rock/pop ubiquity had the same level of social impact as U2? For all of the mumbles and grumbles about Bono’s perceived messiah-complex, it’s worth remembering that he and his mates have pushed far beyond the familiar celebrity-pose of half-hearted idealism in favor of honest-to-goodness optimism, championing countless causes with honest-to-goodness conviction. Take that, Ms Spears.

Further testimony can be found on the recently-released In The Name Of Love: Africa Celebrates U2 (Shout! Factory). An intriguing collection of interpretations from U2’s catalogue by some of the continent’s most notable musicians, the disc serves as more than just a reminder of the band’s utmost uber-importance -- this tribute also offers fresh insight into their unimpeachable songwriting skills. Language barriers? Pshaw! How nineteenth century!

Continue reading "Africa adopts U2" »

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Posted by Marke B. at 12:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By Todd Lavoie

Neon Neon, “I Lust U (featuring Cate Le Bon)”

As far as concept albums go, it couldn’t get much odder: Neon Neon’s Stainless Style (Lex Records) -- the new collaboration between Super Furry Animals frontman Gruff Rhys and underground electro/hip hop producer Boom Bip -- takes a body-rockin’ trundle on the time-machine back to the heady life and times of John DeLorean, and mercifully, it works and works and works. It could’ve been so completely naff -- concept albums often are, frequently falling prey to their own ambition and overly-serious dedication to the subject matter concerned -- but the impish Welsh singer/songwriter and L.A. beatmaster handle the conceit with humor, reverence, and more than a little insight as well. Better yet, the album just as successfully when considered merely as a collection of songs, no more, no less. Isolate any of these synth-wigglers from the concept album construct, and you’ll still end up with a solid stand-alone track worthy of your hips and ears.

A neon yellow DeLorean: ready

Stainless Style is steeped a-plenty deep in the Back to The Future era. Much like the infamous DeLorean vehicle itself, the album is slick and sleek, squeaking from a hard polish that lands midway between glitzy and tacky beyond belief -- in the best possible way, mind you. Any recording which intends to faithfully, convincingly pay tribute to the 80s must speak with a fluency in the rhythmic- and synth-cheeses of the times, and Neon Neon apparently has taken a full-immersion course in the language.

Continue reading "Neon Neon hop in the DeLorean, speed back to the future" »

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Posted by Marke B. at 02:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

THE INTERCHANGEABLE HEARTS
Lost
(Zeitgeist)

By Todd Lavoie

Losing oneself isn't necessarily something to shy away from; in the case of the debut EP from San Francisco trio Interchangeable Hearts, such an outcome should probably be welcomed. Fronted by the coolly unhurried vocals of Lina Hancock, the three-piece arrives well-versed in matching stark atmospherics with melancholic ruminations on matters of love, at times recalling Midnight Movies at their most minimal or Sub Pop-era Saint Etienne at their most somber.

"Now That I'm Gone" is a captivating opening statement, starting off with a ghostly slink of haunted-house organ and sumptuously detached vocals before spinning itself into hi-hat- and bubble-bass-driven disco release, with Hancock achieving a curious blend of resignation and euphoria in her dancefloor declaration, "All the stars in the sky and the light in my eyes/it makes me fall apart." Fluid bass lines and weightless organ whirrs also largely inform the engrossingly floatable handclap-funk of "March," and the elegant balladry of "Be Mine" glides along with a tearful melody and stately piano worthy of Burt Bacharach - think Ivy without the French-accented vocals.

"Maze" offers the Interchangeable Hearts at their most spooked-out, thanks to the billowing puffs of organ which keep the song hovering somewhere in the ether. Top marks, however, go to "On My Knees," a coy tempo-shifter buoyed by Hancock's taunting chorus of "look me in the eyes and make me remember you."

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Posted by Kimberly Chun at 12:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

No foolin': Traditional Fools at the Eagle. All photos by Jen Snyder.

By Jen Snyder

Remember when you were never held accountable for anything - save for your room being clean? Man, I do.

I've got to say, the Oh Sees, Traditional Fools, and Master Slash Slave show at the Eagle Tavern this past Thursday, April 17, dredged up feelings of nostalgia for me. I don't know if it's the comfy charm of the most relaxed gay bar ever, or if because past Bay Area indie gods dotted the crowd, as members of Coachwhips and Erase Errata buzzed around, but there was a carefree feeling about the show. If you like reminiscing about your childhood, I can only suggest listening to at least one of these local bands the next time you find yourself hunting for tunes.

Remember how much of a bummer it was when you had to go to school for eight hours every day, starting at 8 a.m.? That was insane - especially if you went to an extremely ill-equipped public high school with no money to upgrade computers straight out of the Oregon Trail days. The Traditional Fools reminds me of the days you feigned sickness, stayed home, and watched Wayne's World three times in a row.

Continue reading "The Ohsees, Traditional Fools ride the radio dial in my time machine" »

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Posted by Kimberly Chun at 12:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By Alex Felsinger

For the latest installment of Fearless Records' noble quest to release the worst-themed cover-song compilations ever, they've truly one-upped themselves with the horrendously misnamed Punk Goes Crunk. It should have been called Popular Rock Goes Mainstream Rap, but, of course, that doesn't have a nice ring to it. While the definition of punk has become so egregiously convoluted that some may claim that New Found Glory and Hot Rod Circuit are actually punk, no one can dispute that Will Smith's Men in Black theme song is not crunk by any means. Nor is 2pac, Notorious B.I.G., the Roots, Snoop Dogg, or any of the other artists unfortunate enough to have their hits covered on this disc.

At first, the idea is kind of funny - I mean, it does rhyme. Beyond that, however, it's bad. The first track, which happens to be the only actual cover of a crunk song, highlights the Bay Area's own Set Your Goals covering Lil Jon's "Put Yo Hood Up." Like most songs on the compilation, the band doesn't try to give the song any kind of punk or pop-punk makeover, but rather takes the opportunity to try their own hand at rapping. With the help of a redundant chorus sung by what sounds like Yoda, the tune sets the overall tone for the collection.

The comp has a few somewhat interesting tracks, including Say Anything's rendition of Ol' Dirty Bastard's "Got Yo Money," which is good for a couple laughs. But it's clear by the end that humanity has already endured enough experimentation between rock and rap (i.e., ahem, Limp Bizkit) and at some point, the genres need to go back to their respective corners. Frankly, I thought they already had. Some of these tracks were originally intended for release on Immortal Records' Yo! Indie Rock Raps compilation, but they canned the concept. Fearless should have taken note.

Perhaps recognizing that no one would ever put their own money towards purchasing Punk Goes Crunk, the label has put the entire release up online to hear for free. Lucky you.

WARPED TOUR
With most groups featured on Punk Goes Crunk
June 21, 11 a.m., $33
Pier 30/32, SF
(415) 421-TIXS

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Posted by Kimberly Chun at 08:54 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

SKYPHONE
Avellaneda
(Rune Grammofon)

By Erik Morse

The Danish trio of Thomas Holst, Keld Dam Schmidt, and Mads Bodker has deepened the exotic secrets first whispered in its 2004 debut, Fabula (Rune Grammofon), with a new quiet masterpiece, Avellaneda.

Possibly a titular reference to the small port city in Argentina or the aristocratic family for which the town is named, Skyphone’s Avellaneda seems to recall nothing less than the cryptic landscapes and genealogies of Jorge-Luis Borges. In name alone, tracks like “Schweizerhalle," “Quetzal Cubicle,” and “Yetispor” present odd, polyglot taxonomies of old Europe and the New World. While the grab bag of gizmos in Avellaneda – glockenspiels, toy pianos, analog synths – and field sounds are all found in the band’s debut, the manner in which they are layered together vertically in the former rather than stitched laterally in the latter liberates the space of each track, allowing the sounds to tarry and erect their own internal rhythms.

This is a great leap forward in Holst and co.’s working method. As a Scandinavian relative to artists like Alog, Phonophani, and Kim Hiorthøy, Skyphone’s achievements in lush, ambient soundtracking are not without referents, but in demurring to the post-dance emulsions of glitchy beats or po-mo production, Avellaneda puts the group in a sonic universe somewhere between Debussy and Eno. In fact, the conjurations of moody bliss and non-Western rhythms make the album a sequel of sorts to Eno’s 1975 classic Another Green World (EG). Deserving of all of the hype, Skyphone confirms why Scandinavia is still at the forefront of avant-garde electro-acoustic music.

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Posted by Kimberly Chun at 10:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By Todd Lavoie

Charmed, I am - former Arab Strap post-folkie Malcolm Middleton has just released his fourth album, Sleight of Heart (Full Time Hobby), and it's a corker, I'm telling you. A fitting title, too - there's some lovely little magic at play here, fashioning such shimmers and sparkles from the sadder reaches of the emotional continuum.

Sleight of heart? Sleight of hand, while we're at it. Middleton plays a swift game of "now you see it, now you don't" in his songwriting, tossing up chippy-chip-chipper bluebirds of melody only to smother them in his smog-gray handkerchief with the turn of a devastating phrase. Ol' Malcolm's a master at such trickery, often creating a mighty impressive gulf between the listener's initial surface-level perceptions of the song and the eventual under-the-skin burrowing that takes place later, if given the chance. Simply put, our man crafts some of the most immediately accessible brittle-hearted music you're likely to hear anytime soon.

It's been a curious journey for Middleton. Back in 1995, he and Aidan Moffat forged a distinctively stark, soul-baring form of epic disturbo-folk under the eyebrow-raising name Arab Strap (noun: a contraption used by a man to maintain an erection during intercourse). As the moniker would suggest, the duo didn't shy away from matters of a carnal nature, but even more arresting was their willingness to dredge up the uglier, less flattering aspects of the human experience.

Continue reading "Arab Strap's Malcolm Middleton gets up the gritty magic" »

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Posted by Kimberly Chun at 08:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Holy Spazmosis!. Jumpy young rockers Anavan drove up from Salt Lake City to play the queer (and friends!) punk monthly Trans Am at Club Eight for a rapturous beer-spurtin' crowd last Saturday.

Anavan, "You're Taking Me Out"

The frantic foursome greeted us with mucho fog machine, trademark hockey helmets, drum, bass, and a wall of synths. And then everything got crazy in a voices-in-your-head way (mostly thanks to the skittering, hyperactive vocals mixed waaaay back in the echo-delay mix.)


Courtesy of the muthafuckin' LA Times

In the case of the hockey helmets, visual connections to those masked masters Daft Punk, MSTRKRFT, and occasionally (if primly painted-on facial scruff counts -- yes, I'm calling those skinny French boys out) Justice might be made. And sonically they can sometimes resemble those glam-tech outfits a teeny-tad, mostly in their boppy keyboard riffs. But Anavan adds its own cymbal-crashing, wildly energetic No-Wave twist, sure to please the art school crowd (Richard Hell is all the rage again, haven't you heard?) and dance floor maniacs as well as indie kids. I expect you'll hear them burning down discos near you soon.

(Next month a Trans Am, Sat May 3, features SF native cuties Ex-Boyfriends -- should be rocking'.)

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Posted by Marke B. at 05:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Honey! All photos by Joshua Rotter.

By Joshua Rotter

It's a story as old as disco. Attractive "straight" Midwesterner moves to the big city to find himself, only to get blindsided by a barrage of drugs, sex, and tea dances. True, dancing became a major component of gay life in the post-Stonewall '70s, when the dance floor served as both a place of expression and escape for many gay men. It's this defining period in gay history that novelist Andrew Holleran highlighted in his 1978 novel, Dancer from the Dance.

Taking his title from poet William Butler Yeats's 50 year-old line, "How can we know the dancer from the dance?" Holleran attempted to examine this brain-twister in his chronicle of gays looking for companionship and understanding in pre-AIDS New York City and Fire Island, by focusing on the misadventures of his beautiful yet provincial protagonist Anthony Malone, who loses himself in the shuffle and shag club scene.

Thirty years later, the Honey Soundsystem collective - DJs Pee Play, KenVulsion, Robot Hustle, Jason Kendig, and Josh Cheon - took cues from this groundbreaking work for their most recent theme party.

Continue reading "Clubs: Honey Soundsystem looks to 'Dancer from the Dance'" »

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Posted by Kimberly Chun at 10:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

A little bit o' London Souls.

By Kandia Crazy Horse

A SXSW diary concludes...

SATURDAY, MARCH 15

As mentioned before, other than an in-and-out at Brush Square Park for a Japanese lineup, I simply did not make it to day parties, including the Frank 151 one where I had hoped to catch Game Rebellion again on Friday since they’d so courteously invited Kimberly and I en route to the Ironworks for ‘cue (did catch them rush the stage during N.E.R.D.’s disappointing non-starter of a late-night set at Stubb’s). Thus I missed Harp’s own shindig at the French Legation (and thus the chance to commiserate with my fellow contributors), the ‘ting of NYC-based Kemado Records for which I actually had a lam, and my annual Sunday trip down South Congress for western wear and eats (sorry Andy!).

Last minute, I did make the scene at Jelly NYC’s rooftop thang down West Fifth in the vicinity of Town Lake. And I am glad I did, as this foot-hobbling sojourn off the beaten track enabled me to let some ghosts go while hip-switching through the sequential, heavy volume-dealing sets of London Souls (actually from Brooklyn also, and fronted by a palpably Hendrix-loving brer) and Earl Greyhound. Before a rickshaw took me back to the Hilton, I made and re-met some friends, was hailed by some cool new folks (like sometime Rolling Stone lensman Michael Weintrob) and finally scored a decent drink.

The afternoon was enjoyable due to a very satisfying morning during which I arose early, 9 a.m., from the groggy swamp to breakfast at the soon-to-be-defunct Las Manitas on Congress with NYC friend Tim Broun and his Oaktown musician bud Paul Manousos - all in order to see Daryl Hall’s official SXSW interview at noon. Not only were Tim and I first in line, but we had a great front row view of Brother Hall being interviewed by my colleague Ann Powers of the LA Times. Seeming to be aloof behind shades, seated next to his compadre T-Bone Wolk and their six strings, the sometime 50 percent of Hall and Oates was actually very engaging and sharp, and it was clear from his responses that he never suffers fools gladly.

"Engaging and sharp": Daryl Hall and Kandia Crazy Horse.

Continue reading "SXSW: Scoping out Daryl Hall, Darondo, Bonnie Bramlett, Justin Townes Earle, David Garza, and more" »

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Posted by Kimberly Chun at 10:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Saw your baby, lady: Kimya Dawson.

By Kandia Crazy Horse

A SXSW night-and-day diary continues...

THURSDAY, MARCH 13, AND FRIDAY, MARCH 14

The day began with my first IHOP run, and the late rising set me permanently behind on the day-party trail. In fact, I ultimately only made the scene at one on Sixth with our fearless leader/SX roomie Kimberly Chun, wherein we were irritated by “free” drink tickets that only provided low-shelf liquor.

It was fun to make the scene in the upper reaches of the Convention Center, catching up with such friends and colleagues as Manhattan cultural instigator Jim Fouratt, NC-born upstater Holly George-Warren at her trade show book signing for Punk 365 and her fine Gene Autry bio, Perfect Sound Forever honcho Jason Gross, veteran esteemed rock critic Dave Marsh, and (erstwhile) Harp editors Fred Mills and Randy Harward who, alas, came bearing bad tidings about the music magazine’s demise. I also met rock scribe/wife Laurie Lindeen, rockbiz vet Danny Goldberg (whose account of apprenticing to Led Zeppelin’s famed manager Peter Grant was thrilling), Hanson vox Taylor, rockwrite/rock orbit luminaries Jaan Uhelszki and Danny Fields, and played text tag with some other folks before and after dropping too many ducats at Flatstock for posters of the Black Crowes, Stevie Wonder, and the great Alejandro Escovedo (who I was saturated with in ’07 but very sadly missed this year).

The Day Stage tended to be dull or between bursts when I breezed through from the trade show, but I did see Kimya Dawson and her man keeping up with their toddling baby girl. That’s not to say there were no good-to-great performances provided within the Convention Center’s walls: in succession, I saw Hanson, the Noisettes, and (an amazing set by) X, all mercifully recorded for DirectTV.

Continue reading "SXSW: Kimya baby sighting no. 1, meathead hair-tossing at RTX, She and Him hrumphed" »

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Posted by Kimberly Chun at 02:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Learning to love again with Ra Ra Riot. All photos by Kimberly Chun.

O SXSW, what a mixed bag thou art. Good-looking from across a crowded Kiwanis Hall, good-looking (if somewhat huge-pored and flushed with Lone Stars) close up, and even better-looking receding in the distance. Yes, I'm waving, not drowning, with this, a last, lingering, photo-centric dispatch from Saturday, March 15.

Just breathe: Inca Ore.

Solo artists (from Portland, Ore. by way of the Bay) Inca Ore and Grouper stole an intimate house party, organized by Guardian contributor and Club Sandwich mastermind George Chen. A nice alternative to Todd P's day-shows at Ms. Bea's - on the sleepy, leafy, chill side of the Colorado River. Chen's combo KIT also tore it up, following up their Upset the Rhythm showcase earlier that week.

Meow! KIT.

Off-kilter harmonies from the twins of Scary Mansion.

Continue reading "SXSW: Up on Duffy, Ra Ra Riot, Carbon Silicon, Inca Ore, Kate Nash, and more" »

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Posted by Kimberly Chun at 12:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Polish me off, Chrome. All photos by Joshua Rotter.

By Joshua Rotter

Chrome makes me think of those metallic-plated bicycles that kids ride around on. It also reminds me of the same-name rock band that formed in San Francisco in the late '70s. Promoter Bill Picture (Trans Am) managed to meld both elements together at monthly rock night Chrome at the Gangway.

Showcasing DJ Dirty Knees (Trans Am, Charlie Horse) and special guest DJs including March’s Metal Patricia, this metal night gets gear heads banging with heavy favorites like Bad Company’s “Feel Like Makin’ Love” and Motley Crue’s “Too Fast for Love." It’s like a metal hall of fame with something old and something newer.

Headbanging purists might divide the genre into two phases: the early years with bands like Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, and Black Sabbath and the later, new wave of British metal (NWOBHM), led by tougher, harder acts like Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, and Motorhead. But I chronologize it differently: BRHCO and ARHCO, before Rob Halford Came Out and After Rob Halford Came Out, which finally brought the genre out of the closet.

Continue reading "Clubs: Chrome gets our headbanging rocks off" »

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Posted by Kimberly Chun at 02:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By Todd Lavoie

My ears might still be ringing, but it's totally worth it, I tell you: checked out English quadruple-lunged soul powerhouse Alice Russell's white-hot-and-beyond groove-a-thon last night, March 11, at Mojito, and it was the best decision I've made all month.

Girl could sing the ass clean off everybody in that room, honestly, and so that's exactly what she did - two explosive 45-minute sets and an encore later, she'd leveled that place. Best part of all? Russell pulled it all off with buckets of charm, quipping and chuckling and getting on with the crowd like a house on fire: no diva moments, no attitudinal posturing.

And while I didn't exactly take a poll afterwards, I've got a sneaking feeling most folks in attendance felt the same way I did: we'd witnessed something very, very special. If you didn't make it to either show (she also slammed the Mojito crowd this past Monday, March 10), you're free to kick yourselves, but don't get too carried away: there's a good chance Russell might be coming back again soon. Most likely, when she does, she'll be hitting Mojito once more, having played there a few times already and having clearly cultivated a love-love relationship between artist and venue.

Continue reading "Alice Russell has our ears ringing" »

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Posted by Kimberly Chun at 02:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Signage modification - Austin, Texas-style. All photos by Kimberly Chun.

What a weird lil' South By this is? Can it get any stranger than the evening of March 13, which started out at Stubb's for a sold-out anti-war concert, "Body of War," linked to the feature documentary on 25-year-old Tomas Young, who was paralyzed from a bullet to his spine, taken after serving in Iraq for less than a week. System of a Down's Serj Tankian accompanied himself on piano, Billy Bragg presented a powerful "Farmer Boy," and Kimya Dawson, Ben Harper, and RX Bandits filled out the bill. (Sightings of the Dawson's infant being cartered by her partner, abounded throughout the fest).

Gimme more Ex Cocaine.

Then it was off to the Siltbreeze showcase at Soho Lounge for a hand drum-driven Ex Cocaine from Missoula, Montana, and the stirring guitar-electronics invocations of Blues Control from Brooklyn. Good to see such a sizable crowd out for what many might see as a micro-niche night.

Outta-hand Blues Control.

Made few pitstops at Friends for the soon-to-be capacity Carbon/Silicon showcase (witness the scores of disappointed Clash fans milling around before their 11:30 p.m. set outside, cordoned off by police tape just so they don't get raucous). London's Noah and the Whale plied their rootsy folky harmonies with sweetness and high spirits.

Swallow this: Noah and the Whale.

More ambitious but definitely more streamlined lineup-wise, was Florence and the Machine, also from London town, over at BBC/Steve Lamacq's event at the Rio. Like a sweet, over-the-top cross between Kate Bush and a high school musical theater star, Flo mimed drowning, quasi-tap-danced, and threw her gold-sequined jacket to an audience member when she grew encumbered. All accompanied only by ukulele. And with plenty of drama for all.

The Fantasticks, anyone? Florence and the Machine.

Time to queue for the Playboy/C3 (presenters of Lollapalooza, et al) ninth annual late-night party. The line wound round the block of the "301" warehouse and the media line (through the back entrance - I felt like I ought to be helping with the dishes!) was just as crazed. Once inside, after watching oodles of would-be media types getting turned away at the list, I spied Perez Hilton all in white, with white shorn locks, got my beverage (check the ample barbecue midnight snack), and studied the Heavy as they cozied up to playmates in sad drooping bunny ears and cotton tails.

Things got Heavy.

Continue reading "SXSW: Playboy bods and yobs, "Body of War," sniffing a Siltbreeze" »

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Posted by Kimberly Chun at 01:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Totally high on High on Fire. All photos by Kimberly Chun.

"Purple is the color of sexual frustration," quips one English SXSW conventioneer to two ladies asking about their wardrobe choice in the elevator. Not so over at Stubb's and Vice's metal showcase yesterday, March 13. I missed Napalm Death, damn it all, but made it to see High on Fire totally kick arse! Lordy, who knew Matt Pike and company had it in 'em? All assembled would have to confess: they totally blew away metal-punk grandpappies Motorhead. (OK, I only stayed for a portion of Motorhead's set but chances looked slim that they were going to kick up more dust.)

"This song goes out to all my friends who came here from Oakland!" Pike exclaimed before launching into a brute, pummeling rendition of "Speedwolf." Holy mother of fuck...

You can't envy Lemmy and his weathered road warriors, following that. But you can admire the devil horns getting thrown up front.

Continue reading "SXSW: High on Fire blows away Motorhead; cruising Ms. Bea's and Typewriter Museum" »

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Posted by Kimberly Chun at 04:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Stomp! Scotland's Sons and Daughters walk all over us at SXSW's Domino showcase. All photos by Kimberly Chun.

Showcases at SXSW: it's a strategic sport - which ones can you get into, which ones will be futile endeavors (the Carbon/Silcon show, for instance, last night, on March 13 at the renamed "Clash"/Friends club), which ones will be too far off the Sixth Street beaten path? I hovered round a few joints the first night, Wednesday, March 12, first catching Paper Rad at the Knitting Factory showcase.

A packed crew of hip kids in bright clothing showed up early for the 8 p.m. set, which started out with a series of videos: Rihanna melted into/mashed up with the Cranberries and Bobby McFerrin's "Don't Worry Be Happy" cavorted with happy face snowmen and rainbows, undulating kids in home-made hip-hop dance clips broke down into pixelated Halloween revelers in skull face paint. Eye candy for the DIY-infatuated art-punker and to top it off Paper Radster Jacob Ciocci got behind the mixing board with a drumming/laptop-rocking pal to make some righteous noise after 20 minutes of visuals.

Way west at Antone's, I settled into the Domino showcase, missing the buzzed-about New Puritans but catching hot lavendar boy Lightspeed Champion, who unearthed a slew of acoustic guitar-propelled tunes, accompanied only by friends on occasional fiddle and backup vocals.

Continue reading "SXSW: Lightspeed show-going with Kills, Lightspeed Champion, Sons and Daughters, Lindstrom, Naked Raygun, and the Dicks" »

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Posted by Kimberly Chun at 03:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

UK's Does It Offend You, Yeah? had the crowd thrusting their fists in the air.

Hid out at the Fader Fortress for a patch on the first full-tilt SXSW convention day, yesterday, March 12. Making up for a lackluster and unimaginative Chikita Violenta, England's Does It Offend You, Yeah? had a crowd of hipsters quaffing free booze bouncing and throwing their hands up to crunching beats and spectacularly trashy synth sounds - can a live band replicate the heavy dance-pop of Justice et al? The T-shirted everyguy combo sure did - with plenty of stage antics to boot.


Mean it: Does It Offend You, Yeah?

Yacht closed out the night with their party-starting (or, eh, -ending) dance tracks and move. Someone give this boy a ghostwriting pop songwriting job - or better make him the next Justin Timberlake. It was tough to follow Does It Offend You, but JB managed with a little help from his dance partner.

Yacht closed the party with a crash.

Continue reading "SXSW: Does It Offend You, Yeah? Yup, it's the Fortress Fader with Yacht" »

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Posted by Kimberly Chun at 08:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By Michael Harkin

The South American sound of cumbia has its very own hour-of-power in San Francisco: Tormenta Tropical, whose fourth incarnation rolled up to the Mezzanine last Saturday after prior appearances at Rickshaw Stop and the Dark Room at Club Six. Tormenta is a new monthly party thrown by Bersa Discos, an Oakland record label showcasing the experimental cumbia/electro/dancehall underground of Argentina.

Bersa especially digs into what's up around Buenos Aires, where the label's two founders, Disco Shawn and Oro 11 (say that 11 as "once"/OHN-say), moved separately from the Bay Area and met up amid the woolly, melodica-filled excitement to be had at club nights like Zizek.

It was, in fact, several regulars from Zizek that started off the night as Zizek Urban Beats Club, including sets by El Remolón, Frikstailers, and other fixtures from the Buenos Aires night that so inspired Bersa's founders as well as such hip jocks as DJ/Rupture and Diplo of Hollertronix and Mad Decent. The crew are touring to SXSW this week, also making appearances in New York and Chicago later this month.

Continue reading "Clubs: Cumbia/electro underground surfaces at Tormenta Tropical" »

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Posted by Kimberly Chun at 02:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

Living Legends
March 7, Fillmore

By Chris DeMento

Not much to say about Friday night's hip-hop variety show at the Fillmore except that the Legends flat-out rocked it on some Altered Beast shit - that is, once again rising from the underground to save your 18-year-old daughter and all her tank-topped friends.

Grouch met with a warm reception, second only, of course, to Murs, who couldn't get enough of the energy the crowd was giving him. Dude was bouncing around like a male cheerleader on an upskirt high at homecoming, but who could blame him? A Fillmore stuffed with youngsters was clearly about it, throwing up their double L's and rhyming right along to Living Legends songs that have become new underground classics.

It was a grip of MCs sharing the stage together and having at posse cuts and shouting out Hieroglyphics Crew the way they're wont to do. They themselves admitted that the audience's youth made them feel a bit old.

Continue reading "Live - that's just like you like those Living Legends" »

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