isroxxor

Martin Dosh at Cafe Maude 8-15-08

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-Arthur Oakland

by Ruby Vox

I’m sorry, Jordan Knight. I meant to see you around my birthday. I really did. I was so going to spend a night with you, basking in the wonder of how you’ll be loving me (forever), listening to your falsetto with the same rapt attention I gave you when I was ten. But then something—someone—happened, and now I have to cancel. I know you’ll understand.

 I have to fly to New York on October 21st, hop a train to the Village, and see Caleb Hawley again.

 It’s not your fault, Jordan. You and I met at such a young age. I think it’s time to admit we’ve each gone our own way. It’s okay. I’ve moved on, and you can, too. We’ll both be better for it.

 Just so you know, I wasn’t planning on breaking our date for Caleb. We met at a tiny music café in Excelsior last week, and he changed the way I look at life. It’s kind of weird.

 At first, I wasn’t really that impressed. I mean, he looked like something straight out of a Metallica show circa 1993. He was only 22, and initially his cheeky demeanor suggested that this was going to be a long night of listening to some pompous kid crank out Pearl Jam covers. “Been there, done that,” I thought to myself. How foolish I was.

I’d arrived early enough to see him sound-check, and the moment he picked up his guitar, the sun started shining more brightly. With a voice that he picked up at the intersection of Stevie Wonder and Dr. Dog and a style somewhere between Broadway and Sufjan Stevens, my interest was definitely piqued.

 He passed out a piece of paper that contained every song he was willing to play that evening by name, giving them each Fan-O-Meter and Caleb-O-Meter ratings. It was delightful to watch the audience pick all the songs he hated.

 He played a cover of JT’s “Senorita” that followed the oldest rule of covers in the books: pick an over-the-top popular song, and render it unrecognizable in a good way. It wasn’t the least bit cutesy. He turned it into a remarkable performance.

 I’d like to see you try that, Jordan Knight.

 Caleb’s songwriting was astounding. Lyrically, he revealed his youth a bit, oversimplifying complex issues at times. But his premise was good and his cleverness made up for it. His musicianship was unparalleled. There’s no one else like that.

 I’ve been waiting for you to grow with me, Jordan. When NKOTB released Step By Step, I thought, “Okay. I’m now officially a teen. Maybe they’ll make music that appeals to me.”

 No dice.

 When you released your pathetic solo album, I pretended not to notice. But I did. I was so damned hopeful that you would come through with something that sounded like real music. Nope.

 And then you did it. You got back together with the boys and launched a reunion tour.

But it’s not 1988 anymore, and to be honest, it wasn’t even cute then.

 It took Caleb to show me the light, Jordan, and I’ll be thanking him by spending October 21^st watching him cover your songs at The Bitter End. Brilliantly.

by jimmy jazzhands

Up to now I’ve been satisfied with my iPod experience and the opportunities I’ve had to reconnect with my music library, discover new podcasts, and avoid talking to my coworkers. But it was never quite complete. For the last three years I listened to it with the factory-issued earbuds, which are similar in design to those brain slugs in Star Trek II: The Wrath Of Khan, only instead of taking over your mind they slowly damage your upper-register hearing. I’d listen to music on the train to work and even Funkadelic had a hard time cutting through the noise without my turning the click wheel into the danger zone.  And those tinny little earbuds rendered Bootsy Collins irrelevant.  Something had to be done.

I was looking through the headphones at Target one day (can we get Google Ads going here? Target Target Target!) and came upon their display for some Sony noise-canceling headphones. The kiosk was blaring simulated jet noise to demonstrate how well it could be eliminated by the phones, which struck me as a little counterproductive since it’s vastly more pleasant than anything else you’re likely to hear at Target. But I tried them out. I don’t spend a lot of time on airplanes, but I was quite impressed with how the piped-in noise disappeared beneath a soft blanket of light jazz. I went home to do a little research.

I settled upon the Audio Technica Quietpoint etc. etc. Headphones, which are reputed to be as good as Bose at half the price (though still outrageous!). They came in the mail a couple days later, and I couldn’t wait to try them out. The box was suspiciously large. I opened it and untethered the headphones from their packaging. They looked as though they belonged with a metal detector instead of an iPod. Mrs Jazzhands was aghast: “My God, they’re enormous!” I slipped them on. “Are you seriously going to wear those things in public, DJ Jazzy Jeff?” “I can’t hear you. You’re canceled.”

My ears completely enveloped, I dialed up Nick Drake, whom I posthumously employ to test out all new speakers. Sounded beautiful. I flipped the noise-canceling switch, and the guitar became louder and richer — the headphones have their own battery to reduce the power drain on the player — and our Hawaiian Breeze fan (so reminiscent of Hawaiian breezes, assuming you live in a part of Hawaii immediately adjacent to an aircraft carrier) vanished. Satisfied, I set them aside to rest up for a full day’s labor.

The next morning, while I was readying myself for work, the phones were spotted by Mini-Jimmy, who like all two-year-olds is magnetically attracted to fragile, expensive technology. “Want to try them?” Mrs Jazzhands asked, and slipped them over his ears. He immediately pulled them off. “These are too big,” he offered, more as observation than complaint. It became clear that I probably wouldn’t wear these outside if I weren’t already happily married.

Their first test was the train ride to work. This is Active Noise Canceling’s wheelhouse; I didn’t have to turn the volume past 20%, and the train’s roar sounded like a low hum. The phones work by means of a microphone which picks up surrounding low-frequency noise and broadcasts an “anti-noise” at the same frequency but opposite polarity; imagine two of your fingers making regular ripples in a sink — at the place where the waves meet, they will usually dissipate. Now imagine a world in which we could create and broadcast a sufficiently powerful anti-Toby Keith. Ah.

The next test: work. The drone of computer fans was, of course, no match. The real trick was the people. Typically noise-cancelers only against continuous, low-frequency sound, but amazingly, while my coworkers were presumably holding forth about the Great Global Warming Hoax or the wit and wisdom of Tom Barnard, they sounded like Charlie Brown’s mom talking into a pillow. Success!

I chose to leave them off as I walked to the train station; it’s probably wise to listen to things like cars rushing toward you. I turned on a podcast as I sat down by the fountain in Government Plaza and flipped the switch. The effect was sublime. It was as if the whole world fell away. I could feel the sunshine and watch as downtown workers in summer clothes drifted by on their way to cars and buses, but their speech was in whispers and the roaring water next to me sounded like a desktop zen fountain. It was peaceful, moving. Like I’d taken a really fantastic drug, only slightly more expensive.

That night I listened to music as I vacuumed the carpet. This, I thought, is the culmination of all Western science and technology.

check out the irish fair this weekend, particularly today - romantica, our favorite - at harriet island.  free to get in if you can schlep yourself over there.

the “Irish Fair Idol” contest sounds kind of hard to miss.

http://www.irishfair.com/

xo, 
sparkle 

by jimmy jazzhands

Because I’m too lazy to come up with a theme. All songs guaranteed completely random.

1. Sun Kil Moon, Si Paloma
2. Boyskout, Identity
3. Faux Jean, Flight Of The Bumblebee
4. Elliot Smith, Independence Day
5. Johnnie and Joe, Over The Mountain, Across The Sea
6. Jonathan Fire*Eater, When Prince Was A Kid
7. Chappaquiddick Skyline, Leave Me Alone
8. Hüsker Dü, I Don’t Know What You’re Talking About
9. Sly & The Family Stone, Underdog
10. Atmosphere, Apple
11. Wilco, Sunken Treasure
12. Sleater-Kinney, Banned From The End Of The World
13. De La Soul, Eye Know
14. Bob Dylan, Masters Of War
15. Woody Guthrie, Going Down The Road Feeling Bad

i accidentally played a fun game with the ipod today, i was looking for something by song title and let it keep running through some of the p’s . . . it turned up a few nice treats for the morning commute.  local artists are noted with an *asterisk* and i have quite handily provided links to their websites for you.

1. pancakes, jon herchert*
2. paper cuts, boy least likely to
3. particles & waves, billy mclaughlin*
4. the party, pete yorn
5. pass me by, pete yorn (immediately followed by the live version)
6. passage, the smarts*
7. passenger seat, death cab for cutie
8. passenger side, wilco
9. passing the hat, cold war kids
10. the past & the pending, the shins
11. patterns, chris koza*
12. peace of mind, boyd lee & joe cruz*
     

i’ve flickered around the country enough to have learned that this town isn’t the easiest one to make friends in. it has even been documented in a local magazine (therefore must be . . . uh . . .true?) that it takes an average of four years after moving here for people to feel settled and befriended. (if only there had been some indication of how long one can expect it to take to unpack, that would have been really helpful. it’s more than four years, that’s for sure.)

in the last year or so we’ve had a few bands move here that you shouldn’t wait four years to start liking. you should rush out to their shows and though perhaps not actually physically embrace them (well, maybe) but welcome them with open arms into your iPod. here’s the scoop:

the wars of 1812 - it’s no secret that isroxxor loves the wars of 1812. they’ve been in town for just about a year now, having decided on minneapolis as a place to converge as a band made up of people coming from different states / towns / dimensions.  big things have started to happen for them in the last year, and if you give them a listen you’ll see why.

willie west - once a member of the famous and funkalicious band the meters and long a veteran of the new orleans music scene, willie is now growing roots in st. cloud and doing some shows in the twin cities with the likes of kevin bowe and mick sterling. willie came north to settle after being displaced by that one storm they had, and will stir some southern spices into our scene for sure.  a detailed piece was recently posted about him/his music/his history:  click here.  if it starts taking too long to read it, just go to a show. 

ryan paul & the ardent - the song la vita nuova (which can be heard on the band’s myspace or on roxxor_radio) brings to mind the gimmecaps, a side project that wilco bass player john stirratt did with his sister laurie (of blue mountain). if that doesn’t ring a bell but you liked the song that john wrote & sang on wilco’s first album, a.m., “it’s just that simple,” then you should head over and take a listen to ryan paul & the ardent. ryan has been from here before, and it sounds like he’s working hard to make a fresh start since his relocation from brooklyn about a month ago. they are playing their ‘debut show’ in minneapolis this thursday at lee’s liquor lounge. check it.

xo, 
sparkle bishop 

by jimmy jazzhands

In my teens and twenties, even as someone with one foot in the “classic rock” camp, I was disdainful of reunion shows by aging rock bands. I still think it’s insane that anyone would sit 600 yards from an animated pile of beef jerky calling itself Mick Jagger and rasping out “Brown Sugar” for what it would cost to buy an iPod filled with all the Stones’ actual good music. Nonetheless my position has softened since then. In 1994, I believe, I saw reunion shows by Gang of Four and Suicide Commandos which were as good as any contemporary bands I saw at the time. After that, I figured that any reunion show by musicians I approved of was at least worth a try. Eventually that bar became sufficiently low that I actually went to the Taste of Minnesota to see Tommy Tutone AND A Flock Of Seagulls. (Sidebar: I read some zine which claimed it was just some cover band which bought the rights to the name, but I can assure you that was Mike Score front and center. Proof: he was dressed like a Metallica roadie — long brown hair pulled through the back of a baseball cap, oversized paunch-covering black t-shirt, baggy shorts. An AFOS cover band would have made at least some effort to look the part.)

So I had no reservations about seeing the Zombies reunion show at the Taste last Sunday. I’ve only gotten into them fairly recently, but in that time I’ve decided they were the second-best British Invasion band after the Beatles. Really — “She’s Not There” wasn’t a one-off. The songs were all that good. The only question was, would they withstand a live show and four decades of rust?

First of all, mad props to sparkle bishop for providing transportation and alcohol, jotting down the set list, slightly prolonging my life by voluntarily eating two of my cajun spice cheese curds, and photographing the event. Especially the latter, as it spares me the tedium of describing what the band looked like. The lineup consisted of two original members — singer Colin Blunstone and songwriter and organist Rod Argent — along with some old-time session guys, one of whom was also in Argent’s solo band. (Which was called Argent. Anyone with a better way of constructing that sentence is invited to post it in the comments.) I’ll just note that Colin Blunstone approached the microphone with the poise of a classical singer, especially impressive as it was 90° with 115% humidity and he was wearing a blazer and is English.

They started off a bit unsteadily with “I Love You,” which is a lovely song, but its delicate vocals and unusual starts and stops made it a strange choice for a band still feeling its way. They righted themselves with a couple of R&B covers; though they’re known primarily for moody, poppy originals, they have another side as a credible soul band, if not quite on par with the Yardbirds or the Animals. Blunstone’s voice is throatier now and couldn’t quite reach the softer, breathier side, but sounded great when he sang with authority. A solid version of “Tell Her No” was followed by five songs from their pop masterpiece Odessey and Oracle.

Rod Argent chatted casually throughout the set, and he mentioned that the Zombies broke up immediately after they were done recording the album, so they’d never actually played most of the songs on Odessey live until this year! That made a refreshing change from bands wearing out the same songs over four decades of touring. Though the album consisted mostly of experimental studio pop of the kind that doesn’t always translate well in concert, the songs really benefited from the more muscular live treatment. The last of the five was “Time of the Season,” in which I’m amazed to report that the harmonies were note-perfect.

They followed with another R&B cover, then two new songs which were actually pretty good, and then really energized the crowd with, of all songs, Argent’s “Hold Your Head Up.” I would express disappointment that they got a better reaction out of a ’70s prog-rock motivational sermon, but after all they were on the KQRS stage and that’s probably the only song in the set KQ actually plays, and they were OPENING for Eddie Freaking Money, which to me is like having the Beatles opening for Bachman Turner Overdrive but whatever. They closed the set with, of course, “She’s Not There,” which also drew a huge response. Then they returned for an encore, playing — I’m not kidding — “God Gave Rock ‘N’ Roll to You.” You might remember it as the song Bill and Ted used to bring peace and harmony to earth. I had no idea it was an Argent song, and is the only thing that significantly lowered my estimation of them that night.

Overall, it was a solid show. The guitar playing was a little wanky and slick compared to Paul Atkinson’s (RIP) sharp jangle, but otherwise the band — particularly Rod Argent — sounded great. If they defy the odds and survive to play here again, check them out. I’d say it was worth the heat, humidity, $3 wristbands, and convoluted food ticket math, and the quality of the show and pleasant views of downtown St. Paul has made me consider seeing more Taste shows in the future. Anyone know if Howard Jones is playing anymore?

by sparkle bishop

the last time i went to the taste of minnesota was . . . well, i (purposely) don’t remember the exact year, but i remember walking past a stage upon which a smallish, girlish person with lots and lots and lots of hair was screaming and doing the “i’m angry” thing and i thought to myself, she’s kind of . . . spidery.  it was alanis morissette.  yeah it was that long ago, she wasn’t a big deal yet.  (was she ever?)  although one could look at the taste of minnesota schedule and think it might have been just a year or two ago and her moment had already come and gone.  (but even if you don’t like her, don’t you think “my humps” is kinda funny? c’mon.  that shit is funny.)

i haven’t recently been to taste of minnesota because it has a few qualities that top my list of things to avoid:

1. it’s outside
2. it’s crowded
3. it’s greasy
4. R.E.O. Speedwagon

this morning i heard that brian turner has co-purchased taste of minnesota, and this concept kick started my day.  “taste of minnesota is cool, i’d like to do more than just go to it, i’m going BUY it.”  or, “i love the state fair.  i think i’m gonna BUY it.”   “the state of california has some really great things about it, but could really use a new line-up and some general issue management.  i think i’m going to BUY it. clean it up, make it cooler.”

from the sound of it, brian turner’s plan is to make sure the food is more gourmet, less like the state fair, and focus on locally grown things to eat.  awesome.  fingers crossed that the musical line-up improves, too.   granted, there are some good points:  the zombies, shannon curfman, and the abdomen . . . but REO, people?  srsly? 

also, i vote (not that anyone asked me) that in the future all the bands that play at the taste of minnesota should be um, local.  duh?   i’m not even a rocket surgeon (supposedly) and i figured that one out.

i’d like to take the opportunity to be the semi-dark cloud over the sunny and exclamation mark filled reviews that rock the garden is getting.  i don’t expect that you’ve listened to anything i’ve said here previously, but if you have you probably know that i’m not so into crowds or outside.  on the way in to the gates on saturday, i remarked to mr. sparkle . . . “i wonder what whoever standing near me is going to do to bug the f*ing s* out of me today.”  upon hearing this he took three very large steps away from me and smirked.  

i think there were 8000 people there.  it was vastly different from what i had envisioned.  this was my first attempt to rock the garden.  to me the word “garden” in the name of the event indicated grass or some kind of plant life underfoot and i’m not entirely sure how i thought it could have been set up to take place in the actual sculpture garden, but i really hadn’t thought about it on a logistical level.  i heard the word garden and thought . . . you know . . .garden.   also, in spite of there being 8000 people there, there were only 4 or 5 places to obtain food.   at any given time there were approximately 1,231 people in line for corn dogs, brats, or burritos at each outlet.  luckily, beer was fairly easy to obtain so we hoarded up some beer tickets and let the numbing process begin.

we made for the shade near the stage and started people watching - a delightful way to pass the time before and in between bands, and we were definitely not disappointed. . . mostly because we got a tiny sneak preview of renfest clothing.  also, there are things that european men can probably get away with that americans just . . . can’t.  i’ll let your imagination run on that one.  hint:  imagine the worst.

“local” favorite bon iver played first, and mr. sparkle and i pondered the question:  when did eau claire become a suburb of minneapolis?  i ask with no offense meant toward wisconsin, wisconsin knows i love it.  but um, it’s not local, per se.  i guess eau claire is closer than duluth, but there are those state lines to consider.  who decided we’d steal bon iver from wisconsin and claim the band as our own?  was there a meeting to decide?  did wisconsin object at all?  

bon iver played the album, or at least justin said they were playing the album.  as far as i know they played the first 4 tracks in sequential order and then i got distracted and don’t know if they just played the thing straight through.  they’re so good.  really.  but, for me anyway, one of those bands that i don’t need to see live.  i WANT to want to see them live but then i get there and i think, uhhhh. . . . i might be bored.  not because they aren’t good because they are so, sooo good.  i think if i was sitting in a very comfortable chair in a dark and velvet draped room with a black and white, or maybe sepia toned silent film playing behind the stage on a projector, and a never ending bottle of red wine poured into goblets . . . then i would be more engaged in seeing bon iver play live.  but hot, dirty, sweaty frying in the sun amidst a sea of thousands?  not so much.

cloud cult played next.  i admit to not having investigated this band much other than hearing a track or two as background and knowing that they are very much adored.  i expected to fall in love but i’m not quite there yet.  i dug the mask, that was cool.  it’s cool that they’re all environmental and shit, you’ve got to respect that.  i listened to the story of the grandson of jesus at an obnoxious volume in the car later, and that did more to get my attention than seeing them live.  but at rock the garden, i heard people around me saying things like, “that does it.  i’m going to see them every single time they play anywhere near here.”  so, go figure.  don’t listen to me.  actually don’t listen to drunk guy next to me, either.  you should decide.

moving on . . . new pornographers.  was looking forward to breathing the same air as neko case, but oh well.  they rocked.  they were funny.  they made fun of themselves, and then they rocked some more.  what else do you need?  food, actually.  food is what else you need, at least it’s what i needed.  it was faster to walk to the car and go to a restaurant and order than to wait in line for a nasty bratwurst, and thus a new roxxor_rule was written.  now in addition to “when forced to choose between sleep and fun, always choose fun” we have, “when forced to choose between gourmet french fries and andrew bird . . . sorry andrew.  catch you next time.”  

(i’ve already been mocked for missing andrew bird’s set.  i’ve already mourned.  i don’t need you to make fun of me too, what i need right now is your sympathy.)

xo,
sparkle bishop.