isroxxor

by jimmy jazzhands

A couple weeks ago I got one of the first business mass-emails I was actually glad to receive. It was from eMusic, and it informed me that they had finally made a deal to carry the Domino Records catalog. This news pretty much blew a hole in my downloading plans for the next several months.  Domino carries some of the best bands in British rock today: The Kills, Arctic Monkeys, Clinic, Animal Collective, and Sons & Daughters, among others. Not to mention a pretty impressive reissue roster: Young Marble Giants, Orange Juice, Josef K (oh, and Sebadoh, but I’ve already got them covered).  Even at 50 songs a month, it’ll take me a while to wade through all that.  It would be the best email I’ve opened for a while, if it weren’t for the communication I received from Zimbabwe’s former finance minister, which … well, I’m not really at liberty to go into details, but let’s just say I won’t have to worry about the cost of my eMusic subscription anymore.

But of all the bands they’ve made available, the one I’d really like to talk about is The Last Shadow Puppets. I’d heard and really liked a single of theirs on the Current, and had to listen to the 30-second previews to see if the rest was at the same level. Satisfied, I downloaded the whole album — The Age of the Understatement — and if it weren’t for the roughly equal awesomeness of the Fleet Foxes, it would probably have been the only album I’d listened to in the last two weeks.

The Puppets (I have no idea if they have a popularly abbreviated name, but for now I’m sticking with that) are actually a side project band formed by the leaders of the Arctic Monkeys and the Rascals. They sound like they were created in a lab to distill everything I love in Britrock — jangly late-80s jazz-pop (Housemartins, Style Council) combined with flinty British Invasion harmonies (think Gerry & the Pacemakers or moodier Hollies) and overlaid with Scott Walker’s spaghetti western orchestration. It’s my understanding that I get paid by the adjective.

If you’re looking to be convinced, check out “Standing Next to Me.” Definitely worth the 99 cents if nothing else.

“be kind.  for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

1. streets of paradise  … the gimmecaps
2. anyone’s guess  …  ashtray hearts
3. way back round  …  bellwether
4. whiskey in my whiskey  …  the felice brothers
5. wash away (reprise)  …  joe purdy
6. broadripple is burning  …  margot & the nuclear so and so’s
7. never going back  …  six mile grove
8. this too shall pass  …  danny schmidt

by jimmy jazzhands

Thanks to the magic of someone else buying tickets, Mrs. Jazzhands and I were lucky enough to go see the Beastie Boys, Ben Harper, and Tenacious D on their Get Out and Vote tour. By the way, did everyone here vote? Okay, just making sure. I haven’t really got it in me to do a full review, but I do have some scattered thoughts.

• It pains me to say this, but the Roy Wilkins Auditorium is a venue that should not be hosting live music, period. It pains me because I have a long history with the place. It’s where I saw my first concert — Men At Work, when I was eleven. Which is fitting, because if you take my clock radio tuned to WLOL in 1982 and amplify it 10,000 times, you have a good approximation of the sound system at Roy Wilkins. I’ve seen a couple of shows recently that weren’t so bad, but Dear Jesus was the sound terrible for this show. The Beastie Boys flirt with tinny and shrill to start with, and the PAs were doing them no favors.

• I love Jack Black. I find him to be a hilarious presence in just about everything he’s in. But I just don’t get Tenacious D. Or, I should say, I do get them, but they don’t quite work for me. I think the problem is that I never had any affection for the kind of bombastic opera-rock they’re lampooning, and minus that element I’m just left with very over-the-top humor. Watch one of their videos immediately after watching Flight of the Conchords, and tell me I’m wrong.

• I don’t really have a lot to say about Ben Harper. I like some of his songs, but he falls into a space for me where he’s not quite groovy enough to be good R&B and not quite edgy enough to be good rock. It was rather odd to see someone so painfully earnest wedged in between some of the biggest goofballs in popular music. Projected behind him for the whole show were some of the most incredibly distracting psychedelic patterns I’ve ever seen.

• The Beastie Boys were, as expected, tons of fun. They fill a prominent role in the household music library, and Mrs. Jazzhands has seen them numerous times. It’s amazing to reflect how they went from being critically despised to critically celebrated in just a few years, without even changing their sound or outlook all that dramatically. Apart from maybe the Beatles, I can’t think of any other examples of a novelty pop band becoming critics’ darlings.  In any case, they ran through a greatest hits set at a breakneck page, and reminded us all to make sure to go out and vote, though they can’t really tell us who to vote for, just make sure our voice is heard, though we should probably just vote for Obama.

• Let me be the first to say don’t forget to get out and vote in November 2010! Or earlier, if you have an important municipal election coming up.

by sparkle bishop

with wide-eyed wonder i stood in the middle of a guitar store on the late afternoon of october 25, staring up at shirtless robert plant doing his, um. . . robert plant thing, on a dvd playing on 87 monitors throughout the store.  (you can guess by that where i was. don’t laugh, it wasn’t my fault.)    i didn’t make the connection in that moment that i would be standing with wide-eyed wonder next to the stage at trocadero’s in just a few hours, watching god johnson do a led zeppelin tribute with a couple of singers borrowed from other bands.  different kind of wide-eyed, though.  different kind of wonder.  

as i entered the club i barely had to move my legs to walk up to the front near the stage, i more or less just got swept up there by the mass of these jock-hippie hybrid people that were just so busy and full of motion that i was exhausted after only two minutes inside. and with no music playing yet, even.  who ARE these people?  they just have zero sense of personal space or gravity or anything.  OHHH.  ween fans.  best way to describe ‘em.  people who discovered ween in about 1997, long after their best stuff was released. people who live in the center of a venn diagram of animal house, suburban boy hip hop, and a commune.  they dance the same at a led zeppelin tribute as they would at doomtree.

my involuntary coping mechanisms kicked in and swept me randomly in and out of three modes:

1.  stand as still as possible and make zero eye contact
2.  take pictures and act busy
3.  pretend to be on acid and maybe sort of enjoy self

standing still didn’t last long.  it was like body surfing when you don’t want to.

unfortunately, side-braid guy was standing far too close to me to take his picture.  (and far too close to me, period.)  there was a bride (literally, a bride.  there was also a costume party happening upstairs and some of the masqueraders had escaped) pinning herself up against the stage doing the thing where you are singing along (*cough* stairway to heaven *omg, cough*) but don’t precisely know the words and think no one will notice because they’re too wasted.  but you mumble, too, just in case.  so the lip syncing mumble bride was wearing elbow length black gloves and she glowed blue, because that’s what the lights made her do.  i stared at her for ages.  i was totally rude.  but her dress was completely transparent!  i took a picture of her but wasn’t able to capture the full scope of her glory…and the blue light she was bathed in made the photos look like a comic strip.  

the band itself was _almost_ dressed for the occasion.  by this i mean that fladager was wearing super sweet velvet pants with rhinestone swirly bits, but he paired them with a plain white button up and brown business casual shoes.  jimmy the bass player was wearing a snazzalicious vest without a shirt, and i couldn’t see what he did for pants.  or i didn’t care.  i did note that the female singer recruited for the show was wearing the pants that went with the bass player’s vest.  teamwork in action.  (oh! and she put on ray bans when she came off stage and entered the swirling sea of grooviness and stupor.) the guitar player tim was onto something i think, with tan slacks and a polyester button up.    the male singer that came from another band disappointed a bit by wearing moccasin looking slippers - seriously, slippers -  and a stocking cap, but DID have a pretty cool shirt on.  and had a pretty good voice for the occasion - i mean, he kinda nailed it.  the musical integrity of the evening is not in question at all, they rocked it.

then a tiny librarian shouted past me, to the bouncer.  she addressed him by name, which sounded like “afgrar” but i don’t really think that was his real name.  she said, “oh hey afgrar, there’s a fight going on back here, right?”  and so my eyes trailed the light tracers and shadows over to where she was pointing and found a huddle of investment bankers getting within an uncomfortably close proximity of each other’s faces.    then from somewhere behind me came a deep rumbling sound and a rusty iron gate swung open slowly and deliberately and i saw sound waves form in the drinks on the edge of the stage, and heard a distant THUD  THUD  THUD
and a giant krakken came out of the depths of trocadero’s and gobbled up the investment bankers, flipped a devil sign to the band and returned to his lair for a dessert of sex world junkies and hookers that the owners of the club had thrown down there.

and then i left quickly.  it only took eighteen hours to get out the door behind all the other people who needed to smoke more.

by jimmy jazzhands

Happy Rocktober! My recent archaeological dig in the shoegazing genre turned up a band I’d never heard of before called Black Tambourine, and they are currently rocking my world. Two of the band members later went on to form Velocity Girl, and they have a similar sweet-and-sour sound to that band, only with a lot more sour thrown in. I downloaded their complete recordings, which happen to be only ten songs clocking in at 25 minutes. I realized afterword that there are an inordinate number of bands with the word “Black” in them. Here are some of my favorites from my collection (if anyone wants to send me some albums by Black Kids, Black Lips, or Black Angels, I’d be happy to add them; they sound pretty good too):

1. Black Flag, Gimmie Gimmie Gimmie
2. Black Keys, Strange Desire
3. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Love Burns
4. Big Black, Passing Complexion
5. Black Eyed Peas, Labor Day
6. Black Sabbath, Sabbath Bloody Sabbath
7. Frank Black, Los Angeles
8. Black Tambourine, By Tomorrow

by embrys

i sometimes wonder whether i’ve actually raised procrastination to an art form. using the iphone as an ipod made this chore more fun.

1. carry me ohio–sun kil moon

2. flavour of night–robyn hitchcock

3. pure and easy–the who

4. opened once–jeff buckley

5. lessons grammar cannot teach–the wars of 1812

6. ocean breathes salty–sun kil moon

7. that teenage feeling–neko case

8. flume–bon iver

9. st. ides heaven–elliott smith

10. king of bohemia–richard thompson*

*this song is so good, it’s not even fair.

we make stuff up too.  it seems like most of the time we make up names for bands that don’t and will never exist.  we decided to start a list, and because we know you do the same thing, we’re inviting you to add to our list.  

to email us, you can go to the contact us page.  
 

xo,
sparkle

by sparkle bishop

i decided today would be a good day to give out a Very Prestigious Award with Absolutely No Material or Commercial Value, and the award i would like to give is Outstanding Skills in the Naming of Songs.

i thought it over for at least five minutes, and i would like to give the award to alpha consumer.

a sampling from the album entitled gary victorsen’s:

• unicorn uniform
• (instead) oh, i love you
• rock-n-roll plankton unite!

and from the self titled cd alpha consumer:

• the son of the c.e.o. of rubbersuit co.
• prosperity!
• i need to make a lot of money fast
• the best opinion ever and me
• a pet in every picture

by jimmy jazzhands

As I posted before, I’ve been painstakingly reassembling my cassette library in digital form; in recent weeks, this has had me listening to a lot of shoegazing classics: Lush, Pale Saints, My Bloody Valentine. I’ve looked in vain for an adequate shoegaze compilation, but now that Rhino has released The Brit Box: UK Indie, Shoegaze & Brit-Pop Gems Of The Last Millennium — featuring maybe a quarter of what I’m looking for, diluted by the likes of Kula Shaker and Catatonia — I’m probably not going to see one. So my next project is to assemble one on my own. In the spirit of that venture, and the upcoming Major League Baseball playoffs, I offer what I believe to be isroxxor’s first pop quiz:

Can you identify which of the following are shoegaze bands, and which are baseball pitches?

1. Slowdive
2. Sinker
3. Splitter
4. Swirlies
5. Slider
6. Slurve
7. Swervedriver
8. Changeup
9. Loop
10. Curve
11. Breaking Curve
12. Bethany Curve

The first person to post the correct answer in the comments will win … um … a free subscription to this blog. An additional gift subscription to anyone who can identify the source of this post’s title.

I won’t get into an exhaustive description of shoegaze, as the fine folks at Wikipedia have already done the work for me. I will note that it’s remarkable how abrasive and listener-unfriendly some music in the early 90s was, even when it was aiming for a mass audience. So much of the Current’s playlist sounds clean and jaunty by comparison. Now, I had a few favorites at the time, but never really dove headlong into the scene. So I figured the best thing to do would be to assemble a playlist of some of the best songs of the genre, and it would make for a solid compilation.

The problem with this idea is that I am insane. Well, let me amend that. I am given to be somewhat compulsive about music (for examples, see every previous post I’ve made). If I’m going to make a compilation like that, I must ensure that every song selected represents the best the genre has to offer, and is most suitable for my tastes. That naturally requires extensive research: iTunes, allmusic, fan websites. Over the course of all that reading and listening, I get so engrossed and knowledgeable that I become convinced that said music is the best Western Civilization has had to offer since Bach died. Not long ago I wanted a really good Ray Charles compilation, which I made, in the manner of Homer Simpson’s chili spoon, out of another, larger Ray Charles compilation. After a couple weeks, Mrs. Jazzhands was moved to asked me, “Um, are you ever planning on listening to anything other than Ray Charles?” “I’m evaluating!” (It did pay off, though — Mini-Jimmy’s favorite song is now “Hit the Road, Jack.” You haven’t lived until you’ve heard a tiny two-year-old voice belting out “Woman oh woman don’t you treat me so mean, you’re the meanest old woman that I’ve ever seen” from a carseat.)

So I’m in the midst of my research phase right now, and it seems unlikely I’ll come out of this without acquiring a half-dozen albums I had no previous interest in. By the way, does anyone know of any good emo compilations?

by Callie Beguine

I am a music snob.  I even have seven years of conservatory training to back up my music snobbery.  And I’ve taught ear training and sight singing in a college.  So when a college friend asked me to go to karaoke night at the Mainstreet Bar and Grill in Hopkins, I hesitated.  For about a minute.  There is just something about going and watching people sing in public who should really only be singing in the privacy of their very own showers.  These have to be the same people who audition for American Idol.  I always wondered where they were hiding. Now I know.

It’s rare that you see a combination of townies, hipsters, punk boys, and sexually ambiguous men and women.  But we saw it all at Mainstreet.  I had a couple favorite singers from last Wednesday.  It might be a tie between Jenny, the aging, overweight transvestite in dire need of new boobs, who sang a Cyndi Lauper song and the cancer patient in his 60s who sang a Snoop Dogg song and promptly left.  But I can’t leave out the incredibly drunk Neil Diamond sound-alike.  I think he hit on almost every woman in the bar.  But my personal favorite Neil moments were the fights he had with his roommate who really was trying to “protect” all the targets.  One fight even cleared the back room with the one single, little shout of Fight! that would clear a junior high lunchroom.  It was awesome.

I almost forgot to mention the guy who had his hair in four ponytails who screamed a metal song.  He brought his own cd.  And kitty.  Yep, the guy smuggled his kitten into the bar in his football letter jacket from 2001.  Oh, yeah, and Willie.  Complete with a red bandana and a button that had Obama with a line through it.  Willie sang a lot of Frank Sinatra which got most of the bar dancing on the stage, including Jack Sprat and his girlfriend.  Jack Sprat’s girlfriend even sang Meredith Brook’s “Bitch” complete with her yelling bitch at the top of her lungs at the end of the song.

I was completely distracted by all the stories going on in the bar ~ I haven’t even written about half of what we saw.  By the end of the night I think we all had whiplash from looking at everything in the bar.  And, if it wasn’t for the beer, we would have been completely overstimulated.  So if you find yourself bored on a Wednesday I would highly suggest that you hightail it to Mainstreet.  If it’s anything like last Wednesday you really won’t be disappointed.