Blogs

by Matt Neff

The kindly goblins who orchestrate the inner machinations of this here web-hole were nice enough to finally equip me with two things: 1) a list of links more befitting my “tendencies” and 2) an email account. So it is now that I beseech, nay, beg you to grace me with personal correspondence at matt.neff (at) newtimes.com. Suggestions, review requests, pizza recipes, and ferret-care tips are all welcome, but make sure you know what you’re doing—I don’t want to be knocked out in bed all week humming some nasty pop punk melody or sniveling with the woeful knowledge that I trimmed Chompy’s furry lil digging implements to the detriment of his (currently robust) health.

Also, we’ve blown out those dusty old links and pasted up a fresh set o’ new ones. I considered walking through link by link and explaining the relative merits of each, but I know you’re all grown adults. Instead, I made a Mix ‘n’ Match game, complete with walkthrough explanations, to really help you learn—lest your minds wilt like the sad begonias they may or may not already be.

(*Links abbreviated for patience purposes)

A. Last Days of Man on Earth
B. Phoenix Hairpins
C. Detailed Twang
D. WFMU's Beware of the Blog
E. Art for Spastics
F. Recording Industry vs. the People
G. Terminal Boredom
H. Head Heritage Unsung
I. Siltblog
J. Perfect Sound Forever
K. NWW List
L. Gilgongo Records
M. Midheaven Mailorder

1. ___ Rare eighties underground punk/post punk/new wave/hardcore/art rock/etc. tinged with that ould-time St. Louis fervor
2. ___ Rare postpunk/DIY/gothica/esoterica—the sleep of reason produces monsters, who happen to produce sounds, which are cheaply produced on vinyl, smartly ripped to this man’s computer, and posted online for you
3. ___ Jay Hinman waxes poetic about all the records people send him for free and/or beer
4. ___ Essential freeform NY radio with aspirations (largely already fulfilled) to immortality
5. ___ Freeform punk/underground/DIY/garage radio out of *Davis,* CA – Ears to the ground
6. ___ Legal crusaders and RIAA-dislikers of the most morally outraged (i.e. best) sort
7. ___ Record collecting scum-cum-punk rock cognoscenti underwhelmed by office life
8. ___ Julian Cope & his minions re: krautrock, psychedelia, noise, esoterica and et cetera
9. ___ Roland Woodbe: a simple man, a simple-ly excellent weblog
10. ___ Essential online music mag covering anything/anyone worth covering (not Weird Al)
11. ___ Categories strain, crack and sometimes break, under their burden - step out of the space provided
12. ___ Arizona indie rock recs by J. Fella
13. ___ Blow $$$ here!

The first reader to send me the correct answers wins a year supply of Gobbledy Gook™, the amazing new space-age pomade that also pulls duty as a turkey glaze, sneaker sole epoxy remover, parakeet laxative, mole repellent, vegetarian hotsauce substitute, sex lube, semi-synthetic eyeliner, low-yield explosive, lo-fat shoe polish, pheromone enhancer, truth serum, burn cream, corn cream, creamed corn decurdler, self-sustaining bacteria farm, pickling brine, antidepressant, pool de-chlorinator, tapeworm eradicator, perineum lotion, marmot delouser, rhino-horn remover, and all purpose pore-exfoliating electroshock therapy forehead conductor gel.

By Benjamin Leatherman

Labor Party rocks out in their video for “Black Arm Band”

We've kinda had something of a contentious history with the folks at AZPunk (www.azpunk.com) over the past few years. The misfits and miscreants who populate the local Web site's notorious message board have been known to rip us a new one for any number of reasons (such as slamming us for covering local musicians or scenesters that they feel don’t deserve any ink). But just like parents of naughty little children, we love 'em all just the same, which is why we wanna plug tonight's AZPunk Fundraiser at the Wok Star, the rock club inside Scottsdale eatery Chop & Wok (7136 East Shea Boulevard).

The site apparently needs some extra dough, so they’re throwing a benefit for themselves featuring performances by local punkers Labor Party, Family Secret, and Blemish. The gig gets going at 9 p.m. and admission costs $6.

Some Maja videos for yo’ ass

By Benjamin Leatherman
Photo by Luke Holwerda

Mista Maja

In this week’s issue of the Phoenix New Times (on news stands now across the Valley), there’s a pretty off-the-chain profile in the music section by yours truly about local rapper Maja (a.k.a. H. Vincent Payne), a laid-back cat who offers a unique hip-hop style, whereby the 24-year-old drops rhymes chiefly about his love of anime, video games, '80s cartoons, and other geeky topics de jour. The dude also lays down his lyrical dynamite in both English and Japanese (and occasionally even en Español), and has been a hit with nerdcore fans, Japanophiles, and other geeky types at the various anime conventions around the Southwest that he’s performed at, and even as far away as “The Land of the Rising Sun” (read: Japan).

They’ve also been peeping his pimped-out music videos available on YouTube, and now you can, too, as I’m posting a few of my favorites.

There’s “Transformer,” where Maja raps and rhymes about Optimus Prime and the other superstar robots from the ‘80s cartoon classic:

I’ve also been pretty keen on “Janglish Speak (Stronger Remix),” an off-the-chain video of Maja weaving clever lyrical flows to the camera bilingual style. There’s also a humorous parody of bizarre Japanese commercials at the end.


For those who wanna watch Maja work the mic live, the dood is performing
at this weekend’s Otaku University Anime Conference in Mesa (visit http://www.otakuuconf.org). Or if you don’t wanna shell out the 40-or-so bucks to see him, Maja will be performing at an anime event on Saturday, October 27, at Atomic Comics in Mesa.

You can also check out his MySpace page (www.myspace.com/gaijinmaja) for more of his jams.

By Niki D'Andrea

Phoenix-based melodic rock group Runaway Diamonds has been asked to perform at the CMJ Music Marathon next month in New York. We've long been fans of the band's quirky indie rock (we wrote a music feature about 'em earlier this year), and are glad to have them representing the PHX in NYC.

Runaway Diamonds

As part of the CMJ fest, Runaway Diamonds will perform on Tuesday, October 16 at the Trash Bar in Brooklyn. The band also has a track on the free CD that comes with this month's issue of CMJ New Music Monthly.

In the meantime, check out Runaway Diamonds' video for "Enormous."

By Matt Neff
Photos by Luke Holwerda

Om
Pinback
The Marquee Theater
September 19, 2007
Better Than: Heavy petting (?)

Om

He who closeth all the doors of his senses, imprisoneth his mind in his heart, fixeth his vital powers in his head, standing firm in meditation, repeating the monosyllable OM, and thus continues when he is quitting the body, goeth to the supreme goal.
--Bhagavad Gita, chapter 8, verse 13 (from the 1890 translation by William Quan Judge)

Although as a reporter I’m obligated to mention that Om is the two-man rhythm section from San Franciscan stoner/droner doom metal band Sleep (Al Cisneros - bass/vox, Chris Hakius – drums), the logistics are not important: these two warm bodies work no better than any others as conduits for the omnipresent brain-erasing throb of the ETERNAL COSMIC HUM. These two set up a riff and examine it, probe its defenses, struggle, claw, bite, and enter it, and finally pound on it good and hard before they toss it limp to the floor. If you stand too close the dense undulating waves of hypnotic monotony may very well pass straight through the backs of your vibrating eyeballs. Cisneros bobbed and hunched in front of an amp as large as a man and deluged the audience with warm fuzzed out sludge, murmuring rhythmic chants into the patient microphone while Hakius generally stuck to the rides, kept his head down and went gradually berserk. A slow burn—repetitious, monotonous, but without being boring—I was quite enthused. As a friend of mine said after the show, “Bass and drums: the purest format to tame The Riff!” And how.

CISNEROS SPOTS THE SNACK BAR

Om’s slow-burning intensity came and went almost inconspicuously, considering the hordes of Pinback fans who sat in back and shamelessly CHIT-CHATTED loudly enough to drown out the softer dynamics. When the bands swapped stages, the small hard core of headbangers there for Om traded places with the loud loiterers in back. “Like oil and water!” I exclaimed to a nearby venue employee, who slapped me a high five and put my name on the guest list indefinitely.

I talked to Om’s roadie and they’re likely coming back in January, and this time they’ll headline. Their new album, Pilgrimage, should be out on October on Southern Lord. Keep an eye or two out for their return at myspace
or their home page.

Pinback

The current (since 1998) indie rock project of San Diego scenesters Zach Smith and Rob Crow, Pinback made me want to cough politely, at most. Ho-hum, ho-hum: they play the kind of inoffensively pleasant indie rock that you’d expect to hear on the O.C. soundtrack, and your expectations would turn out to be correct because they’re on the damn thing, alright. They have a trebly plinky-plunky sound and a decent mid-tempo shimmer, but their vocals struck me as overly sincere and apollonian without much real grit. But even this didn’t provoke me that much: they sound so contentedly regular that I can't work up any energy to put them down. Oh Pinback, why must you do this to me? I need to say something really mean or I won’t sleep for days. Don’t make me troll Pitchfork for some errant racist comment you made while high. Don’t make me resort to attacking your fans who were obviously having a very good time. I know you’ve been involved in a plethora of indie rock projects over the years but I in no way have the patience to search them all out and sit still and listen. Uhhhh….uhmmm….oh, screw it: Pinback were GREAT. I went home a soft pliable ball of jelly because they provoked the most ragingly orgasmic soul-destroyer of an emotional release I’ve ever felt. Stars exploded out of my every orifice and I pissed pure Dasani. Visit their myspace here or their website here. Everyone sez they're better in the studio -- they could be right, you know, but I doubt it.

ARMISTEAD BURWELL SMITH IV: A DARK STAR (AUTOBIOGRAPHY TITLE)

Personal Bias:
“Remember, one man’s ‘cool’ is another man’s ‘lame.’ ”
-- jmertz01 at cox.net

Random Detail:
In the early nineties, certain desperate associates of Om actually beat an uncooperative Frito Lays employee to death with a homemade PVC pipe didgeridoo in what the SFPD later called the greatest corn chip heist in American history.

By Benjamin Leatherman

Weirdness abounds is this week’s rendition of Future Shock, as we’re pimping the “just announced” concerts of numerous acts coming to the PHX in the near future that are kinda “out there” in many different respects, whether its outlandish stage performances, strange album titles, or bizarre music videos.

Tori Amos

Tuesday, December 11, 7:30 p.m.

Dodge Theatre in Phoenix

Tickets are $35 to $45 (on sale Saturday, see www.ticketmaster.com)

Tori Amos is kind of a weird chick, to put it mildly. Don’t get us wrong, we’ve dug on the peculiar piano-playing songstress since she stole our hearts with 1994’s Under the Pink, but the one-time member of 80s synthpop band Y Kant Tori Read is a tad eccentric in her music, performance style, and personal life. On her latest disc, American Doll Posse, Amos performs as five different “alter egos” (such as “Pip,” “Isabel,” and “Clyde”) that are based on Greek goddesses. Nutty. It kind of reminds us of the wisdom imparted by juvie-delinquent cartoon duo Beavis and Butthead while watching Amos’ video for “God” a decade or so ago:

Butt-head: “This chick is psycho!”

Beavis: “Yeah, it’s like, you know, like she’s pretty hot, but it’s like, I don’t know, man. I might stay away from her.”

Butt-head: “Yeah. It’s like, she’s got a nice body and everything, but if you went out with her, she’d probably, like, put a rat’s head on your bed or something.”

Beavis: “That wouldn’t be so bad, it’s just she’d probably chop off your wiener, too.”

Random fact: Amos is married to British sound engineer Mark Hawley.

--

Peelander-Z

Monday, October 15, 7 p.m.

The Paper Heart in Phoenix

Tickets are $7 (on sale now, visit www.trashcityentertainment.com)

With supporting acts Chase Archer, Motley Sue, and the Strange Family Circus

Things don’t any kookier than the “Japanese Action Comic Punk Band” Peelander-Z. Dressed like a trio of Power Rangers rejects, the members of this NYC outfit (with names like Red, Yellow, and Blue) spit out frenetic three-chord fury in songs about steak and mad tigers while assaulting audiences with odd antics during their shows (including games of “Human Bowling,” where the bandmates hurl themselves at gigantic bowling pins). They also got into something of a “spat” with pro wrestler Nick Mayberry during a show in June where the grapple interrupted the band’s performance and attempted to “attack” them. Peelanders Red and Blue managed to subdue the wrestler and pinned him to become the new Hardcore co-Champions of Florida indie promotion HCW (a.k.a. Hardkore Championship Wrestling).

Random fact: The last time Peelander-Z came to the Valley, they performed at the Trunk Space in Phoenix.

--

Alter Bridge

With supporting act Another Animal

Friday, November 2, 6:30 p.m.

Marquee Theatre in Tempe

Tickets are $23 pre-sale, $25.00 day-of-show (on sale info TBA, visit www.luckyman.com)

Speaking of professional wrestling, the whacked-out factor at work with this alt-metal act (made up of every former member of Creed except Scott Stapp) is its connection to Vince McMahon’s World Wrestling Entertainment. In the past few years, a number of Alter Bridge songs have wound up becoming the themes for grapplers such as Edge (a.k.a. “The Rated-R Superstar”) and for pay-per-views like the Royal Rumble and Unforgiven. We’ve even heard rumors that a couple band members are on the juice, much like many of the roided-out beefcakes cluttering the WWE’s roster. Okay, we’re kidding about the former tidbit, but definitely not the latter.

Random fact: Alter Bridge has performed on both the Tonight Show and Jimmy Kimmel Live.

--

Melvins

With supporting act Big Business

Monday, October 22, 8 p.m.

The Clubhouse Music Venue in Tempe

Tickets are $15 pre-sale, $17 day-of-show (on sale now, visit www.luckymanonline.com)

The Melvins have had all kinds of strangeness going on since the legendary sludge metal group formed way back in the early 1980s. Videos for songs like “Honey Bucket” (where the band plays in a barn filled with sheep) or “The Talking Horse” (which is filled with unearthly special effects like stop-motion creatures or people transforming into cakes) are awesome examples of their peculiarities, as is some of curious collectibles they’ve created for their fans, including a plastic fetus in a jar and cans of processed meat.

Random fact: One-time Melvins bassist Lori Black is the daughter of Shirley Temple.

--

Exodus

With supporting acts Goatwhore, Arsis, Warbringer, and Landmine Marathon

Wednesday, January 23, 7 p.m.

The Clubhouse Music Venue in Tempe

Tickets are $13, pre-sale, $15 day-of-show (on sale now, visit www.luckymanonline.com)

Although there’s nothing particularly bizarre about this thrash metal outfit (originally formed by Kirk Hammett in 1980 before he joined Metallica), a couple of the album titles for their large discography are a little freakish, such as 1985’s Bonded by Blood, 1989’s Fabulous Disaster, and 2005’s Shovel Headed Kill Machine.

Random fact: Exodus is currently signed to German label Nuclear Blast Records.

--

Rumor has it: According to the folks at Pollstar (and a few other sites on the Internet), 80s alt-rock faves The Cure will be visiting Dodge Theatre this coming June. Stay tuned to Future Shock for more details.

Kanye West may slam the man, but our interviewer develops a man crush on 50 Cent

By Ben Westhoff

There’s no reason to fear 50 Cent, right? That’s what I tell myself while heading towards Manhattan’s Flatiron District for a one-on-one interview with the much-shot gangster emcee. The guy has no beef with me, and besides, he hangs out with people like Dustin Hoffman and Justin Timberlake, perhaps the two-unscariest guys in the universe.

So why -- as I wait to be buzzed in behind G-Unit Clothing headquarters’ wall of bulletproof glass -- am I shaking?

The man himself is running a little late, so I take a seat in the company lobby, which is decorated with a faux-library of gold painted books and a bigger-than-life poster of 50, staring down at me. (Great.) His publicist hands me a can of the new Vitamin Water energy drink and allows me to explore the premises. Designers in cubicles are flanked by rows of topless, ebony models and racks of gaudy black and fluorescent green fashions. I’m told they move $60 million a year of this stuff in the U.S., third only to Diddy’s Sean John and Jay-Z’s Rocawear among urban lines.

Minutes before liftoff, I’m escorted into 50’s office, which is actually a bit more like a lounge. Black leather furniture is surrounded by a blue pool table, stocked bar (the Hypnotiq is empty but the Patron is full), and a framed picture of 50 and JT. Below his flat screen Panasonic are David LaChapelle and Playboy bunny books, as well as a DVD collection which includes Borat, Rocky, Snatch, and Full Metal Jacket, among others. There’s also a recording booth, small gym and chrome-heavy bathroom, which really looks like it belongs in a prison….

“How ya doing?” he says suddenly, having entered silently and now sticking out his hand. “Isn’t it freezing in here?”

We retreat to the lobby, where he grabs a slice of somebody’s pizza and tells me to hold on for a second. In a tilted white Yankees cap, blue t-shirt and white Reeboks, he looks shorter -- but just as thick -- as I’d imagined. With awe I note the bullet scar on his left cheek, and then, just below it….A giant crumb dangling from his chin.

An assistant dislodges it with a napkin, but, suddenly, Fiddy is just another man to me. Maybe it’s the Vitamin Water talking, but as we sit down for the interview, I feel ballsy.

“Do you ever worry that you’ll become as crazy as uber-superstars like Michael Jackson or Prince?” I ask him, after getting some compulsory, Curtis-related questions out of the way.

“I don’t think I’ll go crazy,” he says. “But, then again, crazy people don’t think they’re crazy.”

I ask him what he thinks about Russell Simmons’s idea for rappers to censor themselves. “I think he displayed to everyone that he aspires to pursue politics,” he says, adding: “One of these days, you’ll see him running [for governor]. I’ma vote for him, too.”

Later, I ask who he supports for president. “Hillary,” he says. “I like the fact that she didn’t leave Bill, under those circumstances.”

Not Barack? “Why, ‘cause he’s black?” he says, and laughs. (With me, not at me, mind you.)

Like his inflated lats, our bond continues to gain strength. Once, he brushes my knee with his when laughing, and later even begins showing off for my benefit. With his lackeys talking quietly in the other room, he yells for them to keep it down. They immediately go silent, and he winks at me.

Perhaps he’s just drunk on his own power. At one point, he accosts a G-Unit Clothing employee walking by with a greasy bag. “Is that food?” 50 asks.

“Yeah,” responds the guy wearily, resigned to the inevitable. “You want some fries?”

Fif takes the entire tub of fries, of course.

50 is the world’s perfect interview subject, because he’s A) super-famous and B) completely off the cuff. Barely prompted, he disses Fat Joe -- “He’s not generating any interest in the music he’s releasing” – and Koch Records “I call [it] the graveyard. Because that’s when the majors no longer feel like you’re a safe investment.”

We share a laugh at Lil Wayne’s expense, about the photo of him kissing Baby, his Cash Money Records affiliate and father figure. “I think it’s odd for a man to kiss another man on his mouth, even though it isn’t his biological father. For the father/son relationship, I think that’s a bit much,” he says, adding: “Does your father still kiss you on the mouth?”

“I don’t think he ever did,” I say, before deciding to push the issue a bit. “So, do you have any close friends who are gay?”

“No,” he says. “Not that I know of.”

What would happen if a chart-topping rapper came out as gay?

“It depends on what kind of music he was making,” 50 says thoughtfully. “Kanye West could come out and people would be like ‘You didn’t notice how he dressed?’ Not to disrespect Kanye – because Kanye says he’s not like that.”

I can’t help laughing. I know it’s homophobic and I love Kanye, but 50 and I are having a moment here (and of course, everybody's been talking about whose new album is better in the Kanye West/50 Cent feud, so this bit of discourse is doubly delightful).

All in all, he answers considerably more than 21 of my questions, making eye contact like a motherfucker the whole time. As I finish, his publicist anxiously tries to pull him away for a photo shoot. But before being shuffled off, he very deliberately turns around and waves good-bye to me.

Not to get too sentimental, but I think I’ve got myself a man crush here.

Will 50 Cent keep his word and retire if Kanye West's Graduation continues to outsell Fiddy's Curtis? We can only hope not. (Official photo courtesy of 50Cent.com.)

By Niki D'Andrea

Better than: Killing your idols.

Bottom line: Alice In Chains blew Velvet Revolver off the stage.

I was expecting the opposite: I was skeptical about Alice In Chains touring without singer Layne Staley (who died of an apparent drug overdose in April, 2002), but I knew that Velvet Revolver included 2/5 of the original Guns 'N' Roses (Slash and Duff McKagan), as well as ex-Stone Temple Pilots singer Scott Weiland, and former drummer of The Cult and G 'N' R, Matt Sorum (one of the best drummers in the world today, in my humble opinion). I fully expected Alice In Chains to blunder through their best songs with some inferior vocalist, and for Velvet Revolver to rock the house.

I was wrong on both counts. Alice In Chains, the opening act (!), was absolutely amazing. To say that I -- and everyone else at Cricket Wireless Pavilion -- was impressed would be an understatement. When the band started playing, I was actually in the bathroom, and I remember (sincerely) thinking, "Are they playing an Alice In Chains CD? This sounds exactly like Layne Staley singing."

So I rushed from the commode, screaming "Holy shit!" and trying to get a look at the singer as I made my way to my seat.

Alice In Chains: The Next AC/DC?
I was apparently seated in the pot smoking section, as two people behind me (and one in front of me) were smoking joints, one to the left of me was hitting a pipe, and another in front of me was blazing a big ol' blunt. Within minutes, I was buzzing off a contact high. Who needs to bring drugs to a concert when you can inhale the illegalities of others?

Through blurry eyes, I observed the man onstage with Alice In Chains. He looked like a cross between Lenny Kravitz and Jimi Hendrix, wearing a black and reddish-orange, Thriller-style leather jacket. He looked nothing like Layne Staley. But those rangy vocal harmonies; those low, accented notes; the gritty screams...if I hadn't known Layne Staley was dead, I'd have sworn he was on stage, sporting a 'fro with some jheri curls and singing with Alice In Chains again.

But this wasn't Staley, of course. The amazing performer currently on tour with Alice In Chains is named William DuVall. DuVall is the singer and guitarist of a band named Comes With The Fall, which I've never heard of, but will certainly seek out now. Not only does DuVall have a great voice, but his stage presence is commanding without being effusive/annoying (hello, Scott Weiland!). When DuVall belted out the lyrics to "Rooster" (the last song in the band's hour-long opening set), I could see the muscles working and the veins bulging in his neck. I could feel the sincerity of DuVall's desire to give the fans what they wanted -- which was Alice In Chains, not some new guy just singing Alice In Chains songs. And DuVall pulled it off -- unlike many bands that lose their singers and replace them with different vocalists to sing the old tunes, this band never sounded like a cover band. And guitarist Jerry Cantrell nailed every note with creepy, distorted precision.

William DuVall, currently touring and flooring with Alice In Chains.

While I took deep breaths, the band blazed through a handful of gems from AIC's catalogue, including "Them Bones," "No Excuses," "Angry Chair," "Man in the Box," and "Would?"

If nothing else, Alice In Chains' current tour will remind people of two things: 1) Jerry Cantrell is a great guitarist and a sublime songwriter, and 2) Alice In Chains made a lot of great tunes that continue to stand the test of time. People were jumping up and down, pumping their fists, screaming, and singing along to every song. The band got a standing ovation that seemed to last for about five minutes.

According to Alice In Chains' official Web site, the band plans to begin work on a new album (with DuVall) after the tour. I can't wait. Could Alice In Chains be the next AC/DC?

Some post-set quotes from friends I ran into at the show:

"Oh my god, that was amazing. If I closed my eyes, it was just like being at a show when Layne was alive."

"We saw what we came to see. We're leaving now."

"How in the hell is Velvet Revolver going to follow that act?"

Velvet Revolver: Gimme Back My Bullets!
Poor Velvet Revolver. They violated two Rules of Rock: 1) Never book an opening band whose passion and song catalogue is superior to yours, and 2) Thou shalt not let Scott Weiland prance around with a damn megaphone, to the detriment of Slash's guitar volume.

Honestly, I still love the music of Stone Temple Pilots. Weiland sounds great on record, and when I saw STP live about seven years ago, he sounded pretty good. Tonight, he didn't sound so great. He wasn't off-key all the time, but heaven couldn't help him hit high notes. I actually squinted and grimaced a couple of times. But the visual was the real problem -- Weiland is a performer of the flamboyant, swivelin'-hips type, a skinny strutter who wears schtuff like oversized sunglasses and bulky white fur coats onstage (word to Weiland -- we're in the desert, dude). He's perpetually gyrating, Jagger-style, and this makes him look effeminate and arrogant, which may be why my friend Bones said, "Men don't like him, and women don't think he's sexy."

Slash's guitar was barely audible over the bass drum and Weiland's wig-outs with the megaphone. The latter's a vocal prop leftover from his STP days that looks superficial at this point and doesn't audibly add anything to the songs. The sound wasn't horrible (I have heard worse), but for a band that hyped its stage entrance with NWA's "Straight Outta Compton," it was pretty tame. They were drizzling through the songs behind Weiland's shaking ass, and I felt like I was sitting in on sound check.

His guitar playing's not just for decoration anymore. Slash's amp shoulda gone to 11.

Two songs into the set, one of my friends nearby asks me, "Is it just me, or does this sound like shit?"

No, bro, it wasn't just you. A couple minutes later, I get this text message from some friends seated in another section:

"Not realy imprest... we r headin out."

One song later, another text message, this one from photographer Luke Holwerda:

"Takin off now actually. Someone tossed a beer or something at me. Im callin it for the evening." (Luke's photos later revealed that he’d actually been hit with some Slash spit).

All around us, people are filing out of the show. I notice my friend Bones looks bored and has quickly guzzled the last of her beer, so I offer, "I'm ready to head out when you are."

Bones shrugs. "Hell, let's go. We gave 'em a shot."

So, less than five songs into Velvet Revolver's set, we left. As we head for the car, I tell Bones, "Man, Alice In Chains should have headlined that show."

"Actually, I'm kind of glad they didn't headline," Bones says. "Or we'd have had to sit through Velvet Revolver's set."

Personal bias: The sums of Guns 'N' Roses and Stone Temple Pilots will always be greater than their parts.

Random detail: Traffic on the I-10 West was thick getting to the show, and all "baseball traffic" was advised to exit on 7th Avenue.

Check out Luke Holwerda's photos of Velvet Revolver in our slide show!

by Matt Neff

Halls of fame are all well and good, but face it: they never ever get it right. There’s always about twelve dozen perfectly great artists that get completely overlooked, or worse, ignored in favor of total mediocrity, and who gets to argue about it? No one, because halls of fame are HALLS OF FAME. Immortal—unassailable—in the postmodern deterioration of all that is good, holy, reliable, and worth clinging to for dear life, halls of fame bludgeon the gullible masses into comfortably seeing The Canon, and/or give something for tourists to do when they go to Cleveland. And wouldn’t we be better off just admitting that Cleveland can’t be gussied up?

“Hall of Fame” conceptual problems notwithstanding, their choices usually suck anyway. As a certain local music snob with ears full of sarcastic wax (and a close friend) remarked to me the other day, "Hall of Fame? More like Hall of Shame!" I laughed at his brazen wit and we both went out for chianti and pizza. Actually what he said right before that was: it’s not that Alice Cooper, Stevie Nicks and Glen Campbell are simply old, it’s that they’re old, irrelevant, and BORING. They haven’t made any interesting music since 1976, and even then just barely. Sure they’re famous; they’re also limp, money-ridden geezers who couldn’t tear the roof off a Play-Skool pizza parlour. They support the notion that every twenty years all the popular music celebrities on the planet should be loaded onto a rocket piloted into the sun to make room for all the young hellions who are still artistically relevant, in their prime and deserving of fame and fortune.

So, regarding every Hall of Fame that deigns to plague the surface of our fair planet: tear the mothers DOWN! To further support this point, here are some long dead but real cool Arizonan underground acts of a punk-rock variety that I sadly suspect will never make it into our new hall of fame.

The Consumers

One of Arizona’s earliest punk bands (1977), they were roughed up regularly by all the intolerant hillbillies and hicks who proliferated through late seventies Arizona (quite possibly the very same hicks and hillbillies who attended Fleetwood Mac and Glen Campbell shows). They hit the road to L.A. not long after and called it quits in 1978. Their one and only record is still available from In the Red. They sound a little generic, but, eh, they're still better than the Gin Blossoms. "She really puts out! She really puts out!"

The Brainz

The initial incarnation of Mighty Sphincter: fairly decent buzzsaw punk with arty inclinations. Cris Kirkwood supposedly wrung his hands with delight when saw them. Here’s the A-side from their one and only 45, which has all but gone the way of the dodo.

Mighty Sphincter

A death rock hardcore band that follows in Mr. Cooper’s footsteps with doom ‘n’ gloom, makeup and theatrics, and copious knowledge of the Algonquin Indians. Most of their records are out of print but I found a few on used music sites. This is from 1984’s This is Phoenix, Not the Circle Jerks comp LP, which also featured Sun City Girls, JFA, Soylent Greene, Zany Guys, and Conflict (also hard to find).

The Feederz

Fast, furious, outraged, challenging and completely tasteless: great Situationist-inspired hardcore from a bunch of Southwestern malcontents with axes to grind. I first heard their “Jesus Entering From the Rear” on the Alternative Tentacles Let Them Eat Jellybeans LP and I’ve loved them ever since. This is from their 1984 album “Ever Feel Like Killing Your Boss?” which is available from Broken Rekids and which was originally released with a sandpaper cover to better destroy the records it was placed beside.

The Rotters

These guys aren’t from Arizona (L.A., rather), but they did write this beautifully offensive gem which was banned from KROQ in L.A. and almost had them sued by Ms. Nicks’ legal team. Consequently they deserve all the recognition they can get. Lots of great information at Break my Face and records available from the Bacchus Archives.

By Benjamin Leatherman

You won’t need to crack open any Shasta when reading this week’s edition of Future Shock, since the latest crop of “just announced” concerts heading to the Valley is already packed with plenty of pop. From squeaky clean bubblegum starlets to cutie-pie pop-punkers, we’re gonna be giving you some sugar, baby (as well as upcoming shows by some punk rock legends and a noted jazz superstar).

Mandy Moore
With supporting acts Rachael Yamagata, and Chris Stills
Monday, October 8, 6:30 p.m.
Martini Ranch in Scottsdale
Tickets cost $22 (on sale now, visit www.luckymanonline.com)
It doesn’t get any poppier than former teen queen Mandy Moore, who’s touring in support of her newest disc, Wild Hope, an album that’s been lauded by critics as being more soulful and thoughtful than any of her previous work.
Random fact: Mandy Moore has dated actors Wilmer Valderrama, Billy Crawford, and Zach Braff, as well as being romantically linked to superstar turntablist Adam Goldstein (a.k.a. DJ AM).

--

Kelly Clarkson
Tuesday, November 20, 7:30 p.m.
ASU Gammage Auditorium
Tickets cost $37 (on sale Saturday, visit www.ticketmaster.com)
After dismal ticket sales forced her to cancel a slate of summertime gigs at such large arenas as the U.S. Airways Center, the original American Idol is setting her sights a bit lower by booking a fall tour at smaller venues like the 3,000-seat Gammage. We’re still thinking it’s gonna be a challenge to fill the place, given the somewhat dodgy quality of the songs on her latest CD, My December (which Clarkson largely wrote herself) where she sounds kinda like a warmed-over Alanis Morrisette, particularly on the song “Never Again.”
Random fact: Clarkson is the spokeswoman for both Vitamin Water and acne medicine Proactiv.

--

Paramore
With The Starting Line
Thursday, November 15, 6 p.m.
Marquee Theatre in Tempe
Tickets cost $20 pre-sale, $22 day-of-show (on sale now, www.luckymanonline.com)
For erudite music journalists such as ourselves, it’s probably a major faux pas for us to enjoy major label pop-punkers such as Paramore, but like 311 says, “Fuck the naysayers 'cause they don't mean a thing.” We’ve spent a lot of time lately spinning Paramore’s latest disc, Riot!, in our CD players, particularly the songs “Misery Business” and “For a Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic,” where hottie vocalist Hayley Williams sings unrelenting lyrics about cheating boyfriends and backbiting friends set to catchy hooks and steady beats spat out by the band’s other three members.
Random fact: Paramore’s first album, All We Know is Falling, was released by indie label Fueled By Ramen.

--

Citizen Fish
With supporting acts MDC, The Prosthetics, and Heatstroke
Wednesday, November 7, 7 p.m.
The Sets in Tempe
Tickets cost $10 (on sale now, visit www.luckymanonline.com)
Moving from gleeful pop-punk to ass-thrashing ska-punk, Britain’s legendary Citizen Fish are gonna blow through P-Town, backed up by beyond-famous anarchopunk icons MDC (which, depending on who you ask, means either Millions of Dead Cops, Millions of Damn Christians, or Metal Devil Cokes). For those who ain’t in the know (and we pity you if you aren’t), Citizen Fish has been kicking around since the early '90s, made up at various times by former and current members of the Subhumans, and have assaulted the music world with their ideological, politically-charged, and anarchistic lyrics.

--

Herbie Hancock
Friday, November 16, 8 p.m.
Orpheum Theatre in Phoenix
Tickets cost $37.50 to $57.50 (on sale now, visit www.ticketmaster.com)
While keyboardist extraordinaire Herbie Hancock has been a towering figure in the jazz world for decades, our first taste of the dood came by way of the cool-as-fuck 1983 single, “Rockit.” As much as we dug both the phat synthesizer melodies laid down by Hancock and the endless record scratchings from NYC turntablist great Grand Mixer DXT, the music video for the song -- filled with freaky and funky robots -- was even more awesome, thrilling us as kids whenever we caught it on the embryonic MTV. It’s kinda unlikely the 67 year-old Hancock still performs the song in concert, but we can always hope.

Random fact: Hancock’s birthday is April 12.

--

Rumor has it: While we haven’t gotten any kind of official confirmation on the matter, we’ve heard some scuttlebutt lately that Mr. “Get-R-Done” himself, Larry the Cable Guy, will be visiting the U.S. Airways Center on Sunday, December 16.

By Niki D'Andrea

If you tuned into MTV's Video Music Awards this year, you may have noticed one big thing: they sucked. Between Britney Spears' underwhelming performance (note to Brit: your career is over; you might as well pose for Playboy while your body is still somewhat nubile), Kanye West's temper tantrum about not winning, and Kid Rock kicking Tommy Lee's ass, the VMA's were nothing but a sub-par Circus of the Stars, minus the cheesy '80s leotards.

Cyborg dominatrix mama Britney Spears: NOT performing at the Arizona Music and Entertainment Hall of Fame Awards.

Thankfully, some awards shows are still more about paying tribute than playing to the lowest common denominator. The 2007 Arizona Music and Entertainment Hall of Fame (AMEHOF) Induction Ceremony is one of them.

Before you start thinking this is gonna be some self-congratulatory milkfest on a cash cow, a little 411 on AMEHOF: It's a non-profit, registered 501(c) 3 organization with an all-volunteer staff. Today, I talked to one of the board members, Jon Iger, and he sounded audibly exhausted. “Yesterday was the copy deadline for our program, and we were all up until four in the morning,” he said.

Tired or not, Iger excitedly talked my ear off about AMEHOF and this year’s ceremony. The grassroots organization was founded a little more than two years ago, for the purpose of honoring musicians and entertainers from our great state.

No, I'm not joking. I know a lot of local music snobs love to wax sarcastic about how our scene sucks. In their opinions, Jimmy Eat World is sooo 15 minutes ago, the Gin Blossoms are sooo 15 years ago, and the Meat Puppets made the only good music to have ever emanated from the Grand Canyon State. They think Glen Campbell, Stevie Nicks, Steve Miller, and Alice Cooper are just "old." I think a better word is "legendary."

Stevie Nicks needs no introduction, but will get one for her induction.

"There's such a rich history here, and a lot of people didn't know so many famous or great people are from Arizona and spend time here,” Iger said. “We want to get the word out. It's nice to honor them, and it comes back to our motto: 'Inspiring the future by remembering the past.'"

The first induction ceremony, in 2005, ushered in such local luminaries as Glen Campbell, Jessi Colter, Alice Cooper, Waylon Jennings, Pat McMahon, Wayne Newton, Wallace & Ladmo, and even New Times/Village Voice Media Executive Editor Michael Lacey.

Inductees are chosen by a vast advisory board that includes local musicians Roger Clyne, Big Pete Pearson, Walt Richardson, Scotty Johnson and Robin Wilson of the Gin Blossoms, Jessi Colter, and Hans Olson; Live Nation promoter Danny Zelisko; Rhythm Room owner and blues harp guru Bob Corritore; radio personality and Jazz encyclopedia Blaise Lantana; and official Arizona State Historian Marshall Trimble.

Board member Marshall Trimble: This guy knows his 'Zona.

This year's inductees are Steven Spielberg, Stevie Nicks, Linda Ronstadt, Jerry Riopelle, The Tubes, Buck Owens, Dwight Tindle, Rex Allen, Sanford Clark, The Herndon Family & Handlebar J, and the now-defunct/much-missed country bar, Mr. Lucky’s.

Spielberg attended Arcadia High School in Phoenix, where he made his first film, a science fiction odyssey called Firelight. “He said that he planned to be here [at the ceremony], if he wasn’t making a movie,” Iger said. “But last I heard, he was in Australia. Making a movie.”

Will Steven Spielberg get out from down under for the ceremony?

No word on whether Nicks and Ronstadt will be there, either, but all the other inductees will be represented -- including The Tubes, who will perform, much to the elation of Iger. “The Tubes! The Tubes! This will be the first appearance by the original Tubes in 20 years,” Iger said. “Bill Spooner will be there, and that’s a rare deal. That’s probably the biggest thing we’ve got going.”

The Tubes. Insert clever caption here.

Also performing will be the Herndon Brothers, cornerstones of local country for more than three decades. The Herndon family owns Handlebar J in Scottsdale, the oldest and most popular country bar/restaurant in town, and Ray Herndon is an established solo artist who also played with Lyle Lovett’s band for years.

The late Rex Allen, who did voiceovers for many Disney films in the ‘60s, will be represented by his son, Rex Allen, Jr., who also plans to perform a couple songs. Inductee Sanford Clark, whom Iger said “put out the first rockabilly record in Phoenix, back in 1956,” will also be on-hand. The house band for the ceremony is Marty Mitchell and the Smoke N Guns. Local television personality Pat McMahon (forever Gerald from The Wallace & Ladmo Show to me) will serve as Master of Ceremonies.

The evening’s events will also include slideshows of the inductees (courtesy of Harkins), a top-notch lighting and sound program, and an auction of rock and roll memorabilia from Rock Star Gallery in Scottsdale (word to collectors -- if you’ve never been out to RSG, you’re missing some awesome items).

Lady in Red: Governor Janet Napolitano.

“Oh, and the Governor!” Iger added proudly. “The Governor has proclaimed an official Arizona Music and Entertainment Hall of Fame Day.”

That day will be the day of the ceremony: Sunday, September 23. The event begins at 5 p.m. at Dodge Theatre, and tickets cost $10, $15, and $25, depending on where you want to sit. You can get ‘em through Live Nation.