Blogs

By Niki D'Andrea
Photos by Luke Holwerda

Better than: That one time, at band camp.

See a slideshow of the March Fourth Marching Band.

Five things that truly blow my mind (in descending order):

5. Plexiglass.

4. Why the plural of "fax" isn't "fux."

3. Nostrils.

2. The idea that our whole universe could be the product of a "cosmic defect."

1. March Fourth Marching Band, "Portland, Oregon's premier surrealist big-band groove machine."

My No. 1 pick, March Fourth Marching Band, has the distinction of being the only musical act about which I'll tell people, "You've never seen anything like this before."

I'm a firm believer in the Ecclesiastes adage "There is nothing new under the sun" (one of the few times you'll catch me quoting The Bible), but this massive music collective recycles and reinvents so many different musical styles that it's impossible to confuse their compositions with anybody else's. Their live performances are so visually compelling and stacked with stimuli that observers at their shows start to feel like Malcolm McDowell's character in A Clockwork Orange, hooked up to that "reprogramming" machine that forever changed the meaning of Mozart's music for him. Audiences are inundated with so many sights and sounds that it's sensuously exhausting. Every person I've ever brought to a March Fourth Marching Band performance was absolutely beat by the end of the night, even if they were stone-cold sober and never moved from their seats. It's like having Vegas in your face for a full week, like Vaudeville on Valium, like a cabaret on crack, like frigging water for acid-laced chocolate.

The first time I saw March Fourth Marching Band in Phoenix, they completely caught me by surprise (revisit my column "Horny Blast" for a full rundown). The nine-piece brass section was decked out in myriad costumes from hobo chic to Flash Gordon-esque garb; there were a handful of female dancers dressed like crosses between Betty Boop and Fetish Barbie; stilt walkers in tight, striped pants; and an eight-person percussion section that looked like they just walked off the set of a Bette Midler/Rosie O'Donnell remake of What Happened to Baby Jane? The whole massive marching band filled the stage and floor at Alice Cooper'stown, turning the venue into something more similar to a raucous 1920s speak easy jam in an opium den than a sports restaurant owned by a rock star in modern downtown Phoenix. I have never forgotten it.

So when I heard that MFMB was coming back to Phoenix for the annual Phoenix Parade of the Arts and a repeat performance at Cooper'stown, nothing could keep me from going, or dragging along a handful of friends.

Before March Fourth Marching Band assailed our senses, local Celtic rock band The Biffos played a slew of songs, including a cover of Steve Earle's "Copperhead Road" and a handful of songs from their album, Suffering Is Optional. Musically, the quartet sounds similar to Flogging Molly and The Pogues; visually, they're a trip because singer/guitarist Brian O'Carroll looks so much like Billy Joel. They're well worth checking out for a "have another beer-and-kick up your heels-and-clap along" experience.

The Biffos

March Fourth Marching Band's performance was even more stunning than the previous year's, even though the band seemed half the size of last year's band, and they were wrapping up a seven-week national tour. As soon as the musicians gathered around the stage, looking like the pierced and tattooed outcasts of every straight-laced, small-town high school marching band, people in the audience were giving each other "What the fuck?" looks.

But when they started playing, the funky bass lines and wall of Woodstock-esque communal percussion brought out the boogie monsters in everybody. When people weren't watching the stilt walkers and dancers doing circus acrobatics, they were on their feet, dancing with the band and each other. Because Halloween is right around the corner, a lot of folks were in costumes, which only added to the surreal effect. I danced with a matador and Alice in Wonderland for a few tunes. There were a couple people getting down in Sumo wrestler costumes. The band's various instrumentals meld everything from salsa to Persian music to gypsy folk to ska and jazz, and by the time MFMB got two songs into its set, I swear there wasn't a single person standing still. By the time they finished, folks were asking for an encore. Luckily, my buddy B-Boy had heard me talk so much about the band in the weeks leading up to its show that he'd been listening to them online, and made a request for the song "Baby" (off MFMB's self-titled CD). The band complied with the request, leading the audience in a sing-along near the end of the tune (collectively, we sounded horrible -- not unlike a pack of injured, howling dogs -- but it was so much fun).

Personal bias: March Fourth Marching Band's CD makes me wiggle in my chair.

Random detail: There was an afterparty for March Fourth Marching Band at The Firehouse (off 1st street and Roosevelt). Matt Spastic, of local punk band The Complainiacs, was wearing a bright red wig and telling me over and over how he wanted to get a baby carriage and fill it with beer.

By Niki D'Andrea

Every week, we're going to be reviewing a music DVD. We kick off with Twisted Sister's The Video Years.

Twisted Sister used to scare the shit out of me. When I was 8 years-old, I would lay on my bunk bed in the dark, blasting the Under the Blade album, imagining that huge, leather-skinned monsters with oozing eyeballs were going to come creeping out of the shadows to eat me.

This was years before I realized that, in full makeup, Dee Snider looks less like a malicious metal monster and more like a bad drag version of Bette Midler. Still, as a fledgling, third-grade metal head, I thought Twisted Sister was the most exciting and dangerous band around. They're largely written off today as a by-product of the '80s hair metal heyday, but the truth is, there was a time when Twisted Sister really fucking rawked. And I still have all their early records on vinyl to prove it.

The curse of Twisted Sister is unwittingly laid out at the beginning of the Twisted Sister: The Video Years DVD (Rhino), when Dee Snider's discussing the band's first appearance on a U.K. television show. The audience wasn't giving Snider the reaction he wanted, so he started screaming that if the audience couldn't get past the makeup, he'd take it off. And he did, grabbing a bucket of makeup remover and slathering it all over his face. "Now I don't have any makeup on!" He exclaimed. "What're you gonna do now?"

The band then proceeds to tear the living shit out of the Rolling Stones' "It's Only Rock 'N' Roll (But I Like It)," along with Robbo and Lemmy from Motörhead. They still got a lukewarm reaction from the crowd, but a U.K. scout for Atlantic Records saw the show and signed the band. It was the beginning of an era, and the beginning of the end. Snider wouldn't take off his makeup again until he was ordered to do so by record execs who wanted the band to move more in the direction of the commercial cock rock craze that farted all over the airwaves in the late '80s.

Unfortunately, "image" always factored too much into the Twisted Sister paradigm. In the early '80s, some metal fans were reluctant to take the band seriously because of their carnival-on-crack makeup. By the time they took the makeup off in '87, nobody was taking them seriously because they were playing metal songs about hot chicks and bullshit that every T.S. fan knew didn't fit the "real" Twisted Sister. Twisted Sister died of the same disease that's claimed the careers of almost every great arena rock band to walk off the club circuit: formula. Once a record company gets a hold of a band and says, "Produce something that sells like such-and-such is selling right now," it's over.

The DVD illustrates this point perfectly. We go from watching an exciting band with explosive energy ("You Can't Stop Rock 'N' Roll," 1983) to a cool-but-cartoony band churning out metal anthems ("We're Not Gonna Take It," "I Wanna Rock," 1984) to a bunch of dudes on bikes doing power ballads and bad covers ("The Price," "Leader of the Pack," 1985) to finally, a really crappy rock band that sounded like every other crappy rock band at the time, maybe even worse ("Hot Love," 1987).

But there's more than a moral to this story. In-between the videos and insightful interviews that reveal some surprises (the guys in Twisted Sister were soap opera junkies?!), there's evidence of something else -- something that's always overlooked when people talk about Twisted Sister -- and that is the stellar musicianship.

Say what you will about the makeup and cheesy costumes (how silly will Marilyn Manson look 20 years from now?), but musically, it's hard to fuck with Twisted Sister's early albums. From the build-and-blast supernova of "What You Don't Know (Sure Can Hurt You)" (leadoff track from '82's Under the Blade) to Eddie Ojeda's scorching solo on "Like a Knife in the Back" (from the following year's You Can't Stop Rock 'N' Roll), Twisted Sister displayed all the chops of bona fide rock gods, and the band's stage show was a full-throttle, sweat 'n' spit onslaught. This is all too evident from the 1984 Stay Hungry concert included on the disc, where Snider works the crowd into a chanting, head banging frenzy while the band barrels through burly tunes like "The Beast," "Burn in Hell," and "S.M.F."

Twisted Sister doesn't scare me anymore. It was a band that had its moment, a band that managed to be unique at its peak and then fizzled out trying to perpetuate that moment by getting in on the next trend. I see that more and more in the music industry these days, and frankly, that scares the shit out of me.

Next week: Heart's Dreamboat Annie DVD.

Live and Collective Soul: Placentas on the floor and a groove core as deep as the Grand Canyon.

By Luke Holwerda

Friday night at the AZ State Fair, traffic was terrible. I just barely made the gig. As I made my way to the pit area, Collective Soul's techs were making last minute adjustments to the guitar amps. Moments later, the lights went down.

At this point (7 p.m.), the house is only at 1/4 capacity, if that. A pretty sad showing -- maybe rock IS dead? I get a text from my friend Chris, a huge Live fan and an even HUGER Collective Soul fan...who paid $300 for 3rd row tickets. He says he’s been stuck in traffic and he’s freakin’ out. He eventually shows up, moments into the third song. Collective Soul put on a really great show. They had a lot of hits I had forgotten about, and with only 45 minutes of set time, it was jam-packed. I've never been a “fan” of theirs, but the show was entertaining, with a lot of energy from everyone on stage. I could tell they were enjoying themselves, rather than just going through the motions. Throughout their set, there was a lot of fan interaction and participation...a lot of trading lines of the choruses with the audience. At one particular breakdown in the set, just before the extended outro of a song, lead singer Ed Roland shouted out, "Most of you know what to do now, some of you don’t. For everyone else, I will teach you. I’m your teacher," before breaking into "whoa-oh-oh, heaven let your light shine down." After a few repetitions, the band dropped the instrumentation down to just a bass drum and some light bass notes. Meanwhile, behind me, I heard an older fellow growl to his group of concert-going comrades, "That’s a groove core as deep as the Grand Canyon!" I smiled and texted myself that line so as not to forget it. Collective Soul's set ended on a big rock coda with Ed yelling, "Tell your friends, tell your family, you've seen Collective Soul!" I did just that, Edo.

Maybe 30 minutes later, Live took over. I was excited to see them and even threw up my devil horns when lead singer Ed Kowalczyk showed up in front of me. (I was a fan up through their fourth album, Distance to Here, just to be clear.) This was another short set, but similarly bubbling with hits. They opened with "All Over You," and the arena, which was now more than half full, responded in a roar. Lead guitarist Chad Taylor stomped around stage in a manner almost too rockin' for the song; he would sort of get low in his stance and stomp back and forth, shifting his weight from one foot to the next (think: Donkey Kong). Again, they were happy to rock. Live managed to touch on every album in their catalog, even in their short amount of time. I was pleased to hear "The Beauty of Gray" from the band's first album, Mental Jewelry, a nice, acoustic-driven throwback which played very well in the live environment. The band even snuck in a cover of Johnny Cash's "Walk the Line." Ed described it as "A good cover of a GREAT song." I will give them “good” -- it was sort of odd. It rocked in the choruses, but it was somehow MORE monotone than when Johnny Cash sang it. Toward the end of the set, the first few lines of "I Alone" crept in unassumingly, and the song took on a slightly different progression as it reached the bridge. Before Ed would sing the line "We took it back too far/only love can save us now," he had something to say: "Do you watch the news? 'Cause I watch the news from time to time."

At this point, I shook my head, stopped tapping my toe, and waited for some B.S. political banter I did not want to hear at a concert. But to my delight, all Ed said was, "I see what’s going on in the world today, and I think the world needs our love." Phew, that was at least unspecific! "What we in Live like to do, is have the audience help us generate a psychic cosmic love thing, and spread it all over the globe. Will you help us?" Of course I said "Sure;" that's harmless enough. So we all sang the word "Love" over and over. Yay for hippies. Finally, "Lightning Crashes" ended the set. What a great song. Something about hearing thousands of people singing "Her placenta falls to the floor" in unison is really soothing to me. My greasy food-induced stomach ache was gone. Thank you, Live.

After the show, I met up with Chris. All he had to say was, "It was a good show. Of course it rocked, but for the $300 I spent on the tickets alone, I thought I would have rocked that hard for a longer amount of time."

By Matt Neff
Photos by Luke Holwerda

The Sic Alps +
The Magik Markers
@ The Modified Arts
October 15, 2007

Better than: Citizen Kane

Sorry I’m so late on this one; it seems a certain local…officer of the peace, let’s just call him Lawman X, caught “wind” of my review’s gist and took…steps...to prevent its publication. Rest assured that I have disposed of the assassins’ bodies in a manner befitting a “hack” of my position, a-har har ha ha har…

Do I ever feel ambivalent about this show. I guess I’ll start off by saying that both headlining bands (Sic Alps and the Magik Markers) are hip/hyped lo-fi garage noise acts that appeal exclusively to narrow/open-minded electric guitar addicts such as myself and that I was favorably inclined toward them in the first place. Hand me their records and I’ll amuse myself for hours like a happy rottweiler with a fresh side of moose. Windy sighs would be heard from my cloistered cell and you’d marvel at the idiot strength of my patience for semi-inept noise/psych bashings. But put me in a room with them and let me see how pathetically simple their getup is and you might just crush my cynical, cynical spirit.

That being said, the show was alright. It was a Monday night and a disappointingly low number of people showed up; the Sic Alps were also plagued by broken strings, the drummer cutting his finger and feedback that threatened to overwhelm their sound. Despite all this, they still chunked out some reverb-heavy, melodic stop-start garage-psych tunes that had my head a-hummin’ and my toes a-wigglin’. The pal I’d brought along thought they outright sucked, but he also loves Phil Collins, so what the hell does he know?

SIC ALPS SET UP BEFORE A RAPT AUDIENCE

Their debut album of 2006, Pleasures and Treasures, has been hailed as the sound of “total amateurs zapped on Robitussin, bashing out a primal fusion of Sixties garage rock and deliriously distorted psychedelia (think early Spacemen 3/Sonic Youth)” by my confrere Justin Farrar of the Miami New Times, and I by and large found such to be the case! Yes, Pleasures and Treasures proved itself right on both measures; I knew I’d found my new source of leisure.

After the Sic Alps scraped, bashed, yodeled and fed back through a dozen sordid washed-out garage-psych affairs, I decided it wasn’t their fault if they broke a string, or their drummer didn’t know how to keep his thumb from leaking crimson humors—their hearts were still pumping the right meatjuice. Three and a half blog-hack’s thumbs up.

http://www.sicalps.com/
http://www.myspace.com/sicalps
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NSjgJIPo6Qw
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dHdYSlbB7Lw
http://siltblog.blogspot.com/2007/04/mralps-mrnot-lib-mrsic-alps-pleasure.html

READY TO ROCK

The Magik Markers

The Markers were flat out nice people; we got to chatting about our childhood drawing styles but after enthusing about the notorious Nebraskan basement drywall fiasco of ’86 they revealed a virulent strain of anti-Crayolaism that belied their polite mannerisms and sugar-sweet veneers. Naturally I kept my objections to myself. Later when they got on stage and began juicing the ole schtick I had no chance to voice them. Their notoriously wild no-wave free rock thrashings have been toned down for their new record (entitled Boss) as a Sonic Youth-esque mélange of hovering keys, screechy scrawly guitar played in disjointed atonal fracture swipes, and improvised this-and-that vocal puh from lead singer Elisa Ambrogio. On Monday they set up a nice drone as Elisa grappled with her axe and stomped on various effects boxes in pursuit of the next best distortionary vista. Thankfully, you were able to hear what she did with the noise, and she balanced it against the structured elements—i.e. songs and such. They still came off as a free rock act held together by glue and axle grease, but the tonal qualities were there for sure! Ask any of the fifteen witnesses.

LEFT HANDED LIKE PHIL (COLLINS)

Overall, the show was lacking in that hi-energy violence they’re supposed to have (see Youtube video below). They were probably just saving it for the New Mexico show. Oh well.

In any case, if you’re a noise fan, you already know who they are. Up and at them!
http://www.ecstaticpeace.com/artist.php?id=5
http://www.apostasyrecordings.com/markers/markers.html
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OsRuGrfXlrY
http://www.villagevoice.com/music/0511,stosuy,62088,22.html

Personal Bias: MACHINES RETAIN IMPARTIALITY
Random Detail: C sharp at 4:37

TWO HANDS, TWO INSTRUMENTS

LATIN MAJOR ELISA AMBROGIO

PETE NOLAN ALONE WITH HIS SKINS

By Benjamin Leatherman

Spandex tights? Check. Can of Aqua Net? Got it. Copy of Ratt’s Invasion of Your Privacy on vinyl? You betcha. Sounds like you’re locked and loaded for this week’s edition of Future Shock, which focuses on the often-outrageous genre of heavy metal. From dank and dirty death rock to glass-shattering superstars who’re known for their screaming talents, we’ve put together a list of some of the “just announced” concerts from a multitude of metal acts that will be visiting the Valley in the upcoming months. So strap on your leather pants, knock back a few cans of Schlitz, and get ready to rock out with your cock out.

King Diamond
With supporting acts Kreator, Leaves Eyes, and Cellador
Thursday, May 1, 2008, 6:30 p.m.
Marquee Theatre in Tempe
Tickets are $24 pre-sale, $26 day of show (on sale now, visit www.luckymanonline.com)

It doesn’t get any more metal than the legendary King Diamond, as the Danish rocker illustrates all the extreme stereotypes of the genre, whether he’s wielding a microphone made of femur bones, slapping on the face paint, or killing your eardrums with his high-decibel falsetto shrieking (“Grandma/Take a look/What do you think of the house and
the silvery moon?”). Mr. Diamond (a.k.a. Kim Bendix Petersen) also may or may not be a follower of Satanism (depending on what you read), so make sure you bring both a crucifix and some earplugs to the show.

Random fact: In Kevin Smith’s 2006 film Clerks II, the characters of Randall and Jay spontaneously break out into a hilarious rendition of King Diamond’s signature song, “Welcome Home.”

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Jonathan Davis
With supporting act Godhead
Monday, December 3, 6:30 p.m.
Marquee Theatre in Tempe
Tickets are $34 pre-sale, $35 day of show (on sale Saturday, visit www.luckymanonline.com)

Taking a break from working the mic as frontman for Korn, Jonathan Davis is embarking on a nationwide solo tour where the dreadlocked musician will perform a series of acoustic covers for his fans. According to Blabbermouth.net, the gigs will include a few Korn songs, as well as some jams Davis created for that Queen of the Damned vampire flick from 2002. If you ask really nicely, he might just even bust out with Extreme’s “More Than Words” or Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven.” (Okay, we’re kidding about that last sentence, but the dude did name his latest kid Zeppelin Houseman Davis, so you never know).

Random fact: Jonathan Davis’ favorite bands growing up were The Cure and Duran Duran.

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Nile
With supporting acts Suicide Silence, The Faceless, and The Agonist
Wednesday, March 19, 7 p.m.
The Clubhouse Music Venue in Tempe
Tickets are $18 pre-sale, $20 day of show (on sale now, visit www.luckymanonline.com)

The men of South Carolina-based “technical death metal” band Nile might seem a little focacta, but their musical stylings are quite solid and ultimately listenable. These good-ole Southern Boys take their obsession with Egyptian mythology and culture, mix it up with some Middle Eastern musical influences and massive guitar riffs, and unleash a sonic boom that keeps fans coming back for more. They’re even known to work in some H.P. Lovecraft references to boot. Cthulhu be praised!

Random Fact: Nile’s first full-length album (released in 1998) was titled Amongst the Catacombs of Nephren-Ka. Nutty.

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Rotting Christ
With supporting acts Immolation, Belphegor, Averse, and Landmine Marathon
Wednesday, February 27, 7 p.m.
The Sets in Tempe
Tickets are $15 (on sale now, visit www.luckymanonline.com)

If ever there was an award for the best metal band name, we’d cast our vote for Rotting Christ. That’s not the only way these Greek death metal masters have blasphemed the savior, as they staged a “Fuck Christ” tour in 1993 and their early lyrics included references to occultism. We’re sure if they pray really hard and make penance, the Son of God will forgive them for that shit, as well as their history of cutting themselves onstage during concerts. The band’s antics and reputation are so shocking that Megadeth frontman Dave Mustaine reportedly balked at performing at a metal concert in Greece a few years back if Rotting Christ was involved. Pussy.

Random fact: Rotting Christ formed in 1987.

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Rumor Has It: Ticket info hasn’t been announced yet, but Video Games Live will be coming to the Maricopa County Events Center in March. Stay tuned to Future Shock for more updates.

Interview with Weird Al by Niki D’Andrea
Concert review by Niki D’Andrea’s eight-year-old inner child

Rather than espouse the many virtues of Weird Al Yankovic’s live show, I’ve elected to let my inner child write a brief “review” of the spectacle and follow it up with an off-the-wall, exclusive interview I had with Weird Al a couple weeks before his Phoenix show.

The review:
Weird Al was awesome! He was showing all these funny movie clips on the screen before he came out, like some guy on a phone that just kept screaming “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” and this guy falling really funny, and something that looked like a snail coming out of its shell, and then he came out and sang some songs -- and there was a bubble machine -- but he kept going backstage to change, and when he did, they’d show more stuff on the screen, like Weird Al on The Simpsons and these funny pretend interviews he did with Eminem and K-Fed, where’s he’s totally making fun of them. And he sang that Star Wars song about the small fry who becomes a Jedi and he had all these Stormtroopers onstage with him, and then Darth Vader came out, and it was really cool. And he did that Amish song and the “Fat” song and a bunch of other stuff that was really awesome, and then he said goodnight and left. But then he came back, and he was singing, “We all have cell phones, so let’s get real” over and over and everybody was waving their cell phones everywhere, and then he did this really long song where he was screaming about how he hated sauerkraut. I hate sauerkraut, too. Then there was a big explosion of glitter and stuff over the crowd. Weird Al was awesome!

An image from Weird Al's latest album, Straight Outta Lynwood.

The interview:
(Conducted by phone a couple weeks prior to the show. We begin with me asking Weird Al to go on some roller coasters with me when he’s in town to perform at the fair).

Weird Al: I love playing the fair and I love roller coasters, but it’s hard to be incognito. I tend to draw a crowd, so I usually just stay backstage at the show.
Me: How do you pick your parodies? Do you go for songs that are inherently funny?
Weird Al: It helps if the original song isn’t that silly to begin with. It makes the parody funnier. But I have done some songs that were somewhat silly to begin with, like [R. Kelly’s] “Trapped in the Closet,” which is about as silly as a pop song can be.
Me: I read that when Kurt Cobain saw the video for “Smells Like Nirvana,” he called you a musical genius. What do you think about that?
Weird Al: That’s the most flattering thing I could imagine. Just that he was even thinking of me, that I was going through his mind.
Me: Have you ever had any costume malfunctions onstage?
Weird Al: Sometimes, zippers don’t work on breakaway costumes, which is always awkward. I’ve fallen off the stage in my “Fat” costume before because I couldn’t see where the ledge was, which was probably horrifying to the audience.
Me: Okay, I have to tell you about this totally random dream I had about you a few years ago. In this dream, you and I met up in New York City and went roller skating together. Nothing unusual, except that we were skating through these underground tunnels -- they were like these empty, ancient streets beneath NYC, but there were strobe lights hanging everywhere, a sound system, and fully functional, modern bathrooms. And they were huge, colorful restrooms. And we were roller skating through them.
Weird Al: That sounds fun, actually. If we’re ever in New York at the same time, we’ll have to do that.
Me: If a famous musician was going to do a parody of Weird Al, and you could choose the musician, who would you pick to parody you?
Weird Al: [Much laughter and then a long pause, before...] Bono! Let’s go with Bono, just because that would be too bizarre. You know, at some televised awards ceremony, somebody asked Bono if I was one of his big musical influences, and he said, “Yeah, sure.” I’m pretty sure he was joking.
Me: Why is the accordion so sexy?
Weird Al: Is it the in-and-out motion? I don’t know. I think my parents wanted me to take up the accordion so I could be a chick magnet.

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Shameless plug: You can read more about the Weird Al/State Fair experience in the upcoming “Niki at Nite” column in the November 1, 2007 issue of Phoenix New Times

by Matt Neff
Photos by Luke Holwerda

Better Than: This and that

Black Moth Super Rainbow

Have you ever wished more bands would take a cue from the Navy Seals and—as you’re quietly admiring the architecture of the venue rafters—creep up behind you, grab your hair in a fist, and open your carotid artery from ear to ear? I know I have! Although Black Moth Super Rainbow didn’t quite do that to me, they did pleasantly surprise me in a manner akin to being licked on the back of my neck by a frisky unicorn. They stir up an extremely creamy blend of vocoder-heavy psychedelic synth pop, and ANALOG synth pop no less, meaning there’re nice fat waves of color rolling off your tongue and eyelids as the hard and heavy rhythm section crams it in your nostrils and/or armpits.

Drums and bass were locked in, the Nord/Yamaha synth axis roamed around like a freewheelin’ Atari astronaut, and the vocodings moved in and out of the proceedings with eyes agog. The band came out and didn’t say much before putting their heads down and into it—there were five of em—no mikes to speak of, the drummer a hooded silhouette in front of a video screen playing extremely weird surrealist video: sinister looking kids puppet shows, 70s horror schlock, porn facials, Richard Simmons tapes, lo-budget car commercials, etc.—without a doubt the visuals were one of the best parts. (Apparently BMSR member “Tobacco” made the whole thing and is now selling it on a DVD called “F*cked Up Friends,” available here and excerpted below).

DEATH BED: THE BED THAT EATS

The crowd went fairly nuts for each song and I thought maybe they’d get enough of a hubbub going for an encore, but it was not meant to be. Black Moth Super Rainbow: I’d never heard of em before tonight, but now how can I forget them? They very well could be the BEST BAND ON THE PLANET AND/OR MY REVIEWING PLATE.

http://www.blackmothsuperrainbow.com/
http://www.myspace.com/blackmothsuperrainbow

(Please note that the music that accompanies this video is not Black Moth Super Rainbow's, but member Tobacco's. See here also.)

Aesop Rock

I realized about five minutes into this show that hip-hop bores the hell out of me, contrary to what I thought I believed. So, rather than fumble my way through an ignorant and biased analysis, I’ll turn it over to my friend and roommate Patrick, a translucent Bostonian of Irish decent and a steadfast Aesop Rock fan. This review was transcribed and molded from Patrick’s post-Aesop-Rock-show jiving. Good luck:

YEAH BOIEEE!!! THAT AESOP SHOW WAS, LIKE, SO KICKIN’, BEEYATCH! AESOP CAME OUT WITH HIS BOY ROB SONIC AND THE TWO O THEM TORE IT UP, YO! THERE WUZ SOME FINE LOOKIN HONEYS IN THE FRONT ROW, LIKE, PRESENTIN’ THEMSELVES TO OLE AESOP BUT HE PLAYED IT COOL MAN, SLAMMED OUT A LOT OF NEW SHIT AND THEN SOME OLDER SHIT TOWARDS THE END, SO NOT EVERYONE WAS SINGING ALONG ALL THE TIME, AIGHT? THERE WUZ ALSO A COUPLA DUMBASSES GOT REAL EXCITED BEFORE THE SHOW AND WERE SCREAMING “AEEESOOOPPPP! AEEEESOOOOPPPP!” AS IF THE MAN HIMSELF WAS GONNA COME OUT SIMPLY BECAUSE THESE MUFFS SAID HIS NAME! IF I KNOW ONE THING ABOUT AESOP, IT’S THAT HE’S HIS OWN BOSS, AND HE DON’T COME OUT FOR A COUPLA ICE-CREAM-EATIN’ MOFOS LIKE THOSE GUYS! GEEZ! ANYWAY—AESOP PULLED MORE GOODIES OUTTA HIS BAG THAN YOU COULD FROM A BOX O’ CRACKER JACKS, ONE OF THE MOST DELICIOUS SNACK FOODS EVER MADE BY PEOPLE! DUDE, ONE TIME ME AND MY BOYS WERE AT WAL-MART, RIGHT, AND WE’D JUST FINISHED SMOKING OUR STUFF IN THE MEN’S ROOM, WHEN MY BUDDY JOHNNY D.—YOU REMEMBER JOHNNY!—STARTED OPENING ALL THESE BOXES OF CRACKER JACKS AND SNARFING IT DOWN LIKE IT WUZ HOGSFEED OR SOME SHIT! I WUZ LIKE, YO, CHILL YO-SELF BEFORE YOU WRECK YO-SELF! AND SURE ENOUGH THAT WUZ WHEN HE SWALLOWED THE DIORAMA OF KIEV THAT CAME IN THE BOX! MAN, HE WAS COUGHIN UP BLOOD AND COSSACKS FOR WEEKS! HAW HAW! ANYWAY, I WAS A LITTLE DISAPPOINTED BECAUSE ROB SONIC WAS SO BUSY ON THE MIKE, RAPPING IT UP WITH HIS OWN SONGS, DETRACTING FROM VALUABLE AESOP-TIME—BUT HEY, I GUESS YOU GOTTA RESPECT YOUR PEEPS, AND I KNOW AESOP WAS ALL UP IN THAT! JUST ONE MAN’S OPINION, YO. WORD, G—‘S TIME FOR SOME HALO 3. DON’T BE HATING ON MY BOY NEFF IN THAT THERE COMMENT BOX OR I MAY HAVE TO TEACH ALLA YOU FOOLS SOME RESPECT, UNDERSTAND?

Yow!!! I can feel the excitement of the show rekindled just by reading Patrick’s review again. Maybe I’ll let him review….more things….?

http://www.myspace.com/aesoprockwins

Personal Bias: ;)
Random Detail: :(

BLACK REBEL MOTORCYCLE CLUB RIDES AGAIN

DENOUNCING THE LAZINESS OF THE HARE

ROB SONIC, WITH FRIEND

LAST EXIT TO INTENSITY

By Niki D’Andrea

Characters:
Jo Momma, a 39-year-old woman who still sports raccoon eyeliner and brags about flashing her boobs at a Def Leppard concert in '84.
"Diamond" Blackie Rocket, a 16-year-old glam rock kid raised on a diet of T. Rex and New York Dolls records, who would like to find some hooker red lipstick that comes with silver glitter.
Pontius Arse, a 27-year-old speed metal guitarist who worships Motörhead and begrudgingly accepts the fact that no one else knows jack shit about real metal.

Act One:
[Jo Momma's living room. Some empty bean bag chairs are stacked against the back wall. A tapestry for Mötley Crüe's Theatre of Pain album hangs above them. As the curtain rises, Pontius Arse comes running into the room, carrying a really cool box that's made to resemble an amplifier, with a knob that goes to 11. He is followed by "Diamond" Blackie Rocket]

ARSE: Hey Jo, come check out this 4-CD box set from Rhino Records called Heavy Metal. I just stole it from Diamond's punk ass!
ROCKET: Gimme back my box set, dude!
[Jo Momma comes into the room, holding her blond bangs straight up in the air and dousing the bottom half with Aqua Net hairspray]
MOMMA: This better be good. I almost had my claw perfect when you busted in.
ARSE: Well, some of it's good. The first disc started out with some like, hippie shit or something -- that "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" song by Iron Butterfly, which Slayer did way better on the Less Than Zero soundtrack, and some band called Blue Cheer, and a Deep Purple song --
ROCKET: Dude, that CD's the best one! It's got Kiss' "Detroit Rock City" and "Demolition Boys" by Girlschool! Heavy metal had to start somewhere, so this CD begins in like, '68.
ARSE: Shaddup, ya moron. Metal started way earlier than that, with Steppenwolf's "Born to Be Wild." Have you ever listened to the lyrics? "Heavy metal thunder"? Hello! Anyway, disc one got better, ending with Iron Maiden's "Phantom of the Opera" and Black Sabbath's "Neon Knights." But disc two was the bomb, because it kicked off with Motörhead's "Ace of Spades" and also includes Venom, Mercyful Fate, and Metallica.
MOMMA: Let me see that...[squeals obnoxiously] Aaah, it’s got Queensrÿche’s “Queen of the Reich,” too! And “Mean Streak” by Y&T! Oh, oh, oh, and Dio! Singers with big, curly hair are so sexy.
ROCKET: Let’s go buy more hairspray.

Act Two:
[Arse’s 1978 Chevy Super Nova. Arse and Momma are seated up front, with Rocket in the back, leaning forward between the seats. They are listening to disc three from the box set. The Scorpions‘ “Rock You Like a Hurricane” blasts from the car speakers]
ARSE: This song is okay, but the next one’s better. It’s “Metal Health” by Quiet Riot.
ROCKET: But they’re not rockin’ like Dokken! Flip to the next track, Dokken’s “Into the Fire.”
MOMMA: [Looking at the box set’s extensive liner notes] Ohmagawd, Lonn Friend contributed to these! I think I slept with him at a house party after an E’Nuff Z’Nuff show once.
ARSE: [Keeps flipping through tracks on the CD] This is all butt rock crap like Ratt and Cinderella until we get to the last two tracks, Anthrax’s “Caught in a Mosh” and Megadeth’s “Peace Sells.”
ROCKET: Hey, Tom Kiefer’s a great songwriter. I like Cinderella!
ARSE: That’s because your taste in music sucks bunghole and the bands you like don’t know a g-note from a g-string. I wanna hear Accept’s “Balls to the Wall.”
[cues up the song; they listen and rock out until the mid-song breakdown]
ROCKET: Um, did he just sing, “Let’s plant a bomb in everyone’s ass”?
ARSE: Yep. Hey, you know what’s silly about CD three? It’s got a Stryper song right before a Helloween song.
MOMMA: Maybe it’s meant to be silly. They do have “Big Bottom” by Spinal Tap on here, too.

Act Three:
[Back in Jo Momma’s living room. Momma, Arse, and Rocket are lounging on bean bag chairs, listening to disc four]
MOMMA: Ah, Lita Ford’s “Kiss Me Deadly.” Brings back memories. I made out with the bassist of Sweet F.A. to this song once.
ARSE: The bassist of what?
MOMMA: Nevermind. [thumbing through the liner notes again] Ohmagawd, this photo of Manowar is the gayest thing I’ve ever seen!
ARSE: What are you talking about? Manowar is good, manly metal music, unlike that struttin’ sissy crap you and Diamond like.
ROCKET: [looking at the Manowar photo] Well, they’re certainly big, muscular men, but why are two of them wearing nothing but Speedos and cowboy boots?
ARSE: What?! [grabs liner notes] Oh, that is so fucking gay!
MOMMA: [looking at the stereo as King Diamond’s “Welcome Home” comes screeching out of the speakers] This song is creepy. Is he singing about screwing his grandma?
ARSE: No, he’s trying to help her. Didn’t you hear the lyrics? He sang, “Grandma, let me help you out of the chair.”
ROCKET: I think this song is about him locking his grandma in the attic.
ARSE: Yeah, well, you got all excited that Skid Row’s “Youth Gone Wild” was on this CD, so who cares what you think?
MOMMA: Hey, Skid Row’s good! I suppose you’re pissed that this CD also contains songs by Whitesnake, Poison, and Faster Pussycat?
ARSE: Yeah, but the fact that it also includes Slayer’s “South of Heaven” and songs by Testament, Pantera, Prong, and Sepultura makes up for it.
MOMMA: Okay, here’s a question: what’s the best track on the whole 70-song collection? I vote for either “Animal (F**k Like a Beast)” by W.A.S.P. or Twisted Sister’s “I Wanna Rock.”
ROCKET: I’d say Hanoi Rocks’ “Boulevard of Broken Dreams.”
ARSE: Hands down, it’s “Am I Evil?” by Diamond Head, the band that originally did the song, long before Metallica.
ROCKET: So can I have my box set back now?
ARSE: Only if you can manage to cram the whole thing into those tight spandex pants of yours.
MOMMA: Screw that, Diamond. I’ll trade you some hooker red lipstick that comes with silver glitter for it.

By Annie Zaleski

You know, Radiohead, I was just about to go to sleep when I checked my email one last time. And lo and behold, the download code for your new CD, In Rainbows, popped up in my inbox. *sigh* I didn't need sleep anyway.

Since the rest of the blogosphere is racing right now to review Rainbows, I figure I'd be a sheep and do the same thing. Let's do a time-lapse chronicle of the proceedings. First listens, of course. While addled by fatigue. And I haven't checked YouTube or bootleg sites for which of these songs have been released before, so excuse me if some of this is old news. (I saw Radiohead in a high school auditorium in 1997, so I have cred.)

12:30 a.m.: Link shows up. Among the technical mumbo jumbo is the phrase: WE HOPE YOU ENJOY 'IN RAINBOWS'.

12:37 a.m. Zip file downloaded and unzipped. Fire up iTunes!

12:43 a.m. Fire up iTunes, take two. Had to get some carrots and water.

12:45 a.m. "15 Step" is the first song. Drum-n-bass beat that goes right into a curling guitar riff that's very "Paranoid Android"-style minimalist. Thom Yorke's sounding theatrical. Ooh, now his vocals feature some cool echoes soon after two minutes, things get very glitchy and staticky, but cinematic -- like a staticky television. Children(?) are heard crying in the background, sorta like a muted Go! Team song. Spooky organ outro. Overall could be an outtake from Yorke's solo record, and also very Amnesiac.

12:49 a.m. "Bodysnatchers." Holy crap, it's Sonic Youth. Super fuzzy, driving guitar and Yorke monotone singing, a la Thurston Moore. "I've no idea what I'm talking about," Yorke howls, in his upper, Wayne Coyne-like register. Wordless howling, as the music bends and builds around him, with some corrugated riffs layered atop the driving noise. Oh man, I bet this song is insane live.

12:52 a.m. A bit after two minutes, a bridge emerges, with guitar that's totally still SY's Dirty. Yorke's chanting; he's singing too fast for me to type. Yorke mumbles "ma ma ma ma ma ma" at the end -- you can just picture him shaking his head back and forth in that spastic way he does -- as clicking drums and then a huge wall of psych-distorto guitar ends the song. Awesome.

12:53 a.m. "Nude." Quiet strings rise up, as Yorke croons like an elderly ghost, and trip-hop beats throb. Is he saying, "Don't get bitter"? Keyboards pipe in now, somber keyboards, a la "Talk Show Host." This is totally a slow jam, albeit a haunted waltz in a cobweb-filled parlor.

12:56 a.m. Ooh, at 2:37, a big huge crescendo of strings. Yorke amps up the creaky crooning; one can picture him wearing a faded, dusty tuxedo, singing "Send in the Clowns" or something. Sad, mournful strings end the song -- vaguely Moby-ish.

12:57 a.m. Kind of a math-rocky beginning to "Weird Fishes/Arpeggi," insistent rhythms that are somewhat reminiscent of Minus the Bear, with plenty of warm keyboards boiling in the background. The first song I feel really moved by: Yorke sings, "Why should I stay here? Why should I stay? I would be crazy not to fall / Fall where you lead" (Is he saying leave?) Your eyes / They turn me."

1 a.m. Oh MAN this song is amazing. Now there are counter-harmonies around 2:30, and the song is building, ever so deliciously -- the rhythms are louder, the keys are louder and Yorke's coming to a conclusion. "I get eaten by the worm / And we're fishes / We're fishes," he says, suddenly turning into Jacques Cousteau. (I only mean this half-jokingly, as he sounds under water at this point.)

1:02 a.m. Suddenly the song is darker, more ominous -- like someone diving down into the depths of the ocean. That same rhythm from the start is slightly off, submerged -- riffing guitars, shimmering keys, clanging percussion. Awesome. First great song on the album.

1:05 a.m. "All I Need." Okay, so, this percussion sample totally makes me want to start singing Sublime's "What I Got." It's the kickdrum and the loping tempo, sue me. Very murky keys, ridged by some spooky, space-age, Gary Numan-like work. "I'm an animal, trapped in your hot car." (Did he really just say that?) "I'm in the middle of your picture."

1:07 a.m. Okay, there's some pretty xylophone now. "I'm an insect, just trying to get out..." and Yorke trails off. He's mumbling quite a bit on this album, hiding. The synths are joined by some clattering and static in the background -- all impeccably tasteful, despite the noise. "You're all I need, I'm in the middle of your picture." Oooh, some unexpected piano and crashing drums just came in, a minute from the end. Excellent. Yorke goes off into one of his wordless, huge croons. Fantastic ending. Makes me want to revisit the song again. On a roll.

1:09 a.m. "Faust Arp." Acoustic guitar, multi-layered Yorke vocal lines looping over one another, strings. Very majestic and regal, very orchestral -- but yet sort of Krautrock. Campfire Krautrock, cause of the guitars and cinematic strings. Very simple, but emotionally effective -- even if I have no idea what this song is about just yet.

1:11 a.m. "Reckoner." Sounds like Primal Scream's "Trainspotting" at the start, all factory-clanks and dank-underground percussion clashes. Yorke's in full-on falsetto mode here. The clanking is still going on, sounds like a factory. Good contrast, some delicate piano just came in, right below Yorke's doubled vocals. He sounds like an old woman, or like PJ Harvey on her new disc.

1:13 a.m. The surround-sound on this song is truly stunning -- right speaker has some salt-shaking percussion going on, left has the same stuff from the start. Oh wow more strings -- and they're darting and dipping and resolving their chords, similar to "Lucky." The dual-speaker clanking starts up again; I'm totally nodding my head. Yorke's still crooning; it's all very beautiful and very sad, although I can't pinpoint why.

1:16 a.m. "House of Cards." The simple guitar riff makes me want to sing Dinosaur Jr.'s "Start Choppin'" for some reason. Yorke (or someone) is in the corner mewling; now he's singing in the forefront, but still sounds like he's coming from down a long hallway, lots of echo. "I dont' want to be you friend / I just want to be your lover." (Holy crap, it's totally a Blackstreet song.) "Forget about your house and cars / [something muffled, unintelligible and obviously pivotal]." Dammit, Thom!

1:18 a.m. "Fall off the table, guess..." I give up. Strings again, some tick-tock beats, some roaring keys. Again, the production on this CD is beautiful -- crystal-clear, impeccable, even at high volumes. There are dynamics on the CD -- peaks and valleys, subtle silence and louder sections that are all pleasing to the ear. Even at 160 kbps. "Throw your keys in the bowl, kiss your husband goodnight / Forget about your house of cards / And I'll do mine." Later on: "Denial." I get it: The song's about how suburbia's perfect facade can crumble easily, right? And how Edward Scissorhands/Stepford Wives, etc. can't deal with it. Song's ending, all very creepy. It's a story-song. A bit too long, but okay.

1:22 a.m. "Jigsaw Falling Into Place." Yeah, that strummy guitar that's like "Paranoid Android." Which gets more forceful, driven by thick, strong beats -- also like that single. Yorke's humming atop the music -- like the band was looping his voice. He's back to his normal voice now, almost speak-singing, slam-poetry over the loops and riffs.

1:24 a.m. Cool distorto-bridge again, with some nifty guitar work. It's a lot louder now, there's a zippy guitar in the back. "The beat goes round and round," Yorke creaks. Instruments slip in, and you barely notice -- more insistent drums, cool guitar effects. Okay, a cool, almost jangly, psychedelic-pop bridge here -- sort of sounds like parallel-universe R.E.M. Matched by strings, and Yorke in his quirky croon. Those four minutes flew by; I need to listen again. Probably the poppiest thing on the album so far, even if, er, not much was discernible.

1:27 a.m. Last song, "Videotape." Just piano and voice. "When I'm at the Pearly Gates / This will be on the videotape, the videotape." Still spartan and sparse, Yorke somber in his singing.

1:25 in, a clap-trap rhythm starts in, like a clomping horse, and some gospel-hymn humming choir in the background.

1:29 a.m. This sounds like the soundtrack of someone heading for the gallows, or on a knowing death march. Could fit right in, again, on the new PJ Harvey album.

1:31 a.m. Oh, this is cool: Lots of percussion coming in from all sides, creating some unsettling rhythms and counter-rhythms -- but arranged very cleanly, so it doesn't sound chaotic, just unsettling. A stuttering hi-hat clatters, along with what sounds like someone swinging an axe in the right speaker. All above the piano.

1:32 a.m. And with that, it's over. Huh.

On this cursory listen, I already like this album more than Hail to the Thief. There's a quiet sadness and mournfulness to the music, less unnecessary noise and extravagance. It's a more welcoming, open album, without being poppy. It's hard to describe, since it's, well, Radiohead. It's not willfully weird, it sounds much more linear and straightforward -- but yet not pandering to any sort of modern conventions. Much more clicky, so yes, very reminiscent of Yorke's The Eraser. And much more rhythmic and keyboard-based, definitely few full-on guitar hooks. Heck, there's not a traditional "single" on here for radio.

It's like a treasure box of antiques, perhaps, or an old junk shop: There are lots of little quirky elements that will require multiple listens to uncover, lots of disparate elements thrown together, but so fleetingly that you can't really say they've ripped people off (well, besides themselves).

I want to listen again -- more important, I'm intrigued. It doesn't leave me cold; it didn't stab me in the heart the way Band of Horses just did. But there's a quiet, understated beauty to it that's welcoming and makes me want to explore more.

Okay, bedtime. Let the Googling begin as I post this!

by Matt Neff
Photos by Luke Holwerda

Better Than: The Best

This show not only demonstrated everything that’s wrong with today’s music “underground,” it also hurt my ears and made me question my will to live. Although I'd very much like to dive into a long impressionistic description of the holy beauties these donks churned up, the truth of the matter is they played straight noise. Not even interesting noise, like, perhaps, noise balanced with some kind of rhythmic, melodic, or harmonic counterpoint: nope, just plain, straight-up, old fashioned scuzzy wuzzy noise. What was I thinking, going to an experimental noise show? That I’d hear music? That I’d be able to sense what the fuck was happening past all the feedback? What a chump I was—and am! The friends I brought with me were bored and annoyed (I promised them “psychedelic/industrial”) as they rightly should have been, because this was not music; this was Malevich’s black square without the white canvas context. (A highfalutin cultural reference by a smarmy asshole, me! look it up and be enlightened!) But you deserve a precise journalistic rundown. Please, read on.

Seismic Fortitude:

Noise. Twiddling of dials. Slight variations in texture. Not moving. Not looking at the audience. Scraping a fork on some metal. Noise. (Myspace)

Tent/City:

Noise. More interesting noise than the previous, granted, but noise. Plinkings, plunkings, clingings, clangings, scrapings, effects pedals: building a little fire for fun. A saxophone (1UP 1UP 1UP). Whuh-uh—syncopation? Oh, it’s faded away. Some attempt at shouting/howling near the end. Champagne party poppers (?). Noise. (Myspace)

Yellow Swans:

Noise. Feedback loops. Effects pedals. A guitar? Not one you can hear in the mix. Looks neat though. Thrashing around—no discernable effect on the noise. Screams. Noise. (Myspace)

Mouthus:

Guitar. Drums. Looks promising. Microphone....singing? Wait. More noise. More thrashing around. More hardcore posturing. More inscrutability. More colorlessness. More indecipherability.……whadduya know? MORE NOISE. And I thought I liked noise.
(Ecstatic Peace Page)

Personal Bias: NOISE
Random Detail: NOISE

Seismic Fortitude

Tent/City

Yellow Swans

Mouthus

Mouthus