There's probably no human being I've ever held in higher regard than MC Hammer. Truly. Over the span of my 29 years, I'm hard-pressed to think of anyone I idolized quite like Hammer circa summer 1990 something my mom confirmed earlier this year upon discovering some old VHS tapes of me "wearing [my] Vanilla Ice pants" and trying desperately to mimic Hammer's dance moves.
So, it would have been impossible for me to miss the chance to talk to the dancer/rapper known pre-fame as Stanley Burrell before his show at Celebrity Theatre on Friday, even though I struggled to think of sensible questions to ask a man known pretty much exclusively as the author of a much-parodied 20-year-old pop-rap anthem.
Well, it turns out post-millennial Hammer wants to talk about shit like Twitter. Tragically, he's a social media guru now. Awful, I know.
The kids in The Summer Set are barely legal, yet the pop rock band is one of the most prominent repping for the Valley music scene right now.
Dan Gillan
"It's pretty crazy that I graduated high school, and 48 hours later we were touring and haven't really stopped," says singer Brian Dales, who's only 20. "We started small, and these tours are getting a little bit bigger." They're currently on tour with Cartel and make a hometown appearance Wednesday, November 18 at Clubhouse Music Venue.
The band signed to The Militia Group straight out of high school (the members attended Cactus Shadows, Saguaro and Chaparral High School's). The group's currently on Razor and Tie Entertainment, on which they released their current album, Love Like This.
It's still a little warm here in Phoenix, but you can catch a show in a cool place tonight in Flagstaff as folk/Americana band Dave McGraw and Crow Wing takes the stage at the Green Room (15 N. Agassiz St.)
The band released their current full-length album, Coyotes Came Around, this past summer. It's a peaceful, folky mix of full band and acoustic songs produced by Jeff Lusby, formerly of Flagstaff rock band Mercy Fall, which was signed to Atlantic Records.
Additional production came from Bob Hoag at Flying Blanket Recordings.
McGraw, who started out as a solo artist, said though the slick production was a change of pace from his previously rougher recordings, he welcomed the new opportunity.
"It definitely stretched me beyond any style I would have come up with on my own," McGraw says.
Bishop Allen are a prim pop confectionary who
churned out their third proper full-length last March titled "Grrr..." The
candy-coated tracks are worth the impending toothaches, placing Bishop Allen,
named for the street where the founding members lived, in cahoots with fellow
saccharine rockers Vampire Weekend, Dirty Projectors and, Phoenix's own,
Miniature Tigers. Stateside will present Bishop Allen at Modified Arts on
Wednesday, Nov. 11, along with support from Darwin Deez and Futurekind. Frontman
and founding member Justin Rice was available for a mid-morning chat a few
dates into the tour.
UP: You and Christian [Bishop Allen bandmate] studied at Harvard. How did the two of you meet?
JR: We both worked at the radio station in Cambridge where there was an obsessive record collector's vibe. That's why we make music. We both really liked records and we found at the radio station, and the music that was celebrated was homemade.
UP: Your labelmates Dirty Projectors, also former ivy leaguers, are often called high art. How would you describe what you create musically?
JR: I think we write sort of catchy mischievous pop songs. Um. You know. I think they're fun to listen to and fun to play. When you listen to them, you're in on the joke, or sort of in on the game.
It was early morning when I got the e-mail confirming my phone call with Dave Longstreth from Dirty Projectors. It was to be at 9a.m. my time, the following day. I went to work and went about my business as usual when it hit me.
What does one ask the Dirty Projectors anyway? I went online to do some research- just a little digging around here and there so that I was up to speed on what the band was doing; you know, normal things. After about five minutes, I had given up and spent an hour just watching various live performances on YouTubewith the occasional cameo of acute penguin video every now and then. A friend of mine popped up on my Google Chat screen:
Friend: Hey! How's Phoenix? What are you up to?
Me: Oh, it's alright. It's finally cooling down. I'm just sort of watching Dirty Projectors videos on YouTube trying to think of what to ask them during my interview tomorrow.
Friend: Dirty Projectors? That's freaking cool! Good job! And good luck, too. Isn't that guy like insanely smart or something? He's probably pretentious.
Me: I don't know. I've met him before and he was super nice. I don't know though...we'll see, I guess.
The next day...
Did you expect me to actually wake up on time for this? I rolled out of bed about 10 minutes before I was actually supposed to call Dave's cell phone. Bad allergies and all, I sneezed for about five minutes before making the call. How'd it go? See for yourself:
It takes a brave person to release an album of covers. Sure, Rod Stewart's "Great American Songbook" had some sweet old school jams, not to mention the nostalgic tracks off of the infamous Pop Goes Punk compilations, and the growing number of indie artists covering hip-hop and Top 40 in their attempt to be ironic and/or relevant. However, in 2007 singer-songwriter Jeffrey Lewis raised the bar with his album "12 Crass Songs," a beautifully arranged homage to one of his favorite bands.
A native New Yorker, Lewis has been continuously leaving his mark in the indie world for the past decade with his involvement in the anti-folk community; being closely associated with bands like the Moldy Peaches, as well as with his ever-so-clever comic books and "low budget films." Most recently, Lewis has released a new album on Rough Trade Records entitled "Em Are I," and has been touring relentlessly the past couple of years with the likes of the Mountain Goats, Stephen Malkmus, and Akron/Family. I caught up with Jeffrey this past week about shows, comics, our new President, and the Watchmen, as he and his band the Junkyard get geared up for their current tour with psych-pop sweethearts Dr. Dog, who play Tucson tonight.
UP: Every time I see you it seems as though your band name is in constant flux. I have seen you as the Jackals, the Jicks, and most recently as the Junkyard. Where did this tradition come from and why do you do it?
JL: Mostly the band name changes are because I started out essentially as a solo performer but as it's evolved into more of a band project, it's made more sense to differentiate it from my solo work to call it "Jeffrey Lewis and the..." something. But I've never felt like any one particular band name was really a perfect one, so we just come up with new ones all the time for fun. The band lineup itself if pretty fluid too, sometimes it's a duo with myself and somebody else, sometimes I'm with two musicians, or three or four or more, so since I'm the only constant and the rest isn't, it make sense for the name to reflect that.
It's hard to take Wavves serious, but really, that's kind of the point. Everything about the project, the work of California "Weed/Beach Demon" Nathan Williams, comes across as tossed off: the scuzzy, no-fidelity sound of the records, the "So Bored" lyrical stance, the moronic misspelling of the band name (and, for extra annoyance, an added 'v' for the album title, Wavvves), the "wacky" haircut, and his cheeky refusal to stop talking about "dogs with sunglasses" during an interview. It all feels disposable, but fun, reminding us some of the best rock n' roll doesn't really "mean" anything. While Williams apes the sounds of cerebral and "important" bands like Sonic Youth, My Bloody Valentine and Wire, he seems intent on boiling things down to the most primal level; crafting art rock for stoners, heshers and art school dropouts.
Even Williams' beef with Jared Swilley, of the Nuggets mining Black Lips, seems too rife with entertainment value to be very serious, with Williams playing the confused pothead and Swilley acting the part of a homophobic redneck. I talked with Williams Saturday afternoon en route to Atlanta the next night (where Swilley promised things would get "nasty style"), and he didn't seem concerned about any further altercations, speaking mostly of his new drummer, Zach Hill known for his prog-rock drumming for noise-rockers Hella and Marnie Stern, their new record and how bad his last Phoenix date was.
"I gotta warn you," his tour manager says, handing over the phone. "Nathan mostly wants to talk about his new record, and dogs with sunglasses."
Any attempt on my part to play "rock critic" on this assignment would be complete bullshit. Few assignments have ever made me want to high five my inner fifteen-year-old more than a chance to interview Matt Pryor of The Get Up Kids, a band that dominated my Walkman in early high school. I'd spend my days cribbing all the songwriting ideas I could glean from the band's classic records, Four Minute Mile, On a Wire and the band's breakthrough sophomore record, Something to Write Home About.
The Get Up Kids have recently reunited to celebrate the 10 year anniversary of the latter album, which catapulted the band to national attention, including tours with Weezer and Green Day and a headlining tour sponsored by Napster, suggesting a world in which an independent band could achieve significant sales without the assistance of commercial radio (though I remember Valley DJ Craven Moorehead spinning the single "Ten Minutes" often on The Edge 103.9's Ska Punk show).
Moreover, Something to Write Home About detailed the band's willingness to mature, one thing I've always respected about the group. While it still featured plenty of lyrics centered on romantic woes, the band took on a more nuanced sound than their rough and tumble debut. Electric pianos and synths shared equal footing with charging guitars, and the group seemed as adept at ballads like "Out of Reach" and "I'll Catch You" as they did playing smart-guitar pop like "Holiday" and "Action & Action."
And yeah, everyone called it "emo." But ten years ago the term described far more than Hot Topic approved mall-punk. The term was as amorphous as the label "indie-rock," covering everything from the power-pop of The Promise Ring to the shimmery rock of Arizona's own Jimmy Eat World. It may well be considered emo, but to my ears today, Something to Write Home About just sounds like literate, exciting rock music, the best elements of all-ages hardcore fused with pure pop melodies and markedly relatable sentiment.
Pryor took a few minutes out of his busy life in Lawrence, Kansas to chat with me. "It's crazy over here," he laughs, "The dog is barking, friends just stopped by and the kids are running around."
Perhaps the cruelest irony of a typical American adolescence is the way it tends to make the young feel especially alienated from other young people. Sure, you're all in the sample zit-faced flag flyin' boat of awkward misery, but who can see that at the time? To an extent it's hard to feel kinship with anyone during that transition from youth to adulthood, but it's, somehow, particularly hard to relate to the other people you know going through the exact same shit. Sure, kids could band together and make everyone's misery a little less, heeding the call of Christian Slater in that suburban Phoenix-set 80s classic Pump Up the Volume, but they never seem to. Why? Well, let's just say a Nobel Prize doesn't mean John Nash knew shit about Game Theory compared to a high school Mean Girl lining up her homecoming date.
So, in a way, it's refreshing to hear 19-year-old singer/songwriter Jessica Lea Mayfield talk about how different she has always been from other young people. In another way, one gets the sneaking suspicious that though this incredibly talented prodigy of The Black Keys Dan Auerbach has gotten rave reviews from The New York Times and Pitchfork, Pitchfork's reviewer was on tio something when he wrote, "As jaded and adult as she comes across on 'Call Me' and 'Bible Days,' Mayfield still sounds like she's describing the tribulations of young love, although that assertion may be due to her age prompting preconceptions in the listener."
Calling from a California Taco Bell last week in advance of her show at the Rhythm Room tonight, I talked to the Ohio-bred Mayfield about her BFF Caitlin, being a "home-schooled high school dropout," being a quasi-stepmom at age 17, and our experiences growing up in the suburbs of Akron, Ohio. First, though, I admonished her to never work in an office, that way she will never deal with bum long-distance codes, like the one that delayed our interview for 30 minutes.
Jay Farrar spends a lot of time talking about the old days. Not just because his band, Son Volt, draws heavily from traditional American roots music. Also not just because his old band, Uncle Tupelo, pretty much invented the "alt-country" genre - though Farrar has been known to bristle at the term.
No, Farrar has to talk about the past because the other main songwriter in Uncle Tupelo, Jeff Tweedy, went on to form Wilco after an acrimonious split. While Son Volt has had an impressive career - and expects it's tour with Cowboy Junkies, coming through Mesa Arts Center today, to do well - Jeff Tweedy is more or less regarded as a God by many folks. While I don't deify Tweedy, Wilco is among my favorite bands, and I have seen them a dozen times in five states over 14 years, most recently in Tucson last month.
Sadly, I have to admit I spent a big part of my interview with Farrar, who's based in St. Louis during his off time, looking for an appropriate place to ask him what he thought of his rival's latest, Wilco (the album). I filled the extra time with such cringe-worthy questions as "how do you like the new album?" and "are you excited about this tour?" while biding my time, waiting to ask that question... What do you think of the new Wilco record?
Now, Farrar is a notoriously unenthusiastic interview subject (I mean, shit, Rolling Stone used the phrase "pulling teeth" in a headline about him) and with my daring task factored in, I have to admit it made for a pretty shoddy interview. Still, we did discuss Jay's upcoming trip to see Green Day with his children, and his staunch belief that, yes, Keith Richards really did snort his dad's ashes.
And I did ask about the new Wilco record. You'll have to read through to see his response.
Jim Diamond in one of the many exotic locales he travels to and through as a hired-gun garage rock producer.
Inside a brick home in an old neighborhood just north of downtown Mesa a stout olive-skinned man with slicked-back black hair sits patiently, sipping a Corona while Michael Johnny Walker, guitarist for local garage act The Love Me Nots, re-records one last riff for his band's new record.
You've likely never heard of Jim Diamond, but it's no stretch to call him one of the most influential rock producers of the last decade. Based in Detroit, he's been doing garage rock since before The Strokes brought the genre to the mainstream. Would Is This It?, Up the Bracket and B.R.M.C. have happened without what Diamond did in Detroit? Who knows, but, as the producer of the first White Stripes record, the first Von Bondies record, and a member of The Dirtbombs, he's certainly a big part of the puzzle.
His list of credits is extensive, impressive and constantly growing. From the old days -- when he worked with nearly every band on Jack White's legendary Sympathetic Sounds of Detroit compilation -- to his new gig an an international producer-for-hire, a sought-after name amongst aficionados of the trademark sound he brings to records.
Often, he'll work with bands at his own studio, Ghetto Recorders, as he did with The Love Me Nots on their last record, Detroit, but he'll also travel the world to work on someone else's board, as he did last week at Bob Hoag and Chuckie Duff's studio, Flying Blanket Recording, in Mesa, where we caught up with him to discuss The Love Me Nots, Detroit, and Jack White's move to Nashville.
Ted Nugent talks a lot about discipline. Speaking on the phone from his ranch outside Waco, Texas, the Detroit-born guitarist of "Cat Scratch Fever" fame comes back to it again and again. His life of clean living is the way to go, he says, living another way is nothing less than insane.
Nugent, who comes to Phoenix Sunday not to perform, but to speak at the National Rifle Association's annual conference, is an old-school conservative. As a member of the NRA's board of directors he's a gun nut, sure, but he's also a bow nut, a family nut, and an organic food nut. And an alarm clock nut.
"I like to call it the alarm clock army. Those of us that still set our alarm clocks because we have a responsibility to perform, and to produce, and to be punctual and attentive and professional and pursue excellence. We come in every shape and form, we come from every walk of life."
Nugent is the sort of old-school culture warrior you might have expected to evolve in the wake of Barack Obama's landslide win in November. Not really. He's still offended if you suggest Red States have a meth problem, Rush Limbaugh is an addict, or advocate some mild form of gun control might be prudent.
And God help the hippies, wherever they are.
***
UP: How do you make rock n roll and conservative politics fit together?
TN: The best rock 'n' roll in the world is about defiance. Now there are alternative routes that are taken that are as legitimate as hell because all good music should and does, in all imaginable ways, capture the human experience... Anybody that has gotten downwind within miles of my music knows that the uppitiness, the spiritedness, the defiance factor, the sheer fun factor, not to mention the over-the-top authority music as projected by the incredible virtuosos I've been privileged to jam with, and to collaborate with, all these years.... My music is the middle finger on fire in its ultimate form. So I never spend my time trying to figure out why, the beauty of my music is that it's raw, it's primal, it's spontaneous, its as organic as an erection. There's no explaining my music.
It was the politically charged Flobots that took their song “Handlebars” and turned in into a smash hit on alternative radio stations, but it was local 103.9 The Edge DJ Craven Moorehead who turned it into a hyper-local parody that will live on in infamy.
"Handlebars" is an Orwellian look at the loss of innocence thanks to corporate greed and the lust for power. The song’s primary refrain “I can ride my bike with no handlebars” quickly changes to “I can lead a nation with a microphone,” and finally “I can end the planet in a holocaust.”
Moorehead took his parody in a different direction choosing to focus his lyrics not on political tyranny but rather Scottsdale douche-baggery.
His song “Scottsdale Bars,” currently in rotation on 103.9 The Edge, is a comprehensive guide to every joke there ever was about the dating in the club-centric East Valley city. Cougars, frosted tip hair cuts, income exaggeration and drug references are included as well as dozens more.
Take a listen to the three tracks on Pink Martini’s myspace page and you may find yourself confused. Is this in fact the same band? Believe it.
Since their debut in 1997 with Sympathique, Pink Martini has existed as a musical chameleon, choosing not only different styles, but different languages to create songs that come across more as incantations than radio hits.
Thomas M. Lauderdale, the band’s founder and pianist talked with New Times about the band’s latest album Hey Eugene! and their upcoming performance at the Scottsdale Civic Center Mall Amphitheater on May 13.
New Times: Have you played Phoenix before?
Thomas M. Lauderdale: [Checks with the rest of the band] Have we played in Phoenix before? I don’t think we’ve played Phoenix before. First time! We hope people come.
NT: What were you up to before the release of Hey Eugene!?
TL: We did a lot of touring, spending a lot of time in Europe. We love playing everywhere from the Hollywood Bowl to Istanbul.
NT: How does Hey Eugene! differ from Hang on Little Tomato?
TL: I would say that it’s a little poppier in a way. It’s definitely different from the majority of the material the band has written or played. It may be the poppiest we’ve ever been, but there are still songs in different languages: Portuguese, French, Arabic, Japanese Spanish. They’re [the Pink Martini albums] are like jazz albums in that hopefully they don’t have a shelf life. We try to make them almost as if they’re rollicking adventures around the world.
The Meat Puppets’ long awaited return after more than a decade of absence from the valley brought fans old and new to the man-made shores of Tempe Town Lake. While any homecoming for a nationally recognized band is a big deal, this one in particular meant more than your run of the mill show as the Meat Puppets hadn't reunited since their mid-nineties split until two years ago.
Since joining forces once again, Cris and Curt Kirkwood have played SXSW, gone on two tours and released a new record. Bassist Cris Kirkwood sat down with the New Times and reflected on a new generation of Kirkwood music, smelly cheese food spread and poop pellets.
New Times: How was it to be back in town?
Cris Kirkwood: It was alright. It was fun. You know, there wasn’t enough crap blowin’ up onstage. I like to have a lot of explosions going on when I’m playing. It was fun. What did you think?
NT: I thought it was great. I had seen you guys in L.A. last summer, and I thought you sounded better last night than when I saw you in L.A.
K: Well, you know, in L.A. we were playing for a club full of people that were coming there specifically to see us, you know. And I don’t give a fuck. I don’t care what people think of me, you know? Fuck ‘em.
If you listen to frontman/bandleader Justin Sullivan tell it, it’s a surprise that New Model Army is still around at all. Formed in 1980 with the intention of playing just two pub gigs in the band’s hometown of Bradford, England, NMA is still heralded today for its politically engaging lyrics and the passionate fury underlying its acoustic guitar-based attack. 28 years later, the band endures in spite of numerous personnel shifts, VISA problems and flagrant stylistic changes. New Times caught up with Sullivan just as he was leaving a Neil Young show. Highlights from that conversation follow:
New Times: How was the show?
Sullivan: It’s the first time I’ve seen him, and he’s one of those people that’s been with me since I was 13 or so. Wonderful. He just is what he is. I think he’s my favorite guitar player now.
NT: After seeing him tonight, you mean?
S: Well, he’s been creeping up my guitar player’s charts over the years.
NT: Many Americans aren’t especially aware of British politics. Most of us know little, if anything, about Oliver Cromwell.
S: Well, with the band name, I don’t suppose people outside Britain know anything about it at all. Why should they? Much more embarrassing to me is that lots of British people don’t know anything about it either. Basically, we had a revolution in the 17th century, and the New Model Army was the army that won against the king. From that army came all the first ideas about democracy. It’s actually a very important part of American history as well. But the name, for instance, in Ireland, means something completely different, because Cromwell later took the army to Ireland and committed all sorts of atrocities.
Eve 6 rocked their hits and tried out a few new songs for the audience at Tempe Music Festival on Saturday at Tempe Beach Park. Their set lasted over and hour and featured hits such as “Inside Out” and “Here’s to the Night.” The band just recently started touring again with a new addition to the band. Guitarist Matt Bair joined vocalist and bassist Max Collins and drummer Tony Fagenson.
To see some shots of Eve 6 rockin' out at Tempe Music Festival, check out our slide show: Eve 6 at Tempe Music Festival.
Fagenson took time out before the concert to reveal his thoughts on playing Tempe Music Festival and his appreciation for Phoenician ladies.
New Times: How many times have you performed in Arizona and is this your first time performing at Tempe Beach Park?
Fagenson: We have played in Phoenix in Ariz. many, many times. I don’t know if we’ve actually played this part of Tempe on the water like this, it’s never seemed this beautiful before. You know we actually just played Tempe about two months ago at Tempe Market Place.
NT: How do you like Phoenix? F: Phoenix is pretty close to home for us. We’re from L.A. so we come here a lot and we always love it. It helps that girls and weather are both pretty here. Some shows are like off the hook and amazing and others the crowd just isn’t that into it, but in general I’d say they’ve always been pretty good shows here.
NT: What size crowd do you normally play for? F: Over they years it’s gone anywhere from five people in the opening bands to, you know, we played to a festival of over 100,000 people in Atlanta. So it’s all over the place. Our headlining shows we are playing from 500-1000 people every night. We’ve really kind of run the gamut.
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