This week in music listening, featuring patent-pending two-word reviews:
Gang of Four: Songs of the Free – unconventional pop
House of Heroes: Say No More – blistering pop
Lemonheads: It’s a Shame About Ray – classic jangle-pop
Radio 4: The New Song And Dance – pointless postpunk
Superchunk: Here’s to Shutting Up – biteless maturity
Rush: Fly By Night – early classic
Kiss My Ass: Classic Kiss Regrooved – mixed bag
Poison: Crack A Smile…And More – few gems
Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World: Original Score – not background
Guided By Voices: Class Clown Spots a UFO – uninspired effort
The Walkmen: Heaven – overly restrained
Japandroids: Celebration Rock – energetic noise
Green Day: Shenanigans – bangin’ b-sides
The Cult: Choice of Weapon – loaded gun
Skid Row: Slave to the Grind – beyond hair
Spacehog: Hogyssey – career worst
Throwing Muses: In a Doghouse – double woof
Velvet Crush: Stereo Blues – more brilliance
Butch Walker: Letters – missed singles
Concert Review: Golden Smog @ the Majestic Theatre, Detroit, MI (4/11/96)
In most music circles, the term “super group” applies to a number of well known musicians coming together to form a one-off band. In fact, you can read all about various super groups. Noticeably absent from the list is Golden Smog, a band that has counted among its numbers over the years members of Soul Asylum, Wilco, The Replacements, The Jayhawks, Run Westy Run, Big Star and The Honeydogs.
Somebody opened for Golden Smog, but I don’t have any idea who and quite frankly care as little now as I did then. This was a chance to see all these guys together, playing a wide array of covers and originals, and doing it drunk almost the entire set.
I was particularly interested in seeing Gary Louris of The Jayhawks play. His guitar tone on the ‘hawks and Golden Smog album sounded spectacular to me, and I watched as he tore through the night with only a vintage red Gibson SG and a Fuzz Face pedal, all the while singing lead or backing up others with perfect harmonies.
Like all my other trips to the Majestic, I had a great spot right up front which allowed me to snag a setlist post-show.
Somebody opened for Golden Smog, but I don’t have any idea who and quite frankly care as little now as I did then. This was a chance to see all these guys together, playing a wide array of covers and originals, and doing it drunk almost the entire set.
I was particularly interested in seeing Gary Louris of The Jayhawks play. His guitar tone on the ‘hawks and Golden Smog album sounded spectacular to me, and I watched as he tore through the night with only a vintage red Gibson SG and a Fuzz Face pedal, all the while singing lead or backing up others with perfect harmonies.
Like all my other trips to the Majestic, I had a great spot right up front which allowed me to snag a setlist post-show.
This Week In Music: 5/14-5/20
This week in music listening, featuring patent-pending two-word reviews:
Robert Pollard: Kid Marine – consistently inconsistent
Queensryche: Hear In The Now Frontier – grungy turn
Drive Like Jehu: Yank Crime – raw aggression
Peter Gabriel: Untitled 3 (Melt) – reduced artiness
Ministry: Early Trax – synth pop
Hot Hot Heat: Make Up the Breakdown – poppy post-punk
The Jeff Healey Band: Feel This – lacking inspiration
R.L. Burnside: Mr Wizard – bluesy weirdness
The Smashing Pumpkins: Siamese Dream (Remastered) – unimpeachable greatness
Blinker The Star: We Draw Lines – melodic candy
Stereolab: Mars Audiac Quintet – drone-y beats
Robert Pollard: Kid Marine – consistently inconsistent
Queensryche: Hear In The Now Frontier – grungy turn
Drive Like Jehu: Yank Crime – raw aggression
Peter Gabriel: Untitled 3 (Melt) – reduced artiness
Ministry: Early Trax – synth pop
Hot Hot Heat: Make Up the Breakdown – poppy post-punk
The Jeff Healey Band: Feel This – lacking inspiration
R.L. Burnside: Mr Wizard – bluesy weirdness
The Smashing Pumpkins: Siamese Dream (Remastered) – unimpeachable greatness
Blinker The Star: We Draw Lines – melodic candy
Stereolab: Mars Audiac Quintet – drone-y beats
Concert Review: The Black Halos and L7 @ Little Brothers (6/1/00)
There was a time in my life that I went to a rock show nearly every weekend, and even on workday weekdays. This is a perfect example.
I knew who L7 were, but never listened to them. I was never into Riot grrrl bands that L7 was loosely associated with, so I had no idea what to expect other than loud, and they were loud. Not ear-shattering Hum or Dinosaur Jr (from what I’ve been told) loud, but loud still. It didn’t stick with me much beyond that night.
The Black Halos, on the other hand, were touring their first album. The Canadian glam punkers were an explosive mix of the New York Dolls, Stooges and MC5. Words like dirty, scuzzy and scummy would probably be terms of endearment rather than insults. That said, the band did not disappoint live, replicating their album along with a choice cover of the KISS song Deuce.
We’re they mind blowing? No, but they were a good rock band, and that’s all you can really ask for, really.
L7 SETLIST
Andres
I Need
Bad Things
Human
Drama
Living Large
Monster
Shitlist
Fuel My Fire
Stick To The Plan
Crackpot Baby
Rockin’ Machine
Non Existent Patricia
Shove
Fast & Frightening
Little One
Pretend We’re Dead
I knew who L7 were, but never listened to them. I was never into Riot grrrl bands that L7 was loosely associated with, so I had no idea what to expect other than loud, and they were loud. Not ear-shattering Hum or Dinosaur Jr (from what I’ve been told) loud, but loud still. It didn’t stick with me much beyond that night.
The Black Halos, on the other hand, were touring their first album. The Canadian glam punkers were an explosive mix of the New York Dolls, Stooges and MC5. Words like dirty, scuzzy and scummy would probably be terms of endearment rather than insults. That said, the band did not disappoint live, replicating their album along with a choice cover of the KISS song Deuce.
We’re they mind blowing? No, but they were a good rock band, and that’s all you can really ask for, really.
L7 SETLIST
Andres
I Need
Bad Things
Human
Drama
Living Large
Monster
Shitlist
Fuel My Fire
Stick To The Plan
Crackpot Baby
Rockin’ Machine
Non Existent Patricia
Shove
Fast & Frightening
Little One
Pretend We’re Dead
This Week In Music (4/30-5/6)
This week in music listening, featuring patent-pending two-word reviews:
Redd Kross: Neurotica – kitsch pop
Ministry: Dark Side of the Spoon – auto pilot
Kix: Blow My Fuse – acceptably derivative
Rush: Feedback – uninspired retreads
Mudhoney: Here Comes Sickness – Best of BBC Recordings – raw bursts
Juliana Hatfield: Bed – quirky pop
Funkadelic: Hardcore Jollies – glorified demos
The Desert Sessions: Volumes 3 & 4 – true stoner
Robert Pollard: The Crawling Distance – psych-rock gems
The Jim Carroll Band: I Write Your Name – new-wave poetry
L.A. Guns: Cocked & Loaded – hair/glam classic
Medicine: Her Highness – blissed-out trippiness
Slaughter: Stick It to Ya – superior musicianship
Stereolab: Margerine Eclipse – groovy Frenchness
Survivor: Greatest Hits – montage heavy
Tindersticks: Can Our Love… – mellow weirdness
Monster Truck 005: Singles – indecipherable noise-rock
Redd Kross: Neurotica – kitsch pop
Ministry: Dark Side of the Spoon – auto pilot
Kix: Blow My Fuse – acceptably derivative
Rush: Feedback – uninspired retreads
Mudhoney: Here Comes Sickness – Best of BBC Recordings – raw bursts
Juliana Hatfield: Bed – quirky pop
Funkadelic: Hardcore Jollies – glorified demos
The Desert Sessions: Volumes 3 & 4 – true stoner
Robert Pollard: The Crawling Distance – psych-rock gems
The Jim Carroll Band: I Write Your Name – new-wave poetry
L.A. Guns: Cocked & Loaded – hair/glam classic
Medicine: Her Highness – blissed-out trippiness
Slaughter: Stick It to Ya – superior musicianship
Stereolab: Margerine Eclipse – groovy Frenchness
Survivor: Greatest Hits – montage heavy
Tindersticks: Can Our Love… – mellow weirdness
Monster Truck 005: Singles – indecipherable noise-rock
Body Movin'
It’s odd when someone you grow up with but never actually know passes away. In this case, it’s Adam Yauch, aka, MCA, of the Beastie Boys.
Growing up in the suburbs of Buffalo, New York, my afternoons after school were often spent in front of the television watching videos on MTV (insert crack about “when MTV used to show videos”). From Duran Duran to Poison, Dire Straits to Madonna, I watched them all, and sometime in late 1986/early 1987, the Beastie Boys ‘(You Gotta) Fight for Your Right to Party’ started airing. I’m not going to claim it was a revelation – I didn’t immediately run out and buy the album. If anything, my Catholic School education made me confused about the whole thing. Clearly, these guys were up to no good, and clearly I was interested in it.
At some point, I purchased Licensed to Ill (on tape!), but Paul’s Boutique would slip by me for a period of time, probably until the time that Check Your Head was released my senior year of high school. The single ‘Pass the Mic’ was all over MTV, and I dug it. This time, I bought the album (again, on cassette) right away, as I was starting to explore more hip-hop and rap, like Public Enemy and Run D.M.C.
Although I loved the singles, songs like ‘Professor Booty,’ ‘Gratitude’ and ‘Funky Boss’ made it into heavy rotation, and I was particularly interested in the instrumentals. That interest would carry over to college, specifically on my various college radio shows. Any time I reached a between-song break to talk through, I’d play an instrumental track off of Check Your Head or Ill Communication in the background. In my dorm room, a Check Your Head poster hung on the wall. I never adopted the style or swagger of the Beasties, but their music was ever-present through my college years.
Besides making genre-bending and defining music, they also provided an outlet. There is a physicality to the music of the Beastie Boys, the punches of percussion, guitar and keyboard stabs, the hypnotic vocal rhythms – songs like ‘So What Cha Want,’ ‘Sabotage,’ ‘Bodhisattva Vow,’ etc. demanded the listener move their body. And who was I to deny it? I was never one to hit the dance floor with abandon, but the music of the Beastie Boys got me close to it.
And that’s what I will remember Adam "MCA" Yauch for – making music that moved me, both literally and physically. RIP.
Growing up in the suburbs of Buffalo, New York, my afternoons after school were often spent in front of the television watching videos on MTV (insert crack about “when MTV used to show videos”). From Duran Duran to Poison, Dire Straits to Madonna, I watched them all, and sometime in late 1986/early 1987, the Beastie Boys ‘(You Gotta) Fight for Your Right to Party’ started airing. I’m not going to claim it was a revelation – I didn’t immediately run out and buy the album. If anything, my Catholic School education made me confused about the whole thing. Clearly, these guys were up to no good, and clearly I was interested in it.
At some point, I purchased Licensed to Ill (on tape!), but Paul’s Boutique would slip by me for a period of time, probably until the time that Check Your Head was released my senior year of high school. The single ‘Pass the Mic’ was all over MTV, and I dug it. This time, I bought the album (again, on cassette) right away, as I was starting to explore more hip-hop and rap, like Public Enemy and Run D.M.C.
Although I loved the singles, songs like ‘Professor Booty,’ ‘Gratitude’ and ‘Funky Boss’ made it into heavy rotation, and I was particularly interested in the instrumentals. That interest would carry over to college, specifically on my various college radio shows. Any time I reached a between-song break to talk through, I’d play an instrumental track off of Check Your Head or Ill Communication in the background. In my dorm room, a Check Your Head poster hung on the wall. I never adopted the style or swagger of the Beasties, but their music was ever-present through my college years.
Besides making genre-bending and defining music, they also provided an outlet. There is a physicality to the music of the Beastie Boys, the punches of percussion, guitar and keyboard stabs, the hypnotic vocal rhythms – songs like ‘So What Cha Want,’ ‘Sabotage,’ ‘Bodhisattva Vow,’ etc. demanded the listener move their body. And who was I to deny it? I was never one to hit the dance floor with abandon, but the music of the Beastie Boys got me close to it.
And that’s what I will remember Adam "MCA" Yauch for – making music that moved me, both literally and physically. RIP.
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