There is a 90% Chance: That Michael Jackson will appear at the 2008 Grammy awards.

Bigmouth: Morrissey’s former assistant writes an essay about what it’s like to work for Morrissey.

Out of Storage: Minor Threat drummer auctions off rare posters, records, etc via eBay.

Stone Temple Pilots Reunion: It’ll probably happen this summer.

Lil Wayne Gets Booed: Performer arrives three hours late for a gig, apologizes, and gets booed off stage.

Cupid on Demand: Pay the right price and Franz Nicolay of the Hold Steady will serenade your lovah.

David Lee Roth Eddie Van Halen was born.

Sorry I originally said it was David Lee Roth’s birthday. I got it right in this week’s paper, and I would’ve gotten it right on Line Out too if it weren’t for that photo of David Lee Roth’s bottom that totally fucked with my head and got me all confused but not in a good way.

I will keep up this photo of David Lee Roth’s ass anyway. Just because.

The Cave Singers, Whalebones, and J. Tillman are at Neumo’s (21+).

Ryan Adams & the Cardinals are at the Parmount (all-ages).

SYPP MLK Hiphop Showcase featuring Skim, Audio Poet, Scribes (pictured above), Beyond Reality, the Langston Hughes Dance Group, and more is at the Vera Project (all-ages).

Taken by soundonthesound.

Past Lives @ the Anne Bonney

Past Lives, the new ex-Blood Bros project that’s opening next week’s Liars show at the Showbox, played their first ever show last night at Spencer Moody’s magic antique shop, the Anne Bonney. The place was, appropriately, full of old friends, former members of bands, and dead people’s things. The upstairs loft was snug and humid, a temporary tropical zone. The crowd passed a bottle of Dewar’s around. A street art show hung on the walls around the band, and there was a fishbowl of cash by the top of the stairs.

“Everyone remember this one,” Jordan Blilie asked his bandmates off mic. Someone replied, “I think so.”

Their six songs ranged from steel-drum bass groove to churning punk to almost-bluesy wail and stomp. Devon Welch’s guitar was inscrutable as always, Mark Gadjahar’s drumming was alternately skittering and pounding, Morgan Henderson’s bass lines and low-end synth were dubby and loose. Blilie’s vocals were almost easier to make out when he shouted without the mic. From the back, only glimpses of heads were visible. The loft floor sagged and bounced with the beat, making me more than a little nervous.

“It’s a really cool thing to see so many familiar faces,” said Blilie, introducing a song called “Past Lives.” “It means so much.”

No disrespect to Jaguar Love, but in the great Blood Brothers break-up 0f 2007, Past Lives may have gotten the better part of the custody battle.

HEALTH, White Williams @ Club Pop

Club Pop is a funny night—maybe you’ve noticed. Pop mastermind Michael Yuasa mixes up the legal drinkers with the 18+ crowd, the dance music with the live bands, and though it’s always fun, it doesn’t always quite gel. Take for example, the transition from DJ Glitterpants’ Euro rave pop to LA band HEALTH’s drone thrash. For a moment, the club kids on the dance floor’s raised platform were nervously still. But as the drummer and one vocalist visible onstage rolled into a space-echoing, tribal rhythm, the crowd started moving again, tentatively. The other half of the quartet appeared onstage, one wielding a guitar, whipping his long hair around, the other pounding on a floor tom with his back to the crowd. The songs veered from long rhythmic passages to sudden, stroboscopig blast beats, confounding even the most game dancers. Only the song “Triceratops” was easily recognizable. At one point, a friend snipped, “I know that setting on a Kaoss pad.” A blond girl with a tiny diamond-stud in her nose said simply, “This band sucks.” Over by the front door, Chop Suey’s manager was talking to a police officer. But HEALTH doesn’t suck, even if you know their Kaoss pad settings. They’re maybe just a tough fit for the young, bass-thump-hungry Pop regulars. If you arrived primed for post-punk noise, HEALTH were a blast, scouring eyes and ears with their day-glo thrash.

White Williams’s stoned-out funk suffered from unusually hazy sound, rendering the weird pop gems of Smoke a little hollow. Williams played with a live guitarist and bassist, and a drum machine, but the off mix cancelled out whatever live energy they might have added. It was disappointing, but Smoke is still a pretty cool record, and the Club Pop crowd didn’t seem to mind. If anything, they seemed happy just to have a steady beat again.

Tonight at Showbox SODO, Wild Orchid Children play and are releasing a four song Elephant EP. Portugal The Man is also on the bill.

Wild Orchid Children is Kirk Huffman, Kyle O’Quin, Thomas Hunter, and Garrett Lunceford from Kay Kay and His Weathered Underground. This past summer, they ventured an hour south to Black Diamond, WA and recorded in Tom Pfaeffle’s Tank Studio. Wild Orchid is openly louder and more out there than Kay Kay. It’s solid and rattled in a psychedelic rock modality. They’ve stripped down and expanded from their core.

Keyboardist, Kyle O’Quin spoke:

What was recording at the Tank like?
Kyle: Most of it was live. We spent a majority of the time setting up and getting tones. It was nice to wake up and just play. We wanted it to be more of live thing and did one song a day. The Tank is amazing. Tom has really constructed a space down there to create. It’s away. You separate from the city surroundings and get outside yourself. You’re closer to the stimulus. The instruments practically played themselves.

Stimulus seems key for you all. What provoked the most activity during the sessions?
The goat hoof. Tom had this goat hoof full of Mexican liquor. He said people go to this old woman’s house in Mexico and fill up their containers for like a dollar. He’d had it for ten years. It was powerful. That old woman put us under her spell and gave us her power.

What the hell are you talking about?
Just kidding. I was pretty buzzed though. There was Absinth too. And other things. It was crazy and fun and that’s how we wanted it to be. We were there together and stepped fully into the songs. My fingers turned into spiders. Thomas was nude. Kirk was in the vocal booth with all these lights and candles. Phil from Kay Kay, who produced it, was lighting stuff on fire. We kept the song “Where the Mexican Boys Go” all acoustic. No amplification. See? Mexico, the witch.

What music were you all listening to at the time?
We were listening to a lot of Cee-Lo and Rick James and old blues.

Rick James, as in “Superfreak”?
Exactly.

Local mountainfolk Fleet Foxes are featured artists on Pitchfork’s Forkcast for their undeniably catchy tune “White Winter Hymnal.” Pitchfork thanks their Sub Pop signing to Myspace buzz, but all of us in Seattle know they would’ve gotten a sweet record deal whether a hundred thousand teenagers clicked on their page or not.

Also streaming is a full version of the Mars Volta’s new album The Bedlam in Goliath, from, of all places, Napster. This is a great way to hear the record in full if for some reason you are still too skiddish to just steal your music like everyone else. Seriously though, try before you buy. How hard is that?

Back in September Eric wrote a short post regarding Neil Young’s 1982 album, Trans.

In 1982 Neil had signed a new deal with Geffen Records. In the past five years Young had released 3 albums of new material (including the great Comes A Time) and 2 live LPs. For some reason, Neil decided to forego the classic singer/songwriter thing and the hard rock thing, and turned to technology for his first album on his new label.

Trans is a mind fuck. Ecstatic, erratic, eclectic, prescient, creative and soulful. Trans manages to hold on to Young’s voice as one of the great songwriters, while completely obfuscating it under layers of vocoders, synthetic voice modulators and rigid sequential rhythms.

Kraftwerk had released Trans Europe Express, Man Machine and Computer World all in the last five years as well, and it is clear the impact both their ideas and music had upon the blueprint of this albums creation. While there are no extensive production credits on the album, it’s impossible to think that the drumming on the six highly produced electronic tracks is anything but sequenced, a la “Trans Europe Express”. And the heavy use of vocoder, more often found in euro-disco of the time, in this vein, with such futuristic, sometimes misanthropic lyrics seems directly descended from Man Machine.

Continue reading "Neil Young - Trans" »

On February 1, multi-Platinum rockers Journey will release their new Virtual Island in Second Life. A grand opening party is planned inside Second Life at the “Journey Rock Band” sim and will feature a meet and greet with band members. Live DJs will be spinning many of Journey’s classic hits, recorded studio and live performances, as well as lots of other great music for fans to party to! The grand opening party is scheduled to start at 10:00am ET/PT. The Journey Island region in Second Life is named “Journey Rock Band”. Learn more at http://www.secondlife.com.

So you can meet the band. Virtually. On their own island. Their own virtual island.

I mean, in some ways, it’s unfair to isolate the vocal track from the rest of the song, because of context and whatever. Many singers I know have to leave the room when their lead vocal is singled up in recording. But then, most singers are not David Lee Roth. And most songs are not “Running With the Devil.” And most MP3s are not just David Lee Roth’s soloed up lead vocal performance from one of the greatest freeway rock songs of all time. Courtesy of WFMU, the finest of them all.

For the song “Little Toys on the Shelf.” The band shot it on 16mm color reversal film while on tour all over the US last year.

(Confidential to Scottie: I’m not posting this because you delivered the video link with a handful of peanut m&ms and a quarter. I like the video, and I’m sorry I didn’t get to it earlier this week. Although, I do appreciate the candy and the quarter.)

Kimya Dawson is hot shit right now, and everyone on the entire planet is happy for her. Including me. Because Kimya Dawson made me grow up.

If you hate when people make music about themselves, stop reading here. It’s about to get real personal.

When I was 17, I was working as an intern at the University of Maryland in College Park, MD, which is right outside of DC. It was the summer between junior and senior year of high school, and my dad had gotten me this job for the summer for two reasons: to keep me out of trouble at home and to give me a test run of living by myself.

I was working at UMD as an intern for some graduate students who were building a room that was also a robot. It was pretty interesting, and I learned how to solder, shape liquid latex, and organize informational hierarchies. But there was one problem—all my co-workers were over 25. And they were the only people I knew. I had been having trouble sleeping, and there was no one to talk to.

The first night I was there, they took me to see Fugazi play in the park. That was cool, but it was the only time they hung out with me.

I started working at a co-op as a volunteer in my spare time to make friends, but they were all older people too. But they felt pity on me, and one night two hippie girls took me to a show at the Black Cat. It was Ladyfest. I didn’t know who was playing. When I got to the club, I claimed that I had forgotten my ID, and they X’d out my hands (viva Dischord) and let me in.

First up was some band that I don’t remember very well. Lesbians, one playing drums and one playing guitar. Then some burlesque, which was still hip at the time. After that, Kimya came on.

My jaw dropped the floor. KIMYA FUCKING DAWSON! OF THE MOLDY PEACHES! I had her pictures plastered to the wall of my bedroom in Boston. I read Paper magazine religiously, and they were featured one month. I LOVED them. But I didn’t know how to keep track of my favorite artists yet, and I had no idea that Kimya had a solo career. I got right upfront and watched her, spellbound, while she sang songs from her first three solo CD-Rs, My Cute Fiend Sweet Princess, Knock Knock Who?, and I’m Sorry That Sometimes I’m Mean. I remember her playing “The Beer” and laughing until I almost cried. She was funny and real and sweet and sad and brilliant.

After Kimya wrapped up, a go-go band that played and everyone danced. It was one of the first times I had ever been to a real show like a grown-up in a real club, because everything in Boston is 18+. My test of living alone had been a success—I realized that I possessed the ability to make my own fun, my own friends, and that I could experience art all the time if I wanted to. The hippie girls bought me a drink. I turned adult.

Afterwards, Kimya was working her own merch table. I had ten dollars, but I needed about $3.50 to get back to College Park on the Metro. I walked over and started gushing. “I love you so much! Your picture is on my wall! I don’t have any friends here! I didn’t even know you were playing! Did I mention I love you? Like, so much!” I asked her which of the CDs I should buy, since I could only afford one at $5 each.

She gave me all of them. And her book of poetry (which is amazing). And a big monster hug. I gave her $5. Kimya was my friend. Kimya did me a solid.

And from then on, I knew that I didn’t have to be scared of being by myself, because there were always people around who are looking out for you, even if you don’t know them. I went back to my apartment and fell asleep easily for the first time since I left home.

Kimya Dawson is a saint.

At the end of the 80s, Just Ice rapped to the border of the rupture in the production of music. The border where played music comes to an end, and replayed music begins. The song is called “Going Way Back,” and Just Ice, prompted by KRS-One, journeys back to the limit and has a limit-experience, not unlike the one Michel Foucault experienced (or desired to experience) in the bathhouses of San Francisco. Just Ice raps to the limit of knowledge, that twilight zone haunted by the forms of forgotten MCs and DJs. And just as he is about to run out of the names of those “who were there,” and crossover into sheer nonsense and nothingness, he is retrieved by KRS-0ne: “Well, I think that is about as far as we can go.” Because it has a beginning, hiphop must have an end. Jazz, for example, ended in 1969. When will hiphop end?

Clinton Fearon, Selecta Raiford
(Nectar) Jamaica native Clinton Fearon started his career in the 1970s as the longtime vocalist and bass player for the Gladiators and is also known for his work with Lee Perry’s Black Ark Studio and Studio One. He has been a mainstay in the Seattle music scene for years—first with the much-loved Defenders, then later with his current group, the fabulous Boogie Brown Band. Performing his original songs, Fearon’s warm singing voice and lively roots-reggae music set the perfect mood for dancing, relaxing, and having fun. GILLIAN ANDERSON

And this week’s Bug in the Bassbin has three parties you can attend:

1) Shift’s Rottun Recordings Night (featuring Excision) at Contour. 10 pm—2 am, $5.
2) The kick off of Foscil’s six-month residenty at BLVD in Belltown.
3) The Knight Riders party at Hengst Studios which will include a special appearance by KITT, the car from Knight Rider (OMG!!).

And from The Score:

SEATTLE SYMPHONY

Carolyn Kuan leads the band in a free, all-Mozart concert. Aside from two symphonies—the negligible Symphony No. 1 and the fine Symphony No. 40—the band delivers the best wine-pouring music ever written, the Allegro from Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. Violinist Quinton Morris solos in the Allegro from Concerto No. 3 in G major for Violin and Orchestra. Seattle City Hall, 600 Fourth Ave, 684-7171, noon—1 pm, free.

The Spits play punk like pissed off puppeteers. They have no qualms about jumping down from their puppet-operating platform and totally cutting up the show. They land on the little fake Camelot set, crush the cardboard castle, tear up the puppets, and say, “Don’t you kids know this isn’t real? These are puppets! We were just up there controlling them with this stupid string. Mr. King Arthur Pants is fake.” The Spits’ gear is there and they break into their song “Suzy’s Face.” The kids think it’s part of the show and every puppet on hand is destroyed. Cotton stuffing flies and the kids roll around in tangled string. The Spits play and pulverize. There is unison. Lighting strikes the roof of the children’s theatre, the power goes out, and the kids finish screaming the song in darkness. Then they turn on flashlights and eat Kit Kats.

I spoke to the Spits guitarist and singer Sean Wood via hot tub. They are currently in the studio recording a full length with Swami Records’ John Reis.

Sean plays a Gibson SG and uses a 150 watt 1978 Peavey tube amp and a Carvin 412 cabinet. Sean loves his Pro Co Rat distortion pedal too. He got it in his hometown of Kalamazoo, MI.

Talk about your Rat pedal for me.
Sean: The Rat has a raw raw sound. It’s not real fancy, but it has the crunch I like. Ted Nugent plays with one. And that’s really all I needed to know. The Nuge is great. The Spits got to open for him once.

You opened for Ted Nugent?
Yes we did. In Jackson, MI. It was his annual Hunting Bash. He had heard one of our CD’s and invited us to play.

Did you hunt?
There was wild game everywhere. Boars and turkeys and shit. Nugent gave us some of his homemade jerky. We didn’t hunt, but we fired off a bunch of guns.

What kind of guns?
AR-15’s. And you know Nugent is big into the crossbow.

Does Ted Nugent have good aim?
Oh yeah, the dude’s a dead-eye. Great aim. He’s a killer.

Do you have good aim?
I’d say I have OK aim. I’m a naturally gifted hunter. I know scents and can track. Now that I think about it though, I could probably work on my aim.

** The Spits play tonight at the Funhouse with Meepers, Android Hero, and Tv Coahran.

I wish I could get away with wearing boots like that.

Taken by dan10things.

Become a photography star—add your own rock and roll photos to Stranger’s Flickr Pool.

Trey Anastasio: Jailed for two days for missing a drug counseling session.

Amy Winehouse: Her hair is back to black and she’s back in rehab.

Björk: Forced to cancel show due to swollen vocal chords.

Scarlett Johanson: Her Tom Waits tribute album will be released May 20 and also feature an original track.

The Grammys: They’re happening and Beyonce, Rihanna, Carrie Underwood, and the Foo Fighters are performing. (The Foo Fighters will be playing with and orchestra led by Led Zeppelin’s John Paul Jones, and Rihanna’s gonna perform with the Time.)

Johnny Greenwood: He didn’t get snubbed for an Oscar, There Will Be Blood’s score wasn’t entirely original and therefore was never eligible for an award.

Sean “Diddy” Combs: Contrary to reports, Combs says he has not changed his name to Sean John.

Eric’s post earlier about sleeveface got me to thinking about one of my favorite similar pastimes, Photoshopping faces onto famous people. The pic that did it for me was this one:

which reminded (and always will remind) me of a picture that Battles put up on their Myspace of drummer John Stanier:

I love doing this - especially putting my friend’s faces on people that they don’t like. Megan posted a great picture of Korn’s Jonathan Davis the other day:

and as it just so happens I have used Mr. Davis’ distinctive body for my own fun and games. First, choose the friend you want to use and get a good picture of their face. I decided to use my friend Kellen, as he’s a prettyboy and I like to ugly him up a bit whenever I get the chance.

Next, find a picture of your celebrity where their face is pointing in the same direction as your friend’s. In Photoshop, make the faces in both pictures the same size, adjust color tint and angle. Select the stamp tool, hold the alt button, and click on the middle of your friend’s nose. Find the center of the celebrity’s nose, hold down the mouse, and carefully apply your friend’s face over the celebrity. Finishing touches, like crappy mustaches, will need to be copied back over from an original copy of the celebrity pic. With some practice, you can get some pretty convincing mash ups. It’s like Girl Talk, but with Photoshop… “Girl Shop” if you will.

This is especially fun if your friend ever leaves their Myspace account logged in on your computer. Make them a new default pic and change their personal information to go along with it. Good times are had by all.

Mix double dutch, the founder of the Sex Pistols, and Soweto jive?

You get a fantastic point in 80s pop. The point where the street cultures of London, New York, and Johannesburg meet and make something utterly new.

Here is an interestingly “Native American” themed disco track by one of Salsoul’s more cosmically minded groups Orlando Riva Sound (aka O.R.S.). This slow cosmic grooving song, entitled “Indian Reservation”, was originally released in 1979 as a 12-inch single and was produced by Anthony Monn, a well known disco era producer that worked with Amanda Lear, Judy Cheeks, and Magnifique. His work on “Indian Reservation”, as a whole, is kind of ridiculous, fun, and enjoyable all at the same time. It’s definately a song you’ll probably love or hate, however have to agree that it’s probably “different” in comparison to the songs you usually come across. That being said, after a few listens, I think the track is pretty enjoyable and entertaining.

Orlando Riva Sound - Indian Reservation

Here’s a great live performance of the song:
Orlando Riva Sound - Indian Reservation (1979)

(I love the ending breakdown about 3:14 into the clip)

Club Pop!: White Williams, HEALTH, David Wolf, Colby B, Glitterpants

(Chop Suey) Los Angeles ALL-CAPS-busting quartet HEALTH has a slight case of schizophrenia. To wit: The band has two MySpace pages, one for “noise” and another for “disco.” The disco page is basically just extra room for their rapidly expanding catalog of remixes (by such acts as Crystal Castles, Curses!, and Narctrax), although their main music page also hosts a couple remixes. What makes HEALTH so appealing for remixing is that they make noise that’s as sinuous and groovy as it is discordant. On songs like “Triceratops,” the band is alternately, and then simultaneously, muscular and fey, driven by wild percussive frenzy and guitar skronk but surrounded by echoing vocals and synth drones. On “Crimewave” (as much a hit for Crystal Castles as for HEALTH), tribal drumming and bursts of guitar offset subliminally pop vocals. Their live set should be an electrifying clash of sounds. ERIC GRANDY

Mr. Lif, the Perceptionists, Dim Mak, Rudy & the Rhetoric

(Nectar) There have only been, like, three live hiphop albums ever. It’s hard for charisma and stage presence—key factors in any good hiphop show—to come across on a CD. Which is why Mr. Lif’s live record, recorded at Boston’s legendary Middle East nightclub, kicks so much ass. With great crowd interaction, 12-minute freestyles, smart rhymes, and interspersed skits about the record industry, Lif’s live act is more variety show than rap show. While Lif can be hit or miss in the studio—Mo’ Mega was terrible, I Phantom wasn’t—he’s a beast onstage. And backed by Akrobatik and Fakts One—the other two-thirds of the Perceptionists—Lif can spit about washing his dreadlocks, or flip a track about a world-ending nuclear holocaust, and either way you’ll end up rapping along and nodding your head. JONAH SPANGENTHAL-LEE

Beausoleil with Michael Doucet

(Tractor) Around 250 years ago, a bunch of French frontiersmen lived in Nova Scotia, in Canada. Then—because of a treaty signed in the Netherlands designed to end the War of Spanish Succession—the British took over and exiled the French. A few rebelled, led by Joseph “Beausoleil” Broussard, but they lost, and moped down the East Coast, eventually settling in Louisiana and turning into Cajuns. The band Beausoleil, led by brothers Michael and David Doucet, has been playing that bayou music since 1975, and it’s great: more dynamic than rock ‘n’ roll, more invigorating than bluegrass, more exciting than folk—accordion, fiddle, bass, and guitar, playing blue notes for people who want to drink and dance. I got my first Beausoleil tape when I was 12 years old, and I’m listening to it right now. BRENDAN KILEY

WHITE WILLIAMS

Smoke

(Tigerbeat6)

***

Given that White Williams comes up from under the wings of Girl Talk and Dan Deacon, and records for Kid606’s Tigerbeat6 label, you might reasonably expect some toy-electronic seizures or mischievous sample fucking from the man born Joe Williams. But on debut album Smoke, Williams proves to be a subtler brand of joker than his references would suggest. In fact, his one great gag is a kind of cool, detached take on late-’70s electric glam funk—smooth, little laptop reductions of Bowie or Bolan.

But while Smoke is playfully stoned, it’s not entirely a goof. “Headlines” may be full of spinning-newspaper non sequiturs and its chorus echoed by a comically detuned baritone, but it also rides a convincing groove. “In the Club” is heavy on the pastiche, but it also has an undeniable sway and charisma. “New Violence” is a politely pogoing new-wave workout. The title track is an odd funk gem, full of wobbly, staggering bass, silky synth flutes, and evenly exhaled vocals.

There are no obviously sampled hooks here, but Williams’s affected vocals and deftly laid-back arrangements make sneaky references throughout. And two tracks register as more firmly tongue in cheek: the rote, druggy cover of “I Want Candy” and the ring-modulated, sample-and-hold outro “Lice in the Rainbow,” in which Williams finally lets his circuit-bent, inner Dan Deacon out.

Held up to his putative peers, White Williams is practically easy listening. But for anyone unfamiliar with his buddies, Smoke is just unusual pop from an unlikely source, hazy but vaguely familiar. ERIC GRANDY

White Williams plays Thurs Jan 24 at Club Pop at Chop Suey, 9 pm, $8/$10, 18+. With Health, Check Minus, DJ David Wolf.

From King Cobra:

As many of you know, there’s a new rock & roll nightclub in town called King Cobra. As of this morning, our liquor license has been approved and we’re on the fast track to get the place all pretty for you and for our special grand opening parties, scheduled for the first week of March. (More on those later). Our stage room is still being properly outfitted for rock and roll, and we’ve still got painting and decorating to do among a myriad of other things.

That said, most of the King Cobra bar and security staff is comprised of your brothers and sisters from Kincora and The Crocodile, all of whom have been out of work for more than a month now. So, while we’re not pretty, we can sell booze and regale you with rock music, and dammit, that’s what we’re gonna do. Starting tomorrow night (Friday, January 25th) at 6pm, we are going to open just the bar for business. We are very much still a work in progress, so “please excuse our dust” and all that (it’s an expression, we’re not really dusty!), but for now please come down to King Cobra this weekend, starting on Friday night, to buy some drinks, tip lots, and to help your local bartenders, bar backs, door guys, and the rest of the team who have been out of work and need your support. We’ll have guest DJs all weekend, and we’ll even have a spread of food during happy hour on Friday (so get there early!).

We will be open 6pm-2am Friday, Saturday and Sunday this week. Then, FOR NOW our hours will be 6pm-2am Wednesday through Sunday, closed Mondays and Tuesdays so we can finish getting the place ready to rock.

March 13th, is Sammy Drain Day. As issued by Larry Gossett of the Metropolitan King County Council. Sammy was a childhood friend of Jimi Hendrix and they learned guitar together. Sammy is smooth like his rhythm and blues. He performs every Tuesday night at China Harbor - 2040 Westlake Ave. N. He says, “Even as a kid, Jimi had vision. There were mirrors and feathers on his bike.” Sammy is also an actor and was in the show L.A. Law.

A woman recently walked into the post office on 23rd and Union. Sammy was standing near the front door. She asked Sammy if he was waiting in line and he said, “No Ma’am, and if I was, I’d let you cut in front of me.” Sammy is a gentleman and he also the real deal.

I can’t wait until March 13th, so I am celebrating Sammy Drain Day today:

Proclamation transcribed:

WHEREAS, Sammy Drain and his bands have done an outstanding job keeping alive the African American art form of the Blues in Seattle and King County for more than forty years, and

WHEREAS, his music has enriched the cultural fabric of the entire scene in our community, and

WHEREAS, Sammy has always made himself available to teach and play with his guitar, his renditions of “soulful” rhythm and blues songs to untold numbers of young people – both black and white – no matter how busy he was, always believing in the importance of passing along his passion and appreciation of the Blues to the younger generation, and

WHEREAS, Sammy has taught and learned from such legendary guitarists as Jimi Hendrix, whom he played with in the 1960’s when they both were growing up in Seattle’s Central Area, and

WHEREAS, Sammy was born to the union of Andrew and Carrie Drain on March 13, 1945,

NOW THEREFORE, I, Councilmember Larry Gossett, on behalf of King County Executive Ron Sims and the Metropolitan King County Council, do hereby proclaim this to be

SAMMY DRAIN DAY

throughout Martin Luther King Jr. County and ask all the citizens of this great community to join us in wishing Mr. Drain a wonderful and happy birthday
DATED this thirteenth day of March, 2004

_____________________
Larry Gosset, District Ten
Metropolitan King County Council

More at sleeveface.com. (thanks, Brian)

#7 Solo Bar//Jan 19th//Seattle,WA

I flew back in town to have a closing party for my photo show.
Palmer AK played a short set. That was the first time I saw him playing.
I played a fun short set.
It made me nostalgic to think of pictures getting taken down soon. I
sang for not only audience members but also pictures. There was no
picture of cats or cars.

After the set, 2 nice gentlemen who are lawyers gave me kind words.
“You don’t really know me but I love you, I love your music.”
“Yeah, if you ever need a legal help, we would work for free.”

One of them was a tax lawyer and the other one was a criminal lawyer.

Also, he said he will give me a ride from Sea Tac Airport.

*****

#8 Greenhouse//Jan. 20th//Seattle,WA

Greenhouse is where Nathan, a bartender at the Showbox, lives.
He has a collection of empty liquor bottles.
He was dressing like a jesus and giving me drinks.
I told him “Jesus is serving me whisky, I feel like I am in heaven.”

Paper Whales, Little Party and Bad Business, Generifus, and Seahouse
all played excellent sets and the show was easily the best house show
I have ever had.

After the show, Jesus gave me another whisky shot. Then I went to Cha
Cha to get more drinks.

I puked in a bathroom at my friend Julian’s place. It has been a long
time since I did last time so I looked myself in the mirror and smiled.

*****

#9 Halfway House//Jan 22nd//Richmond,VA

I had to transfer flights at Detroit airport.
I remembered the first visit to the states, I had a cup of Caramel
Macchiato at Starbucks and Florida’s Natural orange juice. They tasted
so good that I thought I would live here to drink those 2 everyday.
Now, neither of them tastes good.
I am worried for cavities too.

The show in Richmond was supposed to happen at the Camel but it got
moved to the halfway house, a small 2 stories house in a quiet
neighborhood.

This was the first show with my touring mate “The Vonneguts” from
Portland and we played in a tiny bedroom for 9 people.

“I am sorry your first Richmond show is small like this.” someone said.

So I said “Now I play for bigger crowds in Seattle but I have played
for 3 people in the past. I have my own definition of party;if there’s
more than 7 people excluding myself, there’s a party happening. How
many people here…9…? yeah, there’s definitely A party happening.”

From this week’s Fucking in the Streets:

For his solo set, Deacon lowered his table of electronics onto the floor, hoisted his trademark neon green skull onto a pike (the hoisting of this freak flag elicited ridiculously huge cheers), and proceeded to complain about my review of Ultimate Reality from last week’s paper.

“Have you ever had to play a show after reading a really bad review of yourself in the Seattle Stranger that says you ripped off your friends?” he asked. “Let’s just try to expunge that from our minds.”

I understand the appeal of Dan Deacon’s live show. He’s a natural entertainer—funny and absurd and (usually) relentlessly positive. But with a few exceptions—”Crystal Cat,” “Wham City”—the music just feels like it’s there to pad out his odd monologues and audience-participation stunts. It’s like watching Tim Harrington or Atom & His Package without any of the songwriting, and being friends with Paper Rad (ooh) doesn’t make his aesthetic any less of a melted-down pastiche. Still, when he finally launched into “Crystal Cat,” by far the catchiest song from last year’s Spiderman of the Rings, the crowd became a surging mosh pit, speckled with flashes of Day- Glo apparel.

I took off, but apparently later Deacon accused me of having not even watched Ultimate Reality (which I did) before writing my review and complained that I shouldn’t have been on the guest list for the show if I’m such a hater (so much for expunging). No one’s ever going to accuse Deacon of not being tacky, but what kind of guy needs to bitch about one bad review in front of a 400-person-deep crowd of rabid, wild-eyed fans? I’m just one critic not drinking the Kool-Aid, dude. No need to be an asshole about it.

The offending Ultimate Reality review may be read here.

Last year Justice sent a mix for a Fabriclive compilation.

It was rejected. The popular myth is that Fabric hated it. I have no idea if that is true. The truth is probably something closer to the fact that there is a ton of obscure shit on the mix, some of it very pop stuff on major labels, that was making the licensing of the mix a nightmare, so it was ditched. I have no idea if that is true.

What I do know is that it was posted on Stereogum and succinctly ravaged by haters with quotes like:

What a bunch of fags these guys are. I can’t believe they think they can play MSG. It’s just going to result in a bunch of hipsters sitting around with their arms crossed smoking fags and downing crunk juice. sigh.

this entire hipster ed slanger-banger-aoki bullshit dance scene is fueled by shitass capital from daddy bennihana. its soulless empty cartridges of nothingness. its all neon tee’s and zero art substance. there’s no art at all.

these dudes suck! i can’t believe people take them seriously.

grotesque

All the hatin’ made me want to check it out, so i did. I liked it. Does that make me a crunk swillin’ hipster? (Seriously, I’m old, I don’t go out, and I have a kid, that makes me totally uncool, right?) I mean what is not to like about a creative mix that starts with freakin’ Sparks, makes stops at Goblin and Zoot Woman only to end at Todd Rundgren for chrissake?

I liked how pop and how nutty it was. It pulled from lots of genres, but sounded fun to me.

But, wow! The hating! Reminded me of Line Out comments.

Anyhow, if your interested, another blog, Hippie Hippie Hoorah, is decontructing it and has downloads of most of the songs seperately.

Now that you know, listen, and tell me: what do you think?

PS. And I know this is probably old news and might even have been posted on this very blog before, so you can leave those comment out. Just opinions please.

Taken by shapefarm.

Listening to Danny Krivit’s mixes, you can discover so many great rare disco, soul, funk and house tracks. I recently discovered this solid exotic disco gem entitled “Moan For Love” by Tony Gray & Beverly Lee on Krivit’s mix compilation, Danny Krivit Introduces P&P Records. I wasn’t able to hunt much down from the original artist or release, however I was able to find that the 12-inch single of the track was one of the earliest releases off of Peter Brown and Michael Campbell’s legendary disco label Heavenly Star, which probably puts the date of the actual release probably somewhere between the late 1970’s and first year or two of the eighties. Regardless, it’s another great disco find thanks to another great mix compilation from one of New York’s finest deejays.

Tony Gray & Beverly Lee - Moan For Love

UK band the Duke Spirit have an album coming out February 4th called Neptune. The album named for the God of the sea was recorded in the desert at Joshua Tree’s Rancho de la Luna Studio. The godfather of desert rock and Masters of Reality man, Chris Goss produced. (See Queens of the Stone Age, Soulwax, and UNKLE.)

Guitarist / pianist Dan Higgins said, “We thought it would be perverse to take these songs written in England and drop them in the middle of the desert.”

Neptune races and coils. The band is honed but free swinging. Singer Leila Moss sticks a sugared blonde knife in your heart. She has a prowess of the ages. So does the band. Elemental pieces of the 60’s have shuffled back into the puzzle and they’re firing off.

Listen to Neptune – here. (Drag the note you’ll see to the side.)

The Duke Spirit have shows in New York on Feb. 13th & 14th. They’ll be at SXSW too.

Here’s the band in Joshua Tree talking about the recording and the album:

House of Blues at Disneyland Cancels Gallows Show: Because they don’t like the bands’ lyrics. In other news, I’m stoked for the band’s show at Chop Suey next week with the Cancer Bats.

Seek a Lawyer: Warner Music Group posts a lawsuit against MP3 aggregator Seeqpod.

Busta Gets Probation: He pleaded guilty to assault charges, driving infractions, and weapons possession and avoided going to jail.

Lil Wayne Gets Caught: The rapper was arrested on drug charges in Arizona.

Free Last.fm: Fans will now be able to listen to some songs for free on demand.

Alicia Keys is Still #1: And the Juno soundtrack moved up to #2.

Gui Boratto
(Music) The title of Gui Boratto’s Chromophobia is one hell of a misnomer. The Brazilian producer’s debut full-length is about as bright and colorful as minimal techno can be, full of bubbling, rhythmic arpeggios, warm washes of synth, and even the occasional acoustic piano or natural voice. His live set should bring equal parts beauty and bounce. Openers Lusine and Jerry Abstract are two of Seattle’s top electronic talents. Between them, they span everything from delicate ambient to crushing industrial techno. (Nectar, 412 N 36th St, 632-2020. 9 pm, $10, 21+.) Eric Grandy

Live hiphop in the South End? Hot damn, call the cops.

When we first saw Big Country’s video for “In A Big Country” (this was around 1983 in the capital of Zimbabwe, Harare) we were amazed by the brother in the band…
What was he doing in this part of the world? How did he get there? A brother in the middle of the whitest (soulless) song by the whitest (soulless) band we had ever heard. The things a brother will do to survive.

(ht Idolator)

Musik Kontrapunkt Kontrol, out of Reykjavik, an amazing blog that mostly focuses on italo-disco, recently posted this amazing discovery.

It’s the rare original version of the Rave classic, “It’s A Fine Day” which was made famous by Opus III feat. Kirsty Hawkshaw. Edward Barton was a poet and folk song writer who joined with his girl, Jane, and put out an album of all accapella folk songs in 1983.

Edward Barton would go on to become so regarded in the rave community that there is a full cover album of their work with artists like 808 State, Inspiral Carpets and A Guy Called Gerald.

It’s stunning. Go check it out!

The Showbox has a couple pairs of tickets to next Tuesday’s Liars show with No Age and Past Lives, and they want to give them to you for free. They’ll pick the winners at random, and to get included in the pool, e-mail your full name to giveaways@showboxonline.com and put LIARS in the subject line.

The Showbox will contact you if you’re a winner.

Here you will see fresh Silas Blak doing his Sentinel thing:

Silas Sentinel, one of the best local hiphop CDs of 2007, is now available on iTunes.

As for the video of Blue Scholars performing “North by Northwest” at The Program?

Check the number of views. Damn!

For years, I thought John Darnielle, better known to most as The Mountain Goats, had recorded his earliest albums in a department store. Albums like All Hail West Texas sure sound like it—you can practically hear the flourescent lights of a JCPenney employee bathroom hum as Darnielle goes on a tear about “The Best Ever Death Metal Band Out of Denton.” The boombox part of the story is true—unmistakable, really—but the college buddy who turned me on to “the band” mixed up the rest of it; Darnielle merely bought the boombox at a department store, then took it home to record.

But that mythos stuck in my head, especially when I first saw Darnielle in concert. He looked like a middle school science teacher, hair cropped and small glasses reflecting stage lights as he approached the microphone and meekly greeted the crowd. And then his face reacted like a middle school science experiment, red and tightening with every crazed, nasal scream, all alone on that stage. The JCPenney nutjob lived again.

So I unfairly listen to the latest Mountain Goats album, Heretic Pride, not in search of his usual, exemplary lyrics, but his unfiltered rage—the kind that builds while, say, restocking toilet seat covers. His continued push toward fidelity sees him take steps on this record toward the new-folk stylings of The Decemberists (strings, keys, and I could’ve sworn I heard a mandolin and harpsichord), something that runs clearly in contrast to my inaccurate mythos—as does the meek female chorus in “Marduk T-Shirt Men’s Room Incident” and the title track’s lyrical use of hippie fauna. Jasmine and honeysuckle? Dude.

Sure, Darnielle’s lo-fi aggression is on the decline. But the guy’s still generally too good a wordsmith to deny—“I am this great unstable mass of blood and foam / and no emotion that’s worth having could call my heart its home,” he mutters in “My Heart’s an Enclave.” And he still knows when to unleash his neurotic howls, most notably by the end of the gradual climber “In The Craters On The Moon,” when the narrator—wracked either by persecution or a failed relationship, guess it could go either way—finally gives up and explodes: “In the declining years of the long,” short pause, “WAR!” Ultimately, these moments don’t come often enough, resulting in an album that comes off as little more than “solid.” Sorry, Darnielle. Go mop up aisle four.

Charlie is back. The Blacklight Kid. You may remember him from his Zappa / Electric Flag and Pink Floyd reviews. He’s in 8th grade now at a school in Shoreline and he has a gigantic crate of vinyl. Charlie is razor sharp smart. Imagine him by the time he’s a senior. Here is his latest review:

Captain Beefheart’s - Lick My Decals Off, Baby

The 1970 release, Lick My Decals Off, Baby is a long way from Safe as Milk, Beefheart’s 1967 release. Lick My Decals Off, Baby is dangerous.

It is a beautiful experiment that breaks all bounds and is a musical adventure of marimbas, saxophones, and song names like “Woe-Is-Uh-Me-Bop”, and “The Buggy Boogie Woogie”, but what did you expect from Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band?

In songs, like “Doctor Dark”, and “I Wanna Find a Woman that’ll Hold My Big Toe Till AI Have to Go” it seems like they have lost all sense of musical direction and are going to crash. The moment you try to feel the beat and get into the songs, it syncopates out of control and it’s hard to keep up. When I listened to the record for the first time I didn’t like it, but after listening to it again I discovered that the confusion is what makes it a good and unique record.

Songs like “I Love You Big Dummy”, “Bellerin’ Plain”, and “Smithsonian Institute Blues” help you find your way through the tangled labyrinth of sound on this record and reacquaint you with the music. The instrumental “Peon” is a refreshing relief from the cacophony of surrounding songs.

“I Love You Big Dummy” also features a screeching harmonica performed by Mr. Don Van Vliet himself and is the perfect accompaniment to his own rough villainous voice. Ed Marimba a.k.a. Art Tripp playing the marimba on “Woe-Is-Uh-Me-Bop” is truly awesome.

The Captain along with his Magic Band delivers a revolutionary record that can frustrate and awaken the listener. It took me a while but finally I realized that Lick My Decals Off, Baby is, even in today’s standards, insanely eccentric and wonderful.

-Charlie W.

The kid is in 8th grade.

Here’s a commercial for the record that was banned from TV. When asked by the record company as to reasons for not accepting the spot, KTTV station manager Charles Young said, “I just don’t like it. I think it’s crude and don’t want it on my air. Let’s say I find the commercial unacceptable and let it go at that.” When asked for a specific reason, Young declared the album title was “obscene.”

Nate Dogg, the rapper who’s collaborated with the likes of Eminem, 50 Cent and his similarly monikered cousin Snoop Dogg, was hospitalized last month in California after suffering a mild stroke, but is now on the road to recovery, according to his reps.

Also, their new record, These Are the Good Times People, will be released March 11.

With Miss Bendel’s booking talents going to King Cobra, former Sunset booker Kwab Copeland has returned to his old stomping grounds part-time and he’s taking over booking Sunday afternoons. He’ll still continue to book Jules Maes and Slim’s.

From this afternoon’s press release:

I am really excited about is the weekly show I am helping produce with my good friend Fred Speakman. The show takes place EVERY SUNDAY at 4PM, taking over the time slot of Jenny Bendel’s much beloved 4 O’Clock Rock show (Jenny will be the head booker at King Cobra, for those of you keeping up on Seattle booker gossip, round of applause for Jenny and 4 O’ Clock Rock!!!!).

The show is named SUNDAY BLOODY SUNSET after the drink of choice for Sunday afternoons, the mighty BLOODY MARY (not after the U2 song, dudes). The show will be a NON-STOP CAVALCADE of LIVE MUSIC, COMEDY, FILM and VARIETY presented by original Sunset discovery JOHNNY SKOLFUK who many might remember from the old 4 O’ Clock Punk Rock days…for the meager cover of $5, come enjoy coffee, doughnuts, delicious drinks and good friends while experiencing a show like none you have ever seen…

The first installment will be Sunday, February 17 with surprise bands and host Johnny Skolfuk.

Reading Brendan Kiley’s “Confessions of a Gasoline Huffer” in this week’s issue reminded me of a low point in my own life. No, I wasn’t experimenting with inhalants. I was experimenting with punk rock. And t-shirts.

When I was a teenager, I must’ve seen Gas Huffer play at the Old Firehouse a dozen times. One of those times, I bought a t-shirt. It was puke green, with a caricature of a dude with a big nose hunched over a canister of rocket fuel, fumes wafting up into his giant nostrils, maybe x’s on his eyes (anyone have an image of said shirt?). It was probably extra large for that baggy, mid ’90s suburban alterna-teen look. Anyway, I got the shirt home and my mom cut it up with a pair of scissors and threw it in the trash. She was worried that I was going to start huffing gas or that the shirt encouraged drug use or something. I did do drugs, but I never huffed gas, and Kiley’s story makes it pretty clear that obscure psych textbooks, not punk rock, is the real gateway into huff-town. Mom wouldn’t reimburse me the $10 I spent on the shirt. I’ve still never huffed gas.

Since Oink went away I’ve hardly been downloading anything at all. A lot of that may have to do with the fact that very few albums come out this time of year, and nobody tours so I’m not seeing many new bands live. Needing some new tunes, I decided to pillage the bins of CDs in the Stranger office for some new material. There are a plethora of albums scattered around the office; so many of which I have never heard of, so many which look like they will absolutely suck. I rummaged through the bins looking for local bands - the only way I could judge any of these albums possible worth was by their album artwork. So, note to local bands: if you want idiots at newspapers to listen to your music, make it look pretty. I picked out a handful of new bands and listened to the first of them last night.

Skeletons With Flesh on Them was a refreshing start to my music blind dates. While listening to their EP The Fish Don’t Mind I was reminded of the following bands: Cherry Peel era Of Montreal, old Piebald (if Travis could sing in key), the theme song from Cheers, Pinkerton era Weezer, and Ted Leo and the Pharmacists. I was overjoyed to hear a band that was using my favorite aspects of jangly 90s indie pop rock, and using them well without feeling dated. Skeletons do a great job keeping their pop catchy and warmhearted without being cheesy, which is no easy task.

The only song on the EP I couldn’t really get down with was their ballad “Everybody is Our Savior.” The guitars and vocals leave behind earlier pop sensibilities and adopt a more traditional folk edge, and the lyrics turn to addressing the woes of the world. Although it’s not a particularly bad song, all of a sudden I’m not having fun anymore, and I hate that.

In all though The Fish Don’t Mind is a strong release from these local dudes. I don’t know if they’ve got any play on KEXP yet, but their sound seems to fit right in the pocket of local rock that station seems to go nuts for. They play on Feb. 29th at the Comet.