Usually I start off my show reviews by testing your patience with an anecdotal story about my personal connection with the artist I'm seeing. Then I place the musician in some larger genre and/or historical context, and wax poetic about what makes them extraordinary among countless other bands.
For the entire duration of Kristeen Young's opening set I stood in line for a t-shirt. To be fair, it's now one of the most ridiculous shirts I own, and Moz IS my shepherd.
It's utterly pointless for me to try to do this for Steven Patrick Morrissey. For longer than I have been alive, music journalists have chipped away at the man, dissected his lyrics, and sought to explain his appeal. All in all, like so many other people, I spend a lot of time with Morrissey's music. I don't think I'll ever come up with a way to artfully explicate it, but he makes me feel less alone, and he will probably always mean a great deal to me.
Walking up to the Moore Theatre in the pouring rain, I first heard a pat-down security guard barking "No flowers! No iPads!" which might be one of the strangest introductions I've had to a show. Inside the mood was dizzying; this being my first Morrissey show, I didn't know if there was always this much excitement in the air for one of his concerts, or if it was a lot of pent up anticipation. (The concert was originally scheduled for November before being pushed back so Moz could attend to his ill mother. He's also had a bout of health scares that led to some cancellations on this US tour.)
Watch as this group's front man, Bogart Peter Stuyvesant and his leather-bound crotch set a young woman's appetite lust, for (ahem) dessert, on FIRE!
Hmmmm, for all those desserts she was suckin' down all I could taste was CHEESE!! I've never seen Angel Angel Down We Go, AKA Cult Of The Damned, but after watching that clip I now kinda gotta. Angel Angel Down We Go looks to be prime exploitative and (ahem) over-the-top period film; watch the trailer, man! This film is from the same director who directed Wild In The Streets AND Death Race 2000! FUCK YEAH!!! Oh, supporting cast features Lou Rawls!
The sun is out! Yes! So today I am listening to posi-punk songs about friendship. Which means I'm listening to Latterman! All day. And, with that, I am reminded of this 30-second video that involves two of my favorite things, Latterman and a French bulldog puppy:
Sorry, Thursday! No more productivity for you! I'm just gonna watch this on loop for the next 12 hours.
Woohoo! We were not actually kidding last week when we sort of implied that this might be a regular thing, where we go through our purses/desks/shorts pockets on Friday night and find you cool treasures, then ask you a dumb question so you can WIN THE PRIZE!!! Dedicated to you Line Outers who work late at a desk on Friday nights, or who read the blog on the weekend. Go you!
Also, a bit of Housekeeping: Hey there, last week's winner, carnivorous chicken, wanna contact us to pick up your stuff? Just like Santa, we love giving you free stuff, if you sit on our laps and stay on your very best behavior! Those fries aren't gonna eat themselves!
This week's prize package only contains two items, but one of them is HOT HOT HOT enough to put behind a jump, because BOOBZ. You're welcome! The prize package contains:
ONE (1) pack of glue-on fake nails, French Manicure-style. Oooh, classy! Says music editor Emily Nokes, "Those nails have touched Gary Smith's torso." It's true!
and ONE (1) very special, Spanish-language, lesbian edition card game called, appropriately, "¡SEXO!"
Redeem your prize by leaving the answer to this question, which honors our spirit animal Alanis Morissette, in comments (we'll alert the winner here in comments on Monday, when we sober up again):
What fellow '90s icons played guitar and bass on Alanis Morissette's best-karaoke-song-ever hit "You Oughta Know"?
This John Peel/BBCCaptain Beefheart documentary is mandatory viewing.
I know Dave Segal made reference to this documentary in his December, 2010 Beefheart obit. However, the clip he provided has now been removed from Youtube™... above is the full documentary. You're welcome.
First order of business — did you guys know Herbie Hancock has a Twitterand a Facebook? If so, you're fucking fired for not hipping me to that.
Second — check out this mashup (I know, I know, but hear me out) from Sydney, Australia mashup specialist Wax Audio.
Featuring the track "Doin' It" from Herbies 1976 jazz/funk/fusion burner Secrets, and the title track from Metallica's third studio album (and major label debut) Master of Puppets (1986), this is one highly unlikely, highly enjoyable piece of work. It's like peanut butter and pickles. You want to hate it, but you just can't.
Wah Wah Watson vs. Kirk Hammett, you guys! Cliff Burton vs Paul Jackson. Ah man. Monday just got a whole lot better.
As revealed in their video for "It's Real", a standout from the new Days album, that debuted today. Judging from the mid-song breakdown, it looks like the New Jersey band achieve a contact high from happy puppy mania.
Catch them this Monday at the Crocodile, and hopefully they bring along a few giant dogs wearing Bow Ties for the occasion.
This post has been updated since it's original publication.
Have you ever wondered what it would look like if Seattle's Furry Community** threw a big ole dance party? Well, today's your lucky day! More photos, from the past weekend's "Off The Chain" party at Club Motor, after the jump...
CORRECTION: **The event was thrown by Fur The Record, a new company focused on providing the NW furry community with events specially catered to them. More about Fur The Record HERE and HERE.
As we approached the last few hundred miles of what was a 16 hour drive home to Seattle from our college in Whittier California we became overcome with excitement with our first sighting of familiar places, Such as the Portland Nike Outlet, the Tacoma Dome, whatever all those buildings are in Olympia and finally our first sight of the Seattle skyline off of I5. After our first 7 months or so living away from the city we grew up in we were finally back home…this is the emotion we tried to capture in this song and video…Seattle Summers like YEEEE We were able to capture this thanks to Morgan Backus who gave us yet another dope ass beat, Zac Macconnel who made this video, Spike and Jamari who have been our musical spiritual guides, Parker who recorded it for us, and of course Beeba..this is his vision..YEEE
Yet another Seattle summer party jam from the town's hiphop contingent; this time it's Brothers From Another, glad to be home after their first year of school in California. BFA's fresh-scrubbed life-love is posi as it gets, and pretty damn infectious. Still, as 206-prideful as I am, I'm glad I spent today scooting around LA, even if they don't say 'hella' or sell Rainier brew (sign I saw today, atop a liquor store: "hipsters raise a cheer, PBR is LA's new favorite beer"). Go see BFA at the Capitol Hill Block Party on Friday night, at the Vera Stage; they and the excellent Kung Foo Grip split a paltry 20 minute set, but it oughta be fun.
Mad Rad: To Sitka-Juneau for raves. Alaskan Flight 69 from SEA through Ketchikan. Wait a second, this isn't Austin.
Those traveling with Darwin may pre-board all planes. 25 minutes into the first flight someone went into one of the bathrooms and tried to smoke. (Not one of us.) He was busted. What’s the technique there, for smoking in the bathroom of a plane? - Light the cigarette, inhale/exhale/drop cigarette into bowl, and flush? The guy couldn't last half an hour. $2000 fine. Get the gum, dude.
St. Patrick’s day Sitka forced Jager into our mouths. Drums in the “vagina room.” Sitka to Juneau: took longer to de-ice the plane than it did to fly there. Everything is crisper in Alaska. Elk, emu, wild boar, and herds of moose are all over the place. Things are bear proofed. Alaskan Amber tastes better Alaska. So does a salmon omelet. Radjaw went on boat. It was sunny. He fell off a rock or something into the water.
The Alaskan Hotel in Juneau is haunted. It used to be a brothel they say. Much action has occurred there. You can hear footsteps. The radiator heating system creaks words and haunted whispers like, “GET OUT NOW.” And “MAKE ME A SANDWICH BEFORE YOU GET OUT.” Murders and suicides have happened there they say. It’s on the National Registry of Historic Places.
The rave was a womb. KXLL Excellent Radio hosted/produced (great peoples, those involved with KXLL). Many kids with lights and Alaskan rave moves. Juneau people letting it out. FileJerks' Astronomar (Juneau’s Favorite Son) spun and fuzz-battered loving ears. After the show, Buffalo Madonna beer-jousted locals that climbed up the outside of the hotel to get in to the room to party. Beer-jousting: charging arm out/beer first ramming your opponent. ‘To Party.’
Mendenhall Ice Cave. Not Gyllenhaal.
The Mendenhall Glacier is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen in my life. Receding monstrosity. We hiked into some ice caves. I didn’t know shades of blue like that existed.
Taku Wind: A strong, east-northeast wind that rips across the Juneau channel and pricks through your skin. Sometimes attains hurricane force at the mouth of the Taku River, after which it is named. It barrels down the sides of multiple mountains and funnels into town. Frigid. Chills your ass to the bone.
Juneau is a place all bands should play. Bright, frozen, sharp, burrowed friendly. You will leave like me, wanting to go back and possibly wondering, what actually is an emu? Special big thanks to Jenna and Amanda at Solitaire Promotion. (More pics after this here jump.)
The Doug Aitken-produced event at MOCA in LA went off. Much hobnobbing was had. The who’s who’s sveltely strode, posed, and imbibed. Beck, Devendra, and Caetano sounded immaculate. The real action of the night, however, went down with the drummers, the auctioneers, and The Whip Guy. The twenty drummers began the evening in a drum-line lining the entrance to the gigantic tent. Rolls trickled down the line, and beats bounced back and forth and front to back. Inside, Devendra Banhart played, then joined Beck and a string section on Beck’s “Golden Age”. Then they both played with Caetano Veloso for two songs. One of which was the highlight, “Nine Out of Ten.”
Finely prepared food was eaten, then the lights went out, and auctioneers made their way unannounced to spot lit stages and began chattering. Drummers filed out to ‘sonic tables’ and began a mallet-banged cadence. It all slowly built, the auctioneer's storm and the six drum-table slit drums. Each drum table matched to an auctioneer. A choir joined in coating and soaring the arrangement with abstract enough harmonies. Then, grand finale time: Enter The Whip Guy, Chris Camp, world champion whip cracker, and entertainer. (Yes, he owns www.thewhipguy.com.) His whips are made by a guy in Seattle, who also made the whips for the Indiana Jones movies. The drummers, the auctioneers, the choir, grew to a metered engine hum and apex, then cut out on one big whip crack. Chris Camp is the kind of whipper that whips the cigarillo out of your mouth. He’ll whip a drop of rain drop out of the sky. If you're having a party, and need a little something extra, get The Whip Guy there, you will not be sorry.
For three days there were rehearsals. It was a lot of hurry-up-and-wait, and official people with head mics and walkie talkies telling us where and when to go. Doug Aitken is a very cool human.
When you put twenty drummers together in an enclosed environment for three days with auctioneers and a choir, prestigious shit is bound to go down. Snowflakes of beats and rhythm constantly sprang up and made their way around. Auctioneer flow with choir on top is a holy centipede mating call. The drummers were all incredible. A great, great group. Represented were Dum Dum Girls, M.I.A., Glenn Danzig, Boredoms, Zach Hill, Hole, High Places, Soft Circle, and many others. All hail Zach Hill. There is no better love than drum love.
A psychedelic hardcore sludge pre-post metal band approaches our city. A phone interview had been set up. When the band pulled into a gas station for fuel, the band member who was set up to do the interview saw this advertisement, and became upset. Now he won’t do the interview. He is somewhat Buddhist and believes strongly in karma. Apparently, he has a young niece or nephew that saw the ad too (who is following with family members in another vehicle), and this niece or nephew didn’t understand why a big gas company would think that smooshed bugs are funny. This somewhat Buddhist hardcore metal musician did not enjoy having to explain the ad to his niece or nephew. The voicemail I received from another one of the band members was vague, and I was sent this picture. They extended condolences for this bandmate not doing the interview, and said he was sitting in the back of the van or bus sketching in his notebook, eating potato chips, and cussing about the cycle of suffering and rebirth for each being.