Two things separate real musicians from wanna-bes — the willingness to tour without quarter, and the head-down attitude to plow forward, faithful in one’s abilities. Martin Sexton qualifies on both counts. He busked for the money to make his first album, 1991’s In the Journey, and won a Boston-area music…
Like commandos descending from helicopters in the night, Turbonegro’s boisterous irreverence lands just in time to deliver a pinprick of humor to puncture rock’s ballooning self-importance. Theirs is a crowd-pleasing blow to the crotch of angst-ridden over-emoters and other phonies, resurrecting the idea that music should be fun and a…
One of the biggest surprises of the past few years is Christian metalcore act Underoath, who’ve sold almost a million copies of 2004’s breakout underground hit, They’re Only Chasing Safety, and its gold-selling follow-up, Define the Great Line. Almost as amazing: Their breakthrough was for little Northwestern Christian indie label…
Call him the John Darnielle of the North. Like the Mountain Goats’ songsmith, John Samson of Winnipeg, Canada, has a high, reedy voice, modestly folk-inflected sound, and a keen lyrical wit. Samson played in the early ’90s with political punkers Propagandhi. In ’97, tired of catering to testosterone-fueled mosh pits,…
Whatever animates Riverboat Gamblers lead singer Mike Wiebe, the audience is giving him a wide berth lest it prove contagious. Dragging the mic cord like a lifeline, Wiebe climbs on tables, mounts structural supports, and hangs from exposed pipes — within the first 15 minutes of the show. Behind him,…
Swedish imports (as if the name wasn’t a giveaway) PB&J have been making music together for eight years, but it took their third and latest release, Writer’s Block, to strike a chord in America. The album represents a change of pace for the trio, as they largely ditch the up-tempo…
Put them in suits and give them bowl haircuts, because from the sweet harmonies to the charismatic melodies, this Phoenix quartet channels the British Invasion circa 1965. In April, they released their 11-track debut, We Can Do No Wrong, which recalls the retro vibe of the Rosebuds’ debut several years…
John Vanderslice is a generally unnoted musical impresario whose versatility, talent, and intelligence make it seemingly impossible for him to achieve the success he truly deserves — though stranger things have happened. His impeccably crafted pop flows easily from the experimental to the baroque, from spare to plush (with more…
Drawing on a raw, ragged roots-punk ethos that’s served everyone from The Pogues to Against Me!, Tempe’s Liars Handshake stokes the same passionate fury. Featuring the core of the old punk outfit Bullet Train to Moscow, the band’s led by the gruff, raucous vocals of Jared Christy. The quintet offers…
To some, Billy Childish will come off as a crank. He’s outspoken and has little patience for authority or institutions. It’s the reason he was kicked out of St. Martin’s School of Art in England when he was 16. You might call him a primitivist for the raw, gut-level attack…
No one can accuse Gilbert’s Scary Kids Scaring Kids of lacking ambition. The local sextet’s self-titled second album is an epic song cycle characterized by the album-opening anthem “Degenerates,” which casts us into a jackbooted future, judging from all the clicks of pistol safeties and ominous helicopter hovering. The song…
Rachel Nagy is a strong, sexy frontwoman. Her vocals canter, strut, and shimmy with the knowing look of the much-adored — half coquettish tease, half jaded indifference. She coos to the rocked-up Latin swing of “My Delight,” swings her hips with rockabilly swagger on “If You Don’t Think,” and dives…
The difference between noise and noisy rock is in the ear of the beholder, something Pterodactyl realized after initially aping a drunken, cacophonous wreck. Adding structure to their throttling throb, they couch little gems of guitar creativity in jagged squalls of feedback, and stray scraps of melody beneath the cushions…
It took the hills of Tennessee to shake The Comas’ singer and guitarist, Andy Herod, of his bad habits. But the story goes back farther, to 2004’s breakout release, Conductor, penned in the wake of his breakup with Dawson’s Creek star Michelle Williams, a heartbreak immortalized in the woozy song…
Curly, raven-haired Annie Clark (a.k.a. St. Vincent) is a beautiful dork and potential prom queen of the science and math magnet school, seemingly groomed like the protagonist of Princess Diaries for the indie-pop throne. A quirky, imaginative musician, Clark’s played guitar for Polyphonic Spree, Sufjan Stevens and Glen Branca, which…
Marnie Stern made one of the most intriguing debuts this year with In Advance of the Broken Arm, a cacophonous yet strangely tuneful blast of prog experimentation that verges on indie rock. Stern’s high-pitched, girlish vocals are slathered in guitar pyrotechnics ranging from crazy metal hammer-ons to Sonic Youth-ish squall…
This bill features a pair of bands noteworthy for their rousing style and lively stage presence. Hailing from Chicago’s Irish South Side, The Tossers began in ’93, before Celtic-punk peers Flogging Molly and Dropkick Murphys. Though long overshadowed by the aforementioned acts, it wasn’t for lack of talent. While more…
Every week, a band breaks up, ending more often with a whimper than a bang. That’s a fate South Mountain Lights sought to avoid with The Last Word, the release of which they’ll celebrate with their final show. “We’ve both been in bands where the band falls apart and you…
With stunning production from old rival Marley Marl, KRS-One delivers a sharp retort to Nas’ recent proclamation that Hip Hop Is Dead — but not without kicking some dirt on gangsta culture. The highlights on this 12-track disc are many, including “Nothing New,” in which the Teacha delivers his indictment…
Rusted Root is the type of band you take shit for liking from people who’ve never seen them — simply because of the associations. Though they do frequently appear at jam-band festivals, there’s a lot more nuance, synthesis, and creativity here than you’ll find in your standard, 12-bar blues wankers…
It’s been four years since Fountains of Wayne’s last studio album, but the wait has been more than worth it, because FOW produces incredibly well-constructed pop. Besides a gift for hummable melodies, the group’s bite-size vignettes of middle-class angst (think John Updike’s Rabbit Angstrom) reveal a novelist’s eye for detail…
Hailing from Denver, The Photo Atlas sputter and jerk with convulsive rhythms, dancing over jagged guitars and frontman Alan Andrews’ nervy, falsetto squeal. Though the formula may not be the most original, the execution on the quartet’s debut LP, No, Not Me, Never, is so terrific, and the hooks dig…
