Kierkegaard was on to something when he decided that patriotism is the refuge of scoundrels. But something tells me that if the great Dane were a music critic in 1997, he’d quickly find a correlation: Controversy is the last refuge of the terminally bland. Any wet-behind-the-ears music-biz publicist can tell…
“Steve Malkmus is a fucking snob.” So proclaimed the title of a summer release by an obscure Virginia duo called September 67. The song’s writer, Shannon Worrell, explained in a press release that her attack on Pavement’s sardonic leader was a form of “tough love,” adding that “I love their…
A few weeks ago, the City of Tempe hosted a battle-of-the-bands competition at Tempe Diablo Stadium. It was a long, thinly attended event with the expressed purpose of “keeping the kids off the street.” One of the few people who did attend–at least for a few minutes–was a local TV…
Eric Matthews The Lateness of the Hour (Sub Pop Records) Eric Matthews should be a major artist. He has all the credentials for critical deification. He’s a smart, young, classically trained singer/songwriter with an uncommon flair for arranging string and horn sections. Word has it that his mental pitchfork is…
In America, professional wrestling is the province of washed-up boxers, unemployed bouncers and failed actors. In Mexico, wrestling has always been high art, Dada theater on a square canvas stage. Legendary Mexican wrestlers don colorful superhero masks, and carry their personas so far that they walk the streets in full…
Vitamin needs a new name. The Tempe trio is in L.A., finishing the mixing for its debut album, and the members are not yet sure what moniker will appear on that album’s spine. They gave themselves a deadline of last Wednesday (August 27) to decide, but blew it off for…
Thomas Ades Life Story (EMI Classics) Ever wonder who the next big thing will be in the shrinking world of classical music? Didn’t think so. But there’s an encouraging noise goosing the genre’s increasing irrelevance. It’s the sound that comes from the fingers of Thomas Ades, a 26-year-old British composer…
A few hundred feet away from the massive stage at the Electric Highway festival was the B.F. Goodrich tent. Stuck out in the middle of an empty field in Chandler’s Compton Terrace, the tent was connected to an open 10-wheeler truck that housed Goodrich reps. In front of the truck…
Oasis Be Here Now (Epic Records) A couple of years ago, a British writer suggested to Oasis mastermind Noel Gallagher that his obsession with the Beatles might be getting a little out of hand. “It’s not an obsession,” Gallagher responded. “It’s a way of life.” Years from now, pop historians…
In 1982, Pete Townshend sat down for one of his many lengthy interviews with Rolling Stone magazine. The primary topic of conversation was Townshend’s prolonged battle with the bottle, which had recently sent him to a clinic for treatment. Along the way, however, the Who’s guitarist got on a rant…
Various artists Beg, Scream and Shout: The Big Ol’ Box of ’60s Soul (Rhino Records) Blame it on The Big Chill. The 1983 celluloid blowjob for the baby-boomer set not only created a mid-’80s explosion of oldies radio (“music for the Big Chill generation,” they called it), it also cemented…
It’s funny how even the most esoteric ideas can reach different people at the same time. Neither the Sex Pistols nor the Clash had heard the Ramones when they launched their own buzz-saw guitar attacks. They just happened to be on the same transatlantic wavelength as the boys from Queens…
Super Deluxe via satellite (Revolution Records) Appealing and melodious though it may be, power pop has never been quite strong enough to stand on its own legs. Since it’s essentially always been an attempt to recapture the unpretentious three-minute epiphanies of pre-Sgt. Pepper ’60s guitar bands, its earliest musical joy…
Rainer Ptacek smiles. He remembers the day his doctor gave him the dreaded diagnosis. “You have the best cancer, Rainer. You really have a very good cancer.” The 46-year-old Tucson slide-guitar master seemed to be sailing through life in February 1996. His haunting music–a stark, inimitable kind of postmodern desert…
Every music scene is different, but there are some rules that apply wherever you go. Every metroplex worth its salt contains at least one surf band, rockabilly band and ska band. It might not be coincidental that fans of those three genres tend to be among the most hard-core music…
Last week should have been one long highlight reel for Mark Morrell. Morrell’s band, Zig Zag Black, was preparing for the release of its third CD with a couple of special weekend shows and a midweek listening party. It was the culmination of countless hours of studio work and rehearsal…
Fuck Pardon My French (Matador Records) Never has any band been more ill-served by its name than this quartet. Before hearing a note of this album, you naturally assume that you’re dealing with a juvenile gimmick band with so little imagination it couldn’t think of a better moniker than the…
Rhett Miller had a habit of forming a new band every month. At least that’s the way it seemed to followers of the Dallas music scene in the early ’90s. One month it would be a breezy folk combo. Before anyone realized it had disbanded, he would launch a British…
Carvin Jones likes Stevie Ray Vaughan. No, you don’t understand. I mean he really, really likes him. You can see it in the Phoenix bluesman’s stage wardrobe, replete with snakeskin boots and wide-brimmed black hat. You can sense it in the Vaughanlike way he hunches his shoulders whenever he digs…
Wu-Tang Clan Wu-Tang Forever (Loud Records) It’s on. With its new, much-anticipated double-CD Wu-Tang Forever, the Wu-Tang Clan lands the first blow on two unfortunate trends that have saturated hip-hop over the past two years–crass materialism and studio gangsterism. East and West Coast rappers have been more interested in $1,000…
Spanish is the loving tongue. At least that’s what the trite, old ballad says. Of course, Spanish–like any language–can, and does, accommodate feelings like anger and frustration just as easily as romance. But old stereotypes die hard, even when we can no longer feel their pulse. Nowhere is this more…
Everywhere Jay Farrar goes, his reputation shadows him. People who spend any time with the 30-year-old leader of alt-country heroes Son Volt inevitably wind up shaking their heads and regaling each other with stories. No, these aren’t Hammer of the Gods tales, wherein a debauched rocker with a needle in…
