Arts & Entertainment

Only once in rock history did a drummer have the gall to insist on having his riser 10 feet in front of the rest of the band, and that was Gary Lewis, a guy who didn't sneeze in a recording studio without a session drummer wiping his nose.

If ever a trapsman truly merited an unobstructed view from the stands, it's Pollen's Bob Hoag, who plays with more force and funny bone than Jerry Lewis and his progeny forced to share the same stool. Even before Pollen began opening up big-time rock shows, Hoag bashed his skins as if 60,000 were ogling him anyway, a happy affliction he still carries over to scaled-down local club appearances.

If his hilarious self-mocking song intros weren't enough to command attention, there's always Fmeat, Pollen's offensive primal punk side project, in which Hoag gets to step off the riser and exercise all his Lead Singer Disease symptoms in one glorious epileptic fit.

In a business known for short-lived triumphs, few would've thought local impresario Charles Levy could've captured lightning twice. After the original Nita's was sold, restyled as a hard-core club called the Heat, then reverted back to its old name without success, it seemed unlikely that even Levy's Midas touch could galvanize the club's sagging fortunes. But sure enough, under his control, Nita's Hideaway has once again risen to the top of the local music heap. The new Nita's boasts a solid foundation of weekly shows ranging from the hip-hop of the Funky Cornbread crew to the patchouli-inspired sounds of hippie jam bands like the Noodles. But where Nita's has defined itself is in bringing the Valley the cutting edge of the rock and pop worlds. From electrifying outdoor sets by the Flaming Lips and Modest Mouse to indoor bows from Delta 72 and Calexico, the tiny club has solidified its reputation as one of the few places willing and able to take a chance on progressive acts. Meanwhile, big-name Valley groups like the Peacemakers and Jimmy Eat World have played to the thousands, and the club continues to anchor the local scene. Add to that a stellar ambience and a wait staff that is nothing if not engaging, and you have hands-down the best place to enjoy rock in the Valley.

Readers' Choice: Nita's Hideaway

Readers' Choice for Best Venue for Local Acts: Nita's Hideaway

Without the clink of glasses, the click of pool balls or the clatter of conversation, the alcohol- and game-free Modified has proved itself as the most unique and hospitable place for watching live entertainment. Whether it's obscure indie bands, performance artists or even the occasional straight-ahead rocker, anyone who performs here raves about the rapt attention Modified patrons lavish on the talent.

With nothing on the menu aside from bottled water and soda and nothing surrounding the downtown performance space, there is little to distract from the work of those on stage. Aside from that, Modified is staffed by genial indie-rock volunteers, instead of a phalanx of surly pituitary freaks who man the doors at most Valley venues. Modified doubles as an art gallery, as well; the paintings and sculptures prove far more classy accouterments (if not nearly as raunchy) than the empty condom machines one normally finds in the typical rock club.

A purist's haven, it's no wonder, then, that Modified's acquired a national reputation since opening just 18 months ago.

Readers' Choice: Modified

Grunge, neo-punk reggae and rock-rap have done nothing to propagate the species once known as "guitar hero." In an age where you can flip an audience the bird to tumultuous applause, it's no wonder new musicians don't get better acquainted with their instruments.

That's why Big Blue Couch's science-fiction band bio, which claims the group was cryogenically frozen in 1969 and exhumed last year, seems to ring true. Axman Chris Doyle harks back to the days when rock stars didn't play their guitars so much as wrestle them to wring every last screech or sigh. In a local music scene when the best guitarists seem to be roots-based traditionalists, Doyle's white-rock influences range from the fabled (Live at Leeds-era Townshend, Mick Ronson) to the forgotten (spacey Robin Trower, Fred "Sonic" Smith) to the far-fetched (Bruce Cockburn on acoustic numbers).

Propelled by an ace rhythm section and an energetic front man, Doyle takes extended instrumental flights of fancy that continue to make other local guitarists put down their beers and sweat bullets. Despite frequent gigs, the bulk of the band's dates have been thankless opening-slot gigs or last-minute replacement shows. Those who've ventured out early have witnessed a combo capable of being as arty as King Crimson and as belligerent as the Stooges, largely because of Doyle's extended vocabulary of sounds and showmanship. With Big Blue Couch's much-delayed debut CD finally mixed and ready for public consumption, this talent won't remain in the shadows of the local music scene for much longer.

Think of a "guitar hero" and the image usually involves the over-the-top wankings of some limey with six-string phallus in hand, offering up trite "ROCK 'N' ROLL FOREVER!" proclamations. But the Valley's premier axman, Greg Simmons, has taken the road less extroverted to the top. A shy, sensitive sort offstage, Simmons becomes a reluctant firebrand when he straps on his trademark Telecaster.

Although Simmons' fretwork is front and center as part of his regular alterna-pop troupe, the Royal Normans, his most impressive playing has come during the loose-knit sets from roots-rock collective Los Guys. Simmons manages titanic blues runs, subtle country picking and fierce freeform jamming, all delivered with an "aw shucks" attitude -- one of those rare guitar slingers definitely not from the face-grimacing-smugly-smirking school of hard licks.

It must be 10 years and holding for Carvin Jones and his familiar visage, ever grinning back at us from the local club ads. Ten years of wearing that black gaucho hat. Ten years with that heavy, solid-body Stratocaster slung over his back. Whew, just think of the pattern baldness and irreparable spinal damage this pose would cause someone who tried this at home for a decade solid.

But if you spy the real Carvin in the flesh, there isn't that much of a difference between the way he looks today and his appearance in the old 1990 8x10. Which makes us suspect some kind of Faustian bargain going on -- perhaps something to do with eternal youth and recycled Hendrix riffs.

We just don't get it. It can't be because of healthy living -- Jones sings in smoky clubs several nights a week. And if we read The Picture of Dorian Gray correctly, shouldn't his club ad be rapidly aging like bad cheese right about now?

Some sound guys have been doing it so long that they've completely fried their main asset -- those things hanging from both sides of their head that used to be for listening. You tell them what you want and think they understand, but they just nod up and down like that for everyone. Congratulations, you and your band are on your way to being butchered. Your only recourse is to tell people that the screeching feedback that mars your first six songs was intentional.

Thank goodness for guys like Jamal Ruhe, Nita's trusty sound man in its early incarnation and back again this year. Since we've conducted actual conversations with him, we know his woofers are working fine. Ruhe knows every inch of this room intimately, he's played there a kazillion times and retains uncanny information about every band that's done likewise. Performing is nerve-racking enough without having to worry about having an adversary behind the mixing board. Jamal is your friend, not your funeral director.

The corporate side of the music world biz ain't all bad. If you doubt it, check out Virgin Megastore, located in the Arizona Mills mall. With its sweeping space, angular racks, neon accents, in-store coffee house and multiple listening stations, you can spend hours browsing nearly anything ever heard or seen on any music chart anywhere in the world.

In addition to an encyclopedic stock of CDs, Virgin boasts a book section worthy of the music/pop culture collection of any chain. Another plus? The rows of boxed sets running the gamut from Sammy Davis Jr. to Ted Nugent, as well as hundreds of just-released current and vintage VHS and DVD movies and video games.

Admittedly, a trip to Virgin means schlepping through the mall, and it's hardly the cheapest disc depot in town, either. Still, where else can you find spankin' new titles like the Kinks import reissue of We Are the Village Green Preservation Society, the Mary Martin version of The Sound of Music or anything by Big Sandy and His Fly-Rite Boys -- all under one roof?

Readers' Choice: Best Buy

What do country singer Lefty Frizzell, jazzman Bill Evans and octogenarian crooner Perry Como all have in common? They have obscenely oversize multi-CD boxed sets dedicated to their work! Furthermore, all of them -- along with those of hundreds of others -- can be found for a reasonable price at the Valley's best outlet for new and used discs, CDGB's.

The store's topnotch selection doesn't end with mammoth-size retrospectives, but extends equally to its single CD offerings as well. Having difficulty finding that out-of-print Tapper Zukie long-player, the Japanese version of your favorite Genesis opus or even a much-hyped "live import"? Look no further than this north Phoenix disc-o-theque. What about obscurities and curios from the likes of Sloan, the Real Kids or Porter Wagoner? Never heard of the Shoes? Well, you can get to know them intimately since CDGB's stocks seemingly every offering from this obscure Illinois power-pop quartet -- both new and used!

As an added bonus, the store boasts sections neatly divided into a number of well-defined categories and subcategories (Americana, Rockabilly, Punk, Surf, Guitar Greats, etc.) and a staff well-versed in the needs of those seeking the hard-to-find. If it's new, used, old, fresh, in- or out-of-print and digital, then C-D-G-B are the only letters you need to know.

Don't believe those who tell you that used record stores are a thing of the past because of online auctions. Your computer might offer the most convenient shopping hours (24/7), but nothing replicates the fun of searching through bins, trying out a rare album and buying it -- all on the same day! Without shipping charges or the need to give positive feedback to "ozarklou." New used titles regularly flow into Tracks in Wax from people who don't feel like packing off bits of their collections to someone in Taiwan. Far better to get some TIW store credit toward a minty fresh Julie London record or that creepy Anthony Perkins Sings album you're just dying to hear. Most titles remain in the reasonable $4.99 to $12.99 range, and you aren't likely to pay more than $4 for any of the 45s, which are listed in four three-ring binders at the counter. Tracks in Wax does have a registered domain now with a new Web site (www.primenet.com/~tracks/). Otherwise, it's still stuck in the past you love.

Readers' Choice for Best Place to Buy Used CDs: Zia Record Exchange

Readers' Choice for Best Vinyl Record Store: Zia Record Exchange

The masters are here -- Monk. Armstrong. Holiday. Young. Ellington. Davis. Mingus. Rollins. Basie. Fitzgerald.

So are all the "new" kids on the block -- Osby. Redman. Moran. Wilson. Hunter. Medeski. Lovano. Scofield. Marsalis. Watts.

You'll find a ton of stuff by these giants of jazz at this superstore, and at a competitive price. So what if they spell tenor saxophonist Dexter Gordon's name three different ways (Gorden, Garden and Dextor)? They've got a bunch of his records on the racks, and that's what counts.

Thanks to the evils of the "smooth jazz" radio format that's caught on around here like a dreaded disease, too many folks equate the slicked-up stuff done by the likes of the Antichrist -- a.k.a. Kenny G -- as "jazz." All the while, wonderfully inventive and prolific musicians such as James Carter, Cyrus Chestnut, Patricia Barber and Joe Lovano are doing their best work, usually to sympathetic audiences in Europe and Japan instead of their native shores.

One consolation to the scant airtime these artists (and dozens of others) get in the Valley is the surprisingly cool selection that populates the "jazz" section at the Tempe store. Warning: The employees there are much more apt to be able to blab about the music of Biggie Smalls than Fats Waller, and about Will Smith rather than Willie "The Lion" Smith, so you'll pretty much be on your own.

Despite the outdated façade and the less than, um, stellar location -- right off a bleak stretch of Van Buren, abutting a women's correctional facility -- the Celebrity Theatre continues to be the best spot to view the entire musical spectrum up close and personal. After all, where else in town can you get an equally good view of Belinda Carlisle's prodigious ass and Burt Bacharach's prodigious teeth?

While the Celebrity's unique appeal has remained unchanged, the venue has expanded its stylistic reach, booking everyone from gospel performers to metal bands, country artists like Merle Haggard to rappers like the Wu-Tang Clan. In fact, if the Celebrity makes only one change to update its image, we suggest adding the face of Wu-Tang's Ol' Dirty Bastard onto the Mount Rushmore of celebrities depicted behind the concession stands, perhaps next to fellow ol' dirty bastard Barbra Streisand.

Readers' Choice: Celebrity Theatre

Remember High Fidelity, the Nick Hornby novel turned hit movie in which the plot revolves around the owner of an indie record store and his small staff of pop-culture professors? Well, if you didn't know better, you'd think the story was written about the malcontents working the counter at Tempe's Eastside Records. On any given day or night, Eastside's employee patter could encompass everything from the women-hating tendencies of multiplatinum gangstas like Chuck D. and their relation to Little Richard's debauched libido to which 1977 punk rock band was worse, the Drones or Slaughter and the Dogs. And much like Championship Vinyl, the fictional store in Hornby's story, Eastside Records harbors an exemplary selection of vinyl and CDs to back up its faculty's witty piss takes. God save Eastside Records!

A few months ago, KUPD inaugurated a new TV advertising campaign. In the ad, a crowd of rambunctious kids at a hard rock concert shouts out their devotion to KUPD, while the mother of morning DJ Dave Pratt holds a picket sign complaining that the station is too damn loud.

More than any station in town, KUPD knows its demo. It knows that station loyalists don't want their parents to like the music they listen to. So KUPD cranks it up to 11 with the kind of heavy-rock flamboyance that's been making parental ears bleed since Iron Butterfly got lost in a gadda da vida.

KUPD serves up a mix of the modern (Foo Fighters, Queens of the Stone Age), the classic (Metallica) and the all-but-forgotten (Faith No More) in equal measure, but the common denominators are volume and attitude. It's unapologetically unhip fare that scores a direct hit with the suburban, teenage, air-guitar virtuoso in all of us.

Readers' Choice for Best Rock Station: KUPD-FM 97.9

In 1993, when KEDJ debuted on the local airwaves, starting an alternative-rock radio station was a safe bet. Nirvana and Pearl Jam had shattered the old programming order, and Lollapalooza Nation was congregating every summer to celebrate the shared triumph of a new music revolution.

In 2000, Nirvana and Lollapalooza are both history, and Pearl Jam's Eddie Vedder is about as relevant to today's youth as Eddie Cantor. Not surprisingly, the alt-rock format has taken a pounding in many markets. But KEDJ, also known as "The Edge," has survived it all: Kurt Cobain's suicide, the teen-pap meltdown of MTV and even a 1999 sale that saw New York-based conglomerate Big City Radio take over the station.

The Edge has survived by adapting to the changing definitions of "alternative," loading up on the rap-metal dementia of Limp Bizkit and Korn, while maintaining a soft spot for three-chord pop-punksters like Blink 182, the Offspring and Green Day. In a city that loves to moan about its lack of a college radio station, KEDJ remains the best bet for guitar-based music that fits in the wide demographic slot between prepubescent and postmenopausal.

Readers' Choice: KEDJ-FM 106.3/100.3

By day, KJZZ is a National Public Radio affiliate, replete with talk shows and news reports. But when the sun goes down, KJZZ mutates into the Valley's premier (okay, only) source of authentic acoustic jazz, covering the gamut from legendary artists like John Coltrane and Dizzy Gillespie to modern torchbearers like Roy Hargrove and Wynton Marsalis. Local jazz chanteuse Blaise Lantana is the station's signature weeknight DJ, peppering her musical commentary with updates on what's shaking in local clubs.

Every Sunday afternoon, KJZZ becomes the voice of the Delta juke joints, combining syndicated blues programming with Those Lowdown Blues, an unmatched blast of 12-bar nirvana provided by Rhythm Room honcho Bob Corritore. Corritore is a Chicago native who's not only befriended many blues titans, but has also established himself as a Hightone Records artist with his solid harmonica work.

Between Lantana and Corritore, there is no better source for these distinct but complementary American musical genres.

Readers' Choice: KYOT-FM 95.5

Seven years ago, when KBAQ began broadcasting out of a cramped office space at Mesa Community College, local radio was caught in a classical drought. The Valley's lone classical station, KONC-106.3, had recently fallen off the commercial end of the dial to be replaced by the alt-rock ravings of KEDJ. For a few months there, the only chance you had to hear a harpsichord on local radio was when the oldies station played Gary Lewis and the Playboys' "Everybody Loves a Clown."

But KBAQ stepped into the breach, ably carrying the Valley's classical burden on its thin 3,000-watt signal. Careful but not conservative, KBAQ has mixed the gems of the 18th-century Viennese masters with smart nods to the modernists. It's also supported the local scene with frequent broadcasts of local chamber-music concerts and a splashy 1998 tribute to the Phoenix Symphony Orchestra on its 50th anniversary.

Best of all, this is one station where the DJs -- sorry, "music selectionists" -- don't sound like they're trying to shout you into submission or sell you a used car.

Readers' Choice: KBAQ-FM 89.5

These days country ain't cool, and most of the blame can be placed on navel-exposing poseurs like Shania and She-Daisy, whose manufactured pop inundates the airwaves on the Valley's two country radio powerhouses. Meanwhile, true country music has remained buried, hidden way up on the AM side, usually nestled somewhere between the police band and the airport traffic station.

But these days Valley listeners can get a taste of hard-core honky-tonk and tears-in-your-beer goodness, thanks to KXKQ-FM, Safford's "Kat Country." Admittedly, the station's playlist does include a handful of "new country" acts. But with two out of every three songs passing the true twang test, KXKQ is a saving grace to those who think country should sound more like Merle than Mariah.

The station's signal isn't flawless, and tends to fade depending on your location, but the sonic selection more than compensates for a bit of static. And, yee-haw! When was the last time you heard Johnny Paycheck and Buck Owens on the FM dial?

Readers' Choice: KNIX-FM 102.5

Phoenix's unlikely reputation as a hotbed for the dance and DJ genres has always tended to obscure the other side of the urban music coin, hip-hop. Part of this can be blamed on the historical lack of a progressive broadcast powerhouse to bring the music to local ears. In more recent years, Power 92 has emerged as something of a force in carrying that musical message to Valley audiences. Though situated precariously close to the NPR affiliate -- we wouldn't want white suburban Eminem fans to have to suffer any intelligent thought -- KKFR 92.3 has shaped itself into the leading beacon of hip-hop programming. Unlike the other urban format station (KMJK 92.7/106.9), which sticks to more adult and smooth R&B fare, Power 92 keeps it, um, real -- so to speak.

Admittedly, the station's playlist never veers off into adventurous or eclectic territory, but it does provide local airwaves with meat-and-potatoes offerings from mainstream (and just outside the mainstream) rappers and harder-edged R&B performers. And the station's ever-improving weekend specialty programming and mix showcases point to an even more promising future.

Readers' Choice: KKFR-FM 92.3

When Ian Hunter sang "It's a mighty long way down rock 'n' roll" in 1973, he couldn't possibly have appreciated the profound insight contained in that lyric. The horrendous and brutal slides many have since taken from rock's dizzying heights to the primordial ooze of oblivion lend that line a frightening significance that makes one wonder whether Hunter and fellow Mott the Hoople members weren't really celestial clairvoyants posing as glam minstrels.

And what better place in Phoenix to witness those on Hunter's slippery slope than at the Mason Jar, that cinder-block pit stop en route to Cut-out Bin Hell? L.A. Guns with bald spots and beer guts, Warrant with jowl wattles, and a crispy, croaky Kris Kristofferson are but a few of the dozens and dozens of onetime gold and platinum acts that have tottered across the beer-soaked carpet of The Jar's pitifully small stage.

We can only imagine the internal monologue running through Dale Bozzio's head a few years ago as her tour van pulled into what appeared to be a beer joint parking lot, only to discover MISSING PERSONS (missing more than a few letters) on the club's marquee. Once inside the club's dark, dank, lager-scented confines, Bozzio might well have shaken her pink mane in disbelief. "Boy, I've played some toilets in my day, but jeeez . . ."

Hey, when you're flush with success, there's only one way to go.

Imagine an autumn evening at an outdoor cafe. As you sip a perfectly executed cappuccino, wisps of exotic languages drift through the evening mist of the nearby lake. Seated at the concert grand piano just inside the open glass doors is world-class pianist Jian Liu, playing as if his life, and yours, depends upon his perfect execution of an intricate Chopin passage.

As the music swells, all languages are silenced, and just beneath the pounding crescendo you can sense -- could it be, the fetal heartbeat of a world-class city?

Nice fantasy, isn't it?

But on Friday and Saturday evenings from 8 to 11, Charlie's Espresso turns fantasy into reality. Just up the street from Tempe's Town Lake, a weekly array of talent featuring international stars such as Liu, who won third place at the 1999 Vladimir Horowitz piano competition in Moscow, appears on Charlie's shaded courtyard.

Tango/flamenco dancers, French horn virtuosos, lute and violin soloists and operatic vocalists also perform for the culturally enlightened and fiscally frugal. There is no cover charge for Charlie's fete to high-end culture. Just bring an open mind, a taste for really great coffee and an imaginative heart.

Charlie's is open from 7 a.m. to 11 p.m. Sundays through Thursdays, 7 a.m. to midnight Fridays and Saturdays.

Most local music aficionados have heard that the Rhythm Room is being forced to move from its central Phoenix digs by early next year. It's been nearly a decade since the onetime go-go joint turned into a house of blues, a period in which booker/co-owner Bob Corritore has continued his one-man mission to keep that music form alive in Phoenix. A home away from home for true legends of the genre, Corritore's club has hosted notables from David Honeyboy Edwards and R.L. Burnside to young lions like the North Mississippi Allstars.

The club favors all styles of the blues, from jump and swing to the harder sounds of Chicago and the Delta. Yet the Rhythm Room has not neglected its roots side, either, featuring regular appearances by top jazz acts and a regular weekly night, headlined by some of the finest national and local talents in country and rockabilly.

Although the venue will have a new address by 2001, if its past track record is any indication, the Rhythm Room will remain the Valley's preeminent palace for heritage music.

Readers' Choice: Rhythm Room

Though some Valley danceaterias may be larger, newer or more glamorous, none has managed to merge aesthetics and content as well as Club Freedom at Pompeii (recently renamed, after an ownership change). From steady appearances by internationally known DJs (BT, Donald Glaude, Sasha) to regular sets from top local record spinners, this two-story Tempe hot spot is a mecca to all things that shake and shimmy. Pompeii has proven itself the top venue by combining progressive music and booking along with a bedrock of indefatigable nightlife charm.

And as you get high on the vibes, you'll find it hard to believe this same joint played host to adult party record queen Rusty Warren's ill-fated early '80s comeback attempt. Knockers up!

Readers' Choice: Club Rio

Like Davy Crockett and the besieged band of rebels holed up at the Alamo, the local swing contingent refuses to wave the proverbial white flag and ditch the retro craze that's been replaced by Latin dance fever. Just as neo-swing bands have seen their sales and popularity dwindle, so too has the local movement of clubs and clubgoers that once led an active Valley scene dedicated to the style. Not surprisingly, the last holdout is the Bash on Ash, a repeat winner in this category, and one of the few nightspots still clinging to its faith in big-band booty-shakers with its weekly Thursday night swing set.

But these dancers are a determined bunch of cats and kittens. Even if the whole world is against this dying fad (and it seems that way), they're gonna go down swingin'!

Readers' Choice: The Bash on Ash

Through police-instigated turmoil and the rave scene's unfortunate media-hyped drug hysteria associations, Swell has soldiered on for the past seven years selling the records that are spun at parties and the gear that the kids sport, throwing raves (including Musik, an annual event that's arguably the year's best consistently), and releasing cassettes, vinyl and CDs by local luminaries like the Bombshelter DJs and RC Lair.

Owner Russ Ramirez has a stellar cast of techno intelligentsia doing the shop's purchasing, including house master Pete Salaz and DJ Radar. The stock is consistently of-the-moment, a daunting task in the electro scene, which largely revolves around 12-inch vinyl singles. If you're into the BPM scene (that's "beats per minute" to all the rave-challenged) beyond just Ecstasy and Blow-Pops, you already know Swell.

For those arguing that rock 'n' roll is truly the devil's music, they might just have the evidence they need in the form of local combo Grave Danger. It's not the band's sound -- which isn't really satanic rock, but actually a kind of surf-tinged rockabilly. Nor is it the songs -- usually sprite instrumentals or cartoonish tales of drunken and homicidal mayhem. It's just that whenever this trio hits the stage, the audience -- composed of normally upstanding citizens and community members -- follows the band down a road of booze-fueled hedonism, excess and good old-fashioned destructive fun.

Revived after a lengthy absence this past year, Grave Danger has been earning praise, popularity and costly repair bills for a series of performances that have seen band members passing out, diving into crowds, destroying stages and shaving their heads onstage. Taking their cues from well-imbibed showstoppers (Janis Joplin, George Jones, Foster Brooks), a Grave Danger concert makes folks forget God, good manners and city ordinances, leaving most venues drowning in a post-show ocean of blood, sweat and broken bottles. Forget the old bit about a rock 'n' roll heaven. If there's a rock 'n' roll hell, Grave Danger's gonna be the house band.