Arts & Entertainment

As any large, multigenerational black family can attest, no generation gap cuts deeper than the one between fans of old-school R&B and their hip-hop-loving kids. Folks who once felt confident enough to bust a move on the Soul Train dance line can be made to feel about as limber as Christopher Reeve once their teens start showing off the new club moves.

Alex Santamaria, program director and drive-time jock on KAJM, “Arizona’s jammin’ R&B,” effectively bridges that gap by shrewdly peppering the station’s boomer-skewed playlist of classic Motown and cruisin’ slow jams with songs that reveal the source of current hip-hop’s most sampled beats. The kids in the back seat won’t hear the Beyoncé/Jay-Z hit “Crazy in Love” on KAJM, but they might hear the 1970 Chi-Lites platter “Are You My Woman,” from which Beyoncé’s hit lifts its propulsive horn riff. Santamaria, a longtime player in the Valley R&B scene (he helped program AM powerhouse KQ in the ’80s), also allows himself to share in the uncoolness foisted on his listeners by humorously mishandling current slang and copping to his own dance-floor ineptness — even while coolly cueing up that old Gap Band jam that Ashanti lifted for her latest CD.

Readers’ Choice: Dave Pratt

We probably shouldn’t admit this, but we were in hot pursuit of a vinyl LP by the Love Generation, a 1960s pseudo-psychedelic rock band no one’s ever heard of — including most of the local record dealers we visited. (One of them tried to sell us a Love album; if we want Arthur Lee, we’ll ask for him!) Finally, we headed for Memory Lane, all the while humming that musical question, “Why didn’t we start there in the first place?” The Lane’s specialty has long been out-of-print records, tapes and compact discs, but we hadn’t wandered its aisles in a while — a mistake we won’t be making anytime soon. Not only did we leave with three Love Gen LPs (the forgotten band’s entire output), but the clerk tipped us off to a non-LP 45 by the group and recommended a couple of other similarly obscure ensembles. But not before we’d browsed nearly 120,000 LPs and singles, lingering for almost an hour over the colossal jazz vocalists section, where we scored a still-sealed Art Tatum platter that hasn’t left our turntable since. Shame on us for having briefly forgotten Memory Lane; we won’t be doing that again.

Readers’ Choice: Zia Record Exchange

If Tempe’s power-pop upstarts Ticker Tape Parade remind listeners of Jimmy Eat World and the Gin Blossoms — fellow East Valley bands that struck gold before them — there’s good reason. TTP’s guitarist and chief songwriter Aaron Wendt worked with Jimmy Eat World’s leader Jim Adkins before forming his own band, and almost every local guitarist who’s strummed a tasty arpeggio since the Gin Blossoms’ early ’90s breakthrough has probably played together at one point or another.

Also working in Ticker Tape Parade’s favor is the band’s uncommon work ethic. The average-guy amalgam of hardworking stiffs have been honing their tight set of hook-laden songs for more than a year. They’ve stirred up word-of-mouth interest by playing whatever influential West Coast club will have them, or gathering up a few other local hopefuls for self-promoted shows here in the Phoenix area, and reinvesting their door proceeds in the band — instead of blowing it on personal extravagances like, say, food. The band has even been selling its debut six-song EP, You’re Creating a Scene, for little more than cost. “Sure, we have a CD that we think is worth a lot more than four bucks,” says Wendt. “But at this stage of the game, it’s way better just to get the music out there.” Take that, RIAA!

Readers’ Choice: Authority Zero

Shopping for new music can be a pain, especially these days as record stores grow increasingly more cavernous and the suggested retail prices for new major-label CDs creep above $20. The trick is to find a good markdown on price — a necessity for struggling retailers these days — and to be able to get in and out as quickly as possible — you want to hear that disc now, after all. Circles, among locally operated record stores, aids that process most ably, selling new discs by big-name artists for $14.88 and $15.88 long after their release. It also helps that Circles’ managers understand their customers — display cases for new urban music, the leading seller nationally as well as locally, are put up front, kiosks that throw Mary J. Blige, Chingy and other objects of hip-hop desire in your face.

Readers’ Choice: Best Buy

Proof positive that radio sucks? Hordes of people on the Internet are swapping tapes of DJ air checks, station promos and entire jock shifts from whatever “golden age” of radio they champion. Proof positive that radio doesn’t suck? Power 92.3 FM — and its irrefutable 2003 slogan “The Station That Doesn’t Suck” (see?). People who miss personality-driven radio have their assortments of oddballs to “act a fool” in the morning, from Mad Dogg to $horty P to the Madhouse’s one-man Jackass Gringo Suave, whose stunts have ranged from eating live crickets to sucking face with a homeless woman old enough to be a Murray the K groupie. People who miss the fury of the nonstop Top 40 can console themselves with Power’s intelligent and animated mix of nonstop hip-hop and new R&B, especially when there are live DJs in the mix who make even the jump to commercials seem like an elevated art form. Specialty shows like the Lowriders Oldies and noontime Old Skool Requests demonstrate to dimwitted radio consultants that it’s possible to enjoy up-to-the-minute hits and still maintain a sense of history. Of course, all good radio stations must come to an end, and at some point some pencil-pushing simp will likely come in, ruin Power 92.3 and send us looking for Mini Salas air checks. That it hasn’t happened yet says something about the staying power of hip-hop.

Readers’ Choice: KKFR-FM Power 92

If the saying “wherever you hang your hat is home” means anything, at least a hundred cowboys with names like Buck and Billy have hung, dated and donated their head coverings to the rafters of this country and western institution, which has been here in north Scottsdale since the barren days of 1966. Back then, it was called Wild Bill’s and provided singer Waylon Jennings with yet another home away from home (his widow Jessi Colter and Handlebar-J owner’s son Ray Herndon will soon be performing an “Outlaw Connection” tribute here). Since then, it’s been a visiting spot of luminaries like Loretta Lynn, Lyle Lovett and Toby Keith. And unlike other now-you-see-’em country bars that book an occasional rock band or karaoke night, Handlebar-J hosts live C&W seven nights a week. Plus, it has been a safe haven for porterhouse carnivores and protectors of the two-step at a time when country music seems to have lost its cultural identity to cosmopolitan cowpokin’ and records that aren’t even worth their weight in tobacco spit.

Readers’ Choice: Handlebar-J

KNIX-FM is Clear Channel Communications’ local holding in country radio, which isn’t exactly the sexiest distinction these days. But Phoenix is a long-standing C&W stronghold with a tradition that stretches back to Marty Robbins, Waylon Jennings and friendly frequent visitor Buck Owens. And the folks at KNIX reflect a devotion to the music you would subsequently expect. While the station does play the rising hits as prescribed by Nashville, it finds time to slip in aging pop-country warriors Alabama and once-untouchable superstar Randy Travis, whose recent “Pray for the Fish” is a bona fide oddity that seems incongruent with the Faith Hill/Lee Ann Womack/Pam Tillis set. The station’s friendliness to the artists who keep country grounded in its honky-tonk roots is commendable, as is the amusingly redneck but civil tone of morning jocks Tim & Willy.

Readers’ Choice: KNIX-FM 102.5

Formerly the Red River Music Hall, the Marquee Theatre opened its doors this past March, admittedly on the premature side by its new owners, the regional promotional powerhouse Nobody in Particular Presents. Though NIPP is still working on $1 million in renovations, improvements to parking and the installation of a permanent sign advertising the theater, it has as good a music-business fallback as any in the meantime — really good music. In recent weeks, the theater has booked shows by the reuniting Sex Pistols and Psychedelic Furs, a prog-rock double-bill featuring Grandaddy and Super Furry Animals, the wildly costumed fiesta that is Fischerspooner, stoner-rock pranksters Ween, and bluesman Robert Cray. In October, the theater is scheduled to present a series of rising punk bands — Poison the Well, From Autumn to Ashes, Bouncing Souls — and Peter Frampton. Plus, with a massive stage and a 1,000-plus capacity that allows for real beer-drinking freedom, the Marquee offers an added dose of comfort.

Readers’ Choice: Celebrity Theatre

The Edge deserves credit for its brand of survival and redemption. Since skating dangerously close to demise in 2001, it has bounced back to become the Valley’s preeminent source for all things punk — new power-pop, lighthearted rap-rock, latter-day grunge and occasional detours into vintage punk and mid-’90s college rock from Sublime and others. The station’s status as an independent affords it the luxury of taking risks, and its subsequent on-air support for groups such as Trik Turner, Authority Zero and the Format helped spark a wave of major-label signings of locals last year.

Readers’ Choice: KZON-FM 101.5

Blaise Lantana works on both sides of the music business. Not solely a DJ for KJZZ-FM 91.5, she’s a jazz musician as well, singing at joints such as the Rhythm Room and My Florist Cafe. To hear rarities such as Carmen McRae’s’ “Ruby My Dear ” or Roy Hargrove’s “The Joint” along with standards from Duke Ellington’s orchestra or Thelonious Monk’s trio is not uncommon in Blaise’s wee-hour rotations. Dispensing tidbits of history in between songs and that untouchable air of cool she holds while interviewing jazz greats from New York or scattered Valley cats makes her perhaps local radio’s ultimate unpretentious diva.

Readers’ Choice for Best Radio Station — Blues/Jazz: KYOT-FM 95.5

It wouldn’t take that much research acumen to find out who Burton Barr is, but we prefer to think of him as a home bootlegger’s best pal. While the Recording Industry Association of America continues its crusade against those dirty downloaders, we prefer to fatten our CD and DVD collections the old-fashioned way — we buuuuuuurrrrrrn them! And the best collection available of the little silver disc devils is at the aforementioned BB’s on Central. We found fairly recent titles from the likes of the Shins, the Hives and Stephen Malkmus and lots of hole fillers for our collections that could be gotten without tying up a phone line. Don’t want to splurge for a four-CD boxed set during a recession? Boxed sets of Sinatra’s Columbia years, the Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds Sessions and the recent Buffalo Springfield retrospective are available, although any set with more than three discs is usually separated as individual CDs, so you might have to acquire and burn them on the installment plan. As for DVDs, new titles seem to appear and disappear daily — we found new releases like Bridget Jones’s Diary, the refurbished Lady From Shanghai and A Hard Day’s Night, multiple Monty Python titles and the Godfather trilogy, but way too many Poirot mysteries for our liking. And though it behooves us to tell you where you can find some of the newest and most eclectic titles, we kind of wish you didn’t know about the Teen Central library on the fourth floor, which is supposedly for kids but features titles by Laura Nyro, Captain Beefheart and the Ink Spots. If you find a kid digging those, adopt him and call him Clarence.

For amateur hip-hop hopefuls, O’Mallys is tantamount to Ed McMahon’s auditioning den. The club, essentially a sports bar tailored to an urban-music-loving crowd, with dance floor and plush booths thrown in with the pool tables and televisions, holds open nights for DJs and for rappers, the latter of which culminates with single-elimination freestyle battles between the combatants. By the end of the night, there’s one man left standing; even if he offered nothing but bugged-out corny stuff, at least he was better than everyone else. House DJs who spin popular beats from the old school and beyond, and cheap bottles of Hennessey and Cristal give the Arizona hip-hop head the feeling that we out here in cactus-and-saloon town do actually have a place in the bangin’ universe.

Located in a two-building strip mall next to a family-owned convenience store, the Rogue modestly sits south of ostentatious downtown Scottsdale. When the Rogue replaced the Blue Ox last year, a diminutive, wall-mounted jukebox set the new hole apart from its predecessor. Selections from the Stooges, Misfits, Suicidal Tendencies, the Descendents, the Dead Kennedys and early Social Distortion — what hard-core jukebox would be complete without the anthem “Mommy’s Little Monster”? — make this ‘box the champ. Rockabilly and psychobilly complete the ‘box’s selection.

Naturally, the rad jukebox portends the occasional live act that graces the bar. A small corner stage presents bands that delve in anything from retro-psychedelia to old-school fist-pumping “gabba gabba hey” punk.

Since blues music by design doesn’t pack many surprises — you know, 12 bars, repeated first line, misery and horndog sentiments — it’s up to the clubgoer to come up with the variations. With an assortment of blues establishments and institutions in place in Phoenix for decades, it’s hard to find a new blues hangout that’s underground enough to spotlight new talents and yet doesn’t feel like a beer palace that changes into a sports bar at the clang of a bell.

Monroe’s has the underground part worked out — can you recall the last club in the Valley that’s a walk-down? We can’t, either. Using this subterranean advantage, it’s possible to slip in at happy hour and feel you’re in a blues cellar in St. Louis where the 115-degree sun can’t catch you crying in your beer. Monroe’s has played host to bands like Hot Ice and Morgan City General, a blues duo from Iowa that plays there every Wednesday night, but to anyone whose introduction to the blues was the Robert Johnson boxed set, it’s the romantic notion of a musician with one hell-hounded trail that brings people to Monroe’s modest suds cellar.

Classic rock in the commercially viable sense is deader than the Soviet Union. With hip-hop, drum machines and jailbait starlets on the front burner, it ain’t coming back, either. But, like a good mummy, classic rock is a well-preserved music, as radio stations all across the country honor thy Crosby Stills & Nash and keep the coked-out sounds of the ’60s and ’70s alive.

We’re especially blessed in the Valley to have a classic rock station that appreciates the serenity of the mad-ass car bop to the nth degree. KSLX is heavy on the big chunky-butt riff and on the weirdness that is psychedelia. For instance, there can’t possibly be another station on Earth that plays more Eric Burden and the Animals or Electric Light Orchestra than our very own baby-boom-honoring programmers at KSLX. If you catch the DJs at their most tender (or perhaps most bored) moments — say at 3 a.m. or 2:15 p.m. — you might hear something truly double-take-inducing — 10-minute prog-rock opuses by Traffic or even Elton John, or perhaps album cuts that almost never get airtime (think the totality of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours).

Readers’ Choice for Best Radio Station — Rock: KUPD-FM 97.9

The digital age has given classical and chamber music its best-ever recording quality and fidelity, yet the masters are still getting the short shrift by technology. With LED display push-button car stereos and receivers tuning in whatever signals aren’t putting up too much of a struggle, it’s near impossible to find a station in Phoenix that gives a flyin’ fugue. The only way we found listener-supported classical KBAQ-FM 89.5 (or “K-Bach”) was to get a cheap portable radio with a turn dial that sweeps across the airwaves like an old broom that knows where all the corners are. And we had to scan counterclockwise from right to left — the other direction got us stuck in a frequency that merged a Tejano station with Bible-thumping evangelists. But were we ever delighted to catch Gabriel Fauré’s “Requiem Opus 48” in its entirety at a late morning hour where you’d be lucky to hear the long version of “Light My Fire. ” And we heard Schubert, Dvorák and Chopin, all without radio edits. As for specialty programming, the noon lunch hour offers a daily Mozart Buffet, 5 p.m. drive time is occupied by NPR’s Performance Today, and live symphony simulcasts at the stroke of 7.

Bruce Connole of Tempe bluegrass band Busted Hearts is cooler than you. His polished white-and-black wingtips are the kind you generally see only in early photos of Elvis the aspiring hillbilly singer. They can blind you with the glare, even in a dark barroom full of blurry drunks. They’re beautiful, and in this case, they seem to define the man — a casually mesmerizing anachronism and veteran of Valley music wars. Once you see this hepcat time machine, you’ll want to run to the nearest vintage clothing store to buy your own wingtips.

Zia, a long-standing Valley institution, caters increasingly to buyers of new CDs, as its stores feature listening kiosks for new material and displays new discs along its back walls. But never fear — this is still the prime spot to find bargain used CDs at prices from $8.99 and up. The selection is wide-ranging — local jewels like the Gin Blossoms’ New Miserable Experience, classic rock from the likes of Fleetwood Mac, already-discarded new releases from the Linkin Parks and Evanescences of the pop globe, and under-the-radar indie releases from Adam Green, the Gossip and others no one will care about in five years. Zia also keeps its shopping experience music-geek acceptable, merely stacking CDs on old shelves, loosely alphabetizing them and mixing the used in with the new to supply their customers with a little work ethic in making their purchase.

Readers’ Choice: Zia Record Exchange

If, as its faithful devotees seem to believe, the blues is a religion, then the Rhythm Room, at least for Phoenicians, is church. And this church, as club owner and gifted harmonica player Bob Corritore would have it, knows no limit to its worship. In July, the club hosted a live recording session featuring Robert Lockwood Jr., who at 88 is the last living Delta bluesman of note and, with his history as a Chicago session man in the 1950s, finger-picking style and love for 12-string guitar, is perhaps the most influential blues guitarist of the 20th century. The club’s warm, full acoustics lent an added layer of gravitas to the proceedings, as did the presence of singer Jessi Colter — Waylon Jennings’ widow — local blues guitarist Paris James, storied jazz drummer Chico Chism and local standouts like the Rocket 88s’ Bill Tarsha in the audience. It was the most extreme recent example of what is on display constantly at the Room — a love for the music, the Valley’s most diverse crowd and the gleeful Corritore, who in his tastefully loud shirts and slicked black pompadour is an impossibly cool cat.

Readers’ Choice: Rhythm Room

You’ll never hear Ted Tucker’s voice on KCDX — or any other DJ’s, for that matter. But for the past 18 months, this shy former pharmacist has simply been playing his favorite couple thousand old album tracks, totally commercial-free, from a 2,700-watt tower located somewhere between Superior and Globe — and in the process creating a delicious radio mystery that’s had the whole East Valley talking. Whatever Tucker’s doing, and why he’s doing it, he’s already etching himself a place in Phoenix’s colorful broadcast history right alongside William Edward Compton and Johnny D., characters defined more by the daring of their experiments than by anything they actually said on the air.

At some point before the millennium, it was decided by the under-25 independent recording community that it was all right to say the word “rock” again in interviews and in the same sentence with “vital.” Those bold semantic steps explain why the foremost venue for all-ages shows in Phoenix should be the one to wear the rock crown proudly, even if it books more bands on the obscure Kill Rock Stars roster than any other local club. The kind of rock you should be out investigating nightly is the stuff that doesn’t make it through the media stranglehold, and Modified brings the steadiest stream of young notables working their way cross-country in a Dodge wagon. In past months, co-owners Kimber Lanning and Leslie Barton have brought you the all-girl emo amalgamation Sweet Catastrophe, the power punk of Plain White T’s, and the rock and, yes, roll of The Plot to Blow Up the Eiffel Tower. Some might miss the distractions of other rock bars, like pool tables and alcohol. But the gallery environment puts the emphasis on the music while also make sneaking cigarettes and beer in the parking lot feel subversive again.

Readers’ Choice: Nita’s Hideaway

Lindy-hoppers and East Coast swing dancers have never had a Valley nightclub to call their own seven nights a week. In other words, they don’t drink enough of the hard stuff and they demand too much real estate on the dance floor to make them attractive to bar owners.

But MacAlpine’s old-fashioned soda shop, a local landmark since 1928, at least makes every Friday night all right for swingers. Using a neighboring former antiques shop for its ballroom, this retro-for-real restaurant offers a sublime dinner and dancing package for anyone who truly wants to swing back in time. For $15, guests can enjoy a burger and a malt while twirling on authentic soda counter stools, then do some twirling of their own on the dance floor. Dance lessons led by members of the Arizona Swing Network — and all the frothy milk shakes you can consume for the rest of the night — are included.

Readers’ Choice: The Bash on Ash