Beards, Blazers & Glasses: Oh No, Oh My!/The Deadly Syndrome/The Honey Brothers

After a 2006 where Beirut, Lily Allen, The Little Ones, Midlake, The Cold War Kids, Voxtrot, et. al. seemed to be consensus “blogger buzz” bands, the blogosphere has been strangely silent in the past few months. Perhaps it’s fear of Gerard. Or maybe it’s understandable irritation from the spate of mainstream press articles scrutinizing a band’s buzz arc like it was James Cameron trying to play Da Vinci Code. But more likely, there just haven’t been any straight out-of-left field sensations galvanizing bloggers. I see this as generally a good thing. Stripped of expectations, bands making their debut won’t face impossible expectations and possibly career-crushing reviews (see Birdmonster, Sound Team). Plus, it’s a good thing because the sheer number of buzz bands had gotten deafening. So much that I had started to ignore whatever band du jour was making the rounds. I suppose this is why I’d previously slept on blog favorites, Oh No, Oh My!

Indeed, the Austin quintet turned in a surprisingly stellar set last Saturday night at the Echo, despite my rather limited expectations. From cursory listens of the songs from their eponymous debut, they seemed completely mundane and kinda’ boring. Indie jangle-pop by numbers. in that ripping of The Shins, ripping off The Beatles, sort of way. But lyrically, Oh No, Oh My! possess a sardonic bite and a solid sense of humor that help separate them from the pack (song titles include “Lisa, Make Love (It’s Okay,)” “Skip the Foreplay” and “Jane is Fat.”)

Live, the recent Dim Mak signees, sold the entire crowd on their foot-stomping brand of tightly coiled pop, firing of waves of shiny keyboards, yelpy vocals, jet-pack propelled drums and even a melodica (No King Tubby). Well-polished and full of energy, Oh No, Oh My! proved worthy of their advance hype, and when “A Walk in the Park” came on, even the Echo Park hipsters started moving. Yes, it was certainly a sight to be seen.

Download:
MP3: Oh No, Oh My!-”Jane is Fat”
MP3: Oh No, Oh My!-”I Have No Sister”
Fucking Steve Aoki. You wanna’ hate the dude, if not for his wispy mustache then for the fact that he calls himself Kid Millionaire. If that’s not enough, there’s the fact that he’s on Cobrasnake every 10 minutes with some picture next to Good Charlotte’s Web, or whatever band those John Madden brothers are in. But I’ll be damned if you don’t have to respect Aoki for his usually pretty good taste in music and always savvy business acumen. Granted, his label, Dim Mak, has a roster that includes Whirlwind Heat (perhaps the worst live band, I’ve ever seen), but I’ll grant Aoki a free pass for signing Bloc Party, The Kills, the aforementioned Oh No, Oh My! and most recently, Silverlake’s The Deadly Syndrome.

Like the above bands, it’s only a matter of time before The Deadly Syndrome blow up and adds more dollars to the Benihana fortune. I figured these kids would be good, considering Duke’s been raving about them for months, but they absolutely killed it last Saturday night. Like an unholy hybrid of Wolf Parade, Cold War Kids and even a little Built to Spill, The Deadly Syndrome’s brand of high-energy almost punk rock dazzled the crowd. With the mania of meth-heads, the band writhed, wriggled and leaped across the stage, with caveman drums and crunching spiraling guitars.

When all was said and done, The Deadly Syndrome displayed that their window as an LA club band is rapidly shrinking. This band is ready for the bigs. Floating Away said it best: “These guys are the real deal and after last night’s show, they launched themselves right up there with the Parson Red Heads in terms of my favorite LA Bands.” Plus, they bring cardboard cut-outs of mustached ghosts on-stage with them. Which is kinda’ sorta’ awesome in my book.

Download:
MP3: The Deadly Syndrome-”I Hope I Become a Ghost”

The Honey Bros: Proving That Vincent Chase> Jordan Catalano

Dismiss the Honey Bros. as Adrian “Vincent Chase” Grenier’s vanity band all you want, you cannot deny the fact that per capita, no band in recent memory has drawn hotter girls to their shows. Seriously. I’m willing to bet my life that that many gorgeous girls will never be in Echo Park at the same time ever again. Hell, even Kate Bosworth showed up (though sadly, on the arm of “Legolas” Bloom).

If you’re a single guy from the age of 21-30, the Honey Bros. are not a band you want to miss. Think about it: no guy will accompany their girlfriend to a show just to watch the dude from Entourage play the drums, meaning that dozens of unaccompanied and very beautiful woman are standing around, getting worked into a lather because of Vinnie Chase’s percussion. Even better is the fact that Grenier can only snag two or three of them. Four tops. Which means…it’s a buyers market, fellas.

As for their music, the Honey Bros. are much better than you’d imagine. They aren’t a bunch of actors who can’t play worth a damn, think Dogstar, 30 Odd Feet of Grunts-type, or the horrors of 30 Seconds to Mars. They can play just fine and their song-writing is solid in a jokey, light-hearted way. The Honey Bros. never take themselves too seriously, just sticking to frothy and fun pop music. Think of them as a poor man’s Weezer with a better sense of humor. Plus, you can’t dislike a band that features the ukelele. And if you have a problem with that, take it up with Don Ho.

The Honey Bros. On Myspace

Get pictures and more Oh No, Oh My! and Deadly Syndrome MP3’s at Floating Away

Posted in Beards, Blazers, & Glasses | 5 Comments »

Mind of Mencia Revealed to Be Completely Blank (and other links too)

Two weeks later, I still can’t shake the confrontation between Joe Rogan and Carlos Mencia out my head. In all my wildest fantasies, I had never envisioned something so breathtakingly spectacular as seeing two of the least funny men on earth, engaged in a Hatfield and McCoy-worthy, You Tubed feud. The only thing that may have improved things would’ve been if they’d had a tag-team steel cage match with Mencia, Joe Rogan, Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka and Ricky “The Dragon Steamboat.

I still remain stunned that the guy who is somehow the most popular comedian on Comedy Central, got eviscerated by a guy I’d previously taken for an even bigger chump, Joe Rogan (if you don’t believe me, see Best Week Ever’s coverage of Rogan waging message board war with a college kid). I took Rogan for a dude incapable of tying his shoelaces (he looks like a velcro sorta’ guy), but somehow he shredded Mencia better than anyone since 2Pac told Biggie, “I’ve fucked your bitch, you fat motherfucker.”

Surprisingly, Mencia hasn’t been censured in the media, nor disgraced like other plagiarists, Kaayva Viswanathan, Jayson Blair or James Frey. Instead, Mencia gets to keep his hit TV show and Joe Rogan, for bravely (if bombastically) exposing the truth, got dropped by his agent. If you haven’t seen the video, I highly encourage you to do so. It’s kind of astonishing. Not because Mencia comes off as pathetic, weak and possibly anti-Semitic, but more because it forces you to ask yourself: If Carlos Mencia really does steal other people’s jokes. How is impossible that he remains this unfunny? The guy makes Dane Cook like Woody Allen. That is all I have to say on this matter.

Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka Says Read These Links SuckaIf you like Dylan, Expecting Rain, is a ridiculously good resource for all things Zimmerman.

Uncle Granbo’s back and in incredible form with the recently re-designed Best Evs’ Whatevs. See his post on the evolution of Angela Chase.

Check this 1978 BBC Hunter S. Thompson documentary that you can stream at Google Video
(via Largehearted Boy)

Speaking of the good doctor, Drowned in Sound has a guide to Gonzo. Though how they can leave Hells Angels off a list of HST must-reads is beyond me.

My Morning Jacket? A Prom? An Enchantment Under the Sea Dance? I know there must be a music editor somewhere fool-hardy enough to send me to investigate. C’mon Rolling Stone, you know I can’t do worse than that retarded I’m From Rolling Stone kid who started interrogating Lupe Fiasco about black muslim terrorists?

Kevin from So Much Silence starts an excellent vinyl blog, Circa 45. Check for it.

Crime Notes over at The Cole Slaw Blog creates a comprehensive guide to the Hold Steady Volume 1

The Foundtrack puts out its March Mix, with tracks from The Arcade Fire, J Dilla, Modest Mouse and LCD Soundsystem, among others.

My Old Kentucky Blog takes on an oldie but a goodie, 1996’s Pinkerton, one of my favorite records of the last 10 (or 11) years.

Kevin Bronson hits the nail on the head: “Whitestarr are the cubic zirconium of Los Angeles music.”

Wake Your Daughter Up, offers up 1991’s oft-slept on classic, Del The Funkee Homosapien’s I Wish My Brother George Was Here. With of course, “Mistadobalina.”

Posted in Links | 3 Comments »

Canceled in Stereo or Montreal Needs Happier Hipsters

In my on-going quest to slander music scenes across the globe, I present a very special post today: a guest essay from Sacha Orenstein, illustrating the perils of the treacherous world of Montreal hipsters. Most of the time, Sacha writes about hip-hop for the very stellar website, Oh Word. In general, he dislikes Montreal’s indie scene. He still pretends to enjoy the Arcade Fire to pick up art-school chicks though.

“Apples In Stereo show canceled due to illness”

Fuck. There goes the guest post.

That wasn’t the first thing that came to mind, staring down the sign hastily posted to the door of my local venue. But sometime after paging the crew to stay home and wondering what power-pop groups sound like with the flu, I realized that I’d offered to write a show review for The Passion of the Weiss only to quite suddenly lose my topic. I thought about going meta and writing about the rest of the night, but I’ll spare you a discussion on a friend’s love life, if only to avoid re-living a rant on “rich feminists.” Instead, I’m going to go rhetorical and examine the question: why is the Montreal music scene so damned sad? Not sad as in “it sucks” but sad as in “cheer the fuck up and stop the droning, PLEASE”.

Look to the Mountie, Montreal Hipsters. Look to the Mountie

Realistically, I doubt Montreal’s doom-n-gloom suddenly infected Robert Shneider, but philosophically, it sorta’ makes sense. You’ll never witness an Elephant 6 style sun-psych collective emerge from Montreal. Hell, the happiest band we’ve ever been associated with has nothing to do with us. Instead, its The Arcade Fire’s nervous breakdown on wax, Wolf Parade’s melody-free angst, Silver Mount Zion’s black-metal sans metal, Godspeed You Black Emperor’s pretension, Ghislain Poirier’s tuneless trip-hop…stop me when you’re bored. Even our lighter bands like The Unicorns and The Dears are considerably more morose and downtrodden than average.

The obvious culprit is the weather (we blame everything on the weather) but people here party year round, it’s just the bands that stay stuck in perpetual shade. It could be a misguided attempt at self-identification: the French bands party for their right to fight and it’s pretty good if you’re willing to bump the whitest music known to man. Maybe all the shoe-gazing is the result of white/anglo guilt. Or maybe it’s the lack of black people. Or maybe the city’s full of dicks. I’m no sociologist; all I know is that the scene around here makes Williamsburg look like Athens (laugh now and figure the shit out when you get home).

I guess it’s pretty cool if you don’t live IN Montreal, which explains the music press’ pavlovian response every time another bunch of local saps with guitars release a break-up record. But here’s the thing: they don’t have to live with these people. Imagine being surrounded on a daily basis by scenesters who completely identify with the above bands. it’s enough to make you want to scrawl on the eyeliner and go goth yourself. Say what you want about LA’s vapid materialism but at least people pretend to be happy for money, the only time people smile around here is when they get into an exclusive unannounced show…and mostly because they get to brag about it, not because of the actual music.

Does This Man Look Happy to You?

Granted, it’s not all bad: we have awesome strip clubs, some unique food, cheap housing and quality mass transit. But if we have all of this cool stuff, why does our music constantly sound like an art school student’s installation project about his shitty childhood? It’s like Q-Tip said, “I dunno man, I dunno man, I dunno.” Perhaps we should demand government funded Prozac…or at the very least, LSD.

Posted in Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought? | 3 Comments »

Album Review: Elvis Perkins-Ash Wednesday

Last September, when I first saw Elvis Perkins’ live, his lyrical maturity, simple but finely-crafted acoustic melodies and compelling stage presence immediately impressed me. Unlike many folky singer/songwriters who churn out great studio albums but fail to bring the goods live, Elvis transcended the delicate and frail sound of his album, turning the soft-sounding cuts from Ash Wednesday into a rollicking kinetic celebration. Opening up for Dr. Dog and The Cold War Kids, the then-unsigned Perkins delivered the best set of the night and it was clear to anyone in the audience that he was bound for great things.

Flash forward five months later and Perkins’ debut, Ash Wednesday, has finally received an official release on XL Recordings. I’ve had the record in my collection since September but it was only when I actually sat down to write the Stylus review when I realized how truly outstanding it actually is. An elegy of sorts for his deceased parents (the actor, Anthony Perkins, who died of AIDS in 1992) and his mother, the photographer Berry Berenson (who died in one of the planes that hit the WTC on 9/11), Ash Wednesday is sometimes heart-breaking, sometimes uplifting and at all-times brilliant. It has a level of depth, intelligence and gravity that few records made today possess. I highly recommend it.

Read My Stylus Review Here

Buy Ash Wednesday Here

Download:
MP3: Elvis Perkins-”While You Were Sleeping”
MP3: Elvis Perkins-”Emile’s Vietnam in the Sky”

Posted in Album Reviews | 5 Comments »

Beers, Blazin’ & Ganja : Ghostface Killah

There are times when sobriety pays off. Taking the SAT. Going on a job interview. Giving yourself an impromptu scalp shave in Tarzana. But attending a Ghostface show sober yields few dividends. Showing up to see Ghostface sans honey-dipped spliffs and/or some brand of liquor is like attending a funeral naked: ultimately, both experiences will leave you rather embarrassed and ultimately baffled. (No Kevin Barnes)

Simply put, Ghostface is the most interesting live performer in hip-hop. There are certainly performers who sound better live (GZA, Pharoahe Monch), others capable of dazzling you with their array of technical skills (Edan) and even others who are just straight-up funnier (Dip Set), yet no performer in the game can match the sheer off-the-cuff amusement that Ghost never fails to provide.

Ghost operates on one of those rarefied mental plains, way out of the straight-jacket normalcy of modern society, with an array of tics and idiosyncrasies to make Woody Allen blush. This is partially why it is crucial to be in an altered mind state when confronting such a spectacle likely to include: extemporaneous stories about shaking Biggie Smalls’ hand a decade previous, lectures on fake rap beefs, and the occasional dance party with the Omega Mu Sorority House.

Never Before Has Someone Needed a Reality Show More

With roughly 20 hangers-on hovering around the DJ booth, Ghost and Theodore Unit took the stage at half past midnight, coming out to “Metal Lungies” full of its bulging synths, abandoned safe house vibe, and cries of “Theodore.” From there the track blended seamlessly into the classic party vibe of “Ice Cream,” with the crowd chanting along with the Method Man hook and Ghost kicking his off-kilter paean to black Miss America’s named Erika, girls that would look like Spuds McKenzie (if Ghost was jiggy) and Adina Howard, who very understandably had been on his mind all week.

The proceedings had a psychedelic vibe, with Ghost rambling, slurring, stoned on-stage, perpetually keeping the audience on their toes, descending into the Dali-worthy surrealism of “The Forrest,” (if Dali loved the Smurfs), and the slow stuttering burn of “Whip You With a Strap.” Ghost effortlessly regaling the crowd with distorted, crystal-clear childhood visions in one breath, then declared that all of us “are Gods for coming out the pussy, lucky motherfuckas, who out of millions of sperm made it to that one egg,” in the next.

One second it’s “Ghost Deini,” and a surprisingly well choreographed “Run,” the next he’s babbling that he’s “a righteous man.” Keep in mind, this is minutes before Ghost broke into his now-standard on-stage dance party, with whatever flotsam and jetsam he and the rest of Theodore Unit were able to coax out of the crowd. Yet out of any Wu-Tang dance party I’ve ever seen, this one may have been the most depressing, with the assembled females looking like they’d been brought to the party by Gilbert, Lewis and Booger. Don’t think that stopped Shawn Wiggs, Ghost, and Sun God from molesting anything in sight. Hell, even Solomon Childs stopped spitting in his tobacco bottle for a few moments long enough to start feeling on a girl that vaguely resembled William Howard Taft.

Whatchu Talking About William?

Meanwhile, Trife Da God wisely focused his energies on the lone attractive dancer, a trashy but sorta’ attractive Joan Jett looking girl, who would later be seen by Ian Cohen in the parking, getting blasted by her boyfriend. Of course, this raises the philosophical question: if you lose your girl to a member of Theodore Unit, shouldn’t that be a sign that she might not have been “the one.” Meanwhile, Sean Wiggs, the East Coast’s answer to Paul Wall, performed his rather annoying verse from “Greedy Bitches,” leaving me to conclude that I have little interest in ever hearing Wiggs rap again. However, I am interested in is finding out what exactly he had to do to get into Theodore Unit. The only way his admission makes any sense is that he has several dead bodies under his belt.

The set list was surprisingly devoid of tracks from Fishscale, with the aforementioned “Whip You With a Strap,” the only cut performed. Instead, in an all-too-generous gesture, Ghost allowed Theodore Unit a sizeable amount of face time, proving once again that while Trife, Sun and Solomon Childs are pretty decent rappers in their own right, they’ll never come close to Papa Starks either. But when Starks had the spotlight, he controlled it, leaving the crowd magnetized with his irrepressible charisma and impassioned delivery.

Hunter Thompson once wrote that “when the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.” Ghostface is both: simultaneously, a pro capable of dazzling you with the best hip-hop songs ever written, but weird enough to stun you with the breadth of his bizarre thoughts and theories that make much more sense under the influence of strong drink and various narcotics. His live show may not be the best in hip-hop, but it’s easily the most surreal. Indeed, Ghostface subliminally understands something Booger in Animal House taught us a very long time ago. If you have enough wonderjoints, even a party with the Omega Mu’s can be turned into a great time.

Download:
MP3: Ghostface Killah-”Ghost Deini”
MP3: Ghostface Killah-”The Forrest”

Posted in Beards, Blazers, & Glasses | 5 Comments »

The Old Testament: Bringing It All Back Home

It’s kind of ridiculous that in the year plus that I’ve been blogging, no words have been spilled about Bob Dylan, other than to slag Modern Times via haiku. And in truth, my displeasure for Bobby D’s latest album had more to do with the stark contrast between Modern Times and Time Out of Mind, let alone that of his latest work and his classic 60s records. Yet in spite of his late career mundanity, in my opinion, there remain only two logical choices for best singer/songwriter of all-time: Bob Dylan or Neil Young. Granted, picking between those two is like analyzing whether you’d rather sleep with Jessica Alba or Charlize Theron. But…if I had to pick a grizzled vestige of the 60’s to bring it all back home with, I’d unequivocally choose Bob Dylan. I think that came out wrong.When most critics talk Dylan Best-Of’s, conversation typically veers towards one of three albums: Highway 61 Revisted, Blonde on Blonde or Blood on the Tracks. Yet while all three of those records are undeniably masterful, my personal favorite of Dylan’s is 1965’s “Bringing it All Back Home.” Marking Dylan’s first official attempt to go electric on wax, Bringing it All Back home is split into two distinct halves: side A devoted to rollicking head-spinning burners, with the acoustic side B devoted to gorgeous poetic dirges.

At times a furious hail-storm of anger and rage directed at society (”It’s Alright Ma, I’m Only Bleeding,” “Maggie’s Farm” “Subterranean Homesick Blues”), at times wistful love-lorn laments (”Love Minus Zero/No Limit,” “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue), at times wildly surrealist folk-ballads (Bob Dylan’s 115th Dream,”) Bringing It All Back home is the most taut encapsulation of Dylan’s talents. Just 11 tracks and 46 minutes of the most damning song-writing ever unleashed.

I Got a Head Full of Ideas Driving Me Insane

The first half of the record is doubtlessly outstanding, but it’s its second half with its unvarnished brilliance that makes this my favorite album of all time. Indeed, you’d be hard to find a better sequence in the history of music than the last four tracks: “Mr. Tambourine Man,” “Gates of Eden,” “It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding) and “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue.” Four songs that even now, over 40 years after their release, radiate like bright obsidian, hanging like dauting obstacles to future songwriters who somehow must vaguely understand that they’ll never write anything that good. Words can’t describe the way “It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding), a seven and a half minute philippic against life, death, politics, capitalism, conformity and every point in between, winnowing its way through your soul, as Dylan recycles everyday thoughts and spits them out in a staccato bullets

On Bringing It All Back Home, Dylan basically invents what it means to be a great modern song-writer, scribing phrases capable of evoking myriad emotions in each listener, each cryptic turn able to be interpreted in a thousand different ways. (Of course, there are some tragic downsides to this,namely Incubus) Inspired by visionary poets like Arthur Rimbaud and Allen Ginsberg, Dylan writes lines that don’t make little literal sense yet seem divinely ordained, with a brilliant method to their madness.Inevitably, a whole lot of people reading this are already major Dylan fans, so in some respect I’m preaching to the choir. But if by chance oldies radio has left you with the mistaken notion that Bob Dylan is all oldies station staples like “Blowin‘ In the Wind,” and “The Times Are-A-Changin,” this record should change your mind. And if nothing else it won’t awkwardly name-check Alicia Keys in its first two minutes.

Download:

MP3: Bob Dylan-”Subterranean Homesick Blues”

MP3: Bob Dylan-”It’s Alright Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)” (sendspace, left click)

If you’re moving and soon you’ll need to consider Colorado real estate issues then you may find a dedicated Colorado home finder to be useful to you. Whether you’ll need to choose from Lakewood homes or your realty concerns will be more centered around Denver real estate the Internet can be a good resource.

Posted in The Old Testament | 5 Comments »

John Mayer Protest Song Ends Iraq War

In a shocking reversal of fortune, Iraq, a nation recently teetering on the brink of Civil War has finally stabilized, as Iraqi insurgents of all stripes have laid down their arms, agreeing to love one another, regardless of religious sect or philosophical difference. In a magnanimous gesture, the United States will pull out its troops out of Baghdad, effective tomorrow. Sources within Iraq claim that the cessation of conflict stems largely from “Waiting On the World to Change,” an Anti-War song penned by American singer/songwritard, John Mayer.

Army General, David Petraeus, who took over from General George Casey just last week, explained how Mayer’s utopian ballad, and the not the recent Baghdad crackdown, ultimately paid the greatest dividends for the United States.

“What a talent that young man has!” Petraeus gushed, partially in shock from the conflict’s abrupt ending. “When Jenna [Bush] told Dubya that all the sorority girls from Texas were listening to it, he was skeptical. But the Commander-in-Chief understood that air-dropping copies of Continuum on the Iraqi people was our last best hope to turn back to the tide of the insurgency. The moment the Iraqis heard Mayer’s oh-so-sweet voice and deep-as-the-ocean floor lyrics, they understand that they were powerless to a greater power: the power of love.”

Muqtada Al-Sadr, the Iraqi cleric and head of the Shiite Mahdi army based in the impoverished slums of Sadr City, agreed that Mayer’s hit single was the crucial difference in altering the hearts and minds of the Iraqi people.

Yet They Still Hate “Your Body’s A Wonderland”

“We still curse the infidel Americans and their head piglet, George Bush. But we do not curse this so-called John Mayer,” Al-Sadr said with the shaking of a clenched fist. “I remember the first time I heard “Waiting for the World to Change.” Me and Muhammed Ibn-Al-Sheikh were at the Mosque for Friday prayers. Then, over the loudspeakers out came the holy Mayer’s words: “And we’re still waiting/waiting on the world to change/we keep on waiting waiting on the world to change/one day our generation is gonna’ rule the population/so we keep on waiting/waiting on the world to change.”
Mayer himself was pleased but unsurprised by the incredible impact of his song.

“I knew this song was gonna’ be special from the moment it first popped into my head. I’d just fucked Jessica and I rolled over to her and was like, ‘yo, J.” And she was like “yo, J, y’all.” And I was like, ‘this war sucks,’ and Jessica was like, “war? What war” Mayer said, suddenly breaking into his “guitar face” despite no guitars being in sight. “That’s when I knew that I needed to do something, to let the world know that hey, Neil Young, Green Day, The Dixie Chicks, Burt Baccharach, Merle Haggard, Billy Bragg, Bright Eyes, Steve Earle, The System of the Down, and many others may have written anti-war songs, but I’m John Mayer. What the world really is waiting on is protest music from the man who wrote the song,”My Stupid Mouth.”

Jessica Simpson was very proud of the success of her beau.

“Some guys…all they want to do is fuck, because I’m like, totally hot,” the blonde temptress gushed. “But John really cares. He wants to fuck and then talk about geo-poetry, all night long. I never knew the Iraq War had this much to do with ‘the shocker.’ John is truly talented. He is no Nick Lachey,” Simpson confidently declared.

Your Body Won’t Be a Wonderland When I Get Through With It

Yet not everyone was pleased by Mayer’s ability to end the Iraq War. Vice-President Dick Cheney expressed his disdain for Mayer’s work, claiming that the troubadork had very little to do with the end result.

“John Mayer can go fuck himself!” Cheney growled. “The insurgency was in its last throes well over two years ago. The ending of the war is a natural extension of the policies that this administration has enacted. It’s good to see that the Iraq people have finally realized that we are their liberators. It took long enough. After being here for four years, it was about time that we finally saw some fucking tossed flower petals. On a personal note, its a sad day for me. I’d grown rather attached to the Iraq war. I’ll be sad to see it go. At least there’s always Iran.”

Posted in The Fakest News in Town, Best Of | 7 Comments »

Beards, Blazers & Bedtime or 30 Thoughts During the Camera Obscura Show

1. Wow, this is really boring.

2. Is this boring like According to Jim boring or boring like Mind of Mencia boring?

3. Is there a difference between the two?

4. How can a bands album be that good, but their live show so incredibly fucking dull?

5. I believe that’s what the Doctors call “The Shins.”

6. Could their lack of flair be the result of their Scottish heritage?

7. No. Franz Ferdinand are Scottish. And Belle & Sebastian. And Groundskeeper Willie.

8. I wish I was watching The Simpsons right now.

9. Maybe I’ll just leave.

10. But I paid a lot of money for this ticket.

11. Damn this Jewish sense of economics.

12. But it’s a sunk cost.

13. Shut up! Economics 101.

14. I wonder what Mexican restaurants are still open right now?

(Interlude, where in the lobby of the El Rey theater, I dial 1-800 Free 411 to figure out which Mexican restaurants are still open).

15. Score. El Compadre is open until 1:00.

Flaming Margaritas? Don’t Tell Tim Hardaway.

16. I really like carnitas. And guacamole. This is going to be fantastic.

17. Wait…Camera Obscura are still on? Really?

18. Is lead singer, TraceyAnne Campbelle’s dress technically a Frau?

19. I believe frock is the word I’m looking for.

20. When are they gonna’ play “Lloyd, I’m Ready to be Heartbroken?”

21. Okay, they’re playing it now.

22. This song is definitely about Lloyd Christmas.

23. Why does no one in this band move on stage? Ever? How bout a nice Scottish jig? Something!! Move!!!

24. I think their bassist might actually be dead. Could I be watching the indie-rock equivalent of Weekend at Bernie’s. After all, this is the last night of their tour.

25. I think I’m going to go out in the lobby again. I feel like stretching.

26. Is stretching better when you’re high?

27. Do yogi’s smoke weed? If so, they’d probably really appreciate it.

28. Wait a second…the band sounds pretty good from out here. Maybe I should go inside and see if they’re doing something awesome.

29. Nope. Still boring. Time to go.

(Walking out the doors)

30. Whatever…I still like the album.

Download:
MP3: Camera Obscura-”Let’s Get Out of the Country”
MP3: Camera Obscura-”Lloyd, I’m Ready to Be Heartbroken”

Posted in Beards, Blazers, & Glasses | 9 Comments »

Beards, Blazers & Glasses: The Autumn Defense/Parson Redheads

It’s too bad for that whole Wilco thing. Because chances are if that if John Stirrat and Pat Sansone didn’t have a day job in one of the greatest bands on earth, you’d probably know a lot more about their time moonlighting in Autumn Defense. Of course, these guys aren’t anonymous, several blogs have written nice things about their self-titled third album that came out in January, (see here, here, and here). But none of the major online music mags wrote reviews on it and only a smattering of places print or otherwise even bothered to write-up what would ostensibly be vanity project from two guys, forever famous as being two of the dudes in Wilco not named Jeff Tweedy.

But the few places that did review the Autumn Defense’s very solid album were almost uniformly praiseworthy and watching the band let loose a breezy, effortlessly pleasant set last Friday night at Spaceland, its hard to see how anyone could dislike this band. With surprising charisma, Stirrat and Sanson stood up front, energetically strumming golden, late summer chords, perfectly complementing the heat spell breezing through Los Angeles this winter. With a precise knack for harmony, both men effortlessly churned out hum along, foot tapping folk-pop melodies that sound like they were cooked up in a Laurel Canyon treehouse in 1971.

It’s fitting that The Autumn Defense turned in a very strong set tonight in LA, as their sound is heavily derived from those bands that the city of Angels seemed to effortlessly crank out from 1965-1971: Love, The Byrds, The Doors, Buffalo Springfield, CSNY, and the Eagles (even if the Eagles do kinda’ suck). But The Autumn Defense aren’t just mere psych-folk revivalists, the they definitely have a sound onto their own, adding layers of instrumentation onto an acoustic base. At times three violinists stood in the corner, firing off lazy gorgeous notes, while various types of percussionists shook in the other corner, turning the affair into a mellow celebration.

All Right Mr. Tweedy…I’m Ready for my Close-Up

If you like Wilco, I’m willing to bet you’ll really enjoy the Autumn Defense. And unless you’re going to Bonnaroo (and if you are, take me please), you probably won’t be seeing Wilco anytime soon. Meanwhile, the Autumn Defense will be on tour through the end of March. Their live show won’t blow your mind like Stirrat and Sansone’s day band, but you’ll still end up impressed. If nothing else, Wilco fans should check them out just to understand how the cosmic leap from A.M. to Yankee Hotel Foxtrot/A Ghost is Born wasn’t just all Jeff Tweedy’s maturaion. Indeed, Sansone and Stirrat are two outstanding musicians in their own right and their solo chops are two more arguments in favor of Wilco being one of the most talented bands in recent memory. Hell, even their bassist and “multi-instrumentionalist” can still take almost every band’s lead singer/songwriters.

Download:
MP3: The Autumn Defense-”Canyon Arrow” (not to be confused with Canyanero)
MP3: The Autumn Defense-”This Will Fall Away”

Go To So Much Silence for another Autumn Defense MP3

The Parson Redheads Again? Ah yeah…Again and Again (to be said in the call-in voice from the intro to “Protect Ya’ Neck”)

Not trying to beat a Dead Horse (I actually only beat dead horses on Tuesday’s), but local fan-favorite The Parson Redhead’s delivered another impressive opening set for the Autumn Defense on Friday. I know I’ve mentioned them twice before, but last Friday’s 30 minute performance was another compelling reason why the Parson’s are one of the best new bands in Los Angeles.

When Parson Redhead lead singer Evan Way expressed interest in opening up for their folky kindred spirits The Autumn Defense, Spaceland’s bookers intimated their desire to keep things as mellow as possible, in theme with The Autumn Defense’s cozy hushed sound. Normally, the Parson’s balance their folky, country-tinged ballads with kinetic psychedelic electric guitars and danceable bass lines, but the other night, they played a stripped down, acoustic set. It was a bit strange to see the entire tribe of them standing still and calm, rather than in the full-on celebratory mode of their normal performances.

Yet stripped down to their most bare, Way’s songs retain all their charms and harmonious rhythms, evidencing the mark of good pop songcraft. The show might not have been as instantly impressive as their normally kinetic sets. But to the already converted, it was an interesting and excellent display of another side of The Parsons.

Download:
MP3: The Parson Redheads-”Full Moon”

Posted in Beards, Blazers, & Glasses | 2 Comments »

Full Throttle Energy Drink: The Tim Hardaway of Soft Drinks

Ever think to yourself, man I wish my energy drink could do more than just give me a buzz to get through the afternoon? Ever wish your beverage could end feminism as we know it? Or maybe even give you a really cool monster truck to impress all the boys at the Truck Rally? Well, if that’s the case, then look no further, because the Full Throttle Energy Drink is here. Personally, I don’t know how I’ve gotten through the last 25 years. Indeed, ever since last week, when I discovered Full Throttle, my life has improved immensely. All the biker skanks want me. All the tatoo artists want to tat me up. And all the bikers want me to be in their biker gang.

You see, it was just seven short days ago that I was cruising along the highway, minding my own business, trying not to think about what exactly Patrick Wolf means by “The Magic Position” When suddenly, I saw a Full Throttle billboard and its caption: 16 oz. of Tijuana. Prior to that moment, the words 16 oz. of Tijuana had only made me think of enough weed to get high until roughly 2010 (or jail time until roughly 2010 if things went wrong at the border.) Or maybe even something L’il Kim was rumored to have gone to the hospital for. But I most certainly didn’t believe that drinking Coca-Cola’s new energy drink could make me travel through time and space to a land of drug killings, donkey shows and all-you-can-drink tequila. Boy, how wrong I was!

After seeing that awesome billboard, I was intrigued. So I went to Full Throttle’s website to learn more about this life-changing product. And man, I can’t stress enough how cool that website is. It was there on this so-called world wide web, where I met the various men of Full Throttle, like Bob from Connecticut, who told me that: “the parade of testosterone comes through with the full throttle truck and it snaps me out of this haze I’ve been in.” All of a sudden, I realized that this drink would make me more manly, more illiterate, but less tired. Three things I’ve been looking to do for years (if only Hooked on Phonics hadn’t worked). Another super bad-ass dude on the website was gangbanger Mike from Los Angeles.’ Mike is so cool. In his picture, he throws up a gang signs, and asks us Full Throttle fans, “Metrosexual! What the fuck is that!” Mike’s so bad-ass. He doesn’t take shit from anyone. Don’t blame him for not wanting to to be in the same gang as John Amaechi.

By day, I work as a male model for the Coca-Cola Corp.; By night I live my dreams as the lead singer of a Frank Zappa Cover Band

The website also introduced me to a lovable, musclebound rapscallion named Roland from Austria who declared: “What was the man’s responsibility? He was going out there and hunt.” Roland doesn’t care about grammar and neither do I. I bet he be good governor of Caleefornya too. Me likey! Not to mention a whole bunch of pertinent info from a section called “the rides.” There, I got to see Monster trucks, exotic sports cars, tractors and tanks. I wish I had a tank. Tanks are cool. I bet chicks like tanks. Almost as cool as the super awesome tank was a video game I found on the website, where I got to be my absolute hero, Bob from Connecticut. I helped him to escape the “minivans and shopping that were bogging him down.” Who knows, if I hadn’t helped him, maybe Bob would’ve had to drive his kids to soccer practice. The horror!

Thank god, for this delicious beverage made of high fructose corn syrup, carbonated water and citric acid. And don’t even let me get started on Full Throttle Theater, where I learned that by drinkingFull Throttle, men everywhere can learn “how to let their inner-man out, and re-claim all that is rightfully theirs.” Do you guys hate feminism? If so, this is the drink for you. One mouthwatering sip and your woman will be in a burka before you can say wage gap.
Finally, Coca-Cola has delivered a product worth checking for. Personally, I’ve had it up to my heavily caffeinated ears with these “sissy” drinks. Coke Zero. Cokes with Splenda. Diet Vanilla Coke. They have an old saying in my family: If your energy drink doesn’t make you feel like you’re having a heart attack, than its probably for pussies. And you better believe that Full Throttle delivered. Palpitation central baby!!!

The truth is, the world has long needed Full Throttle. 6,000 years of civilization and yet mankind had never produced an energy drink for illiterates, bigots and other miscellaneous retards (ed note: forgive me for making fun of illiterates, but y’know they ain’t reading). Personally, I want three things from my energy drinks: 1) I want them to reverse the gains that women have made over the past 30 years 2) I want them to tell me what cool tattoos to get and 3) I want to know which metrosexuals to mock. Is that too much to ask? I think not. Thank god for Full Throttle, the drink that will allow the men of the world to unite. To fulfill our dreams of being second-class citizens no longer. The energy drink of our future is here! Who needs 40 oz. of freedom when you can drink it in 16.?

Posted in Best Of, It Got Weird, Didn't It? | 9 Comments »