Cohen’s Critics Corner: Sally Shapiro-Disco Romance

Ian Cohen used to blog here. He usually writes here. Periodically, he drops knowledge on us here at the Passion of the Weiss. Neither he nor I are related to Sally Shapiro. We think.

Sally Shapiro’s name might fool you into thinking that this is a singer-songwriter album from Cherry Hill’s most renowned ear, nose and throat. In actuality, it’s an italo disco record and for all I know, it might be the italo disco “Discovery” or “Music Has The Right To Children.“ In other words, the “it’s ok to like this” representative of its techno subgenre.

Problem is, I’ll never be able to figure it out because being loaded off cocaine isn’t just the key to enjoying “Disco Romance”- it’s pretty much the admission ticket. And really, I can’t think of too many other places it’d be appropriate to listen to this thing outside of a club, but I can’t imagine too many clubs that would play this. Let’s be real, this is just more “I’m the producer’s girlfriend” vocalizing and beats that would probably be state of the art in 1977. A lot of people seem to be riding for the cause of “Disco Romance,” none of whom strike me as the “all night coke orgy this Tuesday type. But if you’re a hipster with a bunch of graphics you need to design, why not…Fuck yeah!” this is your record.

Until I become that person , this is my front-runner for the inaugural “Drum’s Not Dead” Award for “critically acclaimed album you will never play in front of other people.” Seriously…next time you’re driving to pick up one of your friends, play “Disco Romance.” Does that person, a) get out immediately or b) stay in for the sole purpose of laughing at your sorry ass for trying in vain to like this? If the answer is “no” for both, this is not the kind of person you want as a friend.

Download:
MP3: Sally Shapiro-”I’ll Be By Your Side”
MP3: Sally Shapiro-”Find My Soul”

Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Comments »

Beards, Blazers & Britney

“I am the envy of every 14 year-old girl in America,” I mumble to myself, eyes rolled, approaching the House of Blues-Sunset, Thursday night. Britney Spears is launching her official “comeback” tour, but I’m not sure sure what she’s coming back from. It’s not like she left the public eye, after all the last two years have been nothing but an endless media Spearing. Spears getting married. Spears getting knocked up. Spears getting divorced. Spears spearing macho stuffed tacos and scarfing them like whole goldfish at Del Taco. Not to mention various head-shaving excursions in the Valley, or the infamous flashing of her unmentionables that have best been described as loose like the sleeve of a wizard. Norma Desmond she is not.

But I am on Sunset Blvd at the moment, where pandemonium rules outside the HOB. Not just paparazzi and celeb magazines, but ABC News, Entertainment Tonight, and the History Channel, there for a very special Natural Disasters segment. The latter might not be true, but the vultures are circling in the form of the scalpers skulking the grounds
whispering outlandish prices for tickets. $200. $300. Several Cambodian children. I almost took the latter, but it was a bit too reminiscent of Angelina Joleezie (Jay-Z will burn in hell for putting that phrase in my vocab.)

No cell phones are allowed, required to be checked into a massive HOB repository. This is Britney Spears all. If god forbid, someone snaps an amateur cell phone pic and it winds up on Perez Hilton, it is a matter of our national security. Liberty is at stake. Our soldiers in Iraq fight for freedom and the right of the American people to know whether or not their pop stars are wearing underwear.

Giving New Meaning to the Word “Wigger”

Inside, the crowd is blood-thirsty, demanding booze and Britney with ruthless demand. Chanting her name periodically, at levels that could raise Debbie Gibson from the dead (she’s dead right?)Their lust is briefly sated by a DJ spinning Journey, Bon Jovi and worst of all, “Fergielicious.” I continue to wonder why Fergie not yet been sued for false advertising, considering she is neither “delicious” nor do any of the boys want what she’s got. However, I am certain that if you cruise Santa Monica Blvd. round 4:00 a.m., looking for street-walkers with an Adam’s Apple, you may be able to approximate the true meaning of “Fergielicious.”

Around 10:00, the lights dim. Accompanied by four leggy, scantily clad, and impossibly hot blonde dancers, Britney struts on-stage, surprisingly well toned legs peeking out of a skimpy mini-skirt. The noise is loud and furious. Don’t believe what you read, people still love this woman. “Hit me Baby One More Time” is on and she’s lip-syncing badly. She seems timid and nervous, the other dancers are sharper and more on-beat. But by song two, the Neptunes produced electronic hiccuping of “I’m a Slave 4 U,” Britney starts to get more confident, getting sexier, sultrier, reminding you of a time when she wasn’t a punch-line. I hate to admit it, but didn’t look half-bad. Not peak, Britney-with-the-snake-over-her shoulders good, but the best she’s looked in years.

In the middle of the third track, “Breathe,” Britney and her dancers dragged some salivating doofus out of the crowd and gave him a lap-dance. It was really corny and the guys face was so frozen he looked like Tarzana, I mean Encino Man. The crowd ate it up. The last song of the 13-minute performance was “Toxic.” At the song’s coda, Britney and the rest of the dancers dropped to their knees and writhed and crawled to the front of the stage. The crowd went beserk. With all pre-recorded music, the show was 100% theater in the first place, so it wasn’t a surprise that the crowd appreciated this last most raunchy gesture, erupting in a cacophony of cat-calls, whistles and genuinely sincere applause.

Ms. Hairstylist, I’m Ready for My Close-Cut

But more remarkable than the effusive reception she received inside, was the atmosphere outside the venue. A good portion of the fans had been whipped into an ecstatic frenzy, looking wildly for television cameras to blab to and tell their happiness. 14 year old girls to 40 year old women wore blinding smiles, gossiping to themselves about how “hot Britney looked,” murmering that a comeback was in the bag. Amazingly, after two years in which Britney Spears has seemed hell-bent on destroying any respect or esteem that people had for her, thousands of people’s lives were briefly brighter, thanks to a raunchy 13-minutes of lip syncing.

It all makes sense if a way. In her soap opera life of the past few years, Britney has become an every-woman for hundreds of thousands of women. Her fans (and there really are fans) identify with her, relate their struggles to hers, subliminally and not subliminally believe that if she too can comeback, than their obstacles will be equally surmountable. The rise of reality shows and celeb magazines over this decade has really just been a result of American egocentricity and our compulsive need to watch ourselves and our enemies reflected in the heroes and villains of the mass media. Just as Britney’s girl next door innocence vibe fit the wide-eyed optimism of the Dot com years, her raunchy, tabloid, freak show fits the weird polluted undercurrent of life in the Bush administration.

Seeing the live traveling carnival of Britney Spears humanizes the whole ordeal in a very strange way. You’re sort of able to grasp exactly why millions of otherwise sane women (and men) obsess over her divorce trials and tribulations. She radiates the undeniable normalcy of a scared 25-year old girl. The best cheerleader on the high school squad made good than made bad. You kind of had to root for her in a way, just the way you’d root for the underdog. Even if sometimes the underdog forgets to wear underwear.

Posted in Beards, Blazers, & Glasses, Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought?, Best Of | 10 Comments »

Coachella 2007-Day 2

Pharoahe Monch-Coachella Stage (1:30-2:15)
I was depressed when I found out that Pharoahe Monch, a 13 year veteran of the rap world was slotted to play the main stage at 1:30 smack dab in the middle of the searing desert heat, a time typically given to rookies playing their first festival ever, and certainly not
fitting for one of the greatest MC’s ever. Had the Coachella organizers never heard Internal Affairs, or Stress: The Extinction Level Agenda? Obviously not, because anyone who has ever heard Pharoahe and his unmatched lyrical skills, soulful cadence and mad preacher charisma would’ve known better than to let him languish in the dregs of the day.

But what I saw was anything but depressing. Braving the sweltering weather, a large and rowdy crowd of die-hard hip-hop heads turned out to watch Pharoahe turn in the best hip-hop set of the festival. Backed by a two guitarists, a keyboardist, two back-up singers and a drummer delivering massive snare hits, Pharoahe’s set wildly exceeded my already high expectations, as he brilliantly ran through cuts from his long-awaited Desire, Internal Affairs and singles like “Agent Orange” and a Mos Def-less “Oh No.” Closing with the Godzilla stomp of “Simon Says,” the crowd went ape-shit and Pharoahe proved once again that he really does blow shows like afros.

Download:
MP3: Pharoahe Monch-”Desire”

Roky Erickson & The Explosives-Gobi Tent (3:50-4:40)
Chances are if you aren’t a huge music dork you don’t know who Roky Erickson is. But that’s not entirely your fault, because at some point in the late 60s, Erickson, the man who practically invented American psychedelia with the trippy guitar freak-outs of 13th Floor Elevators, went crazy. Oft-compared to Syd Barret, Erickson was America’s premiere acid casualty and sadly, his subsequent work never reached the brilliance of Easter Everywhere and Psychedelic Sounds of the 13th Floor Elevators.

So watching Erickson deliver intensely gorgeous bursts of psychedelic guitar into the hot afternoon sun in the year 2007, felt a little bit like watching a ghost. Albeit a ghost that was rocking the fuck out. With new band, The Explosives in tow, Erickson was flat-out fantastic, rivaling Neil Young and CSNY as America’s premiere grandpa rock n’ rool band. In fact, the 60-year old Erickson sort of reminded me of Neil Young’s weird younger brother, with a similar falsetto voice, unmatched guitar skills and wispy gray hair. If you get the opportunity, see Roky Erickson live while you have the chance. You won’t regret it. I’d planned 0n catching just the first 20 minutes of his set before wandering over to Hot Chip, but he was so impressive that I had to stay for its entirety.

Download:
MP3: 13th Floor Elevators-”You’re Gonna’ Miss Me”

Hot Chip-Mojave Tent (4:10-5:00)
Hot Chip really didn’t have a right to turn in as good of a set as they did. The picture above pretty much accurately captured their performance. The dudes are practically frozen on-stage, hiding behind a bunch of keyboards, electronic gizmos and one guy with a guitar. Somehow, their live set was awesome. I’m still not sure how exactly. They sounded great and by time they played the last song of the set, “Over and Over,” the crowd was in a frenzy, dancing like maniacs, flailing every which way. It once again proved my theory that British people are just way more funky than Americans. Between Fujiya & Miyagi and Hot Chip, Great Britain has it on lock down for funky white boys. Plus, on their forthcoming DJ Kicks mixtape, Hot Chip included Positive K’s “I Got a Man.” How can you not like these guys?

Download:
MP3: Hot Chip-”And I Was A Boy From School”

The New Pornographers-Outdoor Theater (5:05-5:55)

The New Pornographers are one of the most consistent acts in indie rock. You’ll never get a brilliant, I just-saw Jesus type of set from AC Newman and the gang but every time I see them, I walk away with a smile on my face. They just don’t have a bad song in their catalogue and while it might be a little lame that they have a full-time Neko Case stand-in (Newman’s sister), they are guaranteed to be a fun time. However, I only saw about 20 minutes of their set because Peter, Bjorn & John were on simultaneously and….

Download:
MP3: The New Pornographers-”Use It”

Peter, Bjorn & John-Mojave Tent (5:25-6:15)
When I arrived at Peter, Bjorn and John, the Mojave Tent was swarmed in a crush of people sweating in the blistering heat. No fun. Further compounding our misery was PB&J, who for reasons known only to themselves decided to go acoustic mid-set. Numbers like “Amsterdam” and “Paris 2004″ that sounded crisp and perfect on the album, wilted dead in the inferno. It was pretty awful, though it did give me time to think of the possibilities of a sketch called Peter, Bjorn & John Candy. Uncle Buck meets the Swedish chef. Golden.

Then something clicked and the band decided to jettison the acoustic approach. Bringing Shout Out Louds keyboardist Bebban Stenborg on-stage to perform “Young Folks” the crowd lost it, erupting into deafening applause. You could almost see the Grey’s Anatomy producers smiling. And then one of the lamest things in Coachella history occurred, something that spoke volumes about the new Hollywood nature of Coachella, as “Young Folks’” conclusion brought a mass exodus from the tent. Five minutes earlier, I’d had my head plastered to its white walls, barely able to see the stage. Suddenly, I was 15 feet from the Swedish trio, watching Peter, Bjorn & John finally loosen up to deliver blisteringly brilliant psychedelic versions of “Up Against the Wall” and “Objects of my Affection,” as though to punish the festival-goers for having the gall to desert them for Kings of Fucking Leon who were about to begin a typically mediocre set on the main stage.

Download:
MP3: Peter, Bjorn & John-”Let’s Call it Off”

Ghostface Killah-Outdoor Theater (7:30-8:20)

Somebody really needs to tell Ghost that the whole ending your set with a dance party thing is getting old. Honestly, he’s been doing this since before Sun God was born and quite frankly it looks a little lame. At least, he could change the last song of his set or something. Fuck ending things with “Cherchez La Ghost,” he needs to throw a dance party to “Wildflower” or maybe “It’s Over.” If the girls still want to dance after Ghost delivers the line, “Yo bitch, I fucked your friend, yeah yo stank ho, I seen her on the elevator honey grabbed my kangol,” then those are some real ride or die chicks. Respect.

Either way, despite the fact that Ghost delivered an abbreviated version of the set that he delivered in February, any time that I can hear live versions of “The Forrest,” “The Juks”"Biscuits” “Run” and Ghost’s verse from “4th Chamber” is a good time. Plus, he played “Fish,” a nod to the old school heads. Even better? Shawn Wiggs was nowhere to be found. Stellar.

Download:
MP3: Ghostface Killah-”The Forrest”

The Arcade Fire-Coachella Stage (7:30-8:40)
I have a confession to make. I’ve been thinking it for a long time and well, it’s not the easiest thing in the world to say, because quite frankly, you might think differently of me. But it’s who I am and I have to be honest with myself. But the truth is…. I really don’t like The Arcade Fire. Yeah, sure I loved Funeral. Everyone loved Funeral. But I really don’t care for the pretentions and smug self-righteousness of Neon Bible. Sure, has it has its moments, “Ocean of Noise” is a pretty great song and I can’t deny that they’re a talented objectively “good” band, but there’s just something about Win Butler’s lyrics that rub me the wrong way.

I couldn’t exactly put my finger on it before watching them live at Coachella this year, but it all become clear during his funereal, dead-serious performance, where Butler reminded me all too much of famed wrestling manager, Paul Bearer. Is it too much to crack a smile? Make a joke? Avoid dropping lines like “when I was your age, I was working for minimum wage.” Yup, just like the rest of Exeter and Sarah Lawrence, Butler’s alma maters. Fight the powers that be, yo! Certainly their bombastic live set has power, but it felt so forced. And when at the end of the set, Butler rushed into the crowd, it feel contrived, just like that silly guitar smashing on SNL, as though Butler only did it because he was supposed to to be a “rock star.” As though he did, what would Bono do, tatted on his wrist. I don’t begrudge anyone liking The Arcade Fire. But they aren’t the best band of this generation, they’re its most overrated.

Download:
MP3: Arcade Fire: “No Cars Go”

LCD Soundsystem-Sahara Tent (9:30-10:20)Hands down the set of the festival. Proof positive that hipsters might have something right after all, James Murphy absolutely positively destroyed the competition. To quote Deck: he left the mic in body bags. And all this despite looking like Francis from Pee Wee’s Big Adventure. The moment the set began, the entire Sahara Tent erupted into a crazy dance party. You had no choice, it was either get move or get out.

And backed by a full band, it was nearly impossible not to get down to Murphy’s wry, impossibly rhythmic jams, like “Us and Them,” “Daft Punk is Playing at My House,” and “North American Scum.” Unlike most electronic kingpins, Murphy’s music isn’t tailor-made for the rave set, his music is equally at home for the stoners in the back of the tent, nodding along to his propulsive skittering beats. Closing with anti Frank Sinatra ballad, “New York I Love You,” Murphy made a strong case for Sound of Silver being the album of 2007, and Murphy, one of the most important artists to emerge in this century.

Download:
MP3: LCD Soundsystem-”North American Scum” (left-click)

Posted in Festivals | 12 Comments »

Coachella 2007-Day 1

Of Montreal-Outdoor Theater (4:55-5:45) width=”425″>But after watching her live show (and watching her stretch the phrase “Hello Coachella” into 34 syllables, I’ve concluded that the ever-evolving Bjork is music’s “Rain Man.” She probably can’t tie her Icelandic Walrus galoshes, but she’s clearly tapped into a higher musical plane than the rest of us. Call her an idiot savant and you’d probably be right. But there’s no denying that her critical adulation is deserved. Backed by a mini-orchestra, tunning through tracks from Homogenic, Post and her new record, Volta, Bjork, delivered a shockingly powerful (and obviously weird) performance, partially redeeming a sub-par opening day of the festival. And I wasn’t alone. Judging from the crowd’s enthusiastic reception, we all got Bjorked.

Download
MP3: Bjork-”Earth Intruders”

Posted in Festivals | 9 Comments »

Coachella: 2007:

Sadly, Vigo the Carpathian was not there. But he may have been the only celebrity not sweltering in the desert this weekend mingling gleefully with the Los Angeles cluberati: 27 year-old trust funders, scattering shirt-less from bar to bar, tatted up and bandanna’d, scheming on 18-year old girls giggling noxiously in Marc Jacobs sun-dresses. This was the scene inside the sprawling VIP grounds at Coachella last weekend, where by hook or crook, I finagled my way into the epicenter of the madness. After all, I am a journalist, a hired geek and one of the five members of the LA Times Buzz Blog team, (who somehow covered practically every single act in three days).

Throughout throughout the duration of the weekend, the only thought that manifested inside my head when asked whether I was enjoying the festival, was to point to the circus going on inside the closed-to-the-public circus tents and start babbling about Ghostbusters II and how I was reasonably sure that there was a river of molasses-thick evil pink sludge bubbling directly underneath the VIP area.

You’re probably thinking to yourself, but what about the music? Surely, the greater majority of festival-goers weren’t VIP. Of course, that’s true. But Coachella in the year 2007 isn’t about the music. It’s become a celebrity sideshow, another excuse for bold-faced names and the rich kids who love them to rent outlandish homes in the desert, booze endlessly and sneer at burly black-clad Rage fans and the endless plebe lines for port-a-potties. It’s the sort of place where living legends like Willie Nelson would drop one of the five best sets of the festival and a large percentage of the crowd could’ve cared less, more interested in rubber-necking at the sight of Cameron Diaz eating a Spicy Tuna Roll while sipping on a Cosmo.

Jesus and the Very Lame

Coachella 2007 was the Jesus and Mary Chain finally re-uniting, delivering a scorched-earth set with apocalyptic fury then squandering their goodwill just minutes later, by towing a screeching Scarlett Johannson on-stage, to coo a few painfully bad backing vocals on “Just Like Honey,” deer-in-the-headlights expression frozen shut on her face.

Coachella 2007 was Girl Talk pressing the space bar and turning a tiny tent into a massive dance party, with everyone having the time of their lives. Then at the apex of the set, Paris Hilton trolls on-stage, leaving a trail of pink sludge behind her, dancing along to the beat, doing her best to look “fabulous,” while disgusted on-lookers did their best to stop from retching. Coachella 2007 was Hilton and even lamer cohort, Lindsay Lohan gawking from the side of the stage at Arcade Fire, doing their best to try to pretend like they’re all hip and with it, because omg!!! Arcade Fire are like so totally awesome, right?

Expect belated write-ups on all the acts in the coming days and maybe even a surprise concert review or two). Either way, after three days of insane traffic jams, $6 slices of pizza, and doing my best not to start screaming at the VIP cabal that LCD Soundsystem was about to drop the set of their lifetimes while they were catching The Red Hot Chili Peppers for the 4th time, I’m beat and in no mood to avoid trying not to get sued for slander. Tune in mid-afternoon tomorrow. In the meantime, listen to Ray Parker Jr. tell it like it is.

Download:
MP3: Ray Parker Jr.-”Ghostbusters”

Posted in Festivals | 4 Comments »