It’s Guitar Hero on your cell phone! (kind of)

AT&T has announced it’s launch of the new cell phone game GuitarStar.

Modeled after the video game phenomenon, GuitarStar uses similar beat matching technology, instructing players to “catch” guitar picks flying across the screen’s cross hairs design in time with the music.

The better your hand-eye coordination, the faster you can rise from lowly garage band to stadium superstar, and high scores grant access to new songs of increasing difficulty.

AdME, GuitarStar’s developer, says the game is “the first mobile game fully capable of synchronizing visual movements with the beat of the underlying musical sound track in order to significantly amplify the player’s level of gaming engagement.”

As for character choices, you can pick from either a rock-cliche cartoon or a member of an actual band (available for download). Several emerging bands that have signed on to be part of GuitarStar include Hoopla, Bowling Gnomes, The Carps, Mankind Is Obsolete, and The Daily Pravda.

Never heard of them?
Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll get some bigger names as things get rolling.

*Sidenote: Upon researching, I’ve discovered that The Carps kick a decent amount of ass.

With the iTube, from the British company Fatman. This seems like the iDeal compromise between digital convenience and analog sonic warmth.

This cover of “Immigrant Song” by Heart vocalist Ann Wilson is better than I expected it to be (it will appear on her debut solo album, Hope & Glory, out Sept. 11). Her rendition isn't as bombastic as the original (nothing could be, really), but it's an interesting interpretation of a classic-rock chestnut that retains some of the latent Eastern mystery of Led Zeppelin's version while lending it a subtler edginess. And while she may be 57, Ann is still in lusty vocal form here.

Wilson explains her approach to “Immigrant Song: "[Producer] Ben Mink said, 'Why don't we just start you out like Yma Sumac and take the song way, way North African?' Our version starts a little like a little dot on the horizon, but by the time it's done you've been overrun by all the barbarians."

Who expects an Icon, a Legend and a Voice of His Generation™ to be punctual? Not I. Which is why my 9:15 arrival at Pacific Amphitheatre enabled me to catch only the last 40 minutes of Bob Dylan's Orange County Fair performance last night. Turns out that was quite enough, really.

The 66-year-old lyrical genius and his five nattily attired old pros had the largely Baby Boomer crowd in the palms of their hands. After each number, some people actually bowed while howling their appreciation. I, however, was less impressed.

I'm no Dylan hater, but neither am I a rabid fan. I think he had a devastatingly great run of albums from the 1962-67 (Bob Dylan through John Wesley Harding), and then put out a few very good records in the '70s and '80s, amid a lot of mediocre output. I stopped following the man after 1989's Oh Mercy, though consensus opinion says his latest full-length, Modern Times, is yet another Return to Form.

Be that as it may, the Dylan before us in 2007 is difficult to embrace wholeheartedly. Wearing a boater and a black suit that made me think "maître d' of a classy hotel," Dylan played keyboards, electric guitar, occasionally blew into a harmonica and “sang.” I use scare quotes because what comes out of Robert Zimmerman's mouth in 2007 cannot properly be called singing, no matter how loosely one defines the term. Rather, it is a homunculoid growl, cured by several thousand cigarettes and hindered by substantial quantities of phlegm. One can imagine the mics he uses being sterilized post-show to eliminate the possibility of other vocalists getting cancer from them. Of course, Dylan never had much range and his voice always has been an acquired taste many never acquire, but now it's just downright unpleasant and it does his monumental canon of songs no favors.

I arrive as Dylan & co. are tearing through the jaunty R&B romp “Nettie Moore” off Modern Times. It sounded utterly functional. “Ballad of a Thin Man” follows, with Dylan's phrasing deviating drastically from the recorded version of one of his most beloved songs as heard on the all-time classic Highway 61 Revisited. This way doesn't improve the original, but rather makes a mockery of it. Dylan also radically rearranged “Blowin' in the Wind” to deleterious effect, again coming off like his worst enemy spoofing a chestnut dear to many old folkies. You have to respect an established artist treating his own revered oeuvre with so much irreverence and refusing to stagnate in his dotage. Still, this rendition was grating to the ears, sounding ridiculously awkward and inelegant. Nevertheless, the crowd cheered itself hoarse at its conclusion.

The other songs I caught (“Summer Days,” “Thunder on a Mountain”) rolled by with workmanlike competence. There was an “another day at the office” aura about the whole endeavor. Dylan's Never Ending Tour, by necessity, would appear to wipe out any extreme highs or lows. One expects cruise-control coasting for long stretches, and that's mostly what one gets.

After the Dylan sextet took their final bow, grumbles among audience members could be heard about the absence of “Like a Rolling Stone” (set list and band lineup can be viewed here; looks like I missed the best part of the show, damn it; “It's Alright, Ma [I'm Only Bleeding]” is probably my fave Dylan track), but overall, people seemed quite pleased with Bob Dylan ca. 2007. You have to admire their loyalty, if not their discernment.

Director A.J. Schnack will be releasing his new documentary Kurt Cobain: About A Son in early October. The film will consist of scenic footage from the Washington cities Aberdeen, Olympia and Seattle (where Cobain lived), along with audio recordings done from a series of interviews conducted by journalist Michael Azerrad. The film score was co-written by Ben Gibbard of Death Cab For Cutie and the soundtrack is scheduled to be released Sept. 11.
The film will be coming to the Los Angeles Nuart Theatre October 5.

Please put any comparisons to Last Days right out of your head.

Here is a clip:

Anaheim all-ages club Chain Reaction is broiling with body heat, youthful hormones and the sonic radiation of Portugal. The Man's music. I arrive 20 minutes into their set due to a misjudgment on highway 55, but once at the venue, I'm immediately hit by this humidly tropical blast and promptly swept up in their tumultuous prog-emo rock with bluesy undercurrents. Fans and band members (PTM swell to a septet onstage) are sweating profusely, with the former going ga-ga for and singing along to PTM's songs, which are full of teen drama, flamboyant dynamics and thick, meaty choruses that build a “we're all in this together” feeling.

During the last song of their 80-minute performance, Portugal. The Man shift into spazzy rave-up mode; they fake three endings, seemingly unable to face the thought of walking offstage. Finally, begrudgingly, mercifully for the drenched audience, they call it quits with a suitably exciting, climactic shudder.

At least 200 people came to see this band on a Wednesday night, and most of them know the words and clap along when inspired. Hair gets matted, shirts darken with sweat, dances get danced, visages get etched with exhilaration, hands wave in the air like they just don't care. Several people here surely went home thinking this was the BEST! SHOW! EVAR! of their young lives. Many wet fingers tapped out text messages likely to that effect with impressive enthusiasm as the house lights went up.

It's a ruff mix, but it ain't bad for a canine.

Via: VideoSift

Portugal. The Man have burdened themselves with an awkward moniker (also: damn that superfluous period), but despite a name that makes you feel foolish while uttering it in public, the Oregon via Wasilla, Alaska group (who perform at Anaheim's Chain Reaction July 25) create compelling music that's actually worth the buzz it's generating.

Their new album, Church Mouth (Fearless), is scrappy yet melodic and full of unexpected dynamics and swooping, inventive vocal arrangements courtesy of guitarist John Baldwin Gourley and bassist Zach Carothers. (Drummer Jason Sechrist ably guides the trio through their often serpentine paces.) It's an expansive, sometimes bombastic pop opus with robust blues and prog-rock inclinations, but it's not excessively beholden to those styles. Think of the White Stripes if they were more infatuated with Fiery Furnaces and Man Man than with Led Zeppelin. Complex yet catchy, the songs on Church Mouth will grow on you—like a fungus that will subtly alter you consciousness if you ingest it. And you will.

Hey, Portugal. The Man: Lisbon fun. (Bet you never heard that one.)

After putting in 19 years and releasing over 750 records, Long Gone John is fixing to sell his Long Beach-based label, Sympathy for the Record Industry. He’s asking for $650,000, which is a downright steal, if you take into account the rich back catalog. The price includes all of SFTRI’s assets (master tapes, existing stock, distribution deals, website and mail-order business).

The company—which is a beloved haven for underground garage, psych and punk rock—had an uncanny knack for snagging exciting young bands that eventually went on to blow up (e.g., the White Stripes, Hole, the Electrocutes [who became the Donnas], Rocket from the Crypt, Turbonegro). Long Gone John also became infamous for his sneering contempt toward the business in which he operated and for his snide slogans (“We almost really care”; “A name you can pronounce since 1988”). In an interview with The Daily Swarm, LGJ said, “I wrote the notice a while ago and thought about putting it on eBay but never got around to it. The record industry has been complete shit for quite a while and this morning I was looking at it again and decided it was time. I want to solicit real interest.”

Interested suitors can contact LGJ at sympathy13@aol.com.

LGJ plans to move to Olympia, Washington, where vinyl records sound much better than they do in Long Beach.

The Mashed Potatos played an amazing set at the Hellman House in Long Beach on Saturday night. They were getting the dance party started inside, while outside was raging with firedancers, a mobile jacuzzi (located in the bed of a camouflaged truck, complete with fountains!), and some guy dressed up like a tomato, and booze booze booze.

All in all, it was a great time with a couple hundred of the area's most beautiful people and the best DJs around.

Thanks for everything, Kehni!