Chris Alfaro, putting on airs.

Santa Ana musician/DJ/entrepreneur Free the Robots (Chris Alfaro) alerts us that his soon-coming club/restaurant The Crosby now has a video blog (wittily titled Kenny Bloggins) that will provide several entertaining hours of “mindless escapism.” It includes the first episode of Free the Robots Cribs: Essential viewing. And it's not like you have anything better to do, slacker.

For those who were seduced by the minimalist quiet whisperings on Iron And Wine’s early albums Our Endless Numbered Days and The Creek Drank The Cradle will find the new album The Shepherd’s Dog a venture into new territory.

This album crosses the border from timid (who can forget the sweetly sparse cover of Such Great Heights?) to bold, with mastermind Samuel Beam finally unlocking what we always knew he had lurking somewhere within the depths of his creativity.

This is the album any Iron And Wine fan has been waiting (ever so patiently) for, and will finally get to hear September 25. Beam takes The Shepherd’s Dog to a new level with full and flooding background symphonies cradling his poetic lyrics.

The album opens with “Pagan Angel And A Borrowed Car” displaying a twangy guitar sweeping into a fluid currant of organic harmony and hippie-loving melody, paired with a foot-tapping beat straight to the heart. Beam’s vocals are both as raspy and smooth as raw silk.

The entire album boasts Beam’s newfound confidence in the twisted and soft, a coherence of talent best found on “Lovesong Of A Buzzard”, pairing sleepy singing to upbeat and spirited Caribbean drums. Standing out is the line, “...a tattoo of a flower on a broken wrist.”

The track “Carousel” starts off as a digitally warped lullaby, but quickly transcends into a old southern back water hymn.

The album finishes with “Flightless Bird, American Mouth”, an achingly heartfelt tune sung with a pure, unadulterated innocence.

Beam has found his new chapter in song writing, and it seems to be sunshine folk mixed with just the right amount of introspection.

The Pity Party (photo by ionnehendrix)

The Pity Party are in mid-set as I arrive at Detroit Bar, projecting an LA-hipster refraction of the White Stripes—on first impression. But female drummer/vocalist/keyboardist Heisenflei and guitarist/vocalist Maurice-Robert quickly quash that knee-jerk reaction with an approach to rock that's far less trad than Jack and Meg's. The Pity Party's rhythms are fairly primitive (and totally righteous), but the guitar is art-damaged in a way that reminds me of early-'80s Scottish post-punk depressives and Beefheart aficionados Josef K and Fire Engines, respectively, tempered with the brittle, caustic slash of NY No Wave. When they're not on the aggressive tip, the Pity Party can slow down and bliss out while still emitting a cantankerous guitar tone (M-R has eight fx units and a Fender ax, which is a recipe for extraordinary sound).

Multi-tasking demon Heisenflei drums with her right arm and both legs while her left hand plays keyboards—and she sings, too, often all at once. Tonight she's wearing green short shorts, which complement her athleticism and red hair. M-R's dark, forward-sweeping hair looks emo, but he's working in much deeper, weirder territory than those whiny-mall-boy hordes. The Pity Party currently are unsigned, but I wouldn't be surprised if they are entertaining offers from several high-profile indies, even as I type.

Long Beach's On Blast purvey suavely heart-wrenching dance rock with computerized beats. They have the moody Anglophile steez down pat. This is music to swoon, whirl and shed a perfectly formed tear down your chiseled cheekbone to. Hell, one song—“Bad Girl”—even heists (okay, alludes to) the funkily herky-jerky rhythm from David Bowie's “Fashion.” I foresee promising developments for On Blast (NME's already on board)—and many groupies in front man Josh Brown's future.

Between and after these bands, Dan Sena's Busywork DJs GMO and Damager got busy working the Serato with mostly killer new tracks hotting up the hipster dance circuit: Green Velvet's “Shake & Pop,” Mylo's “Drop the Pressure,” Justice's “D.A.N.C.E.” and a roughed-up remix of Depeche Mode's “Just Can't Get Enough.” Skeet Skeet closed things with anthem after banger after anthem, etc., nearly filling the dance floor late on a Wednesday night. Impressive, even if he did play that played-out Outfield hit “I Don't Want to Lose Your Love Tonight,” which never had my love to lose (although I secretly like this catchy-as-herpes song, against all sense of critical decorum; shhhh, don't tell anybody).

All the great cities in America have great songs to go along with them; classic personifications that truly capture the city’s personality. New York City has "New York, New York" by Sinatra of course, Tony Bennett, with his brand of eternal class offered up "I Left My Heart in San Francisco." There’s Randy Newman’s, "I Love LA," which must have been written either ironically or at whatever time of day that there’s no traffic. Hell, even San Jose was honored by singer and Psychic Friend, Dionne Warwick, though whether or not San Jose is a great American city is debatable.

There’s another great American city with a great song, and it’s right here in the OC. Huntington Beach finally has the tune it deserves: "Huntington Beach," by white rap duo, Hot & Spicy. The hook? "I grew up in Huntington. Fuck you bitch."

If there ever was an anthem for the HB alpha male, this is it. If you’re not familiar, cruise Main Street on Friday Night.

This track dropped a while back so it’s nothing new, but as a classic it really is timeless. My favorite line: “I arm wrestle, skinny bitches, and I win, cause I’m strong muscles.” Wow.

Listen here.

LA-based mag URB has included Orange County MC/producer Sol-T in its notorious Next 1000 feature. Sol puts a fresh, funny and raunchy spin on old-school hip-hop, both on the mic and the MPC2000. You can read the blurb (as well as the recent OC Weekly feature on him) on his MySpace page.

Sol-T plays at Fullerton's Continental Room Sept. 11.

And now for the something-like-43rd time Matt Costa's been mentioned in the Weekly: What's there left to say?

On Sunday night, the Detroit Bar was packed.

And it wasn't really for their usual Karaoke Sundays, or even for any announced show at all.

The Huntington Beach resident with the curiously large following played a secret show partially in preparation for a few dates he'll be opening up for Modest Mouse in Portland and beyond. Costa and band (including new member Jacob Sahagen—of Madman Moon—on the keyboards) have been feverishly practicing a brand new set to showcase at these dates and beyond. The set list half consisted of re-worked and revamped (think the lap steel, mandolin and banjo) favorite tracks from his first full-length, Songs We Sing (2005), and half from the forthcoming Unfamiliar Faces.

And the new stuff? It's different.

For the longtime fans: Don't worry. That same sincere Matt is there, with his bounty of fuzzy tunes that leaves you feeling all warm and gooey inside; the cheerful and the thoughtful, all over words and melodies that are as Donovan and the Band as they are uh, now.

For the newcomers: Just come and watch. You'll find what I saw on Sunday night—an engaged crowd, even the ones who were there just enjoying a drink on a Sunday night, cooing at his every note/word/forgotten note/forgotten word and a band that's as solid and clicky as it is credible.

Matt Costa plays San Diego Street Scene at the Coors Amphitheater 9/22. For more info see www.myspace.com/mattcostamusic or www.street-scene.com.

"SLAYERRRRR!!!"

That drunken battle cry, which sounded at around 7:30 p.m. Friday, should have been warning enough. But we silly photographers stood in the aisles of the outdoor Verizon Ampitheater tinkering with our cameras without a care in the world.

Then the lights went out and the ruckus onstage turned the audience into a barbaric mass. Two large, white skinheads walked up to the bouncers at the foot of the left aisle and tried to talk their way into the pit. But the boys in yellow weren't moving.

Far from deterred, they rallied their similarly burly pals. "There's only two of them!" yelled one guy, referring to the bouncers. "Let's go!" And at least a dozen people rushed forward, all elbows and fists, knocking us to the side in their rush to be closer to their metal gods.

I've got thigh bruises and photos to mark the occasion. Click the photo to see Slayer...and the group's rabid fanbase.

Also in photos: Marilyn Manson

All rumors and reports regarding My Bloody Valentine should be viewed with skepticism, but this one has the air of legitimacy about it. According to The Daily Swarm, MBV's original lineup is reuniting and hoping to tour again in 2008. Coachella reputedly has offered the UK group a 7-figure fee to play the Indio, California festival, which is happening April 25-27 next year.

MBV effectively have been on hiatus since 1991. The band's last two albums—Isn't Anything (1988) and Loveless (1991)—revolutionized rock music through their unprecedented guitar sounds and fusion of shattering noise, blissful ambience and gorgeous melodies. MBV went on to influence hundreds of bands, most of them not fit to carry mastermind Kevin Shields' plectrums (plectra?).

Below, check out the videos to “Only Shallow” and "Soon," MBV's disorienting, sensual alterna-hits from 16 years ago, and realize how feeble most rock bands today still sound in comparison.

DJ House Shoes and Brian Gillespie at Detroit Bar. Photo by DJ Edouble

First thing I heard as I approached Detroit Bar was Seals & Crofts’ 1973 hit “Diamond Girl.” At Abstract Workshop, one of OC’s preeminent hip-hop nights? I didn’t think baby-boomer nostalgia was part of its equation, but when I actually slipped inside the venue, I could hear some wicked J Dilla beats splattering over the Lite FM chestnut. Dude responsible for the killer juxtaposition was DJ House Shoes, a Detroiter now based in LA. Despite letting two—two!—tracks run out into dead air (well, at least he was playing vinyl), House Shoes moved the somewhat thin crowd with seasoned skill. Later he dropped Joni Mitchell’s “Big Yellow Taxi” and it was the dopeness. Kudos to any DJ, hip-hop or otherwise, who flips the bird to conventional wisdom and works the unexpected into sets.

House Shoes was wearing an XXL T-shirt with Dilla’s likeness on it and much of his set consisted of that late legendary beatmaker’s handiwork. I didn't notice anyone complaining about House Shoes’ Dilla-heavy set; if you have a problem with Dilla, you have a problem with hip-hop.

Blu & Exile followed, bringing some West Coast backpacker bounce to proceedings. Exile scratched with authority and Blu rapped with authority, recalling Golden Age greats like the Pharcyde and Souls of Mischief, but they played too long. Also, Blu and his MC sidekick, Ta’raach, spent way too much time coaxing the crowd to “make some motherfuckin’ noise,” which is my biggest beef with hip-hop shows.

I understand how performers like to feed off crowd energy, but I think the truly gifted artists don’t need to cajole/badger/beg audiences to generate noise. If you have the skills, people naturally will acknowledge them with appreciative sounds. Bag the tedious pleading and start killing it on the mic and decks. That’s how you earn respect. (Anybody feelin’ me on this? I realize I’m shouting into the void here and hip-hop artists will continue with this tiresome practice until kingdom come, but it feels good to vent.)

Due to Blu & Exile’s stage-hogging, Detroit’s Brian Gillespie (aka DJ Starski) went on at 1:20 a.m. to a paltry crowd of about 30. I felt bad for the veteran DJ/label owner, but he wasted no time getting down to business, bringing a slew of hot, high-NRG funk, soul and Motor City hip-hop. The remaining troopers busted moves with amazing vigor to tracks like Zapp’s “More Bounce to the Ounce” (funkiest song of the ’80s), Ronnie Hudson’s “West Coast Poplock,” Indeep’s “Last Night a DJ Saved My Life,” Loose Joints’ “Is It All Over My Face” and a boogaloo piece that sampled James Brown’s “Give It Up Or Turn It Loose.” It’s a pity Gillespie only had 30 minutes to spin, but he definitely made the most of his half hour. I hope he returns to OC and gets another chance to dig deeper into his crates.

(Photos to come as soon as MySpace gets fixed.)

So I strolled into Memphis Café last night to check out Souled Out, curious to see if this week's Sprawl of Sound column had any effect on the turnout. What I found boosted my spirits—and those of DJ TSC1 (Sean Harris), the long-time host of this stellar night. Compared to the last few visits here, during which a glum ennui enveloped the space, Memphis was humming with activity, conversation and, of course, excellent specimens of soul, funk, jazz, hip-hop and disco from Harris' bag of delights. Several folks even started dancing and engaging in PDA. Body heat was palpable. The weekend was starting on Thursday, apparently. One could even forgive Harris for making a few concessions to the party people by playing the Jackson 5's "I Want You Back," Chaka Khan's "I Feel for You" and Musical Youth's “Pass the Dutchie” (okay, that last one was kinda pushing it...).

Now it may be presumptuous to think that Sprawl of Sound could instigate such a startling turnaround in attendance, but I would like to believe that the article had some impact in luring the crowd there. One thing I do know: it spurred notorious recluse and previous SOS subject John Basil to make the scene. Whoa. I may have just reached my peak of influence as a music journalist; you'd best believe I'm gonna savor it.

This week's giveaway: 15 pairs of tickets to Metal Skool on August 31st!

To win, e-mail ocpromotions@ocweekly.com with your NAME, AGE (this is a 21+ show), and PHONE NUMBER.

The show will be held at Sachi Bar in Long Beach:
6400 E. PCH, Long Beach, CA. 90803, corner of Pacific Coast Highway and 2nd Street

The venue people warn us that the dress code is strictly enforced: So dress to impress. Which means...

No - Beanies, No - Hats, No - Baggy Pants, No - Baggy Shirts, No - Shorts, No - Jerseys or Team Jackets, No - Flip Flops, No - Construction Boots, No - Chains, No - Sunglasses, No - Loose Clothing

Free Parking @ The Seaport Marina Hotel

DJs! I call for a moratorium on playing Justice Vs Simian's “We Are Your Friends.” Please do not spin it again until at least 2009. This naggingly catchy tune was already played the hell out when I left Seattle in March of this year. Now when you play the track (I still hear it nearly every time I go out), you merely serve to broadcast your own lack of creativity and your willingness to pander to the sheeple. The horse is not only flogged to death; its remains are starting to reek something awful.

For everyone who doesn't know what the hell I'm talking about, check out the video below, and then imagine hearing the music to it every night for the past year+. I dare say that you too would want to put dynamite in any offending DJ's headphones.

The latest from the Morrissey camp: A press release released just today announces Moz's final 30 stops on his latest successful tour promoting his number one UK album, Ringleader of the Tormentors—playing 168 shows in just over 21 months come November. These shows will be the last Morrissey will do "for the foreseeable future."

But that wasn't really the interesting part of the release. This was:

Finally, in an effort to stop the speculation and kill off the rumor mongers who seem to use these things to take advantage of committed fans, we can tell you that one thing the future will not bring is a Smiths' reunion tour. Per recent reports Morrissey was approached during the course of the summer by a consortium of promoters, in the wake of the success of the Police, U2 and the Rolling Stones tours, with a $75,000,000 offer to tour in 2008 and or 2009. The offer called for Morrissey to do a minimum of 50 shows all over the world under the Smiths' name with the only proviso being that Johnny Marr was also in the band. The offer has been refused.

The final block of west coast U.S. tour dates include a 10-night engagement at the Hollywood Palladium, from 10/1-10/13 (excluding Sundays).

With desire for the actual physical object of music recordings waning among the general public, the fate of album art hangs precariously in the balance. This piece (written by Bryan Borzykowski) captures the prevailing attitude among young music fans and major-label execs, who seem to be all whatevs about cover art, credits and liner notes. (Indie labels, one hopes at least, will continue to issue LPs and CDs with art work, even as they branch out into digital releases.)

While graphic artists and folks who appreciate aesthetically pleasing images get the shaft in this future-shock scenario, Borzykowski observes that “Multimedia will play an even larger role than it does now, as will product endorsements, TV show guest spots and pretty much anything else that will help showcase an artist. 'The movement for the artist to become more of a brand has definitely increased,' explains [Allan Mamaril, director of consumer products, retail at Puretracks.com]. 'Artists will be able to utilize a wide array of media including videos, press kits, and interviews.'”

Call me an old curmudgeon (I've been called worse), but I see this development as disturbing. Great cover art enhances my listening experience—plus I'm one of those people who love to read the credits to every damned thing I listen to, and not just because it pertains to my job. I really do want to track down where every sample originated on that Kanye West full-length and I want to know who engineered Battles' latest magnum opus. And, most crucially, I want to gaze lovingly at awesome images like those below while I absorb the sounds therein.

Tonight, the Beastie Boys play at the Wiltern. Click the image for photos from their sold-out show at the Greek Theater on the 19th:

Uffie is ready to... what?

Last night at Tapas in Newport Beach, Orange County's hipster contingent turned out in middling numbers ($15?! On a Monday?! Outrageous!) to gawk at Uffie, the sassy Ed Banger recording artist/fashionista whose best-known track is the lad-baitingly lewd “Ready to Fuck.” Unfortunately, Uff only performed two songs (including “Ready to Fuck”), and even those sounded like they could've been lip-synched.

I should've felt ripped off, but the DJs on the bill brought it strong. DJ Dan-O, a bearded dude in a baseball cap and T-shirt (no, really) spun some choice cuts, ranging from '80s electro to marauding, rough house to flamboyantly gimmicky dirty disco and acid-rave anthems (was that a remix of Josh Wink's “Higher State of Consciousness”? I think it was). A series of strident bangers was capped off with Daft Punk's “Technologic.”

Gina Turner followed and impressed the hell out of me. The 23-year-old LA disc jockey overcame a shaky start (her software glitched out during a track with the immortal line “Let's get this party started right.” Killing irony there.). During the silence, some in the crowd started singing the chorus to Justice Vs. Simian Mobile Disco's ubiquitous club hit “We Are Your Friends.” Miraculously, I restrained myself from going on a killing spree.

Gina Turner played some real 'ead bangers.

With the power returned, Turner bust out some hyper-sexual, pneumatic techno and disco as well suited for baby-making as it was for dancing. She smoothly made the transition from DJ Shadow's “Organ Donor” to Matthew Dear's “Dog Days” while in-between dropping a lot of bass-heavy 140-bpm tracks that reminded me of my '90s raving days. Some of it was thrombosis-inducing, but in a good way. You could feel the music's girth in your forehead veins. The volume in Tapas could've been toned down a bit without hampering the festive mood. If you plan to go there , bring earplugs.

LA's Skeet Skeet came on the decks and immediately went into party-rocking mode with Deee-lite's “Groove Is in the Heart,” before shifting into some Death From Above 1979's “Sexy Results (MSTRKRFT Remix),” Go! Team and a remix of Jackson 5's “I Want You Back.” He knew what he was doing and the crowd ate up his set.

This event (thrown by Discoteca) featured more photographers than dancers and more people outside smoking than both combined. Something was wrong with this picture.

Blank Blue, soon to be rocking Europe with Prefuse 73. Photo by Plastic Nancy

Dublab is an excellent web radio station run by some of SoCal's most skilled musicians and DJs, many of whom will be touring Europe with Prefuse 73 Sept. 1-15. Touring Europe isn't cheap without label support, so the Labrats (as they call themselves) are holding a benefit podcast Tuesday Aug. 21. Your donation will bring you a gift and the satisfaction of helping these worthy artists to crack some European domes. Check out the press release after the jump for all the info.

Last night the ever ethereal Blonde Redhead and instrument-hopping Midnight Movies played a sold out show at the Glass House in Pomona.

Los Angeles based Midnight Movies opened, keeping the starry-eyed audience’s attention with a mix of slow droning vocals and constantly switching instruments. Most impressive was Sandra Vu, who changed from drums to bass to flute.

Vocalist Gena Olivier, whose stage presence was reminiscent of a modern Nico, sometimes would play ritualistic drums while singing- a dramatic feat.

By the time Blonde Redhead took the stage, the Glass House encompassed so many people, fans were spilling out over the taped-off walkways. Bouncers were not pleased.

Although the venue was sold out, the crowd possessed an eerie quietness. Perhaps it was the mood of the melancholy music, or perhaps Blonde Redhead appeals to the incredibly docile, but in between songs one could hear a pin drop (save for the one or two who would periodically scream out “I love you!”).

The trio opened with "Dr. Strangeluv", filling the hall with Kazu Makino’s shrill and haunting delivery. Guitarist Amedeo Pace side-stepped delicately as drummer Simone Pace (Amedeo’s twin) led into their next song "23", a track that exquisitely demonstrates their tender and bewitching allure.

Named for Blonde Redhead’s new album, go here for the 23 review.
Although the energy was palpable, the crowd did not dance but swayed softly and politely.

They even managed to keep still during "Equus", a timid track on the album Misery Is A Butterfly that Makino transformed into a screeching powerhouse.

Once Blonde Redhead’s set was finished, the crowd came alive coaxing the band to come back for their usually-done encore. They did, of course, and the masses were treated to four more songs including the wistfully yearning "Top Ranking" and "Silently".

Click here to see photographer (and the Weekly's Associate Production Manager) Crystal Yang's slideshow.

*Because the Glass House removed the stage's front barracade, photographers could only take shots from the side corner.

It seemed promising: big, historic cruise ship, southern California sun, Barrington Levy and a few other well-known reggae performers. But things quickly took a turn for the worse at the first annual "Reggae Festival By the Bay" this Sunday in Long Beach when we noticed the sign posted on the parking lot entry kiosks outside the Queen Mary: "Reggae show moved indoors!"

The show was supposed to be held on a green stretch of grass with views of Long Beach harbor and downtown. But the whole thing was moved indoors because it was rumored that promoters did not have the necessaray permits following last week's auction sale of the historic cruiseliner. So, concert goers in bathing suit tops and summer dresses were ushered into three windowless floors aboard the Queen Mary. Outside, sunlight poured forth. Inside, flourescent lights lined the ceiling and gray carpet lined the floors. Inebriated reggae fans meandered through the three levels and those buying a cocktail were corraled by metal gates into an awkward corner, nowhere near the performance stage two floors below.

We lasted an hour, opting for a stroll through the ship's majestic old decks and a drink in the art deco observation bar instead. From there, we enjoyed a sunset punctuated by the occasional sad thud from the show-that-could-have-been down below.

Let Joe Cocker serenade you, lady.

Outside of Memphis Café in Costa Mesa, a group of us are chatting while inside Ubiquity hip-hop artist Ohmega Watts is DJing a set of strong if overly familiar cuts for Abstract Workshop’s Versatile night. We can see in the distance a figure walking toward us. To me, it looks like a man in drag. This person is wearing a tiara and a gaudily “classy” prom dress with a sash bearing some scrawl I can’t read. When the queen reaches us, it’s clear that this is a woman, perhaps in her late 40s. She holds a piece of paper with lyrics to “You Are So Beautiful (To Me),” the schmaltzy, oft-covered ballad with which Joe Cocker, Kenny Rogers and others have had hits. Tiara or no, this woman is not beautiful, not (to me), anyway.

With a tragic desperation, she asks each of us to sing this song to her. We all kindly reject her offer. A Ubiquity employee nicely advises her to contact his agent, adding that his performance price is exorbitant. I explain to her that if I sang this song, she’d regret ever being born. She takes my word for it. A local DJ asks her if he can take her photo with him in it. She agrees. Other folks are shooting photos and/or video of this pathetic scene, too. When the pathos becomes unbearable, I exit, with the song still unsung.

Club Wednesdayz isn’t a typical club.

So if you're a twenty-something who likes to club/pub hop around town in jeans and a hoodie, sorry to say, this isn’t for you. (Don’t be offended, I fit in this category, too.)

Come back when you’ve got a successful career going and you're rolling in dough.

It’s an innovative concept: An exclusive organization that meets twice a month to schmooze it’s members with networking and social opportunities, not to mention live music, cocktails and appetizers. The innovative part? Every event is held at a different upscale location, ensuring a new experience each time.

Last Wednesday, Aug 15, was at Chat Noir, one of the most elegantly beautiful lounges in the county. Everything was velvet and plush and gorgeous.

Being brand new, Club Wednesdayz is still seducing people to join (probably the reason yours truly was invited) and only a registration was needed to signify interest.

And if I had an extra $70 a month laying around? I’d be a member already.

The free appetizers alone were worth it. Endless trays of diced ahi over avocado, little toasted crackers holding filet mignon and dijon sauce, Brie with caramelized onions! It was heaven.

Club Wednesdayz started with a live jazz band while people filed in and got comfortable. Cocktail attire was necessary for entrance, but the crowd was far from snooty. Everyone was relaxed and friendly, apparently not bothered by the idea of work the next morning.

I should also mention the raffle going on, part of which went to charity. I was too distracted by the champagne and food to really pay much attention to it. Terrible person, yes I know.

Around 10 p.m. or so, when everyone was feeling warm and tingly, the night really got started. A Flock Of ‘80s, a cover band dedicated to said decade, took to the area designated as the dance floor.

Those business types sure aren’t shy about getting their groove on.

When I said the night really got started, I meant for them, not me. I left lovely Club Wednesdayz before midnight, realizing I was far out of my tax bracket and work the next morning was looming dangerously near.

For more information go to www.ClubWednesdayz.com

With chatter about the 40th anniversary of Sgt. Pepper's and "Strawberry Fields Forever"/"Penny Lane" single and reissues of two of the Monkees' best albums (Headquarters and Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn & Jones Ltd.) fresh in my mind, I am compelled to compare two of the best songs by these iconic pop groups via the magnetic charm of YouTube.

The Monkees' "Porpoise Song" (written by Gerry Goffin/Carole King) is some kind of ultimate watery bliss pop hatched from cynical music-biz vets looking to cash in on da yoof craze of the late-'60s (back when all candy and soft drinks were laced with the finest LSD). Seriously, I can imagine Brian Eno turning another green shade of envy over the gorgeous, enwombing stasis of this song. It represents Micky Dolenz's finest moment on the mic, too.

"Porpoise Song" seems to be loosely based upon "Strawberry Fields Forever" (both are nostalgia-laden reveries and poignant paeans to childhood), especially if you believe the Monkees to be a cynical marketing scheme devised by American record-biz moguls trying to fabricate a Yank Fab Four to capitalize (albeit late) on Beatlemania. But the Beatles song carries a sinister undercurrent that's absent from the Monkees tune; there's an uneasiness beneath the antiquated psychedelic idyll. When all the sound drops out near song's end and then returns with that mad, warbly Mellotron and those dread-filled martial rhythms and harrowing, phased guitars come into earshot, you can feel a wrenching sense of doom looming over these charmed lads.

Hell, I wouldn't want to live in a world without either song.

Hey kids. We realize freebies are key to worming our way into your pixelized hearts, so we're going to start giving tickets away every Friday morning, around this time.

To win, simply e-mail ocpromotions@ocweekly.com with the title of this post in the subject box.

The first 15 to send us their name, age (be over 18) and phone number (in case we need to call you) will get themselves on the guest list.

Today's giveaway: 15 pairs of tickets to see The Pricks on
THURSDAY, AUGUST 23, 2007 @ The Galaxy Theatre

The Lineup:
THE PRICKS (http://myspace.com/thepricks2005)
OPM (www.opmden.com)
IRATION (http://www.myspace.com/iration)
PISOLERO (http://www.myspace.com/pistolero)
NOT A CHANCE (http://www.myspace.com/skaisdead)

Ladies and gents, to your keyboards...

“Hey, little gothic girl, watch out, don't get a suntan,” is surely a lyric that will resonate with many young OC femmes gothique. German techno-pop trio International Pony sympathize with your dilemma. They've conceived this utterly demented video to their endearingly skewed ditty to show how much they care. If this song doesn't become a global smash... well, I wouldn't be surprised at all. But it ought to win some sort of award, somewhere.

Hat tip: earplug webzine.

The crowd merely tolerated the preceding bands. Sure, the scant opener-faithful were present but the overarching feeling, the predominant urge was in favor of the headliner. “RXB! RXB!” the crowd began to chant the moment the last note of the undercard rang out, and they settled down to endure the short break before Rx Bandits would finally come to the stage of the Vault 350 in Long Beach Wednesday night.

It was a frantic rush to the front of the room as the favorite band of many in the house strolled on stage, led by Matt Embree, bare foot and bearded. Choi, Tsagakis, Troy, and Sheets filled out rest to the near-tearful cries of the audience.

Rx blasted through a smattering of songs from their last three albums, and most of the fans sang right along with Embree, so much so that he was often able to just step back from the mic, and let the crowd take over on singing duties.

Rx Bandits shows never disappoint, and you can always count on the guys to get things right, or if need be, set things straight. Embree mildly chastised a group of young men in the pit after they grew a bit too aggressive, they acquiesced, and good times were had, even by those who didn’t want a boot to the face while doing it.

The Vault is an impressive venue that is sadly, often booked with the bland. An extraordinarily large floor is in front of a long bar, and the second story balconies are lined with table and booths, complimented by the lounge upstairs. If a good band’s a’comin’, it’s worth a’goin’.

The call for an encore was powerful (isn’t it always?), but the crowd seemed surprised that there wasn’t a second. The house wasn’t. They threw up the lights. The night was over. The fans were satiated, indicated by the smiling faces, giddy and laughing up and down Pine Street. Catch them again on August 19 and 20 at the Troubadour in Hollywood.

Pictures of the Vault 350 show here.

Siouxsie Sioux's solo album Mantaray won't be released until September 10, but here's a taste for those who can't wait.

The Banshees frontwoman's first ever solo video is for the single "Into A Swan"

Can you believe she's 50?

One Cell In The Sea, the latest from A Fine Frenzy starts out with a dainty chipperness that may lead you to believe the overall mood of the rest of the album may be continuously delightful.

But singer/songwriter Alison Sudol is a tricky girl.

By the third song "Whisper", she’s got you hooked and leads you down the rabbit hole into a storybook world of melancholy elegance and heartbreak. Alison’s delicate voice morphs between sweet coos and chirps against a soft piano, drums and the occasional digital bits.

Her bio mentions voices like Aretha Franklin and Ella Fitzgerald as main influences, but what Aretha is to strong, Alison is to delicate. She sings beautifully in her own right.

“I thought for a while that I’d become a big blues singer like Etta James or a soul singer like Aretha Franklin,” she told Interview magazine, “but I’m an itty-bitty little white girl.”

With ivory skin and fire-red hair, Alison has the beautiful-sad thing down pat. She probably even cries beautifully, mascara smearing just so.

For those of you who love a romantic tragedy, A Cell In The Sea will probably find a place amongst your “just broken up with” collection.

But beware of the song “Almost Lover.”

I might just be especially emotional today (listening to a lot of Otis Redding), but this track is sung so painfully that it brought actual tears to my eyes.

The rest of the album keeps with the hopeless/romantic theme, so if you choose to enjoy this fine piece of art, make sure there are tissues nearby.

Check out this video for Richie Hawtin's “The Tunnel” and get a glimpse of the future as envisioned by this techno innovator: Austere, minimalistic bloops; warped bleeps; mechanized, spaceship door sounds; brisk, no-nonsense 4/4 beats; sterile room; animated geometric shapes doing enigmatic things; emotionless, fainting Hawtin. It's as if somebody totally enamored of 2001: A Space Odyssey created this video. Rather quaint, really.

Unfortunately, Stanley Kubrick is unavailable for comment...

The traveling rap festival hit San Bernadino on August 11. Our sistah paper, LA Weekly, has some nifty snaps. Click the image to see the footage:

Mike Relm looks like Central Casting's idea of an IT geek. But in reality he's a San Francisco-based laptop disc/video jockey who rocks parties with a rather shocking ferocity. Relm’s like a West Coast Girl Talk, but with shit-hot scratching and graphic skills.

The Relm m.o. is to take familiar songs—mostly pop, rock, hip-hop and club bangers—and add furiously harsh scratching and deft beat-juggling to them, and then synch up the sounds to video images on a screen to his left. Sometimes he’ll have the artists whose tracks he’s playing appear on the screen and sometimes there’ll be humorous juxtapositions between the audio and visual (Bush cabinet members past and present flicker by to Beck’s “Loser”). Sometimes sheer random goofiness seems to guide Relm’s aesthetic choices (Napoleon Dynamite dancing to AC/DC’s “Back in Black”; the Outfield’s “[I Don’t Want to] Lose Your Love” scoring porn footage; Jay-Z’s “99 Problems” bumpin’ to Bruce Lee fights, etc.).

The highlights came fast and blurious. Here are a few I can recall: the opening bars of “Billie Jean” getting beat-juggled and then slowed w-a-a-a-y down; a scene from School of Rock in which Jack Black asks the students if they’ve ever gotten “the Led out,” then leading into Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song,” which sounded like the most exciting thing ever at that moment; a bombastic classical intro segueing into Nine Inch Nails’ “Closer to God”; muy rapido scratching to Vince Guaraldi’s “Peanuts Theme”; Devo’s “Whip It” blending into Rage Against the Machine's "Bulls on Parade," then somehow smoothly transitioning into Dr. Dre’s “Nuthin’ but a ‘G’ Thang.”

The only quibble I have regards the frequent pauses between routines, which hinder the set’s momentum, but maybe that’s a technological necessity. Nevertheless, Relm’s performance was hugely entertaining. The only other artists I’ve seen who are doing something similar are Coldcut, so he’s in damned elevated company.

For loads of Relm-oriented downloads, go here.

Jennifer Maerz has fine, inspirational piece about the imminent return of Los Angeles-based Arthur magazine in this week's issue of SF Weekly. More than “merely” a great (free) music publication, Arthur was one of the few widely distributed media organs to give substantial coverage to esoteric/occult topics and unconventionally liberal viewpoints. Think of it as Punk Planet on better drugs and with a freakier soundtrack or early-era Rolling Stone updated for the 21st century.

Arthur published 24 issues in its four-year history before temporarily folding in February due to a dispute regarding finances between its publisher Laris Kreslins and editor Jay Babcock. Maerz outlines the Arthur saga and gets some good quotes from Babcock, including this one: “Culture is devolving week by week at this point . There's a basic banalification that's happening. We're an antibanalification device.”

Until the next issue of Arthur materializes, you can check out Babcock's Arthur blog on Yahoo here.

One of the foremost catalysts for Manchester's vastly influential post-punk and electronic scenes, Tony Wilson died of kidney cancer August 10. He was 57.

As the owner of Factory Records and one of the proprietors of the Haçienda club, Wilson helped to nurture the careers of important bands like Joy Division, New Order, A Certain Ratio, Durutti Column, Happy Mondays and Section 25.

In an interview with the BBC, former Factory employee Phil Saxe said, “[Wilson] was a visionary in that he helped bands, who otherwise wouldn't have made it, who were a bit out of the ordinary.”

A garrulous, risk-taking entrepreneur, Wilson served as the inspiration for the protagonist (played by Steve Coogan) of the 2002 film 24 Hour Party People, a quasi-factual depiction of Factory Records' role in Manchester's seminal music scene.

Below is a six-minute interview with Wilson.

Huntington Beach's Matt Costa may just be the most marketable, popular act out of Orange County since... well, No Doubt. And that's not a bad thing, either. Signed to Brushfire Records, Costa's latest full-length, Familiar Faces, is set to be released on October 2nd. Check out the teaser EPK released just today, featuring a snippet of one of the album's catchiest tracks, "Mr. Pitiful."

Costa's also set to appear at San Diego's Street Scene September 22-23, in addition to Elvis Perkins, Dios and many others.

Thrash metal veterans Exodus played Corona's Showcase Theatre last night to a riotous crowd.

Finishing their newest album less than 2 weeks ago, the band is hoping for it's release before the start of 2008.

Fans were treated to the debut of 2 brand-spanking-new songs, Bedlam 123 and Funeral Hymn.

Check out the footage.

Bedlam 123

Funeral Hymn

Dirty Money's Jay Cash: Bank on his taste.

I lost my Dirty Money cherry last night and am wondering why I waited so long to do so. The Wednesday weekly at Avalon gave me a much-needed dose of hot new electronic dance music that was mostly well-mixed and intelligently selected. Sure, lots of people were dancing on the club's tiny floor, but you should've seen me taking notes and trainspotting. Man, it was breathtaking...

Helmed by three DJs—Tea-Long, Jay Cash and BbGunz—Dirty Money breaks you off tasty chunks of hip club bangers and remixes/edits of old classics (I heard revamped versions of Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five's “The Message” (done in sexy-as-hell cosmic-disco style), PM Dawn's “Set Adrift on Memory Bliss” and Tom Tom Club's “Wordy Rappinghood”). The usual post-Daft Punk, ruff electro-disco suspects (Justice, Uffie, other Ed Banger artists) whoomped us upside our heads, of course, and indie kids were accommodated with cuts by TV on the Radio, CSS, Le Tigre and Go! Team. Tea-Long segued a morbidly stately Knife track into Mims' “This Is Why I'm Hot” (or else my note-taking became really garbled at this point). Jay Cash dropped Switch's incredibly infectious “Making Me Money,” which should be your new theme song, if you had any cents. And I believe I heard George Kranz' evergreen, sui generis Teutonic tribal jam “Din Daa Daa.” It's not a true night out unless I hear that track, which I've been loving since before you were born.

The Dirty Money jocks throw down with panache and cleverness, though this vinyl purist deducts points for their use of Serato. But ultimately track selections trump the damned formats on which they're played, and in this regard Dirty Money deserve yours, though the night is free. Such a deal.

You'll be reading more about Dirty Money in a future Sprawl of Sound column, which is free, too, by the way. Y'all don't know how good you have it...

Avalon, 820 W. 19th St. Costa Mesa, (949) 515-4650

For those of you who don't have HBO, this is what you're missing.

Flight Of The Conchords: