And the winners are:

Best Song
Bayadera-”Red Shoes”

Best Alternative
Bayadera

Best Male
Jonathan Blake

Best Female
Jessica Callahan

Best Pop Rock
Lunar Fiction

Best High School Band
Marliese

Best Jazz
Rare Form Band

Best Instrumental
Evan Stone

Best Surf
Reventlos

Best R & B
Jimi E

Best Country
Fertitta and McClintock

Best Classic Rock
Shawn Jones

Best Indie
CPO

Best Folk
Marianne Keith

Best Electronic
Dead Amps

Best Punk
Longway

Best Blues
Pamela G

Best Rock
Union of Saints

Best Hip Hop
Brawdcast

Best Urban
Mic Moses and C4mula

Best International
Juan Coronado

Best Out of County
A Living Daylight

Best Hard Rock
Star Off Machine

Best Swing
Gary Tole

Best Live Acoustic Band
The Fallen Stars

Best Live Acoustic Female
Robin Lore

Best Live Acoustic Male:
AJ DeGrasse

Best Metal
Sacred Storm

Best Live Electric band
Franki Doll and the Broken Toys

Lance Romance Memorial Award
Franki Doll

View images of the event here.

Phantom of the Opera at Orange County Performing Artscenter
March 28, 2008

Better Than: The movie version

Download: "Masquerade"

I know I'm probably going to get a lot of shit for this but I've got to let you in on a little secret that I am now quite ashamed of. I never saw what the big deal was about Phantom of the Opera, especially after having only seen the movie version from 2004- sorry. But after Friday night I stand corrected and I can certainly see what all the fuss is about over this Andrew Lloyd Webber masterpiece and a half.

This production was flawlessly executed while including the audience to be part of the fun - whether they wanted to or not. The beginning sequence began with an auction taking place...human skulls, a toy monkey, and yes - the chandelier. I'm talkin' the chandelier! The auctioner's voice grows more and more tricky and suspenseful until he yells, "Ladies and Gentleman!" Two assistants violently rip the covering from that wicked chandelier. FLASH! EXPLOSION! I lost my vision!

Cue: Phantom of the Opera opening theme song.

My sister looked over at me and chuckled as I was blinking madly, trying to regain full use of my eyes and asked if I was ok.

"I'm fine but I feel as though I just saw the face of God in the form of an angry chandelier."

After rubbing my eyes, I glanced over and up. There it was - flashing and rattling as if it were possessed - the chandelier being hoisted above those of us seated in in the orchestra section. Some looked up amazed, some slightly fearful - as I watched the slow, dramatic ascension I couldn't help but wonder, "If that thing landed on me, I'd never have to work again."

Thankfully, it held fast. Probably better.

Phantom of the Opera. The title alone conjures up an honest to goodness facination, one that involves the theatre world itself. How curious to think that there could be a mysterious figure looming about in the rafters - a shadow that kills and dissapears on cue if his requests are not met.

The Paris Opera House has some catacombs and inside those catacombs lurks a man ( a wonderful Jason Mills ) who has been shunned by society (not to mention his own mother!) due to the freaky appearance of his face. It is under this opera house that his presence culminates and feeds upon the goings on that take place on the stage above. When a young soprano named Christine (Sarah Jean Ford is amazing!) takes the stage he is struck and immediately falls in love. It is at this point that the mysterious man, a.k.a. the phantom demands that Christine be given leading roles, much to the dismay of the previous diva, Carlotta (Kimilee Bryant owns it!).

This performance left me in awe at the array of colors and brilliant stage work. My favorite performance being Masquarade, as every unique costume pranced and paraded around in absolute perfection. Every burst of flames, every fake explosion and gun shot left me dumbfounded and impressed beyond belief. Others around me were moved as well, including the individual in front of me who screamed at the top of their lungs whenever there were fireworks or gun shots that bursted into the audience. With seats this good I wouldn't need to pluck my eyebrowns for a while. Heather Cho - you're darling.

Trust me, don't hesistate to catch this incredible production and I wholeheartedly promote the idea of getting orchestra seating. You will definitely be involved.

Critic's Notebook:

Personal Bias: I love the theatre, don't you? Well, you should.

Random Detail: If you are sitting in the orchestra section, do not look directly at the chandelier before they uncover it in the first scene! Lest you wish to see God!

By The Way: The lines at both restrooms were to kingdom come - men and women's. Keep an eye on the champagne intake.

Phantom of the Opera. Orange County Performing Artscenter. March 26th - April 19, 2008. 714.556.2121. www.ocpac.org

Brooklyn trio the Rub have done some insanely thorough curating with their series of yearly rundowns of the best (in their learned opinions) hip-hop tracks. They've strung together dozens of gems for every year from 1979 to 1999 (you can access the MP3 files here). That is some serious dedication and edification, boom-bap aficionados.

Below are a few videos from some of my faves that the Rub have included in their pantheon.

Just-Ice's “Cold Gettin' Dumb” (1986)

Gang Starr's “Who's Gonna Take the Weight” (1990)

GZA's “Shadowboxing” (1995)

Fu-Schnickens' “Ring the Alarm” (1992)

Cold War Kids at Samueli Theater, March 26, 2008
A review by Andrew Youssef

Better Than: Seeing the Cold War Kids open for the White Stripes at The Forum.

Download: Heavy Boots from their long out of print Mulberry St. EP

Cold War Kids dropped by the Samueli Theater for the third installment of the Off Center Series. The Kids hadn't played in Orange County since their December 2006 Detroit Bar gig, although their most recent performance in Southern California was a sold-out show at the Wiltern in LA in November 2007.

The show was a benefit for a nonprofit organization Water Wells for Africa, a Southern California-based organization that brings clean water to the villages of Malawi. It also featured photographic prints by Matt Wignall, who is the Cold War Kids' staff photographer. Matt was asked to document the work of the organization and flew to Malawi. After admiring Matt's work for a while, I entered the rapidly filling theater.

I was worried that the Cold War Kids might be rusty, as they haven't played a show in quite a while, but my fears were quickly dashed as the band opened with the wistful, piano-laced tune "Avalanche." The Samueli Theater made for a perfect cozy and intimate venue for the Cold War Kids. I could clearly hear Jonnie Russell's guitar reverberate as Nathan Willett captured the audience's attention on stage. "Bullies" was another new tune that had fractured, reverberant guitars slowly building up momentum before unraveling in grand fashion.

Piercing screams from the crowd greeted the characteristic rattlesnake shake of "We Used To Vacation" as it hissed over the audience. Then came an unexpected and amazing cover of "Furniture" by Fugazi. Cold War Kids managed to amplify the tension and angst of the song by making the song more claustrophobic. Jonnie, Nathan and Matt Maust (bass) were bouncing around and into one another like pinballs as they played another new song, "Occupation."

"Mexican Dogs" continued the new song hit parade; this song completely rocks and would be the most logical choice for a lead single for their upcoming album. "God, Make Up Your Mind" slowed down the new song fury as Nathan tickled the ivories. The applause heated up as "Hang Me Out To Dry" had the fans in the front of the stage dancing and throwing their hands in the air. "Hospital Beds" was also very well received, with approximately 65% of the audience singing along. After a short break, Cold War Kids came back with another new song and the double shot of "Passing the Hat" and "Saint John."

It's very unlikely Cold War Kids will perform in this small of a venue ever again, judging by how sharp the new material sounded and by the intensity of their performance.

Critic's Notebook

Personal Bias: I have the same reverb pedal in my guitar setup as Jonnie Russell.

Random Detail: If you look in the liner notes of the Thrice album The Artist in the Ambulance, you will see the Cold War Kids credited for the artwork.

By The Way: Cold War Kids' next show will be at Coachella, April 26.

To view a slideshow of the event, click here.

In the decades since the sounds of ska infiltrated Orange County, the local music scene has definitely gone through some changes. Live music junkies have been left to fend for themselves in a sea of emo, screamo, hardcore and other intricately titled audible slop.

But last night at The Grove in Anaheim, things were sunny side up again. Ska legends, The English Beat, were good enough to drop in and give us a taste of what we've been missing. Add to that a brilliant set by progressive ska heroes, Rx Bandits, and you've got yourself a real fine show.

Before either band took the stage, the scene on the front patio was alive and kicking. But mostly, they were trying to stay warm under the outside heating lamps. Clusters of sharp dressed teens in black vests, thin neckties and trilby hats fumbled around in front of the outdoor side stage where a Long Beach ska band hammered out a solid brass wailing set that got plenty of attention.

It was great to see the diverse all-ages atmosphere of 'Beat fans old and new. It kind of looked like a bunch of parents and their skanker kids sneaked out of the house and wound up bumping into each other at the same show.

Rx Bandits took the stage around 8:30 p.m. to a pit of rabid fans. The band has always been known for their dynamic live show and last night was no exception. Matt Embree (vocals/ guitar), Steve Choi (guitar), Joe Troy (bass) and Chris Tsagakis (drums) ignited their audience with some of the best stuff from their last three albums.

Within a few songs, a swirling, sweaty circle pit was causing some of the older folks to either back up or break a hip. Blue and red strobe lights exploded like bomb blasts on stage during songs like "Sell You Beautiful," "In All Rwanda's Glory," and even the ghostly rhythm of "Apparition." The band capped their set with a fire storm of guitar riffage during the song "To Our Unborn Daughters." By the end of it, anyone who had never heard the Bandits before should have cleared some space on the floor near them to bow down.

Though it seemed like almost an hour before English Beat got all seven members on stage, they were greeted accordingly with a solid roar from two generations of fans. Those that came to claim rude boy or rude girl status had plenty of reason to dust off their best two-step.

When it came to having fun, rambunctious toaster "Antonee First Class" didn't take no for an answer. The loud call and response energy he drained from the crowd had the vibe of a stadium hip hop show. Classic lines like "how many ladies want to have my two-tone babies" pretty much cemented his emcee credibility that night.

While English Beat's original front man, Dave Wakeling, had gained a few pounds since the '80s- so had most of the fans in the audience so I don't think anyone really noticed. Bellies aside, the guy can still put on one hell of a show. Backed by members Rythmm Epkins (drums), Wayne Lothian (bass/vocals), Fernando Jativa (saxophone) "Joffee" (lead guitar/ vocals) and Ray Jacildo (keyboard) the band never lost its footing during a blistering two-hour set that included hits like "Hands Off She's Mine," "I Confess" and "Mirror In The Bathroom" to name a few.

The band really brought the house down with their '80s anthem "Tenderness." Actually it was more like they brought the house up. By the time Wakeling had strummed the first few chords of the infectious pop song, over a dozen women were high-stepping, hip shaking and grinding random objects on stage. A few of 'em looked like soccer moms but hey, cougars should be allowed to have a little fun too- just as long as their kids are tucked in bed somewhere. The show didn't end until 1 a.m. At least for one night, the good old old days of ska were alive and well.

View photos of the event here.

Grammy nominated artist (and Long Beach native) Nate Dogg plead guilty to domestic abuse charges on Tuesday in an Orange County court room.

He broke into a house and punched his ex’s new boyfriend back in 2006.

The rapper is being ordered to complete a domestic violence issues treatment program, three years probation, and was stripped of rights to own a weapon for the next 10 years.

Read the full article here.

Beginning in May, Detroit Bar in Costa Mesa will devote Tuesday nights to on-the-rise Orange County and Long Beach bands. Please read the press release below from Detroit booker/co-owner Jon Reiser and start dreaming big, players.

Attention all Orange County and Long Beach Bands: Starting in May we will launching a new night on Tuesday to showcase up and coming bands from Orange County and Long Beach.

The format will be 2-3 bands per Tuesday. There will be no cover so there will be no pay to the bands. However, for the bands we like, can draw etc. we will book you for future shows to open for national headliners or headline your own night. For which pay is involved.
This will be the way for Detroit to showcase up and coming talent, and filter through all of the bands for future shows.
If you're interested in being considered for this, please email: jon@detroitbar.com

Richie Sambora: Livin' on a prayer?

Bon Jovi guitarist Richie Sambora was arrested Tuesday night on Coast Highway in Laguna Beach for drunk driving. The popular axeman was commandeering a black hummer, in whose confines sat three women, two of whom were (and still are) minors. OC Register has the story here.

In June 2007, Sambora entered rehab for alcohol abuse, after reportedly flubbing his parts during taping of MTV's Bon Jovi Unplugged.

Here's a case where one only hopes both parties lose. Whom do you root for: the whiniest, most annoyingly precious recording artiste extant or a huge record label (now owned by the cuddly Capitol Music Group) that is flailing for its existence in a dismal economic climate? Gosh, I'm torn, even if Virgin Records did release these two awesome Faust albums back in the day.

Apparently, Virgin has used Pumpkins songs (sans their composer Billy Corgan's permission) to shill for companies—Amazon and Pepsi—repugnant to the adenoidal band leader. Stupid move on Virgin's part; greedy machinations on Corgan's. Everybody comes out smelling like Dumpster™ juice. Yay.

Read the whole soul-curdling press releases after the jump—and then enjoy one of the Pumpkins' better songs, "Rhinoceros."

Chris Gaffney, who for years has been pretty much OC's go-to guy for quality country music playing, singing and songwriting, has been diagnosed with liver cancer. And, like far too many musicians, he needs help to pay for his very costly chemotherapy treatments. Even though Gaffney has health insurance, it's still not enough, and an additional $60,000 must be raised.

As former OC Weekly columnist and music editor Jim Washburn writes:

(H)e's never been that well off, but he's always been the first to sign on to help someone else, whether it's playing a benefit or moving a fridge. He's also a great songwriter and my favorite living country singer. He'd stack up well against most of the dead ones, too, but I'd very much prefer we keep him in his current category. That's going to take a lot of help and hope. Any of either that you can spare would be greatly appreciated, by me, his family, and a whole lot of other people.

For more info, including where to donate, click right here.

Before they became the Beatles of electronic music, before they hit upon the surefire gimmick of the man-machine, before they morphed into the funky robots who invented the techno and electro genres, before they became the default soundtrack composers for the Tour de France, Kraftwerk were progressive-rock experimentalists with inventive wild streaks totally in opposition to their mannered, control-freq personae that started with 1977's Trans-Europe Express LP.

Check out the pre-Autobahn albums Kraftwerk, Kraftwerk II, Ralf und Florian and Tone Float (recorded under the name Organisation) for ample proof of these German innovators' bizarre manifestations of experimental rock and avant-garde electronic exploration—and for the creation of the greatest flute sound ever.

One of my favorite Kraftwerk tracks from this period is “Ruckzuck,” off 1970's Kraftwerk. (Founding members Ralf Hütter and Florian Schneider disown their pre-Autobahn work for mysterious, maddening reasons, but enterprising bootleggers keep these classics in circulation. Let's hope R&F come to their senses and authorize legit reissues of them one of these years.)

“Ruckzuck” ("translates as 'Very quickly' with a slight connotation of 'Push-pull,'" says Wikipedia) is marked by an unforgettable staccato flute motif that sputters with speed and agility. Farfisa organ and electric violin add to the unusual tonal palette (at least on the album version). The tempo is fleet, but the dynamics are unpredictable. The group abruptly halts the pell-mell groove for some knotty dissonance just as you're getting your mellow hypnosis on. The TV audience in this clip—which is about two minutes shorter than and somewhat inferior to the recorded version—seem unsure of how to respond to this new kosmische musik. You can't really blame them; “Ruckzuck” still sounds ahead of its time—or completely outside of it.

Kraftwerk play Coachella April 26. The chances of them performing “Ruckzuck” there are slimmer than Dick Cheney winning the Nobel Peace Prize.

Earlier today, the Justice Department approved Sirius Satellite Radio's proposed $4.59 billion (!) aquisition of satellite old-schooler XM Satellite Radio.

This decision created one single US satellite radio provider.

In response to questions fearing a monopoly, the Justice Dept. said " the combined company won't be able to raise prices profitably because of competition from such forms of audio entertainment as broadcast radio and MP3 players."

Read the rest of the article here.

Hosted by the Murrs, the festival had Sage Francis, Little Brother, Dilated Peoples, Jedi Mind Tricks, Living Legends, Yak Ballz and plenty more....

“Shoulda Known” is a departure for Minneapolis hip-hop unit Atmosphere. I've watched/listened to the video (directed by Bo Hakala) thrice and I'm still not sure if I'm feeling it. The scenario comes off like a "risqué" American Apparel advert and the music ditches producer Ant's usual vintage-soul/funk foundations and seems to be going for some of that coveted hipster-electro demographic. You just feel wrong viewing it without wearing an all-over print hoodie and jauntily tilted ballcap. Still, Slug's storytelling lyrics are as evocative as ever, even if the delivery is less fiery than in the past.

You can download the MP3 of “Shoulda Known” here. It's the lead single from Atmosphere's new album, When Life Gives You Lemons, You Paint That Shit Gold (out April 22 on Rhymesayers).

Atmosphere appear at LA's Henry Fonda Theater May 6-7.

Blank Blue: Blissin' up.

On May 6, Ubiquity Records will release Blank Blue's debut album, Western Water Music II. This is good news because, among other things, Blank Blue—the recording project of soulful Long Beach musicians Elvin “Nobody” Estela and Niki Randa—were named the Weekly's Best Local Rock Band in our 2007 best-of issue.

You can hear a few songs from the full-length on Blank Blue's MySpace. That's some sweet-ass baroque, funky psychedelia. Spring is in the air... and in the water, apparently.

Could've used this at SXSW.

More photos from last night's Anaheim House of Blues show with Ludo behind the cut. All snaps by Weekly web photographer Christopher Victorio.

Tryflynn, the anal-attentive crooner.

R&B has long been a sanctuary for sincere romantic sentiments, songs full of Vaseline-lensed, wine-light schmaltz. The characters in these songs never have intestinal distress or garlic breath or a raging zit precisely where the third eye's located. And rarely does raunchy humor violate the genre's strictly defined parameters. (R. Kelly is funny, but probably not intentionally so.)

So the song “Booty Hole” by LA crooner Tryflynn is an anomaly. Musically it hews to R&B's soft-cushioned, satin-sheeted smooveness. Lyrically, however, Tryflynn plays it blue—or rather, brown. Check out dude's MySpace and revel in some scatological loverman shtick.

“We'll start with my thumb and then my whole fist/Punch you in your ass/Call me Tyson, bitch.” What a charmer.

Tip: I Love Music

Review by Andrew Youssef

The Bravery, Wild Sweet Orange and The Dead Trees at Spaceland
March 18, 2008

Better Than: Seeing the actual Wyld Stallons from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure since the secret show was billed as such.

Download: "Believe" from their Myspace page.

Fresh off an appearance on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno, The Bravery stopped by Spaceland for a secret show to a capacity crowd of 260 diehard fans. The Bravery is touring behind their recently released album “The Sun and The Moon Complete” which is their sophomore album with a bonus disc of songs remixed by the band.

The Dead Trees from Portland, Oregon (pictured beneath the fold) got the crowd warmed up with their straightforward indie rock set. I enjoyed their song “Loretta” as it stylistically evoked the Rolling Stones and Jimi Hendrix. The guitarist also unloaded a searing guitar solo with a metal slide, which always gets points in my book.

In a further swipe at the face of Music Industry giants, The Raconteurs have announced the release of their sophomore album... next Tuesday.

No promoting.

“March 25 became the soonest date to have it available in EVERY FORMAT AT ONCE. The band have done no interviews or advertisements for this record before this announcement.

The group added that they wanted the sudden release so that everyone, fans and media, got the record at the same time “so that no one has an upper hand on anyone else regarding it’s availability, reception or perception.”
--as stated in an NME article

The 14-track album (which was finished about a week ago) will be released March 25.

When the news gets especially grim, as it has in the last couple of weeks (another Great Depression looming? Environmental disaster on the horizon? Jack Johnson headlining Coachella? We're fucked, people.), I turn to Curtis Mayfield's mellifluous voice and uplifting funk/soul symphonies for relief.

However, the tune under review for this week's Video Savant actually reflects the darkness of America's early-'70s socio-political climate (especially the racial tension), and forces us to realize that today's conditions haven't really improved—in fact, they may have worsened (compared to Bush 43, Nixon seems rather beneficent). Same old shit, new flies... Nixon's presidency is justifiably hated, but his reign did result in a lot of awesome music. Maybe it was worth the pain, hardship and scandal after all.

This is one of Curtis Mayfield's greatest songs (which is saying a helluva lot, as his canon abounds with some of the most exciting and soulful music ever conceived). “(Don't Worry) If There's a Hell Below We're All Going to Go”—which appears on the 1970 LP Curtis—promises a misery-loves-company (or is it company-causes-misery?) scenario. The track finds Mayfield at his most ominous and socially aware; it's shot through with a subliminal paranoia and sorrow that strike me as particularly zeitgeisty.

All photos from Sunday's show by Christopher Victorio. More behind the cut.

Lou Reed is an asshole—but a very talented, sharp-minded asshole.

Below, hear the rock legend drone on about the inferior sound quality of MP3s during the just-completed South By Southwest in Austin, Texas. I love much of Lou Reed's music (especially that of the Velvet Underground, whose canon is essential), but I sure wouldn't want to live with him. In honor of his notorious prickliness, check out a video of his band doing “Vicious” live in 1974. (I do like Lou as a speed-freak blond—onstage anyway.)

“Vicious”

Saturday afternoon, sunny and 80º+—it seemed like a good idea to go to Waterloo Park and sample the musical and comedic talents that some enterprising soul had cobbled together. This would ensure that I'd be dead tired by the time the sun set. But that's cool—sometimes one does one's best work while running on fumes. Of course, those SXSW Day 4 Blues hit with a vengeance. But enough about me... Onto the entertainment.

Newly signed to Rick Rubin's Def American label, Howlin Rain play grizzled Southern rock redux, but with so much fire in its belly and soul (and with chops to burn, especially keyboardist Joel Rabinow) that the retro-ness of it all doesn't pall. Along with Ethan Miller's flagrant guitar solos and gritty, testifying vocals, Howlin Rain create ideal hot sunny day outdoors rock that almost makes this vegan want to eat a slab of bbq ribs while riding a Harley 100 mph on some south of the Mason Dixon line highway. Hee-yah, or something.

After this, I ambled to the comedy stage, where Aziz Ansari was yukking it up. He was followed by Reggie Watts, Hard N' Phirm, Paul F. Tompkins, Leon Allen and a woman from the Sarah Silverman Show whose name escapes me. Watts and H&P stood out with their spot-on musical parodies. Tenacious who?

Day 3 of SXSW started with Village Voice Media's bash at La Zona Rosa. We were too busy "networking" with colleagues and freelance writers to pay close attention to the Black Keys and the Soundtrack of Our Lives, but the latter in particular impressed with their chugging, Scandinavian Neu! homage when we were able to focus on them for a good five minutes.

After that heady gathering, I wandered and wondered down E. 6th and Red River, hoping to chance upon something remarkable. As is often the case at SXSW, this sort of sojourn often results in wave after wave of mediocre rock, each venue's jet of sound bleeding into that of the one next to it and across from it. Talk about an audiophile's nightmare...

However, I did catch Carbon/Silicon, Mick Jones (the Clash) and Tony James' (Generation X) new project as they were finishing a set in a tent across from Stubb's on Red River. Their old-codger punk-rock righteousness and instantly memorable choons were a pleasant surprise. These blokes should be sitting in rocking chairs in the Joey Ramone Memorial Retirement Home, not shining in the 92º heat in Austin. Good for them.

The problem with blogging SXSW is that every second spent blogging is a second spent not seeing something that you might want to blog about.

Having arrived late Wednesday night, while the festival was already in partial swing, and trying (unsuccessfully) to catch up on some lost travel sleep Thursday morning, this is literally the first time I have been able to stop to catch my breath and reflect on what I have seen. Some argue that the festival is suffering from its own success: that its immense popularity and overwhelming musical stimulation leads to music fan burnout.

Unlike, say, Coachella, where the lineup has been handpicked for quality, SXSW is pretty much anyone's game. All it really takes is a little moving and shaking and a band can get on a bill, regardless of merit. Failing that, there's always the street, which is dotted with gypsy acoustic groups, people playing through battery powered amps, and just plain freaks. From the sublime to the ridiculous, the festival has it all, and it's easy to get cynical when band after band fails to impress. The flipside, however, is that when you do find a band you unexpectedly like, the pleasure is even greater.

Thursday's (reasonably) local highlight was Long Beach's Crystal Antlers who continue to sharpen their Hawkwind/Comets on Fire inspired sound and seem to be growing increasingly confident in their abilities to move a crowd. After an aborted set downtown (so aborted they didn't even get a chance to load in their equipment), the band picked up and moved to a backyard across town where they were certainly the loudest band on the bill. After their first song, the property owner came out and told them to keep it down a bit, but they soldiered on undeterred, if a little less ear-splitting.

For a taste, see below:

Following Crystal Antlers was Mr. Free and the Satellite Freakout, a Tucson band who had driven to Austin in a full sized school bus equipped with a stage in the back for on the fly performances. Definitely one of the strangest bands I had seen here, within ten seconds, Mr. Free (in Kabuki/Whatever Happened to Baby Jane makeup) living up to his name, stripped down to absolutely nothing but a strategically placed sock. What was most surprising was that the music was actually really good, Alternative Tentacles style punk...but from Arizona, which somehow makes it even more legit. Below: the only picture I took that isn't NSFW.

Last night I found myself leaning against the bar in the dim colored lights of the House of Blues in Anaheim waiting for L.A. "livetronica" band Particle to share the stage with legendary Doors guitarist Robby Krieger. When I first saw the name on the ticket, I couldn't believe the man responsible for writing "Light my Fire" would actually be strumming his guitar in front of me. Another part of me was glad to see that he was still alive. I wasn't quite sure what to expect, but I predicted a kickass show on all fronts. Long story short, ehh. . .not exactly what I'd hoped.

Shuffling my feet over the planked floor, I scanned the crowd in an attempt to find out what I had just walked into. The crowd was a colorful mix of sandal-wearing hippies, silver haired rocker types, bushy haired teens, a sprinkling of sexpots and hoard of middle aged guys wearing business casual. It looked like a bunch of parents and their kids sneaked out of the house and ran into each other at the same concert. Whether audience members wore tie-dye, or just ties, by 8:30 p.m. everyone was eager for some action on stage.

Atzlan Underground has been on hiatus for a few years now, but the group is back in yet another reincarnation. Their original 90s post-hardcore punk sound has evolved under the influence of hip hop and Native American music, yet their core remains the same: speaking the truth in all forms and emphasizing man's primitive spiritual connection to the earth.

AU was the main ticket at Reseda's Palomino Bar last, supported by Panic Motion and Los Hijos.

Panic Movement is a three-piece band lead by singer Benjamin Espinoza, a man with two faces. Seriously, it's like something out of a comic book. When Espinoza takes off his hat and glasses and becomes a completely different in a way I can only describe as the superman complex. The group sounded like nothing I’ve ever heard before, but if you put the White Stripes and Wolf Mother together you're getting pretty close.

Day 2 of SXSW

In my last post, I predicted Holy Fuck's set would be very hard to surpass. Well, I think it was at least equaled by a few artists on the bill at Barcelona—all instrumental hip-hop artists, in fact (Nosaj Thing, Free the Robots, Gaslamp Killer and Flying Lotus). Who would've thought such types would be standouts at SXSW? I mean, there wasn't a guitar to be found in the joint all night...

But first some gigs that preceded the Barcelona extravaganza. At Soho Bar, Blues Control—a weird psych band from New York—kind of disappointed with some spectral, relatively mellow blues rock that wasn't as expansive as their self-titled LP on Holy Mountain Records hinted. Their attack was muted somehow. Consisting of a guitarist and keyboardist who manned a drum machine, too, the duo churned out restrained turbulence, saving their best track for last, "Boiled Peanuts," one of the most sublimely lugubrious songs of the decade, a liquid bummer of mood elevation (paradoxes rock).

Over at Vice, Fucked Up puked up a bilious barrage of metallic punk. FU are fronted by an ornery, bald, bearded fat man who strips off his shirt and roams into the crowd to shout in your face his indecipherable lyrics (possibly about the importance of maintaining efficient digestion). At one point, he head-butted the mic. Later he ranted about the copious amounts of piss on the men's room floor. Someone needs to address this rampant problem in rock clubs and I'm glad Fucked Up's on the case.

Thursday afternoon belonged to Holy Fuck. Yeah, yeah, indie-rock royalty were busy kissing Lou Reed's ring over at 4th and Brazos and that's all lovely and stuff, but I'm more interested in championing the second best band in the world right this second. (Best? Boredoms. Thanks for asking.)

Holy Fuck at the Emo Annex tent continued their ever-ascending trajectory with another devastating performance of vicious yet transcendent music. Consisting of one (amazingly piquant) drummer, one bassist and two electronics specialists, the Toronto quartet generate one of the most satisfying mind/body highs you can legally experience. With their intergalactic array of analog-synth onomatopoeia, HF's two knob-twiddlers call to mind Silver Apples upgraded to Platinum status. These globular, spacey sounds augment an increasingly tight rhythm section and a more sophisticated melodic sensibility.

This was a more rock-oriented set than I've previously heard from Holy Fuck, but it also contained a song that reminded me of the tough, post-modern dub output of the On-U Sound label and another new number that hinted at what intelligent rave music could be—like if early Chemical Brothers had been staunch Neu! disciples. The canny Canucks ended that track as if all the plugs were being ripped out at once. Perfect.

"Lovely Allen" closed the performance on a sublimely tuneful note, its sweet, see-saw chords proving that Holy Fuck are about much more than propulsion and brain-scrambling interstellar babble (although those would be enough, believe me).

The rest of tonight's agenda looks great, but it's gonna take a lot to surpass Holy Fuck's display this afternoon.

Austin, Texas - First day of SXSW is always stressful. So are the second, third and fourth days. No matter where you are at this huge musical clusterfuck, you're always haunted by the thought that something better is happening somewhere else. Unless you've mastered the ability to be in five places simultaneously, you have to settle for one performance at a time. Humans are so limited...

I arrived late Wed. evening and didn't get my badge till 9 p.m. My plan to was to make a beeline to the Thirsty Nickel to catch the Smalltown Supersound showcase. SS is a Norwegian label with a heavy electronic/kosmische slant. Sadly, I missed Arp and Sunburned Hand of the Man, but got to the bar just in time to see Bjorn Torske. A skinny blonde Norwegian dude, Torske hunched over a compact unit (probably a sampler) and generated rough, chunky, refreshingly sleazy Euro disco. It's doubtful anything else is sounding like this at SXSW, which is as rockcentric as ever. Torske used a large plastic carrot as a shaker and slapped a banjo for further percussion embellishment. One track used a looped banjo riff to create a mantric, Amon Düül I-esque psychedelia.

After Torske, I headed to Bourbon Rocks to witness San Diego's Earthless. Their swift, savage, technical and heavy instrumental rock exacerbated my headache sevenfold (but I didn't avenge it). Many bearded guys nodded gravely to the hirsute trio's hypnotizing and brutalizing music.

Back at Thirsty Nickel, I swooned to Lindstrøm's sweeping cosmic disco, which seemed ludicrously incongruous in this archetypal Texas bar (anything other than country & western would seem ludicrously incongruous here). Lindstrøm's set made Tangerine Dream seem like earthbound folkies. His music is beautiful and psychedelic in a cold, Nordic, windswept way; call it Oslo-motion dance muzik.

After that, I zipped to Habana Calle 6 for Parts & Labor, a Brooklyn rock quartet whose ebullient ruggedness and anthemic robustness managed to inject some energy into my exhausted self.

Not a bad first night, all in all, and I somehow eluded that infamous, bountiful SXSW vomit on the pavement that afflicts the fest every year. Hurray for small victories.

In an Arkansas Democrat Gazette article, a 38-year old mother plead innocent to charges of selling pirated music CDs at a local flea market.

The bailiff locked her up in solitary, then forgot about her and went home for the weekend.

[For] four full days, Adriana Torres-Flores was locked away and forgotten in 8 1/2-by-9 1/2-foot cell in the Washington County Courthouse, with only a metal table, two benches and a light bulb that never went out. She had nothing to eat or drink. There was no toilet. Thursday passed. Then Friday, Saturday and Sunday - although Torres-Flores had no watch to tell the time. She slept on the floor with her head on a shoe. She drank her own urine, she said.

Panicked and afraid she would die, Torres-Flores pounded on the steel door with her hands and feet, and yelled. No one heard her. The threat of snow had thinned the courthouse staff Friday. The building was closed all weekend.

It was Monday morning before the bailiff who had put her in the holding cell, intending to have her taken to jail, opened the door and realized his mistake.

In case you wondered what the weekend Live show looked like. More photos by Christopher Victorio behind the cut.

Stevie Wonder's really let himself go.....

They're kind of cheesy, but some of the questions in Quizland.com's Rock Trivia and Yetanotherdot.com's '80s Lyrics Quiz are actually rather stumpifying.

Such as: What act holds the record for most #2 records without ever hitting #1?
Ummm.... The Carpenters? Nope.

and what "don't feel like it should"? Oh right, "loooove"
(ok, that was an easy one but a lot of these I had no idea)

See if your musical knowledge is as sharp as you think it is:

'80s Lyric Quiz

Rock Trivia

Bonus: These are a good way to look like you're concentrating hard at work. Just make sure your boss can't see your monitor (heh heh, hi Ted!).

Steve Aoki (yeah, yeah—trustafarian douchebag, a regular Satan in hoodie and headphones, has greasy hair, yadda yadda; get over it) closed a December 2007 DJ set at Detroit Bar with the Jacksons' 1980 hit "Can You Feel It," which I hadn't heard in about two decades. It's a fantastic song with which to climax a set—or to play as December 31 transitions into January 1.

As you can see from this OTT video, there are no self-esteem problems with those Jackson bros. Gods, they are, you'd better believe. And rich gods, to boot. Can you imagine any artist today laying down the sort of loot required to stage a spectacle like this now? Even Michael has had to drastically scale back expenditures in these grim times for the record industry—and for his own scandal-plagued life. This film is so grandiose, I can't even think of a clever simile to use right now. If I still did Ecstasy, I'd definitely want to hear “Can You Feel It” while peaking. I'm sure it would sound like the most INCREDIBLY meaningful song EVER. *tear*

“Can You Feel It” builds with a relentless, positive momentum that you expect to hear on TV promo segments for the Olympic Games. You can't help being filled with an inflated sense of elation and purpose as its six-minute duration (re: the 12” version) progresses. It's totally apt that the album on which “Can You Feel It” appears is titled Triumph and that Jane Fonda snagged it for one of her early-'80s workout tapes. Pop it on and, voilà, instant delusions of grandeur!

(The Jacksons [or their handlers] get bonus points for using Ken Nordine for the voice-over; I could listen to his deep, well-modulated tones till you start appreciating Steve Aoki.)

According to