University of California Irvine's radio station, KUCI 88.9FM, is in the midst of its annual fund drive (it runs through May 10). This student/volunteer-run, listener-supported source of unconventionally excellent music and commentary won the Weekly's Best Radio Station last year. Here's what we said about it:

KUCI... really has no competition on OC airwaves. For its diversity of programming, desire to broadcast music that doesn’t even get considered by 99.7 percent of its competitors, and, uh, let’s say idiosyncratic on-air personalities, KUCI towers over its rivals. The station’s DJs may not have the smoothest, most well-modulated deliveries nor always stay on message, and they occasionally allow some DEAD AIR, but they’re certainly passionate about the music they’re playing or the issues they’re discussing, and it makes a helluva difference if you’ve had it up to hear with cookie-cutter corporate radio.

Eclecticism and obscurity are most college radio stations’ lifeblood, and this applies to KUCI. A scan through the schedule reveals shows devoted to left-field global music, jazz, reggae, blues, hip-hop, girl bands, Latin, various underground beat-centric styles, electronic music, local punk rock, underground metal, witty unconventional news commentary, progressive public affairs, tons of rock in its myriad styles, and much more. You may not like everything KUCI airs, but if you possess an open mind and a three-digit IQ, you’ll enjoy a lot of it. If nothing else, you have to admire the sheer unpredictability of the whole enterprise in a medium dominated by companies where the bean counters declared decisive victory decades ago.

To make a tax-deductible donation, you can call 949.824.5824 or go to KUCI's site. Premiums are available for contributions $35 and up.

HARD—a nü-rave extravaganza held in downtown Los Angeles—will take place July 19 at the Shrine Expo Hall. Tix go on sale May 5 at all Ticketbastard locations and here. The event's sponsored by Nitrus, Dim Mak Records, and Dance Right, with help from MySpace.com and URB magazine.

HARD debuted on New Year's Eve 2007; if you remember it, you probably weren't there. N*E*R*D and MSTRKRFT will be headlining the summer edition of HARD (only artists using all caps qualify for such lofty slots). It should be a night (and morning) of deeply spiritual booger-sugar intake.

Here are a couple of videos to whet your appetite.

N*E*R*D's “Everyone Nose”

MSTRKRFT'S “She's Good for Business”

Full press release after the jump.

For the many people who purchased music from the now-defunct MSN Music store, this summer would be a good time to clean out your files. You didn’t really want to keep all those songs you bought, did you?

After the launch of the company’s Zune Marketplace in late 2006, Microsoft decided to ditch the old store and as of August 31, 2008, they will be shutting off the MSN Music licence servers.

So what exactly does this mean for all those music files that were legally downloaded and paid for?
Well, if you FOREVER COMMIT to a computer by the aforementioned date, NEVER buy a new computer and NEVER upgrade your OS then you can keep all that music.

If you do decide to upgrade? Tough shit, the files wont transfer properly.

As quoted in an Ars Technica article:

“...this technicality is not rooted in reality — the authorizations will now expire when the computer does, for whatever reason.

Of course, MSN Music customers do have one other option: burning all of their music to audio CD and then re-ripping them back to the computer as MP3s, sans DRM. But that’s a lossy, lousy solution.”

To commemorate Portishead's world-beating performance at Coachella Saturday, this edition of Video Savant focuses on “Machine Gun,” a track off Third, which comes out today.

“Machine Gun” is unlike anything in Portishead's canon, which is indicative of most of Third; all reports point to a reinvention of the group's sound, although I've yet to hear the whole album. The staccato bursts of distorted and martial drums (the titular weapon, it's safe to assume) evoke Nine Inch Nails and Tackhead, while an eerie analog synth (mimicking a forlorn Theremin groan) underscores Beth Gibbons' plaintive, curdled-whipped-cream vocals about AWOL saviors and the poison in her heart. Whereas previous Portishead releases have become coffeehouse standards, “Machine Gun” is more suitable for the battlefield or the abattoir.

Dig the blue-light starkness of this clip. Everything appears to be suffused in a Cold War-era bleakness. The massive Moog and/or Buchla synthesizers only add to the poignant, long-ago aura of this video. But Portishead avoid corny nostalgia and create a gripping work of art (which sounded great on the Coachella main stage, too).

There aren't too many guys in recent years that had as big of an impact on the Orange County punk scene as Mike Conley, ex M.I.A. front man and owner of Avalon Bar in Costa Mesa. Given that statement, I should have been more prepared for the overwhelmingly packed scene that awaited me behind the entrance curtain at the House of Blues.

The night was a celebration of the life and times of a man that was taken from us far too early. In support of Mike Conley's family, Orange County punk fans were blessed to share a loud, sweaty night with friends of Conley the likes of Naked Soul, Jigsaw, Cadillac Tramps, Kevin Seconds, Social Distortion and everyone's favorite lisping punk rock provacateur Jello Biafra.

A gathering of fans new and old swarmed every crack of the venue. Above the hooting and hollering at the bar, the fuzzy washed out 80's footage of Conley raging on stage with M.I.A. back in the good ol' days put a smile of the faces of some old punks long enough to make them ignore the beer in their hands for a few minutes.

The show started with a bang from crowd pleasing sets by the tribute to Naked Soul as well as Jigsaw, who got the crowd plenty riled up as they took turns thrashing and wailing on beautifully dissonant chords.

With an electric mix of humor, and OG swagger, The Cadillac Tramps were next to take the stage in honor of Conley. Psychobilly girls and boys crammed the front barricades as Mike "Gabby" Gaborno played with the crowd and rallied the band to deliver the kind of kick-ass old school swingin' punk that the Tramps do best. They were joined on stage by Johnny Wickersham of Social Distortion who added some great guitar licks to songs like "Bone Dry" and plenty of their great cataloge from the 90s. A personal highlight for me was when Gaborno unbuttoned his shirt and pulled out some fat that appeared to have a smiley face with X'ed out eyes tattooed on it. Very sexy.

As Cadillac Tramps exited the stage, I sat near the bar and got to hear a few guys talking about going to M.I.A. shows and meeting Conley and what a nice guy he was. Every story that came and went made me even more disappointed that I never got the chance to meet him.

Finally, the curtain opened up on Social Distortion and the packed crowd went wild. They performed an acoustic set, which ignited a sing-along that nearly shook the building. As he strummed his guitar, Mike Ness stayed cool and calm, almost somber as he and the band gave us anthems like "Ball and Chain," "Story of My Life" and "Ring of Fire."

The show was closed out by a sweaty performance by Conley's former band mates, the remaining members of M.I.A. The mosh pit behind the barricade picked up speed as the band fired out tunes like "Shadows in My Life" and "You Should Know Me." At one point it looked like a washing machine on spin cycle filled with sweaty clothes. And fellow punk icon, Kevin Seconds, joined the band on stage to deliver vocals on a few songs with them.

As if the long list of respected names on stage couldn't get any longer, the crowd really lost it when Dead Kennedys singer Jello Biafra trampled the stage sporting his signature grimace. I don't know if he'll ever read this, but I want to thank Jello for sweating on me so profusely during "California Uber Alles," "Let's Lynch the Landlord" and the awesome M.I.A. tune "Murder in a Foreign Place."

Though he's gained a few pounds since his heyday, let me be the first to attest to the fact that Biafra's still got some hops for on older guy. At one point he jumped into the crowd with the grace of a swan. As fans mobbed him in the crowd, the vibe of a true punk show was all around. That's a pretty impressive feat at a venue inside the House of Mouse. I've got to believe that somewhere in the building the spirit of Conley was watching the whole scene with a big smile.

Hopefully the Conley family was pleased to see such a big turnout. All told, the Beautiful Noise Benefit concert earned $33,231. But even the dollar sign couldn't match the amount of love and admiration that came spilling out of the audience that night for one of OC's fallen heroes.

Every other blog is posting it, so why can't we?

Prince covers "Creep" at Coachella, people clap.

Hurry and view it before Prince's ultra-vigilant people tear it down from the internetz.

Holy Fuck: Holy fuck! Awesome Canucks!

Coachella dealt me a TKO, so I missed Sunday. Ouch. Beware the undercooked brown rice... or something.

Sadly, my illness prevented me from witnessing Holy Fuck, Swervedriver, Spiritualized, Justice, Modeselektor, Booka Shade, Black Mountain, Deadmau5, Linton Kwesi Johnson, and the unforgettable sight of thousands of near-naked humans texting in the blazing sun. (Huge sigh.)

To remedy this void, please check out our sister paper LA Weekly's Day 3 coverage and a few of OC Weekly photographer Christopher Victorio's pics. More of Christopher's shots will be coming soon to the Coachella blog posts.

Roger Waters: Floydian rip

Justice: The other Daft Punk

Duffy: Reminiscent of Dusty (Springfield)

Recovering from yesterday’s illness forced me to miss 120 Days, MGMT, Little Brother and Boys Noize. Bah.

But I arrived in time to see some Stephen Malkmus & the Jicks. Their loose rock jams slash sea shanties were adorned with much proggy filigree. It was nice big-sky music for a big-sky setting. “It’s time to go fucking Jack Johnson on your ass,” Malkmus announced later, strapping on an acoustic. That was my cue to bolt.

I strode over to the Sahara tent to catch Erol Alkan spinning ravenously raunchy electro with XXX bass textures. Man, the DJs at Coachella have been really bringing their A games. With an hour to dazzle the masses, there really is little time for filler. Everyone realizes that a stellar job here could mean big bookings for the future. So everybody wins.

Next I grabbed some dinner and had the misfortune to experience the awful aural trainwreck that occurs when seated between Dwight Yoakam’s adequate country rock at the Outdoor Theater and the massive percussion structure/sculpture called Parabola. The latter is like something out of a magnificent Harry Partch dream: several makeshift gongs, xylophones, metal poles, and drums of all shapes and sizes, on which Coachella attendees are free to unleash their inner Mickey Harts or Tony Allens. The chaotic yet still somewhat coherent rhythm never ceased rolling and tumbling during festival hours. This was a great idea, but it led to some horrendous contrasts in sound, like the one outlined above.

Time for Hot Chip. Wow—the Sahara tent was overrun with fans. This was one of the most clustery of clusterfucks. Hot Chip have gotten really popular in the last year (they played here in 2007, but not to this size of a crowd. In a nutshell, Hot Chip have become probably the preeminent live, song-based electronic band in the world. Their melodic and rhythmic gifts have coalesced into a well-oiled pleasure machine. “Over and Over” has become their anthem and manifesto (“The joy of repetition really is in you”). Not bad for some pasty, self-deprecating Brits with flat voices.

Over at the Gobi tent, fellow Englishmen Cinematic Orchestra engaged in some mellow, meandering soul jazz. Last time I saw CO (at South by Southwest in 2000), they evoked Sun Ra’s artful, freeform freakouts. Now they’re more refined and restrained—more coffee table than outer space. But it’s still good for what it is.

But for this observer, all of this has been merely a prelude for the mighty Kraftwerk. Still vital nearly 40 years after their inception, the German quartet maintained the same setup that they fielded in their last N. American tour: four dignified, business-suited members standing stock-still in a line behind laptops and synths while vibrant images of bicyclists, trains, autobahns, robots, words, geometric shapes, etc. flicker behind their motionless forms. “Man-Machine” started things splendidly, the beats and bleeps cutting through the fetid desert air like ice picks. Lyrics got run through a device that makes everything sound like Stephen Hawking with emphysema. It’s the opposite of what’s commonly thought of as “soul,” but it’s ideal for Kraftwerk’s precise cyborg boogie.

Kraftwerk’s set traversed many of their classics and best songs: “Trans-Europe Express,” “Autobahn,” “We Are the Robots,” “Radioactivity,” “Computer Love,” “Numbers,” “Computer World,” “Tour de France.” Even the newer cuts like “Vitamin” and “Planet of Visions” sounded brilliant and vital.

I expected Kraftwerk to close with “Pocket Calculator,” but instead we got “Boing Boom Tschak” merged with “Musique Non Stop.” That’s Kraftwerk’s patented sly humor there, ending the show with a song called “Musique Non Stop.” Also funny is the fact that old gents who look like bankers are some of the funkiest mofos on the planet.

After Kraftwerk, I had about 20 minutes to dash over to catch a little of Animal Collective and M.I.A.’s performances before returning to the main stage for Portishead, the act whom I’m most excited to see. Animal Collective, to grossly generalize: the Beach Boys in dub and on DMT—in a cave. Yeah, that good. The M.I.A. situation was another clusterfuck. In the three minutes I hovered outside the Sahara tent, I heard lots of simulated gunshots, airhorns and finally some of "World Town.” M.I.A. had on a flattering platinum-blonde wig and a flashy mini-dress. But Portishead beckoned…

Portishead had to be the most anticipated set of Coachella—Prince notwithstanding. And they killed it. Their drummer, Clive Deamer, was powerful and nuanced, and Geoff Barrow augmented him well with passionate percussion and an expressive array of scratches. Adrian Utley added resonant, haunting guitar hues throughout. Beth Gibbons conveyed her trademark noirish diva drama with modulated mastery. She even got Patti Smith on us during one new quiet-stormy track (“Threads”). Portishead wove new cuts (the stark, martial “Machine Gun” and the krautrockin’ “The Rip” were particularly striking) in with the old favorites (“Wandering Star” was transformed into a beatless wonder of understated tension and heartbreak). Talking to many spectators later, I discovered that Portishead were the highlight of this year's Coachella.

Prince, you may be shocked to learn, came on 25 minutes late. When he finally graced the stage, he shouted, “Coachella! I am here! Where are you?!” Then, “You are in the coolest place on earth right now!” Few would argue his point.

He and his band were decked out in classy white and dove-gray suits. Holy shit, the Purple One’s old mate Morris Day’s on stage and they start the set with the Time’s “The Bird” and “Jungle Love.” And what’s this? Sheila E? “The Glamorous Life”? Yes, yes it is.

But… the sound is muted. How can this be? Portishead sounded firmament-fillingly large. Why would Prince sound muffled? Who’s working sound here? Some shlub from a Palm Springs dive bar?

Anyway, Prince and co. gamely tore through “1999,” “Controversy,” “Little Red Corvette,” “Cream,” “U Got the Look,” and other gems from his bulging back catalog, adding jammy, jazzy flourishes when they felt like it. But their impact was diminished by the mystifyingly low volume and lack of clarity. You’d think a notorious control freak like Prince (no photos allowed, supposedly, but our Christopher Victorio and others somehow circumvented the vaunted Prince security staff) would demand the best sound quality in the history of the universe for a concert like this. But no.

However, a triumvirate of covers at set’s end raised spirits, as Prince Prince-fied Sarah McLachlan’s “The Arms of an Angel” (performed by his backing vocalists), Radiohead’s “Creep,” and the Beatles’ “Come Together.” The night climaxed somewhat predictably with “Purple Rain” and “Let’s Go Crazy.” After that, a massive traffic jam in the Empire Polo Field’s parking lot ensued, despite many punters leaving before “Cream” had even concluded before midnight.

Clearly, some sort of temporary mass transit system needs to be implemented in Indio during Coachella. If nothing else, it would reduce the monstrous carbon footprint the fest leaves every April. I’m thinking a shuttle bus system in which the vehicles run on vegetable oil and recycled Greenpeace leaflets. Anything has to be better than the mollusk-paced crawl and vast plumes of exhaust that transpire when approaching and departing Coachella.

Newsflash: Vampire Weekend—currently one of the most hyped bands in the universe—are merely pleasant, lilting pop with light dustings of African high-life sweetener. They make Remain in Light-era Talking Heads sound like Fela Kuti. Wheedly, jangly guitar dominates Vampire Weekend's sound and one song has a particularly constipated skank rhythm to it. They played some new songs that will probably be on the next album. Very few non-whites were spectating. I still dont know what all the fuss is about, but I do know that Remain in Light is way more interesting than anything VW can muster right now.

Peripatetic DJ Diplo had two huge phallic, red, inflatable "dancers" on either side of his setup, but they were not really necessary. Whatever the level beyond full-on party mode is, that's where Diplo's selections were. A dirty-disco version of Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit," Daft Punks "Harder, Faster, Better, Stronger" (with the word work repeated over and over), a track with the third-greatest break ever (Lyn Collins' "Think [About It]"), Federic Franchi's "Cream," the Prodigy's "Smack My Bitch Up" segued into Plastkman's "Spastik." It was pretty much all fire and the crowd ate it up. Near the end of his set, he dropped M.I.A.'s "Paper Planes" and the Sri Lankan songbird came onstage to sing along with her recorded self—the fringe benefit of being ex-lovers, perhaps? Nice to see they're still on good terms.

Aphex Twin's DJ set started with a beautifully resonant drone—the polar opposite tack of Diplo, whom he followed on the Sahara stage. A surprising transition to Public Enemy's "Welcome to the Terrordome" followed, before a long stretch of obscure psychedelic dance cuts stream by. "Why is no one dancing?'" a guy behind me asked. Nobody answered, but more people start dancing when Aphex broke into some very intricate drum & bass full of serpentine convolutions and then even more got busy when the redheaded Brit shifted into some hardcore jungle from the '90s. When the jungle took a turn for the weirder, four costumed dancers (panda, dalmatian, gorilla, another dog) joined Aphex, lending some levity to what had been a pretty serious performance (Aphex sits when he DJs, so all you can see is his disembodied head).

The Verve started strong with rock epics like "This Is Music" and "Space and Time," but soon devolved into bloated blandness. I didn't hear anything pre-A Northern Soul. Boo.

Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings' typically storming retro-soul revue was marred by Pendulum's live drum & bass shenanigans over in the next tent. A damned shame.

Spank Rock started with a party-rockin' DJ set that mirrored Diplo's, but their live segment suffered due to front man Naeem Juwan's absence (he was ill). But a short-short-wearing Amanda Blank and a couple of female rappers gamely tried to fill the void with some foul-mouthed flow that could make Peaches curdle. The energy level was high and the songs punchy and endearing.

Black Lips gouged out some raucous, tuneful garage rock with both glee and a dangerous edge. They somehow make 40-year-old tropes sound evergreen where many others who attempt them sound complacent and dull. "Thank you for not going to see Jack Johnson," singer Cole Alexander sincerely quipped between songs.

Black Lips' shaggy charm easily outshone Jack Johnson's beyond-vanilla rock. (Shocking revelation!) I tried to give Johnson a chance, but he was unbelievably flavorless. His shot at reggae rock made the Police sound like Toots & the Maytals.

So I bounced out of the festival only to struggle for 90 minutes to get out of the Empire Polo Field's parking lot. As if I hadn't suffered enough from Jack Johnson, then came this indignity. I write this in a state of nausea. I blame either JJ or the dodgy vegan egg rolls...

Rilo Kiley on April 24, 2008 at The Glass House
By Gabriel Ryan

Better Than: Driving all the way to Coachella and sweating your ass off.

Download: Rilo Kiley's With Arms Outstretched

I think last night was one of the most interesting Rilo Kiley shows I've ever attended. For one, the crowd was antsy because of technical difficulties throughout the set, and two, I don’t think half of the audience knew any of the songs played other than what was on the new album. The night started off with the crowd packed in like sardines and then by a half-hour into the set, you could see the crowd slowly diminishing. Probably, because they just played their most “popular” songs off of Under The Blacklight.

Despite the flaky crowd, Jenny Lewis’ voice was spot on. With slower renditions of their older songs, she belted out the tunes like it was her last show ever—which it definitely wasn’t because the band is playing Coachella this Saturday. Perhaps Coachella is to blame for the lack of crowd participation, perhaps not. But a lot of people could be heard dreading the long trip to the desert, which many of them were traveling to after the show.

To add to the interesting evening, there were a lot of perverts in the crowd. Perverts, everywhere I tell you. One example of the night being a middle-aged man who loudly described sexual acts that he’d like to perform on Jenny Lewis, and the amount of magazines he’d already ruined containing her picture. He spoke with such passion, like he was giving a retirement speech. When I turned around to glare at him, he looked at me as if I was dying to join his conversation and says to me, “You know what I mean… right?”

Actually, no sir. I don’t. I prefer Blake Sennett myself…

Critic's Notebook

Personal Bias: I am a huge Rilo Kiley fan. I would go to their show even if they were covering Britney Spears and Hannah Montana songs with a kazoo.

Random Detail: One complaint about last night. . . fucking under-aged kids and their cell phones! Why must you talk on your cell phone in the middle of the show? Text your little hearts out, but take the conversation outside.

By The Way: View pictures of the performance here.

It may sound shameful, but after living in Orange County for—oh, I don't know—22 years, this is the first time I'd made the trip down to OCPAC's Samueli Theater. Okay, maybe it's not that shameful. It's just that the place seems way too nice a venue for most rock bands I've seen lately. But last night, fans of Matt Costa and Satisfaction managed to wedge some good 'ol boot stomping energy into the dim lights of this high class Costa Mesa culture cove.

In the dim lights of the marble foyer, conversations popped and echoed from the walls as people filed in. Some Costa fans preferred to pick through the crammed merchandise peddling tables inside, while others rushed the bar near Will Call to pick their favorite color in the rainbow shelf of booze. This would be Costa's last stop on his recent tour to promote their Unfamiliar Faces (Brushfire Records 2008) album.

After about a half hour of brain-numbing house music, front man Michael Rosas stepped to the microphone under blood-red stage lights with his comrades from Satisfaction in tow. The crowd's applause died down as he whispered the opening lines to the song "Nothing, Oh Nothing" before the band exploded into the pop-laced, clap-along opener.

Seeing Satisfaction play was a second "first" for me that evening. Though I feel myself getting nauseated by the jangly pop rock that has infected most local OC venues like the plague, I was able to stomach these guys easily. Songs like "So we'll Just Take the Night" and "It's So Hard To Admit You're Wrong, Even When You're Right" had a great mix of grit, pop and humor that did it's thing without trying too hard. The thumping energy of the last song "Don't Do This To Me" was definitely a good way to close out the set.

Another highlight of the set was when Rosas had the good taste to hock a loogie on stage. You know, a good audible one, with a touch of soul behind it. Which is gross but pretty common place, even at a rock show. But the dialogue following the action was priceless:

Rosas: "Excuse me, I have something in my throat."
Random audience member: "That's what she said"
Every one in the room: laughs.

Once Satisfaction left, the roar of the crowd swelled to the top of the building as Costa and his band took the stage. Always in good form, Costa greeted the crowd and thanked everyone for coming out to a much needed stop on their home turf. Even though it wasn't your typical big opening song, Costa strummed the simple chords to "Yellow Taxi Cab" and the crowd went crazy. An added bonus to this tune was guitarist Mitch Townsend's meandering lap steel guitar over the top of the song's sunny groove.

With a new album out, I wasn't sure if he was going to neglect songs off the Elasmasaurus EP (Brushfire Records 2005) in favor of more Unfamiliar Faces tracks. Luckily, Costa gave us a couple of choice oldies including the boot stomping "Ballad of Miss Kate" and "Sweet Thursday." But of course, the new stuff took its proper place in the set.

Costa crept to the key board and hammered out the notes to "Mr. Pitiful." That song is so infectious that even the silhouettes of fans sitting in the upper deck tables were bobbing their heads and clapping. And the two-step dance fest didn't end there. Costa got the crowd moving with songs like "Sunshine" and "My Sweet Rose" from his first full length album The Songs We Sing (Brushfire Records 2006). Yellow stage lights pulsed as he closed out the set with "Miss Magnolia" and the ground shook with more rhythmic foot pounding. At one point a couple bold female fans hopped on stage and shook their hips for the band.

In an encore performance, Costa finally graced screaming fans with the thump and strum magic of "Cold December." He even played a new tune that didn't really stand out from anything else he played that night. But for his fans, some of Costa's appeal lies in the fact that he's never scared to try something new on stage, whether it's a cover of song of his musical heroes or something he just wrote, and last night it definitely worked for him. Before he left the stage, a fan passed him a shirt with "I heart MC" on it. That's some hometown love for ya right there.

View pictures of the live performance here.

Some ambitious comeback plans, a call for any—any—hip-hop artists to collaborate, and not a little crazy shit.

Sylvester “Sly Stone” Stewart is about to return to the stage after a long absence. He's performing with a makeshift version of the Family Stone (rumor has it that Sly's bro Freddie Stone may appear; Greg Errico, however, informs me that he will be recording in New Orleans and unable to sit in on the drums) at the Anaheim House of Blues April 25 and at its West Hollywood counterpart April 26. If they can get it together, they will have one of the greatest passel of hits in the history of recorded music at their disposal—at least two dozen songs that are the sonic equivalent of the elixir of eternal youth.

To promote this short tour, the legendary funk/soul song and dance man has deigned to do some interviews, including one with OC Weekly and another with the LA Times.

Here's a revealing quote from Ryan Ritchie's Weekly article:

Until recently, I had two black binders filled with songs and they were stolen from me. Even though I have copies of all these songs, the idea that someone around me who is supposed to be helping me might take these hurts. If anyone should happen to find these binders of songs, do as they see fit. There is a reward for anyone who returns those binders. The binders explain two years of my life and two years is too long to wait, and two words can’t get it straight! Help me find my binders. These people are not allowed to steal our music. It’s your music, my music, and it came from God.

Here are some rather interesting passages from Geoff Boucher's piece in LA Times:

The golden moment for the band was its August night at the Woodstock Festival in 1969. Sly performed a delirious call-and-response version of "Higher" and listened to the crowd of 400,000 sing his words back to him. Many say that set changed the course of music, melding rock with R&B in a liberating way.

"Everybody I saw was full of peace, it was a spirit there that was just
peaceful and cool," Stone said. "The thing I really remember is I went to
whatever was the main street there and I got a bologna sandwich. And it was
so hot. And I never open a sandwich to look what's going on, but somehow I
thought that time that I would do that. Because it was hot and I didn't
think bologna sandwiches were hot. And I opened it and there were people
running across the meat. And, I thought, whoa."

When someone says that they found tiny humans on top of their lunch meat,
the next natural question is: You didn't eat the sandwich, did you? "No! Oh,
no, no. I was reluctant to even throw it away. I had to look around for, you
know, to find the right garbage can that I should put it in."

Sly is one of my musical idols, but I don't have high hopes for this tour. May he prove me wrong. (I'll be at Coachella, so if someone sees him over the weekend, let us know how it went.)

Here's Sly on the Dick Cavett Show. How many illicit substances do you think are coursing through his veins here?

Beautiful Noise, a concert to benefit the family of the recently deceased Mike Conley of OC punk band MIA, is happening April 28 at House of Blues. It will be preceded by a warm-up show at Detroit Bar Sun. April 27 at 9 p.m. Participants include original members of Conley's former group MIA and JigSaw, who will be joined by a surprise guest vocalist. All proceeds go to the Mike Conley Family Fund.

Below is a video featuring MIA's "Boredom Is the Reason" and "Murder in a Foreign Place."

The Muslims, Crash Normal, Wounded Lion, Some Days
April 23, 2008
The Phoenix Grille at UCI
Better Than: Studying for that test tomorrow.
Download: Nightlife by The Muslims.

This is cool: UCI student, Sam Farzin, has started to put on music shows at the UC Irvine’s The Phoenix Grille, one of the campus’ dining spots. Located in what one of the members of Wounded Lion described as “the anus” of UCI (you have to twist and turn and go down and around the campus until you find the Phoenix Grille), this wasn’t an easy spot to find for those of us who aren’t UCI students.
This was Farzin's sixth show, and the third at this location. Though this was my first time at one of Farzin’s shows—he and his friends who collaborate these events go under the name Acrobatics Everyday—the Phoenix Grille definitely seems like the ideal spot - the sound is pretty good and the beer is cheap.

Up first were Some Days, a relatively new band made up of current and ex-members of Jail Weddings, Grand Elegance, FM Bats, The Babes, and The Clamour, who create an eclectic mix of psychedelic garage rock and soul with a little dub thrown in for good measure. Led by their drummer Anthony Matarazzo, who also handles vocal duties on most of the songs, Some Days have that “new band” feeling where they are still figuring each other out.

Next to play was Los Angeles’ Wounded Lion, who cranked the energy level way up in the small cafeteria-like room. There is nothing serious about this band whose song subjects include Coors Light and wizard piss. Wounded Lion would be the perfect band to tour the children’s wards in hospitals—for kids who like songs about beer and piss, anyway. With their energy, overall look, and the singer’s MC skills, it’s hard not smile when watching this band.

Crash Normal,a two-piece garage rock act with no drummer, from France were up next. Plagued by technical difficulties for almost the entire set, every time they started to get the crowd going, either the drum loop or vocals would cut out. Frustrating for the both the band and the audience alike, Crash Normal eventually ended their set after trudging though a final song with no drum loop at all.

Capping the night were San Diego’s The Muslims who are currently riding a small wave of blogger hype and are about to head out on a US tour with fellow San Diegans, The Night Marchers (John Reis’ new band). If you mix together the sounds of Velvet Underground, Bob Dylan (electric) and The Stooges you would come close to what The Muslims are bringing.

Though the crowd had thinned by the end of the evening, those who stuck around were treated to one of the best dance parties I’ve seen in a long time. A long night of drinking cheap beer and The Muslims’ hip-shaking tunes were the perfect formula to entice the small but extremely enthusiastic crowd to get down. To quote a friend who saw the band a night earlier at The Echo, “The Muslims are the shit. Mark my words!” Yes they are, but we already knew that.

Critic’s Notebook
Personal Bias: I was going to like this show no matter what, just because of what Sam and Acrobatics Everyday are doing.

Random Detail: Watched a “Take Back The Night” march through the quad while waiting for the show to start. . . there were more people marching than there were attendees at the show.

By the way: The Muslims play again this Sunday at Alex’s Bar in Long Beach.

Guapo
Elixirs
(Neurot)
Release date: March 10, 2008

Curb Your Cynicism is a recurring feature in which the music editor pithily enthuses about new releases and reissues he thinks will enhance your life and erode your cynicism about the state of music, circa now.

Guapo's Elixirs has been slept on for too long, for which I apologize. This is one of the most satisfying prog-rock releases to cross my desk in a long time. A lot of progressive rock exists only to flaunt the players' flamboyant technical abilities. It's music made strictly to impress other musicians . Sometimes this approach results in awesome music, provided the instrumentalists have soul and/or songwriting chops (see Mahavishnu Orchestra, Yes, Gentle Giant, King Crimson, et al.).

But there's another species of prog rock that's more about creating otherworldly moods and textures. That's the type of prog group Guapo are. Although their chops are tight, that's not their raison d'être. Consisting of Daniel O'Sullivan (Rhodes, piano, bass, guitars, harmonium, synths, electronics, autoharp and voice), David J. Smith (drums, percussion), Kavus Torabi (guitar) and James Sedwards (bass), Guapo operate in the same rarefied, quasi-ritualistic manner as artists like Popol Vuh, Third Ear Band, Moondog and Talk Talk ca. Laughing Stock.

Elixirs abounds with gorgeous melodies suffused in elegant tonalities, but nothing sounds obvious or played out. Rather, mystery imbues nearly every passage over the disc's six tracks (stretched over 58 minutes, all of them justified). “Twisted Stems: The Selenotrope” creepily evokes some of Goblin's soundtrack work for horror maestro Dario Argento or middle-period Swans when Jarboe sang with them. “King Lindorm” starts with a portentous metallic percussion and keyboard textures that recall bits of Pink Floyd's Ummagumma and a certain strain of gamelan or Tibetan Buddhist music. The piece transitions into some eerie Rhodes motifs (reminiscent of Soft Machine's Mike Ratledge) buttressed by an attractively lugubrious bass line and plangent guitar accents, before shifting into more of those Goblin-esque blood-chilling vibraphone lines and Red menace guitar riffs (i.e., Frippian). The track continues to subtly morph throughout its 15+ minutes, building in intensity and density, becoming ripe to score a suspenseful art-house thriller.

Elixirs is a towering achievement, as is Guapo's last album, the Zeuhl-esque Black Oni.

A second memorial/tribute show for OC-born-and-raised musician Chris Gaffney, who passed away last week from liver cancer, has been announced. In addition to this Sunday's wake at the Doll Hut in Anaheim, this new one will take place next Wednesday, April 30, at the Cellar nightclub in downtown Long Beach (201 E. Broadway, on the Promenade; 562-495-9000; all-ages; free admission). Doors at 3 p.m., with live music starting at 6 p.m. Several bands will be playing, but one of them isn't supposed to be officially announced due to a contractual obligation, so we'll just say that it's led by one of Gaffney's best friends—a Grammy-winning singer-songwriter extraordinaire, who shares a last name with the first name of one of the Chipmunks, and whose backing band is the opposite of the Innocent Women (and if you can't figure it out after those clues, then you probably weren't gonna show up anyway). Comedian Andy Kindler will host.

...the club, not the city.

Bad news for all you hip-hop and Top 40 club lovers:

Club Vegas (whom we deemed Best Dance Club in OC) has shut its doors this past weekend due to "unresolvable issues regarding the parking situation".

Over parking? Bummer.

Management is hoping to open again soon at a different location.

(In the meantime, there's always Sutra)

Swervedriver were a late addition to the Coachella lineup (they play the Mojave Tent 5:05 p.m. April 27) and consequently we didn't get a chance to cover them in our extensive preview in this week's issue. So consider this Video Savant an attempt to make amends for that.

Swervedriver were classified as shoegazers, partially because they recorded for Creation Records, home to My Bloody Valentine, Slowdive, Ride and other fine, introverted guitar bands that favored the gauzy wall of distortion approach prevalent in the late '80s/early '90s underground. But these Brits invested their epic, emotionally powerful rock songs with a brawny metallic sheen that veered more toward Hüsker Dü's artful machismo than shoegaze's more typical receding billows of mauve guitar tones.

Swervedriver's biggest U.S. hit was “Rave Down,” but all the YouTube vids available boast terrible audio quality (in fact, nearly all of the Swervedriver videos on YT sound like shite; it's a travesty, mate). Plus, I hate to be overly obvious with my selections. So we're going with this live version of “Duel,” which may be an even better song. It captures Swervedriver's trademark shifting between pensive and explosive passages, while featuring one of their most beautifully wistful melodies and Adam Franklin's deadpan vocals, sounding invitingly forlorn amid the guitar maelstrom.

It'll be very interesting to see if Swervedriver—like fellow recently reunited, outward-bound U.K. rockers the Verve—can summon what made them special some 15 years ago in Indio's blazing heat five days hence.

“Duel” (Live)

Feast your eyes on 'em here.

The reunited gothadelic group Love and Rockets will warm up for their April 27 Coachella show with two SoCal dates, including tonight at the Glass House in Pomona (the other gig's in San Diego, April 24 at Canes). DJ Diabetic (Shepard Fairey) opens. Tix are $25 adv/$30 DOS. Doors at 7 p.m. All ages. Call (909) 865-3802 for more information.

Love and Rockets will also play Lollapalooza Aug. 3.

Here's a video of Love and Rockets covering the Temptations' “Ball of Confusion.” This is one of the better examples of a British artist re-imagining a Motown song while still capturing its spirit.

When musicians wax political, the results are usually laughable and rarely illuminating. With this in mind, we link to OC Weekly freelancer Ben Westhoff's blog, where he's posted the presidential preferences (or noncommittal blather) of several rock and rap figures he's recently interviewed. Their responses are fascinating, if only to get a glimpse into the workings of creative people's minds regarding subjects of which they're insufficiently informed.

Then there's DMX's infamous observations about Barack Obama (who he?), which is discussed in the video below.

The death last week from liver cancer of OC music icon Chris Gaffney hasn't quashed the benefit show for him that had been planned for the Doll Hut this Sunday, April 27. The day-long bill is still on, though now it's unfortunately become a memorial, with proceeds going towards Gaffney's family.

Here's all the info, from a press release sent out by former Doll Hut owner Linda Jemison. Sounds like it'll be a great wake:

"Former owner of Linda’s Doll Hut, Linda Jemison and Hacienda Brothers Guitar player, Dave Gonzales have put together a benefit in honor of the memory of Chris Gaffney. The show will feature a wide range of music. There will be a BBQ on the patio and a limited amount of vintage Linda's Doll Hut shirts will be for sale. (Proceeds going to Chris's memorial fund)

Cover Charge $10.00
All proceeds will go to the Chris Gaffney Memorial Fund
Doors are at noon

Artist Line up:
Big Sandy 7pm
The Ziggens at 6pm
Kid Ramos and the FAB-U-LOCOS at 5pm
Manny (from the Original Blazers) at 4pm
Mike Eldred 3pm
Torquays 2pm
Hellbound Hayride 1pm
Sitting in throughout the day members of The Hacienda Brothers and special surprise guests."

The Alex Benefit at the Detroit Bar, April 19, 2008 with We Barbarians, Nathan Willett, Delta Spirit, and Jonnie Russell from the Cold War Kids

Better Than: Donating money to the Presidental Election Campaign Fund.

Download: Delta Spirit's "Trashcan" from Ode To Sunshine

Benefit concerts often reward audience members who are gracious enough to support the event's cause by providing outstanding live performances and the occasional surprise. These principals were definitely upheld at Detroit Bar this Saturday as patrons were treated to a show that exceeded $10 donation expectations.

The Alex Benefit was put together to help support Alex, a boy suffering from a hole in his heart, and his family from Uganda. Alex needs open heart surgery to save his live and surmounting medical bills have placed a financial burden on his family. So local bands Delta Spirit, Cold War Kids and We Barbarians came to the rescue.

The utilization of dynamics within a song is a specialty of We Barbarians who opened with "Trickle Down," a quiet introduction to the band. However, notions of a mellow set were quickly dispatched as Davey Quon (Vocals/Guitars) urgently broke into "There's This" with howling guitars and stuttering drums.

Jonnie Russell (Guitars) of Cold War Kids, had his reverb pedal cranked for the decaying notes of a new song entitled "Every Man I Fall For" with Nathan Willett (Vocals/Guitars) adding his trademark ashen vocals. The crowd screamed for "Hang Me Up To Dry" as they wrapped up their 30-minute set.

Having recently wrapped up a tour with Huntington Beach's Matt Costa, Delta Spirit were road tested and ready when they hit stage. "Bleeding Bells" warmed the crowd up with its steady back beat and a raucous pit broke out with "Tom Gerald" as the whiskey-drenched tunes of Delta Spirit started to intoxicate the crowd. I was amazed when I turned around to see the audience singing and swaying and back and forth to "People, Turn Around" near the end of the set. And the momentum of the show did not fall as Brandon Young (Drums) served as a human engine propelling the throttling "Trashcan" to new heights with his piston like drumming.

Critic's Notebook

Personal Bias: I was at the We Barbarians first show at the Detroit Bar back in September 2007 and truly enjoy the band.

Random Detail: The crowd sang "Happy Birthday" to Kelly Winrich of Delta Spirit.

By The Way: I made it to the Detroit Bar in record time coming from Fingerprints Records in Long Beach after watching Silversun Pickups play an acoustic set for National Record Store Day.

Currently on the endangered species list: your local record store. (You remember those, right?) In a valiant attempt to raise awareness of their existence and importance (and perhaps move some stock), hundreds of independently owned music emporia throughout North America are celebrating Record Store Day by holding special events and sales Friday April 19. Close to OC, Long Beach's Fingerprints and LA's Amoeba are participating.

I highly recommend frequenting a shop or two Saturday and showing some monetary love to these feisty survivors of music retail, which also serve as communal hubs for music freaks to exchange knowledge and bond. Buy some records, meet some cool people who often become friends for life. This has happened to me over and over. It's hard to do this while sitting at your computer. It's the difference between watching concert footage on YouTube and actually being in the venue for the show.

Over 3,000 record stores have gone out of business in the last decade. The causes are many: freeloading downloaders with a bloated sense of entitlement (maybe you've heard this rationale: “Why should I pay for music when I can get it for free on teh Internetz?”), the decrepit economy, the increasing popularity of video games and iTunes, Wal-Mart's ruthless CD-pricing practices, the looming specter of Al-Qaeda and other factors.

As someone who's spent a significant amount of his life in record stores, I am deeply saddened to see so many going under. It's like witnessing the erosion of your soul (or some equally self-pitying analogy). Every time an indie record shop folds, the culture becomes a little more bland and monolithic.

Nick Hornby, author of High Fidelity, has an eloquent take on the matter:

Yes, yes, I know. It's easier to download music, and probably cheaper. But what's playing on your favourite download store when you walk into it?

Nothing, that's what. Who are you going to meet in there? Nobody. Where are the notice boards offering flatshares and vacant slots in bands destined for superstardom? Who's going to tell you to stop listening to that and start listening to this? Go ahead and save yourself a couple of quid. The saving will cost you a career, a set of cool friends, musical taste and, eventually, your soul. Record stores can't save your life. But they can give you a better one.

Anyway, Record Store Day is a nice gesture, and I hope it stirs a resurgence in people supporting these establishments, though I'm not optimistic about its positive long-term effects.

On a similar tip, a film titled I Need That Record is opening soon. It features Thurston Moore, Mike Watt, Ian MacKaye, a lot of other musical luminaries... and Noam Chomsky. The movie is a paean to the importance of record stores and an examination of their plight (spoiler alert: consensus here is that record stores rule). Get a taste of it in the trailer below.

I Need That Record

Former Weekly music editor Jim Washburn just emailed us with the sad news of OC musical icon Chris Gaffney's passing:

"I apologize for not calling personally to pass this on, but I'm finding it hard to speak: Chris Gaffney's brother Greg called to say that Chris passed away this morning. His family was with him, the goodbyes were said and he wasn't in pain. Would that could be said for the rest of us. He leaves a gap that can't be filled, though I'm sure we'll all do what we can. Love to you all. -- Jim"

Gaffney was only recently diagnosed with liver cancer; he had also recently begun chemotherapy treatments. No additional info as of yet on the website established to help raise funds for Gaffney's treatment (www.helpgaff.com), but keep checking. Also, no word as of yet on the status of the Gaffney benefit at the Doll Hut scheduled to happen on Sunday, April 27, which is/was to have feature/d Big Sandy, the Ziggens, Kid Ramos, the Torquays, and others....

Former LA rock goddess/poet Exene Cervenka (vocalist/lyricist for X, the Knitters, the Original Sinners) has signed a multi-album contract with Bloodshot Records, which somehow seems to be thriving in this shitty economic climate .

You can read the press release after the jump and view this video—which still has relevance 15 years later—before it.

X- "Country at War" (live 1993)

Café Tacvba at Lollapalooza.

Mexican alt-rock stars Café Tacvba have just released a new single, “Esta Vez,” from their latest album, Sino, which our own Señor Arellano found lacking. You can check the video for "Esta Vez" here (embedding is disabled).

Honestly, I'm not feeling this song; it's pretty maudlin and sluggish. YouTube's commenters and raters, however, beg to differ.

Café Tacvba will play the Coachella Valley Music & Arts Festival Sat. April 26.

Ah, they don't make 'em like this anymore.

This 1999 cut (on the B-side to the world-beating Windowlicker 12,” whose title track was hailed by this writer as one hell of a sex aid) is one of Aphex Twin's weirder creations (which is really saying something).

The title is a long-ass mathematical equation, which you can view here. The music itself is as hard to figure out as said equation is for numerophobes to solve. This is Richard D. James at his most madly scientific, hermetically experimental and brilliantly inscrutable. “Equation” is the score to a modern dance... for alien insects. It is also, by the way, the sound caroming inside OC Weekly's music editor's head while dealing with particularly stressful deadlines.

If Aphex drops this piece during his DJ set at Coachella (he performs there April 25), expect spontaneous copulating to break out—among the calculus geeks in the crowd. Everybody else will likely be searching the skies for UFOs.

Stars of the Lid: stately as a motherfucker.

What the? Chairs at the Echoplex? What is this, a classical-music concert? Actually, it pretty much is, with headliners Stars of the Lid boasting two violinists and a cellist, in addition to core members Brian McBride and Adam Wiltzie on guitars and electric piano (they played with their backs to the audience the entire set, too; cheers, fellas).

Praised by 4AD Records honcho Ivo Watts-Russell as the most important band of the 21st century (gulp), SOTL have evolved from minimalist drone merchants to young-buck holy-minimalist composers (roll over Arvo Pärt and tell Henryk Górecki the news).

Right from the start of their set, SOTL justified their lofty position in today's neo-classical realm with all strings set to “glacial grandeur.” A sinking-of-the-Titanic poignancy washed over the reverent crowd (the Echoplex was maybe half full—not bad on a Monday night for some esoteric, beatless music). SOTL took us to (secular) church, in slow-motion. One wishes the performance were happening in an old ornate cathedral. But then we probably wouldn't be treated to the artfully psychedelic projections of Luke Savisky, who, it turns out, played a video cameraman in Slacker.

Last night, SOTL's music achieved a timeless, placeless stasis. There were no obvious peaks or climaxes; rather, a serene drift predominated, capturing the essence of melancholy. Through spare, economical means, SOTL created incredibly moving scores for the poignancy of the human condition (terminal, to be Pollyanna-ish).

I caught about half of opener Christopher Willits' set. He's a San Francisco-based guitarist who plays through a PowerBook, not unlike the great Austrian musician Fennesz. (You can view a demo of Willits' m.o. here.) The first track of his I catch is a tense throb, somewhere between mid-'70s Tangerine Dream and Hawkwind. Magnificent. Out of this streamlined stream of sound there splintered some spectral shards of guitar, then a cloud of microscopic clicks & cuts emerged with a stuttering choir, resulting in a passage of chaotic elegance and flawed beauty (the best kind).

Later came muted oscillations and angelic ululations, foreshadowing momentousness, which manifested in the form of a piece that sounded like one of Neu!'s pastoral songs sl