Ever since I first heard Le Orme's “Ad Gloriam” in a set last September at The Prospector by DJ Frederick Phases, I've been enchanted with the song. Imagine if the Beatles ca. 1967 had grown up in Roma rather than Liverpool and had those extra-hot Italian women to inspire them to unparalleled heights of blissful psych pop—or maybe Os Mutantes if they were less spazzy and disjointed. That would be “Ad Gloriam.”

The accompanying video appears to be a montage from '60s-era films by Federico Fellini and/or Michelangelo Antonioni. Whatever the case, it offers enticing—if sometimes incongruous—eye candy for Le Orme's soaring, gossamer psychedelia. “Ad Gloriam” blossomed into existence in 1969. Held aloft by angelic vocals (Italian rockers can sing like motherfuckers), chiming organ, funky tambourine hits, and a serpentine guitar solo that triggers kaleidoscopic paisley shapes in your mind's eye, this tune surely was a hit somewhere, even though it barely made a blip on the Anglo-American consciousness. Such is the, uh, gloriousness of the tune (albeit tinged with a subtle wistfulness), though, that it ought to be made the national anthem of Utopia. I say that as a skeptic who doubts such a place can exist, but “Ad Gloriam” at least offers a glimmer of hope.

This is the final edition of Video Savant; my last day at OC Weekly is Aug. 1. It's been fun and then some. I want to thank all of my readers and whoever contributes footage—especially footage of obscure, amazing musicians—to YouTube. If you want to follow my scribblings in the future, find me on MySpace under “editaurus,” and I will keep you abreast of my textual adventures.

International Pop Overthrow Festival at Fitzgerald’s on July 26

Better Than: Bingo night at the old folks home

It’s hard to imagine that in a constant media barrage of the Avril Levines, Jonas Bothers, and Simple Plan’s of the world, the pop rock genre has anything to offer besides an endless supply of fresh faced, power chord pumping puppets long on looks and short on talent. That is, until you take pop out of the bright lights of the arena and into the dark, cramped quarters of the local bar scene where the real soldiers of pop rock get their thrills.

Last night, the International Pop Overthrow Festival rolled into Huntington Beach to show local bar flies and live music fans a more “mature” side of pop embraced by a handful of the county’s most dedicated bands. During the second show that kicked off around 7:30 p.m. at Fitzgerald’s Irish Pub, seven acts performed until almost midnight.

Now in it’s 11th year, IPO has become a staple at Fitzgerald’s and internationally as well in places like Liverpool, London and Vancouver, Canada.

Honestly, being an outsider to the local “pop rock” scene around here, I hadn’t experienced the IPO until creaking open the pub door to find a swarm of people shooting pool, chomping on bar food and wiping away frothy beer mustaches. It had all the hallmarks of a standard bar gig. Not quite the glossy teenybopper vibe I pictured.

Emerging on stage in front of a full house of family, friends and fans, singer/songwriter Philip Vandermost kicked things off with songs from his new album Automatic August. Apparently, his IPO set also doubled as his album release party. Strumming through song after song, his laid back stage presence and mild mannered, sunny delivery was a bit vanilla at times. But you gotta give the guy credit for attempting some infectiously polished hooks on songs like “Since Mountains Have Risen” and “Drifting.” He and his three piece band definitely seemed like an early favorite.

From then on, things rolled pretty smoothly as audiences rotated in and out throughout the night. However, there was a steady stream of diehards fastening themselves to the bar as the festival bounced from band to band.

Some acts like Canadian born Dave Stephens went for the more early 90’s pop of bands like Weezer and Everclear. Though starting out with a little spark of energy, they picked an awkward time to slow things down with aimless, melancholy songs like “Days go by,” as the crowd seemed to be thinning out, tuning out and taking smoke breaks. When they did decide to rock again, their earnest, paper-thin sound seemed to fit like wallpaper on your average local bar…the kind of sound that kicks ass after a few too many beers.

Moving things ahead were a slew of 30 and 40-something rockers called The Relatives who tried their hardest to give this gig as much balls-to-the-wall enthusiasm as they could muster. The Relatives were about as punk rock as it got that night, if you could look past the collard shirts and strategically gelled up hair.

As the night heated up in the bar, the number of bands dwindled down to two as 90’s rockers, The Tickets, took the stage. Of all the bands that night, I would have to say that they had the most going on for them even if it was 10 years ago since their prime. I was glad to see that the songs, while occasionally sappy, had plenty of danceable energy and good vocals throughout. Nostalgia seemed to creep over the set when they played some of their older stuff like “Lost in Love” from a period “when we had long hair” according to the band. Now joining the come over club, it was cool to see that The Tickets still had infectious energy and genuine happiness from beginning to end.

Rounding out the night was Garden Grove band, Scarlet Crush, who received a warm welcome from a crowd that had finally peppered in a few more young drinkers. Like the Tickets before them, these guys had an arsenal of radio ready sentimental rock that had just enough edge to appeal to younger crowds. Even though I’m normally the kind of guy that takes pride in staying until a concert’s bitter end, I'd had all the pop I could stomach before the end of their last song. As I walked to the parking lot, the crowd roared as the whole event finally came to the end. Looks like the pop fest went out with a bang.

Critics Notebook

Personal Bias: Beer makes any music sound better

Random Detail: The lead singer of The Tickets played the whole set with his shoes off

By the Way: Look for the IPO again when it comes to the O.C. Fair on Aug. 3

Yaz, Psychedelic Furs at Pacific Amphitheater on July 24, 2008

Better Than: trying to find that 1980's cassette mix tape in your garage.

Download: Nobody's Diary (Origin of Essex Remix) from the Official Yaz Homepage

"You have been brilliant, we have been Yaz.". Alison Moyet (Vocals) couldn't have said it any better as Yaz closed out their brief tour of the U.S. at the Pacific Amphitheater.

The Psychedelic Furs rolled out their impressive collection of hits to warm up the enthusiastic crowd. Richard Butler's (Vocals) distinctive ash strewn voice melds perfectly with their yearning songs. Mars Williams's (Saxophone) jugular vein nearly exploded as he tore into the saxophone drenched intro of "Heartbeat". I had to pick myself off the ground when they dusted off "Am I Wrong" which was from Richard's former band Love Spit Love. Richard went into his trademark 360-degree twirls for a sparkling rendition of "Ghost In You". Beach balls were making the rounds in the orchestra area as "Love My Way" ejected all of the audience from their seats. "Pretty In Pink" turned into an informal meet and greet as overzealous fans rushed to the stage to have their picture taken with Richard Butler. It was one heck of an opening set as the bar was raised high.

Contrary to what you might think, Vince Clarke (Keyboards) is not checking his email behind his Apple laptop. Vince was busy triggering classic samples and arpeggios that made him one of the forefathers of electronic music. Vince's programming with Alison Moyet's (Vocals) sultry and soulful vocals combined to form the super duo of Yaz. The ping-pong synthesizer lines of "Nobody's Diary" immediately transported everyone back to 1983 as Alison couldn't stop smiling from the huge ovation from the crowd. "Good Times" lived up to its namesake as I was surrounded by a pack of rabid Yaz fans dancing all around me. Sugar coated synthesizers propelled the "Sweet Thing" into overdrive as Vince added some robotic vocoder vocals. Alison was correct when she warned the crowd they would be dancing till the close of the show as they tackled "Bring Your Love Down (Didn't I) and a feverishly audience clapping version of "Don't Go". An encore of "Only You" and "Situation" prompted Alison to come to the front of the stage and sing the songs much to the delight of the adoring fans. Alison and Vince exchanged a warm embrace and bowed as they received a thunderous ovation from the crowd. I beg to differ, Yaz was brilliant.

Critic's Notebook:

Personal Bias: As a collector of synthesizers, How could I not like Yaz?

Random Detail: "Only You" by Yaz was on the Napoleon Dynamite soundtrack.

By The Way: Yaz recently released a four disc box set entitled "In Your Room" with remastered tracks and 5.1 surround mixes. A must own for any Yaz fan.

The Stray Cats at the Pacific Amphitheater on July 22, 2008

Better Than: any other rockabilly band on the planet.

Download: "Stray Cat Strut" from the Stray Cats Myspace page [http://www.myspace.com/straycats]

Grease and Greasers were in abundance at the OC fair as the mighty Stray Cats played their only American date this year at the Pacific Amphitheatre. Brian Setzer, Slim Jim Phantom and Lee Rocker thoroughly rocked the town of Costa Mesa with their timeless tunes.

Hot Rod Lincoln from San Diego quickly let you know that you were at a rockabilly concert with their twangy upstart old-fashioned tunes. Buzz Campbell (Vocals/Guitars) had his shiny white Gretsch guitar revved up and ready to go as they played a crowd pleasing set.

Joe Ely shifted the mood to a more country honky tonk vibe with his whiskey soaked tunes. Joe wins over the audience with his energetic performance that reminded me of Johnny Cash. I was even more impressed when I learned he used to hang out with the Clash in the late seventies.

"Rumble In Brixton" roared like a '67 Chevy as the Stray Cats came out of their corner with their claws swinging. Brian Setzer (Vocals/Guitars) had his custom namesake orange Gretsch guitar singing like a stool pigeon. The Stray Cats are not a one man show as Lee Rocker is a world class upright bass player along with the dexterous drumming of Slim Jim Phantom.

"Runaway Boys" was a rollicking good time as I noticed that the backing vocals from Slim Jim and Lee gave the song some extra punch. "(She's) Sexy and 17" was prefaced by Brian stating that they used to be on MTV when they showed videos which garnered a number of laughs. A good majority of the hits were covered as they flawlessly played "Gene and Eddie", "Crybaby", "Double Talkin' Baby" and "Fishnet Stockings"

Psychobilly is apparently a term Brian doesn't use as he introduced "Blast Off" as a true rockabilly tune. "Rock This Town" had the whole amphitheatre on their feet as everyone in attendance was singing along. Although the song was plagued with some technical difficulties, "I Fought The Law" was close to stealing the show as Mike Ness from Social Distortion came out to lend the Stray Cats a helping hand. "Summertime Blues" was a fitting way to end their set as the Stray Cats received a standing ovation. Costa Mesa had officially been rocked by the Stray Cats.

Critic's Notebook:

Personal Bias: My guitar tablature book of Brian Setzer tunes is collecting dust because it is close to impossible to replicate the speed of Brian's fleet fingers.

Random Detail: Brian's leopard skin painted Gretsch guitar got the biggest reaction of the night.

By The Way: It saddens me to report that the Brian Setzer Orchestra Christmas Extravaganza is not going to happen this year.

Ray Davies, Everest @ The Grove of Anaheim on July 22

Last night, perched in front of a seated wall to wall crowd bathed in stage lights at The
Grove in Anaheim, singer songwriter and former Kink, Ray Davies, gave us a healthy taste of Brit Pop nostalgia, acoustic style. But not before offering several slices from his latest works of starch pressed, story-teller folk. The show kicked off as darkness blanketed the venue around 8p.m.

Sent in to warm up the restless crowd, L.A. acoustic trio Everest channeled the haunting side of Ryan Adams and groovy pop of Alexi Murdoch to satisfy those who weren’t busy swirling cups of pricey beer around crowded bar tables outside waiting to hear “You Really Got Me”. Vocalist Russell Pollard’s voice loomed over the crowd like a specter from song to song thanks to some splashy reverb and under stated guitar work. They ended with “Rebels in the Roses”, by far one of the most powerful slices of introspective indie sentiment that I’ve heard in at least a month or two. If you haven’t heard of this band before now, they’re full sound with bass and drums and keys on the album Ghost Notes (Vapor 2008) is definitely worth a gander.

But the action that everyone came to see was the sound of Davies throaty vocals and acoustic strumming that has earned him a career with fans young and old since The Kinks drifted into relic hood in the 90’s. After a brief wait in between acts, the concert hall darkened as the slow build of country blues music got the crowd all hot and bothered while hoots and hollers peppered the air.

Hoisting himself onto a stool next to guitarist Bill Shanley, Davies wasted little time launching into a couple Kinks classics, including straight ahead rocker “Where have all the good times gone”. The crowd took a couple songs to really warm up as more and more voices added to the swell of sing along parts that injected some enthusiasm into the overall performance.

Though the group support from the audience was there, one of the problems with having an acoustic show of that size are all the obnoxious screaming song requests that made Davies look like a human juke box. After a while he stopped entertaining the audiences blathering and went on with some tracks from his latest album “Working Man’s Café”. One of which included the song “Vietnam Cowboys” which sounded reminiscent of the chucking guitars in a high powered Hendrix tune like “Machine Gun”.

After getting an earful of mixed bag solo work, things finally started to get kinky…really kinky. We’re talking all the hits, rapid fire… everything from “Sunny Afternoon”, to “Well Respected Man”, “Dedicated Follower of Fashion” and let’s not forget All Day and All of the Night”. Hell, the old buzzard even stood up and rocked out for the old tunes. If I’m not mistaken, I thought I saw a little rock star jump at the end. I hope those joints feel okay tomorrow.

Besides playing a shit load of songs, Davies apparently felt like auditioning for a VH1 Story Tellers special because he had a 3 minute story for each song that made things drag a bit. I think some things should just be saved for the liner notes. But for all his blabbering, the man did churn out a couple encore songs and even stuck around to sign some merch from frenzied fans.

Critic’s Notebook

Random Detail: Davies’ stories that inspired his songs included things like, getting shot, going to the hospital, The Vietnam, girls…ya know, the usual.

Personal Bias: I hate chairs at concerts

By the Way: Anyone interested in more aging rockers can go check out Boz Scaggs on Aug. 7.

I'm about to leave on a trip for the Detroit area, where I spent my first 32 years, so allow me to indulge nostalgically in some of that city's musical lore. As deeply flawed as this Midwestern metropolis is, I still have fond memories of growing up there, and one reason was hearing the early songs of Bob Seger on the radio.

Yeah, Seger's music in the '80s turned as rancid as Kid Rock's bandana, but Bob's output in the '60s and first half of the '70s contains a monster truck's full of tough-as-beef-jerky Motor City rocknroll—and a handful of poignant slowies that could make Clint Eastwood shed a tear.

So let us now absorb the mighty power of “Heavy Music” which appeared on Smokin' O.P's in 1972. Truth in advertising or what? This is a garage-rock bomb made by dudes who believed they would live and fuck forever with wanton abandon. The rhythm is so elemental, pumping and stripped down—perfect for making cars and babies. Seger's voice is all feral soul and rampaging id, while the backing vocals haunt the periphery like a choir of satyrs. I can't even hear guitar or organ in this piece; it's all bass, drums, voices and hand claps, contoured like a potent phallus/missile for maximum cranial penetration.

“Heavy Music” is a party jam, but there's also a severe degree of danger animating it. Shake your ass, but watch your back, too, bro. And what a fadeout moment, as Seger wails, “Deeper! Deeper! Whoa! Whoa! We're goin' in now!”

I've listened to “Heavy Music” 10 times in a row now, and I feel as if I've guzzled a pitcher of unfiltered testosterone juice (but the non-douche-y kind). Still, best to keep your distance from me for a while.

Ultimately, “Heavy Music” makes me proud to be from Detroit. (But, please, dear Bob, delete forever “Like a Rock.” Thanks.)

What are you doing in May 2009? Not sure yet? Well, try to pencil in a few days for OC Music Fest 09, which happens in about 10 months in Irvine and promises to feature nearly 100 established and up-and-coming bands.

In the meantime, you creative types may want to enter the Be The Shirt band/artist T-shirt design contest.

For details regarding the contest and festival, read the press release after the jump.

Acclaimed folk-raga guitarist Peter Walker plays a rare solo gig at UC Irvine's Cross Cultural Center July 24 (5 p.m., $5). The show's another coup by Sam Farzin's Acrobatics Everyday organization.

Walker recorded two albums for Vanguard Records in the '60s. In 2006, Tompkins Square Records issued A Raga for Peter Walker, which included four new Walker originals and compositions by younger guitarists such as Thurston Moore, Jack Rose and James Blackshaw. Now the label's releasing Echo of My Soul, Walker's first full-length of new material in 40 years. The master stringsman is touring in support of the album, which reflects his intense interest in flamenco. No less a luminary than Six Organs of Admittance guitar sorcerer Ben Chasny cites Walker as being a primary influence on his style.

Check out Walker's beautiful, fluid, spiritual picking in the videos below.

The first Posse on Broadway shindig in June was a flaming success; all three venues—Memphis Café, Proof and the Crosby—were filled to capacity at various points of the night and nobody died (although we heard reports of a couple of fights transpiring).

Anyway, this month's POB (happens every third Friday this summer) should be just as thrilling for lovers of next-level musica de fiesta. See the flier above for the lineup. I'm most excited about Stones Throw artist Dâm Funk, who's established himself as one of the country's foremost DJs of '80s funk and electro.

Action starts at 9 p.m. and is free all night, even if you aren't.

Here's Dâm Funk spinning at a Miami party.

In a June 27, 2007 live review on Heard Mentality, I wrote:

Japanese Motors came off as an amalgam of late-'70s NYC influences, like a West Coast Strokes, which I'm sure they're sick of hearing already. I'm guessing Japanese Motors will be signed to Kemado or Dim Mak by year's end.

I was wrong. Taste-making NYC label Vice Records just signed Japanese Motors. A Vice rep said in an email: “We're really excited to be working with them and can't wait to unleash their brand of surf-garage-pop to the masses.”

In other news, Japanese Motors will be playing the Monday night residency at Detroit Bar in September. Stay tuned for more Weekly coverage of these Costa Mesa rockers in the near future.

In the meantime, check out their raucous tune “Brand New Everything.”

Full press release about JM's signing and upcoming activities after the jump.

Maybe you've seen the tabloidy stories lately about 61-year-old Rolling Stones guitarist Ronnie Wood. Apparently he's left his rather attractive wife of 23 years, Jo Wood, for 18-year-old Russian cocktail waitress Ekaterina Ivanova. Allegedly, on top of this scandalous development, the excellent ex-Faces axe-man has been downing two bottles (bottles!) of vodka a day. Just reading about that sort of prodigious consumption, I practically black out.

Well, judging from this article, Mr. Wood seems to be hell-bent on giving his liver the appearance of a screen door and almost outdoing his ex-bandmate Bill Wyman in the cradle-robbing sweepstakes. Nice one, mate.

But let's not rush to judgment about Ronnie's moral character. Let us instead discuss the man's unheralded solo work—specifically “I Can Feel the Fire” (oh, I bet you can, Ron) off his 1974 LP I've Got My Own Album to Do. (First, a word about Wood's getup, which Liberace might deem too flamboyant: Brian Eno circa Roxy Music's For Your Pleasure called and he wants his top back.)

Okay, the music. “I Can Feel the Fire” is a rare, outstanding example of white dudes assimilating reggae elements into debauched mid-'70s rawk shenanigans. The song balances summery, feel-good sway common to much reggae with a sweet wistfulness that inflated much of the Stones' post-Brian Jones output. Ronnie and Keith Richards make audacious love with their lean, glinting guitar lines while Willie Weeks (who isn't white, but play along with me) snakes out some sinewy, sinuous bass lines and Ian McLagan's organ oozes equal amounts secular soul à la the Band's Richard Manuel and sly sauciness. All reggae-rock bands should study this video and learn how to do that thing properly.

And, finally, confidential to Ronnie: more wheatgrass juice, less Grey Goose. Keeping an 18-year-old happy can be exhausting, brother.

By Andrew Youssef

Better Than: Watching the video for "Viva La Vida" on your new iphone.

Download: Previously unreleased track "Death Will Never Conquer" from the Coldplay.com

It's fitting that the Forum is primarily used as a church these days, with the occasional concert scheduled for variety. Coldplay descended upon the Forum preaching their own gospel as they launched the Viva La Vida tour to a sold-out crowd of faithful worshipers.

Jon Hopkins warmed up the crowd with his washes of textural ambient soundscapes, which fell into the same vein as Air, M83 and Ulrich Schnauss. Jon was hunched over his laptops while occasionally triggering samples on a Korg Microkontrol Midi keyboard.

Austin, Texas' Shearwater crept through a toned-down set that featured instruments like banjo and melodica. If you're curious to check them out, they'll be playing at Fingerprints Records in Long Beach July 16.

A prolonged delay was quickly forgotten as the propulsive lead-off track from Viva La Vida, "Life In Technicolor," kicked things off. Green lasers and the characteristic piano jangle of "Clocks" stirred the crowd out of their chairs as the hit parade started to warm up. The ubiquitous iPod commercial "Viva La Vida" provided a spine-tingling moment, as Chris Martin led the crowd through a gigantic sing-along and Will Champion pounded away on a miniature liberty bell.

"The Scientist" followed by a retooled "God Put A Smile Upon Your Face" knocked off most of my favorite tunes from Coldplay's A Rush of Blood to the Head. Guy Berryman was methodically laying down the bass foundation all night without missing a note. But Jonny Buckland is Coldplay's secret weapon, as his skillful guitar parts are integral to their overall sound. Chris tapped into his usual self-deprecating humor throughout the night. He cautioned the crowd that "Speed of Sound" was probably going to sound like rubbish, but it actually never sounded better.

"Yellow" was another high point of the night as the band sprinted to "the cheap seats" in the upper colonnade to perform an electrifying acoustic version of the song. Champion channeled Phil Collins as a singing drummer on "Death Will Never Conquer." I was slightly disappointed that Coldplay didn't do the Kraftwerk-influenced song "Talk," but the band did manage to work in a bit of the remix version inbetween songs. "Lovers in Japan" was another arena-blazer as the confetti fell from the rafters as Chris continued to twirl across the stage. Viva La Coldplay!

Critic's Notebook

Personal Bias: I have a guitar pick from Chris Martin that I acquired during a show in Las Vegas when they played at the Hard Rock Hotel.

Random Detail: They were selling Coldplay bibs. Now that's merchandising.

By The Way: I didn't see Gwyneth Paltrow, in case you were wondering.

Jonas Brothers at The Honda Center on July 13, 2008

By Arrissia Owen Turner

Better Than: Three hours at Chuck E. Cheese trying to burn through 100 tokens.

If the Jonas Brothers' parents weren't constantly circling their superstar sons, we're pretty sure they could get all the second-base action for which their little hormone-filled hearts could lust. Never have I seen such zealous teenage girls—not even myself circa 1989 when Depeche Mode filmed 101 at the Rose Bowl.
But this was sold out, Disney-inspired hysteria with a movie being filmed during the night's show, right on the heels of the mega hit Disney Channel movie Camp Rock, starring none other than the night's headliners.

The Mickey Mouse Club madness made me continually check on the teary-eyed blonde girl behind me who was in such a state that her steady, emotionless gaze was a little unsettling. When the laser light show went into overdrive, the mom in me looked for warning signs of a seizure. That mom in me also explains the impetus for agreeing to weather through a night of well-coiffed Camp Rock craziness. Got to admit, these boys give good hair.

The pleasant surprise was that the Jonas Brothers put on a pretty decent show for a toothsome trio whose every move is watched over by their showbiz-vet parents and whose good-clean-fun shtick is a welcome change from "Toxic" teens and the boy bands who spend their time acting like marionettes and singing a cappella while snapping fingers and shaking a leg.

Not that the Jonas Brothers don't swagger and cut a rug. There was even a gymnastics interlude with two of the brothers doing choreographed backhand springs and all sorts of Cirque du Soleil stuff that sounds stranger than it was. Hey, Dave Gahan never did the splits or so much as a handstand, so the Jonas Bros had Depeche beat on that.

The three-hour concert never lost momentum, which is expected since most of the people involved had to beg their parents for a ride to the big show. The energy was palpable, if not excruciatingly painful, with the screaming rarely lapsing. The girls even squealed during the obligatory video diary portion where drummer Nick Jonas talked to the crowd about being diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. When the cameras showed Nick putting on some sort of insulin patch, which conveniently involved him lifting his shirt, the girls lost their minds. These guys cannot turn these girls off.

This of course already had me daydreaming about how many years it will be until the tell-all hits the shelves. Which one will be the coke-addled party boy dating an over-the-hill Paris Hilton? Who's up for the caught-with-a-transvestite-hooker National Enquirer scoop? Who will be the first to sue mom and dad?

The creepiest people in the crowd, surprisingly, were not the dads who agreed to escort daughters for three hours of this stuff, even at the threat of ending up broadcast on Disney relentlessly. (That was actually kind of endearing.) The real creepies were some of the ladies. I swear on Walt Disney's grave that there were some grown women flying solo, glowsticks in hand, singing word for word the brothers' big hit, "When You Look Me in the Eyes."

The highlight for most of the crowd was probably getting to sit so near some of the other Disney stars, like cast members from Hannah Montana, Suite Life of Zack and Cody, Wizards of Waverly Place, as well as (according to one knowledgeable source) pop star Taylor Swift (they were all seated on a raised platform in the middle of the crowd). But for me it was my Mom Moment. Half way through the concert, my 5-year-old daughter sitting on my lap turned her face to mine, grabbed my ears, pressed her nose against mine and looked straight into my eyes as she said, "Thank you for bringing me here."

Then I was teary-eyed, too.

Critic's Notebook

Personal Bias: After being forced to watch Camp Rock at least 15 times, I'm actually starting not to gash my eyeballs out every time I hear "Gotta Find You." Almost.

Random Detail: Shortest beer line I've ever seen at a concert.

By the way: The JB In 3-D movie version comes out in January.

By Nate Jackson

After almost three years or wrestling with their debut album Self, the Living Suns finally let their finished product see the light at the House of Blues. When I read the lineup for the band’s record-release party, I had to hand it to the Suns for putting together a great OC/LA indie-rock sampler. Most of the bands on the bill like My Pet Saddle and Cavil at Rest have shared a sweaty stage with them plenty of times on the Fullerton music scene.

By the time I jogged up the stairs of HOB to greet the rowdy bar scene, it was obvious that the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd was liquoring-up to give band a hero’s welcome.

The show opened up with the Union Line and My Pet Saddle as the crowd—draped everything from thigh-high part dresses to Grizzly Adams hipster chic—filed in. If you thought the thick birds-nest beard went out of vogue after the ’70s, then guess again. Though I didn’t make it inside to catch all the action right away, I’m pretty sure the cheers coming from inside meant these groups were doing pretty well.

I did manage to watch the curtains open for south county rockers Cavil at Rest. As the hordes of teenage girls swarmed the front barriers, these guys let loose with a strong set that included “Who’s There,” “Only Son” and “Who Knows, Who Cares.” If you’ve ever watch Cavil play live, then you already know about the clapping, the stomping and the smooth harmonies that are good enough to earn them some doo-wop cred if they ever choose to go down that road. I’m not saying they should; I’m just saying they could. Song after song was charged with infectious, curly-haired spirit.

The band capped things off with a family affair on stage that included some members of the Union Line, My Pet Saddle and the Living Suns in a percussion pow-wow that seems to be becoming all the rage these days. I guess sometimes banging on random shit can really add some spice to a song.

I really can’t stress the greatness of last night’s lineup, especially with the arrival of LA locals the Entrance Band. Having heard a little bit about them, I was eager to see this no-nonsense three piece. Bassist Paz Lenchantin (formerly of A Perfect Circle) along with Guy Blakesley and Derek James threatened to steal the show on more than one occasion. Blakesley led the charge as his wiry frame thrashed to the pounding of bass and drums on the song “Grim Reaper Blues.”

Lenchantin and James took the rhythm section to the forefront of the songs, washing over Blakesley’s politically driven lyrics. “MLK,” a tribute song to civil rights icon Martin Luther King Jr., had a distinct hint of the Allman Brothers and maybe a dash of CCR. Whatever classic-rock classification you want to use, the Entrance Band gave us the energy of the ’60s with some modern technical tricks.

Not to be out done, the Living Suns took the stage around 10 o’clock to packed crowd in the pit. As they launched into their set, vocalist Bryan King stirred up a few select badass bros with enough testosterone to churn up a storm in the middle of the floor. Every spot seemed covered in a blur of swirling bodies. Drummer Sean Yakubovsy’s relentlessness pounding matched the bass riffing of Mike Meza on “Man in the Middle.” Though their debut record came out fine, a live show is still the way to see this Fullerton group. The fiery passion they emit on stage shows the promise of a young band that knows how to have fun and put on a good show. New guitarist Joel Bond did a decent job blending into the group, though you could tell he was a bit nervous rocking out for such a large audience.

However, in very anticlimactic fashion, the Living Suns ended their set shortly and promised that yet another band would follow them on stage. Now, maybe it’s just old-fashioned thinking, but shouldn’t the band releasing the CD get the last spot in the show? Nevertheless, Aushua wrapped the night up smoothly with a bouncing basket of hooks and mild stage presence. Even though many people had cleared out, Aushua’s loyal fans stayed to watch.

Critic’s Notebook

Personal Bias: Check out my article on the Living Suns in the current OC Weekly.
Random Detail: The most badass moment of the night came when a woman who looked like she was in her 50s took a fall while standing near the mosh pit during the Entrance Band. After getting picked up and suit off, she could be seen letting a smile creep up on her face.
By The Way: The new Suns album, Self, officially hits the streets as of… July 11.

We hyped the Flobots show at House of Blues tonight in our calendar section this week, but I would like to urge you to get to the club early (doors open at 7 p.m., show starts at 8) for Doomtree. They're a nine-strong Minneapolis hip-hop crew who sound like an ideal hybrid between the Rhymesayers and anticon. labels' dominant aesthetics.

Doomtree's five MCs (including P.O.S.) relate poignant, metaphor-rich tales that keep it real without being overly obvious about it. The group's four DJs and producers lace their tracks with solid, fresh funkiness and unusual orchestrations/instrumentation (probably sampled, but there's a serious artfulness to it) that stand up to several listens. Doomtree's self-titled album (out July 29) is one of the most assured hip-hop efforts of 2008.

Check out their track “Flex” below.

I'm moving from Placentia to Seal Beach next week—my fourth relocation since 2001—and once again, I'm forced to confront a moral quandary: what the hell am I supposed to do with all the CDs that were given to me by hopeful Orange County and Long Beach bands looking for ink back when I was the Weekly's Music Editor?

Should I sell them? No, because that's just not cool on so many, many different levels—these are (or were, in most cases) struggling local bands, not lavishly wealthy major-label acts. (Those major-label-act CDs, I sold years ago—how do you think I was able to take my mom to Ireland for her birthday back in 2000?) Besides, it's not that I'd get a lot for that HB Surround Sound disc (which I'm keeping, anyway...it's not every day that someone writes a song about what a dick you are because you slammed them in a review).

Should I donate them? Possibly, to maybe a library or a thrift store, but I keep envisioning some methed-up singer-songwriter stumbling across the CD he optimistically made 10 years ago – before everything went to hell – at the local Goodwill or Salvation Army shop, flashing back on what his life has become, then suiciding right then and there.

Should I throw them away or drop them off at a reputable plastic recycling company? Well, that just seems like such a waste. It's not like most of these tunes are so wretched that a single listen would give you eardrum cancer (though there IS a lot of that). Surely there are folks out there who'd find some of this music worthy of their attention.

Should I cruelly force them upon Music Editor Dave Segal? No. I like Dave, and want him to keep working here.

Should I try and return them to the bands and musicians from whence they came? Impossible. Addresses, phone numbers and e-mail addys change, and the Weekly can't spring for the postage.

It's not like I'm getting rid of every local band CD. Quite a lot from my 1998-2005 era have joined my permanent collection at home—you'll have to pry my Peepshot, Sparkle*jets UK, Jay Buchanan, Third Grade Teacher and a mess of others from my cold, sweaty hands. As for the majority of the rest, I'm still keeping the music, thanks to the miracle of MP3 file conversion programs. But after that job gets done, these things are just clutter...

Suggestions, anyone?

Black Fag ponder the meaning of "Loose Nut."

I wonder what Greg Ginn and Hank Rollins think about this: Black Fag, a “Mimosa Beach”-based Black Flag tribute band who cover their songs in a decidedly effeminate manner (“Jealouth Again,” anyone? And they turn "My War" into "My Wardrobe"). Well, the music's still pretty tough, but the vocals defiantly subvert Sir Henry's über-macho delivery.

Black Fag consist of Liberace Morris (vocals), Greg Streisand (guitar), Cher Dykeowski (bass) and Robo Simmons (drums). For some background, here's an old interview with Black Flag and a FAQ the band posted on their MySpace blog.

You can check out Black Fag—along with the Cute Lepers, Sun Trash and Prima Donna at Alex's Bar Sat. July 12.

OK Computer in sweet, sweet analog. How appropriate.

In a move that signals either grave desperation or incredible savvy (vinyl sales in America have risen by more than 80 percent in the last year, after all), Capitol/EMI—one of four remaining major labels—is firing up the vinyl presses for a series of ltd. ed., 180-gram audiophile-pleasing wax of popular titles from its voluminous catalog. These remastered LPs will include replications of their original artwork and packaging. The following albums will be re-released Aug. 19 under the rubric “From the Capitol Vaults”:

- A Perfect Circle / Mer de Noms (2 LPs, gatefold jacket, satin stock, diecut white sleeves)
- Coldplay / Parachutes (1 LP, printed sleeve)
- Coldplay / A Rush Of Blood To The Head (1 LP, printed sleeve)
- Radiohead / OK Computer (2 LPs, gatefold jacket, color labels, printed sleeves)
- Radiohead / Kid A (2 10” 140-gram LPs, gatefold jacket, printed sleeves, color labels)
- Radiohead / Amnesiac (2 10” 140-gram LPs, gatefold jacket, printed sleeves, color labels)
- Radiohead / Hail To The Thief (2 LPs, gatefold jacket, printed sleeves)
- Steve Miller Band / Greatest Hits 1974-78 (1 LP, printed sleeve, color label)

Who said LSD was hard to come by? This is some of the most amusing, WTF-inducing audio-visual nonsense I've ogled since Paper Rad. Respect to Cyriak and his psychological issues being worked out in sound and pixels.

Tip: The Gaslamp Killer via Pepper and Butter blog.

My next Sprawl of Sound column contains a review of the Love Story DVD, an illuminating documentary about the phenomenal LA rock band Love, who somehow didn't reap the magnitude of success they should have. Just immerse yourself in the lysergically enhanced, orchestral-rock grandeur of Forever Changes for a week and then try to figure out why Love don't occupy the same prominence in the public's consciousness as the Doors, the Byrds and the Beach Boys do. Admittedly, a resurgence of interest in Forever Changes spurred by critics and numerous bands has arisen and maybe in another five years, it'll go Platinum, but this classic is still relatively obscure. But I'll take it over Sgt. Pepper's any day. You heard me, Jann Wenner...

Anyway, this edition of Video Savant focuses on a single recorded around the time of Forever Changes (1967). “Your Mind and We Belong Together” (released June '68) is one of Love prime mover/cracked-genius poet Arthur Lee's most striking compositions and the last gust of greatness from the group that recorded Forever Changes (Lee sacked everybody shortly thereafter and brought in a bunch of earthbound blues rockers for the next incarnation of Love).

“Your Mind and We Belong Together”—which took 44 takes to complete—is actually four songs woven into one psychedelic magnum opus. The track begins with urgently chiming electric guitar, which gets mimicked by an acoustic strum, setting the scene for some of Lee's most poignant lines:

I'd like to understand just why/ I feel like I have been through hell/ But you tell me I haven't even started yet/ To live here you've got to give more than you get

The tune carries a whiff of triumph before shifting into some Richie Havens-esque troubadourism. Those momentous chiming guitars return to herald another change into a sigh-inducing dream sequence of cloud-9 psych (“I'm lockin' my heart in the closet,” Lee sings here, against the grain of the euphoric music, adding, “I don't need anyone, oh no no no”) and then, as if this passage were too fluffily feel-good, Love take an abrupt left turn into some hard-boogie catharsis. The last 100 or so seconds feature Johnny Echols tearing off a scorching guitar solo that may not have kept Hendrix up at night, but it's still a flamboyantly flammable finale for a classic song—and a fitting way to close this immortal chapter of Love.

This promo film reveals a band bedizzazzled on some powerful substances. I wonder if they realized that those good, good times were about to stop rolling soon after, as their days of halycon turned into hell's eon. (And let us pause to mourn for the days when a major label would think that this sort of acid-fried tomfoolery made sound business sense.)

The breakdancing competition at the first annual Freedom Festival July 4 was awesomely spectacular—definitely one of the major highlights of this very good inaugural event.

Energetik from Fullerton won the battle, edging out LA B-boy Smurf (the bald dude). Both of these cats put on incredible displays of athleticism and rhythm. Their moves are like world-class gymnastics, but funky as hell.

Check out the clip below of their final headspin-to-headspin match.

From our good friends at Rock & Rap Confidential:

"Jesse Helms died yesterday, the Fourth of July. The LA Times front page described Helms as 'the former U.S. Senator from North Carolina who for half a century infuriated liberals with his race-baiting campaign tactics.' President Bush described Helms as 'a kind, decent, and humble man. So it is fitting that this great patriot left us on the Fourth of July.'

"Bono agrees with Bush. Bono called Helms a 'good friend' and took him out to dinner and brought the Senator and his staff to a U2 concert as his special guests. Bono the anti-poverty crusader dismissed as 'cynics' anyone who didn't see the value in a rock star working with Helms, who did as much as any other single person to increase the world's growing gap between rich and poor. Maybe that's why Bono, who legally avoids paying taxes to help the Irish poor by putting his money in a Dutch tax shelter, liked Helms so much. Will Bono sing at Helms's funeral?"

Last Night: Peter Hook DJing at Detroit Bar, July, 3 2008

There’s usually nothing like watching an aging icon get up in front of an audience at a venue to show us they still got it. You can’t help being drawn in by the powerful sense of tension. You might find your self echoing certain questions in your mind: “Will he suck? Won’t he suck? Will he sign my T-shirt? Did I just waste 15 bucks to get in here?”

So last night, when Peter Hook, former bass player for Joy Division and New Order, took the stage for a DJ set at Detroit Bar, the tension was ripe enough to draw me and many others to the front row. After all, this guy has been all over the world with this act and gigs pretty regularly. He’s got an extensive YouTube file to prove it.

Hook took the stage around midnight, after some heart-pounding, '80s- and '90s-inspired house sets by the cast of Detroit’s Busy Work Wednesdays, including Dan Sena, GMO and DJ Rob. With the crowd already jumping, Hook took over the reins in pretty smooth fashion.

But I’m afraid I’m gonna have to side with the bandwagon of doubters that plague almost every video of Hook at the helm of his untouched turntables. I get the fact that slapping on a pair of cans, twisting a few knobs and posing for the crowd makes him feel like a star in his old age, but not at the expense of $15 a head. I just kept waiting for him to do something besides occasionally swapping out a few pre-mixed CDs in between superficial tweaks of the same EQ knobs.

But despite this, he did manage to get the semi-packed crowd fired up with his stage presence and some gratuitous low-end thumps that left my ears ringing by the time I decided to bounce out of there. I guess what it comes down to is whether you left Detroit with the dose of sweaty club fun you came for. And at the end of the day, Hook will always get a break for his accomplishments in music; this just shouldn’t be one of them.

Critic’s Notebook

Random Detail: It was funny watching some obvious Joy Division fans walking around shaking their heads. What, not the show you expected?

Personal Bias: I kept waiting for Hook to bust out a bass from behind the DJ booth and start rocking out; it never happened.

By the Way: Freedom Fest should be better than this.

Costa Mesa's west side (W. 19th St., specifically) will be a patriotic explosion of music and visual art Friday July 4. The first annual Freedom Festival goes off on America's burfday at eVocal, Avalon Bar and Detroit Bar. See this week's Sprawl of Sound for more details and check the lineup below for set times, etc.

Watch out for firecrackers and fired-up crackers, eh?

The Mancunian responsible for some of the most memorable bass lines ever for Joy Division and New Order, Peter Hook now maintains a lucrative little hobby DJing 'round the planet these days. From all accounts, Hook's quite the entertainer, if not the most skilled decknician ever to work a pair of CDJs. Be forewarned, though: If he plays "Blue Monday," watch a certain music editor get medieval on his ass.

Anyway, the great man allegedly loves to sign JD/NO records and memorabilia, so if you possess any of that stuff, bring it with you to Detroit Bar in Costa Mesa tonight and have its value increase exponentially.

Here's footage of a DJ set Hook did in Argentina (yes, he shamelessly spun some New Order).

Well, then, you should probably attend KUCI's DJ Training Class, which begins July 8 at 7 p.m. in HICF 100-P on the University of California Irvine campus (map here). You don't have to be a student at the school to participate; you just need a powerful urge to become a component of what the Weekly has judged to be the best radio station in Orange County. Here's your big chance to potentially foist your musical taste on the world.

From the press release:

"The 8-week class will provide the participants with a instruction on FCC rules and regulations, KUCI policies, KUCI history, as well as, training in basic radio engineering, podcasting and audio editing software.

"KUCI, broadcasting from the University of California at Irvine, offers the most extraordinary lineup of talent on the air and online. As one of the very first radio stations to broadcast via the internet and one of the first iTune podcast stations, KUCI provides the widest array of voices and music imaginable.

"Since its beginning in 1969, KUCI has produced non-commercial talk and music programs that expand the universe of its listeners, introducing artists and thinkers before their work hits the national and international spotlight. Today, every sound organized in time — political right, middle and left, classical music, punk, reggae, world, experimental, indie, goth, jazz, rock, and folk — is heard regularly on KUCI programs.

"For further information please contact KUCI Training Director, Brian Quon at training@kuci.org or General Manager, Mike Kaspar at gm@kuci.org or 949.338.0646."

And now, with staggering obviousness, I present to you David Bowie's “DJ.”

The lead-off track from his 1973 solo LP A Wizard, A True Star, “International Feel” is my favorite Todd Rundgren solo work. It's a concise demonstration of the era's state-of-the-art psychedelia (Todd was always ahead of the curve with regard to recording technology/gadgetry).

“International Feel” is a rococo glam ballad that eventually blasts off into outer space in a vaportrail of weirdly modulated vocals, phased guitars, filtered drums and glittery space dust. (Rundgren applies a subtle electronic shimmer/stutter to his vocals that sounds absolutely wicked on acid.) But the opening 25 seconds of analog-synth borborygmus (or is it guitar-generated?) still sound like something Stanley Kubrick could've used for a sequel to 2001: A Space Odyssey. Talk about a spine-tingling intro...

As the song proper starts to rev up, it becomes apparent that all of Todd's instruments, the studio mixing board and likely the man himself are slathered in potent hallucinogens. Everything sounds synthetic and hyper-real and larger than life. The tune tilts toward the sentimental, but that flaw is more than compensated for by the studio wizardry Rundgren wields as if he were some mad combo of George Martin, Jeff Lynne and Phil Spector—in the fifth dimension. The song's last 30 seconds propel you into a dilatory miasma of whirling sound dust that may be rock's closest approximation of what an astronaut hears as she rockets off this planet. Escapism rarely gets more awesome than this.

The YouTuber who posted this video deserves a lifetime supply of Owsley for his efforts. Below, peruse the lyrics for “International Feel,” which augment the music with just the right amount of vague cosmic ache.

Here we are again, the start of the end,
But theres more
I only want to see if youll give up on me
But theres always more
There is more, international feel
And theres more, interplanetary deals
But theres more, interstellar appeal
Still theres more, universal ideal
Still theres more, international feel
I swear something lies
In your ears and your eyes
cause theres more
You hear and you see yet you do not believe
That theres always more
(I know)

Todd Rundgren performs at the Coach House in San Clemente, July 3, 6 p.m., $32.50.