A few years ago, I interviewedthe Dodos, a San Francisco duo who was, at that time, trying to keep their heads during the disorienting situation that befalls a band who's being vigorously courted by record labels. We parked on the sidewalk of a café in the Mission District as the singer, Meric Long, spoke about the most bewildering gig he'd ever played, a few weeks prior, in the board room of a Manhattan skyscraper, to an audience of record industry decision-makers. For a musician of Long's pedigree -- a vet of San Francisco's indie songwriter scene who pens unapologetically nervy, decidedly un-commercial songs -- his obvious discomfort about the situation was evident then, and even more so when they issued their first LP on a reputable small independent label, French Kiss.
The situation with the Dodos office gig was on the brain yesterday, sitting in a conference room on the 48th floor of a building near the chaotic center of Times Square (where Rhapsody's New York office makes its home) when Ryan Star strode in, guitar in hand, dressed in faded black, buttressed by a small trio of nervous, doting label operatives.
You can have your Dirty South and maybe even your DC Hardcore -- but when it comes to most rank and file rock 'n' roll, American regionalist associations are pretty dicey. There's Seattle of the '90s or Detroit of the '00s, and sh*t, even sniveling Omaha. Yet, when it comes to similarities in the way things actually sound? It rarely comes out in the wash (heard Screaming Trees and Alice in Chains lately?). It was on the brain a lot last week when the long-withheld digital release of Kid Rock went live in Rhapsody. Even if his late career more resembles the beer-bloated aggrandizing of Southern rockers like .38 Special than the MC5, Kid Rock makes much of his Michigan roots.
In scenes with, well, a scene, the glue always seems to be
influential figureheads -- something that might be more embodied these
days by hip-hop producers. In that way, the recent collection of
singles by Memphis garage-rock riser Jay Reatard
firmly proves the exception of Memphis' rock legacy. It’s a record
that's not only sonically, stylistically concordant with the city's
vibrant underground rock scene, but one that shows the long-lasting
influence of the people who built it.
[Click the "Continue Reading..." link to listen to a playlist featuring the music discussed in this post.]
On the night of July 7, 1993, Mia Zapata left a bar in Seattle and walked home. But before she could reach her house that night, Zapata was beaten, raped and murdered on a deserted Seattle street. She was 27 years old.
Zapata was lead singer for Seattle punk band the Gits. The group had
formed in the mid-1980s at Ohio's now-defunct Antioch College, a
liberal bastion that drew an assortment of freaks and DIY misfits to
its halls. (Antioch became famous in the '90s for its policy on sexual
relations between students, which required consent every step of the
way.) Raised in Louisville, Kentucky, Zapata was reputedly a distant
relative of Mexican revolutionary Emiliano Zapata. She was also,
despite her shyness as a child, a remarkable singer and an uninhibited
performer.
This past weekend, thousands of Brits (and citizens of various other kingdoms, fiefdoms and republics, for sure) gathered at the Vale of Avalon to watch some of their favorite artists pull musical swords from the stone at the annual Glastonbury Festival. Typically, the main talking point before, during and after the festival is the weather, as past Glastos have left audiences to fend for themselves against torrential rains and ensuing fields of mud. But this year, organizers of England's premiere summer music festival booked Jay-Z to headline Saturday night, and the choice set off a different kind of storm: one of debate, disses and drama.
Every style of music has its seminal labels: soul had Stax, jazz had Capitol, the blues had Chess. In the U.K., African music had Sterns Music. When Sterns went live on Rhapsody early in 2008, we decided to talk to world music producer -- and longtime Sterns consultant and friend -- Iain Scott to get a better handle on just why Sterns has been so significant to world music. We got that. .. and a lot more: ruminations on African independence, struggles within world music and stories about sassy African pop stars taking on bootleggers single-handedly. Fasten your seatbelt!
This is the year I hit a wall at the Winter Music Conference! The house beat loop finally ran out, there really was such a thing as a ‘last drink,’ and the morning sun drowned the deadeye gaze behind the sunglasses. Is it the onset of age or a half-full tank, I asked myself? Or is it that the attraction’s worth was finally overtaken by its toll? Had techno heaven turned into a hell?
No, never. Admit that, and Miami will never let you live it down.
In Joan Didion's '87 mediation on Miami (still the best book about the city, in my estimation), the famed author portrays the city as an intercontinental way-station everyone flocks to but no one really belongs in. In her eyes, Miami is illusion, more of a costume than a city, which explains why it's a fun place to visit but a difficult one to live in. For the first few days, thereâs a sweaty, chemically induced fever rush of skin, liquor, sun and music; but after that, the mirage fades and you're left with littered street corners, greasy pizza shacks and the woozy after-effects of the libertine lifestyle. The heat becomes oppressive, the hard-bodies appear devilish, and the city's intense yet unfocused energy starts to singe. Still, for those first few sleepless nights and listless days, there's nothing as exciting as being in the Magic City.
After so much feverish lead-up -- IM squabbles concerning the details of John McCain's heroism, will.i.am duets with Obama circulating YouTube, and "I don't usually send emails like this" messages from otherwise politically indifferent friends -- it was two relatively trivial events of Super Tuesday that left an odd taste on Back-to-Usual Wednesday. Don't laugh: the release of Jack Johnson's Static Through the Silence and Sheryl Crow's Detours.
If you think Tom Petty being from Gainesville makes Southern Accents a southern rock album then you probably think Don Henley wearing cowboy shirts makes The Eagles' Desperado a country album. And while I hate to undermine any truths you hold to be self-evident, I'm here to tell you: that just ain't the case.
Karlheinz Stockhausen passed away during Art Basel Miami, the annual art-fair-cum-industry-convention-cum-culture-circus that took over South Beach and the city’s Design District last week. A fittingly scheduled departure for a composer who, over much of the 20th century, embodied classical music’s turn from the romantic and melodic, toward the theoretical and atonal, creating music more regarded for the processes and ideas behind it than for the sounds it forms. What better spiritual counterpart to an art world whose own values are too often misshaped by isolated navel-gazing conceits about beauty, than by the work itself.
You can have your 
