Rocket, Man

This just in from the folks at the Champlain Valley Fairgrounds: Of the 10,000 available seats for the July 21 Elton John concert, more than half were gobbled up as of late this afternoon. This unprecedented flood of sales shattered the previous record for a single day, presumably set by last year's Bob Dylan show — or maybe ZZ Top and Whitesnake? Anyway . . . wow. Just wow.

Here's the crazy part: Those numbers are not inflated by ticket agencies buying up huge blocks of tix as the Flynn recently launched an anti-scalping security doohicky to prevent such shenanigans. I didn't even know scalping was a problem for the Flynn.

Here's the even crazier part: Elton Fucking John is playing at the fair.

A-Dog Update

This just in from Higher Ground:

ANDY WILLIAMS aka- DJ A-DOG'S apartment burnt down this morning..

So around 8:00am this morning (05/01/2008) A-Dog's apartment caught fire and from the looks of it he lost EVERYTHING! His two cats and all of his personal possessions; Clothing, records, dj gear and basically EVERYTHING in his apartment.  It looks like the fire started down stars in one of his neighbors lower apartments. The good news is that everyone made it out unharmed.... They are going to let him do a walk threw around 3:30pm today to see if he can salvage anything but from the looks of the place most of his possessions are destroyed in one way shape or form?

So it is time for him to rebuild and granted he is still in shock but none the less I want to get the ball rolling.

He will need new clothes, records, dj gear and a place to stay. So if anyone know of a nice and affordable place for him to move into could you please let him know. He has plenty of places to stay in the mean time but he will eventually need a new apartment ASAP.

Could everyone pass this along to A-Dogs friends and family so he can get a hand rebuilding his life. If anyone wants to break him off some clothing, dj gear, vinyl, New "Rane Serato" or just anything that you feel will help then send it to:

Attn: A-Dog
Nibus Clothing
187 South Winooski Ave
Burlington VT 05401

His sizes are:

Sneakers: 9-9 1/2
jeans: 34
jackets, t-shirts, hoddies and ect: XL

BUT PLEASE CHECK WITH HIM BEFORE YOU SEND STUFF..

If you want to reach him then you can e-mail him at:     ( I am not going to put his cell # in this e-mail but if you are close and want to call him then please do so)

adog321@aol.com

Along with all that we are going to threw a MASSIVE benefit in the next few weeks hopefully so if anyone has any ideas then please feel free to let me know. This is all still fresh and new but it has to be done and it will ASAP!

Thanks

Andy

Breaking News

It pains me to report that DJ A-Dog's house burned down early this morning. I just got off the phone with Nastee — A-Dog's VT Union collaborator and a fellow DJ — who told me that everyone was able to get out of the house unharmed, though there has been no sign of A-Dog's cats.

The BFD won't let A-Dog back into the house to see if anything is salvageable, as of this posting. But most of the DJ's records and equipment were in the house when it burned and it's likely safe to assume the loss is significant.

Nastee informed me that benefit shows are already in the works. I have no doubt that the Burlington music community will rally behind and support A-Dog to help soften the blow. I'll be sure to keep you folks updated as details emerge.

I can't say that I know Andy well, but he and VT Union were among the first local musicians to reach out to me when I assumed the role of Seven Days Music Editor. In particular, A-Dog put together a series of mix tapes to help educate me in the history of hip-hop and turntablism. He is one of the most genuine people I've encountered in my time covering VT music. And one of the most talented.

Thoughts and prayers . . .

Scarlett Fever

Some of you are likely aware that husky-voiced blonde bombshell, Scarlett Johansson, has been recording an album of Tom Waits covers — with a little help from Ziggy Stardust himself, David Bowie, no less — due out next month. Actors turning to music — whether out of boredom, the need to stave off "Where Are They Now?" status for a few seconds longer or laboring under genuine delusions that they posess actual musical talent — is hardly a new phenomenon. But that doesn't mean it should be allowed to continue.

To wit, who could forget gems such as Tony Danza's The House I Live In? Or Alyssa Milano's Look In My Heart? (We're still waiting on records from Judith Light or Danny Pintauro to complete the "Who's The Boss" hat trick of ignominy). Better yet, whose collection could possibly be complete without Bruce Willis' The Universal Masters Collection? Seriously? He has a whole fucking "Masters Collection?" Die hard indeed. Joey Lawrence box set anyone? How about a Scott Baio Complete Masterworks?

There are, of course, exceptions to every rule. William Shatner's spoken word stuff, while not explicitly "good," per se, is at least oddly entertaining. Billy Bob Thornton is actually pretty decent as well — though he was a musician long before Sling Blade. And Zooey Deschanel's work with M. Ward as She & Him is simply fantastic. Generally speaking though, the forays of actors into music are almost always embarrassingly awful, bringing us back to Ms. Johansson and Tom Waits.

Like any number of red-blooded, heterosexual American males, I love Scarlett Johansson — though not in a creepy Internet-stalker kind of way, mind you . . . ahem. And like any number of superficially depressed American high school students, I was weaned on Tom Waits — in particular, The Early Years Vols. 1 & 2. The gravelly voiced saloon troubadour was a staple on practically every romantically motivated mix-tape I made from the time I was 16. Perhaps that explains why I never had a girlfriend in high school . . . but I digress.

In any event, I adore Tom Waits. Every serious music fan has certain artists they hold as "untouchable," songwriters for whom it is near sacrilege for anyone to attempt to cover — ironically, those are exactly the types of usually iconic artists whose songs are most often done by others. For me, Tom Waits is that artist. Go ahead and hack up Dylan. Release a box set of Beatles tributes. I couldn't care less. But don't mess with Tom.

****
In order, the ten most egregious offenses of Waits-icide — in my opinion, a crime worthy of punishment by death or a career writing jingles for Burger King — are as follows:
10. Rod Stewart -"Downtown Train"
9. Everything but The Girl - "Downtown Train"
8. Mary Chapin Carpenter - "Downtown Train"
7. Patty Smyth - "Downtown Train"
6. The Manhattan Transfer - "Foreign Affair"
5. The Walkabouts - "Yesterday Is Here"
4. Bette Midler - "Shiver Me Timbers"   
3. Meatloaf - "Martha"
2. Rod Stewart - "Tom Traubert's Blues"
1. Hootie & The Blowfish - "I Hope That I Don't Fall In Love With You"

****

Given my affection for both Scarlett Johansson and Tom Waits, I view the former's upcoming release with a conflicted morbidity. The karaoke scene in Lost In Translation proved Johansson can sing. But does anyone really believe she's artistically capable of pulling off a Waits cover album? Of course not. That's like asking Marylin Monroe to do Sinatra . . . or algebra, for that matter.

Sadly, judging by "Falling Down," the first video from the album posted today by Pitchfork — who couldn't even bring themselves to "Pitchfork" it, fer chrissakes! — my suspicions/fears appear to be confirmed. Check it out and see if you don't agree. Sigh . . .

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go listen to Baio's "How Do You Talk To Girls?" on repeat and have myself a good cry.
   

 

Dude, What's Up With The Website?

Happy Friday, Solid State!

If you're reading this right now, you either have a desk job in an office that allows you to waste company time on the interwebs, or . . . Jesus. I can't even think of an "or." If you're not absolutely forced to be inside on a glorious day like today and are spending your time reading blogs, get a life already. And yes, I fully realize that you could be outside and following along via laptop. Still . . . buy a frisbee.

While we're (sort of) on the subject of all-out geekery, I wanted to pass along the trailer for a movie that will soon be premiering at Cinema 9. It's called Nerdcore Rising and was made by a NYC filmmaker/comedian by the name of Negin Farsad. I had the pleasure of speaking with Ms. Farsad earlier this week for an interview that will run in next week's issue. It was a pretty hysterical conversation about one of the more bizarre music genres to emerge in recent memory: Nerdcore. What is Nerdcore, you ask?  Watch and learn.

Moving on to the actual topic of this post, let's talk about the website.

Many of you have noticed that the music, movies, arts and calendar listings look a wee bit different than they used to. Many of you have also noticed that some of the listings are/were seriously effed up. We know. You can stop with the e-mails, phones calls, dirty looks and late night bricks through my bedroom window. We're on it, OK?

This is but the first incarnation of our new handy dandy, fully searchable, all-encompassing events calendar and, frankly, some glitches are to be expected. Once the kinks are all worked out, it's gonna be super freakin' sweet. But in the meantime, please bear with us. And if you notice something is missing or have constructive feedback you'd like to offer, don't hesitate to let me know.

Speaking of missing listings, I was just made aware that Cave Bees are playing tonight at Radio Bean. Unfortunately, this was news to me since there was nothing about the show listed on The Bean's website and therefore wasn't included in the paper. In any event, you should go 'cuz Cave Bees rock. The show starts at 10 p.m. and will be followed by a Toronto-based band called Organic Funk. Organic Funk. Are you fucking kidding me? That's the laziest example of band naming since, well, The Band, I guess. It's not even ironic like "The Jazz Guys" — second laziest example . . . just kidding JGs. Organic Funk actually plays funk. Organically, one would assume.

Oh, that reminds me. I'm starting a new band called "Pretentious Hipster Indie Rock." We're currently looking for a bassist, an accordion player, a musical saw, a large vat of Bed Head and a sense of humor.

Finally, on Fridays I like to do a quick run-down of some weekend shows that catch my eye. But last week's installment apparently bruised some egos/ruffled feathers/hurt people's feeling-boxes since it wasn't overarching and all-inclusive. So this week, I'd like to suggest that you folks go out and see everything. There are no highlights because everybody's band is the best band in town. So take a look at the listin . . . oh, right.

Have a great weekend.

The Jazz(wo)men Cometh

Last week in Sound Bites, I remarked that folks reading the paper the day it hit newsstands would be doing so while I was attending a press conference announcing the lineup and sponsors of this year's Discover Jazz Festival, and that it was a sure of spring. It seems I was only half right.

Since that column ran, the weather has been undeniably spring-like. Eat your heart out Tom Messner. Unfortunately, I got my dates mixed up. Last Wednesday, I strolled into the Amy Tarrant Gallery at the FlynnCenter only to "discover" . . . a completely empty room. D'oh! The conference was actually yesterday, not a week ago.

I did end up attending, and I'm glad I did. The food was really, really good. Oh, and the lineup is pretty sweet too.

In particular, there was a lot of buzz around an up-and-coming R&B singer named Ledisi, who was recently nominated for two Grammys — Best R&B Album and Best New Artist, the latter of which she lost to Amy Winehouse. Hailed by pundits who hail such things as a blend of Ella Fitgerald and Erykah Badu, Ledisi is one sultry soul siren, equally adept at delivering slinky R&B and smoky jazz. Should be a great show.

The following is a clip from her appearance on PBS' "Great Performances: We Love Ella!" There's kind of a lot of talking — and the second half of the video features jazz a cappella ensemble Take 6. But the music in between is a tantalizing taste of what we can expect in a couple of months. Enjoy!

You can check out the rest of this year's lineup here.

Dan Bolles: Music . . . Editor?

Howdy Solid State.

Sorry 'bout the lack of bloggy stuff last week. I've been neck deep in freelance applications from wannabe writers and I think I'm kinda losing my mind. But there is light at the end of the tunnel.

When we ran the ad looking for CD reviewers a couple of weeks ago, I had no idea the response would be so overwhelming. At last count, I had close to 60 submissions from a remarkably wide variety of folks: professional writers, college students, bored housewives, people who "really like music, man." I even received an application from a guy who "has no expertise in music whatsoever" but figured he could "spew 500 words or whatever." Gee, thanks, pal. It's just that easy, really.

Anyway, I narrowed the field from 60 to 20 to about 5. Since I haven't actually informed the successful candidates yet, I can't tell you who they are. But it'll be pretty easy to spot them in the coming weeks. They'll be the folks not named Dan Bolles.

(Note: if you applied but haven't heard back from me yet, I'm sorry. You will. Probably tomorrow.)

So what does this mean for the music section/blog? Great question. Thanks for asking.

Basically, having a few extra hands on deck will allow me to focus more on stuff like, say, Solid State. Maybe even music-related stuff, if you can believe it. Now that we have Blurt,our fancy-shmancy new staff blog, whenever I'm compelled to, oh I don't know, write about baseball — just as an example, of course — I can do it there. Who knows? Maybe I'll even finish up that long-rumored podcast. Whoa! Easy fella. One step at a time.

Having writers at my disposal will also free me up to go to see more live music — or dispatch others, depending. Like last night's sold out Beach House show at The Monkey House, which I couldn't attend because — drum roll, please! — I was writing. Frankly, I was pretty bummed about that. But I'm excited to have more live reviews and the like — interviews, rants, raves, etc. — in the paper. Anybody who did go to the Monkey last night, please dish the dirt.

You can also expect lengthier pieces like the Romans feature that ran in the music section a few weeks back. That was sort of a layout experiment due to space limitations in Section A. But I was pretty pleased with it, especially because it opens the door for similarly longer stories and expanded coverage, which ultimately means more writing for me . . . wait a second. I've been duped! Just kidding. I'm really excited about this aspect in particular.

And finally, the added help will expand the scope and voice of the Seven Days music section. I'm by no means the only person with opinions about music 'round these parts. But for the most part, I've been the only writer — save for the notable contributions of Herb, Josh, Robert and, on occasion, Casey. Hence, music coverage in Seven Days has pretty much been The Dan Bolles Show, which I guess it still sort of will be. But less so. Maybe.

In any event, I'm looking forward to test driving the newbies and having the opportunity to spread my  wings a bit. Hopefully, you guys will enjoy reading some fresh perspectives and everything will be hunky freakin' dory. Or the whole thing will crash and burn and I'll be run out of town on a rail. How's the weather in DC, Casey? 

Fried Day

Here's some random stuff for your perusing pleasures . . .

It didn't take him long, but former Weekly Dig columnist David Thorpe is back and snarky as ever. I for one, am tickled.

I've been extolling Thorpe's invective-laden virtues for a long time now and was genuinely dismayed when he decided to hang 'em up about a month ago. But I'm happy  to report that he's found a new home with the Boston arm of The Phoenix. And not a moment too soon.

One of his recent columns inspired an veritable shitstorm of cranky e-mail missives from humorless readers, enraged by a well-placed barb aimed at The Black Crowes. Here's what he wrote:

I never thought I’d be giving the Maxim crew kudos for their journalistic chops, but I’m proud of them this week. They got busted for giving the new BLACK CROWES album a negative review without having listened to the whole thing. As the review went to press, the album wasn’t even done, and the magazine had been sent only one track. Maxim explained that the review was an “educated guess.” Sounds reasonable to me. Anyone who has to listen to a Black Crowes album to tell you it’s a piece of shit has no business being a critic.

First of all, that last line is a classic. Pure gold. Secondly, I just want to be sure you folks read the second line closely: the Maxim reviewer didn't actually listen to the album! I can't decide if that's tragic or hysterical. Then again, if you rely on a magazine like Maxim as your musical taste-maker, you really get what you deserve.

Reading Thorpe's feelings about the deluge of angry responses made me feel a lot better about a parcel I received in the mail earlier this week. The envelope — which, not surprisingly, bore no return address — contained only a clipping of the March 12 edition of Sound Bites with a few barely legible scribbles written over certain sections of the column. Near as I can figure, here's what it said:

"Disgusting drivel" with an arrow pointing to this line: Everyone is Irish on St. Paddy's Day, as evidenced by the throngs of soused revelers bedecked from head to toe in green garb, Guinness paraphernalia and, usually, vomit. Ew.

I couldn't agree more, mystery critic. I think Guinness paraphernalia is gross too. Thanks for reading.

---

I'm heading over to The Monkey House this evening, ostensibly to catch Portland, OR-based indie oddball, Nick Jaina. But also because there are a few local acts on the bill I've been meaning to check out.

Honky Tonk Tuesday fans are no doubt familiar with the sultry country crooning of Ms. Marie Claire. What you might not know, mostly because she's been awfully quiet of late, is that she's a hell of a songwriter too. I'm told this will be her first MH performance ever. Nifty.

Next up is Jenny Montana, whose latest album was recorded by none other than our own prodigal indie genius himself, Ryan Power. Rumor has it Mr. Power is back in town, which, contrary to the weather, is a sure sign of spring.

Jaina follows, and while I'm curious to see how the sparkling orchestrations from his latest album, Wool, play out in a live setting, I'm really looking forward to the headlining-because-nobody-else-wants-to-play-that-late act, Paddy Reagan. I was genuinely impressed with Reagan's debut EP, Hey! Hi! Hello! but have yet to see him live. Should be a cool night.

---

If you've ever worked in the food service industry, you need to check this out. It's called Waiter Rant and is sort of a bloggy version of the greatest restaurant movie ever made, Waiting.

---

Finally, on behalf of Red Sox Nation, I'd like to thank Major League Baseball for scheduling the Sox season opener to take place in Japan. In order to watch it live, East Coast fans will have to wake up at 6 a.m. next Tuesday — Left Coasters, you do the math for Pacific Time . . . ouch.

That's awesome. I can't imagine why anyone would want to actually watch the defending champs' opening tilt. Good job, MLB. The Nation salutes you.

Saint Patrick and Saint Peter

I'm so glad St. Patrick's Day is over.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I was born and raised in an extremely Irish household and genuinely appreciate the holiday for more than just the green beer, but I'm exhausted.

Growing up as an Irish Step Dancer, St. Patrick's Day was never a holiday, it was a season. A season during which me and the rest of my troupe performed multiple shows a night around Connecticut. We were even required to take the actual 17th off from school each year, as we'd have several shows to attend during the day. Probably because back then, Michael Flatley was a relatively new name, and finding a group of Irish Step Dancers was uncommon.

This year I dug out my old shoes, shined their silver buckles, and again performed, this time as the percussion for Everybody's Favorite Irish Drinking Songs Band (/Orchestra?). And after a total of eight hours of stamping my feet over the past few days, I'm done. In fact, I worry I may have actually caused permanent damage to my left foot, which, by the time we hit Red Square Monday night would not support my weight on its own.

'Tis the season.

The part I'm not sick of, however, is the music. Practicing over the past month has reminded me of just how oddly comforting the sound of a bagpipe can be (I know, right?). I guess it boils down to the fact that traditional Irish music is what I grew up listening to. And as much as I love the raucous versions of older songs that bands like Dropkick Murphys continue to release, it's the real traditional sounding bodhran, fiddle, and accordion infused songs that I secretly (or not so secretly) prefer.

Which is exactly what I found at Burlington's City Hall this past Sunday when I brought the kids I used to nanny to experience a real Irish Ceili. While the chance to dance was somewhat limited (totally fine with me seeing as my legs had already been reduced to a permanent state of Jell-o), the music was even better than I had anticipated.

Across the stage of the auditorium sat two rows of musicians - I counted twenty-five total - which, much to the delight of my babysitting charges included Robert Resnik of Robert and Gigi fame, on spoons.

The group played a wide variety of tunes, some with words, others without, some specifically for Zack Warshaw and his group of dancers, and others just for the kids who wanted a chance to spin around the room together. And it was awesome.

I know that there are a variety of Celtic music nights around town, but I think it's rare to see such a huge group playing together, and with that in mind I urge you way far in advance, to attend next year's Ceili.

Especially if you're looking for a more traditional way to celebrate St. Patrick's Day. You know, one that doesn't include a Guinness pint served with ONE POUR and into a COCA-COLA glass. No, seriously T.Rugg's, what was up with that?

In other news, you probably know by now that Peter Freyne is retiring from his post here at Seven Days. While I have only been with the company for one year, Peter has been a routine part of my Tuesday afternoon, and I will sincerely miss him plopping down in the chair next to my desk to talk politics. Freyne once took a second to mention my anti-war efforts in his blog, and I received it as the biggest of compliments. So I thought I'd in turn take a second here at Solid State to thank Peter for always encouraging me to continue the fight, and to generally say 'hats off'.

I will miss you very much, Peter, but you can rest assured I'll be hunting you down at your local haunts to get my Freyne fix!

Birdies, baby!

I have a special place in my heart for both musicians and nonprofits, so when I hear about other businesses working to unite the two, I get a little giddy.

Which is exactly what happened when I stumbled upon Yellow Bird Project. Are any of you familiar with this Montreal-based organization?

Basically, the kids at Yellow Bird get indie bands to submit t-shirt designs for charity. The coolest part is that each design directly benefits a nonprofit of that specific band's choice.

Some of the bands are pretty obscure (they were all approached directly by the organization), but two of my favorites, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and Rilo Kiley are included on the list.

My favorite of the designs has to be that of Montreal-based band Stars (includes members of Broken Social Scene), which can be seen here.

So if you happen to be looking for some hip new duds, buy them at Yellow Bird and feel good about your purchase.

Rock the Vote

I am writing this post as we near the end of Super Tuesday. You know, the momentous day where pretty much everyone in the country made their vote in the presidential primaries. Except for us Vermonters. We like to do things at our own pace up here, and voting is no exception. Which is why we'll be waiting almost an entire month to officially weigh in on the debate.

Before the 2004 election, I wasn't really concerned with the primaries. My vote was simply "Not Bush". I hated 'No Child Left Behind,' I hated the 'War on Terror,' and I especially hated that his stupid entourage of SUVs was constantly making me late to my job as a lifeguard at Kennebunk Beach.

This time around, I'm glad for that extra month. I've had a hard time figuring out my feelings on the democratic candidates, and while I know I'm not really a fan of Clinton, I've yet to decide any official reason for supporting Obama.

At least until my dad emailed me this video.

[Here's where things get musical!]

I'm not sure that I pulled a concrete justification for a vote out of this video, but my feeling was so strongly in support of Obama, and my emotions so on edge when it ended, that it served as the kick in the pants I needed to give this guy some proper research.

I won't preach to you about my findings, since they'll all be contingent on personal opinion, but I wanted to share the video that got me in a voting frame of mind. Leave it to will.i.am to serve as my motivation. Maybe he'll inspire you as well.

Bloggity Bloggity Bloggity

Whew! What a weekend.

Friday night, I finally got a chance to catch local ska revivalists Husbands. What a hoot! I won't delve too deeply into my impressions as you'll be able to read all about it in tomorrow's paper. But talk about a flashback. The band is still fairly new on the scene and as such are a bit rough around the edges. It's forgivable. I haven't been to a good ska-punk show in probably close to ten years and goddamn if it wasn't fun. The whole night kinda made me long for my saddle shoes and checkered suit jacket. Ah, memories.

Saturday night, I acted as a judge for the Higher Ground Comedy Battle. Again, you can read more about this tomorrow. But I have to say that I went in with fairly minimal expectations. Stand-up comedy is sort of like karaoke in that it's only fun if it's either really good or REALLY bad. For the most part, the 11 contestants fell in line with the former. Color me pleasantly surprised.

The winner was a 20 year-old creative writing major at Johnson State College named Roger Miller. Honestly, if this guy doesn't pack his bags and head for NYC after graduation, something is horribly wrong with the world. Dude was hysterical. I think my favorite observation dealt with port-o-lets at music festivals — part of a larger, equally funny bit about drugs, hippies and jam bands. To paraphrase, you know something is truly disgusting if it's too nasty to piss into. Indeed.

Sunday night, I had every intention of pulling the Higher Ground two-fer and checking out Neko Case. But sometimes life gets in the way of the best laid plans. Unfortunately, my girlfriend threw out her back skiing at Jay Peak — on her second run of the day — and I ended up playing nurse all night, which is nowhere near as fun as playing doctor. Whoa!

Anywhoo . . .

I'm not a huge Neko Case fan, but I was really looking forward to seeing Eric Bachman. I dug both of his old(?) bands — Archers of Loaf and, in particular, Crooked Fingers. But alas, no soup for me. I hear it was a pretty sweet show though.

However, I did find myself in a rather strange position on Sunday afternoon as it was the first Sunday with no football since September. I've never put much stock in the whole "Cabin Fever" thing. But I'll be honest: I was kinda losin' my shit. I would have settled for the Toronto Argonauts versus the Montreal Alouettes . . . seriously, the Alouettes? That might be the lamest name in professional sports.

The funniest?  A tie between former Detroit Lions defensive back Harry Colon and Arizona Diamondbacks pitcher Randy Johnson. And once again, I digress. 

Fortunately, my sports junkie fix came in the unlikely form a Chuck Klosterman article on ESPN.com. The piece deals with the New England Patriots pursuit of perfection with a win in this Sunday's Super Bowl and how the team's legacy — and more specifically that of quarterback/golden boy Tom Brady — would actually be more enduring were they to choke and lose. Essentially, the premise is that Americans, on the whole, identify with failure more closely than they do success. It's more humanizing to watch someone like Brady suffer defeat than it is to watch him continue to be virtually perfect. I think it's the same reason American Idol is still on the air — it's fun to watch people fail.

Though I vehemently disagree with his conclusion that Pats should lose, the argument makes sense. Frankly, Brady is a god among men. He's got model looks. He's the best player on the best team at the most high-profile position in sports. He dates one of the most beautiful women on the planet, Gisele Bundchen. And he recently fathered a child with another, actress Bridget Moynihan. If I didn't love him, I'd hate him.

Regardless of your interest in football, it's an intriguing read. Check it out. Except for you, Casey. I know how much you love Klosterman. And football.

Well, folks. That's all I've got for now. In the meantime, the story I wrote last week about teaching kids to play guitar using Guitar Hero has been getting some attention on reddit.com. And as a result, it's the second most popular story ever on Seven Days' new website. It's even prompted a snarky discussion about my work outside the friendly confines of Solid State. Neat-o! 

Weather Or Not

Sooo . . . nothing much to report from this side of the interwebs today. With the surge of April-esque weather currently sweeping through our little corner of the world, my thoughts are drifting out the window and my body will soon be following them out the front door. Speaking of which, why the hell are you reading this right now? Go outside.

Despite the siren song of sunny skies, I did manage to begin updating the Solid State blogroll. It's a task I should have tackled months ago, frankly. But, to be honest, until a couple of weeks ago, I had no idea how to do it. I'm special that way. But you learn something new every day, I guess.

I mostly focused on adding some new bands to the roster and there will be more to come. If you don't see yours, feel free to send me an e-mail and let me know.

I also added a few local music and culture blogs. For some reason they show up in black type. I'm not sure why, but at least you'll know which ones are new.

Anyway, check 'em out and we'll see you tomorrow.

Until then, here's another bizarre music video from India. I really enjoy these way too much.

I Need Cock (Rock)

Greetings, Solid State!

I have to admit, I'm a little "hurt up" today. A touch of the Irish flu, if you will. The reason? Last evening's opening frames of my very own bowling league, The Whiskeyball Gutter League.

I'm an avid bowler. Not an especially good bowler, mind you; I just really enjoy it. I love the feeling of knowing I've rolled a perfect ball the moment it leaves my fingertips. I like the shoes. I love the cheap beer. I love taking an absolutely ridiculous game waaaay too seriously with good friends who should know better. I love the kitschy Americana. I love picking up a split. And I totally dig the music.

My good friend, Jeremy Gantz, and I started the league because we were tired of bowling in public leagues with total strangers — though that aspect surely has it's charms. We approached Champlain Lanes with the idea, assuming we could field at least eight teams. We ended up with 14, nearly filling the entire alley.

Among the conditions we insisted on — draft specials and free shoes being at the top of list — being able to play music was a priority. In typical leagues, music is a Footloose-ian no-no. I imagine for folks who take the game much more seriously than we do, it can be distracting. More distracting than the 14 Bud Lights most of these "athletes" consume over three games? Perhaps.

In any event, after no small degree of haggling, we convinced the powers that be to let us hook up an iPod and play our own music over the PA. In short, it was awesome.

I put together a rough draft of a bowling mix with some of my favorite music and some obvious "bowling tunes." "Take The Skinheads Bowling." Check. Anything by Let's Go Bowling. Check. The Big Lebowski soundtrack. Check. Check. But, as totally rad as the mix was, it was flawed.

While putting it together yesterday afternoon, it occurred to me that I don't own any cock rock. It's not that I'm "too cool" or have anything against overblown guitar wankery. I've just never had occasion to acquire any. Frankly, what's a good bowling mix without hair-metal?

So I need your help, denizens of Solid State. If you were to put together an ass-kicking mix for your bowling league, what would be on it? Don't be shy. This is one opportunity to voice your guilty pleasures to the world and shed the shackles of embarrassment. Whaddaya got?

In the meantime, here's a bowling blooper reel:

And Now For Something Completely Different

Happy freakin' Friday, Solid State.

I had a few ideas for the last post of the work week, but rather than limit myself to one topic, I thought I'd just throw a bunch of shit at the wall and see what sticks. Here we go, in no particular order.

Greg Davis is my hero. From creating some of the most wonderfully strange music you'll ever hear in the Green Mountains to touring with Akron/Family, the dude just seems to embody the spirit of independent music in Vermont. While his creative endeavors are worth a week's worth of blog posts or SoundBites columns on their own, it's his efforts as a concert promoter/organizer that I appreciate the most.

Much like the ever industrious folks over at Tick Tick — and often with their help — Davis is responsible for putting together/spreading the word about some of the most interesting bits gracing the Seven Days Club Listings.  And he's at it again.  From the man himself:

Mike Tamburo is coming back to town to play. he'll be doing a special solo hammered dulcimer exploration this time. He is on tour with Horseback who makes "fuzz-washed, blessed drone". and a Snake in the Garden starts things off with some New England noise.

Seriously, do yourself a favor and check out the links. This is some crazy-cool and oddly beautiful shit. The show is 7 p.m. this Sunday at Kriya Studio. And no, I won't tell you where the hell Kriya is. Finding it is half the fun.

In other news, Burlington's laziest ex-pat Arthur Adams has been up to some pretty nifty stuff lately. Apparently, the moniker switch from The Lazy Songwriter to Blammos! has given the mercurial tunesmith a kick in the creative ass and he's attempting to post 30 videos in 30 days on his blog. Here's the first one:

Moving on, my good friend and half-Japanese girl (any Weezer fans out there?), Ms. Aya Inoue is emerging from her semi-retirement and playing a gig tomorrow night (Saturday) at Red Square. Back in my heart-on-sleeve songwritin' days, Aya wrote a song called "Crescent Moon" that inspired me to write a song called "Make You Swoon," which was an unabashed rip-off of Ryan Adams — he didn't mind, I even asked him. That song, in turn, inspired her to write a response song. Good times. Show starts at 8 p.m.

In shitacular news, The Nightbirds done got screwed by a sleazy booking agent who promised to set up a tour and then split town with their deposit money — presumably in a bag with a dollar sign on it. Here's the story, from front man Brenden Shinosky:

Basically I started booking this tour and it got a little to heavy for my taste. So I called upon a company by the name of Red Sea Booking based out of Western, NY. It seemed totally legit. He had other bands he was dealing with that I got in contact with (that have now also been scammed).

I told him (him being Mike Marlinski) what we were looking for as far as cities and dates go. He responded with an OK. He said he would take on the 10 or so dates we were missing to make this tour happen. A contract was made up, signatures were exchanged (between him and our manager, Tony Gallucci) and bam, that was it. He received our deposit through paypal. I think we spoke with him once after that in which he stated he was 48 hrs away from closing all the deals with the venues. Bullshit.

He never got back to us after that. Instead he deleted the company MySpace profile then he deleted his personal email address. So we called and called and to this day he still hasn't picked up. All I know is I've left him some pretty strong voice mails expressing how I feel about his sorry ass.Now were stuck trying to fill the gaps in our tour and we leave tomorrow. Oh feel free to call him ( 716-907-8599). He won't pick up. And we've left so many messages now that his voice mail box is full.

Brenden

I don't know about you, but I'm thinking I might call this dude. Sometimes the power of the press can convince even the most tight-lipped assholes to spill the beans. They still need help filling dates, so check out their MySpace page if you know places between here and Chi-town. Good luck, guys.

So that's about it. Hope to see some of you folks at The Bean tomorrow for the birthday shindig. After that, I believe I'll take up residency at Franny O's in preparation for this Sunday's mid-season Super Bowl between the Pats and Colts.

Have a great weekend!

Java Jive

I love coffee. It's one of many vices I've inherited from dear ol' dad — beer, on and off smoking, Red Sox fanaticism, etc.  Most afternoons, I like to stroll over to Speeder's on Pine Street for a giant iced coffee and a glance through the Freeps. It's a nice way to break up the day and it helps to get the blood flowing — this is the first "desk job" I've ever had and the stationary thing tends to drive me batty. Plus, the baristas are usually pretty cute. Bonus.

On my mid-afternoon excursions, I frequently run into the illustrious Peter Freyne, our esteemed political columnist, doing pretty much the same thing: drinking coffee, reading the paper. I've been a fan of Freyne's column for years and the notion that he's now a colleague and co-worker is still somewhat surreal. Over the weeks we've developed a friendly rapport and I often find myself hoping to see him, particularly if I'm fired up about something political, which I typically am.

I just got back from my daily fix and had the good fortune of seeing Peter at his usual table by the door, drinking coffee and reading the paper. In most respects, it was a typical visit. But today, Peter gave me the inside track on an issue entirely unrelated to politics.

I'm not sure I could do justice to the good news Mr. Freyne relayed this afternoon, so I'll simply point you here, and ask that you read it yourself.

Congrats, Peter!

Filling The Hole

Howdy folks.

I apologize for the lag between posts, but what can I say? I'm a lazy, lazy man. It won't happen again. Haven't I said that before?

Anyway, if you read the physical version of the paper, you are likely aware that we've replaced the Pop Ten. For those of you who follow only online, this is probably news to you since the new section hasn't made its cyberspace debut — we're still working on that.

Due in part to the general decline of independent record stores and in part to the feature being a raging pain in the ass, we rather hastily gave Pop 10 the boot a couple of weeks ago with no real idea of what we were replacing it with.  Seriously, no idea.

Ultimately, we decided to let the space be a sort of free-jazz version of music journalism with no real rules or template. The original installment was an interview with Built To Spill guitarist Brett Netson. The following week was a live review of Gabby and Burette of The Cush at Parima's Acoustic Lounge. Future editions might be editorial rants or photo essays or whatever the hell else I feel like throwing in there. Think of it a a schizophrenic Sound Bites on steroids. Mmmm . . . steroids.

Well, so far so good. We've gotten a good response from the first few stabs and folks are already starting to contact me about future uses of the space — if others want to write it, that's A-OK with me, as long as you don't suck. Please, just don't suck. That's all I ask.

The only real problem is that the feature needs a name. Currently, the spot is known as "The Hole" among Seven Days staff. To me, that doesn't exactly scream destination reading. "Hey. Did you read that shit in The Hole?" No good.

So I call on you, citizens of Solid State. Help me name this thing. If you do, I promise not to ask you anymore Chuck Klosterman questions for a while. Oh, and the winning entry gets a spiffy new Seven Days t-shirt.

The contest is open to anyone and will be announced in this week's Sound Bites, but I thought I'd give you guys first crack at it. Let the games begin!

Fat White Guys Killed the (Internet) Radio Star

Fans of internet radio were likely already aware that today, June 26, is a national day of silence for web-cast radio stations in protest of a proposed rate hike in royalty fees. More casual listeners, like myself, were probably shocked to find that their favorite stations were off the air for the day. In addition to smaller outlets, heavy hitters like Rhapsody.com, MTV and Yahoo! pulled the plug on their web-casts for the day. Nothing brings folks together like the almighty dollar, eh?

On March 2, 2007, the Copyright Royalties Board — a three member panel which oversees royalty fees for Internet radio stations — passed a rate increase of 300 to 1200 percent by 2010. The increase goes into effect on July 15, 2007 and is retroactive to January 1, 2006. Prior to the rate hike, internet stations were already paying more than twice what satellite radio stations are required to cough up for the same rights. So what gives?

The proposal was initiated by the Recording Industry Association of America, a monolithic organization primarily made up of fat guys in suits who live in constant fear of teenagers downloading the latest Jay-Z track from Limewire. RIAA's hired goons, SoundExchange — who handle royalty collections — were also in on the fun. Oddly enough, these are the same schmucks that were afraid of cassette tapes destroying the record biz some 25 years ago. Good call, assholes.

If the increase goes into effect, a significant chunk of small to mid-size stations — many of whom are already on life support — will cease to exist. For those of us that enjoy the eclectic, free-form nature of 'net radio, that's a big freakin' deal.

So what can we, the concerned public, do?

Go to Save Net Radio and click on the link to contact your state's congressional delegates. There are bills in both houses to overturn CRB's nefarious, greed-driven ruling. There are also several links providing much more info than I have time or space to print here.

If you love freedom, America and weird-ass radio, do your part and let your voice be heard.

On a lighter note, here's a picture of a puppy:

   

New things.

Took a brief break from posting to deal with some life stuff, all of it potentially good. Firstly, we're getting very close to choosing a replacement for yours truly (if such a thing is even possible, right?)

Secondly, Brooke and I are heading down to our nation's capital next Thursday to look for apartments and *stuff.* We'd previously planned to head out West, but DC was always a possibility. Anyway, I may have just been made an offer I can't refuse. No, it's not CIA. But that's about all I can tell you right now.

Let's get you fixed up with some reading material courtesy the wide world of alternative-newsweeklies:

You can't do windmills with a laptop. (Dallas Observer).

UMaine says "F-U" to RIAA. (Portland Phoenix).

Modern r&b chicks = no shame listening.  Sort of.  (City Paper).

Raccoon eyes does not a feisty "punk" chick make. (St. Louis Riverfront Times).

Some of you may be wondering what is going to happen to your beloved SolidState. Rest assured that Seven Days will still have a  music blog, presumably overseen by the new hire. I have been busy constructing a brand new blog (with all of the old posts and comments intact)  called The Contrarian. URL to be revealed soon.

Still, I'm planning on haunting the 7D music blog, most likely through annoying comments. I highly encourage you to do the same. Minus the annoying, of course.

Where did the week go?

I'm way more behind at work than is typical for me. Must be Short Timer's Syndrome.

More on hip-hop and cocaine, via East Bay Express. Does no one heed the message in Grandmaster Flash's "White Lines," or, um, "The Message?"

Speaking of tight flows, I'd like to nominate "West End Girls" by the Pet Shop Boys as the greatest rap track of all time. Who's with me?

I just bought Season 2 of "The Venture Bros.," and I can't wait to get home and watch it. I'm normally not much of a packaging guy, but I love the design on this thing. It's pre-coffee stained!

I'm just about to review two new EPs by the local band Oak for next week's publication. I can give you a sneak preview: they're both terrific. You might wanna mark your calendars for April 30, when they play the Monkey House.

Looky, looky — Colin Clary & the gang get some UK blog love.

 

OK, talk soon.

Where It's At, Lately.

As the late Conway Twitty once sang, "Hello, darlin'. Nice to see ya. It's been a long time..."

Married life is going great, but we still haven't quite figured out what happens next. Besides getting good and gone, that is.

Went to see Cccome?, Activists/Dictators The Cripples and Tell No One (etc., etc.) at Burlington Factory Studios last Saturday. It was pretty fun — we got to relive our nuptial glory with our man Jebson. Some fella gave me the "Paulie G.," which is what we call the dismissive click-and-trigger pull of one's thumb and forefinger. You know, like a gun goes boom? Not sure what he meant by it. Say, duder, if you're reading this... What's up?

Hipster kids keep getting younger, and I keep getting older. Skip a few boho shows and the next thing you know the faces have changed. Well, some of 'em, anyway.

Spent today arguing about the validity of Steely Dan with some of my compatriots on the Dusted listserve. The thread was originally about whether or not Wilco equals dad-rock, but it quickly turned into a discussion about the musical worth of Messrs. Becker & Fagen. I think you know my position on such matters.

I also listened to this James Kochalka podcast today. Some truly funny stuff in there.

But wait, there's more: I taped another segment of my ongoing BS session with DJ Charlie of The Point FM. Tune in tomorrow morning at around 8:20 a.m. to hear me make fun of John Mayer for being a cheese-ass, then praise his guitar playing in the same short sentence.

Our pals in Carrigan — including the soon-to-be-self-exiled Daryl Rabidoux — are playing at Club Metronome on Wednesday,  April 11 with The Static Age and  Drive the Hour. Carrigan recently got a nice capsule review on AbsolutePunk.net. Not that they're punk or anything

I just found out that EMI is completely dropping Digital Rights Management. Guess Steve Jobs' recent rant had its effect.

Thanks to Chris M. and >>>Molly<<< for coming over last night to watch Road House  with me an' the wifey. Apologies for the Dio, guys.

I'll be talking with our resident experimental music superhero Greg Davis on Wednesday for what's looking like the cover story for the next issue of Signal to Noise. Shit... that means I have to figure out stuff to ask him... Any suggestions?

OK — class dismissed.

Friday is for everyone!

Tonight there are a couple of decent choices for live local music. Particularly, if you're a rocker.

I've been told that this is a lull in the winter storm, but I know you guys and girls are a brave lot. I might see you at one of these shows, who knows?

Tonight at Metronome is the Strangeways Recording "U-haul benefit" with Carrigan, Tell No One, Brixton Guns and Zac Clark. See this week's column for the details.

The Monkey House in Winooski features balls-out rockers Party Star and indie weirdos The Cripples, who are returning to the stage following a spate of recording. You'll only find Party Star in this week's *official* club listings, 'cause the venue didn't tell me The Cripples were on the bill. So goes booking in our little burg.

Other Friday thoughts:

This might strike many as patently obvious, but Bob Dylan's self-titled debut is really quite good. It's easy to overlook, because there's only like, two originals on the entire album. Also, I can't stand the picture on the cover. The dumb corduroy cap he's wearing coupled with the smart-ass look on his face just plain annoy me. But the music is great, and, when placed alongside his most recent efforts, almost completes a circuit. Thanks to our General Manager Rick Woods and Spitting Out Teeth for simultaneously (but independently) reminding me of this little gem.

I've been posting a lot of weird metal-ish stuff here lately, so allow me to balance it out with some nice pop by a fella named Richard Swift.

Swift grew up poor and religious, but that didn't stop him from busting out and getting his songwriting swerve on. His stuff is in the grand tradition of Harry Nilsson and Paul McCartney, but a tad scruffier than the latter, and certainly not as awesome as the former. But who can be, really? To these ears, Swift is kinda like a less flamboyant Rufus Wainwright. But you be the judge:

Richard Swift — "The Songs of National Freedom"

Richard Swift — "The Million Dollar Baby"

That reminds me: Jason Cooley once gave me a vintage Harry Nilsson LP, "Son of Schmilsson," for my birthday. It was awesome.   

Friday Allsorts.

Please join me in welcoming the wonderful and talented Eva Sollberger to the Seven Days blog roundup. Queen Eva will be publishing a vlog (that's a video-based weblog, for all you Luddites) called Stuck in Vermont.

As a longtime fan of Eva's Deadbeat Club program on VCAM, I'm psyched she's on board.

Delancey Leathers and I have been e-mailing back and forth about prog metal today, so in that spirit, I present to you Italy's Ephel Duath.

MP3: Ephel Duath — "Imploding"

You can find it on eMusic, iTunes and backwater European distro services. Actually, the band is signed to Earache, so it shouldn't be difficult to order it from your fave record store.

What's going on this weekend? There's that Mardi Gras business, which I'm gonna skip. I never participate in First Night, either. Freezing cold and throngs of people = Operation Hell On Earth.

There's the distinct possibility I'll go to Higher Ground on Sunday to see Jello Biafra and/or Asobi Seksu, though.

I hung out in Strangeways Recording with Cccome? yesterday. Those guys are hilarious. They're playing tonight at Radio Bean alongside Swale. I don't know if I'm gonna make it; I have to get my beauty sleep in order to master the Cccome? album the following day.

The Strangeways cats — Daryl Rabidoux and Mike Poorman — are actually pulling up stakes and moving to Providence in April. There's a benefit show to raise money for their U-Haul taking place at Club Metronome on Friday March 2. Bands on the bill: Tell No One, Carrigan, Brixton Guns and Zac Clark.

You can read a little bit more about it in next week's column.

Let it roll...

The Commission for Obvious Observations (of which I am a member in good standing) just released a report titled God, it's so Freaking Cold. In it, they describe the folly of living in the frozen North with, um, chilling insight. Although it's unlikely to unseat The Iraq Study Group Report from the New York Times' nonfiction bestseller list, it's a riveting read nonetheless.

A friend of mine just got accepted into the  Universiteit Van Amsterdam, where he'll attempt to get his Masters in Mysticism & Western Esotericism. Who knew such a degree even existed? I'm beside myself with excitement. It's like that scene in Goodfellas, when Henry and Jimmy think that Tommy is gonna get made. Hopefully my pal doesn't end up in an empty trophy room with a bullet in the back of his skull. Anyway, I just gotta say: congrats, Styles!

Did I mention I don't even care what you all think? Some days I just gotta listen to Morrison Hotel. On repeat. Today is such a day. "Blood is the rose of mysterious union." Yeah!

Hey, did'ja know that NYC hipster record emporium (actually, emporium isn't the right word... it's more like a shack) Other Music is starting it's own digital music service? The offerings will be underground-ish, and in a better-sounding format than MP3. I'm fairly psyched about this. Still, I wonder if it's gonna cut into mail order business for stores like Aquarius Records in San Francisco. If AQ followed suit, I'd stick with them out of loyalty.

I'm happy that Chris and Molly are coming for dinner on Sunday.

I'm happy to be getting married earlier and with less fanfare.

The world might be coming apart at the seams, but I believe '07 will be full of untold adventure for me and mine.

Do any of you know the band Deerhunter? I'm supposed to review them for Dusted this weekend. They're on Kranky, but don't particularly sound it. Ah, what do I know?

I had an awesome comment ready to go for this post at Candleblog, but Brooke's laptop ran out of juice as I was crossing my digital t's. Before I knew it, my brilliant statements were gone. Shame.

Best wishes to our man Peter Freyne.

Friday flavors.

No, I don't have *extra* tickets to GWAR. You'll just have to watch the Live From Antarctica DVD and make your own sticky fluids.

In even sadder news, Atlantic Records founder Ahmet Ertegun has died. He signed everyone, from Aretha Franklin and Ray Charles to Led Zeppelin. An aside: Recording geeks should check out Tom Dowd & the Language of Music, which gives an excellent look at those pioneering early days at Atlantic.

Let's cheer ourselves back up with this video of wee Argentinian kids playing classic metal. Watch the whole damn thing. Thanks, MGP.

In other news, Daniel Pinchbeck — the psychedelic ranger from a couple of posts ago — was on the Colbert Report last night. A previous guest was Peter Singer, the so-called "radical" ethicist and animal rights champion. Whatta week.

Year-enders.

It’s nearly 2007, and there ain’t a damn thing we can do about it. So what have I learned in the last twelve months? That there are some arguments you just can't win, for one.

But let's move on. Inspired by Jay's lovely list, I've decided to reveal a few of my choice picks for '06.

I had a tough year finding new music. For one reason or another, I retreated to my safe corner, re-investigating old classics and, well, classical.

That doesn't mean there weren't a handful of pleasant revelations. But let's not call it a "Best of." I think "Records I Happen to Dig" is more appropriate. Oh, and the ranking is completely arbitrary.

#1. Kayo Dot — Dowsing Anemone With Copper Tongue

Is it metal? Is it experimental? Is it a quasi-pretentious mess? I still have no idea. But my puzzlement is no hindrance to enjoying this titanic slab of art-rock.

#2: Comets on Fire — Dogwood Rust

There are a lot of psych bands out there these days, and some of them should probably take more acid. These fellas don't need to. On earlier outings, COF's synapse-scrambling jams tended toward orgiastic squalls of fuzz. Here, they experiment with sun-baked ephemera, sounding like a grizzled cross between (here we go again) early Blue Oyster Cult and the Dead.

#3: Espers — II

I used to not like Espers much, but this record rules. Previously, they were a pale imitation of several acts, including Pentangle and Vashti. Now they've metamorphosed into an acoustic/prog chimera of remarkable strength. And how can I not include a band that sparked the "what is folk" discussion on this very blog?

#4: John Phillips — John the Wolfking of L.A.

Somehow being betrothed to the foxiest member of the Mamas & Papas wasn't good enough for this guy. Originally released to critical antipathy back in 1970, this long out-of-print album has aged better than many envisioned. It chronicles Phillips' post-fame dalliances with women and drugs — hardly groundbreaking in and of itself. But everything is set to a flaky, country-rock groove that goes great with whiskey 'n' Quaaludes. Yee-haw!

#5: Jenny Lewis with the Watson Twins — Rabbit Fur Coat

Jenny, Jenny, Jenny. Let me count the ways I love thee: First is your razor-sharp wit that cuts to the quick yet leaves no permanent scarring. Oh, you surgeon of the coyest cruelties! Second is your voice — a sweet 'n' sour mix of tender resentment. Third is your fetching appearance. Umm, I think I need to stop there. I'm almost a married man.

#6: Mastodon — Blood Mountain

Major label metal kicking ass in ’06? Who could’ve imagined? As an aging shredder, I have to admire the sheer intensity this band brings to the table. To my ears, Mastodon sound like the missing link between ‘90s miscreants Kyuss and the new generation of technical hardcore brats. Besides, where are you gonna hear another song about a Cyclops this year? Well, besides my second pick.

#7: Matmos — The Rose Has Teeth in the Mouth of the Beast

San Francisco duo Matmos are one of the best bands working in electronic composition, hands down. They’re not exactly “underground” (nor is this list, for that matter) but M.C. Schmidt and Drew Daniel possess a level of artistry that makes all of their releases worth investigating. And this one is no exception. Although I often forget to listen to it, when I do, I something new is revealed.

#8: Loscil — Plume

Another album I forget lives in my iPod. Scott Morgan, a.k.a Loscil, creates gracious, patient music that actually goes somewhere. He’s really hit his mark with Plume, an album that provides frosty ambient with a pulse. If you like dark drone, but find Lustmord too oppressive, this one is for you.

#9: Serena Maneesh — Serena Maneesh

Technically this was available in ’05, but I got it upon domestic release in May. I’m including it to prove that I can like Norwegian bands heavily influenced by the styles of yesteryear! This is straight-up shoegaze, no doubt about it. But I haven’t heard such a satisfying take on the sound since the genre’s heyday. And the publicists by and large left me alone.

#10: M. Ward — Post-War

I like his rough, manly voice. And the fact that he doesn’t use AutoTune.

#11: Woven Hand — Mosaic

Christianity has never sounded so bleak. Except during the crusades. And the Inquisition. And the Salem witch trials. Aww, forget it. Anyway, David Eugene Edwards’ post-16 Horsepower work is like M. Gira’s Angels of Light in Sunday School. Which is to say, brooding, ironhanded and totally devotional.

#12: Sunn 0))) & Boris — Altar

Beauty + Doom = Altar. This review will further elucidate.

#13: Brightblack Morning Light — Brightblack Morning Light

Wow — two Matador releases made my list! Maybe co-owner (and sports enthusiast) Gerard Cosloy will take back the mean things he said about me for pissing on the now-defunct Prosaics. But I doubt it. Anyway, this record was pretty hyped, and a lot of people found it dull. To that, I say: drink more Robitussin and get back to me.

Bye-bye.

What a week! Nice to see the blog get so much action.

I'm heading to Maine in a few hours, leaving mucho work on the back burner. Maybe some of you commentators would like to help me with some of it?

In keeping with the vibe of the holiday, I'd like to give thanks to all of my regular (and irregular) reader/posters: Murph, Undead Molly, Brookezilla, Jay, Tanner, Ben, BenH, Greg, Ari, Neil, Bill, Mike, and anyone I've happened to forget. You've made doing this a really fun experience.

To all of you lurkers/recent commentators: I hope you stick around. And don't be shy about voicing your opinion. It helps me to consider other perspectives. Which can be difficult, but ultimately worthwhile.

It's occurred to me that I haven't put together a November podcast. Well, I might just have to do two next month. I think the first one will be "Spirituality in Sound." I was inspired by our last lengthy blog discussion. And it's kind of appropriate for the Holidays, right?

Oh, and congrats to Brooke Hunter for documenting the difficulties in tying the knot in today's issue.

Weekend Update.

I laid ever-so-slightly low this last weekend. Popped into the Big Heavy World open house on Friday, then spent all day Saturday recording.

Sunday, a bunch of Seven Days scribes went to Montpelier for the Vermont Press Association Awards. I tied for first place in the arts criticism category with Margot Harrison, our literary authority. Brent Hallenbeck of the Freeps took third. There was no second place.

Next stop, Pullitzer.

Here's the full breakdown of our accolades, courtesy Cathy Resmer:

* 2nd place feature photograph, non-daily, Jay Ericson.
* 1st place feature story, non-daily, Paula Routly.
* 3rd place best local story, non-daily, Cathy Resmer.

We competed against all VT newspapers for these awards:

*2nd place best state story, Ken Picard.

* The Mavis Doyle Award, given to one VT reporter who exemplifies the qualities of Mavis Doyle, former statehouse reporter. The award is a general excellence prize for exceptional work, and stresses fairness, accuracy, and a desire to further the public interest. That prize went to our own Ken Picard.

What a team.

Later that night, 7D soul-stealer Matt Thorsen came over to take pictures of our dwarf hamster for my story in Wednesday's animal-themed issue. It turned into a family photo shoot, with the cats getting in on the action. Too cute.

Where do I get a black trenchcoat? And a moustache?

It's for a Halloween costume. I can't tell you any more, except that this last-minute shit kills me. Totally my fault, though.

I'm buying a major piece of music gear tonight. There are plenty of shows this evening, including Jazz Guys Halloween. But it's pretty doubtful I'll be able to tear myself away from my new toy.

Lots of other stuff happening this weekend, too. We're going to a puppet opera tomorrow, then to a neighborhood party. Provided I can get my damn costume together, that is. Did I ever mention that I don't much care for parties?

Also on Saturday: Swale as "Transformer" (special Lou Reed set) at Parima. Sounds wild. Unfortunately, I'll be at the aforementioned soiree.

Fun will likely be had, but part of me would rather stay at home and listen to John the Wolf-King of L.A.

ABSOLUTELY UNRELATED UPDATE; 1:07 p.m.:

Could someone just put Aaron Sorkin out of his *breathing* misery already?

Onward.

Just a quick post today; I'm woefully behind in work.

Natascha the cat was put down yesterday. She had feline leukemia. We're OK with her passing; it is a relief that she is no longer suffering. But now we have to worry about our other cat, as the virus is contagious. We take him in for testing today.

Thanks to everyone for the gracious notes of support; we couldn't have imagined going through this again, and every little bit helped.

Soon we'll get back to blabbing about music, I promise. And I'm shooting for another podcast next week.

The grind.

I'm currenly sequencing the tunes for my next podcast. I don't wanna give anything away, but it should be a treat. Or maybe a trick....

Our cat doesn't have cancer; it's a bone infection. This is good news. Still, the vets say it'll be tough to knock out, because antibiotics are more readily absorbed into blood and tissue than bone. Treatment may take a several months. Meanwhile, she's groggy and none too pleased at the situation.

On to my ailments. Currently, my lower back is completely screwed up. A friend of mine zapped me with his Reiki mojo, but results were limited. Maybe I'll sacrifice some tofu to the Great Old Ones.

I'm gonna try to hit the Gomez show at Higher Ground tonight (opener Zac Clark is reportedly playing with Daryl Rabidoux and Mike Portman of Strangeways Studios) but it all depends on whether I can stand up for more than 10 minutes at a time.

I'd say I was cursed, if I weren't so happy. Generally speaking, that is.

Lastly, those wily fellas in Farm have posted some new rough mixes from their ongoing drunkfest recording session. Check it out.