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Big Girls Don't Cry. They Rawk.

This just in from our old pals/arch-nemeses the Fatal Flaws. The deliciously curmudgeon-y local garage-rawkers recently collaborated on a track with a new(ish) Montreal outfit called the Broken Jugs for a compilation CD produced by Vancouver-based Mongrel zine. The title of the comp, which focuses on (really) underground Montréal bands is — and this is my second favorite part — Mongréal Zine. Nice. I love a good pun, almost as much as I love a bad one.

The track — this would be my first favorite part, for anyone keeping score — is entitled "She's a Big Girl" and represents something of a departure from the grainy, lo-fi misanthropy we have come to know and love (and hate?) from the Flaws. As drummer Sasha Rodriguez puts it in a recent email, "It's very different from the Fatal Flaws' sound — much more of a sixties sound, and much more produced."

And how.

I would go a step further and submit that this might be the sunniest little ditty Rodriguez and husband/guitarist/second coming of W.C. Fields, Chris Beneke have ever been a part of. (Granted, my sample size is admittedly small. Like, one album. For all I know they could have been in a Monkees cover band in a past life. But I digress.) And, much as I love the Flaws' independent work — and believe me, I do — this song friggin' rocks. In fact, I'd say this little blend of garage crunch and subversive pop sparkle is just about the perfect tune for a day like today, as summer, nearing its final throes, begins to surrender to the steely, ceaseless inevitability of fall. Or something like that.

Anyway, here's the cut. I hope you enjoy it. 

Vick's VapoRub

(Editor's note: This post comes to us from regular 7D music section contributor and occasional Solid State blogger, John Pritchard. Yes, it's about sports. But it's also freakin' hilarious. I think you'll enjoy it, even if grown men playing a kid's game in funny pants ain't your bag. -DB)

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With the dawn of another football season just weeks away, it's been difficult to ignore the media morality circus surrounding the NFL's reinstatement of convicted dog fighting kingpin Michael Vick, who returns to the field tomorrow night.

One would think the PETP protest lines would trump the beer lines at NFL stadiums on days these gentleman (and I use that term loosely) were anywhere near a gridiron. I too find it rather despicable that a man capable of such inhumane acts on dogs has been granted the opportunity to regain his job throwing pig parts around for the official sports vehicle for my second favorite macro-brew. What kind of example is this for the kids?

It's time for a long look in the mirror. Where does Vick rank amongst all time NFL goats, er, greats?

9. Plaxico Burress, New York Giants: Plax toted a handgun to a New York nightclub but could not ward off that most elusive of assailants: himself. He fumbled the gun — which he carried tucked in his sweatpants and it accidentally went off — injuring his million dollar leg and foolish pride. The incident sparked a nationwide debate on holster laws. Game day status: Two years imprisonment; lifetime of embarrassment.

8. Joe Namath, New York Jets: This lovable 70's pop icon was America's favorite drunk uncle until he voiced his complete disregard for 'the team struggling' during a nationally televised lunge in 2008, garnering a cultural penalty flag for illegal contact. Game day status: Hasn't been invited back to America's collective family gatherings since.

7. Frank Gifford, New York Giants: Lured by an airline stewardess and bagged by a tabloid-installed hidden camera cheating on his wife. Where was the offensive line on this play? Some protection scheme — he just never saw 'em coming. Game day status: The more-famous Mrs. Gifford-Philbin was later accused of quarterbacking sweatshop labor for K-Mart, and Frank's infidelity scandal thinned out like a poorly made sweatshirt during a backyard scrimmage.

6. Lawrence Taylor, New York Giants: L.T. liked to party … a lot. And while that's no crime, this NFL legend is remembered more for tackling prostitutes, crack and gallons of liquor then he is for tackling opposing quarterbacks — even claiming to purchase such treats anonymously for opposing players the night before games. Now that's encroachment! Game day status: Now speaks of fun and dangers of drugs and alcohol, Dances with Stars.

5. Rae Carruth, Carolina Panthers: Carruth was speedy receiver with sound hands, a member of the league's 1997 All-Rookie team. But all would agree he was more-then-a-little out of bounds in 1999 when he thought it would be a good idea to lead a conspiracy to murder his pregnant girlfriend. Questionable, indeed, when your career highlight reel is an episode of American Justice. Game day status: Doing 20 years.

4. Ray Lewis, Baltimore Ravens: The ten-time all-star and league icon has been nothing but a gentleman and a scholar during his NFL tenure, discounting one minor slip up: his suspected involvement in a double homicide after a 4AM nightclub brawl on — of all nights — Super Bowl Sunday (OK, so it was technically Monday.) His piercing of the Giants offense one year later earned him Super Bowl MVP and all was pretty much forgotten, not unlike the flavor in the ironically named "life water" he now touts. Game day status: Pleaded guilty to a lesser charge; settled out of court with victims families, eying post-playing career role in Naked Gun 44 1/4

3. Donte Stallworth, Cleveland Browns: Stallworth was one of the leagues premier receivers until last year, when he intercepted a Florida pedestrian with his Bentley. Stallworth later claimed that he "flashed his lights" at the jaywalker. But the 59 year old man — a construction worker on his way home after an all-night shift — later died. Donte's two-point conversion: he was drunk and speeding at the time, merely taking an air-out ride after an all-night bender. No dogs were harmed. Game day status: Twenty-four days in jail, out of court settlement, one year NFL suspension

2. Michael Vick, Philadelphia Eagles: Does Philadelphia play in Cleveland (a.k.a. the Dawg Pound) this season? That would mark the first game in NFL history where an opposing team would desperately avoid the end zone. It's probably only a matter of time before the true class act of the Vick family, Michael's brother Marcus, regains some headlines again. Blow the whistle! He just did. Game day status: Two years in jail. Vick now claims to be on a personal mission to advocate for animal rights, so what if it's two unannounced hours at a back alley Philadelphia animal shelter signing autographs once every off-season.

1. O.J. Simpson, Buffalo Bills: With a stalwart 99.9%, Simpson is the NFL's all time leader in one crucial but obscure statistical percentage: Almost-Making-Michael-Vick-Look-Like-a-Half-Way-Decent-Guy. Game day status: Vick could swallow a goldfish during the Superbowl half-time show and not even come close to this Hall of Famer.

Please e-mail me if you know where I can get a Vick #7 in cat sizes.

(Editor's note: This post comes to us from regular 7D music section contributor and occasional Solid State blogger, John Pritchard. Yes, it's about sports. But it's also freakin' hilarious. I think you'll enjoy it, even if grown men playing a kid's game in funny pants ain't your bag. -DB)

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With the dawn of another football season just weeks away, it's been difficult to ignore the media morality circus surrounding the NFL's reinstatement of convicted dog fighting kingpin Michael Vick, who returns to the field tomorrow night.

One would think the PETP protest lines would trump the beer lines at NFL stadiums on days these gentleman (and I use that term loosely) were anywhere near a gridiron. I too find it rather despicable that a man capable of such inhumane acts on dogs has been granted the opportunity to regain his job throwing pig parts around for the official sports vehicle for my second favorite macro-brew. What kind of example is this for the kids?

It's time for a long look in the mirror. Where does Vick rank amongst all time NFL goats, er, greats?

9. Plaxico Burress, New York Giants: Plax toted a handgun to a New York nightclub but could not ward off that most elusive of assailants: himself. He fumbled the gun — which he carried tucked in his sweatpants and it accidentally went off — injuring his million dollar leg and foolish pride. The incident sparked a nationwide debate on holster laws. Game day status: Two years imprisonment; lifetime of embarrassment.

8. Joe Namath, New York Jets: This lovable 70's pop icon was America's favorite drunk uncle until he voiced his complete disregard for 'the team struggling' during a nationally televised lunge in 2008, garnering a cultural penalty flag for illegal contact. Game day status: Hasn't been invited back to America's collective family gatherings since.

7. Frank Gifford, New York Giants: Lured by an airline stewardess and bagged by a tabloid-installed hidden camera cheating on his wife. Where was the offensive line on this play? Some protection scheme — he just never saw 'em coming. Game day status: The more-famous Mrs. Gifford-Philbin was later accused of quarterbacking sweatshop labor for K-Mart, and Frank's infidelity scandal thinned out like a poorly made sweatshirt during a backyard scrimmage.

6. Lawrence Taylor, New York Giants: L.T. liked to party … a lot. And while that's no crime, this NFL legend is remembered more for tackling prostitutes, crack and gallons of liquor then he is for tackling opposing quarterbacks — even claiming to purchase such treats anonymously for opposing players the night before games. Now that's encroachment! Game day status: Now speaks of fun and dangers of drugs and alcohol, Dances with Stars.

5. Rae Carruth, Carolina Panthers: Carruth was speedy receiver with sound hands, a member of the league's 1997 All-Rookie team. But all would agree he was more-then-a-little out of bounds in 1999 when he thought it would be a good idea to lead a conspiracy to murder his pregnant girlfriend. Questionable, indeed, when your career highlight reel is an episode of American Justice. Game day status: Doing 20 years.

4. Ray Lewis, Baltimore Ravens: The ten-time all-star and league icon has been nothing but a gentleman and a scholar during his NFL tenure, discounting one minor slip up: his suspected involvement in a double homicide after a 4AM nightclub brawl on — of all nights — Super Bowl Sunday (OK, so it was technically Monday.) His piercing of the Giants offense one year later earned him Super Bowl MVP and all was pretty much forgotten, not unlike the flavor in the ironically named "life water" he now touts. Game day status: Pleaded guilty to a lesser charge; settled out of court with victims families, eying post-playing career role in Naked Gun 44 1/4

3. Donte Stallworth, Cleveland Browns: Stallworth was one of the leagues premier receivers until last year, when he intercepted a Florida pedestrian with his Bentley. Stallworth later claimed that he "flashed his lights" at the jaywalker. But the 59 year old man — a construction worker on his way home after an all-night shift — later died. Donte's two-point conversion: he was drunk and speeding at the time, merely taking an air-out ride after an all-night bender. No dogs were harmed. Game day status: Twenty-four days in jail, out of court settlement, one year NFL suspension

2. Michael Vick, Philadelphia Eagles: Does Philadelphia play in Cleveland (a.k.a. the Dawg Pound) this season? That would mark the first game in NFL history where an opposing team would desperately avoid the end zone. It's probably only a matter of time before the true class act of the Vick family, Michael's brother Marcus, regains some headlines again. Blow the whistle! He just did. Game day status: Two years in jail. Vick now claims to be on a personal mission to advocate for animal rights, so what if it's two unannounced hours at a back alley Philadelphia animal shelter signing autographs once every off-season.

1. O.J. Simpson, Buffalo Bills: With a stalwart 99.9%, Simpson is the NFL's all time leader in one crucial but obscure statistical percentage: Almost-Making-Michael-Vick-Look-Like-a-Half-Way-Decent-Guy. Game day status: Vick could swallow a goldfish during the Superbowl half-time show and not even come close to this Hall of Famer.

Please e-mail me if you know where I can get a Vick #7 in cat sizes.

Burly Power

You know who I love? Ryan Power. And I'm guessing after you check out the latest installment of Rebecca "Nuda Veritas" Kopycinski's "Burly Song" show for Channel 15, you will too — if you don't already, that is. Enjoy. And keep 'em coming, Rebecca!

Solid State Podcast #1

I'm pretty sure I've been promising a podcast for, oh, more than two years now. Or in other words, since I started at Seven Days. Well, guess what? I finally got around to doing one. And I enjoyed it so much, I think I'm going to make this a (semi) regular thing.

For the inaugural edition of the as-yet-unnamed Solid State podcast series, I caught up with our old pal, Casey Rae-Hunter of the Future of Music Coalition in Washington DC — and in a former life, 7D Music Editor extraordinaire.

The topic of the day was the Performance Rights Act currently being bandied about in our great halls of legislative discourse — and championed by none other than Patrick Leahy, no less.

For the unfamiliar, here's the Reader's Digest version: the bill would help prevent recording artists from getting screwed by — hold on to your hat — requiring terrestrial radio stations to — are you still holding your hat? — actually pay the artists whose music they play. 'Cuz right now, they don't. Crazy, right?

Under the current system, American radio stations are only required to pay licensing fees to a song's copyright holder and songwriter, but not the performer. Ironically, in virtually every other "radio" medium, from satellite to internet, stations are required to pay the copyright holder, the songwriter and the performer. But for some reason, terrestrial radio gets a free pass. I won't even get into how this works on a global scale, except to say that you'll be shocked at the handful of countries that claim similar warped systems to our own. Shocked.

Anyway, Casey does a much nicer job of describing the ins and outs of the bill and why it is important than I have time to divulge here. So click the download link below and enjoy.

A couple of notes about the podcast:
1. It's a first attempt and admittedly rough around the edges. Any constructive feedback is much appreciated.
2. Yes, it's totally corny that I used tracks from my old band, the Middle Eight, as the intro and outro music. However, I didn't have time to ask permission to use someone else's. Given the subject matter, I thought that was kind of important. Also, these songs were actually part of my very first collaboration with Casey, as he mastered the album way back in the day. So there's that.
3. On that note, I imagine I'll either work up a real intro once this gets rolling, or mix up intros with tunes from various local bands. Haven't really decided yet.
4. Casey has a pretty cool guest blog post here.
5. He also maintains his own thoroughly excellent blog here.

Solid State Podcast #1
Topic: Performance Rights Act
Guest: Casey Rae-Hunter, Communications Director, Future of Music Coalition
Music Credits: "Easy Chair," The Middle Eight, Lubec (D. Bolles); "The Sun Always Shines," The Middle Eight, Lubec (D. Stockhausen)

Download SolidStatePodcast1.081809

Fun With Aging Rock Stars

Well, this is just hilarious: http://www.boston.com/ae/celebrity/more_names/blog/2009/08/dude_looks_like_a_little_old_l.html

Friday Brain Dribblings

What it is, Solid State?

'Tis a lovely late-summer Friday in the Queen City. It's the sort of day when one's thoughts turn to free flowing flights of fancy. For me, that means a symphony of randomness I like to call "Friday Brain Dribblings." Here we go.

It was sad to say goodbye to Les Paul yesterday. The man was a giant. Predictably, there was a smattering of  tribute-y pieces floating around the interwebs and TV yesterday. But I think our very own Mike Luoma sums it up best with this Twitter post: "Les Paul's contributions to & impact on music tower over Michael Jackson's. So... his passing will get more coverage, right?" Sigh.

Did you realize GWAR is celebrating its 25th anniversary this year? I feel old.

Earlier this week, Phish announced they will release Joy, their first studio album in five years on September 8. That's it. No joke here. Just passing that along. (That was a big step for me.)

Dogfighting douchebag Michael Vick signed with the Philadelphia Eagles last night. As a dog lover and doting owner of a half-crazy half-pitbull, I'm not nearly as upset about the QB's return as I thought I would be. Actually, I'm almost sorta rooting for him. I'm either a sucker for redemption stories, or so fed up with PETA that I can't help but equate their screeching protests to something on par with the Town Hall Meeting idiots.

Speaking of which, fuck Glenn Beck.

I had a nifty conversation yesterday with Alex Budney, who is running "Nectar's South" on Martha's Vineyard. Most of that will appear in next week's paper. But if you're looking for a late-summer weekend getaway, you could do worse. Sounds like a lot of fun.

I had an equally nifty conversation with the esteemed Casey Rae-Hunter — a.k.a "the old Dan Bolles" — this week for the inaugural edition of my forthcoming and as-yet-unnamed podcast, about the Pat Leahy-sponsored Performance Rights Act. Really interesting stuff. I've still got a little editing to do on that. Look for the debut early next week.

Anyone else notice that Higher Ground's fall calendar is looking increasingly awesome? Yo La Tengo, The Decemberists, Sondre Lerche, Andrew Bird, Son Volt, Great Lake Swimmers, etc. I wonder if the "HG never books good indie bands" crowd will actually show up for any of them. Just sayin'.

And finally, I'm reviewing James Kochalka's new album, Digital Elf, in next week's issue — sneek peek: I like it … mostly. And I guess I'm not alone in digging our resident Superstar's singular weirdness. Apparently, Moby is a fan too.

Have a great weekend, folks!

Daysie Dukes

Hear me now and believe me later: I will not mention the Red Sox again until at least October.

I went most of the year with nary a sports-related post, and they were the best team in the American League. I write one (mildly) comical post about my beloved Beantown nine and they self-destruct. Can those two things possibly be related, you ask? As any self-respecting Sox fan worth their Nomah jersey will tell you, yes. Yes, they can. We're that superstitious.

So that's that. I am declaring a sports moratorium from now until such time as it is reasonably safe to bring up the topic again (which quite honestly could be never).

Moving on, let's talk about the Seven Daysies awards, shall we?

Last Friday night was our annual Daysies awards party at the ECHO Center in Burlington. If you've never been, it is quite the to-do. The place is always mobbed with local luminaries dressed to the nines boozing and schmoozing like it's a post-Oscars party. In short, it is a lot of fun. And this year was no exception. Well, at least what little of the party I was able to attend.

You see, everyone who works for 7D has a specific job to on the big day in order for us to pull this thing off. In previous years, I was responsible for helping to set up the sound equipment because, as the "music guy," it is presumed that I know something about setting up PA equipment — I don't.

Anyway, this year 7D threw me a curveball, assigning me to oversee our weekly Friday night "Up Your Alley" concert series at Red Square with two of our interns from 5p.m. to 7 p.m. Just so we're clear, someone actually thought it would be a good idea to send the music editor and two college kids to the bar for two hours prior to the party. Seriously, that was my job for this year's Daysies. Awesome. Anyway, long story short, I couldn't make it to the ECHO Center until the party was about half over. We'll just leave it at that.

During the course of my Daysies carousing, I had several interesting conversations — with folks who shall remain nameless — concerning the need to revamp the music categories. I have to say, I kind of agree. While the old standbys do a decent job of recognizing the usual supects, there is room for improvement. The fact of the matter is that said usual suspects are going to win, year in and year out. Which is not say those folks are undeserving. Merely that we could do a better job of recognizing people for whom there simply isn't a legit category they can win.

My favorite suggestion from Friday night was to create a "Best Small Live Music Venue" award. The current category, "Best Live Music Venue,"  will always go to Higher Ground — and Nectar's will always be the runner-up. And I can't really argue with that. But here's the thing, the vast majority of venues in and around the state are — drum roll, please — small.

The Monkey House, Radio Bean and the Skinny Pancake (among others) are all deserving of Daysies recognition. Will any of those joints ever compete with HG or Nectar's? Nope. Not a chance. But why should they have to?

Going a step further, I would also like to see a category for "Best Live Music Venue Outside of Chittenden County." We do it for "Best Dance Club," ferchrissakes. How does it make sense not to have a similar category for places like Langdon Street, the Black Door or the Bees Knees? Answer: it doesn't.

Some other ideas:
Best New VT Band: I could swear we used to do this, maybe even as recently as last year. I love this category. (My vote for this year: a tie bewteen Rough Francis and Strength in Numbers)

Best College/Independant Radio Station: VPR will usually win the biggie. And they should. But how 'bout some love for the little guys? (My vote: WRUV barely nudges out the Radiator, mostly because of the sheer awesomeness of Exposure)

Best Music Festival/Outdoor Concert Series: Yeah, we have a "Best Fest" category that will always go to Jazz Fest or Brew Fest. That's cool. But why not recognize the Champlain Valley Folk Fest, or the NEKMF or even the WOKO Country Club Music Fest? Again, these guys are never going to stack up against Jazz Fest, or even Brew Fest. And again, they shouldn't have to. (My vote: I'll abstain here, though I think NEKMF probably wins a popular vote)

Best Music Journalist: OK, totally (mostly) kidding about this one.

So that's my two cents. If you could, what music categories would you most like to see in the Daysies?

 

Of Red Sox and Music

*ring-ring. ring-ring* (click)

"Hello?"
"John?"
"Yes, this is John."
"John Smoltz?"
"Speaking."
"John, it's Theo. Theo Epstein."
"Oh, Theo. Hey, listen. About last night. I …
"John, John. It's OK. Don't worry about it."
"Really? Because I thou …"
"Look. I just thought you should hear this from me first. We're working on a waiver trade that would send you to the Brooklyn Cyclones for a ham sandwich and a bag of doorknobs."
"Wow. Well, I guess that seems reasonable under the circumstances. But I was kind of hoping …"
"It's a small bag."
"I see."
"Yeah … Um, I just wanted to, er, "thank you" for your services. And I hope you enjoyed your stay with the Boston Red Sox."
"Well, thanks for the opportunity, Theo."
"We'll see you in Cooperstown in a few years, buddy. Oh, and do you happen to have Tom Glavine's number?"

The preceding was a conversation I imagine to have taken place at some point after the bottom of the fourth inning of Red Sox pitcher John Smoltz's "Breakdown in the Bronx" at the hands of the hated New York Yankees last night. Ughhh.

With a huge 4-game Sox-Yanks series underway, regular readers can probably guess where my head is at the moment. (Come on, I've been pretty good about the sports stuff lately. And it's Friday. Indulge me, OK?)

Anyway, as I often do while watching baseball — especially during a blowout — I started pondering what sort of intro music I would choose if I were a pro ballplayer striding to the plate. As with many sports-related contrivances (cheerleaders, announcers, etc.) I really think that intro music should be incorporated into more facets of everyday life. (Although, the trend of introducing newlyweds at wedding receptions via music has gone too far. In the last two years I have been to two such receptions that left me cringing. At the first, the bride and groom were introduced to the theme music from Kill Bill. The second? An electric piano version of "A Whole New World" from The Little Mermaid. I wish I was kidding.)

You can tell a lot about a person based on what sort of music they choose as an introduction. The best is undoubtedly Yanks' closer Mariano Rivera, who enters every game to the bruising strains of Metallica's "Enter Sandman." Even as a Sox fan, I have to acknowledge the consummate bad ass-itude in that, mostly because Rivera is a consummate bad ass. If you ever see it in person, you'll get chills. Trust me.

The worst might be an Atlanta Braves player (whose name escapes me at the moment) who approaches to the plate to — and I'm not making this up — "Your Love" by The Outfield. Still, despite the thorough wussiness of that choice, it is kinda funny.

Personally, I tend to vacillate between a few different tunes. And I think they would work in most any situation, not just on the diamond. They are:

1. "The Imperial March" from Star Wars. Probably the most iconic intro music ever written.
2. "Loser" by Beck. Sort of a reverse psychology strategy here. Plus, I love that tune.
3. "The Price is Right" theme song. "Dan Bolles … come on down!"
4. The theme song from "Beverly Hills 90210." OK, this isn't my idea. I heard it mentioned on an ESPN podcast recently. But that song might be the single funniest way to enter a serious moment ever. Think about it for a minute. (World Series Game 7. Two outs. Bottom of the ninth. Tie score. And then … admit it, that's funny.)

I could go on with this all day and night (and on certain occasions I have, believe me). But we're all busy people, right? So I put it to you, folks. If you could, what would be your signature intro tune? Again, it doesn't have to be a sports thing. What song would announce your presence at, say, the bank? Or work? Or the VD clinic? The floor is yours.

And while you think about that, here is the greatest pitch ever thrown (this is freakin' amazing):

I'm Gonna make You a Star!

This just in: Local hip hop group Neighborhood is back in action and have put out a casting call for extras for a music video they plan to shoot tomorrow (Friday) at Lift. The first 100 people to show up at the Church Street club at noon will have a crack at hip hop immortality. Or at least be on camera. I'm guessing booty-shakin' attire is encouraged.

For more info, email the folks at Lotus Entertainment: [email protected]

Bite Torrent

As promised in this week's column, Bite Torrent.

I'm sure many of you are planning to attend the debut (as a Vermont resident, anyway) of the state's most recent famous transplant, Ms. Neko Case, tonight at the Flynn. However, should you be otherwise seeking something to do, I might suggest swinging by ye olde Higher Ground Ballroom to catch Mos Def. I know, I know. Why would the guy from the local alt-weekly be telling you to go see a (relatively) mainstream dude like Mos Def? First of all, as anyone who has ever read "Stuff White People Like," already knows, white people love Mos Def. Second, dude's really good — and I say that as a music critic, not just a white guy. And third, our very own Death-defying rockers Rough Francis managed to score the opening slot for the show.

As it turns out, Mos (Mr. Def?) is a HUGE fan of Death (the band). He's mentioned them in numerous interviews in recent months, citing the lyrical brilliance of the Brothers Hackney as well as their all-around rockitude. He is also reportedly working on a Death documentary. Oh yeah, he also approched Rough Francis about playing tonight's show. Killer.
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According to a recent press release Team Flinn is expanding. "Team Flinn" of course refers to longtime B-town songwriter Aaron Flinn, who has got to be one of the nicest people I know. Pretty solid tunesmith to boot. Anyway, he's just signed a deal with Bluebird Promotions, a Colchester-based firm that handles mostly radio promo, but is moving into licensing and booking. Flinn joins fellow VT acts Gregory Douglass, Patrick Fitzsimmons and Amber DeLaurentis on the company's roster. Congrats, Aaron.
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Got a funny voice maill from Radio Bean proprietor Lee Anderson last week. I was on vacation, so unfortuately, I couldn't pass this along sooner. But apparently, Mr. Anderson has torn down that wall. I know this because he actually called while the thing was coming down. I could literally hear the sounds of crumbling and men working in the background. This marks a huge step forward in the cozy hipster haunt's long-awaited expansion. I for one, am very excited.

In other news, it seems I'll soon have to stop referring to the Bean as a "cozy hipster haunt."
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Speaking of Radio Bean, longtime friend of the Queen City, Mike Gamble (Bootyjuice, The Inbetweens, Scrambler/Seequill), is back in town for a trio of dates at the Bean this week. And he'll be sharing the stage with a few local luminaries to boot. Thursday, the hot-shot guitarist gets his late-afternoon jazz thing on with Gabe Jarrett and Rob Morse. Saturday, he'll be blowing minds with experimental guru Greg Davis. And Sunday he wraps up the run with some late night shenanigans featuring Ethan Snyder and Ian Kovac.
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And finally, a late breaking bit from our friends at the Parima Acoustic Lounge (aka, Burlington's best listening room), "progressive-folk" trio the Blue Hit swings through town this Thursday. If you like pretty folk vocal melodies backed by swooning cello and nimbly picked guitar — and I know you do — I'd suggest stopping by.

 

Stopgap: More to Come

Hey, hey, Solid State.

I am back from a stellar vacation on the Cape and feeling thoroughly chillaxed — which you can tell by the fact that I just used the word "chillaxed" … eww. I'm even a little tanned. No, really. Me. With a tan. (On a related note, does anyone have the number for a good dermatologist? Redheads and sun don't mix.)

Anyway, in today's SoundBites column, I alluded to the weekly Bite Torrent segment appearing on the blog today, due to space constraints in the paper. I had hoped to get that up this morning, but I'm running a little behind (see, back from vacation, above.) Bite Torrent will be up, probably around 2 p.m. today. I promise. In the meantime, here's a free history lesson:

The Art of Noise

Burlington is apt to drown in good times before its musical bread and butter becomes defined by self-taught experimentalism, or "noise" — a term lazily thrown around far too often. But experimental sounds do exist here, just in lower fidelity and in the scum-dripping shadows of the downtown underground.

For example, bands such as Lawrence Welks & Our Bear to Cross, a black sheep that'd be sooner seen in some clandestine basement than showing up on any Burlington bar main stage — a fact perhaps characteristic of keyboards and vocals choked violently by distortion. One could imagine the puzzled looks on the faces of some good-time-seeking Main Street bar-goers upon discovering this group. And to be clear, I've seen those faces.

Burlington's experimental sound is an abstraction on the land when compared to most garage rockers and jazz musicians. But it's no step-child. Honking clarinets and battered saxophones alongside droning electronics and guitars evoke the wintry sounds that reflect the measure of Burlington's weather-bound ferocity. It sounds like a real part of Burlington; the artistic reflection of Vermont's largest city in all its emotional toil.

I can understand if people want a bit of escapism in another guitar solo, I really can. But it's not noise. Noise is subjective. My definition comprises sounds that are caught, cut and composed with an eye that gazes far deeper into the texture of sound rather than the construction of a song. Conversely, to me most pop — overproduced to the point of a 30-second jingle and meant to earn someone 99 cents — is  "noise." 

To me, the le duo is the current genuine voice of whatever scene Burlington experimental music has created. The ever-evolving free-improv group could be seen as more of a collective. Started in 2006 by former Nest Material drummer and percussionist JB Ledoux, it has since comprised a fluid cast of folks from the area. The group's forte is an elementary sense of musical freedom focused into a shifting complexity of textures and sounds, fused and scattered by JB's percussion. 

A flagship of Burlington-based experimental music label Aether Everywhere, the le duo released their debut extended play in 2008 with a collection of five recordings from the summers of '07 and '08. his inner psychic energy finds a unique voice buried deep within the free jazz realm — the collective in true form. The album has a refreshingly wild variance of exploration. However, the entire work strings itself above a constant state of tension, especially in the first track, "no enemy" where the emotional energy seems placed upon an abstract melody of feedback and white-noised electronics. It's less noticeable than the distant jazz squalls. But it seems closer at hand to supply unmistakable atmosphere. The bombardment of "parade's end" and "it was the nightingale" form together around the control of JB's assault to a singular animal of rage and chaos. 

The le duo's most recent official release, Snwstrm (2009), takes a more cohesive and subtle voice. The group even seems to drop bombastic free jazz elements all together, finding a more acoustic variance of ambient sounds. Even when the drums are cooking they have a singular feel. The solidified direction of the album's two tracks weave different emotional tones throughout the whole piece as its slight, yet dramatic shifts carry the experience along at a meditative pace. It's a soundtrack to someone on the verge of dreams, running through the confusion of vertigo. There's a driven thesis in the music that finally seems to come to realization at the end of each track, especially 'Pt. 1' where the groove crescendos. The title of the album is certainly appropriate in the howls and depths of the electronic flurries, especially heavy on 'Pt. 2.'

JB has recently made a set the group played at The Monkey House in May '09 available for download. It features a single track entitled "Hells Boils" that completely flips the script as far as the le duo goes, combining their older primal shouts with nothing short of a psychedelic freak out — turning the squalls and tape loops into a vehicle for mass destruction at the hands of JB and guitarist Adrian Benoit. The track creates a dive into masochistic hell for the listener to experience. But it happens to be a great ride. The constant change in sound invokes the Coltrane philosophy of constant reinvention. And in Burlington, the le duo will always be at the reins of constant exploration.