List time: Best ofs, albums and shows

The best five albums of 2008, according to my ears and brain: 1. Portishead "Third" 2. Deerhunter "Microcastle 3. Wolf Parade "At Mt. Zoomer" 4. Atlas Sound "Let the Blind Lead Those Who Can See But Cannot Feel" 5. Vampire Weekend "Vampire Weekend" And since I saw more live music than heard new albums, here's: The top 10 shows of 2008, according to my ears, brain and eyes: 1. Radiohead @ Hollywood Bowl Aug. 25 2. Radiohead @ Chula Vista, Aug. 27 3. Entrance Band @ Great American Music Hall, Nov. 23 4. Lanterns, Silian Rail, Japandi, Planets @ The Bike Kitchen, Jan. 11 5. Wolf Parade @ Fillmore, July 17 6. Worker Bee, By Sunlight, Silian Rail @ Gingerbread House, July 11 7. Entrance Band @ Henry Miller Library, May 10 8. Les Savy Fav, The Dodos @ Great American Music Hall, April 27 9. Entrance Band, Menomena, Broken Social Scene @ Sunset Junction Festival, Aug. 23 10. Holy Fuck, A Place to Bury Strangers, White Denim, Veil, Veil Vanish @ Bottom of the Hill, Feb, 29 10.1 Metallica @ Oracle Arena, Dec. 20

Listen up: Pitchork's 1-25 tracks of 2008

Pitchfork's staff ranked its top 100 tracks of 2008 and posted nearly all of the songs in their entirety. It's pretty cool -- you can go to the Pitchfork site and listen to 100 songs you may have missed this year. Now I'm not really considering this list as a "best of 2008" and judging it as such, but more using it as a reference to discover new bands. Today I checked out their #1-25. Here's what I thought: 1. Hercules and Love Affair - "Blind." Boring disco dance track that feels like going for a casual stroll through an antique British town, if you know what I mean. 2. Fleet Foxes - "White Winter Hymnal." Oh how much I'd love to pan this band sheerly for spite, as I'm kinda sick of hearing how great they are. But how great they are. 3. Hot Chip - "Ready For the Floor." Boring disco dance number. 4. Santogold - "L.E.S. Artistes." Sounds like something I'd hear at 24 Hour Fitness. And the vocals are all "Gwen Stefani." Enough said. 5. M83 - "Kim & Jessie." If I wanted to get back to 1985 I'd hop in a DeLorean. 6. Deerhunter - "Nothing Ever Happened." Ah, a fuzzy good marathon of weirdo rock. So on my Christmas list. 7. Cut Copy -"Hearts on Fire." - Another '80s disco dance number, blech. 8. Air France - "Collapsing on Your Doorstep." Boring. Disco. Dance. Number. 9. Portishead - "Machine Gun." Already kid-tested and mother-approved, though let me just say "The Rip" is more my jam. 10. Estelle - "American Boy." - So this is the song that's always playing when I walk into a Forever 21. 11. David Byrne and Brian Eno - "Strange Overtones." Totally refreshing and relevant from two legends. 12. Cut Copy - "Out There on The Ice." Get me out of the discoteque. Now. 13. Kanye West - "Flashing Lights." The 24 Hour Fitness Theme Song. Totally. 14. Lil Wayne - "A Milli." I just don't get it. 15. Amadou & Miriam - "Sabali." Africa has unofficially entered the space age. Sweet and stimulating. 16. The Mae Shi - "Run to Your Grave." Singalong children's song. Just not my style. 17. Wiley - "Wearing My Rolex." The first dancey track on the list I dig. 18. Women - "Black Rice." Two thums up! 19. Vivian Girls - "Where Do You Run To." Twee girl rock. Um, no. 20. The Juan Maclean - "Happy House." Now this is a track - 12 1/2 minutes And it's dance! 21. Hercules and Love Affair - "Hercules' Theme." B.D.D.N. 22. Santogold - "Lights Out." Still not sold on Santogold. 23. Beyonce - "Single Ladies." Surprisingly better than a lot of the stuff preceding it. 24. Gang Gang Dance - "House Jam." B.D.D.N. 25. The Hold Steady - "Constructive Summer." Another rock song in the top 25? Vocals not my cup of tea, though. As you can tell, I'm not too keen on electropop dance crap. But these are first impressions. To sum, the good in the top 25: Already knew about Fleet Foxes, Deerhunter, Portishead, David Byrne and Brian Eno Bands for further exploration: The Juan Maclean, Amadou & Miriam, Women, Wiley.

:)

Oh. Hell. Yes.

Rant: The Grammy's - beggers can't be choosers; or can they?

So maybe I shouldn't bitch about the Grammy nominations announced today because a) my favorite band is up for five awards and b) I don't give a shit about a Grammy. But I have to admit my panties did bunch up when I saw that the Radiohead song chosen for nomination in the Best Rock Performance By a Duo or Group With Vocals category was "House of Cards." Amazing song, and In Rainbows is up for Album of the Year. But it also makes me wonder: Why "House of Cards" of all tracks when there's "All I Need," or even more worthy, "Reckoner." Don't tell me that this has something to do with the song's use in NBA playoffs promo ads earlier this year. Or maybe I just told you. Suspicious Grammy nomination No. 2: Would M.I.A.'s "Paper Planes" be up for Record of the Year if it hadn't been played in those Pineapple Express trailers all summer? How much does a song have to be crammed into the public consciousness via commercials and other advertisements before it can be nominated for a Grammy? Call me a cynic, but it's hard to take awards shows like this seriously. I do, however, get a slight kick out of the fact that a Grammy is awarded for Best Album Notes. All right, album notes writers. And how about that mouthful of a category, Best Rock Performance By a Duo or Group With Vocals? I think I'll nominate that lengthy moniker for Best Worst Short Awards Category Name. Take that, Grammys.

Rolling Stone gets it right with "hot" multimedia feature

It's moments like this when I don't mind so much that Web journalism is supplanting print -- nevermind that nobody can find a job in today's news industry. For Rolling Stone's "2008 Hot List," in between crowning the "Hot New Winona Ryders" and "Hot Sci-Fi Beyonce," the magazine deemed hippie bastion Laurel Canyon in L.A. as this year's "Hot Rock Scene." Home to musicians and free spirits galore, who shack up in abodes nesting cozily in the woods and stage jam sessions that revive the spirit of residents of times past (Frank Zappa, Joni Mitchell and Jackson Browne all once lived there), Laurel Canyon also claims none other than the Entrance Band as native sons. And the reason I'm happy we live in an increasingly multimedia world? Rolling Stone accompanied its online version of the Hot List's Hot Rock Scene entry with a video (scan to the bottom of the story) for which they commissioned the Entrance Band's Guy Blakeslee, Derek James and Paz Lenchantin to give a personalized tour of the Canyon. The short video proved to be a pretty cool complement to the story that offers a compelling visual and audio illustration to back up why Laurel Canyon is where it's at. I can see why the band calls it an inspiring locale. And yes, there does appear to be "ju ju everywhere." Hot, indeed.

Show review: Entrance Band @ Great American Music Hall, Nov. 23

Discovering the Entrance Band earlier this year was like finding a new religion, a rock 'n' roll religion that re-imposed upon my musical mind the staples of what rock should be: riffs and beats that sound as powerful and exciting as they instinctively feel; bona fide technical wizardry from three monster musicians; lyrics that explore life, death, love and everything else that matters; and just enough sex and drugs to be too cool to bring home to mom, unless she grew up in the '60s, of course. Now a faithful attendee of Entrance's Bay Area gatherings, the latest being a knockout show on Nov. 23, the sabbath, at the Great American Music Hall, I joined a devout flock of a hundred or so hippies and headbangers crowding the stage, flanked by a few curious stragglers along for the ride. For all the brilliance of the performance, however, I couldn't help but feel frustrated that more than half the audience left before the L.A. trio even set up their instruments, thereby missing one of the best shows of 2008. I guess co-headliner Rodriguez was a hard act to follow, as his resurgence (read his interesting story here) and own feast of '60s folk rock was satisfying enough for some. And let me make the point that Rodriguez rocks, no doubt about it. But not too many bands circa now can top the Entrance experience. And back to religion, I want to spread the word about the Entrance Band, not so much to convert but to connect. In the church of rock 'n' roll, the more the merrier. Singer/guitarist/shredder Guy Blakeslee (aka Entrance), bassist Paz Lenchantin and drummer Derek James straight up summoned spirits with the Middle Eastern rock dervish of an opener "Valium Blues," which sidetracked midway into famed Nirvana cover "Love Buzz." The Entrance repertoire that I've seen over the course of four shows doesn't pull out a bad one in the bunch. The GAMH setlist featured standouts "Still Be There" and "You're So Fine," peaking with "MLK" and an incendiary version of "Grim Reaper Blues" to close, which the band teased into a thundering climax. On an end note, Wolfgang's Vault posted Entrance's entire Noise Pop, Cafe Du Nord show, the performance that got me all up on the band's jock, on its Web site. Check it out.

Belated appreciation: Atlas Sound

This year I received a birthday present, the best birthday present, about nine months late. Yeah, nine months. Kinda like a baby, and something I'm surely all goo goo ga ga about now. The gift: "Let the Blind Lead Those Who Can See But Cannot Feel," the first album from Atlas Sound that came out February 19. Some background: Atlas Sound is the solo project of Bradford Cox, without a doubt, an extraordinary and compelling musician who leads the band Deerhunter. Dude's prolific, and reputedly updates the Deerhunter/Atlas Sound/Lotus Plaza blog with tons of goodies pretty frequently. The music: Atlas Sound is truly all over the map, with dreamy 1950s melodies adorned with layers upon layers of fuzzy shoegaze-style Martian sounds. Pretty otherworldly stuff for being bedroom music. A live version of "Recent Bedroom," 2/18/08 in Georgia: Photo courtesy of Atlas Sound MySpace.

Thom Yorke's Nov. 5 present

Oh happy day. For all of the inspiration, pride and hopefulness I feel now that Barack Obama is set to lead our way for the next four years (social progress and global respectability, anyone?), I must also thank Mr. Obama, and Jonny Greenwood's mum, for the groovy remix of "Harrowdown Hill" Thom Yorke posted on Dead Air Space today. Mr. Yorke: "did i fall or was i pushed? in celebration of nov 5th jonnys burthday amid bonfire and fireworks in the UK and the dawn of a new era in politics in the USA i humbly donate a remix of harrowdown hill that was finished ages ago during the band webcasts, a small reminder of the dark days of Bush's.... x"

Get smitten: The Airborne Toxic Event

Mikel Jollett once discovered the perfect complement to his band’s live stage setup in a junkyard.

The frontman of Los Feliz five-piece The Airborne Toxic Event had trekked to a local facility along with drummer Daren Taylor to sift through rubbish in search of a “big metallic sound.” With golf club and bat in hand, the two began banging until they stumbled upon just the right clunk: the hood of a 1969 Alfa Romeo, which would later be incorporated into the gaggle of L.A. shows that Airborne would play over the next year. Continue reading.

Get smitten: Thailand

“Change” may be the political buzzword of 2008, but it has always been a mantra for L.A. new wave/post-punk trio Thailand. Figuring out what works – and what doesn’t – took core members Marc Linquist (vocals, beats, guitar) and Staci Roark (synths, vocals) on an edifying journey through lineup additions and subtractions, new locales, fresh approaches to songwriting and a challenging transition from bedroom band to a live rock act that fearlessly uses a drum machine to create music on its own terms. Continue reading. *P.S. Must check out the track "Control Control" on Thailand's MySpace.*

CD review: Odd Nosdam "Pretty Swell Explode"

Longtime Anticon sound guru OddNosdam’s latest offering, Pretty Swell Explode, proves why a posse of the label’s artists and experimental like-minds such as Mike Patton have put him at the top of their collaboration lists. Over this two- disc, 17-track compilation of remixes, B-sides, rarities and unreleased originals – many stemming from Nosdam’s two previous albums, 2005’s Burner and 2007’s Level Live Wires – the Bay Area producer whips up an enchanting brew of sampler magic, field recordings, tape hiss and other effects that evoke a range of sensations and showcase his sonic prowess.

Pretty. On “Untitled Three,” one of eight unreleased tracks, Nos taps into shoegaze serenity by rekindling his Burner partnership with Flying Saucer Attack associate Jessica Bailiff, whose sunny but surreal vocals coat blissed-out drones and barebone beats in calm. And the reworking of Black Moth Super Rainbow’s psychedelic “Forever Heavy” features Bailiff’s gentle murmur, somnambulant thumps and lullaby keyboard tinkers to call a sleepy beauty into light.

Swell. Nos explores ambient soundscapes on the second disc, most notably on Boards Of Canada’s “Dayvan Cowboy,” which stretches into a hypnotic, nine-minute opus of warmth and meditative quiet that may just conjure what heaven would sound like.

Explode. Bursts of glitches, grungy distortion and dizzying echoes on “Freshman Remix” thicken up a dissection of label brethren Thee More Shallows. And the standout “(Growin Up in the Hood) Four Thousand Style,” which mashes a gaggle of bits and pieces from U.K. band Hood, blasts off from a jarring, fuzzy bass into staccato hip-hop beats and blips, sensual synth pulses and lyrical slivers cut from vocalist Chris Adams for a stunningly intricate collage.

iTunes software classifies the album not as experimental, electronica or hip-hop, but “easy listening.” Considering its totally chilled-out musical rapture, Pretty Swell Explode presents a strong case for fans of sonic euphoria to make room in their record collections. (Anticon Records)

Originally published in the August 2008 issue of West Coast Performer.

It's good to be back

Capping a weekend where I rediscovered music (thank you Pixies "Surfer Rosa," Slint "Spiderland" Trans Am "The Surveillance," Spank Rock "Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo") and arose from the new-job-black-hole that swamped the past two months of my life with words and numbers but no sounds, online today I found video of an Elephant Six show held over the weekend that features none other than Jeff Mangum playing my favorite Neutral Milk Hotel song, "Engine," a children's song. Mangum, the principal of '90s indie rock fathers and sons and holy spirits Neutral Milk Hotel, has been tagged a recluse for his MIA status in the music world for the last 10 or so years, having chosen to hide out (live a normal life?) after he released the seminal album "In the Aeroplane Over the Sea." That Mangum, a goddamn blessing to music as far as I'm concerned, has emerged from his seclusion bodes well for these dark times. Maybe we're all about to enter a moment of light.

Send in the clones: Live music overload around the Bay Area tonight

Employment commitments and geography will influence my night's entertainment options, but lucky me, there's a smörgåsbord of awesome live rock music transpiring all over the Bay tonight.

Friday night specials:

Oakland - Orphans of Aliens, Hard Labor Fantasy Camp @ Mama Buzz Cafe

San Francisco - Port O'Brien, Builders and the Butchers @ Cafe Du Nord

San Jose - Silian Rail, Bridges, Worker Bee, Judgement Day @ Gingerbread House

Oh, and for those with particularly bad taste in music there's always Billy Bob Thornton at the Phoenix Theatre in Petaluma or Eddie Money at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk.

So like that decrepit centuries-years-old grail knight spouted in the third Indiana Jones movie, "Choose wisely -- for while the true Grail will bring you life, the false Grail will take it from you."


Thanks, dude.

San Diego's Lanterns puts out ... the Apocalypse Youth EP

For rock heads who find that the frenzied melodic noise of Sonic Youth and Les Savy Fav bring on a bit of the dripping (ewwwww), I recommend yet again to check out the younger and more San Diegoan four-piece Lanterns. Live, they come across like a pack of wild hoodlums --that's a good thing. But what's even better is their apeshit awesome knack for writing an infectious song, layering distorted shoegaze fuzz, pounding beats, shredding licks and singalong shouts over pop hooks. So in reverence for the release of their Apocalypse Youth EP that will be celebrated at a July 19 hometown show at the Che Cafe, check out new tracks "Creation Myth," "Midnight Psalms (Alright!)" and "EndTimes Blues" on Lanterns' MySpace, or two sweet older tracks below. Yum. Lanterns – sweet weapons! Lanterns – Maps and X's

Who are the Fleet Foxes?

While browsing the Craigslist tickets section, as I am prone to in pursuit of what's what this week for shows in the Bay, I happened upon the burgeoning indie powerhouse that is the Fleet Foxes. Everybody and they stepmama seemingly wants a ticket to tonight's show at the Bottom of the Hill. I've seen offers of $77 for what was originally a $10 ticket; beer, food, joke punchlines, virginity (really!) for the chance to catch this show. And in most of these postings, wannabe ticket buyers express the sentiment that this will be the last chance to watch Fleet Foxes play this intimate a venue, as they seem destined for a path of gargantuan theaters and arenas. So, my non-feathered friends, just who are the Fleet Foxes? Well to start, five musicians from Seattle who just released their self-titled debut album on Sub Pop on June 3. They describe their music as "baroque harmonic pop jams," a blend Pitchfork appears to approve of seeing as how they rated the record a 9.0, putting Fleet Foxes in great company as far as debuts go (Wolf Parade, anyone?). And based on a few MySpace samples, like "White Winter Hymnal," which carries a dreamy, laid back Beach Boys type of groove with lots of oohs and acapella sprinklings, and "Tiger Mountain Peasant Song," a plaintive acoustic folk ballad that channels old-school '60s haunted Mamas and the Papas, their sound is certainly clean, catchy and compelling. Not quite rock 'n' roll enough to be deemed awesome in my book, but they've got something. And I betcha much of Fleet Foxes' appeal is that their live presence is as endearing as their MySpace personality -- check out a sampling of their tour schedule:

Aug 18 2008 8:00P	RED BUTTE GARDEN W/ WILCO !!!!! (WTF?????)	SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH
Aug 20 2008 8:00P	EAGLE KNOLL WINERY w/ WILCO (How did we get here, seriously, what is going on)	BOISE, ID
Aug 21 2008 8:00P	INB ARTS CENTER W/ WILCO !!! (Still flabbergasted)	SPOKANE, WA
Aug 23 2008 8:00P	LES SCHWAB AMPHITHEATER W / WILCO !!!! (Shock, disbelief)	BEND, OREGON

Fleet Foxes appear genuinely appreciative of their recent success as openers for huge acts like Wilco. Sounds like cool peeps. So good luck to ticket seekers for tonight's mega sold out BOTH show. Or just wait until September when they play the Treasure Island Festival. Fleet Foxes' "White Winter Hymnal":

Rant: "I wah wah wah wah wonder": The corrosive torture that is Del Shannon's "Runaway"

Honey children, I think we've got a Patrick Bateman in our midst. You know, the serial killing type whose penchant for pop music almost disguises a love for penetrating viscera with steak knives, but not really.

I bring this up because here I sit working studiously in a room on the sixth floor of the Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. library in San Jose, and what is it that's providing the soundtrack to my noble pursuit of rock music news?

Why none other than Del Shannon's 1961 number one Billboard hit "Runaway," on repeat, seven times and counting.

I guess the guy in the next room likes that song. A lot. Sample lyrics:
"And I wonder--
I wah-wah-wah-wah-wonder,
Why,
Why, why, why, why, why she ran away,
Yes, and I wonder"

Coupled with high-pitched staccato keyboard stylings a la "dooo doo doo doo/ dooo doo doo doo / doo doo doo / doodoo doodoo doodoo doodoo doodoo doodoo doodoo doodoo / dooo doo doo doo / dooo doo doo doo / doo doo doo doooooooooooooo," this has got to be the most annoying two minutes of music ever written.

And surprisingly, the guy next door so enamored with Mr. Shannon's ode to love woe is young, clean cut and wearing glasses -- so not visibly insane. I don't know, are people who wear glasses capable of murder?

On the eighth "Runaway" go 'round, library security dropped by to deter the transgressor from a ninth spin, but dude keeps playing it.

Maybe I should offer up my relationship counseling services.

Family, friends: If I don't pick up my cell, 911 ain't no joke.

Sigur Ros to play Greek Theatre Oct. 3, presale Friday

artist website :: myspace :: youtube	Sigur Rós The Greek Theatre Berkeley, CA Friday, October 3rd presale begins friday at 10am! (password = naked)

Radiohead covers Portishead, debuts new song

To further cement Radiohead's standing as the best band around (aren't they the best?), they've gone ahead and covered a song from the best album released this year: "The Rip" from Portishead's Third. They soundchecked this track before a couple U.S. shows in May but never actually played it live. But loverly them, Thom Yorke and Jonny Greenwood recently recorded the song in a backstage green room, and Colin Greenwood kindly posted it on Waste Central for us Webheads. And oh, it's a strawberry ice cream sundae: The band --well, Thom Yorke on solo piano -- also debuted a new new track, which fans are dubbing "Super Collider," at the Dublin show last week. Raw footage, yum:

Spaceship Mogwai to land in San Francisco on 9/8

How's about a Scottish post-rock postlude to the summer of '08? Glasgow's most honorable pack of parka wearers Mogwai announced plans today for a summer North American tour that includes a San Francisco stop scheduled Sept. 8 at the Grand Ballroom. Last time Mogwai traversed 'round these parts was for a kickass show at the Fillmore on May 27, 2006, just a couple of days after an incendiary performance on the outdoor stage at Coachella. Kickass, incendiary - do you see a pattern here? Mogwai's sixth album, The Hawk is Howling, is also due Sept. 29 on Matador. In a recent blog on their Web site, guitarist/guy who plays a lot of instruments Barry Burns described the album as such: "It's got it all, dreamy ballads about forbidden love gone awry, one minute pointless instrumentals and even some spoken word about the future of the music industry in India. If and when you allow yourself to hear these bitching jams you're going to want to buy some seriously good crystal meth just to take the edge off." Sounds sweet to me. And preceding the album, on Sept. 9 the Batcat EP will be released, also a worthy purchase if for nothing more than track 2, titled (seriously) "Stupid Prick Gets Chased By The Police And Loses His Slut Girlfriend." Sounds like a quality batch of drugs circulates through those there Scottish highlands, boys. Incidentally, a word to the wise for Americans who want more info on the band: Don't go gettin' all intuitive and type www.mogwai.com as the supposed URL for Mogwai's Web site. That is, unless you're trying to beef up on your Himalayan cat breeding skills. (Pssst: www.mogwai.co.uk) Mogwai: "Auto Rock" Photo: www.myspace.com/mogwai

Word abuse: muzzy

I appreciate obscure words as much as the next budding linguist, ahem, but not when these words are thrown into writing at the expense of clarity. I'm sick of reading about new bands and come across some totally random word that doesn't help me discern a genre or general sound to the music. Take "muzzy" for instance. What the hell does "muzzy" mean? Is it something like "fuzzy"? Merriam-Webster's says muzzy means dull, gloomy and "lacking in clarity and precision" - kinda like its etymology: "perhaps blend of muddled and fuzzy." And peep M-W's definition for fuzzy: "lacking in clarity and definition." Ah, I see the distinction. Not. In need of counseling: "This glow, though, did not outshine the two nostalgia-tinged openers, Citay and The Botticellis, the latter soothing the scanty crowd with their swathes of muzzy organ, plucked right out of the Paisley era and placed on their debut album, Old Home Movies." "So, initially, I was pleased that Winning Days was such a digestible and dreamy ride, full of somnambulant harmonies (Amnesia), muzzy monster guitars (TV Pro) and killer hooks (She's Got Something To Say)." "The key success to the band’s genre-borrowing being that, whether in country, punk or retro mode, The Black Lips have the skills to imitate while retaining individuality, their spit-and-all performances and muzzy production always at the heart of the material." However, I did stumble upon an excellent use of muzzy: "It will take a lot of listening as the production is too muzzy, with too much guitar and not enough words coming through." It works because a context is provided. It makes a point. Point taken?

CD review: Oh My! Michael Scott Parker - Naked

Michael Scott Parker must have toddled around the house sans clothes just a bit more often than the average child. Everything about her latest album, Naked, from soul-exposing lyrics to emotive melodies, reveals a free spirit unafraid to strip for artistic expression.

Recently relocated to liberal bastion San Francisco — but seemingly risen from the sea — Parker, AKA Oh My!, proves a new goddess is in town, poised to join the female singer/songwriter elite. Vocally, Parker evokes both Tori Amos’ sultry-smooth rasp and angelic moan, as on the stark chamber ballad “Toy Piano,” and Albini-era PJ Harvey on the title track and “Mi Ute,” where she wields not much more than an electric guitar and a spitting banshee shriek.

Lyrically, Parker comes off as a bona fide muse set to plant the seed of self-expression into all of Earth’s creatures. “Let’s make crazy / it’s time to play,” she beckons enticingly on the rollicking album opener, “Let’s Make Crazy,” luring listeners to join in the fun of breaking loose from life’s cages. Overt feminism permeates other tracks, most notably on the resolute acoustic star “Natural to Me” as Parker asserts, “I’m gonna be the woman to change everyone’s mind ... I’m not sure if they’re ready for women like us.”

Parker’s renaissance tendencies — she wrote, performed, produced and designed much of Naked — mostly get the job done. But the handful of guest musicians dropping in with sax, violin or synth, among other instruments, occasionally fail to meld with the staple guitars, creating a disjointed effect. And with such fervent honesty and genre-hopping, from alt-country to folk pop to raw rock, Parker could have trouble tracking down her audience.

But listener beware: though no lions or tigers or bears pop up on Oh My!’s Naked, her charismatic wizardry can grow scary-infectious to even the most unsuspecting ears. Originally published in West Coast Performer, June 2008

CD review: The Mission Orange - Seasick

Grunge may be dead in the Pacific Northwest but it sounds like teen angst is still kicking. On The Mission Orange's debut full length, Seasick, for burgeoning Bellingham label Murder Mountain, the Mount Vernon teenage garage duo declares that the best way to battle confusion, loneliness and indecision is with explosive distortion, cathartic shouts and the volume knob cranked to 20. It’s easy to see how vocalist/guitarist Marcus Nevitt and drummer Sam Hutchens could draw devout legions of early-Nirvana fans. They construct ear-catching towers of melodious noise coated in pop hooks but cemented on a punk base. The fade-in opening title track serves up the duo’s best representative: as distant and unrelenting guitar crunches loom closer, Hutchens striking a fury of cymbals behind, Nevitt coos reassuringly, “I feel fine,” before unleashing a corrosive Cobain wail and deciding, “I can’t make up my mind.” Combining sweet melodies with sour rock dissonance yields a delectably hypnotic dichotomy. Feedback and fuzz steer much of Seasick, and though loud-fast does rule, it isn’t The Mission Orange’s only M.O. The twisted folk ballad “Sister” adopts lingering acoustic strums and Jeff Mangum harmonies, while sheer joy saturates the playground romance on “I’m a Germ, You’re a Germ” (“I saw you swinging on the swingset / swinging with your feet all covered in mud”) until its inexplicably disastrous end where Nevitt exclaims, “I’m losing my desire!” This shows a few lyrical loose ends need tying, along with occasionally repetitive riffs craving more evolution. They have the right components — ample melodic sensibility, compelling energy and an album as cohesive as it is endearing. On the closer, “Homesick,” which plays like a continuation of the opener, Nevitt bellows, “I am alone!” With records like Seasick, The Mission Orange should find plenty of friends to keep them company. Originally published in West Coast Performer, June 2008

Sorry, Weezer: I'm passing on the cookies.

So I hate the Internet sometimes. It spoils us. Spoils. We are little brats who can't wait until an album is released before dipping our fingers in and taking a sweet lick. I mean, everybody knows that chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven won't taste as good as the dough we can't help but sample before the baking process. We perpetually fuck ourselves into losing situations. That's why I'm disappointed in myself for reading music blogs so much. Earlier this week, Stereogum deemed Weezer's latest endeavor, another self-titled affair known by the signature color on its cover, "Red," all but crap -- meaning I'll most likely pass on buying a copy when it's released Tuesday. Not that Stereogum knows all. It's just that deep down, I know they're right. Weezer really hasn't put out a good, or even OK, album for a solid 10 years. Especially not the one with "Beverly Hills." But I had hopes. Their newest single, "Pork and Beans," a bratty ("I'm 'a do the things that I want to / I ain't got a thing to prove to you"), pop rock three minute opus, hearkens back to the good old Blue days; like sugary salmonella-threatened cookie dough; my favorite new car jam. I even threw down 99 cents on iTunes. I'll still give the album a shot -- in free, online doses, though. My $12 is now reserved for the new Wolf Parade. Their cookies taste even better fully cooked.

Show preview: White Rabbits @ Bottom of the Hill, 5/27/08

This is Jeopardy. Shall we? Category: Rock music bands who will play in San Francisco tonight Answer: Adam, Alex, Gregory, Jamie, Matt and Stephen Question: Who are six guys with quite ordinary names that compose an extraordinary Brooklyn-based gang of indie rockers called White Rabbits? Correct. Contestant #2 takes the lead with $3,200. White Rabbits, who released an overlooked diamond in the rock rough with last year's Fort Nightly, play your typical indie rock songs, but with a twist -- the sweet melodies won't make you barf. That's because they throw in a pinch of Vampire Weekend tropical percussion, a heap of Man Man's maniacal piano tinkerings (and engaging madmen singalongs) and top it off with a sprinkle of Jeff Buckley's haunted honeysuckle croon for an end concoction that's as dark as it is addictive. Yum. So check them out tonight at Bottom of The Hill. Get smitten. And save your Alice in Wonderland jokes for the ride home. White Rabbits w/ Miles Benjamin Anthony Robinson, Company Car. Bottom of the Hill. 9 p.m. $12. White Rabbits "Kid On My Shoulders" Photo by Lucy Hamblin/WhiteRabbits.com

Word abuse: fitting

Oh, how everything in music is just so "fitting."

Music writers worship at the altar of this adjective as if throwing it in will push reviews full circle and illustrate an artist's achievement of "completion in sound."

It's a nice wrap-up word, sure, and has become a glorified synonym for "appropriate" or "good," so at least you know where a writer is coming from. But it also heaps more credit onto bands when it's not necessarily due - as if the already inflated egos of rock music wankers need any more stroking. "Ho, wow, golly gee - this band has sure figured out the perfect way to round out its sound! They really know what fits."

Honestly, though: "Fitting" is overused and abused to the point of ceasing to mean anything.

Perennial black eyes:

"Abbey Road was a fitting swan song for the group ..."

"Blue Lambency Downwards makes for a fitting and absorbing soundtrack ..."

"Manges' buzzsaw rock is a fitting match for the catchy music of the Queers."

"It's fitting that the Kid Rock revival got started when the Beastie Boys featured him in their Grand Royal magazine ..."

"Each song is fitting and substantial, wetting the musical appetite, winning over listeners with its notorious jam-band flavors."

"Ending with 'Look at Me Mom,' this is a fitting close to this spectacular collage of original rock music worthy of national release."

Sorry to break it to you, pop judges: Fitting "fitting" into your music evaluations fails in its intended grandiosity. Because really, isn't everything fitting? Time for a new addition to your language wardrobe.

Treasure Island Music Festival! Sept. 20-21

Nevermind Tegan and Sara. TV On The Radio, Spiritualized, Vampire Weekend, The Raconteurs, Aesop Rock, Justice, The Dodos ... ice cream ... This. Cannot. Be. Missed.

Get smitten: Someone Still Loves You, Boris Yeltsin

Before you read the name of the next indie-pop sensations Someone Still Loves You, Boris Yeltsin, hop aboard the Joseph McCarthy ignoramus bus and deem them pinkos, take a listen and you'll quickly discover that the Springfield, Mo., quartet make up a quintessentially American, guys-from-next-door sorta group; the kind of band that could compose the perfect soundtrack to John Cusack films circa '86; that could introduce each and every song with "This is a song about love"; that shops for collars and khakis at Aberzombie and Fitch. Not too many indie-pop acts can claim victory in the battle of bland, but SSLYBY manage to overcome sugary sweet dullness with solid, irresistibly bouncy melodies and -- really -- massive testicular gravitas in an engagingly rocking live set. Think The Shins and Vampire Weekend. For all their sonic magnetism, I've got a non-musical quibble. Dudes: How about a shorter band name? Even SSLYBY ties the tongue. Oh well. Check out "Oregon Girl":

Word abuse: set the tone

Set the tone. Let's file this loopy language loser with the Department of Redundancy. Riddle me this: When does the first track on a CD not "set the tone" for the rest of the album? I mean, unless it's a compilation of different artists, of course the first song will "set the tone" and sound like the fifth track, and the eighth, and the ninth and the closer. The same band wrote and played all of the songs. Domestic violence: "The first track on Brenda Xu's new EP, 'Count To Ten' not only sets an interesting tone for the disc but also ..." "In the opening tracks, 'April Loved John' sets the tone with simple rootsy melodies while 'Fiasco,' a toe-tapping ..." "Album opener 'Bells And Whistles' sets the tone for the whole album" "The first track on the album, 'Angry,' is a solid one, and helps set the tone and tie the rest of the nine songs together." "Whoever made the choice to use this as the opening song on the album made an excellent decision, cause not only does it set the tone for the album but it ..." No shite, Sherlocke. Then again, maybe it's just a kind way to suggest that a band follows a formula.

Listen to your brain's jukebox

Usually when annoying songs insist on getting stuck in our heads it's because we've heard them recently. Maybe the song was just playing on the radio, in a TV commercial, in a department store. Fridge buzz in your ear, blech, whatever. But if you haven't heard a song recently, don't particularly care for it, have no good reason to justify it running through your head repeatedly, maybe it's in there for another reason. A subconscious thought crasher. An inner psychological/spiritual guide manifested in the form of a crappy pop tune. This has been my reality for the past few weeks. My archenemy in song, "Stop!" by more-enthused-than-you-can-possibly-fathom punk band Against Me!, has invaded my brain's song cycle repeatedly, randomly, prompted by seemingly nothing. My precious little neurons sing one particular passage to each other, over and over, loud: "Stop/ take some time to think/ figure out what's important to you/ you've got to make a serious decision" Could this song I despise be trying to tell me something? Against Me! "Stop!"

Metallica and Sigur Ros want to know: Are you in?

How the hell did music fans ever manage to contain their excitement for a band's impending album release before the Interweb came around? I mean, these days only music purebloods and the Amish wait for an official release date before snacking on appetizers of the record - album title, track names, cover art, single, other snippets, or drip drip drip, a leaked main course. All surface as music blog "news" long beforehand - really, before the band even makes its decisions. (Seriously though - do people actually get worked up over the "news" of an album title unveiling? Time for a new hobby.) For some, it's like wanting to learn the sex of your baby so that you'll know to buy the powder pink footsie outfit instead of the periwinkle blue one. This week two bands on disparate ends of the rock spectrum and world geographical landscape launched respective, and in some cases, respectable online efforts to generate enthusiasm for their upcoming albums. There's the Metallica sneak peak. Geez, it's a good thing these guys aren't desperate for attention. Maybe next time their album preview site will be a bit flashier. Iceland's Sigur Ros also posted studio footage, album art ruminations and portions of songs in short-video blips, a reminder, really that Sigur Ros is an ensemble that begs to be heard in its entirety. In a good way. Guess their intended result has been realized, sneaky Icelanders, them. (Relatedly, they'll be touring soon too. But unless you're trekking to Europe or Mexico, better hope your residence lies in a locale beginning with the letter "Omaha" and ending in "Nebraska," or somewhere East of thar.) Truth told, maybe Web sites are the new single. Unless, that is, you're Nine Inch Nails, and roll out of bed one day and decide. "Hey. I've got a new album. I think I'll put it out right now. For free."

CD review: Raised by Robots - "The Auctioneer"

Reputedly composed of two landscape architects and a chemical engineer, San Francisco trio Raised by Robots shares its discovery of the ultimate in after-work creativity on the kitchen sink debut The Auctioneer. The album at first falls prey to a diagnosis of multiple personality disorder, but further listening reveals a rather fun fusion of genres. Verses may start out in the key of rock, but that’s only before choruses groove into rap, stage dive onto punk and slow dance with soul. The bass-guitar-drums instrumentation remains impermeable throughout the shifting styles and numerous time changes of the album’s 12 high-energy songs, sometimes weaving a hip-hop beat into a surf guitar riff (“The Graveyard Shift”), other times allowing a grave punk intro to spark a catchy indie pop melody (“Cynicism”). Singer/guitarist Cameron Spies, who often employs talky double-tracked vocals, isn’t afraid to get gutsy behind the mic. He adopts both a Justin Timberlake falsetto and Dose One mile-a-minute rap within the span of “A Corporeal Complex.” However, such a compelling vocal presence paired with hyperactive, attention-grabbing music often leaves Spies’ lyrics lost in the shuffle. Album standouts include “6ircles,” which seduces with equal parts Red Hot Chili Peppers funk ballad and TV on the Radio soul song, the subtle “White Eyelids” whose urgent breakdowns and Isaac Brock staccato shouts enter Modest Mouse territory, and the contemplative “There Is Always Something Better,” which offers a sparseness that finishes the record on an epic note. While too many ingredients may initially detract listeners looking to taste a more cohesive recipe, The Auctioneer’s unique and infectious spirit makes Raised by Robots’ prognosis look good. (Self-released) Published in West Coast Performer, May 2008

Word abuse: darlings

Oh, it's just so *cute* when individuals devote countless hours to learn musical instruments; track down others to collaborate as a multifaceted ensemble; practice day after day to compose recordings that don't sound like garbage; spill heart and blood and tears and soul and guts and sweat into songs, which will then be subject to judgment by hack arbiters embittered that they themselves can't play.

Guess that's why music writers love to call good bands "darlings" so much. Because art and self expression are just so damn adorable!

31 flavors and then some - just about every style of music has its darling:

"Indie darlings Signal Hill Transmission have crafted a fine-tuned ..."

"Folk-rock darlings the Indigo Girls are back to celebrate their ..."

"Country music darlings Carrie Underwood, Kellie Pickler and Taylor Swift cheer on the Nashville Predators as they ..."

"Hip-hop darlings Hilltop Hoods played the event last year and ..."

"The latest from Finland's current black metal darlings does not disappoint ..."

Don't you just wanna pinch some cheeks?

Autolux other/other/rock

Autolux has had a new addition to the family for about a week now. So don't be a dick - go welcome baby "Audience No. 2" on their MySpace page. Rinse and repeat.

Sorta CD review: Nine Inch Nails "The Slip"

Hardy har, "Nine Inch Nails give fans The Slip." Oh, what a field day Monday was for news editors, what with that irresistible kneeslapper of a headline to announce NIN's latest full-length offering was made available as a free download. Yes, we all know Trent Reznor gives. And he gives again. The guy's a giver, a sower. And us fans taketh away. Let the reaping begin. Despite Reznor's recently prolific output (and before you get the wrong idea), Reznor didn't raid the shitpile for The Slip. These aren't throwaway tracks hastily slapped together to garner press preceding the upcoming NIN tour. Though on first listen - blaring from shitty computer speakers as I got distracted by other fun things - I didn't think too highly of the album's 10 tracks. Same old industrial rock lite talking about depressing things like isolation, numbness and feeling really pissed off. Created quite the cacophony with the fridge buzz, though. But during a later-night rendezvous, I can now say I get it. Sitting in near-dark the second time 'round listening through earbuds, I discovered The Slip is a headphones album. (Or maybe this discovery simply speaks to the poor quality of my sound system. Accepting donations now.) With Trent & Co. piping directly into my eardrums and the fuzzy fusion of sounds coming through all the more clearer (seriously - a crying baby AND an angry cat's meow on "Corona Radiata"), I decided that these are more of the same old NIN songs, but fuck it - they're still anthems. And there's no argument that holds water against an anthem, kids. General impressions and standouts: adore the drum and bass intensity lurking behind breakneck "Letting You"; the main fuzzy riff of "Discipline" totally sounds like a slowed-down "The Hand That Feeds"; "Head Down" transcends all that cold machine crackle with a blissful chorus and dreamy synth. And let me announce my favorite, the hot and heavy makeout anthem of '08 for goths, vampires and other lovers of the dark: the slithery stealth groove of instrumental "The Four of Us Are Dying." Mwah. Nine Inch Nails – The Four of Us are Dying Nine Inch Nails – Head Down

Tightwads,Tom Waits fans: Rejoice!

I'm hardly into bluegrass, but strictly into cheap live musical festivities. So in the spirit of artistic exploration and honoring events that don't trick you into purchasing $225 three-day passes (that you don't really want) or try to scam you with greedy fuckwit service-charges, I'll put up with thousands of blubbery middle-aged asses shaking (completely out of rhythm to the music, of course) for this year's Hardly Strictly Bluegrass festival Oct. 3-5 in Golden Gate Park. Kiss me, free festival, you. Gogol Bordello, Bonnie Prince Billy and Robert Plant, not in his Zep costume but with Alison Krauss and T-Bone Burnett (Autolux producer), among others, are mighty worth a trek to the park. Just as Tom Waits, who announced his "Glitter and Doom" summer tour this morning in a Sebastopol press conference, is worth an 11-hour drive to Phoenix on June 17. Doubt Waits' capacity to lure out-of-state rock revelers to McWar, ahem, McCain territory? Check out exhibit A, highlights from today's press conference:

CD review: Years Around The Sun "Inva De Siva"

One test of a good song is whether it can be stripped bare and still succeed in its naked simplicity. Though San Diego four-piece Years Around The Sun coats its full-length debut, Inva De Siva, in multiple harmonic layers, the band also demonstrates a knack for crafting an infectious melody — 13 times over — while using minimalist instrumentation.

Boasting an amiable alternative sound similar to Pinback, dual vocalists Ronnie Dudek (guitar) and Dylan Raasch (bass) lay the groundwork for breezy pop jingles like “Roundabout,” lively rockers like “Failing at Art” and cosmic ballads like “The Empyrean Trail,” which is constructed of heartbeat percussion and a dissonant piano line that conjures ‘90s space rockers Failure in its spooky otherworldliness.

With much of the album driven by vocals, the nothing-flashy arrangements — somewhat mechanical bass, guitar, keyboard and percussion — suffer at times in the passive backseat. For example, “Soft Light Serenade” and “The Ghost” employ a robotic structure suggestive of a keyboard demo button.

Yet the band overcomes the moments lacking in instrumental grit with prize songwriting, most obviously on standout “Beyond The Waves,” where the singers meld into a yin yang contrast spotlighting the turbulence of life changes. The melancholy nostalgia of its verses hints at a ship lost at sea, leading into a lighthouse of a soaring chorus: “Oh in the night comes the rain / and I’m the one left spinning out / The lights will lead beyond the waves / as our heart-shaped ships set out / And some will break / but I’ll refrain / ‘Cause I believe we’ll make it back...” The persistent optimism permeating the lyrics complements Years Around The Sun’s aptitude for memorable songs that linger long after Inva De Siva ends. (Manaloft Records)

Published in West Coast Performer, May 2008

Word abuse: runs the gamut

British guy #1: "Say old chap, how's about another round of word doo doo?"

British guy #2: "Oi matey, let's have a go!"

British guy #1: "'Cheerio. 'Runs the gamut' is an evil cliche habitually molested by Yankee music journalists to suggest the range of genres a band infuses into its sound. It's a rather tired, awkward turn of phrase that should have been Rippered by Jack by now - but it inexplicably thrives, even in otherwise respectable publications.

It's hard to avert your eyes from this bloodbath:"

"The Oakland group’s debut EP runs the gamut from upbeat, danceable pop-rock (think new Brit rock/pop invasion without the attitude) to catchy punk (like a slightly softer version of The Vandals or Bad Religion) to languid, lamenting rock."

"Hardly old timey, but not jarringly revisionist, 'Sodajerk 2' runs the gamut of country hybrids"

"The range of influences among the five members of the band runs the gamut from classic rock to modern rock and even country."

"Here Oxbow’s versatility is the most prominent, as the song runs the gamut with stunning string arrangements, punctuated gauntlets and even bittersweet dreamscapes."

"The programming runs the gamut from big-name crowd-pleasers touring the European summer jazz festival circuit to concerts by artists whose only appearances on the continent are in Perugia."

British guy #2: "Hmmm. It is rather messy, i'nt it? Don't all artists 'run the gamut' of something or another? I mean, the phrase essentially points out that musicians really shouldn't be pigeonholed into particular genres because creativity and inspiration cannot be limited by categories."

British guy#1: "Word to your mother."

British guy #2: "And besides - have you ever actually heard someone drop 'runs the gamut' into an ordinary conversation? The death of this cliche is elementary, now isn't it my dear Watson?"

Get smitten: The Dodos

The two glist'nin guys and pints of sweat pouring from the stage should tell you something without having to hear a lick or beat: San Francisco's The Dodos are one of the hardest working - and most compelling - live acts around. I caught these guys opening for post-punk prom kings Les Savy Fav at the Great American Music Hall the other night and discovered why I keep seeing their name sprinkled among cognoscente indie music blog topics du jour. It's a symbiosis made in heaven: fanciful vocalist/acoustic-electric hard strummer/looper extraordinaire Meric Long and relentless drummer/mustache master Logan Kroeber. Their sound is hard to classify, but imagine a fairy tale folk pop hard rock mashup. The Dodos' hypnotizing, utterly rocking intensity is mighty worthy of bearing witness, even for those who wouldn't normally profess to liking bands that lay on the top hipster lists. Bay Area heads can check 'em out for free May 14 at Amoeba in San Francisco. In the meantime, watch The Dodos' live "Jodi":

Scarlett Johansson: Keep your day job.

Nothing against Ms. Johansson - she's an OK actress; unarguably pleasant to look at; and mighty ambitious (not to mention displaying extremely good taste) with her stab at the untouchable Tom Waits canon for her debut album. But homegirl's voice comes off like a flat, femme-bot Sinead O'Connor. I'll say no more and let you judge her first single, "Falling Down," for yourself:

Show review: Les Savy Fav @ Great American Music Hall 4/27/08

Here's a tip for the two wannabe Democratic presidential candidates looking to swing the voter pendulum back in their directions: To win over the masses at your next campaign stops, remove the political sticks up your asses and follow the lead of Les Savy Fav singer Tim Harrington. Step 1: Arrive onstage decked out in the attire and speech tendencies characteristic of the city you're in to create instantaneous relatabiliy, and never break character. For Les Savy Fav's headlining spot Sunday at the Great American Music Hall, Harrington waltzed onstage sporting a tie-dyed tee (so positively Haight Street) about 5 inches too short from concealing his well honed beer gut. He'd proceed to flit his '60s-era tan suede fringe jacket over the heads of the front row, beckoning the audience to "come out the other side" in a feigned stoner stupor. Harrington carried on the drugged-out, San Francisco hippie circa '67 act the entire show, to the point of searching the floor of the crowd for a "missing dime bag." Needless to say, but here I am saying it, the guy made everyone laugh. What's that saying again? Laughter is the best policy? The way to an audience's heart is through their funny bone? For reals, though - be the good humor man (or woman) and win over the masses. Step 2: True democratic tactics require stepping beyond the podium and into the crowd itself. By the third song, Harrington lugged his microphone and portly body (think a fatter, balder and beardier version of comedian Zach Galifianakis) into the audience, shouting into the faces of his rabid horde of post-punk disciples and inciting them to bark back. Through the set he'd navigate all the way to the rear of the venue and then fight his way back onstage, only to jump off again to locate a small table and drag it into the heart of the crowd, where he hopped up to finish a song. Imagine Harrington, the sun, with hundreds of sweaty planets merrily succumbing to his gravitational pull. Now was Harrington gunning for a democracy, or a socialist state of live performance? He'd share his beer with the hair adorning the front row, his spit-water with the first five rows, his snot rockets with the stage. And his antics came full circle during the final song when, almost stripped bare in a black, skintight bodysuit with a hint of lime green underoos peeking through, he crawled into the crowd, lay down to be cradled in the laps of two fans and called upon the entire audience to follow suit in a bit of Sunday rest. Before you knew right from left and up from down, scores of flannel-shirt- and wife-beater-clad worshipers fell onto their knees and asses around Harrington, a rock 'n' roll sit-in for the modern age. Step 3: Hey hey. My my. Rock 'n' roll will ... get people EXCITED. Now you, Mr. and Ms. Politician, should attempt this by rousing crowds with viable strategies to jerk this country out of its shithole. Not being familiar with much of Les Savy Fav's songs before this show, I expected a hard-edged post-punk sound, e.g. Sonic Youth-ish, driven by the band's two guitarists, but surprise surprise, they were even punkier than that. Hardcore stringbean (too skinny to be beefcakes) boy-people quickly shoved their way up front at the beginning of the set (fuck you, guy who elbowed me in the collarbone) and screamed along devotedly throughout. Les Savy Fav's got groove, too, danceable indie stuff. Step 4: If all else fails and winning the presidency is but a distant dream, have a backup plan. When touring the world with a critically-acclaimed rock band isn't enough, keep your day job: Harrington still works as a graphic designer for VH1. I wonder if he dons the black mugger's ski mask he wore onstage in his corporate office, too.' Les Savy Fav "The Sweat Descends" live from McCarren Park Pool, Brooklyn, NY, July '06:

Word abuse: spare

All aboard! Time for another whirl on the music cliche train.

Our next stop will be "spare," often paired with "arrangement," a coupling ordinarily used in folk and punk writeups to describe a minimalist approach to instrumentation.

In Medieval Latin, the following examples would be referred to as vocabularius vomitus:

"The group built their sound by combining harmony, spare arrangements."

"Most of his inspirations dwell in the '70s, favoring spare arrangements and elegant string flourishes."

"But those descriptions imply that The Coroner's Gambit is pleasant singer/songwriter craft-- all spare arrangements and lilting whims."

"And the spare arrangements, most of which feature Mishka's acoustic guitar, have a nicely evocative downhome feel to them."

"Anyway, the cooing chorus and spare arrangement leave you feeling content."

Ooh, how those spare arrangements get to me! They leave me feeling just ... so ... content.

If only I could say the same for spare vocabularies.

Ladies and gentleman of the Bay Area, please make your final selection

San Francisco will become a veritable Bermuda Triangle for live *good* rock music tonight, for reals though - check out this list of headliners: Caribou @ The Independent Death Cab For Cutie @ The Fillmore Enablers @ Hemlock Tavern Man Man @ Great American Music Hall Midnight Juggernauts @ Mezzanine (free!) The Raconteurs @ Bimbo's The Verve @ The Warfield And if you were slackin' when tickets went on sale and can't score one on Craigslist or outside the venue, there's always the Tee Vee: Radiohead will perform "House of Cards" on Conan, sorta live (beaming from the U.K.).

Rant: Why rock radio makes me want to eject the contents of my stomach out of my mouth

OK. So this complaint may be akin to kicking the crap heap when it's already down - and I'm talkin' reeking gutter garbage, completely unredeemable, olestra-induced anal leakage trash. But during an innocent attempt to pinpoint a soundtrack for a run-of-the-mill car-parking exercise tonight, I stumbled upon 107.7 "The Bone," which was in the midst of airing, for all classic rock-loving Bay Area ears, "Crazy Bitch" by L.A. glam rockers Buckcherry. Hellooo, nausea. Now it's not that Buckcherry's music is necessarily unbearable. Sure, their songwriting shows all the complexity of a mascara wand, but it's to be expected. But what, pray tell, is up with these appalling, inbred, misogynistic lyrics, and rock radio's wholehearted embracement? Sample: "Hey!/ You're a crazy bitch/ But you fuck so good I'm on top of it ... Baby girl/ You want it all/ To be a star you'll have to go down/ Take it off/ No need to talk/ You're crazy but I like the way you fuck me! ... You jump in bed with fame/ Another one night paid in full/ You're so fine/ It won't be a loss/ Cashing in the rocks/ Just to get you face to face." Blech. Yeah, Buckcherry are good ole boys who must revel in all the groupie sex their dicks can withstand, seeing as how their later years (coming soon!) won't be clouded with memories of critical acclaim, winning awards or having created music featuring the slightest sapling of creativity. And way yeah, corporate radio does still suck. But the song's message should make all people, not just women, vomit. To be "stars," ladies, apparently entails getting on our knees. Oh, what crazy bitches we are! How could I resist the allure of fucking a rock star who treats me like a prostitute? Now, I'd never advocate censorship, but do people actually enjoy singing along to this primitive babble, and is it popular enough to merit radio airplay? Keep in mind, this song isn't some flashback to '80s hair metal - it was released in 2006!?! Actually, maybe ignorance is bliss and inquiring minds don't really want to know.

Man Man Man Man Man Man Man Man ... Man Man Man!

Surprise surprise Man Man In-store performance Man Man Amoeba San Francisco Man Man Tuesday, 6 p.m. Man Man Free? Free!

Owwwooooooh! It's Wolf Parade

I adore Sunset Rubdown and all, but happy happy joy joy, break out the cigars: Wolf Parade's set to rejoin the music-making world with the birth of their new baby. Due June 17, it's a Gemini - you know - whimsical, creative, spontaneous ... The gossip mill, or rather, the Web site of their record label Sub Pop, reports their second album features nine tracks (which seems rather short, doesn't it?), but apparently one runs for an epic 11 minutes. Sounds like they're really stretching out their sound, huh? And for more ooh-ness, earlier this week the guys dropped a sample - "Call It A Ritual," all Spencer Krug vocal perversity and demented keyboard coolness. Yum: [On a side note, let me just say BULLSHIT to PitchforkMedia for deeming the tentative title of the album, Kissing The Beehive, as "terrible." Fuck off, bitter music writer, you. The claim has no legs. Your face is terrible.]