At this late date, Dylan still mystifies, mesmerizes and galvanizes; besides this official boot, volume seven for those counting, there’s the ’62 Gaslight disc being served at Starbucks, venti-style, and two Brit-mag tribs, too, with Westerberg and Oberst and two dozen more blowin’ ballads of the thin man into the…
Takk… , the title of Sigur Rós’ new album, means “thanks” in Icelandic. Perhaps it signifies gratitude to fans for not falling asleep over the course of their last two LPs. See, the band’s impressive discography has been high on melancholy and talent but short on range. On Takk, things…
Back in 1982, when I first heard Run-DMC, I thought it was a joke. Really, two guys yelling over a beat box? And what exactly was this kind of music? When I heard their eponymous debut, I thought these guys were just fucking around, yelling about name-brand tennis shoes and…
Rodney Crowell has long been country music’s answer to Paul McCartney. He may have been raised in blue collar Houston honky-tonks, but beneath his twangy exterior beats the heart of a pub rocker. Unlike McCartney, however, Crowell is doing some of his best work in the latter part of his…
Hungry for a hot, stinking pile of emotionally stunted butt-rock, but tired of waiting for Puddle of Mudd’s next album? Then local rockers Deaf Pedestrians have just the CD for you. The Dallas five-piece prove on their self-titled debut that all the shine in the world can’t improve a piece…
Over the course of four LPs and one kick-ass live album, Joe Pernice and his rock and roll brothers have produced some of the finest power-pop ever made. One of rock’s most literate tunesmiths, Pernice has honed his craft for over a decade now, first with his dour countrypolitan outfit…
Keith Sweat’s eponymous 1996 release pulled naïve radio listeners’ heads out of the sand and straight into new jack. Simple, sexy beats and Sweat’s trademark nasal whine slow-jammed all over his fifth album, making R&B fans wonder, “Bobby Brown who?” Urban terms like “shorty” dropped into common usage and cassette…
Throughout the ’90s, there was this touring calamity known as Crash Worship–a big drum circle with smeared blood, topless women and usually police, unless their shows happened in the woods, as they often did. Well, you might call Sunburned Hand of the Man the new Crash Worship. Their live spectacles…
When in doubt, plunder the Stooges. On their quality new release, The Curious City, this Pittsburgh trio throws in some not-so-subtle nods to Nirvana and a few goofy, antiquated bleeps from a Moog, but it’s ultimately at the altar of Fun House-era Iggy Pop where they worship. Lead man Phil…
Interpol fans, take note: The modish band’s sophomore LP, Antics, came out almost a year ago, and with that much time, it’s likely the New Yorkers will use their Friday night show to test-drive some new songs. If frontman Paul Banks is still taking the meds that made him go…
Between songs, Mara Lee Miller receives a signal from the man behind the boards at Sons of Hermann Hall. Her band, Bosque Brown, only has time for one more song, he says. At this point, Miller lowers her wide-eyed look at the crowd, turns to her band members and whispers…
Many artists claim to have been the soundtrack of the ’80s; Kenny Loggins really was. In my Strawberry Shortcake-inspired bedroom of 1984, “Footloose” helped me burn a hole in the center of my bright red rug. I was prone to dancing alone, and with gusto, and the title song from…
Last Tuesday, Bavu Blakes was just another hometown rapper trying to make it. Granted, the North Garland High School graduate wasn’t doing shabbily; he’d built a sizable following in his current home of Austin, recorded with hot Houston artists like Paul Wall and supported the Dallas scene on compilations like…
Center of attention: Congratulations are in order for local maestro of the ones and twos, DJ Nemesis (Cesar Orosco), who competes in the finals for Guitar Center’s Spin Off ’05 contest in L.A. on Saturday, September 10. After winning DJ battle contests at his local Guitar Center, then the district…
“Wake up, Mr. West!” That command, shouted by Bernie Mac at the outset of Late Registration, is fitting–this album is an awakening. Rawer than College Dropout, Kanye West’s sophomore release puts his rhymes on center stage and further develops his identity as a socially aware rapper. Sure, he’s the still…
After years of piling druggy, blues-fuzz riffs atop an updated model of the Jesus & Mary Spacemen 3 Motorcycle Club, the Warlocks have finally gotten down to business on Surgery and made the album they’ve always been capable of. The tunes have caught up with the songs; on “It’s Just…
Howl was clearly no easy ride for Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. The Los Angeles trio’s third album’s lyrics address depression, failed relationships, war and, most noticeably, spirituality. The somber tone is likely a result of BRMC’s recent struggles, including a drop from their former major label Virgin and infighting that…
Voxtrot singer Ramesh Srivastava has something of a reputation for hopping around in a spastic dance during his band’s live shows, and you can’t really blame the guy. His band specializes in super-catchy retro pop that channels the melodies of the Smiths and Joy Division into upbeat, swinging indie rock…
Why is Merle always third in the list? When people talk about country legends, it’s always Johnny Cash, then Willie Nelson, then Merle Haggard. Hell, his body of work is just as impressive in historical scope and musical significance; his sly and wise hobo persona has never overshadowed ballads as…
If apocalypse rock became a movement after Godspeed You Black Emperor!, L.A.’s Red Sparowes are definitely the next generation, surfing on boatloads of atmospheric dread and bombastic, foreboding riffs on their debut record, At the Soundless Dawn. But when these guys talk about apocalypse rock, they really mean it. “The…
If a club show could be likened to a sandwich, The Valentines’ Saturday night set was like a slice of off-brand bologna between two pieces of bland white bread: familiar, kinda satisfying but nothing special. The night started with a generic country-rock band fronted by former Polyphonic Spree French horn…
“We’re from Denton fucking Texas!” Skin Trade lead singer Mike Melendi shouted between songs. “Not Dallas!” In a way, this shout was a call to arms for the Denton showcase, making sure everyone in attendance knew that the best Dallas concert of the week was courtesy of little D and,…
