The best song on The Chemistry Set’s full-length debut is a lacerating little number called “Lee Minor 7.” It’s a creepy, somewhat inscrutable story about dropping bombs and shooting guns, full of snare and syncopated piano and vocalist/guitarist Stephen Duncan’s telephone-muffled voice reaching through all that to announce: “This is…
So I get this tip about a part grind-core, part balls-out noise show at Rito’s Restaurant (“The Family Place”). Apparently, after the restaurant closes, Rito’s son Jesus plays host in the back room to bands from Dallas, suburbs and all over the country. It’s primarily an underage crowd, but not…
So I’m having breakfast at the Gold Rush Café when, totally unsolicited, a fellow diner approaches my table with a copy of Jolie Holland’s Escondida. “You have to hear this album,” he says. “This woman has one of the most amazing voices I have ever heard.” He wasn’t kidding. Holland,…
It’s an indie-rocker fantasy come true: Sebadoh’s Lou Barlow and Jason Loewenstein reunite for the first tour since they promoted 1999’s The Sebadoh. The only thing that could ice this cake would be if there were a new Sebadoh album in the works. But it’s the second best thing: a…
Julia Fordham’s slight stature doesn’t prepare you for what happens when she opens her mouth. Her husky alto is at once unexpected and beguiling. It’s this unique voice that’s drawn storied producers and musicians to the British expatriate’s side throughout her career. Hugh Padgham (Phil Collins, Sting, Paul McCartney) produced…
“Accessible” is the worst curse someone could give a band like Xiu Xiu, which revels in its experimentation and just plain weirdness like songwriter Jamie Stewart’s lyrics revel in every type of sadness and longing, from unexpected love to redemptive suicide to sexual abuse. So, instead let’s say the band’s…
Long drives in Texas demand a certain soundtrack. Hills, prairies and farms are the stuff of country songs, but the kolaches, watchtowers and Wendy’s along the way reflect a small-city life that hokey banjos and good ol’ songs ignore. It’s country, but it’s more than country, and Li’l Cap’n Travis’…
Each of these three Latin dance bands is worth seeing on its own; that they’ve joined forces is no doubt evidence of our shitty economy, but whatever–it’s your gain. L.A.’s Ozomatli adds lots of Middle Eastern flavor to their funky fusion on the new Street Signs, making sure to piss…
My only real complaint with the new school of young neoconservative crooners is that they’re so damn conservative in their choice of repertoire. That 23-year-old Josh Groban–the curly-haired straight guy to Michael Bublé’s pompadoured wiseacre–can sing is beyond question, and in all the morning-show radio interviews I’ve heard him do…
When Robert Smith commissioned his nieces and nephews to scribble the artwork for the Cure’s new self-titled album, he had three simple requests for them: Draw a good dream, draw a bad dream and make sure to include the words “the Cure.” The results resemble the scrawled refrigerator art parents…
It was hot that afternoon. Combust-into-flames hot. And yet the kids came anyway–in their black concert T-shirts and wide-mouthed black jeans. Shame the color of rawk isn’t a cool lime or a crisp summer white. Shame to see all those fat dudes a shade shy of heatstroke. Some in the…
Last Thursday, after a bout of touring, Polyphonic Spree percussionist Brian Teasley flew from Dallas to his home in Birmingham, Alabama, stopped at a Taco Bell for dinner and arrived at his house to find the FBI waiting for him. “Are you Brian Teasley?” the man asked. Why yes, he…
In last week’s Across the Bar, we reported on the July 25 incident at the Gypsy Tea Room that left a divorced father of three paralyzed from the waist down. Although the suspect has not yet been caught by police, several readers e-mailed to ask what they could do for…
All of Damon Gough’s albums lack focus, indulging his fondness for his kaleidoscopic record collection until they become high-concept mix tapes, connected by singer but not sound. They are all, also, at least two or three songs too long. And guess what? Those two so-called flaws are exactly what makes…
The most difficult situation described on Lisa Loeb’s onerously titled album is a toss-up between getting rear-ended (“Try”) and being romantically spurned by a fellow 5-year-old (“Now I Understand”). But then how could Loeb, who grew up comfortably in the suburbs of Dallas and who 10 years ago had a…
Actor/writer/director Zach Braff’s Garden State is the cinematic equivalent of good emo. In the film his characters don’t do much but talk about their feelings, yet their interactions can uncover tremendous reserves of emotion. In putting together his movie’s soundtrack, Braff didn’t go looking for good emo; this is probably…
As mopey-geeky-acoustic-guitar-strummy duos go, Kings of Convenience sound like they could conjure a freezing drizzle on an August afternoon. The second record from Norwegians Erlend ye and Eirik Glambek BØe, who proclaimed Quiet Is the New Loud on their 2001 debut, sounds like it looks from the CD’s cover, upon…
“How many of you got the fever?” The Falkon’s Mwanza Dover asks, perched on the edge of the stage in the Gypsy Tea Room’s small showroom. “If you don’t got it, you’re about to,” he says, launching into “Sui-Can” (aka “Got the Fevuh”). Dover does have the fever, and he’s…
So would it be wrong to offer Stiff Little Fingers front man Jake Burns a tumbler full of whiskey and razor blades upon arrival at Trees? No harm intended–it’s just that Burns’ voice has lost some of its scratchy charm since the gutters-to-gold days of 1977, and anyone Gen-X or…
One of the so-called curiosities of the Curiosa Festival may be Muse. The British trio aren’t magazine darlings like Interpol or critical darlings like The Cooper Temple Clause. At least, not in America. In Europe, Muse sells out arenas, headlining all the British festivals and having every hairstyle change covered…
The following is an honest-to-God transcript of a teleconference that took place between regional journalists and superstar Usher Raymond on Wednesday, July 28. It has been edited for space, and questions have changed order, but it is otherwise untouched. Operator: Thank you for joining us today for the Teleprint conference…
Bottom line: Judas Priest forged, in iron and molten steel, the very foundation of heavy metal. The stoned-out, low-end pummeling of Black Sabbath seems a distant cousin to Priest’s screeching-eagle sound. And this week at Ozzfest, you’ll find out which style aged better. Bet on Rob Halford. Unlike their neo-Satanic…
