As the lowly Astros come to GABP this week, it looks to be an exciting weekend for Reds fans. For me the question has never been if I'm on the bandwagon or not when this team gets streaky. I'm always on that bus. In 2010 though, I feel much more emotionally invested in this team, because they are winning in ways I haven't seen in many many years. A prime example is tonight's series opener. Under "normal" circumstances Reds fans would be hesitant to get worked up about Same Lecure coming up in relief of Homer Bailey. Most seasons we would be a bit worried at such a development. Today though, my optimism that Lecure will pitch a stellar first major league game is peaking, even though it's not Aroldis Chapman or Travis Wood or Matt Maloney.
So who is Sam Lecure? I'll let the fine folks over at Redleg Nation do a proper introduction. Expect a full report of Sunday's game (I'm going) sometime Monday. Enjoy your weekend. I LIKE WINNING.
Sub. Ref. box seats
Go Here. This is where you'll find Diplo and Switch propelling the career of yet another eclectic siren. This time it's La Roux, one whom I haven't spent much time with besides the singles, but can admit to being intrigued by the prospect of those cold minimal electropop sides. I haven't spent all that much time with this mixtape either, but can admit that it's not as blown-out and full of fireworks like the Santigold mix from last year. I think that might stem from the fact that La Roux is a bit more chill, glossy, and by adding the sunshine and sensi smoke of Major Lazer's certified hits, a little Drake, a little Blank, this one will succeed to rule the impending summer. Remember, it's the Endless Summer.
Ever since heading over to Springfield to see Frank Lloyd Wright's Wescott House, I've been obsessed with the guy. Hoping one day to make a two-week road-trip, stopping to see as many of his works as possible. I know there are a few other FLW obesessives who read her, so I thought it appropriate to post about the Robie House renovations going on in Chicago. First glancing over the pictures, Robie looks very similar to Wescott's prairie style design Wright was famous for popularizing in the Midwest, constantly contracted out in his early years by wealthy agriculture/industry barons looking to take their city to the next step in modernism.
After looking over this very impressive and interactive site detailing the Robie renovations I can attest that this is almost identical to Westcott's living/dining room layout. No details here about when this is re-opening to the public, but given the attention to detail and workload that goes into one of his renovations, it will be well worth the visit. Maybe I'll hit up Buffalo instead this summer?
The rumors were spreading. Rumors that Matt HORSESHIT had booted his rhythm section, but not the cardboard kick drum. Rumors that the sampler was broken. Rumors that the reason shows were getting cancelled (ok, it was only one show) was because a roadblock had been met head on. I don’t think it was as much of a set-back, as much as it was a retooling, a reimagining of the PHS branding and vision. Maybe it was the comraderie felt in an impromptu invitation to assist with sound on Times New Viking’s weekend romp to England for the Pavement curated All Tomorrow’s Parties? When they returned the rumors turned into hyperbole. Mr. Horseshit was ditching keyboard duties and acquiring two new band members in the form of Ringo and Kim (Adam and Beth, they need official PHS pseudonyms now). And after one practice they’d be heading up Oldfield’s way for a Saturday night showdown.
Of course it was rusty as expected. The beat though was automaton, almost robotic, something never felt in a prior Horseshit set. That alone allowed Mr. Horseshit to shamble freely with a comfortable base to stand on, a solid state to allow for improvisation, pure jam. Flanked by Beth on whittled and droning guitar shards or bop-inflected casiotones – Horseshit suddenly became a lot less gimmick and a lot more shamanistic. Not that I’m ever opposed to the gimmick of samples whirling around the space, cracked and fragmented, fizzy and euphoric – that’s what made Horseshit “psychedelic.” Matt has always put extra slime and grime into the electronic sections of his sets. Here, there were completely new songs, as if something as pure as “Can’t Get Enough” (the hit that started it all) had been sitting in a jar of decaying meat over the years – and now was the time to let the stench permeate the air, crush any thought to ignore what was happening up there. Wish this was one I taped. It was organic and raw, never once looking uncomfortable or “supergroupish.” This is not a gimmick, this is not a one-time deal methinks. This will grow and grow and push PHS into a new era. Funny how the two best bands in this town just continue to lap all the rest. They’re headed on tour this weekend. Check here for those dates/confirmation this all was not made up.
P.S. I still love Rich Horseshit.
My bedtime – on a Saturday no less – did not allow the crushing that followed from Puffy Areolas and the Unholy Two. Another time. Buy those records kids.
We've still got a few weeks before Before Today will start soundtracking our summer -- "officially" -- The guy's so busy "rehearsing" and building a Great Wall of Hype for Before Today that it's been impossible to get an interview with him. I remember talking with him way back in his Doldrums days, when he was a barely-known, doing it all by himself, making beats with his mouth and some reverb -- now? He's employed what looks to be an L.A. session band from 1978 (previously working with Christopher Cross or Marty Balin) transported to the future and given the whole of Pink's catalog. I think Haunted Graffiti is easily one of the best bands names ever. Not sure why it's so striking, but I anticipate big things for this album. Just look at the response "Round and Round" has received so far. Off the charts.
Ariel did have time to compile one of those excellent FACT Mixes, and this one doesn't disappoint. Sans the Prince song, there's not one bit of this I recognize, it's mostly esoteric/exotic/novelty psych of the highest order -- outsider music. Just what you'd suspect was filtering through Pink's mind in making the chooglin/groovin' glam send-ups on Before Today. It's coming.
Yes. If you read the Hipster Runoff, which is required reading if you're a jaded cynic or double lover of/towards popular culture in general, then you may have already taken a look at this.
I felt the need to get this disseminated even more, as I find it hilarious. "It's not emo. It's not goth....it's something more animal." As I start lapping generations it seems the younger they get the stranger they get. Boy I sound old -- but it seems true. I was "grunge" - that required thrift store clothes and a Nirvana t-shirt. Now you need tails, dog contacts, leashes, etc. to make a statement. I just think this is taking subculture and togetherness a bit too far -- at the same time it's totally fucking awesome.
Who knows what brought on this attraction to lycanthropy? Was it Shakira or Twilight or the Vampire Diaries or maybe this little gem of a movie from the SyFy Network starring my favorite damsel in distress Nina Dobrev. Required viewing people.
The Reds are currently on a tear of unequaled proportions compared to the double-decade long slump I'm accustomed to. Hopefully our friend Mr. Adams (media assassin) over at the excellent Victrola Cola sportsblog, will get start becoming a bit more biased in his coverage, dedicate all his efforts to the Redlegs, and ditch any commentary on these boring NHL/NBA playoffs. Cleveland is about 40 odd days away from finally dropping into the lake. Then we can forget about that city for good.
Please. Let us enjoy this coming summer like we did 20 years ago. I Love Winning.
At Echo Lake and utterly baffled by the lack of praise for it, the live show is where it’s at. They are leaps and bounds more attuned to free-form, freak-out, improvisation and creation than any of their contemporaries. In Texas this past March, I took to indulging in what I referred to via spontaneous tweets as the “new jam.” At the time I was yawning in bliss to Real Estate. Realizing that these kids got the jam (which I never got at that age) but not the soul really started to bring a dull pain to my thoughts. This recent camp of dudes soloing in slow motion for minutes on end is refreshing. The recent camp of dudes honkin’ on bobo (I’m looking at you Mt. Carmel) is just as quenching. It’s certainly not reactionary to the lo-fi boom, it’s more complementary. Just wait and hear Beach Fossils for the first time. But in all of this there’s not a stitch of the flag that Woods fly on stage. My interview with G. Lucas Crane on the Agit-Reader attempts to clear up exactly where their genes originate, but ends up wrapped in the enigma that is their performance – he constantly “wants to jam.” And now I feel like tape trading live sets of this band are a must. Anyone out there with French Legation Museum, Austin, TX 3/18/2010? That was a rager.
my recent review of Psychedelic Horseshit's Acid Tape, the better Mr. Whitehurst's material gets, for some reason it becomes harder to obtain. Though, honestly, once you have the cassette player you'll need -- about a year ago I ebay'd for the exact Pioneer dual-deck player I had since 5th grade -- the "elusive" Acid Tape is fairly easy to find. How you get it is truly irrelevant (just saying, there's plenty of pirates on those webs), what's important is this document, perhaps the best representation of what he's been doing on stage in recent months (on their endless bummer tour) and where it's headed going into the endless summer. Word on the street is that el drumo is kaput and he will be replaced with some certain "kids" (at least in the present and near future). If you read this blog, you'll know what I'm talking 'bout. Go see that special show. I'm telling you now. This Saturday.
Exhibit A of PHS's recent foray into uncharted waters, mystical crystals, and Molly:
Exhibit A of PHS's recent foray into uncharted waters, mystical crystals, and Molly:
Tame Impala is actually Cut Copy, dressed up like mid-'70s heshers/bong bangers -- just like Buffalo used to do back in the day. Of course I'll need to investigate more, but this is retro with a purpose. Re-purposing for increased buzz and increased energies and increased satisfaction. Dungen has done it in recent years, Wolf People are getting there, Mt. Carmel (I know, I know) got the sound, but not the songwriting chops -- Tame Impala? The entire package, if not a bit more lackadaisical, fluid, dream-soaked and lysergic. Like I said, I need to investigate more. For now, you take a look.
Time slots in Columbus are constantly shifty -- there by 10:30 and missing both Andrew Graham's Swarming Branch and the never-heard Blastronauts (whom may or may not have brought in a good crowd for a Monday night). There were an unusual amount of people wearing hats of all types? Think I need to re-bedazzle my Orlando Magic Starter cap. I enjoyed them a ton in Texas, so I wanted to see them in my natural habitat.
Harlem are strong proponents of jean shorts, catchy little barbed-wire melodies, and suck-funny crowd-band banter. I don't mind Hippies -- true neon irony album title -- it's a tad overlong, even when the songs are brief, not enough character but full of characters, a minor hiccup. Fun and engaging, but somewhat disposable.
That must be why the kids were out. I admire the kids being out. Trying to figure out why is the quiz. There were plenty of moments when I thought they even sounded a bit like Kings of Leon, back when they were mining their "Southern Charmed" indie. With Harlem, it's the funky, sweaty bouillabaisse of Austin. Live they are frenetic and poppy, but never menacing to the point that what they were doing mattered all that much. Hey, it's a "monday night" and your club is half full, play till 2 guys, I'll even take your covers. The next day? I remain indifferent.
Weeks ago, I saw Rusko. Or what looked like a pale specter basking in the glow of laptop rays and the red light of digital equipment. Not to mention the rave kids spinning neon in the plush dive, to many people's dismay. Mine included. I imagine with OMG, Rusko might just do the dubstep crossover. "Hold On", which features indie-adored, Dirty Projector, Amber Coffman, could be as big as "Miss You" by EBTG. Believe it. Not that I didn't think the wavelengths of dubstep would eventually make it's way into the American zeigeist -- either as radio hip-hop canvas or rave revival (the former has held true) -- but not in a, quite, traditional club track. It's like Dubstep for Dummies in it's simple brilliance. That's how OMG operates, instead of resting on Burial obsolescence, it pushes thing to Idiocracy-esque extremes. The perfect foil for Diplo's Mad Decent empire.
Now. Learn how to dance to this, please.
OK. I'm definitely guilty of NOT seeing Trash Humpers when it premiered at SXSW in March. I was off drinking swill in front of an inert set by Real Estate. Sue me, deadly. But I know when I finally see it, I'll be in this small minority of people who think it might change cinema, much like Gummo did for me in high school. As always any interview with Korine is illuminating and grotesquely hilarious. Here on the wonderful Film Slash website chaos insues. And here where siren Zola Jesus picks his brain. He talks about BBQ'ing with the guy who wrote the Choose Your Own Adventure novels.
Sub. Ref. video ventures
Goodness. Robert Pollard is in a revival of sorts. Of course I'm forever indebted to the prime GBV material, but over the last decade? I was always hoping it wasn't just a here and now, touch and go, career for Uncle Bobby. There are some gems, most definitely, but now I'm anticipating each new release with the same fervor as my youth. We All Got Out of the Army and Moses on a Snail are both required listening. Just as our interview with him, a lucid set of questions by one Rod Wadlinger, is required reading.
And now he's teaming up with one of the all time Ohio greats? Scoring the "positive" documentary on Pete Rose's life, 4,192. Can this be a dream? I think they are like peanut butter and jelly actually, both misunderstood geniuses, both never getting the credit they deserve. Both with questionable social lives at one time or another. Sure he's only really doing the theme song -- please let it be called "Charlie Hustle" (I can already hear it) -- but that's enough to own this as soon as there's physical evidence of this existing.
Full details can be found here.
Always the sociologist when it comes to discovering "what's happening" among the four corners of the world, Diplo's No One Is Safe mini-documentary series was bound to happen. If you haven't been hip to Heaps Decent in the last few years, then you are definitely missing out. This is Mr. Pentz teaching the youth, in disparate/desperate locations, the gift of creation through innovative/primal hip-hop production. The results have been stunning and continue to amaze. But this.....? This is his plundering, packed into eight minutes of insight on what he thinks we need to take notice of...in this pilot episode, it's New Orleans Bounce Music. See, you didn't know you needed this in your life. Beyond crunk and Miami Bass --- 'specially the Sissy Bounce movement -- this stuff is gold when you find it. Perhaps you'll need to peruse the bootleg mixtapes a little more carefully at the swap-meet next time to dig this stuff up. As always, the continually impressive Mad Decent website will keep you afloat. Little did I know I got to see the keystone of Bounce Music, Big Freedia, in the flesh, around four in the morning, in Texas this past March. It was easily the strangest and most incendiary display of my four days at SXSW. Where was this stuff during the week?
Usually a staunch supporter of Record Store Day. You know it happens most days (or at least once a week). But for some reason I was giddy this year. Jumping from a class that ended at 11 straight to Used Kids -- I found Record Store Day has gone to the early birds. Dudes willing to wait an hour to get that Dum Dum Girls split -- and then buy up everything else. Went to the next store, Lost Weekend, pretty much the same thing. Empty bins. Thanks to Mr. Shannon for holding the Fela 10" for me -- why isn't this all going to vinyl btw? I also snagged one of those Pavement limited editions -- great for a strange encapsulation of a favorite band.
What I did learn is just how amazing CSN&Young, and almost every subsequently solo record or two (or for Young -- countless). I always thought it to be weak protest harmonies to Neil Young's defiantly wild wail. I'm learning. I also want to learn how to harmonize with myself.
Sub. Ref. diggin'
I've always thought that it wasn't the "college campus" that defined and inherently nurtured a constantly healthy Columbus scene, but "the middle." After repeatedly watching Requiem From Detroit and frequently visiting cities like Austin and Amsterdam -- I'm convinced Columbus exists in a sort-o-purgatory. Just enough post-industrial to keep us doped and just enough pre-apocalypse to keep us on our toes. There's really no history, but there is. There's really no future, cause no one cares to attend to it. Perpetually misunderstood and equally innovative.
This will be the second time in 48 hours I've used "curmudgeon." Once to describe the Fall and once, now, to describe myself. I'll wholeheartedly admit to not keeping up on "the latest" or "on the cusp" or "local only" band du week. Release shows are for suckers nowadays. They already got it. I keep up with the 'spaces to hear, sample, diddle, but all the optimistic young-folk trying to claim neighborhoods and distinct demographics is unequivocally dull. Too much Modest Mouse, not enough Pavement. Or just simply not punk, only the Black Swans or Moviola can count violins these days, yo. (Harrisburgh Player and infinite delay pedal notwithstanding). So we're in a slump? Not to say I can't talk all night about what's brilliant in Columbus -- countless bands, but most have been around a (the) lot, in the same circles admittedly, or are composed of sods from other 4D-legendary groups that splintered. They're all still rolling. But a slump nonetheless.
Which brings us to Outer Spacist, the last bastion of hope for this young decade (at least for now.) They've been in the lot for while, and my insular being has yet to really appreciate what they stand for. Seeing them in action vs. Nodzzz (quite the contrast, enjoyably so) was the first shock to my system. Sorry for the delay. I always knew Dave "Sugar Bear" Treneff was top five current clbs. guitarists rank-able, but never realized how hard this band works, even when they are far from working. This "singles-club only" installment from the intergalactic Mormons is hopefully an appetizer to what they can achieve at three times the length. I'll have to resort to cribbing from the label in the perfect description, citing "sci-fi soul" to sell this double a-side. As I'm still confused as to what's up and what's down -- "I Don't Care About Love, Baby" "Pavilion in the Sand, Baby" -- there's an Eric Davidson-nth swagger to every sticky angle. New Bomb Turks would be an adequate roots-dig, especially since these guys have dabbled in many forms of punk scattered long the beach. 'Cept the organ grinder robs the front, popping basement-window pinholes to let through the streaks of fuck-all nihilism. Swagger isn't really needed here, it's all in the attitude, the frenetic balance on the fence-pole of the two backyards of America. There is light at the end of the slump, Columbus Discount will assure it. Sure I can rock an Endless Summer with UH2 and Deathly Fighter.
Please watch the above -- then let me know what you think. Honestly, I don't much frequent the folk scene that much anymore. Less it be the extremely emotive/bottom of the well variety (see Black Swans) or "re-issued" or so far embedded with slime it's hard to distinguish that traditional influence. The Tallest Man Alive has soundtracked a rough winter into a roaring-type spring. I know, it's always about seasons. In Norway I'm sure it's more profound. Maybe that's why I'm so engaged.
I know what you're saying. What does a pasty Canadian "rebel" know about chilling by the Troy Municipal, in nothing more than OP swimshorts? No running. There has always been something humbling about Bryan Adams -- is there really anything you dislike pre-Prince of Theives? -- "Run to You" ? "Cuts Like a Knife" ? Even "Summer of '69" had a Boss/Petty-lite that appealed to those of us 7 year olds who were into the most sugary of pop music. "This Time," the third single from the Cuts Like a Knife album, must've debuted in late August of 1983, right before school started up, right as the Endless Summer was finding a twilight. Nostalgia plays cruel tricks. Thinking I'll rock this from a cassette copy, on the Troy Levee, 'round dusk, in late August, 2010. I vow to make this a summer full of poolside.