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monday, 16

Memphis Grizzlies against Golden State.

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Musical Christmas parties are in full swing this week. And if the safest bet is Automusik’s, praised by my colleague below, the highest-profile is no doubt 93-Xmas at the New Daisy Theatre Friday, December 13th, and Saturday, December 14th. Sponsored by local rock station WMFS 93-X, Friday night’s locals-only lineup presents seven stripes of area hard rock. Radio-ready hard rockers Breaking Point are the biggest band on the bill, but best bets may be the smart, tasteful modern rock of always-reliable Beanpole and the smart, tasteless full-on rawk of The Internationals. Guitar fans will want to check out ax-slinger Zach Myers. Others on the bill are Crippled Nation, Rail, and Sheltered Life.

Saturday’s lineup boasts Northern Cali rockers Papa Roach. The band burst on the scene in 2000 with their major-label debut Infest, a solid effort that established them as one of the leanest, toughest, and most gimmick-free bands on the nü-metal scene, with huge radio and MTV support turning them into major stars. The band’s sophomore effort, this year’s Lovehatetragedy, hasn’t fared quite as well commercially but may still have been one of the year’s more respectable mainstream metal efforts. Others on tap for Saturday are South African buzz band Seether and Baltimore modern rockers SR-71.–Chris Herrington

I can’t imagine anything more pleasant than celebrating the Christmas holidays with a trio of emotionless robots who can really get behind the idea of mindless consumption. That’s why I plan to get my regular Automusik fix at the Hi-Tone Café on Saturday, December 14th. Considering the many audiovisual surprises this entertaining anti-band have whipped up over the past year (not to mention their splendid Christmas card), one can only assume that the entity known as Automusik is even now whipping up something special with which to stuff our stockings. They will be joined by Robby Grant and his band Vending Machine, as well as a brand-new techno-rock outfit known as The Pelicans. If that doesn’t work for you, then maybe you should spend your Saturday night with the revved-up indie-pop of The Paper Plates. They will be playing at the P&H Café with Alphabetical Order. — Chris Davis

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Sports Sports Feature

City Sports

Where Are They Now?

Three years later, the remnants of Johnny Jones’ last Memphis team are still chasing the dream.

By Chris Gadd

It was a spring evening nearly three years ago. Johnny Jones’ tired and teary-red eyes gave much away as he entered the room, even before he said a word. It was the end of a season, and also the end of Jones’ tenure at the University of Memphis.

Though his exhaustion was apparent, Jones, the interim head basketball coach, walked with his head held high following the Tigers’ season-ending 80-76 loss to the DePaul Blue Demons. Looking out into the Conference USA Tournament media room, Jones left everything there — his tears, his feelings, and his head-coaching position.

“We had a winning year, regardless of what our record says,” Jones said, minutes after then-Tiger senior Keiron Shine’s potential game-tying three-pointer rimmed out. The heartfelt speech Jones delivered, entirely crediting his players and staff for a complete turnaround of that potentially disastrous season, left even the supposedly unbiased media with a sense of loss. Former Flyer editor Dennis Freeland wept openly as Jones left.

As for the group of players who Jones said “never quit,” five starters returned to play under current Memphis head coach John Calipari: Earl Barron, Shannon Forman, Marcus Moody, Courtney Trask, and Kelly Wise. Paris London and Shamel Jones also made contributions the following season.

Today, only three of those players still play collegiately — Barron, Trask, and London. Jones is now head coach of Sunbelt Conference member North Texas University. But he still fondly remembers that first team he called his own.

“I thought they were winners, regardless of what the record or polls showed, and I will think that forever,” Jones says. “It was important to me to let people know how proud I was of that team. They played hard and put everything on the line every night.”

But the Tigers’ record was indeed a losing one: 15 wins and 16 losses. And it was after that final loss that Memphis basketball history and the lives of several players and coaches were forever altered — though “what-ifs” still abound.

Had the Tigers rallied from an early 24-point deficit to beat the Blue Demons, that win would have guaranteed Jones a .500 record. Another win in the third round, then a victory in the conference championship game, and suddenly the Tigers not only have a winning record, but an automatic NCAA Tournament spot. And coaches who make the Big Dance aren’t usually asked to resign. Two days after the DePaul loss, Calipari’s hiring made national headlines.

One holdover from the Jones era remains central for the Tigers, figuratively and literally — senior center Earl Barron. He has fond memories of his first season, when he was an unknown freshman out of Clarksdale, Mississippi, and has talked with Jones once since parting ways — at the 2001 NIT when Jones was an Alabama assistant coach.

Barron has stayed in closer contact with Trask, who frequently travels to Memphis to visit with one of his best friends, Tiger senior Nathaniel Root. Trask plays for some different Tigers now in his Baton Rouge hometown — the kind at LSU. Many believed Trask’s strong, almost son-like connection with Jones was the reason for his transfer. Barron and Trask say it’s not so.

“That was the big thing for him, being back home and close to his mom and around all his friends,” Barron says. “He got along with everyone here too, but there he is real familiar with his surroundings.”

Adds Trask: “The main reason I transferred to LSU was to be back home and help out my mom. She’s a single parent. People think it was a personality conflict between me and Coach Calipari, but it wasn’t.”

However, it’s almost certain that Trask, who played three minutes and scored two points in LSU’s Saturday game versus McNeese State, wouldn’t have left had Jones remained at Memphis.

“I talk to Coach Jones once every few weeks,” Trask says. “We mainly talk about life. We don’t talk much about basketball at all. He says he’s happy.”

Another Tiger from that team has dropped off the Division I map, though he’ll never be forgotten in the annals of Memphis high school basketball — current Arkansas State senior Paris London. He starts for the Indians (2-3) and averages 12 points and 5.6 rebounds a game.

London, who has two kids now, Colby and Caleb, with wife Natema, thinks of his time under Jones — sandwiched between seasons under Tic Price and Calipari — as a tough learning experience no young athlete should have to endure.

“How can you prepare an 18-year-old for the coaching situation that I went through,” says London, who is now on his fourth coach with ASU’s Dickey Nutt.

Jones and London have kept their conversations to a minimum since they compete against each other in the Sun Belt Conference. Still, mutual admiration remains.

“I saw him last year when he came through to play ASU,” London says. “He said as long as I keep up the good work then I should be able to get where I want to be.” And where London wants to be is still the NBA.

“I want to keep bouncing the ball until it stops,” London says. “Getting a degree is important to me, but I want to put off using that degree for a job as long as I can.”

He’s not alone. All three players express strong interest in reaching the basketball heights. But the fact they’re still playing, having overcome such obstacles, attests to Jones’ belief that they have already reached it.


Silver Lining

Veteran leaders are emerging as the Grizzlies continue to struggle.

By Chris Herrington

The much-needed home win against Phoenix on Sunday notwithstanding, the Memphis Grizzlies are coming off a desultory stretch of basketball. But one notable silver lining from the last week has been the emergence of veterans Wesley Person and Lorenzen Wright.

The Grizzlies are among the youngest teams in the league: Person, an eight-year-vet at 31, and Wright, a six-year-vet at 27, are the most experienced players and both had provided erratic production off the bench through the first month of the season. But a combination of improved play and injuries to starters Shane Battier and Drew Gooden have pushed Person and Wright into the starting lineup, and both have made the most of the opportunity.

Person was brought aboard in the offseason to be a designated sniper, but he didn’t live up to his reputation early on. Under new coach Hubie Brown’s more disciplined rotations, Person has found his rhythm and a consistent role (prior to Battier’s injury) as first player off the bench, playing starter’s minutes at scoring guard over nominal starter Gordan Giricek. Person is currently third in the league in three-point shooting at .475 but has shot a scalding .560 from downtown in December.

Wright’s recent emergence has been even more dramatic. Early on, he lost his starting center job to Stromile Swift, then to Pau Gasol when Brown decided to start rookie Drew Gooden at Gasol’s natural power forward position. Wright hadn’t given the team much reason to keep him in the lineup. In November, he averaged 7.4 points and only 4.1 rebounds per game in 20 minutes a night. But something clicked on the road trip, and Wright has reeled off a four-game stretch that’s seen his numbers shoot up to 14.8 points and 8.3 rebounds per game.

Wright said after Sunday’s win that he’d been hampered by tendinitis in his knees early this season and was finally starting to feel healthy again. He’s now reminding Grizzlies fans of the player who started last season with double-doubles in seven of the first eight games before injury curtailed his production.

There is a glass-half-empty view of Wright’s game. On a team with three rookies who never met a shot they didn’t like, one could make the case that Wright has been part of the problem on the offensive end: He may be the team’s most ineffective and unwilling passer and, since the beginning of Brown’s “regular season,” Wright’s taken more shots relative to his time on the floor than anyone else on the team.

Over the four-game stretch that’s marked Wright’s emergence, he led the team in shot attempts with 54 (to Gasol’s 39), which can’t be what Brown wants: This team may have a better chance of winning with Wright on the floor but not with Wright as the primary option on offense. One gets the feeling that Wright’s a great role player who hasn’t fully accepted that status. And while his earlier penchant for getting his shot blocked seems to have abated as he’s regained some of his explosiveness, his limited offense skills were apparent even in the win over Phoenix, when a turnover, blocked shot, and airball helped Phoenix race out to a 10-2 lead. But if Wright was partly to blame for the horrid start, he was also key in getting the team back on track. Wright has rebounded more effectively than anyone on the team, and his toughness and aggression have made a tangible difference in the team’s play. After seeing Gooden torched for 14 points and 15 rebounds a few games earlier by the Suns’ man-child rookie (and one-time University of Memphis signee) Amare Stoudamire, Wright made it a point to take him out of his game. Wright’s physical play and who knows what else resulted in a confrontation between the two in the second quarter. Wright admitted in the locker room afterward that he tried to get Stoudamire’s mind on things other than the game. It worked: The rookie had a horrible game and played only 10 minutes in the second half.

And, as adept as Wright was in psyching out the other team, he was equally effective psyching up his own. He stayed in Gasol’s ear throughout the fourth quarter, policing his play like a stern older brother and shooting icy glares whenever Gasol’s intensity seemed to lag. Gasol scored 10 points and nabbed 7 rebounds in the fourth quarter to seal the victory.

Brown remarked afterward how well Gasol and Wright played together, how Wright’s physical play and knowledge of the offense afforded Gasol more room to operate. Brown didn’t seem ready to go back to the Gasol/Gooden pairing anytime soon. And no wonder — the pairing of Pau Gasol and Drew Gooden at the power spots hasn’t been working. It forces Gasol out of position and Gooden’s perhaps overly aggressive play on the offensive end has limited Gasol’s touches. On the defensive end, the pairing of Gasol and Gooden leaves the team too small, too soft, and too inexperienced. Starting Wright at center gives the starting unit much better balance, chemistry, and toughness.

But it also creates questions. The tension between winning now and developing talent for the future is common for young teams in the NBA. The battle for playing time between veterans and younger (and perhaps more talented) players is a dominant story right now for the Chicago Bulls and Washington Wizards, for instance. Given the improved play of Wright and Person, this could become a controversy for the Grizzlies as well. But there’s a difference between Person and Wright: Person’s contract is up after next season, and he’s seemingly not part of Jerry West’s three-year plan for playoff contention. Wright is four years younger than Person; he’s got a long-term contract that makes him hard to deal; his local connections make him a fan favorite; and, at his best, he provides solid production and toughness at the position (center) where such attributes are scarce. Wright can be part of this team’s core for the playoff run. Assuming Gasol is a given, managing minutes among Wright, Battier, and Gooden could be tricky. Perhaps the abandoned Drew Gooden experiment at small forward will get another look sooner rather than later.

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Music Record Reviews

Short Cuts

One By One

Foo Fighters

(RCA)

Until a few months ago, I still felt sort of wrong for respecting, following, or even acknowledging the continuing existence of Dave Grohl. Like many others who were initially pleased by the birth of “alternative” music with the release of Nevermind, some deep, primal part of me still considered Grohl’s solo aspirations a senseless, thoughtless, and heartless desecration of his former band’s brief and strangely complete-unto-itself recorded legacy. But (nihilo sanctum estne?) the repackaging and resale of Nirvana’s music has finally started this year, so I finally realized how unfair I was to dismiss Grohl’s work. Ergo, I swallowed my infantile impulses and started to investigate the Foo Fighters.

Turns out they are pretty good.

The release of the band’s One By One is the second Grohl-related new release of the year. It is both a pop-friendlier adjunct to his work on Queens of the Stone Age’s Songs For the Deaf and a rebuttal to his own past with Cobain, Novoselic, and whoever else thinks they were in Nirvana. One By One also puts Grohl in a select group of workaholic artists (Eminem, Connor Oberst, Luna, and Sonic Youth) who are overcompensating for a shabby year in music by putting out as many good-to-great records, songs, and EPs as fast as they can.

The major surprise of One By One is how the countless glorious rock choruses complement the countless pleas for forgiveness, understanding, reconciliation, and transcendence throughout the record. The thunderous “All My Life,” the acoustic-electric “Halo,” and the two closing ballads are all primo power pop preoccupied with healing, escape, and God only knows what else. The music is sufficiently blunt guitars-bass-drums real loud, but the filigrees and little touches thrill me. File the whole thing under “modern rock” but recognize that such a label now denotes an outdated idea with very few skilled practitioners. What other band could exercise chops and exorcise demons within such a constrictive genre? Staind? Disturbed? Creed? PEARL JAM? None of ’em!

One By One is the best vaguely nostalgic guitar pop-punk genre exercise/statement of purpose since Blink-182’s Take Off Your Pants and Jacket. — Addison Engleking

Grade: A-

Paullelujah!

MC Paul Barman

(Coup d’Etat Entertainment)

The marriage of capitalism and artistry that is rock-and-roll is sometimes too awesome to ponder. For example, nobody in their right mind would ever say to themselves, “Hmmm, I think I’m in the mood for a Jewish Ivy League MC who attacks education, feminists, and Amazon.com, rhymes ‘Margaret Sanger’ with ‘bloody coat hanger,’ fantasizes about sex with Cynthia Ozick and Maxine Hong Kingston, and sounds like a demented guest host for a Saturday morning kids’ show.” Yet such an item exists: MC Paul Barman’s omnivorous, irrepressibly nerdy, and inexplicably triumphant new full-length Paullelujah!

Along with Slug/Atmosphere and you-know-who with the movie, MC Paul Barman is one of three white rappers worth caring about (maybe there’s a fourth, but you go “discover” him). His 2000 EP, It’s Very Stimulating, was the funniest Prince Paul production ever, brimming with comedy, outrageous couplets (“I got up in her cervix a lot/like I was Sir Mix-A-Lot”) and wacky samples. Although Barman flies without Prince Paul for all but one track on Paullelujah!, the noise is similarly childlike and disorienting.

Barman babbles more than he flows, offers a glimpse into the life of a hypersmart, sex-starved Jew that rivals Portnoy’s Complaint (“I want a sister not a shiksa” goes one glancing blow), and possesses a verbal matrix that bends words like Keanu bends not-spoons. The beats are jubilant, irritating, spunky, and lumpy. The catchiest track is also the filthiest. And the two best tracks make fun of folk songs and poetry readings.

Of course you need it! — AE

Grade: A-

Remission

Mastodon

(Relapse)

This past Thanksgiving morning found me not sitting by myself in a Barnhill’s Old Country Buffet (this will no doubt come later in life) but attempting the equally punishing act of wrapping my head around this new Mastodon album. Remission has caused a lot of brouhaha in the heavy and/or extreme music communities as an “unclassifiable” masterpiece — uniting fans of every tiny sub-genre into harmonious testosterone frenzy.

Unclassifiable? Not really. A masterpiece? Probably. As a metal album, and that’s what it is when the votes are tallied, Remission sits next to Judas Priest’s Sin After Sin, Maiden’s Killers, the F*cking Champs’ III, and maybe a better-than-average Slayer album.

I have no idea how a human can move like drummer Bränn Dailor, though it’s closer to the free-jazz tornado wailing of Ronald Shannon Jackson or Slayer’s Dave Lombardo (who is essentially a free-jazz drummer these days) than any metal drummer I’ve heard. Remission can be extremely complicated and math-y, almost paying tribute to Slint (who, when stripped of the indie-rock pretense, were a metal band) in its quieter moments, but it thankfully steers clear of the instrumental overcompensation of bands like the Dillinger Escape Plan and Mr. Bungle. You can hear the songwriting skills at work in the classic guitar trade-offs that recall the venerable work of Maiden or even Thin Lizzy. However, those addicted to melody need be thoroughly warned: This is not your divorced uncle’s metal; it is brutal and largely unrelenting in its velocity, and the vocals are akin to a thousand dying seagulls. Death metal or grindcore Mastodon are not, so perhaps I got ahead of myself in not subscribing to the “unclassifiable” tag. — Andrew Earles

Grade: A-

Categories
Music Music Features

Sound Advice

Chances are pretty good that you won’t be seeing New Orleans legends the Funky Meters around these parts anytime soon due to Art Neville’s inability to tour, but you can come pretty darn close when three of the group’s key members, George Porter, David Russell Batiste, and Brian Stoltz, play the Young Avenue Deli on Saturday, December 7th. The Funky Meters (originally called the Meters) all but invented funk sometime in the mid-1960s. Over the years, they have played with everyone from the Rolling Stones to Linda Ronstadt, and their grooves have been sampled by such heavy-hitting hip-hop artists as L.L. Cool J and Queen Latifah.

Also on Saturday, the Lucy Opry at the Bartlett Performing Arts and Conference Center will present two of the most talented bluegrass musicians on the circuit these days: Jim Hurst and Missy Raines. Hurst is about as formidable a flatpicker as you are likely to find, and Raines was voted bass player of the year by the International Bluegrass Music Association from 1998 through 2001. Purists they are not. While they aren’t nearly as far out there as the crazy-talented but supremely heretical Bela Fleck, Jim and Missy are likely to leave the traditional mountain music behind and launch headlong into classic swing or 12-bar blues.

It’s time for Memphis rockers to return to the womb, so to speak. The Madison Flame, one-time home to the world-punk venue the Antenna Club, is hosting the Shangri-La Records/Hattley’s Garage Christmas party on Friday, December 6th. For four dollars and a can of food for the Memphis Food Bank, you can catch four mighty-fine acts. Up-and-coming rapper Chopper Girl will chant to a heavy beat and deejay Steve “Scratch” Perry (oh, how I love that wonderfully silly name) will be on hand to spin the vinyl. But that’s not the half of it. The Villains will also be in the house. Memphis’ most eclectic cover band plays everything from Os Mutantes’ “Baby” to the Smiths to Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” Featuring a Simple One, a Grifter, a Neckbone, and an Ultra Cat, the Villains’ roster reads like a who’s who of Memphis indie rock circa 1995. To wrap things up, the Porch Ghouls — Slim Electro, Randy Valentine, Duke Baltimore, and Eldorado Del Ray — will play their punk-y, lounge-y answer to the North Mississippi blues. Come see why this ragged group of maracas-shaking, suitcase-pounding bluesmen has captured the attention of a major label. — Chris Davis

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Sports Sports Feature

City Sports

Fifteen Seconds to Victory

Pau Gasol transformed the Grizzlies — and himself — against the Wizards.

By Chris Herrington

Heading into this season, second-year forward Pau Gasol was clearly recognized as the Memphis Grizzlies’ central building block, a reigning rookie of the year coming off a stellar performance at the World Championships. In the preseason and through the first several regular season games, Gasol gave every indication that he would become one of the NBA’s most dominant offensive big men sooner rather than later.

But a 13-game losing streak, a tumultuous coaching change, and an on-court slump took some of the shine off Gasol’s game. He has struggled to find a rhythm and role in new coach Hubie Brown’s share-the-ball motion offense, his offensive struggles exposing his porous defensive play. A wrist injury suffered at the Worlds was revealed as more of a problem than Gasol cared to admit — the injury and protective soft cast limiting his offensive versatility and his ability to rebound. Suddenly, a fan base frustrated with losing began to doubt Gasol’s stature, with trade scenarios and talk of rookie Drew Gooden as the team’s real future star popping up on talk radio, on message boards, and around water coolers.

In truth, many of the issues curtailing Gasol’s offensive production were around during the Lowe tenure as well. During eight games under Lowe, Gasol took fewer shots in more minutes than Gooden and shot the ball less frequently relative to his time on the floor than the team’s other significant rookie, Gordon Giricek (not to mention frontcourt reserve Lorenzen Wright). But this was masked by Gasol’s efficiency, a gaudy 55 percent shooting clip that enabled him to score 21 points a game despite taking far fewer shots per game than any other 20-point scorer in the league.

Under Brown, these problems have been exacerbated, with Gasol’s shot attempts and his effectiveness plummeting. Through Brown’s six-game “evaluation period,” Gasol averaged 10.5 points per game on mere 40 percent shooting. And the only players taking fewer shots relative to their playing time have been point guards Brevin Knight and Earl Watson. Partly, this is a result of a breakdown in the continuity of Brown’s offensive sets, possibly from the quick-trigger approaches of Gooden and Giricek, but also from Gasol’s lack of aggressiveness and execution on the offensive end.

In some ways, the team’s game Saturday night against the Washington Wizards was a continuation of these problems. Gasol had a season-low five shot attempts and had only his second single-digit scoring game of the season. But there was a clear difference on the court. For one thing, the team seemed more active in trying to get Gasol the ball. Three times in the first half, Gooden spotted Gasol open around the basket but was a beat late on his pass, resulting in a turnover each time. Washington guards were regularly dropping down on Gasol in the post to deny the entry pass.

The other difference is that, after some early pouting, Gasol got his head in the game and refused to let his lack of offensive touches affect his play on the other end, resulting in his most effective game yet on the boards. He was more aggressive blocking out an athletic Wizards frontline and controlled the defensive boards. Gasol’s defensive rebounding helped the Grizzlies stay in the game, but it was his play down the stretch that was most heartening. Through the losing streak, the Grizzlies had been in several games down the stretch but were unable to execute effectively to win.

Saturday night looked to be more of the same. A nine-point Grizzlies lead was cut to nothing when Wizards point guard Tyron Lue knocked down a fadeaway jumper at the 2:57 mark to tie the game, 74-74. A series of turnovers, missed shots, and clutch play from Michael Jordan seemed to have created a familiar fourth-quarter meltdown. But, over the next two minutes, it was Gasol, not Jordan, who imposed his will on the game, sparking the Grizzlies to a 7-0 run to put the game away. Stars are supposed to take over down the stretch, and fans have wondered if the Grizzlies had anyone who could do this. On Saturday, Gasol was a finisher, but he took over in a manner most probably weren’t expecting — without scoring a point. Gasol dominated the two-minute stretch with defensive rebounding, shot blocking, and passing.

On the possession after Lue’s jumper, Gasol received the ball on the left block and, when Lue dropped down to help cover him, recognized the double team and found an open Watson at the top of the key for a three-pointer. Then, a few seconds later, came one of the most inspired sequences of Gasol’s young career — the 15 seconds that won the game.

Jordan drove by Shane Battier to launch a shot (1:42), but Gasol and Wright closed the lane to force a miss. Wizards forward Kwame Brown snatched the offensive rebound and went up with it, only to be blocked by Gasol with his bad hand (1:40), then Wizards guard Jerry Stackhouse launched a long jumper (1:34) over tight Wesley Person defense. He missed and Gasol grabbed the defensive rebound. At that point, Gasol paused, as if he were looking for a point guard to hand the ball to, as he typically would after a defensive rebound. Then, for some reason, he sprinted downcourt with the ball, leading the break. Just inside the free-throw line, with Wizards defender Lue backpedaling, Gasol gave Lue a skip step, head fake, and then shot a no-look pass to Person on his right for the lay-up (1:27). The best part? That he also had the presence of mind to hop slightly left after delivering the pass to avoid Lue and avoid picking up an offensive foul. A possession later, a driving Gasol found Battier open under the basket and delivered a pinpoint pass. Battier was fouled, knocked down both shots, and the game was over.

Gasol had plenty of help Saturday night: Point guard Earl Watson had what might have been his best game as a pro. Battier played tough defense on a hot Jordan. And Person and Giricek delivered quietly stellar play, combining for 25 points on 10 of 19 shooting and, more importantly, holding Stackhouse to four of 19 and only two free-throw attempts. But Gasol delivered the victory. Great players make great plays at crunch time. This team hadn’t had that until Saturday. Hopefully, Gasol can build on that momentum now. And hopefully, his coach and teammates can start getting him the ball.


Cold War Hoops

The U of M gets back into the win column with some help from Ronald Reagan.

By Chris Gadd

The little guy, actually, the littlest of guys, was able to live out a dream.

The enemy talked a lot about the home team’s weaknesses — and then backed up those tough words with even tougher actions.

And the boys in gray, white, and blue had little choice but to retaliate and face the consequences of the fallout from their large-scale counterattack. Ronald Reagan politics this was not.

But, if University of Memphis head coach John Calipari, who doubles as the school’s hoops commander in chief, has his way, Reagan-style policy will soon be making a comeback.

That’s why it’s only fitting that unheralded walk-on Brian Mitchell pulled up for a buzzer-beating jumper from the right wing.

His shot was unsuccessful, but the University of Memphis pulled away late for a 78-54 win over Arkansas-Pine Bluff at The Pyramid. After losing 81-80 in overtime Friday to Austin Peay, the Tigers defeated Pine Bluff in a hot-blooded fashion that belied the cold weather that kept many fans from making the journey downtown.

Indeed, if college basketball is a Cold War, with an underlying dislike between the two competing teams, then the Tigers’ war with Pine Bluff turned rather warm. Neither the victory nor Mitchell’s shot nor the cameo appearances of the other two Tiger walk-ons will be remembered by Memphis fans as much as the bench-clearing brawl that erupted with 5:37 left in the first half. Tiger players Almamy Thiero, Billy Richmond, Anthony Rice, and Clyde Wade were all tossed for their involvement; Golden Lions Antwan Emsweller, Lamarquis Blake, and Don Fleming were also ejected.

Seeing Mitchell, a University of Memphis senior who officially played one minute alongside fellow walk-ons Garrick Green and Patrick Byrne, smile while soaking up the post-game congratulations of his friends, one could almost forget about the Lions, and Tigers, and bear hugs — oh my!

“I didn’t get a real good look. I just tried to get it up there and give it a chance,” said Mitchell about what was likely the first — and last — shot of his collegiate basketball career. “It’s a good feeling, just to get the opportunity to play. Not many people get the chance to do what I did.”

But it wasn’t the walk-ons’ play or former walk-on Nathaniel Root’s shooting (he made three three-pointers) that mattered to Calipari at game’s end. He cited the team’s lack of intensity and began talking about their poor play, while the media contingent was visibly squirming with anticipation, hungry to ask Calipari about the fight.

When WREG Channel 3 sports editor George Lapides opened the questioning, Memphis’ own Great Communicator wasted little time providing his viewpoint.

“I’m gonna be honest with you,” Calipari said. “It’s the Reagan-era policy: When they know that you’ll fight, they won’t fight you.”

If Pine Bluff was playing the part of the old Soviet Union, then Golden Lion senior Kory McKee apparently forgot to take his finger off the button. And so did suspended junior Tiger point guard Antonio Burks. McKee got into a pre-game jawing match with Burks and had to be restrained by Memphis senior Chris Massie.

Burks would later say he “didn’t start nothing,” but McKee had a different tale.

“Well, first of all, Burks, he was looking at me, just staring me down like I was a woman,” McKee said. “I mean, I don’t know this man. I guess he was trying to get in my head. I asked him, ‘What are you looking at?’ I wasn’t going to let anyone talk to me any kind of way.”

By now everyone knows how the fight was started, how it ended, and who will serve suspensions.

But, according to Calipari, it never had to happen.

“Word spreads around the country that you’re soft,” Calipari said. “We have to have the Reagan defense. We’ll just pile up weapons, and if you come after us, we’re blowing you up.”

Tiger fans will have no trouble fondly recalling those years of Reagan, Rubik’s Cube, big hair, and even bigger national defense spending. After all, it was 1985 when a school named Memphis State last made it to the Final Four.

Categories
Music Record Reviews

Short Cuts

Dying in Stereo

Northern State

(Northern State Records)

If Mike Skinner (aka the Streets) has been universally christened “the British Eminem,” then the indie hip-hop crew Northern State –three liberal-arts-schooled white women in their mid-20s who go by the monikers Guinea Love, DJ Sprout, and Hesta Prynn (!) –can’t help but be seen as “the female Beastie Boys.”

That moniker is actually a truer fit for these former Long Island high school chums turned NYC causes célébres than for Skinner, whose only connection to Eminem is skin color. The music presented on Northern State’s two releases —Dying in Stereo and an earlier, available-for-download four-song demo Hip Hop You Haven’t Heard — draws unavoidable comparisons to Hello Nasty-era Beasties (it doesn’t have the sonic density of Paul’s Boutique, but, then again, what does?): It’s smart (and smarty-pants) old-school-sounding hip hop from three white, hypereducated New York hipsters, except, right, the MCs are all women.

And except that it’s better –more optimistic, more unexpected, more generous in its camaraderie, more righteous in its ’80s hip-hop nods, less concerned with establishing codes of cool.

Coming across like Roxanne Shante’s secret daughters, Northern State are so old-school that they even have anti-Giuliani and anti-police jokes (one MC warns a male harasser that she’ll “get more brutal than the NYPD”). But what is most redolent of hip hop’s golden age is the sense of positive momentum: Who else in hip hop lately (if ever) so unabashedly uses words like “optimism” and “possibility” and raps about being “just happy to be alive”? And given the attractiveness of the world they open up to the listener, who wouldn’t want to give in to this unfashionable hopefulness?

Like so many hip-hop records, especially on the indie scene, Dying in Stereo is a catalog of culture, with these women partial to baseball (Derek Jeter), contemporary literature (The Red Tent, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay), country music (Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton), and trash TV (Dawson’s Creek, Nigella Bites). And the record gets off on rhyme-for-rhyme’s-sake (my fave is “psychiatrist” and “archdiocese”).

Things aren’t all sunshine and light: Dread creeps in on the 9/11-acknowledging “All the Same,” with its muted soundscape and entropy-warning chorus (“Round trip and you’re back where you started/Waiting at the station from which you departed”). But malaise just can’t contend with Northern State’s playful, gently confrontational leftism (“The country’s gettin’ ugly and there’s more in store/But don’t blame me ’cause I voted for Gore/Keep choice legal/Your wardrobe regal/Chekhov wrote The Seagull/And Snoopy is a beagle”) or insistent independence (“It’s the DJs and the MCs and the writers and the breakers/Not the corporations and the hit-makers/That keep hip hop fresh/The kids gotta hear it/I move closer to the speakers so that I can get near it/Think you’re controlling the world ’cause you’re controlling the wealth?/I don’t belong to you/I belong to myself”).

But Northern State aren’t self-righteous about their underground status, like so many “indie” hip-hop acts. They’d like to be stars but not in order to be rich or powerful. They just want the chance to confirm and maybe spur an imagined community, or, as they put it on “The Man’s Dollar” in the record’s most charming moment: “Are there ladies out there like us doing what we do?/Can’t wait to get on TV so that we can see you!”

For more info, see NorthernState.net. —Chris Herrington

Grade: A

Have You Fed the Fish?

Badly Drawn Boy

(XL Recordings)

Sound and subject matter cohere almost perfectly on Have You Fed the Fish?, the sophomore album by fuzzy-hat-wearing Badly Drawn Boy, aka Damon Gough. In this song cycle — or concept album or rock-and-roll one-man show — BDB sings about the incompatibility of romantic commitment and pop-music obsession; the music’s head-spinning eclecticism betrays a life spent obsessing over music. The lyrics tell the story of misplaced attention and failed affection, and the music, which switches between funk-rock, blue-eyed soul, and spaced-out folk, illustrates it perfectly.

The album’s first single is its most representative track. At turns self-effacingly comical and unspeakably tragic, “You Were Right” is a stunning summation of a life devoted to pop music as well as a confession of missed opportunities. In one verse, BDB describes a dream he had of rejecting Madonna’s advances; in the next, he solemnly “Remember[s] doing nothing on the night Sinatra died/And the night Jeff Buckley died/And the night Kurt Cobain died/And the night John Lennon died,” revealing just how far back his preoccupation goes — more than 20 years and most of his life.

Unfortunately, not every song lives up to the far-out charms of “You Were Right.” BDB lifts that song’s lyrics on “Tickets for What You Need,” a lively romp that sounds blatantly and desperately Beatles-esque. And songs like the title track and “Bedside Story” feel aimless and unstructured, as if BDB’s everything-and-the-kitchen-sink approach to recording got the better of him.

But the high points — the Marvin Gaye vibe of “Using Our Feet,” the ’70s strings on “All Possibilities,” the messy guitarwork on “Born Again” — stand out more dynamically than such low points. Fish? retains the off-the-cuff charm and scruffy unpredictability of its predecessor, the Mercury Award-winning Hour of the Bewilderbeast, and while it isn’t track for track as good as that debut, it does reveal Badly Drawn Boy’s increased confidence and his admirable propensity to take risks.

Stephen Deusner

Grade: B+

Sean-Nos Nua

Sinead O’Connor

(Vanguard)

Sinead O’Connor’s first studio album in two years features only traditional Irish songs. Although O’Connor has always blended elements of British folk music with hip hop, rock, and reggae to make her own unique mix, this is the first time she’s done an album exclusively of traditional tunes. These songs, some of them quite ancient, are particularly meaningful for O’Connor, who learned some at school, some from her father, and some which have come to represent Ireland itself for her. O’Connor’s voice, which she uses as a delicate instrument, would seem ideally suited for these classics. Yet, despite high expectations for this album, the end result is mostly mundane or merely pretty.

The Gaelic title of the album roughly translates as “old style done new,” referring to a divergence from the usual a capella versions of these songs. But these arrangements, though sometimes lovely, are not particularly innovative. (Leave it to O’Connor to interpret the old folk chestnut “Peggy Gordon” as a lesbian love song, though.) They come across as quite standard folk arrangements, despite help from some interesting musical guests, including accordionist Sharon Shannon and vocalist Christy Moore. In fact, Van Morrison and the Chieftains provided definitive and far more powerful versions of several of the same tunes covered here on their classic Irish Heartbeat album. The only track which hints at the fierceness and individuality O’Connor usually brings to her recordings is “Oro, Se Do Bheatha Bhaile,” a Gaelic tune about a formidable female pirate whose ships terrorized the Spanish and French fleets on the west coast of Ireland in the 16th century.

Recommended for Sinead O’Connor fans only.

Lisa Lumb

Grade: B

Categories
Music Music Features

Sound Advice

The Dillingers were a short-lived local bar band that tore up a few Memphis clubs a couple of years ago with a sound more akin to the Uncle Tupelo alt-country standard than, say, their friends and competitors Lucero’s more punk and indie-rock take on the genre. The barely-legal-aged motley crew was led by big-voiced singer/guitarist/songwriter John Murry, who has remained an erratic presence on the local music scene. The band was rounded out by guitarist Brian McDurmon, bassist/vocalist Brady Potts (later frontman of another short-lived local rootsy bar band, the Star-Crossed Truckers), and drummer Josh Acosta. The Dillingers will re-form for a final gig Friday, November 29th, at old stomping grounds the Hi-Tone Café to celebrate the release of their first — and last –album, a mix of studio and live cuts called More a Lie Than a Band. The record’s title is wishful reference to the posthumous Flatlanders album More a Legend Than a Band, and while the Dillingers certainly aren’t a lost treasure on par with that seminal West Texas outfit, in terms of recent local music they are definitely a notable “might have been.” More a Lie Than a Band features the only available-for-purchase versions of memorable Murry songs “Waste of Time” and “40 Acres,” along with knowing covers of songs by Warren Zevon, Townes Van Zandt, and a loving medley of the Platters and the Clash. Flyer contributor Stephen Deusner provides liner notes.

But that’s not the only local record-release party of note this week. The hard-rockin’ Internationals celebrate the release of their second album, We’ve Never Heard of You Either, Friday, November 29th, at the Hard Rock Café. Nicely bridging the gap between the city’s usually opposed metal and garage-rock scenes (and with a hint of rockabilly skipping along beneath the surface), the Internationals are also known to deliver a pretty rowdy live set.

And eclectic locals Deep Shag, whose new album, Rug Burn, features background vocals from George Clinton on a couple of tracks, will be playing three CD-release/charity shows (to benefit the Union Mission) at Club 152 on Beale Thursday, November 28th, through Saturday, November 30th. — Chris Herrington

Do any of you people understand what a chore it is finding something for you to do week in and week out? Well, it is, let me tell you, especially weeks like this one where the only groups I would go out to see are groups I’ve already recommended too often. I would never send you to a show I wouldn’t go to myself, but this week I’m making an exception or two. For instance, I would never actually go to see Will Hoge, Nashville’s rootsier answer to Counting Crows, when he plays the New Daisy on Saturday, November 30th. Sure, as a songwriter, ol’ Will’s got some really clever wordplay going on; it just doesn’t move me. Likewise, I would never go to see Nine Inch Nails worshippers Defy when they do their in-store appearance at Tower Records on Saturday, November 30th. But maybe you liked Trent Reznor and will also like his wannabe. Who am I to say? I wouldn’t pay, but I might go see Aerosmith at The Pyramid if somehow free tickets fell into my lap, since I’m the only guy left on earth who hasn’t seen them live yet. But I won’t. Tellyawhat: You guys check out these shows. I’m going to sit home and watch Snowglobe over and over again on LiveFromMemphis.com. — Chris Davis

Categories
Film Features Film/TV

Moore and More

Bowling for Columbine is populist rabblerouser Michael Moore’s third documentary feature and possibly his best. It is less focused and less sure of itself than Roger & Me, which tracked the damage done to one town by one company, and The Big One, a particularly self-aggrandizing “concert film” about a Moore book tour that doubled as an invective against corporate greed. Here Moore asks questions he may not quite have the answers to, and somehow this lack of confidence makes the film even more affecting.

As much essay as investigation, Bowling for Columbine is a meditation on societal pathology, a glimpse at what author Richard Plotkin labeled “Gunfighter Nation.” Why do Americans have so many guns? And why do we use them so often?

Moore points out that America has far more gun deaths in an average year than any other industrialized nation, and the statistics are so eye-popping that they bear repeating: Germany –381, France — 255, Canada — 165, the United Kingdom — 68, Australia — 65, Japan — 39. The United States? 11,127.

In search of an explanation, what begins as a focus on one day — April 20, 1999, the day of the massacre at Columbine High School –spirals into a cross-country meditation on gun culture. Moore talks to James Nichols, the acquitted brother of Oklahoma bomber Terry Nichols, hangs out with the Michigan Militia (who calmly explain that anyone who isn’t armed isn’t being “responsible”), visits a bank (also a “licensed firearms dealer”) that is giving away a gun to all new customers, and tracks down NRA president Charlton Heston for one of his trademark confrontations. He returns to his native Flint after a horrific school shooting in which one 6-year-old kills another.

The film’s methodology mixes these on-site interviews and confrontations (Moore takes two Columbine survivors with 17-cent Kmart bullets still lodged in their bodies to corporate headquarters to “return the merchandise”) with found footage (a Chris Rock routine about the need for “bullet control,” an instructional video on school security, an early NRA television ad) and music montages (a series of American foreign-policy debacles — leading to the attack on the World Trade Center by “CIA-trained” Osama bin Laden –scored, rather egregiously, to Louis Armstong’s “What a Wonderful World”).

But what are the answers? Moore takes on possible sources one at a time. Violent cultural images in the form of rock music (especially Columbine scapegoat Marilyn Manson, an interviewee who seems to be one of the sanest people in the film), video games, and movies? Joe Lieberman may think so, but Moore, perhaps predictably, has doubts: Kids in other countries listen to the same music, play the same video games, and see the same films, but don’t lash out violently in the same ways.

Is it a history of state violence? No fan of the current cowboy-in-chief, Moore takes pains, often rather spurious, to link state militarism to the domestic murder rate (as when he continually points out that the Columbine shootings coincided with the heaviest bombing during the war in Kosovo), but he also acknowledges that other countries –particularly Germany and England –have just as much blood on their hands without the same problems with internal violence.

Is it a product of poverty and related social ills? The availability of firearms? Moore acknowledges that neighboring Canada has about as many guns per capita floating around and an even higher unemployment rate. But he also points out that — with universal health care and better public housing — Canada seems to be a country that takes care of its poor rather than attacking them. One Canadian citizen Moore interviews is confused when asked about the country’s “indigent.” Moore also, with great precision and barely contained outrage, shows how the popular welfare-to-work laws fostered a climate that contributed to the child-on-child shooting in Flint.

But, to the extent that Moore arrives at an answer, it is the availability of firearms in America in conjunction with a culture of fear that makes us more liable to use them. There’s a “Schoolhouse Rock”-style history of the United States that shows a mingling of fear and violence that leads from the pilgrims to white flight. There’s a consideration of the role of television news’ “if it bleeds it leads” ethos (Moore contends that, as the crime rate has fallen 20 percent, coverage of violent crime has risen 600 percent) and the role of panic-inducing politicians in breeding a culture that perceives more threat than is actually out there, with warnings thus becoming self-fulfilling prophecy.

With the Washington, D.C., sniper shootings receding from the headlines and “Countdown Iraq” (as one cable news network has already branded the coming war) commencing, Bowling for Columbine would seem presciently timed. But, as Moore has said, this is a film that could have been made a decade ago using different examples.

“Are we homicidal in nature?” one father of a Columbine victim asks. Moore doesn’t quite have all the answers, but his painfully funny yet sorrowful film is at least brave enough to ask the questions.

Chris Herrington

As I sat down for a matinee preview-screening of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, there was great excitement in the air among both children and parents.

The house lights’ dimming brought applause from the children, as did a trailer for a particularly crappy-looking movie about a talking, boxing, pickpocketing marsupial. Then the movie came along, with John Williams’ teasingly familiar score and spooky/cool drift from the clouds of a night sky to young Harry Potter’s room in his terrible “muggle” family’s house.

As the movie progressed, though, the titters and whinnies gradually stopped. Through the rest of the film’s 161 minutes, the audience hushed. Though there were plenty of babies in the audience, none cried, and where there are usually three or 12 annoyingly loud, uncontrollable children in any family-film experience I’ve ever had, all were quiet. It was stupefying. But explainable. A little of the magic is gone since the first Harry Potter film, maybe, but the mystery’s begun.

Harry hears voices. Not a good thing for anyone, even wizards, as pointed out by pal Hermione. The voices urge him to “kill, kill,” and not long after his colleagues turn up petrified (not dead, just … petrified, temporarily). Harry happens to be in the wrong place at several wrong times and bears the suspicion of his classmates for the deeds, each accompanied by a cryptic message scrolled in blood threatening worse results next time. Complicating Harry’s search for the truth is a nagging rumor that whoever is doing this is a “descendant of Slytherin” — Salazar Slytherin, that is, who helped found Hogwarts’ School of Witchcraft and Wizardry some 1,000 years ago. Both the late Slytherin and Harry have the ability to talk to snakes, a rare talent. Could Harry be a descendant of Slytherin? Does the weird, blank diary of long-vanished former student Tom Riddle hold the answers?

Most impressive about this sophomore entry into the Potter film franchise is the improved acting talents of its young stars — Daniel Radcliffe as Harry, the stronger Emma Watson as Hermione, and funnier Rupert Grint as Ron Weasley. Radcliffe, more than just a Potter look-alike, is discovering nuances in both inflection and expression. All of the returning stars have wider dramatic range and better comic timing. Kenneth Branagh was added to the cast as Gilderoy Lockhart, professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. A stylistic cross between Laurence Olivier and William Shatner, Branagh is at his hammy best as the smilingly vacant celebrity wizard. The recently deceased Richard Harris is clearly ailing as the grand wizard Albus Dumbledore, but that somehow adds gravity to Harry’s journey. I hope that Harris’ friend Peter O’Toole picks up the wand for the next Potter. Obvious candidates Christopher Lee and Ian McKellan are busy wizards in another blockbuster franchise currently, and O’Toole has the right mix of heart and wisdom for a master like Dumbledore.

My sister Lucia explains that the Potter books mature as Harry ages, becoming more adult in their concerns with each passing installment. Everything about The Chamber of Secrets reflects this, from the impending puberty of its young stars to the darker, more sophisticated visual style to the weight of its content. Mortality is a theme here, introduced as a more grown-up concept than was explored in The Sorcerer’s Stone. Slightly sugared by the narrative candy-coating of J.K. Rowling’s sensitive text, this works well. Young children may not quite be prepared for the genuine frights of giant talking spiders or their quiet, violent attacks, the flirty new ghost Moaning Myrtle — who has the best line: “If you die down there, you’re welcome to share my toilet” — or the haunting solemnity of Tom Riddle. But most responded wonderfully to the more mature material — quiet awe throughout. And I defy any nonsensical Harry Potter-is-an-agent-of-Satan book-banning parents to find fault with the responsible themes of racial inequity (nasty Draco Malfoy and his Aryan family are proponents of Hogwarts as a pure-bloods-only school) and honest childhood wisdom like Hermione’s “Fear of the name of something only increases the fear of the thing itself.” There is nothing to fear with Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. — Bo List

François Ozon’s 8 Women may be too postmodern for its own good. It’s a film buff’s stunt picture — an Agatha Christie-style murder mystery done as a Vincent Minnelli/Jacques Demy-style musical filmed with the stylized zeal of Douglas Sirk’s ’50s Technicolor melodramas, all directly inspired by George Cukor’s star-studded The Women. Got all that?

Of course, ever since the French New Wave inaugurated film as film criticism, there have been many, many great movies more influenced by other movies than by life. But 8 Women is too leaden and mannered to do justice to any of its influences. The musical sequences are static. The melodrama lacks real emotion. And the whodunit aspect is pretty mundane.

The film is a trifle –a stagey excuse for a multigenerational cast of notable French actresses to ham it up in eye-popping, color-coded costumes. And on that not-inconsiderable basis, 8 Women holds interest.

The film is set in a snowbound cottage in the French countryside, where the man of the house, Marcel, is discovered with a knife in his back. Eight women, all related to Marcel in some way, inhabit the house and its environs, and all become suspects. There’s Marcel’s wife Gaby (Catherine Deneuve), Gaby’s wheelchair-bound mother Mamy (Danielle Darrieux), and her unpleasant, spinster sister Augustine (Isabelle Huppert, who also stars in the far more serious The Piano Teacher, playing this week at Muvico’s Peabody Place theater), the latter two living at the cottage rent-free. And there are Marcel and Gaby’s two daughters, tomboyish teenager Catherine (Ludivine Sagnier), a mystery-novel-reading, new-wave pixie, and girlish, home-from-college Suzon (Virginie Ledoyen). There are also the home’s two servants — sexpot chambermaid Louise (Emmanuelle Béart) and French-African housekeeper Madame Chanel (Firmine Richard). Finally, emerging from the shadows is Marcel’s scandalous, ex-showgirl sister Pierrette (Fanny Ardant).

The iconic nature of this cast, Deneuve aside, is likely to be lost on American audiences not particularly knowledgeable about French cinema. But for those for whom these actresses’ stature is relevant, there are some memorably campy moments: Deneuve and Ardant rolling on the floor having a catfight; Deneuve saying of Huppert, “I’m beautiful and rich. She’s ugly and poor”; Deneuve awkwardly dancing along with her young castmates during one musical number. This last, of course, unintentionally entertaining. — CH

Categories
Music Music Features

Sound Advice

The latest installment of the Jazz Foundation of Memphis’ World Class Jazz Series brings renowned pianist Cyrus Chestnut to the New Daisy Theatre Saturday, November 23rd, for two sets, one at 7 p.m. and one at 9:30 p.m. Originally from Baltimore, the 39-year-old Chestnut worked behind artists such as Wynton Marsalis and Terence Blanchard before moving out on his own and becoming one of the most recognizable traditional jazz figures of his generation. In addition to drawing comparisons to earlier greats such as McCoy Tyner and Thelonious Monk, Chestnut’s work is notable for its blues and gospel influences. Chestnut will be accompanied by drummer Renardo Ward and bassist Erroll Thomas for this concert.

On the opposite end of the musical spectrum, local sonic assault artists The Lost Sounds will be throwing a record-release party this weekend for their riveting new effort, Rats’ Brains & Microchips. The Sounds will be at Young Avenue Deli Friday, November 22nd.

Chris Herrington

I’ve got no choice. I’ve got to go see Extreme Chaos: Insane Hardcore Midget Wrestling at the New Daisy Theatre on Friday, November 22nd. They managed to get the words “extreme,” “chaos,” “insane,” “hardcore,” and “midget” all crammed into a single title, and for that reason alone I will be in the crowd when all those little folks start to whooping on one another.

In the post-rock spirit of the late ’90s, Tiger Style recording artists The Mercury Program (coming to Young Avenue Deli on Thursday, November 21st) seem to be writing soundtracks for movies that don’t yet exist — whispered vocals barely apparent in the mix of guitar, electric piano, and vibraphones. (Yes, I said vibraphones.) At worst, the Florida-bred quartet sound like they are preparing to make a rocked-up version of those Sounds of the Rainforest CDs. That is to say, there is a definite gurgling quality to the Mercury Program’s sound, which is clearly more about texture than melody or even motion. They’ll be playing with local upstarts The Coach & Four.

Chris Davis