Categories
Music Music Features

Local Record Roundup

On the intro to Both Worlds *69 (Hypnotize Minds/Loud; Grade: B-), the sophomore release from Three 6 Mafia moll Gangsta Boo, one of the Three 6 impresarios announces that the record is dedicated to “all you motherfuckers that went pop. Hypnotize Minds is gonna keep it gangsta.” This tough talk no doubt comes from the heart and has an element of truth — the Three 6 family has made what is likely the roughest stuff (lyrically and musically) to ever scale the Billboard Top 10. But the statement is also disingenuous: Three 6’s music has gotten more “pop” over the last couple of years — which is precisely why they’ve moved from regional phenomenon to national commercial force — and the music is all the better for it.

This evolution is more detectable on Three 6 satellite releases than on the more rabidly antisocial records under the Three 6 Mafia moniker. Project Pat’s relatively relaxed and witty Mista Don’t Play from earlier this year earned its success with chart-worthy singles “Don’t Save Her” and the sublimely funny “Chickenhead.” Now comes Both Worlds, a quantum leap over Boo’s 1999 debut, Enquiring Minds.

Both Worlds opens rather conventionally, with the belligerent, charmless, hater-hating “Hard Not 2 Kill” and “They Don’t Love Me.” But then Boo turns the musical corner with three memorable songs that offer real insight on real subjects. “Mask 2 My Face” transitions out of the bludgeoning opening songs with a believable ode to drug purchasing that moves from trolling the projects to a flight to Amsterdam. Then comes the good stuff: “Love Don’t Live (U Abandoned Me)” is a break-up song that makes brilliant use of a title hook sampled from Rose Royce, a move we wouldn’t have expected from Three 6 a few years ago. Then there’s “Can I Get Paid (Get Your Broke Ass Out),” which is artistically ambitious in that Boo raps in a voice that isn’t quite her own. Here Boo is a stripper (whose favorite song to dance to is Gangsta Boo’s “Where Dem Dollars At”) spitting a diatribe against cheap patrons. Surely the recent hip-hop fixation on strip-club culture deserves a deeper analysis than Boo’s accepting commentary, but she adds plenty of righteous common sense to the subject by merely proffering the blunt chorus “Get your broke ass out the club/If you ain’t gonna tip.”

After that trifecta, Both Worlds takes another turn for the typical, and the group’s chronic musical limitations are more noticeable: the tiring horrorcore synths and a chanting, metronomic flow that doesn’t hold up very well over 70 minutes. But the record rebounds with useful cameos from Project Pat and Three 6’s Crunchy Black and with Boo finding her footing again with a couple of ribald sex tales: Boo gives a “player” what he deserves with the title-says-it-all “I Faked It” and takes an unexpected turn on the cheating song “Your Girl’s Man.”

Longtime local faves Big Ass Truck may be on hiatus right now (though they will play an in-store at Tower Records downtown on August 18th), but if the band’s latest release, The Rug (Terminus; Grade: A-), is any indication, they’re as strong a recording unit as ever.

During an interview with the Flyer earlier this year, singer-guitarists Robby Grant and Steve Selvidge characterized The Rug as an experimental detour for the band, with a “real” record to follow later. But the relaxed, tossed-off quality here obviously agrees with the band. Recorded locally at Easley-McCain Studios, the 37-minute, mostly vocal-free The Rug is a playful project that finds the band experimenting with a variety of sounds and styles and finding success with all of them. The album opens with the mid-tempo art-funk of “The Path,” probably the closest the record comes to establishing the standard sound of this extremely eclectic band. From there, The Rug sets off for parts unknown. With its active, almost exotic(a) percussion and guitar and keyboard lines that border on reverie, “The Me” evokes indie heroes Yo La Tengo at their loveliest. DJ Colin Butler scratches up “Doughblood,” giving some indication what Frank Zappa might have sounded like if he’d been influenced by hip hop. “The 0,” which is driven by the propulsive blare of local horn players Jim Spake and Scott Thompson, forges a new genre — call it Afro-(big) beat, Fatboy Slim meets Fela Kuti. The title track is an anthemic, spacey finale. And the rare vocal songs don’t disappoint either: Robby Grant’s smooth vocals mesh well with the almost tropicalia backdrop of “The Wardrobe,” while the first single, “Locked In,” provides an apt motto for a band that still finds fertile collaborative ground after almost a decade together.

The Word (Ropeadope/Atlantic; Grade: A-) is an instrumental gospel (which may seem like an oxymoron to some) collaboration between local faves The North Mississippi Allstars, jazz-funk keyboardist John Medeski (of Medeski, Martin and Wood), and young steel-guitar virtuoso Robert Randolph. Given the Allstars’ growing national status and Medeski’s strong cult following, The Word is likely to bring unprecedented secular attention to a music subculture — Pentecostal-bred sacred steel guitar — that previously found its most visible expression on a couple of relatively obscure Arhoolie compilations. But Randolph, until recently only heard on the Arhoolie compilations and at his New Jersey church, is the focal point here.

Though any non-Christian with an ear for soulful music should still be able to hear the glory in great gospel artists such as Mahalia Jackson and Clara Ward, the subject matter of religious music can still be forbidding to those who don’t subscribe to the particular beliefs being expressed. As an instrumental record, The Word makes it easy for non-believers to still thrill to the emotion and skill of the music. Allstars rhythm section Cody Dickinson and Chris Chew join Medeski to lay a solid foundation upon which Luther Dickinson and, especially, Randolph can, as one song title indicates, “fly away.” The result is exploratory jams that, for once, give the word jam a good name. Some songs attack with the Hendrixian/Allmanesque fury of classic rock, as on the epic “Without God” and “Waiting On My Wings.” Some move with a more graceful, more clearly church-born lilt, as on “At the Cross” and “I’ll Fly Away.” But everything lives up to the title of The Word‘s bookend cuts — “Joyful Sounds.”

The only thing — and I mean the only thing — wrong with The Best of the Memphis Jug Band (Yazoo; Grade: A), a 23-track compilation of sides from the most highly regarded of all jug bands, is a random track listing that ignores chronology and thus does disservice to a body of work that clearly evolves over time. Reprogram your CD and you can hear an arc over the record’s 1927-1934 span that goes from the already thrilling to the downright heroic.

Rock-and-roll fans who have never been able to get into solo acoustic blues should be all over this record — with a multipiece band, frequent harmony vocals, and a mishmash of styles that absorbs blues, hillbilly, vaudeville, ragtime, and jazz, this is as much proto-rock-and-roll as any other pop music of the pre-World War II era.

The Best of the Memphis Jug Band showcases a wonderful array of vocalists who spent time with the group — the bluesy style of founder Will Shade (“A Black Woman is Like a Black Snake”), the more hillbilly sound of jug player Jab Jones (“Stealin’, Stealin'”), the power of female vocalist Hattie Hart (the unforgettable “Cocaine Habit Blues”), and my favorite, the more polished, vaudevillian presence of Charlie Nickerson (“You May Leave, But This Will Bring You Back” and “He’s In The Jailhouse Now”), whose humorous contributions to the band could make them an early version of the Coasters. Truly essential listening.

You can e-mail Chris Herrington at herrington@memphisflyer.com.


local beat

by CHRIS HERRINGTON

Plans for The Acoustic Highway, a pilot broadcast of an Internet program based on the Flying Saucer’s weekly Memphis Troubadours Acoustic Showcase, have undergone some changes since reported in these pages a couple weeks ago. What was originally slated to be a live broadcast from a Los Angeles soundstage on Tuesday, August 14th, will now be a taping at Newby’s on the same date before a live audience. The program itself will be broadcast at a yet-to-be-determined date in September, according to creative director and showcase founder Wayne LeeLoy.

Tuesday’s taping at Newby’s is free and open to the public and starts at 7 p.m. Musicians will include LeeLoy, who performs regularly under the name Native Son, local singer-songwriter Cory Branan, regional fave Garrison Starr, and singer-songwriter Paul Thorn. At least one other local artist is expected to be added to the lineup. For more information on the project, you can check out the program’s Web site at www.acoustic.tv.

Among the myriad Elvis Week offerings is “Baby, Let’s Play House,a fund-raiser for the Center For Southern Folklore. The center will hold a patio party at the home Elvis once owned at 1034 Audubon Drive — currently owned by local Elvis historians Mike Freeman and Cindy Hazen — on Tuesday, August 14th, from 5 to 10 p.m. Tickets to the party are $35, which includes a tour of the house, a buffet filled with Elvis-related foods, an auction, and music from Elvis Presley’s Memphis regulars The Dempseys.

Malco Theatres will be the local host for a live satellite broadcast of a Sugar Ray and Uncle Kracker concert from Atlanta. The concert will be broadcast at 7 p.m. on Wednesday, August 15th, and shown locally at Malco’s Wolfchase and Majestic theaters. Admission is $15. This first-of-its-kind broadcast is apparently the beginning of a new spin on the old pay-per-view gambit, with the possibility of other live events — concerts, sports, Broadway shows — shown theatrically in the near future.

Odds and ends: The finals of the Beale Street Blues Society‘s annual talent search will be held Saturday, August 11th, at Blues City Café The Jazz Foundation of Memphis, sponsors of semiregular events such as the World Class Jazz Series and the Essence of Jazz Festival, has announced a fund-raising drive. For more information on becoming a Jazz Foundation member call 725-1528 The new Tower Records at Peabody Place got its in-store performance schedule off to a great start over the weekend with artists such as Tracy Nelson and the Full Gospel Tabernacle Choir. The music continues on Saturday, August 18th, with an afternoon performance by Big Ass Truck.

Categories
Music Music Features

GANGSTA BOO’S BOTH WORLDS *69

On the intro to Both Worlds *69 (Hypnotize Minds/Loud; Grade: B-), the sophomore release from Three 6 Mafia moll Gangsta Boo, one of the Three Six impresarios announces that the record is dedicated to “all you motherfuckers that went pop. Hypnotize Minds is gonna keep it gangsta.”

This tough talk no doubt comes from the heart and has an element of truth — the Three 6 family has made what is likely the roughest stuff (lyrically and musically) to ever scale the Billboard Top 10. But the statement is also disingenuous: Three 6’s music has gotten more “pop over the last couple of years — which is precisely why they’ve moved from regional phenomenon to national commercial force — and the music is all the better for it.

This evolution is more detectable on Three 6 satellite releases than on the more rabidly antisocial records under the Three 6 Mafia moniker. Project Pat’s relatively relaxed and witty Mista Don’t Play from earlier this year earned its success with chart-worthy singles “Don’t Save Her” and the sublimely funny “Chickenhead.”

Now comes Both Worlds, a quantum leap over Boo’s 1999 debut, Enquiring Minds. Both Worlds opens rather conventionally, with the belligerent, charmless, hater-hating “Hard Not 2 Kill” and “They Don’t Love Me.” But then Boo turns the musical corner with three memorable songs that offer real insight on real subjects.

“Mask 2 My Face’ transitions out of the bludgeoning opening songs with a believable ode to drug purchasing that moves from trolling the projects to a flight to Amsterdam. Then comes the good stuff: “Love Don’t Live (U Abandoned Me)” is a break-up song that makes brilliant use of a title hook sampled from Rose Royce, a move we wouldn’t have expected from Three 6 a few years ago.

Then there’s “Can I Get Paid (Get Your Broke Ass

Out),” which is artistically ambitious in that Boo raps in a voice that isn’t quite her own. Here Boo is a stripper (whose favorite song to dance to is Gangsta Boo’s “Where Dem Dollars At”) spitting a diatribe against cheap patrons. Surely the recent hip-hop fixation on strip-club culture deserves a deeper analysis than Boo’s accepting commentary, but she adds plenty of righteous common sense to the subject by merely proffering the blunt chorus “Get your broke ass out the club/If you ain’t gonna tip.”

After that trifecta, Both Worlds takes another turn for the typical, and the group’s chronic musical limitations are more noticeable: the tiring horrorcore synths and a chanting, metronomic flow that doesn’t hold up very well over 70 minutes. But the record rebounds with useful cameos from Project Pat and Three 6’s Crunchy Black and with Boo finding her footing again with a couple of ribald sex tales: Boo gives a “player” what he deserves with the title-says-it-all “I Faked It” and takes an unexpected

turn on the cheating song “Your Girl’s Man.”

Categories
Music Music Features

sound advice

There just aren’t too many bands that can open for both James Brown and the Misfits. In fact, I only know of one band that has shown the combined versatility, energy, and testosterone necessary to share the stage with the godfather of soul then turn around and open for those ghoulish old-school punks. That band would be Rocket From the Crypt.

In the mid-’90s this ever-evolving San Diego-based retro-punk outfit was being hailed by critics coast to coast as saviors of rock-and-roll. Major labels were bidding for them like a lost Picasso masterpiece at Christie’s. Anyone who has ever heard their spectacular album Scream Dracula Scream knows exactly why. They use horns like weapons. Their guitars cut a blazing trail straight through the middle of your face. Their lyrics are inspired by only the hippest drive-in-movie horrorshows. Striking a perfect balance between the pure outrageous punk of Pussy Galore and the infectious horn grooves of “Soulfinger”-era Bar-Kays, this group puts on a sweaty, intensely physical live show that is pretty hard to top. Miss these guys when they play the Young Avenue Deli on August 1st and you have missed one of the greatest rock bands of the era. Their new record, Group Sounds, isn’t quite as thrilling as previous releases, but for those who like to rock with wild abandon, it’ll do nicely. The shirtless, truly scorching Southern rock of Little Rock’s Go Fast and the garage-wave stylings of Memphis’ Lost Sounds are good gravy for what already promises to be one helluva meaty show. — Chris Davis

After a few slow weeks on the concert scene finally comes a week where local shows aren’t the most interesting live-music options: In addition to the notable shows written about elsewhere (Continental Drifters at the Hi-Tone Café, Rocket From the Crypt at Young Avenue Deli, and Mr. Quintron at the Map Room), this week sees the Center for Southern Folklore continuing with its recent fine bookings. After having Little Milton, Kate Campbell, and Billy Lee Riley in recent weeks, the center is bringing zydeco master Roy Carrier in on Friday, July 27th. Showtime is 8 p.m. with a $12 cover ($10 for advance tickets), but there will be free dance lessons given from 7 to 8 p.m.

The Map Room boasts one of its biggest bookings in a while with Rebecca Gates, the former lead singer for mid-’90s indie faves the Spinanes. Gates will hit town with a new solo album to promote and will be at the Map Room on Thursday, July 26th.

On Saturday, July 28th, Handy Park will greet bluesy singer Joan Osborne, who will always be remembered for her mid-’90s hit “One of Us” (even if Prince’s cover was better) and who most recently produced the fine new album from the New York blues band the Holmes Brothers. — Chris Herrington

Categories
Music Record Reviews

Short Cuts

NEU!/NEU! 2/ NEU! 75

NEU!

(Astralwerks)

Articulating the relevance of the definitive Krautrock band NEU! in the rock canon is a nigh impossible task. I would have better luck wounding the sun with ice-cream arrows. The band’s three proper albums have been criminally out of print in this country for 25 years. Krautrock, an appellation buzzed up by lazy British journalists, was a musical movement primarily based in West Germany that sought to fuse the concepts and methodology of avant garde composition with the melodies, tropes, and trappings of rock-and-roll. The most visible and most easily parodied group in all of Krautrock was Kraftwerk (see Saturday Night Live‘s “Dieter” skit). In 1971, Kraftwerk served as the meeting point for guitarist Michael Rother and drummer Klaus Dinger, who soon departed from the band to form NEU! — all CAPS, every time, exclamation point! — a screaming pop-art adjective meaning new, fresh, or modern, usually written in eye-catching Day-Glo, like a detergent ad.

The band’s eponymous debut was released in 1972 to relatively little acclaim but gradually began to gather recognition. The first album is an epiphany. It’s as simple as that. On “Hallogallo,” Rother starts out making guitar noises that one would swear are seagulls playing the bagpipes — trance-inducing yet galvanizing. Dinger, who just edges out the Velvet Underground’s Moe Tucker for greatest rock non-drummer of all time, has an extremely limited repertoire: one beat (at various tempos) and one fill. But the sound is never tiresome. Once Dinger starts his relentless motorik rhythm, the heartbeat of the autobahn, one wishes the song would never end.

The success of the first record put more pressure on the duo to release a profitable sophomore effort. In the studio for NEU! 2 things were going well until the group realized that they had exceeded their budget after recording only two full songs. In this case, necessity was the mother of invention and thus was born the rock-and-roll remix. NEU! put their two completed songs, “Super” and “Neuschnee,” on side 2 of the record at different speeds (16 rpm and 78 rpm) and one track with Dinger just manually diddling with the tempo. Ultimately NEU! 2 is a wondrously prankish, but failed, experiment.

Due to the inevitable split based on “artistic differences,” the band took a two-year hiatus. They re-formed, and the result, NEU! 75, is a fascinating rock chimera. NEU! 75 lets Rother and Dinger rule their own fiefdoms, with each getting a side of his own. Rother’s work, while bucolic and luxurious, doesn’t necessarily gain any new artistic ground. Side 2 is where Dinger exercises his id and gives Johnny Rotten a template for affected electric lunacy. Dinger’s howled, high-in-the-mix vocals on “Hero,” the most important NEU! song since the first album’s “Hallogallo,” truly acts as a harbinger for the punk sound, particularly the British bad-teeth-on-the-bleedin’-dole variety.

NEU! has always been about motion. The parents of Krautrockers are of a generation that Tom Brokaw would probably not call the greatest. A collective national guilt pervaded daily life in Germany. NEU! evokes that desire to continually keep moving, dancing away from the past. Their influence on other musicians has been phenomenal. David Bowie openly credits them as the major influence on his Berlin trilogy of albums (Low, Heroes, Lodger).

The remastering on these three reissues is superb. Supposedly, it took three go-arounds at the control boards and months of legal wrangling. But it’s worth it to have them back in print. And if you notice some sonic dropout effects and needle-dropping surface noise, don’t return it as defective. It is all an intentional part of NEU!’s little gambit — you know, that German sense of humor. — David Dunlap

Grades: NEU! (A+); NEU! 2 (B); NEU! 75 (A-)

Better Day

Continental Drifters

(Razor & Tie)

The Continental Drifters are a testament to how modest talent can be maximized by healthy group dynamics: With Vicki Peterson (the Bangles), Peter Holsapple (the dbs), and Susan Cowsill (the Cowsills, natch) leading the way, the band melds classic-rock power chords, folk-rock jangle, and girl-group harmonies. The result is a second-tier rock-star collective turned first-rate bar band. The esprit de corps that made Vermilion, the band’s 1999 de facto debut, such a charmer is still in place. But, on Better Day, the camaraderie doesn’t enliven the band’s often well-worn lyrical tropes quite as much. Instead, it’s the bright, AM-radio vibe of songs like “Na, Na” and “Live on Love” that stands out on an album less notable for its solid songwriting than for its playful sonic mix, which makes room for N’awlins horns and bluegrass fills in its roots-pop blueprint and puts the lovely, lived-in voices of Peterson and Cowsill up front. “Live on Love” is especially invigorating, with the pas de deux between Holsapple’s lead vocal and Peterson and Cowsill’s soulful backup mirroring the interaction between Booker T. organ and Crescent City horns. — Chris Herrington

Grade: B+

The Continental Drifters will be at the Hi-Tone Café on Thursday, July 26th, with the Billygoats.

Listening Log:

This Is BR5-49 — BR5-49 (Lucky Dog): They’d still be an ace cover band for a new version of Hee Haw or Disney’s Country Land, but their schtick is wearing thin and the move toward more “serious” songs, including a straight-faced cover of the Anne Murray atrocity “A Little Good News,” sounds like a call for help. (“While You Were Gone,” “Fool Of the Century”)

Grade: C

Moanin’ For Molasses — Sean Costello (Landslide): A rarity — a young, white blues hope who can play and sing but who rarely overplays or oversings. And he does a shockingly good James Brown. Doesn’t write much, though. (“Moanin’ For Molasses,” “One Kiss,” “I Want You Bad”)

Grade: B+

Scorpion — Eve (Interscope): As is distressingly common for female MCs (see Missy Elliott), Eve comes back “harder” on her sophomore album, and the attitude dulls her charm. Biz talk, braggadocio, no girly stuff. (“Who’s That Girl?,” “Let Me Blow Ya Mind,” “Got What You Need”)

Grade: B

Sad Sappy Sucker — Modest Mouse (K): A “lost album” circa 1994 that packs 23 song sketches into 34 minutes, this is half-assed closet clutter and formative ramblings from a soon-to-be-near-great indie band. (“From Point A To Point B,” “Dukes Up,” “Race Car Grin You Ain’t No Landmark”)

Grade: B

Sugar Ray — Sugar Ray (Atlantic): The band’s multi-culti radio pop sounds good in any setting, great in none. Lead singer/celebrity Mark McGrath is smooth enough to turn groupie sex into a sweet lover’s plea on “Answer the Phone” but not nearly smooth enough to redeem the awkward ’80s nostalgia of “Under The Sun.” (“When It’s Over,” “Disasterpiece”)

Grade: B

Filtered: The Best of Filtered Dance — Various Artists (Tommy Boy): A continuous-mix compilation of dance tracks recorded through a process that I don’t really grasp that makes everything sound like it’s happening in a wind tunnel. The first two songs — from Daft Punk offshoot Stardust and Armand Van Helden — are for the ages, the rest will suffice on Saturday night. (“Music Sounds Better With You” — Stardust; “U Don’t Know Me” — Armand Van Helden; “Big Love” — Pete Heller) — CH

Grade: B+

You can e-mail Chris Herrington at herrington@memphisflyer.com.

Categories
Music Music Features

Local Beat

The lineup for the latest Memphis-based music festival was announced at a press conference last Friday. Joining the Beale Street Music Fest, Bluestock, and a reborn Memphis Music and Heritage Festival will be The Great Southern Beer Festival — a three-day event of live music and beer-tasting that will be held Friday, August 24th, through Sunday, August 26th, at the Mud Island Amphitheatre and River Park.

The musical lineup for the inaugural event mixes local bands and national acts with an increasingly typical Memphis focus on blues and rock nostalgia acts. B.B. King‘s blues tour, which also includes Buddy Guy (perhaps the only national artist on the bill to release a significant album of new music this year), John Hiatt, and Tommy Castro, headlines Sunday night in perhaps the festival’s most compelling booking. Classic rockers are catered to on Friday, with headliners Bill Wyman’s Rhythm Kings — a new band led by the former Rolling Stones bass player — and Cheap Trick.

It’s difficult not to judge Saturday’s lineup as a disappointment by comparison. The headliner is local hard-rock band Dust For Life, who have been struggling to break out nationally for the last year and who seem a little out of place as festival headliners. The other Saturday headliner is Drivin’ N Cryin’, regional college faves who hit their commercial and artistic peak in the late ’80s and early ’90s.

In addition to the Main Stage, there will be an Emerging Artists Stage that combines out-of-town acts (such as VH-1 Bands on the Run contestants Soulcracker, Chicago’s Swinging Love Hammers, Philadelphia’s Pepper’s Ghost, and Detroit’s 19 Wheels) and local bands (such as Lucero, Dora, and Cory Branan).

Tickets for the festival, which will hopefully add a little juice to the flagging concert scene at Mud Island, are $33 for a three-day pass and $15 per day for advance tickets. Single-day tickets at the gate will be $19. Tickets are available through TicketMaster or at the Mud Island box office. For more information on the Great Southern Beer Festival, check the festival Web site at www.thegreatsouthernbeerfestival.com.

Great Southern Beer Festival Lineup:

Friday, August 24th:

Main Stage — Bill Wyman’s Rhythm Kings, Cheap Trick, The Wall, Ingram Hill

Emerging Artists Stage — Swinging Love Hammers, Lucero, Cory Branan, Dead Tight Five

Saturday, August 25th:

Main Stage — Dust for Life, Drivin’ N Cryin’, The Radiators, Jupiter Coyote, Breaking Point

Emerging Artists Stage — Pepper’s Ghost, GTO, Sammy’s Good Eye, FreeWorld, Internationals, Phenophonic, Crash Into June

Sunday, August 26th:

Main Stage — B.B. King, Buddy Guy, John Hiatt and the Goners, Tommy Castro, Kudzu Kings, The Pawtuckets

Emerging Artists Stage — Soulcracker, 19 Wheels, CYC, Scott Sudbury, Dora

Categories
Music Music Features

The Mighty Quintron

The musical subculture of New Orleans’ 9th Ward is as far removed from Middle America as the rarest of tropical birds. It’s exotic to say the least and colorful to a fault. Overused modifiers like “quirky” can’t even begin to tell the story. If John Kennedy Toole, author of A Confederacy of Dunces, could have located the right Jackson Square Tarot reader, looked deep into the future, and seen this motley assortment of outrageous artists, misbegotten oddballs, and inexplicable fashion disasters, he might never have committed suicide. It would have provided him with more than enough inspirational fodder to fill at least a dozen more fantastical novels, each as oddly charming as Confederacy. In fact, it’s almost impossible to watch members of the 9th Ward posse — such as MC Tracheotomy, a comically misanthropic Afro-sporting hip-hop Elvis impersonator — without thinking about Toole’s overeducated and disconnected antihero Ignatius J. Reilly.

Try watching one of Miss Pussycat’s curious little pop-culture puppet shows without it conjuring up images of Reilly’s accidental consort, the loud and liberated Miss Myrna, on an artistic tear. Try taking a drink at the indescribably nifty Saturn Bar, a popular 9th Ward watering hole so bizarre it makes Memphis’ P&H Café seem as sterile as any Applebee’s, without hearing Toole’s character Sunglasses and his step-right-up declaration, “Guaranteed to get syphilis off the ice cubes.” It’s another world down there in N’awlins. And in that off-kilter world, Mr. Quintron, an impossibly skinny key-pounder with a devilish gleam in his eyes and the spirit of the Lord radiating from his fingertips, is the undisputed king.

The last time I saw Quintron perform it was 4 in the morning at his home/club opposite the Saturn Bar. We had just crossed the millennial border, as New Year’s Eve 1999 became New Year’s Day 2000. Prince would have been impressed. Quintron was standing shirtless behind a clear plastic curtain, sweating like James Brown, pounding out his signature gospel-drenched dance numbers to the charismatic delight of an overstuffed crowd. Even in January the humidity was thick, calling to mind one of Quintron’s own comments. In an incredibly rare interview he once said something to the effect, “It’s too hot in New Orleans to just make a lot of noise. The crowd won’t stand for it.” Hence Quintron’s hypnotic blend of boogied-up carnival music played intensely, almost as if his lone organ heralded the second glory-soaked coming of Christ. Nick Diablo, the eclectic frontman for Memphis’ American Deathray, stood on the front row, eyes rolling back in his head, shaking jelly-kneed as if he might fall out at any moment. All around hipsters of every stripe, vintage-clad martini-swillers, gutter punks, and rockers in their nattiest leathers did likewise. Anyone who wandered in on this show without expectations must have thought he had stumbled into the deepest pit of hell — and found a tent revival going on.

Over the last decade Mr. Quintron has, along with his wife Miss Pussycat, created a catalog of recorded material that defies easy description. His most outstanding efforts include a solo LP titled Satan is Dead (Do the Stomp) and a collaboration with Memphis’ premier punks the Oblivians on The Oblivians Play Nine Songs with Mr. Quintron. The former, with its monotone chants, circus-inspired melodies, and insane religious fervor, is augmented by an electronic device for the production of rhythmic noise called the “Drum Buddy.” The D.B., Quintron’s own invention, looks like a coffee can on a turntable, and it functions like a cross between a theramin and a drum machine. Beams of light shoot out from perforations in the can which, when interrupted by a passing hand, produce a series of piercing squawks and thudding beats. It’s a handy tool for a one-man band. It is classic Quintron.

Nine Songs is a wee bit more accessible. Of all the Oblivians’ fine releases, it is, largely due to Mr. Quintron’s simmering organ work, their unqualified masterpiece. Just like fighting fire with fire, these two seemingly untamable forces nullified each other and in doing so opened the door to a new dimension. Nine Songs is the definitive voice of the Dirty (white) South. It’s a smoking battlefield where the carcasses of the blues and rockabilly smolder in the wake of punk. It is the sound of evolution.

The talented Mr. Quintron, along with the lovely Miss Pussycat and the whole 9th Ward gang, is playing the Map Room on Friday, July 27th, with Memphis’ own Virtual Girlz in tow. Let your freak flag fly.

You can e-mail Chris Davis at davis@memphisflyer.com.


local beat

Plan ahead — In addition to the Great Southern Beer Festival (see page 47), there are a number of notable shows on tap for the next month or so. Get your calendars out and mark the following dates: On Friday, August 3rd, multiplatinum R&B force R. Kelly will be at the Mid-South Coliseum; buzz-worthy singer-songwriter Pete Yorn will be at Newby’s on Wednesday, August 22nd; The White Stripes, one of the year’s most hyped indie bands, will be at Earnestine and Hazel’s on Monday, September 10th; and the electronica duo The Crystal Method will be spinning at the International Shell Complex on Monday, September 17th.

As for local shows, a British film crew will be in town on Saturday, August 4th, to film a Young Avenue Deli double bill of Lucero and The Subteens. Apparently, the Brits want to find out if rock music still exists in America outside of teen pop and nü metal, so their Memphis stop is likely to offer compelling evidence that it does. That same night, power-poppers Eighty Katie will be throwing a CD-release party at the Hi-Tone Café, to be followed by a second release party on Friday, August 10th, at Shangri-La Records. Also on the 10th, local metal heroes Saliva will have a coming home party of sorts at the New Daisy Theatre, their first local performance since their impressive set at the Beale Street Music Fest in May.

And, finally, Labor Day weekend will provide a couple of very promising local showcases. The Center for Southern Folklore will bring back its much-missed Memphis Music and Heritage Festival, while Shangri-La Records will celebrate the release of a book/CD project on Memphis garage bands of the Seventies by bringing back some of those bands for a reunion show on Saturday, September 1st.

Other news of noteThe Oxford American‘s annual music issue is out, with a profile of Memphis soul star Ann Peebles by local writer and sometime Flyer contributor Andria Lisle There will be a tribute concert for late local musician Craig Shindler on September 22nd at the Overton Park Shell. Anyone interested in helping with this event should contact Karen Rockett at cstribute@aol.com Al Green will be honored by the Rhythm and Blues Foundation on October 4th at Harlem’s historic Apollo Theatre. Green will receive the organization’s Lifetime Achievement Award. Other honorees will include Stax vocal trio The Emotions and Brinkley, Arkansas, jump-blues legend Louis Jordan The Web site for local label Makeshift was mistakenly given as www.makeshiftrecords.com a few weeks ago. The actual address is www.makeshiftmusic.com.

Categories
Music Music Features

Sound Advice

One-timeFlyer cover subject and arguably the world’s greatest
under-40 blues player, Alvin Youngblood Hart is the local music force
that isn’t. This constantly touring East Memphis resident doesn’t play locally
very often. As far as I know he’s played two Memphis shows so far this year —
not counting an appearance at a recent Prairie Home Companion broadcast
at The Orpheum. His show on a Tuesday night in February at the Hi-Tone
Café might be the best I’ve seen this year, as Hart and his crack
three-piece band whipped through a revelatory set that melded blues and
country and classic rock and nearly every other sound under the sun. He
brought out local singers Jackie Johnston and Susan Marshall for a set that
included a scorching version of the Rolling Stones’ “Sway.” I don’t
normally get excited by guitar players, but his playing was thrilling
– precise, explosive, imaginative, and somehow never indulgent. It was the
most enthralling guitar performance I’ve seen since witnessing Built To
Spill’s Doug Martsch perform a similar feat half a dozen years ago. There were
maybe 70 people at the Hart show — maybe. Hart’s other local show this year
was at the Blues Tent at the Beale Street Music Fest — a similar set with the
same band, still great but less exciting due to the atmosphere. But Hart will
be back this week for a two-night stay at B.B. King’s Blues Club on Friday,
July 20th, and Saturday, July 21st. He’s the best Memphis has to offer right
now and you don’t get many chances to see him. Don’t miss it.– Chris
Herrington

Tyler Keith, former frontman for Oxford’s explosive Dixie-
thrash masters the Neckbones, returns to the Young Avenue Deli Saturday, July
21st. It’s Johnny Thunders meets Johnny Paycheck when Keith and his band the
Preacher’s Kids unleash their new-and-improved brand of defiant, working man’s
punk. Keith is a charismatic shouter whose furious guitar sermons can quickly
whip a crowd into a Pentecostal frenzy. His solo debut, Romeo Hood , is
not only the best release yet from the Monticello, Mississippi, label Black
Dog, it’s one of the best new discs I’ve heard all year. Grab it, spin it,
learn the words, and get revved up for a hell of a show. If the performance
they gave at Shangri-La Records a few months back is any indication, the Kids
like to play, and the rowdier the crowd gets the better. — Chris Davis

Categories
Music Record Reviews

Short Cuts

Rooty, Basement Jaxx (Astralwerks)

Discovery, Daft Punk (Virgin)

Though the age of Dylan and the Beatles still seems to hold sway
over pop music consciousness — the Bard’s 60th birthday and the Beatles’
shamefully useless Anthology repackaging have gotten more respectful
attention than anything else music-related this year — you could make a
compelling case that the most important era of post-war pop wasn’t the Summer
of Love or even the “birth of rock” in the mid-’50s but the
relatively uncelebrated late ’70s. That’s right — the malaise-filled Carter
administration as home to pop’s most thorough cultural correction.

In retrospect, the late ’70s witnessed the birth of three pop
styles that formed the core of most compelling pop that’s been made since —
punk, hip hop, and disco. Disco has been the most maligned from day one, but
with punk in commercial decline, that producer-/DJ-/diva-driven dance music
rivals hip hop for global supremacy. Of course, no one calls it disco anymore,
since the term was long-ago displaced by monikers such as techno, electronica,
and club and gerrymandered into a morass of subgenres seemingly designed to
scare off dilettantes.

But for those who can’t be bothered to distinguish between arcane
subsets like tech-house, 2-step, and speed-garage, there seem to be two types
of dance music that spark more general interest. There’s the hip-hop- and
garage-rock-influenced big beat of Fatboy Slim — DJ bricolage as Big Dumb
Fun. Then there’s the music captured on these two albums, which, terminology
be damned, is just plain disco — disco that Chic and Donna Summer could be
proud of.

Daft Punk’s Discovery is the better of the two — pure,
transcendent, vocoder-laden dance-floor delivery that opens with a four-song
rush that sounds positively historic. The lead cut/single “One More
Time” is Kool and the Gang’s “Celebration” reimagined as post-
millenial club hymn. “One more time/We’re gonna celebrate/Oh yeah/Don’t
stop the dancing,” guest vocalist Romanthony sings as the French DJ duo
imbues the mundane sentiments with a sonic aura that borders on the magical.
Next is the smart, witty instrumental “Aerodynamic,” which cunningly
juxtaposes two genres seemingly furthest removed from dance music — guitar-
heavy acid rock and classical-leaning prog rock — without ever losing the
beat or forgoing the funk. “Digital Love” lifts ’70s AOR a la ELO
and REO Speedwagon for a sweet little dance-floor love song. “Harder,
Better, Faster, Stronger” completes the triumphant opening set with a
virtuoso, vocodered-vocal symphony composed primarily of the four words of the
title. Discovery comes down to earth after that, with a barrage of
instrumentals that flirt with, but never succumb to, the monotony that
disbelievers tend to associate with electronic dance music.

Rooty starts off on a high note as grand as
Discovery but can’t sustain it for as long. The lead cut/single
“Romeo” is as thrilling in its own way as the London duo’s great
1999 single “Red Alert.” With guest vocalist Kele Le Roc providing a
vocal filled with more personality than the typical diva-for-hire club vocals,
the song is the catchiest romantic kiss-off in memory. After that stunner,
Rooty reveals its true mission: to be the new decade’s best Prince
album, a feat that, sadly, it is likely to attain. “Breakaway”
sounds like one of the Prince songs he recorded under altered-voice pseudonym
Camille. The over-sexed “Get Me Off” is more salacious than anything
Prince has done since the similarly titled “Gett Off” almost a
decade ago.

Rooty doesn’t hold up, first note to last, quite like
Discovery does, but anyone with a pop sensibility who wants to sample
some modern club music would be well-advised to start with either record. —
Chris Herringon

Grades: A- (both records)

Hot Shots II, The Beta Band (Astralwerks)

While the title of the Beta Band’s second proper album perhaps
unknowingly refers to an unfortunate Charlie Sheen movie from 1993, the spirit
of Hot Shots II suggests that this Welsh quartet is already standing in
line for Lord of the Rings tickets. At times overwrought with trippy
fantasy references and sci-fi-themed lyrics, the album namedrops the Mighty
Morphin Power Rangers on “Al Sharp” and chants “Sell to them
the killing gem/Attack to get it back” repeatedly on “Life.”
But there’s no unifying theme or narrative here to tie everything together:
Hot Shots II is a concept album in search of a concept.

Fortunately, the band emphasizes rhythm and texture as much as,
if not more than, the band’s lyrics. The album’s carefully sculpted beats and
elegant soundscapes are simultaneously precision-calculated and dreamily
spontaneous, making Hot Shots II a very imaginative and listenable, if
not very consistent, album.

The lead track, “Squares,” lays a shuffling electronica
beat over a trip-hop bassline, hits stride with a beautifully spiraling guitar
solo, and ends with a coda of Casiotone handclaps. It’s the Beta Band at their
best: “Squares” grabs handfuls of disparate genre elements, squashes
them all together, and makes them sound not only cohesive but natural and
harmonious.

The album’s closer, “Won,” is a glorious trainwreck:
The band grafts Harry Nilsson’s “One” onto a hip-hop breakdown, over
which New York-based musician Sean Reveron raps about “cinematic
synergy.” The original’s famously relentless chord sequence remains,
although the violins sound like a tip of the hat to the recent Aimee Mann
cover. The song shouldn’t work at all, but it’s a strangely compelling mess of
elements — easily the album’s most inspired risk.

Ultimately, listeners may wish the band had stuck more closely to
experiments like “Won” and had forgone some of the D&D
inspired digressions. Still, most of the album lives up to the title, even if
some songs never quite rise above tepid shots of playful beats and stilted
lyrics. — Stephen Deusner

Grade: B

The Invisible Man, Mark Eitzel (Matador)

The phrase “singer-songwriter” can rightfully produce a
feeling of petrifying terror in discerning listeners. I’m not discrediting the
entire genre — when it’s good, it’s beautiful, but when it’s bad wow.
I will wager that Mark Eitzel is aware of this. That’s one of the reasons his
output is largely iconoclastic and only occasionally wow. Despite the
trendy electronic overlay, The Invisible Man is an album of wit,
confidence, and individuality. It’s a strong and moody album that doesn’t
resort to assaulting you with a personal holocaust every five minutes, aware
that with the exception of perhaps Arab Strap the listener must not be
constantly subjected to unsubtle baggage.

Much of the ’80s and early ’90s saw Eitzel fronting the acclaimed
American Music Club before dissolving them in 1996 to focus on his already
prolific solo career (this is the sixth full-length under his name). Eitzel,
with and without AMC, has worn a path to and from the alcoholism and self-
deprecation drawing board, using a whip-smart vocabulary to make those two
life-wreckers harmonious. And the songwriting is here in spades, enveloped not
by the chaotic folk element that personified great Eitzel moments of yore (see
“The Dead Part Of You” from AMC’s Everclear if you question
this) but by a thick atmosphere dominated by keyboards, swinging synthetic
percussion, and burbling glitchtronics. It can be awkward and unbecoming, as
with “To the Sea,” with its forced Euro-beats, or when the swooshing
background noises become an unneeded focal point (“The Boy With the
Hammer”), but skip the handful of offenders and you have a unique keeper
that belies the fact that it appears at the butt-end of a 20-year career. —
Andrew Earles

Grade: B+

You can e-mail Chris Herrington at herrington@memphisflyer.com.

Categories
Music Music Features

The Curse Of Great Beauty

The beautiful were never meant to suffer,” Eef Barzelay
announces near the outset of his band Clem Snide’s latest album, The Ghost
of Fashion
, before lowering his voice to a whispery ache to complete the
line — “And I’m so beautiful.”

Given the ambiguous tone of most of the band’s music, it makes
sense that we can’t be quite sure where Barzelay is coming from at this moment
— is he honestly lamenting his band’s awkward fate as celebrated fringe-
dwellers or is he merely goofing on it? Either way it’s a fitting statement
for both Clem Snide and the similar band the Ass Ponys, whose own recent
album, Lohio, is also quite beautiful: These groups are saddled with
the honor and curse of being two of the smartest bands in all of
America(na).

Both the New York-based Clem Snide and the Ohio-based Ass Ponys
are indie bands that have recovered from major-label flirtations. The Ass
Ponys put out a couple of records for A&M in the mid-’90s, back when the
majors were drunk on Nirvana and throwing money at indies everywhere. The band
disappeared after 1996’s The Known Universe, assumed dead until they
popped up last year on the Chicago indie label Checkered Past with the strong
comeback Some Stupid With a Flare Gun. Clem Snide put out the perhaps
too-dour Your Favorite Music on Sire just a couple of years ago but
have now found a more comfortable fit with New York’s indie SpinArt.

Clem Snide and the Ass Ponys both play straightforward rock with
a rootsy bent, and both bands employ a wide instrumental palette. The Ass
Ponys are more rock, with lead guitarist Bill Alletzhauser evoking the ragged
glory of Neil Young at times, but they are just as liable to spike their rust-
belt rock with dollops of bluegrass strings, soul organ, or alt-associated
Moog. By contrast, Clem Snide is more atmospheric. The Ghost of
Fashion
‘s soundscapes are given an acoustic lilt by the dominant bed of
strings and horns. On the bridge of “Long Lost Twin” these elements
swell to a crescendo that could have been lifted from a Drifters record —
indie rock does “There Goes My Baby.”

But the element that most unites Clem Snide and the Ass Ponys is
their respective frontmen — Barzelay and the Ponys’ Chuck Cleaver are as
smart, idiosyncratic, and observant a pair of rock songwriters as there is
right now, and both, to their credit, find their voice through the camaraderie
and sound-sense of a functioning band. The American underground has long
harbored these kinds of frontmen. The Replacements’ Paul Westerberg is the
model. The Archers of Loaf’s Eric Bachman was a worthy inheritor. The Old 97s’
Rhett Miller is another contemporary example (and he’s currently having his
own major-label flirtation).

But if dissonance and raw attitude were what kept Westerberg and
Bachman from mainstream stardom, then Cleaver and Barzelay have different
commercial handicaps. Though both front bands musical enough to implant hooks
and melodies into your hum matrix, these guys are just too smart (or, some
might say, too smart-alecky) to play it straight. Cleaver and Barzelay have a
way of undermining their own anthems. This strategy — if you can call it that
— is so prevalent on Lohio that it’s almost the album’s theme. Time
and time again the Ass Ponys produce undeniable, almost classic-rock
structures, only to have Cleaver pull them in unusual, if not perverse,
directions.

Lohio‘s jaw-dropping opener, “Last Night It
Snowed,” starts with delicate piano that matches Cleaver’s awestruck
description of the preceding night’s snowfall. But this lovely setting gets an
almost triumphantly sarcastic twist as Cleaver taunts a visitor with the
snowfall’s fleetingness, giving way to morning rain and a landscape
“turned back to gray” as Cleaver’s cold “I told you so”
introduces a barrage of power chords.

“Dried Up” could almost be Cleaver’s own “Night
Moves.” Alletzhauser laces the song with a limber, stomping guitar riff
that could be Neil Young’s “Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere” turned
inside-out, and Cleaver spins a nostalgic coming-of-(sexual)-age tale.
Cleaver’s “I recall the smell of summer on your skin/We were 17 and
everything was pounding and it wouldn’t stop” could have sprung from Bob
Seger’s pen, but it’s doubtful Mr. “Old Time Rock and Roll” would
have tolerated Cleaver’s lovingly sarcastic follow-up — “It’s hard to
put into words what I was thinking then/I don’t know/We were alive or
something.”

And so it goes. “Butterfly” is a rousing classic-rock
anthem that finds sonic middle ground between the Who and the Stones. The song
is a deliciously in-your-face taunt: “Hey man, you wanna be the pilot of
a kamikaze aeroplane/Instead, I bet you’re gonna add it to a list of things
you never tried/You’re a fifth wheel, a fourth-class, third-string, second-
rate kind of guy.” “Nothing Starts Today” is a gentle acoustic
gem on a par with the Beatles’ “Blackbird,” but it’s really an ode
to procrastination and atrophy.

Clem Snide is less prone to that kind of rock grandeur, but when
they do channel it, as on the beautiful, soaring “Moment In the
Sun,” Barzelay undercuts the aural command even more perversely. In this
case, Barzelay plays it straight enough vocally to keep you guessing, but the
song itself is deeply, deeply sarcastic. In a first-person confessional
reportedly inspired by folkie-cum-poet babe Jewel, Barzelay sings, “I
have a lot of things to say/And you’d be wise to listen good/I think that
hunger, war, and death/Are bringing everybody down/La, la, la, la, la,
la.”

But Barzelay and Cleaver aren’t just wiseacres. In fact, these
two songwriters both have a penchant for combining pop-culture references with
deeply felt emotional truths. On “Kung Fu Reference,” Cleaver
documents a mundane night of slackerdom with something like the oddball wonder
that R.E.M. brought to “Man On the Moon,” matter-of-factly setting
the scene with this — “Big evening up ahead/A wide array of
choices/Blade Runner, RoboCop, or The Bride of
Frankenstein
.” Barzelay offers a devastatingly lovely reverie to a
high school girlfriend with the arch title “Joan Jett of Arc” —
reliving his ’80s youth with these fondly referential lines: “My black
heart was heavy/Her mom’s Couger was fast/As ‘Little Pink Houses’ was
whistled/And it was all-you-can-eat at the Sizzler that night/My steak-burning
Joan Jett of Arc.”

But despite their many similarities, Cleaver and Barzelay are
still quite different songwriters. Barzelay is a wit, master of the clever
one-liner. On “Long Lost Twin” he hitches almost the entire song to
the unforgettable line “Tonight I feel like Elvis longing for his long-
lost twin.” Cleaver, on the other hand, is more of a pop-song short story
writer, observing and documenting the bizarre yet literal with a flair that
compares favorably to songwriters as diverse as Tom T. Hall and Freedy
Johnston.

And the two men’s takes on romance are decidedly different.
Cleaver takes pleasure in exploring romantic wreckage in concise, vivid
lyrical strokes. He lassos the scorching tempo of “Only” just long
enough to plead, “Please don’t kick my busted heart too far,” while
the delicate fiddle melody of “Calendar Days” provides a backdrop to
a similar romantic query — “Do I still exist in the bottomless pit of
your heart?” Barzelay’s romantic entanglements are less devastated, more
playful, and more, well, snide — sex talk for bookworms. On “Don’t Be
Afraid of Your Anger” he snaps at a romantic sparring partner,
“Well, your tongue can get sharp/But it’s soft in my mouth.” On the
solo centerpiece “The Curse of Great Beauty,” the difference between
spiteful insult and sly come-on dissolves as Barzelay sweet-talks his object
of desire: “Those paper cuts kept you from writing a poem so epic and
true/About how you are cursed with a beauty so great/I’m sure that it’s hard
being you/So put down that book, it’s too serious/I’ll undress you as I make a
joke.”

With The Ghost of Fashion and Lohio, Clem Snide and
the Ass Ponys have released what are likely career peaks and certainly two of
the year’s best albums. Clem Snide — despite their recent drop from the
majors to an indie and probably due in part to their proximity to cultural
tastemakers in New York — are something of a buzz band. The Ass Ponys,
despite a positive review in the latest Rolling Stone, are often
ignored. Their Ohio base probably doesn’t help, but I blame their awful
moniker: For years I’ve had to deflect guffaws and rolling eyes whenever I’d
proffer that a group called the Ass Ponys might be one of America’s finest
rock bands. But neither of these bands is getting rich and famous, and that’s
too bad, because, with these two splendid records, Clem Snide and the Ass
Ponys have crafted brilliant “heartland rock” for people who smirk
at the term, and, if Cleaver and Barzelay get what they deserve, maybe even
for people who don’t.

You can e-mail Chris Herrington at herrington@memphisflyer.com.

Categories
Music Music Features

sound advice

Playing Murphy’s on Friday, July 6th, Minneapolis’ Danny Commando Y Los Guapos are pretty highly regarded in their hometown, with a straightforward style that fits comfortably with the white-guy rock sound of recent Twin Cities exports such as Semisonic, Soul Asylum, the Jayhawks, and the Honeydogs. The Stonesy bar rock of guitar/bass/drums/trumpet that is captured on the group’s most recent album, Hell Over Purgatory, is likely to remind some of Morphine, but I find it less uptight and more inviting. In a week that is light on notable bands, this unknown-in-these-parts outfit is definitely a risk worth taking. — Chris Herrington

They have great stage names: Eldorado Del Rey, Slim Electro, and Randy Valentine. They use a beat-up piece of Samsonite luggage instead of a kick drum. They have maracas. They are The Porch Ghouls, and their loose, loungy answer to that hypnotic hill-country sound that pours out of north Mississippi is a hip-shaking blast of cool punk ruckus in a town that sometimes takes its blues heritage way too seriously. Porch Ghouls shows can certainly be reverent and restrained but they can also be boozy, all-night danceathons capable of transforming any venue into a roadhouse Saturday night. Surprise visits from local rapper Hunchoe the Phenom raise the roof every time.

The Porch Ghouls will be playing a free show on Sunday, July 8th, at Shangri-La Records to commemorate the release of their first record, a cover-laden 10-inch recorded by ’68 Comeback maestro Jeffrey Evans and put out by left-coast indie, Orange. The record includes yet another version of the classic song “Going Down South,” which we all need about as much as a second appendix, so ridicule them mercilessly. Enjoy all the rest. — Chris Davis