David Bowie - The Next Day

It has been ten years since the last David Bowie album, a distance that was pronounced enough that I paused for some personal reflection. It was the kind of reflection that ends up putting an entire decade into perspective, a vast journey that seems forever ago, but feels like it just happened yesterday.

The record was Reality. It’s an album that I’d recommend, with the disclaimer that much of its appeal for me is based on very personal associations. I’ll save the specifics for a proper review.

If you’ll recall, the fears of a retirement were valid considering Bowie had a heart attack towards the end of the run of the massive supporting tour for Reality. It would have been a tragic end to a career influential beyond words. Reality may be a decent late career offering, but it certainly isn’t one that’s worthy of being the last studio statement of a hugely vital catalog.

For me, reality was a crumbling marriage. When Reality was initially released, the façade of my marriage was still in tact. By the time the Reality tour was wrapping up, I had quit my managerial job of eight years, separated from my wife shortly afterwards and then proceeded to spent a good deal of time living out a suitcase.

Luckily, that suitcase ended up in the parking lot of an arena where Bowie stopped for a show. The concert was great, but the therapeutic quality of the event itself made the entire a personal milestone for me.

Reality meant it was time to move on.

Ten years later, I’m married again. It’s a better fit. Two children take up a large portion of my life, and both are blessed with a love for music, even if it’s not quite up to my standards. For example, neither of them have any idea who David Bowie is, or show any desire to learn anything about him. A connection was made when they discovered that they both know the words to a Bowie song (“Changes”) thanks to the placement of it in one of their animated movies they watch.

The way music is consumed is vastly different from the year that Reality was released. In fact, one of the complaints about the new David Bowie record was how unnecessary it really was. Music circa 2013 is single-driven. To suggest that anyone wants to listen to an entire album is presumptuous.

Before a note was heard, he was already being chastised for failing to recognize that nobody cares about a new David Bowie record. Suddenly, a man who was always considered to be part of pop culture’s cutting edge was now showing his age by sticking by a format seen as passé to the “experts” of such matters. A new record would be met with the requisite attention and then fall by the wayside. Unless a cash cow greatest hits tour is in the works and the Labyrinth dude sings “Fame,” then we all need to get over this David Bowie obsession.

The ammunition grew larger after the languid lead-off single “Where Are We Now?” was released to an unsuspecting audience on Bowie’s 66^th birthday. This hugely underwhelming teaser also did little to ease the collective sigh of disappointment that came with the “No more tour, probably forever” announcement.

The seeds of discontent firmly entrenched, the next shock came with the first images of the cover of David Bowie’s twenty-forth record. It’s a controversial repackaging of 1978’s Heroes, the title crossed out and David’s stoic pose covered with a white box. In the middle of the white space, the words “The Next Day” identify this sacrilegious piece.

It would be a struggle, wrestling with the fear that The Next Day would be as pointless as the indicators suggested, verses the loyalty that one possesses with an artist of this caliber.

Suddenly, a savior appeared. Its form came in a video, a format that Bowie certainly has experience with, but with no network to support an outlet for such an endeavor, what exactly is the point?

The point is this: the video for “The Stars (Are Out Tonight)” is a stunner. I sat in awe the first time I saw it, from a YouTube stream of the video while at a friend’s, each one of us in minor states of inebriation where David Bowie videos become points of strange occurrences and mild hallucinations.

In fact, a quick burst of N2O had me floating in a most peculiar way, and the next thing I know, it was time to leave the capsule and promise an imaginary Bowie-head that I would indeed purchase The Next Day on the first day of its release.

It just so happens that this purchase happened to be the vinyl version, which just saw the light of day last week-about three weeks after the album’s true release date.

The decision was more of an appreciation of the cover art. As controversial as it is, it’s a remarkably bold decision. I wanted the bigger package to absorb the artist’s choice, and I’m wonderfully taken by the gatefold layout.

I also love the way The Next Day is sequenced. The record has purpose and varying stages of high and low tides. “Where Are We Now?” for example, is positioned as the first song of side two-a critical position, and one where the song suddenly takes on a different role, it’s themes more detailed and prevalent. It now ranks as one of my favorite songs on the record, a huge turn from my initial reaction of ambivalence.

In case you’re wondering, the three additional tracks tacked on to the end of the vinyl version are noticeably of lesser quality than the rest of the record. They sound completely out of place in terms of the sequencing, but I have a strong suspicion that any one of the trio (“So She,” “Plan” and “I’ll Take You There”) would get picked out in a line-up, no matter where these also-rans ended up in the order.

Beyond these leftovers, the traditional sequence of the 14-song album is wonderful, but it’s more pronounced and it reflects The Next Day’s consistency much better.

The Next Day is the best record since whenever. There are notable commercial moments (“Boss Of Me” “Valentine’s Day”) that provide pop music with some much needed cleverness. There are hints of David’s Berlin era (“Dirty Boys” “Love Is Lost”) while other cuts touch on different Bowie creative peaks. With that being said, this is firmly a late-career product-themes of time and age flow throughout the record-that works very hard at making sure the self-reflection that ten years can provide were duly noted and properly executed.

The record is warm, inviting, and a little uncomfortable in certain moments. The dirge “Heat” ends the record, with a particularly haunting refrain of “My father ran the prison.” It’s unsettling enough to warrant an additional listen, and with each one a new reason to rank The Next Day as a golden years milestone becomes apparent.

In short, I’m glad that I survived the last ten years to see another David Bowie record, and it’s good enough to hope the next one comes a bit sooner.

Lou Reed - The Blue Mask

I wouldn’t say that my group of friends in high school was excited about the prospect of a new Lou Reed album, but the praise that The Blue Mask received in Rolling Stone magazine certainly got our attention. It wasn’t every day where the mag gave an album 5 stars.

That high praise got a friend of mine to march down to the record store in the mall and fork over the money for Lou’s comeback album.

The reality was that this “comeback” merely meant the artist fulfilled his contract with Arista and found himself back at the same label that supposedly was so bad that he unleashed Metal Machine Music on them. The Blue Mask was Reeds first record for RCA in a long time, and it actually sounded like he may have offered them something of worth. Whether or not The Blue Mask is truly the “return to form” that so many Reedophiles consider it as is another matter entirely, but let me get back to my friend’s immediate reaction to it shortly after opening up the shrink wrap.

Keep in mind that he’s probably around 18 at the time-a senior in high school-and I’m a lowly freshman at the sheltered age of 15.

Less than a week after buying it, my friend calls with an update and is obviously very critical of this record. He begins making whining noises, mewling on about how Reed is turning into a sad, old baby-boomer who’s still hung up on Camelot and pretending to go straight, as the title to one song (“Average Guy”) suggests.

My friend offers me the copy for The Blue Mask for $2, a huge discount from what he originally paid for it not less than seven days prior. He was that insistent on getting rid of the record and I was one that simply could not pass up such a bargain.

There must have been something that those critics in Rolling Stone knew that my friend simply didn’t.

It was the first of many lapses in judgment regarding the magazine’s critical perspective.

Admittedly, for years I coddled this record, repeating the misconception that The Blue Mask was indeed worthy of Reed’s most undisputed work. I understand now-after years of follow-up spins and considerations-that most of my own opinion is tainted by the low, re-purchase price I was provided, and the fact that the $2 spent on The Blue Mask purchased two incredibly good Lou Reed songs, “The Gun” and the title track, “The Blue Mask.”

You should go to ITunes or some other digital outlet and fork over the two bones that it takes to acquire those awesome entries.

You can forget about the rest of The Blue Mask and you can ignore any claims to the contrary that his 1982 release is anything but another half-assed creative statement.

Sure, Reed picks up his guitar with much gusto and he sounds very inspired at certain points, but when you compare “Coming of Age Lou” against “Coming of Middle Age Lou” you suddenly begin to notice a stunning revelation: Even aging cultural icons can get unwittingly boring as the year’s progress.

The band he works with on The Blue Mask is riddled with contradiction. It’s the first album that features bassist Fernando Saunders, who later sticks around for every single shitass Lou Reed record released since then. Notice how I didn’t say, “every single Lou Reed record released since then,” just the shitty ones.

Saunders offers up incredible proficient readings through an incredibly irritating fretless bass, that farts, burps, and gloats through Reed’s placid take on settling down. Guitarist Robert Quine also makes an appearance here, which is admittedly the only thing that saves The Blue Mask from another release that’s truly worthy of anger and ridicule. His playing is near brilliant in some places, and the amount of respect he shows Reed with his restraint, speaks vastly about his character.  Some of the tones that Quine unleashes-particularly on the title track-are things of wonder. Aside from Sterling Morrison, this remains Reed’s most vital guitarist, and his under usage of Quine remains one of Lou’s most unforgiveable offensive. But he’s all over this record, saving The Blue Mask from the trash heap.

Lyrically, Reed offers such musings as “I love women, I think they’re great” (“Women”), he lazily details the plight of alcoholism with such exclamations as “Oooh wee! Son of a B!”(“Underneath The Bottle”) and strangely offers to put his hat into the presidential ring while foggily remembering the assassination of President Kennedy (“The Day John Kennedy Died”), providing the historically inaccurate claim that our 35^th president was shot in the face.

The real tragedy with The Blue Mask is how Lou’s primary muse-his (then) wife/manager, Sylvia-inspires some of the most pedestrian lyrics of his career. He waxes on how he’d like to offer a choir of castrati before making love to her and apologizes for jerking off to girlie mags. At one point, Reed even gives his own fag-era a hetero whitewash, with “Heavenly Arms.” As the last word on the record, Reed declares, “Only a woman can love a man,” which is surprising coming from a guy who spent a good amount of words on the subject when he was younger, and with a lot more tolerant eye.

For the chorus, he sings her name-full on-over and over.

Make no mistake, The Blue Mask isn’t worthy of the retrospective Mick Rock cover because it shares nothing in common with that era. This is “average guy” Lou, and it goes without saying that the more vanilla he becomes, the blander his work ends up.

The Blue Mask marks the end of a pretty abysmal late 70’s career slide, but pointing yourself in the right direction is not the same as actually accelerating out of the rut. There is evidence that the engine is still capable of speed, but you’d be surprised at the number of times you catch Reed just riding the breaks.

The Police - Outlandos d'Amour

They say that band’s first records tend to be appropriate forecasters of how decent they will become. After all, the theory suggests that a band has their whole life to work on their debut album, paving the way for the “sophomore slump” and the frightening prospect of a new direction for record number three.

With that being said, one would expect The Police’s debut effort, Outlandos d’Amour to be something of an important moment. Their legacy was affirmed through their music, the band’s natural leader has enjoyed the coveted one name only status, and the songs they left us resonate well after the years when they were active.

Outlandos d’Amour doesn’t show any of this. At all. There isn’t one song out of the ten within it that would qualify as a stand-alone classic. It was the band’s growing catalog of great material that suddenly brought the additional focus to their debut and with that added exposure the nods to the obvious highpoints (“Roxanne,” “Can’t Stand Losing You” “Next To You”).

Great songs, for sure, but if the band ceased to exist after this first record-a distinct possibility given this rock era’s legacy of one-and-done bands, and given the members mutual hatred of each other-would we give as much attention to this late 70’s gem as we do now, thanks to the enormous wake that records like Ghosts In The Machine and Synchronicity provided it.

Fuck no. And let’s not forget that Outlandos has some really lazy material on it. I mean “Masoko Tanga?” What the fuck?! You can’t just record a nifty little jam you threw down at a rehearsal and get to call it a song, do you?!

While we’re at it, let’s also admit that “Be My Girl-Sally” is just godawful. Sting brings a song to the table, which is essentially just a chorus repeated over and over, while guitarist Andy Summers writes a completely un-amusing tale about a blow up doll, failing to recall that Roxy Music opened and closed the door on that shit with the invincible “In Every Dream Home A Heartache.”

As a matter of fact, side two of Outlandos is pretty much all filler, aside from the killer opener.

Side 1 is where it’s at, and it’s a tight race from start to finish. Yep, even the Stewart Copeland co-penned “Peanuts” stands out as one of the most punk rock songs the band ever committed to wax. But does that suggest that punk was even in the band’s radar at this point in their early career? Hardly. Even “Peanuts” ends up being about Rod Stewart, and for anyone who immediately remembers Sting’s pairing with old Rod (and Bryan “Waking Up The Neighbors” Adams) should immediately erase any further speculation about the band’s punk rock credentials. Hell, Summers was in the Animals, for christsakes!

That alone should point out how fortunate this Frankenstein of a band was to hear something within these very tentative first offerings and say “We can be better.”

They were. With every album. And I would agree that they ended with their most accomplished effort.

The elements were here within Outlandos d’Amour, but they certainly weren’t heard yet.

Mudhoney - Vanishing Point

I subscribe to this Twitter feed called “Shit Mark Arm Says,” at least I think I did at one point; there were some great, random quotes from the Mudhoney vocalist, but then the activity kind of dried up and the next thing you know, there’s a new Mudhoney record out.

And how is that new Mudhoney record?

Well, that new Mudhoney record-number nine, if you’re curious-continues to represent all that is good with rock music, in much the same way that you’re reassured every time that Motorhead or Slayer releases a new album. You know exactly what to expect because there’s no need to fix a formula that’s perfect right out of the box.

Vanishing Point offers no new direction, there is no change in their production qualities and there’s nothing to suggest that this record ranks as one of the band’s finest moments.

Yet none of that really matters, as Vanishing Point could very well be the most required record of the year, on the blind faith that it’s going to kick the shit out of over half of the albums released in 2013.

Besides, Vanishing Point offers an extra quarter century to its cynicism and the band still ranks as one of the most dangerous bands in Seattle, even though they’re doing it in a part-time capacity these days.

Yes, the day jobs are required for the benefits, but the band exists for another benefit: a therapeutic reality check that reminds us how these gentlemen have always been there for us, rolling their eyes a muttering the truth under their breath.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. Because there are some of us who remember a time when Mudhoney ranked above Nirvana in terms of sheer ass-kicking ability, and Vanishing Point does the nearly impossible task of suggesting that they can still do it again, never mind the fact that their win comes with the understanding that they’re also pretty much the last band standing.

They’re doing it for about the same audience levels too, but Mudhoney is big enough to mock that fact with the lead-off track, “I Like It Small,” using the adjectives they’ve heard before (“intimate settings…limited appeal”) as the verses and those old Stooges records as their endearing guide.

So how is that new Mudhoney record?

Perhaps an actual quote from a Mark Arm tweet is appropriate: 

"I turned another one gay."

Note To Self: Buy New Mudhoney Record Today

Aw shit, the 'honey have a new one in record stores today.

Who's gonna send me a promo copy? Huh? Sub Pop?

Well how about if I post your promotional email, will that do it?

I'm such a whore for Mark Arm.

Mudhoney’s Vanishing Point, the band’s excellent 9th album, is out today on CD, LP, and digitally worldwide via Sub Pop.  The 10-track album is led by the singles “The Only Son of the Widow from Nain” and “ I Like It Small”, along with highlights “What to Do with the Neutral,” and “Douchebags on Parade.

”Mudhoney have also premiered a hilarious (& claustrophobic) new video for “ I Like It Small” with SPIN.com. The clip, directed by Carlos Lopez (Unnatural Helpers, The Intelligence), takes it cues from the song’s lyrical content (“Intimate settings”; “Dingy basements”) and sees the band in a practice space that becomes increasingly cramped, when suddenly all hell breaks loose. SPIN says of the clip, "We used to be a print publication, but we didn't do very well at that, so we gave everyone copies of Esquire instead.”

Mudhoney will tour in support of Vanishing Point by having extended its North American and European tour schedule for 2013.  In April and May, the band has 6 U.S. shows to mention: April 12th in San Francisco at Slims; April 13th in San Diego at the Casbah;  April 14 in Los Angeles at The Echo; May 10th in Boston at The Paradise; May 11th in Brooklyn at Music Hall of Williamsburg; and May 12th in New York at Bowery Ballroom. From May 21st-June 10th, the band will embark on their previously announced European tour, which includes a string of UK dates with label mates METZ.

Mudhoney will hit the road again in mid-July and also on Labor Day weekend, with another series of shows:  July 19th in Denver at the Underground Music Showcase; July 20th in Minneapolis for the Bash 13 Fest; July 21st in Milwaukee at Turner Hall;  August 30th in Detroit at Magic Stick; August 31st in Chicago at Mayne Stage; September 1st in Montreal at Il Motore; and September 2nd in Toronto at Lee’s Palace.  

And beginning September 23 in Washington, DC at U Street Music Hall, Mudhoney will kick off a 10-date tour that currently ends on October 2 in Atlanta at The Earl. Along the way, the band will perform at Memphis’ Goner Fest on September 27th.  

Please find a complete list of Mudhoney tour dates below.

And last but certainly not least,  we’d  like to take this opportunity to share the news that Mudhoney will perform on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon on July 9th.  

25 years in, Vanishing Point decisively affirms that, even in an age where only the newest of the new can survive (and even then, only for a few weeks at best), Mudhoney still have plenty to say and more to offer. These are songs written from the rare vantage point of a band who went through the rock n’ roll meat-grinder and not only lived to tell such a tale, they came out full of the wisdom and dark humor such a journey provides. Vanishing Point is filled with dread, psychoanalysis and Nuggets-on-fire riffs; the sort of real, uninhibited rock music that is harder and harder to locate these days. With Vanishing Point, Mudhoney makes it easy.

Tour Dates

Apr.12 - San Francisco, CA - Slims

Apr.13 - San Diego, CA - Casbah

Apr.14 - Los Angeles, CA - The Echo

May 10 - Boston, MA - The Paradise

May 11 - Brooklyn, NY - Music Hall of Williamsburg

May 12 - New York, NY - Bowery Ballroom

May 21 - Düsseldorf, DE - Zakk  

May 22 - Amsterdam, NL - Melkweg

May 23 - Bielefeld, DE - Enger

May 24 - Copenhagen, DK - Loppen

May 25 - Leipzig, DE - Werk 2

May 26 - Berlin, DE - Festsaal Kreuzberg

May 27 - Hamburg, DE - Fabrik

May 28 - Warsaw, PL - Stodola

May 29 - Prague, CZ- Lucerna Music Bar

May 30 - Zagreb, HR -  Pogon Jedinstvo

May 31 - Firenze, IT - Viper Theater

Jun. 01 - Lausanne, CH - Les Docks

Jun. 02 - Winterhur, CH - Salzhaus

Jun. 03 - Frankfurt, DE - Zoom

Jun. 04 - Brighton, UK - Concorde  2*

Jun. 05 - Glasgow, UK - ABC*

Jun. 06 - Newcastle, UK - Newcastle Academy  2*

Jun. 07 - Manchester, UK - Manchester Academy 2*

Jun. 08 - London, UK - HMV Forum*

Jun. 09 - Bristol, UK - O2 Academy Bristol*

Jun. 10 - Birmingham, UK - HMV Institute - The Library*

Jul. 19 - Denver, CO - Underground Music Showcase (Goodwill parking lot)

Jul. 20 - Minneapolis, MN - Bash 13 Fest (Grumpy’s)

Jul. 21 - Milwaukee, WI - Turner Hall

Aug. 30 - Detroit, MI - Magic Stick

Aug. 31 - Chicago, IL - Mayne Stage

Sep. 01 - Montreal, QE - Il Motore

Sep. 02 - Toronto, ON - Lee’s Palace

Sep. 23 - Washington, DC - U Street Music Hall

Sep. 24 - Carrboro, NC - Cat’s Cradle

Sep. 25 - Charlotte, NC - Tremont Music Hall

Sep. 26 - Nashville, TN - Third Man Records

Sep. 27 - Memphis, TN - Goner Festival

Sep. 28 - Dallas, TX - Club Dada

Sep. 29 - Austin, TX - Mowhawk

Sep. 30 - Houston, TX - Fitzgerald’s Upstairs

Oct. 01 - New Orleans, LA - One Eyed Jacks

Oct. 02 - Atlanta, GA - The Earl

*w/ METZ

Jeff The Brotherhood Extend Spring Tour

I haven't said anything about the Mission Creek Festival that's taking place in Iowa City this week.

I feel kind of bad about that, so let me just say "You should really check out the Mission Creek Festival in Iowa City this week, particularly if you're in the area and young and full of energy."

I'll be doing my taxes.

The following announcement about Jeff The Brotherhood kind of ties in to the Mission Creek Festival, mainly because they're playing there. 

So amend this post to read: "You should really check out Jeff The Brotherhood at the Mission Creek Festival in Iowa City" and we'll see if that socialist Obama can pass Totale a few bones so that he can check out some shows.

A press release that somewhat ties in to all of this:

April 2, 2013 - (Burbank, CA) - JEFF The Brotherhood have recently announced details of their Spring tour which has just been extended throughout the summer and will include a homecoming show on June 15, at this year's Bonnaroo festival in Manchester, TN. All tour dates are listed below. The band, comprised of brothers Jake (guitars, vocals) and Jamin Orrall (drums) will perform half of their set as they traditionally do, a duo, and half the set as a quartet, adding a guitarist, Karl (from St. Paul, MN - a Pisces) as well as keyboardist, Christina (from Nashville, TN - a Taurus). They're already a very powerful musical motor as a duo, so, when expanding the Brotherhood to a quartet, what can one expect? Massive voluminous wallop and mind-melting sonic radnasity, that's what.

Jake Orrall explains: "We are doing the show half classic and half beefed up jam style.  We've been playing just the two of us for 10+ years and frankly it's starting to get boring, so fuck it, let's mix it up. Who's gonna stop us?"  

In addition to its club tour, the band will perform at this year's Coachella Festival, as well as the Mission Creek Festival in Iowa City and the Middle of the Map Festival in Kansas City, MO, in April.

Following non-stop touring that took them around the globe plus a couple highly-entertaining TV appearances, JEFF The Brotherhood return to the U.S. in support of their critically acclaimed album Hypnotic Nights, (co-produced with Dan Auerbach). As expected, just as each of their previous albums, "Nights" has earned the Orrall brothers, glowing accolades for their high-energy, minimalist-maximalist approach to songwriting, recording and live performances from. such outlets as Rolling Stone, Spin, The New York Times, USA Today, Pitchfork and countless others:


Apr 3                Chicago, IL                   Subterranean
Apr 4                Iowa City, IA                  Mission Creek Festival
Apr 5                Kansas City, MO           Middle Of The Map Festival
Apr 14              Indio, CA                      Coachella
Apr 21              Indio, CA                      Coachella 
May 4               Chattanooga, TN           Track 29 (w/ The Flaming Lips)
May 14             Knoxville, TN                 Pilot Light
May 15             Charlotte, NC                The Chop Shop
May 16             Philadelphia, PA            Kung Fu Necktie
May 17             Philadelphia, PA            Kung Fu Necktie
May 18             New York, NY               Mercury Lounge
May 19             New York, NY               Mercury Lounge
May 21             Boston, MA                  Great Scott Allston
May 22             Boston, MA                  Great Scott Allston
May 23             New Haven, CT              Café Nine
May 24             Pittsburgh, PA              Brillobox
May 25             Washington, DC            Rock N Roll Hotel
June 15             Manchester, TN             Bonnaroo Festival

Foals - Holy Fire

I don’t know if this makes any sense, but the introduction of big name producers Flood and Alan Moulder into the Foals’ world with their third release-Holy Fire-makes the band’s transition from the clubs to the theatres sound like practically a necessity.

That’s not to suggest that Foals are assured of bigger audiences or that Holy Fire is that much of a creative improvement over the surprising Total Life Forever (it isn’t), it’s merely an acknowledgement that dropping the extra pounds for the knob twiddlers achieved the desired effect: the band sounds bigger, deeper and strikingly original.

But just because Foals sound good in their big boy pants, it doesn’t mean that Holy Fire smokes all the way down to the filter.

There are several moments of undeniable grooves and truly inspired performances. It begins with the anthemic opener “Inhaler” and it continues with Foals’ trademark syncopated guitars and funky rhythms.

The record’s two high-water marks follow that comfortable pattern, “Late Night” and “Milk & Black Spiders.” The former utilizes a slow-burn effect, gradually building until the band stumbles back around to the song’s killer rhythm, where it rides it for a minute when it could easily milk it for another five.

“Milk & Black Spiders” follows suit, but Flood & Moulder add some plucked strings to the taut rhythms, giving the Foals’ secret weapon an entirely new dynamic.

“Providence” also makes a similar connection, but then Holy Fire makes an unwelcomed swing by the self-aggrandizing slower numbers that end the record.

Ironically, Foals have attempted such serene moments before and won. But in the context of Holy Fire’s already massive intentions, these moments are a bit overbearing. It can nearly derail the impact of the entire record if you allow it, wallowing in its own girth and unintentional comparisons.

Thankfully, the aftertaste doesn’t stick and you’ll remember Holy Fire for what it’s intended to be: a full-flavored toke of one of rock music’s wide-eyed upstarts with arena-sized ambitions. Its impact depends on how much you appreciate (or miss) the band’s clear inspirations (read U2, Radiohead, The Cure) and its place in their own history depends on how much you think their last two records burned new paths/

Horsehands - Sirs

Just when I was wrapping up an extensive review of Ween’s catalog, along comes Boston’s Horsehands with their debut album, Sirs.

More progressive than Dean and Gene, Horsehands shake out thirteen tracks of caffeinated nervosa, blending the angular parts of new wave guitar tones against math rock left turns.

And commanding your attention from all of these impossibly complex guitar runs is a helium-aided vocalist who will have you reminding to everyone you end up playing Sirs to, “Focus on the music.”

Yet through the strings of Hosehands’ gnarly bits of quirky turns and gut punching stops ‘n starts, everything begins to fall into place. Sure, it’s a jazzy, Zappa-inspired corner of the room, but then again, I don’t know of tons of bands earning a living at playing this shit. There’s a passion behind their brand of nonsense-one that defies any logical sense from a commercial standpoint, opting instead to focus their wares on a select audience of jazz heads and guitar freaks.

Well count me in, brother, and I’m not suggesting that Sirs is worthy of your consideration simply out of pity. It’s a record that stands very much on its own and carves its own path, proudly and boldly through a landscape that’s designed to kill off bands like this.

I especially dig the entire homespun vibe throughout Sirs as it provides just enough evidence that there is very little slight of hand taking place with the studio toys.

By the album’s second half, the helium begins to run out and the arrangements begin heading down more psychedelic paths. Yes, it seems the hot shit front-end finally winded the power trio, but not until Horseheads unleash their own show-stopping version of “Tequila,” this time under the listing of “Kiwanis Ow” and a sprite instrumental called “Ocho” which about as choppy as a Wang Chung video.

Ultimately, half the fun of Sirs is considering where this band could end up, particularly when a lot of the time, Horsehands sound like they’re galloping out of control.

Morrissey Is Now The George Jones Of Alt Rock

Dear Morrissey Ticketholder:

We regret to inform you that the remaining dates of the Morrissey U.S. North American tour have officially been pulled down due to medical reasons, including the rescheduled date here in Clear Lake at the Surf Ballroom (Wednesday, March 27th). The singer has suffered a series of medical mishaps over the past few months including a bleeding ulcer, (Syd) Barrett's esophagus and double pneumonia.

Despite his best efforts to try to continue touring, Morrissey has announced that he will not be able to continue on the rest of the tour. The show will NOT be rescheduled and refunds will be processed this week. All ticket and seating refunds will be credited to the original method of payment used for the initial purchase.

Thank you for your ticket purchase!

P.S. Now would be a good time to remind readers that it really doesn't matter since it would never top this show anyway.

When I Grow Up I Want To Be An Old Bigot: The Career Suicide Of Michelle Shocked

Michelle Shocked hates fags.

To be completely honest, before I saw her live last year, I assumed that Michelle Shocked was gay. During the live show, she referenced her ex-husband, but the weirdest thing was how she incorporated her current boyfriend into the performance-via her cell phone.

“She’s straight?” I thought to myself as she spoke of her partners.

But as she continued-which was quite often, as her performances are filled with personal antidotes and lefty dogma-I noticed something more confounding than her sexuality.

Michelle Shocked is a very strange woman.

My review of her performance was complementary, and the wake of her show brought back some very fond memories of her catalog. I will carry the memories of that night in a very positive manner, particularly the part where I didn’t get charged to attend.

One thing the review doesn’t reflect all that well was how weird the show was. It was a rather intimate setting (the performance space at the CSPS hall only holds about 200 seats) and Michelle took full advantage of that intimacy.

She lobbied the audience for discussions on the Occupy movement, particularly in regards to predatory lending and how little has changed since the economic collapse.

She also called her boyfriend.

I can’t help but dwell on it, because it was such a surreal experience. I saw nothing regarding her Christianity (which I did learn about after the show, but before her recent controversy), but what I saw instead was an almost obsessive devotion to the man on the other end of the cell phone.

Shocked incorporated the bit into her material, explaining that it was her boyfriend-artist David Willardson-who created the artwork that hung behind her that evening, which helped inspire her latest material.

Fair enough, but she then continued with the call all the way through the intermission, hanging up, literally, as she walked on stage for the second set.

Who does that?

The second set began with a choppy love letter to the Occupy movement, a spiel that evolved into a losing attempt at engaging the audience in a political dialogue, before realizing that the crowd that remained at the venue for that second set just wanted to hear “Anchorage.”

Yes, a large portion of the audience left after the first set, perhaps due to other obligations or perhaps because they were weirded out by Michelle’s incessant yammering, or the fact that she put a microphone up to her cell phone so that we could listen to her boyfriend talk.

I have no idea if they’re still together, but I do know that a large portion of her audience is no longer with her, particularly since so many of her audience related to her-right or wrong-as an advocate for LGBT causes.

There was certainly no hint of the kind of hatred she dished out this week at a show in San Francisco, but there were hints of some kind of instability. Despite her small frame, Shocked can be an intimidating presence, and some of that is due to the fact that she often doesn’t appear to have that filter that most of us possess, the one that knows when to put on the brakes at certain points, and when to shut the fuck up at others.

That fearlessness is part of her appeal, and her outspokenness certainly provided her with a sense of legitimacy when it came down to the kind of music she’s known for and the audience that coddles her. The sudden outburst is most certainly a characteristic of her persona, but the two points that she brought to the stage-her Christian beliefs and their influence towards her views on homosexuality-were nothing that her San Francisco fans were expecting or wanted to hear.

The shock that she isn’t a lesbian has become a common response immediately before everything turns red and Michelle Shocked is the worst person on the planet. There are those who question-and I’ll confess to being somewhat intrigued by this theory-the legitimacy of her heterosexuality and cite her vitriolic discussion of homosexuality as a self-hating projection of her own suppressed sexual preference.

More than anything, this incident brought me immediately back to the uncomfortable feeling that I had during some moments of the performance I saw last year. It reminded me of that vague suspicion that there is glaring moments of Michelle Shocked personality that suggests something is chemically wrong with her.

This isn’t the misogynist “that bitch is crazy” knee-jerk reaction, but instead it is a reasonable suggestion to why anyone who is smart enough to understand 1.) That you audience features a proportionally large section of homosexuals, 2.) The power of the internet and social media is swift, universal and permanent, 3.) That Jesus Christ was perhaps the most tolerant motherfucker to walk the planet, 4.) Your entire career is dependant on your ability to tour and 5.) The fucking gig is in San Francisco.

Sure, Shocked may think her credibility with her LGBT audience entitles her to milk the free-speech thing all the way to the point of yelling “Fire” in a Hamburger Mary’s, but the reality is that a sane person doesn’t go to their job and start blurting out shit that can be perceived as mean, hateful and offensive.

That’s what I mean by “chemically wrong.”

And that’s where I go to the fact that a large portion of American musicians go without health care, forgoing medical care and preventative treatment. Could it be that we are watching the results of medication being missed or that the power of the Holy Spirit has convinced Ms. Shocked that there’s no need for those pills any more.

So far, Michelle has chosen to almost manically respond to certain Twitter haters individually, promising a full explanation of the event in a scheduled interview this Friday.

A common theme in some of her tweets is the suggestion that a media campaign is underway to throw her under the proverbial bus, but again, Shocked is not stupid. When you encourage your crowd to tweet “Michelle Shocked said God Hates Fags” did you not think there would be repercussions.

If we are witnessing a woman that is experiencing a chemically induced crisis, the upcoming interview will certainly cause more harm than good. There will be a misguided attempt at trying to explain the outburst in biblical terms. By referring to the Bible or her own personal faith will only reinforce the perception that Shocked is yet another crazed Christian, the same kind of crazy that superglues the locks to Planned Parenthood or makes signs that read “God Hates Fags.”

No, unless this interview is a heartfelt confessional, one that acknowledges a tolerance towards the LGBT community and clearly explains the design of such an outburst, we will be witnessing someone rambling on without that aforementioned filter. The same one that is needed more than anything, to stop this attempt at career suicide.

Because make no mistake, this is career ending stuff. If you want your entire musical legacy to be remembered for one ill-advised moment where the letters “STFU” should have been tattooed on to your skin, then here it is.

There’s no defending something like this, and the entire media circus surrounding the incident was Shocked’s own creation. She panicked and clammed up. Then she bit back. And now she is biding for time, something that may suggest a long-winded manifesto is in the making.

Her response should be quick, honest and apologetic. They need to be, if she ever plans on drawing any resemblance of a support group again. Because, while running away from the ghosts of East Texas has provide Michelle Shocked a nice career so far, running from her own redemption will not give her very more places to go.

 Update to include Shocked's most recent statement.

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