So I was getting my chow on this afternoon at Five Guys Burger and Fries over on West End, where I spotted none other than '90s dark prince Trent Reznor mowin' down a sloppy, spooky double-cheeseburger. I hate to spoil the image that some of you might have of Reznor resting in a dark tomb until showtime, but the patron saint of fishnets and bad lyrics appeared to be just your average daywalker—and on Halloween no less. So if you make it out to the Sommet Center tonight and happen to notice the pig marching a little slower than usual, it's probably because he's still digesting or has heartburn. I know I still do. Now, for old time's sake, check out my favorite NIN video.
I'd never been to Aerial on Broadway until last night for that Shoot the Mountain/How I Became the Bomb Show. Me and my lady friend went ahead and dressed up for Halloween, which is pretty cool because you spend the night looking for other people who also dressed up early and you make instant friends that way.
We started out with the idea of being Rock of Love contestants. This was mostly after every other idea fell flat at Performance Studios due to sheer whoritude of the costumes there—seriously, there was a silver "dress" that was for a galaxy space goddess that was really a tank top. I know the joke's been made a thousand times—Halloween is just an excuse for women to dress up like whores—but why bother whoring up otherwise non-whore costumes? Why bother being a sexy nurse when you can just be a big-haired metal whore?
The Spin got there kind of late. Deerhoof ruled. It was nice to hear a more fleshed-out sound again, as new guy Ed Rodriguez picked up the slack created by the departure of Chris Cohen (and brought a nice energy to the stage as well). Drummer Greg Saunier set up close to the front of the stage, so we could better appreciate both his herky-jerky style and the thrashing of his hair. There was no Electric Rainbow Machine this time. At first we were kinda disappointed (that thing is awesome) but Deerhoof seemed much more engaging—and engaged—without it. Satomi came out in a surprisingly realistic plush lion mask for the encore (which gave us a brief flashback to Jessica's wolf mask to close MEEMAW's Next Big Nashville set)—seeming to enjoy herself more than she did during the band's last visit to Mercy Lounge. She even looked like she might jump into the crowd on a few separate occasions. Nice!
If you're anything like me, you woke up this Halloween morning, reflected on your prospective agenda for this evening and realized you totally forgot to even think of, much less purchase, needed items for a Halloween Costume. Well panic not, friends. I've done enough brainstorming for us all. A quick, inexpensive, timely, relevant option is dressing up like your favorite local rock persona. Moreover, you can assemble most of these with stuff that's probably already lying around your house. Let's begin, shall we?
In the event Halloween just isn't coming fast enough for you, our own love/hate-able synth pop quintet How I Became the Bomb are playing a free show tonight with Shoot the Mountain, My Tyger and Jensen Sportag at Aerial (the rooftop bar on Lower Broad above Paradise Park). HIBTB will be issuing a secret password that will enable patrons to download a new track from the upcoming Who Dares Wins, which will also be a free download available on Nov. 5.
I've done the math in my head: Yes, paid parking blows and Aerial's entrance is by far the most confusing way to get inside a bar within 100 miles of here. But, offset that with such a killer lineup and the fact that it's free and it really evens out to something like the motivational equivalent of a night at Exit/In.
It sounds like a bad joke, but it’s very much the truth. According to a story by Politico, Joe—whose real name is Samuel Wurzelbacher—has been signed by a Nashville-based booking firm and a publicity firm, who plan to shop him for a record deal. Wurzelbacher, who is “a complicated guy with a very dynamic personality,” will continue to hump the shit out of his remaining 15 minutes of fame.
On Tuesday, Wurzelbacher joined country music artist and producer Aaron Tippin to form a new partnership that includes booking-management firm Bobby Roberts and publicity-management concern The Press Office to field the multiple media offers he’s received over the past few weeks. Among the requests: a possible record deal with a major label, personal appearances and corporate sponsorships. A longtime country music fan, Wurzelbacher can sing and “knocks around on guitar” but is not an accomplished musician or songwriter, according to The Press Office’s Jim Della Croce.
“The Wurzelbacher Waltz.” That’s got a ring to it. Honestly, I think we’ve all had enough of the “Raisin’ McCains” and “McCain-Palin Traditions” to last us well past election day, but (while we're on the subject) Lee Dorsey’s “Yes We Can” Obama remix is pretty sweet. (Via BoingBoing.)
Tomorrow is Halloween. So, what the fuck are you doing?
Hammertorch Halloween Party feat. Ghostfinger, Velcro Stars & Shoot the Mountain at The Boro, Murfreesboro, 8 p.m. White capris don't count as "dressing up."
I came upon this review of Lambchop's performance in Brighton, UK and was struck by this observation: "Average age tonight, around 50, not quite sold out but still busy and a mostly male audience." Does that mean the average age of someone in the crowd was 50? Sure, Lambchop ain't exactly teen beat, but...maybe it just means there were around 50 people there. Venue looks awesome, though.
In case you haven't heard, I'm getting married on Friday to a sweet little lady by the name of Mandi. We're having our reception/party at The Basement and everybody is invited (even Enraged and Louise7). Even if you don't know me you should make it to see the band, Atlanta's Soulphonics featuring Ruby Velle. Soulphonics are a killer, seven-piece R&B outfit with a baaaaadasssss rhythm section, sweet horns and a phenomenal vocalist—they are definitely one of the best live bands on the Southern circuit. If you're going to see Drive By Truckers or Nine Inch Nails stop by after the show. If you're heading over to Cannery, stop by on your way over there. And if you're going to 12th & Porter, uh, say "what's up" to Ethan. (I totes missed his campfire last week and keep forgeting to call him.) It is a costume event, and if you're wondering, my betrothed and I will be dressed as The Bride of Frankenstein and Frankenstein's Monster, respectively. You don't have to wear a costume, but the doorperson will make you do something silly to get in if you don't, so be prepared.
In closing: Wear a costume, drink lots booze and whoop it up at The Basement this Friday. It's gonna be awesome. The party kicks off at 9 p.m. with all the reception-y nonsense and I'll be there until my new missus drags me out by the scruff of my neck.
P.S. No matter where you are going on Friday, be careful—designate a driver, take a cab and watch out for Johnny Law. It's gonna be a wild night and the coppers are gonna want to make their drunk driver quotas before November strikes.
I wrote a piece in this week's issue of the Scene about How I Became the Bomb's new approach to releasing their music for free via their still-unfinished website. These videos offer bit of your standard band bio stuff and explains a bit more behind the concept for the upcoming "Salvage Mission" video. They also feature questionable hair color, 40s, chest hair and sunglasses at night.
So Geoff Smith won the MTA jingle contest with his bouncy, mass transit-endorsing ditty "Brand New Way." Seems to me that city buses have been around for, I don't know, 60 years, making them not a brand new way of doing anything. But whatever. You may know Geoff (pronounced like JEFF) as a member of local pop-rockers Codaphonic. You may not know that he is also "bassist and lead singer for the Chicago-based Police tribute band, One World." Did he really start the chorus for a massive bus-riding jingle with a minor chord? That takes moxie, folks.
Deerhoof play tomorrow night (Oct. 30) at Mercy Lounge w/Experimental Dental School & Flying. For my feature in this week's Scene I talked to drummer Greg Saunier about the band's new album, the presidential election and the delicious smell of delicious bacon.
Wayne Coyne of The Flaming Lips built himself a pretty awesome guitar. It's a double-neck SG with a regular six-string on top. The second neck is a Guitar Hero controller connected to a Kaoscillator, which is, in essence, a noisemaker. Nifty. Gregg Gillis should make one of these that just controls the tracks on his laptop.
We had some technical difficulties, but the slideshow from the Lil Wayne show is up now. Look for a complete reckoning in this week's dead tree edition of The Spin, which includes this observation: "[T]he thousands of undergrads in attendance—mostly female, mostly white, mostly JV—were nearly apoplectic with glee at the mere sight of Weezy dancing across the stage, making the place sound more like a Backstreet Boys concert circa 1997 than a rap show."
The Spin wants to know: How many of these young women will be at Girl Talk?
Since Stabert's gone, we're no longer privy to her impassioned defenses of Bands With Feelings. True, she was often talking about acts who tread on Americana soil, but I agree with her in principle. Bands With Feelings, for all their cloying, navel-gazing weight, are great for getting you through life's little emotional pitfalls. They're even better when they put a rainbow on it, and there's nothing I like discovering more than shiny infectious pop about all the crap-ass crap that comes with having a human heart. (Not that I would know.)
An Horse is a band from Brisbane. They are loved by Canadian lesbian twin-sister duo Tegan and Sara, if that gives you a jumping-off place. But they have the jangle and offbeat female vox of all that really catchy indie rock of the good old '90s. Bands like Smack Dab come to mind, or that Small Factory cover of the Lois Maffeo song "Valentine."
Of course, being indie doesn't mean you to have sound like total shit anymore, so An Horse, which I assume must be pronounced like "A Norse," are tighter musically and crisp as hell.
Last Friday, Turbo Fruits played a little CMJ "sideshow" thingy in New York. In the video you can see that Turbo Bass Guitar Max has draped a Tennessee flag over his bass amp.
Now, I know that displays of regional pride—though in my mind more by city than state—have their history in rock music, but I've always thought bands from Ohio took that shit more seriously. Recently, The Black Keys brought that big inflatable tire with the Buckeye State's name on it to The Ryman. Swearing at Motorists always pin up the dandy old Ohio flag behind them when they play. (It also features prominently on their album This Flag Signals Goodbye.)
Is there a discernible identity for Tennessee bands that really means anything and that Turbo Fruits can claim stake to? Or is it just that the TN flag looks cool hanging over the ol' Ampeg cabinet? Because it does.
It was a smart move for The Basement to stick to its traditional three-tiered line-up last Friday. Jump-starting the evening with a jaw-dropping performance by The Deep Vibration would have been overkill, even for a wall-to-wall audience more than ready to welcome Nashville's latest country-rock playboys to the stage for their first-ever CD release party.
Openers Vermicious K'nids were hardly skittish amateurs as they delivered up a hefty dose of youthful school rock, but little can compare to the explosive presence of Deep Vibration's leading man Matt Campbell. Swaggering around the mic in his rose-leather boots, muttering poetry between his teeth and proving himself every inch the song man local hype behind their debut EP Veracruz amped him up to be, Campbell led a commanding show full of grit and bleeding-heart balladry. Rounded out by Luke Herbert's punchy chops, Jeremy Fetzer's contemplative lead guitar—recalling Nels Cline's twangy thrashes as much as classic, American-heartland rock—and Adam Binder's imposing bass thuds, The Deep Vibration are well on their way to establishing themselves as packleaders of Nashville's underground talent. Not without their flaws, of course, this foursome has an aching potential come time for their full-length.
As Charleston, S.C. headliners The Explorers Club took the stage, the crowd had somewhat thinned, leaving those faithful few to enjoy what was undoubtedly the night's peak. Channeling as much Beach Boys' sunshine pop for their glossy five-part vocal harmony—with Jim Faust a spitting image of a young Dennis Wilson—as the bygone rockabilly of Presley or Chuck Berry, the septet turned the brick-and-mortar dank of The Basement into a veritable blueberry field.
How I Became The Bomb are releasing new songs on Nov. 5, and are celebrating said release with a rooftop party at Ariel this Thursday, Oct. 30. In honor of this momentous occasion, Bomb frontman Jon Burr and I sat down, in different locations, and had a little chat over these here intertubes. Occasionally, we even chatted about the band and their music, but mostly we talked about grilled meat, sports and John Saxon. Enjoy!
OK, their policy proposals may be whacked and their campaign may be floundering (or maybe not), but, wow, can John McCain and Sarah Palin carry a tune! And we're not talking "Three Blind Mice" here—we're talking Ella- and Satchmo-worthy off-the-cuff scatting. Considering how they've clearly been improvising on the campaign trail, I guess their vocal improvisation abilities shouldn't be all that surprising.
Man, John and Sarah, y'all are some real gone cats. Swing daddy (and hockey mommy), swing!
Word is that those of us who didn't make it up to Lexington, Ky., last week for the final stop on Elephant 6's surprise tour really missed out. Why do those Kentucky fucks get a free show while Nashville gets nothing? Whatever.
Anyhow, the above video features the one-and-only Jeff Mangum performing "The Fool" and "Engine" in an empty lot just outside the Red Mile Round Barn. (The quality gets better about two minutes in.) Mangum apparently led everyone in the venue down the street and into an open space like an indie-rock pied piper leading the horn-rimmed glasses-wearing masses to the slaughter. He even gets a little bit of birthday love at the end.
I know that Cream readers have been counting the days until the McCain/Palin victory rally, featuring special guest Ricochet & The Redd Hot Mamas, tomorrow night at the Wildhorse. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it is with my deepest sympathies that I inform you that, according to a press release sent to the Scene:
Due to scheduling problems, the Wildhorse event has been cancelled!
Watch for news of other events, including big Victory Watch
parties on Election Night! ONWARD!
I'm not sure how McCain plans on winning Tennessee without this crucial rally, but in the event of a McCain loss I have decided to post a video that shows off his chops behind the kit. I post this in hopes that it is seen by the guys in Ghostfinger, who appeared sans drums at Next Big Nashville. Let's support John McCain by trying to get him a gig—he might need one soon.
According to a UK publication, which just ran a story on Lambchop featuring a brief interview with Kurt Wagner, Nashville is officially cool again. We apparently owe our rediscovered awesomeness to the following:
Jack White has bought a home there, Kings Of Leon are a household name, while Harmony Korine (director of cult film Kids) directed a beer ad featuring Lambchop’s William Tyler at Springwater (the legendary dive where the band cut their teeth).
In other European news, remember how AutoVaughn were selling little chunks of their soul to finance a tour across the pond? Be careful what you wish for. The V-necked popsters will be playing a series of 21 dates in the UK with Cage the Elephant, though according to their website they never quite reached their $35,000 goal. (They're at about 12 Gs.) And, according to their PR guy, their UK dates are already "70% sold out."
Obama has more money than he can spend, so if you can spare a little scratch, please consider heading out to Mercy Lounge this Sunday for what is definitely a good cause. Nashvillian Natalie Evaro was involved in a bad car accident last weekend and later died from her injuries. Friends are putting on this show to help her family with medical expenses.
Bands include Mean Tambourines, Peter Barbee, Parachute Musical, And the Relatives, Hannah Barbarians, Kindercastle, Majestico and Austin Manuel. There will also be a silent auction with loads of cool stuff.
"A wide-legged gait accompanied by an overconfident smile and a jauntily raised eyebrow may soon be a thing of the past due to recent economic turmoil," says this piece from The Onion.
It wasn't a music-related observation, but the first thing it got me thinking about was rock 'n' roll, from which swagger was once inextricable. But what does potency in rock mean anymore anyway? Is a sneer and the middle finger just a played-out punk/metal/cock-rock cliche that we've moved past? When I think about everything from the tender whispers of the Devendra Banharts to the unisex romps of the Girl Talks, I realize that changing definitions of masculinity mean changing definitions of rock itself.
Take any male-dominated art form and inject it with a conscience, shifting social trends and greater diversity, and you change the medium. One hopes that for every John Mayer tightening of the testicles there's another Lemmy waiting in the wings, just to keep the balance. Informal poll question: What bands of today still inject the swagger? (And I don't mean the caricature of masculinity that lots of modern sleaze-rock incorporates, a la Eagles of Death Metal or Diamond Nights.) I'm talking something authentically rough-and-tumble.
The National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws (NORML) has a sister site/audio blog known as NORML’s Daily Audio Stash. As you might have guessed given its green-on-green color scheme and tiny cannabis leaf clip art, the site posts pot-related music, video clips and “the most popular podcast regarding marijuana in all of America and all the world.”
Mean green blogger “Cannabis Karri” posted an entry yesterday—seemingly while stoned—about Nashville’s very own hemp-headed jam masters Dharmakaya. Karri quite astutely describes the four-piece as “garage band, jam band and kick-ass band all rolled into one” and links to their song “Mary Jane.” The lyrics are a bit difficult to make out, but I could easily determine the lyrics from a couple of songs on Dharmakaya’s MySpace page. And their subject matter is much more diverse than just weed. Take their song “Into the Pink,” the second song we’ve referenced on the Cream today featuring fake orgasms. The Cream even gets a shout-out in the lyrics:
I’m gonna take you into my bedroom and I’m gonna make you scream! I’m gonna twist you and I’m gonna shake you. I’m gonna make you cream!
Awesome. Dharmakaya is playing with Spider Virus and Tennessee Trash at The End on Halloween.
This movie—Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead—has what is bar none the most tasteless, vile, disgusting, offensive, repulsive trailer I have ever seen. Naturally, I couldn't wait to share it. Especially since Troma co-founder Lloyd Kaufman will be in person at the Belcourt tonight at midnight to screen his mutant-chicken cannibal lesbian splatter musical.
Just who is Arny Nashville? Is he a genius? Is he just another Mattoid wannabe? Is he both? Is he neither? Is he a German guy in a white helmet? I think Grand Palace and Infinity Cat are already engaged in a bidding war over this guy, so get ready to start seeing his name on the marquee at The Basement any day now.
This video, for the song "Earl der Tracker"—literally, "Earl of Tracker"—comes highly recommended if you like Jonathan Richman and fake orgasms. Stick with it all the way through; there's a sweet edit at the end.
In case you missed last week's post regarding Tim McGraw's apology to fans for a supererogatory third greatest hits release, we have yet another reason why the Indian Outlaw owes his fans—and the rest of us for that matter—an apology. It has come to our attention that the market-savvy country singer will be unleashing his musk coast to coast and beyond with McGraw by Tim McGraw Eau de Toillette. This new cologne, which retails in the neighborhood of $25, is described as:
An instant classic. This men's McGraw by Tim McGraw cologne spray has a woody, spicy fragrance that's irresistibly masculine. Perfect for any occasion.
It should also be noted that among it's ingredients are patchouli (?!), sandalwood, and aged whiskey. That should be enough to get you laid at Bumbershoot.
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Photo by Tanya Wright. 
