By Noah Hubbell
By Leslie Simon
By Brad Lopez
By Tom Murphy
By Noah Hubbell
By Inkoo Kang
By Dave Herrerra
By Josiah M. Hesse
I review the songs. The local songs, that is.
There's nothing particularly novel about Keg O' Dynamite, by Chicago Skinny; the CD employs the styles in which nationally known bluesers such as Little Charlie and the Nightcats and Duke Robillard traffic. But these guys clearly do the same old thing very well. The title track is a good-humored throw-down and the deliberately ridiculous "Skipper's Song," which features the inspirational couplet "Gilligan/Don't make me kill again," is bound to put a smile on your mug. Revelations are in short supply here, but that doesn't prevent Dynamite from kicking up some dust (Chicago Skinny, P.O. Box 481402, Denver, CO 80248). The demo tape by decanonizeD blends ringing nighttime guitar with vocals by Talea Harmon that go from an ethereal purr ("dancinG") to Courtney Love-style exhortations ("gamE," "bounD"). The combination may seem bombastic to some, but it's also effective, regularly whipping up the sort of drama that's beyond most bands. If the cassette is any indication, decanonizeD is developing nicely, thank you (303-580-5902).
The Hedges are a Boulder four-piece capable of generating a rather large sound. On The Hedges, an eight-song disc produced by Mark Fuller, guitarists Bart Fletcher and Keith Wren employ the time-tested soft/loud approach: "Brain Damage" and several other numbers start slow and quiet before exploding in a barrage of spirited riffing. Fortunately, the players include melody in the bargain, and this little extra helps make "Honestly Mad" and "Recon Butterfly" worth hearing more than once. A couple of tunes don't make the grade, but the rest of The Hedges represents a tasty slice of power pop (www.thehedges.com). Westword contributor John Jesitus continues to torment me by giving me recordings to review, even though he knows that those demon ethics prevent me from doing anything more than describing them. On Clevo, a demo partially cut in Jesitus's hometown of Cleveland, John and an Ohio band that includes his brother Dave (a pharmacist by trade) offer up "Lifetime for Love," which sports a saxophone, and a pair of acoustic-based numbers, "Steel Town" and "Paint by Numbers." Also on hand are the somber "Worlds Away" and "Jenny Likes Girls," which, like "Steel Town," turned up on a previous Jesitus demo noted in these pages. As for the production, Jesitus admits that it's "brutal," and he's right. The rest you'll have to find out for yourself (303-428-0139).
Just This Moment: Live in Santa Fe, by Steve Walters, makes James Taylor seem like Marilyn Manson by comparison. Okay, I admit I'm exaggerating for effect, but when Walters asks if anybody "wants to rock" seconds before kicking off "Love Is a Mystery," the least he could do is play a rock song instead of a solo acoustic number only moderately less gentle than the rest of the tracks on the recording. The semi-bluesy "Jung's Blues" and "That's My Plan" display a modicum of verve and a sense of humor, but "Just This Moment," "How Far We've Come," "Already Home" and several other monuments to sensitivity will appeal primarily to the type of folks who booed Bob Dylan at the Newport Folk Festival when he plugged in an electric guitar. You know who you are (Ishvara Music, P.O. Box 1804, Boulder, CO 80306). Also on the singer-songwriter tip is Monica Augustine, whose disc, Wildflower, was cut at Wendy Woo's Sky Trail Studios and features Woo and several of her associates in supporting roles. These collaborators ensure that the production and musicianship is first-rate throughout, and Augustine rises to their level. "Wildflower" exhibits a nicely slinky feel and "BaDiDiDiDitDum" has a vocal hook that sounds just like its title. Not all of the material is especially impressive, and some of Augustine's lyrics may make your teeth ache: That's what "Stone child/You're not alone/ Please don't hide/For I will pick you up" did to mine, anyway. But fans of the genre could do worse than to pluck this Wildflower (available in area record stores).
Chupacabra is a comer on the Boulder scene, and a listen to its live demo, a predecessor to its freshly released CD, underlines why. The ten-piece ensemble can sound mighty standard at times (check out the cover of Stevie Wonder's "Master Blaster" for proof), but its variation on the ecstatic hippie-shake thang is well-handled on "Rock Steady" and "Montuno Funk," and the Brazilian vibe that hangs over "Corcovado" is appropriately seductive. The new disc should let us know if Chupacabra is more of the same or a cut above (303-215-6833). Kirk Moore, who pounded the skins for the AUTONO, is now drumming for 34 Satellite, an outfit that's dedicated to presenting the unassuming songs of vocalist/ guitarist Marc Benning. On the album Stars, the two (occasionally supplemented by helpers such as Michael Elkerton and Heather Dalton) lean in the alt-country direction without committing themselves to the subgenre entirely--a move that allows them some creative leeway. "Wonderful" has a C&W beat, but the hooks and guitar passages are thoroughly pop rock, and "Stars" is the most understated glam offering imaginable. Warm and inviting stuff (www.34satellite.com).
Without You, by the Sean Owens Band, is a relentlessly average showcase for Owens, an acoustic guitarist and songwriter whose vocals occasionally give off a slightly Southern tinge. He's a decent frontman, and guitarist Doug Norman, bassist Gary Roath and drummer Shawn Smith hold up their end of things. But after listening to the romantic title track, the groove-oriented "Tall Drink" and the big ballad "5 Days in One Night," I found myself unable to come up with anything else to say about the disc. That's never a good sign (Sean Owens Band, P.O. Box 19785, Denver, CO 80219). West Egg, featuring Kirk Wiggers, a Texan who relocated to Colorado in 1998, is responsible for The Cactus Land, an acoustic-rock excursion that goes where plenty of artists have gone before. "Can't Quite Kick the Habit" has a bouncy feel, but it's the exception on an album that otherwise concentrates on subjects like the romantic failure recounted in the mournful "East Coast" ("Stark, empty open wound/A virus, a cancer/Lowest low, a record low today"). Later, on "Letters Never Sent," Wiggers and cohort Mark Cooper (both of whom are relatively young) complain about growing old. It's better than being dead (firstname.lastname@example.org).