Besides the phenomenal writing of Knut Hamsun, the postcard-perfect fjords, an advanced garment system known as lusekofte and some of the world’s best-tasting salmon, what can Norway really boast about to the rest of the world? The invention of the cheese slicer? The paper clip? Blueberry soup? Graciously hosting Tonya…
This self-ordained man of the cloth done it alone: He’s got a one-man show, thanks to no one ‘cept the Lord. With a busker’s style and a vintage sound, Reverend DeadEye plays the kind of hyperbolic, electrified Delta blues that recall modern primitive-roots duos like the Chickasaw Mud Puppies or…
Can ORB quit its collective day job yet? It depends. In an oversaturated rock market, any interchangeably mediocre band (like this one) occasionally gets the nod. In its current state, however, the quintet not only lacks vision and originality, but needs a name that folks won’t confuse with the ambient,…
Much like skinning cats, there’s more than one memorable way to scream in a song. There’s the artfully abrasive method — a full-throated screech with enough primal intensity to make Edvard Munch stop and stare. There’s the discordant and painfully deranged animal cry: Think of a confused Jim Morrison wailing…
Awakened by atomic testing and an insatiable appetite for horticulture, Bongzilla has but two things on its slow, single-chambered, reptilian mind: kind bud and loud amplifiers. But having a lot to say about very little is part of this Madison-based outfit’s undeniable charm. Able to scrape that good, sticky resin…
Krist Novoselic sounds weary from his hotel room in Austin. When asked about the “survivor” tag that the press has attached to Eyes Adrift, he seems slightly peeved. “It’s a story we never really propagated,” Novoselic says. “That’s just a coincidence — how we all played in trios. People jumped…
This is not a supergroup,” Curt Kirkwood insists about Eyes Adrift, a new rock-based trio featuring himself, Nirvana’s Krist Novoselic and Sublime’s Bud Gaugh. “This is not any of your American fuckin’ hogwash. This is real. We want to have a good go of our lives, because the past is…
Singer-songwriter Steve Watson crafts clean, concise electric folk-rock ballads that should appeal to fans of Jackson Browne, though it’s the high and dry lonesome prairies of Wyoming that provide inspiration, rather than any crowded stretch of Southern California. Somewhere above the wires, outside the radar and beneath the sonar, the…
Goldfish never belonged in the heels of platform shoes. Period. They’d slosh around like poor, lost souls, seasick in tiny drunk tanks of flashing strobe lights, pummeling low-end frequencies and too much loco-motion. At least it was a miserable condition the little fishes shared with their evil captors, the oblivious…
With public displays of affection all but outlawed in Japan, it’s little wonder that cultural deviance infests the Empire of the Red Sun. Take vending machines that sell pre-worn girls’ underwear, for example. Or ATM machines that greet customers with coy baby talk. Then there’s the complete Japanese antithesis to…
A nasty gash from a broken full-length mirror left Andy Falconetti in need of emergency surgery on his calf last summer. Still recuperating (through the curative one-two punch of prescription drugs and bad daytime television), the frontman for Denver’s Breezy Porticos — who open for Athens-based pop upstarts Of Montreal…
The underappreciated Boston-based Swirlies put out a reliable brand of lo-fi bedroom pop with enough white noise to make the tunes sound like they were recorded in the great outdoors — say, on a busy airport runway during holiday rush hour. Founding member Seana Carmody, who performs Sunday, October 6,…
Something of an all purpose, genre-juggling utility man, Paul Fonfara has played an integral part in several roots-driven acts of local renown, including the Denver Gentlemen, DeVotchKa and Munly De Dar He. Following a recent European tour as a cellist for David Eugene Edward’s solo project, Woven Hand, Fonfara has…
Subtle as an amputation, the Residents cut themselves off from pop music’s tumorous body three decades ago and never looked back. Still as prolific as they are self-indulgent, the cadre of one-eyed malcontents — led by Mr. Skull — remain cloaked in deliberate secrecy. And while they proudly anoint themselves…
When Gorgol Bordello’s Eugene Hütz was fourteen and living in Striy, a small Ukrainian village near the Hungarian border, he caught wind of the 1986 Chernobyl meltdown while listening to BBC Radio. Moments later, he and his family members were packing their suitcases and preparing to flee. “I’m trying to…
With a gritty, gospel-bred tenor, Tommy Thomas doesn’t skimp on punchy, electric, gut-driven blues — which gives this followup to his 2000 debut, Working Man, such universal appeal. Ironically, Thomas’s method of pushing product upon the masses is less conventional than the music itself: He avoids hustling for shelf space…
With over eighty titles of Japanese anime currently flooding the TV airwaves in Tokyo every week, the adventures of Sailor Moon, Teknoman and the Waspinator can get lost in the digital shuffle. Stateside, imported series like Voltron and Speedracer gradually became part of the American cartoon mainstream during the late…
When Morphine frontman Mark Sandman died of a heart attack on stage in 1999, he left behind friends, loved ones and an exceptional body of musical work. He also left behind a curious batch of crudely rendered cartoons drawn on everything from cocktail napkins and bowling score sheets to fancy…
Jim Carroll’s ties to Colorado go beyond a few spoken-word performances at Boulder’s Naropa Institute with the late Allen Ginsberg. Thanks to the black trenchcoat worn by Leonardo DiCaprio in a disloyal film adaptation of Carroll’s 1978 cult memoir, The Basketball Diaries, Carroll found himself unfairly connected to the rampage…
With impeccable timing, Syd Barrett appeared at Abbey Road studios in the spring of 1975 after seven years in a sanatorium. His old bandmates were adding the finishing touches to “Shine On, You Crazy Diamond” — a tribute to Barrett’s drug-enhanced schizophrenia and the lengthy centerpiece of Wish You Were…
My landlord knew a drug dealer in high school. The dealer had a bunch of acid — two sheets’ worth of quarter tab — stashed in his sock. It was a hot day. His feet got sweaty, and he absorbed most of the blotter. After a week in the emergency…
Jello Biafra’s scathing brand of political commentary won’t pass for comfort food in troubled times: Gooey, patriotic pabulum is best left to star-spangled yokels like Lee Greenwood or Alan Jackson. But the guy takes his anti-punditry as seriously as any free-speech proponent out there. He also has a knack for…
