Buzz Bomber and the M-80s (Mike Mayhem and Jack Shit) brought their annual slay ride to town last December, brightening the dingy stage at Cricket on the Hill as well as the sad faces of sick tykes at Children's Hospital. Headlining a Toys for Tots benefit, Bomber and the boys helped stuff a fat stocking-load o' charity loot while fulfilling a time-honored Christmas tradition -- getting merrily hammered. And for any doubting Scrooges out there still searching for the meaning behind all the holiday grind, it should be as obvious as the red nose on that stupid reindeer: the kids, you drunken fools, the kids!

Buzz Bomber and the M-80s (Mike Mayhem and Jack Shit) brought their annual slay ride to town last December, brightening the dingy stage at Cricket on the Hill as well as the sad faces of sick tykes at Children's Hospital. Headlining a Toys for Tots benefit, Bomber and the boys helped stuff a fat stocking-load o' charity loot while fulfilling a time-honored Christmas tradition -- getting merrily hammered. And for any doubting Scrooges out there still searching for the meaning behind all the holiday grind, it should be as obvious as the red nose on that stupid reindeer: the kids, you drunken fools, the kids!

Whether or not motherhood ushers in the beginning of the end for local punk outfit the Geds, the band's frontwoman, Chanin Floyd, remains this area's baaadest rockin' mama. Why? Consider her impressive bass-slappin' resumé: Twice Wilted, '57 Lesbian, and Spell, a onetime signee to big label Island Records. Hopefully, any diapers, bottles or late-night hollerin' can augment the good, crunchy sound of Floyd's current power trio. Or send her in the direction of composing lullabies. Either way, thanks, rockin' mama -- it's been a terrific run.
Whether or not motherhood ushers in the beginning of the end for local punk outfit the Geds, the band's frontwoman, Chanin Floyd, remains this area's baaadest rockin' mama. Why? Consider her impressive bass-slappin' resumé: Twice Wilted, '57 Lesbian, and Spell, a onetime signee to big label Island Records. Hopefully, any diapers, bottles or late-night hollerin' can augment the good, crunchy sound of Floyd's current power trio. Or send her in the direction of composing lullabies. Either way, thanks, rockin' mama -- it's been a terrific run.
Don't smack your baseball into Munly's yard -- you'll never see it again. Hear that grindin' noise comin' from his shed? Human bones, most likely. Remember the "Gashlycrumb Tinies" -- that nursery rhyme by Edward Gorey where all them kids die, one by one, from A to Z? Yessir. It's kinda horrible. But kinda funny, too. But for mean ol' Munly, it's just more grist for the mill. He likes singin' about all them dead kids, see. It's probably the happiest he'll ever be. Peculiar fella.

Don't smack your baseball into Munly's yard -- you'll never see it again. Hear that grindin' noise comin' from his shed? Human bones, most likely. Remember the "Gashlycrumb Tinies" -- that nursery rhyme by Edward Gorey where all them kids die, one by one, from A to Z? Yessir. It's kinda horrible. But kinda funny, too. But for mean ol' Munly, it's just more grist for the mill. He likes singin' about all them dead kids, see. It's probably the happiest he'll ever be. Peculiar fella.

Not since Lothar and the Hand People has a local outfit employed the Russian inventor's electronic-tone generator to such entertaining ends as Boulder's wall-of-noise trio Hoochie. A throwback to cheesy drive-in movie Martians and sweater-bustin' damsels in distress, the oft-snubbed theremin provides just the right blend of faux eeriness and comic relief. It's also living proof, perhaps, that the distance between one's shaky fingers and a simple antenna is equal to the listener's threshold for pure, wavering blissful racket.

Not since Lothar and the Hand People has a local outfit employed the Russian inventor's electronic-tone generator to such entertaining ends as Boulder's wall-of-noise trio Hoochie. A throwback to cheesy drive-in movie Martians and sweater-bustin' damsels in distress, the oft-snubbed theremin provides just the right blend of faux eeriness and comic relief. It's also living proof, perhaps, that the distance between one's shaky fingers and a simple antenna is equal to the listener's threshold for pure, wavering blissful racket.

Weekend pastry-noshers at the Tattered Cover bookstore in Cherry Creek are no strangers to the ambient wizardry of local guitarist Ron Bucknam, a bimonthly fixture for those who frequent the Queen City's sequestered nooks. As much influenced by painting as he is by music (think of minimalist Steve Reich floating through one of Kandinski's geometric playgrounds, and you're in the general ballpark), Bucknam produces a soothing and often beguiling soundscape of seamless tones and colors, rhythms and shapes. The stuff's downright hypnotic and can actually enhance great works of literature. Including Yertle the Turtle.
Weekend pastry-noshers at the Tattered Cover bookstore in Cherry Creek are no strangers to the ambient wizardry of local guitarist Ron Bucknam, a bimonthly fixture for those who frequent the Queen City's sequestered nooks. As much influenced by painting as he is by music (think of minimalist Steve Reich floating through one of Kandinski's geometric playgrounds, and you're in the general ballpark), Bucknam produces a soothing and often beguiling soundscape of seamless tones and colors, rhythms and shapes. The stuff's downright hypnotic and can actually enhance great works of literature. Including Yertle the Turtle.

Best Of Denver®

Best Of