Dillinger Escape Plan, which joins the Locust and Your Enemies Friend at the Bluebird Theatre on Wednesday, March 3, has been called grindcore, hardcore, death metal, math metal and pretty much every other sonic descriptor this side of easy listening. And it’s no surprise. The band, anchored by guitarist Ben…
When Dave Hall of The Honky Tonk Hangovers sings about life in the big rig, he’s not speaking from a childhood spent watching reruns of B.J. and the Bear. When he was a boy, he used to accompany his big brother, Steve, on runs in an eighteen-wheeler — which explains…
Bill, get a jump rope, get in shape and have a Coke. — anonymous post in Rogue’s guest book “I’ve gotten laid more than any of these skinny guys who talk shit about me,” Bill Terrell says emphatically. “I’ve played more shows than any of these skinny guys. I’m cooler…
Things just aren’t always what they seem. Take, for instance, Andy Tanner, lead singer and guitarist of Laymen Terms. He’s a tall guy, spindly, with a fringe of greasy hair hanging over his forehead. Draped in a T-shirt and jeans, he hunches his shoulders and mumbles a little, humble and…
In the future, entire universities will be staffed by legions of cultural archaeologists toiling for decades to fully catalogue the extent of the atrocities that Coldplay has inflicted upon the world. Besides their own music — which, admit it, sounds like a Gap-plastered Radiohead giving a dry-ice enema to Sting…
Craig Maierhofer was part of Orphan Tears, a popular local combo from the ’90s whose shot at the bigtime struck wide of the mark. Like his previous work, 49 Floors drips with commercial potential — and other stuff, too. Folks who think “Your Body Is a Wonderland” represents the pinnacle…
The Barrys serve up an enormous and unruly combo platter of geek punk, idiot blues and experimental pop on their 74-minute self-titled debut. But generous sonic portions of analog-enhanced hijinks is not what sets them apart from most Denver-based bands: Committed to revolutionizing rock and roll the way McDonald’s revolutionized…
If there’s a tear in your beer, you won’t find it here: While the Dalhart Imperials honor the original style of country music — as opposed to the crispy kind offered up by pretty chicks in half shirts — even the CD’s slowest ballad is likely to get your foot…
On Tuesday, February 10, Mootown’s honorary mayor held court at Herman’s Hideaway. “My name’s Todd,” said Todd Park Mohr. “I play in a band called Big Head Todd and the Monsters. This is them.” Yeah, as if he had to tell this crowd that. Everybody in Mootown knows the Cabeza…
If you’re one of the dozen or so people who saw the Frances McDormand vehicle Laurel Canyon, you may have noticed some familiar faces from the indie-rock scene on the big screen. McDormand’s sexy, middle-aged record producer takes a much younger lover — the lead singer of a rock band,…
Ignoring the punk era’s disdain for guitar gymnastics, Mike Jourgensen is one ax-wrangling contortionist — whether he’s immersed in technically blinding, top-of-the-neck solos or fuzzed-out squalling at stun-gun volume. Jourgensen’s latest self-named incarnation, backed by bassist Elie Kimura and kit basher Scott Young (Pil Bug, Hound), shifts slightly in direction…
The voice snakes in around the cracks of the song like a curl of smoke, a vapor stinking of lust and poison. “I threw everything away/That you’d ever given to me/All the things I saved are gone/The dead flower from the time/That my little baby died,” Bambi Lee Savage groans…
O’Shea Jackson 5010 11th Ave. Los Angeles, CA 90043 Dear O’Shea: I’m sorry, Mr. Jackson. You were for real. I don’t mean to make you or your daughter cry. I apologize a trillion times. But you’ve fallen off. And today is not a good day. I saw the lights of…
“The songs are all done, and as they go down on tape/The critics click their pens/Comparisons made and names dropped in all boldface/To sound like his best friends.” So begins “Sing a Song,” the first track on the debut solo effort by Denver Dalley — otherwise known as Statistics. Dalley…
The Diary of Alicia Keys mates the dopest elements of past and current rhythm-and-blues trends, achieving a fluid blend that’s not only natural, but tight as hell. From the first strikes of the piano in the introduction until the CD expires, some 57 minutes later, Keys envelops listeners in a…
Irony’s not dead; it’s just lame. And Dave Grohl may have proved it once and for all with his newest project. Probot consists of the Foo Fighters frontman playing all the instruments on a bunch of metal tunes, with a different guest vocalist on each. Thankfully, Grohl doesn’t treat metal…
The fine soundtrack that accompanied 2000’s O Brother, Where Art Thou? earned a Grammy as best album. It’s no wonder, then, that the awards-hungry folks at Miramax attempted to repeat the feat with the companion platter to Cold Mountain, even hiring Brother producer T Bone Burnett to man the boards…
Bring on the hookers and blow. If the members of Vaux — bassist Ryder Robison, vocalist Quentin Smith, guitarist/keyboardist Greg Daniels, guitarists Chris Sorensen and Adam Tymn, and drummer Joe McChan — aren’t somewhere partying like rock stars right now, by God, they should be. Since they recently finalized a…
In a cultural landscape littered with decaying, decrepit rap stereotypes, Mr. Len is resurrecting yet one more: the strong, smart hip-hop artist who is neither pumped-up thug nor science-dropping spazz. Len began his career as part of the New York City crew Company Flow, whose 1997 debut, Funcrusher Plus, was…
In a perpetual state of disaster as a result of ongoing famine, drought and political corruption, Zimbabwe has still managed to export some of the world’s most infectiously joyful music: complex sounds characterized by soaring melodies, intricate vocal harmonies and the kind of polyrhythmic percussion that can induce a collective…
Rachel Simring sits down at a linoleum-lined table at Pete’s University Cafe and does something she wouldn’t do last spring: She speaks. In late 2002, after doctors found a cyst on her vocal cords, she entered a period of veritable silence that lasted for the better part of a year…
We don’t have tattoos on our necks. We don’t write songs about feelings and stuff. And we certainly don’t scream enough. We’re probably going to get eaten alive.” Matt Armstrong, bassist for the Bloomington, Indiana, quintet Murder By Death, is scared shitless. It’s two years ago, and his band is…
