Any compilation that begins with a 1960s jam about Brazilian Batman in space deserves to be in your collection, like, yesterday, and that's something that can unreservedly be said about Brazilian Guitar Fuzz Bananas , where "Tema De Batman" is just a warm-up.
Like being called the Michael Jordan, Picasso, Michael Phelps, or Tiger Woods of anything, being the Beethoven of what-have-you is a rare honor. It is the highest praise. And—unlike taking on the name of Tiger—it’s unlikely anyone means to call you a philandering man-whore to boot.
The boogaloo, like so many crossover styles before and since, was destined to have a short lifespan. A fusion of Latin and African American music forms, boogaloo was the sound of a certain part of New York City in the late sixties, and nobody personified that sound quite as completely as Joe Cuba, the author of the genre's greatest hit.
Steinman’s songs have some core values to which they adhere rigidly. There are the grandiose arrangements. There are the verbose lyrics, featuring metaphors so heavy-handed you could spot them from Pluto. Said lyrics usually feature some repetitive phrase that pounds into the listener with subtlety of a jack-hammer.
It’s no revelation and it certainly ain’t no ancient Chinese secret. It is raw rock and roll with a modern twist. It’s smart garage rock that's an angrier take on the classic Modern Lovers sound. It’s arty enough to appeal to the Velvet Underground fans and raw enough to reel in the punks.
Keith Moon was so memorable that his name still resonates as a metaphor for insane energy, out-of-bounds exuberance, and Olympian talent. The words of this anonymous writer have gone totally unheeded: “You can't call yourself ‘the Keith Moon’ of anything until you've driven a Rolls-Royce into a swimming pool.”
Over the past ten years a plague has spread across this fine country. It is a sickness driven by blogs, websites, music magazines, listeners, fans, and musicians alike... It is the constant use of the “H-word” to describe music fans who enjoy bands such as Grizzly Bear, Vampire Weekend, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, and their ilk.
When Benjamin Orr, bassist and sometime lead singer for The Cars died in 2000 at the age of 53, it didn’t take long for DJ’s to find a song to pay him tribute. They chose “Drive,” Orr’s signature performance on the heartrending ballad that showed the Boston band hitting the peak of their career.
I don’t know how to define “David Lee Roth,” but if I had to, I’d probably start with the term “cock rock”. The citations below show that jumping ability, quotability, spandex, partying, coke, and being underrated are also part of the puzzle.
The album has become such an emblem for a specific moment in jazz that it came as little surprise when we learned that an NYU music professor recorded an album of reggae covers back in 1981. Somewhat more surprising, however, was last year's Kind of Bloop: An 8 Bit Tribute to Miles Davis
On Scratch My Back , his first album in 8 years, Peter Gabriel aims to shed light on outstanding songs from both rock warhorses (Paul Simon, David Bowie, Neil Young) and from an alternative lineup that reads like a college radio programmer’s wet dream (Radiohead, Arcade Fire, Magnetic Fields).
Never has an album title been more misleading than that of the third full-length in just three years from the Welsh band Los Campesinos! Even though lead singer Gareth Campesinos! may claim that Romance Is Boring , he then goes on, at staggering length and detail, about romance, and he makes it sound like the most exciting thing on earth.
I don’t know much about Coldplay, but I know enough to know that my street cred—already rating -43 mega-fonzies—could be squandered completely by admitting I like them.
At times Of the Blue Colour of the Sky sounds more like a Prince album than anything OK Go has done in the past, and it’s quite an obvious attempt to shake free from their power-pop roots. The band retains their trademark energy though, it’s just directed in a different way musically.
The best part of doing these reviews is discovering new music that excites and fascinates me, and then getting the chance to pass the word along.
The Florida based band Surfer Blood made a pretty big splash late last year when their debut single “Swim” became a bit of an underground hit. The single preceded the full-length Astro Coast by a number of months, but it certainly hinted at what was to come.
Anybody who knew me as a 13-year-old kid in the summer of 1985 had to be mighty sick of this song. I played the hell out of this thing. I bought the cassette and never listened to another song on it, just kept cueing up “Get It On (Bang a Gong)” and air-drumming through the whole thing.
What does it take to be the Willie Nelson of something? How hard can it be? For your benefit and mine, I’ve compiled a list...
With their popularity at an all-time high following the pop sheen and shiny horns added to their last album, you might have expected Spoon to continue down that road to popularity with a full-on blast of arena rock to court the masses. But, then again, Britt Daniel and his buddies from Austin didn’t get to their perch of indie-rock preeminence by doing what was expected of them.
Last year saw the birth of a very strange trend. A trend which is equally disturbing, unnecessary and hideous. The movement I speak of is the sudden influx of indie rock NSFW videos.