Some people can maintain their composure in a burning skyscraper. But the average record-company exec, faced with a few months of flagging album sales, is liable to run naked through the nearest strip mall, brandishing an AK47 and screaming threats in some twisted form of pig Latin. So, in 1997,…
At the heady peak of his career, Frank Sinatra’s vocal mastery was so absolute that his pop peers simply called him “The Voice.” In the emo-punk wing of the local music scene, there can be no question that Yolanda Bejarano is “The Voice.” As leader of the squalling, powerhouse quartet…
Although Pie Gomez is too humble to admit it, his band was initially conceived–much in the tradition of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein–as the local MC’s personal creation. Six months ago, this local lyrical mad scientist awoke from musical hibernation and pieced together seven musicians–each from unlikely and unrelated circumstances–to spawn a…
Prince Paul psychoanalysis (what is it?) (Tommy Boy Records) “As long as I can remember, people have hated me.” With that repetitive sample, Prince Paul sets the tone for his first solo album, psychoanalysis (what is it?). Beginning with that first track, “why must you hate me,” the listener is…
Why do they still bill James Brown as “The Hardest-Working Man in Show Business”? He’s barely broken into a cold sweat since dodging the police in the ’80s. Once, you could’ve given Dick Clark that title, but clearly someone behind the scenes must’ve forced him at gun point to give…
No matter how fast Phoenix grows, there are times when living here can feel like being stuck in a sequence from Footloose. We all remember that hugely successful cinematic monstrosity, in which a conservative small town led by preacher John Lithgow bans dancing, creating a redneck teen population of ticking,…
Phonoroyale Radio Flavored In pop music, context is everything. Five years ago, when guitarist Jack Randall and singer Mary Katherine Spencer decided they wanted to form a vintage jazz combo, the idea seemed like pure novelty. In 1997, musical tastes have caught up with–or slowed down for–Randall and Spencer, and…
Here’s a hellish scenario. You’re given the choice to sit through the mercifully fictitious It Ain’t Broke: A Musical Tribute to The Fixx, or else rupture your eardrums by jabbing pencils into your head. Tough call? Not really. Consider listening to “Saved by Zero.” Now consider Richard Marx and Kenny…
I was taking out the trash when I watched them swing around in that horrible pickup truck and park in front of the single-wide next to mine. I could recognize that prison tat anywhere. One can’t forget a neck-adorning swastika, especially when stuck on an abomination like him. Nor could…
Jane’s Addiction, and Goldie Mesa Amphitheatre December 4, 1997 Most of the time, Perry Farrell talks like he’s a hippie, or at least on mushrooms. “How does it feel to be outside, with the ceiling so high?” he asked aloud, eyes gazing aloft in wonder, two songs into Jane’s Addiction’s…
You Am I Hourly, Daily (Sire Records) You Am I is a Sydney, Australia, trio that’s achieved an oddly impressive distinction during its six-year history: It’s somehow managed to build a zealous American fan base without actually releasing anything in America. Hourly, Daily, its third Australian album–following hard-to-find imports on…
Victor Perrillo doesn’t like talking to the press. When local papers ushered in Perrillo’s Scottsdale club, Cajun House, with a flood of stories early this year, the owner was conspicuous in his absence whenever photos were taken or interviews were granted. Three weeks ago, when I expressed an interest in…
Everyone has a different definition of grace. To some, it’s Joe DiMaggio effortlessly roaming the spacious center-field grounds of Yankee Stadium. To others, it might be Mikhail Baryshnikov pirouetting onstage at Carnegie Hall. Basically, you know it when you see it. Few who saw this year’s MTV Video Awards could…
I’m not one of those millennial fear mongers who believes that some artificial calendar calculation is reason to start panicking. Basically, the year 2000 holds no special meaning to me, aside from that it’s an Olympic year and all the guys from Hanson should hit puberty by then. But if…
“Independent.” As with the word “corporate,” “independent” (or “indie” if you’re under 30) is just a word describing a socioeconomic fact, not an idealization or a canonization of the band or record label it’s applied to. As much as self-described “indie rockers” would like it to, the term doesn’t guarantee…
A definition of irony proved to be too enigmatic for Lelaina Pierce (Winona Ryder) in the alterna-classic movie Reality Bites. She tells her would-be employer that she “knows irony when she sees it,” but such an answer denies her any chance of being hired for a position in the newsroom…
Their psychedelic melodies glossed over self-indulgent lyrics might make you think of the Velvet Underground. Their cutesy band-name pun on the king of pop art suggests a group of Brit-fop art-school dropouts. But the Dandy Warhols, an elegantly wasted foursome from Portland, Oregon, transcend the novelty aspect of their name,…
Paul Simon Songs From the Capeman (Warner Bros. Records) Forget Happy Days. Rock ‘n’ roll and doo-wop pounded through the commercial and racial barriers of the ’50s because turmoil churned beneath America’s placid Leave It to Beaver surface. Racism, drugs, unemployment and juvenile gangs plagued the life of urban teens…
Near the back of Pita Jungle, there’s a modest wall of fame. Here you can find a photo montage of local celebs and favorite customers of the trendy Tempe eatery. Prominently displayed right now among the festive Polaroids is a publicity shot of The Pistoleros. Trunk Federation used to be…
“Chupa” means “suck” in Spanish, and the motto on the fliers for Phoenix’s defunct but legendary underground dance spot of the same name used to read: “A club never sucked so good.” From the fall of 1994 to the spring of ’96, Chupa sucked long and hard, every weekend, all…
X, the Replacements, and the Pixies. Innovative ’80s bands that changed the rock side of pop music from the underground up. Disparate characters from various sides of the country–X the proto-West Coast punks, the Replacements the standard in Midwestern garage bands and the Pixies a textbook Eastern college-rock act–who nonetheless…
Al Casey is rocking. But the 61-year-old guitar legend isn’t plugged into an old Fender tube amp. His custom Gibson L-5 guitar is nowhere in sight. No, he’s idly swaying on a swing in front of Papa’s Place, the preeminent–and possibly only–diner in Cordes Junction, a ghost of a trailer-park…
