Liz Phair Whip Smart (Matador) Just because her first album was Exile on Main Street with a Tampax doesn’t mean this is Phair’s Goat’s Head douche. If anything, “Super Nova” and “May Queen” are what “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” might have sounded like if Lesley Gore had been singing instead of…
If you know anything about Grant Hart, it’s probably that he was the singer/songwriter/drummer in one of the definitive bands of the Eighties, Husker Du. He also got a lot of press for being a junkie. Not just any junkie, but an irresponsible junkie. Showed up late, missed gigs entirely,…
Random Reviews Various Artists You Got Lucky–A Tribute to Tom Petty (Backyard) You can’t polish a turd, as Eleanor Roosevelt used to say, and that’s one of the main problems with so many “tribute” albums these days. Sure, the Carpenters had a couple of great, ultralite pop songs, but most…
Their writing has all the sensitiveness an’ feeling that makes music cool to listen to you will probably call it contemporary blues– it could be that if you want it to be it doesn’t matter just let it pass through you. Those are just some of Donovan’s groovy liner notes…
And you thought Ticketmaster was evil! Hey, just because it wants to add a ticket “service charge” that’s almost as high as minimum wage–just ask Eddie Vedder, he’s plenty mad–the ‘master ain’t all bad. It’s sponsoring the second annual Ticketmaster Music Showcase on Saturday at Minder Binder’s in Tempe, featuring…
Juanita Najera swears she is not fanatical about Marty Robbins. A fan, yes, but not fanatical. Yet it is because of Marty Robbins that she moved from back East to Glendale to live in the town of Robbins’ birth–to live, in fact, in the house formerly occupied by Robbins’ twin…
For my name, just call me lonely For my past, just say it’s bad For the story I’m about to tell you Might sound a little sad Well, I never had nothing All I’ve ever owned was me I was about to lose myself And then I met Mary –“Lonely…
War of the Super Buses–The Confrontation: Last week on these very pages, you were promised the titillating lowdown on the ultimate grudge race to the death–the power-packed, diesel-only dirt on a new low in merchandising gimmickry. That’s right, the toy replicas of the mighty touring coaches of country legends Billy…
He may not be out there peeing in public, he doesn’t have his own brand of self-named beer, and he hasn’t taken any personal loans from Libya. But that doesn’t mean Roger Clinton is any less noticeable than the last notorious presidential brother, lovable buffoon Billy Carter. Goodness knows (that’s…
The mean streets of Compton have claimed many, but 24-year-old, self-proclaimed gangsta rapper MC Eiht has taken the lurid, true-life tales of his hometown to the top of the charts. Along the way, he’s managed to upset hip-hop moralist Dr. C. Deloris Tucker and psychic legionnaire Dionne Warwick with his…
At almost any given moment during the last 40 years, while most Americans have been doing things like going to the dentist, balancing checkbooks, eating toast or snoozing soundly in their very own beds, a man named Sleepy LaBeef has been at the wheel of some large vehicle barreling down…
Amid all the manufactured mainstream media malarkey about 1) both Woodstocks (anniversary and 94), 2) the Rolling Stones’ toothless and soulless new album, Voodoo Lounge, and the band’s “Till Death Do Us Part” kabillion-dollar U.S. tour, and 3) the breathless promise of a concert, live from Graceland, of Elvis songs…
Ever get that, you know, not-so-fresh feeling about an artist? It’s probably because you’re associating that artist’s music with a separate, unpleasant experience. For instance, I know this gentleman who has a deep-rooted resentment of Henry Mancini, simply because someone threw up on him in a car when “Moon River”…
Though you’ll probably never hear titles like “We’re a Scandinavian Band,” “Sweet Home Nawasaka” or “The Haarlem Shuffle,” more than a handful of cunning linguists have slipped through the predominantly English Only world of Top 40 hits. Here are a few. 1956: An octet of French vocalists scat-sing George Shearing’s…
If you haven’t figured it out, I’m old. And I’ll tell you something else: I have a tough time getting it up for great, big rock n’ roll shows anymore. But I’ve had my fun in the past, sure. For example: I got smashed against the front wall, stoned out…
Throw a rock at any group of music fans and you’ll likely hit someone who claims to enjoy minimalism. Someone who’ll rattle off the charms of a three-hour, “plink-plink” piano piece and act bemused if you don’t agree. He’ll blather on about spirits set free by minimalism’s incessant repetition, using…
Michael Diamond runs the Beastie Boys’ empire, a very small empire: a label, distributed through Capitol Records, with Luscious Jackson and DJ Hurricane and, of course, the Beasties; X-Large, a clothing store in New York specializing in very ugly clothes that the b-boys pay phat dollars for; and a 30,000-circulation…
His fan club includes the nation’s top two executives (he played at President Clinton’s inaugural), as well as staunch admirers like gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson. Now, after more than 25 years of road work and as many albums, Jerry Jeff Walker, writer of “Mr. Bojangles” and singer of the…
All right. Before we dive into the always controversial and titillating world of local reviews, let me tell you this: I went to see rockabilly shouter Robert Gordon at the fine establishment that is the Rockin’ Horse the other night. Some of you were there, too, a handful of Gordon…
Rolling Stones Voodoo Lounge (Virgin) It’s the Stones. It’s great. Buy it. Little Jimmy Scott Dream (Sire) America is a wonderful place. A country that, no matter how much misfortune comes your way, no matter how much you just plain fuck up, if you hang around long enough, things just…
Why did it take so many tries to figure out the magic recipe for serving up Meat Loaf again? The all-telling cover art provides us with the necessary clues! Note: Every ignored follow-up is missing the three essential ingredients, in tandem: a muscle-bound boy, his bike and that darned bat!…
Dazzling Pantene spokesmodel Kelly LeBrock once said, “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.” Maybe LeBrock’s plea was less breathtakingly presumptuous than it seems. Perhaps it was a simple assessment of a basic human attitude toward the naturally gifted, a little naive noblesse oblige from someone born to the runway. Let’s…
