… And Who Could Forget About These Great Hits? (The Ten Best Albums of 1995) 1. P.J. Harvey To Bring You My Love (Island) Britain’s Gen-X version of Patti Smith gets gruff and bluesy on her latest set of psyche-aerobics. It’s not exactly easy listening–first-person songs about drowning one’s children…
Goldie Timeless (ffrr) Timeless indeed, but also precisely of the moment, the 30-year-old mixed-race London deejay/graffiti artist named Goldie has accomplished something exceedingly rare with his debut album: Like Dylan’s Highway 61 Revisited, Coltrane’s A Love Supreme and maybe a handful of other recordings, Timeless firmly plants itself for the…
When the holiday hordes descend from the suburbs to swarm the gallerias every year on the day after Thanksgiving, many a dutiful consumer snaps up at least one of the Yuletide albums that magically appeared on the shelves overnight like presents under a tree. But few probably wonder how the…
Name: Yuta Kiyono Age: 23 Birthday: December 15 (happy birthday, Yuta!) Hometown: Yokohama, Japan Arrived in the Valley: September 15, 1995 Future Plans: Learn English and study at ASU Current command of English: Shaky, but a hell of a lot better than my Japanese. Current command of eight ball: Nippon’s…
Tony Bennett Here’s to the Ladies (Columbia) Tony Bennett’s unlikely ascent from has-been to hipster continues to be one of the coolest, if most puzzling, success stories in pop. Somehow, Bennett has gone from one of mom and dad’s favorite artists to a fave with the kids, without appreciably altering…
“There’s a white riot going on in Congress,” Bruce Springsteen said at a Neil Young concert in California last month, just before he dedicated the title track of his new album to Newt Gingrich. “It’s going to make this country less safe and less equal.” The Ghost of Tom Joad…
Melissa Etheridge Your Little Secret (Island) What’s almost better than a box of sugar cereal with a prize at the bottom? Melissa Etheridge’s new disc, with cute and clever liner notes that double as an interactive puzzle! Anyone who buys Your Little Secret might as well take full and immediate…
To better understand the way people acquire language, linguists are always on the lookout for a wolf boy–a person raised without benefit of human contact. When the 1993 documentary film and soundtrack Deep Blues introduced guitarists Junior Kimbrough and R.L. Burnside to an audience beyond northern Mississippi juke joints, it…
Australia’s teeny grunge sensation Silverchair is the biggest (and youngest) band to conquer down under and beyond since the Easybeats had Friday on their minds way back in 1967. Silverchair’s debut, Frogstomp, entered the Australian charts at No.1–a first in Aussie rock. And, like this country’s Mighty Morphin Power Rangers,…
Normally, I love the hate. There’s nothing to jazz up a Muzak day like a spitting-mad New Times reader jabbering in my ear about the sacrilege of superimposing Barney the Dinosaur’s head on Jerry Garcia’s body. And any day I get to hear someone call Garth Brooks a musical genius…
Smashing Pumpkins Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness (Virgin) There he is: Billy Corgan. The Baby Huey of modern rock. The Pillsbury Dough Boy with chops. The pudgy-faced 800-pound gorilla who can sit anywhere he damn well wants. Corgan and his band, Smashing Pumpkins, are currently squatting atop the heap…
So I’m cruising down Apache Boulevard on November 29, taking the virgin listen to my bootleg of the Jim Rose Circus’ sold-out performance at Electric Ballroom two nights prior. I’m thinking to myself, “Maybe tape-recording a freak show isn’t the brightest brain flash I’ve ever had. What am I gonna…
In case you missed all six hours of The Beatles Anthology and its accompanying hoopla (what are you, living in a Turkish prison?), just accept this premise: The Beatles are still the yardstick by which all pop music is measured. Whenever some shlub of a group scores a breakthrough hit,…
Programmed by Mac and Strong, KUKQ is the place to find music devoid of commercial influences Somebody hold a wake, because “alternative” is dead–gone the way of all labels that catch fire and fry in marketing hell. Ten years ago, the battle lines were clear: There was commercial radio and…
Vince Welnick was never cut out to be a Deadhead. While the young “beautiful people” of the Sixties were hitching rides to San Francisco, wearing flowers in their hair, Vince was cruising Phoenix’s Central Avenue with his older twin brothers, packing a tear-gas pistol in his belt. Sure, he had…
Bill Davis got the thrill of his five-year rock ‘n’ roll career recently. Answering the phone at the band’s New Orleans headquarters, the Dash Rip Rock lead singer-guitarist heard an unmistakable, molasses-sweet drawl on the other line that made him positively weak in the knees. The Southern belle in question?…
The Slims Slow Road to Hell (Mainliner Music) Slims drummer Scott Seymann sports a “London Calling” tee shirt in this CD’s insert photo. That’s tres cool, but the Clash is light-years from the Slims’ stripped-down, medium-tempo fare, which more easily recalls the Feelies. Greg Simmons’ guitar unfurls melodic lines with…
They were about halfway through a take in the video shoot for Pam Tillis’ recent hit “MiVida Loca” when the country diva suddenly directed the camera crew to stop filming, turned to Dale Watson and told him to flatten his pompadour. “She had a problem with my hair,” remembers Watson…
The Amps Pacer (4AD) It’s easy to look back on Kim Deal’s checkered musical past and feel pity mixedwith admiration: She’s continually stymied by the company she keeps. After watching her play George Harrison to Black Francis’ Lennon/McCartney, Dylan to Tanya Donelly’s Donovan and, in the latest chapter of this…
Quick–name one rock band with a black woman for a lead singer. I dare you. Hell, I double-dare you. What’s that? Tina Turner? Get outta here. Sure, she can strut as hard as Mick Jagger, but have you heard that song she has in the new Bond flick? I don’tknow…
Green Day Insomniac (Sire) I admit it: I was a punk rocker in the early ’80s. I had my shoulder dislocated in the pit at a Dead Kennedys concert; I sipped out of the same longneck Bud as Exene Cervenka in the sweaty aftermath of an X show; and I…
Not Miranda, you fool, Mirainga. After a week spent skipping down more blind alleys than an Alphabet City speed freak, I’ve called off the hounds. At this point, I’m willing to confirm status upon Mr. Mirainga as “the band from nowhere.” Make that everywhere. The publicity flacks at MCA still…
