Happy birthday, dear Ballroom. Happy birthday to you. Now that that’s out of the way, I have a question: What the hell do so many people have against Electric Ballroom? In the ten weeks I’ve had to acclimate to the Valley music scene, I’ve heard no club or club owners…
When most slackers get sick, they lie in bed hoping for codeine. Soul Coughing spits up a song. “Super Bon Bon,” for example, was spawned by an allergic reaction. “I threw this sneeze across the room,” says keyboardist/sample maestro M’ark De Gili Antoni, “and all of a sudden we were…
Beer, weed, girlies and greed. That’s what little Phunk Junkeez are made of. In five years, the locally grown punk-hop act has graduated from a series of infamous break-and-enter warehouse concerts to touring the nation on corporate money. “Trauma/Interscope treats us great,” says the PJ rapper Soulman in a phone…
From Adderly to Zappa, George Duke’s biography reads like road notes from a cross-country tour of American popular music. His trek began as a child in northern California, where he studied classical and jazz and became proficient on piano, trombone and bass. Playing in a Baptist church gave his sensibilities…
Memo to: Terry Hardin, KZON-FM general manager Re: The Zone’s crossover to a Rock Alternative format, our conversations on the same, KEDJ’s response, and other assorted strangeness cc: Coda readers Terry– I’ve got a question for you: Ever heard of this powerhouse FM station in Denver called “The Peak”? Call…
If it ain’t sung in English, a quick score as a novelty hit is the best a pop ditty can hope for in the U.S. Don’t believe us? Just try naming more than one song by Domenico Modugno (“Volare”) or Kyu Sakamoto (“Sukiyaki”). Betcha can’t! Yet since 1970, the American…
The Blue Meanies make it a practice to sleep with their fans. “We can’t afford hotels, so usually someone puts us up, people in the crowd we happen to meet,” says Bill Spunke, the Meanies’ 27-year-old lead singer. “Sometimes you luck out and stay with someone who lives in a…
Generiks Cactus Jelly-Jive? (World Records) I’m thinking Blue Cheer. I’m thinking Mark Mothersbaugh from Devo. I’m thinking Feargal Sharkey. I’m thinking Nervous Norvus. I’m thinking everybody who’s ever sounded worried delivering a lyric. Whether Tempe’s Generiks are musing about being a fetus (“If I was a fetus, I’d probably make…
Nicolo Paganini was the principal violin virtuoso of the 19th century. He was also a madman. Wild-eyed in appearance and sinister in demeanor, Paganini made little effort to dispel rumors that he had killed one of his wives and strung his instruments with her viscera. It was also widely believed…
There is a huge difference between merely “watching” TV and learning to respond aggressively to it. The difference, for most people, is the difference between the living and dying of their own brains. –Hunter S. Thompson, 1994 I don’t own a television and I’m smug about it. People try to…
We certainly are hard up for royalty in this country, eagerly crowning tycoons and entertainers “King” of this and “Queen” of that until their self-importance swells like a bad boil. Leona Helmsley married one of America’s wealthiest men and ruled over his real estate empire with an iron fist and…
It happened quickly. On August 27, KUKQ-AM program director, Valley alternative radio veteran and longtime indie music maven Jonathan L. announced on his weekly Virgin Vinyl program that he was leaving the station, “effective almost immediately.” He made good on his word the next morning, passing the torch to music…
In a pop perfect world, there would be some deep, cosmic rationale behind every band name. In reality, knowing that Buffalo Springfield is a brand of lawn mower doesn’t yield much in the way of brilliant insight. Since most of the really cool titles–like the Temptations and the Heartbreakers–have already…
Lord knows how many poor, unsuspecting fools are killed by hidden tracks every year. Think of it–the late-night lone driver, winding down a mountain highway, happily head-bobbing to the latest CD by his or her favorite band. The final chord of the last listed track fades, but he leaves the…
Thank God for Deepak Chopra. If it wasn’t for that Svengali of self-help, I’d have the mental acuity of an ether addict right now. My tally for the weekend: 12 bands, one rave, and a nerve-jangling run-in with the cops. It’s a few hours ’til twilight on Monday morning, and…
For two decades, the small, unassuming watering hole nestled between an adult bookstore and a motorcycle repair shop on Rio Salado Parkway in Tempe has served as a place of solace and community for hardworking folks–somewhere to relax with an icy Bud when the dust is still caked on your…
“There’s only been four of us,” Jerry Lee Lewis once said. “Al Jolson, Jimmie Rodgers, Hank Williams and Jerry Lee Lewis. That’s your only four fuckin’ stylists that ever lived.” While you could write a book about the people who didn’t make Lewis’ list, there’s one–Charlie Rich–who seems especially relevant…
Every day is like Christmas when you’re a music editor–each morning brings a pile of packages with your name on them. Thirty-six parcels in one day is the standing record for my five-week tenure here. Of course, as with any Christmas, some of the presents always suck. I never know…
It was January 1958, and newly married Myra Lewis, 13, was home alone in Memphis, watching a horror movie on TV. Her husband, a piano player, was out late, as he had been almost every night of their short life together. The movie was The Hand, the tale of a…
You know what I hate about rock? I hate tie-dyed tee shirts. I wouldn’t wear a tie-dyed tee shirt unless it was dyed with the urine of Phil Collins and the blood of Jerry Garcia.–Kurt Cobain, 1992 The only tie-dye I remember from Lollapalooza ’95 was a cut-rate, red- and…
I first heard Primus when a stoned philosophy major lured me out of a dorm hallway with the offer of a new version of rock that would “blow your mind like an orgasm.” She was standing in her doorway holding a CD, which I took to check out the cover…
If I hear one more newscaster say, “What a long, strange trip it’s been,” I’m going to heave up lunch from a week ago. Don’t get me wrong. I’m sorry Jerry’s gone. I’m sorry his old frame finally couldn’t accommodate all the drugs he believed it should. I’m even sorry…
