The Jesus Lizard’s David Yow moans, yells, squeals and sweats his way through a concert, surfing the mosh pit in a violent effort to prove that, even if he can’t sing a lick, he’s still got more balls than anyone this side of Henry Rollins. In fact, for the price…
His name is CoCo the Electronic Monkey Wizard. He says he came from outer space. He says he’s masquerading as a musician who plays in an instrumental surf-rock band based in Alabama. CoCo says his bandmates are all aliens, too. CoCo the Electronic Monkey Wizard is calling from a roadside…
They were six fine English boys Who knew each other in Birmingham They bought a drum and guitar Started a rock-roll band And Johnny played the little violin And Bobby Joe played the big violin The one that stands on the floor They were all in the rock-roll band Right…
Foo Fighters Foo Fighters (Roswell/Capitol) “Now what?” God, how Dave Grohl must have grown to loathe that query over the last year. At least now he’s finally come up with an answer, and a good one at that. With his new band’s eponymous debut release, Nirvana’s former drummer has stepped…
1: Do You Remember Rock ‘n’ Roll Radio? Buffy was 16 the first time she saw the Ramones. It was 1984, and she still remembers exactly what she was wearing–black tuxedo jacket, black bra, black jeans and red sneakers. She saw the band 16 times after that. Joey, the gangly…
With “alternative” music festivals proliferating like intestinal bacteria, Saturday’s “KUKQ Fest 1995” is trying to be something different: “A duel in the fucking desert.” At least, that’s how “antifest” evil genius and KUKQ program director Jonathan L. describes his latest brain child, which features dual headliners Circle Jerks and Skankin’…
Ziggy Marley and the Melody Makers Free Like We Want 2 B (Elektra) Winning a Grammy is the artistic equivalent of contracting a venereal disease. The Melody Makers have two. Grammies, that is. But there’s no confusing these reggae revolutionaries with the soulless dregs found “entertaining” industry hotshots on awards…
If the words “Letters to Cleo” sound familiar, chances are you either lived in Boston earlier this decade or watch Melrose Place on a regular basis. Former Bostonians may have witnessed the alterna-pop quintet claw its way to prominence in the notoriously competitive Bean Town club circuit, keeping company with…
Before the explosion of music videos and talk radio, deejays were pilots in the long, teenage night, and Wolfman Jack was the hipster deejay par excellence. He was a pure American product, a transistor evangelist who so wanted to be black that he did the next best thing and darkened…
Four years back, Naughty by Nature emerged from East Orange, New Jersey, as the brash young Turks of hip-hop. Using the ghetto for a launch pad and the chant-along chorus of “O.P.P.” from its self-titled debut album as fuel, NBN took off for stardom. Critical acclaim and massive sales proved…
It’s 10 a.m. and Terry Garvin of Zen Lunatics is cuckoo. For the munchy, crunchy, chocolatey taste of Cocoa Puffs, that is. It’s an addiction that has reared its sugary head only in recent years. “I didn’t eat breakfast cereals for the longest time because they would depress me. I…
Isaac Hayes answers the door of his Dallas hotel room, his bald head down and his eyes sagging. By way of introduction, he yawns and apologizes for being so damned tired, and ushers his guest into the room with a limp raising of his left arm. He wears black pants…
Stop your average person on the street, pin him to the ground, hog-tie him and threaten to extinguish a cigar on a pink body part, and it’s still a pretty safe bet that he would not be able to tell you who Steve Ferguson is. If, however, Jimi Hendrix had…
Forget about all that trendy “cocktail nation” stuff, the music of Esquivel is in a category of its own. The man made a slew of dynamic instrumental records in the Fifties and Sixties that utilized space-age stereo in a way no one ever had. Of course, you can find all…
Think of the conventional rock ‘n’ roll ne’er-do-well of recent generations: the angry greaser, the macho rocker, the sneering punk. Mix their DNAs and saddle the results with a guitar. You’ll get something that looks a lot like Keith Jackson. That’s him leaning against a wall in the parking lot…
The worst thing we could’ve done to Michael Jackson was to buy 40 million copies of Thriller. Up until that record-breaking point, Jackson was an entertainer celebrated solely for his artistry, not for his bizarre behavior or his rapidly deteriorating face. Before 1982, if you spotted him in a tabloid,…
“Man Collapses in Struggle With Police” was the headline of a recent Associated Press story that appeared in the Arizona Republic’s obituaries section. “Man” was one Kurt Mayberry, 39, who had stopped breathing at Maricopa Medical Center on June 13 after an apparent cocaine overdose. The article gave the gory…
Not too long ago, Tempe angst-rock quartet Brick Chair bought a van from an old guy in a Glendale trailer park. Big deal, you say. But wait a second, for you are about to find out how the grizzled gent became a metaphor for the Chair’s from-the-heart approach to music…
It’s a given: Most Americans know ca-ca about ska. To date, we’ve only sent one record with a skanking beat into the Top 5–Little Millie Small’s squeaky-sweet ode to her pubescent licking stick, “My Boy Lollipop”–and that was way back in 1964! Despite its impressive chart showing, “Lollipop” was largely…
You wanna talk influential bands? It’s gonna be a short conversation. What band has done more than KISS to influence everyone who’s anyone today–from Nirvana to Garth Brooks to the Gin Blossoms? That’s right, all none of ’em! KISS is legendary, this we know. And Gene Simmons knows it, too;…
It’s a breezy night at Club Rio in Tempe. The courtyard in the back is framed with lazy, swaying palms. A stage is set up at the east side of the patio. In front of the stage, there’s a large, ornate fountain gurgling water on itself. Behind the stage are…
Remember that old rallying cry of the record industry in the Eighties: “Home taping is killing music”? Well, Mesa’s No Name Maddox has administered the last fatal blow to music as we knew and loved her with this frightening, homemade porridge of samples, synthesizers and psychotics. “D.I.Y.–fuck the great God…
