On the morning two years ago when my father died, the music I immediately turned to was that of Sam Cooke. To me, that hypnotic voice and those tranquil ballads always seemed to come from a deeper well than most pop music. In its own way, Cooke’s music has, for…
Fans have dubbed him “the psychedelic cellist,” but he’s more aptly a guerrilla, tearing through the jazz/gospel/country-colored fabric of Lyle Lovett’s shows to lob a musical Molotov and then duck back into camouflage: starched and sober stage demeanor, painstaking posture, politely arranged face. Whatever the label, John Hagen has found…
There’s no use mourning the Replacements. They were irreplaceable. They were the finest, most visceral example of that great staple of rock n’ roll: the bar band. But most of all, they’re history. As a white, male rock critic–a breed distinguished by its weakness for distorted guitars and suburban angst–I…
On a television screen in a quiet, north Phoenix home, a frightening scene is playing itself out. It’s a musical snuff film. The victim? Hip-hop. In the video, Phunk Junkeez, two local rappers with the same skin color as Vanilla Ice, is whipping a crowd of more than 1,000 white…
When he first began playing his redneck-meets-white-boy’s-blues in the late Sixties, David Allan Coe billed himself as “The Mysterious Rhinestone Cowboy.” He wore a mask and refused to reveal his true identity. Critics, naturally, dismissed the hulking, bearded, bemasked, country-grit singer as cheap gimmickry. But Coe maintained he was simply…
Rockabilly savant Reverend Horton Heat has an eye on the moral corruption damning the music industry. To wit: “It needs repairing. But it’s not the music,” he says. “I just think there are a lot of mediocre bands that get hyped and somehow end up on MTV. All these unproven…
Although facing campaign allegations that she has used her powerful union position to sell out members, Karen Ortega has been handily reelected to the Executive Board of the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers local that represents U S West Direct Yellow Pages salespeople in Arizona and six other states. IBEW’s…
The mother of all paranoias is whispering in the ears of MDRVfourMDNM of the six major record labels. With sirenlike tones, it’s convinced them that the used-CD market is killing sales of new CDs. It’s convinced them that a major chain like Wherehouse selling used CDs is a personal affront…
You’re a quiz-show contestant asked to define the word “jazz.” Uh-oh. Is it the old-timey, street-marching, New Orleans music of Louis Armstrong, the squealing cacophony of saxman Ornette Coleman, or the big-band sounds of Duke Ellington? Does your definition also cover the slick, cool, West Coast 50s sounds of Chet…
Being on the road is no picnic. For most musicians, the biggest headache is wondering what’s going on back home. Has Ma Bell finally shut off the phone? Is the steady gig drying up? Is there some reason your girlfriend is never around when you call? Spouses and parents fret…
X is going to shoot a video in 15 minutes. Bassist-singer John Doe is rummaging through his assortment of faded Western shirts in the back of the wardrobe trailer. “Why, there’s a woman’s clothes here mixed in with mine!” he muses dramatically. His singing partner and ex-wife, Exene Cervenka, is…
The young female clerks of Gabriella’s, Rio de Janeiro’s most famous chain of open-air record markets, dance in the store aisles to both American jazz and traditional Brazilian music. No question, there are a lot worse ways to shop for music than watching these dark-haired Cariocas twist and jabber in…
Hype can be a beautiful thing. A peculiar beauty, to be sure, but perversely attractive in a variety of ways. Hype is especially awe-inspiring in the music business. An overactive promotions department, assisted by a fawning, wide-eyed media, can turn even the most pedestrian of poseurs into front-page news with…
Rock critics spend an inordinate amount of well-paid time discussing deep, defining issues such as “Independent Versus Major Label,” “Do It Yourself (D.I.Y.) or Have It Done to You” and “Seattle: The Next Liverpool?”. Only rock critics care about deep, defining issues, of course, and nothing ruffles a critic more…
Liars, Gods & Beggars eccentricities, idiosyncrasies & indiscretions (local CD) In musical terms, everything north of the dog track at Black Canyon City is Arizona’s musical wasteland. For some reason, residents of El Norte have a peculiar obsession with elevating musical mediocrity to ridiculous heights. Prescott’s Liars, Gods & Beggars…
Earlier this year, MCA Records made a big media splash with the “news” that it had knighted itself lord-protector of the hallowed Chess Records catalogue that it owns. The pride of far-sighted Chicagoans Phil and Leonard Chess, the catalogue is the mother lode of rock n’ roll and the blues…
The J. Geils Band Anthology: Houseparty (Rhino) Back in the Seventies, I had a girlfriend who thought the J. Geils Band was the sexiest band alive. She and her normally sensible pals would get together and turn to meringue as they argued over personal minutiae (He looks cute in knee-high…
Half-rotting ghouls dismembering and devouring a pregnant woman. Horned half-man, half-beast creatures having sex with decomposing female corpses. Rivers of blood gushing past while Satan has a good laugh. Welcome to the world of death-metal album covers. Of all the factions that metal music has created–speed metal, punk metal, pop…
Three photos of Kurt Ralske lay across my desk. The one on the left dates from 1988, around the time his one-man-band debut, Ultra Vivid Scene, was released by Britain’s 4AD Records. With an utter lack of guile, his gaze is directed straight at the camera. In his crew-neck sweat…
Joe Louis Walker is not the kind of person to look back in anger. But he admits that sometimes, the endless comparisons to that other Bay Area blues star, Robert Cray, do get on his nerves. “I hear things like if Joe Louis Walker hadn’t played gospel for ten years,…
Attention! The prophet Qa’Sepel is about to speak: “It shocks me when people seriously think I have answers to anything,” says the tongue-in-cheek, self-anointed seer. “No one has all the answers. No one ever reaches their ultimate destination. And in a way, I’m kind of glad of that.” Qa’Sepel, better…
Arizona’s ties with the world of jazz are flimsy. Trumpeter Art Farmer was raised in Phoenix, and sax giant Charlie Parker probably spent the night in cactus country on his way to a lengthy stint in Los Angeles. And, uh, did I mention Art Farmer? At first, another Arizona jazz…
