The Machine, Westbury Music Fair, October 31, 2010

I was treated to the music of Pink Floyd from Spider-Man, Nurse-Man, Karate-Man and Monster-Man for three or so hours. Not much really to say other than that they continue to provide me with reasons to see them every year for their spot-on renditions of Floyd classics and obscure gems. "Wot's...Uh The Deal" was a surprise inclusion as was "Careful With That Axe, Eugene" to open the show. I also think it was ballsy to exclude songs like "Comfortably Numb," "One Of These Days," etc. But that's how great Floyd's music is -- you actually don't need to hear everything in order for it to be a great show. I wanted to hear "Comfortably Numb," but I'm not all that upset I didn't hear it. All in all, great show again. Thanks guys.

Setlist:

Careful With That Axe, Eugene
In The Flesh
The Thin Ice
Another Brick In The Wall, Part 1
The Happiest Days Of Our Lives
Another Brick In The Wall, Part 2
Speak To Me/Breathe
Time
Shine On You Crazy Diamond
Signs Of Life
Learning To Fly

Sheep
Welcome To The Machine
Wot's...Uh, The Deal
Keep Talking
Money
Set The Controls For The Heart Of The Sun
Wish You Were Here
Any Colour You Like
Brain Damage
Eclipse

Encore:
Waiting For The Worms
Stop!
The Trial
Outside The Wall

Alain Johannes - Spark (2010)

One of the newly minted releases from the collaborative efforts of artist-driven labels Ipecac Recordings and Rekords Rekords ("Starting A Revolution Against Shitty Rock!"), October 5th marked the day that Alain Johannes stopping being a sideman. Previously a founding member of Eleven with his late partner Natasha Shneider, from whom this album draws all of its real energy, as well as a member of Queens of the Stone Age, Chris Cornell's backing band and recently, anyone who's caught a Them Crooked Vultures show will recognize Alain as the fourth vulture -- yes, the guy not named Josh Homme who can also fucking shred. Initially intended as a limited distribution release a.k.a to his friends, Homme persuaded him to show his work to the world, and praise be to the Ginger Elvis for that.

The album is pretty raw and confessional, and unlike other bands who write on the verge of ambiguity and allude to various general topics such as pain, happiness, confusion, sorrow, loss, beauty, etc., this is pretty real and startling because of it. I mean, if you listen to this record, all 29 minutes of it, and don't find yourself considerably moved, I honestly don't know what to tell you. Actually, I do. But I'll leave it to you to imagine what verbal cruelty I've spared you from. As the cover shows, Alain plies his trade on a cigar box guitar, which he uses to employ a variety of guitar stylings, most often in complex harmonies. "Endless Eyes" is probably the most direct in regards to his late partner and features intense guitar playing and such lyrics as, "It's killing me that I must go on living." Tell me you don't want to buy this guy a beer. Also, lest I forgot, this guy can sing really well. If anyone's heard "Making A Cross" from the Desert Sessions, that is indeed him singing both verses, one in a fairly high register, one in a low register. Impressive eh? "Gentle Ghosts" is just sick. Due to my own guitar shortcomings, I find it difficult to imagine playing some of the lines on this one. "Make God Jealous" is equally awesome, a showcase of Alain's prodigious talent with the stringed instrument. "Spider" is Natasha's nickname and features some oddly phrased guitar lines. All in all, a very short listen, but very sad, very beautiful and very powerful. This is what happens when you play all the instruments and produce it and you aren't a megalomaniac. Trust me, it's so fucking good. B+

Muse - Nassau Coliseum - October 23, 2010

While I haven't followed these guys from the beginning, I did have the benefit of enjoying them before they received massive exposure from playing award shows, Twilight soundtracks and as the opening act for such notable contemporary blowhards like U2, I was nonetheless disappointed by their concert, a mostly lifeless and mechanical rendering of their songs, and many popular singles at that. I suppose this is what comes at the price of filling up giant arenas and having legions of newly-minted mindless head-bobbers who want anthems and ballads and sing-alongs, elaborate stage wizardry and lights (which were cool, no complaints) and a general feel-good time. I was less than pleased at the unquestionably short 90 minute length of the show, the lack of an encore (unless two minutes before "Exogenesis" counts as an encore), and the enormous technical mistake, hereafter referred to as THE WTF MOMENT. Midway through Bellamy's warbling erratic wah wah sequence of the solo in "New Born," the sound suddenly got sucked out of the Coliseum. With a moment reflecting the sheer incredulity of his audience, Bellamy threw his hands up as if to say, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?, and the band promptly left the stage for a few minutes. To their credit, in rather humorous fashion, the band began again right smack at the heart of the solo, a testament perhaps more to their pristine routine than anything else. What else? Bellamy, an absolutely phenomenal vocalist, composer, pianist and guitarist was pretty much absent from the keys, only playing two songs if I recall, a marked departure from what made this band so unique.

So was anything good? Yes, "Knights" was amazing. Maybe the band was happy they were ending the show, I don't know, but it was energetic and provided a glimpse of why this band used to be so dynamic. Ditto for "Stockholm Syndrome," "Hysteria," "Problematique," "Eurasia," and a few others. The interlude "jams" were also interesting, if not for the fact that I had heard them "spontaneously" played before as well, in addition to some brief minute covers of "House of the Rising Sun," "Star Spangled Banner," some Zeppelin, etc. All in all, a very disappointing show by a band I fear has become hideously enslaved by the fickle whims of a commercial consuming public, despite the fact that I still love most of their music. It's a shame such amazing talent gets wasted for people who have no true appreciation for what they are hearing and are more concerned with waving their hands, taking obnoxious pictures and video with their iPhones and feeling bedazzled by visual displays, which, ultimately, hide the fact that the band is bored and should never be allowed to play "Undisclosed Desires" ever. C

Here's what I thought was the setlist:

Uprising
Map of the Problematique
New Born
Super Massive Black Hole
Resistance
Hysteria
Guiding Light
United States of Eurasia
Feeling Good
Undisclosed Desires
Time Is Running Out
Starlight
Plug In Baby
Exogenesis: Symphony Part 1 (Overture)
Stockholm Syndrome
Knights of Cydonia

Roger Waters - The Wall Live - Nassau Coliseum - October 12, 2010

What could I possibly write that could somehow add to what I've already said a few days ago? Um ... I had better seats? I liked seeing it twice? Pigs are really underrated? A-

Roger Waters - The Wall Live - Madison Square Garden - October 6, 2010

Monstrous inflatable marionettes, a flying pig with party slogans, a flock of children singing something about education and wearing shirts bearing the message "Fear builds walls," the crash and din of music interspersed with babies and bombs and erratic television crackles, and a wall, so imperceptibly constructed steadily over the course of the album's tense first half that I here and now must raucously applaud whomever created the set design and those in the stage crew who seamlessly metastasized such a wonderful visual spectacle for me -- and everyone else, too. Yet the "bricks" in the wall were not just to physically isolate the band from the rest of the audience, but also to function as an enormous video screen (enormous being too understated, really) to showcase the various themes surrounding the album: animations of scenes from the film, photos of deceased military members from all wars, visuals of planes dropping bombs shaped as crucifixes, crescents and stars (which has garnered some controversy; Google it), as well as Shell and Mercedes logos and some good old-fashioned dollar signs. For those expecting Mr. Waters to sing like he was thirty years younger, he does, actually, on the screen from some footage of "Mother" from the 1980 tour; the current version sings along with him. Basically, go see this if you can. I am. Again. In five days. Try to not buy seats on the extreme left or right sides of whatever venue, and comfort yourself to the fact that, while this is not Pink Floyd, it's the closest thing you're going to get to see them ever again anyway. A- (the minus is for lack of Gilmour, the standard for anything involving Floyd).

Bad Brains - Black Dots (1996)

Originally recorded in 1979 in the best studio known to man -- a basement -- this collection of gems shows us the Brains on the up and up, still bearing some of their Pistols influence, especially H.R's trilled sneering on "Redbone In The City," and playing at a slightly subdued tempo. Hearing slowed-down earlier versions of their debut album isn't a problem though, because their debut album was superinsanelyfilthyfuckingfantasticawesome, and these versions simply give you more time to appreciate that. (Understanding H.R.'s lyrics is an added benefit as well.) For me, this album shows exactly why the Brains are the greatest hardcore punk band ever, not because this collection is the greatest compendium of punk music, but precisely because it is not. If this was all the Brains ever released, or if they released a few just like this, they'd probably have a decent niche following today. But as we know from their debut -- a manic display of searing musical riffage interspersed with reggae, the pinnacle and standard of hardcore punk -- that is clearly not the case. Aside from that, any fan of the Brains probably already has this, but for those who'd like to hear what they sounded like before everyone tried to sound like them, this is an excellent listen. Like at least 50 times on my part, much to the chagrin of my wife. A-

Kaki King - The Bowery Ballroom - April 16, 2010

Rumors of this guitar virtuoso's musical death have been greatly exaggerrated. No, she doesn't do that "tapping" thing on her new album and it wasn't prominent in the show, either, because she was too busy rocking the fucking out. Is this what everyone wants to hear and see? A musician stuck in the confines of her audience's desires, which is probably the equivalent of eating camembert cheese with boysenberries. Let her do what she wants.

That said, great show. It was a nice mix of rockers ("Falling Day," "Death Head," and a variety of acoustic instrumentals, those that got her attention in the first place and some new ones. I never tire of "Pink Noise." "Bone Chaos" was pretty searing as usual; it's one of those manic displays of guitar awesomeness that makes you stop whatever you're doing. Which reminds me of something: she doesn't have a bass player. The guy posing as one was toting (I had to google this) and electronic EVI synth; it's basically like an electronic trumpet that you can play pretty much everything on, including bass. The guy was pretty impressive. Her drummer, too, reminded me of Stewart Copeland for his loose and varied style.

For her encore, Kaki brought out the lap-steel and started looping several guitar parts for "Gay Sons" with an added bass and drum backbeat until it became a kind of dance tune. She then jumped into the audience and started dancing. It was pretty awesome. Then she let everyone know her and the band would be drinking beers at the merchandise table. Cue Bowery staff, who, in the spirit of every good aftermath to rock and roll shows, cough cough, told us to make our way to the door and get the fuck out. Gotta love the way things are now. On a side note to that, NYC music venues are sucking ass. Last time I was at the Bowery years ago, it was fucking righteous. It's turned into a clean, sterile vapid place. I believe the word they use in housing development is "gentrification." The same feel can be applied here.

Setlist:

Falling Day
Bone Chaos In The Castle
Life Being What It Is
Pull Me Out Alive
Death Head
Betrayer
Unknown song/solo
Playing With Pink Noise
Sunnyside
All The Landslides Birds Have Seen Since The Beginning Of The World
Doing The Wrong Thing
Everything Has An End, Even Sadness
Spit It Back In My Mouth
Jessica
You Don't Have To Be Afraid

Encore:

Hallucinations From My Poisonous German Streets
Gays Sons Of Lesbian Mothers

First Two 7"s On A 12" - Minor Threat (1981)

A combination of their first two EPs, Minor Threat and In My Eyes, this album is like a series of uppercuts to the face -- for ten minutes. Straight edge punk at its finest. I shall waste no further words. Go on and get it, however way you wish. A

Two Minutes Hate

For those unaware of what this is, please read here briefly for an explanation.

Eric fucking Clapton is a wanking tired third-rate claptrap of a bluesplayer. If he could suck his own dick, he would slobber over it slowly like a worn blues lick he got caught in-between his teeth. He's overrated and if he had children, his most notable abortion would be SRV and his insistence that you hear the same 'ol blues, but faster! And then when he plays it fast-like and you ooh and you ahhh and you gimme some more moloko, he's plays the same damn thing again, but faster! OMFG. The only thing worse than this bastard's blistering blues is no blues, no soul, check-my-shades-bitch Satriani, who could probably lose a battle of emoticons texting with himself, just because he'd get confused on the origins of a smile or a wink or anything with a fucking soul.

The Jimi Hendrix Experience - Axis: Bold As Love (1967)

Having recently listened to the newly released Valleys Of Neptune, I thought to myself, I need to review Electric Ladyland. Then, as testament to my prolonged absences here, I realized that I had already written it. Boink. So here's to all the picked-seconds of the world, I'm rubbing you Axis: Bold As Love. Like the opening to Electric, Axis begins with a waste of my time, the insipid avant-garde emptiness of "EXP." From there, it's a smattering of musical styles: the wah wah breeziness in "Up From The Skies" -- replete with tasty brush taps. Actually, let me interrupt myself. Mitch Mitchell gets his cake and he's probably eaten so much of it, he's had massive intestinal stoppage, but everyone still talks about Hendrix first and foremost, and I'd like to say, Mitch, you were awesome. There, I feel better. "Ain't No Telling" is a my favorite non-famous Hendrix track. If you haven't heard it -- seriously? "Castles Made Of Sand" is one of those songs that you play for people when you want them to hear what Hendrix was all about. "Little Wing" is, in my opinion, one of the few perfect songs ever written. Period. If you've ever wanted to hear an album end like it was a mad flower bursting into bloom, then listen to the last minute or so of "Bold As Love." This album is sonically exquisite. I have nothing but excess verbal superfluity in making an ass of myself otherwse. Enjoy. A

Spirit - Twelve Dreams Of Dr. Sardonicus (1970)

I apologize in advance if my return is short-lived. I'm fairly certain I've been writing to an empty auditorium recently and can only fondly remember the rather robust discussions this site used to have once upon a time. Now the site seems more of a running catalog of unrelated individualistic comments. R.I.P. Bob, Chuck, Cianan, Starr, and whoever I'm missing at the moment.

That said, Dan over at Layla's Classic Rock has unwittingly introduced me to Spirit recently. Three weeks after reading his post, I've now listened to their first four albums dozens of times with stupendous glee. And Sardonicus, friends, is a fucking doozy of an album, mostly attributable, dare I say it, to the drumming. Ed Cassidy is not a drumming god. I wouldn't know his bald head from any other bald head, but damn, he's got this jazzy looseness to him that I think acts as the thread of the album. He's got some nice fills on "Prelude - Nothing To Hide" and "Morning Will Come," to name a few. Randy California is no slouch, either -- if drumming is the thread, the guitar is the needle sewing up all the right spots, from the greasy fuzz slide on "Prelude," the explosive noodling in "Street Worm" or the artful stabbing notes in "Morning." Throw in some brass, piano and some really nice vocal harmonies ("Nature's Way") and you've got, if you're me, the best discovery of 2010, which is shaping up to be a shitter otherwise. Mad Hatter, over and out, pluterperfectly.

A-

Them Crooked Vultures - Them Crooked Vultures (2009)

It is indisputable and perhaps undeserving of mention that far and wide across the interwebs in forums, blogs, magazines and any other media depositories, everyone who rocks out with their cock out (or not!) invariably feels they have found something so awe-inspiring and powerful, so utterly bonkers and brilliant, so fucking genius, that they feel communally impelled to share with us that they also feel, in their most astute and clever opinions, that Them Crooked Vultures sound similar to Zep, QTSA and Nirvana/Foos. No shit, really?!?! I kind of thought they sounded like Abba on my first listen, but that's me.

But seriously, since the concert I saw them at, the subsequent streaming of the entire album on YouTube and now, the finished clarity of the real actual thing, I've been calling these guys filthy -- filthy as in fucks your face up if you're dumb enough to get in front of it. This is simply rock in all of its glorious phases, from the sophisticated time signature shifts to the filthy sludgy boozy jams to the riffs, oh beautiful bruising hammer of the gods riffs, to the fact that this band effortlessly melds classic rock and modern rock -- it's a wonder they gel so well after such short time. The album begins with "Nobody Loves Me & Neither Do I," a great opener that begins fairly innocuously -- almost as if you thought these guys were going to play it safe, stupid and sucky a la Chickenfoot , and then -- oh glorious spark of heaven -- JPJ bass nukes the proceedings. From there it never really lets up: aside from the buoyant but straightforward "New Fang," TCV burns through a litany of rockfests with the weird queasiness of "Interludes With Ludes" to break up the momentum. We get to hear some fantastic Jack Bruce falsetto imitation on one of my favorite tracks, "Scumbag Blues," which features some filthy guitar-work as does "Reptiles," my other favorite. "Elephants" begins fairly ferociously and then settles into a slow tempo throttle. "Warsaw, Or The First Breath You Take After You Give Up" is a nasty blues number that morphs into a filthy boogie jam and immediately follows "Interludes" thereby saying, more or less, that the brief break is over. "Spinning With Daffodils" ends the album and begins with a piano intro that is quickly drowned out by crunchy guitar. Oh, and "Gunman" -- this was the filthiest guitar when I saw them in concert, but yet they made the whole song funky as hell. Bad? Oh no, not at all. It's ridiculously good.

All in all, Dave Grohl was a manic beast in concert and that energy isn't quite up to snuff here, but he's still pretty amazing. JPJ is everywhere and lets you know it, and Josh Homme basically wants to pound every riff he can think of into your head. The result? Best album of the year and maybe for the past few years. It's that good.

Oh, and go see them any chance you get!

The Machine, B.B. King's, October 30, 2009

Ok, I saw The Machine again. I just really love Floyd, don't I? It wasn't enough that I've reviewed all their albums here already, but a tribute band twice in a month surely certifies my addiction. So what was different the second time? The venue (bad food, lots of alcohol), the set of songs they played, and a saxophonist for "Crazy Diamond," "Money" and "Us And Them." Fucking tasty. Show started at nine on the dot and went until half past midnight with one brief fifteen minute break in the middle. What does that mean? Lots of songs -- even Syd Barrett's "Dark Globe." Oh, and "The Trial"? Spot on. See for yourself.

Setlist:
Speak To Me/Breathe
Time
Coming Back To Life
Shine On You Crazy Diamond
Welcome To The Machine
Keep Talking
One Of The Days
Sheep

Dark Globe
Money
Us And Them
Let There Be More Light
Have A Cigar
Echoes
Final Cut
Happiest Days Of Our Lives
Another Brick In The Wall, Part 2
Wish You Were Here
Comfortably Numb

Encore:

Waiting For The Worms
Stop!
The Trial
Outside The Wall

A-

Them Crooked Vultures - Roseland Ballroom - October 15, 2009

For a band with no album, singles and with only a rumored release date of November 23rd, you would think that seeing these guys would be as exciting as seeing an opening band you've never heard of. But this is no ordinary band. As I mentioned a few weeks ago, Them Crooked Vultures is a supergroup consisting of Josh Homme (Queens Of The Stone Age, Kyuss) on guitars and vocals, John Paul Jones on bass and keyboards, and Dave Grohl (Nirvana, Foo Fighters). To say that the show was awesome would be a gross understatement and I actually took the day off today because I am still reeling from the absolute fucking magnificence from last night. Dave Grohl, from where I was standing (which was right in front of JPJ) looked like Neo from the Matrix -- which is to say that he was playing so fast he looked like a blur the whole night. Josh Homme was churning out riff after solo after riff after solo -- and JPJ -- my god man -- he used numerous basses, plunked at them on some songs, picked at them on others, played slide on a special inclined model -- yes he played slide! -- played his portable key-tar, synths, and a beautiful piano outro. Oh, and the mandolin. It was awesome, purely fucking awesome. Mark my words, this is going to be one of the best rock albums to come out in a very long time. While they are technically a supergroup, they don't play like they're out to impress you with their outsized egos (re: Bono, Chris Martin, et al). They're goal was to play some rocking music, have a good time and seem very humbled by any and all applause. Aside from the weird "Interludes With Ludes" and the strangely melodic "Highway One," I can't single out any particularly strong tracks because they were all incredibly meaty boozy sludgy riff-a-fucking-delic rocking monsters. Lies! Ok, "Scumbag Blues" is tops for me. And "Gunman." And the fifteen minute holy shit jam to end the show. I would see them again in a nanosecond. I am starved for more. I pity those who haven't heard them yet. I am going to sleep now. If you love music -- not the media of music, the image of music, the corporate pandering that is currently dominant in music -- you will love this band, I assure you will love this band.

Setlist:

Elephants
Dead End Friends
Scumbag Blues
Gunman
Highway One
New Fang
Caligulove
Bandoliers
Mind Eraser
Daffodils
Interlude With Ludes
Reptiles
No One Loves Me And Neither Do I
Warsaw

Alice In Chains - Black Gives Way To Blue (2009)

Quite a bit can happen in fourteen years. I graduated high school, went to college, joined the army, went to war, got a good job with more pay and I'm okay. For the surviving members of Alice In Chains, they had to endure the deterioration of their good friend and lead singer Layne Staley to heroin addiction. Any music they may have made was effectively squashed with his death in 2002. So with the release of their new album, Black Gives Way To Blue, their last since 1995, people from all across the interwebs have been prattling about how dare they do such a thing, or how the album is or isn't solid, or how they are trying to replace Staley, or how they no longer sound like themselves anymore and blah blah blah. I could give a fupenny tuck what your rationale is, but he wasn't my friend and I didn't have to cope with his loss, so if they want to make music, so be it. That said:

It's a good album. It does sound like AIC. It has their typical assemblage of minor keys, crunching guitars, interspersed melodies and vocal harmonizing between new vocalist William DuVall and resident guitar hero Jerry Cantrell. It does not seek to replace Staley; it only eulogizes him lyrically. The title track features Elton John on piano and is a beautiful farewell. There's just tons of tastiness otherwise: "A Looking In View," "All Secrets Known," "Check My Brain" -- all heavy, all good. "Your Decision" and "When The Sun Rose Again" is reminiscent of the softer, more melodic stuff from their heyday as well. So you fucking naysayers can STFU already, go play Guitar Hero and listen to Godsmack. B

The Machine, Westbury Music Fair, October 2, 2009

The Machine is a Pink Floyd tribute band I almost didn't see on Friday night. Blame it on a blown fuse and difficulties with finding electricians, but thankfully the show started -- even if almost two hours late. That said, the band promised no breaks and sampled mostly on the safe side of Floyd's immense catalogue. I was hoping they'd play whole albums like Animals and The Wall as they did at B.B. King's last month, but as someone there told me, drink a few beers, close your eyes and you won't know you're not listening to the real Pink Floyd. So that's what I did and I'm happy. My only problem was their choice to cater more to the average Floyd Fan by playing more of the well-known songs (i.e. from The Wall) and by feeling the need to sample from many of Floyd's albums (which meant mediocre or poor songs from The Division Bell and Momentary made the cut). I was fairly disappointed when they played "Echoes" -- yes, the "Echoes" -- and ended the song at about 17-18 minutes right before Gilmour's famous guitar line builds up. Good god, why? They played "Fat Old Sun" and that solo was awesome, Jeff. I'm trying to play it on my guitar today without much success. These guys are from New York and play here often, but I know they travel around, so if you get the chance to see them, it's worth it. The guitarist/vocalist does a pretty close Waters imitation and a passable Gilmour.

Setlist:

Shine On You Crazy Diamond
Welcome To The Machine
Coming Back To Life
Speak To Me/Breathe
Time
Sorrow
Fat Old Sun
Is There Anybody Out There?
Nobody Home
One Of These Days
Pigs On The Wing
Pigs (Three Different Ones)
Echoes
Hey You
Wish You Were Here

Encore:
Run Like Hell
Comfortably Numb

B+

Pearl Jam - Backspacer (2009)

For those who know me, this statement will undoubtedly rip your flesh like weasels who had too much Buddy Holly and vodka. The last time Pearl Jam released a semi-decent album, I was a freshman in high school. (It was Vitalogy for those who don't know my age.) So I say with my rancorous cod-piece lodged squarely between my zoobies that I fully and eagerly intended on writing a Two Minutes Hate for this album and sadly cannot sate my inner Freudian wish-fulfillment fantasies. It's pretty good -- really. Part of my disdain for Pearl Jam for the last half portion of my life has been with their politics -- which is to say, their music oozed complete self-righteous seriousness, and the music fucking sucked. Like assfucker sucked. Like no better than Britney Spears sucked. Like you would rather watch Jack Bauer save Los Angeles from its 35th nuclear attack sucked. Read my previous two album reviews if you don't believe me, where the band found itself playing like they read the word torpor so many times on a piece of paper that it put them into one.

This album sounds like they had a ton of fun making it. It doesn't reek of self-seriousness and it doesn't sound tired, either. Amazing, right? I really dig the brevity as well (36 minutes or so). It kind of unfolds pretty quickly and then it's over. (Authorial interjection: Master Cianan, did I just hear you 3,000 miles away yelling, "Well, thank God for that!") I really like "Got Some" and "Supersonic," two fairly punk-like rockers and "Amongst The Waves," a nice sludgy ballad. "Just Breathe" may be my favorite song, and it'd probably surprise you to hear that it's actually just an acoustic love song with some strings -- it just sounds beautiful and I like it. So there. Of course, being the disaffected twaddling twit that I am who must find some fault with everything, I will say this: every Pearl Jam album (except for Ten) has at least one song that is so odious, so terrible, so toxic to the greater good of humanity that the band, the producers, the fans and any other associated party involved with the continued existence and preservation of that song should be violently reprimanded (myself included); and that song is "The Fixer" -- a most retarded example of what kind of music not to make. Otherwise, enjoy. B-

Arctic Monkeys - Humbug (2009)

Who the fuck are Arctic Monkeys? Extraordinarily over-hyped British band from a few years back that released a fairly brazen freshman record and a solid sophomore effort. Humbug? Third record. Getting better? Yes. The real interesting thing about this album is that Josh Homme (Queens Of The Stone Age, Kyuss, etc.) produced it and apparently encouraged these chaps to play like Kyuss -- that is to say, for no sake but for the music and for themselves. As a result, the album goes so far astray from what they've done before that it almost sounds like a new band. But by far the most impressive thing about this album is the fact that it is sluggish. Sluggish like a rainy dumpy Saturday afternoon stuck inside with no munchies and a dull but poignant hangover. Anyone heard their first two albums? Lotsa lotsa energy, quirky wordplay and snark. This? A fucking strange moody atmospheric drag. But a good one. Enough to lull you into a half-snooze but still retaining the chops to knock your ass backwards. If this were the 70s, it'd be grouped with "psychedelia." Except this isn't weird because of the drugs; this is weird because -- because they're weird? Or because Josh Homme produced it -- the guy whose last album featured Bulby the light bulb and whose website mailing list reads "Let Us Spam You"? You be the judge. "Fire And A Thud" is probably the only song I don't like -- perhaps "thud" more appropriately crystallizes my feelings towards it. Otherwise, my faves are "Potion Approaching," a great mid-tempo stomp that suddenly comes to a complete boozing crawl, "Crying Lightning" for its bass groove and choppy guitar lines, and the only frenetic song here, the punky "Pretty Visitors" -- my god! -- one of the lyrics is "What came first: the chicken or the dickhead?" 'Nuff said? B-

ZZ Top - Recycler (1990)

As I've mentioned below, today is a twofer. But now that I'm about to savage this album, in ZZ Top linguistics and metaphors no less, today is less like a twofer and more like a coin, one side being heads, one side being tails. And so it should come as no surprise that this album falls squarely into the complete and utter ass-end of ZZ's electric boogie whomp originating with all those MTV videos with that dork getting the chicks. Funny title, Recycler. Like these guys wrote 300 songs in the early 80s in the same vein and this is the rotten shit-bespeckled end of it. Except it's 1990. And here is Recycler. Funny, eh? My question to Billy Gibbons, one of the sickest guitar gods to ever touch a stringed instrument, who could probably pull a lick from his dick if he could see past his beard -- what the FUCK were you thinking? This album is like slow aural death. It sounds like you air-brushed a pearl necklace onto some chick to make it look like you're awesome, but in reality the chick was never there and you're just passing off your porn spanking on the wall. Sure, you had sex years ago, and probably did some crazy shit. But I mean, really? I'm pretty strict about my grading system, but even though the standings can never truly reflect how much an A+ means or how bad an F really is, I can say this: this is one of the worst albums ever. If I wasn't such a completionist, I would delete it off my hard drive. I suggest you do so if you are without my neurotic quirks. Destroy this and all copies you come into contact with. Make sure to wear gloves for proper disposal and a condom for even greater protection. Hell, if you are the charitable type, go to what few music stores that still exist or order like ten copies of this online and fucking smash it to fucking bits. There. FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

Warchild, Morgan Memorial Park, August 30, 2009

Today is Tuesday, and on this particular Tuesday you get a twofer. Whether you would have gotten lesser or equal value if I had just written one longer review is beyond my mental pay-grade. For some background, Warchild is a Jethro Tull tribute band from New York who replicates the sound and look of the original Jethro Tull circa 1970 or thereabouts; the lead singer/flautist dressed and looked somewhat similar to Ian Anderson, but his eerily similar voice, his excellent flute playing and his spot-on impressions of Anderson's physical stage mannerisms are what really sealed the deal. The rest of the band was equally note-for-note in regards to Tull's catalog, and overall, despite the wind problems completely fucking some of the sound, I was pretty impressed. The two hour set, in no apparent order, pardon my memory, consisted of: "Aqualung," "Teacher," "Locomotive Breath," "Cross-Eyed Mary," "Thick As A Brick," "Living In The Past," "Bourée," "Sweet Dream," "Skating Away On The Thin Ice Of A New Day," "Bungle In The Jungle," "Too Old To Rock 'N' Roll, Too Young To Die," "Nothing Is Easy," "Minstrel In The Gallery," "War Child," and a whole bevy of other tunes, some of which even I didn't recognize. And yes, they did "Thick As A Brick," but no, it was only a partial. Fucking righteous enough for me. B-