I don't know what the rest of this tour video is going to be like, but this intro sequence is totally snake.
The Privates. Photo by Megan Woolfolk.
Dessert, anyone? The way people attacked the confections table Saturday night (mmm, donuts and beer!), and the way the bands kept bringing the sweet, sweet rock, we half-expected to wake up Sunday
morning afternoon with our teeth all but gone, along with our hearing and our voice. Let's just say that this year's party was a fucking blast, and we have you to thank for that.
Under the new skull 'n' cones Cream logo, Stories That Live got things started with a bang—but not a Bang Bang Bang, as the Falls City Angels cover everyone kept threatening to play never surfaced—clearly reveling in their rendition of Meemaw's "Blue in the Blacklight," and even playing a rawked-up version of a certain song whose title includes the words "black" and "magic." (Shhh.)
Determined to keep the rafters shaking, The Privates (pictured above) took the stage and completely ruled from note one. Better-than-a-drum-machine Rollum Haas powered the band as they not only put the "life" back in Lifeboy, but also pulled off what might have been the evening's ballsiest cover choice, taking on Paramore's "Misery Business" with the throttle wide open.
The Carter Administration chagrined us a bit by emphatically gang-shouting the "we own this town" line from Ole Mossy Face's "Calls and Walls," but you know what? We forgave them pretty fast, because they ripped through an awfully convincing version of Apollo Up's "Walking the Plank," making us simultaneously miss that band and love seeing the Carters carrying their flag.
Cortney Tidwell proved once again—though it hardly needs proving at this point—that she's a Nashville treasure. She delivered, in the same set, both a gorgeously spot-on rendition of "I Still Miss Someone" (backed on harmony by Alexis Powell of Festival) and a full-throated, cranium-rattling cover of JEFF the Brotherhood's "Screaming Banshee." Brother Jake Orrall, standing up front, said aloud what we were thinking: "That made my year."
More to come in this week's dead tree edition.
Photo by F.S. Upton
We've seen the undying spirit of rock 'n' roll and his name is Bruce Springsteen. Many people forget that the legend of Springsteen was originally built up by incredible press hype. Rolling Stone critic Jon Landau left behind his journalistic pursuits to become his manager. Dave Marsh made a career out of being the man's biographer, and the 1975 release of Born to Run coincided with his appearing on the covers of both Time and Newsweek simultaneously. So what is there to say about Bruce Springsteen that hasn't already been said? That it's all true. At the Sommet Center we watched in amazement as the 58-year-old proved all night why he is not just a rock star but a national treasure. The crowd had a fair amount of young Springsteen virgins, but it was obvious that the dominant attendees were the faithful veterans. For the rest of us this is part of the show, witnessing the cult. These are the weathered faces of the characters found his tales of faith, struggle, hope, and hopelessness. Mary was there, Terry was there; Frankie, Wendy and his buddy at Khe Sahn too.
As the opening power chord of The River's “Out in the Street” kicked in, these faces came to life, and it became immediately apparent why Springsteen's music has endured through four generations: People are still living these stories. They rely on the Boss to transcend the American experience of being marginalized by the human cost of living, from a mundane void, to something of triumphant romantic grandeur. The intrinsic dialogue that exists between Springsteen and his audience is indescribable. As a performer the man is a force of nature, displaying boundless energy, spitting water five feet into the, air, bending backwards off his mic stand, and even doing knee slides across the front of the stage. It really must be seen to be believed. No hyperbole will do justice to the obvious dedication he has to making the $100 price of admission worth it.
What's the most important thing that makes an awesome rock song awesome?
10. THE HOOK!
8. it lets you know where it's going, it gets there, you get off and it's over.
7. its ability to melt faces and get asses moving, no hippy bullshit though
6. loudness/awesomeness/makes clothing disappear
5. whether or not it makes me want to lasso a school of tiger sharks to pull my underwater chariot, and charge headlong into the depths of the mariana trench, where I shall fight to save the beautiful mermaids from the clutches of evil mutant christian fish
4. letting it all hang out. yes, including your penis and/or vagina.
3. Balls. Big ones. Two of them. (Figurative balls).
2. who wants to get pizza after the show?
1. no one is wearing a clever hat while playing it
The one survey question that had a landslide result was the question of a live drummer or a drum machine—not surprising that the rockists swept this one, with nearly three-quarters of the vote. If you're a live drummer named Rollum Haas or Phil Rudd, you're really in there like swimwear. I'm kinda surprised no one wrote in Animal. But what's wrong with drum machines?
You might have checked out the gritty, sugary rumble of The Ettes at Springwater or Grimey's last year, or The Basement this year. But if you didn't, no worries: The formerly Los Angeles-based garage poppers just relocated to Nashville.
On why they chose the Music City, the band says via email:
"We needed a place to call home after two years of being on the road and homeless, and Nashville just worked out! We've been housesitting for a friend for the past two months after our Black Keys tour in the UK, and then we just randomly found a perfect house, so we decided that we would stay. It's perfect for touring the states, and it's cheaper than LA or New York, so that all adds to the appeal as well!"
If you're curious, you only have to wait a week to see them. Their CD release show is at The Basement on Friday, Aug. 29, but the night before they'll DJ a dance party under the name Swiz Kids at Springwater.
According to our sources, the victim in this scooter crash—which took place last night at 7th and Main St. in East Nashville—was local musician Will Hoge. He is currently in critical condition at Vanderbilt.
Notice that the police officer interviewed says the responsibility falls on the "motorcylce/scooter rider," because they are in a smaller vehicle. I should really go get myself a Hummer, then nothing would be my fault.
The Cream wishes Hoge a speedy recovery.
**Update: Hoge's condition has been upgraded to stable. Well wishes can be posted at willhoge.com or at myspace.com/willhoge.
You've got a little less than 24 hours to vote for who gets the last two Next Big Nashville slots. Polls are now closed.
Mean Tambourines got out to an early lead, but Evil Bebos have really turned on the afterburners.
If you're near a radio this afternoon, say around 4 p.m., feel free to keep hitting "seek" until you get to 97.1 FM, where I'll be talking about the Cream party, the rock girl calendar search, and, well, I don't actually know what. But that reminds me: Tickets for ZZ Top (in your face, like a lapdance) at The Ryman Oct. 3 go on sale tomorrow.
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