Dressed in gray drinking sparks, you were standing at the end of the bar when the smoke bomb went off, when I was ordering a PBR, then standing on the upper level during the following band. I was wearing a dark sweater, and standing by the door parallel to you. I was forced to leave before I had the opportunity to say hello.
In case you missed it, there was a substantial sect of party people who spent the majority of their Tuesdays last year on a makeshift dancefloor at Agave with local DJs Principal and Coach. However, in these earliest days of 2009, the weekly event (expertly documented in the accompanying video, after the cut) abruptly had the rug it was cutting pulled right out from underneath it by--you guessed it--The Man.
Every other night of the week, Agave serves simply as a tequila bar and Mexican-style restaurant. The Man's reason behind the plug pulling is that Agave does not have a permit for dancing. A permit? For dancing? Really? Has Nashville all of a sudden become the town from Footloose? Where are Kevin Bacon and Kenny Loggins when they're needed most?
Without missing a beat, the event's organizers, Jeremy Todd and Michael Madrid (Coach and Principal, respectively), have shifted things to Wednesday nights just a couple blocks south at 12th & Porter, where I assume they plan to continue this popular hipster dance-off on a weekly basis until further notice. Which is cool and all, except now I'm left with a Tuesday-shaped void in my schedule and nothing to fill it with. Any suggestions? Drugs? Jesus? Two-for-ones at Red Door East?
Winner of today's award for living like you're trying to write the plot for a potential Cohen brothers movie goes to William Grothe, a music industry guy who apparently faked his own death by making it appear that he had drowned in the Cumberland River.
His car was found near the Cumberland River boat ramp, and his wallet and cap were nearby. His jacket was found in the water.
Police said his motive is unclear.
Grothe, an attorney who worked for a company that collects royalties for songwriters, has not been charged. But detectives said a criminal case is being worked up.
Whatever his plan was, it seems to have hit a snag, to say the least. (Via WBKO.)
Destroy Destroy Destroy's second album, Battle Sluts, came out yesterday on Black Market Activities. There's a sneak peak of the album on the band's MySpace page, with a sample from each song fading in for a few seconds and giving way to the next one. The full recording of "Born of Thunder" is also streamable. I really should have been spent more time the past couple years writing about their last album, Devour the Power. For a local metal scene that I've described as frustrating on at least a couple of occasion, the album showcases the kind of power metal that the Dungeons and Dragons crowd would totally eat up but with enough abrasion to satisfy the slightly more esoteric metalhead. They've also got a cover of Iron Maiden's "Fear of the Dark" on their MySpace. If you've ever heard the Cradle of Filth version, I'm sorry.
Those of you already familiar with the site Daytrotter know the deal: Bands play live sets, and it's cool.
Recently, our local heroes Ghostfinger paid a visit so that they might record four songs, including two unreleased ditties ("White Rain" and "Marina Show") and two released ditties ("Lady" and a particularly ivory-ticklin' rendition of lifestyle jam "Give Me Some Money"). In addition to getting this sweet illustration of themselves to use as a MySpace avatar, the 'Finger are also now cemented in Daytrotter lore by way of the entertaining stretch of prose that accompanies their session. A sampling:
As the punctuation marks for the crescendo of the evening might have been obvious to normal people, [Richie] Kirkpatrick is not normal and there he was jamming a key into the bottom side of a can and popping the tab at the top to let it flow in a rushing, right into his gullet. Out there amongst the clear stars and dead silence of a neighborhood long retired to sleep, we made it until nearly 4 a.m. dining on some asinine, but uproariously entertaining dialogue about a valiant and trustworthy hawk/falcon named Trixie that feasted (or was it tormented?) dogs and was a faithful companion to anyone taking the speaking role of the narrator/owner at the time. We still think about that hilarious conversation from time-to-time, but it was likely forgotten by Richie the next minute, not because of the high alcohol intake, but because he didn't need to retain such moments. He has a surplus of these bizarro inklings and absurdities. They keep his mustache curly at the corners and also a clever smile - that of a playful serial killer - on his face.
If you've never checked out the site before, it wouldn't kill you to spend some time with their archive, which is a veritable who's-what of indie rockdom. If you're into that kind of thing, uh-huh.
Say what you will, but I am a Wilco fan. Nearly every bit of their material. Even Sky Blue Sky. Even with Nels Cline's overzealous noodling. Even though my ladyfriend once heard me listening to said album and asked me why I was into "sad grampa elevator music."
Well, of all the shows Wilco could have selected for their forthcoming DVD Ashes of American Flags, Tweedy & Co. have included their "career-spanning" performance at the Ryman in February as well as another show at Tulsa's Cain Ballroom for the band's first-ever concert DVD. Ashes of American Flags is due out in February or March, and according to Billboard, Wilco just might play here again in the coming months:
According to a newsletter sent to fans, Wilco will play "a handful of gigs" in the southern U.S. in April, to be followed by an extensive tour of Spain in May and then "the usual summer hijinks with a new record and gigs everywhere imaginable."
Southern U.S.? That's totally us. Rejoice, sad grampas--the Tweedy bird will be here soon to lull us all gracefully into eternal sleep.
Again, it's kind of a slow night for shows, but there is a benefit for Alive Hospice that's going on over at the Bluebird tonight. Beth Nielsen Chapman, Darrell Scott and Mary Gauthier all play that show, which starts at 9 p.m.
On a side and somewhat random note, I once met Beth Nielsen Chapman's son, or at least someone who said he was her son, at a party. One question he asked me, in the course of our conversation, was whether I thought Aloysius was a good band name. It didn't strike me as a particularly good or bad band name, but it was his middle name, and as middle names go, I think it's pretty awesome. I believe I said as much.
This fellow, middle name Aloysius, his girlfriend and I got to talking about music and recording a bit; he said he had a Neve channel strip (translation for non-dorks: expensive piece of recording equipment), and on the conversation went. I don't know if he wound up calling his band Aloysius, but when the new Silver Jews record came out, containing a song with the title "Aloysius, Bluegrass Drummer," I wondered if it was about this guy, since I can name exactly one occasion in my entire life on which the topic of being a musician with the name Aloysius has come up in conversation--and this is Nashville, after all, home to both Mr. Berman and the aforementioned son of Beth Nielsen Chapman.
Anyone know the scoop?
well fuck you anon! Go and Catch fire!
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