Who's up for a little Highway 100 action tonight? Out at the Loveless Barn, a pair that probably needs no introduction. But here's one anyway, from our Critics' Picks, via Timothy C. Davis.
Often mentioned by none other than Jack "III" White as one of his biggest musical influences, Dexter Romweber has never been really well-known outside of the Bible Belt. Perhaps White's gushing endorsements (and news of recent recording sessions with the DRD) will help. The former singer and guitarist for North Carolina legends Flat Duo Jets is currently going all General Sherman with an assist from his sister Sara Romweber (Let's Active and Snatches of Pink) on drums. Expect Romweber's signature unholy alchemy of rockabilly, country, surf and punk to be turned down just a bit (say, down to 9 1/2) as the fam debuts songs from their newish Ruins of Berlin.
Of course White produced and guested on their single "The Wind Did Move." A short film on the Duo after the jump.
Mojo & Skid, Bo-Day-Shus!!! and Otis. Those are the Mojo albums I would download from Amazon if I had to pick just three. I've been asked this a couple of times already, so I figured I'd cut you off at the pass. Luckily, I did not have to pick just three and was able to pick pristine digital copies to supplement my rather tattered copies of everything except Prairie Home Invasion, his classic collaboration with Dead Kennedys frontman Jello Biafra, which was going to cost $9.99 that my punk ass doesn't have. (Damn you, Jello, you capitalist swine!!!) After the jump, a bunch of videos that will explain the man--arguably the most important musician of the 1980s and the best part of the cinematic masterpiece Rock 'n' Roll High School Forever--and his genius more than words ever could.
(HT:My Lil Sister.)
We're always glad when people are
able to see Nashville as something other than the country music blah blah blah of the blah blah. Except maybe when people see it as the national crossroads of mediocrity and suckitude! Cold on the heels of the whole Das Racist vs. Sasha Frere-Jones "hip-hop-is-dead-no-it's-not" Internet/haiku dust-up comes Chris Milam (originally from Memphis) with a post over at PopMatters called "Bored New World: How the Zach Braff Prototype Is Slowly Killing American Music." Milam describes the unbearable whiteness of Braff Rock while more or less calling Nashville its epicenter, if epicenter is the right word to use with wimpy music that barely moves.
In coffeehouses across America skinny-jeaned lads talk about themselves talking about themselves and trade iPods in this, their own personal Cameron Crowe dramedy.
Zing, and from a guy who knows the names of film directors.
Wednesday! Wednesday!! Wednesday!!! Halloween comes three days early when KISS take over the Sommet Center tomorrow night. You don't have tickets yet? Get 'em here for as little as $17.50. Don't have $17.50 but you still wanna join the KISS Army, or at least support "the troops"? Then come down to Fifth and Broadway anyway to fulfill your "party every day" quota at Lick it Up on Lower Broad: "Nashville's largest pre-show block party."
The event will take place between 5 p.m. and 7:30 p.m. and will include free KISS face painting, KISS prize packs for creative costumes and other surprises. The festivities will be spread out between Second Fiddle, Broadway Brewhouse, Bailey's on Broadway, Crossroads, Legends, Rippy's, The Stage and Tootsie's. That's eight venues, so count on seeing eight KISS cover bands. This is the perfect way to kill time while avoiding having to endure Buckcherry's opening set. The Spin will be up in the mix. If "they're" lucky, then they'll get 86'd from a pre-party or two (or eight depending on how much alcohol is consumed). Come say "Hi"!
Due to an impromptu Monday road trip (Metropolis, Ill., holla!), The Spin made it back on Monday night just in time to see Dent May at The End. Not sure why we're specifying "just in time," because we were milling about bored out the gourd for at least another half hour before openers The Kingston Springs popped up on stage. The youngish-looking rote rock band was not good enough to enjoy, but not bad enough to offend. We spoke to at least one patron bailing out on the evening, citing fatigue and aggressive mediocrity. You see kids, there's a tiered system of stage performance types, ranging from the "Stand There and Do Nothing" to the "Smugly Ostentatious High-Camp Baroque." The trick is to nail it somewhere in the middle. No one likes boring.
So back in the day, years before I lived here and years before most of you who did were of age to get into a rock show, Nashville had a pretty diverse and vibrant rock, punk and metal scene that some might even argue trumps the one we're enjoying today. It was an era of four-track demos, weekly trips to Kinko's to make flyers and booking shows over the telephone. I'm talking roughly 1994 and a band of young hooligans called Govern were playing its first shows at Lucy's. Govern toured the country in a van courtesy of MMR's Book Your Own Fuckin' Life, put out a bunch of cassettes and a little bit of vinyl, got reviews in a few zines, flirted with notable indie labels and even did a tour with Unsane before breaking up in 1999. All this without logging onto MySpace, dialing a cell phone or even burning a CD. Totes Amazing.
After getting our asses kicked by Monotonix last weekend, we were looking for something a little more chilled out and a little less likely to dangle from the balcony and steal our beer, and Sea Wolf's return to Nashville with fellow folk-rockers Port O'Brien and Sara Lov at Exit/In on Saturday was as close as we could get without going to The Bluebird.
In true Spin fashion, we arrived just in time to see opener Sara Lov say good night and hear R. Kelly fade in over the P.A. as she started to break down her gear. It wasn't exactly what we expected to hear before a band that essentially takes some of the good parts of Modest Mouse and plays them with acoustic instruments. That is, until we realized that we had stepped into a jackpot of hipster stereotypes: Ironic Top 40 music? Check. A girl with a Polaroid camera flinging photos at the bands? Check. Someone double-fisting liquor and a latte from Café Coco? You got it. Beards? Do you even need to ask? Some asshole scribbling in a Moleskine journal? Uh, yeah. That may or may not have been us. (Spin for the win?)
What exactly is a grand marshal? Well, when it comes to parades, a grand marshal is a ceremonial dignitary. More than anything, it's a figurehead sort of role filled by a person of high esteem--no real responsibilities other than lookin' cool, being respected and showing up on time. Last year, the Nashville Christmas Parade's grand marshal was some dude from American Idol. Pretty nice, right? Well, apparently this year Music City will really be classing it up a touch. From John Rich's Twitter [sic]:
Dec4th!!!! Guess who's gonna be the GRAND MARSHALL for the Nashville Christmas Parade???? ME!!! Hahaa! Hope to see ya'll there! Hohoho!
Wow. He really didn't even give us time to guess. That's probably for the best, because, personally, I likely would've guessed someone like Phil Bredesen or Eddie George. You know, not someone who gets kicked out of Café Coco for late-night douchery or someone who allegedly smacks uninvited guests upside the head like one of the raging pubescent harpies on My Super Sweet 16. Oh, and if you don't already follow Rich's Twitter, do it. Otherwise, you'll miss out on gems like this one. Though such amazing updates might slow down now that Rich Daddy is breeding. Word on the street is that he's naming the kid Cash. Seriously.
Don't know if you've been following Idolator's reckoning of this decade's most barf-inducing music, lovingly titled F2K: Idolator Counts Down The 50 Worst Songs Of The '00s, One By Ear-Splitting One. Remember Chris "Fleet Foxes sucks" Weingarten? Well, his pistol is loaded, he shot Moldy Peaches and he's got no love for the formed-in-Mississippi-collected-fly-eggs-and-hair-in-Nashville pile of steaming corporate rockitude that is 3 Doors Down:
3 Doors Down! This band predated, yet somehow out-awfuled, the faux-emo sad-bastard macho chest thumps of Puddle Of Mudd, Stone Sour, Breaking Benjamin, and Daughtry. They are pretty much the worst thing to come out of Mississippi since racism, and their biggest hit, 2000's "Kryptonite," bridged the gap between post-Seven Mary Three lite-beer grunge and the constipated douchery of Nickelback.
Bridged the gap indeed. And on "Kryptonite" in particular:
I don't know if you've ever noticed this in the five billion times you've heard this song, but Arnold never says exactly what his "Kryptonite" actually is! It's like a Choose Your Own Adventure novel! Except it's two pages long and it always ends with me throwing up.
Hey, Tallest Trees has a bunch of music you can download for free! You just click on these letters and you are magically transported to their netspace. The EP is called Hey There Little Nebula. (Thanks to WOTT for the heads-up on that.)
I've had about six different people tell me in the last couple weeks that TT are their new favorite Nashville band, and I'm not saying that just because they're playing at the free, totally awesome Hallo-Cream party at Mercy Lounge this Friday with Matt Friction and the Cheap Shots, The Zut Alors and the comedy of Chris Crofton, but they are. And you should come all dressed up with fake muscles and a Bernie Madoff mask or whatever. Just don't be a racist, dog.
Anyway, Tallest Trees.
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