Sounds All Tomorrow's Parties
All Tomorrow's Parties
Day One Highlights
By Jennifer Sherowski
- Finally seeing what Matt Groening looks like–a mixture between Homer Simpson and his dad, with more hair.
- The guys from The Magic Band's outfits–lots of velvet, leather, and top hats involved. In case you didn't know, this is Captain Beefheart's band. If you don't know who he is, just ask your parents. The Magic Band makes a strange mixture of jangled blues rock pop with horns–not my style, but definitely wicked.
- Isaac Brock from Modest Mouse's triple chin–looks like I'm not the only one getting a little doughy these days. Oh well, it sure don't stop him from putting on a great show–wailing on his guitar and screaming into the microphone while a cloud of spit illuminates in the spotlights like the northern lights or something.
- Built To Spill's Doug Martsch saying, “Thanks a lot” after every song. He's never been much for banter with the crowd–actually, those humble three words are all he ever says. But when it comes time to play–he pours out the sweet nectar of the indie gods … or something.
- Finally hearing a live Sonic Youth show–complete with eardrum-piercing feedback and twenty-minute acid-trip songs that start out on one album and end up on another. Hell yeah, bring it on.
By Chris Coyle
Nine times outta ten, the thought of going to a gigantic music festival sounds about as fun as smacking myself in the head with a tack hammer. But this was no ordinary show–Iggy And The Stooges would be there. And while it's true that most reunion shows go over like a lead balloon, I had to give it a shot. The festival itself was unlike any other I'd been to. Maybe it was the lack of nü-metal bands, but the meathead, frat-boy crowd was down to a minimum, and there wasn't someone every ten feet trying to sell you a twelve-dollar soda.
I showed up late on the second day just in time to catch The Mars Volta. Don't get me wrong, they put on a great performance–but their stage show was lifted straight out of The Song Remains The Same. Rent the movie–you'll see.
The Stooges hit the stage with none other than Mike Watt playing bass. From where I was standing, I could see Iggy still backstage, shirtless, doing some sort of crackhead aerobics–jumping up and down, swinging his arms around as if trying to get the bugs off. “Please don't let this suck,” I said to myself over and over again waiting for him to come out. I wasn't disappointed, they killed it. Sure, the Asheton brothers mighta put on a little weight, but they still knew how to play. Meanwhile, Iggy belted out all the classics while showing the stage presence only he can successfully pull off. You know, stuff like dancing like a maniac, throwing his microphone on the ground between every verse, jumping into the crrowd, and dry humping all the equipment on stage. Toward the end you could tell he was getting a little tired, but Christ, the man is in his fifties–give him a break.
Anyway, the show was great. The only complaint I have is about the saxophone player in the latter part of the set. It kind of overpowered the rest of the band, and come on–no one really likes the saxophone anyway.
Permission To Land
Must Destroy Music/Atlantic Records
When I was fourteen there was this girl down the street who was super hot–blonde hair, blue eyes, cheerleader–you know what I'm talking about. Anyway, somehow we got matched together for this big science project, so for the next couple of weeks we had to talk on the phone and hang out every night. After a little bit I started thinking I had a chance with her (which was silly, 'cause I was a dirt-rocking skater, and she was a future prom queen). After our meetings I'd run home and sing all the ballads on my Skid Row albums, thinking that one day, when I was a rock star, I'd make up slow jams about her.
Somehow the guys from The Darkness found all my old lyric notes and made a whole record. Come on, “Get your hands off of my woman” was totally what I thought when I saw her making out with that f–ker Mike Gorgina. Right after that, my friend Rich asked me, “What's up, Coyle?” and I was all, “Love on the rocks, man.” Sure enough, that's another song on the damn CD.
Truth is, if it weren't so good, this record would've been lobbed out the window a long time ago. I mean, it's not like I'm still holdin' a flame for that girl–besides I heard she put on, like, 200 pounds and works the graveyard shift at Denny's or some shit. You hear that, Amy? I don't need you! Excuse me, I gotta go.–C.C.
The Mountain Goats
We Shall All Be Healed
Walk down the metal gangplank and onto the tin can plane. Squish into the window seat and stare out onto the jet way. Think about where you're going and the great opening of time and space in front of you–how it'll be good, bad, unbearable, unexplainable, and unforgettable. Then you'll start to understand what this record is all about. It's wide-open, rough-edged folk rock–a bit like Neutral Milk Hotel, with the biting voice and force of Bob Dylan. The lyrics are full of hope in grim realities (“We are what we are, get in the goddamn car”), and the music fills up your hollow places with all sorts of fragile faith and expectation.–J.S.
The Doran Laybourn Collection
Top five albums all time:
1. Wu-Tang Clan, Enter The 36 Chambers
2. Mobb Deep, The Infamous
3. Nas, Illmatic
4. The Notorious B.I.G., Ready To Die
5. Public Enemy, It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold Us Back
In his stereo now:
1. Izm White, Last Real Cracka Alive mixtape, part one
2. DJ Whoo Kid, G Unit Radio mixtape, featuring Lebron James
3. Sheek Louch, Walk Witt Me
4. Jay-Z, The Black Album
5. G Unit, Beg for Mercy
Photo: Ed Herbold