Eek! It seems like the conventional path of t-o-r-r-e-n-t-i-a-l blog posts to keep audiences/viewers engaged (which is promotion edict 101) has clearly eluded thee writer/editor in question. Inexcusable this wide berth in activity, I know. But, let’s just forgive and forget, shall we. I mean, you’re not the only one with things to attend to: work, life, finances, and other time-consuming hiccups along the way.
It’s all very casual and convenient to skim through just one blog post. But might I say, all the writing, researching, and illustrating is quite a task that takes weeks, if not months to prepare. ‘Waa waa waa‘ you say, as you facetiously stroke those invisible violin strings. We’ll go ahead then, BE that way. But hopefully yours truly will find, someway/somehow, to more efficiently deal with these issues. I mean, the one I publish that is.
It may be noted this months cover story about depression is not entirely alien to yours truly, and may explain the lapses in productivity in regards to the ‘zine in question. Hopefully it will be an eye-opening experience for those who think that mental illness is strictly the disfunction of certain classes or types of people. Sadly, depression has no discriminating, partial preference for whom it decides to inflict.
COVER NOTE: This months brilliant rendering has generously been cleared for use by the talented kooreum_, aka 95Block, whose other tantalizing and impressive works can be seen at: on Instagram, under the handle @kooreaum_, and redbubble.com/people/95Block. Cheers.
P E T E S H E L L E Y : Punk Pioneer Passes.
Pete Shelley, front-man and songwriter for the Buzzcocks had died at age 63. He was survived by brother Gary, and second wife Greta.
Shelley was among the first proponents in helping to construct what would become the origins in England’s first wave of punk. He co-founded the Buzzcocks with vocalist and songwriter Howard Devoto in late ’75/early ’76, and eventually opened for the Sex Pistols some time later.
They produced three LP’s (and a number of singles, including the classic Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn’t’ve) before disbanding in 1981. For the remainder of the decade, Shelley explored an interest in electronic music under his own name for a variety of singles and records. He notably re-united with co-founder Devoto in 2002 under the hybrid namesake ShelleyDevoto. The coyly, cheekily titled Buzzkunst was a new-wavey cocktail, that brought both parties proclivities for punk and electronic together under circumstances more amendable to advanced technology and tastes. The record was favorably received, but sadly a one-off.
The Buzzcocks however would be revived not shortly thereafter in both live and recorded iterations which saw a variety of festival appearances, and three additional LP’s added to their canon in ’04, ’06, and ’14, respectively. The mourned singer’s death was made public on social media, his cause of death reported as relating to heart failure.
SOURCE: https://www.theguardian.com/music/2018/dec/06/pete-shelley-lead-singer-of-buzzcocks-dies-at-63
V I N N I E P A U L : Drummer passes, aged 54.
Another sad, untimely death has occurred in the world of rock, this time taking Pantera co-founder/drummer Vinnie Paul. Specific details regarding the drummer’s death have since recently been revealed as resulting from Paul’s being in the severe throes of coronary artery disease.
Paul was one of the founding members of the popular and influential metal/alternative band Pantera, along with brother/lead guitarist Dimebag Darrell, formed in 1981. The group would not achieve renown artistically or creatively until the 90’s, with the advent of vocalist Phil Anselmo. Crucially, to coincide with the newer energy and direction, it was indeed Paul who made the suggestion the band expunge their then more hair-metal inspired attire for more ‘comfortable’ clothes.
Paul also co-founded Damageplan with brother Darrell, who was viciously slain during a performance in late 2004. It is reported the gun-clad perpetrator (who ultimately added a security guard, a night club employee, and an audience member attempting to revive Darrell to his body count) had intended Vinnie Paul himself as among his intended targets.
SOURCE: https://www.billboard.com/articles/news/obituary/8462386/vinnie-paul-dead-pantera-damageplan-hellyeah
H E A T H E R L O C K L E A R : An Actress in Trouble.
2018 has proven to be an eventful, yet disconcerting year for the former Melrose Place star, and ex-Mrs. Tommy Lee and Sambora. The veteran 56 year old actress has been hitting the headlines after a series of outrageous incidents, that some are attributing to a progressively worsening alcohol addiction.
In February the Police where called to her residence to resolve a domestic dispute Locklear was having with her boyfriend, who was evidently on the receiving end of the star’s fury. Law enforcement’s arrival however precipitated further violence, this time directed at the Officers, three of whom she kicked, another female officer who she called a ‘c–t’, and almost all she threatened to shoot.
Most recently, a hugely inebriated Locklear again found herself facing legal reprimand, this time for assault on both an officer and a female paramedic, both responding to another domestic disturbance. For the latter assault, the actress could still be facing legal compensation from the complainant.
In terms of her career, the Golden Globe nominated star has seen a steady decline in popular, quality roles over the last decade (although she reportedly was offered Desperate Housewives but turned it down), but has still maintained a relatively active television career.
Which, she will likely be taking a indeterminate hiatus from, as prior to being detained, the star has done a variation of either rehab, or been assessed for mental health. Shortly after her most recent release, paramedics where once again alerted to her residence, after a family member’s suspicions of a potential overdose prompted a 911 phone call. Locklear was immediately admitted to hospital, where she was eventually stabilized.
As of press time, Locklear’s condition had not improved. In fact, it’s been reported she was re-admitted and placed on an extended psychiatric hold.
SOURCE: https://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-6466047/Heather-Locklear-57-headed-rehab-incident-placed-psychiatric-hold.html
W E N D Y J A M E S : New LP.
Former Transvision Vamp lead singer Wendy James has been making an artistically flourishing late career comeback, in her own right. As singer/guitarist and songwriter, her records in the last decade has had even some of her most ardently dismissive critics making recantations in her favor.
She’s now in the recording phase of her follow-up to last year’s well-received The Price Of The Ticket with a new full-length Queen High Straight. Similar to Price… James will again be working with Bad Seeds drummer James Sclavunos, and further planned participation with the legendary Lenny Kaye. Along with a new bassist (ex-Dark Horses’ Harry Bohay-Nowell), James is tentatively planning the inclusion of some ‘groovy new guitarists’.
In other James related news, Transvision Vamp has recently been anthologized and re-issued on vinyl. I Want Your Love compiles all three of their full-length albums, including annotations from James and main-songwriter/guitarist Nick Sayer.
S E B A S T I A N B A C H : Brand New Come-bach!
Legendary Skid Row vocalist Sebastian Bach has been revealing and intimating what could amount to a new direction for the star. Bach, conversing on Detroit radio station WRIF 101.1 FM, discussed ending his contract with his previous Italian based record label, and that he’s already facilitating plans with a yet unnamed American company.
Bach also hinted that he may be disowning his previous suggestions of an acoustic based record, for what he described as a ‘heavy metal’ ‘career defining’ album.
Bach also surprised and delighted fans recently with a cover of Pantera’s Cemetery Gates during a solo concert in Canada. Bach, who formerly toured with the band in the early nineties, dedicated the performance to the recently deceased Vinnie Paul,drummerfor Pantera.
SOURCE: http://www.blabbermouth.net/news/sebastian-bach-is-looking-to-make-career-defining-heavy-new-solo-album/
Hèroes del Silencio are a Spanish rock band from the early half of the nineties. They’re blessed with singer who sounds like Eddie Veddar, and looks like he nearly got beat out of being cast as ‘art-school’ heartthrob in Melrose Place. When they play it slow, they’re like a less gothic Mission, and when they play fast they’re like a biker bar Zepplin, as is gloriously evident in the slow-to-fast tempo change of La Herida. In other words: a band with heart and spine of pure gold.
Appears on: El Espíritu Del Vino (1993)
One of indie music’s greatest losses has to be Tabitha Zu never putting out a proper full-length record. The more you listen to Apart‘s simple, swelling chord structure take its protracted paces malevolently under the barbed, sunshine girlie voice of Melanie Garside, the more you wonder who calls the shots at these ‘record’ labels anyway. She did go on to put out a solo record a year later, but not with the same zest as this atmospheric masterpiece.
Appears on: The Apart EP (1994)
How absolutely criminal ex-Soft Cell vocalist Marc Almond, if recognized at all by the public at large, if for the dynamite hit Tainted Love, or, his duet with Gene Pitney. Not only was our Marc a prime mover with the misanthropist cognoscenti Of Nick Cave, Foetus, and Lydia Lunch. But, he was class act tragedienne on the mighty mic. The show-stopping What Makes A Man is an apropos cover as Almond plays effeminate protagonist in a alpha male’s hegemonic world.
Appears on: 12 Years Of Tears (1993)
When you hear someone complain how these ‘pop stars’ don’t write or compose their own material, make sure to counter that argument with the anomaly of England’s Bros. Even if they weren’t exactly Gershwin, the monozygotic twins were a wildly successful act (aided by their blonde, blue eyed features). Madly In Love is given an effervescent remix, which compliments singer Matt Goss, who whoops and hollers like a white soul version of Michael Jackson – and nails it.
Appears on: The Best of Bros (2004)
And speaking of Michael Jackson, do we all remember how great In The Closet was? Suspending the high concept razzle dazzle in both musical and visual concept, Jackson created this low-key wallop, in the form of an infectious loop slow-burning on a seductive rôtisserie. In terms of video, Jackson glows under the careful photography and direction of the late Herb Ritts, who also tags Naomi Campbell along. And Jackson spits out those come-hither lyrics with impeccable elan.
Appears on: Dangerous (1991)
Ever been to a Caveman Shoestore? Nope, me neither. Caveman is actually a Portland, Oregon trio from the early regions of the nineties. They sound like they should be playing with seething, ominous cool in the background of a noir-ish Gregg Araki film. Or maybe in an underground ‘edge-of-town’ club straight out of David Lynch. Pencil Sharpener is rough and evocative bedlam with a serenely edgy and angst-laden femme fatale vocalist.
Appears on: Master Cylinder (1992)
Now that so-called indie/alternative is, ‘cool’, it seems any other straight forward rock act will misguidedly be thrown to the bottom feeder for un-hipness. But, once in a while comes a band who, while lacking ‘minds-will-be-blown’ originality, have their skat together long enough to leave lesser mortals looking like amateurs. Romeo’s Daughter (a great name for a band, no?), have the gorgeously rich and controlled vocals of Leigh Matty, of which Treat Me Like A Lady is a prime highlight.
Appears on: Delectable (1993)
It was appropriate that the tremulous, powerhouse that was Mahalia Jackson would be the one to eulogize the assassinated Martin Luther King. But had he ever wanted to soundtrack his gloriously trail-blazing, butt kicking, and brazen revolution, he likely would’ve turned to Rosetta Tharpe, the blues rock dynamite to Jackson’s gospel fervor. She likely didn’t need to plug in her guitar, as the electricity she alone cooked up (as on Didn’t It Rain) would be enough to blow a Marshall through a window.
Only in the mid-nineties could a Dutch metal band abruptly introduce the exquisite, powerful, and enchanting voice of Anneke van Giersbergen, and actually surge upwards without missing a beat. But The Gathering‘s Giersbergen is no chest-beating vixen in spray-paint leather. She looks and sings like she just finished writing in her diary while listening to the Cocteau Twins and Babes in Toyland. Leaves is simply sublime, an oceanic storm undulating between crashing chords, and tides of soft ambiance.
Appears on: Mandylion (1995)
L.A.’s tween new-wave outfit Earth Dies Burning weren’t entirely popsmiths, but they weren’t anyone’s fools either. Wise beyond their years, but never relenting in their adolescent chutzpah, Another Six Year Old funnels all their aggro into pre-pubescent polemic. They sound like they grabbed whatever instrument they were forced to practice, and made a punk band. So bemusedly avant garde, their live appearance on New Wave Theater was excised from broadcast, and not shown until decades later.
Even if BTS were to pack it in within the next 24 hours (heaven forbid!), they’ve accomplished more in their 5 year existence than most pop acts can only dream to achieve a fraction of, in both mass appeal and artistic credibility. Their newest single Fake Love is a somber and glittering volley, that takes ethereal early Coldplay caliber guitar filigree, and marries it to a crushing, impassioned pop melody. BTS at their disarming, down-tempo best.
Available on: Love Yourself: Tear (2018)
It’s been only a couple years since BlackPink graced the market, which, in K-pop terms might as well be as long as it took G’N’R to release Chinese Democracy. But despite the head-scratching title, Ddu-Du Ddu-Du is a skittering piece of pseudo-cyber hip-pop, with rapid-fire raps, and beauteously belted pre-chorus’. Even a sleep-deprived parole officer’s attempt to resist would be rendered futile. It casts such a mighty spell, if this were the mid-17th century, they’d be burned as witches. Black magic!
Available On: Square Up (2018)
K-pop’s biggest contenders Monsta X are coming out fighting like the infallible troupers they are. Jealousy is as pure and divine as pop gets, everything it’s supposed to be , really (bolstered with arguably one of K-pops most commanding vocalists). But that backbeat/production goes from slinky/smooth, to House-y/new jack, itching with digital oomph. And X’s resident rappers Jooheon and I.M. come out like caged savages, who react with a bravura combination of both jubilation and ferocity.
Available On: The Connect: Dejavu (2018);
Another brethren of the K-cognoscenti is NCT 127. It seems they to are discontent to stand by, and be steam rolled over by competitors. Cherry Bomb (definitely not the Runaways version) rolls in on woozy synths, proceeded by a bruiting beat that’s like the musical equivalent of narcan. This dynamite single practically needs a flowchart to keep track of every gloriously braggadocious twist, held together with remarkable élan by this posse of fresh princes’. Seek the ‘performance version’.
Available On: Cherry Bomb – The 3rd Mini-Album (2017)
What a marvelously good-natured and sincere throwback Shinee‘s 1 Of 1 was. An authentic facsimile of 90’s Stock/Aitken/Waterman pop and swingbeat, that’s buoyant and addictive. It’s like NKOTB meets Eternal, gets teleported into the 21 century with better technology and class and style to burn. And those voices…
Available On: 1 Of 1 (2016)
She weren’t no riot girl, and she wasn’t no ‘angry female’ either. In fact, the wholly singular Royal Trux front-woman Jennifer Herrema took Keith Richards and Janis Joplin’s classic rock stance and slowed it to a bratty quaalude like crawl – without skimming any of the style.
In a wondrous class all her own, Herrema had a bourbon ‘n’ Marlboro clad croak, which nevertheless went down smooth ‘n’ easy thanks to her pulp-fiction like sex-appeal. But, as fashionista, you could say she was like a rock’n’roll/bohemian harbinger of what today, we call ‘street style’: 70’s shades, posterior hugging flares in ragamuffin disrepair, ratty tee thieved from the trailer park clothes line, and a shaggy plum of beehive hair, crowned with a tattered curtain of bangs.
And yet, not only is her distinctive person carried off with commanding authority, so intriguing a presence was she, Herrema graced adverts for Calvin Klein, and later partnered creatively with clothing line Volcom, who paid specific sartorial homage to Herrema’s gritty and distinctive apparel.
The impartial mental affliction Depression goes back decades. So why are we still unprepared, and why did Korea’s most promising talent became a casualty?
e often associate pop music and the performers themselves with joie de vivre, or rays of day-glo light in our grim-faced world. However, with an ever incremental frequency, the entertainment world is seeing the once enviable, happy lives of stars floundering, as the headlines betray that the rich, famous, and popular are not immune to the same debilitating, even fatal mental problems as their lesser mortals.
The recent disturbing passing of Shinee’s Kim Jonghyun has become the boiling-point of an issue that, has been much more malignant in the past few decades than we’ve been aware. Time flies, but the the writing has been on the wall-of-fame. We’ve just been too distracted to see it.
Only now are performers more articulate and vocal about their limitations and issues. But twenty years ago, when performers did not have the social media platform, nor existed in a era where the dialogue encouraged more empathy and education, stars 
treaded rather lightly.
One example was Melanie Chisholm, better know as Melanie C, or Sporty Spice. At their peek, the Spice Girls would sell 20 million records worldwide, and go on to have 9 number 1 singles. A perfect platform for media scrutiny, and amplified insecurity.
It was not until much later (she was diagnosed in 2000) Chisholm would talk more frankly about her depression (which she suffered from in tandem with an eating disorder). In a recent episode of Bryony Gordons Mad World podcast, She detailed how feelings of low self-worth, guilt, and insecurity, compounded by the pressures of stardom and UK media’s often ruthless commentary, amplified her quest for ‘perfection’ and to quantify her worth.
Before the fervor of Spiceworld, the original (and arguably best and most talented) pop-star bad boy was Brian Harvey, lead vocalist in East 17. Seen as edgier rivals to Take That (they ultimately didn’t surpass them domestically, but were said to be more popular over the whole of Europe), the band were still worth their weight in gold, with a hugely successful X-mas number one, among other singles.
A decade after the groups last genuine album, the former pop-star was officially diagnosed with depression, but his struggles with the disease were much more public, and proved almost fatal after reports he had literally ran over himself with his vehicle in a failed suicide attempt. At the time, this incident became a source of comic relief rather than seen as a serious plea for help. Further troubling, and confounding incidents became a source of tabloid entertainment. Harvey continues to be vocal about his mental struggles, and even confirmed some of the suicidal ideations he has grappled with.
With such an open dialogue about depression and anxiety, how did we get it so miserably, hopelessly wrong in the case of arguably it’s first tangible casualty…”
Interesting that East 17’s rivals Take That were seen as the better groomed, more polished counterpart. As, much around the the same time as Harvey’s troubling battle with depression unfolded, former Take That member Robbie Williams himself eventually would disclose his issues with severe depression.
Williams (who revealed his diagnosis on air in 2003, but who was already in the stages of the disease during his tenor in Take That) as of late has described it as “a disease that’s in my head that wants to kill me”. He has even explained how this disease has immobilized 
his ability to return to music and performing saying “This job is really bad for my health. It’s going to kill me, unless I view it in a different way.” He even claimed his anxiety was so extensive he once couldn’t bring himself to leave his hotel suite for over a month and a half.
As of recently, pop singers have become more ouvert about their struggles with anxiety and depression. Among the most prominent examples are Demi Lovato, whose has been open about her ongoing battle with depression and a clutch of other vices (including alcohol and cocaine). Lady Gaga, whose become a leader for the disaffected and outcast, herself can speak from experience, which, not surprisingly, led to a period of chronic depression. And former One Direction singer Zayn Malik has also taken on the intrepid task of outing himself as disposed to anxiety – a key reason for recently bowing out of a performance engagement.
But coming back full circle, with such an open dialogue about depression and anxiety, how did we get it so miserably, hopelessly wrong in the case of arguably it’s first tangible casualty, the radiant Jonghyun? What made the gifted vocalist and songwriter feel so isolated, alone, and unspeakably grim he felt no choice but to take his life?
I asked why they live. They just live, just live on. If you ask why I die I would answer I am exhausted. I have suffered and pondered. I never learned how to turn this exhausting pain into bliss.” – Kim Jonghyun
K-pop podcast K-pop Hot Pot, devoted an episode on the subject of his departure, and noted that Asian culture does not always ‘understand’ the severity of mental illness, if at all. Others have laid some of the blame at the rigorous pressures and demands of the genre itself as bringing many of it’s young stars to the breaking point. Or simply, the vulnerability that fame leaves it’s stars in, who must supply demand to a frantic fan base, but also weather the cutting, anonymous critiques ranging from their performances, to their appearance.
In what you could deduce as desperation, or a brave open letter, his own words articulate and crystallize the excruciating, immobilizing pain of driving through the emotional fire and hailstorm of mental illness. It would be appropriate to let the late artist have the final word, which incidentally, one hopes is may be the beginning of our collective awareness. It may save lives. Maybe could’ve saved his.
“I am broken from the inside. The depression that slowly gnawed away at me has finally swallowed me whole. And I could not defeat it. I detested myself. I grabbed my disjointed memories and yelled at them to pull themselves together but was met with no response.
“I asked why they live. They just live, just live on. If you ask why I die I would answer I am exhausted. I have suffered and pondered. I never learned how to turn this exhausting pain into bliss.”
“They told me to find out why I hurt. I know too well. I hurt because of me. It’s all my fault and all because I’m lacking. Doctor, is this what you wanted to hear?No.have done nothing wrong.
“What can I say. Just tell me I’ve done well. That this is good enough. That I’ve worked hard. Even if you can’t smile don’t fault me on my way. You did well, you worked hard. Goodbye.”
SOURCES: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/health-fitness/mind/melanie-c-battle-depression-desire-perfect-popstar-bryony/; https://www.nme.com/news/music/robbie-williams-mental-health-battle-2249671; https://metro.co.uk/2017/09/03/robbie-williams-says-his-return-to-fame-has-caused-problems-with-his-mental-health-6899687/; http://www.digitalspy.com/music/feature/a810549/17-popstars-talk-about-their-struggles-with-mental-illness/ :https://www.koreaboo.com/news/shinee-jonghyun-suicide-letter-surfaces-explaining-why-he-chose-to-end-his-life/; GIF courtesy of : https://imgarcade.com/jonghyun-everybody-gif.html
M I K E N E S S
For every casualty in the live fast/die young lane, there are almost as many survivors who’ve gone clean, but stay mean. Social Distortion’s Mike Ness is among it’s most vital statistic in favor of the latter, a true veteran having started as a scrappy Californian punk from the late seventies, to an accomplished and successful songwriter through out the nineties, and today. They’ve even been ‘sitting’ on material for a yet to be released full length, and what better time to turn our attention the mighty Mr. Ness.
In the nascent stages of his career as three chord punker with a quick ear for a good melody, Ness was a visual semblance of what the typical punk looked like in the eighties, with his own edgy twist: eye make-up, hair charged into orbit, and scrappy DIY clothes.
By the end of the decade, preceding his recovery from drug addiction, Social Distortion found audiences more willing to acclimate themselves to ‘alternative’ rock. Ness channeled his inner-rebel by reaching back into punk rock’s patrilineage – literally. He dropped the eye-liner and spikes, swapping it with a rockabilly styled pompadour, and the kind of 50’s greaser/rock ‘n’ roller stance that would’ve inflamed even a probation officer. And in his decade since debuting, his growing collection of tattoos further made for a visual, edgy about-face.
Garbo talks … in German!
Literally screens most mysterious and enigmatic actress as she was meant to be seen (and for the first time heard): in the unfiltered milieu of the European cinema. Anna Christie (1930), was, on paper even, a respectable choice as a sound or, talking film for Swedish immigrée Greta Garbo.
Up until then, Garbo had cast a pretty impregnable spell on cinema goers as an artisan caliber vamp fatale. But with sound looming, and not even American film stars in the clear as far as the voice test was concerned, the trepidation met by actors/actresses without the safety net of having English as a first language was thrice unnerving.
Garbo of course flowered in the still embryonic stages of film’s technical and cinematic gestation (she had deliberately post-poned her talking debut until the medium had been given time to at least make reasonable improvements). Anna Christie (a film translation partly penned by Frances Marion from a play by Eugene O’Neill) revolves around the titular character’s returning to her birth father, a skipper on a barge with an obvious substance abuse problem, to reconnect after many years. When she becomes romantically involved with a fellow sailor, her undisclosed life as a sex trade worker, she is faced with a moral dilemma as to whether to reveal all.
The American version was a successful debut reinforcing Garbo’s position on screen. Simultaneously, her studio (MGM) green-lighted a German version of her sound debut, with different supporting cast and director. But this was no ersatz version of the English version…
Every raw nerve Feyder leaves open, for once, gives Garbo an opportunity to really sink her teeth into something worthy of her art, and eclipse the artifice of her undeniable beauty.”
First, the German version has director Jacques Feyder. He takes a less overly sentimental, glossy approach to the play, and is less tentative in dealing with the new novelty of sound. He brings a refreshingly gritty realism to the picture, which gives it more gravitas and breath, and minimizes the theatricality or any potential of becoming disingenuous and melodramatic.
The players too (along with the remarkable director) bring all of the advancements and aura that was putting Teutonic cinema much further ahead on the creative food chain. The film does miss Marie Dressler’s priceless, ingenious performance, but her German speaking replacement Salka Viertel (who incidentally would become a close collaborator with Garbo screen writing some of her most accomplished films), is an arguably more subtle, scene-stealing substitute.
Garbo’s German leading man, Theo Shall, on the other hand brings much more warmth, personability, and dimension to his role than Charles Bickford. Bickford’s interpretation some could concede as terse, a bit abrasive, and strictly staid in quality. Which only threatens to drain the oxygen from Garbo’s spiritual aura with his mach 1 volts of hegemonic masculinity. Theo Shall also has better chemistry with Garbo, and is, to his credit, much more attractive and lively.
And then, there’s Garbo. Whether because she had already put the most arduous task of completing her first English language behind her (the English version was released in February, the German version however did not debut until much later in December of 1930). Or, maybe being amidst an almost all European cast and crew (for what would’ve been the first time in years) encouraged her comfort level, Garbo is ablaze. So much so, she effectively neutralizes her English performance to something comparable to a stale dry-run of the real thing.
Garbo is emboldened, disquieting, and every raw nerve Feyder leaves open, for once, gives Garbo a prime opportunity to sink her teeth into something worthy of her art, and eclipse the artifice of her undeniable beauty. She devours it with an exquisite passion.
The film as a whole is a profound improvement to it’s American predecessor. With a boost of Teutonic blood coursing through it’s veins, the film’s once stiff and (still) antiquated body becomes enlivened, with Feyder opening up the circulation, with fresh rather than stale air to breathe.
Audiences today are likely to take the film with a heavy dose of salt (especially with an all too tidy ending). Yet, the protagonist’s inner struggle to exorcise and quantify herself despite being corseted by a power deferential and sexual politics, remarkably, still has some grains of validity, even in age of #metoo. And even if that amounts to hubris, time is exhausted, immaterial in defraying the blindly obvious: Garbo is luminous and immortal in the totemic hands of European film. Which makes one wonder, if Hollywood ever got it quite right to begin with.
H A L F O R D
Made Of Metal (2010)
The annals of older rock star solo albums is, put even deferentially, a spotty affair. When even remotely successful, almost all that a mortal can attain to is to satiate audiences who, deep down, are rarely coaxed beyond satisfaction – and that’s, if it works.
Rob Halford (currently re-united with Priest), had spent a majority of the nineties wisely channeling his talents as singer for newer, more current metal trends in Fight (grunge) and Two (industrial), respectively.
Assuming the leadership role under his own namesake, Halford (both band and performer) set a whole new precedent, which, he/they continues with aplomb on the dynamic Made Of Metal.
Three songs in, it’s clear Halford didn’t pluck this LP title in mere conceit: He and his band really are made of metal, in sound and spirit. Their agenda is clear and simple: to breath life into the kind of solid, punchy rock numbers that are so dangerously close to becoming derelict, they may as well be a chord change away from coming of their coil.
Made of Metal is a record that quantifies the counter argument, that aging gracefully when you’re passed your supposed prime is elusive.”
But this, quite unexpectedly, is evidently a strategic move by Halford, who uses this to establish common ground before sojourning into trickier territory. The kind only lesser mortals with lesser class would toy with.
It’s surprising how the subtlest twist gives a seasoned talent like Halford a whole new platform to shine as a performer. Anyone scared or bidding that this record will sink into the typical ‘saddle-the-best-tunes-on-top’, will find themselves confronted with a full 
suite of twists and turns.
This isn’t ground-breaking or revolutionary, but then again, rock arguably isn’t strictly intended to be. What Made of Metal is, is a record that quantifies the counter argument, that aging gracefully and yet keeping things spontaneous and fresh when you’re passed your supposed prime is elusive.
Or, put simply, Halford has just come up with some really smashing tunes that work terrifically. There’s the unprecedented outlaw country twang of Till The Day I Die; pristinely cut rockers like swaggering Thunder and Lightening and We Own the Night, where a piano even manages to creep in; and arguably the highlight, the very personal Twenty Five Years chronicling his quest to maintain sobriety. None of it out of place or betraying pretension or gimmickry – clearly the man is made of more than metal.
“Halford shows that sometimes the old ways are the best ways with an album of what is essentially heavy metal comfort food, a biting sonic reminder of the glory days of the NWOBHM movement that takes that classic sound and adds enough new ingredients to make it feel fresh.” – Gregory Heaney, Allmusic.com
S P E C I M E N
Batastrophie (1983)
It’s almost amusing how a genre (whose patrons where once seen skulking around with snake-eyed glares, heaving black eye-makeup, and swathed in funeral appropriate apparel), despite a specific and limited time frame, has remained extant despite it’s emphasis on morbid mortality.
‘Goth’ still has it’s torch bearers, even if critical consensus esteems it as little more than comic relief, or, as John Lydon put it, ‘[glam]… but gone very, Dracula‘. Specimen were a typically good goth band: white hot guitars drenched in scathing reverb, high potency bass, and a dramatic (or was it, traumatic?) vocalist, veering nervously from amphetamine withdrawal, to glowering drama queen.
While not as respected or popular as The Cure or Sisters Of Mercy, they pimped a perfectly playful glam-racket. The coyly titled Batastrophie is all you need to get the picture, aided by less sinister, almost gleeful rockers like The Beauty Of Poison. But the standout is the chugging, prowling B-movie camp of Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, with it’s teetering, cinematic synths sinking amidst a bubbling lava of bedlam, and a bass-line worth pawning pearls for. Definitely not a drac….
Y O U N G G O D S
T.V. Sky (1992)
Sometimes painted with the same brush as other Industrial acts, (Switzerland’s) Young Gods always heightened the more primal, extemporaneous elements of their material. And, despite some legitimate comparisons, their artistic ambitions and execution always engendered them a warm blooded interior, than a cold metal exterior.
T.V. Sky, isn’t even considered their best record, and it’s still an intoxicating long player that’s disquieting when it’s quiet, and composed even at it’s most combustible.
As if their Swans-purloined named isn’t indicative enough of both sonic heights and psychological depths, former Swans drummer Roli Mosimann produces this roaring LP. But, does so with an usually vibrant and detailed ear, that makes the pairing more collaborative, than indelicate interpretation.
For the cherry pickers, there’s the marvelous Skinflowers, which despite it’s gravelly ‘croon’ and foreboding bass lick, manages to slink through it’s rapidly toggling chord changes with a stride that’s seductive.
There’s also the frenzied, imploding grandeur of Night Dance. Surely an antidote to any myopic spell, rolling and bouncing off a riff with a fervor that’s almost hypnotic. Not to be upstaged, Gasoline Man has a rapturous, pyrotechnic swagger that recalls J.G. Thirwell at his most playful and dangerous. And the title track is a thrash-y, revolving Priest-like fist pumper that sounds like it landed on the maniacal switchboard of Reznor himself, only to be lightly toyed with out of mere reverence.
With major player fans like The Edge and David Bowie, T.V. Sky and it’s performers exceed themselves with a walloping and imaginative record. Music for the gods…
F O R A G A I N S T
In The Marshes (1990)
Originally a limited edition 10″ recorded at an earlier stage of their inception (but not released until ’90), In The Marshes is an invigorating, blooming mini-LP from the renowned, but less well known American band For Against.
They etched out a tense but sublime trajectory of post-punk rhythms bled through the wide berth of early dream-pop. This is an atmospheric and crisp sounding set of songs that, whether by intent or mere monetary imposition, creates tension, feeling, and wonder from the inside out.
Assisted by a well-executed and grime-y use of synths, For Against wisely redact the adolescent urge to flail around in mere sonic bedlam. Instead, early on their path is already defined without being worn-out and exhausted of spontaneity. They measure themselves out purposefully, with an exacting art that predates the slow-core sub-genre or style, but with-out narrowing the tempo.
An intelligent, invaluable release, now reissued with two bonus alternate tracks – out of the marshes, and onto the play-list.
S A I G O N K I C K
Saigon Kick (1991)
What a pitiable shame Florida’s Saigon Kick are most remembered for the slow-moving power ballad, Love Is On The Way. Rewind only a year earlier, and their self-titled debut extols a range of personality, exuberance, and adventure that the aforementioned ‘hit’ is surely a diminutive contrast of.
Some faulted Saigon Kick for their lack of brevity and wide-range proclivities, for better or worse. But as debut’s go, this is one confident, playful, sometimes multitudinous-in-personality record, that, at worst carries a spirited tune beneath it’s technicolor jacket.
As it turns out, the ends justify the means, with a clear definition of their identity slightly foggy, but still close and personal: A less pretentious Jane’s Addiction?; a strait-forward, straight shooting Faith No More?; a less rancorous Guns ‘N’ Roses?; a Los Angeles answer to Mother Love Bone?; a thinking man’s Skid Row? Options seem endless, but thankfully, the songs straddle brilliance, whether by virtue of impulse, good song craft, or purely by genuine energy.
The multiple personality and moods manifest themselves in the pristinely crafted pop-metal of What You Say, the punky shout along of What You Do, the hard rock kicks of Ugly and marvelous Down By The Ocean, the downbeat thrashiness of Month Of Sundays, the moving Come Take Me Know. Even the David Lee-Roth tom-foolery in My Life, almost works.
But one thing that is consistent is the band’s skillful playing: tight harmonies, stand-up guitar solos, et al. Lyrically too they give bite to the typical rock cliches with generous amounts of humor, poignancy, and topicality.
A colorful, catchy, artfully metallic hard rock debut, with a rare wit, good nature, spunk, and heart. It kicks… well, more than just Saigon.
Firstly we have UK pop act East 17’s 12″ maxi-single for Around The World (circa ’93). The original is a yearning, slightly above mid-tempo piece of ‘home-sweet-home’ razzle dazzle, that gets it’s new jack swing on with heart rested squarely on sleeve. All very nice, but it isn’t included here, so snap out if it.
If you thought they may have taken a bit too much of the usual edge off, they more than make up for it with some high-octane club remixes that are less torpid, more torpedo. Much of the exquisitely octave endowed Brain Harvey’s vocals are intact for remix one, courtesy of Development Corporation. And the plump, mega velocity synth chords actually buttress the track with an alternate weight.
The proceeding mixers called for the occasion aren’t going to be so easily outdone, thine listener. And Loveland almost vaporizes the original, with a moody, warbling undulation of keys, whoops, and few stray phrases from rapper Mortimer.
The ‘Global House’ mix also takes an irreverent approach, but is more light and upbeat in approach. Remixed by Dutch DJ Ben Liebrand, the Easties barely get a word in, and the groovy track floats on pseudo-symbol patterns and snappy brass keys that’s a damn fine song in itself. Edenic.
After nearly eclipsing Ravi on the bombastic brilliance of Bomb, Korean rapper San E. isn’t a pin-up/big name… yet. But on the strength of these digital download singles, his spectrum of ideas is almost enough to contain such a distinct, animate, and breezy personality.
Do It For Fun is a darker, Urban-centric, alt-rock backed platform over which to drop his sharp, elastic delivery, with music sounding 
like it’s trying to crawl through a substance diminished brain. Somewhere in the middle the music alternates from bracing rock, to bass/piano heavy hip-hop before San E almost trails off like a twisted clown.
On the other opposite end of the labyrinth, is the sunshine-y, ember of feel-good pop of What If. A good-natured, funk-flavored stroll that showcases the more humorous and deft nuances in San E’s wordplay and timing, all buttressed with a sing-along chorus (both include instrumental versions).
Critics tracing their careers from promising post-punk, to weighty new-wave were claiming to have been short changed by the Psychedelic Furs ’86 LP Midnight To Midnight. Even singer Butler himself later admitted to a semi out-of-body experience, front stage, lacquered in bad leather, slicked in copious hair product, realizing what a full-blown cardboard cut-out thing-y he’d become.
But if there are any gems to salvage (along with the top 40 Heartbreak Beat), it should be this wonderful single, Shock. Originally produced by Chris Kimsey, here, it’s made even more enterprising with a glittering life-line it gets thrown by Shep Pettibone, later known for his work with Madonna…
…And, this promising pop songstress, Cathy Dennis, who had among her biggest hits as performer with (Touch Me) All Night Long. But little known fact is she’s actually the crafty mind behind Kylie Minogue’s Can’t Get You Out My Head. Not to mention having written for her sister Dannii, Kelly Clarkson, Pink, S Club 7’s Never Had A Dream Come True, Katy Perry’s I Kissed A Girl, AND Britney Spears Toxic.
On her own, Dennis was an attractive, pert pop presence, with a clear, unfussy vocal. Her self-penned pop material proved surprisingly versatile when stretched and refashioned for the dance floor, as this entertaining 12″ demonstrates. The starkest departures heard here are the fresh, minimal spin on the ‘Touch This’ mix, which pure drum pattern dance divinity. ‘Rhodesappella’ excises the drum track, leaving the warm, seductive keys and voices, for a more sensual twist.
On to some more genuinely rocking material, Five Thirty were an indie oasis before, wellll, Oasis. They had swinging tunes, and Supernova was a damn fine one. The 7″ is a knock-out, dear reader, A. Knock – Out.
The A side is pure English swag with echoes of Mersey Beat, but with both hands firmly on the now. But the B-side… well. It’s a breath-taking and atmospheric lament (if the title Still Life doesn’t poke at what’s indicative, then maybe leave the site now) that’s the soundtrack for any indie tragidienne within a mile. Run to the shops and DEMAND a copy.
Sir Elton. A legend. And deservedly so. He gave us Yellow Brick Road, Don’t Let The sun Go Down On Me, The One, and how many dozens more. He wrote some spectacular tunes for the Lion King. And then there was all that Diana business. But willing to suffer fools…? Let’s discuss.
Our Elton has always been a bit of Divo. But he does it with such acerbic flare, it would be a public disservice NOT to let him roast these lesser mortals.
And age? Ha! You think that’s mellowed him, do you? You think it will ‘soften’ him, have you? Well, kiddies, you’re mistaken. Sorry! Case in point, a trip to Taiwan turned heated and hostile as fast as Slim Shady can say mommie dearest, when Elton was met by his most antagonistic of nemesis: the paparazzi.
Far from calm-cool-collected, the outspoken Duke Bitch-up called hell itself down upon some especially ruthless photographers. ‘Rude vile pigs!’ was Elt’s three word summation to a phalanx of cameramen. It’s like the equivalent of Machine Gun Kelly’s song-length diss at Eminem, or something. ‘Git owt uv Taiwain!’ admonished one. ‘Yeah we’d love to get out of Taiwan, ‘cuz it’s [meant] full up people like you! Pig! Piiiig!’.
You see, todays pop ‘stars’, they’re a bit – frilly, aren’t they? They’re all courting they’re own ego whilst making disembodied side-swipes at each other via social media – and THIS is their idea of straight shooting. Even the punk rockers have one a bit courtly on us.
Thankfully there’s Elton who fearlessly draws the line. Whether it’s cussing out paparazzi, making Madonna cry (probably), or lambasting recalcitrant security guards on stage, the wrath if Elt, shall be felt! Don’t let the sun go down on me, he sang once (twice, actually). Best you don’t, for if you do… you get SHADE, my dear.
It been 30 years since the well groomed Neighbors star debuted with the international hit Locomotion. But now, the mature cancer survivor and 50 year old is putting out her first full-length in five years, Golden.
Electro-pop pioneer and indefatigable performer Gary Numan, announced on his official website he’ll be doing a series of special performances (along with regular performances he’s been doing for his current LP Savage…) this November in the UK. The performer will be accompanied by the Skaparis Orchestra for 6 shows, which have apparently already sold-out.
L.A. punk rock legends will be uniting once again as a unit, and touring across America this July. Besides dates in California, the Weirdos will be in Portland, Las Vegas, and Seattle. The Weirdos were among the first wave of L.A. punk bands (including Screamers, Germs, Bags, and X) in the late seventies, before disbanding in 1981.
According to a not entirely vague Instagram post, punk princess Avril Lavigne has intimated she may well be into the process of writing/recording new material, which will be her first since her 2013 self titled LP.
Sir Richard‘s solicitor Mr. Rushbrooke, in statements regarding the lawsuit, accused the BBC of “relaying instantaneously and indiscriminately around the world highly sensitive and damaging information concerning [Richard] – all based upon an allegation of serious criminal conduct which he knew to be entirely false.”
(at)tempted fate with his own full-length solo effort Believe In Me. Sadly, critics – even with stellar augmentation from Jeff Beck, Lenny Kravitz, and Sebastian Bach – apparently didn’t back the titular sentiment, and the album reached a few dozen notches shy of the top 100.
And this wasn’t even his first brush with a Black flag: when he formed a band with Slash (Road Crew) a year after moving to L.A., among their many transitional vocal auditionees was second Black Flag singer Ron Reyes.
With their affinity for J.G. Thirwell (aka Foetus) still present (theoretically and literally – he sat behind the mixing desk for a portion of this one), White Noise presents an outfit not content to rest on their interesting non-guitar sound alone.
A year after, Cop Shoot Cop joined fellow New Yorkers Helmet on the much more mainstream record label Interscope. According to contemporary reports, the band landed in the cross fire when a conflict of interest prompted some of the labels democratic backers to disassociate themselves from the label. This in the wake of a real-life cop (In Texas) being shot by a man apprehended with a cassette of Tupac Shakur… a fellow Interscope artist.
England’s Sheep On Drugs weren’t quite heavy enough to classify as Industrial. Too verbose for dance. And they were too electronic to be punk. But whatever you want to call or classify them as, they always bite off more than they could chew in the most stylishly rewarding way possible.
deployed punk’s penchant for sarcasm and dark humor. Arming themselves with witty retorts and comebacks, the barrel of fish they shoot into more a shark tank with them wriggling barefoot on the edge.
Lyrically, Sheep On Drugs manage to pour out a flammable cocktail shaken like spray paint. The vandals ‘victims’ ranging from the usual suspects of avaricious yuppies (Catch 22, Acid Test), religion, American media (T.V. U.S.A.). To the not-so usual: over-privileged evanescent pop-stardom (15 Minutes of Fame), hegemony (Chard), auto-erotic car culture (Track X, Motorbike).
Today, very little of what Sheep On Drugs’ deft debut (even in that title) took aim at, and executed musically has come back with an expiry date. In fact, this would still unnerve the average EDM listener. What’s more, the source material for their cultural and social critiques, even 20 years on, have proven prescient in an age of millennials, money, and #metoo movements.
Now that New York’s mighty Warrior Soul have been gathering some optimistic reviews on the strength of their last full-length (last year’s Back On The Lash), a look at their Geffen era output (with the original line-up) seems only just. Besides which, Salutations From The Ghetto Nation, has become one of those prescient harbingers of the, as of press time, current state-of-the-world affairs, even 25 years later.
Although some may take issue with the full force of vocalist/lyricist Kory Clarke’s choice of prose and projection (he makes living in the political and social climes of America sound like subhuman torture), laconic and dispassionate he most certainly isn’t. His voice has as much gravelly gravitas, as it does pure soul. And his lyrics concisely purge his most righteous indignations.
Maybe, possibly, some found vocalist Sandi Saraya (from which the band takes their name, Bon Jovi style, and why not?) a bit of a purist for her staunch reprisals against a vague net of female rockers and their skimpy sex appeal. Which led many to wonder whom precisely she might be referring to: was it, Doro? was, it Lee Aaron? Maybe, Lita Ford? Possibly, Vixen?
In terms of lyrical content, Saraya shows a welcome predilection for twisting rock cliches just enough to refashion, if not invert them completely. Opening track Queen Of Sheeba comes across as a linear observation (like a Bobbie Gentry’s Fancy for Headbangers Ball). But here and there, one can pick up on the analytical pieces as Sandi sings about a nymphet (‘[learning] fast, learned young’) whose life is presaged by being told ‘Some people are just never mean to be heard/Some things are just understood.’
Musically, Saraya deliver a calm, cool, controlled hard rock wallop that can be seductive (Sandi dusts a few pegs off a smarmy suitor on the sizzling Lions Den), enchanting (the soft/hard filigree of the title track), chart worthy (the catchy When You See Me Again), but as a whole struts it’s way smoothly and strongly from beginning until it’s schmaltzy, but lovely end.
Even a few ‘Singles of the Week’ in the fussy English papers didn’t seem to widen The Bardots audience, beyond the very few appreciative and astute listeners. They have what you could call a typical indie sound: jangling, echo drenched guitars, refined, sensitive vocals, precise melodies. Where The Bardots begin to trail off the treaded pathway, is with a romanticism and intelligence that’s heady rather than haughty.
reassembled broken heart. Cruelty Blonde, maybe the LP’s most divine moment, is the kind of romantic yearning with an unrequited lump in it’s throat, all done with an aptitude, sensitivity, and drama.
To describe an artist or band’s music as ‘un-categorizable’ can often be a lazy intimation suggesting something too out there or discordant to have any appeal. In other words, it can be a good way to scare off the less adventurous.
But for all the vociferous vehemence, there is an audible attempt to attain and ascertain a specific moment of respite, however vague and fleeting it may be. And much like he did with the Fall, the renowned and respected John Peel understands this duo in a way, not just betrayed by sentiment, but by the scope, momentum, and detail of these powerful, priceless recordings.
N E N E H C H E R R Y did the decent and proper thing, returning only a while back to show these newly appointed queens of hip-hop JUST how it’s done
Further along the hip-hop vein is C O O L I O ‘s Too Hot single, which, is more or less, just as good a track as the more famous Gangsta’s Paradise. This could easily be the decade’s most sobering and articulate (without being preachy) treatise regarding the AIDS epidemic. Rather than attack the hot topic with bombast and paranoia, Coolio lends the track, musically and in prose, a sort of grace and humanity.
Former 2NE1 singer/rapper C L really came out in fight-mode with the game-changing ferocity of this continental-meets-gangsta amalgam, Hello B*ches. You barely get a chance to take a decent enough breath, before the unashamedly Asian-centric performer (and what’s wrong with THAT anyway?) starts rhyming like a deferential school-girl mumbling sweet ‘n’ salty nothings under her gear-shifted breath.
And now for a, uhm, Sigue-way into the next tasty piece of digital candy. Ex-Sigue Sigue Sputnik drummer Ray Mayhew plays band leader and front-man of the cleverly knighted M a y h e m D e r a n g e d. The single Here I Go Again, reveals Mayhew is perhaps better suited standing front and center – he’s an appealing singer with an Idol/Iggy rasp and a bit of Johanson swagger thrown in, and, at 53 he still looks a pin-up.
duet with ex-Wildheart Ginger Wildheart) after the under-rated Nobody’s Daughter became more chart-bomb than cherry bomb.
And for the grande finale, we have what could be among Punk’s most sublime and invaluable singles. Egghunt is a 7″ brainstorming the combined talents of ex-Minor Threat members Ian Mackaye and Jeff Nelson.
For a period, Drop Nineteens seemed among the most-likely-to-succeed in the American bid to successfully produce, domestically, a thoroughly American iteration of UK’s popular shoe-gaze scene. Their’s, while intermittently as swirling (with their signature hit Winona a prime example), also seemed as devoted regionally to other US indie-centricities: Sonic Youth style noise tunings, Pavement like lo-fidelity, or even Slint inspired signatures.
Prolific and prickly post-punk vocalist Mark E. Smith has died suddenly, aged 60, due to complications from respiratory problems.
Former Generation X lead singer and successful cross-over punk star Billy Idol has announced several European dates this summer.
snappy singles (with over a dozen of them reaching # 1 on the Dance charts) sung with a slightly deeper tone, that would be the envy of any pop star with even half her class and perseverance. Perhaps her best being 1997’s club make-over LP Girl, in which she actually gained a commercial/artistic upper hand over her older sis.
Married a Nip/Tuck star!:
The 10 minute b-side First & Last is a corker. Divided into what starts as a moody, crawling piece of nineties style post-punk, before an abrupt sea change slows things to a Slint-style crawl. It eventually gallops back towards it’s intended destination, but not without a series of mercurial dips, upon which Carlson returns to invoke a series of pleas amidst the churning, plunging maelstrom. A must.
Words escape. Metaphors, comparisons … almost useless, obsolete. Such is the dilemma facing one trying to describe, with any accuracy and justice, just what universe Super Junky Monkey takes you in, through, and out of.
Unlike other well-known Japanese girl bands like Shonen Knife or 5.6.7.8’s, Super Junky Monkey are neither ironic nor adorable. They are behemoths with the musical and idealogical prowess to leave any of their male contemporaries scurrying, panting with their tales between their legs, bloods of tears careening down their faces.
After departing L.A.’s irreligious icons Chrisitan Death, Death Rock’s own Marilyn Monroe Gitane Demone began her solo career with dalliances in a number of genre’s that, above all else, showcased her superlative, piercing, and torch-y voice.
But she doesn’t rest the weight of interest on mere performance or style. She comes prepared with some very personal, but very well crafted material. There’s also a wider berth for Demone to place herself within more musically restrained, eloquent settings, and arouse even more affecting ardor. Valentine for instance could almost be an edgier, gothic Bette Middler – which is a very good thing indeed. But she’s no drama queen, able to caress great amplification from a mere hush as on The Only One.
Ever since the King of Pop pulled up alongside her intrigued as she stood waiting to catch sir Elton (true story!), L.A. punk Latino harbinger, and all together dynamo Alice Bag won’t be going complacently or quietly, even at 60 years young.
This self-titled LP is like the comic book heroine of every thinking girl/woman’s dream: She’s feisty, articulate, introspective, and a consummate underdog. Bag and Bag is remarkable. Whether gnashing her teeth on garage-y, surf-y punk (Hypocrite, Programmed, Modern Day Virgin Sacrifice), or more dialed down, melancholy ersatz girl-group (He’s So Sorry, Weigh About You), our Alice has this in the b.a.g.!
Providing a genuinely erudite appreciation for the Progressive Rock pantheon, Monster Magnet hit creative pay dirt with Dopes To Infinity. Whatever audiences and critics had to say about the bands previous releases (including one release on Caroline that featured a diminutive 32 minute track), this record comes full (out of?) bodied, flowing in an aurora of dazzling authenticity to the Prog-fathers, but with one ace-of-spade: great rock tune-age.
The LP is a thrice strong starter with the slow-motion head banging of the title track, then the all out rockin’ Negasonic Teenage Wasteland. Followed by Look To Your Orb For the Warning, which despite a head-scratching title, stills brings us a soft cocktail of descending barre chords, before a bellicose D tuned thump lumbers through.
On his second album, Ray Lamontagne manages to seduce and intoxicate listeners from spitting distance by the sheer magnitude of his pure, soulful voice, and the intimate, stark settings he casts them in.
Lamontagne is another beast, possessing a gritty, throaty, and affecting set of octaves (sort of a more refined Mark Lanegan), which he sets hauntingly to some potent, introspective, crushing word pictures. Lamontagne’s work is almost gothic in nature, as the LP’s namesake can only hint at. The arrangements allow him to breath and bleed out his greatest woes and reservations in a hush or howl that’s almost impossible not to be moved by (as the penultimate and disquieting title track demonstrates).
Send Away the Tigers. They’ve spared no expense with the compact disc version coming buttressed with 2 discs worth of bonus materiel, AND a DVD of a their Glastonbury showcase the same year.
In more documentary news PIL frontman John Lydon is also the prime subject with a new doc entitled The Public Image is Rotten. It premiered at New York’s Tribeca Film festival near the end of April, and will have it’s second screening this June at the Syndey Film Festival.
After completing a two month tour of Europe (including dates in Germany, Spain, Italy, Netherlands, Serbia, Croatia, and Switzerland), the band have announced on their Facebook profile that two dates have been cancelled after a practitioner advised vocalist Wattie Buchan to suspend any further performances . The band went on to state that his “his health really is in a bad way”, so much so he has been checked into a London clinic for a period of a month or more. The band have decided to resume performances as scheduled at the Motorock Festival in Slovenia, sans Buchan. We wish Buchan a full a happy recovery.
Hard to believe (but not really), but Nirvana front man Kurt Cobain, looking more like hardcore, gut-busting take on Neil Young, actually gathered much if his initial spark of punkish inspiration from premiere Stooge, Iggy Pop.
A collaborative volley primarily between Ministry’s Al Jourgenson and Jello Biafra, upon the initial reserves of the notion this most-unlikely-to invokes, Lard ends up creating more surprises, not only because it works, but because it challenges the two performers from almost dissimilar fields, which in the process breathes life into each other’s standing genre.
After a walloping semi-make over with 2006’s Modern Times that brought an exciting edge to an already profound 50 year career, Dylan showed a renewed vitality that stayed course with Together Through Life.
There’s a reason ex-Birthday Party singer Nick Cave has been able maintain such a reverential standing with peers and press alike: his records are stunning. Let Love In is no exception, finding the magnificent Cave in rare form offering one treasure of a song after another on a collective whole that’s wildly menacing (Loverman, later covered by Depeche Mode’s Martin Gore and Metallica), to gloriously, beautifully dirge-like (Nobody’s Baby Now).
Ann, despite salvaging a self-centered, nasty little princess from a fire, is absorbed by guilt for stealing, or ‘borrowing’, the girl’s doll which she coveted, but whom her detractor refused to share with her. Anne eventually finds a home, even the romantic interest of a lad in her adoptive parents block (played with amiable grace by Robert Harron). But when she fires an antique gun in an attic (re-enacting a scene from a film), and believes she’s wounded and killed her neighbor, her past deed serves to presage what she feels is retroactive clemency upon her… until the expected denouement.
But all this talk about the help he gave in aiding other people’s success, makes one wonder what his own deserved success might have been like: his cover on Kerrang, Spin, or even Rolling Stone? Top ten album? MTV video music awards? It’s almost too profoundly bitter and tragic to fathom. But, even if he hadn’t, without him, we may not be discussing any of Soundgardens, Pearl Jams, Chains, or dare one say Nirvanas, without the golden hearted, perfectly pitched, priceless personality of Andrew Wood.
Although dance has been her choice of musical operandi in terms of genre, it’s in execution and attitude that Madonna betrays herself as the savvy and recalcitrant subvert with a genuine, as her LP title suggests, rebel heart.
mainstream artists to publicly defend Russian punk band P***y Riot (seen with their band legend scrawled on her back), even paralleling her own defiant flouting censorship worthy acts to their’s.
It could be easily excused, where not for the body of work Alec, however modest in terms of Itunes receipts, has accrued in a priceless series of musical ventures. It began in modest with The Untouchables, then the marvelous The Faith. But perhaps his most daring, personal, and twisted stroke of autonomy was with this exhilarating collection (which collects the bands entire recorded output and inception from 1986, until 1986) performed aptly under the name Ignition. Indeed, following his own emotionally raw and lucid destiny despite a glut of the opposite to ensure how out of step he ventured to be, this whole ouvré can only now be seen for helping set in motion the de riguers of latter punk, also known, in pejorative vernacular, as ‘Emo’.
With a reputation, not in the least unwarranted, as rock’s most stoic, humorless, and unromantic vocalist, Danzig’s third LP came, and still comes, as a welcome and pure surprise.
The band come firing back rapidly with more great tunes, and a few new twists to add to the plot. It’s not hard to imagine what made Priest such a scary proposition to a paranoid media, but, today, most of these records sound, quite simply, like great rock ‘n’ roll, pure and simple. Sad that many gravitate towards Zepplin as some sort of safe house for hard rock. Yet, there’s more debauchery and freaky juju going on at any random day of their existence than Priest put together. When Priest put down their guitars, they went home to their wives. Go figure.
April to May with dates in Latin America, but have already kicked off with a double bill with the Angelic Upstarts in the UK.
fine cover of Patti Smith’s Dancing Barefoot), the band released what is regarded as their most goth-sounding record, God’s Own Medicine. But again, the harsher tones of magazine reviewers would underline it as, maybe a great record by them, not a necessarily a great record per say. There are some superb moments, such as singles Stay With Me or Wasteland, a bruiting, undulating ripple of chorus-y guitars, slap-shot upon by a flawless chorus. 
With their second guitarist gone, and their drummer only soon to follow, Hussey had intended to play it solitaire with an updated, floor friendly sound. They ended up issuing it under The Mission name, and despite entitling it Masque, they don’t appear to have much to hide behind. Of course, as a classic rock band trying to integrate dance/world elements into the arrangements, it’s bound to induce some fidgeting and chagrin. Especially from those who counted on The Mission to bring them the chest thumping goth rock they love, for those who found Alien Sex Fiend to capricious and edgy.
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Presence Of God. It’s a smart, scraggly piece of stark syncopation, an added benefit being that vocalist/bassist Ian Masters is not only more adept at singing (which he does in a blissfully sharp, yearning style) than his peers, but he crafts songs that are not so superficially pop, but still hold melodious virtue. At this point, they sound like a doomy, pendulous take on McCarthy, which is a lot to be thankful for with just one 3 song EP.
Meriel is a great addition, being equally an ace vocalist, but in somewhat different markets to corner. Producer Hugh Jones helps the band to inhale more often, meaning the range of materiel here is given a sparkling veneer. Weather it be frolicking lead off track/single Throwing Back The Apple, the delayed guitar anguishes of Hair Shoes, or the wondrous, succinctly heartbreaking build-up of finale A Thousand Stars Burst Open, the performances seem more focused and relaxed. Which is appropriate, as this swarm of ideas and emotions deserves such, from pert and care-free (Featherframe) or protracted and methodical (Neverending Night). Even Flipside had nothing but appraisal. Regardless if it comes in ribbons or rags, what’s inside is divine.
A commendable effort at the very least, Meriel was certainly more than a capable front person, but not all of the mercurial abstraction that Masters took with him is a void impossible to fill (guitarist Graeme Naysmith is still an invaluable rudder of ideas, passages, and energy), audibly at least (the 10 minute plus Henry is an exquisitely uncoiling piece of Red House Painters slowcore showing Pale Saints were a band, not Ian Masters and friends).
respective members. And, even if you don’t, You still need to fall somewhere within the parenthesis of your band’s familiar identity. Love Songs… doesn’t seem to have impacted many, coming as it did just a couple years after Belly’s last record, but that’s not because it’s a vanity piece with pale conceits to stardom. But even if it were, there’s a glorious amount to suggest, in a judicious world, Donelly should’ve have been as big as the Lilath monilith to soon come, without all the shoddier baggage that came with it.
Not entirely a vast departure from his previous band’s pedigree (both ‘Chains drummer and bassist feature on this album), this is still a cogent and entertaining exhibit for Cantrell’s mostly underestimated talents as vocalist and guitarist.
Despite being primarily renowned for her accomplished stage performances, Beatrice Lillie was given a starring role in what was Hollywood’s rush to procure a variety of talents. Ranging from Opera singers, dancers, theatre stars, and, in Lillie’s Case, comediennes.
Taylor) is the magnitude of Lillie’s wit, timing, and thoroughly modern performance. There is no mawkish histrionics or overly animate slapstick. Lillie is total class and matchless in tomfoolery long before the Carole Burnetts and Lucille Balls set the standard for women in comedy. Heck, it’s not long before you even forget Lillie’ a woman, and just a naturally endowed jester of the highest order.
Before Car commercials, Gwen Stefani, or being hectored by Slim Shady at the MTV awards, Moby was becoming a nascent presence on the underground dance/house music scene in the early nineties. Even prior to this point he was himself, something of a seasoned, accomplished musician with credits including hardcore punk band Vatican Commandos, an early line-up of Ultra Vivid Scene, and allegedly one hot minute playing bass in Flipper (a claim vigorously countered by drummer Steve DePace).
This is what the Ramones had always been aiming for all along. But where as the Ramones can only go so far in equalling the cherubic vocal harmonies of the Ronnettes, both Gargiulo and Warnick reach closer to that constellation to disarming effect.
And so concludes another dim spangle of pseudo journalistic triteness on the otherwise drab dress of your holier than thou chest thumping ‘maturity’. Yes, oh how one aims for pedantic like worthiness. 
