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i've got ADD, so i can barely sit through most movies without getting ultra bored ultra fast. in all honestly, i don't give a shit about the latest Bond flick, and i sure as hell can't tell you the name of the dude that plays 007 in the films these days.
all i know is that when i heard that alicia keys and jack white were collaborating together to create the new theme for "Quantum of Solace" i was curious (and a little scared). anyway, the music video for "Another Way To Die" came out a couple of days ago, and i finally just saw it. check it out:
i'm actually kinda diggin' it. i'm not saying i'm gonna rush out and buy the latest alicia keys record, but for what it's worth, could be worse.
9.30.2008
9.29.2008
i've been a motherfucking dope machine
drugs. there are good ones. there are bad ones. some blow minds, others just blow. either way, the "unholy trinity" of sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll wouldn't be complete without them.
drugs are the wild card; the element of danger. they have the ability to inspire tremendous amounts of creativity within, or ease the pain of harsh day to day realities. however, they can also just as easily destroy that which they were meant to enhance. it's only natural that artists and musicians would be drawn to them; the promise of relief from a troubled existence or a journey through time and space is tempting for those looking to escape the confines of everyday human existence.
check out this video clip that documents syd barrett high on acid:
kinda trippy to see a founding member of one of the most influential psych-prog rock bands in history really in the thick of it; hangin' out in the middle of nature climbing around on rocks and playing with butterflies and stuff. y'know. before he was like that all the time.
anyone wanna go to the joshua tree desert with me and take drugs? wait, scratch that. i'm afraid you might do something like this chick:
yeahhhhhhhhh! wooooooo! E-TARDED!
i really don't like emo kids. in fact, i can't stand them. they're fuckin' pussies. they cry. they listen to bands with sentences for names. and worst of all, they whine about it to anyone that'll listen. i can't wait until that "trend" dies down and jared leto goes back to acting (do yourself a favor and don't click here.)
then again, maybe i'm not understanding enough. i mean, life MUST suck when you're a pussy with a dick. especially if you're this dude:
chicks like dudes in bands 'cos they AREN'T YOU. they're doing something. not stuck in tex-ass making whiny limp-dick "video blog rants" about why they can't get any play with the ladies (btw, are you sure you're not gay?). oh and for the record, pussylips, that's not "the fuzz." that's "mall security."
finally, please feel free to donate to the "lyndxe needs money for rent this month because she wasted all her cash on tickets to go see Oasis play in NYC for a show that ended up getting cancelled anyway" fund. it's pretty self explanatory (click here for the link). or you can just buy me a ticket to go see oasis at the staples center in LA on December 4th (they go on sale this wednesday, 10/01, but the presale starts tomorrow and the password is: OASISINET). either way, that'd be real rad. thanks, champ!
drugs are the wild card; the element of danger. they have the ability to inspire tremendous amounts of creativity within, or ease the pain of harsh day to day realities. however, they can also just as easily destroy that which they were meant to enhance. it's only natural that artists and musicians would be drawn to them; the promise of relief from a troubled existence or a journey through time and space is tempting for those looking to escape the confines of everyday human existence.
check out this video clip that documents syd barrett high on acid:
kinda trippy to see a founding member of one of the most influential psych-prog rock bands in history really in the thick of it; hangin' out in the middle of nature climbing around on rocks and playing with butterflies and stuff. y'know. before he was like that all the time.
anyone wanna go to the joshua tree desert with me and take drugs? wait, scratch that. i'm afraid you might do something like this chick:
yeahhhhhhhhh! wooooooo! E-TARDED!
i really don't like emo kids. in fact, i can't stand them. they're fuckin' pussies. they cry. they listen to bands with sentences for names. and worst of all, they whine about it to anyone that'll listen. i can't wait until that "trend" dies down and jared leto goes back to acting (do yourself a favor and don't click here.)
then again, maybe i'm not understanding enough. i mean, life MUST suck when you're a pussy with a dick. especially if you're this dude:
chicks like dudes in bands 'cos they AREN'T YOU. they're doing something. not stuck in tex-ass making whiny limp-dick "video blog rants" about why they can't get any play with the ladies (btw, are you sure you're not gay?). oh and for the record, pussylips, that's not "the fuzz." that's "mall security."
finally, please feel free to donate to the "lyndxe needs money for rent this month because she wasted all her cash on tickets to go see Oasis play in NYC for a show that ended up getting cancelled anyway" fund. it's pretty self explanatory (click here for the link). or you can just buy me a ticket to go see oasis at the staples center in LA on December 4th (they go on sale this wednesday, 10/01, but the presale starts tomorrow and the password is: OASISINET). either way, that'd be real rad. thanks, champ!
i'm never too sick to fight
i'm pretty sure josh homme is the biggest badass in "rock 'n' roll." it's all about the fuckin' swagger and attitude, and this dude's got 'em both down pat. oh yeah, and he's got massive talent to boot. what more could ya ask for? yeah.
go back to your mom's house, you twelve-year-old dickless turd.
go back to your mom's house, you twelve-year-old dickless turd.
9.28.2008
Concert Review: Eagles of Death Metal Make a Bang
here's a review i wrote on the eagles of death metal show at the mayan in downtown la on september 25th. i recently submitted this to beatcrave.com, but i thought that given the band and my blog, it'd be worthwhile to post up here, too.
On September 25th, an eclectic crowd gathered at The Mayan in downtown Los Angeles for the final show of the Hives/ Eagles of Death Metal/Willowz tour. From scenesters and seasoned followers of local indie faves the Willowz, to the savvy black and white clad Hives devotees, everyone in attendance was poised for a night of musical magnificence.
Among these contrasting fan-bases was a smattering of tattooed greasers and leather clad vixens, huddled in select groups throughout the venue. They casually sipped on cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon, occassionally stopping to take a drag off of their cigarettes. It was obvious that these seasoned rockers were anticipating a different vibe than that of their alt-indie and garage pop bretheren. Plain and simple, these folks were here to rock 'n' roll. And rock 'n' roll they would, to the hip shakin', boot scootin' boogie woogie sound of the fast-paced desert rock band, Eagles of Death Metal.
It was just after 9pm; the Willowz had already finished warming up the eager audience, as more and more folks started making their way towards the stage, anticipating the next act. The house lights dimmed, and instantaneously an explosive cheer erupted from the mouths of young and old alike. The moment everyone had been waiting for (whether they knew it or not) had arrived.
Guitarist "Darlin' Dave" Catching appeared first, appreciatively nodding to the ladies gathered at stage right, as bass-player Brian "Big Hands" O'Connor moved towards the crowd huddled at stage left. As the stage lights flashed on, eager EODM fans' were surprised to see not only Joey "The Sexi Mexi" Castillo sitting at the drums, but that directly parallel to him, perched above his own set of skins, was none other than Queens of the Stone Age frontman, Josh "Baby Duck" Homme.
Suddenly, the masses exploded into a fit of cheers a second time. Frontman Jesse "Boots Electric" Hughes sauntered on stage in all his devilish glory, extending his left arm towards the crowd, his fingers tightly clenched together in the undisputed rock 'n' roll statement of the century: the devil horns. There were no two-ways about it. The Eagles of Death Metal had landed.
After "Boots Electric" (ak/a J. Devil) himself finished adjusting the familiar lightning bolt strap of his solid white Gibson Les Paul guitar, the band immediately launched into "Don't Speak (I Came to Make a Bang!)" from 2006's Death By Sexy.
Teeny boppers, biker punks, indie hipsters, and rockabilly riders were all overcome by the same wave of thrashy, trashy and fun-filled rock 'n' roll that bounced over everyone in the audience. Young and old were joined together like toe tapping, hip shakin' dance demons. It was impossible to keep still as the face-paced gritty garage rock swept through the halls. Playing tunes from each of their three studio released albums (including the upcoming "Heart On" out on October 28th), the band seemed to mainly focus on tracks from their 2004 debut "Peace, Love, Death Metal" while introducing the crowd to new songs like the deliciously debauched "Anything 'Cept the Truth" and forthcoming "Heart On" single "Wannabe in LA."
J. Devil lived up to his "Boots Electric" moniker, boot scootin' and hippy, hippy shakin' his way up, down, on and off the stage, pausing only to express his undying affection to "all the lovely ladies" in the audience. The feeling was mutual; halfway through their set, an anonymous pair of navy blue panties were flung on stage. "The Devil" quickly nabbed them, presumably adding them to his growing collection.
The crowd continued dancing hard throughout the rest of their cherry cola flavored set, giving shouts of adoration for "the dream boys," and, of course, throwing up their own devil horns. As the band collectively burst into the catchy riffs and buzzing hooks of their final song, the fast-paced "Speaking in Tongues," the boogie woogie moving and grooving intensified. After the final notes were played, the band collectively stood together to take a final bow. A simple "thank you" and "goodnight!" was uttered as they exited the stage. The roar of the audience continued to echo throughout the Mayan as the stage lights were dimmed.
Some stayed to watch headliners the Hives; others left after having had a sensory overload of watching the musical embodiment of sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll, known unforgettably as the Eagles of Death Metal.
The dance party of the century (well, at least the night) had come to a close. Regardless, one thing was certain: the dream boys were here and they made us smile.
On September 25th, an eclectic crowd gathered at The Mayan in downtown Los Angeles for the final show of the Hives/ Eagles of Death Metal/Willowz tour. From scenesters and seasoned followers of local indie faves the Willowz, to the savvy black and white clad Hives devotees, everyone in attendance was poised for a night of musical magnificence.
Among these contrasting fan-bases was a smattering of tattooed greasers and leather clad vixens, huddled in select groups throughout the venue. They casually sipped on cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon, occassionally stopping to take a drag off of their cigarettes. It was obvious that these seasoned rockers were anticipating a different vibe than that of their alt-indie and garage pop bretheren. Plain and simple, these folks were here to rock 'n' roll. And rock 'n' roll they would, to the hip shakin', boot scootin' boogie woogie sound of the fast-paced desert rock band, Eagles of Death Metal.
It was just after 9pm; the Willowz had already finished warming up the eager audience, as more and more folks started making their way towards the stage, anticipating the next act. The house lights dimmed, and instantaneously an explosive cheer erupted from the mouths of young and old alike. The moment everyone had been waiting for (whether they knew it or not) had arrived.
Guitarist "Darlin' Dave" Catching appeared first, appreciatively nodding to the ladies gathered at stage right, as bass-player Brian "Big Hands" O'Connor moved towards the crowd huddled at stage left. As the stage lights flashed on, eager EODM fans' were surprised to see not only Joey "The Sexi Mexi" Castillo sitting at the drums, but that directly parallel to him, perched above his own set of skins, was none other than Queens of the Stone Age frontman, Josh "Baby Duck" Homme.
Suddenly, the masses exploded into a fit of cheers a second time. Frontman Jesse "Boots Electric" Hughes sauntered on stage in all his devilish glory, extending his left arm towards the crowd, his fingers tightly clenched together in the undisputed rock 'n' roll statement of the century: the devil horns. There were no two-ways about it. The Eagles of Death Metal had landed.After "Boots Electric" (ak/a J. Devil) himself finished adjusting the familiar lightning bolt strap of his solid white Gibson Les Paul guitar, the band immediately launched into "Don't Speak (I Came to Make a Bang!)" from 2006's Death By Sexy.
Teeny boppers, biker punks, indie hipsters, and rockabilly riders were all overcome by the same wave of thrashy, trashy and fun-filled rock 'n' roll that bounced over everyone in the audience. Young and old were joined together like toe tapping, hip shakin' dance demons. It was impossible to keep still as the face-paced gritty garage rock swept through the halls. Playing tunes from each of their three studio released albums (including the upcoming "Heart On" out on October 28th), the band seemed to mainly focus on tracks from their 2004 debut "Peace, Love, Death Metal" while introducing the crowd to new songs like the deliciously debauched "Anything 'Cept the Truth" and forthcoming "Heart On" single "Wannabe in LA."
J. Devil lived up to his "Boots Electric" moniker, boot scootin' and hippy, hippy shakin' his way up, down, on and off the stage, pausing only to express his undying affection to "all the lovely ladies" in the audience. The feeling was mutual; halfway through their set, an anonymous pair of navy blue panties were flung on stage. "The Devil" quickly nabbed them, presumably adding them to his growing collection.
The crowd continued dancing hard throughout the rest of their cherry cola flavored set, giving shouts of adoration for "the dream boys," and, of course, throwing up their own devil horns. As the band collectively burst into the catchy riffs and buzzing hooks of their final song, the fast-paced "Speaking in Tongues," the boogie woogie moving and grooving intensified. After the final notes were played, the band collectively stood together to take a final bow. A simple "thank you" and "goodnight!" was uttered as they exited the stage. The roar of the audience continued to echo throughout the Mayan as the stage lights were dimmed.
Some stayed to watch headliners the Hives; others left after having had a sensory overload of watching the musical embodiment of sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll, known unforgettably as the Eagles of Death Metal.
The dance party of the century (well, at least the night) had come to a close. Regardless, one thing was certain: the dream boys were here and they made us smile.
it's hanging above you
that's right, kiddies.
i shot/edited/posted a video to youtube today that highlights what's on my musical radar 'cos i didn't have anything better to do. actually, that's a lie, i have about a million and five things that i gotta do that probably should take precedence over making a shitty youtube vid, but i didn't really feel like doing any of them. plus, i'm pretty sure the only people that care about what i'm listening to are me and my mom, and she's just doing it to be nice. thanks, ma.
this (obviously) wasn't scripted; i ran back and forth to my cd towers and started pulling things out, and this was the result. it's a lil' choppy at some points and i forget what i'm saying towards the end, but you get the idea.
rock 'n' roll!
i shot/edited/posted a video to youtube today that highlights what's on my musical radar 'cos i didn't have anything better to do. actually, that's a lie, i have about a million and five things that i gotta do that probably should take precedence over making a shitty youtube vid, but i didn't really feel like doing any of them. plus, i'm pretty sure the only people that care about what i'm listening to are me and my mom, and she's just doing it to be nice. thanks, ma.
this (obviously) wasn't scripted; i ran back and forth to my cd towers and started pulling things out, and this was the result. it's a lil' choppy at some points and i forget what i'm saying towards the end, but you get the idea.
rock 'n' roll!
9.27.2008
The Sermon On The Mount
Wednesday night, September 17th, 2008
The tickets had made themselves available at the last minute. And now, like a lamb to the slaughter, I was led to my paddock just a breath away from the left lip of the gaping maw of the beast known as the Hollywood Bowl. The balladeer of blood, broads and bullets was in town to sell his snake-oil sermon of death and impending doom. This was to be my first attendance at Mr. Cave's sermon on the mount. I was to share the paddock with two hapless foreigners from the Queen's country who reeked of cologne and were sporting golden brown perma-tans, one of them having been in attendance of this type of service before. "He's the real deal", said the one on the right.
Within minutes of my arrival, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds strolled onto the stage to uproarious applause from their followers and kicked things off with Night of The Lotus Eaters, followed by Dig, Lazarus Dig!!! and Tupelo...They were very well obviously off and running. Three songs in, and they weren't taking any prisoners. I eyed the foreboding crimson numerals 60:00 off to stage right, hiding behind the monitors. What did they mean? I didn't care.
Just then, Nick Cave addressed his flock: "Hello, Los Angeleez! This next song is a song Hollywood made famous." The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as the resonating bell of fate tolled for us all through the immutable strains of Red Right Hand!!! A very personal favorite, evoking some of the darkest imagery ever laid bare in song. I grinned from ear to ear as fire and brimstone filled the air.
To calm us down for a couple minutes, Mr. Cave sat behind his piano to sing about a former lover. A song both so beautiful and subtly unnerving, "Into My Arms". Check it out if you haven't already. Great stuff!!!
Just around this time the crimson numerals off to the side had already begun counting down!!! I now knew what they meant, but I didn't want to accept it. A few more songs in and Cave and the Bad Seeds put us through our paces with Deanna, a song about cum and blood and guns and murder and moths and frocks. Alot to take in, but no one said this was a pansy-ass Josh Groban concert!!!
Song upon murderous song assaulted and groped us, yet made us squeal. So intense was the attack that I spotted Mr. Cave briefly run to the side of the stage on a couple of occasions to huff on some much needed oxygen. After all, the preacher-man stayed in his suit for the whole show. At about the time the crimson numerals read 5:30, Mr. Cave said "It appears we have some time issues, so we'll pretend that you've already asked for an encore." This being said, the band ripped into Hard On For Love, an obviously romantic song about life-long passions and what-not.
But nothing could prepare us for the motherfuck-laden saga of the motherfuckin' bad-ass
known as Stagger motherfucking Lee to bring this sermon to a close.
There had been mirth, there had been mayhem, and there had been murder. A full course meal for all us sinners in attendance. We filed out of the Hollywood Bowl and into the Los Angeles night in search of tales such as the ones we had just been told. Either as witnesses or participants. Only time, and our wicked minds knew for sure...
The tickets had made themselves available at the last minute. And now, like a lamb to the slaughter, I was led to my paddock just a breath away from the left lip of the gaping maw of the beast known as the Hollywood Bowl. The balladeer of blood, broads and bullets was in town to sell his snake-oil sermon of death and impending doom. This was to be my first attendance at Mr. Cave's sermon on the mount. I was to share the paddock with two hapless foreigners from the Queen's country who reeked of cologne and were sporting golden brown perma-tans, one of them having been in attendance of this type of service before. "He's the real deal", said the one on the right.
Within minutes of my arrival, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds strolled onto the stage to uproarious applause from their followers and kicked things off with Night of The Lotus Eaters, followed by Dig, Lazarus Dig!!! and Tupelo...They were very well obviously off and running. Three songs in, and they weren't taking any prisoners. I eyed the foreboding crimson numerals 60:00 off to stage right, hiding behind the monitors. What did they mean? I didn't care.
Just then, Nick Cave addressed his flock: "Hello, Los Angeleez! This next song is a song Hollywood made famous." The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as the resonating bell of fate tolled for us all through the immutable strains of Red Right Hand!!! A very personal favorite, evoking some of the darkest imagery ever laid bare in song. I grinned from ear to ear as fire and brimstone filled the air.
To calm us down for a couple minutes, Mr. Cave sat behind his piano to sing about a former lover. A song both so beautiful and subtly unnerving, "Into My Arms". Check it out if you haven't already. Great stuff!!!
Just around this time the crimson numerals off to the side had already begun counting down!!! I now knew what they meant, but I didn't want to accept it. A few more songs in and Cave and the Bad Seeds put us through our paces with Deanna, a song about cum and blood and guns and murder and moths and frocks. Alot to take in, but no one said this was a pansy-ass Josh Groban concert!!!
Song upon murderous song assaulted and groped us, yet made us squeal. So intense was the attack that I spotted Mr. Cave briefly run to the side of the stage on a couple of occasions to huff on some much needed oxygen. After all, the preacher-man stayed in his suit for the whole show. At about the time the crimson numerals read 5:30, Mr. Cave said "It appears we have some time issues, so we'll pretend that you've already asked for an encore." This being said, the band ripped into Hard On For Love, an obviously romantic song about life-long passions and what-not.
But nothing could prepare us for the motherfuck-laden saga of the motherfuckin' bad-ass
known as Stagger motherfucking Lee to bring this sermon to a close.
There had been mirth, there had been mayhem, and there had been murder. A full course meal for all us sinners in attendance. We filed out of the Hollywood Bowl and into the Los Angeles night in search of tales such as the ones we had just been told. Either as witnesses or participants. Only time, and our wicked minds knew for sure...
9.24.2008
Say You Ain't Gay, Clay!?!
The world of rock n' roll was shaken to the core with the revelation to end all revelations. Clay Aiken, musclebound hunk and masculine troubadour to ladies near and far, revealed to the world that...(you better take a seat if you aren't already)...HE IS GAY!!! Horror of horrors! How could he have lied to us for all these years!?! Has he no compassion for his millions of fans!?! What of his "Clay-mates"!?! His adoring female fan base cried and cried into their pillows long into the night, having the one true love that emerged into the limelight of celebrity via an absurd teevee show (American Idol in case you already forgot) plucked from their very bosoms. If you thought midwestern women already had weight problems to begin with, news such as this can only lead them all back to their kitchens and Krispy Kremes and KFC's and McDonald's (you get the picture) in ravenous multitudes in search of comfort foods by the fistful!!! This world is so full of lies!!! How can we ever go on, knowing that an artiste such as he was pulling the gay wool over our eyes this whole time!!! First Freddy Mercury, then Rob Halford, then Rosie O'Donnell, then Ellen Degeneres...now CLAY!!! Who's next, Barry Manilow or Johnny Mathis??? Let's pray not, for the love of God, let's pray not. There's nothing wrong with being gay, I just cannot endure the emotional trauma which is a result of getting lied to again by celebrity. I'll put the pills away for now...The pain shall subside in time...Deep breaths...Deep breaths...
Abandon All Hope
It's been said there's safety in numbers. Well, dear friends and enemies (mostly the latter)...now you've got two to contend with! Watch this space, star-crossed lovers. There's more to come. All over yer face!!!
Life is short, filled with stuff
i'm super amped on about 3 cups of green tea right now, listening to the cramps, and feeling word vomitous (yes, i just made that one up). i got pretty much no sleep last night 'cos i was working on finishing up my article for the music site beatcrave.com
speaking of which, i'm now a regular contributor to beatcrave.com and i'm going to shamelessly plug myself because i can, so check it out.
i went to the brant bjork show at the echo last night after i got off of work, sliding in just moments before the man that used to pound the skins for kyuss took the stage. i'm still reeling from some serious mind-blowing desert rock. if there's one thing that gets me into it, it's watching those dudes from the desert finger fuck scales like catholic school girls.
sebastian bach has shitty music, but i have to respect anyone that jumps out into a sea of people and starts beating the living shit outta some fuckface who thinks it's cute to throw a beer on stage. what's up with all these douchebags harassing artists? if you don't like the heat, get out of the kitchen. no one is forcing you to go to the show, and hey, guess what? the door is always open, so you can leave if it turns out it wasn't what you were expecting. just make sure not let it hit ya on the way out.
finally, since i'm lazy as fuck, and also because i seem to be incapable of updating on a regular basis due to my commitment issues (yeah, even towards my own blog), i've invited my very rad friend, john d, to start contributing. yay! it's a party on my blog and everyone's invited! except you.
speaking of which, i'm now a regular contributor to beatcrave.com and i'm going to shamelessly plug myself because i can, so check it out.
i went to the brant bjork show at the echo last night after i got off of work, sliding in just moments before the man that used to pound the skins for kyuss took the stage. i'm still reeling from some serious mind-blowing desert rock. if there's one thing that gets me into it, it's watching those dudes from the desert finger fuck scales like catholic school girls.
sebastian bach has shitty music, but i have to respect anyone that jumps out into a sea of people and starts beating the living shit outta some fuckface who thinks it's cute to throw a beer on stage. what's up with all these douchebags harassing artists? if you don't like the heat, get out of the kitchen. no one is forcing you to go to the show, and hey, guess what? the door is always open, so you can leave if it turns out it wasn't what you were expecting. just make sure not let it hit ya on the way out.
finally, since i'm lazy as fuck, and also because i seem to be incapable of updating on a regular basis due to my commitment issues (yeah, even towards my own blog), i've invited my very rad friend, john d, to start contributing. yay! it's a party on my blog and everyone's invited! except you.
9.15.2008
your music's shite, it keeps me up all night
there's a lot of reasons why "married with children" by oasis is one of my favorite songs. it's beautifully written, and within the masterfully crafted prose and lilt of the melody, lies a completely familiar message that nearly everyone can relate to on some level. there's no hint of malice, contempt or ill-will with what's being said, rather simply put, it's a lack thereof. an exercise in apathy. makes me wish i'd written it, and in that moment, the realization of their true genius comes to light.
of course, this clip wouldn't be complete without noel's trademark attitude surfacing before the song begins:
i was supposed to have seen oasis on friday night at terminal 5 in nyc... but shit didn't turn out because some douchebag decided to jump on stage and push noel into his monitors. this resulted in noel bruising his ribcage and caused several dates on their tour to be postponed/canceled, including the very private, ultra exclusive date i had tickets to. fuck.
at least i got to take a picture of sid vicious.
of course, this clip wouldn't be complete without noel's trademark attitude surfacing before the song begins:
i was supposed to have seen oasis on friday night at terminal 5 in nyc... but shit didn't turn out because some douchebag decided to jump on stage and push noel into his monitors. this resulted in noel bruising his ribcage and caused several dates on their tour to be postponed/canceled, including the very private, ultra exclusive date i had tickets to. fuck.
at least i got to take a picture of sid vicious.
9.05.2008
there is nothing conceptually better than rock 'n' roll...
as is kind of apparent in the way i sporadically update (seriously, 8 month breaks?), i'm really lazy. this prolly should've gone up sooner, but in any case, here's a review i wrote of a darker my love show i went to (um, kind of fairly) recently.
On August 7, Darker My Love wrapped up a Los Angeles residency at the legendary Troubador in celebration of their sophomore release, '2' (out now on Dangerbird records!).
Tim Presley's veiled vocals blended in smoothly with the psych-influenced guitar that emanated from him and rhythm guitarst Jared Everett. Their shoegaze-twinged sounds traveled effortlessly through buzzing vintage amplifiers, creating an unparalleled array of blissfully alternative fuzzy jams, while Will Canzoneri fleshed out their choicely harmonious tones with an thought-provoking flair on the organ and clavinet. Drummer Andy Granelli (of the Distillers fame) and bassist Rob Barbato (doubling up on vocal duties) kept the rhythm steady with resolutely undulating beats. While mostly a showcase of soon-to-be classic tracks from their latest release, the evening wasn't without a splash of old favorites from their 2006 self-titled debut album. Even with a fledgling discography, their performance seemed to float onward throughout the night as the crowd was enveloped in a wall of sound that carried through the walls to keep hipster hips swaying and indie heads bobbing.
In a surprisingly open-handed gesture, Darker My Love and Dangerbird Records decided to offer all concert-goers a copy of '2,' serving only to further cement their fan base's unwavering support. After having just experienced the surging swell of billowy dream pop tunes in one of the permanent fixtures of LA's vibrant musical past, it can only be assumed that everyone in attendance was poised and ready for a listen of the album on the drive home. It's easy to immediately be swept into a world of whimsical neo-psychedelic fun upon the first listen; the ease in which the album flows from start to finish is a true testament to the band's future as musical troubadours of their own right.
be sure to come check 'em out when they play amoeba hollywood on october 2nd. wooo!
On August 7, Darker My Love wrapped up a Los Angeles residency at the legendary Troubador in celebration of their sophomore release, '2' (out now on Dangerbird records!).
Tim Presley's veiled vocals blended in smoothly with the psych-influenced guitar that emanated from him and rhythm guitarst Jared Everett. Their shoegaze-twinged sounds traveled effortlessly through buzzing vintage amplifiers, creating an unparalleled array of blissfully alternative fuzzy jams, while Will Canzoneri fleshed out their choicely harmonious tones with an thought-provoking flair on the organ and clavinet. Drummer Andy Granelli (of the Distillers fame) and bassist Rob Barbato (doubling up on vocal duties) kept the rhythm steady with resolutely undulating beats. While mostly a showcase of soon-to-be classic tracks from their latest release, the evening wasn't without a splash of old favorites from their 2006 self-titled debut album. Even with a fledgling discography, their performance seemed to float onward throughout the night as the crowd was enveloped in a wall of sound that carried through the walls to keep hipster hips swaying and indie heads bobbing.
In a surprisingly open-handed gesture, Darker My Love and Dangerbird Records decided to offer all concert-goers a copy of '2,' serving only to further cement their fan base's unwavering support. After having just experienced the surging swell of billowy dream pop tunes in one of the permanent fixtures of LA's vibrant musical past, it can only be assumed that everyone in attendance was poised and ready for a listen of the album on the drive home. It's easy to immediately be swept into a world of whimsical neo-psychedelic fun upon the first listen; the ease in which the album flows from start to finish is a true testament to the band's future as musical troubadours of their own right.
be sure to come check 'em out when they play amoeba hollywood on october 2nd. wooo!
9.01.2008
no fun, my babe, no fun
i'm feeling lazy and uninspired, so here's a video of a cat playing the theramin.
rad.
rad.
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