Bonnaroo 2009 Lineup Announced

For those still smarting from news that Bruce Springsteen probably won't be including Salt Lake in his upcoming U.S. tour, take heart. True diehards go the extra mile (or several thousand) to realize their dream of seeing him live. And after that killer Superbowl half-time show, can you really blame them? City Weekly dining critic Ted Scheffler is such a big fan, he bought tickets this week to catch the Boss in Denver. Maybe he'll consider tacking on a trip to Manchester, Tennessee for Bonnaroo, an outdoor music festival long associated with jam bands and hippies. In recent years, the event has expanded its scope, inviting such groups as The Flaming Lips and Gogol Bordello. Organizers released the 2009 lineup today and its similarly eclectic. Featured artists include:

BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN AND THE E STREET BAND, PHISH, THE BEASTIE BOYS, NINE INCH NAILS, TV ON THE RADIO, WILCO, AL GREEN, DAVID BYRNE, SNOOP DOGG, MERLE HAGGARD, ERYKAH BADU, MGMT, BON IVER, THE DECEMBERISTS, LUCINDA WILLIAMS AND MORE

Tickets go on sale this Saturday, Feb. 7

(Jamie Gadette)

Flight of the Conchords SLC-Bound!

[Music] That's right: Kiwi comic-folkies Flight of the Conchords are coming to Salt Lake City! Abravanel Hall, to be exact, on Sunday May 17. If manager Murray doesn't screw up the tour, that is ...

If you're HBO-free, here's a taste of some Sugar Lumps:



(Bill Frost)

Best Tracks Of 2008: Episode 1

In next week's Very Special Christmas issue, we'll be publishing our Top Albums of 2008, a list as varied as every other publication's lists which I've been obsessively reading up on for the past two weeks. From Paste to Rolling Stone, NME, Pitchfork and NPR, the final judgments land all over the place. Paste boldly proclaimed She & Him as its album of the year while Rolling Stone put Chinese Democracy in its Top 10. I personally had a hard time pinning down the LPs that fit my criteria for "Best," but had no problem thinking of all the awesome tracks that rocked my year. So, for the next seven days I'll be posting some of my favorite single tracks for your enjoyment. Stay tuned, and let us know what you've been listening to for the past 365 or so days!

The following songs are by a couple of my favorite artists whose latest albums don't quite live up to their previous releases:

The Breeders
"We're Gonna Rise"

We’re Gonna Rise - The Breeder...

Constantines
"Trans Canada"

Trans Canada - The Constantine...

(Jamie Gadette)

Everlast: More Than One Song

[Live Music] Not that you've heard much about it, but former House of Pain rapper-turned-urban-bluesman Everlast plays the Bar Deluxe (666 S. State) tonight; the show was moved from the now-defunct Paladium with little fanfare.

Local radio stations would have you believe that the ONLY song Everlast ever recorded was the maudlin "What It's Like," and it's unlikely any of them are even aware the man's in town tonight while they spin that tune for the fourth time in 24 hours. Here's a far cooler one, "Black Jesus":



(Bill Frost)

It's the Piano, Man

[Film] It's not often outside of Sundance time that Salt Lake City audiences get a chance to see the star of a movie they've just watched. So should we sniff at the opportunity if the star in question just happens to be an inanimate object?

The documentary Note by Note -- following the year-long process of creating a single Steinway & Sons concert grand piano (this one designated L1037) -- opens today at the Broadway Centre Cinemas. And once viewers have had a chance to watch the artisans put the instrument together, they'll get to see and hear the fruits of their labors, as Daynes Music sponsors special performance/Q&A sessions featuring the one and only L1037 piano itself. Utah Symphony principal keyboardist Jason Hardink and Gina Bachauer competitor Song Choi will be featured at the 7 p.m. performances of Note by Note tonight (June 20) and tomorrow (June 21). Sorry, but the L1037 doesn't do autographs. (Scott Renshaw)

Having a rough day?

[Music] Perhaps this will lighten the load. (It made me feel happy!)



(Brandon Burt)

Bill Frost Will Not Be On Hand

[Music] ...at The Urban Lounge tonight when the venue transforms into Urban Outfitters to accomodate the increased cute-as-hell hipster presence inspired by Black Kids and, to a lesser extent, Cut Copy. Lesser extent because the latter act attracts a more diverse crowd of electronic music fans. Here's a sample of Black Kids. Totally tubular.



Also on tap tonight, The Swell Season at The Depot. I had the pleasure of chatting with Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova when they first came to SLC during Sundance, promoting their beautiful film Once. Even then, you knew they'd go on to bigger and even more beautiful things. This event probably should have sold out, but hasn't yet and won't likely. Way to promote Oscar winners, Depot!


(Jamie Gadette)

New World Odor

[Music] Strobe lights can make anything seem more exciting than it might actually be. Like the Ministry concert at In the Venue last Friday night--early evening, really, since showtime was 8 p.m. and cursed sunlight was bleeding in.

No amount of sun could detract from the strobes, though--those suckers were cranked for two solid hours while Al Jourgensen & Co. goose-stepped through the catalogue of Ministry hits. Al rarely strayed from his ornate cow-skull mic stand, which propped him up center-stage. While the boss was underplaying it, guitarist Tommy Victor (Prong) pranced and posed like a odd cross between Kiss' Paul Stanley and a WWE rassler, prompting the crowd to get those hands up every 10 seconds. He even got around to playing his guitar a couple of times, the multitasker.

Still, Ministry was absolutely on fire when they ripped into songs like "So What," "Thieves" and "Rio Grande Blood," the title track of what's arguably the band's last great album (The Last Sucker is well-named, and the new Cover Up is pure filler). All that hate for Dubya does a band good.

Reaching back to '91 and Bush 1, Fear Factory singer Burton Bell (fresh from hitting on ladies in the audience and pulling the "Don't You Know Who I Am?" card, by first-hand reports) took the lead on "New World Order" while Al strummed a coffin guitar to the side. It was another sonically brutal moment, of which there were enough to outweigh the phone-it-in feel of the newer numbers--Ministry has nothing to prove, but they did anyway.

But encoring with "Roadhouse Blues" and "Just Got Paid" from Cover Up? Dick move, Al. Not quite Dick Cheney, though ... (Bill Frost)

Bret Michaels Rocked My World

[Music-ish] For those of you that have so viciously killed your televisions, you may not be aware of VH1's Rock of Love. I have a theory that there is this island called Skanktopia, and that is where all the reality show hussies with one too many I’s or E’s in their names are patiently awaiting the day until they are plucked to drunkenly stumble around in front of millions of viewers in order to vie for the affection of someone. Anyone. Well, on Rock of Love, this someone is the bandana’d bandit, Bret Michaels, leader of hair metal band Poison.

The reality television show is one of few such programs to make me laugh with genuine hysteria. The best part about the show, is the perhaps unintentional humor. I can’t figure out if these people are real human beings, or if they were placed on this planet merely to amuse us obsessive TV viewers. I don’t have to hide out in my room shamefully watching it in the dark either! There are others that follow it every week and we either watch it together or discuss it the following day.

So when I heard that Bret Michaels was coming to Utah in all of his guy-linered glory to support his Rock of Love tour, it was on, as Jessica from the show would say, "like Donkey Kong." Also, I wanted to go and just see who genuinely wanted a piece of Bret.

Now where could we house such an amazing spectacle? Club 90 in Sandy of course! Hey-O! It’s just too bad that all of my tassled jackets and bandanas were in storage and my hair was too short to tease. No worries, I headed out there on Sunday, April 13, and prepared myself for some serious butt-rock.

There was a slight scheduling conflict. See, this was the season finale of Rock of Love, and Bret was to be playing on stage when the climatic episode aired. Fortunately, Club 90 had about 10 different sets airing Rock of Love when I walked in.

Club 90 is massive. At first when the television commercial I saw noting that this tour was coming threatened in a deep masculine voice that “THIS SHOW WILL SELL OUT” I laughed a bit. I stopped laughing when we arrived. There was one parking spot left in the very back, and everyone was at this show.

The people working the door, my adorable sweet waitress, and the bar staff there are to be commended. They were so nice and accommodating that this alone made my night. The concert goers had tunnel vision. They were there for Bret and nothing it seemed would stand in their way of viewing him on stage. I asked one gentleman if I could borrow his bar stool for a moment for some quick photos and he quickly obliged. He either didn’t hear me or just wanted to get me in trouble with Bret’s skank army, because before I knew it I was being glowered at by a girl who bruskly informed me that was Her Chair. I smiled and apologized, but the only thing I got in return was her pushing it under the table and dancing in front of it. Some people’s parents do not teach their kids to share, and I was not about to be the one to explain it to her so inched away.

Bret came onstage before a shoulder-sitting, lighter-holding, girly-screaming crowd absolutely wild for him. He gave us some “Sweet Home Alabama,” since it was the first CD he “borrowed” from Sears, “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door," "Look at What The Cat Dragged In," the ever so serenadeable “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” and a little “Somethin’ To Believe In.”

Rock of Love was airing throughout Bret's set, and it was imperative for me to know who he picked at the end of the show. I moved into the pool room and listened to him rock out. The show wrapped as he finished his set (SPOILER ALERT: Ew, he picked Ambre. I would have lost a bet on this one). I wandered back into the main room hoping I might bask in Bret's presence and, maybe, snag a leg-humping photo op. Alas, he was nowhere to be found.

I did, however, spot something akin to a Yeti, though I was unable to get a photo: Bodyguard Big John. These boobs weren’t made for talkin’, so I silently squealed and made my way into the parking lot, knowing that when I go to bed tonight I can do so with visions of Bret and Big John dancing in my head. (Dominique LaJeunesse)

SXSW Clips: It's ... Computers

[Music Festing] My friend Chris took a bunch of cool video footage of various SXSW performances with his fancy schmancy camera. He won the technology race, with me trailing a distant 3,092.

Check it


(Jamie Gadette)

SXSW '08: Day 4

[Music Festing] I decided to wrap up my SXSW experience at Waterloo Park Saturday for the second annual Mess With Texas party, a free event open to the public featuring three stages of music, comedy and musical comedy. I stood, unwisely sunscreen-free, for three hours at the Super Deluxe stage to laugh my ass off with comedians Eugene Mirman, Brian Posehn (who lost his voice and had Mirman translate his set), Human Giant, Paul F. Tompkins, Leo Allen (whose vegan jokes received an icy reception. Come on! Baby Sauce is funny), Hard N' Phirm (who reminded us in a stirring power ballad that "anything is possible ... unless you're a girl") and others.

At Waterloo, I also caught Grand Ole Party, a San Diego trio with a killer female vocalist/drummer whose soul-punk delivery got half of the hungover, heat-stroked crowd to at least attempt to boogie. Atlas Sound followed shortly thereafter and though I was never a fan of Bradford Cox's former project Deerhunter (seeing him throw a hissy fit at last year's SXSW soured any interest I might have had in the experimental indie rockers), they absolutely entranced with cool atmospheric compositions that tempered the blazing afternoon sun.

I later ditched the windy Waterloo dustbowl, passing up a chance to see The Breeders (who are coming to The Depot May 27) and Thurston Moore to watch a deceased legend on the big screen. I joined SLUG's Angela Brown and Rebecca Vernon for a screening of the Joy Division documentary Closer at the Alamo Ritz, a former concert venue turned pool hall turned cinema pub (sort of a cross between Brewvies and The Tower). Angela's SXSW buddy Chase recounted stories of getting maced in the pit now outfitted with cushy front tier seats. Things change, he said with a shrug. At least it didn't meet the fate of another Austin venue which now operates as a credit union. And at least it's not just rotting like our dead Zephyr.

Closer helped put SXSW into perspective. "One of the last true stories in pop," the journey of Joy Division is absolutely rooted in context. Without the bleak, economically depressed confines of 70s-80s Manchester, the boys to men who formed the band might have simply ended up selling life insurance--or working at a credit union. Instead, they did the only thing that brought them any kind of vibrancy. They made music. At first badly, then well, then ground-breaking. Their sound enjoyed a completely organic evolution free of today's pressure to sell out and conform. Toward the end of Closer, the filmmakers toss in images of Joy Division's posthumous branding: the iconic cover art of Unknown Pleasures, for example, now affixed to skateboards for mass distribution.

At SXSW, no surface is safe from sponsorship logos. And the communities that informed featured acts' sounds are largely forgotten in the crazy kaleidescope of Sixth Street. Watching 1,500 groups perform at foreign venues lends a disjointed quality to the festival. Most of the time you walk into a bar not knowing the band's history. What's their hometown like? Is it industrial and depressed like Manchester? Wide open like the cornfields of Nebraska? Does each member play in five other bands like a typical Salt Lake City group? It might not seem important, but sometimes it helps to understand what a band is going for. It helps to read between the lines. Consider the fact the Joy Division's bi-polar, epileptic lead singer left pretty obvious clues about his clinical depression in his dark lyrics before he hung himself in May 1980.

Imagine seeing Joy Division as an unknown at SXSW. Would you stay or walk away (in silence) to catch the next group over?

Of course, like speed dating, there's something exhilarating about seeing 30-40 bands in four days. You get a good idea of what's out there. And who knows what might have become of Joy Division if they'd made their first U.S. tour and maybe heard something that changed the way they thought about music.

My night ended on a bittersweet note when a bartender gave my debit card to a woman named "Janine," which I suppose sounds very similar to "Jamie" in a loud, crowded bar. Sadly, "Janine" apparently skipped town. But I still had my ID and a coveted badge so I went across the street to see Jason Collett at the Parish. The Broken Social Scene guitarist did not disappoint. Turns out his band is equally talented, especially the lead guitar player. Wouldn't be surprised if he came out with his own project any day now. You can read my review of Collett's latest album here.

Oh, and I found this footage from the Muncipal Waste show on Day 3. Now you know what a Wall of Death looks like.



(Jamie Gadette)

SXSW '08: Day 3

[Music Festing] Sometimes you have to travel out of state to discover what you missed you in your own backyard. Friday's SXSW experience reinforced my belief in Salt Lake City's music scene as local trio Iota emerged as one of the week's standout acts during a showcase for their label Small Stone Records.

While familiar with their recorded material, I’m now pretty embarrassed to admit I’d never seen them live before two-thirds of the group took the stage at Austin’s Room 710 for an 8 p.m. time slot. I say two-thirds because current drummer Andy Patterson ran into a bit of random legal trouble traveling back to Utah from a Denver show earlier this week. Unable to join the rest of his band mates in Texas, Patterson sent warm wishes via text while Iota’s Joey and Oz recruited label mate Sasquatch’s drummer to fill in at the last minute. He practiced with them for the first time about six hours before their SXSW gig, which in most scenarios would result in one hell of a sloppy set. Iota proved themselves to be pros, easily adapting to the unexpected lineup shift with impressive ease.

They ripped through a handful of extended stoner-rock jams with bluesy overtones while a crowd half-filled with Salt Lake City locals (it was a small audience—8 p.m. isn’t the most coveted time slot, unfortunately), cheered, nodded their heads and, in the case of one Xur member, raised his PBR can like a fist of solidarity. Iota succeeded largely by avoiding masturbatory noodling, showing off their killer skills without too much noodling around. In fact, Joey and Oz evidenced tremendous chemistry, playing off each other, at times facing off with dueling bass/guitar.

At the show, I met up with former SLC musician Mike Incze (Sherlock, Victrola, V-Vast) who now lives in Brooklyn. He came to SXSW to play pedal-steel with NY band The End of the World whose final showcase goes off tonight at BD Riley’s. Mike and I left Iota for Bourbon Rocks to check out the Sub Pop showcase. We arrived just in time for Pissed Jeans, a Portland trio with destructive and deconstructive punk leanings. The lead singer lived up to his reputation for not giving a good goddamn about appearances or socially appropriate behavior—a welcome stance after a long day of standing around with one too many pretentious, self-absorbed hipsters, heads up their asses and Blackberries.

Canada’s Handsome Furs performed next and made good on their stunning debut Plague Park. The husband-wife duo (Wolf Parade’s Dan Boeckner and wife/artist Alexei Perry) threw themselves into every pulsating number, with Perry navigating the sprawling mass of drum machinery and Boeckner reclaiming his throne as one of today’s most compelling vocalists. Sounding both hollow and passionate, he smeared a thick layer of romantic gloom over tales of decaying cities and greed (dedicating “Legal Tender” to current buzz band Vampire Weekend. Hmm …). Handsome Furs killed with cunning wit and searing passion, tossing out several new and improved songs off their forthcoming follow-up to Park.

After that rush, we ran to Red 7 for the tail-end of hyped underground emcee Dalek whose industrial beats carried the same eerie vibe of a Doomtree track. The night topped off at the Billions Booking showcase with Devotchka and Constantines. Devotchka, currently riding a wave of overdue critical acclaim, maintained the lively gypsy roots that have always helped them stand out. Only these days the multi-instrumentalists—several audience members marveled at what they now know is a theremin—are much more polished (though not at all too slick). Nick Urata rummaged through the depths of his soul—and an onstage bottle of wine—to deliver material off their new Anti release and a few older numbers including a hit off Little Miss Sunshine in his haunting, sometimes anguished voice.

Canada’s Constantines (what did I tell you about this country? Love ‘em!) absolutely brought down the house and for the remaining few who managed to stay standing for the 1 a.m. set managed to raise the bar even higher than the one they set on stellar albums. Looking quite a bit younger than I expected—especially the singer whose voice can be hoarse and gruff with traces of a long storied life hanging to the chords like tough bits of grit—they ripped through songs off Tournament of Hearts and Shine a Light plus a few new tunes from a highly anticipated forthcoming release. They finished up with a cover of AC/DC’s Thunderstruck, which pretty much sums up how I felt as we cleared the bottle-strewn room. RAWK! (Jamie Gadette)

SXSW '08: Day 2

[Musicfesting] "We are family!" Sister Sledge's hottest hit ran through my head last night as Doomtree brought the noise to SXSW. The Minneapolis hip-hop collective--entire crew assembled out of state for the first time ever—is the very definition of family. Watching them perform, you understand they’ve got each other’s backs. They’d throw down for each other. Die for each other. At Austin’s Marq Cocktail Lounge, they delivered beats and rhymes for each other. Fab Five Freddy (!) randomly stopped by and asked Doomtree if he could introduce them. What?! Like any self-respecting hip-hop head would turn him down!

Mike Mictlan (with Paper Tiger) then kicked things off a little after 7 p.m. with a lively set of tight tracks from his forthcoming album Hand Over Fist, trying his best to warm up the crowd—still frigid from too little liquid courage. Mictlan repeatedly encouraged his timid audience to show some love by flashing the Doomtree sign—hands spread, crossed like wings. Broken wings. Cecil Otter followed, looking all dapper in a black fedora and cuffed jeans. A smooth operator, no doubt, his flow had an enticing and unsettling effect—like you’d take him home but sleep with one eye open.

Dessa stepped up after Otter and absolutely blew away the now-ample Marq audience. Tall and striking with skills to burn, the sole female Doomtree member exercised impressive control and restraint with material that could very easily spin out of control and over the top. Her set proved that, above all else, Doomtree are survivors. They’ve clearly seen hard times and are all the stronger for it. Even though Dessa probably could have beat down any one in the crowd, she revealed past weaknesses and insecurities. She confessed a need to use the mic stand as crutch when singing (not rhyming or slamming poetry), and hopped up on the bar to sit down for an absolutely gorgeous ballad.

Sims successfully bridged the audience/performer gap by forming a circle around him in the middle of the room. Suddenly wallflowers found their groove, started to bounce and throw their hands in the air “like we don’t care anymore.” His best number was a little ditty he once wrote in 10 minutes and initially deemed sub par before friends proclaimed it solid gold. P.O.S. took Sims’ lead, reforming a circle. By now the crowd was pumped and completely stoked on Doomtree.

Since the showcase was open to the public and not well publicized (apparently added to the festival at the last minute), the majority of the crowd was made up of Austin locals who likely learned about the event on MySpace. Gotta love the Internet. Or not. It’s kind of a double-edged sword. P.O.S. started with a disclaimer: “Most of these songs are new ones” off the forthcoming album (highly anticipated follow up to 2005’s Audition) tentatively (hopefully) coming out this Fall. “So if these songs end up on YouTube tomorrow … ah, I probably won’t do anything.” But the implication was clear—leaking material is not cool, man.

P.O.S. (with Turbo Nemesis on beats) tossed in a fair share of older favorites including “Stand Up (Let’s Get Murdered),” “Paul Kersey to Jack Kimball” and “”Half-Cocked Concepts.” Staying true to his genre-bending style, P.O.S. just keeps getting faster, stronger—deftly manipulating whiplash tongue and wit. I checked out three hours into the showcase—hunger and metal called—but I can safely say Doomtree’s producers (including Lazerbeak and, I think, MK Larada) continued to blow away their diehard fans (old and new). Do yourself a favor and look them up.

I met up with SLUG queens Angela Brown and Rebecca Vernon for some metal action at Emo’s Annex. Richmond, Virginia’s Municipal Waste made good on nearly every metal cliché, with a man dressed as a wizard—pointy hat, fake long beard, wooden staff—who occasionally came onstage with the band’s “Inebriator”—a tricked-out beer bong with a grisly skull cup—to quench worthy fans’ thirst. Another member of the band’s entourage climbed up on a raised speaker, shimmied into a plastic garbage can and threw himself onto the crowd. But the thrashing mosh pit wasn’t enough for Municipal Waste’s lead singer who demanded the crowd form a “death wall” and charge at each other from both ends. They, of course, complied. Top that off with songs about terror sharks and “beer” pressure and what else do you need? The best part about metal—besides the noise—is its exaggerated theatrics. You’ve got to love the drama.

Oakland’s High on Fire wrapped up my evening with some of the loudest shit I’ve ever heard (besides, strangely, Jeff Beck at Kingsbury Hall!). The shirt-less lead singer/guitarist summoned Luficer for killer beastly vocals that sounded otherworldly from the sidelines. Then again, perhaps I wasn’t the best judge of sound quality at the point. I left before their last song and realized too late that I should have worn earplugs. It’s not a good sign when you can still hear the band loud and clear four blocks away from the venue.

Here’s to more metal (with Salt Lake City’s Iota!) and other assorted musical shenanigans today/tonight! Stay tuned … (Jamie Gadettte)

SXSW '08: Day 1

[Music Festing] Depending on whom you ask, City Weekly either came to its senses or lost its mind when the paper decided to send me to Austin, Texas for the annual South by Southwest music festival. Ace CW marketing director Annie Quan is here as well, scouting out the territory for reasons I’m not privy to disclose. Let your imagination run wild.

We arrived yesterday on Delta’s one direct flight to Austin. SLUG editor/publisher Angela Brown joined us on the cramped commuter plane as the ridiculously small vehicle floundered about through troubling turbulence. Paranoid and superstitious as always, I imagined the next day’s headlines describing the fiery plane crash that engulfed several young members of the Utah media. Fortunately, infamy escaped us and we landed just in time to grab a bite and hit downtown Austin for music, music and more music.

Wednesday was the only day I didn’t map out beforehand. With roughly 1,500 bands performing four days worth of showcases, it can be difficult to decide which one merits your attention. The sheer volume of festival-worthy acts necessitates a certain amount of humility on the part of featured musicians. Badge holders stand before the stage often with an almost confrontational look as if to say, “Show me why you matter.” This can be frustrating even to bystanders like myself who, during Hopewell’s set last night for example, have to put up with nerdy pricks leaning against the wall (arms folded of course) announcing that they are just “waiting for these guys to finish whacking off before Witch plays.” Of course, they were referring to the stoner metal band currently featuring J. Mascis on drums but judging by their posturing they probably only give a shit because some hip blogger told them that Dinosaur Jr. is God.

Hopewell ignored the crowd and got down to business. The seasoned Brooklyn professionals segued seamlessly from one Eastern-tinged rock number to the next, the guitarists thrusting their instruments in unison while the keyboardist tickled some classical shit on the ivories. Sure, the lead singer—dressed head to almost toe in bright white—looked like a tampon, but man he got killer tone out of his (what else) white guitar. And, dude knows how to work an effects pedal.

Speaking of effects, Wednesday’s absolute knockout, standout manipulated their instruments with a slew of pedals, boards and thingamabobs (hey, never claimed to be a techie). Brooklyn’s Dub Trio came to Salt Lake City on Feb. 19, but I missed them because I am lame. Someone up there must have my best interests in mind for a second live show to land in my lap—truly ear-splitting, mind-blowing greatness. Dub Trio is on Ipecac Recordings, home to the deliciously wicked musical misfit Mike Patton, and the next generation of forward-thinking label mates is doing him proud. Dub Trio is more metal, less dancehall reggae. They incorporate dub, using it to break up otherwise relentlessly driving riffs, letting it all hang out before snapping it shut, recoiling into precise rhythms. The band—robotic drummer and all—is a machine. A sex machine, that is. The whole experience honestly sort of turned me on.

The night ended with a set by San Francisco’s Von Iva, an all-female trio fusing organic and electronic elements into a—to copy a line from one of their songs—“soul-shaking, love-making, body-manipulating” blitz. Pulsing, throbbing, oozing sex, the lead singer Jillian Iva shimmied and strutted, climbed the walls and shouted to the rafters. It would have been a whole lot cooler without the pervy old dudes leering at her from the front row. One aqualung kept taking photos of the trio while they were setting up. Another almost lost his shit when Jillian stepped from the stage and straddled his shoulder, forcing him to carry her as long as his little limbs could hold up.

Tonight, I’ve got my sights set on Bon Iver, Black Mountain, El-P, Pink Nasty, Constantines, Ra Ra Riot…but who knows how the night will end? Stay tuned. (Jamie Gadette)

Archie vs. Eva

[National Karaoke Crisis] More has been made of the possibility that Utah's David Archuleta borrowed his musical arrangement of John Lennon's "Imagine" from the late Eva Cassidy on American Idol last week than the fact that he jumped right to a verse free of all the nasty god stuff. Yes, karaoke is a cruel mistress.

How similar are the arrangements? Here's Archie, then Eva:





(Bill Frost)

Oscars: The Underdogs

[Music] Unlike the Grammys, this year's Oscars awards ceremony left little to be desired (save a win for Paul Thomas Anderson, without whom Daniel Day Lewis would never have produced the mind-blowing performance that snagged him a golden statue), with relative unknowns and newcomers emerging victorious.

For me, the most exciting moment occured when Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova won Best Song for "Falling Slowly" from the film Once. I had the opportunity to interview the pair (now openly a romantic couple. At the time they kept their romance under wraps, ostensibly because Irglova was somewhere around 19 and Hansard in his 30s. I thought something was up, but chalked up their obvious chemistry to shared passion for music) two years ago when the unconventional love story debuted at Sundance. Humble, polite and down to earth, they were a breath of fresh air in a pretentious celeb-filled festival. Quality people making positive music! If you like what you heard last night, pick up a copy of The Swell Season and mark your calendars for May 2 when the duo hits Salt Lake City to play The Depot.

Here's a clip from the movie. Tell me this doesn't break your heart, just a little.



(Jamie Gadette)

Speaking of the Grammys

[Music] Last night's Grammy Awards on CBS was the third-least-watched of the telecast's 50-year history--even with the possibility of a Kanye West loser meltdown (no dice, he won). The show was so damn dull, I say it should have earned at least second place, but that's just me.

John Saltas disagrees (to put in mildly), but I say the only highlight of last night's Grammys was Amy Winehouse's live-and-loose-from-London medley of "I'm No Good/Rehab," video below. Dig the look in her eyes when she sings the "Rehab" chorus, priceless.



Have a favorite performance/moment from the show? Think Amy Winehouse sucked? Comment away ... (Bill Frost)

Sundance: Thursday Night Freeze-a-thon

[Fest Music] Dear reader, I understand that blogging is supposed to be an instantaneous form of communication. So, please forgive me for the absurd gap between the time the events detailed in this blog actually happened, and the time it took me to post this account.

Thanks to the fates conspiring against me, I only made it up to Park City once during Sundance. And I didn't get to see Patti Smith or Neil Young. I froze my ASS off and paid $20 to park my car. But it was still fun.

Despite going up early last Thursday, and wielding a pass, I didn't get into the Star bar AT ALL. That's okay. The Star Bar is like an underground prison with creepy red lighting. I waited in line for almost 4 hours in a snowstorm to see Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young and they didn't even end up playing.

I did have some CHOICE celebrity sightings while I was waiting in that never ending line, being pelted with snow.

If I were an ethic-less celebrity gossip journalist, I would have received a promotion. I guess I'm crossing the line by posting this blog.

Sigh....

I saw a very grizzled, angry looking Alec Baldwin (the years have not been kind to him, friends) carrying a mystery baby. The devil on my shoulder told me to snap a picture and sell it to the National Enquirer, but the angel (who always wins) said "naw, that poor man has suffered enough... let him walk by in peace with his secret love child."

Next I spotted British actor David Thewlis chatting away on his cell phone. I've seen him in many films and I think he's an incredible actor. He's quite striking in person.

The BEST (hint of sarcasm) was a visibly inebriated David Crosby in an ankle-length brown fur coat and hat walking against traffic in the middle of the street with a dazed expression on his face. Eventually, a team of handlers got a hold of him, and I saw them escort him in the other direction.

In all fairness, perhaps David Crosby has dementia. Isn’t that sad when the best case scenario is dementia?

Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young were SUPPOSED to play the Star Bar, but they canceled at the last minute. The door guy said it was because they "couldn't make it up the canyon," (bullshit!!!) but I think the real story is that Jolly Old Saint Lit (that would be David Crosby) got totally shit housed and the rest of the band decided not to go on without him. Apparently Neil Young played guitar for one song and Graham Nash sang backup vocals with a fellow named Josh Hisle. Stephen Stills was MIA.

Oh, David Crosby!!! You’re breaking my heart!!! I love your music, I love your voice... but after 35 years, AND a liver transplant can't you get yourself together and sober up? You’re not going to get another liver. Poor David. I think he needs a little help from Dr. Drew.

My Thursday night wasn’t a total bust. I ended up seeing an excellent Bloodshot Records alt-country band called Ha Ha Tonka on the Main Stage. It was frightfully cold (the Main Stage is OUTSIDE at NIGHT), but I’ve never attended a show with a square-dancing pit (!), so I’m glad I braved the weather.

I will say that the media often romanticizes events like Sundance. I PROMISE you... You will ALWAYS have more fun attending small shows and parties with cool, interesting, funny, INTELLIGENT people who you KNOW, friends who you care about, than all of those industry ass clowns had @ Harry O's all festival long. Keep that in mind next time you watch TMZ... (Jenny Poplar)

Sundance: BMI Snowball Showcase

[Fest Music] Last night I ventured up the canyon, an hour later than planned, to attend the BMI Snowball Showcase. The evening's scheduled performers included Cheb i Sabbah with Salar Nader, Mitch Hyare and special guest Gingger Shankar, Steve Smith from Dirty Vegas, Devotchka's Nick Urata and headliners The Aggrolites. To be honest, I was only familiar with Devotchka, but decided to brave another evening on Main Street since BMI was kind enough to invite me and three friends out to the event, held at the spacious Kimball Art Center--emphasis on spacious. For some reason, tiny clubs are the new hard-to-find clubs. Last Saturday I went to a party in a shoe store! A shoe store.

We left after 15 minutes of bumping into one too many puffy coats.

We hoped to arrive at the BMI show promptly at 6, have a drink or two, then grab some dinner elsewhere. Instead, we arrived at the Park City's Albertson's parking lot at 7, only to find out someone is charging a $100 flat fee for the chance to park there. Ridiculous. So we drove around like out-of-town newbies until a snow-crusted mound looked good enough to precariously mount the Subaru. What next? Oh, dancing across unpaved sidewalks trying to find a shuttle stop. We finally accessed one that was headed in the opposite direction from our destination, but figured it would circle back eventually. Heck, it was warm and I'd chosen form over function for the evening's attire.

When we finally arrived at the Kimball Art Center, we discovered a long line clustered around the entrance. Oh man. Not again! We stood there for about 10 minutes before I swallowed my pride and approached the BMI rep at the door. "Um, don't you know who I am?" I thought I said. I probably said something more like, "Um, hi. It's Jamie, do you remember me. The humble servant of the press?" Much to my surprise, she let us in right away. Woohoo! We missed the first two acts, but had a chance to grab some wine before Nick Urata took the stage. Before he came on, the emcee requested that the audience keep it down or go into another room to chat. It was refreshing to hear someone treat musicians with respect at a festival that so often turns bands into sideshows.

Urata was humble and amazing. He apologized in advance for failing to compare to the usual spectacle his eight-piece band puts on, then launched into a series of romantic ballads that were free of cliches and somewhat haunting in an old-soul type of way. He switched up his guitars, manipulated them using effects pedals, and just nearly shut up the crowd (who just couldn't stop themselves from murmuring at least a little, as you can tell from the brief footage here).

The Aggrolites came on right about the time the bar ran out (!) of wine. Either organizers were unprepared, or there were a whole lot of lushes boozing it up. I got up close for what I thought would be a sweaty, punk-fueled affair, but quickly realized the tight band was set on a more mellow performance. A few diehards in the crowd shook their fists in the air and modestly skanked to the restrained reggae/ska. Good stuff, but nothing all too memorable. Perhaps The Aggrolites were holding back for the industry event?

All in all, a good Sundance experience. We left the party to grab some grub off Main with our friend Patrick, who is working with local filmmakers Steven Greenstreet and Bryan Young on a documentary about (in a nutshell) obesity. Keep an eye out for the film which is in its final stages of development. Young says the soundtrack will feature material from several Salt Lake City bands, so you know you'll be hearing more about it from me. (Jamie Gadette)

Sundance: Rock Band vs. Rock Band

[Fest Music] Ahh Sundance, how you fail to surprise us. Last year and the year prior, I covered music for City Weekly's daily festival updates. It was a mixed bag of freezing temperatures, shitty stuck-up celebs, friendly and not-so friendly club owners, and some truly amazing music performances.

Both years, I returned to the valley feeling a little empty. Bands who put their heart and soul into their Sundance performances were often met with indifference--especially at random parties where the people in attendance cared more about free Socko and vodka or how hot they looked than the headlining act providing background sounds for their inept behavior.

I remember watching Broken Social Scene from behind a sectioned off "VIP" area placed directly in front of the stage. Of course, all of the people inside the "VIP" area had their backs turned to the Canadian collective. What a waste. I bring this up because I'm planning to head up to PC tonight to see the Aggrolites at a BMI party (by the way, BMI's representatives are some of the nicest, most accomodating people I've met during past festivals) and am feeling kind of ambivalent about it all.

Last week, Salt Lake City's Future of the Ghost performed at a Sundance party in one of Park City's bars, temporarily branded by several corporate imprints. The band had to basically force their way onstage, then wait until the folks playing Rock Band (the videogame which allows users to pretend they're musicians) finished up and made room for the three-piece indie group. What? Why even hire a band to perform? Why not hire a DJ or better yet, leave the audience members to talk amongst themselves (since they obviously love the sound of their voices). Needless to say, it was the Future of the Ghost's worst show to date.

Here's some footage of them performing for people who give a shit:



Check out Future of the Ghost at Velour for the SLAMMys showcase, also featuring Seve vs. Evan and Kid Theodore.

I'll let you know how the Aggrolites show turns out. Fingers crossed (Jamie Gadette)