I'm on fire. Literally

Oh, laborious. How you tortured me so. The last true party weekend of the season decides to do double duty as the hottest weekend of the year, too. Would that stop me from making my appointed rounds? But of course not, my sexy friends.

Sunday night brought the big Chromatics show at the Echo. Way more people are into these Portland art-rockers than I realized. Maybe it was our DJ buddies at Part Time Punks pulling the crowd. Either way, by the time Ruth and the boys hit the stage, there were a lot of people queued up to watch them play.

Staying true to the monotonic ice hipstress persona she’s cultivated on Chromatics recordings, Ruth (that's her in the picture) stood stock still the entire time. Dressed in a purple dress, black belt and stilettos, she would occasionally sway from side to side and maybe stare blankly at someone in the crowd. But that’s it. The band (guitar, bass, drums—what, no synth player?), faithfully cranked out the tunes, with “In The City” and “Hands in the Dark (Dark Day)” standing as their strongest numbers (you can find both on the awesome “After Dark” compilation, released on the equally sweet Italians Do It Better label).

Jessie was not feeling it at all. "Infuriating" was the word she used.

"Performing is like sex," she fumed. "It's her responsibility to give the audience something more. She's supposed to fuck them back."

The crowd, on the other hand, ate it up. I definitely enjoyed a sizable taste of my own. On the way out, I eagerly snapped up a copy of a special limited edition 12-inch of “In The City.” Getting it home, I was so excited to discover that it comes with an a cappella version, a killer minimal remix that’s borderline ghetto, and then, the piece de resistance: A deadpan cover of Springsteen’s 1985 single “I’m on Fire.” The perfect soundtrack for the hottest weekend I’ve ever had to endure in L.A. Keep burnin', y'all.

Deerhunter don’t want to hurt you

Indie’s most controversial new heroes only want to have some fun

When it comes to the Atlanta band Deerhunter, there’s precious little sentiment left to express, positive or negative, that hasn’t already been heaped on their narrow little shoulders. Christened by fans and critics alike as one of the most important new acts in years, Deerhunter is just as passionately derided as a shock-fueled sham, with sheep-like hipsters on their team only because it’s the cool thing to do.

A listen to their most recent releases, including full-length “Cryptograms” and the “Fluorescent Grey” EP would bear out the band’s champions. Dense, sprawling, and overrun with more ideas than many band’s come up with their entire careers, both discs are loaded with raw, visceral songs that work double-time to maintain an equal balance of chaos and beauty.

But it’s the band’s live shows that have made them the talk of the American indie scene. When I caught them open up for the Ponys at a packed Echo club earlier this year, I saw something I hadn’t seen in a very long time: an audience genuinely shocked by what they were seeing.

When they took the stage, Deerhunter’s imposing frontman Bradford Cox appeared wearing a flowered housedress and a massive, spidery black wig that looked like an exaggerated take on Patti Smith’s haircut from the cover of “Horses.” The music was nothing short of a maelstrom; a whipping whirlwind of layered drones and Cox’s reverberated incantations. The Patti Smith wig seemed apt, as I could easily imagine this band playing a set between her and say, Television at CBGB’s in 1977.

With Deerhunter headlining this year’s most impressive Fuck Yeah Fest line-up, it was imperative that I get with Mr. Cox for the truth behind one of the year’s most provocative contenders.

The most recent news out of the Deerhunter camp is the story of you and guitarist Lockett Pundt getting robbed at gunpoint outside of a show at Atlanta club Lenny’s. Is it that bad of an area, or were you guys just in the wrong place at the wrong time?
It was wrong place, wrong time. It is a bad part of Atlanta, but the club Lenny’s itself is not unsafe, and ever since the robbery they’ve had cops patrolling every single night. I don’t blame the club. The show was sold out, and we had to park far away.

Does Deerhunter stand out in the Atlanta music scene, or do you have other kindred spirit bands to run around with?
We run around with the Black Lips, make out with them and stuff.

Your live shows have become quite notorious. What’s your inspiration to get onstage every night?
Someone like Patti Smith. A lot of times it’s just personal stuff that I dredge up. It’s like when I go bowling with Lockett, which we do every Sunday night. Before we bowl, I’ll think of something that really hurts my feelings. It gets me all emotional, and I’ll usually throw a strike.

It’s funny that you mention Patti Smith. When I saw you at the Echo, the wig you had on reminded me of her.
That wig was my Patti Smith homage. I’ve stopped wearing the dresses and wigs, though. I want to see if people are still interested in seeing me perform just as myself.

What inspired you to wear the dresses and wigs in the first place?
It was just fun. I’ve always worn dresses, ever since I was a little boy. I just like how tall, awkward boys look in dresses. Plus one of my best friends Kristen and I would go shopping for the dresses, and it was just a fun thing to do with her. It wasn’t about shocking people or anything.

What surprised me was just how shocked that Echo audience was by your show
It’s really funny how easy it is to shock people. I think it’s overestimated how much joy I get from it, though. It’s not my life’s work to be a freak, you know?

That must be a powerful feeling though
It can be. I’m usually thinking too much about myself to notice. I mean that in a self-critical sense. I’m so absorbed in my own mental drama to see the crowd. I love the audience, and I love meeting them afterwards. I even like the people that hate us. They help make it fun, too.

I hear from lots of your fans that it took them awhile to “get” your music. Do you feel like Deerhunter is difficult?
I think it’s easy to not get us. I don’t try to make it that way. People think we’re going for one thing, when actually we’re going for something else. Plus what I’m going for changes all the time. We’re an ADD-type band, with so much happening at once. I can understand why people can have a hard time with it. People like things that are easier to digest.

How would you characterize Deerhunter’s sound?
I think it’s pop music.

What is it that you’re going for that you feel people are missing?
The pop element. The friendliness and fun of it. We’re not trying to be pretentious rock star dickheads. We’re just awkward kids. I’m not shy, but the other guys are. But they’re cute, and I’m kind of not, so it’s weird. If the cuties weren’t so shy, we’d be mega-taking shit over. I’m totally just kidding, by the way. It kind of keeps us in check.

It does sound like you’re getting into prettier, more melodic music
We’re doing more covers, and I’ve started to do DJ mixes, just to show people better where we’re coming from.

What do you play when you DJ?
The Everly Brothers, old doo-wop records. It gives people more of an idea of…

Yes?
Oh, sorry. I’m playing online poker while I talk to you.

Are you good at it?
Oh, yeah. I just made bank a few minutes ago.

Do you win real money?
I have before, but I had to stop because I had an addiction. I get addicted to things really easily. You win a few times, and it’s hard to stop.

Are you a big internet person?
Yeah, I am now, ever since Deerhunter became my full-time job. After the first big tour behind “Cryptograms,” my job was like “We love you to death, but it’s time that you move on.” I just wasn’t around enough. I worked at a graphic design firm. I’m a designer. I’m really proud of the packaging (of “Cryptograms”). It was done with my friend Susan Archie. I just did all of the art for the Atlas Sound record (Cox’s solo side project). It should come out early next year. I’ve put together a band and we’re going to tour behind it.

I was just going to ask you about Atlas Sound. How did that come about, and how is it different than Deerhunter?
Atlas Sound has been going on forever. I love Deerhunter. It’s my pride and joy, and it pays my rent. But like, I have a different way of approaching bass lines or beats or whatever, so with Atlas Sound I get to do more of a hybrid, with ambient electronics next to some 1960s garage pop. It’s an opportunity for me to be more schizophrenic in my songwriting, and to have fun with recording techniques.

What are your impressions of L.A.?
I love Los Angeles. I’ve been out there a lot lately, working on a project with a friend.

Is it something you can talk about?
Not really. I can say that I’ve been helping my friend out on a film score, but that’s all I can say.

How would you characterize the typical Deerhunter fan?
It goes without saying, awesome people! Awesome, sweet kids looking for something that a little scarier than someone like the Arcade Fire.

I’d never heard of Marfan Syndrome (characterized by elongated limbs and cardiovascular issues), which you were diagnosed with as a child. Is it rare?
It’s not rare at all. Lots of people have it. I have it pretty severely, though.

Is it something you deal with on your own, or do you talk to other people that have it?
Since it’s come out that I have it, lots of fans have come up to tell me that they found out they had it because of me. This one kid emailed me to say that after reading about me, both he and his dad got tested and they both had it. So that kind of thing has been pretty gratifying. Joey Ramone had it, too.

Is it difficult to live with?
It hurts your self-esteem. I look pretty ugly because of it. There are heart issues, too. I don’t feel sorry for myself.

There have got to be plenty of people that find you attractive
I’ve never met them. Maybe someday, you know? There are people attracted to the conceptual me, the character. But the way I am onstage is not how I am in real life. I’m definitely not a sociopath sitting around my house in a dress jerking off to child porn.

Close Encounters of the Disco Kind

The Daft Punk show at the Los Angeles Sports Arena on 7/21/07 was quite possibly the greatest concert event of my life. For once, words fail me. Kind of like everything awesome you could possibly think of all happening at once? All hail the kings of robot disco. Simply amazing...

The Polyphonic Spree, The Fragile Army (Warner Bros.)

Texas big love cult is still guided by voices
Up to 27 members strong, the sprawling collective known as the Polyphonic Spree has blazed a singular path through the recent musical landscape. Emerging from the ashes of Tripping Daisy in Dallas, Texas, the band was formed by singer/conceptualist Tim DeLaughter and his wife, Julie Doyle. Outfitted in matching robes, the large symphonic sound produced by so many people on stage (including a 10-person choir) turned them into concert favorites, attracting hordes of fans to their "Up With People" perspective. But the band's unorthodoxy has also been a hindrance, from the impracticality of touring to accusations of contrivance.

For their third full-length release, DeLaughter and company face the reality of the modern world with their brightly-colored robes replaced by matching black uniforms emblazoned with hearts and crosses. The Fragile Army finds the Polyphonic Spree still preaching the power of the positive ("Running Away"), set to grand, orchestral productions that recall the Fifth Dimension if they'd been produced by Electric Light Orchestra's Jeff Lynne. They pull out a few new tricks, like the clunky disco of "Mental Cabaret," which plays like the Go! Team covering the Brady Bunch's "Sunshine Day."

At times reminiscent of an even more zealous Flaming Lips (thanks to DeLaughter's yelping voice and vocal inflections similar to the Lips' Wayne Coyne), grandiose productions like "Guaranteed Nitelite" bring the album to an emotional peak before down-shifting into the minimal electro swing of "Light To Follow." It gets even more interesting with the urgent piano crescendos of "Watch Us Explode (Justify)," and the Bowie-esque emoting of "Overblow Your Nest."

Ending the album on the galloping exuberance of "The Championship" keeps the Polyphonic Spree's M.O. intact: Big productions, big ideas, big sounds, and big big love.

Subject: Georgia, First Day of Summer, 2007, Los Angeles, CA

"This is the most fun I've ever had in a museum. It's even better than the time I fell asleep in the Louvre."

Subject: Jack White, The Last Day of Spring, 2007, Los Angeles, CA

"Let's hear it for non-disposable music."

White Stripes, Icky Thump (Warner Bros.)

5-star effort reinvents classic rock with an eye on the masses
Over five albums, Detroit duo the White Stripes have maintained a doggedly traditional stance, mining dusty Americana influences to inspire their cathartic garage-rock blues. With each successive release both more experimental and popular than the one previous, Jack and Meg White have been able to explore a myriad of styles while building an enviable position in the rapidly imploding music industry. By staying true to their original minimalist model, the Stripes have not-so-quietly become one of the (if not the) biggest bands in the world.

With their sixth full-length album, the White Stripes are going for the gold, crafting an explosive collection of classic rock that plays like it's still 1975 and they're in heavy rotation between Led Zeppelin and the Allman Brothers. The title cut opens the show like AC/DC reimagining Led Zeppelin II as done by Iron Butterfly, with Jack spitting some of his most caustic and socially conscious lyrics yet.

"Conquest" retools the Patti Page standard into a horn-blasted mariachi jam that recalls the energy of "Fell in Love with a Girl" and results in one of the album's giddiest moments. "Little Cream Soda" rocks with a similar proto-metal crunch as "Thump," with Jack's stream of consciousness ranting battling his massive distortion-saturated guitar riffs for space in the maelstrom. Meg's fans are acknowledged with her vocalizing on the spoken-word free-for-all "St. Andrew (This Battle Is in the Air)" and some campy call-and-response bantering with Jack on the raucous "Rag & Bone."

Jack's time in the more straightforward Raconteurs shows up on "You Don't Know What Love Is (You Just Do As You're Told)," which is among the most pedestrian tracks he's ever penned for the Stripes. But there seems to be a method to his madness, with songs like these feeling ready-made for more mainstream outlets than the Stripes have yet to tread, like modern country radio.

With the White Stripes' career still on a stratospheric trajectory, the cleaner production and potentially more wide-reaching songwriting of Icky Thump could be a watershed moment for the band, taking them from critical and hipster darlings to the latest addition to the rock icon canon—if it hasn't already happened.

The Long Blondes, Someone to Drive You Home (Rough Trade)

Stylish U.K. post-punks revive Brit-pop with girl-powered cautionary tales

Many of rock's finest moments result from a perfect balance of style and substance. Acts like David Bowie, the Clash and the Pretenders all made classic music that looked as influential as it sounded. U.K. upstarts the Long Blondes aim to carry that torch, coupling muscular but melodic post-punk guitar tunes recalling the best of ’90s Brit-pop with an impeccable sense of style.

Much of the band's stylistic leanings come courtesy of singer Kate Jackson (pictured), who's become a major British fashion icon over the past couple of years. She also happens to write girl-powered wordplays that sound like Pulp if Jarvis Cocker was a beret-wearing babe preaching cautionary tales to those barreling towards the pain and frustrations of womanhood.

While the band—Dorian Cox (guitars), Emma Chaplin (keyboards), Reenie Hollis (bass) and Screech (drums)—bashes out hard-charging pop that sounds like a toughed-up take on The Smiths' six-string majesty, Jackson warns her constituency about unrequited love ("Lust in the Movies"), objects of affection trapped in boring relationships ("Giddy Stratospheres") and being the reluctant but willing other woman for double-timing lotharios ("You Could Have Both"), all in a world-weary, husky croon akin to Chrissie Hynde's wounded tough chick stance.

In Jackson's worldview (via lyrics mostly written by Cox), it's a hard road for twentysomething females in the modern world. Times are so tough that even other ladies are cause for concern, as she bemoans during "In the Company of Women": "In the company of women, that's when I start to worry/What has she got, that I might not?"

The Long Blondes may not arrive with the same hype-heavy buzz of many of their contemporaries, but with an album as strong and effective as Someone to Drive You Home, it's only a matter of time before they leave a lot of the competition in the dust. And look fabulous doing it.

Subject #6: Elise

"Why, do I look young?"

Subject #4: Laura

"I bought my mom jeans in Lawrence, Kansas."

Subject #3: Ellei

"I'm originally from Boston."

Subject #2: Hip-Hop Mo$$

"I was bright as fuck."

Subject #1: Hilary

"I hope to own my own showroom someday."

Hot Chip, DJ Kicks (!K7)

Who: Wildly popular UK electro-poppers eschew their keyboards and drum machines to play DJ on the latest installment of this veritable mix institution.

What: The band selects a quirky collection of spacey underground gems (Grovesnor's "Nitemoves") and perennial party jams (Young Leek's "Jiggle It").

Made for: Dance-crazy indie kids decked out in day-glo in search of exciting new ways to get their shake on; Hot Chip fans ready to dig deeper into their heroes' influences.

Battles, Mirrored (Warp)

Who: Respected math-rock super-group add vocals to their chop-heavy mix of industrialized guitar histrionics.

What: A man-machine hybrid of Krautrock precision powered by the muscle of hardcore with robot vocals and a degree in computer programming. Amazing, and a little bit scary.

Made for: The younger siblings of Tool fans looking for their own heroes; rock stalwarts hungry for bands that can really play; sci-fi freaks who wish Daft Punk played guitars.

Miracle Fortress, Five Roses (Secret City)

Who: Montreal's Graham Van Pelt explores the furthest reaches of post-pop paradise, invoking influences ranging from My Bloody Valentine to Animal Collective.

What: Dreamy and luxurious landscapes of meticulously crafted bedroom symphonies that would make Brian Wilson proud.

Made for: Pop heads still obsessed with Wilson's Smile album in need of an update; anyone that misses the music Seth Cohen moped around to on The O.C.

(Originally published on Metromix.com)

Au Revoir Simone, The Bird of Music (Our Secret Record Company)

Dream-pop girl group revel in the beauty of sadness

On The Bird of Music, the three willowy women that comprise Brooklyn synth-pop trio Au Revoir Simone conjure a dreamy, quixotic sound reminiscent of the melancholy ambiance of Sofia Coppola's directorial debut The Virgin Suicides. Coppola's hazy, romantic vision of the 1970s was scored with a quirky cross-section of the decade's most melodically morose hits, like 10cc's "I'm Not in Love," alongside the swirling, synthesized sounds of French duo Air. Au Revoir Simone's Heather D'Angelo, Erika Forster and Annie Hart use only three keyboards and a beat-box, and write wistful, delicate songs rich with a similar nostalgia and heartbreak.

They like mixing moods, with the album opening on the downbeat but hopeful "The Lucky One," featuring child-like vocal harmonies invocative of the Carpenters singing with the Polyphonic Spree. "Sad Song" juxtaposes an uplifting, bouncy rhythm reminiscent of Stereolab against teary-eyed lines like "Play me a sad song/because that's what I want to hear/I want you to make me cry."

The ladies' quiet, comforting voices almost drown in the oceans of thick analog waves and cascading pianos that ebb and flow through "A Violent Yet Flammable World." They crank up the BPMs with a jumpy new wave tempo on the celebratory skip of "Night Majestic," before closing with the string-laden grandeur of "The Way to There."

The Bird of Music is a cinematic collection of mood-driven tone poems for your own real-life soundtrack, with Au Revoir Simone serving as the house band whenever you feel like checking out and indulging in just how good sadness can feel (and sound). With or without Coppola behind the camera.

(Originally published on Metromix.com)

Patrick Wolf, The Magic Position (Low Altitude)

Star-kissed prodigy catches the spirit and goes for the heart

The Magic Position is the work of an artist as touching as he is touched.

Blessed with prodigious artistic talents that belie his relative youth and life experience, Patrick Wolf does the touching here. But Wolf's blessings can also be a curse, as in the way that his flamboyant tendencies and musical predilections made him a target for schoolyard bullies as a kid.

Now 23, the U.K.–born Wolf has channeled those feelings of frustration and the need to love and be loved into his third full-length album, The Magic Position, a brilliantly conceived collection of little epics, each an earnest poem dedicated to the freedom to fly your inner freak flag as high as possible. When he sings, "And I know how you've hurt/Been dragged through the dirt/But come on/Get back up/It's time to live," over a sea of soaring violins during the album's title song, it's obviously a personal observation.

His intense, dramatic vocals are an ideal foil for the sprawling nature of his songs, coming across like the overachieving lovechild of Morrissey and ambient pioneer David Sylvian. Juxtaposing symphonic grandeur with subtle electronic flourishes, Wolf creates a singular sound that's both intimate and cinematic.

Show-stopping ballads like the piano-powered "Magpies" showcase Wolf's passionate delivery against the time-hewn rasp of the legendary Marianne Faithfull, whose presence brings a substantial weight to the proceedings. From dreamy torch songs of new love ("Enchanted") to bass-heavy dance-floor anthems of heartbreak ("Bluebells"), this promising young artist is proud to wear his heart on his sleeve and sing of the joy and pain that heart has to endure.

(Originally published on Metromix.com)

New Music Tuesday: Maximo Park, Our Earthly Pleasures (Warp)

With a majority of their contemporaries suffering from varying degrees of sophomore slumping, Our Earthly Pleasures is Maxïmo Park's chance to make a move for pole position in the scene. And they've come prepared with a not-so-secret weapon: singer Paul Smith, who delivers wry witticisms in a dramatic rolling brogue that bring his band's urgent bursts of angularity to life.

Coming across like a hopped-up Jarvis Cocker channeling Morrissey, Smith's singular persona lifted the band's debut album, A Certain Trigger, above the increasingly crowded fray of the U.K.'s twitchy, guitar-driven indie bands. Best exemplified on songs like "Apply Some Pressure," Maxïmo Park's idiosyncratic charisma and left-field song arrangements showed much promise.

Replacing A Certain Trigger producer Paul Epworth (Bloc Party, the Futureheads) with studio vet Gil Norton (best known for his work on the Pixies' legendary Doolittle album), Maxïmo Park's characteristic quirkiness has been refined to a more straightforward, guitar-rock gloss. Smith still sings about the volatile chemistry between girls and boys in his own inimitable style, tossing off lines like "Last night did we go too far/is that why your nose is bleeding?" (from "Nosebleed") with casual aplomb.

They still have a way with melody and manipulating whiplash tempo changes, but their approach is much more mature and controlled. That works swimmingly both on upbeat rockers like "Girls Who Play Guitars" and the melancholy "Books From Boxes," which plays like R.E.M. covering the Smiths.

While the album starts to lose a little steam towards the end, Our Earthly Pleasures has already made a distinctive point. Its ambitions reach far beyond the casual indie fan looking for easily digestible hits, and for that alone should be applauded. The fact that they pull off a couple of surefire hits anyway makes it even more laudable.

(originally published at Metromix.com)

Incoming: St. Vincent & John Vanderslice at Largo, Thursday May 10

Annie Clark comes from a mob background. As a member of two sprawling collectives (Polyphonic Spree and Sufjan Stevens’ touring band), she’s been a lone voice amid large ensemble casts. But when Clark transforms into St. Vincent, she sheds the multicolored robes and cheerleader outfits of those other acts to step forward and reveal her own lovely persona, and it’s quite a sight to behold. Her debut, Marry Me (on Beggars Banquet, due in July), is rife with gorgeous arrangements that invoke similarly expansive artists such as Kate Bush and Tori Amos at their most inspired, all performed with an uplifting, childlike glee. She supports John Vanderslice, late of ’90s alt-rockers MK Ultra, who has forged a stellar live rep with his clever troubadour tendencies, four-tracked daydreams and wry wordplay. Bill Gates, beware...

(Originally published in the LA Weekly, 5/07)

New Music Tuesday: Feist, The Reminder

Plugged-in Canadian sensation Feist captivated the indie scene's collective heart with her debut album Let It Be. Balancing her inherent offbeat sensibilities (she is a member of quirky post-pop outfit Broken Social Scene after all) with an ear for engaging melodies and intimate but worldly wordplay, Feist sent anticipation for her follow-up soaring. Now, with The Reminder, she delivers 2007's best bid so far for break-out success.

The album's 13 songs effortlessly blur genres and invoke a panorama of moods. The countrified roadhouse stomp of "I Feel It All" celebrates hard-earned emotional freedom and possibility, while her digitized take on 1939 folk traditional "Sealion" transforms the song into a gospel-tinged rave-up of hand claps and fuzzy guitars.

Feist's clear, strong vibrato—used to devastating effect on stark, heartbroken ballad "The Park"—holds it all together. When she revels in nostalgia and innocence lost, as on "1234," the song sounds like a birthday party at Burt Bacharach's house. Feist even delves into Joanna Newsome territory on the expansive and dramatic "Honey Honey" (and, yes, it does feature a harp).

Newsome, Aimee Mann, Fiona Apple, Imogen Heap, even Bjork—these are all artists that Feist is likely to be compared to in feeble attempts to encapsulate the breadth of her talents and this latest work. But no amount of hyperbole can truly capture the essence of what makes Feist's music such a singular expression.

On the quietly forlorn album closer "How My Heart Behaves," the sound of a single bird chirping in the distance is barely audible as the song fades out, providing the most apt metaphor for The Reminder yet.

(Originally published on Metromix.com)

ROLLING WITH BIG BOY PT. 1

“ ‘If you fucking niggers got any problems with us, we’ll be sitting right over there.’ ” Big Boy, DJ of Power 106 FM’s wildly popular Big Boy’s Neighborhood morning show, is in the station’s lounge, recalling words directed his way back in the early ’90s, when he was the Pharcyde’s bodyguard.
The rap group and road crew were on the outskirts of Dayton, Ohio. “It was such a small, rural area that when you called room service in the hotel, they just connected you to Denny’s next door.” So a few of the posse went to the Denny’s, which was where they received the local welcome. “I had never been called ‘nigger’ to my face like that in my life. We couldn’t believe it.” Big Boy shakes his head ruefully. “They were these little dudes too! So my man Seal and I went to tell Suave, the tour manager, what the deal was. We put on our boots and went back to confront them in the parking lot. Man, we beat the shit outta them cats. Then we all ran back to the bus and broke out of the city. We were like spooks in the night, peeking out of the tour-bus windows, flying down the freeway.”

It’s been a scenic drive from Big Boy’s Illinois birthplace to this modest Burbank office building, where a virtual sitcom cast of characters throngs the premises. There’s Big Boy himself; by now, we’re used to seeing the much smaller frame he’s maintained since losing almost 300 pounds. There’s DJ Jeff Garcia, broadcasting the daily “old-school” hip-hop mix at noon with afternoon jock Yesi Ortiz. There’s comely Stacey Stace, beloved by men across L.A. for her bikini-clad pose on a recent Power 106 billboard. And there’s Jason, whom you might know as one of the hosts of Wilmer Valderrama’s oddly fascinating competitive trash-talking reality show, Yo Momma. Jason has just outed Big Boy on the air as the previously uncredited narrative voice of that program, while proudly announcing that its initial ratings were the highest for an MTV series in years, even besting the 2003 premiere of Punk’d, hosted by Valderrama’s fellow That ’70s Show star Ashton Kutcher.

Big Boy just rolls his eyes. “People really watch that mess?” he says, laughing.

Big Boy was born in Chicago; when he was 2, his family relocated to Culver City, where as a teen he deejayed local parties. He made friends, among them fledgling rap outfit the Pharcyde, who would give him his first real taste of life in the music industry.

“Those were some cool cats. They weren’t the dangerous group to be on the road with,” Big Boy remembers of the irreverent rappers, whose first two albums, Bizarre Ride II the Pharcyde and Labcabincalifornia, are now indie hip-hop classics. “I grew up with no money and never traveled,” he says. “I got my first passport because of the Pharcyde. It’s funny, because when I first got the call to do radio, I almost turned it down out of loyalty to the band. But then I started to realize that my success hinged on their success. They’d have to be eating well for me just to eat. So it made sense to strike out on my own and seize the opportunity. Besides, once they started dissing each other, I got the hell outta there,” he adds, laughing, in reference to the group’s highly publicized fracture. “But it’s mostly good memories with the Pharcyde. Mostly.”

It would be another key friendship — and the pursuit of free food — that would lead Big Boy to his next gig in 1994. “The Baka Boys, who were on the air at Power 106 at the time, were good friends of mine,” he says of the DJ duo, now on the Miami airwaves. “I was never really interested in radio. I listened to it growing up, but it wasn’t a daily part of my life. One Memorial Day, the Baka Boys, who were also known as the ‘Two Fat Mexicans,’ and I had an itinerary of barbecues we were planning to hit over the course of the day. They were plus-sized guys, and I was around 470 pounds at the time. They were like, ‘We have to stop at our boss’s house,’ and I didn’t want to go. I thought it was going to be an uptight white family with a picket fence. We got there, and it was a white family with a picket fence, but they were cool. I got a call about a week later from the owner of the house, Rick Cummings [then the program director of Power 106]. He asked if I ever thought about doing radio, and offered me a spot one night for $35 an hour. At that point, I was so broke I would’ve done KKK radio for some cash!”

Suddenly, we’re interrupted as a large Latino dude sticks his head in to see if Big Boy wants something to eat. He’s toting a cardboard box filled with a diabetic’s nightmare of sugary and salty treats, but the first thing you notice is the script tattooed across his forehead: “I slept with Shaq.”

Fans of Big Boy’s Neighborhood will recognize him as Tattoo, whose initial notoriety began back in 2000, when he had the dubious statement permanently etched just under his hairline to win Lakers playoff tickets. The stunt earned him a regular spot on the show, where his habit of losing on-air bets has earned him further questionable inkage, such as a rendering of Lindsay Lohan’s face over his heart. Today, Tattoo’s just lost a wager with the morning show’s primary pinup girl and voice of estrogen, Luscious Liz, regarding Tupac’s friendship with Tony Danza. Now he’s scheduled for a tattoo of Danza’s face and the line “Who’s the Boss?” on his back. He makes a Burger King run while Big Boy continues to explain his career trajectory.

ROLLING WITH BIG BOY PT. 2

“I did the overnight show from 1 a.m. to 5 a.m., and Power liked it and asked me to do it again,” he remembers. “After the second night, they offered me the evening shift, which at that time was 7 p.m. to 11 p.m. The ratings were great, so they moved me to afternoon drive time, 3 p.m. to 7 p.m.”

With Big Boy’s popularity growing both in the streets and with advertisers, it wasn’t long before the station approached him about taking over the highly contested morning slot, radio’s Holy Grail, where most stations generate the lion’s share of their revenue.

“I didn’t want to do it,” he shrugs. “I was kicking ass on the air in the afternoons, I could go clubbing at night and sleep in the next day. It was a nice setup. But once I saw the competition of doing mornings, I got sucked in. There were a lot of people that said I couldn’t do it. So I did it not to prove them wrong, but to prove me right.”

With his morning show — a rollicking circus of prank phone calls, celebrity gossip and hip-hop hits — ruling the morning airwaves over the past eight years, Big Boy’s reign hasn’t gone unchallenged. The stiffest competition came in the form of popular black comedian Steve Harvey, who hosted the morning drive for Power 106’s most direct competitor at the time, The Beat 100.3 FM, starting in the autumn of 2000.

“It wasn’t a problem,” Big Boy says with a dismissive wave. “I’ve always had other stations put up programming to ‘get me,’ on every shift I’ve worked. The mornings have been no different. Steve was the guy, and he hit the ground running. But Steve never fell into any of the media bullshit; neither did I.” Big Boy vehemently denies rumors of friction.

“Steve is like my brother. He brought a class to L.A. radio. He respected me and I respected him. The only problem for me was that he couldn’t be on my show anymore. There’s enough money and people out here in L.A. for everybody.” (The Beat has since switched formats; Harvey, now based in New York, hosts a nationally syndicated morning show aired locally on KDAY-FM.)

Around that same time, Power 106 debuted the first of an ongoing series of notorious billboards to promote Big Boy’s morning show. It featured the eye-popping image of the DJ wearing nothing but silk boxer shorts under the title “Morning Obsession,” a parody of the day’s Calvin Klein cologne ads.

“Even now, I still trip out when I see [my billboards]. I never get used to that feeling, and I hope I never do.”

It was early 2002 when Will Smith visited Big Boy’s Neighborhood. At one point during the show, Smith confronted Big Boy about his health. When the DJ laughed off the warning, Smith got serious with him off the air.

“Will was like, ‘But what about your heart, Big?’ He was really concerned.”

But his size didn’t bother Big Boy in the least. “I’ve never been unhappy in my skin. I was always the big dude you wanted to be around, that had ladies and was happy. I was never at home being sad about being fat or getting teased. I never got teased, though, because kids knew I’d crack their teeth out,” he guffaws with a sly grin. “I was able to accommodate for my size; it never slowed me down, even at 510 pounds. If I needed a suit, I could have one made. If I needed a car, I just got a truck.”

Eventually, he struck a deal with Will Smith. Smith would pony up $1,000 to charity for every pound Big Boy lost, initially challenging him to shed 50 pounds. He dropped from 510 to 399 through a stringent diet and regular exercise. But like so many before him, he slowly began to put weight back on. With the pounds came new and unforeseen health issues.

“I’d been plus-sized ever since I was 5 years old. I never had high blood pressure, diabetes, none of that shit. But when I lost so much weight and started putting it back on, it was a shock to my system. There were times my legs would go numb. I couldn’t even walk through the airport without having to stop and rest. I’d never noticed my weight before. Now it felt like I was wearing a fat suit. I started to feel real, real bad, to the point where I thought I was going to die. That’s when I realized that if I wanted to live, I would have to do something fast. I didn’t care if it jeopardized my status as ‘Big Boy.’ ” Soon, he was considering gastric bypass surgery.

“I didn’t tell anybody that I was even thinking about it, not even my family. I spent a good eight months researching it. One night at the movies, this guy approached me and was like, ‘Do you remember the big guy from Varsity Blues?” referencing the 1999 teen “dramedy” starring Dawson’s Creek figurehead James Van Der Beek; the heavyweight was Ron Lester. “I thought he was going to tell me that he’d died, since that’s always what happens with the big guys,” Big Boy mutters ominously. “Ron Lester had lost 350 pounds after getting the surgery, and that’s who I was talking to. I didn’t recognize him, because he’d lost so much weight. We became fast friends, and one day we stayed on the phone for three hours talking about it. That’s when I decided to do it. I got with a doctor in Georgia, who pushed me to the front of a waiting list of over a year. When he called me with a date, it was only two weeks in advance. That’s when I told my family.”

ROLLING WITH BIG BOY PT. 3

In Georgia, Big Boy underwent the somewhat controversial procedure known as the duodenal switch, where not only is the stomach reduced, but the intestines are also rearranged in such a way that most food calories aren’t absorbed.

“I told myself that all I had to do was wake up,” Big Boy says of the operation. “When I woke up and none of my dead homies were there, I knew it was all good.”

Complications still linger more than three and a half years later. But Big Boy’s condition is nothing like it was in the months immediately following the procedure.

“I couldn’t stop losing weight. I’d get lockjaw and a bad taste in my mouth. I was fainting a lot. I just started to decline. My body couldn’t hold any proteins or nutrients. When I’d sit down, I could feel the pain in my back from the bones being so brittle. One time on the air, I just blacked out and busted my head open on the console. I’d gone from morbid obesity to malnourished.” While his smile never falters, it’s obvious the experience weighed heavily on him.

“There were times I was so out of it that the producer would position the microphone so I could lay on the floor of the studio to do my job. I’d be so delirious I would drive to work and not know how I got there. I had to have a catheter put into my chest to pump nutrition directly into my body. That went on for like two months. It was so bad I couldn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel. I was always in the hospital.” One particular stay provided the clarity and motivation to stay focused through recovery.

“I was taking a walk through the ward, dragging the IV bag with me on the stand like Tony Soprano, and I was noticing that everybody else was older. So I was throwing myself a pity party, really feeling sorry for myself for being so messed up so young. I heard an emergency over the intercom, and doctors and nurses all started running to this one room. When I looked inside, there was a woman there on a bed, and someone was pumping her chest, and her family and doctors were all there, and her eyes and mouth were wide open. But she just looked dead. In that moment, I realized that I didn’t have any problems. This lady wished she could walk around the hospital dragging an IV.”

Ultimately, Big Boy had part of his gastric bypass surgery undone just to allow his body to sustain itself.

“I would never, ever advise anyone to get the duodenal switch,” he sighs wearily. “A doctor said I was that one-in-a-thousand case, but damn.”

Big Boy’s postsurgery illness forced him to put the brakes on a growing side career in movies (Charlie’s Angels 2, Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo) and TV, such as Entourage and Fastlane, Fox’s bombastic but short-lived action drama directed by McG. “If that show came out now, it would work,” Big Boy insists. “We were just a little ahead of the curve on that one.” Still, he’s been able to press forward with a syndicated radio show, Big Boy’s Hip-Hop Spot. But his loyalty lies with Power 106, and the citywide sea of listeners who tune in daily despite much ado about the medium’s long-predicted demise.

“Radio is like home. You can always come back to it. We’ll leave the light on for you,” he deadpans in his best Tom Bodett. “It comes down to personality and appeal. Radio will be here, even in spite of satellite. People already have more than enough stuff to pay for. Look at Howard Stern, who had 12 million listeners on radio. He doesn’t have a third of that on satellite. He blames the listeners, when it’s him that left them.”

For an accidental career, radio has served Big Boy well, and he knows it. He’s racked up a serious cache of accolades, including Personality of the Year three times at the Radio Music Awards. There are also two Marconi Radio Awards, considered the Oscars of radio, from the National Association of Broadcasters. And despite professions that he wasn’t so deep into it growing up, he has a solid knowledge of Los Angeles’ radio history and is quick to give respect where it’s due.

“I come from the school of originality, the days of KDAY with Russ Parr in the morning, who had great alter-ego characters like ‘Bobby Jimmy’ ” — a possible precursor to Big Boy’s own phone prankster, “Luther Luffeigh.”

“Back in the day, Power 106 was all alone where the industry was concerned, because we focused on hip-hop,” says Big Boy. “We were like the bad boys of L.A. radio for playing the music of the streets. They said we’d never be able to build anything in sales because of it. Now, everybody’s playing hip-hop. But what’s happened is that everybody’s on the same songs. If you hear a classic Tupac record on the radio, it could be Power-106, KDAY, KIIS, Jack, the Beat, any of us. It’s not like I can and you can’t, but not everyone can do it like me. So it comes down to which one you choose to push that button for you. Is it Big Boy or Ryan Seacrest? Tom Joyner? The choice is yours.”

Big Boy has made his own choice. In the studio, huge picture windows offer an impressive view of the mountains looming in the distance. He’s now engaged to his longtime girlfriend (after proposing onstage at a Mariah Carey contest no less), who stood by him through all the drama and gave birth to their son in February. Big Boy leans back in his chair and shoots a broad smile. “This is the life, right?”

Incoming: Trans Am, Zombi, Black Taj at the Troubadour, Friday 4/20

Hey! You got your post-rock in my Krautronica! Trans Am’s expansive brand of lockstep guitar vs. synth discipline sounds refreshingly progressive alongside the current glut of indie-sanctioned angularity. Never afraid to completely switch shit up in pursuit of something entirely “other,” this D.C. trio’s latest, Sex Change (Thrill Jockey), plays as their most user-friendly set yet, getting down like Tortoise on half a hit of E, “Trans-Europe Express” and a copy of Rush’s Exit Stage Left. Definitely get there in time to catch Pittsburgh analog twins Zombi, whose multi-textured dream of shimmering ’80s keyboard sunsets are enough to make Jean-Michel Jarre proud and Jan Hammer shed tears of jealousy. Think Miami Vice for 2012. Old-school college-rocker alert: D.C.’s Black Taj features two former members of ’90s Merge Records heroes Polvo indulging their inner stoner. It is 4/20, after all.

(Originally published in the LA Weekly, 04/07)

Incoming: Muse at The LA Forum, Tuesday, 4/10/07

Invoking Queen at their most grandiose and Radiohead set on “rawk!” (singer Matthew Bellamy sounds eerily like Thom Yorke), U.K. mega-rockers Muse make monolithic music designed to reach the farthest corners of an arena, so the Forum is an ideal setting for the band’s bombast. Their latest, Black Holes & Revelations, elevates the sound to even higher heights, featuring the most ambitious song to shake “modern” rock radio last year, the galloping “Knights of Cydonia.” Setting their tunes to lyrics about aliens and conspiracy theories, it’s a wonder this deceptively diminutive trio aren’t superstars in America. But with most stateside dates (including this one) solidly sold out, maybe they already are.

(Originally published in the LA Weekly, 4/07)

I Was There: TV on the Radio at the Fonda, 3/31/07

For me, TV on the Radio is one of those bands. For all intents and purposes, you could really just say they are that band. Their music is a truly visceral experience, somehow crystallizing so many personal thoughts, feelings and emotions that are perpetually elusive, impossible to put into simple words. It sounds pretentious I know, but it’s the truth. They turn me into a perpetual 15-year-old obsessive fan, never quite getting enough of "that feeling" their music instills in me.

A lot of it has to do with my history with the band. I won’t bore you with the details, but I will say that I had the honor of writing and securing their first national magazine cover story as well as booking them for a Coachella after-party that same year (when they should have been on the bill – but that’s a whole other story).

The first time I ever saw them play was at the tiny Silverlake Lounge. It was their first ever show in LA, and for the few dozen people in attendance nothing short of magical. Playing in support of their lush debut EP Young Liars, the band's sampler had been smashed in transit from Europe. So they just turned up the guitars and improvised. Noisy? No doubt. In the best way possible.

It’s been three full years since all of that went down, and a lot has changed. TVOTR is no longer the golden boys of indie label Touch and Go, but part of the massive Interscope roster alongside the likes of Pussycat Dolls and Black Eyed Peas. Their two-night stand at the 1200-person capacity Henry Fonda Theatre here in LA has been sold out for weeks, the result of their second album Return to Cookie Mountain residing at or near the top of most notable year-end best-of lists in 2006, and for good reason. But enough ink has been spilled regarding its brilliance, so again I’ll spare you.

Through nothing less than an act of God, a ticket for the second show found its way into my hands on a couple of weeks ago. I’m still not quite sure how it happened, but I’m not questioning it. Just color me extremely grateful.

Standing in line outside the Fonda tonight waiting to get in, Kyp Malone and a girl strolled by, virtually unrecognized by a majority of the people waiting with me. It speaks volumes about the band’s newly expanded audience, as far removed from the original crowd of diehards as possible. Like the three frat boy-types (or "dudebros," as Leslie would call them) standing behind me waiting for them to come on that took turns screaming “TV ON THE RADIO – WOOOOOO!” at the top of their drunken lungs, much to the amusement (OK, try annoyance) of the people around them. One was clutching the dainty hand-printed TVOTR record bag stuffed with t-shirts, all purchased at the merch booth. Say huh? Ah, enough of my prejudices. Dudebros can like good music too, right?

After an impressive set by UK trio the Noisettes, my new frat buddies got their wish. TVOTR came on and started slowly with a soulful version of “Young Liars,” perfectly setting the stage for the many high points to follow. Many of the mellower songs from Cookie Mountain especially shined, like “Wash The Day” and “Dirtywhirl,” with vocalist Tunde Adebimpe riding the beat like a surfer, soaring all over and around the shimmering sounds with unbridled emotion. Even older songs like “Dreams” took on new life tonight, powered by Adebimpe’s endless reserve of energy, shaking and dancing to the music like a man possessed. I notice that the girlfriend of one of the dudebros is singing along to the songs word for word, eyes closed, lost in the sound.

When the band really turned up the heat, the results were nothing less than religious. “Wolf Like Me” roared with a ferocity only hinted at on the album, as did a storming take on “Satellite.” The band seemed particularly inspired, adding even more layers of beauty and noise atop the tunes, creating a gorgeous maelstrom of epic proportions.

They encored with a beat-crazy exploration of “A Method,” utilizing a slew of added percussionists from their backstage crew, including a couple of girls that had stood next to me for most of the set. But it was a monstrous, muscled-up tear through their signature song “Staring at the Sun” that brought it all together: the melody, the passion, the heart and the art.

God bless TV on the Radio. Never lose that feeling.

Incoming: TV on the Radio, The Noisettes at Henry Fonda Theater, 3/30-31

There’s ample reason why tickets for TV on the Radio’s obscenely sold-out shows are the hottest this city has seen in eons. While the stunning headphone opus Return to Cookie Mountain ruled the Pitchfork Nation (and beyond) in 2006, there are still legions of freshly minted fans who have yet to experience the band live, especially here in L.A., where their only local appearance in support of it (outside of an Amoeba freebie) was a simmering campfire of a show at the Hollywood Bowl opening for Massive Attack (a fruitful match, as TVOTR’s production mastermind David Sitek is producing M.A.’s upcoming album). Their reputation as an incendiary powder keg live precedes them, and rightfully so. The world needs a band like TVOTR — who are equal parts art and heart — now more than ever. U.K. thrash-bashers the Noisettes open, getting down like a multiracial Yeah Yeah Yeahs, with singer Shingai Shoniwa as the black Karen O.

(Originally published in the LA Weekly, 3/07)

Incoming: Gym Class Heroes, RX Bandits, K-OS, P.O.S. at House of Blues, 3/26

With the stoned cadence of Sublime, a self deprecating sense of humor like the Pharcyde and that old-school hip-hop fun-time attitude, a band like Gym Class Heroes (pictured) breaking out was inevitable. It’s amazing there isn’t one on every American college campus. But few would be savvy enough to hijack the chorus of Supertramp’s 1979 smash “Breakfast in America” and flip it for the new scene, as they do on hit single "Cupid's Chokehold." Having Fall Out Boy’s Patrick Stump sing it for you helps too (the band is signed to Pete Wentz’s Decaydance label). For this “Daryl Hall for President” tour, GCH bring Seal Beach punk-poppers RX Bandits to make like Incubus for boys, while Canadian indie hip-hop hero/current blog sensation K-OS brings quirky but thoughtful raps to the party. Minneapolis punk rock rapper P.O.S. spits in the style of early Eminem over mosh-pit guitar tracks. Crazy sold out. Kids rule.

(originally published in LA Weekly, 3/07)

Incoming: Heavens, Boom Bip at the El Rey, Sunday 3/25

A collaboration between Thieves Like Us’ Josiah Steinbeck and Alkaline Trio’s Matt Skiba, Heavens (pictured) conjure dreamy post-rock rife with midperiod Depeche Mode inflections and subdued but tangible emo sentiments. Their latest, Patent Pending (Epitaph), has echoes of Interpol’s stark minimalism but is more deeply rooted in late-’80s alterna-pop bands like the Church and Echo & the Bunnymen. The title track even steps it up with an indie dance-floor stomp like Bloc Party’s second album never happened. Heavens would’ve ruled the second 60 of MTV’s 120 Minutes. Cincinnati expat Boom Bip generally uses electronics to imagine misty, organic re-creations of ’70s SoCal mellow rock with nods to Can and Fairport Convention. But previews of his upcoming One of Eleven EP find him raving to propulsive, post-Aphex Twin beats. Go figure.

(Originally published in the LA Weekly, 3/07)

LCD Soundsystem: Sound of Silver (DFA/Capitol)

Remember when disco sucked? There was a time when no self-respecting rockist would dare acknowledge any sounds directed at a dance floor. Drum machines were considered pure evil, and not in that cool, devil-horns Black Sabbath kind of way. It was serious business; Queen lost legions of American fans for writing “Another One Bites The Dust,” and KISS was crucified for “I Was Made For Lovin’ You.” LCD Soundsystem mastermind James Murphy definitely remembers thinking disco sucked. And he’s very, very sorry.

There’s a particular liberation at the heart of Sound of Silver, the result of Murphy and his merry band of post-punk-funk disco infiltrators fully realized. It’s the sound of someone who didn’t discover the power and glory inherent in dance music’s finest moments until just recently. It’s the sound of someone taking E for the first time in their late 20s and hearing a Carl Craig record from the mid-’90s and having a genuine epiphany. When the tyranny of the beat strikes back, it’s one harsh mistress.

All reasons why Sound of Silver is the best dance record for people that don’t like dance music in years. Where LCD’s eponymous debut felt oddly restrained, as if Murphy was too self-conscious to really fly his freak flag (and was totally outshined by the bonus disc of his own formative singles), SOS is a sweaty, uninhibited shimmy and shake, like the drunken wallflower dancing like a fiend all by himself in the middle of the floor and going home with the hottest girl in the room.

Like any self-respecting music geek worth his 12-inch collection, Murphy’s reference points are both astute and a little obvious. He makes quantum leaps on the aptly-titled opening number, “Get Innocuous,” referencing a wide sonic swath that includes Lodger-era Bowie, Kraftwerk, and even his own music snob-baiting early single, “Losing My Edge,” in just over seven propulsive minutes. “Time to Get Away” rides a snotty, Jonathan Richman with a cool kid swagger attitude and gratuitous cowbell beats, while sure-shot single “North American Scum” turns the self-loathing hipster stance into a Jesus Christ pose and makes it sound like the best party ever. The jumpy, piano-powered “All My Friends” is the most majestic moment LCD’s committed to software yet, a slow-burning crescendo that crashes with the force of Arcade Fire at their most epic.

After a dubious but effective take on funky Gang of Four (the title track), Sound of Silver ends on an oddly earnest ode to Murphy’s home city with the wobbly ballad “New York I Love You But You’re Bringing Me Down” like he’s the Morrissey of Brooklyn or something. Oh Williamsburg, so much to answer for…

(An abridged version of this review was published in the LA Weekly, 3/07)

I Was There: Amy Winehouse at The Roxy, 3/19/07

I guess you could call it pure, dumb luck. It just so happened that I heard about the Amy Winehouse show at the Roxy a couple of hours before my man Jeff Weiss informed me that she was also scheduled to play at Spaceland. Given my druthers, I would’ve purchased a ticket to see her in the much smaller Spaceland. But in my haste to secure a chance to see this notorious UK train wreck up close and personal like, I’d already laid my good money down for the Roxy show. In hindsight, I inadvertently made the right choice, since Ms. Winehouse famously bailed on the Spaceland gig.

I got to the Roxy a good 20 minutes before she took the stage, and I can honestly say I’ve never seen such an intense scrum up in that joint. It was packed to the back with an interesting array of Los Angelenos, skewing older than I’d expected.

Worming my way towards the front of the room, I found a choice spot maybe five feet from the stage, off to the right. A very drunk girl stumbles into me, pausing to take off her high heels. Oh boy, here we go. An older couple behind me is drunkenly making out, repeatedly ramming into my back. Really? The things I do for music.

When the lights finally dim and the curtains open, a surprisingly together looking Winehouse saunters up to the microphone to the strains of the Chiffons “He’s So Fine,” looking oddly sexy (skinny legs and all) in a blue prom dress that put her cleavage up front and center and showcased her bevy of tattoos. There were no signs of track marks or “meth skin” to be seen anywhere. She didn’t even appear to be drunk. What gives?

Backed ably by retro R&B outfit the Dap-Kings, our girl sailed through most of Back to Black admirably; her husky croon sounding even stronger than it does on the record. Her voice shined on mid-tempo numbers like the reggae-tinged “Just Friends,” but really soared on the barn-burners like “You Know I’m No Good.” What’s especially impressive is the way she attacks high notes, filling them with pure emotion, the total opposite of showboats like Christina Aguilera who completely overdo it with ridiculous trills and runs that never seem to stop.

Sliding in a verse of Lauryn Hill’s “Doo Wop (That Thing)” into “He Can Only Hold Her,” it was hard to miss the irony. Is Winehouse destined for a similar crash-and-burn like the one that beset Ms. Hill? Given her raw talent and limitless potential, I certainly hope not.

She’s comfortable and self-assured onstage. After announcing the evening’s last song to a boisterous chorus of “No!” she joked with the crowd:

“Well, obviously it’s not the last song. We still have to do the encores. I’m just playing the game up here, all right?”

There were a few other interesting, very human moments. She visibly got bored in the middle of a set-closing “Rehab,” only to dig deep and find an inspiration from who knows where to inject the song with a shocking blast of life. It was a moment that completely endeared her to me. She could’ve just as easily dialed it in, since the rabid crowd was eating up her every move, but she didn’t.

By the time I maneuvered my way outside after the show (bumping into Strokes drummer/Drew Barrymore’s ex-boy-toy Fab Moretti along the way), I found myself calling various connections to score a ticket for the Spaceland show. Amy Winehouse was nice enough to see twice. But we all know how that ended up…

(Photo courtesy of the one and only Marc Goldstein. Thanks Marc - you're a prince)

Fascination Street: Robert Smith on Miami

"Over the years, we've always had a great time in Miami. The Cure has a really strong following there. When we first started coming to America, we didn't play there for years, because certain promoters told us that no one would like us in the city. But when we did, the fans were really rabid and intense. It was overwhelming and we were amazed by the reaction. Now we make sure to play there on every American tour. A few years back, I spent a few days in an achingly hip hotel right on the beach, a quite famous one. I think it was the Tides. There was a jazz band and people rollerblading outside. Everyone was beautiful and it really upset me [laughs]. The combination of pretty people and sunshine really does something bad to my self-esteem. I imagine the Cure would be a very different kind of band if we'd originated in Miami."

(Originally published in the Miami New Times, 3/07)

Just Like Heaven: Miami's Ultra Music Festival grows and surprises

While the American dance scene has in many ways cooled from the peaks of the late Nineties, it's also adapted to fit into the fast-forward culture of today. With mix CD and especially 12-inch sales virtually nonexistent, dance fans have instead emphasized the experience. Just ask anyone stuck at the back of a blocks-long line to get into a club featuring Paul van Dyk or Armin Van Buuren on the decks. Miami's eight-year-old Ultra Music Festival — which adds a second day this year — simply represents the DJ side of America's current festival fascination, a phenomenon in which fans have followed Europe's lead and now travel many miles and spend many dollars just to say that they were there. Coachella, Bonnaroo, Lollapalooza, and Ultra all benefit from this eagerness to turn the music experience into a sonic vacation.

"Back when we started in 1999, I was promoting big dance music events around town," says Ultra founder and executive producer Russell Faibisch. "I'd met up with my current partner, Alex Omes, who owned DVOX magazine, a nightlife/dance music publication. We became best friends and started doing events together. Through our passion for the music, we decided to do something really massive in Miami, which was the first Ultra, a beach party that drew 7000 people. Year after year, it's just blossomed out of control. From that first year, we grew to 15,000 the next year, then 23,000, to this year where we're expanding to two days and expect upwards of 50,000 people."

"It's the only festival like it in the States. There's nothing you can really compare it to," says Tom Holkenborg. Better known as the adventurous Dutch DJ/producer Junkie XL, Holkenborg has played Ultra several times and witnessed the event's evolution into a smooth-running production. With an obvious sense of humor, he notes that it wasn't always that way.

"I was playing the main stage at 8:00 p.m., prime time. It was maybe the festival's second year," he remembers. "I went on and everything was happening and the crowd was really into it. It was great. Then about ten minutes in, a certain bodyguard, for some unknown reason, decided that my set was over. There was a huge commotion, and he threw me with my equipment offstage. The crowd didn't know what was going on. The police were called, and in all of the hysteria the guard that threw me off ended up getting beaten up by a bunch of the other security guards.

"It was a huge, crazy scene," he marvels. "Let's just say that things at Ultra now are much more organized than that."

Now that it has found sure footing, Ultra has widened its scope to include more acts outside of the dance music mainstream, from last year's headliners the Killers, to this year's inclusion of such bands as Shiny Toy Guns, and the jaw-dropping and inspired booking of alt-rock legends the Cure to close out the opening night.

"Well, we were asked and we said yes," chuckles Cure frontman, Robert Smith (pictured), of the origins for this curious choice. "We're excited to play Ultra. It's a one-off, and we're treating it as a special show. We're going to do a special set for it, playing songs we wouldn't normally play. It's a challenge, and I think it'll be an enjoyable experience for everyone."

As Smith further explains, it's actually not that much of a stretch for the band to headline. "The connection between the Cure and dance music is and always has been a good one," he says. "Going back to the early Eighties, we've always had twelve-inch remixes and got lots of play in the hip and happening clubs. Then Paul Oakenfold remixed our single 'Lullaby' in 1989, which was hugely popular in Ibiza that summer. That's when we first really became aware of the DJ/dance movement as a thing. The following year we put out an album called Mixed Up, which was a collection of various Cure remixes. I was just really drawn into it, and have retained that feeling ever since.

"Not being able to dance has always hampered my true enjoyment of it though," he adds, laughing.

But dance fans needn't worry that Ultra is moving away from its DJ-driven core. "We'll never do anything to change our focus," promises promoter Faibisch. "The Cure are legendary, and we're honored to have them on the bill. But for Ultra it's about the DJs, which is why we've been fortunate to have Paul van Dyk — the DJ's DJ — close the festival every year since the beginning. It's a tradition we hope to maintain for as long as the festival is in effect."

At this point, all visible signs point to Ultra's longevity, with additional future events planned for Los Angeles and New York. And it appears as though it might even help to spur on other festivals in this country.

"I do know there are going to be a couple of new ones springing up here in America that are using Ultra as a model, so you can say it's become very influential as well," notes Junkie XL. "It's much closer to European fests like Homelands, Dance Valley, and all of the rest. Given that dance music is a much more underground scene in America, the fact that Ultra exists and is successful is really important and special. It just gets better each year. The crowds continue to grow, and the lineups have evolved to reflect the way music changes."

Ultra Music Festival takes place on Friday, March 23, from 4:00 p.m. to midnight and Saturday, March 24, from noon to midnight at Bicentennial Park, 1075 Biscayne Blvd, Miami. Tickets for Friday cost $59.95, tickets for Saturday cost $74.95, and two-day passes cost $119.90. Visit www.ultramusicfestival.com.

(Originally published in the Miami New Times, 3/07)

Incoming: Sondre Lerche & Willy Mason at El Rey Theatre - Tonight (3/21)

It’s boys with guitars and emotions on parade when these heartfelt folkies come together. Norwegian jangle-maker Sondre Lerche (pictured) has been strumming his clever guitar pop for a few albums now, but his latest, Phantom Punch, is packed with surprises. Gone are the easy, gentle breezes of early tunes, replaced by a manic, borderline punk crunch atop his trademark melodies. Willy Mason is the current sensation, trading in the kind of classic, socially aware folk you’d expect from a kid raised by musician types on Martha’s Vineyard. He was discovered by the keen ears of Bright Eyes’ Conor Oberst, and his worldly, husky croon already has the Brits calling him the latest “new Dylan” — none less than Radiohead handpicked him to open a series of dates. His recently released If the Ocean Gets Rough adds a warm, ornate edge that should further endear him to the NPR set.

(Originally published in the LA Weekly, 3/07)

Incoming: The Presets, Crystal Castles at the Echo's Ex_Plx, Saturday March 17

Just don’t call it “nu-rave” (didn’t we learn anything from electro-clash?). Wizards of Oz (as in Australia) the Presets are a frantic pair of funbots determined to make you dance your skinny little ass off. Julian Hamilton and Kim Moyes started out as mild-mannered classical buffs at Sydney’s Conservatorium of Music before the disco bug bit. It’s been a nonstop erotic cabaret ever since, with the daft duo crafting spastic blasts of dance commands and assailing audiences with notoriously energetic live shows. Their latest LP, Beams, percolates with fuzz-buster freak-outs like “Are You the One?” imagining the Faint soundtracking a Saturday-morning cartoon. Toronto’s equally electrified 8-bit babies (and potential show-stealers) Crystal Castles (pictured) can glitch and bliss out with the best of them, evidenced by their incendiary remix of the Klaxons’ “Atlantis to Interzone” and circuit-breaking track “Alice Practice."

(Originally published in the LA Weekly, 3/07)

El-P: The ISWYD Outtakes

After finishing my most recent piece on El-P for Remix, I had a few extra quotes left over. I thought they might of interest to his fans. Take it away, sir...

“I certainly don’t carry the mantle for justice in hip-hop, but I do feel like there’s a lot of bullshit out there. For what it’s worth, I bust my ass to try and make sure I’m coming up with something tangible that people can connect to. With (I’ll Sleep When You’re Dead), I tried to dig in a little further to capture a moment. Music, the whole entertainment industry in general, really is just not important enough in and of itself. It’s been kind of shocking to me just how much we pretend that shit is going according to plan, when it’s obviously not. I’m not here to bring gloom and doom to the world, but at the same time, I’m just trying to be honest about what I see around me. As a fan, I’m always craving for someone to stick his or her necks out as an artist. If I can do that to some degree I will, but I really want to hear it from other people.”

About the song "Habeas Corpses (Draconian Love)":
That was something that came together with (Definitive Jux rapper) Cage. I forget what we were talking about, but I wanted to write a song that was incredibly dark and kind of humorous at the same time. We were just fucking around and for no reason at all I started singing the line “I found love on a prison ship.” That’s what sparked it off. We put ourselves in the perspective of a firing squad guy, and since everything already thinks I’m a sci-fi geek, which I am, we set the whole thing in the near future. For me, it was a way to make a political commentary without just saying ‘Look – the government is bad! George Bush hates you!’ He does hate you, but nobody needs me to tell them that. So we came up with this demented idea that in ten years, if there was marshal law and people were being rounded up, as there very well could be in my opinion, the good jobs would be the cop jobs. It’s kind of inspired by the movie Brazil. The idea that being an executioner in that world would be a job that a lot of people would want, the kind with insurance and benefits. Cage took the perspective of a guy that would enjoy the job, while I took the character of a guy that was involved in it, but started to feel bad because he felt some emotion towards one of the prisoners. I wrote the music to reflect those sorts of conflicting moods.”

Incoming: Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly. at the Echo, Tuesday, March 13

Maybe if James Joyce were alive today, he’d be making music instead of writing books, and A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man might sound a lot like the songs conjured by Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly on the fantastic album The Chronicles of a Bohemian Teenager. This barely-out-of-his-teens Londoner was born Sam Duckworth before discovering his eye-catching alias in a Batman video game. The guitar-slinging troubadour pushes the singer-songwriter model into the 21st century, fully equipped with a laptop loaded with skittering, nervy beats that wouldn’t sound out of place on a Björk record. He freely flaunts his personal as well as politically charged influences (e.g., Billy Bragg), but always with the uplifting, life-affirming optimism that comes with youth. Already a hit in the U.K., he’s one scene in Grey’s Anatomy away from taking America too.

(Originally published in the LA Weekly, 3/07)