Notes from the Overground: Califone and Wilco in Ann Arbor

Wilco and Califone at the Michigan Theater, October 25, 2002

Having never heard Califone, and knowing that GloNo‘s Derek Phillips had interviewed the band’s Tim Rutili, before going to Ann Arbor to see the show, I asked him what I should expect. He replied, “slow, blues-based weirdness. Strange melodies and lyrics.” I checked out the Califone web presence, I saw that the band is described as playing “a series of gorgeous and personal hymnals delivered with the electro-rustic vocabulary of one of america’s most original bands.” When I saw Jim Becker pick up a banjo, I thought to myself, “Uh-oh, we’re entering the land of Bela Fleck and the Flecktones.” Now, I don’t have anything against the banjo. But I wasn’t in the mood to listen to something that would smack of a soundtrack to Ken Burns’s “The Civil War” or the like. I should have paid more attention to the teen queen stickers affixed to the front of Rutili’s electric piano to know that this was not going to be anything like that.

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The Streets – Original Pirate Material

The StreetsOriginal Pirate Material (Vice)

Original Pirate Material, the debut from The Streets (aka Birmingham’s Mike Skinner), is an ambitious story-cycle with musical influences as disparate as the urban UK culture described in Pirate‘s songs. Rapping over skittering two-step and next-generation big beat grooves, Skinner presents his Everykid – the Geezer – as a smart, cynical lout who likes drinking beer, pounding fast food, and hitting up the PS2. Rapping in his unadorned commoner’s speech, Skinner emulates the offhanded, yet serious as a heart-attack, flow of a Mos Def or Jeru the Damaja. The beats are occasionally a bit flat, but Pirate is never, ever boring. It’s especially interesting to listen to as a document of urban life in the UK, and how the same trends and marketing that have come to dominate American youth culture aren’t that much different across the pond. Skinner’s main character always seems to keep one eye on the people that are trying to influence he and his mates, while the other is eyeing the latest Playstation game or the Man U highlights on Sky Sports. Original Pirate Material – an interesting hip-hop document that also rocks the house.

The Flaming Sideburns – Save Rock’N’Roll

The Flaming SideburnsSave Rock’N’Roll (Jet Set)

Dullards among us might say things like “Scandinavia is the new Seattle!” and “Rock and roll is back!” But most sensible people understand that the rock never left, whether we’re talking about the Pacific Northwest or the Great White North. The latest import from the land of the midnight sun? Finland’s Flaming Sideburns. Having bounced around in garage land for a few years (a 7″ on Estrus; collaborations with The Hellacopters), the Sideburns are using rock’s current populist resurgence to nick US ears with Save Rock n’ Roll. While the title might be an overstatement (and hailing from an outpost like Finland is THE ONLY way you can have a name like the Flaming Sideburns), the record is an adequate amalgam of all the elements and influences that make up the best garage rock albums. Treble-kicking 60s lead guitar, hammering bottom end, a frontman who reaches through your speaker to punch you in the chest. Eduardo Martinez is the fella’s name, and I’m sure he does a fabulous Mick Jagger impersonation at cocktail parties. The garage rock songbook titles are all here: “Loose My Soul”; “Street Survivor”; “Testify.” And the Sideburns might sometimes lean too heavily on Martinez’s passionate shrieks to authenticate their straightforward take on heavy R & B. But it’s honest rock and roll music to drink canned beer to, and the album’s few quieter, more melodic moments show some real depth. (I kept being reminded of Brian Jonestown Massacre). But The Flaming Sideburns understand that their music belongs out in the garage, and not spilling Black Label on your new shag carpeting. And despite the hype storm descending on the Sideburns and the larger Scandinavian scene, it’s that knowledge that will likely save themselves.

Pac-Man Fever?

Inspired by the discussion on the GLONO bulletin boards, we asked frequent poster Joshua Rogers to take a deeper look at music in video games in this GLONO Feature article. – ed.

The inspiration for Glorious Noise is how rock and roll can change your life. I’ve been given an opportunity to describe how rock and roll has changed video games, and thusly the lives of those of us who partake of them regularly (read: chronically).

In the world of video games, music was once little more than a series of notes to add a little style to the title. Aside from the chunky tones of a rumbling engine or the classic sine-wave sound of a laser blast, the processors didn’t have the capacity to produce remotely moving music. Well, the technology has changed as much as the cultures that use it, and gamers are finally treated to playing with music that is truly part of an immersive gaming experience.

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The Renaissance, Freud, & jackass: the movie

Whether or not there is music in jackass: the movie is completely irrelevant. There probably is. But I doubt that this MTV/Paramount production (let’s not give too much credence to the “MTV” portion as both firms are owned by Viacom, so the fact that MTV provides some level of cred to the film is really irrelevant: it is nothing more than a certain type of conduit through which the wares of the firm that owns things including CBS, Showtime, Comedy Central, Infinity Broadcasting, Blockbuster, etc., etc., etc. are marketed) is something that people come away from humming a tune. That’s because, by and large, sound is irrelevant to jackass: the movie. In fact, it could be a completely silent film, one done, in effect in pantomime.

While certain people will undoubtedly decry the film is being moronic, filthy, puerile, and otherwise disgusting—which it is—what many people undoubtedly overlook is the fact that the exploits of Johnny Knoxville and his crew of post-juvenile delinquents are actually fundamentals of historic performance and psychology.

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NAKED WOMEN & FREE BEER

I am troubled. I’m not sure that this is worth it. Writing this, that is.

I’ve just read that Playboy is in trouble. No, not because of some scandalous, provocative pose of a has-been actress who is hoping that by showing her surgical enhancements in contorted poses she’ll be able to get work beyond dinner theater in Dubuque. Nor is it because there is a remarkable revelation in one of the magazine’s legendary interviews. (Has anyone noticed that they’re “legendary” in the sense of being from a long time ago, almost in a galaxy far away—that either what’s being said to the interviews isn’t particularly noteworthy, or that “Entertainment Tonight” scoops it?)

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Hey Yoshimi, Battle This…

More white lies from the Detroit duo uncovered.

The White Stripes seem to invite conspiracy theories. From misleading statements regarding their relationship to ill-advised promotional agreements with Japanese automobile manufacturers, Jack and Meg White tend to cause a stir. Where there’s smoke there’s fire and if the White Stripes are involved you can bet Glorious Noise will get to the bottom of it.

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Johnny Winter’s Revenge

Several years ago, I saw what was arguably the most bizarre concert lineup this side of something that was shown back in the day by NBC on a Friday night, when it figured it would cash in more on people interested in music than Doc Severinsin and the Tonight Orchestra could provide. This arena event had Three Dog Night as its headline. (Unfortunately, the guy who had the car wanted to see them, so I couldn’t leave.) The opening acts were Johnny Winter and Rod Stewart. Realize that this was Rod when he still, well, rocked and wasn’t in a rocking chair. It was just after he’d left the Faces. The Rod Stewart Album was fresh. (An album that has what is arguably one of the best covers of all time: a version of “Street Fighting Man.”)

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Beck’s Bipolar Brouhaha

Beck with the Flaming Lips

Chicago Theater, October 18, 2002

Beck may be our generation’s greatest songwriter and best hope for sneaking good music into the mainstream culture of America. But his show Friday night at the Chicago Theater left a lot to be desired.

Now don’t think I’m one of these radio-come-latelies who only wanted to hear “Loser” and “Devil’s Haircut” (both of which he played along with his other hits, “Where It’s At,” “The New Pollution,” and “Jack-Ass”). I would have been happier if he dug deeper into his freaky catalog; as it was, he only played one song (Stereopathetic Soulmanure‘s “One Foot in the Grave”) from any of his early, independent releases.

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Rock and roll can change your life.