The fine folks at the Fork have been uncovering all kinds of new music for you to check out. It’s hard for anybody to listen to everything. We handpick the stuff that might appeal to the GLONO reader…whatever that means. Listen for yourself and let us know what you think.
Here’s our latest roundup of the good stuff that Pitchfork has given up recently on their Forkcast:
We don’t have a lot of information yet, but the Memphis Commercial Appeal and other news outlets are reporting that Jay Reatard died in his sleep last night.
Memphis musician Jimmy Jay Lindsey Jr., better known as Jay Reatard, was found dead in his Midtown home this morning, according to family and friends. He was 29.
Memphis police have opened a death investigation, spokesman Jennifer Robinson said. Lindsey was found around 3:30 a.m. at his home, Robinson said.
I’ve only been tuned into Reatard for a little over a year. But the two albums he’s released in that time really made me think he had a bright future ahead of him. Sad to find out that’s not to be the case. Here’s a nice roundup from the Village Voice.
“Here in this bedroom / Is where I sit / ‘Cuz I don’t really / Give a shit” goes the first single (“It Ain’t Gonna Save Me”) from Jay Reatard‘s Watch Me Fall. But giving a shit doesn’t necessarily mean that Reatard’s bedroom time isn’t productive. Judging by the whirlwind of recorded output he’s bestowed on us for the past few years, he’s been pretty busy with bashing out an impressive repertoire of manic punk/pop.
Enter the “pop” era of Reatard, and someone’s on hand to make sure the needle doesn’t go into the red so much. Is that a bad thing? I guess it depends on your perspective; I mean, Blood Visions was certainly a breath of fresh air even when it wasn’t anything totally original. It—and the Singles collections that followed—were a testament to how incredibly influential the Buzzcocks were, and how little their formula has changed when artists like Reatard re-interpret them.
“All is lost, there is no hope / All is lost, you can’t go home.” Not sure why people refer to this guy as “garage rock.” Sounds way more like the more rocking Shins stuff (“So Says I,” etc.). Regardless of what genre you cram it into, it’s still good.
From Matador Singles ’08, which is a really good collection of poppy lo-fi messy garage punk songs. The fact that he comes from Memphis makes sense. I hadn’t heard anything by him before this album, but now I’m pissed I missed seeing him this summer.
So I’m standing around early on Friday night while Mission of Burma rips through Vs., and out of the backstage VIP area walks this short guy wearing a giant Professor Griff t-shirt. You know those tribute shirts where the whole shirt is a picture of Biggie‘s face? Like that, but with a picture of Public Enemy‘s alleged anti-Semite, Professor Griff.
It takes me a moment to realize this guy is, of course, Professor Griff. He’s walking around the crowd before his set, begging to be noticed. And this weird moment of awesome bravado and icky self-promotion is a pretty fair metaphor for the entire P-Fork Fest.
This yearly congregation of college radio nerds, fashion victims, art students, burnouts, baristas, and meatheads in Chicago’s Union Park is getting bigger and bigger. With an overstuffed line-up of hipster favorites and a smart, well-ordered setup, this is still the best-run festival in America. But it wasn’t without headaches, creeping corporate sponsorship, and a shit-ton of humidity.