Ween 12 Golden Country Greats (Elektra) There’s something very wrong with Ween’s new CD. For starters, 12 Golden Country Greats has only ten songs. And though they may indeed be “golden,” it’s doubtful that even the most encyclopedic of country connoisseurs would recognize such titles as “Piss Up a Rope”…
Screaming Trees Dust (Epic) The Screaming Trees are proof that people at major labels do occasionally sign and foster acts just because they like them. On first glance, there is no less commercially appetizing prospect than the Screaming Trees: two gigantically fat guitarists and a recalcitrant front man, the three…
Zach Lind thinks back on the good old days and sighs. Lind, the drummer for Mesa upstarts Jimmy Eat World, recalls when he and his fellow Jimmys would pile into a van and head for Colorado or California, playing all-ages shows set up a day in advance by friends in…
Creedence Clearwater Revival’s 1970 hit “Lodi” immortalized the New Jersey town as a hard-luck haven for touring musicians, as far removed from fame and fortune as Earth is from Uranus. But imagine John Fogerty turning punk, wearing a Toys “R” Us skeleton costume and employing sidemen bedecked with “devil locks”…
For Cash and Cappuccino, it was not brotherhood at first sight. 1991, sophomore year, Cortez High. “We was both the pretty little niggers in school,” says Cappuccino, now 20. “The girls be likin’ us. But we was competitors, see? Girls he be dating wanted to talk to me, and girls…
Sebadoh leader Lou Barlow has been the reluctant godfather of experimental lo-fi since his groundbreaking acoustic four-track work on the Boston anti-folk trio’s first two albums (Freed Man, 1989, and Weed Forestin, 1990). Those two records were followed by Barlow’s Sentridoh solo series, most of which he recorded in his…
Elvis Costello and the Attractions All This Useless Beauty (Warner Bros.) In his sleeve notes for this year’s Goodbye Cruel World reissue, Elvis Costello congratulated us for purchasing his worst album ever. He was good to his word–until recently, that messy aberration was the substandard bearer for Costello’s extensive body…
(symbol) Chaos and Disorder (Warner Bros.) The appropriately titled Chaos and Disorder, the latest in a flush of new releases by the Artist Formerly Known As Prince, sounds a lot like what’s currently known as slop. It’s a sketchy piece of work, overblown in spots, half-baked in others, a generally…
Had relations been warmer between him and Warner Bros., we might still be on a first-name basis with the Artist Formerly Known As Prince. He’s made no secret of his disdain for the terms of his recording contract, to the point of shaving his facial hair so it spelled out…
Neil Young & Crazy Horse Broken Arrow (Reprise) Among the phrases you least want to hear from a musician, “Hey, let’s jam” ranks down there with “So, she’s your sister, huh?” and “Don’t worry, it’s not loaded.” But at least ol’ Neil isn’t shooting blanks in the gee-tar department for…
One summer day A.D. 525, a Buddhist monk from India named Ta Mo arrived at the base of Mount Shaoshi in what would later become the Henan province of central China. He took in the scenery, thought or said something to the effect of “This is the place,” and promptly…
It is a Midsummer Night’s Eve in a wooded glen somewhere in the wilds of Finland. The chill blue sky is full of cumulus clouds, the air is ringing with the music of Bad Religion, and I am surrounded by thousands of comatose Finnish kids in an alcoholic stupor. Today–18…
Who would have thought Elwood Blues would bring us the premier hip-hop tour of the summer and, so far, the decade? Dan Aykroyd’s House of Blues–the juke-joint-themed chain-restaurant-and-music venue he established in 1992 with Hard Rock Cafe founder Isaac Tigrett–is the sponsor behind the 33-city, multiact Smokin’ Grooves Tour. The…
Soul Coughing Irresistible Bliss (Slash/Warner Bros.) An East Coast slang term for vomiting, Soul Coughing serves well as a name for this 3-year-old NYC quartet that ingests, digests, then regurgitates a stylistic stew of rock, jazz, ambient and spoken word. That all the chunks so often coagulate into a satisfying…
godheadSilo is a highly subversive experimental noise-punk duo whose base of operations is Olympia, Washington. Known audio terrorist activities include use of unnaturally low bass frequencies rendered at brutal volume. S.O.S. field operative reports indicate this group is a clear and present danger to high-fidelity stereophonic equipment (or lo-fi, for…
Here’s what you’ve already been told about the H.O.R.D.E. festival: That it’s the hippie Lollapalooza. That it’s something for Deadheads to follow around this summer now that Jerry’s gone. That it’s an acronym for “Horizons of Rock Developing Everywhere” (though “Hippies on Recreational Drugs Everywhere” might be more accurate). That…
Skinheads in a mosh pit are like barracudas in a swimming pool–they ruin all the fun, and if you see them coming, the wise move is to hop your ass out of there pronto. I knew better than to stick around when I saw a pack of skins pop from…
The Grifters Ain’t My Lookout (Sub Pop) Too often I’ll forget a CD in my portable player until I go to put in another disc miles from home. Without the proper jewel on hand, I stash the stray disc in another case for safekeeping. Because of this unsavory practice, it…
“I think the alternative scene is disgusting,” says Pantera drummer Vinnie Paul on the eve of his band’s new world tour. “I don’t know how these bands can feel good about robbing a dead man’s grave. To me, every one of them sounds like fucking Nirvana.” Like its music, Pantera’s…
Beck Odelay (DGC) What happens when a white guy from downtown L.A. starts hanging with kitschy Caucasians in Silver Lake? Does he lose his sense of hippity-hop? Does his swagger turn to slack? Does he even know who he is at the end of the day? When the white guy…
Patti Smith Gone Again (Arista) When Patti Smith sang “Jesus died for somebody’s sins but not mine” to open the first song on her first album, 1975’s Horses, she was an emerging icon, a rail-thin protopunk thumbing her nose at the heavens, daring the nearest deity to leave her alone…
Suicide Kings’ two front men look like the kind of guys your daddy warned you not to play poker with. Clad in timeworn cowboy shirts, scuffed, pointy boots and skinny-legged jeans, Bruce Cannole and Dick Taylor stick lit cigarettes in the necks of their guitars and get down to business…
