Lord knows how many poor, unsuspecting fools are killed by hidden tracks every year. Think of it–the late-night lone driver, winding down a mountain highway, happily head-bobbing to the latest CD by his or her favorite band. The final chord of the last listed track fades, but he leaves the…
Thank God for Deepak Chopra. If it wasn’t for that Svengali of self-help, I’d have the mental acuity of an ether addict right now. My tally for the weekend: 12 bands, one rave, and a nerve-jangling run-in with the cops. It’s a few hours ’til twilight on Monday morning, and…
For two decades, the small, unassuming watering hole nestled between an adult bookstore and a motorcycle repair shop on Rio Salado Parkway in Tempe has served as a place of solace and community for hardworking folks–somewhere to relax with an icy Bud when the dust is still caked on your…
“There’s only been four of us,” Jerry Lee Lewis once said. “Al Jolson, Jimmie Rodgers, Hank Williams and Jerry Lee Lewis. That’s your only four fuckin’ stylists that ever lived.” While you could write a book about the people who didn’t make Lewis’ list, there’s one–Charlie Rich–who seems especially relevant…
Every day is like Christmas when you’re a music editor–each morning brings a pile of packages with your name on them. Thirty-six parcels in one day is the standing record for my five-week tenure here. Of course, as with any Christmas, some of the presents always suck. I never know…
It was January 1958, and newly married Myra Lewis, 13, was home alone in Memphis, watching a horror movie on TV. Her husband, a piano player, was out late, as he had been almost every night of their short life together. The movie was The Hand, the tale of a…
You know what I hate about rock? I hate tie-dyed tee shirts. I wouldn’t wear a tie-dyed tee shirt unless it was dyed with the urine of Phil Collins and the blood of Jerry Garcia.–Kurt Cobain, 1992 The only tie-dye I remember from Lollapalooza ’95 was a cut-rate, red- and…
I first heard Primus when a stoned philosophy major lured me out of a dorm hallway with the offer of a new version of rock that would “blow your mind like an orgasm.” She was standing in her doorway holding a CD, which I took to check out the cover…
If I hear one more newscaster say, “What a long, strange trip it’s been,” I’m going to heave up lunch from a week ago. Don’t get me wrong. I’m sorry Jerry’s gone. I’m sorry his old frame finally couldn’t accommodate all the drugs he believed it should. I’m even sorry…
The Jesus Lizard’s David Yow moans, yells, squeals and sweats his way through a concert, surfing the mosh pit in a violent effort to prove that, even if he can’t sing a lick, he’s still got more balls than anyone this side of Henry Rollins. In fact, for the price…
His name is CoCo the Electronic Monkey Wizard. He says he came from outer space. He says he’s masquerading as a musician who plays in an instrumental surf-rock band based in Alabama. CoCo says his bandmates are all aliens, too. CoCo the Electronic Monkey Wizard is calling from a roadside…
They were six fine English boys Who knew each other in Birmingham They bought a drum and guitar Started a rock-roll band And Johnny played the little violin And Bobby Joe played the big violin The one that stands on the floor They were all in the rock-roll band Right…
Foo Fighters Foo Fighters (Roswell/Capitol) “Now what?” God, how Dave Grohl must have grown to loathe that query over the last year. At least now he’s finally come up with an answer, and a good one at that. With his new band’s eponymous debut release, Nirvana’s former drummer has stepped…
1: Do You Remember Rock ‘n’ Roll Radio? Buffy was 16 the first time she saw the Ramones. It was 1984, and she still remembers exactly what she was wearing–black tuxedo jacket, black bra, black jeans and red sneakers. She saw the band 16 times after that. Joey, the gangly…
With “alternative” music festivals proliferating like intestinal bacteria, Saturday’s “KUKQ Fest 1995” is trying to be something different: “A duel in the fucking desert.” At least, that’s how “antifest” evil genius and KUKQ program director Jonathan L. describes his latest brain child, which features dual headliners Circle Jerks and Skankin’…
Ziggy Marley and the Melody Makers Free Like We Want 2 B (Elektra) Winning a Grammy is the artistic equivalent of contracting a venereal disease. The Melody Makers have two. Grammies, that is. But there’s no confusing these reggae revolutionaries with the soulless dregs found “entertaining” industry hotshots on awards…
If the words “Letters to Cleo” sound familiar, chances are you either lived in Boston earlier this decade or watch Melrose Place on a regular basis. Former Bostonians may have witnessed the alterna-pop quintet claw its way to prominence in the notoriously competitive Bean Town club circuit, keeping company with…
Before the explosion of music videos and talk radio, deejays were pilots in the long, teenage night, and Wolfman Jack was the hipster deejay par excellence. He was a pure American product, a transistor evangelist who so wanted to be black that he did the next best thing and darkened…
Four years back, Naughty by Nature emerged from East Orange, New Jersey, as the brash young Turks of hip-hop. Using the ghetto for a launch pad and the chant-along chorus of “O.P.P.” from its self-titled debut album as fuel, NBN took off for stardom. Critical acclaim and massive sales proved…
It’s 10 a.m. and Terry Garvin of Zen Lunatics is cuckoo. For the munchy, crunchy, chocolatey taste of Cocoa Puffs, that is. It’s an addiction that has reared its sugary head only in recent years. “I didn’t eat breakfast cereals for the longest time because they would depress me. I…
Isaac Hayes answers the door of his Dallas hotel room, his bald head down and his eyes sagging. By way of introduction, he yawns and apologizes for being so damned tired, and ushers his guest into the room with a limp raising of his left arm. He wears black pants…
Stop your average person on the street, pin him to the ground, hog-tie him and threaten to extinguish a cigar on a pink body part, and it’s still a pretty safe bet that he would not be able to tell you who Steve Ferguson is. If, however, Jimi Hendrix had…
