My friend Billy used to always wear a button that said “Who Cares” on the collar of his jacket, until “some bitch” stole it off of him at a dive bar near our neighborhood. Billy was pissed, not because he’d lost some expression of apathy he was aiming at the…
Where do underage pirates go when they’re thirsty? To the soda barrr! Or at least that is where Jake Slider and Jason “Ace” McClellan hope underage music lovers will go if they’re thirsting for local music. The co-owners of Neckbeard’s Soda Bar have laid anchor in Tempe and hope their…
Her name is Annie. She’s Norwegian and beautiful, not an unusual combination. She’s big in Europe right now. And if you’ve heard “Chewing Gum,” the lead single from her debut, Annie mal, you hate her. But you can’t get her out of your head. “Oh no/Oh no/You’re not the one/You…
Though the immediacy of the first loping chords of “I Will Dare” would suggest otherwise, it’s been nearly a decade and a half since Paul Westerberg last fronted the mythically sloppy, booze-fueled Replacements. Which is longer than he was even in the group. Yep, Westerberg has been on his own…
When the award-winning Metallica documentary Some Kind of Monster was released on DVD late last month, it came bundled with a disc of bonus footage. Now fans could enjoy even more whimpering about how fucked up it is being Metallica. More of the band members telling each other off. More…
On a recent weekday afternoon, I was sitting at home flipping through the new issue of Food & Wine when Adam Jacobson, bassist and lead vocalist of the Tempe rock outfit Steppchild, dropped in to school me in his philosophy of rock ‘n’ roll. Now, I think I’m pretty well-versed…
It was bound to happen, but still took me by surprise. In the February 1 New York Post’s infamous Page Six, there was my homie Conor in the “Sightings” section. “Lou Reed backstage at Town Hall congratulating indie darling Conor Oberst on his band’s third straight sold-out show there.” As…
Phil Buckman thinks he’s awesome. It’s not hard to see why the towering 24-year-old musician from Flagstaff feels this way, since more than 200 howling fans have packed Modified Arts to witness his whacked one-man act, I Hate You When You’re Pregnant. But if Buckman needed further reassurance, he might…
Phoenix may be known for bands of the Jimmy Eat World persuasion, but for each of those, there is a Vehemence. It’s true — the Arizona metal scene is alive and well. In an attempt to start another downtown tradition, a local production company, SMUT, has dubbed the night after…
For Cheryl Olson, a registered nurse who also chairs meetings for Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous, the only thing worse than having her chatterbox, musical know-it-all husband hanging around the house all day, running his quirky little Internet radio station from the den, is having to listen to all the…
When you scribble about bands for a regional publication every week like I do, it’s an occupational hazard that shitloads of crap local CDs arrive in the mail daily, destined to become coasters for cans of Budweiser. It’s rare that a local’s disc I come across is beyond lackluster, and…
It’s fitting that the band name Avail evokes the word “alive.” The best rock, like all the best art, is not some rarefied air breathable only to people who wear puffy shirts and pointy shoes. It’s music that makes everyday life feel alive. Richmond, Virginia’s Avail — perhaps the only…
When I run into Phoenix rapper Pokafase a few days before his record release party for Mastermind, the long-overdue LP he recorded back in 2002, I remind him we met several times years ago when he was in the hip-hop group Know Qwestion, back when his moniker was Cappuccino. “Shhh,…
Kyle Howard will make himself throw up for the Stiletto Formal. Dedication of that extent is rarely called for, but sure enough, on the third night of its first tour, the slender vocalist has to heave for his band. For the December show in Omaha, Nebraska, the Stiletto Formal wants…
Shortly after last week’s Revolver column appeared (“Tom’s Tax,” January 13), detailing the hidden charges tacked on to the face value of tickets for events promoted by Lucky Man Productions, the Marquee Theatre, and its owner, Tom Lapenna, New Times’ sources contacted us to let us know that Lapenna had…
If you heard a quiet tear falling as December 31 ushered in yet another stupid year, it might have been gear heads sobbing over the end of an era. At that auspicious moment, Quantegy, the last analog tape manufacturer in the United States, decided to decorate its gates with chains…
Elvis Presley was the King, but there are others who claim that crown as well, including (with some legitimacy) Little Richard. But there is only one Queen of Rock ‘n’ Roll, and her name is Wanda Jackson. So revered is Wanda, in fact, that she’s the subject of a tribute…
Well, the holidays are over; you’ve gotten all the gifts you’re going to get until your birthday, or, if you’re lucky, until you get your tax return back this spring. But if the feds do give you some scrilla back, and you’re the sort who buys concert tickets regularly, don’t…
The liner notes to Batter the Drag’s self-released debut EP, unfathomable depths, give an ominous first impression. There are no song lyrics, no names or faces of musicians — really, no real notes to speak of, aside from a list of people thanked by the band, a spare, black-and-white splatter…
Tempe’s “Burrito Brothers” (Chelsea Ide, December 16) in Bluewall Audience will soon be strutting across their high school campuses rocking Chipotle Mexican Grill backpacks. The five teenagers have been using the burrito joint as a spot to conduct official business with their record label, as long as Turnpike Records has…
I fucked up, and I’ll admit it. A few months back I reviewed a compilation called Crunk Classics, with songs by dirty south superstars like Lil Jon and Petey Pablo, and I tore it a new asshole. “TVT’s collection of Southern thug rappers is pretty much — to borrow a…
Eric Seven, the nucleus of electronic/industrial band Radio Free America, doesn’t strike you as the Trent Reznor type — not even the Dave Gahan/Depeche Mode type, or any other iconic related-genre artist. Sitting on the porch of his producer Daggrr’s small Tempe house, smoking cigarettes and drinking vodka with diet…
