DETROIT BAND NAME OF THE WEEK...

Or Plymouth band name, to be exact...

The Jesus Chainsaw Massacre

And they're playying this weekend -- Saturday, March 29th, again to be exact -- at the New Way Bar in Ferndale.

THE WAY HE AM...

In case anybody still cares, Eminem will be publishing his memoirs on October 16th, which his publisher has described as "every bit as raw and uncensored as the man himself." Titled Eminem: The Way I Am, the book will be published by Orion Publishing and feature previously unseen photographs, journal notes, hand-drawn art, lyric sketches and a narrative and introduction written by the rappin’ star. "Everyone has their own take on Eminem," says Orion's Ian Preece who thinks that the tome will be one of the books of the year. "Because of where he is from, people think they know where he is at, what kind of person he really is. This book cuts through all that and gets to the source." No word yet as to whether Kim Bassinger will appear in the film version…

Meanwhile, Em is putting the finishing touches on his next album, his first since 2004's Encore, though the release date hasn't yet been announced. Shady Records' artist Bobby Creek, whose been in the studio with the star, recently told hiphopdx.com of the new release: "He’s focused, basically. He understands he’s been away for a while, and that he’s got to come back that much harder. He’s focused – 110 percent. Y’all should expect that; he’s been away for a while, and he’s got a statement to make.” As for the rumored massive weight gain various bloggers have been posting about Eminem, Creek said: “[There] must be two [Eminems], because the Em I just saw is in perfectly good shape. [I] saw him recently playing a pickup basketball game, so I don’t know much about the 250-pound Em; I missed that, I didn’t see that guy. No truth to those rumors whatsoever.”

Eminem: No fatso, he...

ALL THINGS JAZZ

On the horizon for lovers of jazz with twist is the The Third Annual Festival of Jazz and Improvised Music at  Bohemian National Home, happening May 30-31. Performers include the Matthew Shipp Trio (hard to pigeonhole or describe, but he sometimes evokes the pianist evokes the volcanic energy of Cecil Taylor bounded by a sort of jittery focus; sort of like Taylor crossed with a watch spring); not to mention groups led by saxophone wailers Fred Anderson, Andrew Lamb, Ellery Eskelin and Sabir Mateen; the group Edge, ex-Detroiter Hakim Jami; guitar-shredder supreme Eugene Chabourne…and more. In other words, a worthy successor to a fest that kicked off by honoring the great Sam Rivers. To help make it all happen, the Bohos are passing the hat for sponsors: $250 buys a pair of festival passes and your name in print on posters, etc. Info at myspace.com/bohemiannationalhome or e-mail newdetroitsounds@hotmail.com. (Since Boho is pursuing nonprofit status, your donation could wind up being tax deductible.)

And while we’re on the topic of things with a twist: the DSO’s 8 Days in June festival is also doing the redux thing after a successful inaugural year. Same premise as before: The classics in context can be seen as relevant and cutting edge; today’s cutting edge stuff fits comfortably right alongside. Highlights of the fest, which begins June 13th, include performances of Conlon Nancarrow’s madcap music for player piano and John Zorn’s never-the-same-twice composition “Cobra.” The DSO plays the music of Philip Glass (to what sounds like a humongous pro-Darwin slide show), John Adams, Steve Reich and Frederic Rzewski — not to mention Mendelssohn, Rachmaninoff and other names more frequently heard in their repertoire. Bill Frisell brings his trio, and actors will read texts by Henry David Thoreau to the music of John Cage. Etc., etc, etc.. More info at detroitsymphony.com.

Matthew Shipp: a trio impossible to pigeonhole...

IT'S THAT TIME OF YEAR AGAIN...

The nominees for this year's Detroit Music Awards have been announced. The awards ceremony will be held Friday, April 25th at the Fillmore. Go here for more info. (And please don't lobby me to vote for you; I haven't received a ballot nor am I expecting one...)

Here's a full list of the nominees:

OUTSTANDING ACOUSTIC FOLK ARTIST/GROUP

BILLY BRANDT
GRIEVOUS ANGEL
JEN CASS
JILL JACK
PAUL MILES
THE MILROYS

OUTSTANDING ACOUSTIC/FOLK INSTRUMENTALIST

AUDRA KUBAT, (GUITAR (ACOUSTIC)) - AUDRA KUBAT
BILLY BRANDT, (GUITAR (ACOUSTIC)) - BILLY BRANDT
JEREMY KITTEL, (VIOLIN/FIDDLE) - JEREMY KITTEL
LUKE SAYERS, (GUITAR (ACOUSTIC)) - LUKE SAYERS
PAUL MILES, (GUITAR (ACOUSTIC)) - PAUL MILES
PETE "BIG DOG" FETTERS, (GUITAR (ACOUSTIC)) - PETE 'BIG DOG' FETTERS

OUTSTANDING ACOUSTIC/FOLK RECORDING

ANNIE AND ROD CAPPS, "IN THIS TOWN"
BILLY BRANDT, "MISSION BAND"
DAISY MAY, "MOTHER MOON"
JUDY INSLEY, "LEAVING HOME"
LUKE SAYERS & MARK IANNACE, "LONG WAY BACK"
PAUL MILES, "STEPPIN OUT"
SHOUT SISTER SHOUT, "SHOUT SISTER SHOUT"

OUTSTANDING ACOUSTIC/FOLK SONGWRITER

AUDRA KUBAT
BILLY BRANDT
JILL JACK
JUDY INSLEY
PAUL MILES
STACIA PETRIE

OUTSTANDING ACOUSTIC/FOLK VOCALIST

AUDRA KUBAT, (AUDRA KUBAT)
BILLY BRANDT, (BILLY BRANDT)
JEN CASS, (JEN CASS)
JILL JACK, (JILL JACK)
MICHAEL ON FIRE, (MICHAEL ON FIRE)
PAUL MILES, (PAUL MILES BAND)
STACIA PETRIE, (STACIA PETRIE)

BLUES / RHYTHM & BLUES (R&B)

OUTSTANDING BLUES ARTIST/GROUP ALBERTA ADAMS HOWARD GLAZER JOHNNIE BASSETT MOTOR CITY JOSH PAUL MILES THORNETTA DAVIS OUTSTANDING BLUES/R&B INSTRUMENTALIST DUFFY KING, (GUITAR (ELECTRIC)) - BUGS BEDDOW BAND HOWARD GLAZER, (GUITAR (ELECTRIC)) - HOWARD GLAZER JIM MCCARTY, (GUITAR (ELECTRIC)) - JIM MCCARTY & MYSTERY TRAIN JOHNNIE BASSETT, (GUITAR (ACOUSTIC)) - JOHNNIE BASSETT LAITH AL-SAADI, (GUITAR (ELECTRIC)) - LAITH AL-SAADI MOTOR CITY JOSH, (GUITAR (ELECTRIC)) PAUL MILES, (GUITAR (ACOUSTIC)) - PAUL MILES SKEETO VALDEZ, (DRUMS/PERCUSSION) - VARIOUS ARTISTS OUTSTANDING BLUES/R&B RECORDING DETROIT WOMEN, "SASSITUDE" MATT BESEY, "PRISONER" MONICA BLAIRE, "PORTRAITS OF ME" MOTOR CITY JOSH, "COVERED UP" PAUL MILES, "STEPPIN OUT" ROOT DOCTOR, "CHANGE OUR WAYS" OUTSTANDING BLUES/R&B SONGWRITER MONICA BLAIRE MOTOR CITY JOSH PAUL MILES PENNY WELLS STACIA PETRIE STEWART FRANCKE OUTSTANDING BLUES/R&B VOCALIST ALBERTA ADAMS, (ALBERTA ADAMS) CATHY DAVIS, (CATHY DAVIS AND THE SOULSEARCHERS) JOCELYN B, (JOCELYN B AND THE DETROIT STREET PLAYERS) MOTOR CITY JOSH, (MOTOR CITY JOSH) STACIA PETRIE, (STACIA PETRIE) THORNETTA DAVIS, (THORNETTA DAVIS) OUTSTANDING R&B ARTIST/GROUP BUGS BEDDOW BAND HOTSAUCE JOCELYN B AND THE DETROIT STREET PLAYERS LARRY LEE AND BACK IN THE DAY RJ'S RHYTHM ROCKERS ROOT DOCTOR

CLASSICAL

OUTSTANDING CLASSICAL COMPOSER CHRISTOPHER DIETZ DANA NEWHOUSE JAMES HARTWAY MICHAEL DAUGHERTY OUTSTANDING CLASSICAL INSTRUMENTALIST BUGS BEDDOW, (TROMBONE) - PEBBLE CREEK CHAMBER ORCHESTRA KENNETH THOMPKINS, (TROMBONE) - DETROIT CHAMBER WINDS & STRINGS ROBERT DEMAINE, (CELLO) - DSO STEVEN DEARING, (GUITAR (ACOUSTIC)) - THE DEARING CONCERT DUO OUTSTANDING CLASSICAL RECORDING DETROIT CHAMBER WINDS & STRINGS, "MOZART SERENADE NO. 10 "GRAN PARTITA"" IL SEGRETO STRING QUARTET, "WHEN KIPPY ATTACKS" OUTSTANDING CLASSICAL SMALL ENSEMBLE CHAMBER MUSIC AT THE SCARAB CLUB CUT TIME PLAYERS DETROIT CHAMBER WINDS & STRINGS MOTOR CITY BRASS BAND NEW MUSIC DETROIT OUTSTANDING CLASSICAL VOCALIST ABHA DEARING, (THE DEARING CONCERT DUO) EVA MARIE EVOLA, (EVE MARIE EVOLA) PEIYI WANG, (EMU) SUZANNE MALLARE ACTON, (RACKHAM SYMPHONY) TRISH SHANDOR, (PEBBLE CREEK CHAMBER ORCHESTRA) OUTSTANDING COMMUNITY ORCHESTRA DEARBORN SYMPHONY ORCHARD LAKE PHILHARMONIC SOCIETY COMMUNITY ORCHESTRA PONTIAC OAKLAND SYMPHONY SOUTHERN GREAT LAKES SYMPHONY WARREN SYMPHONY

COUNTRY

OUTSTANDING COUNTRY ARTIST/GROUP DOOP & THE INSIDE OUTLAWS HUMMINGBIRDS, THE ORBITSUNS REDHILL WHITEY MORGAN & THE WAYCROSS GEORGIA FARMBOYS OUTSTANDING COUNTRY INSTRUMENTALIST DAN MILLER, (GUITAR (ELECTRIC)) - BLANCHE DAVID FEENY, (PEDAL STEEL) - BLANCHE JIMMY PALUZZI, (DRUMS/PERCUSSION) - ORBITSUNS SIR TIM DUVALIER, (GUITAR (ELECTRIC)) - ORBITSUNS STEPHEN GRANT WOOD, (GUITAR (ELECTRIC)) - HUMMINGBIRDS, THE SUSIE WOODMAN, (KEYBOARDS) - VARIOUS ARTISTS OUTSTANDING COUNTRY RECORDING DOOP & THE INSIDE OUTLAWS, "BLOOD RIVER" HUNTER BRUCKS, "MOTORCITY SOUL MEETS SOUTHERN ROCK & ROLL" JUSTINE BLAZER, "RED WHITE AND BLUE" TOMMY STEELE / STEELE CANYON BAND, "LOVE COUNTRY MUSIC" WILDFIRE, "IGNITION" OUTSTANDING COUNTRY SONGWRITER DAN MILLER DON "DOOP" DUPRIE GREG MICHAELS JEN CASS VINNIE DOMBROSKI WHITEY MORGAN OUTSTANDING COUNTRY VOCALIST DAN MILLER, (BLANCHE) JEN CASS, (JEN CASS) JULIANNE, (REDHILL) RACHEL LYNN HERCULA, (HUMMINGBIRDS, THE) SARAH LENORE, (SARAH LENORE) VINNIE DOMBROSKI, (ORBITSUNS)

ELECTRONIC/DANCE

OUTSTANDING ELECTRONIC/DANCE ARTIST/GROUP CHARLIE SLICK DERRICK MAY DETROIT PEOPLE MOVER MATTHEW DEAR UNDERGROUND RESISTANCE OUTSTANDING ELECTRONIC/DANCE DJ DJ GODFATHER DJ HOUSE SHOES DJ LINDA LEXY KEVIN SAUNDERSON MIKE CLARKE OUTSTANDING ELECTRONIC/DANCE RECORDING DETROIT PEOPLE MOVER, "TRANSITIONS" MATTHEW DEAR, "ASA BREED" MICKEY STRANGE, "DIVE" NADIR, "SLAVE: THE REMIXTAPE" OCCASIONAL DETROIT, "OCCASIONAL BOMB" OUTSTANDING ELECTRONIC/DANCE WRITER/PRODUCER BLAKE CHEN DABRYE DTW JOHN ARNOLD MATTHEW DEAR WAJEED

GENERAL

OUTSTANDING ANTHOLOGY/COMPILATION/REISSUE DIANA ROSS, "LAST TIME I SAW HIM" (HIP-O SELECT) J DILLA, "JAY DEELICIOUS: THE DELICIOUS VINYL YEARS" (DELICIOUS VINYL) MARVIN GAYE, "HERE MY DEAR" (MOTOWN/UME) RICHIE HAWTIN, "CONCEPT 1 96" SONIC'S RENDEZVOUS BAND "MASONIC TEMPLE: DETROIT 1978" (ALIVE) VARIOUS ARTISTS, "MUSIC FROM & INSPIRED BY THE MOVIE 'PANIC IN DETROIT' " (HARMONIE PARK) OUTSTANDING LIVE PERFORMANCE BLACK BOTTOM COLLECTIVE HARD LESSONS, THE HOT SAUCE JILL JACK RADIOCRAFT SIMPLICITY OUTSTANDING LIVE SOUND TECHNICIAN CHRIS PANACKI DONNY DAVENPORT JASON FISHER NEIL T. SEVER STEVE KOHN TERRY COX OUTSTANDING LOCAL RECORD LABEL GHOSTLY INTERNATIONAL MACK AVE RECORDS NO COVER PRODUCTIONS NO DEAL RECORDS STATIC RECORDS TIMES BEACH RECORDS OUTSTANDING NATIONAL MAJOR LABEL RECORDING ARETHA FRANKLIN, "JEWELS IN THE CROWN: ALL-STAR DUETS WITH THE QUEEN" (ARISTA) DIANA ROSS, "I LOVE YOU" (MANHATTAN) KID ROCK, "ROCK N ROLL JESUS" (TOP DOG/ATLANTIC) LOVE ARCADE, "LOVE ARCADE" (ATLANTIC) STOOGES, THE, "THE WEIRDNESS" (VIRGIN) WHITE STRIPES, "ICKY THUMP" (THIRD MAN/WARNER BROS.) OUTSTANDING NATIONAL SINGLE ARETHA FRANKLIN (WITH FANTASIA BARRINO) "PUT YOU UP ON GAME" CHIODOS, "LEXINGTON (JOEY PEA-POT WITH A MONKEY FACE)" KID ROCK, "AMEN" KID ROCK, "SO HOTT" STOOGES, THE, "MY IDEA OF FUN" WHITE STRIPES, "ICKY THUMP" OUTSTANDING NATIONAL SMALL/INDEPENDENT LABEL RECORDING BLACK DAHLIA MURDER, "NOCTURNAL" (METAL BLADE) BLANCHE, "LITTLE AMBER BOTTLES" (LOOSE) CHIODOS, "BONE PALACE BALLET" (EQUAL VISION) CRUD, "DEVIL AT THE WHEEL" (FULL EFFECT) DEADSTRING BROTHERS, "SILVER MOUNTAIN" (BLOODSHOT) PARADIME, "SPILL AT WILL" (BEATS AT WILL) OUTSTANDING RECORD PRODUCER AL SUTTON DAVE FEENY NOLAN MENDENHALL STEVE KING TONY GREEN OUTSTANDING RECORDING STUDIO 54 SOUND BIG SKY RECORDING STUDIO NO COVER RUSTBELT STUDIO A TEMPERMILL WOODSHED

GOSPEL/CHRISTIAN

OUTSTANDING GOSPEL/CHRISTIAN ARTIST/GROUP OR CHOIR BETH STALKER CALVIN COOKE SACRED STEEL ENSEMBLE EMAZIN & GOODSON GIDEON CREW, THE GOD'S ARMY LIBERTY TEMPLE BAPTIST CHURCH CHOIR SONNIE DAY OUTSTANDING GOSPEL/CHRISTIAN MUSICIAN CALVIN COOKE, (GUITAR (ELECTRIC)) - CALVIN COOKE SACRED STEEL ENSEMBLE CHARLENE HELEN BERRY, (GUITAR (ACOUSTIC)) - IN GOD'S IMAGE DANNY COX, (DRUMS/PERCUSSION) - EMAZIN & GOODSON JAY CAVER, (GUITAR (ACOUSTIC)) - SONNIE DAY K. MONTEZ, (KEYBOARDS) - K. MONTEZ LADELL ABRAHMS, (DRUMS/PERCUSSION) - CECE WINANS OUTSTANDING GOSPEL/CHRISTIAN RECORDING DANNY COX, "HALLOWED GROUND" GIDEON CREW, THE, "YOU SHOULDA KILLED ME WHEN YOU HAD ME" KELLY & KELLY, "NEW BEGINNINGS" MICHAEL KING, "GLORY" RON ENGLISH AND THE PSALM 150 ENSEMBLE, "DEVOTIONS" SONNIE DAY, "JESUS A BAD DUDE" OUTSTANDING GOSPEL/CHRISTIAN SONGWRITER DANNY COX GOD'S ARMY PAUL COLLINS & ERIK HARVEY SONNIE DAY OUTSTANDING GOSPEL/CHRISTIAN VOCALIST DANNY COX, (DANNY COX) DARIUS TWYMAN, (EMAZIN & GOODSON) PENNY WELLS, (PENNY WELLS) SONNIE DAY, (SONNIE DAY)

JAZZ

OUTSTANDING JAZZ COMPOSER FARUQ Z.BEY JESSE PALTER MARION HAYDEN MIKE JELLICK RON ENGLISH SCOTT GWINELL TRACY KASH THOMAS OUTSTANDING JAZZ INSTRUMENTALIST ALEXANDER ZONJIC, (FLUTE) - ALEXANDER ZONJIC & FRIENDS CHRIS CODISH, (KEYBOARDS) - BROTHERS GROOVE, THE EVAN PERRI, (GUITAR) - HOT CLUB OF DETROIT GREG DOKES, (KEYBOARDS) - GREG DOKES AND BACK2BACK JULIEN LABRO, (ACCORDION) - HOT CLUB OF DETROIT MIKE JELLICK, (KEYBOARDS) - JESSE PALTER QUARTET SCOTT GWINNELL, (KEYBOARDS) - SCOTT GWINNELL ORQUESTRA OUTSTANDING JAZZ RECORDING AL MCKENZIE, "A REASON TO BE" BRIAN O'NEAL, "DAISY" JOHN REECE PROJECT, "ISLAND PARADISE" PATRICK PROUTY, "THE CHARMED LIFE" RANDY SCOTT, "BREATHE" OUTSTANDING JAZZ VOCALIST BARBARA WARE, (BARBARA WARE) JESSE PALTER, (JESSE PALTER QUARTET) PAUL KING, (PAUL KING & THE RHYTHM SOCIETY ORCHESTRA) TRACY KASH THOMAS, (TRACY KASH THOMAS BAND) TRISH SHANDOR, (VARIOUS ARTISTS) OUTSTANDING MODERN JAZZ ARTIST/GROUP ALEXANDER ZONJIC BROTHERS GROOVE, THE FARUQ Z. BEY ROBERT TYE TRACY KASH THOMAS BAND OUTSTANDING TRADITIONAL JAZZ ARTIST/GROUP COLTON WEATHERSTON TRIO ED NUCCILLI & PLURAL CIRCLE HOT CLUB OF DETROIT JESSE PALTER QUARTET PAUL KELLER ORCHESTRA SCOTT GWINNELL JAZZ ORCHESTRA

ROCK/POP

OUTSTANDING ALTERNATIVE/INDIE ARTIST/GROUP BUMP DIRTBOMBS, THE GORE GORE GIRLS NUROKSOL SILENT YEARS, THE OUTSTANDING HARD ROCK/METAL ARTIST/GROUP 60 SECOND CRUSH DOWNTOWN BROWN MINDCANDY OVERLOADED RAY STREET PARK WODEN OUTSTANDING INDUSTRIAL ARTIST/GROUP CRUD CYBERTRYBE EIGHT HAF LIFE IMPALER, THE OUTSTANDING POP ARTIST/GROUP AMERICAN MARS GREENSTREET JILL JACK LIZ LARIN TIM DIAZ OUTSTANDING ROCK ARTIST/GROUP GO, THE HARD LESSONS, THE MUGGS, THE RADIOCRAFT SIMPLICITY OUTSTANDING ROCK/POP INSTRUMENTALIST BRIAN SCHRAM, (GUITAR (ELECTRIC)) - BRIAN SCHRAM BAND, THE BRIAN SHEEHAN, (GUITAR (ELECTRIC)) - SIMPLICITY CYAMAK ASHTIANI, (GUITAR (ELECTRIC)) - MINDCANDY DANNY METHRIC, (GUITAR (ELECTRIC)) - MUGGS, THE FRANCIS JARAMILLO, (KEYBOARDS) - SIMPLICITY LIZ LARIN, (GUITAR (ELECTRIC)) - LIZ LARIN OUTSTANDING ROCK/POP RECORDING 60 SECOND CRUSH, "STREET CORNER OF FEAR" GO, THE, "HOWL ON THE HAUNTED BEAT YOU RIDE" GREAT LAKES MYTH SOCIETY, THE, "COMPASS ROSE BOUQUET" OVERLOADED, "REGENERATION" RAY STREET PARK, "KING OF EVERYTHING" SIMPLICITY, "EGO STRAIGHT" OUTSTANDING ROCK/POP SONGWRITER BRIAN SHEEHAN FRANCIS JARAMILLO LIZ LARIN SUZIE FERRO TY STONE OUTSTANDING ROCK/POP VOCALIST BRIAN SHEEHAN, (SIMPLICITY) GIA WARNER, (GIA WARNER) LIZ LARIN, (LIZ LARIN) SEAN MOOER, (CYBERTRYBE) SUZIE FERRO, (RADIOCRAFT) YORG KERASIOTIS, (BUMP)

URBAN/FUNK/HIP-HOP

OUTSTANDING HIP-HOP ARTIST/GROUP AJAX BLACK BOTTOM COLLECTIVE GOD'S ARMY KHARY "WAE" FRAZIER SHADOW OUTSTANDING HIP-HOP DJ DJ ASSAULT DJ BUTTER DJ GRAFFITI DJ INVISIBLE! LENN SWAN MR. PICKLES OUTSTANDING HIP-HOP MC AJAX ESHAM GIDEON CREW MS KORONA SHADOW OUTSTANDING URBAN/FUNK ARTIST/GROUP FLOPHOUSE FUNKILINIUM HOTSAUCE MIDTOWN UNDERGROUND NADIR/DISTORTED SOUL T MONEY GREEN'S ROADWORK OUTSTANDING URBAN/FUNK MUSICIAN EMILY ROGERS, (BASS) - LOLA VALLY G.T., (BASS) - FUNKILINIUM KRIS KURZAWA, (GUITAR (ELECTRIC)) - NADIR/DISTORTED SOUL NADIR, (GUITAR (ELECTRIC)) - DISTORTED SOUL STEVE CALDWELL, (GUITAR (ELECTRIC)) - T MONEY GREEN'S ROADWORK T MONEY GREEN, (BASS) - T MONEY GREEN'S ROADWORK OUTSTANDING URBAN/FUNK SONGWRITER DUSJOHN "THE CONVICTOR" WILLIAMS GEE PIERCE GOD'S ARMY MEASTRO SEAN PARRISH T MONEY GREEN OUTSTANDING URBAN/FUNK VOCALIST AJA SARDIS, (VARIOUS ARTISTS) CHEF, (FUNKILINIUM) MISS LULU, (T MONEY GREEN'S ROADWORK) NADIR, (NADIR/DISTORTED SOUL) SHADOW, (SHADOW) VALERIE BARRYMORE, (FOUNDATION OF FUNK) OUTSTANDING URBAN/FUNK/HIP-HOP RECORDING AJAX, "OUT OF BODY/OUT OF MIND EP" BLACK BOTTOM COLLECTIVE, "LOVE" FLOPHOUSE, "GET LOOSE" GIDEON CREW, THE, "YOU SHOULDA KILLED ME WHEN YOU HAD ME" JAM SAMICH, "THE INFLATABLE GORILLA DISASTER" JAMISON, "WATCHIN' THE CITY" MY HEAD RADIO, "ON AIR"

WORLD MUSIC/REGGAE/SKA

OUTSTANDING REGGAE/SKA ARTIST/GROUP 1592 PROCESS, THE RAS KENTE AND TAKE NO PRISONERS POSSE ROOTS VIBRATION SUPERDOT OUTSTANDING WORLD ARTIST/GROUP BLACKMAN & ARNOLD BRAZIL AND BEYOND LOLA MORALES ORQUESTA SENSACIONAL TRINIDAD TRIPOLI STEEL BAND ZEBULA AVENUE OUTSTANDING WORLD/REGGAE/SKA INSTRUMENTALIST BILL KOGGENHOP, (BASS) - ORQUESTA SENSACIONAL DENNIS SHERIDAN, (PERCUSSION) - SHEILA LANDIS AND BRAZILIAN LOVE AFFAIR GREG NANCE, (GUITAR (ELECTRIC)) - ZEBULA AVENUE JAMES RODRIGUEZ, (TIMBALE, CONGA) - ORQUESTA SENSACIONAL KERRY LUNDQUIST, (KEYBOARDS) - ORQUESTA SENSACIONAL MAHINDI MASAI, (PERCUSSION) - ZEBULA AVENUE OUTSTANDING WORLD/REGGAE/SKA RECORDING 1592, "THE RISE OF THE FALLEN" BABYLON PARTY MACHINE, "GOD HATES BABYLON PARTY MACHINE" POLKA FLOYD, "THE POLKA FLOYD SHOW" ZEBULA AVENUE, "LIFE WILL BE FINE" OUTSTANDING WORLD/REGGAE/SKA SONGWRITER GAIL BAKER JAMES RODRIGUEZ MAUREEN HONORE RICK MATLE XAVIER ROSARIO OUTSTANDING WORLD/REGGAE/SKA VOCALIST DAVID ASHER, (PROCESS, THE) GAIL BAKER, (ZEBULA AVENUE) LOLA MORALES, (VARIOUS ARTISTS) MAGGIE MCCABE, (VARIOUS ARTISTS) MAUREEN HONORE, (ZEBULA AVENUE) PABLO OVALLES, (ORQUESTA SENSACIONAL) XAVIER ROSARIO, (ORQUESTA SENSACIONAL)

SIX HOURS OF CECIL

Over at WHFR-FM (Henry Ford Community College's broadcast outlet at 89.3 and on the Web at whfr.fm), DJs Pat Frisco and Terrence Tyson are teaming up for a six-hour marathon of the music of pianist Cecil Taylor in honor of his 79th birthday. That's TUESDAY, MARCH 25, from 5-11 p.m.

More than half a century after his breakthrough, Taylor remains one of the most avant of the avant-garde. Six hours is and isn't a lot of Taylor's music, depending on how you look at it. Taylor's known for marathon performances that go seamlessly for an hour or more. If they wanted to, Frisco and Tyson could easily kill six hours in five cuts. But I'm sure they'll intersperse the shorter pieces as well and commentary to explain just who this cat is. They're also looking for Taylorites to share their "favorite Cecil Taylor memory and/or revelation, favorite recording, etc." for reading over the air. Send 'em to pfrisco@hotmail.com.

OOOPS...

From time to time I’m reminded of Leon Trotsky’s invective against writer Dwight MacDonald: “Everyone has a right to be stupid, but Comrade Macdonald abuses the privilege.” I was specifically reminded yesterday when I realized I’d abused my stupidity privileges and was responsible for a bad date in this week's Night & Day pages of the paper, thus sending out into the more than 100,000 copies of MT suggesting that the Petting Zoo show at Bohemian National Home might well be worth checking out — but sending folks out to see it exactly 24 hours after the actual appearance. So, for the record the show is this SATURDAY, MARCH 22, featuring the multi-instrumentalist and multi-media artist Tom Abbs presenting works developed in collaboration with painter and multimedia artist M.L. Landis. Besides years of artistic collaboration, the two now share Abbs’ original complement of kidneys (2006 transplant), which has become the subject of a video to be shown during the performance. The tour is being underwritten by the legendary ESP label (Sun Ra, Fugs, Albert Ayler, etc.) and the entire catalog is to be displayed and on sale at each tour stop with funds going to the Petting Zoo Tour Fund. (The date was changed from what was announced earlier, but that’s no excuse...)

HEY, BILL

Dude... Just noticed your blahg post about the new Raconteurs album, how it's getting a hasty (read: surprise) release next week. I, personally, think it's a fuckin' brilliant idea.

VON BONDIES UP FOR GRABS

Well, this was certainly news to us...especially since I e-mailed their label publicist last week and it wasn't mentioned.

The Von Bondies are no longer signed to Warner Bros. Records, which explains why their new album, Love, Hate And Then There's You, which was supposed to be released this month, has been pushed back. The band reportedly asked the label to release them from their contract.

"[E]verybody we talk to thinks we're still signed," leader Jason Stollsteimer told Billboard.com's Gary Graff. "Everybody thinks we're still on Warner Bros. Our shows are sold out. People still come and they still like the old songs and they're really excited about the new ones. We sell tons of merch. But we haven't gotten one (label phone call)."

Read the full article here.

Mr. Stollsteimer: How many times are we gonna use this same damn photo?

THE LOVE YOU HAVE TO HATE...

More from the "Jesus!" department:

How come with the exception of Darlene, the others named "Love" in rock music are so contemptible? At any rate, here's Ms. Courtney's latest contribution to the Kurt Cobain legacy. She'd make Yoko (who I actually like, btw) look good in the eyes of others (if Heather Mills, who's never had a leg to stand on, hadn't done that already...)

We repeat: Jesus!

"Punk rock means freedom"? Yeah, right...

RACONTEURS FIND CANCER CURE...ER, PLAN NEW ALBUM

Jesus. Does anybody just release an album these days? First the Black Crowes fiasco and now this...

Brian Smith doesn't agree with me, by the way. He thinks it's a great idea.

I don't have a problem with the strategy, I suppose (though it is a giant "fuck you" to monthly publications, as much of an endangered species as they are these days), just the self-importance of it all.

Anyhow, here's Jack White and company's plans for the new release...and achieving lasting world peace. Full statement follows:

The Raconteurs are happy to announce that in one week's time their second album, entitled Consolers Of The Lonely, will be available EVERYWHERE Tuesday, March 25th.

"Album" meaning: full length vinyl, CD and digital formats; and "everywhere" meaning: local mom and pop Indie retailers, corporate superstores, supermarkets, iTunes, Amazon, the band's own website and any other location that could get the record up and going this quickly (some places couldn't move this fast, so they will join in as soon as they can).

It contains 14 new recordings and is being released globally on Third Man Records in conjunction with our marketing/distribution partners, XL Recordings and Warner Brothers Records.

The album was mastered and completed in the first week of March. It was then taken immediately to a vinyl pressing plant. Then to a CD pressing plant. Then preparations to sell it digitally began. March 25th became the soonest date to have it available in EVERY FORMAT AT ONCE. The band have done no interviews or advertisements for this record before this announcement.

The purpose: to get the album to the fans as soon as possible and as we promised. We wanted to get this record to fans, the press, radio, etc., all at the EXACT SAME TIME so that no one has an upper hand on anyone else regarding it's availability, reception or perception.

With this release, the Raconteurs are forgoing the usual months of lead time for press and radio set up, as well as forgoing the all important "first week sales". We wanted to explore the idea of releasing an album everywhere at once and THEN marketing and promoting it thereafter. The Raconteurs would rather this release not be defined by it's first weeks sales, pre-release promotion, or by someone defining it FOR YOU before you get to hear it.

Another purpose was to also allow people to have their own choice as to exactly which format they would like to hear the album in IMMEDIATELY, rather than having to wait for their favorite format to become available. The band are also not releasing any version of this record that contains bonus tracks. Musically this album will be the same as the band created it no matter what format it is purchased in (The sound quality of each format however, is a different story. The Raconteurs recommend hearing it on vinyl, but the choice is of course up to the listener).

The band also prefer that fans buy the album as a whole instead of breaking up the tracks, but until iTunes and other digital services allows bands to release their albums with the option of NOT breaking it up, it will be sold in that fashion on those particular sites. On the band's website however, the album will be sold in its entirety as an mp3 at 320kb bit rate. Also in Japan, fans will be able to download the record via their mobile phones, as that is how a majority of recorded music is consumed there.

The reason we are announcing this release one week ahead of time is because of retail pre-ordering and stocking, information about this album's imminent release was bound to come to light and could be confusing to fans. Also in the event that the record leaks, we didn't want this method of release to be seen as a REACTION to such a leak. It's not. The actual worst thing about a leak is the usual poor sound quality, akin to watching a movie on a wristwatch instead of in a theater. Which for the album's creators is a bit of a letdown, but again, it is completely up to the listener.

There will be a video up on the internet for the first single, "Salute Your Solution", on the 25th as well, provided it gets edited in time. We just filmed it the other day!

We hope not to confuse anyone with too many options, or deny them the formats that they like best. The Raconteurs feel very strongly that music has worth and should be treated as such. Thank you to all those who respect music in this fashion, and thank you to our label partners for working with us to get this album to fans in as many formats as possible all at once.

Thank you, and we hope that you enjoy Consolers Of The Lonely.

Sincerely,
The Raconteurs

The guys are generally pleased when Willy Wonka drops by!

BIG BLOCK!

From the shoulda/coulda/woulda dept:

The band Big Block shoulda happened back in the ’90s, everyone who remembers says so. The label weasels wooed, fans cooed and other bands booed but the quartet remained a local, fleeting institution. Nothing more. Of course it was nothing more. How often are the deserving rewarded? Huh?

And if ever there’s been a guy we’ve blown kisses to in the last half-decade, it’s bony-elbowed singer/songwriter/multi-instrumentalist Kenny Tudrick (Bulldog) — a dude with  it all; charm, skill and the ability to make girls flutter, chemical romances notwithstanding. (Even more, as we reported here on this blahg eons ago, Tudrick had the ten-point wherewithal to quit Kid Rock’s band.)  

So it is that Tudrick and Big Block running bud Nick Lucassian — who’s no slouch himself, just look to his Shipwreck Union for attestation — are reforming their ’90s powerhouse band Big Block, with original rhythm section Scott MacDonald and Joe Proper, for a single night at Small’s in Hamtown. Sure, it’s a rosy evening of nostalgia, the musical antithesis to, say, Stone Temple Pilots or Smashing Pumpkins, or whatever shit band ruled airwaves then, but good on it. It’s known that the 313/248 was a much less craven place when Big Block walked among us.

The affable guitarist-singer Lucassian (who, like Tudrick, did his allotted time in the Detroit Cobras) phoned up explaining that the Big Block reunion just sort of “happened.”

He and Tudrick are, he says, working together again, the proverbial record’s in the works.

Saturday, March 15 at Small’s (10339 Conant St., Hamtramck; 313-873-1117) with the Drinking Problem.

Picture this: Saturday night at the Blowout

Marco Polio and the New Vaccines, Ether Aura and Detroit Threads Fashion Show

Cut Across Shorty

The fever’s currently topping a balmy 102. A busted car axle too; all hail the Hamtown roadway! But the perfunctory Danny Kroha nod nonetheless: His unnamed trio at Record Graveyard Friday night restored a certain faith in the homespun, Glen Buxton-y five-chord roundelay; garage-era-cum-classic-rock crash and pop. His voice’s all vulnerable; Ronnie Lane comes to mind. Countenances of swooning high schoolers in front of the makeshift stage gaze hard at Kroha & chums; it says: Awesome!

Blowout’s Accent on Youth redux: An obvious observation this year mostly from three rows back at the Satin Peaches KofC set: Those in high-school a few years ago are the next tide of Detroit music fans and bands. We see innumerable tribes of strawberry-cheeked pups hitting venues and streets indulging festering live music addictions and that new, so-sweet hum of alcohol. There's lots of bemused wonder on soft, pale faces. Lots of nervous adrenaline wrapped in thoughtful black coats. Lots of newborn freedoms from subdivision constraints and parental dependence. Kudos to the new sounds … Kudos to discovery. Economy be damned, optimism’s rising.

Urine Artist pt. 2

Oh, Deastro. How doth the ladies love thou? How devout the bloggers affections? How buzztastic can one get without a serious reality check?

Here’s the thing, though. The kid called Randolph Chabot Jr. brings the goods. I figured that the critical mass of online scribes would have rode the been-there-done-that-I’ll see-him-next-week logic and head straight for the heart of cool with Terrible Twos at Small’s. I was not wrong. See, I’m a dad who has to get up at 6:30 and go to shit in the evening and then try to see if my boss is online at night and make sure that I acknowledge that so as to assure them that I, too, never leave my laptop. It’s just the way it is, people. Don’t go toward the light, Carol Ann!

Anyhoo, that leaves me precious few opportunities to check out Deastro’s magic (even though he does play, like, 8 times a month). And, as rumor has it, there were "label people" there tonight (how very one Tree Hill!) So there you have it, my decision was made. We rolled up to Painted Lady, negotiated past a handful of zaftig dudes in the narrow one-way alley marked “Hippies Enter Here” and made entrance into one of Detroit’s holy punk sites.

Here’s the thing: the joint, while not packed, was admirably stocked with the most diverse crowd I’ve ever seen at the Blowout. Let’s face it, the Blowout’s only slightly more integrated than the rest of the city. But the proportions -- Black dudes to white dudes, chicks to dudes, all-ages kids and crusty oldies, hipsters to rubberneckers, drunks to lucids, dancers to chin-scratchers, rock to rhythm, chaos to order, sweat to circuitry – where god damned inspirational. And they were all there to collectively will Chabot to further awesomeness. People were jumping on stage and firing off camera flashes to augment the light show, the Goths looked twice when the Red Wings fans started going apeshit. Everyone coveted Chabot’s pom-pon sweatshirt. The beats came and went. Rhythms failed and were recovered. Members of Zoos of Berlin were awesomely nonplussed. Chabot came into the audience to dance his crazy arm-swinging techno-meets-Andrew WK jig. When he accompanied his prerecorded jams live on drums and vocals, it was visceral. When he triggered samples and beats and sounds live, it was danceable and generally hypnotic. But it wasn’t perfect. And that’s what’s so great. And everyone seemed to get that. Chabot live is a very different beast from Chabot on record.

On record he’s smooth, controlled, perfect. Live? Can’t slow that train down no matter where it’s headed. It feels like stories I’ve heard about the early days of techno from the Belleville Three talking about all the black kids rocking out to “Rock Lobster.” It felt like The Electrifying Mojo on too much coffee.

It was not a mistake to skip Terrible Twos (even though not one, not two, but three people told me on the way in to Small’s afterward “whoah. You missed the show, man!” “they were awesome” or other such and such. Well god for them. That’s super. “Deastro was rad, too!” I offered. But they had already moved onto the next de rigeur spot which was probably the Hentchmen. I love the Hentchmen. They know this in ways that a blog cannot convey. But I wasn’t in a Hentch place, oddly.


Nope. My night was winding down with City Chicken Orchestra. The CCO is the backing band behind Dan DiMaggio. Bartender. Raconteur. It’s an orchestra because he has a music stand. So there. DiMaggio everything Henry Rollins wishes he could be and perhaps our own version of John Cooper Clarke (score! Obscure reference!).

How DiMaggio’s trenchant brand of hyper-urban, post-sturm und drang deconstructionist recidivist poliemics couched in neo-branded ur-irony passed muster of the crypto-fascist collective that books the Blowout is beyond me! Just beyond! But I’m demanding a re-count!

OK, wait. That’s just a fancy pants way of commenting on one of his stories about a certainly weekly whose name rhymes with “shmetro flimes”. The story was called “Weekly” (though, because he said it and I didn’t read it printed, it could have been “weakly” is suppose). It took aim at the complacency and predictability and general Bourgie-artsy foibles of your favorite free alternative newsweeklies. And it was sharp, blunt, funny, obscure, bitter and utterly human. Basically what I would like to think an educated response to just about any issue of Metro Times would be. And I guess it’s better than being reduced to sub J-school anecdotal ad-buffer copy like other weeklies, but whatevs. People in glass houses and all that…

DiMaggio’s first story was about a vain, self-obsessed so-and-so who worked his own ass with sandpaper and oil till it irresistibly held his own gaze – he was gonna get a band together. There was stinging reference, sharp observation and forceful, bitchy delivery. And thankfully, the refrain of “I’m gonna get a baand togethuhrrr” as delivered by DiMaggio pushed Toto out of my cranium for a minute or three. Thanks, Dan. He was ably backed by a keyboardist, drummer and bass-guitarist (right?) who ably held down the connective atmosphere. The band was tastefully consrained. It neither as kitschy as the one backing Mike Myers in So I Married an Axe Murderer nor the one backing Jim Morrison on numerous Doors records. At one point DiMaggio was pointing around the room, “you’re an artist. And you’re an artist and urine artist and urine artist….” Call me Andres Serrano and kick me in the crotch, but it’s what I heard.


I need to say that I continued the practice of pointing the nose of my car slightly out of the parking spot and it worked like a fucking houseafire. I noticed at least three other people and their bro-hams jerking back and forth trying to get out of spots. Me? I just gunned it and let provenance and front wheel drive take their course!

I missed Zoos of Berlin, so that totally sucks.

But what the fuck was up at Caniff east of Campau at the liquor store? I hightailed it south, hit Holbrook and made sure to give the American Axle strikers huddling outside their garbage can fires a good honking. In case you’re in need of a reminder, make sure to go down Holbrook and witness the union stalwarts in the fucking cold at 2:30 a.m.: Yes, music festivals are frivolous. But aren’t they great!

A Cross-Section of Emails from bands

The Spitting Nickels:
"Spitting Nickels -- what a party!" - Aaron Bales

We say: "MetroTimes Blowout -- what a party!" Spitting Nickels had a great time with the Blowout crowd in the Atlas Bar. We made lots of new friends, learned a lot about space management, and spattered blood on someone's drums for the second time in a week. What more could we ask for?

If you haven't gotten out to Blowout -- one more night left. Do it!


The Sillies:
Thank you for the show at The Locker Room (3141). In spite of the two huge house fires across the street and the late hour, people stayed and were surprisingly enthusiastic and supportive. Everyone in The Sillies was very happy with the experience, which can't be said of every show the band has done in 30 years. It was a pleasure.

Yours,

Scott Campbell, founder
www.thesillies.com


And my personal favorite...

Brian from Porchsleeper

beyond drunk,

b

Urine Artist Pt 1

No. I did not see Terrible Twos on Friday night. The dudes are still tall, genius and in total out-of-control. I don’t need the Blowout to tell me that. But the fact that you couldn’t move inside Small’s even 15 minutes after their set ended is encouraging in the big picture.
but first...
When you start your night by getting subtly forced out of “Tight Fittin’” Jeans during Last Tourist at 10 pm, the Blowout gods are smiling. So, even though Jean’s is a Blowout hinterlands joint – out by the sports bars and Wendy’s on Joseph Campau -- the constant influx of friends, fans and vagabonds makes for too cozy bedfellows. Yes, in the big picture, this is a good thing. The band themselves, in the metaphor of my evening’s running mate and Blowout virgin, Scott, defy gravity with the first few numbers we catch. By the time we’re squeezing ourselves out, they’ve found a dreamy, oft-dynamic ‘90s-lovin’ rock groove. There’s a lot to be said for that.

The bartender ladies ducked the usual pre-conceived truism that bartendresses should wear it tight and low. They, instead, opted for two-sizes-too-large sweatshirts. Hott!! One of ‘em even had light up pins where her nipples should be!

Knights of Columbus: Before consumer paralysis could strike, my trusty sidekick and I headed to the Knights of Columbus Hall to do a little re-con and gather thoughts. Karaoke ensued.

Childbite has the best collection of facial hair evar! OMG!M!@#!@#!!!

Four of the dudes have dark beards, thus making it appear that the merely mustachioed (and slighter-of-build) drummer was kidnapped, dragged into some single-wide and forced to propel the jams against his will. The sound was absolute mud. Just fucking awful. Still, Childbite’s guitars, sax and synth widgets attack shone through. Thank gawd. There was alotta hair flying around, alotta bulk to carry the momentum. And carry it they did. Balls out and well done new wave, punk blast bombast and sass. Bearded dudes with hands on their hips and their hips cocked.

We returned to the K of C lounge in time to catch the end of Lull Tucker’s set (adequate, but the program guide comparing him to Howe Gelb isn’t fair) and the resurgence of hipster karaoke roulette wherein the volunteer singer never knows what song they’ll tackle till the wheel stops spinning. We left during the host’s rendition of Toto’s “Africa.” It is still stuck in my head.

I must admit that this had something to do with my running mate and getting a little lost exiting the K of C and being escorted through the security room. I was only slightly alarmed to find out that there are multiple closed circuit TVs monitoring the action inside and outside the K of C at all times. And a very gracious dude running the observation hut. As my running mate so aptly put it “What kind of fun house is this?!”

[up next…Deastro. City Chicken. Solidarity and such]

An Abuse of Analogy (pt. 2)

(Had to do this in two parts cause the blog editor is being naughty.)

Damon, on the other hand, took it slower, didn't do anything mainstream for a while. He made All the Pretty Horses, Rounders, The Talented Mr. Ripley. Stuff like that. Eventually he stumbled into the Bourne franchise, but that was out of the norm.

In this fable, the Allen brothers are Affleck. Their sound is louder, more immediate, full of spectacle. And they've found widespread popularity and toured the world. Whereas Naud/Clark took the road Damon traveled, looking for a way to make Pop and Art be friends and keeping a low profile. But in the eight years since Red Shirt split, I think the projects have come full circle in a way. Thunderbirds, who used to get over on sheer energy alone, found an extra level of musicianship and maturity to tap into while keeping their show a ritual of punk shamanism. And Naud/Clark, to whom experiments and texture-over-volume came naturally, managed to form a really raucous five-piece band that likes to crank it. Of course, I didn't bring this up to talk about Thunderbirds, but about Friendly Foes, the band Ryan Allen started while Thunderbirds take a much-needed break. Like Affleck (I'm going to milk this analogy for all its worth), who has recently reformed his gambling, womanizing ways to experiment with family life and smaller films, Allen confessed to me last year that he started Friendly Foes out of a wish to do something simple and song-based, that wouldn't necessarily take him away from home 9 months a year.

So how did this all come full circle last night? For starters, Friendly Foes made good on Allen's promise to me of a Pavement-style, primary color rock. They were so solid it was sick, and I felt a little embarrassed that Lizzie Wittman (bass) and Brad Wittman (drums) were unknowns to me. They're a banging rhythm section. Apparently I'm that out of touch. And Zoos of Berlin. What can I say about the band that I haven't said before? I've used up all my metaphors. What stood out about their set last night was that it was easily twice as loud as any previous show I've attended. What could I do but close my eyes and take it in the ears? Yeah, it hurt a little, but it was a good kind of abuse. Think of it this way. If Ennio Morricone started a band and its members used to play in a Neutral Milk Hotel cover group and by day ran a tattoo parlor that only inked Dadaist images... wouldn't you be willing to stand front-row at their show and take a little abuse too? Zoos are that strange. That good. That worth it.

An Abuse of Analogy (pt. 1)

Before I begin, can I just ask: when did rock get so punctual? I have yet, in three days of Blowing it Out, to not walk in a band I came to see mid-set. Punctuality is just not part of the time-honored code I live by. When I roll I don't just roll DEEP, I roll tardy. Nothing crazy, just a ten- or fifteen-minute buffer so I'm not stuck waiting for anything. But the blowout has been all Swiss clocks and German-engineered cars this year. Precise. Guess I'll have to tie a string around my finger for tonight.

Anyway, last night for me was about back-to-back sets from Friendly Foes (Belmont) and Zoos of Berlin (New Dodge). There's history there between those bands and I saw the chance to see them both on the same night as a resolution of sorts. To a saga of contrast eight years in the making.

See, there used to be this band called Red Shirt Brigade. They were young, brash. The toast of indie town. Really smart but also really ballsy. I loved it and was sad when they broke up. They were always a group pulled between two horses of punk and art. So when they split, what came out of it were two more refined projects, better for it, and a settling of the disagreements in Red Shirt Brigade's sound. The brothers Ryan and Scott Allen formed Thunderbirds Are Now!, which started out as dancepunk but then went post-dancepunk (and kept on adding another layer of post- to their sound with each passing year). The remaining Red Shirts Trevor Naud and Daniel Clark spent of couple of quiet years working on an ambient project before forming Zoos of Berlin. At first, it was hard to believe that Thunderbirds and Zoos were really two halves of the same defunct band. But when I started to think of them as Ben Affleck and Matt Damon, it all made sense.

When Good Will Hunting broke out as an indie hit in 1997, it was sold on the buzz of the Affleck/Damon backstory. A tale of two regular joes from Boston who slummed it for years tweaking the film's script (which won them an oscar for screenwriting), and then pushing it through the Hollywood system. At the time, Affleck and Damon were essentially the same guy in the public's mind. Same mannerisms. Same tastes. Same story. Same career trajectory. And then... they started making movies with all that new pull. And the differences in their choices were drastic. Affleck always went bigger, louder, and was working all the time. Armageddon, Boiler Room, Pearl Harbor. He nurtured his independent roots with the occasional Kevin Smith vehicle, but he still managed to become a household name. He was half of Beniffer for crying out loud.

Never Book a Sports Bar

Hey folks...FYI: The Motor City Sports Bar will no longer be participating in this year's Blowout. Please do not go there, as we believe it is an unsafe atmosphere.

Drag.

Video Gaga

Special thanks to Blowout volunteer and Detroit music superfan, Bill Cheek, who shot some live Blowout footage:

Eons at the Pre-Party:




The Decks:

Blowout, the viral effect

Listen, the snow is falling. It's the third morning after the third night of Blowout '08 and my thoughts turn not to the music that rocked Hamtramck bars, clubs, social and veterans halls, record and clothing stores the past two nights. Or to another amped up grand opening night at Detroit's Majestic complex.

They turn to Al-Haramin International Foods, a market at the end of my block at Caniff and Gallagher, where I spotted a couple of Sid Vicious wannabes tenderly eying the vegetarian grape leaves, hummous and artichoke trays at the olive bar. They turn to more kids discovering the heavenly sparkling Slovenian mineral water called Radenska Classic (the one with the three hearts on the green label) that we in the hood (too cutely perhaps) call love water. They turn again, this time to the bar and kitchen called B&H, further east on Caniff and about a dozen storefronts from Small's, where noise-pop vets His Name is Alive and their skinnier, hairier progeny the Terrible Twos and the Frustrations skronked it up Friday night/Saturday morning.

B&H was opened by Bosnian refugees in the late 1990s. I recall telling Dan Sordyl, whose mega dance club Motor was directly across the street (and where arguably the best-ever Blowout pre-festival party was held in 2002 featuring the Von Bondies, the Sights and DJ Godfather) that the Turkish coffee at the Bosnian place was to die for. As were some crazy Balkan fruit brandies and the famed minced meat dish called cevapcici.

There's obviously much more pan-ethnic daydreaming to be done here. Almost everyone knows about Polish Village, but the hot buffet at Bozek's Meats (on Caniff, across the street from Al-Haramin) is recommended for a quicker carryout back to the crib, as is Krakus, just north of the city limits in Detroit on Jos. Campau near Halleck. Almost the entire length of Conant has a sub-continental Northern Indian flavor and is primarily Bangladeshi-owned. Hey girls: Why not go to Bombay Fashion and buy a sari. Then, carefully now, dash across the street to the Knights of Columbus and wear it to see Mitch Ryder with Powertrane. That's badass. The show is tonight at 11ish.

Me? I'm having dinner with friends from out of town at the cozy new Mexican diner, Maria's Comida (On Jos. Campau, north of Caniff). Then, all bets are off. The streets will call my name and I'll come running. What am I hearing at the moment? Artsy events at Cafe 1923 and Design 99, fashion and house grooves (courtesy of DJ Shortround) at Detroit Threads in one ear, and Michael Doyle of Dethlab in the other saying that Marco Polio and the New Vaccines are not to be missed (at the Belmont, 10 p.m.) in the other.

It's a community thing, a thing of beauty and serendipity, this marriage between the Blowout and Hamtramck. I raise a glass of love water and offer a toast: long may you live together righteously and riotously on and on and on.

Too Much To Say, So....

Every. Band. Who. Agreed. To. Play. Blowout. Rules.Every. Band. Who. Agreed. To. Play. Blowout. Rules.

I'm Like Rockwell, But in Reverse

I always feel like I'm watching someone else? Hmm...I'll work on my bad blogger-type references as the weekend progresses.

#05213 Reporting from Guyvile.

Millions of Brazilians: Who knew? Sparse content on a myspace page and a kick-ass name are one of the hazards of the Blowout in the nu-modern age. But I rolled the 12-sided die (I always carry one in case I ever find myself at the mouth of a cave) and now, well, now I’m a level 12 Orc.
The Brazilians hit it tight and hit it hard and kept the girls and the girl-men screaming (or at least heartily, honestly “woo-ing”). Turns out I work with the drummer. Turns out I’ve seen him in the hallway lately and not noticed his awesome ponytail-ready mullet growth. Turns out he’s the kind of drummer that can power a band’s energy through a densely packed hallway of a bar, carrying harmonizer-effected bassline geetars and a langorously nervy singer along on beats both disco and disco-rock. These are good-lookin’ dudes who make dance-rock. Expect big things on their social calendars. Their myspace jam and their demo EP don’t do 'em justice.

[Ambling aimlessly, debating whether hoofing it to New dodge was worth it. Decided to make sure I hadn’t parallel parked on an ice patch, thus stupidly paralyzing me on Belmont. Learned that pointing the nose of your car slightly out of ice-crusted parking spots isn’t such a bad idea when you need to make a quick, front-wheel-drive-powered exit. Score one for the good guys!]

Atlas/Ethos: It’ll always be Roadrunner’s Raft to me. It’ll always be that compromised little space into which bands are crammed. It’ll always run late and chaotically. It’ll always feel like someone’s living room. I’l always have a beer, think it’s some undiscovered gem of a joint only to realize I’m there just cuz of Blowout. Bummer. I arrived with a passal of other dudes to the final strains of the 6-sardine-crammed members of Ethos winding down. Not bad, not enough evidence to say good bad or awesome.

Met my first Blowout virgin who gazed aloud in wide wonder at the joy he had found about how many of the bands are bands that take their music career seriously and how many are just in it for the kicks. It was like a Zen fuckin’ koan. I tried making a Venn diagram in the air representing the intentions and motivations of the glorious Detroit rock bindery. That didn’t cut it. I tried straight percentages but everything added up to 200%. I gave up and mentioned the number “more than 230” and eyes widened, beers were swigged and I exited for Baker’s Streetcar Lounge for…

Champions of Breakfast: “Fuck me!” I thought. “I’m in the wrong place!” Baker’s set up has the band playing in a separate room and the main bar feels like a comfortably well-worn granddad den. In a good way. Fortunately I spotted the boys from Porchsleeper heading out thanks to the awesomeness that was a totally random “schedule” for the evening’s events. Then, naturally, I spotted the giant “holy shit! Can you believe how awesome everything is?!” enthusiastic grin of Big Matt from Motor City Rocks. Followed his shadow into the room and was rewarded by…awkward silence. Sound guy had to figure out how to plug CoB’s iPod into the sound board or some shite.

Soon the jammery commenced. Members were sworn in to the Members Only club. The pool was opened. The girls, well, the girls were appreciated and commented upon by the band in a most Duran Duran like manner. The Champs strapped on the cardboard keytars, danced like you only wish you could dance, sang things you’ve only thought and, naturally, “played” (and “tuned”) wicked bass riffs on the biggest goddamned cardboard bass guitar you’re gonna find anywhere outside the back room at ABC Warehouse where cardboard goes to die. I was in love for 15 minutes. And then I got that old itch to move, wondering which bar was more far behind and thinking I could thusly break the time space continuum and catch the Myth Society’s set. I had a fevered vision that they were going to cover the Teardrop Explodes song that was on my car stereo as I headed to Small’s just quickly enough to catch the tail end of their set, aforementioned substitute drummer in tow, rocking along gamely while the brothers Monger played accordion, guitar and a game of stage banter sibling rivalry. It was good but brief and I had a hallucination that I saw a friend who lives in Peru in the crowd.

Onward… [gonna try to type up Steve-O's notes from the first two days shortly. Stay tuned]

Crossing Lines.

Here's hoping folks who wouldn't normally check out an urban music showcase, give Capo a shot tonight. Links to tonights musicians are here.

Tack on at least one more of Blowout's so-called "WTF moments."

New Candidates Arrive

I vote yes. Yes to Millions of Brazillions and the furtherance of sexy sludgy rock'n'roll as a national pastime. I vote NO to candidates A, B and C and flaccid political theater in general. But yes, yes to any band that updates its love of Dinosaur Jr., Jesus Lizard and Urge Overkill by damaging its sound with youth-approved irony, deafening disco beats and effects-pedal voodoo. Like Death From Above 1979 with less slack, more attack.

Oh, and I'm penciling in a vote for the Belmont, too, as the most underrated venue in Detroit. Bands sound good and loud there, but not shrill, and its so-narrow-it's-silly wind tunnel of a room forces bodies together in a way that gives even modest turnouts an intimate energy.

So far so good.

Then I got a Millions of Brazillions CDR and was staring at it for a second, trying to determine if it was my whiskey-logged brain, or there really was a hand-drawn picture of a hamburger with legs taunting a cow sketched on its face. Before I could make up my mind, I was dragged to see Champions of Breakfast down the street. Entering Baker's Streetcar, I forgot all about Hamburger Man/Cow saga the second I saw Champions' stage setup. There were keyboards decked in Christmas bulbs, large-ass amps and even larger-ass guitars (the bass was, literally, about 9-feet long).... all made out of cardboard. I shit you not, I questioned my sanity.

But that was nothing compared to the shock of their actual set; a spectacle of geek self-loathing regurgitated through three or four tiers of highly danceable irony. The costumes alone - trucker hats, mink coats, sparkle pantaloons, airbrushed unicorn mini-tees - practically taunted frat jocks far and wide to arrive en masse and kick their skinny asses. But this was a safe place, they were amongst friends and fans, and their shtick was eaten up by everybody present as they let their ipod do the rocking and their hot moves do the talking.

The most disorienting part about it all was how the songs gradually morphed from sex-you-up anthems to Dungeons and Dragons epics. Because at one point I realize the singer's shirtless with a dagger sheathed down the front of his pants, belting out some lyric about Trolls roaming the earth and how, when this great epoch in history is finally reached, they will cook their Troll food for us. And it will be better than human food. I'm sorry, but it was too much to take. I stumbled out of there as fast as I could, floored it home, and passed out into a continuous nightmare of Oompa Loompas breakdancing in the Castle of Grayskull. Thanks for nothing Champions of Breakfast.

ROCK REVISIONISM REVISITED

Dead Letters

Thursday, 9:30 p.m. Smalls

Yeah, the puppy-dog guitar hero on stage right’s in a Ramones T. The bassist’s wearing a Zep T. Ironic? No. It’s the 21st century and all bets are off; history’s rewritten, Zep works alongside Ramones works alongside Massive Attack works alongside the MC5 works alongside Plain White T’s. There was a time when if you donned a Zep T at a Ramones show, you’d get your head bashed in. There was a time when if you wore a Ramones T to a Zep show, or even to your middle school, those who’d heard of the band would show you the ugliest side of humanity you could ever imagine and rush mean fists to your face. In fact, the Ramones never got popular, nor did they sell any records or get any airplay, until they were done. The weird little disconnected kids who’d get beat up in school for wearing the band’s shirts were mostly smart and creative shut-ins who later got jobs working in film and advertising and used Ramones songs in movies and TV commercials. That’s how the Ramones happened. It was revenge.

Anyway, Dead Letters’ din speaks to the kind of person who can’t get a girlfriend, not only the white tub-o in a beard with receding red hair, but the contemporary equivalent to the kid in a Ramones T all those years ago. It’s music made for lonely, basement-loungers who are angry, quiet and smart. It’s marginalized in that way. That’s what’s weird. And that’s what’s amazing: How can any rock ’n’ roll band — in these awful post modern, MP3 whiteout times, where all music’s always free — mean anything? There is no value anymore. No discernable passion either, not because a band doesn’t have “passion” but because it’s lost in seas of ill-researched blogger and journalist hyperbole, free downloads and ersatz DIY marketing. The self-hypers win in our culture now. Forget actually having to think, or do.  

Ok, Dead Letters isn’t doing anything new and it ain’t all that great… yet. It’s the tired Dolls/Stones template of twin guitars, bass, drums and an odd-looking, skeletal lead singer. In fact, many of you’d bid a hasty retreat during the band’s first song. And Dead Letters reeks of an accident, but it’s the kind of accident that got the MC5 together, or brought Iggy to the Asheton’s. Those bands were shit at first; everybody thought so. Upon closer inspection, they were always shit. But shit doesn’t matter. What matters is that they had something that made others want to know more about them.

Dead Letters has a naïveté, an awkward boyish chemistry that’s saddled (and saved) by an intelligence that speaks volumes. It’s a deceptively dumb-dumb intelligence, like the Ramones, but not at all like the Ramones. Nothing feels planned, it just is. No novelty, no irony — the band’s too young, too brave for that. But by some miraculous fluke, Dead Letters has something; it’s uncultivated, certainly, and weighed down considerably by inner-doubt, hesitation and under-rehearsal, but there is something.  

At Smalls, in front of maybe 30 people, the band’s fire-headed singer’s at once gangly and graceless, often uncomfortable. He also often rules the room, rules the street outside. His hips swivel, his torso gyrates, he does these high-flying jumps and lands on his knees, James Brown-style. He hasn’t a clue what to say between songs. It’s great. Straight from the heart. When he strips down to blue jeans and shoes, it makes sense. He’s shy, confident and shy again. He could be the neighborhood teen knocking on your door looking to shovel your driveway for a ten-spot, or the weirdo punk who fronts a rock ’n’ roll band and gets more ass than a toilet seat.   

The music — and each band member looks impossibly young, not a day over 18 — comes from record collections that obviously see early-Talking Heads, MC5, the Stooges and so on. It upholds singer Kyle McBee’s raspy melodies and inner-song rants well enough.

McBee will sometimes launch into rant-raps, mid-song,’80s beat-box style. These literate lines rife with image-rich social commentary detail hilariously Motor City ills, from downtown condos going belly up to community inertia and apathy.

On “I Was Born Lonely” a fire-up of ’60s garage riffs and throaty, nearly indecipherable chest-hair vocals that underneath —  polar opposite the song’s face-smack ruckus — is McBee’s little confessional as told in the song’s title. The skinny little white kid with short hair and gee-whiz smile has no other way to get it out than to shout-growl it. It says that Kyle McBee was that middle-school kid who got picked on, too smart for the classroom, too disconnected for friends.

Let Dead Letters be his revenge.

STILL ALIVE & WELL (THOUGH JUST BARELY...)

You know what really sucks about Blowout? Too many fucking band. That shouldn't be a problem -- but it certainly poses one when there are two and even three bands that you want to see playing at the exact same time. Oh, well, guess that's one of those problems/dilemmas that hurts so good and I suppose the only solution is to flip a coin... or perhaps pick the band you haven't seen yet.

I spent most of last night going back and forth between Small's and Paycheck's Lounge. There was a method to the madness; I was hoping to finally run into my old friend Bootsey X -- and indeed the mission was accomplished at long last. Of course, it didn't require much detective work on my part, as his band Circus Boy (cool name -- but why no Micky Dolenz tunes?; that's an in-joke between us old-timers, kiddies) had the 11 p.m. slot at Paycheck's. Can't figure out, however, why Bootsey didn't end up playing drums with the dudes until the end of their set. Fine stuff, though. They really have that MC5/Stooges age-old Detroit muti-guitar attack sound down pat. Especially dug the cover of the New York Dolls' "Bad Girl." Speaking of bad girls, I also caught some of the Ruiners ' set, since they preceeded Circus Boy onstage. Kinda dug the lead singer's Iggy Lite approach (if Iggy was a lot taller... and not doing Madonna covers these days) -- but the real focal point of the group are the two chicks in front, especially the little red head. Yes, sometimes I can be a dog.

Grayling, meanwhile, down the street at Small's, were genuinely a pleasant surprise. The trio offered a melodic, riff-driven, buzzsaw assault throughout their set...and the crowd ate it up. I left my notes at home (hey, it was struggle enough just to get myself here this morning!) but I especially dug the ominous lyrics that addressed both the Waco and Oklahoma tragedies; think it was something about losing one's soul or something like that. America -- always a great source for ominous lyrics, especially as of late. Also caught the tail end of Great Lake Myth Society's set. The band soared, even with a substitute drummer (see Eve's post below). Beautiful harmonies; great musicianship. If the Eagles had been this awesome once upon a time, the history of folk/country-rock would have been a whole lot different (and a whole lot better). And what better way to close the evening than a nightcap at the Belmont in the company of Matt Smith and his Outrageous Cherry, a band I've known and loved since Del-Fi Records sent me one of their CDs back in the late '90s. Last night I decided Detroit is similar to New Orleans when it comes to musical heritage. People here do it because they need to do it... and what better reason is there?

I'm exhausted. On to round three, though...

MONGER AND ME

Backslaps and thumbs up go to Great Lakes Myth Society this Thursday night. The fellas in GLMS not only overcame a hideous day of bad luck and absentee drummers (absentee as in "stuck in Flint"), they pulled off their set with serious grace and aplomb. What's new, right? But it's worth mentioning that lead singer Tim Monger's selfless onstage optimism saved the day.

Further props go to that sweaty and adorable fill-in drummer (I'm far too whooped to research his name right now) who busted ass directly after his set with Misty Lyn to help the boys out. Pretty much flawless. THIS is what Blowout's about, man.

Update: It's 2:12 a.m., and I am sitting in my Hamtramck bedroom. The happy sounds of soused Blowout attendees are preventing me from resting my weary head, but all I can think is "Life is pretty sweet."

TO QUOTE A SHIRTLESS WONDER

#05213 reporting. 350125 -- go! ahem. er,

To paraphrase one Mr. Matthew McConaughey: The best thing about Blowout is I keep getting older and it stays the same age...yes it does..."

There were many wonders to behold as I dove into the deep water of the real live in-Hamtramck chairs-and-milkcrates-in-reserved-spots-and-all Blowout on this seemingly schedule-agnostic Thursday. But before I pass out, er, rest, I gotta throw credit over the generational fence to SikSik Nation, who closed out the night at Kelly's Bar on Holbrook. See, not only did the bass-guitar-drums trio seamlessly and joyfully and aggressively and artfully bang together Nuggets/Back from the Grave-era with prime cuts Killing Joke (good call from Hamtown's own Steve Stupor) '80s atmosphere, but they also got the bartender to step out from her worrying and managing post and shake her ass and a tambourine thrown her way during the latter half of their floor-level set. To watch the same lady who gives you the stink-eye when you get cute with your order get down to SikSik's eye-level jamraveuppery amongst the art-school cuties and close personal friends of the band at 1 a.m. whilst locals and new fans look on and smile is truly one of the magic joys of Blowout.

I say "hot damn." More after sleep about Odu Afrobeat Orchestra, Millions of Brazilians, Champions of Breakfast, Ethos, Atlas and risky parking practices. Promise.

Drive safe out there, monkeys.

BLOWOUT WEDNESDAY: CONSTANTS AND CHAOS

Better late than never, I guess. Right? Oh, fuggit.

Impending sinus infection? Check.

Recent/impending blizzard? Check and check!

Sneaky pete passed between friends in the bathroom? Check.

Steve-O doing his orbital mingling? Check!

I mean, my god, how great is it that you can tuck your kids into bed, kiss your wife goodnight and still get to the show basically on-time? I rambled up to the will call window for my normal bout of spelling out a last name that's pretty phonetic already round about the time the guitar strains of Cetan Clawson were winding down. All the better. I can't pronounce the dude's name and I'm not much for jaw-dropping guitar virtuosity. But I understand why, if that's your bag, this dude's your bagman.

How's about this: Can we -- the nighttime lushes, the misfarts, the weirdos, freaks and fans of sonic discovery from all around the four corners of this fair metropolis -- all adopt a new holiday and greet each other with a hearty "Happy Blowout!", give a sloppy/awkward hug/kiss ("hiss?" "kug?"). This Blowout Season, it's like Christmas and St. Patrick's Day spun out into each other's lane and whacked tail ends resulting in a two-headed beast of a holiday weekend. A true Festivus for the rest of us. Ain't it grand?!

First off, I totally agree with Kim Heron's insight that Eons give him an XTC kinda feeling. the frontmandude (name, can't recall ,even though I was such a total fandork last night that I bought a t-shirt and everything) has the ballsy nervy go-for-broke and "I can't believe that's not an effects pedal!" viruosity on both voice and guitar that would point toward Mr. Andrew goddamned Partridge, esquire. My wife put the Eons CD on this morning over hazy aftermath eggs and promptly rocked out to it 4 times over the course of the day. Everything you've read praising this band is right. Everything you've read about the mix last night is right, too. Thankfully, my tinnitus was kicking in right about then.

Firstly again, as it turns out, the first casualty of Blowout was not a set of eardrums or a liver, but rather Steve-O's PC. It melted down apparently. So hopefully he'll check in via this space and sally forth with his opinions.

Breaking the time-space continuum (because, why not? it's a blog!), I gotta say that catching Mega Weedge was both heartening and disheartening in equal share. This was a Ween tribute/cover band. So, right. Ween tribute band. Good! Ween: Artsy- fartsy-awesomely-stoned-120-Minutes-hit-wonders-with-a-penchant-for-blowing-minds-and-blowing-up-genres-and-preconceived-notions. Strip the aforementioned description of everything but the conjunctions and the partial words "awesome" and "fart" and we're getting there with Mega Weedge. Ween reduced to bar-band blues equals... well, Thursday night at the New Way. That's neither good nor bad, depending on which side of a six-pack you're on, but ...well, I've said my piece.

The thing about the Blowout's opening night is that everyone has the thousand yard stare of those about to be rocked for at least 72 straight upcoming hours. Like a glutton's paralysis. you hear the phrases "Who are you seeing Friday at midnight?"  or "Where are you guys playing again?!" and "No! No! just hit the emergen-C really hard and eat some summer sausage!" far too often.

Blowout promoter and all-around rad lady Eve Doster Knepp told me in one sentence that I had a doppelganger and then introduced me to him. WTF?! A guy needs some time to prep for that kinda thing! Then I found out that the dude was none other than Lo-Fi Bri from Carjack and realized that Eve thinks I'm taller, thinner and more coherent than I really am. So I got that goin' for me. Which is nice.

First band I caught was I, Crime. I caught them (saw them? heard them? tough euphemism) last year, too, and was more impressed with their energy then. Howevs, they made up for said lack of nerviosity (tm) with their tightened down songcraft, lady/dude vocal interplay and indie-riffic guitar textures. They made a valiant effort to move the impassive masses and nearly succeeded when the buzzer rung and said masses dispersed to traverse the passageway between the Stick and the Theatre. At one point, I spotted former Motor owner and charter Blowout supporter Dan Sordyl (who was surely remembering what a pain in the ass it was the first few years to plan the logistics and cram all of these rockers and drinkers and weekenders into his successful dance club for three days). He was laughing his ass off. The passage between venues through the Majestic Cafe was like the khyber pass meets a scene-cred Portobello Road or some such thing. Too many faces to name waiting like barstool high-lifers, forgetting the impending economic doom, revelling in the excess smoke and waiting for someone to give 'em a "Hey! Happy Blowout!" I was often happy to oblige.

See you out there Thursday, monkeys.

BLOWOUT PHOTOS!

You can check out photos from the Blowout's kickoff party Wednesday night at the Majestic Theater Complex at the Metro Times flickr site.

Keep your eyes peeled for new additions during the week.

LIKE A VIRGIN STOOGE...

We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming with the following weird announcement just in...

We hate the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (although we don't hate our pal former Ann Arbor resident Howard Kramer, who is now one of the curators at the Hall of Fame Museum in Cleveland). What we hate is the actual induction proceedings, namely because they seem rigged and they just, in a word, suck. Following in the footsteps of Del Shannon and the Velvet Underground's Sterling Morrison, the Hall of Fame committee took their old sweet time again... and the great Mike Smith of the Dave Clark Five will now be inducted several weeks after he croaked.

We've bitched here before about so many legendary Michigan rockers not being inducted yet -- most notably Iggy & The Stooges. Let's face it: Any institution dedicated to rock 'n' roll that doesn't include the Stooges just ain't rock 'n' roll. Nevertheless, the Stooges appear to be holding no grudges, as they will be performing at the induction ceremonies, which will air on VH1 this coming Monday night. (Yeah, we hate the Hall of Fame, but still find ourselves watching the ceremonies every year...this year will probably be no different, especially since an evening on the couch as a potato will probably be extra-tempting this year after four days of Blowout). What's weird, ahowever, is that the scheduled Stooges performance will be part of the tribute to Madonna (who, yes, got into the Hall of Fame before Iggy did... could have something to do with the clout of Seymour Stein, we imagine...). Yes, that's right -- the Stooges will be performing the music of Madonna in New York this coming Monday night. Maybe it's the Michigan connection. Who knows? But the only logical conclusion to this is: What the fuck?

Almost as weird as the announcement today that Keith Richards will be the new face of Louis Vuitton designer bags. No, we're not kidding...!

LAST NIGHT...

It seemed to be a pretty good sign of success when we arrived at the Majestic for the pre-party at 9:30 p.m. and found the parking lot totally full. There were hardly any spaces on the street, either -- and indeed, things were buzzing inside. First, we encountered MT's lovely publisher Lisa Rudy, who was escorting a Fox News TV crew around the premises. After talking to Eve Doster, who was in her regular more-than-efficient mode, we headed inside to catch an incredible set by Cetan Clawson.

My introduction to the wunderkind guitarist came last fall when he briefly played with the Bloids (who are playing tonight at Kelly's Bar). But he was playing Bloids' music with the Bloids, of course. Last night, he and his powerful rhythm section were playing their kind of music (including covers) and, man, they were in their element. Maybe it's just 'cause I'm an old fart but this was my favorite showcase of the night. The just-turned-20 guitarist and his teenaged band are somewhat retro; you better believe they've watched old videos of the Jimi Hendrix Experience and are undoubtedly familiar with most of the legendary power trios of yore. In fact, local scenester Stirling was right on the money when he suggested that the kid's voice sounds vaguely similar to the late, great Rory Gallagher (the conversation came about because we'd just seen Danny of the Muggs walk by -- and I'd commented that "Any band that lists Rory Gallagher among their influences is A-OK with me..."; speaking of which, I thought I'd never see TV stars at shows anymore after leaving L.A.... but I immediately recognized the Muggs dude from seeing him on that band competition on Fox TV last fall -- and he indeed looks better in person than he does on the little screen). Clawson played the guitar behind his back and repeatedly used it as a phallic symbol, while creating otherworldly pyrotechnics and audio explosions with his hands. The only thing he didn't do (or maybe I just missed it) was play with his teeth or set his ax on fire. In less talented hands, these could all come off as clichés. But he seems to be a genuine rockstar in the making. With the scarf and groovy threads, he even looks the part. Near the end of his set, I turned to Brian Smith and suggested: "We should see if we can manage this guy, take him to Hollywood and make a million dollars..." (Oh, fuck, wait a minute; did I just post that? Oh, well, too late now...)

Other highlights of the evening included the exquisite orchestral pop of the Silent Years (not the most photogenic band in Detroit -- who cares? -- but still pretty damn impressive overall) and the Eons. The latter band was also impressive in their feigned mania but perhaps a bit too loud, which ultimately kinda destroyed any sense of nuance or dynamics. None of the bands got a sound check, though, so that's something everyone needs to keep in mind when dealing with the overall sound. MT editor Kim Heron thought they were slightly reminiscent of XTC, though he agreed a better mix would've helped them overall. I really dug the bass player's porn mustache, circa the '70s, though). Speaking of Kim Heron, he was a bit pissed after Timmy Vulgar broke one of those balloons during the Human Eye's incredible musically spastic set and Kim ended up with what he thought was ink all over his threads. Upon arriving home, however, he discovered that the said "ink" washed off fairly easily, determined that it must have been food coloring... so all is now forgiven and the dudes can count on further positive coverage in the pages of this newspaper (I kid, I kid -- ruined clothes wouldn't lead us to write a nasty review... well, on second thought, maybe it would...).

Aside from that, it was great to run into a lot of old friends and meet some new ones. Wendy Case, Chris Handyside, Scott Harrison (of Battling Siki) and Kyle McBee (of Dead Letters) were just a few on hand who I've either known in the past or met last night. I even finally met Jay of the FiveThreeDialtone blog -- not only did we not fight but we actually had a pleasant and nice conversation. Chris Handyside mentioned that another old pal Boosey X was looking for me but I somehow missed him again in all the confusion. In fact, our paths haven't yet crossed since I've been back in Detroit (even at the New York Dolls show two weeks ago, which a mutual friend told me he had attended). Was hoping to spot him to see if he could help, as I'm looking for a keyboard amp to borrow for this Saturday night, if my carpal tunnel-damaged hands hold out that long, that is, and if it doesn't snow too hard tomorrow so I can make it to Ann Arbor for our first band practice in over 20 years (when that aformentioned carpel tunnel forced me to choose a computer keyboard over my beloved Farfisa). Oy! (Wow! Not sure where that came from; I'm not even Jewish...) So if anyone knows someone willing to lend me one, I'd appreciate it... because, after all, it's not like there's going to be hundreds of them in Hamtramck this weekend...

A JAUNDICED GLIMPSE

A jaundiced glimpse of Blowout 11 pre-party at the Majestic complex, Wednesday night: 

BLOWOUT!!!!

Well, it's finally here, folks! Christmas in March (at least that's how someone described it to me last week)! See you at the opening party tonight. And please keep checking back here over the next several days, as we post reports, reviews, observations and what-not from such MT scribes as Chris Handyside (the original founder of this whole shebang), Walter Wasacz, Daniel Johnson, Brian Smith, Eve Doster (if the latter ever finds time to come up for air), Doug Coombe and yours truly. We'll also be featuring daily slideshows of shots that come directly from the extraordinary lens of Mr. Coombe. Fuck the snowstorms. It's time to rock!

Music Blahg

March 2008