It’s hard to think of a local band with more potential for longevity than The North Valley. Their first full-length, the release of which was marked by tonight’s show, sparked a fire in my heart that I still haven’t put out, content to live with a charred, murmuring and hollow organ if it means I can spend one more goddamn moment here, letting my ears bleed, and my eyes roll back in my head, and the vibrations break my ribs in a million little pieces. … read more
I always say that women make better punks than men, or at least I do now. Just ask Patti Smith. Or ask her doppelganger Becky Black, the lead singer of The Pack A.D., a two-piece garage rock outfit from the ‘Couve. This band is chained to The White Stripes on every website they’re featured on, but I don’t see it. In fact, the only thing they have in common that I can see is a female drummer. … read more
Atlas has been described as their most mature album. In the past they’ve been described as the soundtrack to summer, but now they might be the soundtrack to the first day back from school after summer, when reality came crashing back and all the memories of summer fade, all the people you met and friends you made return to their realities. It’s still pretty chill though.
Sometimes a film or a work of art or a piece of music tries to tell you something, in a whisper, barely audible so you have lean in real close, and really listen. Other times it shouts what it wants to tell you from 3 feet away so that nobody could misunderstand or mishear it. I prefer the former. No need to shout, I’m a good listener, I can understand what you’re saying without hearing a word. Pandering to your audience is a good way to win awards, sure, but what I really want when I watch a movie is something that challenges the way I think and exist.
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The Winding Stream is a documentary about the influential Carter family, a clan of musicians that helped shape country music for years to come. Johnny Cash shows up and gives some of the best bits, but it’s the music that really drew me in. Watching this film is a bit like going to a family party at Christmas, listening to your older relatives talk about ‘Nam and Nixon, little details about an old house, or an old car, relics of a not-so-distant past.
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It’s true she owes a lot to the slacker rock martyrs of the ’90s like Lou Barlow and J Mascis. Nobody writes a song with the chorus, “I don’t want no nine to five, telling me that I’m alive!” without having at least listened to You’re Living all Over Me once. But, just as you pigeonhole Barnett as some slacker rock disciple, she rips the roof off the joint with hostile sounding version of “Avant Gardener,” giving me chills like I’d just heard Joe Cocker for the first time. … read more