We’re not fans of the Westport Neighborhood Association, the gadfly group that periodically gets angried up about rowdy bar crowds and thinks pushing last call back to 1:30 a.m. will solve everything. One of this killjoy’s favorite targets is the XO Club, and we wonder: How can anyone be against one of the most unintentionally hilarious places in Westport? We’d…
Desserts are fashion-conscious, too. Tiramisu and crème brûlée may be hot today, but they’ll become less sexy — like the once-hot flourless chocolate cake and chantilly crépes — when the Next Big Thing comes along. But if there’s a traditional all-American dessert, it’s pie. Fewer hip new restaurants offer pies these days (although the stylish 40 Sardines did revive interest…
Yes, I know there’s a war going on, but I’m a stressed-out American who still needs to take a vacation, and I don’t mean three days at Disney World. My travel agent tells me that if I do venture outside the United States, it may not be the best time to be talking Turkey — or passing mis pocas…
In a back room of Fidel’s Tobacco in Westport, people are smoking chocolate cigarettes and browsing through stacks of records while the Wipers blare from an old record player next to a humidor. This would feel out of place any night other than Tuesday, when enthusiasts of tobacco and vinyl gather at Fidel’s for the weekly Golden Smoking Needle listening…
Thursday, March 27, 2003 Poet, playwright and activist Sarah Jones started performing in high school, helping her friends play hooky by calling their schools and pretending to be their mothers — pulling off convincing German and Indian accents. Now, in her one-woman shows, she inhabits characters such as a Jewish grandmother who can’t understand why her grandson wants rap…
Kansas City is a filthy dump — at least by stargazing standards. Beset by “light pollution,” the electric-bulb-happy metro is enemy to all who wish to see more than the Big Dipper and buzzing streetlamps overhead. This week is a great time to see waaay more. In the early spring, nights are long, and the earth is poised for viewing…
War, as it turns out, is good for absolutely nothing when it comes to anti-war songs. At the risk of sounding like Bill O’Reilly (who, no doubt, listens only to Wagner), it’s time to protest the protesters, most of whom are blowin’, all right, just not in the wind. The road to hell is paved with myriad anti-war tracks…
Every character in every play has a back story — a history the audience doesn’t see but discovers as the actors flesh out their roles. In the Unicorn Theatre’s production of Shelagh Stephenson’s black comedy The Memory of Water, about a reunion of three sisters on the eve of their mother’s funeral, the back story takes its sweet time…
White Noise, the second album by Manchester, England’s Richard Woolgar and Glyn Thomas, epitomizes Astralwerks’ tilt away from straight-up dance albums and adventurous electronica excursions. A company that once boasted µu-Ziq, Future Sound of London, and Boymerang now peddles anodyne hybrid bands such as Alpinestars and Band of Bees. Admittedly, times are tough for the record industry, but it’s disappointing…
Archetype’s highly anticipated full-length debut begins with a banger titled “Breathe and Release,” a longtime component of the Lawrence trio’s stage oeuvre that provides a mini-showcase for its skills. Built on a foundation of burbling bass and jutting beats, courtesy of producer and occasional MC Jeremy “Nezbeat” Nesbitt, “Breathe” is the first chapter in Archetype’s book of noncommercial philosophy. Nezbeat’s…
For two years, Lawrence’s Getaway Driver has been pounding local and national pavements, slowly building a reputation through relentless house partying and full-blown tours with brother band Salt the Earth. The Driver’s debut EP, 2001’s Sparkling Pistol, was plagued by lo-fi production that did its best to bury the quartet’s penchant for propulsive pop, though key ingredients shone through the…
On the surface, it’s inconceivable that fans and critics would applaud an artist — then slam his greatest-hits collection, which ostensibly contains the musician’s best material. But there are several reasons for this phenomenon. The collection of tracks might be too thin, failing to do justice to the performer’s complete body of work. The compilation might reek of crass opportunism…
Unless you’ve been hiding out in a cave Osama-style, you’ve probably encountered a music magazine cover that proclaimed “The Return of the Rock!” I hate to say I told you so, but just because a couple of garage bands write hooky songs that receive airplay doesn’t mean we’ve returned to the 1991-92 alternative-nation heyday. However, one constant from those days…
The brazen multiethnic hip-hop crew Egotrip summarizes the gangsta-rap phenomenon with this haiku from its Big Book of Racism: Fuck that nigga dead/Fuck them niggaz, kill niggaz/Our first gold record! But even though few iced-out thugs have much to say about narcotics and firearms that wasn’t said better by N.W.A or Notorious B.I.G., the genre offers up an Eminem…
It’s fitting that the Ataris’ major-label debut, So Long, Astoria, contains a souped-up cover of Don Henley’s “The Boys of Summer.” After all, Henley and the Ataris share an affection for sun-soaked California-as-metaphor songwriting, though Ataris frontman Kris Roe sees a Black Flag decal on his Cadillac rather than Henley’s Deadhead sticker. The bulk of Astoria follows a propulsive pop…
America’s insatiable craving for bands whose names begin with the and end with es shows no sign of abating. Following on the well-tailored boot heels of the Whitestroke Vinehives, the Raveonettes are “authentic” rock’s latest flavor of the millisecond. The Danish outfit consists of a gender-mixed pair of photogenic musical partners that smartly fleshes out its live shows with a…
John Prine’s looking a little more stately these days, with Tennessee Ernie Ford suits and preacher’s ties. Still, he’s the same stinging, chuckling songwriter he’s always been. His revival of “Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore,” plants him firmly in the anti-war camp, and the title is finding its way onto bumper stickers across America. Early in…
Following a long-standing English tradition, Ikara Colt formed when its members were art-school students and promulgated its youthful sonics by trawling the London pub circuit, converting fans one by one. By the time the quartet took over the side stages at major Euro festivals such as Glastonbury and Reading last year, it was already giving its raucous Swedish peers a…
Old school, East Coast, jump and straight-blues aficionados have come to regard the hard-hitting Providence-born R&B act Roomful of Blues to be a legitimate contender even among some serious heavyweights. Formed in 1967 by the prodigiously talented but then-unknown young guitarist Duke Robillard, the group’s reputation grew quickly over the next decade. Solidly suited to pull stints as the touring…
If it seems odd that Todd Rundgren is on the road right now without a band, remember that his layered sonic monuments, though they sound better with onstage help, have always served best as tributes to Rundgren’s own eccentric ingenuity. It makes sense for the singer/songwriter/producer/technology-wonk to go it alone. (Consider also that he kicked off this year’s live…
While people were going nuts over the Jackass TV series, kids with any sort of gumption were discovering that CKY (Camp Kill Yourself), a band featuring head ‘Ass Bam Margera’s brother Jess on drums, scored many of the show’s segments. The band also appears on the CKY videos and DVDs that Bam released before Jackass hit the air; a scene…
In the entertainment world, it’s easy to spot cut-rate opportunism. Factually bankrupt cash-in biographies appear whenever a TV show strikes a chord with teen-age pin-up piners or sci-fi’s compulsive collectors. Haphazardly stitched T-shirts conveniently last about as long as the pop-culture slogans they bear. Bootleg recordings compile shoddy, pre-stardom demos. In each case, the mangled manufacturing testifies to the quick…
From inside the mixing booth, the members of Appleseed Cast listen intently and watch carefully as their drummer, Cobra, toils through each successive take. It’s only the second day of recording what will be the band’s debut for Tiger Style Records, and everyone’s determined to make it something special. Finally, Cobra nails a winner, perfectly executed with the propulsive backbeat…
He’s as quick to cite nineteenth-century abolitionist authors as he is to quote obscure KRS-One lyrics. His own rhymes call for movement and uplift — when they’re not discussing the inner turmoil of an alcoholic. He earns a living by tossing rowdy drunks onto Westport sidewalks, yet the imposing tattoo that wraps around his forearm reads “To live in…
