Kenna’s debut album, New Sacred Cow, has been around in one form or another since 2001. It should’ve remained shelved. Save Neptunes producer Chad Hugo’s meticulous drum programming, there isn’t a sound on it that’s worth a damn. Hugo, whom some regard as a sort of holy bovine himself, also plays sax and keyboards here, but he can’t polish this…
The San Diego sextet Ilya seems destined to open for Radiohead and Sigur Ros on both bands’ next tours. Like those impressive unit-shifters with cred, Ilya’s intimate but expansive music plumbs humanity’s bluest emotions. All three groups conjure seductively lulling storms that can induce sobs in stadiums’ upper decks. Vocalist Blanca Rojas draws comparisons to Bjork, but Rojas can’t hit…
On club calendars, (flexible) Bullit’s parenthetically interrupted and spelling-impaired name indicts the Kansas City band as a rap-metal relic, like (hed) P.E. or Limp Bizkit. That’s unfortunate, because the group is uniquely removed from that scene. With its steady, midpaced grooves, (f)B, more than even Audioslave, sounds like a rap-retardant version of Rage Against the Machine. On its debut disc,…
Soulive’s groovy gumbo of jazz, funk and soul is so steeped in musical history, you’d be forgiven for thinking this was a ’70s warhorse still working the live circuit cuz it got screwed by record execs back in the day. In the 21st century, though, Soulive — along with bands such as Medeski, Martin & Wood and Greyboy Allstars —…
For Lawrence resident Matt Pryor, one musical project isn’t enough to contain the abundance of heartfelt songs overflowing from his pen. Pryor uses his main band, the Get Up Kids, to exorcise his driving guitar-rock demons, but he slows down the pace with New Amsterdams’ stripped-down, rootsy riffage. In fact, despite the fact that Pryor enlisted the help of three…
It’s a pretty intriguing idea, really: Bring together members of some of the best local acts around this part of the Midwest, strip away their electric instruments, throw them onto the same bill and see what happens. The brainchild of local guitarist-keyboardist Tyson Leslie — a ten-year veteran of the Kansas City scene with such groups as Karma, the Baloney…
By now, everyone should be well aware that when a band opens its record with a number called “Song for the Optimists,” its members are either being way sarcastic, or they’re hippies. When the album is called Suicide Notes and Butterfly Kisses and contains a song extolling listeners to “Live Every Day Like You’re Already Dead,” that distinction becomes a…
Ghetto tech was supposed to be Detroit’s next great musical export after techno entered the marketplace in the mid-’80s. Sadly, ghetto tech — aka booty, a speedy amalgam of Miami bass, pitched-up Detroit-centric electro and ridiculously crude sexaholism — didn’t blow up the way some strip-joint aficionados and exotic dancers had hoped. Regardless, some of the scene’s artists still carry…
Before departing the local hardcore scene to attempt a hostile takeover of Seattle, Wormwood built a reputation for incendiary live shows that pounded audiences into submission. The quintet’s unique setup (two bassists, a keyboardist, a sampling whiz and a drummer) eschews the guitarcentric palate from which most heavy bands draw inspiration. Instead, Wormwood creates eerie grindcore sludgescapes that rock…
There’s nothing radical about O.A.R. , whose music will never incite anarchy or massive social change, despite what its full name (Of a Revolution) implies. Rather, the Ohio quintet’s output fits comfortably alongside radio-friendly jam outfits such as Guster and the Dave Matthews Band. But O.A.R. is a poster child for guerrilla-style DIY success, having begun as a workaday frat…
“If a group like the Zombies appeared now, they would own the world.” Music geeks will recognize those words as Tom Petty’s encomium (printed in the book accompanying the essential Zombie Heaven boxed set) to the most beloved of all ’60s cult acts. The band’s charting singles, notably “She’s Not There” and “Time of the Season,” only hinted at…
Minneapolis’ goth-industrial collective Apocalypse Theatre blends the sexy and the scary in a compelling fashion, sounding like Marilyn Manson might if he didn’t push himself past self-parody. Honing its live show at bonanzas such as Burning Man, Mutant Fest and Dark Arts Fest, this coed seven-piece combines audiovisual elements with tribal percussion and attention-grabbing attire. Proudly nomadic, the band spent…
Type O Negative’s somber, snail-speed cover of Seals & Crofts’ “Summer Breeze” is the perfect August anthem for goths, given that the pasty pack likes to stay out of the sun. But that song is just one of the Brooklyn band’s moribund makeovers; it also fans the funeral-pyre flames of “Light My Fire.” That ability to marry ’60s pyschedelia and…
The happier side of romance remains elusive for singer-songwriter Lucinda Williams, but success has been her steady beau for going on 29 years now. With her knack for deeply personal songwriting and her love-it-or-leave-it attitude about her work, Williams has established a reputation as an uncompromising talent. Her latest effort, World Without Tears, is a multihued portrait of contemporary American…
Even better than band names that scandalize conservative watchdogs are those that the right-wingers might inadvertently support. With a few cleverly worded calls to the right offices, Dying Fetus could ensure picketers on the pavement in front of El Torreon, all fighting for the band’s right to live. These folks might not be so keen on tunes such as…
On July 31, local indie-rock enthusiasts faced a dilemma: Should they welcome home Tim Dow, the former Shiner and Season to Risk drummer who’s now traveling in major-label style with Year of the Rabbit? Or should they celebrate the release of White Elephant, from Doris Henson, a promising new act with a Bowie-knife take on classic glam? Would there be…
Verbal Contact’s recently issued sophomore CD, Welcome to the Hood, opens with a burping bass intro that serves as a launching pad for “Ride Till I Die,” a bawdy ode to the good life that wouldn’t sound out of place on any number of gangsta-rap releases. The crunky vibe runs throughout the 68-minute, sample-free opus. Hood’s street-level perspective contains the…
It is rare to find a film that defies one’s expectations as sweetly and satisfyingly as Raising Victor Vargas, a coming-of-age comedy-drama from first-time writer-director Peter Sollett. The surprise isn’t in the plot — that would be too easy. Rather, it’s in the subtle and convincing ways the characters grow and change. Sixteen-year-old Victor Vargas (Victor Rasuk, who, like all…
Not to worry. Whenever summer machismo levels threaten to fall below mad-dog range, Hollywood invariably steps in to restore the status quo. Witness S.W.A.T. , a thoroughly unremarkable cop movie starring the magnetic Samuel L. Jackson as L.A.P.D. Sergeant Dan “Hondo” Harrelson, known affectionately to his men as “the gold standard of ass-kickin’,’” and the noticeably less magnetic Colin…
See Dick run: Regarding “Dick Joke” (June 12): I always find C.J. Janovy’s column interesting; she covers a variety of stories and events that need attention. Since Missouri voters have such a lame-ass Democratic presidential candidate in “Missouri’s favorite son,” Dick Gephardt, a great alternative lies in Howard Dean. Thanks to Dean’s Web site, www.deanforamerica.com, and meetup.com, Dean supporters all…
Tempers flared at last Wednesday’s tryouts for America’s Next Top Model, though the fracas at the Independence Center mall had nothing to do with the fact that Elyse got screwed in the reality TV show’s first season. Cops were called to the scene after one ANTM hopeful accused another of spitting on her. The shoving match that ensued threatened to…
At 20th Street and Grand, the Abdiana Building is a familiar landmark in Kansas City. Local skateboarders know the location as one of several downtown spots with stairs, steps and handrails built unintentionally to their specifications. A few weeks back, Zach Wilson headed to the Abdiana for that reason, carrying a digital camera he’d bought only days before with money…
A few blocks north of Crown Center, inside a furniture warehouse next to one of the neon-topped buildings that defines the Crossroads skyline, a crowd is gathering. It’s an oasis of sweaty, fragrant humanity in a neighborhood typically devoid of life after dark. Almost everyone’s under eighteen — and they aren’t assembling futons. They’re watching Sister Mary Rotten Crotch…
