Review: The Police with Elvis Costello & the Impostors, Comcast

I'd been torn over whether to see the Police again on their reunion tour after my mixed emotions about last summer's show at Wrigley Field. But I was reading Andy Summer's autobiography when tickets went on sale for their Boston area show, and I succumbed. I'm glad. Maybe it's because I sprung for more expensive seats. Maybe it's because the Comcast Center was designed as a music venue, unlike Wrigley Field, so the acoustics were better. Maybe it's because they tightened up the set while still giving in to Andy's desire for the occasional guitar solo. Maybe it's because I had reduced expectations after my mild disappointment last year, but it was well worth it, even if it meant sitting in the parking lot for half an hour trying to leave instead of hoping on the CTA Red Line and zipping home.

"Can't Stand Losing You," was already quite energetic, but they upped the equation by inserting a portion of "Regatta De Blanc." The pairing of "Voices Inside My Head" with "When the World Is Running Down, You Make the Best of What's Still Around" was another successful marriage. These exemplified the best of the show: incorporating both big hits with lesser-known album tracks, keeping the arrangements tight enough to maintain momentum but unexpected enough to not just offer exact reenactments of their recordings.

Sting is losing his upper register, most obviously on "King of Pain." Where other songs were rearranged for artistic reasons, his avoidance of the high notes became a distraction. "Don't Stand So Close to Me" was another awkward rearrangement, fusing the original tense version with the boring yuppie remake that bore too much of a Sting stamp at the expense of Stewart Copeland and Andy's creative input.

As moving as "Invisible Sun" was, especially accompanied by photos of children from war-torn regions around the globe, I kept thinking of "We're Sending Our Love Down the Well," Sting's parody of sanctimonious benefit songs from The Simpsons. Other songs reminded me of the members' post-Police work. "Can't Stand Losing You" brought to mind Stewart's anecdote from Everyone Stares that Sting wore his flight suit so often on one tour and they played that song so often that the flight suit could have played the song by itself by the tour's end. I had greater appreciation for "Every Breath You Take" based on Andy's description of its genesis from One Train Later. I'd always been somewhat dismissive of their biggest hit because it ironically made the least use of Stewart's unique talents. But Andy explained how the signature guitar line came to him in a flash during a tense period, and while he seemingly pulled it out of the air, it was only as a result of decades of practicing and musical exploration, culminating in a song with enduring cultural impact.

Sting and Stewart are still looking quite fit. Sting showed off his muscles in a semi-sheer close-fitting knit shirt, but his scruffy beard was too Captain Ahab. Stewart one-upped last year's moisture-wicking T-shirt with one emblazened with the Ghost in the Machine logo. But looking at their LED avatars with fresh eyes, I wondered if the dot at the end was meant to resemble a decimal point on a calculator or a goiter. Andy's physique is a bit paunchy, but he's kept his most important muscles in shape: his fingers are as nimble as ever. His South Park guitar strap was a surprising embellishment on someone not known for irreverence.

During Elvis Costello's opening set, it looked like my view of the drum riser was going to be blocked. There are few bands for whom an obstructed view of the drummer would be a massive disappointment, but fortunately, I did ultimately have clear sight lines. Stewart opened the show by hitting the gong on the secondary riser with an extensive collection of percussion instruments and ventured back there again to provide complex embellishments for "Wrapped Around Your Finger," among other songs. His percussion work pulled together so many opposing forces: playful yet intricate, athletic yet precise. He frequently abandoned used drum sticks by flinging them into the air and effortless grabbing new ones without missing a beat.

The set ended with its second encore of "Next To You." Andy returned to the stage alone, taking on a stance of mock impatience until he was joined by a boy of about 12 who came on with a bass and played with the rest of the band. I'm guessing it was Andy's son, and it was a cute gesture as the three elder statemen showed him the ropes in front of 16,000 people.

After seeing Stewart's documentary on the band and reading Andy's autobiography, it's clear that the band lived fast and died young even if the members themselves survived. They made it big through relentless touring, pausing only to crank out their five studio albums. No wonder they're planning to call it quits again at the end of this tour rather than strapping themselves back onto that treadmill.

While recording five timeless albums is no easy feat, opener Elvis Costello has pulled off a bigger challenge. Like the Police, he emerged as part of the late '70s punk scene while quickly establishing greater substance than peers who were more notable for their nihilism and wardrobes than actual talent. The Police broke up at the height of their fame, preserving their legacy, but Elvis kept going, taking the risk of diluting the impact of his initial, groundbreaking work. That he continues to earn critical acclaim and maintains an audience who aren't strictly there for his early hits is a testament to the depths of his talent. While the Police fans reserved their biggest cheers for the songs from his first few albums, he certainly had lots of fun making noise with tracks from Momofuku. My disappointment was that I didn't hear him touch 2002's When I Was Cruel, but I was also disappointed that he took the stage before his scheduled 7:30 start time, so I missed some of his set. On the style front, he earned major points for sporting a jacket in the 110% relative humidity, and he wore his scruffy beard with greater panache than Sting, who joined him for "Allison," perhaps because Sting is new to facial hear but Elvis has scaled back from his unfortunate rabbi look of the early '90s.

Set List: The Police, Comcast Center, Mansfield, MA, July 31

Message in a Bottle
Walking on the Moon
Demolition Man
Don't Stand So Close to Me
Voices Inside My Head/When the World Is Running Down, You Make the Best of What's Still Around
Driven to Tears
Hole in My Life
Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic
Wrapped Around Your Finger
De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da
Invisible Sun
Can't Stand Losing You

First encore:
Roxanne
King of Pain
So Lonely
Every Breath You Take

Second encore:
Next to You

Concert Review: Mission of Burma, Paradise Rock Club, June 13

To use SAT structure for an analogy: Beatles : Wings as Mission of Burma : Volcano Suns. Back in the '70s, the joke was that one had to explain to kids that the Beatles were the band Paul McCartney was in before Wings. In the late '80s, when "White Elephant" was a hit single by the very limited standards of Princeton radio station WPRB, I only know of Mission of Burma as the predecessor to the Volcano Suns. Eventually I learned, largely via Michael Azerrad's Our Band Could Be Your Life, that Mission of Burma was a bigger deal.

Reunited for several years with two new albums under their belt, most of the original line-up is remains intact: Peter Prescott on drums, Roger Miller on guitar and Clint Conley on bass. Volcano Suns alum (and current Shellac bassist and Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me sound engineer) Bob Weston has taken over for Martin Swopes on tape loops offstage. This was the second of a two-night stint. At the previous show, they performed Signals, Calls and Marches in its entirety. On Friday, they trotted out VS, which has recently been reissued. They warmed up with other material before embarking on their main mission, and they even announced the beginning of Side 2. They wrapped up with more songs not from that album.

This is the ideal victory lap for a band to take. While their noisiness will always limit their appeal, they have finally found the audience they deserve, and they earned respect with their spirited set. This was post-punk, not fueled by anger, but nonetheless blistering, and their was joy in their playing. They resembled Pink Flag-era Wire but without the arty affectations.

The question remains: Have they considered changing their name to Mission of Myanmar?

For the first time since moving, I was happy to live in Boston

Concert Recommendation: Frisbie at the Double Door, May 15

This will be the last concert I attend in Chicago before moving to Boston, so it's fitting that it's a show with my favorite Chicago band. I'm sure I'll find power pop elsewhere, but it won't be quite the same. Frisbie play with Ultra Sonic Edukators and the Tenniscourts at the Double Door, 1572 N. Milwaukee Ave., Chicago, 773.489.3160 at 9 p.m. on Thursday, May 15.

Charlton Heston, as honored by Stump

As the accolades are compiled for Charlton Heston, let's not forgot that he was the subject of a song by late '80s British also-rans Stump. The track off A Fierce Pancake was distinct for its refrain, "Charlton Heston put his vest on." The timing of the actor's death could not have been more fortuitous for the band; they just released an anthology in the UK. To see the frog-laden video:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=-xxju1pNhuA

Book Review: One Train Later: A Memoir by Andy Summers

If guitarist Andy Summers was overshadowed in the Police by Stewart Copeland and Sting, it was only because he had the relatively smallest of the three raging egos in the band. His side of the story comes to light in his autobiography One Train Later. The title refers to a chance encounter with drummer Stewart Copeland when an early Police line-up was at the breaking point. Summers had joined a going concern and quickly recognized that he, Copeland and Sting had unique and highly developed skills and were being held back by novice guitarist Henri Padovani. Summers had discussed the situation with Sting but was hesitant to approach Copeland with his "him or me" ultimatum. The two ran into each other on the subway, hashed it out and sealed their fate.

This is just one of the colorful stories from Summers life. I knew he was older than his Police-mates and had achieved middling success prior to the Police, but I was unaware of just how much he had accomplished. Handed his first guitar in his teens, he fell in love with the instrument and worked constantly to improve and expand his technique. He moved to London from Bournemouth and hit the ground running. He lined up his first paid gig within days of his arrival and worked continuously for years, eventually relocating to Los Angeles. He describes the grueling pace, the influence of hallucinogens and the artistic striving for something bigger. He seems unfazed by his ease in finding work, with is own bands or joining existing ones, until it comes to an abrupt halt in the mid '70s. He spends the fallow period woodshedding, working on his craft and scraping by on a meager existence teaching guitar. He marries his second wife and brings her back to England with barely a penny to his name.

He makes a go of it as a touring guitar for hire, which provides a steady income and steady intake of alcohol but little artistic satisfaction. He eventually finds his way to the Police, where he finds his niche in the perfect confluence of factors. The band embraces the spirit and energy of punk but rejects punk's disdain for virtuosity; they struggle to find a pathway between the two extremes, retaining credibility in the punk world while carving a new sound. They tour relentlessly to all corners of the world, earning their fame one tiny audience, one dingy nightclub at a time, succumbing to the wear-and-tear of life on the road, the excesses presented them as their sales ratchet up and the rifts within the band caused by intertwined ego and artistic drive. He takes so much of the blame for his failed marriage that at times it feels that his motivation for writing the book was an extended apology to his wife. Ian Copeland's book had a more colorful description of getting their gear out of customs in Egypt, but Summers otherwise provides plenty of choice anecdotes about touring in exotic locales. His writing is so vivid, especially in the calmer moments of his life when there was less going on worth describing, that I wondered if he had a ghost writer. But I can't imagine anyone who takes such pride in his craft doing so.

Concert Review: The Hives, The Donnas, The Riviera, Chicago, February 29

Howlin' Pelle Almqvist is not lacking for ego. His repeated calls for applause and adoration would quickly wear thin if the band he fronts didn't actually deliver the goods. But the Hives were non-stop juggernaut of garage rock at the Riviera on Friday night, sometimes soul-inflected, but always smoking. Almqvist and guitarist Nicholaus Arson were the flashy showman, but the whole band was supremely tight. And at least Almqvist invocations for devotion were delivered with a wink, most obviously when informing the audience that they were the best crowd they have ever played to.

As for openers the Donnas, I wasn't that crazy about Van Halen 25 years ago, so an all-female, less debauched version holds little appeal today.

Concert Recommendation: The Hives, The Riviera, Friday, February 29

As much as I love the Hives as a live act, I'd written them off as a novelty one-album wonder after Veni, Vidi, Vicious. Then I heard their newest release, The Black and White Album, and my faith was restored. There is no obvious single because so many songs are so outstanding, a total rush that lends itself to their explosive shows. Come see how rock and roll should be lived and breathed.

The Hives play with the Donnas at the Riviera Theater, 4746 N. Racine Ave., Chicago, on Friday, February 29 at 7:30 p.m.

Event Recommendation: Sound Opinions at the Movies: The Kids Are Alright

In these days of social software, band interaction with their fans is a given. Four decades ago, it was far less commonplace. Yet the Who handed over the reins to a persistent, devoted teenage fan to make a documentary about them. That he managed to show what made the band so fun and fantastic is why the film still matters now. Jim DeRogatis and Greg Kot co-host a special screening of the result, 1979's The Kids Are Alright, followed by a Q & A.

Sound Opinions at the Movies, Music Box Theatre, 3733 N. Southport Ave., Chicago, 773-871-6604 at 7:30 p.m. on Thursday, February 7.

'80s College Radio DJ Let Loose in Mall?

Muzak has lost its stodgy "elevator music" image of bland instrumental versions of songs that were never terribly interesting to begin with. Lots of stores use programmed music with more distinctive personality, but it's usually obviously suited to the retailer's target demographic. Which is why I was so surprised today when shopping at a boring suburban department store, one where I shop infrequently specifically because their clothing styles lack even the slightest edge, to hear "Boys Don't Cry" by the Cure, followed shortly by "Seven Seas" by Echo and the Bunnymen. It was as if the Muzak programming booth had been hijacked by someone from Rhino who had compiled the Left of the Dial or A Life Less Lived '80s alternative and goth, respectively, box sets. Soon enough it was back to mall pap with a bright shiny retro hit from Wham! But it was so pleasantly disconcerting that I considered asking a staff member what was up.

Doonesbury Salutes NIN

Frazz is usually the only comic strip with funny music references, but Doonesbury had a great one on January 28.

http://www.doonesbury.com/strip/dailydose/index.html?uc_full_date=20080128

Album Review: The Redwalls

The quality falls off after the first three songs on the Redwalls' new self-titled release, but boy are those first three some real doozies. "Hangman" is the song the Stooges should have written and recorded for The Weirdness. "Modern Diet" and "Summer Romance" are like early to mid '70s Bowie, glam with a bit of blue-eyed soul inflection, the later with the sentimental but urgent refrain, "Please don't let me hear you say good-bye." Nothing stands out as much on the rest of the album, but it plays like the Strokes with an affection for Mott the Hoople.

Album Review: Jens Lekman Night Falls Over Kortedala

Normally when I review an album, by the time I've written the review I need a break from listening to it repeatedly, no matter how good it is. Maybe it's because I had a short turnaround for my review of Night Falls Over Kortedala by Jens Lekman for CDHotlist and only listened to it a few times, but I can't stop playing it. My "official" review won't run for a few weeks, but suffice it to say that it is charmingly dorky.

My New Writing Outlet

As of the November edition, I am writing for CDHotlist: New Releases for Libraries. Because the threshold is CDs that would circulate at a library or otherwise add value to its collection, my criteria for coverage is different that what I'd write about here. It is also implicit that it is unnecessary to review releases that are so popular that libraries wouldn't think twice about buying them, but I'm unlikely to write about such albums here, either. I'm not yet listed on the contributors page, so you'll have to take my word for it that those attributed to "MC" are mine.

Concert Review: Mudhoney, Double Door, November 2

Any disappointment I had over the Stooges reunion was more than mitigated by the appearance by Mudhoney at the Double Door. They're not just carrying the Stooges' torch, they're keeping the fire blazing. They were noisy but economical, without a wasted distorted note, and articulately pissed off. They blasted through their history with rip-snorting exuberance, from "Touch Me I'm Sick" to the strong, new material from Under a Billion Suns such as "Where Is the Future?"

The guys haven't gone to seed, with Steve Turner and Mark Arm looking as fit as even and Dan Peters looking as slightly unfit as ever. (New guy Guy Maddison on bass is built more in the Peters stocky mold.) While men hit an age where unshaven suggested "homeless" rather than "swarthy," Steve Turner with stubble still resembles a sleep-deprived grad student, a total guitar hero without ever looking the cliché. Even when untethered from his guitar, Mark Arm never commands the stage the way Iggy Pop does, but this is more of a democratic band than a star with a back-up group, and he certainly commits to the songs with his whole body, from his arched back to his scratchy wail.

Although they are the original grunge band that never struck gold off grunge, I have mixed feelings about their marginal appeal. While I wish the best for any band I adore, I'm glad they never fell prey to the shortcomings of fame and fortune. The best measure of what decent guys they are came when Arm cut a song off in the middle. They discussed the problem with smiles on their faces rather than accusations and recriminations, only for Arm to apologize to the audience for his fucked up ears before they resumed.

As for openers Thunderwing, I love a Monks song marginally popularized by the Fall as much as anyone, but I wish the glam revivalists had enough faith to open with their own compositions rather than a Velvet Underground cover.

Album Review: The Stooges The Weirdness

Sometimes reunions are better in theory than in practice. I wanted to love Iggy back with the band that established him, especially after the lame, generic backing he got from lame, generic neopunks Sum 41 on some tracks on Skull Ring, his last solo album. But I am sorry to report that The Weirdness is just blustery. They make a lot of noise, but it's all just wind blowing around. While the band are hardly maestros, their early work had a tautness and economy; now they just bash away aimlessly. Iggy's repeating lyrics doesn't emphasize a point they way, "I Wanna Be Your Dog," did; now it just implies that he doesn't have much to say. I'm glad that Iggy hasn't grown physically paunchy the way many of his aging rocker peers have; hoping for him to remain relevant is perhaps asking too much.

Movie Review: Control

Control, the new Ian Curtis biopic, just doesn't have the same commercial prospects as Ray or Walk the Line. Rather than ending, "...and he went on to become an American icon," this one wraps up, "...and the Macclesfield, England native committed suicide on the eve of the band's first U.S. tour." While a movie about the lead singer of Joy Division may not arouse mass interest, especially when it's shot in grim black and white, it is nonetheless a worthy picture.

The film follows Curtis from Bowie-obsessed teen to his death at 23, although the time frame between those points is vague. It shows his swagger and bravado, stealing his friend's girlfriend, approaching Tony Wilson and demanding that the band appear on the TV show Wilson hosts, so different from the public persona of his awkward, spastic stage presence, which actor Sam Riley captures perfectly. It delves into his ambivalence over fame, his ambivalence over his marriage which he refuses to end despite being in love with his mistress, and his unmanageable epilepsy, all of which lead him to his inevitable end.

While so much of the film is bleak, from the Manchester scenery to the band's spartan songs, it also finds plenty of levity. In an early scene with the band, bass player Peter Hook is portrayed as exceedingly flatulent. (I interviewed the man himself on several occasions and never recall hearing him let one fly.) He and a schoolmate visit an old lady just to raid her medicine cabinet. When he suffers an epileptic seizure on stage his manager tells him afterward, "Could be worse. You could be the singer for the Fall." Only followers of Mark E. Smith (of which my husband and I appeared to be the only ones in the theater) can appreciate why that is such a specific put-down, but it works even without such Manchester music knowledge.

Control is playing at the Music Box Theatre, 3733 N. Southport Ave., Chicago, 773.871.6604.

Concert Review: The Woggles, The Abbey Pub, September 7

The evening was not in the Woggles' favor. The Hideout Block Party was the hipster event of the weekend. The Woggles are hardly the indie rock band of the moment. Not surprisingly, the crowd at the Abbey was thin; they didn't even open the upstairs seating area. So maybe it was only diehard Woggles fans. But still, how often does the majority of the audience dance at a concert? Not just bob their heads in time to the music, but outright dance, moving their whole bodies. The band deserved such a reaction. To say that they committed to the material is an understatement. Lead singer the Professor frequently leapt from the stage, infiltrated the audience and even commandeered the furniture. He, guitarist the Flesh Hammer and bass player Buzz Hagstrom frequently danced in unison while playing, much like the Fleshtones. Mostly, they just peddled their infectious soul-inflected garage rock wares with gusto and earned every fan they made.

RIP Tony Wilson

It's not surprising that it didn't make much of a news splash in the U.S., but Tony Wilson died earlier this month. While he can't take full credit, the man was at least partly responsible for Factory Records, Joy Division, New Order, the Hacienda (a.k.a the Hallucienda), the whole Madchester scene and the irreverently post-modern bio pic 24 Hour Party People. NME has lots of coverage: obituary, news story and tributes from New Order and Alan McGee.

Movie Recommendation: Punk's Not Dead

My cousin's sister-in-law's documentary Punk's Not Dead is now playing at the Gene Siskel Film Center. It focuses on the more recent years of punk. The best part of the film's web site? Part of the URL could be read as "punk snot." How punk.

We Have to Face the Truth Some Time

I lamented not getting to see the Who when they toured earlier this year, at least until viewing Live at Lyon, the bonus DVD accompanying last year's Endless Wire. I've been a die-hard fan of the Who to the point that I could chalk up my disappointment over their 2002 Chicago area show to the recent death of John Entwistle and the poor acoustics and atmosphere of the venue. But as Roger sings in Mike Post Theme on that album, "We have to face the truth some time." Roger's voice is ragged. They play like they are just there to collect a paycheck. I still have faith in Pete's songwriting ability and they may have once been one of the finest live acts, but they are clearly past their prime.

Concert Recommendation: Os Mutantes, Metro, July 11

If you see only one garage psychedelic tropicalia reunion show this summer, make it this one. Os Mutantes play the Metro, 3730 N. Clark St., Chicago, 773.549.0203. at 9 p.m. on Wednesday, July 11.

Concert Review: The Police, Wrigley Field, July 6

There's a fine line to walk when playing a concert full of familiar hits. To just reproduce the recorded versions is artistically stale, but to blow them up too far leads to bloat. The trick is to find a way to make the songs fresh but not flabby. As the reunited Police trotted out their well-known back catalog, they mostly avoided the former but too often fell into the latter trap. They found their best success when mixing up their lesser-known mostly-instrumental songs with their big hits, which is ironic because it was generally the music, rather than lyrics, that got overextended.

The nontraditional location made it more of an event than a concert, but it was never quite as trancendental at Radiohead in Grant Park in 2001. The songs were still fantastic, and the reunion made up for not getting to see the band back in the day, but it rarely sent shivers down my spine.

Some other random thoughts:

• Heading into the encore, my friend asked what they hadn't done yet. I pointed out the obvious, "Every Breath You Take," but also going through my mind was all the odd songs that never get played on the radio, such as "Be My Girl-Sally."
• Sting is one of the few men who can get away with hair product and a receding hairline. I shuddered imagining Sting with a comb-over.
• Since Stewart Copeland brings athleticism to the drums, it makes sense that he favors athletic wear onstage: sweatband, gloves, a shirt from a manufacturer that specializes in moisture-wicking fabrics and, back in the day, track shorts, although he was in long pants last night.
• The Police are the most famous rock band with the least famous guitarist. I bet my husband was typical, unable to recall Andy Summers' name. Is there any other Rock and Rock Hall of Fame shoo-in where it's easier to remember who plays bass and drums than guitar?
• It was a toss-up which person sitting near us was the most annoying: the guy who wouldn't stop mauling his girlfriend except to demand high-5's from strangers, the dude yelling "Yeah!" along with "Invisible Sun" as if it were a frat boy-friendly party anthem rather than a song about searching for greater meaning in life or the oaf who clapped along loudly but never on the beat.
• I almost felt sorry for the suckers who paid to sit atop the buildings near Wrigley Field. The seats face home plate, but the stage was in the outfield.
• I don't know if my dwindled enthusiasm for huge concerts is related to the fact that I no longer have an in to buy good seats at reasonable face value. Ticket prices in general have skyrocketed, and my ticket connection is gone. I wonder if I'd paid through the nose for excellent seats I would enjoy it more or just have higher expectations that would more easily be shattered.
  

Album Review: The Fratellis, Costello Music

A friend who isn't into music at all, upon hearing Decksandrumsandrockandroll by the Propellerheads, commented that it was better than coffee. The Fratellis' debut Costello Music also fits that description. Their glam-infected power pop makes you want to jump up and down. Unlike Paper Tigers by the Caesars, this album lives up to the hype delivered by the track featured in an iPod ad.

Concert Review: Frisbie, Empty Bottle, June 14

Concert Review: Frisbie, Empty Bottle, June 14

It was a banner week in Chicago for power pop bands beginning with F. Fountains of Wayne headlined the Taste of Randolph Street on Friday, and Frisbie took the stage at the Empty Bottle the night before. Based on how sparse the Empty Bottle crowd was, I hesitate to use the term "local favorites" in describing Frisbie, but they could warrant that designation again with their upcoming album New Debut.

Their set started off displaying more potential than the actual goods. I kept thinking that the new songs would probably sound good on the new album, but I wasn't hearing it yet. The abrupt ending of the title track left the audience confused, especially since the persistent hum in the PA made it unclear if they had only come to a false ending. Then they fired up the early stuff, most notably "Disaster," and everything finally clicked. They excelled at both the power and the pop, rocking out with guitars blazing accompanied by gorgeous vocal harmonies.

After far too long with shows too sporadically scheduled, Frisbie plays the Double Door on July 14 for their record release party.

Concert recommendation: Fountains of Wayne, Taste of Randolph Street, Friday, June 15.

I was feeling lethargic and mopey after getting some bad news at work. However, I also have to-do list that I'm trying to blast my way through while my kids off visiting grandparents. So I finally got around to buying the Robbie Fulks song "Fountains of Wayne Hotline" from iTunes. I had not previously realized that FoW's songs were formulaic enough to merit such an astonishing accurate parody/homage, but leave it Robbie Fulks to humorously hit all the key points. As my toddler is fond of saying, albeit about "Crazy Train," "This song makes me happy."

To hear and see the inspiration in action, head to the Taste of Randolph on Friday night, where Fountains of Wayne take the stage at 8:30 p.m., Randolph & May Streets, Chicago.

Faux Indie Rock Guy

With Veronica Mars ending its run, I'm left mulling over why the depiction of the Indie Rock Guy rang false. Some of it can be chalked up to the acting. Chris Lowell as Piz never made an indelible impression and had nowhere near the chemistry with the title character as Logan, played by Jason Dohring.

But the bigger problem was that Piz was made into the Indie Rock Guy by people who are definitely not Indie Rock Guys. First, he didn't look the part. Jack Black and Todd Louiso in High Fidelity looked like they had been hired for the film straight from actual hole-in-the-wall record stores. A patron at the library where I work looked like he came fresh from Indie Rock central casting: scrawny, clothes just hanging on his lanky frame, slightly greasy hair falling into his eyes, big black glasses. Piz just looked like a generic college student.

More importantly, he didn't sound like an Indie Rock Guy. One recent episode had Piz spouting minutia about a fictitious band, but he never sounded convincing about the real thing. He was giddy about lining up a summer internship with Pitchfork Media's New York headquarters, but Pitchfork is based in Chicago. He sneared at someone's enthusiasm for Matchbox 20 and expressed self-contempt for quoting John Mayer lyrics to his girlfriend, but he should have been quoting, for example, Bright Eyes or the Magnetic Fields, instead. It's as if the writers only know who Indie Rock Guy Guy should hate without any real knowledge of who he should love. In other words, it came across as a persona to slap onto a generic character to make him less generic.

On the other hand, Douglas Coupland's indie rock bona fides are so much a part of him that he used Smiths and New Order song titles as titles for his own works.

Random thoughts that went through my mind during the Bloc Party concert at the Congress Theatre on Friday, March 23:

• The refrain from "Helicopters," "Are you hoping for a miracle?" summed up how I felt about the material from A Weekend in the City. I was way off in hoping that the songs would translate better live than they did on disc.
• Matt Tong's nimble but powerful drumming stood out in ways that it doesn't in recordings.
• After Tong shed a jacket of some variety and then his shirt, was the next step going to be waxing his chest hair on stage?
  
• Are concert venues making less money on drinks now that everyone fills the time between sets texting their friends?
• Does the new Chicago smoking ban not apply to concert venues such as the Congress Theatre, or is just too futile to enforce?
• Is it strictly as a memento that people bother taking cell phone pictures at big concerts? Between the distances and the resolution, they're only getting blurry photos of lights on a stage.
• With the ubiquity and miniaturization of electronic devices, do venues no longer ban cameras and recording devices?
• I used to be concerned that I wasn't listening to any new music. Lately, lots of the new music I've been seeking out sounds like old music. And yet the only two people at the concert who were conspicuously older than I were the sound engineer and a dad hovering at the back, likely chaperoning his teenager at a distance.
  
• Since A Weekend in the City hasn't brought a monumental leap in fame over Silent Alarm, I can't be accused of the cliché of thinking they were cool when they were obscure and shunning them just because they're popular. I merely prefer the first album to the second.
  
• Would all of these thoughts have been going through my mind if the new songs were better?

Album Review: The Kooks Inside In Inside Out (Astralwerks)

In skimming critics' end-of-year best of 2006 lists, I was surprised to spot the Kooks in several lists for best song but not best album. That honor is usually bestowed on ubiquitous radio hits, guilty pleasures acknowledged as much for their pop culture impact as much as their actual artistry. But the Kooks hardly made a splash last year. Still, I was intrigued, if only for their Nuggets-worthy moniker.

Listening to Inside In Inside Out, I can see why individual songs such as "She Moves In Her Own Way," made more of an impression that the work as a whole. The band has hooks hung on a acoustic/electric guitar mix, like a sunny, poppier Strokes. But they are done in by the lack of editing. The album doesn't end so much as peter out. The 70-80 minutes that can fill a CD doesn't oblige a band to fill the whole thing. For a band that sounds lifted from the LP era, they would have been better off working with the LP's time constraints.

Concert Recommendation: Bloc Party, Congress Theatre, March 23

Their sophomore album A Weekend in the City is a disappointment after Silent Alarm, with the angularity and caffeinated jitteriness of their debut giving way to overproduction which renders them generic. But Silent Alarm is still a stonkin' great album. The old songs should be great; I have hopes that they can pare down the arrangements on the new stuff and sound like themselves rather than everybody else.

Bloc Party play the Congress Theatre,  2135 N. Milwaukee Ave., Chicago, at 7:00 p.m., Friday, March 23.

Concert Recommendation: Hoodoo Gurus, The Abbey Pub, Sunday, March 25

When discussing the Greenhornes recently with another garage rock aficienado, I complained that when I saw them live, it just wasn't happening. She defended them as good in the studio but awkward in front of an audience. I wasn't buying it. In my book, the definition of a garage band includes a vibrancy in concert that's hard to capture in recording. Australia's Hoodoo Gurus epitomize that, just one hell of a fun live band with catchy pop hooks, tremendous energy and a sense of humor. For example, at one show they offered a free bottle of champagne, given to the band by their record company, to the first audience member to identify the theme in that night's set list; they were performing the songs in alphabetical order. They haven't toured the U.S. in over a decade, so it'll be a welcome return.

The Hoodoo Gurus play the Abbey Pub, 3420 W. Grace, Chicago, 773-478-4408 at 9 p.m. on Sunday, March 25.

Since I've had the Police on the brain, I finally got around to reading Ian Copeland's autobiography, Wild Thing: The Backstage, On the Road, In the Studio, Off the Charts. Ian, one of Stewart's two older brothers, was booking agent to the Police and many other bands of the punk/new wave revolution. He found success by specializing in fresh young bands, carving out a club circuit to help them find an audience and touring them on shoestring budgets so they wouldn't lose money in the process. He intentionally avoided old school rock, both aesthetically and as an ethical business decision to not raid existing agencies' rosters. Through his own hard work and that of the artists he worked with, they found a great deal of success.

Even before finding his way in the world as a booking agent, he led a fascinating life. He grew up mostly in Cairo and Beirut, the son of a CIA agent stationed there. Irresponsible and rebellious as a teenager, he traipsed back and forth across Europe and scrounged an existence in London rather than submit to his parents' will, eventually enlisting in the U.S. and heading to the Vietnam War. He stumbled into tour management and booking, where he finally found his niche. He also sat at an unlikely cusp in the Baby Boom. An acknowledged hippie who embraced hippie bands, he still didn't reject punk. He recognized that while the snotty punks lacked the chops of his favorite long-haired artists, they had a freshness missing from the the stagnating older music and musicians.

Copeland was not a great writer but definitely an adequate one to tell his unusual life story, including having good sense of choice anecdotes to include, particularly one about being harangued by a veteran agent about why he'll never succeed, the old-timer nodding off repeatedly mid-sentence from heroin before finally going face down into a dish of creamed spinach. The book gets off to a sluggish start, with a chapter that goes on too long into too much detail about his crazy globetrotting lifestyle working and socializing with rock stars; fortunately it is not characteristic of the rest of the book. He is gentlemanly, revealing little of his doomed marriage and offering no ill words about his ex-wife, refraining to name the member of the Go-Go's who failed to seduce him despite her persistence and adding in a footnote that the heroin-addled agent eventually cleaned up and found continued success in the music business. Although he says so explicitly, he also shows repeatedly his keys to success: the road to fame must be trod repeated back and forth across the U.S. and includes stops at roach-infested hotels, stay within your financial means, drugs will greatly hinder one's career and don't be a scumbag. In an industry known for weasels, such advice is refreshing.

Missed Obituaries

Twice in recent weeks I've stumbled upon news of deaths in the music world well after the fact.

I only learned of Ian Copeland's death from the credits for Everyone Stares: The Police Inside Out. Ian, one of Stewart's brothers, was the band's manager and booking agent. He served in a similar capacity to a bunch of other bands that helped define 1980s. He died last May. I'm still amused by the names of the outfits of the Copeland brothers, a response to their father's serving in the CIA. Ian's agency was FBI. Miles' record label was IRS. Stewart is in the Police. I was preoccupied with caring for a newborn at the time of Ian's death, but it didn't make much news beyond the music world.

Chalk it up to geography that I missed the news that Aldo Jones died of leukemia in 2001 at age 41. Jones was a member of the Ben Vaughn Combo and worked with many other Philly musicians in the late 80s and early 90s when I was seeing a lot of local Philly acts. On one of my first dates with an old boyfriend, grabbing a bite at Silk City at the end of the night, Aldo walked in. That both of us considered this a celebrity sighting sums up the foundation of that relationship. News of his passing didn't make it to Chicago, and I'm no longer connected to that scene for someone to have tipped me off.

It wasn't until I discovered allmusic and starting looking up my favorite bands that I learned that lots of my favorite music is considered part of the same genre and that it has a name: post-punk. I just thought of it as music I like.

I recently came upon an 80s post-punk archetype: Josef K. The first time I heard the band on the radio, I was confused. They sounded familiar without sounding familiar, in that I knew I'd never actually heard them before although their sound resembled lots that I'd heard before. There were glints of the angularity of the Fall, Gang of Four and early Echo & the Bunnymen, the jangly pop of the Woodentops and the revved-up jangly pop of early Wedding Present. That they had previously escaped my attention, apart from recognizing their name from the 1991 edition of the Trouser Press record guide, is not surprising considering that they only issued one proper album, The Only Fun in Town, before breaking up, and that album never had a U.S. release. Their new compilation, Entomology, rounds up 22 album tracks and singles for a worthy introduction to American ears.

I had merely planned to review Everyone Stares: The Police Inside Out when much bigger news about the band broke: Holy crap! They're getting back together. The band announced that they will play at the Grammy Awards on February 11, and a full tour is rumored.

Now back to that movie review. Drummer Stewart Copeland bought a Super 8 movie camera early in his career with the band and managed to document them in their time together, from their early struggles to massive fame. Through wise editing of the 50 or so hours of footage on the road, in the studio, on the stage and pressed up against the fans, he gives a clear view of what it was like living through it all. His narration is insightful, making their eventual break-up a natural conclusion without placing blame. That said, Sting sometimes comes across as an obnoxious alpha male even when they're getting along just fine, and the film reaffirmed my belief that Copeland is not only one of the best drummers of all time, he's also one of the coolest.

One of the most annoying current cliches in journalism is making reference to AARP to say that someone is old. For once, talking about aging and making reference to AARP isn't a cliche. In today's Chicago Tribune, Barbara Brotman catches up with former Buzzcocks bass player Steve Garvey to discuss the cultural meaning of the band's "Everybody's Happy Nowadays" being used in AARP ad campaign. The interview also goes beyond the usual "where are they now" piece since they delve into what aging has been like for Garvey, now a carpenter with a kid in college.

In recent years, Iggy Pop's backing bands have been a lot like the Chicago Cubs. The long-standing complaint about the Cubs is that the owners won't bother investing money in the team itself because they know that Wrigley Field is the real draw for the fans, not how well the team plays. Likewise, Iggy's backing band is usually merely adequate because no one comes to an Iggy show for anything but the man himself, so he has no incentive to hire spectacular musicians.

That is changing. After a handful of tracks together on Iggy's last album, 2003's Skull Ring, and a handful of shows, Iggy and the surviving Stooges are reuniting for a full album and tour. The Weirdness, due out March 20, was recorded by Steve Albini and features ex-Minuteman Mike Watt taking over for the deceased Dave Alexander on bass. They plan to tour, including a stop at the South by Southwest Music Festival in March.

Movie Review: loudQUIETloud: A Film About the Pixies

I'm a sucker for a well-done documentary about a band I like, and loudQUIETloud: A Film About the Pixies fills the bill. It displays the greatness of the music that I already loved. It tells me more about the personalities than I knew previously. Kim Deal is the most gracious with the fans, perhaps because, as a female musician, she's still an anomaly and therefore a role model to teenage girls. Dave Lovering is sad, in several meanings of the word, his career as a magician looking disturbingly similar to Gob Bluth's on Arrested Development. Joey Santiago is the most well-adjusted of the bunch, a committed family man who is torn about touring keeping him away from his growing brood at home. Kim's twin sister Kelley, brought along by Kim for moral support, is a fun, blunt addition, not merely a hanger-on.

The scenes where Black Francis (sorry, I just can't quite think of him as Charles Thompson or Frank Black) gets interviewed, resurrected my range of emotions about my days of doing them. On one hand, I recalled why I enjoyed interviewing him several times, especially when he offered his suggestion that if the band were to start recording again, they should really start from scratch with a new name like Vomit Squad. On the other hand, the footage of his phone interviews showed him just as disengaged as I suspected some of my telephone interview subjects were. During the first phoner, he's fiddling with an eyeglass case while talking. During the second, he's lying on his hotel bed in just his underwear, which caused a collective shudder by the audience at the Music Box.

The concert footage proved insightful, too. It reconfirmed my belief that, as wonderfully original as the Pixies' music is, the band was always short on charismatic stage presence, which may have limited their popularity as much as an inherent weirdness to their sound. But it also showcased guitarist Joey as an underrated talent. As singers and songwriters Black Francis and Kim always garnered more attention, but Joey's unique riffs are a large part of their distinctive sound.

Concert Recommendation: "The Last Show on Earth" A Halloween Rock n Roll Circus!" featuring Sickidz, October 28, The Khyber

All good things must come to an end. Philly band Sickidz (who I'd written about previously) had reunited, but now they're calling it quits again with a Halloween-themed blowout at the Khyber. Among the special guests are Palmyra Delran and Barb Dwyer, who were members of Pink Slip Daddy with frontman Mick Cancer after the Sickidz's initial demise. Mick performs with the kind of charismatic abandon that suggests that the only limit to their fame was that they only toured regionally. This should be quite the party.

Sickidz play with special guests Palmyra Delran, Barb Dwyer and Joe Ankenbrand plus Jukebox Zeroes, King of Siam The Warm Jets at the Khyber, 56 S. Second St., Philadelphia, 215.238.5888 on Saturday, October 28 at 9:00 p.m.

I just learned about Pitchfork's Top 100 Albums of the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s. Two related observations struck me: the writers were trying to out-obscure the readers and each other with their picks, and, not surprisingly, almost none of it was written by women. Yes, folks, it's a High Fidelity movement. Male music geeks are just as competitive as their jock counterparts but on a different playing field.

I mentioned this to a colleague, who tipped me off to the news that High Fidelity, Nick Hornby's beloved novel about obsessive list-compilers who wield their obscure music knowledge as a weapon against the less informed at a record shop, has been made into a musical. And just to get my competitive geekiness out of the way, I'll point out that the NPR story got one of its facts wrong. They called the musical the third incarnation of the novel, the second being the film starring John Cusack. They were unaware of the play The Vinyl Shop that was produced by a small theater company in Chicago prior to the film. The actor who played Barry in stage production was one of the Championship Vinyl customers. (I take particular music geek pride in all things related to the book since I was an extra in the movie.)

Requiem for a Record Store in Three Movements

Tower Records didn't survive bankruptcy. On Friday, their assets were auctioned off. The stores are having liquidation sales.

The Music Fan

As I started to really get into music in my late teens, the record store at the mall just wasn't cutting it. My tastes were turning too obscure for what could be sold in storefront between suburban department stores. Back before you could buy anything on Amazon, Tower Records was record-buying mecca. They had everything cool. They had everything old. They were open until midnight, so I could pick up the new Nine Inch Nails on my way to Dobbs or after a show at the TLA further down South Street in Philly. Going there could be an event unto itself, a date spent browsing for new CDs.

What made Tower different from other chain stores wasn't just their depth of inventory but the depth of knowledge by their staff. Not only did they know and care about music, they looked like they knew and cared about music, unlike the tools at the mall stores who had to wear ties and red vests and looked like they could just as easily been selling smoked cheese logs or personalized golf towels. Members of many bands passed through their ranks of employment. When I suggested to an editor of Pulse, their in-house magazine, that they do a story of former employees who went on to greater fame as musicians, she said there were far too many, although I think Perry Farrell's name was mentioned.

Tower indirectly launched my writing career. While scouting for reading matter for a long plane ride, I hit their magazine section and stumbled upon B-Side. Unlike Rolling Stone, which I was finding increasingly exasperating, it covered nothing but music. It covered the music I was listening to such as Echo and the Bunnymen rather than Huey Lewis and the News. I was shocked to read the masthead and discover it was published locally. The record store at the mall had no interest in 'zines or local publications. B-Side was my first writing outlet.

My experience as a consumer is typical in explaining their demise. I don't have extensive time to browse record stores anymore. Amazon and Tower's own web site have taken away the thrill of the chase, so my only limitation is whether I'm willing to shell out for import prices, not whether I can merely locate an obscure album. I can download songs for instant gratification. No one has bought records at record stores in ages, but no one ever called them CD stores.

The Employee

Until I worked at RollingStone.com, being a sales clerk at Tower in London was my coolest job. Yes, the pay was meager but I was surrounded by music and by people who cared about music. We sneered at those picking up Samantha Fox's record (now mercifully forgotten by most). We lauded the parents visiting from America who could actually name bands their kids liked when asking records that couldn't be found back home. David Bowie shopped there. The place was constructed with a DJ booth, although the position was cut by my second summer on staff. My mother suggested that I should try to transfer to accounting so that I could make more money, but then I would have just been a bean counter in an anonymous office when I wanted to be swimming in rock and roll.

When I returned to Wharton after my first summer at Tower, my classmates were bragging about their summer internships, working 60-hour weeks on Wall Street. I kept quiet, but thought to myself that I probably learned more as part of the working class in a foreign city, supporting myself on 100 quid a week (slang for "pounds" being one of the facts I picked up).

The Librarian

While I no longer have time to spend hours browsing record stores for fun, it is now part of my job, doing collection development for a public library. Tower was our favorite place to do so. I still had the thrill of the chase but more importantly the benefit of serendipitous finds. For my boss shopping for jazz and classical, the staff's in-depth knowledge was an invaluable source of recommendations. There was also the entertaining distraction of things worth a laugh even if we wouldn't buy it for the library.

Unfortunately, Tower's inability to provide sufficiently-detailed invoicing proved the death knell for our library's financial relations with them. I miss the field trips to the store because it meant heading into Lincoln Park instead of the suburbs. I miss being mistaken for Tower staff, even when carrying a baby, because I was marking a list and hauling around dozens of CDs. I miss finding out about the new Cinerama album because they were playing it in the store, even if it was followed by the horrible new Janet Jackson album. I'm saddened that a large chain employing lots of people who are there because they care about music can't survive.

The timing of the auction was particularly depressing because I headed to a conference of music librarians on Friday preparing to give a talk on collection development, and recommending Tower for their selection, staff knowledge and useful web site was part of speech. The information was already outdated by the end of the day.

I can't help but notice how much "Nausea," off Beck's new album The Information, sounds like "Going South" by the Wolfgang Press. Considering how low the Wolfgang Press's profile is, I'll be amazed if any review comments on this. Hell, I'll be amazed if anyone besides me recognizes this.

I had intended to tout the Futureheads show at the Metro on October, but the band has canceled their October tour dates because guitarist Barry Hyde has tendonitis in his wrist.

Concert Recommendation: Little Steven's Rolling Rock and Roll Show, Durty Nellie's, September 13

Little Steven's Underground Garage is sponsoring a national tour. Need I say more than the line-up? (Also known as I don't have time to write more.) The Zombies, The Mooney Suzuki, The Woggles, Gore Gore Girls plus local act Catfish Haven. It all adds up to reason to head to the 'burbs on a weeknight.

Little Steven's Rolling Rock and Roll Show, Durty Nellies, 180 N. Smith Street, Palatine, (847)358-9150 at 9:00 p.m. on Wednesday, September 13.

Concert Recommendation: Mudhoney and the Cynics, Double Door, Friday, September 1

Double bills don't come much more promising than this one. Two bands of rip-snorting rock and roll who put on amazing shows, in a venue just the right size to see all the dripping sweat. Come worship at the altar of the electric guitar is all its fuzzed-up glory. Marvel at charismatic frontmen. Then cry for me because I can't go.

Mudhoney and the Cynics play the Double Door, 1572 N. Milwaukee, Chicago, 773.489.3160, at 9:00 p.m., Friday, September 1.

Concert Review: The Church and Rob Dickinson, Park West, August 18

Unlike the Church's October, 1998 show, this one lacked the power to change my life, but it was a fine entertainment. Most notably, the band was cheerfully relaxed and informal. Where Steve Kilbey is usually taciturn, this time he was positively loquacious. The members frequently switched instruments, resulting in jokes about Marty Willson-Piper's tendency to break drum sticks. They messed around with arrangements, adding flamenco, English folk and jazz flourishes to familiar favorites to refresh them. Kilbey gave a shout-out to the recently departed Grant McLennan when the band played "Providence," by Kilbey and McLennan's side project Jack Frost.

Rob Dickinson, former lead singer for the Catherine Wheel, has a solo album and is, only slightly facetiously, recasting himself as a sensitive singer songwriter. Armed with only an acoustic guitar, he struggled mightly with his desire to recreate the thunderous wall of sound his old outfit generated.

Back in high school, I had a few rules about the car stereo: No Ozzy Osbourne. No AC/DC. If they came on the radio, I'd change the station no matter how my passengers felt. I sucked it up and willingly went to an AC/DC concert years later as a favor to a friend; she wanted to photograph them for the magazine we both worked for, so I agreed to review the show, but that still didn't violate the car rule.

Now I've got a toddler son who is both crazy about trains and will request that I sing even the shortest snippet of a song again and again. When he was enthusing about a train when we were driving recently, I sang the one-line chorus of Ozzy's "Crazy Train," which I had to fake in parts, "We're going (mumble mumble) rails of the crazy train." He demanded, "Again," over and over. I obliged a few times since he is irresistibly charming. Then I tried switching to "I've Been Working on the Railroad," but he responded, "Crazy Train," and continued to request it. So I broke down and borrowed an Ozzy CD from the library so I could play him the whole song, which I've already done twice, much to his delight.

I've decided to use "Crazy Train" as the starting point for a mix CD for him, "Train Tracks." I'll fill it with lots of songs about trains, especially ones that are not obviously appropriate for a toddler, like "5:15" by the Who and Love & Rockets' "Kundalini Express." I'm just following the High Fidelity definition of true selfless love: when you make a mix of songs the other person will like instead of what you think they should like, although I'll still skip "Casey Jones" by the Grateful Dead.

It's a sad but oft-repeated tale in music business: an artist releases an album. Their label folds and all corporate support for marketing and promoting it evaporate. Such was the fate of World Party's impossibly wonderful Egyptology. I reviewed an advance copy and eventually stopped writing for the publication where I freelanced because the meddling editor challenged my perfect rating for it. But around the time that it was hitting the store shelves in 1997, the Enclave, the label behind the US release, was killed off by parent Chrysalis. The album was ignored and is now out of print. The good news in the UK was that Robbie Williams held the album in the same high esteem that I did, and his cover of "She's the One" was a big hit there, but Williams has never found an audience in the US.

Dumbing Up, the follow-up to Egyptology, is finally coming out in the US, a mere six years after its UK release. World Party mastermind Karl Wallinger is releasing it on his own label Seaview. More details about the project, the band's recent history and upcoming US tour dates are at http://www.worldparty.net.

Just how cool is my baby? The one-month-old was fussy last night, and the only thing that finally calmed him down was Fun House by the Stooges.

Here's one mystery solved. The current exhibit at the Chicago Cultural Center, "Nick Cave: Soundsuits," has nothing to do with the diminutive Australian singer who frequently dons a suit for his concerts. Same name, different person entirely.

Just how cool is the Librarian of Congress? Cool enough to name Sonic Youth's Daydream Nation to the National Recording Registry, one of 50 recordings each year that are deemed “culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant.” Other worthy musical recordings were also added, but none as hip and unexpected as this. Or to put it another way, I suspect the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame will be much more reluctant to acknowledge Sonic Youth's cultural, historic and aesthetic significance within the narrower realm of rock music after they become eligible for induction in 2008.

The full press release is at:
http://www.loc.gov/today/pr/2006/06-083.html

My friend GirlDetective, also the mother of two young children (My new son was born March 27.) recently blogged "I Resemble That Remark," linking to an article from New York about recent trends among Gen-X parents:

When did it become normal for your average 35-year-old New Yorker to (a) walk around with an iPod plugged into his ears at all times, listening to the latest from Bloc Party . . . (f) decide that Sufjan Stevens is the perfect music to play for her 2-year-old, because, let’s face it, 2-year-olds have lousy taste in music, and we will not listen to the Wiggles in this house;

Not to get defensive, but I'm 40, not 35, and have Bloc Party on my iPod. As for the Sufjan Stevens observation, it's not my fault if neither my 22-month-old nor I liked the Sharon, Lois and Bram CD from the library but we both enjoyed the Clean Anthology. Here I was thinking that I'm probably the only mom my age with young kids who actually has an opinion on Deerhoof (They're wretched; their artiness exacerbates their basic musical incompetence.) when it turns out I'm just part of a larger demographic shift.

That said, I don't fit the full stereotype. I may be into music and into sharing my favorite music with my kids (It was so convenient to stop at Target and get NIN's With Teeth the day of release since I needed babyproofing supplies, too.) And I may be style-conscious, but I don't live in jeans or spend the kind of money they're talking about on clothes.

On the flip side, it is possible to find fun kids' music that isn't insipid. We've had to balance it with Ben Vaughn, P-Funk, Louis Armstrong and John Coltrane, but Wiggleworms Love You has been a huge hit with my toddler.

One of rock and roll's great achievements is helping to bridge the racial divide. Rock made it acceptable for white people to listen music created by African-Americans (or why the term "race record" is now outmoded) and for blacks and whites to socialize to hear music together. Which is why I kept shuddering watching the profile of Lyrnyrd Skynyrd on the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony. The Confederate flag was a ubiquitous presence at their performances; they might as well have hung a huge sign, "Black people not welcome."

I was never a fan of Black Sabbath, but at this point I must acknowledge that they have been hugely influential on an entire genre of music. The Sex Pistols recorded only one studio album, but its impact was utterly cataclysmic. I'm not convinced that Miles Davis is rock and roll, but he was one of the greatest innovators in music. Blondie has it all going in spades. But Lynard Skynyrd is a two-hit-wonder that did little to advance rock and roll, and they had a habit of endorsing racial segregation.

Concert Recommendation: Billy Bragg and Jill Sobule, Double Door, March 20

Especially after hearing that Jill Sobule is opening, I was crushed that I won't be able to attend this show. For those who have somehow missed him over the years, Billy Bragg is the world's leading punk-inspired romantic, socialist folkie. While his music and his shows are filled with leftist opinion, his humor, approachability, genuine concern for others and self-deprecation make him palatable whatever one's political leanings. I've never come across another artist who makes a habit of emerging after his shows just to chat with fans. Billy is touring in support of a new box set that collects much of his early work.

Casual observers might dismiss Jill Sobule as a one-hit novelty act for "I Kissed a Girl," but she is a wry songwriter with a gift for catchy melodies and an eye for unexpected subject matter. For example, her last album, Underdog Victorious, offered a sympathetic ode to '60s sex symbol Joey Heatherton.

Billy Bragg and Jill Sobule play the Double Door, 1572 N. Milwaukee, Chicago, 773.489.3160, at 8:00 p.m. on Monday, March 20.

Concert Review: The Wedding Present, Double Door, March 12

As David Gedge wrapped up the Wedding Present's set last night at the Double Door, he commented that it was past their bedtimes and probably the same for some of the audience, too. Amen. I was conflicted all evening, wanting them to play forever but also needing to get home and to sleep. And praying that I wouldn't go into labor in the middle of the concert because I'm incredibly pregnant, was enjoying the show so much and it would be a logistical nightmare to get home.

This wasn't only joke about the age of the band. He introduced, "Go Out And Get 'Em Boy!" their first single from 1985, by noting that the song was older than their current drummer. Judging by the drummer's (Charlie Layton?) youthful appearance, Gedge may not have been facetious. The set list drew songs from throughout the band's history, including a few Cinerama numbers since Gedge pointed out that the line-up for the two bands is now the same. While it was a blast to hear "Brassneck" and "Click Click," the latter enabled by female bass player's Terry de Castro providing backing vocals, it was an unexpected disappointment for them to exclude "Interstate 5," the haunting lead single off their latest album, Take Fountain.

All in all, the band were in fine form, starting with opening number "Corduroy," since Gedge dove in trying to saw his guitar in half with just his bare hands and a guitar pick. No wonder I still love this band.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I decided to create a 120-song playlist for my iPod Shuffle to celebrate my upcoming 40th birthday. I wanted to include favorite songs and artists from throughout my life. After doing some fun "research" to help trigger memories (rifling through my LPs, reviewing my database of all the bands I've covered for publication, studying the track listings on Rhino's 1970s and new wave series), I came up with about 130 artists, sometimes with specific albums and songs in mind, which I then winnowed down to 120. The hardest part was choosing a single song by some artists. I used the following criteria in making the picks:

1. Only one song by any artist.
2. I didn't bother to note the album if it didn't matter to me, especially if I knew I'd be copying it from a compilation.
3. No songs that I'd included on previous mix tapes or CDs that I'd made for myself.
4. When in doubt, choose a song that evokes memories of a particular person or event.
5. Remember that there is no one, perfect answer. For example, I couldn't go wrong with either "London Calling" or "Police on My Back" in lieu of "The Magnificent Seven," my ultimate Clash selection.

While it may be outside the implied rule of blogging to engage in self-centered blathering, I'll skip the stories behind my choices because, in many cases, it would bore even the other people connected to the memories. But I did notice a few trends:

• I picked songs that reminded me of the deaths of both my grandmothers but neither of my grandfathers.
• I started to develop taste in music in about 1979 or 1980. Anything on the list from 1979 or earlier that's cool is probably something I discovered after the fact. Anything cheesy is probably what I loved at the time, and there's no point in being embarrassed about it now.
• A bunch of musicians made the list twice:
• Joe Strummer - Clash and solo
• Mick Jones - Clash and Big Audio Dynamite
• Pete Townshend - The Who and solo
• Karl Wallinger - The Waterboys and World Party
• David Gedge - The Wedding Present and Cinerama
• Most of the members of the Undertones and That Petrol Emotion
• Justin Harwood just missed on making the list twice; although a member of both the Chills and Luna, he wasn't in the frequently-shifting Chills line-up when they recorded "Pink Frost."
• I don't even want to think about how much of my favorite music is now out of print, so I'm glad to own what I do.

It's been a fun process selecting and assembling the playlist. I highly recommend it.

The selections:
A, You're Adorable
An Emotional Fish – An Emotional Fish - Celebrate
Animotion - Obsession
Armstrong, Louis - What A Wonderful World
Babes in Toyland – Fontenelle - Bluebell
Badly Drawn Boy – About a Boy – A Peak You Reach
Bats – Silverbeet – Sighting the Sound
Beastie Boys – Hello Nasty - Intergalactic
Belle & Sebastian - If You're Feeling Sinister – Me and the Major
Big Audio Dynamite – Rush
Blondie – Rapture
Bowie, David – Ziggy Stardust – Suffragette City
Bragg, Billy – Workers Playtime – Valentine’s Day Is Over
Buzzcocks – Operators Manual – What Do I Get?
Cars – Cars – You’re All I’ve Got Tonight
Catherine Wheel – Ferment – I Want to Touch You
Cave, Nick & the Bad Seeds - Tender Prey – The Mercy Seat
Chameleons - Strange Times - Swamp Thing
Chicago – 25 or 6 to 4
Chills – Kaleidoscope World - Pink Frost
Church – Starfish - Reptile
Cinerama – Disco Volante - Wow
Clash – Sandanista! – The Magnificent Seven
Coldplay – A Rush of Blood to the Head – The Scientist
Cope, Julian – 20 Mothers – Greedhead Detector
Costello, Elvis – (The Angels Wanna Wear My) Red Shoes
Culture Club - Karma Chameleon
Cure – Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me – Why Can’t I Be You?
Cynics – Living Is the Best Revenge – Revenge
Dead Milkmen – Big Lizard in My Back Yard – Bitchin’ Camaro
Deee-Lite – World Clique - Groove Is in the Heart
Depeche Mode – Speak & Spell – Just Can’t Get Enough
Detroit Cobras – Hey Sailor
Echo and the Bunnymen - Ocean Rain – The Killing Moon
Ernie – A Sesame Street Celebration – Rubber Duckie
Fall - I Am Curious Orange - New Big Prinz
Fatboy Slim - Better Living Through Chemistry - Going Out of My Head
Fatima Mansions – Viva Dead Ponies – Blues for Ceauseseu
Fine Young Cannibals – Fine Young Cannibals – Johnny, Come Home
Folds, Ben, Five – Ben Folds Five - Underground
Fountains of Wayne - Welcome Interstate Managers - Little Red Light
Frankie Goes to Hollywood - Relax
Gang of Four – Damaged Goods
Godfathers - Birth, School, Work, Death – Birth, School, Work, Death
Grease – Summer Nights
Hitchcock, Robyn & the Egyptians – Respect – Wafflehead
Hives - Vene, Vidi, Vicious - Declare Guerre Nucleaire
Hoodoo Gurus – Stoneage Romeos – I Want You Back
Hunters & Collectors - Human Frailty – Throw Your Arms Around Me
Imperial Teen – What Is Not to Love – Yoo Hoo
Inspiral Carpets – Life – Commercial Rain
Interpol – Antics - Evil
INXS – Shabooh Shoobah – Don’t Change
Jesus and Mary Chain – Psychocandy – Just Like Honey
Joel, Billy - Just the Way You Are
John, Elton – Philadelphia Freedom
King and I - Getting to Know You
Love & Rockets – Lift – R.I.P 20 C.
Luna – Bewitched – Friendly Advice
Lush – Lovelife - Ladykillers
Magnetic Fields - 69 Love Songs – Papa Was a Rodeo
McLean, Don – American Pie
Ministry – A Mind Is a Terrible Thing to Taste – Burning Inside
Moby – Play – Honey
Mooney Suzuki - Electric Sweat - In a Young Man's Mind
Mudhoney – Mudhoney – You Got It
Muppet Movie – Rainbow Connection
Nena – 99 Luftballons
New Order – Temptation
Nine Inch Nails – The Downward Spiral – I Do Not Want This
Nirvana - Smells Like Teen Spirit
Numan, Gary – Pleasure Principle - Cars
Ocean Blue – Ocean Blue – Drifting, Falling
O'Day, Alan - Undercover Angel
Partridge Family – Partridge Family Album – Point Me in the Direction of Albuquerque
Pixies – Doolittle – Debaser
Police – Reggatta de Blanc – The Bed’s Too Big Without You
Pop Will Eat Itself – Cure for Sanity – Dance of the Mad Bastards
Pop, Iggy – Lust for Life
Pretenders – Brass in Pocket
Push Kings - Macy, Macy
R.E.M. – Document – It’s the End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)
Radiohead – Kid A – Optimistic
Ramones – I Wanna Be Sedated
Red Hot Chili Peppers – Give It Away
Reed, Lou – Magic and Loss – No Change
Replacements – Tim – Kiss Me on the Bus
Reunion – Life Is a Rock (But the Radio Rolled Me)
Romantics – What I Like About You
Salt-n-Pepa - Push It
Screaming Blue Messiahs – Bikini Red – Big Brother Muscle
Siouxsie & the Banshees – Peepshow – Peek-AYBoo
Smiths – Meat Is Murder - How Soon Is Now
Sobule, Jill – Pink Pearl – One of These Days
Sonic Youth – Goo – Kool Thing
Soul Coughing - Ruby Vroom – Down To It
Springsteen, Bruce – The River - Cadillac Ranch
Stone Roses – Stone Roses – This Is the One
Streets - A Grand Don't Come for Free - Fit But You Know It
Strokes – Is This It – Barely Legal
Strummer, Joe – Streetcore – All in a Day
Talking Heads – Fear of Music - Life During Wartime
Tears for Fears - Songs from the Big Chair - Shout
That Petrol Emotion – Babble – Swamp
The The - Infected
Therapy? – Troublegum - The Knives
Townshend, Pete – Slit Skirts
U2 – War – New Year’s Day
UB40 – Labour of Love – Red Red Wine
Undertones – Teenage Kicks
Vaughn, Ben – M- Motor Vehicle
Village People - YMCA
Violet Femmes – Violet Femmes – Add It Up
Waits, Tom - Bone Machine - I Don't Want to Grow Up
Waterboys – This Is the Sea - Whole of the Moon
Wedding Present – Bizarro - Brassneck
Who - Quadrophenia - Love Reign O'er Me
Wonder Stuff – Eight-Legged Groove Machine - Unbearable
Wonder, Stevie - Songs in the Key of Life - Sir Duke
World Party – Egyptology – Love Is Best

I've liked plenty of bands with a single leader and ever-changing line-up, i.e. the Chills and the Wedding Present, but I had not previously realized just how much turnover the Fall had experienced, the only constant being Mark E. Smith. The Guardian ran a piece, "Excuse me, weren't you in the Fall?" in which writer Dave Simpson attempted to track down more than 40 former band members, many of  whom told fascinating tales of being recruited and/or fired abruptly. It's the second time I've read recently that Smith constantly shakes up the line-up as an intended strategy to keep the music fresh, that it is not an inadvertent effect of his cantankerous personality. It also reaffirms my perception that there is no such thing as a mediocre Fall show: "'Smith doesn't do average,' says bassist Steve Hanley, who met me in a Manchester pub. 'He'd rather do 10 great gigs and 10 rubbish gigs than anything in the middle.'"

Make your own Fall Out Boy jokes.

When the Wedding Present announced a few months ago that they were planning a North American tour for 2006, I feared that they would hit Chicago shortly after my new baby is born and I'd have to miss them again. But the new year is off to a great start: they are scheduled to play the Double Door on March 12, almost two weeks before my due date. Considering that I made it to the Fall and the Strokes three weeks before my due date with my first child and Fountains of Wayne three days before, I'll certainly buy advance tickets and hope the baby doesn't arrive early.

However, I'll hold off on the Wedding Present baby t-shirt for the new kid since my son has never had a strong reaction to the band's CDs, not the way he has with the Ramones, which warranted the purchase of his Ramones shirt.

WXRT is finally showing Little Steven the love he deserves. Little Steven's Underground Garage was ostensibly airing on WCKG, but good luck finding it. Who knows what obscure hours they had shunted it off to, especially since they couldn't be bothered to list its correctly scheduled time on their web site. (If I had enough free time and spite, I'd check for how long it takes them to finally remove it from their site.)

Not only will the show now air on WXRT 93.1 FM, possibly the only commercial radio station left in Chicago where DJs have any say over their playlists, but they're giving it a proper kick-off. Lin Brehmer will be interviewing Little Steven on Monday morning. The show will air Monday nights from 10 p.m. to midnight.

I attended a 40th birthday party recently. Most of the music was by the Who and Led Zeppelin, which left me thinking about the fact that my music taste continued to evolve well after high school and college. Since I'll be turning 40 myself next year, I started contemplating the perfect birthday mix. Starting from the premise that my iPod Shuffle holds about 120 songs, I figured I should come up with three songs from each year of my life. Then my mind started spinning with all the ways I could interpret this concept: my favorite songs at each age versus music that I've discovered after the fact, i.e. is "Undercover Angel" by Alan O'Day a better representative song for 1977 than the Ramones' "Teenage Lobotomy"? Should I include songs which aren't necessarily my favorites but I so strongly associate with specific times in my life, such as how "Relax:" by Frankie Goes to Hollywood and "Push It" by Salt-N-Pepa were the party staples that bookended my college years. Should "Head Like a Hole" be classified as 1989, the year Pretty Hate Machine was released, or 1990, when I first saw Nine Inch Nails and went on to see them twice more in just a few months? How do I narrow down to one favorite song by the Clash, the Police or the Cars?

I have about four months to work on this project, but I've already reached two conclusions. One is that I'll finally need to get software to digitize my vinyl, if only because it would be more convenient to have "Macy, Macy" by the Push Kings on something other than a single. The other is to not fret over making the perfect mix that strictly adheres to a precise set of self-imposed rules and just assemble 120 songs that will make me happy.

I hope to post the complete playlist in the future.

The Tribune ran a round-up of reunions and comebacks, including joking about how hardly anyone remembered New Zealand's Straitjacket Fits well enough to have noticed that they reunited in April. Fellow Flying Nun labelmates the Bats are so far off the radar that they didn't even warrant mention, despite releasing their first studio album in a decade, The Bats at the National Grid. Fortunately, WLUW is all over it, playing a track every time I turn on the radio, it seems. Ah, cozy, jangly New Zealand pop at its finest!

Concert Recommendation: Seu Jorge, Empty Bottle, Tuesday, September 20

I didn't get a chance in advance to mention Seu Jorge's show last night at the Logan Square Auditorium, but it sold out, so plenty of people heard about it anyway. Due to some customs issues for the artist originally scheduled to appear at the Empty Bottle on Tuesday night, Jorge is filling in for another Chicago appearance.

Don't know who he is? Check out The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. On the whole, the movie was too arch, but it had lots of cool and funny moments. The Brazilian Jorge provided many of the cool ones, singing David Bowie songs in Portuguese, accompanied on acoustic guitar. Should make for an intriguing evening of entertainment.

Seu Jorge plays at the Empty Bottle, 1035 N. Western Ave., Chicago, 773.276.3600 on Tuesday, September 20 at 9:45 p.m.

The members of the Music Library Association are doing their best to destroy the image of librarians as stodgy. To illustrate this point, I present the following, with contact information removed for the sake of privacy, especially since only MLA members can enter. I'm already composing my entry, which I may post here after the deadline.

MLA 75th ANNIVERSARY BLUES LYRIC COMPETITION

The Ad hoc Committee on MLA's 75th Anniversary is pleased to announce the MLA 75th ANNIVERSARY BLUES LYRIC COMPETITION. The competition, which feeds off of--and, we hope, honors--anniversary host city Memphis's valid claim as the "Birthplace of the Blues," is open to all individual members-in-good-standing of MLA with the exception of a) the panel of judges; b) the Ad hoc Committee on MLA's 75th Anniversary; and c) MLA's Board of Directors.

The contest begins as soon as you see either this notice on MLA-L or its counterpart, soon to appear in the Sept./Oct. MLA Newsletter--in other words, now!

Winners will have their blues performed by members of the MLA Big Band during the pre-banquet cocktail hour in Memphis. Our first-prize winner will take home a 4-CD set from JSP Records entitled Masters of Memphis Blues, which has generously been donated by ...

CONTEST RULES

1. Lyrics must somehow reflect or involve music librarians and/or music librarianship.

2. Lyrics must be humorous.

3. Lyrics must fit a standard, 12-bar blues of one type or another.

4. A submission may contain lyrics for one, two, or three 12-bar blues chorus stanzas. (Contestants need not submit three stanzas; three is just the maximum.)

5. Contestants should be prepared to offer an example of an existing, recorded blues to which their lyrics could be performed, to assist the Big Band in preparation. "To be sung to the tune of 'Move It On Over' as recorded by George Thorogood" is an acceptable direction. Contestants should also be prepared to clarify by phone any rhythmic ambiguities or "text underlay issues."

6. Only one entry per person.

7. Entries may be sent either via postal mail, postmarked 13 January 2006 at the latest, to . . .

8. The decisions of the judges (subject to approval by the MLA Board) are final.

9. A maximum of three entries will be selected for performance during the pre-MLA-banquet cocktail hour, with the 1st-prize winner to be featured last.

BLUES LYRIC TIPS, AND SOME CULTURAL GUIDELINES

To get contestants in the spirit, the following points are suggested, though none should be considered a hard-and-fast rule:

1. A standard blues chorus usually consists of two lines (the first lne, the first line repeated once, and the second line).

a. A lyric in active first-person tense is a good way to begin. "Woke up this morning" is a standard first phrase. "Took the bus downtown" is unusual, but much bluesier than "Drove my car uptown."

b. To complete your first blues line, allow a rest of two beats, then add a second clause: "Took the bus downtown (rest, rest), to get my fortune read."

c. Usually the first line is repeated to serve as the second line of a blues, so make it good, and leave your listeners hanging for the next new line.

d. The third line of a blues is the punch line--you are telling jokes, in a way. And make it rhyme with your first line. "I got off at the Peabody, to find the gypsy Fred." (On seeing this lowbrow example from the judges, contestants should feel encouraged to submit better lyrics.)

e. Contestants are welcome to take an existing blues and base their lyrics on the tune. After all, that is what many blues musicians do. Handy's "St. Louis Blues" is a good example of a blues. "Rock Around the Clock" and "Move It On Over" are in a different, but very acceptable verse-and-refrain blues form. "Blue Hawaii" is not a blues, even if it was sung by Elvis Presley.


2. The blues is a feeling. The following are some cultural bases for libraries:

a. You don't find the blues, the blues find you. Anyone looking for trouble usually deserves it. That is especially true for patrons with overdue books.

b. To have the blues, it helps more to be too hot than to be too cold. No one ever heard of a bluesman named Blind Joe Eskimo.

c. Dark, shaded areas like jails and juke joints are good places for the blues. In libraries, good dark places for the blues would be the stacks, or the storage room for book sale donations. So would the staff lounge, if at least one bulb is burned out. Technical services areas are generally too bright for the blues.

d. It helps to have a sense of ironic humor to sing the blues. That's why library administrators are not known to have the blues.

e. Blues is about doing with what you have. A library booktruck with over 15 years of use is as blues as a dented Chevy station wagon. A brand-new Pentium with a DVD burner and surround-sound speakers is not blues at all.

Finally got around to listening to Waiting for the Sirens' Call, New Order's latest album. The most accurate assessment is that it sounds like a New Order album. At its best is "Krafty," with a Stephen Morris's danceable beat, Peter Hook's bass in the forefront, synthesizer swashes from whoever has replaced Gillian Gilbert (now home with her and Stephen's kids), all topped off guitar riffs and vocals from Bernard Sumner. And it has a stereotypical New Order song title: concise and with no obvious relationship to the lyrics. The disc bottoms out towards the end with "Jetstream" and "Guilt Is a Useless Emotion," mainly because of the cloying female backing vocals, making it similar to the remixed versions of their hits on 1987's Substance compilation. At the time, it is just made the songs monotonous; now it sounds dated, a cheesy '80s production value that inspires no nostalgia.

Despite the inconceivable amount of destruction and despair in Katrina's wake, trumpeter Irvin Mayfield expressed some beautiful, eloquent thoughts on the symbolism of jazz and New Orleans on NPR's Morning Edition today:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4829486

On the other hand, New York City is in fine shape these days except for one legendary music spot on the Bowery.  CBGB's, the birthplace of punk, has lost its lease, and its landlord has refused to renew it despite pleas from the music community and many members of the city council.  The Village Voice has the story.
http://villagevoice.com/music/0536,sotc1,67478,22.html

Interesting interview with Echo & the Bunnymen frontman Ian McCulloch on RollingStone.com, particularly because it bodes well for their upcoming album Siberia. McCulloch acknowledges what has been my complaint with the band's recent work, that it's essentially a McCulloch solo effort on which guitarist Will Sergeant happens to appear. But the new disc finds them working as a band again. I'll believe when I hear it, but to hear McCulloch describe it, you might actually be able to tell that Sergeant is playing on this album.

The band hits the Metro in Chicago on Friday, November 25.

I had previously defended the Mooney Suzuki for working with trendy producers the Matrix, figuring there was only so much that the producers could do to fuck up a great band's sound. I was wrong. I bought Alive & Amplified on an impulse, discounting the poor reviews I'd glanced at. On their previous '60s-influenced disc, Electric Sweat, they gave shout-outs to Pete Townshend by name on "In a Young Man's Mind" and with reverential power chords on "I Woke Up This Mornin'" (currently on display in the Mitchum Man series of commercials). But the new album embraces the '80s in bad ways. We can blame the production team for the histrionic female back-up singers, but there's no excuse for a hair metal band-worthy tune about getting it in with groupies.

Although I lived in Philadelphia in 1985, I made no attempt to get tickets to Live Aid and even skipped town the day of the show, heading to New York for the weekend. Although I was, and still am, a huge music fan, my taste at the time was heavily Anglophilic. So all of the acts I would have been interested in seeing were playing in London, not Philly.

Likewise, I paid little attention to Live 8, even though I could have gotten to the Philly show without much inconvenience. By now, my taste in music is just too obscure to devote my time to such mainstream acts. I wish Bob Geldolf et al. the best of luck in their noble goals, but I was just as happy to watch live Tour de France coverage on Saturday.

Good news for the Double Door. The owners of the Wicker Park music venue and its landlord struck a deal to keep the place open. Throngs turned up in court today in support of the club as they were about to start the trial over the lease dispute. The Double Door web site has more details, but the short version is that the landlord claimed that the tenants didn't provide proper notice to renew their lease. The Double Door claimed that they had done so and that the landlord was just trying to force them out to replace them with a chain retail store. The Tribune has the full story.

Others will trot out names like Liz Phair, the Smashing Pumpkins and the Rolling Stones as proof of what an important institution it is, but my own list of highlights for the club skews more towards the obscure, which is why it's important to have clubs with capacity for a few hundred. Some life-affirming performances I've seen there:

New Bomb Turks
Magnetic Fields
Idlewild
Detroit Cobras
You Am I
Cynics
Therapy?

It was also one of the locations in High Fidelity, a movie about obsessive love of music. Lounge Ax, where another scene was filmed, has closed since the movie was shot six years ago. I'd hate to see the list of closed venues grow.

It's time for another post-WLUW-fund-drive CD review round-up. As much as I love the station, I still don't like to listen to the fund-raising blather, which in some cases is even more boring than the usual DJ blather.

The Kaiser Chiefs are another '80s post-punk influenced band, sounding vaguely like Gang of Four, XTC, etc. Their debut Employment gets off to a raucous start with "Every Day I Love You Less and Less." But there's so much filler that it doesn't bode well for a long-term career.

When I reviewed Madeline Peyroux's debut Dreamland in 1996, I commented that a chanteuse was a welcome change of pace after too many divas.  These days, Celine is too busy working Vegas and Whitney is too busy working rehab for either to be dominating the charts, but in the American Idol era, vocal subtlety is still an underappreciated art. Peyroux's new disc Careless Love mines the same Billie Holiday territory as Dreamland, to the point that I really wonder why she needed eight years to issue a follow-up. I can only guess that it took the popularity of Norah Jones to resuscitate label interest in genre, which makes the album feel like more of a lifestyle accessory than music.

The best thing I've heard lately is Petra Haden Sings: The Who Sell Out.  The title says exactly what it is, but it must be heard to be believed. Recorded over several years on an 8-track deck, Haden sings the album in its entirety a cappella, including the instrumental parts. She even recreates the original album art, replicating the scenes of each of the band members. The results are amusing, fascinating and beautiful. The arrangement makes the lyrics more distinct. Haden's concept draws attention to what an ambitious, original and half-ludicrous idea the original was: an album that includes commercials. The highlight is "I Can See For Miles," which, along with the Police's "Every Breath You Take," is one of the loveliest songs about stalking ever written.