For those whose tastes don't turn to disco chanteuse Goldfrapp at the Park West on Thursday night, consider the Ramones documentary Hey! Is Dee Dee Home? at the Siskel Film Center. Heck, since the film starts at 6:30 and is only 64 minutes long and the Goldfrapp show is at 7:30 with an opening act, you could probably do both. Those moved by my call for a Replacements reunion tour may be more interested in Come Feel Me Tremble, a doc about Paul Westerberg featuring lots of fan-shot footage. It airs September 28 and October 2.

In any case, it's safe to say that these movies will not be coming to a Blockbuster near you any time soon.

While waiting for Interpol to take the stage last Friday, I overheard a guy much younger than I excitedly tell his friends the Pixies are planning a reunion tour in April and that this was great news. I barged into the conversation to inform him that, sadly, this is not great news because they were a terrible live act. He was still in elementary school when I was out of college and seeing the Pixies in 1989-1992, so he never witnessed that, for all their innovation and cool weirdness, the Pixies were largely charisma-free and rather dull on stage.

On the karma scale, I would much sooner see the Pixies finally get rich from their artistic impact than the Sex Pistols if only because John Lydon is an arrogant bastard who needs to get over himself, a criticism I would never lob at Black Francis after interviewing him several times. But in terms of influential bands that broke up before getting their due, I'd prefer to see a reunion tour by the Replacements. They were much more volatile and vibrant live than the Pixies. Besides, it would save Tommy Stinson from having to stay with Guns N' Roses, and, while I wouldn't wish substance addiction on anyone, Paul Westerberg wrote better songs before he got sober.

Maybe it's just time for a kick-ass Pixies box set. Or someone should feature "Gigantic" or  "Debaser" or "Tony's Theme" prominently in a movie soundtrack. At least David Bowie has already done his part in helping to expose them with a great cover of "Cactus" on Heathen.

I'd been saving my "brush with Zevon" anecdote for his death, and I'm sorry to say that his time came.

In late 1990, I parted on bad terms with a boyfriend who was also a Warren Zevon fan. Zevon was in town about a month later. I expected to run into my ex at the show when I arrived during the opening act. The club was crowded, so I wasn't surprised that I didn't see him. Then I realized it was a familiar voice over the P.A. He was up on stage, alone with his guitar.

Afterwards, I got the full story. He'd brought his guitar to the club in hopes of getting Zevon to autograph it. The scheduled opening act was a no-show. The manager of the venue spotted the kid with the guitar and asked if he could fill in for the absent support act.

When Zevon took the stage, he was full of praise for my ex's bravery. I think his exact words were, "Has that guy got cojones or what?!" Afterwards, my star-struck ex was getting Warren and his cohorts to sign anything he could as evidence of his magical opportunity. The irony was that, with an audience of about 700, I was the only person there who already knew him. He quickly realized that unless he treated me right, I could deny that the whole thing ever happened.

Meanwhile, I introduced myself to Zevon. I had done a telephone interview with him earlier that year but had never met him face-to-face. He acknowledged he'd never read my article because his label had already dropped him, so he scribbled down his manager's address where I could send a copy.

Swell guy, underappreciated talent. RIP, Warren.

As part of its college life feature, the October issue of Spin features the "First Annual Spin Campus Awards." Among the designations, they denote Spring Fling at my alma mater, the University of Pennsylvania, as the best fest.

On one hand, having worked with both the local and touring bands that have played Fling, I'm proud of the legacy I helped create. On the other hand, I can't give much credence to the praise considering Spin's history of lazy fact-checking. The blurb mentions bands that have played Fling, including Run-DMC. Run-DMC has played at Penn twice, but in the fall as part of the regular concert bookings, not during Fling.

Eleven years ago Spin ran a tour diary of the Pixies opening for U2. The writer's dated entry for the Philly stop said that it was a Sunday and there was nothing to do. A quick check of a calendar would have revealed that the date in question was a Tuesday.

Maybe Spin's fact-checking is only lazy when it comes to Philadelphia.

I always thought Garbage was a rather generic band saved by a spectacularly charismatic frontwoman in Shirley Manson. My suspicion was backed by the ongoing indifference towards Fire Town, essentially a pre-Manson Garbage, whose CDs are now out of print. But I discovered that their style is just distinctive enough to be ripped off. I hate to begrudge a local band who has been working hard to build a following, but Kill Hannah's "Kennedy" is recycled Garbage, "Only Happy When It Rains" to be specific. Besides, Kill Hannah were already doomed when they chose the title since there's no way it could equal the Wedding Present song of the same name, although KH's lyrics do at least relate to the political family.

Ah, the internet, tool of the perpetually curious. After watching the VH1 doc on Warren Zevon, I started thinking about his ties to my hometown of Philly, in particular when he was engaged to local DJ Anita Gevinson.Philadelphia Weekly devoted a cover story to this last year.

http://www.brainsoap.com/archives/article.asp?ArtID=4694

If I get into full research mode, maybe I'll even track down an MP3 of his alternate version of "A Certain Girl" that he did as a promo for her radio station. The lyrics I remember:

There's a certain girl who's on vacation from 'YSP
What's here name?
Anita
Oy vey

By his doctor's best estimate, Warren Zevon's new album, The Wind, should have been a posthumous release. It comes out tomorrow, a year after he was diagnosed with inoperable cancer and given three months to live. If there's one good thing about the death sentence of terminal illness, it's that everyone gets their chance to say their good-byes rather than realizing until too late that they missed their opportunity. The Wind is Zevon's good-bye, but it was also the chance for his musicians friends to give him his due send-off. He was the rare acerbic talent to emerge from the hedonist L.A. singer/songwriter scene of the '70s, and many of his bigger-name acolytes joined him the studio to help out.

VH1's (Inside) Out documentary chronicles this past year in Zevon's life, including clips from his gallows-humor-heavy appearance on Letterman from last October.  It reruns on Tuesday, August 26 at 1:00 a.m. and 8:00 p.m. EDT.

Concert Recommendation: Jill Sobule, Abbey Pub, Sunday, August 24

To many, Jill Sobule is remembered as a one-hit wonder with a lesbian novelty song, 1995's "I Kissed a Girl." I had the good fortune of seeing Sobule for the first time mere hours before the video premiered on MTV; in introducing the song, she talked about working with Fabio and avoiding revealing the song's subject matter. It was a particularly fruitful opportunity because I was exposed to the breadth of her songwriting, not just her one popular song. Her characters include the popular high school classmate turned porn star, the anorexic workout-obsessed woman at the health club, an elderly acquaintance with a fascinating past and a deluded mind. With cheerful pop melodies, she mines the minutia of life:

One of these days and it'll be real soon
I'm gonna kick some ass
Gonna clean my room

Sobule has a new album out tomorrow, The Folk Years 2003-2003, available only at her shows and on her web site.

Glenn Tilbrook of Squeeze headlines the evening. He should be interesting, but it means enduring Jeffrey Gaines in the middle of the bill. Having suffered through too many his sets when living in Philly, I can only say Jeffrey Gaines, Our Loses.

Jill Sobule plays with Jeffrey Gaines and Glenn Tilbrook at the Abbey Pub, 3420 W. Grace, 773.478.4408, at 8 p.m. on Sunday, August 24.

Clearly it's meant to be be inflammatory and I don't necessarily agree with many of the selections, but it's funny and it thought-provoking.

One Hundred Albums You Should Remove from Your Collection Immediately

Get the hell back to Michigan!

Ted Nugent called Illinois residents "spineless, apathetic, embarrassing wimps" because we have elected officials in our representative government who passed legislation that he, a Detroit native, doesn't support. He was invited onto a radio show to discuss the Second Amendment, but he should have been busy praising the First Amendment, which guarantees the right of ignorant idiots to show off their ignorant idiocy. I have no problem with musicians or other celebrities voicing their political opinions any more than any other citizen, especially when their logic is so easily deflated.

Concert Review: Goose Island Fest, Friday, August 15

I should get this advice posted in time to prevent today's WXRT air personality from getting booed as Marty Lennartz was yesterday: Try for some honesty. Sample script:

Hi, I'm the guy from the radio station that's on the advertising for this concert. Although I may personally be a fan of these bands, we don't actually play them on our station for fear of alienating our target demographic and reducing advertising revenue. This means that I'm insulting the bands by trading on their credibility to promote our station without doing anything for them in return. Let's face it, any money we paid for sponsoring the show goes to the promoter, not the bands. And I'm insulting you, the audience, because I'm telling the thousands of you that are enthusiastic about these bands that your taste doesn't matter. So thank you for allowing me to indulge in hypocrisy. If you really want to hear these bands, you should listen to your local college radio station that plays them all the time but can't afford to be on the concert advertising because they can barely get enough donations to cover their operating budget.

But back to the show itself. Missed all but the end of Yakuza and wasn't upset that I didn't hear more of their noise.

The Waco Bros. are just a damn entertaining band. They're tight, they're spirited, and they have fun. I don't know what they put in the water in Leeds, but I admire the tenacity of natives such as Mekon/Pine Valley Cosmonaut/Waco Brother Jon Langford and David Gedge of the Wedding Present and Cinerama to keep crafting great music even after widespread commercial interest has waned.

Especially because I'm fed up with the indie rock aesthetic, I must point out that Bob Mould looked great. His t-shirt fit, and it didn't look like he slept in it, a criticism that could be lobbed a good chunk of any indie rock audience. Bob was also looking quite fit himself, his paunchy, flannel-shirted days a distant memory. The guy is quite a gifted songwriter, but his set lacked dynamic variation. Whether he was bashing away on his acoustic 12-string or an electric guitar, it all started to run together and it wasn't loud or precise enough. Wouldn't have minded hearing him with a full band, and I guess he's decided that Modulation, his venture into electronica, was a failed experiment.

This was the third time I've seen Guided by Voices. I fail to see what the big deal is.

Sonic Youth are forging a new genre: prog grunge. While I admire them for continuing to experiment well into their career, for following their own creative muse, the fact is that they were too short on songs and too heavy on wanking. It is far less precise and more visceral, less overintellectualized than King Crimson, but it was still wanking.

Despite my criticisms, at least it was a night of outdoor music that didn't entail a trip to the evil Tweeter Center. For this, I am thankful.

Today at the public library where I work, a young woman came up to me. She was wearing a t-shirt with a straight edge slogan on it, which would imply that she's somewhat of a rock music fan. She asked me if I knew what R.E.M. sounded like because she had only heard of them.

R.E.M. were a staple of my college years. College rock when we didn't have a good name for what came after punk. They earned their fan base with constant touring and college radio support when they were a little too weird for the commercial stations. A DJ on Princeton or Penn or Drexel's station referred to their fourth album as Stipe's Rich Parents, which was funny as a insider joke, that you knew the password, rather than for any real statement about the lead singer's family's financial status. The band whose only concession to mainstream sensibilities was that Michael Stipe stopped mumbling, although even that led to debates of whether they were selling out. A band so big with the youths that references to them were plot points in two episodes of Beverly Hills 90210. The American band of the '80s who are unequivocally headed for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

But she'd never heard them.

I am officially old.

It sounded like fun: the Human League at an outdoor street festival. Resurrecting fond memories of men in eyeliner, women in dark streaks of blush and the early days of MTV. With only a $5 suggested donation, it wasn't too guilty a guilty pleasure, and it also provided the chance to enjoy the summer weather a street fair. New wave nostalgia and fried Twinkies: how could it go wrong?

Egad! The idea was appealing to far too many people, and Northalsted Market Days was just a sea of humanity. It's one thing to enter a mosh pit and tacitly agree to be bumped into, but there was nowhere to avoid being constantly jostled. The massive quantities of flowing alcohol didn't help, but most of the problem was just the sheer volume of people. I came close to telling one guy who did some inappropriate touching as he pushed past me, "I don't care if you're gay. I don't want strangers grabbing my ass."

The unbearable crowds were unfortunate because the performance was showing promise. It was unnerving how much Philip Oakey sounds like Alison Moyet, but he, Susanne Sulley and Joanne Catherall were all in fine voice. "Mirror Man" and "The Lebanon" were the anticipated and necessary reminders that there was more to their career than "Don't You Want Me." But the sheer unpleasantness of being part of the audience made it impossible to stick around for their biggest hit.

One advantage of the $20 entry fee for the Goose Island Fest with Sonic Youth, Guided by Voices, Bob Mould, Yazuka and the Waco Brothers is that it should limit the crowd size. Here's hoping.

Concert Recommendation:  Por Vida, Thursday, July 31, Abbey Pub; Friday, August 1, Fitzgerald's

When Ben Vaughn more or less retired from touring to focus on film and television music, he noted that there's no pension plan for a touring musician. There's also health plan, a situation with unfortunately consequences for Alejandro Escovedo. The Texas singer/songwriter collapsed after a show in Phoenix on April 26, the result of complications from Hepatitis C. Escovedo has cirrhosis of the liver caused by the Hepatitis. And he has no health insurance.

Fortunately, he does have a lot of friends in the music community, who are staging benefits for him. Two such shows, under the moniker Por Vida, are in the Chicago area this week. The Chicago Tribune ran an article on the situation and concerts. Alejandrofund.com has more details on all the charitable efforts, including the means to donate if you can't make it to one of the shows.

POR VIDA: A festival to benefit and honor Alejandro Escovedo happens at the Abbey Pub, 3420 W. Grace, 773.478.4408, at 8 p.m. on Thursday, July  31 with Frank Orrall & Susan Voelz & Poi pals, Robbie Fulks, Frisbie, Jane Baxter Miller, Dollar Store, Nora O'Connor, Danny Black and Puerto Muerto; and at Fitzgerald's, 6615 Roosevelt Rd., Berwyn, 708.788.2118, at 8 p.m. on Friday, August 1 with the Waco Brothers, Sally Timms, Paul Burch, Nick Tremulis, Kelly Hogan, Mr. Rudy Day, Devil In A Woodpile, Deanna Varagona and Stolie, Scott, & Lee.

I haven't heard any reports about it, but I'm hoping that at the Dixie Chick's show tonight in Vegas Natalie Maines announced that Lance Armstrong makes her proud to be a Texan.

Concert Review: Fountains of Wayne with Ben Lee, Metro, July 17

I'm in love with "Stacy's Mom." The new Fountains of Wayne song opens with sharp exclamation points of sound, practically lifted from the Cars' "Just What I Needed." The new wave nod was appropriate given that the song, written from a high school boy's point of view, harked back to an era when "Stacy" was a popular name among teenage girls. And it could be about a subplot in Valley Girl, although in the movie, it was Suzi, not Stacey, whose mom was an object of adoration.

"Stacy's Mom" is the highlight of the new FOW album Welcome Interstate Managers, but it was just one of a myriad of perfect pop songs in their show at the Metro. Lead guitarist Jody Porter gives the songs just enough muscle to prevent pop from being a dirty word, merely kids' stuff. (As for my comments in my preview about FOW being unlike Lollapalooza white guy bands in that they aren't using their guitars to assert their manhood, Porter was approaching that line, which could be an issue for a guy named Jody. But he was more than counterbalanced by lead singer Chris Collingswood, who looks like he got beat up a lot in high school.) Their songs had the audience enthralled because they were meant for singing along, with lots of catchy choruses and harmonies.

For "Radiation Vibe," they went off onto a bunch of musical tangents, including the Cars (and I thank them for validating my continued love of their skinny tied tunes) and ZZ Top. When they branched to Boston's "More Than a Feeling" and much of the audience started singing the lyrics, Collingswood chastised them as losers for knowing the lyrics by heart.

As an epilogue to my comments on Ben Lee and Evan Dando, apparently Lee is doing his best to save Dando from obscurity. He played a song he wrote that appears on Dando's latest album. Lee was a giddily earnest performer, and his covers ranged from Cheap Trick to Smiths.

Concert Recommendation: Fountains of Wayne with Ben Lee, Thursday, July 17, Metro

The return of the Lollapalooza tour has generated little interest. According the Tribune, the Chicago-area stop only half-filled the Tweeter Center. While this could be chalked up to what a horrible venue the Tweeter Center is, with poorly-planned logistics and outrageously priced refreshments, it could be that the Gen X public has grown tired of the Lollapalooza formula. Even after a six-year gap, it's exactly the same: a token black act, a token female act, and a bunch of macho white guys trying to prove their manhood by waving their guitars around like dicks. It's not like there aren't alternatives to hard rock within the alternative genre, but Perry Farrell never bothered to seek out anything like jazz absurdists Soul Coughing, proudly nerdy They Might Be Giants or the totally fey Belle & Sebastian.

Case in point for a band comfortable enough with their masculinity that they can just get on with the business of writing damn catchy songs: Fountains of Wayne. They are clearly a pop band, not a rock band, because it's all about the hooks. Chris Collingwood and Adam Schlesinger write precise songs of being lovelorn and outcast in suburbia. And they don't milk the affectations like Weezer. They're coming to the Metro in support of their new album Welcome Interstate Managers.

Opening up is Ben Lee, who first made a name for himself in 1993 with his former band Noise Addict with the song "Wish I Was Him," expressing his (perhaps tongue-in-cheek) jealousy of Evan Dando. At the time, Dando was the premiere alt-rock pin-up boy, although he was overrated as both a musician and pin-up. Dando had a public off-and-on relationship with the equally overrated but even more irritating Juliana Hatfield, who also had a guest appearance on My So-Called Life. Lee has been involved with MSCL star Claire Danes for years, while Dando and Hatfield are so out of fashion that the press no longer care about their love lives. Between Lee's cute, talented girlfriend and the support slot for Fountains of Wayne, maybe it's time for Dando to pen a new version of "Wish I Was Him" about the song's original writer.

Fountains of Wayne and Ben Lee play the  Metro, 3730 N. Clark St., Chicago, on Thursday, July 17 at 9 p.m.

Shania Is a Punk Rocker?!

Q Magazine ran a story on the trend of pop stars "going rock," donning leather and such as either a fashion gimmick or an attempt to gain more credibility. It doesn't get any more laughable than the photo of Shania Twain in the Chicago Tribune ads for their ticket giveaway for her upcoming Grant Park concert. Along with her artfully torn jeans, she's wearing an artfully torn t-shirt. Just barely legible are a bat-wielding bald eagle and the names Johnny, Joey and Dee Dee. Yes, the semi-country pop star who lip synched at the Superbowl is wearing a Ramones t-shirt. As a credibility builder, it's a failure. Most of her fans won't recognize the logo, and anyone who recognizes the logo won't be fooled for a minute into thinking she knows "Teenage Lobotomy" from "I Wanna Be Sedated." Or "Blitzkrieg Bop" from "Anarchy in the UK," for that matter.

A mere listen to the background music at their respective web sites, http://ramones.com and http://shaniatwain.com, tells you all you really need to know about where Rocket to Russia fits into her record collection.

Concert Review: Elvis Costello and the Impostors, Taste of Chicago, Sunday, July 6

First, I must acknowledge the miracle that there was a very dry hour and a half for Elvis's set between torrential downpours for the outdoor concert. Second, I must acknowledge my mixed emotions about the free show. I would have rather paid $50 for an experience more like the show at the Chicago Theatre last October. Instead we got muddy sound, no direct view of the stage, a camera crew that wasn't aware that Steve Nieve was the second most interesting person on the stage, not bass player Davey Faragher (Although I did get to see enough of Nieve to guess that he did indeed really need to go to the bathroom during the show last fall; my other theory for his jittery mannerisms was that he found the best job for an ADD adult.) Even worse, the camera crew seemed to mistake the concert for a baseball game and thought that shots of the crowd could possibly be more interesting than the band. Because it was more of a general audience than one specifically of fans, they played more old songs and not enough material off last year's When I Was Cruel. The pointedly acerbic "Alibi" was the most frustrating omission. But the worst part of it was the lack of collective appreciation by the audience for the talent presented. Most people were there hanging out because it was a fun, free event, but they weren't paying attention. Songs such as "Pump It Up" and "Allison" were perfect for singing along, but it was like singing along to my Walkman, to music that only I was paying attention to since so many around me were engaged in other conversations.

But then there's the flip side, the fact that Elvis got to reach an audience that wouldn't have necessarily ponied up 50 bucks a head to see him. For one baby, Elmo and Elvis were all the same, as she played with and chewed on a Sesame Street book for much of the set. But at other times, her mom bounced her on her knee in time to the music, much to delight of mother and child.  A girl of about 7 danced in the uninhibited way that only little girls do, with an absolute purity to her joy. A rail thin teenage punk boy in an Exploited t-shirt perhaps came to appreciate that punk once had a much broader scope than just hardcore. So for the dedicated Elvis fans, it wasn't the best show, but it was definitely beneficial for the city of Chicago as a whole.

Concert Recommendation:  The Woggles, Subterranean, Sunday, June 29

One advantage of interviewing musicians I admire is that they tip me off to bands they like. I discovered the Poster Children after That Petrol Emotion's drummer recommended them. I went to see the Woggles after Palmyra Delran of the Friggs raved about them in an interview. The band work a similar vein of garage/frat rock as the Fleshtones, and like Peter Zaremba & Co. put on an amazingly crazed live show. It's pure entertainment with no advance knowledge of their songs required.

The Woggles play Subterranean, 2011 W. North Ave., Chicago, 773.278.6600 at with Mr. Airplane Man at 9:30 on Sunday, June 29.