"Inspired by the temperament of Mr. Charles Edward Henry Richard Elizabeth Malcolm Anderson Berry, King Charles the Martyr aims to reconstruct the Mississippi whiskey sounds of a forgotten generation. Corrupted by the wandering radio waves and phonographic debris of their previous lives, the dizzy lads of King Charles the Martyr pump out a rock and roll mash hardly recognizable to modern ears. The up-tempo melodies demand dangerous dancing and drunk dreaming. King Charles ain't peddling gold or diamonds -- unconscious gyrations and illicit speculations are the currency this band trades. So, grab a warm bourbon and a pretty lady and come break a sweat with King Charles the Martyr." - taken from the band's facebook page.
Band goes on at 10.
by Sam Houghton
In case you were wondering whether or not the indie movement of Brooklyn has come to a stale, inbred orgy for bootlicking groupies, it has not… not completely. Not yet. But alas, there have been overt gestures made by some folk at threatening this sub-culture, this successful niche carefully carved out in venues like Glasslands and 285 Kent and Monster Island Basement that has been gradually moving on to the wider conscious because of sheer good music (I hear the hip kids in Idaho wear vintage sweaters and listen to the TV on the Radio). Orgy may be to too strong a word - the indie folk are a soft people - and I do not mean to pick out Ducktails as a sole troubadour in the dumbing down of the music (they/he are not the only ones), but Ducktails will work for now.
By Sam Houghton
Looming over this week’s cover to New York Magazine is the dull headline: “Rock: Still Dead.” Ten years since the Slim Shady LP, twenty since Nevermind: the last white, male hopes bringing the doldrums back to a happy snuff. Kurt Cobain is dead and Emenem is pissing out horrid pop jingles. For what seems like 50 years, Rock and Roll has been the rebellious voice for generation after generation. But alas, rock: still dead. It is for the old folk now, clinging on to mind-dumbing nostalgia trips for when things get too complex. It will be heard rattling out of too trebly speakers in dental offices and classic rock stations until the opening licks to “Stairway to Heaven” finally lead to World War III. Alas.
But for those who don’t give a shit about voices for the masses and still, full-heartedly, enjoy raging out to rock songs on the couch with the most bodacious air guitar attacks, then the debut album of a little known band called The London Souls is perfect.
Spotify has arrived! Fears of global domination by a single conglomerate have come true. By 2084 we’ll be living in the Matrix, our energies sucked through giant tubes to feed the big boss: Doom and gloom!
Spotify, in the words of Mark Zuckerberg, is so good. It is true: a wicked game changer for the music bizz. For those not in the know, Spotify is basically a site with unlimited, free, streaming music with more songs to choose from than any other website to date. It isn’t any different than what you’ve been doing, except that it’s legal. Essentially, it begs the question: what is the need for records and cds, now demoted to relics of a silly past? Why buy anything anymore, really? The record labels (Sony, EMI, Warner, and Universal have all jumped on board) have become totally extraneous, which leads to the conclusion that the internet has been sucking them dry and they are jumping a sinking ship, grabbing for handouts where they can. They have eaten the big sandwich. Greg Ginn must be shitting his pants with glee (click here for interview with the leader of Black Flag and troubadour in the American underground movement). And it is now become total and unlimited independence for the listener. The common man has won the game. Huzzah!
But what is the price? What does that mean for independent bands and labels looking for a slice of the sandwich? Has anything really been won? There are questions that need answering before chomping down on the champagne... But things are happening and moving towards clarity and resolution... or inevitably changing at least...
By: Becky Fine-Firesheets
Ben Greeman (pictured), author, journalist, music enthusiast and editor of The New Yorker’s Goings On About Town section, recently posted an article on the NYer blog entitled, “Helter Swelter: When You Can’t Beat the Heat, Join It.” After some funny commentary on the 1950s (apparently the last time New York experienced such a heat wave) and a brief discussion on how modern pop musicians love sexual heat, he offered up his favorite summer soundtrack featuring all weather-related songs. Sly and the Family Stone, Billy Idol, The Pixies and Belle and Sebastian are just a few of the bands to make his list. I absolutely loved the idea and made a few additions of my own. Read some below and click here for the rest.
1. The Kinks – Sunny Afternoon
Ben Greenman, you should be slightly ashamed this song didn’t make the “obvious” section of your list. ”Blazin’ on a sunny afternoooooooooon, in the summertime…” Sweet psychedelia with an even sweeter message: screw your problems and go get high. I will always love you, Ray Davies.
2. Bob Marley and the Wailers – Sun is Shining
An awesome little song, kicked off with Bob Marley’s laid back scattin’. I heard reggae was invented ’cause one Jamaican summer was so hot the skankers just couldn’t keep up with that hoppin’ ska beat and the band had to slow it down a bit. Whether that’s true or not, “I just want you know, I’m a rainbow, too… the sun is shining, the weather is sweet.” Or hellish, but maybe this tune can lift up our scorched spirits a bit. For kicks, check out Finley Quaye’s rockin’ remix, “Sunday Shining.”