Taking the stage to the tune of Spoon’s “Underdog,” David Cross got his first laugh of the evening at the sold-out Observatory North Park by pointing out how the sound guys fucked up his intro. Continue reading…
As far as made-up genre names go, you can’t do much better than “doom-wop.” That’s how the new supergroup known as Mister Heavenly describes its peculiar sound, and the label is a fitting one. Their music is foreboding yet playful, with growled vocals and slithering guitars tempered by a nostalgic affection for 50s-era pop. Continue reading…
Watching opening bands can be a bit of a gamble, but you’ll definitely want to arrive early at the Casbah on Friday, September 17. Before the feisty trio known as Menomena blows the crowd away with its sometimes bloody, always amazing act, Tu Fawning will take the stage, and you won’t want to miss it.
The Portland four-piece employs driving rhythms and delicate cacophony to create evocative, sinister moods that lie somewhere between the realms of Beach House and Portishead. It’s a smokey, intriguing combination of sounds, all tied together by Corrina Repp’s sultry vocals.
Repp was kind enough to share her Poetic Memory with us, a “smattering of records and songs” that form a cross-section of her musical influences. While you’re reading the list, you can download the free single of Tu Fawning’s “The Felt Sense” (MP3), which should whet your appetite for Friday’s show quite nicely. Click here for the Poetic Memory.
Particle accelerators take things like protons and electrons, pack them into a device, and then launch the particles into an unwavering collision course with one another. Though this sounds like a lot of fun (like crash-testing cars), the goal is actual results, which the observers hope are significant and not a waste of time.
Television sets, the soon-to-be-obsolete kind with cathode ray tubes, are examples of particle accelerators, and the violence within these boxes results in programming, which the viewers hope is not a waste of time, having learned long ago to not expect significant results.
Last night’s Academy Awards were in many ways predictable, rife with the pomp, circumstance, film montages that are supposed to recall the majesty of movies, awards for mostly unsurprising recipients, and almost-funny jokes that we’ve all come to expect. On a side note, one of the evening’s sole surprises was that Hugh Jackman proved to be a very competent master of ceremonies, perhaps, precisely because he is not a comedian with neutered material suitable for prime-time broadcasting. His lack of professional hilarity made it okay to laugh at any semblance of humor, and helped to numb—though not completely alleviate—the pain of Jon Stewart not being asked to host again.
But amidst all of the evening’s self-importance and manufactured magic, something quite wonderful did happen.