Author: Don Allred

  • Wurlitzer Dawgs Out!

    Live a Little, Big Kenny’s re-released, pre—Big & Rich solo album, brings the noise candy, not the nose candy. It’s a skyful of Purple Planetberries, exploding on cue, presented 2 U by B.K., a psych-pop-goes-the-country P.T. Barnum, bopping through amber waves with his drum machine: a confidence man, in every sense and nonsense. A true […]

  • Siano the Times

    In the early ’70s, a teenage DJ named Nicky Siano traveled the space-wise dancefloor of David Mancuso’s Loft, before launching his own Gallery. (Gallery kid Larry Levan later levitated Paradise Garage.) Despite acid, balloons, and the food bar, the Gallery wasn’t always totally blissed-out. In the booklet included with his new Soul Jazz Records compilation […]

  • Loudmouthed belle of Hell won’t shut up, demands more

    I got a hit! I got a hit! I’m a one-hit wonder and I’m proud of it!” Twelve-stepping, hairdressing, stripping on the Strip, and rocking the smog, Hollywood’s own Texas Terri Bomb! (Laird) knows she’ll have to stay smart, travel far, and get very, very lucky, to be even a one-hit wonder. But knowing and […]

  • Bop Loves Pop to Death Among the Killer Filler, for an Hour and Then Some

    On Miles Davis’s Birdland 1951, bop loves pop to death, squeezing the peachy-but-preachy “Get Happy” (via chord surgery, circular breathing, and speed) into “Out of the Blue” ‘s Paradise Now, as Miles’s trumpet, J.J. Johnson’s trombone, Kenny Drew and Billy Taylor’s pianos, Tommy Potter and Charles Mingus’s basses, and Sonny Rollins, Eddie Lockjaw Davis, and […]

  • Chutes und Ladders, Raft-Rapped Families, Bubbles auf der Barrel

    Word on the nerdvine is that Umphrey’s McGee just might be the next Phish. But instead of phat patchouli and ghee glee, McGee have got Anchor Drops of whiteout, bleak words, and voices, surrounded by multicolored bubbles of accompaniment. Despite Jake Cinninger’s brainy, heady mix of plucked and picked notes, early results remind me of […]

  • Karma Sutures

    Not so long ago, a young Jersey trio of prodigious mad hiphopologists, Dalek, undertook a European tour. How they suffered! Until rescued by an old German kombo of legendary mad progologists, Faust. Transcription of (ob)session follows: Facedown bass-clown chews through plaster cast appeal and last appeals. Artillery fire falls like fossils, into single phylum. Spinal […]

  • Dance Genre Fluent in British Dialect Produces Paranoid Pleasures

    I’m sitting in my rockhead trailer, looking at a CD cover that’s as gray as me. Grime, it sez. Four (U.K.) tracks each by MarkOne, Plasticman (not Plastikman!), and Slaughter Mob. MarkOne’s first two are just bad jungle, bouncing dead syllables. But on “Interference,” a manly vocal sample (brief yet persistent) is shadowed by a […]

  • Meteorological Avant-Transmissions, Intercepted From Air

    Avantricity’s freebirds (Matmos, Autechre, Fennesz, many more) ride the soundtrack of David Toop’s new book, Haunted Weather: Music, Silence, and Memory. Right channel clusters, left one cloisters, then they hook up, passing through each other. In time as well as space, when (b) connects with (a) and (x). Disc 2 is mostly ghostly instruments; Disc […]

  • Busybodies Caught in Concertina and on Suspenders in the Dark

    In the 21st century, on non-typical Texans NTX + Electric’s We Are the Wild Beast, there are no drums, there are no bass (strings, that is). Here, time is cellular. Erika Thrasher’s filthy walls of fingers and toes squeeze keybs, pedals, and vacuoles, eliminating Brandon Davis’s (writhe, not thrash) guitar, eternally. Candice Vincent’s Vaseline sax […]

  • Out Of Hand

    (The following paragraph was written for a country music poll ballot in December, right before I glanced up from my laptop, and saw the wordcrawl beneath Larry King: “Singer Gary Stewart has just been found dead in his Florida home.” [Wife died, and he shot himself in the neck, a fairly slow way to go.]) […]