Macon Greyson
20th Century Accidents
www.macongreyson.com
Macon Greyson has long been defined by their alt-country proclivities, which makes 20th Century Accidents an even more pleasant surprise that is also, for my money, their most promising effort. The latest from these rowdy-sounding Dallas gents has a sheen that’s more Big Star than Uncle Tupelo, and the band has never sounded more invigorating.
The Black Angels
Warehouse Live
November 29, 2007
Better Than: Sitting in a sauna at the gym, reading NME
Download: “Black Grease”
Austin natives the Black Angels are the kind of band you want playing behind as you drive to your soon-to-be ex’s house to render the relationship asunder. Or hide the body.
Last night at Warehouse Live, the Alex Maas-fronted drone-core group played to a mostly sloshed and slinky crowd. We can owe all that to the venue’s near inhuman liberal pour in every drink. The show was inside the Studio, the Warhol-baiting smaller room, made just for bands like the Angels. With films projected on the wall behind the band, the music sometimes became the soundtrack for the scenes, which dealt with topics from the Native American plight to, oddly enough, beekeepers.
Better Than: Anything made in America.
Download: "Chain Shot to Have Some Fun," available free from the Melt-Banana Web site
Melt-Banana, a Japanese band prone to covering Devo and the Beach Boys and fronted by a tiny woman who sings like a Smurf, are quite possibly the world's least threatening grindcore band. For that reason, they are one of the most important acts in American underground music, even if they do live halfway around the world. Over the past 15 years, Melt-Banana have played a crucial role in bridging the gap between the twee open-mindedness of college radio and the thrilling violence of underground hardcore, slowly training an audience that would understand aggressive, weird, brilliant bands like Deerhoof, Lightning Bolt and the Blood Brothers.
I first saw Melt-Banana in 1999 at the Metropol. They blew my mind. I saw them again at Mary Jane's in 2002 and 2003 at two of the best rock shows I've ever seen. After the 2003 show I bought their album Cell-Scape and spent an entire day entranced by its raging, groovy cyberpunk hardcore. The band was at their peak then, and Cell-Scape was the most focused and exciting album they'd ever made - and yet, in rare agreement with Pitchfork Media, I thought the band's apotheosis was still to come.
Yes, Bindi Irwin, the late Steve “Crocodile Hunter” Irwin’s daughter.
Ever since Bindi’s dad’s unfortunate encounter with a surly stingray, the poor little rich girl has been trotted out as something of a successor to her father’s legacy with her TV show, chat-show appearances and other promo work. Now she’s become a sort of a pop star in Australia, releasing albums full of songs about terrorizing animals and grabbing their reproductive business for the cameras. The music sounds like some sort of oddball Hannah Montana/Peaches hybrid.
Before you check out the Black Angels this weekend at Warehouse Live or watch Roky Erickson’s recently taped Austin City Limits episode (featuring special guest Billy Gibbons; scheduled to air January 12), David Adickes will help you brush up on the early days of Texas psych 7:30 p.m. tonight at NotSuOh (314 Main).
Adickes is perhaps best known as the sculptor of the gargantuan, small-children-frightening 76-foot statue of Sam Houston on I-45 south of Huntsville, but in June 1967 he opened one of Texas’s first venues devoted to the new mind-bending sound bubbling up from garage rock, bongwater and LSD labs, Love Street Light Circus Feel Good Machine – that’s right, that was its full name – at 1019 Commerce near Allen’s Landing.
Not enough music videos have spotlighted mankind’s baser sports, like cockfighting. I could get behind a sweet Beck video in a dank cellar, with a bunch of dudes holding sweaty money and drinking moonshine. There’s even this thing that existed in the 17th century called fox-tossing where you could somehow win prizes by, well, being the person who could throw a fox the highest in the air. It may sound inhumane, but we are also the same species that puts things like Dancing with the Stars on the air. That might as well be a blood sport, right? People are passing out left and right.
Better Than: Hitting yet another quiet, boring acoustic hipster act with zithers and sitars and homemade psalmodicons, standing around basting in your own smug because you think you’re above something as energetic and fun as ska, but really you’re just dead inside. You will die alone and angry.
Download: “Everything Went Numb” or really, anything else you can find. Throw their name into a YouTube search for more examples.
Without much of an introduction or banter of any sort, Streetlight Manifesto took the stage Monday night and launched into “We Will Fall Together,” and instantly the entire floor erupted in a skanking mosh pit. Not a tiny section up front, mind you; literally the entire floor.
“Enthusiastic” and “devoted” don’t even begin to describe Streetlight’s fans. Select any random audience member at one of their shows, and chances are good they’ll tell you a Streetlight Manifesto album saved his or her life. That’s not an exaggeration, that’s a direct quote from a young fan named Katy who kindly let me copy the set list from her.
Long a fixture on various metal documentaries, DuBrow fronted the ‘80s pop-metal band through their chart-busting heyday. They are best known for covering various Slade songs they later admitted to hating. These guys were the first metal band to top the charts, when people like Michael Jackson and Foreigner were mildly and softly kicking ass. I wish DuBrow would have lived long enough for me to meet him and discuss hair-growth tactics. Back in the day, this guy was almost as bald as I am. In recent clips, he was seen sporting an old-man mane that Steven Tyler would envy. (No, Keith. This doesn’t mean you should post a picture of my bare dome.)
Also, in a few short minutes, 3 p.m. specifically, Vinal Edge will roll out the first installment of Ward’s legendary vinyl library in the form of his 7” single collection. The staff says they will try their best to price them on the spot, but some may require additional research, in which case they would have to be put on hold until the pricers can arrive at a figure. In order to make sure as many people as possible have a chance to pick through Ward’s extensive inventory, Vinal Edge is placing a limit of five holds per customer. Call 281-537-2575 for more details. – Chris Gray
Unfortunately, Wood’s recollections consist of precious little about the music and fewer anecdotes about his fellow Stones than one might reasonably expect. Instead, chapter upon chapter detail Wood’s drinking / drugging / fucking / palling-with-Keith escapades that run together and, frankly, grow tiresome after awhile.
By the time Wood locks himself in the family bathroom for two days straight to freebase with a friend, you half hope that the ghost of Brian Jones would show up and never let him emerge.
Just in time for the chilly fall weather, several fire-breathing rockabilly crews descend on the Bayou City tonight. Austin’s Deguello, featuring sometime Fabulous Thunderbird Nick Curran doing his best Eddie Spaghetti, kick off their three-week U.S. tour tonight at Rudyard’s with the devilish Hell City Kings and Hell’s Engine. Not to be outdone, Houston’s own Flamin’ Hellcats scorch the Continental Club with Rodney Parker & 50 Pesos Reward, and Wayne “The Train” Hancock twangs Fitzgerald’s upstairs with Romeo Dogs.
For the equally demonic but more metallically inclined, the Buzz’s Zakk United throws his fourth annual Zakkfest tonight at Meridian with Capgun Suicide, Hoax Revealed, Epic, Necrofaith, Melovine and ERASEtheVIRUS. Java Jazz opens its own Hellmouth up on 1960 with Dying Fetus, Cephalic Carnage, Skeleton Witch, Demericious, The Absence and Charlameigne.
Saturday, Houston’s Tontons (formerly Helicopter Jones), a hazy blues-rock crew fronted by Bjork-like vocalist Asli Omar, release their new EP Sea and Stars (Esthetic Noise) at the Bootleg warehouse, 2301 Commerce at Bastrop, with the home-from-college Riff Tiffs and Studemont Project. Casiotoned one-woman-band Hearts of Animals headlines Rudz over face-painting folkie Oculous Sinister and the Bill-Callahan-gone-electro sounds of Wicked Poseur. Ever-popular local howlers the Jonbenet lay waste to Walter’s on Washington with Tanari, This Year’s Tiger and Sons of Evil, and it should be a wild one down on Pease as Insecticide, Hypo Christians, Temple of Wrath, Diminished, Last Rosary and All the Way to the Bank grind(core) it out at the Engine Room while North Carolina’s spectacularly named Short Bus Superheroes punk up the Jet Lounge.
Finally, Super Happy Fun Land is hosting a benefit organized by Econo’s Samuel Barker to help his college roommate’s severely ill young daughter, who has been through a harrowing amount of medical procedures in her not even two years on the planet. Besides Econo, the Delta Block (ex-MK Ultra), Squishees, Electricks and more take the stage from 2-7 p.m. Saturday for $10. ‘Tis the season, after all. – Chris Gray
All of us crackpots honor this day in different ways. I myself am forgoing the warm comfort of a family meal on Thursday to argue with bunch of old men on the Grassy Knoll. This will be my third straight trip.
Think about all that’s changed in the past 14 years: Music is very much just a few ones and zeroes on a hard drive. Bands give away albums for free. Most artists only get in the business so they can try to sell you their clothing line. In 1993, Miley Cyrus was just a screaming, toothless infant being held by her doting, mulleted father. Man, chicks were even wearing those unflattering high-waisted “mom” jeans back then too. It’s hard to imagine a world where vaginas were sheltered so well.
