Go ahead and do your Elvis Presley facial exercises and throw on your leather jacket, because Bible Belt Sinners are laying down the retro rockabilly as thick as the pomade in your hair.
With or without his Southern-fried band, Mofro, JJ Grey can easily serve up some soulful and funky tunes alone on the guitar.
Best known as the head of the inexplicably unique nineties band, Soul Coughing, Mike Doughty has been busy releasing a steady stream of solo albums, memoirs and miscellaneous musical projects.
Grooms bring their fragmented pop and sonic blasts to the KDHX studios in support of their latest shoegazing album, "Infinity Caller."
Hopping club to club mainly throughout Lower Manhattan, N.Y., save for a handful of shows in Brooklyn, is the only way to absorb the CMJ Music Marathon's seemingly endless array of music. And if not taken in stride, one might easily fade before the finish line.
The CMJ Music Marathon has been exposing emerging artists since the early '80s; more recently acts like Mumford and Sons, MGMT and Savages have gained mainstream exposure through the festival. Dispersed throughout Lower Manhattan and Brooklyn, the CMJathon offers five days of performances from new artists and dozens of music industry-based panels.
Tim Armstrong is like a bizarre, punk-rock Woody Guthrie. Songs like "Harry Bridges" and "Sidekick" could have been written by Guthrie way back and frequently surpass anything in the Springsteen catalog.
About mid-July I get fried. Generally some horrible sunburn occurs around this time, but more so the sun fries me mentally. Going outside nearly guarantees temporary blindness, heat exhaustion and a nearly comical sweat-fest.
I feel gypped on the boozy rock 'n' roll in my lifetime. I was much too young for the Replacements. And, hell, even my parents weren't around for the Rolling Stones or Bob Dyaln's electric folk. But at the Pageant on Wednesday night, the rambunctious alt-country rock of Ryan Bingham instilled that same excitement felt towards those bands I so desperately wanted to see.
Don't mess with his microphone. Crank it up and keep it loud. Standing well over six feet, and sporting a "Sex, Drugs and Rap" shirt, the one and only Ghostface Killah brought his aggressive yet intricate delivery to St. Louis on Saturday night, proving why he's one of the most impressive rappers of Wu Tang descent.