For one Gainesville band, a day in the life involves a walk down Penny Lane, past the strawberry fields, across the universe and back in the U.S.S.R.
There are categories of people you just shouldn't sleep with, ever.
Just as football season marks the beginning of fall, Thanksgiving weekend is the first glimmer that the semester is coming to a close. As the majority of UF students rush home to get some turkey, stuffing and tryptophan-induced sleep, a unique time in Gainesville nightlife starts to take hold.
Bryan Poole, guitarist and singer for the indie-pop band Of Montreal, said the band recorded its latest album with the help of Georgie Fruit, a "64-year-old black she-male who's been in and out of prison a couple times."
How about some role play with your rap music? A technique long ago mastered by those cheeky Wu-Tang lads, the tempting habit of cramming one's album with scripted banter and wink-wink inside jokes occasionally sidetracks the Brothers Lindsey. Yet when Al and Krispy focus on the actual songs, the young duo confirm themselves as genre-bending hip-hop impresarios. "Bang! Bang!" would make a devastating TV on the Radio cut as it begins a Matrix-worthy techno rocker before exploding into electric, rhyme-heavy verses. Likewise, side one of "Remind Me" is an exercise in style-mashing precision, but when the half-assed skits creep in during the second half hour, one gets the sense that The Knux could be truly great if they could only consistently answer the classic actor question: What's my motivation?
From the first endearingly fragile a cappella notes of classic "The State I Am In," a bashful Stuart Murdoch symbolically declines an invitation from England's prying radio ears: No thanks, we're staying in today. You see, back in the mid-90's, Belle & Sebastian was the would-be prom queen still too shy and self-aware to realize her own beauty. "The BBC Sessions" dusts off a snapshot of the sleepy collective in their formative years, before Isobel Campbell fell for the bad boy, and when the singer nervously laughed at himself just in case you thought he was a joke. These tracks are unnervingly intimate, even for this band, and that's why this rare look-in is so special - because B&S, a bedroom act if there ever was one, was never meant for the light of day.
The cover art of Valencia's "We All Need A Reason to Believe" features five guys striking contemplative poses in the middle of the desert, no doubt asking themselves, "How can we make our predictable emo shtick appeal to people with ears?" Unfortunately, this fleeting practical thought escaped into the cool evening air, and our skinny-jeaned friends promptly built a ceremonial bonfire to summon the spirit of Pete Wentz. Perhaps taking mushrooms with Vince and Ari would have been a more constructive wasteland endeavor because "Free," "Holiday," "Safe to Say," etc. prove that there are three certainties in life: death, taxes and the shameless pairing of soft, gut-wrenching bridges with loud, bombastic choruses. The sun can't set on this band fast enough.
Temptations disciple Raphael Saadiq just beat out 007 and ice cubes in a cool contest. His throwback style has more soul than a shoe factory. Soda fountains think this guy has retro down pat. You get the point - the man is fly, and on "The Way I See It," he channels a radiant, doo-wop-era rhythm and blues that tips a suede top hat to Berry Gordy and Phil Spector. "Keep Marchin'" reconnects with the effortless groove of early Motown classics, exuding a lighthearted confidence laced in tambourine percussion and backing falsetto. "Just One Kiss" pops with orchestral flourishes and female harmonies, but neither element matches the zeal of the show-stopping lead vocal. How does one account for Saadiq's silky delivery? Like satin pajamas and other sides of pillows, some things are naturally smooth.
Suri, Apple and Shiloh were sitting in their apartment in Los Angeles and decided instead of waiting to become famous, they were going to do it on their own. The actress, producer and singer combined their talents and created a show to document their journey in L.A.
Right around Thanksgiving it begins to happen. As we mindlessly stuff ourselves with turkey, the world outside transforms in a majestic way; front lawns become biblical light shows, toy stores become parental battle grounds, and repetitive, peppy music infuses every store, car and restaurant in America. Behind all this snowy wonderment, Hollywood plays a sinister trick, and all over the country cliché, sentimental family films pop up like blemishes on the face of the movie industry. One of these blackheads, "Four Christmases," smiles at you while you writhe in pain and feel the urge to punch someone out of boredom.
Nobody gets away with more than children.
It's that time again. The Florida air is getting chillier, the countdown to winter break is getting shorter and your mother's reminders of all the things you have to do when you get home are becoming a daily staple. No doubt the majority of you will have to attend some holiday function over your winter break, whether you want to or not, and I'm here to help you make sure that you look your best. Even if your dad's office party is so boring you are contemplating faking food poisoning, at least you'll look fabulous doing it.
Q magazine calls this album "essential," which suggests that Snow Patrol has pictures on the editors of said magazine. The two defining elements about this hook-challenged, wuss-rock are its neutrality - this is the Switzerland of pop music - and "If There's a Rocket Tie Me to It." Great title. "Take Back the City" and "Please Just Take These Photos from My Hands," which have ho-hum titles, are actually peppy, catchy little numbers. "Peppy" and "catchy" cannot otherwise be associated with this record. For those who noticed the inconsistency of this review - a neat line or two scattered amongst sketchy, bland ones - now you know what it's like to listen to "A Hundred Million Suns."
We want our sex like we want everything else: right now. Society, unfortunately, has burdened us with niggling demands, known to some as public decency laws, that prevent us from dealing with our tingles and jingles in a time-efficient manner. But to avoid getting slapped with indecent exposure charges, you don't need to go home to have sex. Just don't get caught. Embrace the art of the covert quickie.
Braxton Adamson and his band, 3 Story Fall, are doing things backward. Adamson's played at Gator Growl in front of 40,000 people. The band has played in front of enormous crowds, opening for legendary acts such as Kansas and the Doobie Brothers, and it has sponsorships that provide members with free instruments, clothing and equipment. These are all privileges usually only enjoyed by major acts, but this band doesn't even have a record deal.
I bite my fingernails shamelessly.
College students in Gainesville have the ability to go to a different club or bar every night of the week, but it can be useful to find a place that becomes "your spot."
Ever wondered what would happen if the Girl from Ipanema bumped into one of the Strokes in a tiki bar in Waikiki? Meet "Little Joy." A happenstance collaboration between Fabrizio Moretti and Rodrigo Amarante, the debut album from the prince of New York and his new Brazilian bud taps into a wistful, pre-rock 'n' roll era sound brimming with bossa-nova charm and Rat Pack cool. Chock full of ukulele, staccato guitar and love-styled horns, these woozily delicate lounge-pop songs, especially standouts "Keep Me in Mind" and "Brand New Start," carve out a singular niche: irony-free indie for hipsters who dig hula and Frank Sinatra. This might well be a come-and-go one-off, so here's hoping LJ's "aloha" means hello, not goodbye.
You say you want a revolution, and you got one, Tom Gabel. Now what? If the measure of a good protest album is that it still sounds important when there's not as much to protest, then "Heart Burns" passes with flying red, white and blue colors. Detached from its weighty political agenda, the fearless screamer's solo EP would still rouse a sweaty, brothers-in-arms battle cry, due in no small part to impressive sonic diversity. Opener "Random Hearts" works as a new-wave dance track while the folky "Anna Is A Stool Pigeon" - best line: "Eric fell in love with an FBI informant" - peels back layers of calloused tattoos to reveal a soft side. In these lighter moments, Gabel's message becomes clear: When you talk about destruction, don't you know that you can count me out.
Fast women. Fast cars. Fast-forward - all of it. Hinder looks like they're posing for the next episode of "MTV Cribs" on the cover of "Take It to the Limit," and their look-at-my-bling posing proves to be, by a long mile, the most tasteful element of this Mötley Crüe tribute package. "Use Me" kicks off the testosterone-fueled showboating with a dazzling display of cocksure guitar rawk sure to boil the blood of any aspiring Ultimate Fighting champion. The Bon Jovi-ripping follow-up "Loaded and Alone" will stoke your hair-metal hunger pangs by prompting a crazed YouTube search for "Livin' on a Prayer." Let's be frank: Hinder is compensating for something. You know what they say about bands with big vocals and bigger guitars: small ideas.
Solutions by The State News
