Dried up grass. Dried up funds. These are the givens as the summer months approach in Gainesville, and for William Eyerly, this is both unfortunate and totally expected.
With soggy weather all around, no TV to watch football on and no late-week finals to wait out, Chyanne gathered her belongings and went home earlier than most in Gainesville.
The UF gymnastics team and about two dozen aspiring 2020 Olympians stocked local food banks Sunday with enough canned goods to outweigh a handful of 5-year-olds.
About 500 people raised more than $60,000 for infant health in a 5K run Sunday.
The Santa Fe College Teaching Zoo opened its haunted home to more than 5,000 people for an afternoon of fairy tales and furry tails Saturday for its 15th annual Boo at the Zoo.
Students applying for credit could soon hear a familiar motto: 21 means 21.
Dale Ginder is 7 years old. He is from Gainesville. He loves his Gators.
Noisy, surging guitars; octopus-arm polyrhythms; Bono hollering on like a hopped-up Pentecostal preacher; spectacularly transparent declarations of purpose whooped in flailing whoa-oh frenzy. These are the first sounds of "No Line On the Horizon," U2's new album, and they combine to say what, with this band, goes without saying: This is a statement.
If the election of President Barack Obama was a big can't-we-all-just-get-along inquiry to the good people of America, then "Gutter Tactics" is a scathing, unqualified "Hell no!" Or "not yet," anyway. Atop corrosive grooves tangled in haywire electronic beats, this Garden State duo spits tales of torture, war, civil rights abuses and the like, exposing every closeted sin, protesting all the wrongs that still need be righted. "Armed with Krylon" and "Who Medgar Evers Was" make up a suite of continuously devolving ambient rap that taps a well of run-for-your-life paranoia. The latter track works off a big, beefy drumbeat, spiraling feedback and lyrics about assassination. Indeed, this is dark stuff that takes nerve to slog through, and that's speaking nothing of the introductory monologue - a caustic, hell, fire and brimstone throwdown from the Rev. Wright himself. Or as Dalek likes to call it, "feel-good music."
Emil Svanängen is moving on up, literally. Having recorded his first album on a laptop microphone and CD-Rs in his mother's cellar, the Swedish popsmith now makes a big enough name for himself to afford real studio equipment, a high-end computer, and presumably, his own home. In keeping with the little-guy theme, "Dear John" comes off like techno-fied Belle and Sebastian - Svanängen sings in breathless, hushed tones, as if trying to carry on a conversation in a library after running a marathon. Most of these songs flirt with electronic chamber pop, veering at alternate forks into "Phantom of the Opera"-esque theatrics ("Harm") and somber, Postal Service dance tunes ("Summers," which would fit snuggly on "Give Up"). If there's a turnoff, it's that a lot of these tracks are too prettily twee for their own good, like a good-looking guy who never makes the first move. And winds up living in his parents' basement.
Solutions by The State News
