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Sunday, December 14, 2008

Anyone who saw the Raising Hell tour is automatically cooler than those of us who didn’t. That makes Ricky Powell – who was backstage for that entire stretch, as well as on dozens of other seminal hip-hop outings – the coolest dude since Wilt Chamberlain.

In his career as a photographer, muse and all-around king scenester, Powell has witnessed things that most heads have barely dared to dream. He’s drunken diet root beer with Rick Rubin, hung with Run-DMC in Paris (“We shit on French people a lot, but I didn’t meet any jerk-offs out there”), and obsessed over Sophia Coppola (whose dad, Powell jokes, was on his dick).  

For nearly an hour at the Good Life last night, Powell blessed a roomful of throwback fanatics with his legendary slide show. He’s the best kind of unabashed insider – every pic came with the sort of vignette or anecdote that you never get from rappers themselves.

Powell has a unique sense of humor, often-starting sentences with lines like: “When I was selling frozen lemonade back in ’86.” In the midst of feeding frenzies in which artists often take themselves too seriously, Powell was the grounded, self-deprecating dude who tagged along.

As the slides clicked, out poured his tag lines: “Have a nectarine and chill,” “I was a scrub,” and “The blacks know I’m down.” Powell has a crack for everything, from shooting hoops with Run-DMC (“Run was a chucker”) to his unsuccessful graf career (“I wrote Pumpernickel 188”).

The laughs rolled through the end, with Powell flashing flicks of Ricki Lake (“She had a fat pussy”), John Lee Hooker (“He used to fuck mad hippie ladies”), and Diamond D (“He used my bathroom once”).  

My favorite shot was of a sexy 80s chick in a leotard stretching on the street in New York City. Her left leg is up above her head, and Powell zoomed in on her crotch. It’s a sweet metaphor for his life – right place, right time.

Near the end of his show, Powell commented that he’s always been a legend in his own apartment. That might be true, but anyone who’s mashed hoes with the Beastie Boys and hung with Jean-Michel Basquiat is a hero of mine too.

Friday, December 12, 2008

This week in the fishwrap, departing Phoenix staffer Caitlin Curran interviews couples who are also bandmates and finds out how on earth they manage to have sex with each other while also making music together. The online version is expanded, with additional profiles of two of our favorite (and coincidentally, local) band/couples: Helms, and Damon and Naomi. The latter qualify as some kind of indie-folk romantic ideal, managing to balance not just love and rock but the music life and the literary life.

In conjunction with the article, we're proud to debut an exclusive -- and oh-so-appropriate -- video from D&N's new DVD, Damon & Naomi Live at Shubuya O-Nest, Tokyo Japan 2008, which came out last week (you can buy it directly from the band here). This one's a cover of a song called "Love," originally by 1960s Japanese psych-rockers the Jacks -- performed, obviously, in Japan, with the D&N Superband lineup including Bhob Rainey, Espers' Helena Espvall, and Ghost's Masaki Batoh and Michio Kurihara.

 

In case you missed Faraone's next-day recap of last week's BMA's, we're dropping the highlights of the performance portion of the evening. Three songs by Big Digits, who debuted a song with the bearded dude from Crystal Understanding crooning the hook, shouted out Bosstones dancer Ben Carr, prayed not to win the Best Hip-Hop Category for fear of getting their asses kicked (the BMAs later obliged them with a loss), and contemplated offering a marriage proposal to the girls of Jada. (To see why, check the Jada video.) And then we give you another three songs from Termanology, who appeared to own the award for most-tickets-sold, since his ST the Squad crew not only heckled the New Kids into acknowledging their hero (for reference, see this video) and generally caused a good-natured ruckus anytime their hero didn't win, regardless of whether or not he was nominated. Later, Term spent 45 mins just taking pictures with all the folks who showed up to see him.

BIG DIGITS: LIVE AT 2008 BOSTON MUSIC AWARDS

TERMANOLOGY: LIVE AT 2008 BOSTON MUSIC AWARDS

Thursday, December 11, 2008

DOWNLOAD: Grimis, "Bagheera" (mp3)

You say 90 percent of bands today seem like water added to a packet of pulverized denim and powdered hair gel? Meet Grimis of Andover. They’ve been around for eight years, 200 shows, and three albums, but a bunch of you probably don’t know about them — which means a bunch of you stand to have a new favorite bunch of songs. “Bagheera,” off the homonymous album they released in August (right before their six-week US tour), is a bold lead-off — a sprawl of darkish Americana that dangles its long legs in a pond of indie-pop innocence. Elsewhere on the album, we get glittering guitar rock à la chiller Built To Spill (“Lunar Bicycle”), steel-strung O’Rourkisms (“Four Colors Four Words”), and Sea and Cakey pop expeditions (“Ode to Pete”). Check them out December 14 at the Middle East upstairs with Blastronauts, Action Verbs, and Plastic Reverie. Meanwhile, grab “Bagheera” above.

-- Michael Brodeur

Tuesday, December 09, 2008

On the night that NBC announced it's keeping Jay Leno and dispensing with half its weekly prime-time inventory, Jimmy Fallon officially began his run as the next host of the post-Conan "Late Night" . . . well, in cyberspace, at least. He's vlogging at NBC to prime the pump for the 12:30 slot. And if THIS were to actually be true, we might actually think about tuning in . . .

Monday, December 08, 2008

The Subaru limousine – which I assume belongs to Ernie Boch, Jr. (nominee: Outstanding Blues Act of the Year) – idling outside the Roxy last night was an appropriate metaphor for the 2008 Boston Music Awards. Despite it being a quasi-posh invite-only event (albeit one that any super fan could have easily penetrated), the gala didn’t reek of superficiality. Even in the VIP lounge, where those lucky enough to secure laminates enjoyed free drinks and passed hors d’oeuvres with Donnie Wahlberg (winner: Act of the Year – National), the mood was refreshingly grounded. Very Boston, I might even say.   

Those who endured tragic adolescences might have had some eerie flashbacks. From the downstairs party (which unfortunately ended before the awards segment) to the balcony, the Roxyplex resembled a quintessential high school cafeteria. In one corner indie rockers complained about the pricey aluminum Bud bottles; in another, remnants of the Rat renaissance reminisced; and across the room hip-hop crews tried convincing bouncers that they weren’t puffing blunts. Unlike an actual lunch room, though, the crowd spanned at least four generations and thrice that many genres.

Since things started promptly, and since I showed up (characteristically, not fashionably) late, I missed Bearstronaught (winner: Best College Band) and Drug Rug (nominee: Best Song of the Year – Local), both of which rocked the basement stage at Pearl. For more on that, consult my dude Jed Gottlieb at the Boston Herald. I did, however, arrive in time to mellow out with Miss Tess (winner: Outstanding Folk Act of the Year) and to raise deserving beer salutes for Girls Guns and Glory (winner: Outstanding Americana Act of the Year & Act of the Year – Local) upstairs, and then to shake my ass and mental back at Pearl with Big Digits (nominee: Outstanding Hip-Hop Act of the Year).     

Frequent Phoenix collaborators and renowned Big Digitaries Mac, TD and DJ Mac Moon brought out all their goodies, from medieval headgear, white denim cutoffs, tambourines, and Sambas to a sexy Shannon Dougherty look-alike fan whose bangs smacked against her dome as she maniacally gyrated. Some acts have difficulty wowing diverse groups at inter-genre affairs like the BMAs, but Big Digits are famous for blitzing crowds of all colors. Mac and TD never leave shows with fewer fans than they arrive with, and that especially goes for last night.

After catching the tropically inspired all-female outfit Zili Misik (winner: Outstanding International Music Act of the Year), I returned to the cellar for JADA (winner: Outstanding Pop / R&B Act of the Year). Being that they’re signed to Motown, these local divas had some hype to live up to. And they did; homegirls look hotter in person than in press shots (one even has a little Jess Alba thing going on), and, unlike manufactured hoaxes like Destiny’s Child, every last one of them can belt and grind.    

Around 9:30 the lower room closed and club workers ushered heads upstairs for the big announcements (via PowerPoint presentation), which were painless thanks to the nixing of acceptance speeches. Since BMA organizers already extracted the most excruciating segment, I’ll follow their lead and just mention three brief observations: 1 – Ernie Boch, Jr. wants to raise “more money than fucking Bono” for his Music Drives Us foundation; 2 – You can check the winner list here; and 3 – Much like I believe is the case with national awards shows – though the only one I’ve actually seen in the last decade is the AVN fiesta – there’s significant overlap between the performance roster and list of award recipients.

After the half-hour semi-ceremony, Statik Selektah (nominee: Producer of the Year – Hip-Hop/R&B), Lawrence MC Termanology (winner: Outstanding Hip-Hop Act of the Year), and their S.T. Da Squad and Showoff entourages beat out Bang Camaro (nominee: Outstanding Live Act of the Year) for the most-people-on-stage-at-one-time record. The posse dynamic didn’t compromise their set, though, as it once did at a 2006 New Hampshire gig where the crew tore a makeshift outdoor stage to pieces. For the past month, Term and his team have tightened their act on tour with Redman and Method Man. Last night’s was by far the most remarkable “Watch How It Go Down” that I’ve ever seen him shred.

After a righteous romp by Wild Light (winner: Outstanding Rock Act of the Year), who killed with “California On My Mind,” the crowd began to shrink. Considering that most people truly seemed to be enjoying themselves, the company, and, most importantly, the music, the only plausible explanation for the thinning was understandable Sunday exhaustion caused by any number of must-see shows that swung through town this past weekend.  

Those who remained until the end were rewarded; not only with proper sets by Marissa Nadler (winner: Outstanding Singer-Songwriter Act of the Year) and Southie rhyme thug Slaine (nominee: Outstanding Hip-Hop Act of the Year), but by the inevitable comedy that comes from the consecutive pairing of two worlds that rarely collide. Thank God this was not the Grammy Awards; they probably would have had Nadler sing the hook on “Mind of a Criminal” and “Drugs, Money, Sex” while Slaine shot snot rockets on the monitor and slammed back his fans’ floaters.

Boston might have a lot of problems, and our public transportation system may be inept, but there’s a proud populism that separates it from cities like New York and Los Angeles. And that inclusiveness prevailed last night. Instead of having an A-list versus B-list pissing contest, BMA organizers fostered a bash with folks of all strokes trading numbers and discovering new allies. Sure, they could still make improvements – in addition to securing a Saturday slot for next year, it’s time to abandon the useless and misleading local versus national classifications – but the crowd mix and sentiment seemed perfect.     

Unfortunately, the Special Olympics have made it impossible to declare “everyone a winner” without being laughed at. So how about this: Unlike what I’ve heard from an overwhelming number of people about past BMA shindigs, at last night’s, while not everybody won, at least not everybody lost. And in a city that has historically struggled to establish for itself a dominant, all-encompassing, stylistically diverse music scene, the 2008 Boston Music Awards was an honorable display of uncommon pride and unity.

 

We're hard at work over here putting together photo, video, and good old written recaps of last night's Boston Music Awards, but for now we figured that you might want to know who the winners were. Click here for lists of all the nominees, and be sure to check back later on today and all week long for continued coverage. Oh - and congrats to all victorious parties.

Outstanding Tribute Act of the Year
Joshua Tree

Outstanding International Music Act of the Year
Zili Misik

Outstanding Folk Act of the Year
Miss Tess

Outstanding Blues Act of the Year
David Maxwell

Outstanding Singer-Songwriter Act of the Year
Marissa Nadler

Outstanding Jazz Act of the Year
Grace Kelly

Outstanding Americana Act of the Year
Girls, Guns and Glory

Outstanding Punk Act of the Year
Big D and the Kids Table

Outstanding Metal / Hardcore Act of the Year
Doomriders

Outstanding DJ / Electronica Act of the Year
Baltimoroder

Outstanding Pop / R&B Act of the Year
JADA

Outstanding Hip-Hop Act of the Year
Termanology

Outstanding Rock Act of the Year
Wild Light

Best College Band
Bearstronaught

Humanitarian of the Year
Chad Stokes (State Radio)

Unsung Hero Award
Billy Beard (Face to Face)

Best Song of the Year – Local
Great Bandini / “One and One”

Best Song of the Year – National
Juliana Hatfield / “This Lonely Love”

Producer of the Year – Hip-Hop/R&B
Matty Trump

Producer of the Year – Rock/Pop
Ed Valauskas

Male Vocalist of the Year – Local
Eli Reed

Male Vocalist of the Year – National
Al Barr (Dropkick Murphys)

Female Vocalist of the Year – Local
Sarah Borges

Female Vocalist of the Year – National
Amanda Palmer

Outstanding Live Act of the Year
The Camp

Best New Act of the Year
The Low Anthem

Album of the Year – Local
Akrobatik / Absolute Value

Album of the Year – National
Amanda Palmer / Who Killed Amanda Palmer

Act of the Year – Local
Girls, Guns & Glory

Act of the Year – National
New Kids on the Block

 

Letters To Cleo: "Here and Now" [Live in Los Angeles, 2008]

Probably no secret that we've still got a soft spot for "I See" and "Here and Now," which were, for a certain generation of Boston musician, the gateway drug to girlie power-pop. LETTERS TO CLEO kick off a sold-out, two-night homecoming at the Paradise tonight and tomorrow, and if Kay Hanley has anything to say about it, this is a one-time-only affair -- so everyone is hereby encouraged to make the most of it. We chatted up Kay and drummer Stacy Jones, who relived the best (and worst) moments from the band's history, gave props to their new boss Miley Cyrus, and talked good-natured shit about each other.

DOWNLOAD: Interview: Letters to Cleo's Stacy Jones and Kay Hanley [mp3]

PREVIOUSLY: From February, Stacy Jones gives us a behind-the-scenes look at the Miley Cyrus tour [video]

And in case you've forgotten how fun LTC were in their heyday, here's the full set of their 1995 show at the legendary Fort Apache studios, fresh from the WFNX vaults:

STREAM: Letters to Cleo, Live at Fort Apache (1995)

Our dudes over at WFNX are throwing a members-only gig at Church on December 10 featuring TING TINGS, whom you came to know and love thanks to an iPod commercial, but whom our six-year-old knows as the "That's Not My Name" band. There is something a little Kidz-Boppish about 'em -- we'd describe their album as M.I.A. for kindergarteners, except that our kindergartener is already a big M.I.A. fan. (Re: "Bird Flu"? Six year olds love avian noises.) 

Here's how this works: the only way to get into the show is to be on WFNX's guest list -- but once you're on the guest list, it's still first-come, first-served the night of the show. We've got four pairs of list spots to give away -- which means you're halfway there, but don't come crying to us if you show up ten minutes before the gig starts and find a mob scene. 

First four respondents in the comments get on the list with a plus-one; make sure to use your real emails this time, so we can contact you to put your name on the list. And if you don't make it to the show, we'll be bringing you video the following week.

Sunday, December 07, 2008

On night one of the sold-out WFNX "Miracle on Tremont Street," the OTD cams were lodged alongside the Sandbox dudes in what felt like the hottest, tinyest dressing room in Boston. Fletcher managed not to puke anybody, Special Ed spilled our Red Bull, and we met Rush's manager -- not to mention Geddy Lee's nephew. More on him and his band in a few, as well as a dispatch from the Airborne Toxic Event kids. For now, here's our bro-down with the Franz Ferdinand dudes, in which they reminisce about their brief friendship with Papa Roach and Korn, plus a snippet of their Orpheum soundcheck as well. Tonight: Part 2 with Vampire Weekend and Black Kids.

 

Friday, December 05, 2008

Last we heard, the Raveonettes had taken time off for Sharin Foo to have a baby -- and sponsoring their maternity leave by releasing a stack of digital EPs while plotting a transformation from Jesus-and-Mary-Chain-ish mega-garage duo to Justice-y dancefloor obliterators. Or whatever it is that happens to rock bands after they sign to Vice. In any case, maternity leave is over. They've just migrated back to their Chiffonsy roots by releasing an honest-to-god Christmas song (grab it below), and announced plans for a US tour that'll kick off right here in Boston just after the new year. You can see 'em at the Paradise on January 15; in case you can't remember what they sound like, we're also html-ing in a stream of their performance at our 2005 Best Music Poll concert, courtesy of this newfangled audio archive we've launched over at WFNX.com. 

DOWNLOAD: The Raveonettes, "Come On Santa" [mp3]

STREAM: The Raveonettes, Live at BMP 2005:

 

Party Arty was one of few rappers who hardcore street cats and underground aficionados agreed was, as we say, a mother fucking problem. He was rough, rugged, and raw, and homeboy had the leather throat to match his Timberlands and attitude. For those reasons and about a million others, he’ll be missed around The Bronx and in rap circles from Boston to Botswana.

Arty, also known as P-80, was an honorary member of the almighty D.I.T.C. crew. Closely affiliated with the high exalted AG and his Get Dirty family, Arty was a dude who owned every track he shit on; that’s been his rep since he smoked Big L (R.I.P.) and Jay-Z on “Da Graveyard” nearly 15 years ago. Likewise, Arty’s work with D-Flow as the Ghetto Dwellas was hood-hop to the knuckle. Every line recoiled.

After what I’m told was a long battle with various illnesses, Arty passed away yesterday afternoon. No doubt The Bronx is hurting badly today; in addition to his flow and skills, Arty was known around his projects as a beacon of comedic light in a burnt down borough. Case in point: His opening the excellent South Bronx documentary, SBX!, while spitting on the shitter.

Arty was about as real as rappers get. Hip-hop wasn’t just an act for him, nor was it some scam he used to get paid. As anyone who’s seen his infamous Smack DVD battles against Murda Mook has witnessed, for him, rhyming was as natural as rolling blunts. If there’s any justice, he will be remembered as a thorough street reporter with a raucous sense of humor. Sure, his bars were stuffed with gun and drug talk, but only because that’s what he witnessed every day of his tragically short life.

Lastly, and I wouldn’t have mentioned this oft-discussed hip-hop rumor if DJ Premier himself didn’t confirm it on his blog, but Arty was for a while considered by 50 Cent as a possible addition to the G-Unit roster. Someone close to the situation once told me that 50 used to invite Arty to his New York crib and hook him up with gear galore. Looking back now, it’s too bad they waited so long to sign him; hip-hop knows those wankstas could have used the resounding street cred that a lifelong soldier such as Arty brings to any team.

LISTEN: Party Arty, "Shine My Way" (mp3)

Thursday, December 04, 2008

Forget Jay-Z; and to hell with Mariah Carey’s frontal massage therapist. If I could switch places with anyone on earth it would be esteemed reggae photographer and king Trustafarian Peter Simon.

But while I’m clearly jealous of the man, I have no resentment. Just because Simon (as in Simon & Schuster) was born into opulence doesn’t mean I hate him. In fact, I admire him immensely.

As he clicked through his sunsplashed photo spread at Johnny D’s last night, I sat mesmerized. And not just because of shots like his of Peter Tosh on a unicycle at Howard Johnson’s in Cambridge. Considering the number of my rich thirty-something friends who have never worked real jobs, Simon is remarkably accomplished.

Simon’s love affair with reggae intensified when he was a student at Boston University in the 1960s. As one does in Rome, he smoked weed, bumped Marley, and went to see The Harder They Come in Harvard Square more times than he can count.

Then one summer day in the early 1970s, while getting stoned with a friend on the beach in Martha’s Vineyard, he decided to become the first person to document reggae culture. And when Simon decides something, it happens.

In 1975, he had the notion to publish an article in the New York Times. And in November of that year, he used that platform to give reggae artists their first-ever mainstream coverage.

Much like the way that Rupert Murdoch’s son helped finance Rawkus Records, which birthed contemporary underground hip-hop by backing artists such as Talib Kweli, Mos Def, Cage and El-P – this son of Richard Simon helped put reggae on the atlas.

Simon’s latest work, The Reggae Scrapbook, which he previewed in Somerville, exemplifies his intense connection to roots and culture artists. This isn’t just a guy with contacts; Simon has access to his subjects’ joy and emotion.

I never realized it until last night, but, despite one group’s love for ganja and the other’s for scotch, Rastas and aristocrats are comparably easygoing. And while that’s a way of being that a stress-addled jerk like me could never understand, I see how a common blissful apathy can help folks from Kingston and Edgartown connect.

While Simon occasionally says things such as “I saw Bob live – a lot,” he’s hardly an obnoxious silver spooner. Those guys climb Everest – he got high with Jamaican legends and documented essential moments in alt and pop culture history.

The moral of Simon’s achievement, as far as I’m concerned, is this: If you have a giant safety net and can do as you please with little to no consequences, then at least leave the planet with something useful to remember you by.

And if you don’t have any of those things, then do it anyway.

Also: Click Here For The Phoenix Slide Show of Photos From Simon's New Book

 

Download: Midatlantic, "Shine" 

When you’re a four-piece Boston rock band in part imported from Dublin and called the Bleedin Bleedins, you’re pretty much telling potential show attendees, “Your face will be punched.” Since their jaggier and more punkified days, however, the Bleedins have done a bit of ironing and straightening up, and they’ve changed their name to Midatlantic. Think Brooklyn meets Brixton — or is it Brighton meets Brighton? Either way, this formula — a “Midatlantic” meeting of black-shirted, tightly panted postpunk — has always done well in Boston. Check out “Shine”: smart guitars, ample knuckle, a beat that knows you’ve been drinking, and sweetly harmonized title kickers. It’s one of a gang of charmers on their new The Longest Silence, which you can get at their Great Scott show this Saturday, December 6 (where they join Tigercity, Taxpayer, and the Information). You can also catch them opening for Letters to Cleo on December 8 at the Paradise. In the meantime, grab “Shine” above. 

-- Michael Brodeur 

Monday, December 01, 2008

We've heard that Paramore's Hayley Williams and Twilight star Robert Pattinson are in the market for a duet. Shame someone didn't check out A.A. Bondy's Daytrotter session earlier this year and assign them to cover "Oh The Vampyre," an as-yet-unreleased track from the former Verbena singer's solo ouerve. With vampires now trumping zombies and werewolves, this is about as slick a commercial move as Bondy's capable of -- which isn't very -- so if Hayley and Robert take a pass, can our HBO peeps see about the closing credits of True Blood? As promised, we took the cams to Bondy's recent Great Scott set and came back with a new, full-band version of the "Vampyre" song, plus a version of "Black Rain, Black Rain" from his fantastic solo debut American Hearts. Stay tuned, we're still in the editing room on another track from this session: an updating of the ancient American spiritual "John the Revelator," which we suspect he learned from the immortal Son House.

VIDEO: AA Bondy, "Oh the Vampyre" (Live at Great Scott)
VIDEO TWO: AA Bondy, "Black Rain, Black Rain" (Live at Great Scott)

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