Sort of. He actually turns host John McLaughlin's words into a catchy little song (that sounds strangely similar to other catchy little W.K. songs). You don't need to tell us Andrew's multi-talented -- on top of being a fine video host, he sounds great on radio. How'd this happen? Fair Game host Faith Salie explains the thinking behind the project:
Nowadays The McLaughlin Group is working on a whole other level. The crazy analogies, the bald faced aggression -- it's not simple discourse anymore. The McLaughlin Group is operating on a level that is bigger than just words. That's why Fair Game is thrilled to welcome songwriter and rock star Andrew W. K., who was so inspired by Mclaughlin's artistry -- his poetry -- that he's used it as the basis for a new rock song.
There is something sorta poetic about "little cat's feet." You'll get what we mean in a second.
Is this already everywhere?.. hm, it should be. Last year Santogold got snowed in in NYC and missed her SXSW performances. That better not happen this year or I’ll cry.
Danger Mouse keeps busy. Set aside the recent flurry of Gnarlsy news and tracks. Just today we hear that the "unnamed producer" working on Beck's next album is mighty Mouse himself which, after taking a good listen to his work here on the Black Keys' "Psychotic Girl," is just perfect. Danger, who produces the Keys new record, puts the blues-rock duo on a wobbling, oozing rhythmic cushion that keeps spiraling out under the Keys' rusty slide guitars and achy day vocals. In between those layers come flecks of banjo and the sort of cavernous backing harmonies ?uestlove was just singing along to on Barkley's "Who's Gonna Save My Soul." It's a mid-tempo fat beat, and it's a very good look.
Ever go to a Wilco show and watch Jeff Tweedy puke sidestage, and just assume it was the drugs? OK you may have been right about that. But also there's a chance you were making an ass out of u and me; today thanks to LHB we are reminded that Jeff Tweedy is a life-long migraine sufferer, via his guest post on the New York Times migraine blog. Also, today we learn the New York Times has a migraine blog. NYT's been good to Jeff Tweedy the writer (remember when he confessed his dreams of being a rock critic and wrote a column for the paper about his favorite new bands?).
So this is some soul baring stuff, though -- Jeff's had a rough go with migraines (and panic disorder) since childhood; his post reads like a migraine memoir, tracing his confusion and pain as a young boy and how that shaped his issues later in life. We learn that it shaped A Ghost Is Born's "Spiders (Kidsmoke)" and "Less Than You Think (which "ends with a 12-minute drone that was an attempt to express the slow painful rise and dissipation of migraine in music"), helped him justify his drug use ("for me, having very real physical pain was a very easy way to convince myself (and a lot of doctors) that there was something different about me"), and perhaps the saddest fact of all: "[That people assumed he was] completely out of my mind on drugs or strung out ... didn't have any kind of long term impact on how people perceived the band, though. Crazy in my business, that sort of thing is considered an asset. Sick but true."
Damn this perverse pleasure we take from the perverse pleasure Henry takes from being nagged to no end by Heidi May. It's the entire thrust of these clips of the month Rollins keeps posting: Heidi yaps and tries to agitate Rollins while holding a camera to his face, and Henry becomes increasingly saintly in our eyes for his tolerance to the inanity. And it's all oddly amusing. This time? Henry's making coffee! Did you need to see how Black Flag man takes his coffee (umm, black obvs)? No, but here it's the internet so that information is available to you now. Enjoy. Also for the voyeurs out there who weren't satisfied only knowing the contents of Henry's freezer (frozen rats and snakes), now you get to know what's in his fridge. "You just like to torment yourself," Heidi blurts. "You're delightful," Rollins replies later. Don't try and figure out their dynamic, just watch. (Thank you Whit.)
Their own mini avant choir, Singer write songs that allow all four members to chime in vocally, each maintaining a separate spaciousness, around which the guitars, bass, and drums remain harmonious but noncommittal. The group could be considered a "super," if the other bands they play (or played) in were bigger. Instead, Singer's a band consisting of folks from some other really great, often overlooked projects: Bassist Robert Lowe was in the excellent 90 Day Men and currently does mesmerizing solo work as Lichens, guitarist Todd Rittmann and drummer Adam Vida were in U.S. Maple, and Adam's brother Ben Vida's in Town and Country and his solo project Bird Show. The quartet's seven-song debut trips into a loose-knit, psychedelic, jazzy realm. There's tension -- lots of it -- bolstered by well-earned moments of post-rock release. You'll need to close your eyes and open your ears while things congeal (the map's torn, but it does make sense). Parts turn on a dime, then split into four bits and parcel out the change. Elegant guitars turn into shards the moment the drums dig into a solid, ass-kicking beat. The guys barbershop over sheets of drone (on the fine "Please, Tell The Justices We're Fine"). Snares crumble, but gain momentum through that deconstruction. Feedback sprouts from silence. Let's see how many more of these we can do, Letterman. Bowie trying to keep up with Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 (see "Party Lessons")? Yeasayer hollowed out by Tony Conrad-loving minimalists (look toward the opening of "Mauvais Sang")? OK, strap on your headphones for this.
[Photo by T. Albbertt Rittmann; L to R: Robt A.A. Lowe, Adam Vida, Ben Vida, Todd Rittmann]
We once spoke about the jogging potential of "Keep Your Eyes Ahead," but admittedly hadn't thought about what it would be like to play the song outdoors as well. In the colorful, cold-seeming Whitey McConnaughy-directed video for the tune, the resilient PDX pop duo take their dreamy rocker to the late-night Portland streets on a custom cart built for two, providing us with our second trip to the city today. Hell, maybe we should move there.
Remember a couple of years ago when Arctic Monkeys came to NYC for a couple of shows and everyone freaked out? Well it's happened again, only this time Alex Turner has a new travelmate, and the shows were just a little lower key (record stores and cake shops instead of Mercurys and Bowerys). The cheeky Monkey's joined up with the Rascals' Miles Kane to form the Last Shadow Puppets, and here they are, USA. Actually, here they are, world: The two shows this week (Wednesday at Brooklyn's Sound Fix Records, Thursday late night at Cake Shop) were the duo's live debut, period. Our friends Abbey and Kyle left impressed and sent over some video and photo souvenirs to rub it in. First up is Abbey's vid of the "The Age Of Understatement," which is the perfect song for the soundtrack of a spaghetti western, were it to be set in London:
Good tune. Obviously the studio version's even better, which you can check via a just released, proper pitchfork.tv-style video at theageoftheunderstatement.com (full screen!). Meanwhile, we've got some more photos and video for you. (UPDATE: And now we've got YouTube of "The Age Of Understatement"'s official vid, too.)
You have to love Xiu Xiu. You don't have to, but you should. (Who else in indie rock has press photos that include Peter Sotos and Céline, right?) We've been digging Women As Lovers, as we've previously mentioned. Twice. There are a bunch of great moments, but we do have a favorite: Amid all the chaos and noise-pop hooks when the low-bit marching, sirens, and nursery-rhyming ominousness of "Guantanamo Canto" shifts into their uproarious cover of "Under Pressure," we always get a moment of true heartfelt glee. That Jamie sings it with Caralee and Michael Gira -- icing on the already iced cake. Gira's one of those other people you have to love. Or, again, at least you should. "'Cause love's such an old-fashioned word..."
We've been waiting on this one awhile, nice to see it drop just in time to remind people about how tough it's gonna be to get into Santogold's shows at SXSW next week. (She's worth it.) Santi's piss-take on the self-fashioned "artistes" on the Lower East Side is one of her forthcoming debut's standouts, but you've known that for forever. Unlike the Diplo and Switch stuff (e.g. "Creator," "Shove It," etc.) she's eschewing the electro/grimey flavor in favor of some new wave sweetness, truer to her music roots before becoming her new look as cool kid-endorsed Downtown artist. "I can stay at home, it will be worth what I give up." Easy for you to say Santi, you get to ride a beautiful black stallion (literally). There's lots of destruction, carnage, and violence in here, but it's all really colorful and done with fake materials. Think she's dropping hints, artistes. Nima Nourizadeh directs.
Damn this perverse pleasure we take from the perverse pleasure Henry takes from being nagged to no end by Heidi May. It's the entire thrust of these 
