
Four years ago I claimed that I would come back to Austin for South by Southwest every year until I die, and so far I’ve kept that promise. Continue reading…

Four years ago I claimed that I would come back to Austin for South by Southwest every year until I die, and so far I’ve kept that promise. Continue reading…

A couple of years ago, staring down the barrel of my approaching thirties and in peak quarter-life crisis mode, I came up with the obvious solution to my ennui — I bought a motorcycle. Even though my riding phase lasted less than a year, it was awesome, and 90% of the sonic fuel blasting freedom and badassery into my helmet was none other than Athens, Georgia’s The Whigs. When I heard these dudes were in town to support fellow joyride soundtrackers Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, I threw on my Zeke Death Alley biker shirt and my finest tattered jeans and headed down to House of Blues to rock it out. Continue reading…
On their LP, THE SHAPE OF THINGS, MAN/MIRACLE have done away with minuscule letters and churned out a solid thirty minutes of all-caps, genre-hopping power pop.
The first half of the album is catchy as hell. The lo-fi, major-key island hook and afrobeat of album opener “ABOVE THE SALON” sounds like Vampire Weekend playing inside a sealed U-Haul trailer.
“HOT SPRAWL” and “UP” maintain that energy, with toms like a locomotive driving hollering, energetic sing-alongs (provided you don’t mind making up words to approximate the mostly unintelligible lyrics). Continue reading…

The Thursday night crowd that came to see The Clientele at the Casbah was bubbling. Half of them had just come from a successful SoundDiego launch party; the other half were presumably just happy to be celebrating the unofficial start of the weekend with syrupy pop exported from England. It was a fun crowd to be a part of, and especially fun to hear the chatter peppered by the English accents of a few of The Clientele’s San Diego British expat fans. Continue reading…
When you watch Appleseed Cast‘s trippy post-rock, time slows down, twists apart, and becomes nonlinear. The long, vocally sparse shoegaze jams force periods of intense introspection and send your brain floating on a sea of disjointed, personal thoughts. They make you forget you’re still around other human beings, that you’re not sitting, stoned, on a beanbag in a blacklit velvet room, wearing thick over-ear headphones. To say that this is not a good first-date show would be a monumental understatement. Continue reading.