It is often said that you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. But sometimes it goes the other way, and you don’t know what you’ve been missing until you finally get it. Certain bands strike a chord because they fill a void that the fan hadn’t even realized was there. Whether it be in the form of Fleet Foxes’ ethereal harmonies, Cut Copy’s intense synth-pop, or the Adam-Duritz-on-spin-cycle vocals of Frightened Rabbit, sometimes a band will just feel immediately, intimately familiar. The same sensation can be felt when hearing San Francisco band The New Up — the scratching of an itch you didn’t even know you had.
On their new five song EP, Broken Machine — the first in a series of three EPs by the band set for release over the next year — The New Up bring their moody dance-rock to a boil and keep it there. From the first moments of lead track “Ginger Teaâ€, the EP oozes smoky atmosphere, as if Metric and My Bloody Valentine had collaborated on the soundtrack to a David Lynch film.
For the scant few who haven’t heard yet, San Diego’s annual Street Scene festival will once again be rearing its enormous head on September 19th and 20th.
The colossal all-ages event brings a whopping forty bands on four stages to downtown San Diego, including Beck, Spoon, TV On The Radio, MGMT, The New Pornographers, The National, Cold War Kids, Justice, X, and longtime Owl&Bear favorites/interviewees Man Man. And for anybody who feels overwhelmed by the sheer number of great bands performing and would like to introduce a little suckiness into their diet—and would like that suckiness to sound like Paul Simon vomiting—have no fear, because Vampire Weekend will also be performing.
A beer- and sweat-soaked crowd of thousands gathered at the Del Mar Race Track on Saturday to watch iconic New Wave oddballs Devo preach their theory of de-evolution. Scheduled to play at seven, the group didn’t actually start until eight, but the annoyed grumbling that had begun to crescendo amongst the tightly packed sardines in the crowd immediately subsided once the band took to the stage.
Though their yellow jumpsuits might have been a size or two larger than the ones they wore in the eighties, the band’s gleeful enthusiasm showed no signs of old age. Their energy proved contagious as the sweaty young whippersnappers in the crowd repeatedly danced, moshed, and crashed into indignant baby boomers.
I am so horribly offended by I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry, and I hope that whatever defamation league that fights for a comedy’s right to be comedic comes out to protest this juggernaut of hackneyed material and predictability.
Adam Sandler and Kevin James, the ostensible stars of this film, deliver, perhaps, their most inspired performances, which is to say lackluster. They play lifelong pals who feign to be a homosexual couple in order to reap the legal benefits of domestic partnership for the children of the widowed Larry, played by James (don’t think I didn’t consider making a King of Queens joke, Mr. James).
Paul Mawhinney was born and raised in Pittsburgh, PA. Over the years he has amassed what has become the world’s largest record collection. Due to health issues and a struggling record industry Paul is being forced to sell his collection.
