This is because, at the end of the day, I’m a realist. I don’t believe a bunch of hippies marching behind a mixed message can really do anything to affect change in this country. A hundred white kids with dreadlocks carrying signs with declarations ranging from angry vegetarian slogans to support for the Palestinian state aren’t ever going to have an impact on war or unions or minimum wage or animal rights or whatever else they feel compelled to yell about. They may be exercising their 1st Amendment rights, but they’re basically spitting into the ocean, hoping to raise the tide.

But the OWS movement is different. This one has been a long time coming. For years and years the über rich have been manipulating our so-called democracy for their own benefit. Our free market economy has become their private betting parlor. It is no more a “free market” than a Las Vegas casino, and we all know that in Las Vegas the house always wins. Make no mistake about it – we are in their house, playing by their rules.

This cannot go on forever. I’ve been saying it for a long time now, and any student of history would agree with me. This kind of imbalance cannot last. The rich can only take from the poor for so long. Eventually it becomes a simple case of numbers. When the vast majority of people realize that they are getting the shit end of the stick while a select few are bathing in champagne and tooling around in gold-plated yachts, they will start to get mad. And when they finally get mad enough, then it’s time for revolution.

I believe we are at the edge of that moment, staring out into the gaping chasm of our unknown future. This thing could go either way; the bankers and politicians can wise up and realize that it’s up to them to avoid a global shit storm, or they can keep doing what they’re doing and prepare for the uncorked wrath of an entire population that’s tired of getting fucked.

Either way, this is our moment in time. This is when the people make a stand. It will no doubt be a long, hard road. The movement will need something to keep spirits up, to spread the message and inspire others to join in. Of course, there is only one tool that can handle a job like this: music.

Go watch Amandla. Read up on the Civil Rights Movement. Listen to your parents’ albums from the 60s. Any revolution worth its salt has a soundtrack to go with it. Music is the only medium that can effectively convey hope, anger, inspiration and power in such a simple package. As Hugh Masekela said, you can give speeches and write papers and publish books. Most people still won’t get it. But when you put your message in a song, when people start stomping their feet and singing along – that’s when you know you’ve reached them.

So consider this an open call. It’s time for someone to step up to the plate. We need a song that cuts to the heart of the moment, something that inspires us as an entire society to get up and take action. We need a drummer to march to, a melody to spur us on. What we need now is true rebel music.

A couple of weeks ago there was a minor earthquake in New York. It didn’t rate very high on the Richter scale, and most Californians scoffed at the fear and histrionics of their east coast counterparts. That’s because here in California – and the Bay Area in particular – we live with the constant threat of a much bigger temblor. It’s not a misplaced sense of pride that makes us laugh off an earthquake in the low four point range; it’s simply a coping mechanism. When you know that at any moment, without any warning the earth might literally rise up beneath your feet and destroy your entire city with an apocalyptic combination of crumbling skyscrapers, fiery explosions and tidal waves, well, you’ve got to have a sort of dark sense of humor to get by. Nervous laughter is just what we use to keep from going crazy.

I’m starting to wonder if living in a constant state of tense resignation might be an apt metaphor for our country’s collective emotional condition right now. We’re in a bad way and everybody knows it. Things haven’t collapsed completely, but you’d be a fool not to at least acknowledge that possibility. Our economy has been raped and left for dead by the side of the road. Our political leaders are neck deep in an orgy of anger and greed. We’ve spent generations beating the shit out of our planet, but now Mother Nature has us against the ropes and is looking for the TKO. How can you wake up in the morning and not entertain the thought that today might be the day that something really bad happens?

Perhaps your natural reaction to this is just to go back to bed, to hide under the covers until everything sorts itself out. That would be nice, except none of us really have the luxury of sleeping through the impending shitstorm. We all have to get up and go about our lives. We still have to be people. We still have to go out and do things and make things and buy things. We have to fight and have sex and litter and watch football and pick flowers. It’s in our nature. Even in uncertain times we still want diversions and happiness. Even if the sun never came back up, we would all still eat ice cream, kiss our children and listen to music.

I don’t think it’s too much of an exaggeration to say we’re hovering above that moment in time right now. And given that we’re all still people who are going to want what they want, we’re going to need some of that music to go with it. Which is why you should listen to As Bright As Your Night Light, the new album from Louisville band Nerves Junior.

Over the course of nine tracks Nerves Junior manages to take an unstable concoction of post-millennial uncertainty and modern pop culture bric-a-brac and distill it down into a high-test concentrate of brooding, atmospheric electro post-rock. The songs pulse with clamorous drumbeats and throb with over-processed keyboards and distortion. But rather than fall apart in a loud, unruly mess, the music coalesces around chanted vocal harmonies and smart songwriting. It’s like theme music for this exact place and time, the soundtrack for a nation with its head in its hands while its heart still runs wild and free.

At least I hope that’s the way we see it 10 years from now, when everything has gotten better and all our music is happy and everyone has jobs and scientists have figured out how to stop earthquakes. Then we’ll all look back and wonder why we ever made serious, contemplative records and why we all spent so much time laughing nervously to ourselves.

MP3: 'As Bright As Your Night Light'

MP3: 'Kale'


When I was in college I spent a year and a half living in Italy. Ostensibly I was there to study literature and Renaissance Art, as per the standard requirements of a junior year abroad, but mostly I spent my time cavorting with my new Italian friends and learning how to cook the perfect spaghetti carbonara. I drank a lot of wine, chased a lot of girls and spent countless late nights smoking serious looking cigarettes while I stared out my window at the Piazza St. Croce.

It probably comes as no surprise that academically, my performance left a little to be desired. I don’t know what to say other than I was caught up in the romantic idea of what is arguably the world’s most romantic country. It’s a cheap excuse, I know, but it’s the truth. It also didn’t help that I was in school with a bunch of doofy American kids who preferred to hang out with each other, speaking English and making regular trips to the McDonald’s out by the train station.

I was lucky enough to meet a large and extended group of Italian kids on my first night in Florence. Over the course of several hours a friend and I went on an inebriated vision quest that took us from the steps of the Duomo to the back corner of Boboli Gardens. Along the way we were introduced to numerous warm beers, the origami-esque canna and at least four different guys named Alessandro. From then on school played second fiddle. The Alessandros and their surprisingly widespread social circle would prove themselves to be way more interesting than any of my fellow students and their official guided tours of the Uffizi.

Not that this is a bad thing. When I think back on the time I spent in Italy, the thing that stands out the most is the feeling of breezy, careless good fortune. Everyday was like a gift that slowly revealed itself piece by piece, with a stiff, handmade espresso in the morning or a boozy walk down by the river at dusk. I was poor, but financial aid was footing the bill so I didn’t have any real worries. For the most part my life during that time was like a slacker romantic comedy. I ate, I drank and I laughed at almost everything.

So it should come as no surprise that I have very warm feelings for all things Italian. It also doesn’t hurt when we’re talking about cool Italian things that can stand on their own merit. The R’s from Brescia, Italy are just that. A clever pop band with a taste for melody and the high end of the gain dial, The R’s recently signed to National Geographic’s new record label. Their latest release is a digital 7” called Mr. Hide that brings to mind the best of Olivia Tremor Control and Apples In Stereo.

Well, it will for most people anyway. For me, it brings to mind warm sunshine in the hills outside of Sienna, motorcycle rides through the vineyards and the way Italians use beauty to describe a life well-lived.

MP3: 'Mr. Hide'

I just finished reading Sum by David Eagleman. For those who aren’t familiar with his work (or are too lazy to Google him) Eagleman is a genius level neuroscientist who studies the perception of time and other brain-related mysteries at Baylor University. He has published a bunch of books that are fascinating and surprisingly readable, even though they deal with super heady concepts like subconscious neural networking and the existential side effects of the internet.

Eagleman sometimes gets to a point in his studies where he is limited by the current extent of our scientific knowledge. But instead of contenting himself with random and open-ended speculation when he bumps up against these road blocks, Eagleman goes home at night and writes fiction. Sum is the product of his most recent efforts in this area. The book contains 40 short stories, each its own strange and intriguing hypothesis on what happens after we die.

In one story, we find out that god exists – only on a microscopic level, entirely unaware of the human bodies in which he/she/it travels. In another, we work as background characters in other people’s dreams. The stories are only a page or two long, and each one ends with some kind of poignant or contemplative thought on life and the nature of human existence.

Personally, what I’m hoping for in the afterlife is the chance to live life over again – only this time, with the benefit of hindsight. If there is a heaven, it would have to be something like that. Think about how cool it would be to go through life, knowing all of your mistakes before you make them. Imagine being able to milk every last drop of pleasure from your greatest memories, just by virtue of the fact that you know full well how great each experience is as you’re having it. You could make a pass at all of the girls you were intimidated by in high school, cash in on every great idea you had too late, be at the right place at the right time – every time.

I think this fantasy is what lies beneath the expression “youth is wasted on the young.” As you get older, you start to realize just how care-free your youth was and you start to think of all the ways you could have capitalized on it. For me this manifests itself in a sort of regretful nostalgia that runs the gamut from every beer I didn’t drink in college and piano lessons I didn’t practice for to money I should have made and things I should have said. It’s the kind of thing you never feel until you get older, because when you’re young life is full of second chances and new opportunities. You’re always thinking about what you might do tomorrow, not what you could have done yesterday.

I’m still a little too young to be facing this sort of existential crisis head-on, but I have begun to get a sense of it. Which is why I’m thankful for the new 7” Fuckin’ Up Young by The Dirty Nil. In just under four minutes this track takes all the wild, sloppy, exuberant joi de vivre of youth, loads it up with beer, strips it naked, turns all the dials to 10 and leaves it lying in a sweaty pile on the bedroom floor.

From the looks of it, the dudes in The Dirty Nil haven’t even hit their 20s yet, so it’s nice to see that they’re appreciating what they have while they have it. One can only hope that they take the next decade or so to rock hard, sleep around and live life to the fullest. Because whether they know it or not, that’s what heaven really is.

MP3: 'Fuckin Up Young'


Big cities are great for a lot of reasons. Compared with small towns and rural areas, they have better restaurants, more diversions and a wider variety of people with whom you can mingle. I may be a little biased because I grew up in a major metropolitan area, but I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to say that city living offers a lot of things that living in the sticks does not. Ask anyone why they live in a big city and they will invariably talk about museums, night clubs, attractive people, ethnic diversity, better jobs, public transportation and/or skyscrapers.

But the funny thing is that people who live in cities rarely take full advantage of what they have to offer. I have friends who live in Manhattan but almost never go above 14th St. I have other friends who never even leave Brooklyn. When I lived there I rarely went above the 70s, and even then it was only to go to the park or visit Zabars.

Now that I’m in San Francisco I seem to have inadvertently set the same invisible boundaries for myself. San Francisco is not that big a town, yet I somehow manage to avoid the entire western half of the city. I go to the beach maybe twice a year, and every once in a while I bomb out to The Richmond for some noodle soup, but otherwise that’s it. It’s like my San Francisco is comprised of nothing more than The Mission, SOMA, The Tenderloin, Western Addition and parts of Portrero Hill.

Some of the blame for this goes to mother nature and poor city planning. There’s no easy way to get out to the avenues, and once you’re there it’s almost always cold and foggy. However, I’ve recently started to see the beauty in this. The part of San Francisco that runs down to the ocean is charming in an original and authentic way that sets it apart from the rest of the city. Wandering the streets of The Richmond and The Sunset, you get the sense of neighborhoods that are totally at peace with their surroundings, as though they were built into the environment like Falling Water on a larger scale.

On the human level this manifests itself in a population that is cool by default, not design. When you wander the The Mission you see lots of people trying really hard. But out in the fog belt you see people living their lives in the way that simply suits them best; surfers out by the beach, Asians and Eastern Europeans scattered around their respective restaurants and med students bunched together under the towering campus of UCSF. As an interloper from the other side of town you’re more than welcome to visit, but don’t expect anybody to put on airs for your benefit.

As great as I may or may not have made this part of the city sound, some of you may still need an excuse to come visit. So, just in case great food, a change of scene and interesting people don’t do it for you, allow me to offer this: On Friday night there will be a kick ass music jump-off going down at The Rock-It Room on Clement St. The highly acclaimed math rock/dark folk/electro pop duo The Forms will be making their only Northern California stop as they tour from New York and back. The band’s first two albums received tons of praise from the likes of Pitchfork, Spin and Stereogum. Their new album Derealization features dark pop melodies and spaciously symphonic treatments, not to mention guest performances by members of The National, Dirty Projectors, St. Vincent – just in case you’re taken in by name dropping.

Also on the bill are SF fuzz rock up-and-comers Abatis, who are just finishing up a new album as well. If ever there was a band that benefited from the sum of its influences, this is it. The guys in Abatis have great taste – citing The Black Keys, Queens of the Stone Age and Wolfmother as their power trio of inspiration. The Forms may be the heart of this show, but Abatis are definitely the balls.

So there you have two more great reasons to head west this Friday night. Don’t be afraid. The city’s great embrace reaches all the way around, and will take you in no matter how far out into the fog you wander.

MP3: 'Fire To The Ground (feat. Matt Berninger)'

MP3: 'Headpowers'


For the first time in forever my inbox is down to less than 100 unread messages. Getting it below 500 took the better part of three days. What’s crazy is not that there is so much crap out there – anybody who has spent more than ten minutes looking at the internet knows that the world is full of dumb shit – but rather that out of 500+ promo emails that I’ve gotten over the past few months, there were less than 20 post-worthy submissions.

I know I have some pretty high standards and all, but come on. Some of y’all need to give up the dream and resign yourselves to the fact that you are not, nor will you ever be, good at making music. It’s getting to the point where I get so much bad music sent to me that I’m going to have to create a separate sub-section of this site for the sole purpose of talking shit.

But until that happens, I’ll keep up my tireless effort to bring you the wheat that remains once I have clicked delete on all the digital chaff. To wit, here are 14 pretty sweet jamz. Some of them are from as far back as March. Some of them just came in yesterday. They’re all fresh though.

MP3: ‘Sexy, No?’ (Iretsu)
Post-indie rock from the Pacific Northwest with a little more cock in its walk than you might expect from that part of the world. Kind of a Menomena-meets-Interpol-type thing with well placed highlights on the rhythm section.

MP3: ‘Standing Stones’ (The Devil Whale)
This song sounds like somebody from 1999 got in a time machine, went back to 1965 and recorded music for us to listen to in 2011.

MP3: ‘Fragile Bird’ (City and Colour)
Gritty, macabre indie rock. The video makes me think the song is about some kind of junkie necrophiliac nightmare, but mostly I just like the guitar sound.

MP3: ‘We Are Not Cool’ (Stripmall Architecture)
First of all, that’s a cool band name. Secondly, this song is sex on a platter.

MP3: ‘Free Go Lily’ (Ponchos)
Do you remember that scene in Men In Black II where Will Smith and Biz Markie use beat-boxing to communicate with the aliens? Well, if any super mellow outer space creatures ever visit Earth in real life, I feel like this would be the jam they use to tell us all to chill out.

MP3: ‘Bits & Bytes’ (Fuel Box)
I wanted to hate this because here in the US, this is the kind of music made by bourgeois white kids who use their parents’ money to buy fancy computers and co-opt black culture. But you know what? These guys are from the Netherlands and don’t know anything about that. They just like to get down.

MP3: ‘Swift Way On’ (Minden)
Despite the horribly clumsy drum track, this song still boasts enough slick pop goodness to make the cut. It’s the perfect soundtrack for seducing one of those shy girls who doesn’t smoke, drink or use swear words.

MP3: ‘Knives So Sharp’ (One Trick Pony)
Well put together folk pop from a band that seems to relate strongly to the American consumer. I may be way off here, but I feel like these guys all get together with their guitars and a copy of the business section from the Sunday NY Times and write songs about David Segal’s bi-weekly column.

MP3: ‘Guillotine’ (Death Grips)
I’m way past being an angry teenager, but part of me still loves listening to music that I know would just scare the shit out of my parents.

MP3: ‘Paul Blart & the Death of Art’ (Herzog)
Overtly intellectual slacker rock that reminds me of the feeling of superiority I had about my own tastes in music back when I was in high school.

MP3: ‘I Was Thinking’ (Gauntlet Hair)
I think it was Sasha-Frere Jones who wrote the New Yorker article about how indie rock had forsaken the dance beat. But then all those indie rock kids got samplers, learned how to use Reason and started making songs like this.

MP3: ‘Chicago’ (The Downer Party)
My friend Dave used to be the drummer for Red Wire Black Wire, but he had to quit the band so he could move to Chicago and get his Ph.D. in physics. Every once in a while I will get a message from him saying something like, “working with advanced Li compounds to create better storage options for clean energy” or “ last week I helped one of my professors with a nanotube experiment on the international space station.” Dave is one of the coolest people I know.

MP3: ‘Lament For Morning’ (Raleigh Moncrief)
At the risk of repeating myself, let me just say that I love it when somebody comes out with something that wouldn’t have been a classifiable form of music 50 years ago. And I’m especially tickled when baby boomers are all, “The Beatles are the only good thing that ever happened to music,” and then indie musicians and producers like Raleigh Moncrief are all, “Sorry grandpa, I didn’t hear you. I was too busy using my futuristic recording technology to shift the paradigm. Just let me finish up here and I’ll show you how email works. Again.”

MP3: ‘Come Home’ (Chappo)
Promo material is, as a general rule, loaded with hyperbole and false statements. I usually skip right past it, knowing that the music itself will paint a clearer picture than any over-caffeinated, under-paid PR intern ever could. That said, I feel it’s worth mentioning this one came with a press release that used the expression “super-gnar sexual overtones” and a video of a topless fat guy eating a spray painted watermelon on what was supposed to be an unknown alien planet.

I have mixed feelings about a lot of the musical genres that fall under the far-flung retro/derivative/throwback/classic style banner. In some cases, I really like the original stuff (old school metal, golden era hip-hop) so when I hear a new artist aping that style, it’s pretty easy for me to like them too – especially if they do a good job of it.

On the other hand, there are a lot of genres that I never really liked the first time around – like disco or psych rock – so it’s hard for me to get excited about a new band that’s doing the same thing. I was never into the 13th Floor Elevators, so it stands to reason that I wouldn’t like a band that sites them as a primary influence.

But really, this is a boring conversational topic best left to music nerds arguing  late at night over stylishly cheap beer. I am decidedly more fascinated by artists who break the mould, who work to create something entirely brand new – something that a time traveler from 50 years ago wouldn’t even be able to classify. I wasn’t around to see Charlie Parker blow people’s minds back in the 1940s, but I imagine it would have given me a thrill.

Because I’m not 100 years old however, my frame of reference comes from the first time I heard The Soft Bulletin by The Flaming Lips. This was the first rock album to really harness the power of digital editing, using ProTools like it was the conductor of a genre-bending indie rock orchestra. The sticker on the cover of my promo copy said something like, “Groundbreaking! Reminds you that there are still untested boundaries, that music has limitless possibilities.”

This is what I was thinking when I heard the new album from the 4AD artist known as Tune-Yards (or tUnE-YarDs, if you’re nasty). Tune-Yards (neé Merrill Garbus) combines ukulele, saxophones, looped drums and voices, and scratchy found sounds to create a musical pastiche that references everything from West African Highlife to lo-fi bedroom pop. Garbus sings in a painfully beautiful androgynous wail that manages to evoke both tribal chanting and the entire cannon of soul music. And yet, this is not difficult music. It is subtle, percussive and catchy. The track “Gangsta” has been stuck in my head since the album dropped two weeks ago.

And then there’s this video. I don’t like kids or dancing or face paint, but I’ve watched this video a half a dozen times already. I might be addicted to it. Somehow the combination of swirling colors, happy children and Matrix-esque slow-mo camera work come together to create a beautiful piece of visual poetry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a video that so perfectly matches the music it was created for.

Of course, like all good music, Tune-Yards is almost impossible to describe. But this video does a pretty good job of getting the idea across. It’s new, it’s uncharted, it’s wonderful. It “reminds you that there are still untested boundaries, that music has limitless possibilities.”

I’ve always envied my easy-going friends. They seem to move through life without stress, regardless of looming responsibilities and the ever-present prospects of tragedy, failure and natural disasters. That is not me. I worry about everything. What if my work isn’t good enough? What if I don’t make the right choices? What if there’s a huge earthquake and everything I know and love falls to pieces?

In light of recent global events, this last one should be on everyone’s mind – especially here in California. We sit atop a Jenga-like assembly of constantly shifting tectonic plates and we all know that it’s just a matter of time before the big one hits. Watching footage of sturdy, modern Japanese cities reduced to rubble, I couldn’t keep my mind from slipping into a terrifying slide show of worst-case scenarios.

You can’t stay in this head space for too long though, or you’ll quickly find yourself in a closed loop of paranoia and anxiety. The rational side of me understands this. I do what I can to prepare for the worst; my house is fortified with an arsenal of seismic upgrades, I have a cache of food, water, and medical supplies. By all objective measures I’m about as prepared as a person living in earthquake country can be. Still, I feel like it’s not enough. What if there’s a fire? What if societal order breaks down and my friendly neighbors turn into violent, gun-toting looters? A lot of good my stash of band-aids and candy bars would do me then.

The solution, I believe, is not to think rationally about this. Practically speaking, the best thing to do would be to load up on guns, move to Utah and build myself a bunker, thereby insulating myself from the world and its stream of constant tragedy. I would be safe from war, disease and the unpredictable and erratic wrath of god, and I could at last put my mind at ease.

But that’s not living. Life is an inherently risky endeavor, and it doesn’t always work out safely or peacefully. Shutting yourself away from its risks also means excluding yourself from its beauty and joy. Besides, we all know that the guy locked away in an underground bomb shelter doesn’t stop worrying about these things. Instead, with none of life’s beauty to distract him, he becomes hyper-focused on the evil in the world. Eventually this focus turns to madness and the guy ends up on a violent and deranged shooting spree at the local shopping mall.

Back to thinking irrationally; the best course is probably one of humor. Sure, we live on a giant spider vein of fault lines, but have you seen the weather here? It’s like 72 degrees and sunny almost every day of the year. Besides, the girls are hot, the produce is all organic and our baseball team is awesome. We might all die in a giant natural disaster one day, but until then we are living the good life.

I was thinking this exact thought while reading about the failed Japanese nuclear reactors when an album from the Portland band Radiation City showed up in my inbox. It’s yet another side project from SF ex-pats Raised By Robots, but it’s huge departure from their wild, cacophonous sound. To my ears, The Hands That Take You is a love letter to the end of fear. The songs bubble and swell with a playful mix of quiet electronics and soaring choruses. It’s indie bedroom pop at its finest. I’ve already listened to the record twice today, and each time I was left with the same feeling – like a sunset, a strong drink and a kiss in the dark got together to sing me a lullaby. And I felt better.

Yes, the world will one day come to an end. And yes, the city may one day be consumed by a thick cloud of radiation. Sooner or later the earth will quake, and our world will be turned upside down. But until then, I’m going to soak up the sunshine, laugh off the fear and listen to Radiation City one more time.

Radiation City plays The Hemlock Tavern on Tuesday 4/26/11 with Phantom Kicks and Ash Reiter

MP3: 'Salsaness'

MP3: 'Park'


New York and LA are the entertainment capitals of the world. Regardless of what your personal feelings are for those two cities, there’s no denying that they are responsible for the vast majority of blockbuster movies and successful rock bands. They also churn out a sizeable portion of the the country’s rappers, visual artists and dancers.

But this is a great big country, with a lot of people spread across a great big land mass. And while a lot of the cool kids flock to the coasts to start bands and chase the Hollywood dream, there are still quite a few that find places with cheap rent and minimal distraction where they can hole up and focus all of their energy on producing art.

Every now and then one of these small towns dishes up a bunch of cool stuff all at once and the rest of the country stops to take notice. That’s how Seattle, Portland and Athens, GA all earned their stripes. I love it when this happens because it tricks the media into shining a light on a bunch of artists that were quietly making art for themselves. All of a sudden, the paradigm is reversed. Rather than having a bunch of artists who have to conform to some oddly commercial sensibilities in order to get noticed, the media notices the artists largely because they are part of a regional scene that has been operating outside of these sensibilities.

I’m not sure that Nashville, TN really qualifies as a scene that has been hiding in complete anonymity. The city has long been recognized as the world headquarters of country music. However, it is quickly becoming apparent that Nashville is also the new unofficial home of the rock. Be Your Own Pet got the party started a little while ago, quickly followed by JEFF The Brotherhood (which is sorta the same band), Turbo Fruits and The Ettes. However, it is only recently that the true kings of this block have emerged.

Heypenny is the brainchild of Ben Elkins. After releasing a few one-man efforts under this moniker and cycling through a dizzying procession of drummers, Elkins relocated to Music City and settled on a line-up that includes Aaron Distler, DJ Murphy, James Wallace and an array of vintage televisions. Together they set to work crafting new material designed specifically to blow audiences’ minds.

The result is Heypenny’s new album A Jillion Kicks. The music here is so wild and eclectic it would take a crazed anthropologist to accurately dissect all its parts. On some tracks dry thumping drums rumble under a disco chorus of back-up singers. On others, synthesizers blast like lasers through a mash-up history of pop styles; 50s doo-wop races to keep up with 80s teeny-bop which, in turn, dissolves in the anthemic rock that psycho-cerebral bands like MGMT and Of Montreal made popular at the beginning of the 21st century. It’s like some sort of weird human-computer hybrid took a bunch of acid and then spent a year plugged into the internet, downloading everything ever posted on an indie music blog.

All of this makes for a very compelling album, but it’s not what got me. That honor belongs to the stand-out track “Water.” To my ears, this song embodies everything great about rock n roll. The guitars jangle and rip the rhythm to shreds. The drums kick at the beat like it owes them money. The bass and synths team up to generate a foaming wall of fuzz that threatens to spill out of the speakers at any minute. And last but not least, the vocals soar into a ballsy falsetto in a sideways tribute to every rock god from Freddie Mercury to Chris Cornell. Throw in some hand claps, thick riffs and a shot of vodka and you have a recipe for rock n roll perfection.

Congratulations Nashville – New York and LA have agreed to sit this one out. It looks like it’s your time to shine. Personally, I can’t wait to see what else you’ve got up your sleeve.

Heypenny is playing a bunch of SXSW dates this year. If you’re going to be in Austin, do yourself a favor and check them out.

MP3: 'Water'


According to my own very unscientific studies, there are hundreds of thousands of music-related websites online. Possibly millions. Some of them have big budget advertising accounts and site traffic that rivals The New York Times. Others provide hourly coverage of popular bands and employ a dedicated staff of contributors. Most of them are run by one or two devoted individuals who put a lot of time and effort into daily reviews and updates. But no matter which music site you’re talking about, it’s safe to say that almost all of them are more popular than this one.

And yet, I get a crap load of promo material from bands and their PR people. Seriously. In the time it took me to type this sentence, I got 13 new emails. While this makes me feel real special and all, it also makes it nearly impossible to keep up with the tide of new music. I don’t know how a site like Pitchfork or Brooklyn Vegan does it. They must have an army of interns who do nothing all day but delete email blasts from their general mailbox.

I’m not complaining. I feel lucky that somebody took the time to put my website on a list and then sell that list to hundreds of PR firms across the country. But in the interest of time, efficiency and my day job, I’m going to have to start doing this kind of uzi-style post, where I just try to hit as many good bands as possible.

So, to the bands listed below: It’s not that I love you any less. It’s just that I’m overwhelmed right now and I only have time to give you a sentence or two. And let’s be honest; anybody who has spent any time reading these posts knows I usually only devote a sentence or two to the actual music anyway. Just think of this as all the wheat without any of that needlessly wordy chaff.

MP3: 'Mr. Bones' (Tiny Victories)

Buoyant electro-pop from Brooklyn. Synthesizers, samples and an underlying sense of optimism that I can’t quite put my finger on, but love just the same.

MP3: 'Cut From A Different Clay' (Phantom Kicks)

This is one of the many side-projects that grew out of the ashes of SF band Raised By Robots. But where that band was angular, noisy and featured lots of shouting, Phantom Kicks are more controlled, using dynamics and vocal harmonies to make music that is beautiful and dramatic.

MP3: 'Henry Don't Got Love' (Le Butcherettes)

A quasi-goth Mexican garage punk band fronted by a girl who goes by the name of Teri Gender Bender. So, uh, put that in your pipe and smoke it.

stream only 'Simmerdown' (Nostalgia 77)


Nostalgia 77 is actually producer/engineer/DJ Benedic Lamdin, who has released almost a dozen LPs over the years. This track features guest vocalist Josa Peit. As the title suggests, it moves calmly along with a hazy, sunset jazz-funk vibe.

MP3: 'Touching Down' (Therapies Son)

This is what happens when a kid from Van Nuys discovers The Band, ELO and magic mushrooms all at the same time. Ambling, psychedelic and wonderful.

MP3: 'Sirena'(Making Movies)

Leave it to a Latin band to bring sexy back to indie rock. This slinky guitar jam has just the right amount of (forgive me) spicy salsa to give it kick. ¡Muy bueno!

MP3: 'Eclectic Prawn' (Dumbo Gets Mad)

What sounds like a whole band of troubadours tripping on sunshine is actually a single Italian guy known as Dumbo Gets Mad. ‘Eclectic Prawn’ is a spastic funky pop explosion, sprinkled with tape feedback and acid-laced sugar cubes.

MP3: 'Mirabell' (Bridges And Powerlines)

So I’ve got a thing for electro-pop bands from Brooklyn. That shit sounds nice, ok? This band is no exception. The crafty blend of gurgling synthesizers, vocal harmonies and heavy, broken percussion is a recipe for success. Suck it Portland!

MP3: 'Congratulationz' (Treekeeper)

Hot damn! This is the kind of music that makes me want to drink a bottle of designer vodka and stick my hand in an electric outlet. Razor sharp instrumental hip hop with a thumping beat and a one-two punch of power and mischief.