Tag: Pokey Lafarge

The Jesus Lizard are back, like a delicious headache you thought was gone but is now raging.

Guppy will make you feel like a million bucks, wreck your car, and make you lose your security deposit.

It was a night for mazzy music, starting with a startlingly woozy track from Maya Hawke and following up with entries from many other exemplary female vocalists with a unique sense of melody and delivery. Also, it’s now light when I leave for the radio station, and midnight when I return, which adds a sense of interdimensional time travel to the broadcasting ritual, I’m going to enjoy that for a few more shows before it’s back to operating under the cover of darkness.

Back to the tried and true formula of new, old, obscure, and occasionally weird with tonight’s set, which features the return of Les Savy Fav and their always welcome abrasive electropunk. It’s now that time of year when I enter the studio in daylight and exit in pitch black darkness, which I always appreciate. In between, there were lots of exciting discoveries. Expect more heavily-censored Guppy in coming weeks!

When you are bored with every sound you hear, the Universe will send you an entire collection of songs to make you break out in an involuntary smile, like Goodbye Honolulu's latest.

If The Wedding Present were the traditional sort, they would be bringing coral to the festivities. This one is from earlier in their career, closer to the wood years, but the Velvet Underground never goes out of style. This is from another good VU tribute album, Heaven and Hell from 1991 or so.

The rich wood floorboards were squeaking under the strain of the game. They had removed their shoes, sketched out the board using a special beeswax that would not damage the finish, and were hopping as lightly as they could, for they respected the solemnity of their location. Nonetheless, the portraits lining the Hall of Admirals in the Museo Maritimo Nacional felt they finally had something to frown about, their serious Chilean brows furrowed in naval concern as they observed the farrier and the anthropologist enjoying their tournament.

If the name didn’t give it away, this is suitable for slow-dancing cowboys, at least as they exist in our imagination. The crooning voice floats lithely over western swing and doo-wop influences to make you either start or stop howling at the moon.

Billy Martin’s drumming makes me think of oxymorons like “precisely sloppy” and “intensely casual” and “red hot chill out”.

Well into their third decade, G. Love and Special Sauce still sound like they are in no particular hurry to get there.