» RELATED: "Lick It Up: Kiss' Top Six Double-Entendre Songs" [Express, Oct. 2009]
FORGET KISS' CRAPPY 1999 association with WCW, which featured the group mucking up "God of Thunder" on "Nitro" and introducing The Demon, a wrestler based on Gene Simmons' stage persona. The band and sports entertainment really are kindred spirits, sharing a similar storyline, one that includes a spectacular rise, an uncertain fall and a resurrection as PG entertainment for the entire family.
In the 1970s, kids didn't know if professional wrestling was real (a shoot) or fake (a work), and the over-the-top cartoon characters in the ring might as well been real to a child. The same goes for Kiss, whose growth from cult band to cultural icons was helped along by the ongoing mystery of who was behind the spooky makeup, what they were really like when they weren't spitting blood, and was Ace Frehley really from outer space?
So, when singer-guitarist Paul Stanley invoked Stone Cold Steve Austin's name while teaching the multi-generational Kiss Army how to sing "Black Diamond" on Tuesday at Verizon Center, it brought the whole rassin' and rockin' combo together once again. Plus, they share a mostly working-class fan-base — one that often spans from father to son and mother to daughter, all clad in official gear — who really couldn't care what you think about their tastes.
Continue Reading "A Shoot and a Work: Kiss, Live at Verizon Center" »
I WOULD LIKE to idealize my past. Unfortunately, I can't remember much of it. Sure, the bitter bits remain as clear as Caribbean water, but too much of the good stuff — time spent with friends, playing sports, traveling — has been swept into the dustbin of my brain.
That's why on Tuesday at 9:30 Club it felt like I was seeing The Psychedelic Furs for the very first time, even though I've seen the 32-year-old New Wave group at least once, maybe twice. (Even my friends are struggling to remember when and where we convened to hear "Pretty in Pink" and "President Gas" in 1980s Michigan.)
Like so many '80s groups these days, the Furs aren't touring to promote a new record; they're touring because it's their job, because people will still pay to hear a good version of "Heaven" sung live, just like they remember it — and maybe then forgot it — the first time.
Continue Reading "Let It Stay Forever Now: The Psychedelic Furs & Happy Mondays" »
IN THE AGE of Twitter and DVRs, short attention spans aren't just the norm, they're necessary. How else to even feign keeping up with all the interesting things happening in the world — from entertainment and politics to science and sports — unless they come in edited bursts that cut the fat and compress time?
On Monday night I had the equivalent of a DVR-aided concert-going experience, and I wish I could bottle the efficiency in which I rocked.
Black Cat was hosting the U.K. indie-rock triumvirate We Were Promised Jetpacks, BrakesBrakesBrakes and The Twilight Sad, and 9:30 Club had a night of international headbanging with The Faceless, 3 Inches of Blood, Between the Buried and Me and In Flames.
The goal was to see Jetpacks, then shoot over to 9:30 for In Flames, and then back in Black Cat in time for The Twilight Sad — and the schedule-makers agreed with my plan. The posted schedules had Jetpacks at 9 p.m., In Flames at 10:10 p.m. and The Twilight Sad at 11 p.m., and thanks to the efficiency of the clubs, things ran just 10 minutes behind for both venues, allowing me to indulge in my twin passions — and I'm sure they're yours, too — for Scottish indie-emo and melodic Swedish death metal.
Continue Reading "Live, Through This: We Were Promised Jetpacks, In Flames, The Twilight Sad" »
HALLOWEEN CAME about a month early this year, in the form of last night's Lady Gaga show at DAR Constitution Hall. The ladies in the audience were dressed in outfits reminiscent of some of Gaga's most memorable getups: there were leotards and fishnets aplenty -- not to mention shiny stretch leggings, frilly miniskirts and, er, less. You could call it either empowering or tacky -- but it made for some really fantastic people-watching. (Say what you will about Gaga's garments, but at least she has the figure to pull 'em off. The same cannot be said for much of the Constitution Hall crowd.)
Not to be outdone by her fans, Gaga's 70-minute set included four wardrobe changes, ranging from a futuristic silver minidress to a black, sequined thong leotard to a coat made of bubbles.
With so little left to the imagination, it's no surprise that Gaga defined her mission thus: "My art is liberation. I make music and I make shows to make my fans feel free."
Continue Reading "Live Review: Lady Gaga at DAR Constitution Hall" »
IF THIS ROCK band thing doesn't work out, Tea Leaf Green singer-keyboardist Trevor Garrod has a backup plan: cruise-ship pianist.
Earlier this month, Tea Leaf Green went aboard Jam Cruise, a voyage filled with jam bands rocking out on a ship's deck. Onboard was a grand piano, one several of the ship's piano men tried out, including Garrod.
"I just got to dust off some of my lounge accent," Garrod said. "There is this sort of alter ego that I have, kind of more private than my lounge act. I would love to sit around all afternoon and just croon some of the standards."
Continue Reading "Turning Over a New ... Sound: Tea Leaf Green" »
IT HAD BEEN 20 YEARS since I last saw AC/DC: May 14, 1988, at Joe Louis Arena in Detroit. I was well into my new wave/punk/house music phase by then, but there are some musical things a rural-Michigan-raised kid never outgrows: Kiss, J. Geils and AC/DC. Those three acts broke in the Great Lakes State before the rest of America caught up, so it was my civil duty to go see the band on the "Blow Up Your Video Tour."
Some tidbits about that 1988 show: hair-metal forgettables White Lion opened, killed "Wait" and sucked horribly with everything else; lookalike nephew Stevie Young filled in for an alcohol-pickled Malcolm on rhythm guitar; and I seem to remember lead guitarist Angus rising out of the stage in a rocketship that looked suspiciously like a penis.
In other words, it was awesome.
So, when AC/DC announced Sat., Nov. 15, as the D.C. date for its "Black Ice" tour, I threw my hat in the Washington Post's assignment ring as early as I could — for if I wasn't going to cover it for the paper, I was going to buy tickets the second they were available.
Thankfully, Our Kid at the poppa paper, J. Freedom, hooked me up, and my review is in today's paper.
But my notebook was filled with fanboy scribblings that didn't make the cut, so here's a loose collection of deep thoughts on AC/DC — are there any other kind?
Continue Reading "Love at First Feel: AC/DC Live at Verizon Center" »
DAMIAN ABRAHAM LOVES punk rock. The lead singer of Fucked Up is a hardcore record collector (pun intended), and since this is the home of harDCore, it wasn't surprising when he asked his bandmates to do one more song at the Rock & Roll Hotel on Sunday: a cover of Wire's "12XU," which Minor Threat recorded and to which Abraham wanted to pay a self-described "cheesy" tribute.
Deep down, however, you know he really meant the homage.
But when the song went off like a car crash, Abraham pushed guitarist 10,000 Marbles and then spilled half of Mr. Jo's drum kit before jumping off stage. (It was the second time he left the performance, actually; earlier he dashed off the dais in order to puke up all the nachos he ate before the show.)
"DONNIE WAHLBERG, Donnie Wahlberg?" said a man hawking tickets on the corner of F and 7th Streets, adapting his usual "Got tickets, got tickets?" catch phrase for the hordes of twenty- and thirtysomething women pouring into the Verizon Center last night.
To a non-New Kids on the Block fan, this fella wouldn't make a lot of sense. But if you asked, say, a 27-year-old girl whose parents didn't let her go to a NKOTB show when she was eight-years-old ... uh ... for instance ... she'd know this living Stub Hub was referring to the New Kid responsible for getting the guys together for this reunion tour.
A chance for unclaimed childhood nostalgia — and this time with beer!
Thanks but no thanks we told the guy; we had our tickets — the cheapest seats, which set us back $52 each to sit in the nosebleeds. Riding the Verizon Center escalator to the 400 level, the excitement was palpable. But at 9:15 p.m. the show had already started, with "You've Got It (The Right Stuff)" reverberating throughout the now empty stadium hallways.
"We're missing it!"
"First let's get beer!"
Continue Reading "Hangin' Tough Hangover: New Kids on the Block" »
I'M SUFFERING FROM a fun hangover, and James is to blame.
I was just one bopping body in a sold-out crowd that jammed the 9:30 Club last night to see the Manchester lads take the stage. It was a Britpoppy performance that rippled with energy, with verve, with emotion.
It's a show that I never thought would happen.
After two decades of indie stardom, a few mainstream breakouts — "Laid" and "Sit Down," most prominently — and helping to fuel the careers of bands like Nirvana, Radiohead and Coldplay (all former opening acts), James effectively broke up when singer Tim Booth bowed out in 2001.
Now seven years later, reunion rumblings have evolved into a smashing new album and a tour that takes the band to New York tonight and New Jersey over the weekend.
They're in for a kick-ass show. From the first note through the final bows two-and-a-half hours later, Booth and the gang displayed the vivacity of a group half their age but the seasoning to target their songs toward that perfect psychic note.
During their undulating first set, they wowed with the life-affirming glamishness of "Bubbles," soothed and prioritized with "Waterfall" and struck a political chord with the anti-war "Hey Ma."
IMAGINE IF GEORGE MICHAEL had been granted the opportunity to become popular. Let's put that another way: Imagine if George Michael had been granted the freedom to detach himself from a record label that exploited him (Sony), so that he could become a prolific songwriter rather than a novelty act.
Tuesday's sold-out performance at the Verizon Center chronicled more than just the former Wham! frontman's musical maturation and hairstyles. It presented a living — albeit abbreviated — history lesson on the fickleness of a music industry intent on treating its talent like professional slaves.
After Michael's wildly successful album "Faith," released in 1987, he went on record stating his reticence to be a puppet for his label. As a result, his next studio recording, "Listen Without Prejudice, Vol. 1," was perhaps the crooner's flashiest work, and probably his most modest. Shrugging off the status of a preening sex symbol, he refused to appear in the now-iconic music video (featuring a bevy of bathing beauties including the supermodels Linda Evangelista and Cindy Crawford) for his song "Freedom 90." Michael got little airplay in America after that, and his creative output was stifled by lawsuits and frustrations.
That was then; this is now.
Continue Reading "Freedom '08: George Michael at Verizon Center" »
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