Their venue burned down in Boone, N.C., They played to a crowd of more than 100. They played to a crowd of less than 10. They were greeted by a shotgun-wielding man in the mountains while attempting to find another venue, a house party thrown by people on house arrest.
A blustery force of innate headwinds faces every incoming freshman at UF, and that's before you count the crappy weather. For starters, there's the budget deficit strangling the liberal arts program (hope you're good at engineering!) and, for those who get hosed by the lottery system, the impossibility of scoring football tickets without selling a kidney. These challenges may seem daunting but manageable with determination and a spare organ.
Feeling the pinch yet? Getting squeezed at the pump? Gouged at the grocery store? Not to worry. While Congress waffles over another round of stimulus checks and Sen. John McCain whets the collective petroleum appetite by dangling a gas tax holiday just out of reach of this nation's penny-pinching fingertips, Nine Inch Nails is actually offering a whiff of wallet-sparing practicality.
"We're from Oakland, Calif., but we love Chicago," was the sentiment echoed by Zach Rogue after his band, Rogue Wave, ended their first song for Lollapalooza 2008. As tens of thousands descended upon Grant Park, it was hard to imagine anyone disagreeing with the statement. Lines were long and seat-saving situations grew tense, even downright nasty as the Chicago sun began to set. But these moments couldn't ruin the eventful and eclectic weekend of music.
Being the son of a famous band member has its perks.
For all those who don't get their nightly fill of Entertainment Tonight, let me recount the story of Miami native and fast food enthusiast Tamien Bain. A self-described "up-and-coming" rapper, Bain penned a Big Mac chant (a la "two all beef patties…") and was one of five finalists contending to replace the sandwich's original jingle by way of an online 40th anniversary contest. Here's the rub: Bain held up a McDonald's when he was 14.
Being the son of a famous band member has its perks.
Life isn't fair, and you need not tell this to The Hold Steady. In any justice-esteeming society, 2006's critically adored "Boys and Girls in America," an album crammed with hook-filled sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll throwbacks, would have landed the band the fanatical arena, following its unofficial designation as the scraggly incarnation of The E Street Band. Instead, they got a few nods in year-end polls and a billing on last year's Lollapalooza poster that was only slightly more visible than The Fratellis.
It is time to once again review some of the albums that have been stacking up and spilling over in the office. In the month since my last rapid-fire review, the CDs have multiplied like gremlins in a swimming pool. Fortunately, the music seems less dismal than in the past endeavor.
Bands come and go in Gainesville with the four-year cycle of students filtering through the college town.
For most, 38th birthdays come and go with little cause for contemplation. For Beck - alpha loser, fifth Beatle, fourth Beastie Boy - 38 means finding himself knee-deep in a mid-life crisis, contemplating worldly ills and taking stock in a self-destructing society that's making a beeline for the pit of hell.
David Berman, you've got to hide your love away.
All rules are out the window when it comes to experimental music. Primal screams, scratchy dialogue, looping riffs and ambient echoes are just some of the sounds at a typical Action Research show.
Fleet Foxes isn't your father's Seattle band. The five-piece Puget pioneers avoid flannel, regularly bathe and - here's the real departure - seem genuinely happy to be alive. These guys have aesthetic taste, favoring 16th century cover artwork over naked babies (Nirvana) and mangy farm animals (Pearl Jam). Of greater importance, the group's brand of Brian Wilson-flavored folk lullaby makes more noise in blogs than in stadiums, a telltale sign that they are out of place and time.
One after another, cars poured out of the Wal-Mart parking lot in the quaint town of Manchester, Tenn. Thursday morning.
"We are young despite the years we are concern/ We are hope despite the times." So sings Michael Stipe on R.E.M.'s classic "These Days," the band's statement of purpose and a tune that had been rattling in my head a full week prior to an early summer gig at the University of California, Berkeley campus. The song rocks, no questions asked, but it's also slightly cringe-inducing, should you picture it played by three middle-aged hipsters - one frumpy (Peter Buck), one bald (Stipe) and one timelessly nerdy (Mike Mills). It also begs the question, are these guys full of it? Twenty years on, are once-ballsy claims now as hollow as one of Buck's signature Rickenbackers? In short, does R.E.M. still matter?
Joe Loffredo leads a double life. By day, he sports a button-down shirt tucked into khaki slacks. By night, he dons a bandana and high-top sneakers.
While you may not run into Soulja Boy on campus, critiquing local musicians can be risky. In the attempt to discover local music and at the suggestion of a fellow writer, below is a local band review.
Not many guitar heroes make it through their high school years without getting slapped with the dropout tag, so it's even more impressive that Weezer frontman Rivers Cuomo gets to flaunt a bachelor's degree in English from Harvard University. A decade-long stint with the Ivy League's finest must afford one all kinds of vital knowledge, and yet Cuomo still can't wrap his horn-rimmed head around the law of diminishing returns.
Rock is not dead. We can thank all of the recent band reunions for attempting to repeat what was once good. A flip through the pages of Rolling Stone magazine reveals more and more bands coming out of retirement.
Solutions by The State News
