For one Gainesville band, a day in the life involves a walk down Penny Lane, past the strawberry fields, across the universe and back in the U.S.S.R.
Ever wondered what would happen if the Girl from Ipanema bumped into one of the Strokes in a tiki bar in Waikiki? Meet "Little Joy." A happenstance collaboration between Fabrizio Moretti and Rodrigo Amarante, the debut album from the prince of New York and his new Brazilian bud taps into a wistful, pre-rock 'n' roll era sound brimming with bossa-nova charm and Rat Pack cool. Chock full of ukulele, staccato guitar and love-styled horns, these woozily delicate lounge-pop songs, especially standouts "Keep Me in Mind" and "Brand New Start," carve out a singular niche: irony-free indie for hipsters who dig hula and Frank Sinatra. This might well be a come-and-go one-off, so here's hoping LJ's "aloha" means hello, not goodbye.
Fast women. Fast cars. Fast-forward - all of it. Hinder looks like they're posing for the next episode of "MTV Cribs" on the cover of "Take It to the Limit," and their look-at-my-bling posing proves to be, by a long mile, the most tasteful element of this Mötley Crüe tribute package. "Use Me" kicks off the testosterone-fueled showboating with a dazzling display of cocksure guitar rawk sure to boil the blood of any aspiring Ultimate Fighting champion. The Bon Jovi-ripping follow-up "Loaded and Alone" will stoke your hair-metal hunger pangs by prompting a crazed YouTube search for "Livin' on a Prayer." Let's be frank: Hinder is compensating for something. You know what they say about bands with big vocals and bigger guitars: small ideas.
You say you want a revolution, and you got one, Tom Gabel. Now what? If the measure of a good protest album is that it still sounds important when there's not as much to protest, then "Heart Burns" passes with flying red, white and blue colors. Detached from its weighty political agenda, the fearless screamer's solo EP would still rouse a sweaty, brothers-in-arms battle cry, due in no small part to impressive sonic diversity. Opener "Random Hearts" works as a new-wave dance track while the folky "Anna Is A Stool Pigeon" - best line: "Eric fell in love with an FBI informant" - peels back layers of calloused tattoos to reveal a soft side. In these lighter moments, Gabel's message becomes clear: When you talk about destruction, don't you know that you can count me out.
Q magazine calls this album "essential," which suggests that Snow Patrol has pictures on the editors of said magazine. The two defining elements about this hook-challenged, wuss-rock are its neutrality - this is the Switzerland of pop music - and "If There's a Rocket Tie Me to It." Great title. "Take Back the City" and "Please Just Take These Photos from My Hands," which have ho-hum titles, are actually peppy, catchy little numbers. "Peppy" and "catchy" cannot otherwise be associated with this record. For those who noticed the inconsistency of this review - a neat line or two scattered amongst sketchy, bland ones - now you know what it's like to listen to "A Hundred Million Suns."
College students in Gainesville have the ability to go to a different club or bar every night of the week, but it can be useful to find a place that becomes "your spot."
We want our sex like we want everything else: right now. Society, unfortunately, has burdened us with niggling demands, known to some as public decency laws, that prevent us from dealing with our tingles and jingles in a time-efficient manner. But to avoid getting slapped with indecent exposure charges, you don't need to go home to have sex. Just don't get caught. Embrace the art of the covert quickie.
I bite my fingernails shamelessly.
Braxton Adamson and his band, 3 Story Fall, are doing things backward. Adamson's played at Gator Growl in front of 40,000 people. The band has played in front of enormous crowds, opening for legendary acts such as Kansas and the Doobie Brothers, and it has sponsorships that provide members with free instruments, clothing and equipment. These are all privileges usually only enjoyed by major acts, but this band doesn't even have a record deal.
The latest trend in pop culture may never die out - that is, if vampires are really immortal. Pushing pirates and wizards aside, the release of books such as "Twilight" and television shows such as "True Blood" shows that vampires have seemingly reclaimed their spot in the entertainment industry.
There's a new Bond in town, and "Quantum of Solace" doesn't hesitate to showcase this fact. Making a distinct move from the Pierce Brosnan era, "Quantum of Solace" has a more realistic James Bond, quick-moving action sequences and, to the disappointment of almost every guy in the theater, no sex scenes with the lead actress (Olga Kurylenko).
From "Zach and Miri Make a Porno" to "High School Musical 3: Senior Year," there seems to be a lot of coming-of-age movies playing this fall. Though they all span different ages on the 18 to 39 range and have individual takes on the genre, they boil down to basically the same struggles, general plot points and quirky romantic involvements, which can get boring. But "Role Models" takes the conventions of the genre and somewhat reinvents them in a way that is both original and hysterical.
When Von Iva takes the stage, it doesn't just play - it bursts your eardrums, tears the roof off, electrifies the floor and brings the walls down.
Imagine a world where music is free: Where struggling bands can survive without charging fans for their albums. It's not a socialist society, and it's not a utopia. It's already happening.
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The CD spine says Lady GaGa, but music for "The Fame" was actually co-written by Bilal Hajji, Josh Schwartz and a handful of other less attractive, more talented songwriters who churn out star-making cuts for the likes of Britney Spears and Nick Carter. You won't see the funnily-named song writer Brian Kierulf on "The Hills," but GaGa, a Factory Girl in training, hit up an Audrina party on said program thanks in large part to catchy, beat-heavy club cuts like "Paparazzi" and "Money Honey." Don't equate GaGa with fluff. She flourishes lyrically - "Let's have some fun, this beat is sick." And she pulls her weight in marketing: Rob Fusari can't rock jet-black spandex, and Martin Kierszenbaum doesn't sell records.
Alert the accent authorities. Joining a long list of faux pond-hoppers - Madonna, Johnny Ramone - On "Not Only … But Also," The 88 take their sunny, So-Cal pop tunes and cake them with a heavy layer of English inflection. You can't blame these lads for wanting to sound like the Beatles, but fact is, their talents lie elsewhere. For instance, Keith Slettedahl manages some Blind Melon-esque notes on uptempo ballad "Sons and Daughters." "Save Your Breath" fits the heart-on-sleeve, crooner mold, though impressively displays powers of ESP with the line "I don't want this anymore." Mind reader! Still, bogus Brit-pop influences undercut melodies like, "I'm gonna run through the door/ talk to the floor/ it must be true." A word of advice: Lock the door. The British are coming, sort of.
In a university that relies on massive, lecture-based classes to educate a herd of students, it's easy to feel neglected and forgotten. However, I recently found that being another face in the crowd has its benefits.
Chris McCarty, the dreadlocked singer-songwriter and Gainesville native, is on the tip of a major breakthrough into the national music scene.
Solutions by The State News
