The Good, The Bad, and The Courtney – A Mini Review of SXSW

This year, South By Southwest was even more of a business trip for me. Not a search and destroy mission of boys, bands, and booze as it was for a lot of my friends. I had notes and cards, I had a freaking power point presentation…would I find the time to enjoy some aural pleasure?

As a panelist I felt a weighty duty to teach and impart pearls of wisdom to the musicians, label people and publicists who braved the rivers of green beer and gathered in the Convention Center for my seminar, Working The Press; Intellectual Intercourse and Interviews.

photo by christopher holcombe

We spent an hour discussing how to land a good radio or TV interview and how to behave properly once you do.

I realized as I was speaking that I was doing it, not only for the audience, but also for myself and my fellow hosts. As I showed the infamous clip of Johnny Rotten behaving badly on The Tom Snyder show, as well as that blisteringly uncomfortable Billy Bob Thornton interview, I realized that I may be helping many of my fellow talk show hosts and radio DJs in the process.

We are not the enemy. We are there to help and we love music just as much as the ones who create it. OK, so my speech was a little Jerry McGuire and a little Almost Famous. I got very Cameron Crowe on their asses. But I borrow from the best.

After the seminar was done, it was rock and roll camp time. Every year, SXSW becomes a bit more unmanageable. More corporate sponsors bring in their forts and tents and unapproved soirees that overshadow the showcasing bands who bust ass to get to Texas and play their hearts out.

I’m not complaining about a free taco and a margarita but I think its a fucking shame that Perez Hilton spends thousands of dollars to paint a building pink, and fly Snoop Dog in for a party that will ultimately keep thousands of people from going to a showcase where a hardworking band (who probably spent every cent they had to get out to Austin) is playing. It sucks and it’s not what SxSw is about. Well, like Sundance, it’s unfortunately what SxSw has become.

I did attend some parties, but I tried to balance it out with showcasing bands and up and coming acts. Here is a cross-section of some of the highs and lows, deep in the heart of Texas.

photo by Eugene Hernandez

I caught a Shadow Shadow Shade performance/taping at the IFC studios Tuesday evening. The band formerly known as Afternoons took to the stage to play some sunny pop in the crowded studios. Though the songs were well crafted and well-played, they didn’t hold my attention very long.

Unfortunately, this was something that was a common occurence this week and a deadly problem for any band vying for attention in a city with thousands of others playing slots at any given time. A LOT of bands in LA/Silverlake right now have that throwback 70s sunny Cali pop sound. I don’t dislike it. In fact, I do like it. What I don’t like is when everything gets very samey. I don’t blame the bands for this, necessarily. I just find it hard to listen to all of it over and over again. When everything begins to sound the same (whether it be sunny pop, electronic MGMT stuff, Emopunk, Hotel cafe, or whatever,) then you better be THE BEST out there, or you will get lost in the Hollywood shuffle. Being great isn’t always enough. Emmitt Rhodes anyone?

Band Of Skulls played at the British Embassy Barbeque party Wednesday afternoon…well BBQ it wasn’t  - not unless you can count empanada type pasties in a chafing dish as a barbeque. Since the food was served al fresco, perhaps the Brits cheekily thought it was Tex Mex style? No matter, I love them all the more for it.

Band Of Skulls, one of the best new bands out there and I dare say, one of the best showcasing bands at South By Southwest, tore apart the stage and showed a craftmanship that has even improved since their being on the road via their Twilight soundtrack spot  and BRMC touring slot. Yet theirs is not a polished poppy sound. It is the cool fuzzy, garage rock sound of an old amp Jimi Hendrix would have plugged into. Amen. For a video interview with the band, click here.

At the NPR showcase, I was introduced to Visqueen who opened for a juggernaut lineup of The Walkmen, Sharon Jones And The Dap Kings, Broken Bells, and Spoon.

The Walkmen and their drunken fairy saloon music have always been favorites of mine. Lead singer, Hamilton Leithautser, is more Sunday New York Times cross word puzzle than Vice Magazine Do and Donts, which makes me supremely happy.

Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings stormed the stage next with some Motown madness which goes to show that the music business is not just for the kids. Jones is a tour de force performer and though it was an older skewed crowd at the NPR showcase, she is almost wasted at a dust bowl like Stubbs. She should be doing class venues such as the Hollywood Bowl.

The next act, was the highly anticipated collaboration between Dangermouse and Shins lead singer James Mercer, Broken Bells. After what seemed like a forever and a day set up, the set was lackluster and uneven, disappointing many in the crowd, which thinned out considerably.

Spoon followed next. Britt Daniel, the unofficial mayor of Austin, did not disappoint the toe tapping, mild-mannered, tax paying NPR crowd, playing many off the new album and even covering the Damned.

Looking for a little bit more trouble than I’d find ala NPR, I dragged myself to a 1:30 am Hounds Below show that did not disappoint. Mixing Brill Building and fuzzy Detroit feedback. Jason Stollsteimer’s new band rocked the Habana Calle into the wee hours of the morning. The band even promised a hot tub party for those who could brave the 1-35.

The Hounds Below

I’m glad for the Roy Orbison, 60′s sound revival that is making a comeback with acts such as Findlay Brown, Codeine Velvet Club and the Motown sounding acts.

On the other side of feedback was The Butterfly Explosion. All the way from Ireland and fronted by Gazz Carr, this Musebox Act kicked off the daytime party with fuzzy, brooding songs. It was half way into their set before anyone noticed the sun was shining with all the shoe gazing going on. The band is a mix of shoe gaze and post rock; Ride meets Sigur Ros with of course some MBV, but with their own lush spin on it. If you like euphoric musical landscapes then you need to check out this band.

Butterfly Explosion

I traipsed over to the Babelgum party at the French Legionare Museum which was on this gorgeous property, rolling lawns gated by stone walls and large trees, tented stages and drink booths…it was much more Coachella than SxSw vibe. The only problem was the sound. It was such a muddy mess that it made The XX sound like they were drowning inside a subway toilet. It was so dreadful I decided to leave rather than to think of them as being that bad.

My next discovery was perhaps one of my favorites of the festival. ARMS sprung forth from the breakup of The Harlem Shakes. Todd Goldstein reformed ARMS, a solo project he had started in ’04, and began performing wry melancholic songs about an unraveling couple. The songs have killer harmonies with a Walkmenesque quality, which makes sense, considering ARMS has found a home with the Walkmen’s label, Gigantic.

Todd Goldstein - ARMS

Goldstein’s vocals have almost a  Michael Stipe and Stephen Merritt quality, wavering yet angry. Still the most interesting thing about the live performance was Todd’s stage presence. Charismatic, and witty in between numbers, he remained far more upbeat than the story line of the doomed couple in his gem of an album, Kids Aflame.

The Rolling Stone Showcase boasted a lot of up and coming artists that hipsters, journos and label people were eager to hear. LA based Dawes played to a sparse crowd, warming up for buzz band The Whigs.

The Whigs

The Whigs had the heavy head when they were crowned by Rolling Stone last year as the best unsigned band in the country. That can often wreck a groups chances, but so far they’ve managed well. Signing with ATO, they hopped on a tour with Kings Of Leon and Dead Confederate. Luckily their dirty Garage sound skews more towards the swirling madness of Dead Confederate with the buoyancy of Kings, but they play songs with more than three chords. They kicked off the show with the battle cry “Turn off the lights, it’s time to party!” and they meant it. They dove into the set, with driving bass lines reminiscent of their future tour mates, BRMC. The Whigs have a bright future. Hopefully they will keep their rock dirty and varied.

Titus Andronicus, another RS buzz band already named the best of 2010, (oh Rolling Stone. You cheeky monkeys. It’s March!) To me, from where I sat crouched by the bar, they seemed like a high performance level shoegaze band named after one of The Bard’s less performed plays. But I could be downplaying them quite a bit. Perhaps that’s because the next band was such a party in a bottle.

Free Energy is the next party cruise in 40 tight minutes. If you like Sweet, Cheap Trick, The Cars, Thin Lizzy, and cute boys who drink beer, then get ready to dance your face off. These guys are only here to make you have a good time. That’s it. They play, you dance. You forget your troubles. It’s the Andrew WK philosophy, minus the fake blood and puke and sticky aspects of rock and roll. It’s the boys answer to The Donnas. The 70′s glam rock era revitalized with tight black jeans and runaways and satin jackets and extra lip gloss just paves the way for Free Energy’s sweet sexy glammy classic rock to make you want to can the can with Suzi Q, Gary Glitter and the rest of them. Each song sounds quite anthemic – perhaps these boys will be played in stadiums during very important sporting matches someday to unsuspecting jocks. But for now, they just wanna have fun.

Free Energy

One of the coveted laminates to wear around your neck was for the Spin showcase at Stubbs. The line up was a  schizo combination: a luke warm set from Rogue Wave, a manic set from Fucked Up (including lead singer, Damian Abraham, creating his own muddy mosh pit by pouring bottled water into the dusty ground in front of the stage and rolling around in it),

Fucked Up - Make Your Own Mosh Pit, Just Add Water

and a lightweight set from the elusive electronics of Miike Snow, which didn’t seem to translate in the broad daylight.

Miike Snow

But the real elephant in the room was waiting backstage. Courtney. It was the first time Hole was playing in the US in ten years. And without Hole. Would she show? Would she have a melt down? Would she be fat? Gawkers, detractors and mega fans everywhere were sticking around through the rather tepid showcase just to catch a glimpse of what I dubbed the Love-Train-Wreck.

The Love Train Wreck pulled into the Stubbs station about twenty minutes late, but for Courtney time, that’s no big thang. Wearing an orange pageant sash that was emblazoned with ‘Beware’, that most likely doubles as caution tape, Love launched into a curious cover of ‘Sympathy For The Devil’…I was not sure she was going to get any, as she announced “We are Hole, whether you like it or not, you little shit sucks.”

Wearing some type of wild, wild, west bar whore outfit and sounding like Stevie Nicks on a bender if she had been gargling with a cheese grater, Courtney flirted with being on key and was brash and confident…she was, well, Courtney.

Playing a mix of older hits (Violet, Reasons To Be Thankful, Miss World) and newer ones (Skinny Little Bitch, Samantha) Love tried to win over the crowd and coax us into thinking that her new songs would vault her back to superstar status. But even when she was making fun of Bret Michaels for being a washed up mess, I couldn’t help but think, ‘Courtney, isn’t that like the Hole calling the chasm, black?’

After a round of meetings and dinners I was whisked back to Stubbs for the Myspace secret show which turned out to be the worst kept industry secret – it was Muse and Metric. I like both bands but what made the night was seeing New York friends I hadn’t seen for ages.

What was unfortunate was the loooong line of über Muse fans that snaked down the streets of Austin who didn’t get close to getting in, while A&R people stood around and didn’t even watch the performance. Oh Music Industry, you big bitch. Afterwards there were many cool show to see. Sixth street in of itself was a carnival, like Mardi Gras, and when my friends and I jumped into a pedi cab to get to another showcase, drunken revelers literally swarmed the cab and began rocking it, trying to get us out. I’m not sure if they were trying to turn the thing over or scare us or the driver…but we were amazed.

This is SxSw, not a Lakers parade you asshats. We know how to handle you and you will get a beat down.

Saturday was my last morning before I escaped Margaritaville and I planned on hitting a few barbeques and panels before the airport.

Bob Schneider played a fun set at Stubbs early in the morning at the Rachael Ray event. And it has become quite an event. My friend and I went over there to catch School of Seven Bells. It was freezing and slightly raining and the place was set up with the sponsors frozen drink machines, instead of the coffee people so desperately needed. Funny thing…the ‘yummo’ food that Ray is supposedly so famous for, was pretty fucking awful. As was her husband’s band, which I think is the whole reason she puts on the event. The name of his band is called The Cringe…I don’t even need to comment further. He’s done my job for me.

Free Energy and LA favorites Local Natives played the small indoor stage (of course. Let The Cringe play the Main Stage and clear the venue. Good idea. Yummo). Andrew W.K.  got some people to party hard…although not too hard, because we were all in danger of losing our limbs to frostbite.

I headed to the convention center early to warm up and catch an amazing panel on Bill Hicks, one of the greatest comics that ever lived. A documentary about his life played at the film festival throughout and I have to say it was an amazing panel discussion – possibly the highlight of the week.

Bill Hicks

Oh Austin. You sure did keep it weird. Your mercurial hot and cold weather. Your open doors to spring breakers and corporate whores. Your damn Grackles. But I love you and I keep coming back for more. Next year? Same time, same place?

The Hounds Below – Bringing The Class & Style Of The 60s To Modern Rock

Blame it on the Mad Men if you want, but all of a sudden class and style are coming back into vogue in music. With acts like Mayer Hawthorne, Fitz and The Tantrums and Sharon Jones And The Dap Kings bringing 60′s soul back into the groove, it’s high time that the dudes of 90026 pack away the neon nikes and tank tops and put on a fucking shirt before they pick up their dates.

Fitz And The Tantrums

I don’t think I’m alone when I say I ache for songs with style and romance and panache. Sure, I love to dance to some synthy piece of candy floss every now and then, but when I go back to my vinyl collection…when I have an actual visceral connection to a piece of music, I’m usually not thinking of waving a glow stick in the air when I’m hearing it.

I’m not saying all music has to be as classy as the sounds that came from the Brill Building.

But tricks are for kids (and MGMT, apparently) and those who hang around in what looks like their pajamas, are seriously being shown up by the style and grace of the new crop of crooners we have coming up.

When Findlay Brown saunters onstage in a sharp suit and sings heartfelt love songs, the only thing the thing the dirty hipster  to my left is gonna be pulling that evening is the un-tied laces on his dunks.

Findlay Brown

It’s very subtle, the power of suggestion. Just a phrase, a stride, a note, it can all really color your view, your mood, your opinion. That’s what music does. For instance, Findlay’s songs give off the air of a scotch and soda…or something in a high ball glass. You get the feeling that your going to be taken out and treated well. The white wall tires have been armoralled and that a steakhouse is involved. There’s a commitment there. There’s an intention. There’s thought and feeling and carbonation.

The other guy? Red bull and vodka guy? I’d probably end up having to take a cab home after he puked on my shoes.

Class. It works.

Enter The Hounds Below. A new outfit headed by Von Bondies frontman Jason Stollsteimer, the young, good looking band is another throwback to roadhouse rock and roll with Roy Orbison warbles.

The Hounds Below

At first it might seem strange that Mister VB would choose this as his next musical adventure, but if you think of his vocal quality and then think of Orbison in ‘Crying’, added with Stollsteimer’s Detroit Rock City roots, it makes perfect fucking sense.

A quick moving set at Spaceland last night, only their 16th live show ever, showed enormous promise.

In Silverlake, the land of apathy and uber cool, The Hounds had people toe tapping, twisting and dare I say, jitterbugging.You have no idea how much this means. I don’t think Jason realizes how much this meant. In other parts of the country, when a band plays good music, I’m pretty sure the people in the audience dance. In industry laden, hipster haunts in LA, it isn’t often so. To see what might of been a lindy hop (?) styled couples dance going on tickled me and I felt the need to explain this to the band. “You are making an impact. You are warming the cockles. Cockles are being warmed. Encore!”

I tried to beam a Blue Velvet styled Bat signal out to David Lynch, who seems comfortable doing the weather report currently, but when he gets a hold of this EP, he will undoubtedly be inspired to write and direct another twisted highway tale of love and immorality. I think he has his bar band cast.

Two cool and unexpected covers layered into the set were a lilting Wall Of Sound styled version of the Pixies ‘Where Is My Mind’ and The Animals’ hit ‘We Gotta Get Out Of This Place’.

Stand out tracks to get you in the righteous twangy mood such as ‘Crawling Back To You” and the stomper  ‘She’s Alchemy’ can be found on their Myspace site.

I highly recommend taking in their set. It will take you back to another era, one where the boys dance with the girls and people say what they mean and mean what they say.

Okay, maybe that does sound like an alternate universe. Someone put a call into David Lynch.

The Hounds Below are currently opening for Black Rebel Motorcycle Club and will be showcasing at SXSW. For dates, visit:

http://www.myspace.com/thehoundsbelow

Two Sonic Love Letters: Findlay Brown & Sade

Forget candy hearts and wilted flowers. The way to really get to the heart of another is through the power of music.

If you really want to get laid, or hell even hitched this Hallmark holiday, there are two albums on the scene which will not only help you accomplish this task, but might even help you fall in love…with music all over again.

Findlay Brown, a young Yorkshire crooner calls himself a musical obsessive. After being struck by a car and laid up with a broken leg, Brown studied music so intently, downloading track after track of Phil Spector and Carole King Brill Building era songs and studying his favorite genre, became steeped in 60s sound before he wrote a single note on his new album, Love Will Find You.

Produced by Bernard Butler (Suede), Love Will Find You has the haunting, lilting vocals of a bygone Orbison tune and the songwriting craftsmanship of Lennon/McCartney or The Righteous Brothers. Brown claims that he was ‘unashamed’ to be sentimental when creating the album. In his favorite era, the 60′s, there was a romanticism that was present. People connected with the music and with each other.

True, in this digital age, with people often standing behind a laptop onstage, there is a greater disconnect between performer and audience member. Robot music is sometimes entertaining but no one would ever call it heartwarming or…sexy. Findlay Brown’s live show was both those things. The set was dynamic and well crafted, and it made me wistful for a time when we all looked each other in the eye and held meaningful conversations instead of texting each other.

If you want to make your sweetheart swoon, pick up a copy of Findlay Brown’s Love Will Find You.

No one is a stranger to the slow jam power of sexy Sade…But now she is back and she is NOT playing around. She recently dropped her new album, Soldier of Love, which in turn dropped jaws owned by the most jaded hipsters and seasoned music vets I know.

There’s something about Sade that makes the ‘too cool for school’ just want to get up and get down. Hell, she can make a song about GETTING LAID OFF sound sexy. When was the last time talking about being out of work for two years made you want to get up and dance and get sexed?

Well, this might change your mind:

With so many useless wars and fighting going on, thank god we have the queen Smooth Operator Sade, as our soldier of love.

Here’s the Soldier Of Love video:

A Very Raging Christmas – Crap Music Is Over, If You Want It

In a land far, far away, called Great Britain a yearly war wages every winter. In this magical Narnian Isle, music is still a viable commodity taken very seriously. Their denizens actually record new holiday songs every season in the hopes of having the top Christmas single of the year.

We cynics across the pond are fine to do with the recycled, rehashed songbooks – over the river and through the wood, decking the halls and all that. Why would you need MORE freaking Christmas? A trip outside for a few hours on Black Friday and we’re drowning in so much Christmas it’s enough to move to the Aboriginal outback.

But England doesn’t mess around. Music and Christmas are a very serious thing. I mean, they still have music programming on TV, AND the government pays for some of it. Can you imagine if our government gave PBS money to make old school MTV styled programming? I might actually still want to live here.

Yes, England gets downright fervent about music, specifically the ‘single’. Especially when it comes to the OZ like machinery of Simon Cowell and company, who pump out yearly soft rock balladeers with their contest shows like Pop Idol and X Factor.  Yes, we have our American Idol, but it pales in comparison to the juggernaut that X Factor brings to the UK every year.

I was treated to the wonders of X Factor this October when I was staying in London. I politely watched with some fervent friends over Sunday roast and found myself drawn in by a bigger, cattier, more sordid and maudlin type of idol where the judges mentor the contestants, take sides and cut each other down so furiously I’m surprised they’re not allowed swords onstage. I have to admit I did get a little hooked. OK, a lot. It wasn’t the music, which was mostly dreadful. It was the huge soppy spectacle of it.

X Factor Judges

But truly music is the loser in this scenario, if it’s nothing more than a soapbox stump for Rhianna or Janet to pimp their new album, in between green faced kids being forced to sing George Michael covers. The winner of this contest releases a single and that song, most likely, goes on to be the Christmas single winner, no doubt to be over played through out the holiday season and beyond, knocking struggling bands off the charts and out of our memories as the new year chimes in.

This year’s X Factor winner, pie eyed Joe McElderry is an 18 year old Geordie accented charmer with a lilting, soaring voice who is as sweet as a Disney cartoon heroine. Blech. They even chose for his first single, the Christmas single in question, to be ‘The Climb’, a Miley Cyrus cover. Jesus. Come on, England! Throw some tea overboard!

Well, Jon Morter for this revolting enough to do something.  Sick of the slick promotional big label machine and the ‘crap’ it pumps out, he decided to take a stand and protest by simply using social media. Jon made a Facebook page called RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE FOR CHRISTMAS NO.1. On the page he asked the fans to buy his favorite band’s 1994 single, Killing In The Name Of, instead of X Factor Joe McElderry’s new Cyrus single “The Climb”.

The kid, Joe McElderry, seems nice enough – benign in a musical theater, syrupy sweet kind of way. He wasn’t even my choice to win the thing – I would have gone with the song and dance man Olly Murs, if I were holding a UK green card, but there I go, tipping my hand as someone who has seen enough of the show to care.

The fact is, there has always been pop music that was put together in a board room. Girl groups formed in the offices of the Brill Building weren’t exactly an organic creative process but still some of the best songs ever sung.

So some pop music can’t be denied, even if the singer didn’t pen the song themselves…but the pervasive problem today, it seems, is the onslaught of boy bands and mall makeovers done on any kid with half a voice who are put on diet pills and thrust into the spot light like Three Octave Barbie.  In a month their CD, filled with tuneless drivel, is overstocked at Walmart and outselling the grassroots band that actually writes music.

If you throw money and PR at a turd, the public will spend money on it. Sheeple are Sheeple, as the D Mode song goes…and the loser is not only the smaller musician out there, but ultimately the music listening public.

Enter Rage Against The Machine. Now they were invited to the party, unbeknownst to them, not because they are a small unknown indie rock band. No, they are a huge successful act on Sony, the very same Goliath label that Cowell and McElderry call home. But RATM started from humble beginnings and won each of their hundreds of thousands of fans, one by one. Not from a television show contest, but by playing small gigs and then larger ones. By touring relentlessly. By making music. And yes, by being political loud mouths and standing up for the little guy.

In an interview with UK paper The Sun, RATM frontman Tom Morello stated: “It is a historic campaign to save the UK pop charts from the abyss of bland mediocrity and we’re 100 per cent behind it. It’s really amazing and completely a grassroots uprising. It’s not like the band put this forward, it was the people. I found out about it when some friends of mine from the UK texted me.”

As the race between the two tightened, things got more heated. And weirder. Cowell kept accusing Rage of being bullies. Then the Facebook page went down and suddenly thousands of fans were inexplicably lost. And of course there were rumblings that this was all just an underground ploy of Sony executives to drive up sales of both singles – a major payday for Sony either way.

However, to show that it wasn’t a Sony plot, Morello promised that the band would reunite and play a free concert for London fans if they were to win the number one spot. This earned him some scorn and harsh words from X Factor kingpin Simon Cowell, and fellow X Factor judge Cheryl Cole, a former member of all girl group Girls Aloud, who was Mc Elderry’s mentor on the show. Cheryl stated “If that song, or should I say campaign, by an American group is our Christmas Number 1, I’ll be gutted for Joe and our charts.”

Cheryl Cole and Joe McElderry on X Factor

Morello flattened Cowell and Cole’s jingoistic pleas for support of Geordie Joe.

“The X Factor song was written by a cabal of highly paid professional songwriters and was already made a hit by a pre-teen artists from the United States. That’s nothing I would feel too proud about hoisting the flag up on.”

“The X Factor suits have been pulling out every dirty trick in the book to get their single to No 1. They’ve been pressuring the big retail stores over the price of the single and there were some shenanigans that happened with the Facebook page where it went down mysteriously on the second day.

“Some of the things they are doing seem almost desperate and that’s because they’re afraid of the people.”

As the deadline neared for the tally, Joe was in the lead by a narrow margin. Tom Morello took to twitter and urged his online fans to download on itunes and help push Rage over the edge. They upped the ante by stating that they would be donating their proceeds from their Christmas single to charity. No Sony payout for the people who helped put Rage in the number one spot.

It looked as if Joe had the Xmas single sewed up, but in a Christmas miracle come from behind victory, the American revolutionaries toppled Cowell’s teen idol and took the number one spot. Davey had conquered Goliath!

Of course Cowell was ‘gutted’ for his protege, McElderry, but was gracious enough to concede the spot to a song with well over fifteen ‘fuck you’ s laden in the lyrics. Well done. Cowell supposedly even offered Jon Morter a job doing marketing for his music label, though that might just have been the PR equivalent of licking his wounds.

Whether or not you think that this contest of wills will actually change the stranglehold that Cowell and X Factor has on music, the fact is that this small group on Facebook has managed to raise 83,000 pounds (approximately $132,700) for the charity, Shelter, they’ve helped to break  two UK chart sales records…and it’s made music history and social media history.

It’s also an example that we do not have to sit idly by and listen to crap. Crap music is over, if you want it. If you don’t want it, turn it off. If you hate the television you keep seeing, turn it off. Or make your own. Vote with your dollar, your time and your energy. If you don’t like what is out there. DO NOT give it your time or energy. “I am listening to it cause it’s on” is no longer a viable option as we enter 2010 a supposed enlightened era. If you don’t like it, do something. If you can’t create an alternative, then at least turn it off.

When asked if they’d attempt to overthrow the Christmas No. 1 again next year, Jon and his team admit that it probably wouldn’t work again nor would they want it to. But they are most proud of the fact that they were able to motivate people to take a stand against mediocrity and change something in pop culture history.

On top of that, raising money for a good cause and making friends with their favorite band of all time…well that’s just part of the best Christmas gift ever.

The Raveonettes – Warm and Fuzzy (Sounding) in Los Angeles

Steeped in cool fuzz, the Raveonettes have modernized the fifties sound of the Raveonettes, in the same manner that David Lynch takes those nifty fifties family values and transplants them into the insidious, dark, seedy underbelly of the modern city.

The city of Los Angeles seemed to want to welcome the Danish duo on Saturday, and match their music with cool, cloudy, shoegaze weather. The show was at near capacity, bringing out a lot of lovesick lads who pressed up against the lip of the stage to hang on Sharin Foo’s every lilting syllable.

Dreamy, surf swells of feedback from Sune Rose Wagner’s strumming, echoed against the walls of the Fonda, with ‘Love In A Trashcan’ being a stand out. Many of the newer songs off their current LP, like ‘Lust’ are trance like ballads filled with twangy yearning. Punchy versions of ‘Attack Of The Ghost Rider’ and ‘Twilight’ picked up the pace a little bit, with a chugging beat that hearkened to their California cousins, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. The final song of the evening was the stand out ‘Aly Walk With Me’, an electronic, Brill Building styled, slow jam which has strains of good old Garbage.

But this was a pared down show. To round out the duo’s sound, the Raveonettes employed Pity Party Julie Heisenflei on drums and picked up a femme fatale on back up guitar to round out the ‘Leader Of the Pack’ type gang. However the show was quick, straightforward, and pared down, with little banter between songs. All in all, the set seemed disappointingly short. Including the encore, it was over in a little under an hour…the time it takes to get crunked on a shot of absinthe, dream of Gauloises and girl gangs, and then sober up for the ride home.