San Francisco-based musician Andrew Goldfarb has some tricks up his sleeve. Recently, one of those tricks just happened to be some deadly, deadly mint julep, which he fed to the town of Lost Hills while in search of a mysterious gypsy woman.
Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and the rest of the rat pack continue to seize some intimate nugget of nostalgia in the American imagination, abetted by the steely slick appeal of AMC’s hit show Mad Men and the persistence of skinny ties and cocktail culture for the haute bourgeoisie.
The folk-meets-bluegrass-meets-country-meets-blues-meets-rockabilly trio The Devil Makes Three likes to do things differently. And if that tongue-twisting description of their sound didn’t tip you off to that fact, consider this: They are a drummer-less trio.
I like to think about what Petunia, frontman of Petunia and the Vipers, sees when he steps up to the mic. There’s something about his old-timey aesthetic, warbling, velvet voice and smoky gaze that hint at a man transposed from another time, as if he was plucked from some turn-of-the-century ragtime saloon and plopped down on Sam Bond’s stage.
Grrrlz Rock is a month-long local concert series that spotlights and supports amazing female artists that light up this humble valley with music. A few acts are looking to make a splash at The Speakeasy this weekend.
Corvallis seems to be stepping up its live music game lately. As someone who grew up in Philomath — think Corvallis’ Springfield — we got used to driving to Portland or Eugene to see anyone touring nationally.
There may be no singer-songwriter with a beefier activist pedigree than Holly Near. Before she was 10, Near had performed for a Veterans of Foreign Wars talent competition and volunteered her vocals at the Taimage Mental Hospital.
When rock came along, it seemed to spell doom for the so-called Great American Songbook, those perennials composed by (mostly) New York-based songwriters from the 1920s through the mid 1950s. But those hardy tunes keep finding new life in various guises, and not just in cabaret or karaoke croon sessions.
Billy Idol has long been one of the great symbols of ’80s-era rock. So badass that he became a new breed of punk rock, so cool that he was rock ‘n’ roll through and through and even catchy enough that he could successfully wriggle his way into the pop world — he remains one of that decade’s most prominent and enduring musical figures.
Some bands have epic, long careers. Some bands burn bright and fizzle quickly. Some bands build a career nibbling at the edges: consistent, successful, influential, but never quite becoming household names despite their cult following. Dinosaur Jr. is a band like that.
Oakland is a hard place — always has been and ever will stay such, because the Bay, as they say, is the quintessence of the modern concrete jungle, churning up a bone meal Darwinism of jacked-up nasty that suffers no goons.
Ever been to one of those shows where you’re blinded by glow sticks, your body won’t stop buzzing because the bass is so loud, and you come out so sweaty on the other side you’d think someone threw you into a bucket of saltwater? No? Well now’s your chance.