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"content": "\u003cp>Lately, thanks to the internet, a significant portion of my listening is dedicated to filling out holes in my musical memory. I can while away hours on sites like \u003ca href=\"http://pandora.com/\">Pandora.com\u003c/a>, which utilizes music genome research to create customizable stations based around an artist’s output or even one song. I enjoy trying to stump Pandora’s archive by entering in forgotten bands and songs, like Silver’s satisfyingly cheesy 1976 single “Musician (It’s Not An Easy Life)” and seeing what is offered up for me to listen to. Blogs and iTunes Music Store’s increasingly comprehensive catalog of music are as great for audio archaeology as for discovering new music.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“What was that song I remember from when I was a kid that had lyrics about love being the answer?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Ohhhh, it was England Dan and John Ford Coley!”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One is just as apt to find me happily bopping my head to “Time Passages” by Al Stewart as to locals Scissors For Lefty’s new single “Ghetto Ways,” just released on seminal UK label, Rough Trade, also responsible for introducing the world to The Smiths and The Strokes. I like to think that this fact alone sets me apart from almost all other Al Stewart fans as well as most Scissors For Lefty fans. And depending on your perspective, it could make me seem interestingly eclectic or alternately like some kind of musical weirdo.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>By the way, “Ghetto Ways” is a good single that pleases after a The Killers and Hot Hot Heat fashion — meaning it’s heavy on the synth with proto-disco drums and slinky vocals that reinforce the catchy chorus riff. I prefer the two b-sides included on the CD single, available on import I’m sure at Amoeba, “Save It Cory” and “Marsha.” They’re both playful takes on dance rock with accordion-like keyboard lines, bouncing rhythms and cloying but clever vocals, all adding up to something that sounds like Pulp’s Jarvis Cocker sitting in with The Style Council, the Paul Weller band formed after mod punk heroes The Jam broke up.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Made up of two sets of brothers, one Garza and the other Krimmel, Scissors For Lefty formed in San Luis Obispo, CA before relocating to San Francisco where currently they work their “asses off, and burn the candle from all angles, in order to afford living in this contagious city,” according to the band’s official biography. This month SFL head out on the road in the US with ex-Libertines Carl Barat’s new band, Dirty Pretty Things. Then they’re off to England for an extensive tour that covers a number of festivals including summer bank holiday weekend favorites Reading and Leeds, notable launching points for new bands hoping to capture fans.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Who knows if Scissors For Lefty will catch on in the UK, but the fact that they’re signed to an important label like Rough Trade is another merit badge earned by San Francisco’s current pack of up and coming groups. They’re all doing their part to justify the city’s emerging spot on the music map alongside Seattle and more recently New York.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cp>\u003cb>A Perfect Night in LA\u003c/b>\u003cbr>\nWho knows when you’re going to have the perfect night? I can tell you one thing, it can only be possible after your expectations have been lowered considerably. Take this particular perfect night in LA, for example. When we first got down here (we live in LA for a month every summer), I was all gung-ho to make an evening of going to see Brightblack Morning Light at the Troubadour, followed by staying over at a hotel somewhere in Hollywood. With a pool! And cocktails! Well, as the day drew closer, this shining beacon of nightlife started to fade to a dull twinkle as we slogged through the intense heat wave, my husband Danny’s work schedule here at Cal Arts where he is teaching summer school, and my exhaustion spending every day taking our kid to the public pool in 105 degree heat. We had been lucky most nights to split a beer and play a lackluster game of Scrabble before hitting our airbed at 10pm. 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So we stood around in the super moderne lobby trying to figure out which movie we should see, and based our choice strictly on start time, since we wanted enough time to grab something to eat. The best-timed movie that we could stomach was \u003cb>Clerks II\u003c/b>. So we bought our tickets (reserved seats!) and then headed to the café/bar in the lobby for some cocktails and food. As we were sipping our lemon drops and waiting for our food, we checked out the crowd. I noticed something interesting about straight men in LA — they all look gay! If any of these supposedly straight men, who seemed to me to be overly PDA-ing with their glamazon dates, walked down the street in San Francisco you would never guess in a million years he was straight. Weird. Perfectly gelled hair, super mod clothes, spray tans and nice shoes. I was perplexed and entertained by this anthropological discovery. But regardless, the people watching in LA is really unsurpassed. Good lookin’ specimens everywhere, and they all seem important in some way. You don’t know why, you don’t know how, but they are making shit happen in ways you can only venture to guess. Even the waiters at the Arclight were fab, including one who looked like a cross between Nick Cave and Dave Grohl — rowr!\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There was a famous actress a few tables away, whose name I still have not been able to recall. I recognized her immediately, have seen her in magazines, she does movies and TV, she’s young, blonde, cute etc. One of these days I will see her picture and be like –duh! But for now, her agent is cursing the fact that she doesn’t elicit instant name recognition.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After copping a buzz off our drinks and with full tummies, we bopped down to our fancypants theater to watch \u003cb>Clerks II\u003c/b>. Our expectations were waaaay low, since we both saw \u003cb>Clerks\u003c/b> but had no real recollection of it. Well, let me tell you \u003cb>Clerks II\u003c/b> is funny! Albeit in an absolutely crude, adolescent, gross, pathetic way, but we laughed, we really did. It had its moments, and actually was made with some kind of real heart and soul behind it. These dudes who made the first one, Kevin Smith and his buddies, made the sequel just to satisfy themselves and each other, and all the fans who have championed it over the years, and it works somehow. There are some great jokes, including a gut-busting tirade against \u003cb>Lord of the Rings\u003c/b> complete with re-enactment, and some endearing performances from the losers who can’t grow up. Their venue has moved from the Quick Stop to Mooby’s burgers, but they are still just killing time in Jersey. We came out of there feeling proud that we had chosen \u003cb>Clerks II\u003c/b> over \u003cb>My Super Ex-Girlfriend\u003c/b> and the universally panned \u003cb>The Lady in the Water\u003c/b>. We chose wisely. Step one to a perfect night — choose well, but don’t overthink.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Next stop, the Troubadour. As we cruised up Santa Monica Blvd., we saw the line of Paris Hilton and Nick Lachey wannabees, complete with valets, cops, and lines of shiny cars. What could this be, pray tell? Only Lobby, the hottest celeb club in LA! And it happens to be right next door to the seedy Troubadour. Well what luck. Seeing as we were going to see a smelly band of pseudo-hippies, it seemed only fitting we should be next door to such a glittering spectacle. Mommy is happy — hooray!\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We walked into the club just as Brightblack Morning Light were starting up, perfect timing. It was mellow, not too crowded, and we found a comfy place right at the side of the stage to take in the vibe. Brightblack Morning Light are definitely part of the nouveau hippie scene I have waxed so eloquently upon in past posts. Their CD comes with rainbow prism glasses printed with marijuana leaves, for chrissake. But where most of those bands base their sound on a strumming or plucking acoustic guitar, Brightblack are of a darker, moodier groove, emanating from a vintage Fender Rhodes played by a cool chick in aviator sunglasses. Over to her left we have the dude in the poncho, greasy dreadlocks covering his face, with two white feathers sticking up from his mike stand, and he appears to be playing guitar. I believe his last name to be Shineywater. There are two drummers, flanking either side of the stage, with unconventional drum kits, one wearing flip-flops and one looking kinda like Gene Wilder. Oh yeah, and there are petrified logs along the front of the stage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The music is trancelike, it’s deep, it’s a little boring but pretty cool. They bring up a friend, a cute girl in a vintage Live Aid t-shirt, ostensibly to sing with them. She stands at the mike, playing with her hair for what seems like an eternity until she finally moans something along with them. All is going as well as can be expected, and Danny and I are happy sipping our Coronas and chilling out, when there seems to be some kind of feedback happening. At first it’s hard to tell, since everything is drenched in all kinds of delay and reverb and nonsense. Suddenly, the poncho dude rips off said poncho in a fit of pique, starts ripping wires out of his guitar, and runs up to the front of the stage yelling “Fuck LA!” and storms off! Wha? Isn’t this the band that camps in the woods between shows and wants to save the spotted owl? Heaven forefend! Poncho Dude storms out the back door of the club, while a meaty bouncer stands guard as the door slams behind him. Two seconds later we hear a contrite little ‘tap tap tap’ at the door and the bouncer lets Poncho Dude back in, who proceeds to storm upstairs in search of the soundman. Meanwhile onstage, the ladies have decided to take back the night, and start rocking out way harder than they ever did with Poncho Dude onstage. You go, girls! The soundman looks down at me and Danny from the booth, and I say, “Hey, you better watch out — he’s coming to get you!” He just laughs and says “They were four hours late!” Poncho Dude has it out with him, then we hear some yelling and scuffling, and bottles being thrown. Someone tries to subdue Poncho Dude in the dressing room, which is a glass booth visible to the entire club. Only in LA! Hi-larious.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So the ladies keep on rocking out a couple more grooves, then the keyboard chick in the aviator glasses mumbles an apology through the layers of reverb and that’s the end of that. Well, Danny and I are mighty pleased with ourselves for having witnessed such an Altamont-lite ending to the freak folk love-in. We amble out onto the street, walking right into the fray of Hollywood foxes and foxettes waiting desperately to be deemed worthy enough to party with the likes of Lindsay Lohan inside the hallowed booths of Lobby. I beg Danny to indulge me — can we just walk past the line and back around the block and check out the action? Since the line is so thick along the sidewalk, there is nowhere to walk but the street in front. As I step one toe off the curb — BAM! There’s a car crash right in front of me. A valet, driving a shiny silver Mercedes, veers right to the club entrance from the middle lane, cutting off another car coming up in the right hand lane. It’s a hideous crunch and clatter. I jump back onto the curb and we marvel at the weirdness of it all when I hear “Hey, Alison.” What now?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s my old friend Jeff Palmer, bass player extraordinaire, who now plays with the fantastic band the Radar Brothers. He lives in LA now, but used to be a fixture in the SF music scene. He’s a genius musician, and an adorable, sweet guy. So we all chat for like a half hour, catching up, musing on LA and its serendipitous nature, and laughing. We watch the endless parade of tanned, leggy blonds and beefy jock actors hop in and out of Escalades in front of Lobby. It’s a nice moment, and feels like it’s a show just for us. Making the scene but not making it at all. Just hanging. The world has gotten a little more cozy since I hit forty, and maybe that’s kind of a cool thing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On the way home, to top off such a funny night, we had to do the proper LA thing and get In ‘N Out Burger drive-through. God, yum. Just super yum. We showed up at 2 a.m. with fries and a shake for Lee, who was like “Man, you guys read my mind. I was starving!” A perfect night, indeed.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "\u003cb>A Perfect Night in LA\u003c/b>\u003cbr />Who knows when you're going to have the perfect night? I can tell you one thing, it can only be possible after your expectations have been lowered considerably. Take this particular perfect night in LA, for example. When we first got down here (we live in LA for a month every summer), I was all gung-ho to make an evening of going to see Brightblack Morning Light at the Troubadour, followed by staying over at a hotel somewhere in Hollywood. With a pool! And cocktails! Well, as the day drew closer, this shining beacon of nightlife started to fade to a dull twinkle as we slogged through the intense heat wave, my husband Danny's work schedule here at Cal Arts where he is teaching summer school, and my exhaustion spending every day taking our kid to the public pool in 105 degree heat. We had been lucky most nights to split a beer and play a lackluster game of Scrabble before hitting our airbed at 10pm. How were we going to manage a night on the town? Ugh!",
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"description": "A Perfect Night in LAWho knows when you're going to have the perfect night? I can tell you one thing, it can only be possible after your expectations have been lowered considerably. Take this particular perfect night in LA, for example. When we first got down here (we live in LA for a month every summer), I was all gung-ho to make an evening of going to see Brightblack Morning Light at the Troubadour, followed by staying over at a hotel somewhere in Hollywood. With a pool! And cocktails! Well, as the day drew closer, this shining beacon of nightlife started to fade to a dull twinkle as we slogged through the intense heat wave, my husband Danny's work schedule here at Cal Arts where he is teaching summer school, and my exhaustion spending every day taking our kid to the public pool in 105 degree heat. We had been lucky most nights to split a beer and play a lackluster game of Scrabble before hitting our airbed at 10pm. How were we going to manage a night on the town? Ugh!",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cb>A Perfect Night in LA\u003c/b>\u003cbr>\nWho knows when you’re going to have the perfect night? I can tell you one thing, it can only be possible after your expectations have been lowered considerably. Take this particular perfect night in LA, for example. When we first got down here (we live in LA for a month every summer), I was all gung-ho to make an evening of going to see Brightblack Morning Light at the Troubadour, followed by staying over at a hotel somewhere in Hollywood. With a pool! And cocktails! Well, as the day drew closer, this shining beacon of nightlife started to fade to a dull twinkle as we slogged through the intense heat wave, my husband Danny’s work schedule here at Cal Arts where he is teaching summer school, and my exhaustion spending every day taking our kid to the public pool in 105 degree heat. We had been lucky most nights to split a beer and play a lackluster game of Scrabble before hitting our airbed at 10pm. How were we going to manage a night on the town? Ugh!\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Even with the prospect of a babysitter (several of the teachers here are wild about Henry, or maybe they’re just broke) we couldn’t see spending $200 on a hotel, so I canceled that reservation. We still had the show tickets, though, since I bought them on Ticketmaster. I toyed with giving them away free on Craigslist, but just couldn’t throw in the towel just yet. Since we had missed the sold out Flaming Lips at the Hollywood Bowl, which my friends will never forgive me for since they all saw them up north and swore it was a religious experience, I felt like we had to at least try to go out and have some rock ‘n roll fun. So as the night approached, we steeled our resolve to just go out and do it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That morning Danny was seriously dragging. It didn’t look good. We took our kid to a matinee of \u003cb>Monster House\u003c/b>, which was insanely scary for a five-year-old, and made us wary about then leaving him with a sitter in case he might be plagued with nightmares. But when our sitter Lee showed up, a fun-loving twentysomething indie filmmaker and trickster, Henry was so psyched to see him that they immediately took off to go have some wacky adventures, leaving Danny and I with nothing else to do but go out! We decided we were going to hit a movie first, so as not to have to stand around in a rock club for any more time than necessary, and to miss all opening acts if at all possible.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We headed for the Arclight to see \u003cb>Little Miss Sunshine\u003c/b> on opening night. Without advance tickets. Of course it was sold out, but boy, that Arclight is cool! So we stood around in the super moderne lobby trying to figure out which movie we should see, and based our choice strictly on start time, since we wanted enough time to grab something to eat. The best-timed movie that we could stomach was \u003cb>Clerks II\u003c/b>. So we bought our tickets (reserved seats!) and then headed to the café/bar in the lobby for some cocktails and food. As we were sipping our lemon drops and waiting for our food, we checked out the crowd. I noticed something interesting about straight men in LA — they all look gay! If any of these supposedly straight men, who seemed to me to be overly PDA-ing with their glamazon dates, walked down the street in San Francisco you would never guess in a million years he was straight. Weird. Perfectly gelled hair, super mod clothes, spray tans and nice shoes. I was perplexed and entertained by this anthropological discovery. But regardless, the people watching in LA is really unsurpassed. Good lookin’ specimens everywhere, and they all seem important in some way. You don’t know why, you don’t know how, but they are making shit happen in ways you can only venture to guess. Even the waiters at the Arclight were fab, including one who looked like a cross between Nick Cave and Dave Grohl — rowr!\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There was a famous actress a few tables away, whose name I still have not been able to recall. I recognized her immediately, have seen her in magazines, she does movies and TV, she’s young, blonde, cute etc. One of these days I will see her picture and be like –duh! But for now, her agent is cursing the fact that she doesn’t elicit instant name recognition.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After copping a buzz off our drinks and with full tummies, we bopped down to our fancypants theater to watch \u003cb>Clerks II\u003c/b>. Our expectations were waaaay low, since we both saw \u003cb>Clerks\u003c/b> but had no real recollection of it. Well, let me tell you \u003cb>Clerks II\u003c/b> is funny! Albeit in an absolutely crude, adolescent, gross, pathetic way, but we laughed, we really did. It had its moments, and actually was made with some kind of real heart and soul behind it. These dudes who made the first one, Kevin Smith and his buddies, made the sequel just to satisfy themselves and each other, and all the fans who have championed it over the years, and it works somehow. There are some great jokes, including a gut-busting tirade against \u003cb>Lord of the Rings\u003c/b> complete with re-enactment, and some endearing performances from the losers who can’t grow up. Their venue has moved from the Quick Stop to Mooby’s burgers, but they are still just killing time in Jersey. We came out of there feeling proud that we had chosen \u003cb>Clerks II\u003c/b> over \u003cb>My Super Ex-Girlfriend\u003c/b> and the universally panned \u003cb>The Lady in the Water\u003c/b>. We chose wisely. Step one to a perfect night — choose well, but don’t overthink.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Next stop, the Troubadour. As we cruised up Santa Monica Blvd., we saw the line of Paris Hilton and Nick Lachey wannabees, complete with valets, cops, and lines of shiny cars. What could this be, pray tell? Only Lobby, the hottest celeb club in LA! And it happens to be right next door to the seedy Troubadour. Well what luck. Seeing as we were going to see a smelly band of pseudo-hippies, it seemed only fitting we should be next door to such a glittering spectacle. Mommy is happy — hooray!\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We walked into the club just as Brightblack Morning Light were starting up, perfect timing. It was mellow, not too crowded, and we found a comfy place right at the side of the stage to take in the vibe. Brightblack Morning Light are definitely part of the nouveau hippie scene I have waxed so eloquently upon in past posts. Their CD comes with rainbow prism glasses printed with marijuana leaves, for chrissake. But where most of those bands base their sound on a strumming or plucking acoustic guitar, Brightblack are of a darker, moodier groove, emanating from a vintage Fender Rhodes played by a cool chick in aviator sunglasses. Over to her left we have the dude in the poncho, greasy dreadlocks covering his face, with two white feathers sticking up from his mike stand, and he appears to be playing guitar. I believe his last name to be Shineywater. There are two drummers, flanking either side of the stage, with unconventional drum kits, one wearing flip-flops and one looking kinda like Gene Wilder. Oh yeah, and there are petrified logs along the front of the stage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The music is trancelike, it’s deep, it’s a little boring but pretty cool. They bring up a friend, a cute girl in a vintage Live Aid t-shirt, ostensibly to sing with them. She stands at the mike, playing with her hair for what seems like an eternity until she finally moans something along with them. All is going as well as can be expected, and Danny and I are happy sipping our Coronas and chilling out, when there seems to be some kind of feedback happening. At first it’s hard to tell, since everything is drenched in all kinds of delay and reverb and nonsense. Suddenly, the poncho dude rips off said poncho in a fit of pique, starts ripping wires out of his guitar, and runs up to the front of the stage yelling “Fuck LA!” and storms off! Wha? Isn’t this the band that camps in the woods between shows and wants to save the spotted owl? Heaven forefend! Poncho Dude storms out the back door of the club, while a meaty bouncer stands guard as the door slams behind him. Two seconds later we hear a contrite little ‘tap tap tap’ at the door and the bouncer lets Poncho Dude back in, who proceeds to storm upstairs in search of the soundman. Meanwhile onstage, the ladies have decided to take back the night, and start rocking out way harder than they ever did with Poncho Dude onstage. You go, girls! The soundman looks down at me and Danny from the booth, and I say, “Hey, you better watch out — he’s coming to get you!” He just laughs and says “They were four hours late!” Poncho Dude has it out with him, then we hear some yelling and scuffling, and bottles being thrown. Someone tries to subdue Poncho Dude in the dressing room, which is a glass booth visible to the entire club. Only in LA! Hi-larious.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So the ladies keep on rocking out a couple more grooves, then the keyboard chick in the aviator glasses mumbles an apology through the layers of reverb and that’s the end of that. Well, Danny and I are mighty pleased with ourselves for having witnessed such an Altamont-lite ending to the freak folk love-in. We amble out onto the street, walking right into the fray of Hollywood foxes and foxettes waiting desperately to be deemed worthy enough to party with the likes of Lindsay Lohan inside the hallowed booths of Lobby. I beg Danny to indulge me — can we just walk past the line and back around the block and check out the action? Since the line is so thick along the sidewalk, there is nowhere to walk but the street in front. As I step one toe off the curb — BAM! There’s a car crash right in front of me. A valet, driving a shiny silver Mercedes, veers right to the club entrance from the middle lane, cutting off another car coming up in the right hand lane. It’s a hideous crunch and clatter. I jump back onto the curb and we marvel at the weirdness of it all when I hear “Hey, Alison.” What now?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s my old friend Jeff Palmer, bass player extraordinaire, who now plays with the fantastic band the Radar Brothers. He lives in LA now, but used to be a fixture in the SF music scene. He’s a genius musician, and an adorable, sweet guy. So we all chat for like a half hour, catching up, musing on LA and its serendipitous nature, and laughing. We watch the endless parade of tanned, leggy blonds and beefy jock actors hop in and out of Escalades in front of Lobby. It’s a nice moment, and feels like it’s a show just for us. Making the scene but not making it at all. Just hanging. The world has gotten a little more cozy since I hit forty, and maybe that’s kind of a cool thing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On the way home, to top off such a funny night, we had to do the proper LA thing and get In ‘N Out Burger drive-through. God, yum. Just super yum. We showed up at 2 a.m. with fries and a shake for Lee, who was like “Man, you guys read my mind. I was starving!” A perfect night, indeed.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "SNAG Rock: Why?",
"headTitle": "SNAG Rock: Why? | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>A lonely voice, wailing to the world: why can’t you understand me?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Not only does this describe my attitude toward what I hereby dub SNAG (Sensitive New Age Guy) Rock, it pretty much sums up the message of the genre itself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In my case, I would like to know why SNAG Rock has proliferated kudzu-style all over the sonic landscape. In the SNAG Rockers’ case, they would like to know why their girlfriend dumped them/why they screwed up a good thing/what the meaning of it all might be.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Not familiar with SNAG Rock? Oh, sure you are. Picture an overly hirsute dude (shoulder-length hair and/or five o’clock shadow), age 26-42 (not that they’d admit to anything over 27) wearing jeans and a black t-shirt or some other ensemble that says: my publicist made me wear this outfit; in real life, I am too obsessed with living a life that is true to my deepest self to care. You know the look.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The lead singer is the heart and imaginary soul of the SNAG Rock band. His voice would not exist had Eddie Vedder not been born a decade before him and cleared a path. Oh, Eddie; I’m not blaming you. Do we blame Nick Drake for the career of Duncan Sheik? No. Do we blame Tiffany for the career of Ashlee Simpson? No, we blame Jessica Simpson. And her creepy dad. But I digress.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>SNAG Rockers are well-meaning dudes who sing about love and beautiful girls and lost opportunities and all the usual mess, but they insist on doing it at top vocal throttle at all times so we can hear the unchecked emotion fueling this song that is more than a song, it is an expression of internal loss that must find its audience somehow…\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The big question is: how is this ClearChannel’s fault? I think we can blame it on the Death Star by linking SNAG Rock to the radio format going by the self-canceling name of Hot AC (Adult Contemporary). Hot AC basically means rock music for adults and absolutely no hip-hop. [Question from the audience: Are any black artists allowed on Hot AC? Answer: Yes, Alicia Keys and that guy in the Dave Matthews Band]. Clear Channel and, to be fair, many other radio conglomerates, long ago devised a variety of music formats with which they program their stations. And on Hot AC (and AAA: Adult Album Alternative, a close sibling of Hot AC), you can only play Shawn Colvin’s \u003cb>Dawson’s Creek\u003c/b> song so many times. Cue SNAG Rock. It mitigates the Colvin Effect by applying a little bit of an edge to the playlist. Not much of an edge. Not a razor’s edge, for example. More like the edge of a phone book.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>SNAG Rock appeals because it looks like it might rock, but it doesn’t. It uses a lot of the rock tricks — loud guitars, crashing drums, big choruses, even a little feedback here and there. In fact, SNAG Rock is to real rock as Veggie Booty is to the produce section at the Berkeley Bowl. It can make you sad.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>You may have noticed that I have not mentioned any SNAG Rock bands by name. Nor will I. (Okay, Nickelback. But that’s it.) If you have to ask, you’ll never know. And what a happy state of affairs that would be… for you. As for me, I will continue to mourn the demise of unformatted radio. And wail, at full lung capacity, to anyone who will listen: why and wherefore SNAG Rock?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Resources\u003c/b>\u003cbr>Some great, unformatted radio stations:\u003cbr>KALX (Berkeley) \u003ca href=\"http://kalx.berkeley.edu/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">kalx.berkeley.edu\u003c/a>\u003cbr> KPOO (San Francisco) \u003ca href=\"http://www.kpoo.com/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">www.kpoo.com\u003c/a>\u003cbr>KCRW (Santa Monica) \u003ca href=\"http://www.kcrw.com/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">www.kcrw.com\u003c/a>\u003cbr>KEXP (Seattle) \u003ca href=\"http://www.kexp.org\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">www.kexp.org\u003c/a>\u003cbr>KGNU (Boulder) \u003ca href=\"http://kgnu.org/\" target=\"offfsite\" rel=\"noopener\">kgnu.org\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "A lonely voice, wailing to the world: why can't you understand me? \u003cp>Not only does this describe my attitude toward what I hereby dub SNAG (Sensitive New Age Guy) Rock, it pretty much sums up the message of the genre itself.\u003c/p> \u003cp>In my case, I would like to know why SNAG Rock has proliferated kudzu-style all over the sonic landscape. In the SNAG Rockers' case, they would like to know why their girlfriend dumped them/why they screwed up a good thing/what the meaning of it all might be.\u003c/p> ",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>A lonely voice, wailing to the world: why can’t you understand me?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Not only does this describe my attitude toward what I hereby dub SNAG (Sensitive New Age Guy) Rock, it pretty much sums up the message of the genre itself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In my case, I would like to know why SNAG Rock has proliferated kudzu-style all over the sonic landscape. In the SNAG Rockers’ case, they would like to know why their girlfriend dumped them/why they screwed up a good thing/what the meaning of it all might be.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Not familiar with SNAG Rock? Oh, sure you are. Picture an overly hirsute dude (shoulder-length hair and/or five o’clock shadow), age 26-42 (not that they’d admit to anything over 27) wearing jeans and a black t-shirt or some other ensemble that says: my publicist made me wear this outfit; in real life, I am too obsessed with living a life that is true to my deepest self to care. You know the look.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The lead singer is the heart and imaginary soul of the SNAG Rock band. His voice would not exist had Eddie Vedder not been born a decade before him and cleared a path. Oh, Eddie; I’m not blaming you. Do we blame Nick Drake for the career of Duncan Sheik? No. Do we blame Tiffany for the career of Ashlee Simpson? No, we blame Jessica Simpson. And her creepy dad. But I digress.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>SNAG Rockers are well-meaning dudes who sing about love and beautiful girls and lost opportunities and all the usual mess, but they insist on doing it at top vocal throttle at all times so we can hear the unchecked emotion fueling this song that is more than a song, it is an expression of internal loss that must find its audience somehow…\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The big question is: how is this ClearChannel’s fault? I think we can blame it on the Death Star by linking SNAG Rock to the radio format going by the self-canceling name of Hot AC (Adult Contemporary). Hot AC basically means rock music for adults and absolutely no hip-hop. [Question from the audience: Are any black artists allowed on Hot AC? Answer: Yes, Alicia Keys and that guy in the Dave Matthews Band]. Clear Channel and, to be fair, many other radio conglomerates, long ago devised a variety of music formats with which they program their stations. And on Hot AC (and AAA: Adult Album Alternative, a close sibling of Hot AC), you can only play Shawn Colvin’s \u003cb>Dawson’s Creek\u003c/b> song so many times. Cue SNAG Rock. It mitigates the Colvin Effect by applying a little bit of an edge to the playlist. Not much of an edge. Not a razor’s edge, for example. More like the edge of a phone book.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>SNAG Rock appeals because it looks like it might rock, but it doesn’t. It uses a lot of the rock tricks — loud guitars, crashing drums, big choruses, even a little feedback here and there. In fact, SNAG Rock is to real rock as Veggie Booty is to the produce section at the Berkeley Bowl. It can make you sad.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>You may have noticed that I have not mentioned any SNAG Rock bands by name. Nor will I. (Okay, Nickelback. But that’s it.) If you have to ask, you’ll never know. And what a happy state of affairs that would be… for you. As for me, I will continue to mourn the demise of unformatted radio. And wail, at full lung capacity, to anyone who will listen: why and wherefore SNAG Rock?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Resources\u003c/b>\u003cbr>Some great, unformatted radio stations:\u003cbr>KALX (Berkeley) \u003ca href=\"http://kalx.berkeley.edu/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">kalx.berkeley.edu\u003c/a>\u003cbr> KPOO (San Francisco) \u003ca href=\"http://www.kpoo.com/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">www.kpoo.com\u003c/a>\u003cbr>KCRW (Santa Monica) \u003ca href=\"http://www.kcrw.com/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">www.kcrw.com\u003c/a>\u003cbr>KEXP (Seattle) \u003ca href=\"http://www.kexp.org\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">www.kexp.org\u003c/a>\u003cbr>KGNU (Boulder) \u003ca href=\"http://kgnu.org/\" target=\"offfsite\" rel=\"noopener\">kgnu.org\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>The song “Samson” is a standout on Regina Spektor’s album \u003cb>Begin to Hope\u003c/b>, and the one you’re likely to come across first. It’s a womanly, if weird, account of a not-so-Biblical affair. And despite the fact that Wonder bread is an element in the chorus, it’s a quite arresting reminiscence of love and haircuts. Spektor’s voice, inflected with her native Russian, swells and recedes along with her piano playing in a way that makes the song completely captivating. It’s the kind of song that makes you want to see the movie, even if there isn’t one.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Listening to the entire album, though, it quickly becomes apparent that Spektor’s music is more girl than woman. It’s something she has complained about (or at least, observed) in interviews: that many descriptions of her invoke the word “childlike.” Well, if your CD liner notes are adorned with art that looks like it comes from a bedtime story and your lyrics talk about eating slices of Wonder bread and dreaming of orca whales, then you’ve probably got to brace yourself for a “childlike” or two. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While it’s true that Spektor has a kid’s sense of whimsy, she isn’t just twirling around on the good ship lollipop. The classically trained pianist and singer-songwriter is capable of offering a sound, and a lyrical content, with plenty of depth. She is mining the same combination of theatricality and woman-girl sensuality as Fiona Apple and Bjork before her.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As with those two artists, the amount of pleasure you’ll derive from Spektor’s work depends on just how much idiosyncrasy you can tolerate. Personally, she lost me at “Hey remember that time when my favorite colors was pink and green/Hey remember that month when I only ate boxes of tangerines/So cheap and juicy!” on the album’s ninth track, “That Time.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Spektor intends her songs to be little stories. So if you get piqued, don’t direct it at her — save it for the character portrayed in the song. Much of the time there’s a sensibility to admire, even if a song gets grating for one reason or another. Spektor is never simply cute, simply tragic — simply anything. The same song featuring memories of tangerines also involves a recollection of waiting in the hospital to hear news of a friend who OD’ed. And her lyrics aren’t always overcaffeinated. They can often be quite lovely, as in “Field Below,” where “Again the sun was never called/And darkness spreads over the snow/Like ancient bruises.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s very hard to get bored listening to this CD. In addition to her grand piano skills and versatile voice, Spektor indulges in vocal tics and accents that make her fascinating to listen to. She punctuates the chorus in “Apres Moi” with an “oh” that sounds like she’s been punched in the stomach. It sounds like an odd afterthought, but you can’t imagine the song without it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A nice thing about \u003cb>Begin to Hope\u003c/b> is that it doesn’t sound like any label executives have tried to de-quirk Spektor. She seems free to gasp and pant and sing about Wonder bread all she wants, and for the most part this is a good thing. Yes, it’s hard to get bored with Regina Spektor. But somehow, it’s not hard to turn her off after awhile, either. After all, children are very free, which why they can be so magical — and sometimes really annoying — at the same time.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s very hard to get bored listening to this CD. In addition to her grand piano skills and versatile voice, Spektor indulges in vocal tics and accents that make her fascinating to listen to. She punctuates the chorus in “Apres Moi” with an “oh” that sounds like she’s been punched in the stomach. It sounds like an odd afterthought, but you can’t imagine the song without it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A nice thing about \u003cb>Begin to Hope\u003c/b> is that it doesn’t sound like any label executives have tried to de-quirk Spektor. She seems free to gasp and pant and sing about Wonder bread all she wants, and for the most part this is a good thing. Yes, it’s hard to get bored with Regina Spektor. But somehow, it’s not hard to turn her off after awhile, either. After all, children are very free, which why they can be so magical — and sometimes really annoying — at the same time.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Oh say, have you heard of The Heavenly States? In a world of bad band names, they got a good one. And the name tells you something about the music: The Heavenly States are not afraid to be beautiful. They’re not averse to a great hook. They’re very open to “oooh-aah” backing vocals that just sound good. They’re not trying to be clever, they just want to rock. Oh, yeah, honey – The Heavenly States will rock you … maybe not like a hurricane, but they will rock you like a tropical storm: heavy at times, fading into a spooky calm, with plenty of atmosphere. Does anybody in this post-Katrina world really want to be rocked like a hurricane anymore?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I remember when I first heard The Clash. I had built them up to be the hardest-rocking punks in history, and boy was I surprised. They were melodic, danceable, even. What a shock! Yet I understood where their punk cred came in: it was in their attitude toward the music: hard and coarse. Most of all, it was Joe Strummer’s voice (and Mick Jones’s, depending on the song). These were voices that were untaught and untamed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Heavenly States are similar in that they create these lovely songs with great hooks and then Ted Nesseth, the lead singer, just wails in front of ’em full bore. “Borderline” is a good example. With an upbeat guitar and drum riff, it sounds at first like it could bop its way into the latest post-punk single, then WHAM! Nesseth’s voice comes in, raw as a big, glistening slab of toro sashimi (and just as satisfying). Did I mention the flying violin figure that shores the whole song up? It’s the best use of violin in a pop song since Dexy’s Midnight Runners’ “Come On Eileen.” Joe Strummer, Ted Nesseth, and Tom Waits are all masters of the same musical trick: you can write a sweet, even sentimental song, and as long as you sing it rough it won’t sound corny. “The Witness,” the last song on \u003cb>Black Comet\u003c/b>, is a case in point.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With a name like The Heavenly States they can only hail from one place. That’s right, Oakland, U.S.A. Some of them reside in a — not exactly a garage — more like a carriage house, and that’s a good genre for them: a carriage-house band. More sophisticated than a garage band (and much better musicianship), but still funky.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>They just came off a tour of the greater Midwest and found fans wherever they played. And they’ve played some crazy places. Like, for example: Libya. Seriously, The Heavenly States were the first band to play Libya ever and if you don’t believe me, just wait a few months because they filmed it all and it will be released sometime this fall. If you can’t wait that long, check out the \u003ca href=\"http://www.theheavenlystates.com/index1.html\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\"> Libya travelogue\u003c/a> posted on their website.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Watch this space for more on \u003cb>Borderline\u003c/b>, a.k.a. the Libya movie. In the meantime, listen to \u003cb>Black Comet\u003c/b> and get yourself some good old fashioned East Bay Carriage-House Rock. Make sure you add that genre to your iPod, because you’re going to end up getting their earlier albums, too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> \u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cp>I’ve been down this month because I’m selling my house and saying goodbye, forever, to my oldest friend. Funny, then, that I found this Jolie Holland CD, \u003cb>Escondida\u003c/b>, amongst the CDs at Phoenix Books. It’s full of these old-timey songs that sound as though they were discovered in the bat-infested attic of an abandoned house in Appalachia. During my drive through the Santa Cruz Mountains to retrieve a few last things from my own empty home — my grandmother’s china, the wedding dress I decided not to wear, a jade plant that would never give up no matter how much I neglected it — I listened to that CD over and over again, and I found it increasingly hard not to cry because certain songs stirred up memories of old feelings while pretty accurately describing my present. I was being thoroughly haunted by the ghosts of my former feelings.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So when I discovered that Jolie Holland was playing at Bimbo’s 365 Club I purchased tickets right away, because her songs move me. Which was one thing when I was alone in my car, but another thing entirely in a club full of people. I was lucky enough to get a table next to the stage, which I shared with a very young and very sweet hippie couple. Actually, they saw me sitting on the floor and offered me a chair. I consider myself a friendly person, but compared to these kids I felt positively guarded. That is, I was guarding myself from feeling too much that evening, and as a result I was more skeptical than friendly, myself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We ordered beers and the hippie couple said a lot of admiring things about Jolie Holland’s talents. In the meantime I found myself distracted by a point of criticism. It’s the strange way she draws out her vowels — sometimes they’re so distended that listeners have trouble deciphering her lyrics. But I didn’t bring it up. Would it kill me to let this happy couple go on being happy?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Then Jolie Holland came on and she started whistling a tune while the band played softly behind her. And my skepticism fell flat on its face because something occurred to me. While Jolie Holland’s lyrics are undeniably lovely (as in, check out these lines from “Black Stars”),:\u003cbr>\n\u003ci>The moon is wizened and it is old\u003cbr>\nAs a toad in a Chinese story\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>She’s really a tunesmith at heart. Here’s why I say this — Jolie Holland is the best whistler I’ve ever heard; she’s so good, in fact, that when she did it on the CD I assumed it wasn’t her at all, but some stand-in. But no. Jolie Holland’s voice is an instrument and while her lyrics add a little something, we are meant to comprehend her songs by understanding what is articulate about the notes she sings and the way she delivers them. Listening to a Jolie Holland melody is the aural equivalent of looking at an old album of childhood photographs; the people and places captured inside are familiar and strange and they speak to you in a language beneath words.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That night at the concert, I dearly missed something I’d traded in for new memories. I wanted my home back, my old friend, everything. But I was in San Francisco, at Bimbo’s, enjoying this chance to revisit the past from a much safer distance. Distance was exactly what I needed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As I drained my beer, I watched a couple slow-dancing near the edge of the stage. When they finished I discovered that the hippie couple I was sitting with had bought me another beer. We toasted and it was a great place, that moment, and now it’s become one of those lovely, achey scenes from the past.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That night at the concert my heart said its final goodbye to the house I once lived in. Any time I want to visit it again, I guess I’ll let my ears guide me to \u003cb>Escondida\u003c/b> and to Jolie Holland’s lonesome-sounding whistle, because now, my house is gone. But it’s a true consolation to know that we, all of us, are here in this city full of friendly faces, and here is pretty neat, too.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>I’ve been down this month because I’m selling my house and saying goodbye, forever, to my oldest friend. Funny, then, that I found this Jolie Holland CD, \u003cb>Escondida\u003c/b>, amongst the CDs at Phoenix Books. It’s full of these old-timey songs that sound as though they were discovered in the bat-infested attic of an abandoned house in Appalachia. During my drive through the Santa Cruz Mountains to retrieve a few last things from my own empty home — my grandmother’s china, the wedding dress I decided not to wear, a jade plant that would never give up no matter how much I neglected it — I listened to that CD over and over again, and I found it increasingly hard not to cry because certain songs stirred up memories of old feelings while pretty accurately describing my present. I was being thoroughly haunted by the ghosts of my former feelings.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So when I discovered that Jolie Holland was playing at Bimbo’s 365 Club I purchased tickets right away, because her songs move me. Which was one thing when I was alone in my car, but another thing entirely in a club full of people. I was lucky enough to get a table next to the stage, which I shared with a very young and very sweet hippie couple. Actually, they saw me sitting on the floor and offered me a chair. I consider myself a friendly person, but compared to these kids I felt positively guarded. That is, I was guarding myself from feeling too much that evening, and as a result I was more skeptical than friendly, myself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We ordered beers and the hippie couple said a lot of admiring things about Jolie Holland’s talents. In the meantime I found myself distracted by a point of criticism. It’s the strange way she draws out her vowels — sometimes they’re so distended that listeners have trouble deciphering her lyrics. But I didn’t bring it up. Would it kill me to let this happy couple go on being happy?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Then Jolie Holland came on and she started whistling a tune while the band played softly behind her. And my skepticism fell flat on its face because something occurred to me. While Jolie Holland’s lyrics are undeniably lovely (as in, check out these lines from “Black Stars”),:\u003cbr>\n\u003ci>The moon is wizened and it is old\u003cbr>\nAs a toad in a Chinese story\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>She’s really a tunesmith at heart. Here’s why I say this — Jolie Holland is the best whistler I’ve ever heard; she’s so good, in fact, that when she did it on the CD I assumed it wasn’t her at all, but some stand-in. But no. Jolie Holland’s voice is an instrument and while her lyrics add a little something, we are meant to comprehend her songs by understanding what is articulate about the notes she sings and the way she delivers them. Listening to a Jolie Holland melody is the aural equivalent of looking at an old album of childhood photographs; the people and places captured inside are familiar and strange and they speak to you in a language beneath words.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That night at the concert, I dearly missed something I’d traded in for new memories. I wanted my home back, my old friend, everything. But I was in San Francisco, at Bimbo’s, enjoying this chance to revisit the past from a much safer distance. Distance was exactly what I needed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As I drained my beer, I watched a couple slow-dancing near the edge of the stage. When they finished I discovered that the hippie couple I was sitting with had bought me another beer. We toasted and it was a great place, that moment, and now it’s become one of those lovely, achey scenes from the past.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That night at the concert my heart said its final goodbye to the house I once lived in. Any time I want to visit it again, I guess I’ll let my ears guide me to \u003cb>Escondida\u003c/b> and to Jolie Holland’s lonesome-sounding whistle, because now, my house is gone. But it’s a true consolation to know that we, all of us, are here in this city full of friendly faces, and here is pretty neat, too.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>One recent day, during a drive around the Presidio, I put on Sara Tavares’ \u003cb>Balance\u003c/b>. As the car threaded through the trees and fog, it suddenly seemed about 30 degrees warmer. I imagined exotic birds in the branches and an island bungalow, where I would sip a fruity drink at sunset while the ocean winds played on the curtains.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Unfortunately, the other listener in the car clearly hadn’t accompanied me on this flight of fancy. “I don’t know if I can take a lot more of this,” he said. “There’s only so much a guy can pretend to be sensitive.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>OK, so \u003cb>Balance\u003c/b> doesn’t “rock.” It’s certainly not very “macho.” Tavares, with her buoyant and at times girlish voice, can sound as if Natasha Bedingfield or Nelly Furtado went off and did a world music album. But even the most hardened set of ears should be able to withstand (or at least ignore) this album. Even the cheesy tag lines for her songs in the liner notes (“Let’s celebrate love n’ freedom! Step into the dance!”) can’t corrupt the breezy charm of Tavares’ music.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A Cape Verdian from Portugal, Tavares wrote most of the songs on \u003cb>Balance\u003c/b> and performs several instruments. The arrangements are beautifully laid-back sounding, mostly relying on vocal layering, multiple acoustic guitars and a grab-bag of various percussion types.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Many of the tracks here trade on Tavares’ voice and the irresistibly pretty little melodies that make up her music, so that it really does feel like a musical vacation. On songs such as the opening title track, “One Love,” and “Bom Feeling,” Tavares is like an irrepressible balloon that keeps floating up, and the effect is alternately cheering and soothing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But it’s by no means a one-note album. On songs such as “Ess Amor,” which features a ghostly accordion, and “Amoré,” Tavares turns down the volume. The latter consists mostly of a seductive spoken-word delivery that evolves into free-form improvisational singing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>You’ll notice both of those song titles have the word \u003cem>amor\u003c/em> in the title. \u003cem>Amor\u003c/em> is a word that pops up a \u003cem>lot\u003c/em> on \u003cb>Balance\u003c/b>, informing most of the songs as they veer from celebration to longing to playfulness. (This review is probably not doing much to dispel the notion that buying this album will put you at risk of being labeled a foofy cheeseball. But I can guarantee that if you put this on during a gathering, no one will notice all the \u003cem>amor\u003c/em>. They will just find themselves feeling a little happier.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Since most of the album is sung in Portuguese, you’re going to have to ask someone else what Tavares is actually saying in her lyrics. But it’s not hard to get the drift most of the time (you know what \u003cem>amor\u003c/em> means, after all). What makes Tavares so effective and compelling to listen to is her ability to marshal everything — languages, emotions, sounds and syllables — to get her songs across. “I know you can understand me,” Tavares breaks away to sing in English during “One Love.” She’s right.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>One recent day, during a drive around the Presidio, I put on Sara Tavares’ \u003cb>Balance\u003c/b>. As the car threaded through the trees and fog, it suddenly seemed about 30 degrees warmer. I imagined exotic birds in the branches and an island bungalow, where I would sip a fruity drink at sunset while the ocean winds played on the curtains.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Unfortunately, the other listener in the car clearly hadn’t accompanied me on this flight of fancy. “I don’t know if I can take a lot more of this,” he said. “There’s only so much a guy can pretend to be sensitive.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>OK, so \u003cb>Balance\u003c/b> doesn’t “rock.” It’s certainly not very “macho.” Tavares, with her buoyant and at times girlish voice, can sound as if Natasha Bedingfield or Nelly Furtado went off and did a world music album. But even the most hardened set of ears should be able to withstand (or at least ignore) this album. Even the cheesy tag lines for her songs in the liner notes (“Let’s celebrate love n’ freedom! Step into the dance!”) can’t corrupt the breezy charm of Tavares’ music.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A Cape Verdian from Portugal, Tavares wrote most of the songs on \u003cb>Balance\u003c/b> and performs several instruments. The arrangements are beautifully laid-back sounding, mostly relying on vocal layering, multiple acoustic guitars and a grab-bag of various percussion types.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Many of the tracks here trade on Tavares’ voice and the irresistibly pretty little melodies that make up her music, so that it really does feel like a musical vacation. On songs such as the opening title track, “One Love,” and “Bom Feeling,” Tavares is like an irrepressible balloon that keeps floating up, and the effect is alternately cheering and soothing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But it’s by no means a one-note album. On songs such as “Ess Amor,” which features a ghostly accordion, and “Amoré,” Tavares turns down the volume. The latter consists mostly of a seductive spoken-word delivery that evolves into free-form improvisational singing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>You’ll notice both of those song titles have the word \u003cem>amor\u003c/em> in the title. \u003cem>Amor\u003c/em> is a word that pops up a \u003cem>lot\u003c/em> on \u003cb>Balance\u003c/b>, informing most of the songs as they veer from celebration to longing to playfulness. (This review is probably not doing much to dispel the notion that buying this album will put you at risk of being labeled a foofy cheeseball. But I can guarantee that if you put this on during a gathering, no one will notice all the \u003cem>amor\u003c/em>. They will just find themselves feeling a little happier.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Since most of the album is sung in Portuguese, you’re going to have to ask someone else what Tavares is actually saying in her lyrics. But it’s not hard to get the drift most of the time (you know what \u003cem>amor\u003c/em> means, after all). What makes Tavares so effective and compelling to listen to is her ability to marshal everything — languages, emotions, sounds and syllables — to get her songs across. “I know you can understand me,” Tavares breaks away to sing in English during “One Love.” She’s right.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Consider the virtually simultaneous appearance on earth of the following: Ambient music (mid-1970s); the Sony Walkman (1979); MTV (1981). Coincidence? Yes, but…\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Admit it: you have spent time — valuable time — imagining what a TV show or film based on your life would look like. Who would play you? Who would play that jerk of a kid who picked on you in junior high? (May I suggest Seth Green?) And, most importantly, what would be on the soundtrack?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Music has always been personal, but the Walkman made it private. And what is private music, if not a soundtrack? Yes, before the Walkman it was possible to take one’s music along to a picnic, but boomboxes actually were a means of sharing music. Although the gentle (ha!) folks at Apple like to claim their iPod as the revolutionary music player of the modern era, they’re just wrong.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The advent of MTV and other cable channels dedicated to niche pleasures (food, animals, home decor, etc.) further encouraged consumer citizens to see the world as one’s own personal pleasure dome. We could all star in the biopic of our own lives. Fun! It was nice to listen to The Smiths’ “How Soon is Now” while feeling glum and riding the bus around town… alone… (sniff, we were fourteen) but what about the moments in life — in the ongoing film of one’s life — when pop songs don’t apply? That’s when you need ambient music, something without vocals or attention-drawing solos, to simply enhance the mood of the moment — your own, private moment.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Thus, John Davis. Well, not exactly. Perhaps the San Francisco-based artist John Davis is the anti-ambient musician, in the sense that his music and his entire aesthetic project is designed to engage the listener. Is that capital-A Ambient? I don’t know. But his use of found sounds and love of long chord progressions tags him for the genre anyway. Sound recordings are just a part of his ongoing artistic oeuvre, which can be experienced at various artsy establishments around town. But his newest CD is the sweet and clever \u003cb>At Home and Afield\u003c/b>, released by local label Root Strata. It’s a 3″, two-track CD that sounds like the inner yearnings of an old television antenna. Don’t just take my word for it, according to Davis’s website the instrumentation includes “field recordings, guitar, bowed cymbals, and household objects.” Think metal whisk, not George Foreman grill. It’s beautiful and slow and would make the perfect soundtrack to your six o’clock meander through an abandoned industrial warehouse. Find an old boombox, record the CD onto a cassette tape, pop it into a Walkman, and go.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The CD is packaged in a lovely little hand-stenciled case, and included in the reasonable price of $4.98 are the makings for your own tiny contact microphone, which can be used to record pretty nature sounds or to spy on your arch-nemesis. Davis has created an \u003ca href=\"http://www.noiseforlight.com/index.htm\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">online archive of found sounds\u003c/a> and would love to post your recordings there, too. Now that’s what I call personal — if not private — music.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Note re. scarcity: The first edition of \u003cb>At Home and Afield\u003c/b> has sold out, but Root Strata has promised another pressing posthaste. Contact \u003ca href=\"http://www.rootstrata.com/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Root Strata\u003c/a> for ordering information.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Bonus:\u003c/b> Read the \u003ca href=\"http://www.sony.net/Fun/SH/1-18/h1.html\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">unexpectedly charming history\u003c/a> of the Sony Walkman and \u003ca href=\"http://home.earthlink.net/~erinys/contactmic.html\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Learn how to build\u003c/a> your own contact microphone.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Consider the virtually simultaneous appearance on earth of the following: Ambient music (mid-1970s); the Sony Walkman (1979); MTV (1981). Coincidence? Yes, but…\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Admit it: you have spent time — valuable time — imagining what a TV show or film based on your life would look like. Who would play you? Who would play that jerk of a kid who picked on you in junior high? (May I suggest Seth Green?) And, most importantly, what would be on the soundtrack?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Music has always been personal, but the Walkman made it private. And what is private music, if not a soundtrack? Yes, before the Walkman it was possible to take one’s music along to a picnic, but boomboxes actually were a means of sharing music. Although the gentle (ha!) folks at Apple like to claim their iPod as the revolutionary music player of the modern era, they’re just wrong.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The advent of MTV and other cable channels dedicated to niche pleasures (food, animals, home decor, etc.) further encouraged consumer citizens to see the world as one’s own personal pleasure dome. We could all star in the biopic of our own lives. Fun! It was nice to listen to The Smiths’ “How Soon is Now” while feeling glum and riding the bus around town… alone… (sniff, we were fourteen) but what about the moments in life — in the ongoing film of one’s life — when pop songs don’t apply? That’s when you need ambient music, something without vocals or attention-drawing solos, to simply enhance the mood of the moment — your own, private moment.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Thus, John Davis. Well, not exactly. Perhaps the San Francisco-based artist John Davis is the anti-ambient musician, in the sense that his music and his entire aesthetic project is designed to engage the listener. Is that capital-A Ambient? I don’t know. But his use of found sounds and love of long chord progressions tags him for the genre anyway. Sound recordings are just a part of his ongoing artistic oeuvre, which can be experienced at various artsy establishments around town. But his newest CD is the sweet and clever \u003cb>At Home and Afield\u003c/b>, released by local label Root Strata. It’s a 3″, two-track CD that sounds like the inner yearnings of an old television antenna. Don’t just take my word for it, according to Davis’s website the instrumentation includes “field recordings, guitar, bowed cymbals, and household objects.” Think metal whisk, not George Foreman grill. It’s beautiful and slow and would make the perfect soundtrack to your six o’clock meander through an abandoned industrial warehouse. Find an old boombox, record the CD onto a cassette tape, pop it into a Walkman, and go.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The CD is packaged in a lovely little hand-stenciled case, and included in the reasonable price of $4.98 are the makings for your own tiny contact microphone, which can be used to record pretty nature sounds or to spy on your arch-nemesis. Davis has created an \u003ca href=\"http://www.noiseforlight.com/index.htm\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">online archive of found sounds\u003c/a> and would love to post your recordings there, too. Now that’s what I call personal — if not private — music.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Note re. scarcity: The first edition of \u003cb>At Home and Afield\u003c/b> has sold out, but Root Strata has promised another pressing posthaste. Contact \u003ca href=\"http://www.rootstrata.com/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Root Strata\u003c/a> for ordering information.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Bonus:\u003c/b> Read the \u003ca href=\"http://www.sony.net/Fun/SH/1-18/h1.html\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">unexpectedly charming history\u003c/a> of the Sony Walkman and \u003ca href=\"http://home.earthlink.net/~erinys/contactmic.html\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Learn how to build\u003c/a> your own contact microphone.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>If you’ve been to a local club show in the past year in San Francisco with more than two bands on the bill, chances are one of those bands was one of THOSE bands. You know — a bunch of hirsute young dudes, a couple of girls who look like they stepped out of a Swedish commune circa 1972, all sitting cross-legged with their banjos and 12-strings and poorly strung sitars, looking ever so tripped-out, man. There’s always one chick banging on a drum and looking bored, one member who is an actual musician, and the rest are just happy to be deemed cool enough to tinkle a little bell or pluck a lute in the “band.” The freak-folk revolution has grabbed hold like no one could have imagined. Even the \u003ci>New York Times\u003c/i> is in on the scene. I am a fan of the neo-freakies, but if I have to endure one more of these quasi “collective” musical ensembles, which are always the solipsistic brain-child of some twenty-year-old art school dropout, I’m gonna stay home!\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Anyway, that said, I totally dig Devendra Banhart. I love Joanna Newsom and I absolutely adore Vetiver. These are the grandmasters of this strange little hippie movement, and for good reason. The music of Vetiver is gentle, moving, and beautifully well-written. Although the bleak artwork on this new album looks like it should be for some goth-industrial band (until you check out the band photos — beards, beards and more beards!), the music is pure, pastoral, virgin forest goodness.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Vetiver bandleader Andy Cabic stands head and shoulders above the rest, with his quavering voice channeling the yearning and wonder of George Harrison and the plaintive wistfulness of Jerry Garcia. There are melodies, there is depth, there is a purpose for these pieces to exist beyond just the sheer stoned joy of strumming a guitar for hours on end. \u003cb>To Find Me Gone\u003c/b> takes the loveliness of Vetiver’s debut album to the next level — a deeper, moodier place which expands with each simple rhythm, tasty string arrangement, and warbly organ swell. There are even some rockin’ moments, however fleeting, that intensify but don’t distract from the vibe. The songs echo the sweet strains of the 60s and early 70s, from the Turtles-like “You May Be Blue,” to \u003cb>American Beauty\u003c/b>-era Grateful Dead on “Maureen.” If you have been wondering where to start with this hairy scene, \u003cb>To Find Me Gone\u003c/b> can be the beginning and end of your freak-folk search. Perhaps it will inspire you to dig further, or perhaps you will just be satisfied with this one foray into the forest. Whatever, man, it’s your own trip.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n",
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"content": "\u003cp>There’s a Jollibee Restaurant in Daly City. I’ve walked into it before but turned around after getting freaked-out by the multi-colored signage. Most American fast food restaurants have their color schemes — two, three at the most — like a sports team (McDonald’s is red and gold, KFC’s got red and white, Taco Bell is texy-mexy pink and blue), but Jollibee looks like it got attacked by the Google logo, with some cornea-melting orange thrown in for good measure. This presents a heckuva dilemma for the stoner: if you can endure the jollibright color scheme, you will be rewarded with fried chicken and spaghetti, pizzamelt pies, jollicheezy fries, some noodle and fried pork thing called Palabok, and mango peach pies — you will enter stoner paradise. But I wouldn’t know, ’cause I haven’t eaten there. Probably haven’t been high enough yet. I am not worthy.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Recently, I read that Jollibee, in it’s native Phillipines, has been victorious over McDonald’s in the war for its citizens’ obviously courageous stomachs. There, Jollibee’s profits were double those of the evil Golden Arches — nothin’ like a smiley little bumblebee to deliver the sting of colonial payback.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Today, Hip Hop in America is not unlike McDonald’s food: mass-produced, hormone-fueled, highly predictable, and generally, bad for your health. For this reason, I am lucky enough to have some Filipino-American, or Pinoy, Hip Hop to save my “Summer 06 iTunes Playlist” from being completely Hip Hop-Free (except, of course for “Summertime” by Will Smith, which holds a permanent spot on the roster). Native Guns are Jollibee and 50 Cent is McDonald’s and I am, uh, the hungry Filipino public. Native Guns consist of the holy Hip Hop trinity of two emcees and one dj- Kiwi, Bambu, and DJ Phatrick. Kiwi and Bambu are both Filipino rappers from LA, although Kiwi now lives in San Francisco and their DJ, DJ Phatrick is from Oakland, via Houston, and he’s not Pinoy, but Chinese. According to their \u003ca href=\"http://www.myspace.com/nativeguns\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">MySpace page\u003c/a>, they are Pinoy Hip Hop from LA, the Bay Area, and Califaztlan (California before colonialism for Chicano activists). This not only gives you an idea of where the Native Guns are from, but also where they are coming from. It’s political Hip Hop at it’s best in the tradition of Public Enemy, Dead Prez, The Coup — thoughtful, subjective lyrics coupled with high-level political analysis. And like these precursors, Native Guns are willing to put the party in “political party.” Meaning, the beats rate high on the head-nodding scale.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Native Guns convincing debut album, \u003cb>Barrel Men\u003c/b>, begins with the song “Initiation,” which opens with a skit (a kind of Hip Hop audio drama) of a kid getting jumped into a gang. If the song and album that followed weren’t so good, such a contrived device would certainly fall flat. It is the social commentary woven together with the emcees’ own biographies that stands up, and over the course of the album is enough to forgive the occasional gunshot sound and clichéd skit. These stories stray from the current urban music freaky-tale that is pretty much most of what you hear on mainstream terrestrial radio. These days, ultra-violence is taboo but sex is ka-ching!\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One song I love for its irony is called “Work It.” It’s a song about sweatshop labor (appropriate topic for properly pissed-off Filipinos), but the great thing is that the chorus has the cadence and character of your typical joint about sex and dancing. As if coaxing some dance floor diva to move her backside, the lyrics instruct:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Baby work it, ’til your hands get sweaty, Baby Work it, til your fingerz get bloody, Baby work it, ’til your stomach go hungry,C’mon get that money honey.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This is followed with an “oh yeah” seductively moaned by young female voices in unison. With “Work It,” Native Guns powerfully link the real, physical exploitation of women in the Third World to the representative exploitation of women in our popular music.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As I mentioned earlier, \u003cb>Barrel Men\u003c/b> is currently in heavy rotation in my “Summer ’06 iTunes Playlist.” What makes this album “season-appropriate” — just peep the rocksteady bounce of “Promise.” Early reggae samples are perfect for summer — not too fast and not too slow — it’s the mid-tempo pulse that moves you through the heat with a little breeze blowin’ on ya, but not so fast that you gotta put the top up. This album has a few more of those, including “Slave Thinking,” which contains a Bob Marley sample. Once again, something that might seem a little too much, but when Bambu spits 4 bars in Tagalog, all is forgiven (and btw, Tagalog sound’s great rapped, and until you hear some German Hip Hop, you won’t realize that there are some languages that just don’t lend themselves to the form).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Then there is the song “Champion,” which Native Guns call their “single” on their Myspace page. Man, I hope that some DJ somewhere is playing this song on the radio or in a club to warrant it being called a single. “Champion,” once again, comes with the reggae-inflected chorus, not coincidentally unlike the song “Champion” by LA underground heroes Freestyle Fellowship. I say this because Native Guns obviously owe much to the tradition of the West Coast underground emcee, and that is nowhere more present than on “Champion,” where it is the musical syncopation of the rhyming that energizes the song over its steady kick-clap-kick-clap march.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In Kiwi and Bambu the musical afterglow of Aceyalone and The Pharcyde is still burning. And thank God. These earlier artists, although apparently still around, peaked before their time. Now, those of us who once loved West Coast Hip Hop for its diversity, can once again, breath a sigh of relief after years of inhaling big purple clouds of Hyphy-GangstaCrunktasticness. Let us hope that Native Guns’ \u003cb>Barrel Men\u003c/b> will be the smoking gun we need — let this album stand as evidence that in 2006 Kiwi, Bambu and DJ Phatrick will be held partly responsible for killing the stereotype that West Coast Rap is either one-dimensional, gangsta-party joints or one-dimensional, back-packer, linguistic circle-jerks. Please, let them be guilty. Give theme the recognition they deserve. Lock ’em up with Mumia and Leonard Peltier, I wanna see “Free Native Guns” on Berkeley bumper stickers for the next 30 years, anything for a sea-change in Hip Hop. That’s a cause that needs political prisoners, and Native Guns are prime suspects.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>There’s a Jollibee Restaurant in Daly City. I’ve walked into it before but turned around after getting freaked-out by the multi-colored signage. Most American fast food restaurants have their color schemes — two, three at the most — like a sports team (McDonald’s is red and gold, KFC’s got red and white, Taco Bell is texy-mexy pink and blue), but Jollibee looks like it got attacked by the Google logo, with some cornea-melting orange thrown in for good measure. This presents a heckuva dilemma for the stoner: if you can endure the jollibright color scheme, you will be rewarded with fried chicken and spaghetti, pizzamelt pies, jollicheezy fries, some noodle and fried pork thing called Palabok, and mango peach pies — you will enter stoner paradise. But I wouldn’t know, ’cause I haven’t eaten there. Probably haven’t been high enough yet. I am not worthy.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Recently, I read that Jollibee, in it’s native Phillipines, has been victorious over McDonald’s in the war for its citizens’ obviously courageous stomachs. There, Jollibee’s profits were double those of the evil Golden Arches — nothin’ like a smiley little bumblebee to deliver the sting of colonial payback.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Today, Hip Hop in America is not unlike McDonald’s food: mass-produced, hormone-fueled, highly predictable, and generally, bad for your health. For this reason, I am lucky enough to have some Filipino-American, or Pinoy, Hip Hop to save my “Summer 06 iTunes Playlist” from being completely Hip Hop-Free (except, of course for “Summertime” by Will Smith, which holds a permanent spot on the roster). Native Guns are Jollibee and 50 Cent is McDonald’s and I am, uh, the hungry Filipino public. Native Guns consist of the holy Hip Hop trinity of two emcees and one dj- Kiwi, Bambu, and DJ Phatrick. Kiwi and Bambu are both Filipino rappers from LA, although Kiwi now lives in San Francisco and their DJ, DJ Phatrick is from Oakland, via Houston, and he’s not Pinoy, but Chinese. According to their \u003ca href=\"http://www.myspace.com/nativeguns\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">MySpace page\u003c/a>, they are Pinoy Hip Hop from LA, the Bay Area, and Califaztlan (California before colonialism for Chicano activists). This not only gives you an idea of where the Native Guns are from, but also where they are coming from. It’s political Hip Hop at it’s best in the tradition of Public Enemy, Dead Prez, The Coup — thoughtful, subjective lyrics coupled with high-level political analysis. And like these precursors, Native Guns are willing to put the party in “political party.” Meaning, the beats rate high on the head-nodding scale.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Native Guns convincing debut album, \u003cb>Barrel Men\u003c/b>, begins with the song “Initiation,” which opens with a skit (a kind of Hip Hop audio drama) of a kid getting jumped into a gang. If the song and album that followed weren’t so good, such a contrived device would certainly fall flat. It is the social commentary woven together with the emcees’ own biographies that stands up, and over the course of the album is enough to forgive the occasional gunshot sound and clichéd skit. These stories stray from the current urban music freaky-tale that is pretty much most of what you hear on mainstream terrestrial radio. These days, ultra-violence is taboo but sex is ka-ching!\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One song I love for its irony is called “Work It.” It’s a song about sweatshop labor (appropriate topic for properly pissed-off Filipinos), but the great thing is that the chorus has the cadence and character of your typical joint about sex and dancing. As if coaxing some dance floor diva to move her backside, the lyrics instruct:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cp>You gotta love a guy who would bring a drum kit up in an air balloon just for the sake of recording a beat at 2,000 feet. Well, it’s also possible you could brand him a pretentious jerk. But there’s something to be said for music from a relentlessly curious mind, and that’s what Matthew Herbert offers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Herbert is a prolific Brit who also records under the names Dr. Rockit, Radio Boy and others. His CDs get filed under electronica; but while that genre is often associated with blips and bleeps lazily manipulated from the comfort of a computerized studio, Herbert defies that stereotype with his classical training, use of traditional instrumentation and enterprising approaches to recording.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Despite his creativity, it’s still true that some of Herbert’s work, which includes albums built around household noise (\u003cb>Around the House\u003c/b>) and corporeal sounds (\u003cb>Bodily Functions\u003c/b>), nevertheless feels like blips and bleeps manipulated from the comfort of a computerized studio. But he’s so versatile, and capable of soul, that he’s impossible to dismiss as a novelty.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On his latest album, \u003cb>Scale\u003c/b>, Herbert says he sampled a total of 723 objects, including the air-balloon drum, gas pumps and a Royal Air Force Tornado bomber. It would take more discerning ears than mine to distinguish more than a handful of these samples on \u003cb>Scale\u003c/b>; what stands out is how pop-friendly and melodic the album is compared to Herbert’s previous work. Smooth, Basia-like vocals from Dani Siciliano are featured on most of the tracks. The last one, “Wrong,” is just a minute of Herbert singing over piano.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Many of the songs also feature string arrangements and horns, lending a romantic, MGM-type feel. Hearing “\u003ca href=\"http://www.magicandaccident.com/_MH/music.php?music=K7202CD\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">We’re in Love\u003c/a>” reminded me of the first time I really appreciated strings in pop music, and that was Prince’s \u003cb>Parade\u003c/b>. Any hardcore Prince fan will respond to \u003cb>Scale\u003c/b> on the basis of its similarity to the period when the Purple One used the vocals of the Melvoin sisters liberally, along with orchestral strings.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What’s startling about \u003cb>Scale\u003c/b> is the message behind it. Songs such as “Harmonise” and “We’re in Love” sound like continental romance with a backbeat, making it all the more jarring to find out that the theme here is global unrest and the love affair is with oil.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That doesn’t mean every song feels deceptively shiny. A couple of tracks are interesting, but not necessarily pleasant to listen to. “Just Once,” for example, sounds like Herbert used about 500 of the 723 samples to create a disturbing, post-apocalyptic feel. And you might find yourself checking your cell phone to see if it’s vibrating at the end of “Those Feelings,” if the whirring background vocal loop doesn’t drive you crazy first.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The press material for \u003cb>Scale\u003c/b> suggests that a couple of tracks, such as “The Movers and the Shakers,” are “club-friendly.” That’s sort of like saying Erik Satie’s “Gymnopédies” are a great mood-booster. Unless remixed significantly, the songs here aren’t the type of thing you’re likely to dance to in clubs or on the radio — but that’s also what makes them worth listening to. They’re unique, and at times beautiful.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The political posturing on \u003cb>Scale\u003c/b> may sound like a turn-off, but most of it is subtle and takes a back seat to the music (except when it IS the music, and even then it’s easy to overlook). Given the current context, \u003cb>Scale\u003c/b>‘s focus on the closing oil age manages to be more poignant than the end of any other kind of love story.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Bay-Curious-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/news/series/baycurious",
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 3
},
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"npr": "https://www.npr.org/podcasts/500557090/bay-curious",
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}
},
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"id": "bbc-world-service",
"title": "BBC World Service",
"info": "The day's top stories from BBC News compiled twice daily in the week, once at weekends.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 9pm-10pm, TUE-FRI 1am-2am",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/BBC-World-Service-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
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"meta": {
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"source": "BBC World Service"
},
"link": "/radio/program/bbc-world-service",
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"rss": "https://podcasts.files.bbci.co.uk/p02nq0gn.rss"
}
},
"californiareport": {
"id": "californiareport",
"title": "The California Report",
"tagline": "California, day by day",
"info": "KQED’s statewide radio news program providing daily coverage of issues, trends and public policy decisions.",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/The-California-Report-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/californiareport",
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 8
},
"link": "/californiareport",
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}
},
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"id": "californiareportmagazine",
"title": "The California Report Magazine",
"tagline": "Your state, your stories",
"info": "Every week, The California Report Magazine takes you on a road trip for the ears: to visit the places and meet the people who make California unique. The in-depth storytelling podcast from the California Report.",
"airtime": "FRI 4:30pm-5pm, 6:30pm-7pm, 11pm-11:30pm",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/californiareportmagazine",
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"order": 10
},
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5tZWdhcGhvbmUuZm0vS1FJTkM3NjkwNjk1OTAz",
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},
"city-arts": {
"id": "city-arts",
"title": "City Arts & Lectures",
"info": "A one-hour radio program to hear celebrated writers, artists and thinkers address contemporary ideas and values, often discussing the creative process. Please note: tapes or transcripts are not available",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/radio/wp-content/uploads/sites/50/2018/05/cityartsandlecture-300x300.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.cityarts.net/",
"airtime": "SUN 1pm-2pm, TUE 10pm, WED 1am",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "City Arts & Lectures"
},
"link": "https://www.cityarts.net",
"subscribe": {
"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/radio/City-Arts-and-Lectures-p692/",
"rss": "https://www.cityarts.net/feed/"
}
},
"closealltabs": {
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"info": "Close All Tabs breaks down how digital culture shapes our world through thoughtful insights and irreverent humor.",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/podcasts/closealltabs",
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 1
},
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"id": "code-switch-life-kit",
"title": "Code Switch / Life Kit",
"info": "\u003cem>Code Switch\u003c/em>, which listeners will hear in the first part of the hour, has fearless and much-needed conversations about race. Hosted by journalists of color, the show tackles the subject of race head-on, exploring how it impacts every part of society — from politics and pop culture to history, sports and more.\u003cbr />\u003cbr />\u003cem>Life Kit\u003c/em>, which will be in the second part of the hour, guides you through spaces and feelings no one prepares you for — from finances to mental health, from workplace microaggressions to imposter syndrome, from relationships to parenting. The show features experts with real world experience and shares their knowledge. Because everyone needs a little help being human.\u003cbr />\u003cbr />\u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/podcasts/510312/codeswitch\">\u003cem>Code Switch\u003c/em> offical site and podcast\u003c/a>\u003cbr />\u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/lifekit\">\u003cem>Life Kit\u003c/em> offical site and podcast\u003c/a>\u003cbr />",
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"meta": {
"site": "radio",
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},
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"id": "commonwealth-club",
"title": "Commonwealth Club of California Podcast",
"info": "The Commonwealth Club of California is the nation's oldest and largest public affairs forum. As a non-partisan forum, The Club brings to the public airwaves diverse viewpoints on important topics. The Club's weekly radio broadcast - the oldest in the U.S., dating back to 1924 - is carried across the nation on public radio stations and is now podcasting. Our website archive features audio of our recent programs, as well as selected speeches from our long and distinguished history. This podcast feed is usually updated twice a week and is always un-edited.",
"airtime": "THU 10pm, FRI 1am",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Commonwealth-Club-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
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"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "Commonwealth Club of California"
},
"link": "/radio/program/commonwealth-club",
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/commonwealth-club-of-california-podcast/id976334034?mt=2",
"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cDovL3d3dy5jb21tb253ZWFsdGhjbHViLm9yZy9hdWRpby9wb2RjYXN0L3dlZWtseS54bWw",
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"id": "forum",
"title": "Forum",
"tagline": "The conversation starts here",
"info": "KQED’s live call-in program discussing local, state, national and international issues, as well as in-depth interviews.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 9am-11am, 10pm-11pm",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Forum-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
"imageAlt": "KQED Forum with Mina Kim and Alexis Madrigal",
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"meta": {
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 9
},
"link": "/forum",
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5tZWdhcGhvbmUuZm0vS1FJTkM5NTU3MzgxNjMz",
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"freakonomics-radio": {
"id": "freakonomics-radio",
"title": "Freakonomics Radio",
"info": "Freakonomics Radio is a one-hour award-winning podcast and public-radio project hosted by Stephen Dubner, with co-author Steve Levitt as a regular guest. It is produced in partnership with WNYC.",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/news/wp-content/uploads/sites/10/2018/05/freakonomicsRadio.png",
"officialWebsiteLink": "http://freakonomics.com/",
"airtime": "SUN 1am-2am, SAT 3pm-4pm",
"meta": {
"site": "radio",
"source": "WNYC"
},
"link": "/radio/program/freakonomics-radio",
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/freakonomics-radio/id354668519",
"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/podcasts/WNYC-Podcasts/Freakonomics-Radio-p272293/",
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},
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"id": "fresh-air",
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"info": "Hosted by Terry Gross, \u003cem>Fresh Air from WHYY\u003c/em> is the Peabody Award-winning weekday magazine of contemporary arts and issues. One of public radio's most popular programs, Fresh Air features intimate conversations with today's biggest luminaries.",
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"link": "/radio/program/fresh-air",
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?s=143441&mt=2&id=214089682&at=11l79Y&ct=nprdirectory",
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"info": "A live production of NPR and WBUR Boston, in collaboration with stations across the country, Here & Now reflects the fluid world of news as it's happening in the middle of the day, with timely, in-depth news, interviews and conversation. Hosted by Robin Young, Jeremy Hobson and Tonya Mosley.",
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"hidden-brain": {
"id": "hidden-brain",
"title": "Hidden Brain",
"info": "Shankar Vedantam uses science and storytelling to reveal the unconscious patterns that drive human behavior, shape our choices and direct our relationships.",
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"airtime": "SUN 7pm-8pm",
"meta": {
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"source": "NPR"
},
"link": "/radio/program/hidden-brain",
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},
"how-i-built-this": {
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"title": "How I Built This with Guy Raz",
"info": "Guy Raz dives into the stories behind some of the world's best known companies. How I Built This weaves a narrative journey about innovators, entrepreneurs and idealists—and the movements they built.",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/news/wp-content/uploads/sites/10/2018/05/howIBuiltThis.png",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.npr.org/podcasts/510313/how-i-built-this",
"airtime": "SUN 7:30pm-8pm",
"meta": {
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"source": "npr"
},
"link": "/radio/program/how-i-built-this",
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/how-i-built-this-with-guy-raz/id1150510297?mt=2",
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},
"hyphenacion": {
"id": "hyphenacion",
"title": "Hyphenación",
"tagline": "Where conversation and cultura meet",
"info": "What kind of no sabo word is Hyphenación? For us, it’s about living within a hyphenation. Like being a third-gen Mexican-American from the Texas border now living that Bay Area Chicano life. Like Xorje! Each week we bring together a couple of hyphenated Latinos to talk all about personal life choices: family, careers, relationships, belonging … everything is on the table. ",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2025/03/Hyphenacion_FinalAssets_PodcastTile.png",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/podcasts/hyphenacion",
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"order": 15
},
"link": "/podcasts/hyphenacion",
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},
"jerrybrown": {
"id": "jerrybrown",
"title": "The Political Mind of Jerry Brown",
"tagline": "Lessons from a lifetime in politics",
"info": "The Political Mind of Jerry Brown brings listeners the wisdom of the former Governor, Mayor, and presidential candidate. Scott Shafer interviewed Brown for more than 40 hours, covering the former governor's life and half-century in the political game – and Brown has some lessons he'd like to share. ",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/The-Political-Mind-of-Jerry-Brown-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/podcasts/jerrybrown",
"meta": {
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"order": 18
},
"link": "/podcasts/jerrybrown",
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}
},
"latino-usa": {
"id": "latino-usa",
"title": "Latino USA",
"airtime": "MON 1am-2am, SUN 6pm-7pm",
"info": "Latino USA, the radio journal of news and culture, is the only national, English-language radio program produced from a Latino perspective.",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/radio/wp-content/uploads/sites/50/2018/04/latinoUsa.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "http://latinousa.org/",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "npr"
},
"link": "/radio/program/latino-usa",
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?s=143441&mt=2&id=79681317&at=11l79Y&ct=nprdirectory",
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"rss": "https://feeds.npr.org/510016/podcast.xml"
}
},
"marketplace": {
"id": "marketplace",
"title": "Marketplace",
"info": "Our flagship program, helmed by Kai Ryssdal, examines what the day in money delivered, through stories, conversations, newsworthy numbers and more. Updated Monday through Friday at about 3:30 p.m. PT.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 4pm-4:30pm, MON-WED 6:30pm-7pm",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Marketplace-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.marketplace.org/",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "American Public Media"
},
"link": "/radio/program/marketplace",
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"rss": "https://feeds.publicradio.org/public_feeds/marketplace-pm/rss/rss"
}
},
"masters-of-scale": {
"id": "masters-of-scale",
"title": "Masters of Scale",
"info": "Masters of Scale is an original podcast in which LinkedIn co-founder and Greylock Partner Reid Hoffman sets out to describe and prove theories that explain how great entrepreneurs take their companies from zero to a gazillion in ingenious fashion.",
"airtime": "Every other Wednesday June 12 through October 16 at 8pm (repeats Thursdays at 2am)",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Masters-of-Scale-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://mastersofscale.com/",
"meta": {
"site": "radio",
"source": "WaitWhat"
},
"link": "/radio/program/masters-of-scale",
"subscribe": {
"apple": "http://mastersofscale.app.link/",
"rss": "https://rss.art19.com/masters-of-scale"
}
},
"mindshift": {
"id": "mindshift",
"title": "MindShift",
"tagline": "A podcast about the future of learning and how we raise our kids",
"info": "The MindShift podcast explores the innovations in education that are shaping how kids learn. Hosts Ki Sung and Katrina Schwartz introduce listeners to educators, researchers, parents and students who are developing effective ways to improve how kids learn. We cover topics like how fed-up administrators are developing surprising tactics to deal with classroom disruptions; how listening to podcasts are helping kids develop reading skills; the consequences of overparenting; and why interdisciplinary learning can engage students on all ends of the traditional achievement spectrum. This podcast is part of the MindShift education site, a division of KQED News. KQED is an NPR/PBS member station based in San Francisco. You can also visit the MindShift website for episodes and supplemental blog posts or tweet us \u003ca href=\"https://twitter.com/MindShiftKQED\">@MindShiftKQED\u003c/a> or visit us at \u003ca href=\"/mindshift\">MindShift.KQED.org\u003c/a>",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Mindshift-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
"imageAlt": "KQED MindShift: How We Will Learn",
"officialWebsiteLink": "/mindshift/",
"meta": {
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 12
},
"link": "/podcasts/mindshift",
"subscribe": {
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5tZWdhcGhvbmUuZm0vS1FJTkM1NzY0NjAwNDI5",
"npr": "https://www.npr.org/podcasts/464615685/mind-shift-podcast",
"stitcher": "https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/kqed/stories-teachers-share",
"spotify": "https://open.spotify.com/show/0MxSpNYZKNprFLCl7eEtyx"
}
},
"morning-edition": {
"id": "morning-edition",
"title": "Morning Edition",
"info": "\u003cem>Morning Edition\u003c/em> takes listeners around the country and the world with multi-faceted stories and commentaries every weekday. Hosts Steve Inskeep, David Greene and Rachel Martin bring you the latest breaking news and features to prepare you for the day.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 3am-9am",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Morning-Edition-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.npr.org/programs/morning-edition/",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "npr"
},
"link": "/radio/program/morning-edition"
},
"onourwatch": {
"id": "onourwatch",
"title": "On Our Watch",
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