Here's my take on Velvet Revolver.

Genre: Rock
Band: Velvet Revolver
Title: Contraband
Label: RCA
Release date: June 2004
Rating: Two stars

I never thought I’d say this, but I miss Axl Rose. Even with his Botoxed face, goofy hair extensions and inner demons, I’d take him back right now as the rightful singer of this Guns ‘n’ Roses spin-off. Sure, it’s true that Velvet Revolver isn’t just made up of old G’n’R members (specifically Slash, Duff McKagan and Matt Sorum), but the pre-release hype sold the band as “Guns ‘n’ Roses with the guy from Stone Temple Pilots on vocals,” so it’s understandable that comparisons will be made. Scott Weiland, “the guy from Stone Temple Pilots,” is a better singer than Rose, who always sounded like a cross between Ethel Merman and a cat fight, but his voice isn’t as distinctive and his lyrics aren’t as good. Slash, one of the best rock guitarists ever, manages to appropriate several Led Zeppelin riffs on this CD, making Velvet Revolver’s music sound derivative and unoriginal. The overall result is a lot less than a band this talented is capable of.

I owe my friend Monty an apology. He kept insisting that absolutely nothing would be happening at the Office Friday night before 1:30 a.m. That's when breakbeat DJ Baby Anne from Orlando was scheduled to play her set. Certainly, I thought, that was a bit of an exageration. If I got there around 11 or so, something would be going on. That's how I ended up leaning on the bar, watching two kids in visors and baggy polo shirts half-heartedly moving on the dance floor.

Bored out of my skull, I dedided to take an anthropological look at what the kids were doing. As the floor gradually began to fill up, I saw a variety of moves, many of which looked like a strange mixture of the Moonwalk, Sufi whirling and Tai Chi. The boys danced alone, while the girls danced together in a circle. And I do mean boys and girls. I was easily old enough to be these kids' mother. As I was watching an impromptu breakdance battle, one whippersnapper looked over at me and said, "You don't come to things like this very often, do you?" I'm going to lie and tell myself he meant that I was too classy to be at an event like that.

Here's a more thought-out review of TV on the Radio:



New York trio TV on the Radio is the kind of band that leaves reviewers scratching their heads. Their sound is fresh, and the songs are catchy, but they absolutely refuse to be pigeonholed. That forces us to describe them by throwing together a bunch of other bands, you know, like “Peter Gabriel meets Art of Noise, meets Sonic Youth all standing on a corner singing Doo Wop with Mahalia Jackson.

There’s no denying that singer Tunde Adebimpe sounds a lot like Peter Gabriel. Judging from some of the pretentious lyrics on the band’s mesmerizing debut CD, “Desperate Youth, Bloodthirsty Babes,” he thinks he can write like him too. But, regardless of what he’s singing, his voice has a bluesy, earthy quality that contrasts perfectly with the band’s otherworldly, swirling melodies and syncopated beats. On the CD’s best track, “Staring at the Sun,” Adebimpe and guest vocalist Katrina Ford wail like two choir members who are really feeling the spirit. Underneath is a clanging mass of electronic beats and handclaps, throbbing bass and ringing guitars. Other songs, like the opening track, “The Wrong Way,” and “Don’t Love You” follow the same formula, sounding like selections from some futuristic hymnal. Perhaps that’s the key for those of us who still want to fit them into a niche. It’s gospel, but from a Bizarro world.





To see and hear for yourself, go here to see the video for “Staring at the Sun.”

I've had the privilege of seeing two phenomenal shows lately. On Sunday, May 9th, Miss Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings played at Kings Barcade. They were at Local 506 in Chapel Hill the evening before and the scenesters were a-buzz. This was a show not to be missed.

I didn't quite know what to expect, despite the fact that Mr. X had played their new CD for me earlier in the evening. Evidently it just went in one ear and out the other because I didn't even remember hearing it. The same certainly cannot be said about the show. Sharon Jones is an old-school Tina Turner-style soul wailer. She has a helluva voice, and she knows how to work the audience. She whooped and hollered, shimmied and shook while her backing band (three horns, drums bass and two guitar players -- one of whom, my friends and I agreed -- was really hot) kept a tight groove going. Even the most jaded scenesters were sweating and dancing their asses off. I found out later that after most of us left, the band came out and did another full set.

This past weekend was Artsplosure, the downtown Raleigh music and art festival. We missed Bobby Rush, but were just in time to see the Charlie Hunter Trio. Mr. X has seen them before, and he's a huge fan. I had never seen him before, and hadn't listened to much of his music. I did know that he plays both the bass and the melody on a crazy eight-string guitar. I can barely manage either of those, so I can only imagine the skill and discipline it takes to keep it all together.



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Now I know dancehall is taking over America: The new Skippy commercial features a bunch of animated elephants dancing around a Carribean scene while another one toasts over a dancehall beat. It's a good marketing move on Skippy's part. What's better to eat when you're stoned than a peanut butter sandwich?

I have now confounded at least two co-workers by telling them I like Mike Cooley's songs more than those of Patterson Hood in the Drive-By Truckers. Co-worker No. 1 was left slackjawed and nearly speechless -- he literally said, "I don't know what to say about that." Co-worker No. 2 laughed uproariously when I told him about No.1's reaction, then stopped suddenly and said, "I'm a bit astounded too."

All this has come about because I saw Drive-By Truckers for the third time two nights ago at Lincoln Theatre. I need to start writing in this thing as soon as I get home from a show, because I had so many brilliant ideas upon which to ruminate, but now can't remember that much. Anyway, my opinion, as expressed to Co-worker No. 2, was that I just like Cooley's deep countrified voice more. Plus Hood's songs seem too self-consiously redneck to me. In some ways his songs remind me of the writings of Clyde Edgerton, whose work I simply can't stand. Both come off as Southerners from priviledged backgrounds trying to write from a white trash perspective. Of course, I don't know Patterson Hood. He could have grown up dirt poor in a trailer for all I know. But even if that's the case, his songs still feel a little bit contrived. Co-worker No.2 countered that Hood is a storyteller; things are going to go over the top occasionally. Considering the brilliance of the Southern Rock Opera, I had to concede.

Unlike my feelings toward Clyde Edgerton's novels, I generally do like Hood's songs, especially when he's performing them live. DBT are at their best on stage because that's where they seem most at home. Thursday's concert felt like a homecoming, with fans making their own videos and recordings, and Hood giving props to people he knows in the area. They were even loose enough to perform a rocking version of "Hey Ya." The band's musicianship, which took a flying leap when guitar player Jason Isbell joined the band, has been bolstered even more with the addition of former Muscle Shoals session bass player Shonna Tucker. Co-worker No. 1 and his wife were at the show, staring raptuously at the stage and bobbing their heads to the music. I didn't want to shock him again by telling him that when it was Cooley's turn to sing, it reinforced my preference for his songs.