Music Review: Davell Crawford, My Gift To You

By Melissa B.

I don’t know that I’ve ever been brought to tears by a piano piece. Davell Crawford has changed that. On his intensely personal album My Gift To You, the “Piano Prince of New Orleans” lives up to his nickname, and his performance of “Southern Nights/Many Rivers To Cross,” the marriage of an Allen Toussaint song to a Jimmy Cliff song, is transcendent. I cried. It felt like a gift to hear it.

Davell Crawford hadn’t released an album in 13 years. It must have been time well spent, because My Gift To You is simply extraordinary. He changes effortlessly between styles; jazz, funk, Louisiana low country music, and does it all so well. He surrounds himself with a who’s who of contemporary New Orleans musicians. The liner notes alone are worth the price of the record—they are witty and interesting, and give even more insight into the clever Mr. Crawford.

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New Video: David Bowie, “The Next Day”

By Less Lee Moore

I have no idea how this didn’t make it onto my radar until last week. The second single from David Bowie‘s fine new album The Next Day—and the third video—is the title track.

With lines like “they whip him through the streets and alleys” and “they know God exists for the Devil told them so,” it’s not a stretch to imagine that said video might feature some religious iconography and controversy. With Bowie the boundary pusher, you’re guaranteed excesses of both.

Not having seen videos like “Boys Keep Swinging” and “D.J.” until the early ’80s on MTV, I can’t say firsthand what kind of stir they caused in the late ’70s, but they certainly caused a stirring within me.

Floria Sigismondi, who directed “The Stars (Come Out Tonight),” also helmed “The Next Day” video and it’s not dissimilar to a Caravaggio painting come to life, with a bit of Ken Russell for good measure.

I’d also argue that Sigismondi got more than a little inspiration from the 1970 Czech film Valerie and Her Week of Wonders, which I’ve not been lucky enough to see, but which I’ve certainly enjoyed through numerous images online.

In “The Next Day” we have Gary Oldman as a lusty priest with a ducktail haircut and Marion Cotillard as a quasi-Mary Magdalene character in a bustier. One might consider Bowie and his linen smock and glittery scarf to be Jesus. From Pontius Pilate to Jesus: what a career!

The nightclub in which this takes place is The Decameron, either a reference to Boccaccio’s medieval allegory, the 1971 Pasolini film based on the allegory, or both. St. Lucy makes an appearance and so does Joan of Arc.

It’s gory, gorgeous, and decidedly not safe for work. Enjoy.

Music Review: Iggy and The Stooges, Ready To Die

By Less Lee Moore

Every time I write a review of something Iggy Pop or Stooges-related, I feel obligated to provide some sort of context, to explain why these old dudes are still important to me and why they should be important to everyone else. With Ready To Die, the latest from Iggy and The Stooges, I’m not sure that context is needed. It’s just that good of an album. Besides, if you haven’t liked Iggy’s or The Stooges’ music over the last four decades, there’s probably no hope for you, anyway.

Although Iggy himself is fairly prolific, actual Stooges albums are scarce, which makes their legendary status all the more impressive. This particular incarnation of the band includes Iggy, Scott Asheton on drums, James Williamson on guitar, Steve Mackay on sax, and Mike Watt on bass. (Frequent Stooges auxiliary member Scott Thurston also appears on a track.) With the untimely, much-lamented death of Scott’s brother Ron in 2009, this is as close to a bona fide reunion as we’re going to get now.

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Waxing Nostalgic: METAL MAYHEM! with Ratt, “Lack of Communication”

By Jeffery X Martin

The second and final time I saw Billy Squier was at, again, the Cincinnati Gardens. He was a giant star by that time, with videos on MTV and albums that smelled like gold and platinum. He looked like a combination of Michael Beck, Michael Paré, and Jim Morrison. Girls noticed this, like they do, propelling Squier to sex symbol status. He used this to his advantage, too, particularly with this video. Ripped T-shirt, crawling around on the floor like some particularly rabid Tennessee Williams character, Squier had it all.

Even though some had relegated Squier to the realm of “girly rock,” I was a true believer, an old-school hardcore fan. When he came back town, I was ready for a good show. He was headlining, which was exciting, because I was ready for more than 45 minutes from one of my favorite musicians.

Squier’s light show was top-notch. His band was tight. Billy seemed a little off, though. The voice quavered a bit. The hands on the guitar neck seemed a little lax. I was confused. I wasn’t sure why the show seemed out of whack when it occurred to me: he didn’t care anymore.

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DVD Review: Comforting Skin

By Less Lee Moore

Sometimes the best horror films aren’t the ones that deal in the supernatural or killers who won’t die. Treading the line between reality and insanity can frequently be horrifying enough. Comforting Skin is that rare, unclassifiable movie that blurs the lines between genres and defies categorization.

Ostensibly, Comforting Skin is about a young woman named Koffie (Victoria Bidewell) who gets a tattoo on her shoulder blade and is thrilled with the results, until it starts talking to her. Yet, the film is about so much more.

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Music Review: Marty Robbins: The Legend/Come Back To Me (Reissue)

By Melissa B.

You’ve got to love a guy who explains the title of his album The Legend this way: “What I wanted was Super Legend, but they didn’t go along with it, so it’s just The Legend.” Released for the first time on CD, Marty Robbins’s 1981 album of that modest title has been paired with his 1982 record, Come Back To Me.

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Waxing Nostalgic: METAL MAYHEM! with Billy Squier, “In the Dark”

By Jeffery X Martin

The Cincinnati Gardens was a gorgeous wreck of a multi-purpose hall, all crumbling ramps and parking garage architecture, redolent with the faint scent of circuses past. It was the “B” venue at the time; if a band couldn’t sell out the mighty Riverfront Coliseum, then they were relegated to the Gardens. Mid-South and Mid-Atlantic Wrestling came there, and I saw one of the greatest matches of my life there when I was eight (Rowdy Roddy Piper vs. Greg “The Hammer” Valentine, for the curious). The Gardens was also the site of the tragic concert by The Who, where nine people were trampled to death in a rush to get to the festival seating on the floor. The band wasn’t told about the deaths until afterwards. I was glad not to know anyone who went to that show, and the whole region was deeply affected and saddened by that event.

They talked about banning rock and roll from the Gardens after that, but that seemed too ham-fisted, even for Cincinnati, the town that later on would recoil in horror at something as mildly raunchy as a Robert Mapplethorpe photo exhibit. Instead, they banned festival seating, choosing to reserve all seats, including the ones on the floor. It was a good move, even though I was never able to afford seats so close to the stage, those magic spots where you could reach up and touch whatever god happened to be performing that night.

The first big rock concert I saw was at the Gardens, and it was a damned fine one. I saw Queen.

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Assemblog: May 17, 2013

James Spader, from NBC’s The Blacklist

New this week on Popshifter: Chelsea thinks Xenia Rubinos’s Magic Trix is a “thrilling listen”; Metal Mayhem continues with Jeff’s take on Dangerous Toys and Judas Priest; Jeff also says that Big Country’s The Journey is the best new album he’s heard this year; Melissa B. parties traditional style with the new album from Kermit Ruffins and gets transported to the past with the reissue of Marty Robbins’s El Paso City and Adios Amigo; I recommend both the glam psychedelia of Burnt Ones’ You’ll Never Walk Alone and the party music of Dead Ghosts’ Can’t Get No, and revisit 2002′s excellent, unsettling One Hour Photo, recently released on Blu-Ray.

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Music Review: Dead Ghosts, Can’t Get No

By Less Lee Moore

If you think Dead Ghosts sounds like a Goth band name, you’d be right, but you’d be dead wrong about their sound. This is old school, straight-up party music. The only thing better than listening to this album at a party (nighttime, outside, backyard, torches to ward off mosquitoes) would be having the band actually play live at your party.

In other words, you have to dance to this music. There is no other way.

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Music Review: Burnt Ones, You’ll Never Walk Alone

By Less Lee Moore

You’ll Never Walk Alone opens with the wonderfully titled, warped shimmy of “Glitter Death” and the clever lyric: tell all of your friends that this is the end/of all these stupid trends.

The first six tracks on the album weave in and out of each other so slyly they all seem like one glorious, extended song. A song that’s a three-dimensional rainbow tapestry of sonic bliss.

Burnt Ones recalls the psychedelia of both early Pink Floyd and T. Rex with more than a dusting of the latter’s primo glam rawk stomp, and lyrics to match (sample: Just like a sweater how you’re so together). At first those lyrics won’t make a whole lot of sense, but once you get into their groove, the crazy visuals they describe—”hypnotized and fried, licking glass perfumes”–will nag at you until you start to feel like you understand on some subterranean, emotional level.

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