// Category Archive for: Music Reviews

The Bicycles, Oh No, It’s Love

By Less Lee Moore

The Bicycles are a Toronto-based band, but one for whom the word “band” seems terribly limiting. Their live shows traditionally feature not only the four core members—Matt Beckett, Andrew Scott, Drew Smith, and Dana Snell—but also members of several other local bands and musicians such as Henri Fabergé and the Adorables, Laura Barrett, and many others.

Oh No, It’s Love, reflects the collaborations of this collective of musicians but also retains the signature sound the band established on their first album The Good, The Bad, and The Cuddly: captivating pop with ironic lyrics.

Yet Oh No, It’s Love is far more ambitious and fully-fledged than the band’s first album, and not just because it features more than twenty contributors (in addition to the four “official” band members) and a vast array of instruments, from harp and harmonica to kalimba and pedal steel. Although there are many current bands who also use less traditionally rock & roll instruments, many of them are utterly boring and passionless. The Bicycles are the complete opposite.
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Roger Joseph Manning, Jr., Catnip Dynamite

By Less Lee Moore

It’s difficult to be objective in an album review when your gut feeling tells you that the musician in question is an all-around righteous guy. Fortunately, Roger Joseph Manning, Jr.’s latest album, Catnip Dynamite, is so amazing that I won’t have to compromise my principles; this review will be completely guilt-free.
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Japan, Quiet Life

By Less Lee Moore

Duran Duran have often been accused of shamelessly plagiarizing from Japan, via their sound as well as Nick Rhodes’ makeup sensibilities. Both accusations are true; however, the Fab Five at least had the good sense and manners to acknowledge the influence of Japan on their own music.
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Beastie Boys, Paul’s Boutique

By Laura L.

Although the Beastie Boys released Paul’s Boutique in 1989, I was too busy gushing over Joey McIntyre of New Kids on the Block to even notice. Like most eight-year-olds at that time, my taste in music wasn’t all that hot. Thus, I did not listen to anything considered “edgy” or even “cool.” However, as I got older, I started to listen to the Beastie Boys and grew to appreciate their lyrical delivery and New Yorker commentary (much, much better than a commentary from The New Yorker, believe me). Finally, during my freshman year of college, I went on a music-shopping spree and bought a used copy of Paul’s Boutique. It has been a solid part of my record (CD?) collection ever since.
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Love And Rockets, Express

By Less Lee Moore

Every Mardi Gras, the suburban kids in Metairie, Louisiana would congregate in the 7-11 parking lot on the corner of Bonnabel and Veterans Boulevard to “watch the parades.” It was mostly an excuse to escape the watchful eyes of parents and hang out with fellow miscreants and misfits. For many, it was a way to smoke dope or huff amyl nitrate. But for me, it was a way to rub shoulders with the only new wave and punk rock kids I could find.
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Prince and The Revolution, Purple Rain

By Michelle Patterson

Squealing at the top of our lungs, we sprinted to our softball coach’s station wagon, desperate for cover from the pouring rain. All of us wiped down our dirt-streaked legs with the towels meant for cleaning out the bottoms of our cleats and seriously mulled over what type of Bubble-Yum to have on the way home. As we chomped down hard in frustration at not getting to play a game, and popped piercingly loud bubbles, coach gave us a glare. He clicked on the radio to drown out our sullen chews. A gospel-tinged, country-flavored song with a soaring guitar line in the background roared to life. All the other girls in the car immediately started singing along. It didn’t take long until I figured out the simple loop and repeat of the lyrics, so I was screaming with them in no time. It was a thrill; I felt like I belonged and was a real part of something. And now we were singing, howling together with the ridiculous passion usually reserved for cheers of victory after winning a game or stealing second base. This “Purple Rain” song was painting real grins of satisfaction on our faces.
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Tori Amos, Y Kant Tori Read

By Christian Lipski

I heard about Tori Amos in early ’92 from a Kate Bush newsgroup, where they kept referring to this mysterious album called Y Kant Tori Read and wondering where it might be found. I dug Little Earthquakes so the existence of an additional entry in the Amos canon was a tantalizing thing. I saw a copy of YKTR once in a record shop in Tucson, Arizona, selling for $300—so close, yet so far.
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London Triad, 1987: Sigue Sigue Sputnik, The The, Fuzzbox

By Christian Lipski

Twenty-two years ago I was in my freshman year of college, and my friend Mark and I decided to spend two weeks of our winter break in London. We were both huge music fans: Mark was a Beatles expert and I followed David Bowie, so London was Music Mecca for us. Pictures of me from the trip show a plastic shopping bag always at my side, full of tapes for my Walkman. My headphones were nearly always on, pumping a steady diet of British sounds into my brain. Adam Ant, Gary Numan, Bowie, Rolling Stones. . . the bag was very heavy.
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Electric Six, Flashy

By Christian Lipski

I remember when Electric Six (E6) was explained to others as “that band that did the Gay Bar song for that video with the kittens.” Now, of course, they’re “that band that did the Gay Bar song for that video with the kittens which you may not remember.” This is through no fault of their own, of course; E6 are hilarious and fun and at times amazing, but their label certainly doesn’t have the sheer cash-power to compete with the Top 40 acts. Thanks to the Internet, though, they’re well-known and loved by hipsters, geeks, and perverts the world over.

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Madness, Madness

By Jimmy Ether

The second British invasion hit me squarely between the eyes in 1983. Having just been graced with the glowing electric love of cable (and, as a result, MTV), I was transfixed by Kevin Rowland and his rag-tag overall-clad crew dancing in the streets to “Come on Eileen.” Dexys Midnight Runners was my first visual splash of Great Britain, and while I had grown up listening to healthy amounts of my Dad’s Brit-rock, I never really geographically separated The Beatles from The Beach Boys or The Who from Aerosmith. But, with video, the contrast was sharp.
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