By Hanna
Presente is a great album—if you can get it. As a result of his breaking with Sony, Renato has released it independently, as he’s emphasized overly clearly in interviews. It’s like a perfect tiny illustration of protectionism: while the independent release has had many advantages—more control over promotion, a more detailed concept and, of course, the uncommercial 17 tracks of the CD—it also means it isn’t for sale anywhere outside of Italy. The Sorcini network has insured it gets shared, but it is a situation that should be resolved, as this is shutting many people out and alienating an already detached market.
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By Noreen Sobczyk
This compilation is culled from covers of the many high quality songs in the Scott Walker catalog. If one wants an emotive, theatrical, “over the top” vocal, inherent to Scott Walker’s delivery—they would do better with the genuine article. On the flip side, if Walker’s show-tune-meets-cabaret delivery is too dramatic for your liking, then this compilation is an excellent way to enjoy these beautiful songs.
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By Less Lee Moore
Danny Echo has been blessed with a great big rock and roll voice. This was apparent when I saw the band live at NXNE 2008: they played their hearts out and even though there were only a handful of people in the crowd at Lee’s Palace, you’d never know it by their enthusiasm.
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By Adam McIntyre
At first it could just be chalked up to “he’s just a drunk redneck who suddenly is jonesing for some Skynyrd” but then Mike Judge popularized the cliché and it became pop culture turned inside out. Man-children, fueled by The One Time They Yelled It At Oak Mountain Ampitheater And The Whole Audience Laughed, undeterred by the nasty incident at Lilith Fair and presently ignorant of the lineup, truly believe that they are part of the night’s entertainment. Oh, but now a hipster is yelling it. Perhaps it’s a step further; he’s being ironic. He would actually hate it if Kasabian played “Freebird,” but two PBRs in and suddenly he has replaced “show us your tits” (the drunk boy mantra of choice in many situations) with a good old “Freeeeebird!” Again, you laughed at him once. This is your fault. He doesn’t own any Skynyrd, but the boys in that legendary southern rock band would agree: you should throw ice (or anything) at him. Extra points for hitting his girlfriend if he has one.
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By Lisa Anderson
The boys of Depeche Mode and I go way back. This relationship has had its ups and downs, but the romance has been rekindled. I was able to reconnect with them last month when they released Sounds Of The Universe, their first new album in four years.
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MTV blew my mind in 1981. I would spend hours Velcro’d to the screen of my grandma’s wooden console TV waiting for my favorite videos to come on. Even then, my mom was uneasy about the sort of “messages” I was getting from this weird new music.
Adam Ant’s allusions to S&M were the naughtiest of the lot, but nothing compared to The Cramps. I actually heard them before I saw them. By 1985, I was fully ensnared by WTUL New Orleans, the student-run college radio station of Tulane University. It was there that “New Kind Of Kick” wormed its way into my eardrums.
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By Danny R. Phillips
Let’s be frank. Soul music of late has well, lost its soul. Sure, there is some talent out there. The NeYos of the world can dance, but would be lost without the new wonder known as AutoTune; Chris Brown has “allegedly” beat his girlfriend Rihanna; Justin Timberlake can sing and dance some but his connection with N’Sync will forever take away his soul card; Amy Winehouse is a great talent that will lose/has lost it all to crack; and R. Kelly spends too much time in handcuffs and at home making movies.
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By Hanna
There is a feeling among Morrissey fans that he is alienating them; there is a general disquiet, like the lights turned on in the theatre. Blog posts focus on how Morrissey’s face of arrogance is really showing behind the mask—well, more than usual, I mean.
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By Michael Row
After 38 years on this planet, I can finally say with assurance that I will never, ever make a good Emerson Lake & Palmer fan. I’m just not cut out for it. This speaks more of my prejudices against uberserious concept albums, neo-classical influences on rock, and bad 70s fashion than it does anything about Keith, Greg, and Carl. But I also believe that, somewhere along the line, ELP has just gotta take some accountability, too. When you no longer have anything to say, please stop. Did ELP really think they stood a chance at hitting the charts after NIRVANA’s Nevermind?
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By Scary Manilow

I touched this man’s naked ass once. I really did.
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