Straight out of Nashville, James Jackson Toth's new LP has been on constant rotation the past two weeks. Literally. We are more than a little excited that to be presenting his show at the Echo Saturday night, and have five pairs of tickets to giveaway to AD readers.
Hit up the comments if you want a pair with your name and email address.
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"Hello, I'm Johnny Cash." The other night PBS, as part of their P.O.V. Series, aired the 1969 Johnny Cash documentary Johnny Cash: The Man, His World, His Music. Shot in 1968 and '69, the film is an absolute must for Cash fans, featuring the artist on the never-ending road shortly after his stint at Folsom Prison - one of the many peaks in his long career that began . . .
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His name is Rodriguez...Sixto Diaz Rodriguez, and, among other things, he sang about "jumpers, coke, sweet mary jane," and would reportedly only gig at "hooker bars, inner city dives, and biker bars." Sounds like a party, no? If you haven't heard of him, it is most likely because he dropped out of the music world decades ago, existing semi sub rosa in Detroit, all the while unknowingly becoming a cult figure in South Africa. In fact, by the mid-late '70s the man's music . . .
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Whereas parts of Jim James solo set at Newport gave way to Evil Urges — a quiet “Sec Walkin’,” and a peaceful “Look at You,” among others – it wasbecome a member or log in.
One of my frequent go-to LPs of the summer, Vetiver's Thing of The Past, is an album made up solely of obscure covers - consequently giving the collection the feel of an original work. Relatively speaking, the most widely known tracks on the LP are arguably Loudon Wainwrights III's "Swimming Song," or Townes . . .
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Soul Sides Oliver Wang continues to release eclectic compilations, both on his own and via his collaborative partnership with NYC based Zealous Records (who have released the two volume Soul Sides funk and soul collections). Wang's latest mixtape, Deep Covers 2:
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While combing through some reggae/dub for an upcoming dancehall/dub/reggae heavy AD radio show, I happened upon some demos recorded at Lee "Scratch" Perry's Black Ark studio in 1978 - a few years prior to Marley's death. Here are a couple of the tracks along with their dub counterparts.
Previously: Bob Marley & The Wailers :: Radio Session 1973
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With the sun taking its seat in the top of the sky alongside a few billowing clouds left over from yesterday’s rainstorms, Day Three of the 2008 Newport Folk Festival kicked off in a swirl of cracking mud and beating heat, with enough hype and excitement surrounding today’s performances to warrant standing around in the sun. The yachters showed up early today for fellow pirate Jimmy Buffett’s headlining set, and Brenton Cove started to look more and more like San Pedro Island during Spring Break as the day moved by.
The relentlessly friendly Ryan Fitzsimmons (an OurStage Newport winner) opened Sunday’s festivities with a set of stark, eerie folk on the Waterside Stage. Fitzsimmons’ chiming open chords shoved their way across layers of feedback and programming (courtesy of a tiny Line 6 amp modeler), until they found a place situated somewhere between country music and horror soundtrack. The four songs he played were forceful, passionate pleas about cigarettes, gasoline, crystal meth, and everything between: the soundtrack to small-town boredom and that ever-present hope for light. The fact that he was so polite between songs (even taking the time to thank the sound man, the promoters, the audience, and anything else he lay eyes upon) struck the darkness of his songs even deeper. Complex dude.
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Ghosts run deep in Newport. The town’s cobbly streets call back to colonial times and the grounds of the Newport Folk Festival, AD’s reason for being here, are situated around historic Fort Adams, which was built in 1824 and was at its time the most complex military fortification in the western hemisphere. Despite the Festival’s sprucing up of the place — huge golden banners with the show’s logo, the requisite Gibson Guitars bus — you never . . .
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The 2008 Newport Folk Festival kicked off Friday night at the beautiful International Tennis Hall of Fame in Newport, Rhode Island. The Hall, which is part of the Newport Casino, hosted the first-ever championships of the United States Lawn Tennis Association in 1881, an event that eventually outgrew the venue and would later become the U.S. Open. The combed lawns and green shingles give the grounds an almost Victorian air; when a biplane flew overhead before the commencement of Willy Mason’s set, it could have very well been 1926.
I know, I know, none of that seems terribly important, but it does prove the point that Newport is one of the most unique festivals in the country, one that (rightfully) prides itself on its history and tradition. Blame it on the wealthy Nor’eastern audience or the town’s historic mansions, but walking through the streets here can feel like walking through an historic reenactment. In other words, it’s a somewhat magical place to see a show, and I haven’t even been to the festival grounds yet.
Martha’s Vineyard’s Willy Mason opened the night, and if the time slot or setting unnerved him, he certainly didn’t show it, confidently playing a set of slow, waltzing country-folk in a tank top and hiking boots. The twenty-three year-old Mason is seasoned enough to have already taken a short hiatus from performing music, and it appears to have done him nothing but good. Everything about him — from the strength of his voice to the crafting of his arrangements — was tighter and more focused than what he exhibited on his 2004 record, Where the Humans Eat. He even invited his parents, folk singers Michael Mason and Jemima James, to sing harmonies on a gorgeous country gospel song written years ago by the elder Mason.
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This Thursday AD Presents Travel by Sea's CD release show at the Mint here in Los Angeles. Our friends The Western States Motel, Evan Way (Parson Redheads) and Olin And The Moon support.
We have some pairs of tickets to give away to AD readers. Drop a comment below.
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AD's Marty Garner, an unrepentant Bruuuuuce fanatic, having left L.A. for the Summer, made his way east to New Jersey to catch Bruce and E Street Band at Giants Stadium earlier this week. Here's how it went down.
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I am not from New Jersey. I do have a friend from New Jersey, though, who moved down to my home state of Louisiana to attend LSU for no reason other than to experience the thundering weirdness that is LSU football. Sure, there are probably other, less romantic reasons that he chose to attend LSU, but the reason that he gives is LSU football. And it’s a pretty good reason, too; I grew up going to LSU games and, like any good southerner, I have wiped tears from my cheeks at the sound of the first four notes of the school’s fight song. People — fans, interested journalists, and even the rare roadside gawker — come down south to see the carnival of colors, to hear the revving engine of the bourbon crowd when the Tigers run onto the field; they see it and in so doing become a part of it. For nine months of the year, the south lives with a chip on its shoulder; for three, it is validated. And so, Saturdays in the fall are a sort of worship experience, cathartic and communal and weirdly glorious. For many people, they are something of a secondary Sabbath.
In much the same way, I went to New Jersey to see Bruce Springsteen. I had seen Bruce and the boys twice before — once in Houston on The Rising tour in 2003 and once last fall in Cleveland. Both shows — like any Bruce show — were more experiences than rock concerts; it’s no coincidence that people used to call E Street shows the Church of Rock ‘n’ Roll. But if that term still applies, then the show last night at Giants Stadium was something akin to seeing the Pope say Mass at St. Peter’s, and not only because a sticky Jersey mist hung over the crowd like a blanket of incense: this is the Garden State’s answer to college football.
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Our weekly two hour show on SIRIUS, channel 26 Left Of Center, can now be heard twice, every Friday - Noon EST and then an encore broadcast at Midnight EST. Below is this week’s playlist.
SIRIUS 58: Jean Michel Bernard - Generique Stephane ++ Devendra Banhart - Seahorse ++ Talking Heads - Papa Legba ++ Vetiver - The Swimming Song ++ Iron & Wine - The Trapeze Swinger ++ Blossom Dearie - Figure Eight . . .
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Recently, sitting in a dark booth of a non-descript bar in a non-descript portion of Sunset Boulevard in Los Angeles, I was listening to the unashamed (and awesome) time-traveling selection of Los Angeles DJ Dr. Who (spins on Thursday nights at The Bar in Hollywood and deejays the soul-funk night at downtown's La Cita on Saturday nights, a long-haired, shaggy-bearded, flannel-wearing throwback spinner who leans toward hazy soul-funk from the '60s and '70s. Some of the songs I had heard . . .
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Paul Westerberg's post-Replacements career has been an interesting one and listeners have dithered back and forth on the merits of each solo release, no two coming to a consensus on any one of them. But it was as universal a thought as possible that he had stumbled onto something good when the twin become a member or log in.