So, how do you follow a magician? If you’re seminal Southern rockers Drivin’ N’ Cryin’ you immediately turn to your hits. Their set opens with the incomparable Dixie anthem “Honeysuckle Blues” then soon thereafter the near-riot inciting “Build a Fire,” and now the revelers on Tybee Island are completely captivated.
With respect to Widespread Panic’s Jimmy Herring, the finest guitar work in the Low Country last weekend wasn’t the noodling at the North Charleston Coliseum. Another Athens, GA export was kicking it in Chuck Taylor’s and a flat cap in a dive bar a few exits west on Friday night. Matt Joiner was on absolute fire, and it isn’t a stretch to imagine the twenty-something rhythm and blues guitarist holding court in arenas one day soon—until then you're advised to catch his power trio at a hole in the wall in your neck of the woods.
Perhaps passively, but probably not even remotely inspired by Lou Reed’s New York, Sonny Smith shares his experiences living in an especially underprivileged neighborhood in Oakland on Fruitvale, and it’s safe to say the local chamber of commerce and tourism bureau will not be any busier because of it.
Courageous audiophiles and model airplane glue enthusiasts rejoice, your niche needs have been served. Star Destroyer, the debut from Brooklyn-based Alex Delivery, is a journey most listeners will likely abandon after a few moments—but if you stick with album opener “Komad” until it disintegrates into a scene, starring fist fighting German robots built with spare parts, that forgive and forget with a make-up fuck, you’ll undoubtedly press on.
The profound influence of Hunter S. Thompson on modern journalism, popular culture and rock ‘n’ roll is undeniable and not up for debate.
Simultaneously psychedelic (“The Girl”) and soulful (“Worst Trip”)—We All Belong is seemingly the result of the Beatles spending spring break with The Allman Brothers Band and getting delirious with sunburn and their 24 track, 2 inch tape machine.
Miller abandons the
Gentlemen, Daylight Tonight (Terminus) is the record you dreamed of making as pimple faced kids playing air guitar in the mirror while singing into your microphone combs.
You can judge this book by its cover. This is cute and fierce grrrl power-pop that had a little punk rock as part of their complete breakfast
