The Lacking Permanence

Something about Margaret Glaspy’s voice makes me want to hang out and listen to her laugh.

I meant to write the notes for this show sooner than a month after the fact, but travel plans got in the way and here I am struggling for an intro. I can tell you that hearing Sparklehorse take on Robyn Hitchcock and the Egyptians’ “Listening to the Higsons” for the first time, mere weeks ago, felt like someone became obsessed with the same cassette as I did thirty years ago, but actually got around to letting the hen out.

There are many bands that go by W.I.T.C.H. but this is the only one where it stands for “we intend to cause havoc.”

The lasting appeal of PJ Harvey’s staredown is undeniable.

In the last few years, John Lydon, once known to the world as Johnny Rotten, has been in the news for a variety of reasons, none of them related to his music, most of them leading to unfortunate public judgements. His band’s new album makes their name Public Image Ltd a handy reminder, as it serves up a take on society more in tune with their past work than the expected yelling-at-clouds. Elsewhere! To the listeners voicing strong opinions about the adorably shrill kids’ story that ran at the top of The Final Hour — your comments were passed on to Management and that short chunk of audio root canal is gone. Well done!

The music Clark makes is suitable for rage cleaning and nighttime neon drives.

All the kids are into it, and M. Ward is just itching to tell us about it.

They appear to be American, not so much Trappists, but they sound like a clattering of drums and hooks.

Bo Diddley may have written tonight’s opening cover, and Spoon may be the one actually performing it, but the spirit of Billy Childish, whose version earworms its way through my head every year or so, is quite strong on the shambling, end-of-the-rehearsal vibe heard here. To the listeners voicing strong opinions about the adorably shrill kids’ story that runs at the top of The Final Hour — your notes have been passed on to Management.

With a name like The Giant Robots and an origin country like Switzerland, it would be easy to make a play on their precision, but the truth is that completely misses the point of their particular type of rave-up.