Tag: Fort Lauderdale

Royel Otis would like to work you over with chocolate-covered brass knuckles.

A flamboyant tip of the hat to Charley, who shared Being Dead with me only recently. I am smitten and kicking myself for missing their debut album’s release last summer, but I am fiercely making up for lost time. This evening’s Velvet Potty Mouth award goes to STRFKR, whose distinctive FUCK sat like a rock in a river of glitter and was carefully edited out for the Grand Valley’s sensitive ears.

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

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!

Orange Drink can be sweet, it can be tart, and sometimes it will even remind you of citrus.

No pan flute, no washes of synthesizer textures, just Olivia Jean doing her best impression of a land-bound siren and kicking up the octane in the Enya original to unsafe levels. It’s a hot summer so far, with lots of great releases crowding the older stuff out of the playlist, and it shows no sign of letting up. There’s a new album from the Boo Radleys (it’s been a while!), and I am obsessing over motorik sounds from Orange Drink and Motor!k. It’s far more than will fit on a single cassette, unless you get one of those ultra-long ones that your car deck will eventually eat up.

Viagra Boys don’t care what you think… there’s plenty of room for a saxophone and John Prine covers in the backseat of a 21st century punk band.

Like getting picked up by the scruff of your neck and smashed into a wall of orange Jello, Swarming Branch gets your attention with the warping and weaving of "Zsazsur's Real Estate Song".