Tag: Ride

Club Makumba is hot, the drinks are strong, and you’re not ready to leave just yet.

Tonight, we start with a special presentation of My Favorite Lies, a one-hour collection of songs about untruths, deception, fakery, and more. Moving on, we filled the rest of the evening with the usual variety of genres, mostly from the last few months. Of particular note are new releases from Holiday Ghosts, Adrienne Lenker, and Alejandro Escovedo.

I always thought Kurt Vile was a play on the name of the German composer that gave us “Mack The Knife,” but that seems to be his given name (bonus: middle name is Samuel). Sonically, he’s more in line with Lou Reed than Weill, topping his awkward nouveau folk with a voice that may not be the most musical but is actually the perfect medium to express this particular malarkey.

Francophonic guitar attaque, brimming with chiming arpeggios, complicated stringular interplay, and words beyond comprehension but not understanding.

There was no official name for this giant hole, this cavern that truly made you realize the proper utilization of the word “cavernous”. Those who knew of its existence referred to it as the “Sarlacc Pit”, while the geologists debated what to call this previously unseen feature in the farthest reaches of British Columbia. The ophthalmologist could not help but recount these facts as they descended into its depths; they were the chatty sort and had barely endured a few hours of self-reflection in the noisy Chinook that had brought the expedition here. The conductor whistled a short melody and listened for the glorious reverberation. The nearest person who could recognize its Peruvian punk origins was 2,524 miles away.

With so many new bands discovering and repurposing the swirling sounds of shoegaze, it’s no wonder original trailblazer is back with another collection of guitar-heavy near-instrumentals.

Hailing from the original wave of shoegaze, the band delivers the expected dosage of swooping guitar amidst dream-state vocals and rock rhythms

Naked Giants remind us that kicking things off with some herky-jerky funk punk beat is never a losing proposition.

Washes of fuzzed-out bliss at your choice of tempos