Tag: The Flaming Lips

It's an all-new rehash, with the fifth edition of Version Control!

Maybe it’s the lackadaisical groove she can effortlessly establish, or her warm confident voice, but listening to Madison Cunningham is like sinking into the sofa for a new episode of your favorite show, a general feeling of ease, comfort, and complete enjoyment. Also, maybe you thought you heard a dirty word during “Tounge-Clucking Grammarian”, but you didn’t — let’s face, there’s a lot of rhymes for “clucking” that could register a false positive.

Paleface didn’t say it first, but he probably said it best: it’s a World Full of Cops. Musicians and the authorities have been at each other’s throats for a while now, and there is no shortage of songs showing cops in a bad light, so what I like about “World Full of Cops” is its simple observational mantra: they are everywhere, we put them there, and they are us. Enjoy a full evening of police-themed music — it’s the law!

Exploding out of upstate New York, The Bobby Lees have returned with a their third outing, titled Bellevue, and it delivers more of that biting, can’t-you-see-I’m-in-the-middle-of-an-episode post-rock blues energy. Tonight’s Mixtape closes out with Escape Mechanism’s “Being,” sampling William S. Burrough’s unmistakable reedy voice into an existential mantra.

I’ve done a couple dozen all-covers shows already, usually during fundraising, but for some reason have never come up with a name for them. It must have been because the painfully obvious Version Control hadn’t occurred to me yet, a real embarrassing confession given my day job in the realm of code. At any rate, it is here, and we are going to be versioning them semantically starting now.

When your arrangements are razor-sharp, your moods mercurial and psychedelic, and your melodies constantly off-kilter, you’re probably a Dutch band like Certain Animals.

Hissing steam and spitting fire, the Old 97s chew up the rails and cross-ties by playing country music with a punk attitude.

If you grew up on videogames, the frenetic multilayered synths will sound like the final moments of a big boss battle. If not, it sounds like a bunch of live Casio keyboards being sent down the garbage disposal. In a good way.

The parade stretched through the downtown area, its colorful participants a completely normal distribution of small-town denizens. The statistician knew otherwise. They stood waving from the platform of the float, their flysuits carefully integrated with the diorama to give the appearance of animated mechanical humans. All they needed to do was get within twenty feet of The Mayor, and the technology built into the platform would do the rest. The imagineer adjusted the EQ on the float’s sound system, giving the Estonian techno which poured from the speakers more high-end sparkle. The crowd reacted favorably, some of them breaking out into dance.

The pilot felt the glider’s control surfaces bite into the updraft. The craft smoothly pitched up and right as the surreal Eastern Washington terrain unfolded beneath them. The plucky strains of a Bolivian polka filled the small cockpit, the whistling of the wind no true competition. Facing backward, the specialist peered at the techmapper. Somewhere below, there was something messing with the surveillance satellite and downing any powered aircraft that dared approach. Up ahead, the clouds were bunched up in a way any seasoned traveler of the skies could tell was just. not. right.