Tag: Violent Femmes

An unknown proportion of occult studies and ambient light make up the core of L.A. Witch.

It’s inevitable — I hate it, but it happens every few years. I’ll forget my headphones at home and have to use the station’s pair. The show must continue. And here is The Sonic Dawn to kick it off in style with some of that hard-hitting punchy punch rolling mayhem thing they do.

We can’t say which alternate timeline Art D’Ecco came from, but we are grateful and hope they don’t miss them too dearly.

No doubt about it, The Vandals are the masters of the punk rock rug pull. In this particular instance, what starts out as a merely updated take on the Grease classic suddenly devolves into hyperkinetic chaos. No matter. The show proceeds! New releases are starting again, and the year is off to a strong start.

Matt Berry has a little surprise for you, but first you have to slip into something groovy.

White Denim, part of the eminently surfable wave of psychedelia we’ve enjoyed this past decade, finds it easy to freely pummel you with some of the most massive riffs you’ll encounter on this side of the water’s surface. Shout out to our caller who could possibly be Murrdawg on alternate Sundays here on KAFM. Check out their show!

As it happens, if yours truly has a Valentine’s gig, it’ll be followed by one on Pi Day. Except on leap years. But the point here is that I thought about doing a show themed on circles, spheres, and other such expressions of the number and decided against it, but keep your ears peeled for some future incarnation of a “Round and Round” playlist. Instead, tonight we kick things off with the sort-of eponymous track from The Nude Party’s latest release, and wrap things up with about 30 seconds of Railroad Jerk, because technical difficulties.

After a dormancy of a few years, The Dodos have re-emerged and proven to be anything but extinct. This duo makes a sound that is easy to recognize but hard to describe, a sort of acoustic progressive metal filled with droning rhythms and cascading guitars that you can clearly hear on the appropriately-titled “Unicorn”.

Out of all the ways there were to get into Zugdidi — they could have taken the ekranoplan, for example — the agency had chosen the bus. This exasperated the developer to no end. Their gear sat somewhere in the guts of the green behemoth, guarded by six different hardware and software protocols, but it still felt queasy to be so far removed from it. The meteorologist peered across the botanical garden to the Dadiani palaces. Somewhere in there, a nondescript yogurt stand would have a small radio playing Konnakkol techno. They were to purchase two cones and overpay. Instructions would follow.

The carpenter took a leisurely walk around the perimeter. In the weird light cone projected by the light they had installed at the top of the can, the ropes they had used to rappel down looked like the undulating tentacles of a mysterious jellyfish. Outside the cylindrical building that very deliberately resembled an oversized Coca Cola can, the security guard’s radio played Chicago sambas into the crisp Manitoba evening as he idly played his flashlight over the bushes outside. The choreographer stifled a giggle. On one of the ornithopters parked atop the domed top, next to an opening that looked like someone forgot to bring a canopener, a single LED began to blink. The mission was running out of time.