CITY Magazine. Arts. Music. Culture.
Rochester, New York's source for arts, music, events listings and culture, on the web and in print every month. Offering alternative news since 1971.
Is it true, pretty
baby, what they said about you? This week, two music icons were taken from
us. R&B-soul shouter Andre Williams and surf guitar
originator Dick Dale. Something ain’t right here.
Every year, with the
announcement of the latest inductees into the Rochester Music Hall of Fame
comes a groan of disappointment from some local musicians and their fans. We’re
not simply talking sour grapes or envy here.
Classic
bands like Journey, Cheap Trick, The Stones, and The Who are missing original
members due to death, retirement or irreconcilable differences, but I can still
rock with the remnants.
It’s good to know your instrument and your limitations therewith. But too much rehearsal is no bueno. In order to live and breathe, music has to be interpreted somewhat loosely and in the moment.
If you wanna see who’s looking at you, or more importantly, who’s looking out for you, the next time you go out leave some crumbs or dried-up BBQ sauce in your beard. Or better yet, leave your fly down and see if anyone says something. More on this in a bit after these important messages: […]
There
are phrases that embody racism, sexism, abuse, and hate. And there’s no getting
around it. We consider some words so insidious that we only refer to them with
the letter they begin with.
In the blessed trinity of Waits, Cohen, and Cave, Nick Cave is by far the darkest. There was some murmuring concern that Cave’s intimate intensity might get swallowed up in Toronto’s Scotiabank Arena. It turned out to be unfounded.
Rocco, the cat who let’s me live in his house, talks a lot for a cat. And I respond, which leads to a cross-phylum kind of conversation of his meowing and my matter-of-fact patter.
The question I get
asked the most is whether or not I like everything I hear. The criterion is
simple: I don’t have to love it, but I have to believe it. It’s easy to like a
band because it sounds good or plays in a style you inexplicably love. However,
hating a band or style of music is a much more complex thing.
If you see me crying on the street, chances are I’m actually laughing. Yet when something is sad, I cry…then laugh.
It was June 1986, and my hair was perfect. I was a 20-year-old rock ‘n’ roller working on my hustle
outside the club Rumours on South Avenue. And even though I had played in this joint with my band,
there was a chance I wasn’t going to get in to see what is still my favorite band, The Blasters.
Logistically speaking, the Jazz Fest bigwigs do a phenomenal job. But there are still some things music fans have to do on their own to keep things running smoothly.
