Stones Throw is an independent label for the ages, and the documentary Our Vinyl Weighs A Ton tells the story of Stones Throw. It’s part documentary, part biopic, part time capsule and part mixtape—actually, it’s really a study in character. This interview by Chris Ziegler.
Just as stupendous were Groovy Rednecks, as big Tex Troester sweated and howled through what he claimed was their 776th gig. Scene aristos dallying outside on Hewett debated what genre this latest onslaught amounted to. It sounded to me like Commander Cody and his Lost Planet Airmen trying to thread a biplane through their own skulls.
BLOODY DEATH SKULL @ CHEETAHS
Bloody Death Skull melds lo-fi, 50’s rock/soul janglin’, ukulele twangin’, children’s toys a’ bangin,’ all like one big Cowboys and Indians meets Duck Duck Goose absurdity. It was like watching children play by themselves, admiring their imaginations running wild.
NIGHT TERRORS OF 1927 + KID CADAVER + FEAR THE GHOST + AMONG SAVAGES @ THE ECHO
The headliners launched without ado into a set as soulful as it was loud as hell. People began to flail around and dance awkwardly as photographers prowled, snapping excitedly and scuttling in and out of the way of jumping feet and swaying torsos.
MAZZY STAR @ THE WILTERN
Opening with “Look On Down,” and playing all of the “Fade Into You” era hits, the audience is like one gigantic sea, every body like a molecule connected side by side, Mazzy’s lunar presence determining the push and pull of emotions, like the moon governs tide. My eyes were sewn shut during “Into Dust,” and I awoke to falling into the arms of a stranger!
CROCODILES @ THE ECHO
Crocodiles played with the aloofness of a worn leather-jacket, the greasy-haired bravado of embryonic alternative rock, a guitarist with a chic straw hat, but with disappointing self-awareness.
In a just world, this tape would propel Batwings Catwings to the top of the pop charts, and all the other bands singing about sun-drenched sadness would be forced to carry their gear into the Smell every weekend.
JULIA HOLTER: LOUD CITY SONG
Somewhere between the adornment of manufactured dimensionality and reference points, you get the feeling the record has more to say than it first appears to.
CHROME: HALF MACHINE FROM THE SUN: LOST TRACKS FROM ’79-’80
Any new Chrome from the pre-Dossier era is a gift from the music gods. Worship and you will be rewarded.
WHITE DOVE: THE HOSS, THE CANDLE
It’s a little sad, a little lonely and very lovely and Los Angeles should be proud that a band like White Dove calls it home.
What we have here has the “nothing left to lose” gleefulness of late-era, pre-hardcore first generation punk.