hris Cornell’s voice sounds as good as ever, and in spite of the passage of time since Soundgarden’s glory days—made obvious by both the median age of the crowd and the streaks of grey in guitarist Kim Thayil’s once jet-black hair—the band did their catalog justice.

[Read more →]

The L.A. RECORD holiday party at Bedrock was a smashing success, and we had the best Santa throne in town, thanks to set designer Ayse Arf. Did you get your photo taken with Santa Claus? Did Santa try to grope you? Better have… Photos by Ben Hoste

[Read more →]

There is a lot going on in belles of the ball Big Whup—a lot of instruments, a lot of vocal acrobatics, a combination unicorn/Pegasus/microphone named Party!, some adorable hopping and dancing, etc.

[Read more →]

We are hunter-gatherers; walking for miles each day, moving more often than still, searching for sustenance, hydration and maybe a little beauty now and again in the unforgiving wilderness. We are surrounded by wild animals, both savage and tame, but know that generally if we don’t bother them, they won’t bother us.

[Read more →]

Physical limitations in the form of a bum knee dictated that this day be slightly more mellow. It began with a magical set from Yo La Tengo, a band who was born long before or contemporaneously with many festival attendees. The Jersey three-piece took their time, dragging songs out into even longer than usual, extended instrumental jams with frontman Ira Kaplan taking a guitar-shaped sledgehammer to the rhythmic cinder blocks being patiently stacked bassist James McNew and drummer Georgia Hubley.

[Read more →]

The Specials reminded us that they are still important because 30 years later, their songs are still as listenable and fun as they were in 1977, and the issues they wrote abou—racism, the seeming inescapability of the rat race, and general good-time having—are still just as relevant. Also, Jerry Dammer told the crowd they were mostly really beautiful but with “really fucking ugly” ones interspersed, and what good festival crowd doesn’t enjoy a little abuse?

[Read more →]

Mainsail makes the kind of music that could be described as “soaring,” and they themselves describe it as “Indie Rock for the Soul Surfer.” But there’s a little saccharine in that rushing water, and more than a little sun on that surf.

[Read more →]

St. Vitus steamrolled over us, like some kind of unstoppable collection of slow-moving gears and belts chomping flesh and bone into mush in its gruesome machinery. The years have not diminished their skill or their energy.

[Read more →]

When he began to play, looking like a drunk, face glazed with sweat and mouth askew, it took a while to reconcile the image of Mike Watt with what was happening with his hands and face and body. Much like when you see something shocking on the street—like people having sex or a grizzly car accident—there’s a lag time between the sensory and intellectual registration of what’s going on.

[Read more →]

The feverish daze in which Foot Village and Mi Ami left the loyal denizens of The Smell’s new, smell-less tomorrow was a perfect segue into Lucky Dragons’ ethereal midnight dream.

[Read more →]