The cool breeze blew in from Solana Beach and stirred the empty cups and racetrack vouchers on the ground. But from the empty stage electricity remained, like the horse eager to go on without its rider.
black rebel motorcycle club
BLACK REBEL MOTORCYCLE CLUB @ DEL MAR RACE TRACK
August 2nd, 2011 · 3 Comments
BLACK REBEL MOTORCYCLE CLUB @ ECHOPLEX
March 24th, 2010 · No Comments
photography by Ward Robinson What better way to celebrate your 5th full-length album release than a 3-night sold-out home stand at the Echoplex? Black Rebel Motorcycle Club is a resilient band, and they continue to blend their mix of fuzzed-out droney goodness with a healthy side of rootsy-rock. They took an enthusiastic audience on a [...]
BLACK REBEL MOTORCYCLE CLUB @ THE ECHOPLEX
March 14th, 2010 · No Comments
The crowd was a surprising mix of greyhairs, baldheads, WB Network fans, some that dressed like Grunge was topping the charts, emo-kids that made me think it was an all-ages show, and, yes, those in all black. There were so many couples grinding away in corners, I thought I was in a hip-hop video. Fun for all and hopefully the dude reading a New Yorker had a good time as well.
SEA WOLF + BAND OF HORSES ADDED TO PABLOVE BENEFIT CONCERT LINEUP
November 20th, 2009 · No Comments
Just in case there wasn’t already enough reason to support this effort: We just added Band Of Horses and Sea Wolf to the bill that already includes Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Shirley Manson, Tom Gabel (Against Me!), Jarrod Gorbel (The Honorary Title), Charlotte Martin, Butch Walker and Songs for Kids. They will all be playing [...]
MARIANNE FAITHFULL @ ROYCE HALL
October 9th, 2009 · 1 Comment
“Why D’ya Do It?”—jealous and wrathful—stole the show, suiting her better now than when she recorded it back in 1979. Maybe it was the contrast of seeing Faithfull dressed so quaintly and poised while shouting out, “Whyd ya do it, she said, whyd you let that trash get a hold of your cock, get stoned on my hash ?” That did it. The evening came into miraculous focus during this song. Her fierce snarl danced around the ska-inflected guitar and tore down any notions of artistic comfort to take refuge in. In just a matter of minutes, the whole being of Faithfull was on display—the delicate flaxen-haired flower girl of the ’60s, the homeless tramp of the ’70s, the drug addict, the smoky-voiced cabaret singer, the Weimar-era reenactor, the Shakespeare interpreter—all her incarnations summoned up at once.
