At this point the rain was light but the wind was heavy, and I saw Liam Philpot of Jimmy Cliff’s band nearly run for cover as the giant dangly trusses of lights and cables above him wiggled violently in the wind. Whoever the DJ was, he had a smirky sense of humor, as he played “Riders on the Storm” throughout setup.
jimmy cliff
COACHELLA DAY 1: MAZZY STAR, EXPLOSIONS IN THE SKY, ATARI TEENAGE RIOT, REFUSED, JAMES, JIMMY CLIFF, GIRLS, ARCTIC MONKEYS, AMON TOBIN, WOLF GANG, HONEYHONEY, OTHER LIVES, YUCK, DATSIK
April 14th, 2012 · 2 Comments
JIMMY CLIFF: BOOM! SMASH! IT WENT SMASH!
April 9th, 2012 · 3 Comments
Jimmy Cliff is to Jamaican music what James Brown was to R&B, if Brown had just worked a little harder. Cliff helped get ska off the ground, popularized reggae, even starred in the first reggae movie, The Harder They Come. Touring with Tim Armstrong and a tight band of mod-looking youngsters, Cliff seems set to inspire the world yet again. This interview by D.M. Collins.
JIMMY CLIFF @ TIM ARMSTRONG’S SECRET PRACTICE SPACE
December 9th, 2011 · 23 Comments
I pride myself on being able to capture the sound of music in words, but there really is no way to convey what came out of that man’s throat and into our hearts Friday night. The closest I can get is to say that he sounded effortless and full of love, like butter melting slowly over Mom’s pancakes. He sounded awake and alert, classy, not cluttered in Rastafarian claptrap but “transcendent” in as close to a literal meaning as an atheist like me can believe in.
HARPER SIMON @ THE LITTLE ROOM
September 3rd, 2009 · No Comments
Shortly after the Largo jam session featuring Harper Simon and his circle of Silver Lake superstar friends, I got a text: “Was he at least as good as Jakob Dylan?” my friend asked waggishly.
Well, sure! Maybe!
ZIG ZAG WANDERER: BLACK LOVE, BLUE OYSTER CULT AND FRENCH MIAMI
June 5th, 2009 · 1 Comment
I eventually did get out of the house by Thursday night, touring both floors of Amoeba Music prior to fading down Vine St. to 3 Clubs. Briefly fashionable after the 1997 movie Swingers, this venue I’ve long associated with dreadful music and gave the place up entirely after I quit martinis. Still, the Rumble’s night of indie-squawk sounded promising enough outside muffled through the walls. Both light and prospects were considerable dimmer inside, as French Miami- a trio of Bay Area collegians beloved of NME -was onstage thrashing around inside a math rock that was obviously failing to carry its twos and decimal points.
