Weaving through Denver Music, Art, Culture, and Life
Black Francis — a.k.a. Frank Black, a.k.a. the leader of alt- and indie heroes the Pixies — is a storyteller. His ability to thread a yarn through rambling, surrealist lyrics is only exceeded by his talent in wrangling pure and simple rock that’s a worthy backdrop for them.
Frontside Five has reached a sort of plateau in skate-punk, which actually involves leaving behind much of the genre’s simplicity in favor of some more complex rhythms, and a slightly more metal edge.
There are some artists that need to be alone, and then there are those that just plain can’t play with anyone else. It’s the latter group that put themselves on stage as a one-man-band — performing with total musical independence, total responsibility.
. . . the fervor, the excitement, the downright religious intensity Slim Cessna’s Auto Club brings to the stage never seems to fade, though I, like hundreds of other natives, have seen it regularly since they started out in 1992. . .
Jonathan Richman has a deeper affection for the Lion’s Lair than we thought. He played in the tiny Colfax dive-bar a year ago . . .
Portland singer-songwriter Mirah introduced herself at the Hi-Dive Sunday night by saying “My name is Mirah, and I think I’m actually wearing a bra!” In one simple, quirky sentence about a slightly provocative item of clothing, walls of listener/performer separation instantly evaporated, and we felt as close to Mirah as her skin-tight shirt.
The last time I saw Motörhead was with Black Sabbath at the Paramount Theatre, some 10 years ago, and Lemmy looked older then than he did Saturday night at the Fillmore fronting his legendary metal band.
In front of blister-fast rhythms and searing metal riffs, Valient Himself screamed songs into the mosh pit on subjects ranging from how poorly George Bush is handling this country and the Iraq war . . . .
