Music Blogger

Is that your sleeve face – or are you just happy to see me?

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By Joshua Rotter

Few of the MP3 generation can recall a time when music-lovers excitedly listened to entire records. But putting needle to groove was only half of a process that included poring over the often arty jacket itself and the internal sleeve to uncover the album’s many intricacies: the song lyrics and the names of the band members, studio musicians, and producers. To many aficionados the packaging was as prized as its contents.

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But once vinyl became mostly obsolete in the age of iMacs, so did these once-cherished album covers. Conversely vinyl’s rarity has turned its “frames” into an art form for diehard record fanatics – and nowhere is this more apparent than in the art of so-called sleeve face, where one conceals oneself with the face or body on an album cover in a seamless fashion so that the two merge harmoniously.

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In today’s climate of non-contextual music downloading, some feel compelled to buck the trend, attempting to more intimately access the artistic process by riffing Guitar Hero, lip-syncing on YouTube, or even just aesthetically, by getting “into the artist’s head” via sleeve facing.

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Christian Fennesz returns to shore

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By Erik Morse

After a long musical sojourn with former Yellow Magic Orchestra electronics magus Ryuichi Sakamoto on 2007’s Cendre (Touch), an extensive live collaboration with Mike Patton and a nomination for Best World Album by the Ethic Multicultural Media Awards (EMMA), Christian Fennesz returns to the sonorous shores of his past with a new 7-inch entitled “On a Desolate Shore a Shadow Passes By.”

Released as a part of Touch’s vinyl-only Sevens series – which includes singles by Phillip Jeck, Cabaret Voltaire’s Chris Watson, and Biosphere – “On a Desolate Shore” finds the Austrian laptop composer working within his métier as the digital scion of Brian Wilson, Kevin Shields, and Jim O’Rourke. Using his patented Mac patches to splay, splice, and caress a Stratocaster, Fennesz produces layer upon layer of compressed guitar feedback and processed glitches that spread out like a beach blanket on the windy sands of the Mediterranean. When a few chords suddenly appear from the whirring microtonal din, the noise musician-turned sculptor conveys with a Proustian flourish something truly magical: the distant memories of aquamarine sunsets and tawny sand dunes seem to emanate from the speakers.

Fennesz’s greatest strength has always been in his keen ability to formulate soundscapes that capture equally the coldest blasts of alien feedback and the most summery mosaic of acoustic guitar strums, chimes, and keyboard drones. Or rather, his compositions are at their most transfixing when they seem to play in music’s littoral zones, where the shallow grounds of textural play might suddenly give way to vast oceanic harmonics. In fact, the cover of the new release – a closeup of a sand path leading to the water’s edge – is once again supplied by photographer Jon Wozencroft and most likely comes from the same rustic-meets-glossy series that provided the cover for 2004’s Venice (Touch). And it does appear after a three-year divagation, Fennesz has returned there for inspiration. While “On a Desolate Shore” might be difficult listening for some, its affecting blend of digital minimalism and seaside dreams reaffirms why Fennesz is the most extraordinary ambient composer since Brian Eno.

The man who fell to Saul Williams

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By Benedict Sinclair

As far as Saul Williams albums go, The Inevitable Rise and Liberation of NiggyTardust (available for download here) is a success. As far as Trent Reznor(-produced) albums go, it’s also a success.

This all-around decent pop album includes an endearing U2 cover and on a number of songs linking up with the sounds of TV on the Radio. It has all the attitude of Nine Inch Nails – with Saul’s vocals often eerily resembling Reznor’s – and Public Enemy, whose Chuck D is sampled for a loop in “Tr(n)igger” and whose influence can be seen all over Williams’s rapping. The recording is laced with the vocalist’s soul and anger, which are cocooned within Reznor’s layered guitars, pianos, synths – and moments of softness and programmed, post-grime beats. For Williams it’s a Ziggy Stardust/The Love Below type of performance, borrowing Andre 3000’s dress-up delivery for the title track, a narcissistic collage playing with the “the one” archetype.

Reznor’s melodies can get a bit, erm, familiar, for an hour-long album. And Williams’s lyrics can only keep up with his performance half the time, falling in that inarticulate, lukewarm space between the rhetoric of liberation and revolution. Much of the lyrical ideas and content seem to hint at more than they can really express: the N word gets casual, ineffective treatment, in perhaps a good way.

Finding inspiration at Creativity Explored’s “Finders Keepers”

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Making it: Car Factory by Walter Kresnik

By Amy Glasenapp

What first struck me at the opening reception of “Finders Keepers” at Creativity Explored on Jan. 10 was the sheer volume of the crowd. By 7:30 p.m., an hour after the reception began, the show looked like a success. Sculptures and prints were being sold left and right, and at the front counter, lines of enthusiastic visitors eager to know more about the art were becoming labyrinthine. People had to push through gaps in the mass to reach the art in the back room.

Since 1983, Creativity Explored has provided a positive environment for adults with developmental disabilities to explore self-expression through different artistic mediums – in this case, recycled objects. Many of the studio artists have sold work and achieved some renown: James Montgomery, who has a show coming up this week at CIIS (California Institute of Integral Studies), is among them. His subjects consist mainly of clock faces and San Francisco landmarks, and in this exhibition you will find these themes in his sculpture, a break from his usual canvas medium.

Another artist whose work I had seen before, Walter Kresnik, surprised me with his Car Factory piece, which is made from wood, fabric, cotton, and a rusty piece of pipe. A whimsical arrangement of multicolored cars unfettered by roads, with thick cotton smog rising from a pipe that looms disproportionately above the compact “factory,” the work makes a clear political statement about pollution and industry.

Go darker: Darker My Love sets us swirling

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By Todd Lavoie

Fuzz fuzz fuzz! Douse yourselves in some sweet-lovin’ reverb this Saturday, Jan, 12 – that’s when LA’s narco-garage thumpers Darker My Love bring the noise to the 12 Galaxies stage, promising an evening of spark-shooting feedback and deep-echoed harmonies.

If you caught them at the Fillmore this past October, opening for the Jesus and Mary Chain, then you’re already well aware of the gothically monikered quintet’s proclivities for welding amped-up, chemical-haze clatter to billowy, sun-soaked vocals. If you didn’t – well, it’s never too late to learn, is it?

I’m a total sucker for the vocals – the slightly medicated, ethereal glows drifting from the harmonies of Tim Presley (guitar) and Rob Barbato (bass) are greatly reminiscent of those hoisted into all that shoegaze-y goodness by Andy Bell and Mark Gardener on Ride’s 1990 masterpiece, Nowhere (Sire). Get yourself an earful or two on their myspace profile and see what I mean: a couple of the songs currently featured (“Summer Is Here” and “Helium Heels”, both from their self-titled 2006 release on Dangerbird Records) feel like the logical next step for those British luminaries, had Ride decided to continue onward with the pounding, whooshing, swirling psych-rock of Nowhere rather than trying out that their pop chops (nothing wrong with this career move, of course, but oh how I loved the headthrob of early Ride!).

“Hermaphrodite”‘s Eric Copeland gets it both ways

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By Irwin Swirnoff

When the lines of past and future become blurry there’s the opportunity for a new world to emerge. The space Eric Copeland has created with his most recent album, Hermaphrodite (Paw Tracks), is one where animal meets machine, melody moves around dissonance, and the constant collision of the past and the future remind you that it’s never just one or the other. It’s always both.

Much like his friend Panda Bear who made one of 2007’s best records while taking a break from the Animal Collective, Copeland has created his own sonic achievement while moonlighting from his main gig, Black Dice. There is a cinematic hand at work on Hermaphrodite, which has you in its grasp and offers in return a full, visceral experience.

This LP sounds like it was recording on old analog equipment on its last legs, by someone or something from a different dimension. With hints of gamelan and moments that feel like a secret listen in on a primitive ceremonial tradition, Hermaphrodite feels like a score to a lost film made by Alejandro Jodorowsky and Michelangelo Antonioni. It sounds like the Discovery Channel, shot on old chromatic film stock.

Listen locally! A musical new year’s resolution

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Blow me down, Sweet Crude Bill and the Lighthouse Nautical Society.

By Todd Lavoie

Another new year, another new year’s resolution – but rather than going for the usual tired song-and-dance about eating less or becoming thriftier or getting more organized (yawn), how about something with a bit more spark – and sparkle! – for 2008? Here’s a pinky-finger handshake I made with myself that maybe just maybe might work for you too as a new-leaf-turner: this year, I’m going to make a special point to see more shows from Bay Area musicians.

How’s that? Talk about easy, painless – hell, it doesn’t even require any personal sacrifice (other than a little cash and maybe the gumption to leave the house on a cold January night, an admittedly tough prospect right now as I stare out my window watching daisy chains of trash bins, plastic bags, and dead umbrellas floating downriver as that Biblical rain keeps on pouring outside, sigh).

Plus, you’ll be supporting the local arts scene: better to enjoy it now, lest the renter’s market goes completely nutso and sends all of the creative and underpaid – not to mention some of the most interesting – minds of the area a-packing! Mercifully, that doomsday scenario hasn’t happened, and we here in the Bay can boast of having one of the most fertile musical playgrounds in the entire country, thanks to the wealth of free-thinkers and the venues that support them. Ah, we are blessed, verily and truly. So, while we’re ruminating away in gratitude, here are some upcoming wingdings worthy of taking a step-outside:

Stephen Stills’s surgery successful

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This just in from Stephen Stills’ publicists: “Two-time Rock and Roll Hall of Fame artist and legendary guitarist Stephen Stills was successfully operated on today for prostate cancer in Los Angeles. ‘Stephen’s procedure went remarkably well and he couldn’t be better. He will be home by noon tomorrow and the pain will be minimal,’ his wife Kristen Stills said.

“The legendary artist is scheduled to attend the Sundance Film Festival in Utah for the Jan. 25 world premiere of CSNY/Deja Vu. The feature, directed by Bernard Shakey, was filmed during the 2006 “Freedom of Speech” tour by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. It is a moving tribute to the power of music to provoke and provide inspiration.

“Stephen Stills is also scheduled for a North American solo tour this spring in support of his recently released Just Roll Tape album on Rhino Records.”

Amplive stomped by Radiohead publishers Warner/Chappell

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“Holla at me, Thom,” says Oakland producer Amplive, regarding the cease and desist letter he received from Radiohead publishing company Warner/Chappell. The Bay Area DJ had put together a series of digital-only remixes based on In Rainbows in tribute to Radiohead and the recording. Titled Rainydayz Remixes, featuring Too $hort, Del Tha Funkee Homosapien, and others, the recordings had gotten attention from Pitchfork and the New York Times. Rainydayz, for sure.

Rock out with the cockatoo out

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OK, the dancing bird is almost up to 1 million views: what does that say about YouTube viewers? Silly animal tricks slay ’em every time.

Manic ’bout the Chromatics

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By Todd Lavoie

Disco is back! Quite the polarizing announcement, I know, so perhaps I should qualify: this isn’t some Yvonne Elliman/Studio 54 revival here. Sorry, but no “If I Can’t Have You”, no anatomy-defying Brothers Gibb falsettos, and definitely no dancefloor-anemia takes on Beethoven’s Fifth, mercifully enough. Rather, the ’70s flavors I’ve been picking up on as of late seem to skip right past club night in favor of the long, brisk walk home after closing time.

This new crop of disco-enthusiasts paints relatively few scenes of dancefloor hedonism and sweat-soaked glamorama, instead focusing on what happens when the hip young things are flat out of cab fare and decide to hoof it back home, trying their best to ignore the vague shuffling shadows in the dark and to avert the eyes of passing strangers. Their clothes are a sad shambles of how they looked only hours before, their makeup streaked and smudged. Danger lurks around every corner, and it’s palpable in every rudimentary rhythm, every Giorgio Moroder-/John Carpenter-informed minimalist synth ripple.

A spooky, lights-down-low vision of neo-disco burrowed its way under the skin of many when the fittingly titled After Dark compilation (Italians Do It Better) was released earlier this year. Artists such as Mirage, Farah, Glass Candy, and Chromatics unleashed throbbing, haunting, feathered-haired odes that seem to have more in common with Halloween than Thank God It’s Friday – sure, you can dance to ’em, but while you’re grooving be sure to keep looking over your shoulder.

That’s the way the ice cream melts…

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Who knew watching cold treats dissolve would be so entertaining? Is The Life & Death of Ice Cream about the temporal nature of existence…or is it simply an ode to lost Creamsicles? Next up from the geniuses at MindPie: this is the way the grass grows?

Sonic Reducer Overage

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Jessie Evans

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Traditional Fools

Todd Snider

Punk as folk: Jeffrey Lewis

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Jeffrey, left, with his brother Jack.

By Alex Felsinger

Crass saved punk music. They redefined the genre before it was even fully created by shunning the Malcom McLaren-influenced and Vivien Westwood-designed pseudo-movement – and instead, they stood for something. They never fit the part, never ripped off the Rolling Stones, and never tried to become famous. They genuinely wanted a better world and thought they could help create one through music. Although a better world never came, they have influenced countless bands to continue in the same spirit.

But in the last four years, every kid with a mohawk and a leather jacket has picked up an acoustic guitar to sing against the war and capitalism, recorded some songs on their PowerBook, and then thrown them up on MySpace. Folk-punk, as people call it, has swept the nation’s underground, to the point where legendary punk venue 924 Gilman Street Project has a monthly “Acoustic Night.”

Bringing it full circle, New York City’s Jeffrey Lewis recently released an album – his fourth since 2001 – composed entirely of acoustic versions of Crass tunes. The full-length – 12 Crass Songs­ (Rough Trade) – covers some of the band’s best, including “Punk Is Dead,” “Banned from the Roxy,” and “Big A, Little A.”

Boxcar Saints

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By FS Slim

Songs of intrepidity and irresponsibility sound the same no matter the form. This is, in fact, the risk you take when you decide it’s time to pin your stories to the backs of artfully irresponsible, intrepid-type characters. Let your tale go the way of road grog and wanderlust, and sure enough, some loveless fleabag will appear out of the bushes behind your apartment, mixing for you a lurid cocktail of metaphor, boot savvy, and hemlock so to memorialize the way your music sounds: as slick, old, and dead as a beat.

Far be it from me, however, to ignore the fact that when a road-weary critic decides to write up a band – namely Boxcar Saints who performed on Jan. 8 at Bottom of the Hill – for its use of American cliché becomes not only a trader in kind but also an enormous killjoy.

But I’m tired too – tired of hitchhiking back and forth from Santa Cruz to the Upper Haight, listening to the same tired tunes on a white plastic juke half stuffed into a green bandana: little white lies connecting me to the end of my REI walking stick. I should be setting my snares for fuzzy animal things or finding Motel Burningman at the Holiday Inn in Burlingame. I tire at my use of irony, your use of irony, and all the meta-irony that our collected ironies generate when their avatars meet on the great desert train car of virtual-virtual experience.

So, leaving irony’s bequest behind us, at last, we get to some honest talk from the hobo’s mouth about the Boxcar Saints: these guys suck at least as much as this review. Without mentioning certain pretensions en vogue (like the giving of separate names to your side projects, who open for you and your other sideprojects, when your side projects are really just different instrumental configurations of your band’s original membership), the stuff does seem self-fulfilled, which is a nice way of saying the bass lines show no room for growth, the lead guitar is in most ways predictable, the writing has all been heard, seen, and done before. Call me another panning San Franciscan, it’s OK, but hey how ‘bout that ride to that party in the South Bay?

Cake’s John McCrea cuts up

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Oh, have more Cake, please! On the occasion of the Sacto-Bay Area band’s New Year’s Eve show Monday at the Warfield, I spoke to frontman John McCrea from his Oakland home – an intriguing and educational experience, natch. McCrea wandered down some unique avenues regarding his neighborhood, the music industry, farming, gorging, general loudness and so much more.

SFBG: I always associate Cake with Sacramento. I didn’t know you lived in the East Bay.

John McCrea: I was actually born in the East Bay – born and raised in Berkeley. I was living in Sacramento when the band started. Increasingly this is a bad place to start a band – unless you wanna have the sort of time-consuming day job that sucks your energy and leaves you with nothing by the end of the day.

[Before Cake began] I lived in other places with higher rent and I decided to come back. My family was living in Sacramento at that point, and I got a great big apartment for $350 a month and was able to play music on three or four days of work a week. Then I had the rest of the week to write songs and spend on the band. I think that’s sort of…necessary.

Sonic Reducer Overage: Saigon, Hiss Golden Messenger, Chris Brown

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All the shows that didn’t make print – but should have!

SAIGON
The Brooklyn rapper makes his SF debut, after doing seven hard years behind bars. Apparently he had a lot of hours to hone his rhyming skills, and after founding a nonprofit to help inner-city kids whose parents are incarcerated, he hooked up by chance with Mark Ronson (Amy Winehouse), who gave him a hand with production. After garnering some notoriety with his mix tapes, collaborations with Jay-Z, and appearances on Entourage, Saigon hopes to hit it big with his debut, The Greatest Story Every Told (Fort Knocks), which he unveils tonight. With DJ Big Von. Fri/28, 9 p.m., $15. Mezzanine, 444 Jessie, SF. (415) 820-9669.

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HISS GOLDEN MESSENGER
How to describe Hiss Golden Messenger? They’re a little classic rock, a wee bit free-form jazz, a tad dissonant, a teensy droning, with a dab of flute-folk, a dash of freak jazz. Oh, heck, just see ’em for yourself! MC Taylor, late of Court and Spark, is back in town from his studies in the south, and any number of bandmates – including Scott Hirsch, John Hofer, Patrick Main, Ryan Bishop, Greg Wiz, Pink Nasty, Chris Sipe, Matt Cunitz, Megumi Stohs, Tom Griesser, and Tim Bluhm will materialize. Then all will be golden, for sure. Also check opener Banana, once of the Youngbloods. With Parson Red Heads and Michael Talbott. Sat/29, 9:30 p.m., $8. Hemlock Tavern, 1131 Polk, SF. (415) 923-0923.


CHRIS BROWN

The Grammy crowd was impressed with the heartthrob’s spry moves. Dude be limber – and there’s no denying the smorgasbord of chart sensations assembled for this tour. With Bow Wow, Soulja Boy, Sean Kingston, Shop Boyz, and Lil Mama. Sat/29, 7:30 p.m., $40-$80. Oracle Arena, 7000 Coliseum Way, Oakl. (510) 569-2121.

Woo! Wu-Tang Clan sized up

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Wu-Tang Clan’s Method Man mounted a stack of speakers. All photos by Ben Hopfer.

By Ben Hopfer

What do you do when the cold weather kicks in and all your friends are out of town? If you’re like me you go see the Wu-Tang Clan. Braving the cold and rain, I arrived at Ruby Skye on Dec. 27 to check out the Wu, out on their “8 Diagrams” tour. I find it kind of funny that they named the tour after their latest album, one that multiple members have publicly stated that they are unhappy with. Yet my curiosity drew me in to see the group for the umpteenth time.

The opening act, a local artist Benflows, got off to a slow start. While it wasn’t a terrible performance, he should have known that openers shouldn’t try to pull a call-and-response session with a crowd that wasn’t warmed up at all. He called, but no one responded. Bay Area crew Rec League was up next. Now I may come off as a hater, but member Richie Cunning is far and above the best member of the group. While the rest went through the rap-show paces, Cunning actually put on a respectable performance and stood out individually due to his efforts. If only it was a solo act. The Bayonics closed out the opening set and brought live hip-hop to the stage the way it’s supposed to be done.

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The uncanny Richie Cunning of Rec League.

Lush, lashed life: Madonna makeup artist and shu uemura artistic director Gina Brooke on a NYE look

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Musing on a new look for the new year? Where else to find one than at the divine shu uemura boutique: the company’s artistic director Gina Brooke knows beauty, and on Friday, Dec. 28, she’ll be making an appearance at the store – one of only three in the country – to discuss the new Muse collection inspired by the artwork of French impressionists Degas, Monet, Renoir, and photojournalist Dan Eldon; give customized looks to fans; and share beauty tips. I traded e-mails with the makeup artist to Madonna, Eva Longoria, Katie Holmes, Naomi Campbell, and Gisele Bundchen, and learned a few tricks.

SFBG: What are the quickest and easiest things you can do to dramatically change your look for the new year – or for a special night out?

Gina Brooke: The quickest, easiest way to dramatically change your look for the new year or for an event would be to leave your makeup neutral. Apply mascara and a beautiful bold color on your lips. I highly recommend shu uemura’s rouge unlimited no. 165, symbolizing passion, love, and confidence and, of course, femininity – a look that simply classic and will never go out of style!

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Does Flight of the Conchords soar or suck?

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By Mike McGuirk

First exposure to Flight of the Conchords – a YouTube clip of “The Most Beautiful Girl in the Room” – kind of bugged me. I was not in the mood for another comedy rock group, especially one that sings in fake black voices. Plus as far as I knew, it was tied to some super-hip new TV show. Finally I hated the name of the group.

But after a little more exposure and some time spent listening to The Distant Future (Sub Pop), I was forced to admit these guys, Jemaine Clement and Bret McKenzie (of some New Zealand indie rock band fame) are really funny. In “Business Time,” Clement explains why “tonight’s the night” he and his girlfriend are going to have sex, and it’s because it’s Wednesday night, and Wednesday is the night they typically have sex. See? Funny. No, do you really need me to explain it?

From what I can tell is these guys are international sensations. That is annoying, but at least they are funny. The best things on Distant Future are the three studio cuts that open things up. The three cuts that close things out are live, and maybe I still have some issues with this band, as in I don’t really care for live comedy rock, whether I am present in the room or not. Clement’s “slutangel22@yahoo” line in “Most Beautiful Girl in the Room,” however, makes up for a lot.

Oh no, you’re not: Reimagining the “I’m Not There” soundtrack

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By Marcus Crowder

Ever since listening to that multi-song pileup of a soundtrack for I’m Not There, I’ve been plotting my own alternate album: a compilation, to paraphrase Barry (Jack Black) in **High Fidelity** that does not “suck ass.” To begin with, the pathetic hipster pandering is gone. No Stephen Malkmus, Sonic Youth, Yo La Tengo, or Mason Jennings. Jack Johnson? Are you fucking kidding me?

Here’s the replacement – a **I’m Not There** soundtrack that should have been: Tunde Adebimpe and TV on the Radio doing “All Along the Watchtower,” Ivy on “I Wanna Be Your Lover,” Dean and Britta doing “I’m Not There,” Kurt Wagner and Lambchop on “Can’t Leave Her Behind,” Mark Eitzel and American Music Club doing “Fourth Time Around,” Greg Dulli on “Ballad of a Thin Man,” Peter Case doing “The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carrol,” Andy Bey on “The Times They Are A-Changin’,” Mark Kozolek doing “Mama You’ve Been on My Mind/A Fraction of Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie,” and Paul Westerberg on “Maggie’s Farm.” I can live with the rest, even freaking Bob Forrest doing “Moonshiner.”

Sonic Reducer Overage: Have a very Gnostic Christmas and a Blackalicious dish

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Joseph Childress, child.

More trouble to get into – the best kind – when you’re not hunting and gathering last-minute offerings to your own personal Jesus.

GNOSTIC CHRIST-MASS REVUE
Join the soft psych-sters, delicate songwriters, acoustic hymn singers, and Leonard Cohen and Joni Mitchell cover mavens for a very Gnostic holiday hoot. Wymond and his Spirit Children, Conspiracy of Beards/Venus, Family Trea, and Joseph Childress get into the mystic – and the merriment. Fri/21, 7 p.m., $6-$10 sliding scale. Noe Valley Ministry, 1021 Sanchez, SF.

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It’s not academic for Trackademicks.

TRACKADEMICKS AND THE HONOR ROLL
The Alameda mix maestro gets out from behind the studio board to support Blackalicious and Mighty Underdogs. Sat/22, 9 p.m., $25. Fillmore,
1805 Geary, SF.

Player’s club: Todd Lavoie’s best of 2007 playlist

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Bat for Lashes are in your corner.

By Todd Lavoie

Well, it wasn’t easy, but after endless hours of fretting and ruminating and studied, stressed-out headphonery, I have at last been able to compile a play list of the tracks that got me most excited this year. What can I say? This year was a stunner – look no further than these twenty lil’ ditties, kiddies.

1. SOULSAVERS: “Revival” (Red Ink/Columbia)
Mark Lanegan + gospel singers + narcotized electronics = unmitigated bliss. The former Screaming Tree, Isobel Campbell collaborator, and bedrock-baritoned emissary from the darkest of gutters has teamed up with British downtempo dramatists Soulsavers for some post-apocalyptic spirituality and brokenhearted confessionals. And if that ain’t enough, they snagged Wendy Rose and Lena Palmer – probably best known for setting full-throated fires behind Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds on their last album and tour – to usher in the rapture with their serious gospel know-how. Ah, “Revival” – Lanegan leads the congregation in a river baptismal, spitting hellfire and salvation while still teetering close to the edge of the abyss himself, a Flannery O’Connor character brought to song. Until Spiritualized’s new one hits next year, this might be the next-best-thing to fill our medicated-soul prescription.

2. BAT FOR LASHES: “What’s A Girl To Do?” (Echo/Caroline)
Rolling out of the darkness on her forlorn little bicycle, transmitting mesmerizing sparkles from her glittery sweater, Natasha Khan – the mastermind behind the curious Bat for Lashes moniker – made quite a first impression with the opening seconds of her video for “What’s A Girl to Do?” – an ice-choked exploration of the previously undiscovered intersections between PJ Harvey, Broadcast, and the Ronettes. I won’t spoil the surprise twist of the video, but I will offer that this might be the catchiest bummer I’ve heard all year: “And when he asked me/ ‘Do you love me?’/ I had to look away/ I didn’t want to tell him/That my heart grows colder with each day.” Ouch.

3. BEIRUT: “Nantes” (Ba Da Bing)
European romance? Yes, please! Scott Walker might have long since abandoned any consideration for evening promenades and moonlit kisses in song – now that he’s a bonafide avant-garde artiste hellbent on making Stockhausen seem like sissy stuff, that is – so thankfully the world has Zach Condon, a.k.a., Beirut, to carry the torch for all of us swooning pie-eyed dreamers. Oh, the rhumba rhythm! The Montmartre-ific accordion! The swaying brass section! And atop it all, Condon waxes far more nostalgic than his 21 years should ever allow. Not as lurid as Walker or his idol Jacques Brel – honestly, who is? – but croonably smooth nonetheless. Me, I’m enchanted.

Indie rock too white? The debate continues…

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Are the Decemberists too pasty to dance to?

By Lauren Giniger

New Yorker pop music critic Sasha Frere-Jones recently provoked an online brawl when he accused indie-rock of being, well, too white. I know, duh.

His complaint, laid out in an essay published in the Oct. 22 issue of The New Yorker: the new indie, as typified by the holy-white-trinity of Arcade Fire, the Shins, and the Decemberists, can’t get a groove on to save its life. Underlying his distaste for modern indie is his sense of loss. According to Frere-Jones, the music had retreated from the heady, early ’80s days of cross-pollinating New York rock, the days of punky funk and rap-disco hybrids, the days of Factory Records’ infatuation with NYC clubs.

He also argues – although, he admits, reductively – that as indie rock has retreated from black music, so has society become increasingly racially polarized. There’s no doubt about the latter. But there may be a flip-side to what he perceives as racist retreat from black music.