SPEW

I don’t get out much anymore. I try. Hell, I’m a club crawler for a guy my age. But still, measured against my knock’em-back youth. And there’s so much shit on Netflix.   So no, I didn’t make it to Knuckleheads to see Matthew Sweet and Tommy Keene, even though I meant to. I about had my kid talked in to it, but he dropped out because of “homework,” Ya think? But I did listen to music by those guys preparatory to (not) seeing them. In the process I finally dove in to a collection of Tommy Keene’s that I’d never really explored. It’s called Excitement at Your Feet, a reference to the Who’s “See Me, Feel Me.” Just in case you thought it was a collection of songs about foot fetishism. There’s even a Who song on here - “Much too Much,” which is pretty ace. It’s all pretty ace.   A video of that Television cut, "Guiding Light." Some songs are better suited to Tommy’s plaintive aggro than others. I’m not thrilled with his take on “The Puppet” by Echo and the Bunnymen

Yesterday I called L.A.’s Starcrawler the greatest rock ’n’ roll band in the world.   Today, it’s the Whiffs.   A power-pop band from Kansas City. I recommend the Whiffs if you like Norwegian black metal. Not because they sound like Mayhem or Gorgoroth, but because there are laws against church burning and the Whiffs would never incite such a thing. Their songs are about various stages of infatuation, the yoozh for power-pop. Cheery melodies in bright keys with sprightly tempi tend not to mulch into diatribes against the Caliphate. Although a lot of shit rhymes with Caliphate … hmm (I can hear Joey Ramone rhyming Caliphate with ‘too late.’). But clearly, I digress.   Take a Whiff is a blast. Eight shots of tuneful adrenaline. Okay, one song is ALMOST three minutes - a veritable jam. But you can fade it out. No problem (kidding). Not a token slow dance dragger on this puppy. Mid-tempo and up-tempo. There’s never a reason for a pop band to do a slow song unless it’s poetic

This week I’ve been sampling a lot of music. Sampling in the old school sense, that is.   Jane Weaver is a British artist who’s been around in one group or form or whatever for over twenty years. Her recent solo work has become beloved of the psych-folk crowd, the same people I suspect who get giddy over Joanna Newsom, Meg Baird, and whatever. Her new album is World Kosmology . Whoo, there’s a title that any self-respecting punk in 1997 would have called pretentious twaddle. But these are more generous and inclusive times for fans of outsider music. Boris fans may be Margo Price fans may be Kendrick Lamar fans. Weaver combines trippy analog synths, motorik beats (4/4 time, but rigidly mechanical, favored by Krautrockers), chiming electric and strumming acoustic guitars and her own ethereal vocals. It all works because the songwriting is fetching. Give it a chance and it charms. It probably sounds great fucked up on pot, although I haven’t tried that yet.   I hear Justin

 I wrote a column called  DITB (Down in the Basement)  for the Tornado , the greatest community newspaper ever with a four-month lifespan. I didn’t exactly write reviews. I had other people do that; I edited them. Nope, I just kinda went on about whatever was on my mind at the time related to popular music. DITB was probably the first place outside of New York or London where someone raved at length about the Strokes. I went on for a few hundred words about Weezer once. I have no idea what inspired that.   DITB did follow the rules of journalism. I did my best to research shit. Fact check. Include details. I guess that is where SPEW will divert from DITB . For SPEW I fully intend to forget names, get facts wrong, neglect to give complete titles, and otherwise write irresponsibly.   Reverberations is the name of my music blahg. Reverberations dates from my days at the KC Free Press, the best online KC news and culture resource ever with a four-month lifespan. See a theme e