Huntress is fresh off a North American tour with Lamb of God, Killswitch Engage, and Testament, and is headed to the Duke tonight! It can be tough to get it up on a Monday night, but here are a few reasons to make it out for this show:
1) You’ve seen Iron Maiden more times in your life than you’ve flipped your mattress.
2) You’d sooner forget your underwear than your denim.
3) Not only do you know who King Diamond is, but you could apply his corpse paint with precision.
4) You have a weakness for a hot blonde bombshell that knows how to rock, and scares you as much as she turns you on.
5) You can’t remember the last time you had your face melted on a weekday.
The band last played here at the Isleta Amphitheater on the Mayhem tour. Seeing them on a smaller stage will be a real treat. Huntress will be at the Launchpad, joined by Carrion Kind, The Conjuring, and Death Rides A Horse. A measly eight bucks gets you in. Doors at 8. Show at 9:30.
Hailing from upstate New York, Coheed and Cambria have been bringing variety to the prog/metal scene since the mid-nineties. They gained wide and well-deserved exposure after opening for Iron Maiden during their recent North American tour; an opportunity given to only the most talented and promising musicians in the rock/metal genre.
Claudio Sanchez, Coheed’s mop-headed front man and lead guitarist, seamlessly blends elements of pop and punk into their primarily prog rock sound. The result: compositions complex and technical, but not so much that they alienate the listener. Vocal harmonizing and other pop elements add a catchy, anthemic quality to the music without diluting the intensity of their massive metal force. All six studio albums are concept albums based on a series of sci-fi comics written by Sanchez, but don’t let this deter you. These boys are not mere D&D nerds. They are seasoned musicians with a knack for infectious hooks and clever lyrics. Even fans that aren’t crazy about their studio albums will tell you that a live Coheed show is unparalleled. Like many bands that come through the Duke, Coheed sells out stadiums in bigger cities and headlines international festivals, but we are fortunate to have them right here on our very own Sunshine stage Wednesday night.
If you are a rocker and you’re not pumped for this show, then you need to think about trading your car in for a station wagon, buying some loafers and shopping for life insurance. A night with Coheed and Cambria will alleviate your depression. It will cathartically mend your broken heart. It will breathe energy into the weak, tired parts of your life, juggernaut. The crowd will not be your usual metal pickle party. Get your ass off the couch, put on your tight pants, and come out to meet your destiny.
Coheed and Cambria will be blessing the Sunshine Stage Wednesday night supported by Between the Buried and Me, and Russian Circles.
Formed in ’79 while they were in High School, Fishbone were signed by a record label the same year they graduated. For over three decades, they have shared their unique punk/funk/ska hybrid with fans everywhere, breaking down racial barriers and earning street cred with punk rockers and rappers alike.
The newest documentary, Everyday Sunshine: the Story of Fishbone is currently available on Netflix Instant. Narrated by Laurence Fishburne, it takes you on a raw journey through the emotional ups and downs of Fishbone’s founding members. Revered by music heavyweights such as Flea and Mike Watt in the film, the same sentiment is often echoed: As good as their recordings are, they will never compare to the electric frenzy of a live Fishbone show. If you’ve never seen one, you’re in luck. Fishbone will be blowing the roof off Sister Monday night. Thirteen bones will get you in the door (ten in advance through Hold My Ticket).
As the tweenie boppers of the late ’90s began skipping the junior high dances in favor of smoking weed and watching Being John Malkovich, the tow-headed Hanson brothers faded into obscurity ... or so it seemed. The only Hanson ditty anyone remembers is the unforgivable scatty earworm that surely made Cab Calloway roll in his grave.
Unbeknownst to anyone who's had a driver's license for more than a decade, the boys have actually released 11 studio albums and received three Grammy nominations, and will soon be releasing their own beer: MMMhop.
Isaac, Taylor and Zac are all married now with little Hanson mouths to feed, and merchandising the heck out of the family name. The brew is set for release in 2012, but will the IPA be any good? Wouldn't it be tastier and less filling to rollerskate down memory lane with a can of of your favorite suds and a gander at similar schlocky nonsense?
Regardless of whether you're a metal head, a fan of gore and filth, or simply an appreciator of lowbrow humor, GWAR is a concert not to be missed. You'll laugh, you'll cry and you'll be soaked by a giant blood canon. The band has recently suffered the untimely death of guitarist Cory Smoot. His character, Flattus Maximus, has been retired, but the show goes on. GWAR not only offers a dirty, sticky performance, but they are actually pretty tight metal musicians. Oderus Urungus fearlessly leads "the earth's only openly extraterrestrial rock band" with his devilish, bovine charm and his awe-inspiring cod piece.
Ladies, this will be a total pickle party, so come with a posse. It is the only time you will ever see rockers wearing white. With any luck, I'll be the one in the wedding dress.
The show is at the Sunshine. Doors at 7 p.m. Opening acts are Every Time I Die and Warbeast.
In recent years, Jack White has surprised his listening audience with a diverse array of musical collaborations. He's worked with talents from vastly different genres, from Loretta Lynn to Alicia Keys. After the dissolution of The White Stripes, fans of White have been eager to see who he might work with next. It's safe to say no fan was, is, or may ever be ready for his collaboration with Insane Clown Posse. For those of you like me who thought Juggalos—the equivalent of "Dead Heads" on PCP that follow a rap duo with painted faces—were a myth created by your mildly inebriated roommate (until you saw Hatchet Man rattle-canned on your neighbor's pick-up), they are very much in existence. These devoted fans dress accordingly, and even drink Faygo—the Juggalo drink of choice.
It appears that Jack White has produced ICP's new single, "Leck Mich Im Arsch," which samples a Mozart piece from 1782.
Yes, the intellectual duo that encouraged its listeners to ponder the physical properties of magnets now has Third Man Records in its arsenal. The song's lyrics mildly praise Mozart as "dope for the most part," and urges the listener to "spread your butt cheeks" and prepare for a tonguing from a couple of no-good mimes. This news has cast a dark cloud over the day as it begs the question, Did someone lose a bet?
L.A. Guns played a large roll in defining the glam metal scene in the late ’80s in Hollywood. Thanks to Headbangers Ball, the teenagers out here in the desert were able to get a taste of that glittery glory. I've seen the Guns live a handful of times over the years, and they still deliver a hot, dirty, balls-out show.
These guys are not artifacts of the past. Seeing them live is not a guilty pleasure. It's just effin’ good. Air your stinky leathers out, tease up that purdy hair, and bring your damaged eardrums and your bad attitude down to the Launchpad Sunday night ... Oh, and you can French kiss your Monday morning goodbye. Rest assured it will be worth it. Not sure what to wear? Might I suggest the following:
-Any combination of black leather and lace
-Any number of bandanas tied to your hat, boot, or any body part
-Anything that would increase your likelihood of seeing the back of a limousine ... or squad car
No one wants to be remembered for drug-addled antics or for being booed off the stage for a drunken, mediocre performance. Here's a clip of Amy Winehouse at 20, sharing her gift with the world.
The Tesla show sold out last-minute at the Hard Rock on Saturday night. I was sulking alone with my Stoli & Tonic at the smoke-filled Center Bar when a middle-aged, long-haired rocker dressed in camo and white sneakers tried to scalp me a ticket. He wanted $50 but I talked him down to $20, and I was in!
There were no expectations: Just another band I had never seen live that I needed to cross off my list. Little did I know I was in for an ass-kicking surprise.
Tesla was lumped in with glam metal bands despite its lack of spandex, hair spray or makeup. Like many talented bands of the era, they went down with the rock ship as it collided with a glacier known as grunge in 1991. After a brief hiatus, the band was resurrected in the early oughts, and is proudly on tour in celebration of 25 years together.
With four out of five original members, Tesla sounded tight, looked amazing and had a vibrant stage presence. Say what you will about metal, but a live metal show will always deliver if there’s a solid drummer, lightning-fast guitarists, a vocalist with a vast range, and a sound engineer that can bring out the best in the music.
Tesla’s older, harder songs were surprisingly face-melting, while the newer stuff was refreshing—reminiscent but not redundant. Though "Love Song" tempted us all to hug our drunken neighbor, the real shining star was "Paradise," an epic tear-jerker of a power ballad that brought out the lighters and filled a small chasm in my cold, bitter heart.