Flicker, the independent horror thriller shot here in Albuquerque by director Aaron Hendren, should be available on DVD starting this Friday, Jan. 29. It’s a perfect opportunity for lovers of offbeat slasher films to support local cinema. You can pick up a copy through Amazon.com. For more info, log on to eggmurders.com.
Steve Stucker really needs no introduction. Since 1990, he’s brought jovial morning weather forecasts to New Mexicans via KOB-4. Formerly a professional dog trainer, Stucker is a friend to animals, even parading pooches on TV every Friday in order to help them get adopted. He also likes to dress up, sometimes appearing on air, according to his KOB bio, as “Elvis, Martha Stewart, Richard Simmons, Arnold Sportsnweather (Schwarzenegger), Mother Stucker, Patty O'Furniture or his alter ego Ed Noid.” Stucker is also a motivational speaker who’s highly involved with the community, and he’s been voted Alibi readers’ “Favorite TV Personality” multiple times in our Best of Burque poll. And he’s nice.
Most of the attention during this 30-day session is focused on budget woes. But with all the bad press state politicians ate last year over accusations of dirty dealings, some ethics bills may have a shot after all.
It is always a pleasure to see firefighters at a City Council meeting. At the Wednesday, Jan. 20 meeting about a dozen spoke in support of adding a paramedic to Station 8, which is near Tramway and Indian School. The station is one of the busiest in the city, and emergency critical intervention (such as airway intubation) requires a paramedic.
No one has been prosecuted under the state's 2008 human trafficking law, according to Phil Sisneros, spokesperson for the Attorney General's Office. But it's a crime he says he's sure exists. "We've long believed that the human slavery issue is one New Mexico is facing," and so do law enforcement officials and many service providers, he adds. President Obama declared January National Slavery and Human Trafficking Prevention Month.
Dateline: New York—Syracuse resident Derrick M. Pride probably should have just stayed in bed last Monday. His very bad day started at around 7:20 p.m. when he was shot and wounded in the left shoulder while standing near the corner of East Fayette and Bruce Streets. Pride, 39, ran across the street, got into his car and, accompanied by a witness to the shooting, began driving toward Upstate University Hospital. Unfortunately, police believe Pride was intoxicated when he got behind the wheel of his car. On his way to the hospital, he turned the wrong way down a one-way street and crashed head-on into another vehicle. Pride was taken by ambulance from the crash scene to the hospital, where E.R. workers began treating his various wounds. Athough things were starting to look up at that point, they took another turn for the worse. While helping Pride out of his bloodied clothing, medical workers found four grams of crack cocaine in his “groin area.” Pride eventually received a felony and misdemeanor charge of criminal possession of a controlled substance for the drugs. He also got busted for driving while intoxicated. Neither Pride nor his witness were able to identify the shooter.
Tall and slim with natural blond hair, the young lady walking by us exuded a confidence that belied the struggles she must have gone through to be where she was. I gestured toward her. "No matter what I do, I'll never be able to look like that," I complained.
The U.S. Supreme Court’s decision regarding political spending by corporations and unions was more than just a blow to democracy. It was a blow to states’ rights. All across the country, lawmakers are scrambling to determine the extent to which their local campaign financing laws are still legal. In his dissent, Justice John Paul Stevens derided the ruling for not only striking down a large portion of the McCain-Feingold campaign finance reform act, but also because “it compounds the offense by implicitly striking down a great many state laws as well.”
Do I really have any interest in discussing the symbolic use of firewood as a weapon? ... No. No, I don’t.
By Devin D. O’Leary
Sometimes, I think Danish filmmaker Lars von Trier is a genius (The Kingdom, for example). Other times, I think he’s just an asshole (let’s go with Dogville). His newest film, the controversy-baiting horror whatsit Antichrist, is a coin toss.
Angels with machine guns: Doesn’t that sound bad-ass? It’s like tigers with switchblades. Or sharks with lasers. It’s awesomeness squared. And it’s pretty much the entire concept behind the action/horror/fantasy Legion. Unfortunately, this idea of diminishing returns makes for a wicked-cool poster, a mildly intriguing trailer and an incredibly mediocre film.
You probably don’t recognize “Human Target” from its original comic book run. (That’s OK; it was an obscure back-up strip in ’70s-era DC stuff like The Brave and the Bold and Detective Comics). You may not remember “Human Target” from its brief, two-month stint in the summer of 1992 as an action drama starring Rick Springfield. (Trust me, it sounded like a good idea at the time.) But you might want to get familiar with it now that FOX has revived the concept as a splashy, explosion-filled weekly series.
It was the peak of “alternative rock.” You couldn’t turn on the radio without getting hit in the ear by crunchy, grinding guitars. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Some FM stations rode this so-called third wave of punk by giving airtime to hometown bands.
New York City native Béla Fleck went to Africa to discover the roots of an instrument usually associated with America. This intercontinental travel has resulted in a documentary and album, both titled Throw Down Your Heart. In support of the 2010 Grammy-nominated work, Fleck is in the midst of an extensive tour known as Africa Project: Collaborations with Amazing African Musicians. On Wednesday, Feb. 3, the tour stops at The Lensic Performing Arts Center (211 West San Francisco, Santa Fe) and features Malian folk hero and ngoni player Bassekou Kouyate with his band Ngoni Ba. The show begins at 7:30 p.m. Tickets range from $36 to $54, and can be obtained at ticketssantafe.org, or by calling (505) 988-1234.
“Positive.” That word keeps recurring in conversations with friends and colleagues of Zimbabwe Nkenya—bassist, mbira player, composer, educator, activist, visual artist and host of KUNM’s “The House That Jazz Built” for 20-some years. Nkenya has touched many with his warmth, conviction and enthusiasm in his decades in Albuquerque, and you could always count on hearing a joyful noise when he performed.
Many artists draw inspiration from Don Quixote: Picasso, Strauss and now an Albuquerque avant-noise thingy. On Saturday, see Milch de la Maquina—along with Analog Therapists, The Jeebies and Janksders—battle windmills, play songs and perform other knightly feats at Oneder Kind Collective (1016 Coal SW). Show starts at 8 p.m. and costs $5. (Jessica Cassyle Carr)
In this week’s random selection of songs, I turned to Ms. Boss Lady, the Alibi’s editor-in-chief (and music editor before me) Laura Marrich. Aside from helping assemble this here alternative news weekly 52 times a year, Marrich is also in three bands: The Gracchi, 5-Star Motelles and Up The Holler. She’s also a jerk. Kidding! From her office computer’s iTunes, filled with dangerous Joni Mitchell land mines, Marrich shuffles her songs.
For seven years now, we've entreated you to send us your valentines—bloody, funny and otherwise. And every year we're amazed at what can be expressed by doilies, cardboard and what we hope is fake blood. Can't say Alibi readers are lacking in creativity.
It’s Sunday, the opening of Albuquerque Now: Winter, and the Albuquerque Museum of Art and History is alive. A tiny girl in black-and-white stripes reaches for John G. Garrett’s “Now Net,” a suspended Technicolor waterfall of aluminum wire, plastic cable and recycled picnic ware, among other found elements. Her mother, in turn, reaches for her, saying, “No, love. Touch with your eyes.” A dapper young man exclaims to his girlfriend, “Can you [adverb beginning with ‘f’] believe that all of these artists are from Albuquerque!” And an older woman, relying on her cane for support, sweetly greets her friend with, “We so need art to get us through these times.”
One of my favorite ways to eat fish is fried with Thai curry on top. It’s the best of two worlds—fried fish being a favorite dish of mine and Thai curry being another. The crispy coating provides a barrier between fragrantly rich sauce and soft flesh, and when that barrier is broken all heaven breaks loose.
In the six years since we starting doing food and beer writing, our conduits have been many: Internet, video, independent newspaper, radio, catering, hanging out, bike rides, beer tastings and various other bamboozley boons. It’s time to add another notch to the gun.
Downtown's newly opened Hotel Andaluz seems like it was designed to make you feel cool. As we walked through the lobby en route to Lucia, the hotel’s restaurant, the lobby nearly pulled us off course. Semiprivate cubicles with translucent curtains and lushly pillowed couches occupy the south wall, each with its own theme. (One cubicle is adorned with epiphytes and bamboo. Another sports a mother of pearl waterfall.) In the center of the lobby, a fountain is surrounded by an array of couches and coffee tables. As we walked through, groovy jazz-tronica music gently filled the room. There’s even a separate lobby menu, prepared in the Lucia kitchen, but we stayed the course and sat at a table inside the restaurant.
We all know of at least one horribly annoying overachiever who accomplishes every goal she sets for herself. She’s run countless marathons, clocked in hours of volunteer work with Guatemalan orphans, and obtained dual doctoral degrees in music performance (she plays cello) and mathematics (her dissertation on four-dimensional fractals sent shock waves through the mathematical community). She doesn’t eat meat or carbohydrates and her French is impeccable. She’s really nice. She leaves you no option but to hate her.
Big butts and bigger problems: Healthy People 2020
By Whitny Doyle, RN
So here we are in January 2010, conscious of the fact that our middle-aged little planet has managed to complete one more twirl around its rather ordinary star. For many, just reflecting on the nature of time can generate enough anxiety to fuel at least one or two New Year’s pledges.
When it rains it pours. And sometimes it rains men. (Hallelujah!) You might notice this week's section is a little gayer than usual and that's partially because both Venus DeMars and Hunx are gracing Albuquerque with their fabulous presences this week. On top of that, I was introduced to a mind-blowing hip-hop jam genre: sissy bounce (see more in Sonic Reducer). Bounce music—a filthy, dirty New Orleans-born rap style that's heavy on call-and-response—has been around since the early '90s and many of its faces happen to be gay. Top underground acts include transsexual rapper Katey Red, as well as Sissy Nobby and Big Freedia. This is not to say that bounce isn't hetero—Juvenile's "Back That Ass Up" is the genre's big hit, for example. For all things bounce, go to nolabounce.com. For all things gay and hip-hop take a spin around gayhiphop.com.
Venus DeMars and All The Pretty Horses complete a trio of Venuses
By Jessica Cassyle Carr
Motoring around the country in a vinyl-packed 1984 Chevy art van called "The Black Pearl," between shows in Wichita and Phoenix, Minneapolis' Venus DeMars and All the Pretty Horses passed through Albuquerque. Luckily, the travelers made a stop at Alibi headquarters. For 15 years DeMars has been performing in the theatrical style of '70s Bowie-esque glam merged with early '80s Batcave—a combination otherwise deemed "dark glam.” A commanding, leather-clad transgender singer, guitar player, artist, DJ and opera fan, DeMars and her band (completed by LeFreak on bass and T-Rev on drums) are in the midst of a 14-day, six-show vacation and spiritual journey.
Nature abhors a vacuum, as the maxim says, and so apparently does the stage at Scalo Il Bar. Every Friday night for several years now, you could depend on finding pianist Stu MacAskie’s trio, with bassist Michael Glynn and drummer Cal Haines, swinging away, house band to the bubbling conviviality. With MacAskie’s departure for points Far East last month, several jazz groups have been sucked into the void he left and will rotate through on Friday nights.
If you happen to watch the Style Network, there’s a chance you might have caught an episode of the reality show “Split Ends.” The show’s premise is that two hair stylists with opposite aesthetics do a salon switcheroo for a week. On one episode, Seth Bogart, owner of Down at Lulu’s—an Oakland salon and vintage store—is sent to the affluent Florida town of Cocoa Beach, a place crawling with vapid people and conspicuous consumption. Meanwhile, a flamboyant Latin homo named Martin Ormaza is forced to exist amongst Oakland hipsters. The episode, while silly, is excellent watching due to Bogart’s fun persona. To the horror of the snooty Florida salon staff, Bogart shows up looking freaky in clown bows and gold lamé. I won’t spoil the rest of the show in case you want to watch.
How hard is it to look at this flyer without an 8-bit tune manifesting in your head like it’s the ’80s and a younger you is in the midst of a restless, Nintendo dream-pestered slumber? Must. Save. The Princess.
At the time of this writing, the full devastation wreaked by the Jan. 12 earthquake in Haiti is not yet known. What is clear is that, at a minimum, tens of thousands of people have lost their lives in the initial destruction. I say initial because, inevitably, more will pass due to starvation, infection and disease in the days and weeks to come. Though no place can be fully prepared for a cataclysm of this proportion, Haiti is the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere, and much of its infrastructure has been damaged or destroyed.
Last year The Vortex Theatre put out a nationwide call for short plays for a brand-new festival called Womensworx, which would feature only pieces both written and directed by women. It received 186 submissions and culled eight winners from the pile, with playwrights from seven states (Virginia, California, Massachusetts, Indiana, Arizona, Utah and New Mexico). At the end of the festival’s four-week run, two plays will receive honorariums, one for being an audience favorite (you get to vote) and another for winning the hearts of a panel of judges.
It's that time again. Our legislators made their way to the Roundhouse for a 30-day session that began Tuesday, Jan. 19. It's a short one, and they have to find a way to tame a gnarly budget. It's likely the cash shortfall will eat up most of their time and attention this year. Here's a look at that issue and some of the other measures on the Legislature’s plate in 2010.
Every morning for the past few months I’ve washed my hands with a small bar of clear soap. Embedded in the cleanser is a miniature of the now-iconic blue-and-red silkscreened portrait of President Barack Obama. Surrounding his serious visage staring resolutely into the future are the words: “The Audacity of Soap.”
Dateline: Sweden—For a group of dieters in south-central Sweden, the shedding of the pounds didn’t come quick enough. The floor of a Weight Watchers clinic in the town of Växjö collapsed last Wednesday night after a group of about 20 program participants gathered to record their weight loss. “We suddenly heard a huge thud. We almost thought it was an earthquake and everything flew up in the air. The floor collapsed in one corner of the room and along the walls,” one of the participants told the Smålandsposten newspaper. After the initial collapse, the floor started to give way in other parts of the room. The participants quickly evacuated as the smell of sewage started to fill the room. “We’re going to have to find a replacement premises,” Weight Watchers consultant Therese Levin told the newspaper. The dieters, who were unharmed in the incident, ended up weighing themselves in a hallway outside the collapsed room.
Last March, local Albuquerque filmmaker/actor Billy Garberina (director and star of Necroville and featured actor in indie films like The Stink of Flesh, Feeding the Masses, Gimme Skelter, Wet Heat, Psycho Holocaust, Ski Wolf and Deathbone) was named Scary Stud of the Month by Pretty-Scary.net (the website “for women in horror, by women in horror”). The site summed up Garberina’s elusive appeal thusly: “If Eric Stolz and Kevin Bacon were gay and had a genetically engineered child using both of their DNA with which to share their love, but that child ended up straight and his name was Billy Garberina, then Billy Garberina would be a lot like that kid except probably way less rich.” Who can argue? Now Garberina is locked in a fierce battle for Pretty Scary’s 2009 Scary Stud of the Year. He’s got some stiff competition, going up against guys like Mike J. Nelson (“Mystery Science Theater 3000”), Robert Patrick (Terminator 2: Judgment Day), Eli Roth (Inglourious Basterds) and Corin Nemec (Mansquito). He’s stayed near the top of the list, but he needs a little more help to guarantee a victory. Show your love for the local boy by logging on to Pretty-Scary.net and voting for him. You have until Jan. 31!
At age 10, wide-eyed Salt Lake City actor Michael Stephenson got what he thought was his big break. He landed the lead role in a major horror film. Unfortunately, things didn’t turn out quite the way he planned. Little did Stephenson know he was signing on to star in what would eventually be dubbed “the best worst movie ever made.” Years later, sitting in his Hollywood office and looking back on the bizarre phenomenon that is Troll 2, Stephenson can’t help but laugh. How could you not?
Swedish director takes us on a guilt trip around the world
By Devin D. O’Leary
Like Crash or Babel, Swedish filmmaker Lukas Moodysson’s Mammoth employs a polyglot cast, a wide-ranging backdrop and assorted convergent storylines to ruminate on the sad state of interpersonal politics—in this case, modern parenthood and the worldwide socioeconomic factors that affect it both positively and negatively. I know. That sounds painfully weighty. But it’s not. Well, not entirely. For starters, Mammoth is stocked with roughly 175 percent less sledgehammer morality than Paul Haggis and Alejandro González Iñárritu’s heavy-handed (and undeservedly Oscar-winning) parables.
In last week’s column, I casually mentioned that “The Jay Leno Show” would kill network television. Fortunately, NBC plunged a stake into its heart before it could do any more damage. Now what? Will the post-prime-time airwaves become a desolate hellscape in which men battle one another in a winner-take-all competition for pop cultural supremacy? Likelihood: probable.
Sometimes we have a helluva time trying to keep fresh herbs from the ravishes of death—by waterlog, freezer-burn or simply old age. We profess a tendency to neglect them in the fridge until it's almost too late.
Spanish auteur Pedro Almodóvar has always worshipped at the altar of the classic Hollywood melodrama. The earthly avatars of Bette Davis, Joan Crawford and Douglas Sirk have long watched over his art-house productions (Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!, High Heels, Kika, The Flower of My Secret, Live Flesh, All About My Mother). His latest effort, the self-referential movie industry meller Broken Embraces, is no exception. ... Except that it marks a minor turning point in Almodóvar’s career. This is Almodóvar at his most mature, his most serious. Gone are the drag queens, the sexy nuns and op-art wallpaper. There’s not a trace of camp in this cyclical, soap opera-heavy romance. And yet the film is still unmistakably Almodóvar, right down to the strong central performance by his longtime muse Penélope Cruz.
The 10th annual Revolutions International Theatre Festival
By Julia Mandeville
The mark of brilliance may just be that it stays with you. It affects the way you think about something or, perhaps, the way you look at everything. You contemplate it after you’ve engaged with it. Your future actions and interactions are, in some regard, altered by having experienced it. As it so happens, this is also the mark of revolution. Coincidence? Certainly not in the case of the Revolutions International Theatre Festival.
If you want to see probable greatness, you should probably see Pollock. Joe Peracchio, founding artistic director of Tricklock Company and Revolutions, stars in this one-man show inspired by the frenetic genius of artist Jackson Pollock. Written by David D’Agostino, directed by Broadway veteran Moni Yakim and set to the brilliant jazz compositions of Ornette Coleman, this multimedia performance aims to illuminate the complex evolution of America’s pre-eminent abstract expressionist painter. And, in case that’s not profound enough, it examines the role and status of art and expression in American life. Long story short: Pollock is poised to take your breath away.
A prodigy named Max, the Secret Service, parallel universes, car chases, apologia, J.D. Salinger and Sen. Larry Craig. This is the fantastic stuff of It’s Hell In Here, a play written and directed by Tricklock (when Tricklock was still Riverside Ensemble) alum Abigail Browde, who developed the work during her present residency at Brooklyn Art Exchange in New York. Fusing elements of dance and theater to invent a curiously potent, seemingly allegorical reality, It’s Hell In Here provides an examination of modern uncertainty and, says Browde, a “meditation” on the blur between public and private. Talk about timely.
The preservation of Spanish mustangs in New Mexico
By Christie Chisholm
Carlos LoPopolo is large in stature—and in ambition. His frame seems to dwarf the wooden bench he’s perched on at the Satellite Coffee on University. His height is hard to gauge from a sitting position, but he looms over the table, a studded black cowboy hat bobbing as he talks, which is most of the time. To his right,Paul Polechla serves as his counterpart—a man of average size and quiet disposition, wearing a white cowboy hat and yellow-and-blue checkered shirt, topped with a matching silk bandana tied around his neck. LoPopolo is a Southwest historian and the founder of the New Mexican Horse Project, an organization many New Mexicans know nothing about. Polechla is the group’s biologist as well as a biology professor at UNM.
While many were stuffing Christmas stockings with toys and chocolate, Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab was stuffing his crotch with 80 grams of high-explosive pentaerythritol tetranitrate. After being caught on a flight bound for Detroit, the Nigerian student told investigators he had been trained in Yemen by al Qaeda. So mainstream media began scorching Yemen, the country on the Arabian Sea coast called a “haven for Islamic jihadists” on the New York Times website.
Dateline: Massachusetts—Police in the Town of Barnstable placed 28-year-old James Hinkley in protective custody last Monday night for public drunkenness. After sobering up in the police station, Hinkley was released on his own recognizance at about 1:30 a.m. that Tuesday morning. He was arrested shortly after leaving, however, because police say he left on a bicycle he stole out of the police station lobby. According to Barnstable police Sgt. Sean Sweeney, some late Christmas donations for the Toys for Tots program were being stored in the station’s lobby. Cape Cod Times reports that police officer Matthew Blondin saw Hinkley help himself to one of the kids’ bikes and ride off. Blondin alerted other officers in the area. Hinkley was soon located and placed back under arrest for larceny.
At the start of every year, millions (billions?) of people resolve to live the next 365 days differently, healthier and with more purpose. Resolutions to lose weight, quit smoking, get in shape and call mom abound, and most of these are doomed to failure. Why? Because change is hard, and sometimes it's stupid.
About 30 women, 20 children and 10 languages were present at the last meeting of the Women’s Design Collective, tucked into a room scattered with fabric scraps and thread in the Southeast Heights. Some of the members helped translate the meeting’s minutes into Swahili, Amharic, Nepali, Kirundi, French, Kunama, Tigrinya, Somali, Spanish and, when needed, English. All of them worked on plans that would help launch their own businesses.
Award-winning underground film king Jon Moritsugu (Terminal USA, Fame Whore, Scumrock, Mod Fuck Explosion) will teach an intensive, one-day crash course on low-budget film and video production and distribution. The workshop will take place Saturday, Jan. 16, from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. at Warehouse 21 in Santa Fe (1614 Paseo de Peralta). The class will set filmmakers back a mere $50. Moritsugu’s crash course will focus on low- and no-budget solutions to common problems—from “finding a crew who will work for free” to “film festival scams.” Moritsugu has written, directed and produced more than a dozen films for between $100 and $360,000. His work has played at festivals and exhibits around the world, including Sundance Film Festival, Toronto International Film Festival, New York Underground Film Festival, New York’s Museum of Modern Art, the Guggenheim and the Museum of Modern Art in Paris. For more information about the class as well as payment details, e-mail email@example.com or call (505) 819-9881. You can learn more about Moritsugu at jonmoritsugu.com.
Smart, rude teen comedy finds real humor in mock rebellion
By Devin D. O’Leary
Directed with gusto by controversial indie filmmaker Miguel Arteta (Star Maps, Chuck & Buck), starring overexposed but always amusing Michael Cera (Superbad, Juno, Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist, Year One) and based on the picaresque cult novel by C.D. Payne, Youth in Revolt has the sole misfortune of being a wry, rude, coming-of-age movie in an era already well-saturated with wry, rude, coming-of-age movies. Those who caught Cera in 2007’s Juno can be forgiven for getting a certain been-there-done-that vibe off Youth in Revolt’s trailers. It’s not that Youth in Revolt does anything wildly distinctive, but it’s an intelligent laugh-getter that doesn’t spoil its source material by going Hollywood.
Here we sit, poised between the Aughts (or whatever we’re calling them) and the teens (not to be confused with that last set of teens with World War I and all that junk). It is a time for both reflection and prognostication. What was so great/awful about the last 10 years? What will happen in the next 10 years? Take TV, for example. “The Sopranos” sure was nifty. Remember Darva Conger from “Who Wants to Marry a Multi-Millionaire?” getting naked in Playboy? Crazy days. That covers the last 10 years. Now, let’s look into our cathode-ray crystal ball and speculate on changes for the coming decade.
Things can get really dark music-wise in December and January. First there's the holiday craze. Bands stop touring, and local shows are few. Following Christmas, presumably due in part to cash flow issues stemming from said holiday craze (not to mention the ongoing recession), fewer people dare to venture out into the long, cold January nights. Being one who attends events several times a week, it's painful to witness the barren interiors of venues where crowds of music fans should be rocking out. This problem—tied up in economics as well as cultural awareness, a dwindling band supply, scant support for local musicians, hostility toward Downtown as an entertainment district, absurdly rigid liquor laws, absent public transportation and taxi services, and a mess of other issues—is more complicated than could be contained within a tiny column. In any case, this message is simple. Within the next month the January/December lull dissipates, giving way to cool, interesting, exciting or otherwise music-related events around Albuquerque and Santa Fe. And they'll only increase throughout the year. If you haven't made a resolution for 2010, please resolve to go see live music. By doing so you'll be entertained in a way incomparable to any video game or sitcom rerun, while also supporting the local culture and economy, and fighting the power—be it CABQ or Old Man Winter.
The wickedest band in the area directly surrounding the 12th Street 7-11 releases an album worth at least as much as a mediocre hamburger
By Jessica Cassyle Carr
Composed of the rural New Mexico-raised dirt heads from the late Unit 7 Drain (one of the most relentless Albuquerque rock bands of all time) and I is for Ida, The World on Fyre is the next phase in an enduring sonic assembly. Harry Redus-Brown, Ella Brown, Tony Sapienz and Chris Newman converge here in a noisier fashion, parting with catchy hooks to create a cacophony that should frighten some and titillate others. This week the band unleashes these new sounds in a physical form. In anticipation, we e-quizzed Harry about drinks, New Mexico music and, of course, The World on Fyre.
A bill made of local bands could get stranger than this. What if Death Convention Singers, The Squash Blossom Boys and Cherry Tempo played a show together? Or, say The 2bers, Kimo and Nosotros randomly team up for a night? Still, a 100.3 The Peak-presented bill containing the modern rock stylings of Soular, the slick gypsy swing of Le Chat Lunatique and the timeworn sounds of Albuquerque mainstay The Tattersaints is slightly bewildering. It also sounds like a fun Friday night at the Launchpad, so get your eclectic ass down there on Jan. 15, and mingle with your musical brethren—doors open at 8 p.m. The $5, 21-and-over show starts around 9 p.m. And if you don't like one of the bands, you can always play Simpsons pinball, Ms. Pac-Man or Galaga. (Jessica Cassyle Carr)
Not only is World on Fyre member Chris Newman talented enough to face a fierce drum-off with Neil Peart, he’s also a composer and a student artist at UNM where he’s learning to master the piano. This week he set his phone to “party shuffle” and this is what turned up.