Prism Bitch Destroys Sister
Regional rockers from Boise and Santa also kill it
Music to Your Ears
I'm Dreaming of a Hot, Black Christmas--Every couple I know has a list. Not the double-checked Christmas variety with presents and candy canes and good will toward men, mind you. I'm talking about a list of celebrities that, if you happened to meet and the celebrity in question was actually inclined, you'd be allowed to toss your wedding ring out the window for 15 minutes of fame, free and clear. If you know what I mean.
Flyer on the Wall
Progressive metallurgists Opus Dai return to Burt's Tiki Lounge (free, 21-and-over) with Left Brain and Devil Riding Shotgun. See "Music Magnified," Aug. 10-16, 2006, for more dirt on the band. (LM)
It's Spanish for "Mix"
Mezklah means tribal electronica
Being pigeonholed into a category, sound or style isn't something most musicians appreciate. Still, qualifiers like "we don't really fit into any category" sound nebulous and self-important--and could be the kiss of death for a genre-defying band trying to be heard.
Artist loops clips live, performs cinema
"Vampling" does not mean "baby vampire."
It's a portmanteau for "video audio sampling."
James Schneider is a vampler, a breed of artist that can encompass names like Negativland, TV Sheriff or The Light Surgeons. But Schneider may be the first to vample the way he vamples. "It's fluid performance on the fly," he says, and though he's been on the lookout for others of his kind, he hasn't seen them yet. "I'm not familiar with other people doing it. I have been looking around."
The Christmas albums sing
Perhaps due to attempts by the very wrong Christian right to dominate the landscape, more recordings of Christmas music have recently come my way than at any time in the past seven years. Arbitrarily skipping through the pile uncovers choice stuffings for your stocking. Of course, if you’re into pantyhose or dreidels, you may wish to look elsewhere.
It took pint-sized grime sprite Lady Sovereign two years and almost 20 Internet releases to finally cough up the massively overhyped hairball that is Public Warning. Hot on the heels of the critical—if not commercial—success of similarly bombastic U.K. acts The Streets and MIA, Public Warning is a sanitary, inorganic compost of rap, electro and dance hall. Choppy sub bass beats lend a modest amount of listenability, but are ultimately overwhelmed by Sov’s schoolyard shit-slinging and sophomoric “here I am!” lyrical canon. Sov may have a fighting chance at making a decent second album—if she can crawl out of Jay Z’s lap.