Ripe for the Garage

It’s refreshing to see a strong woman on stage with a mandolin in her hands. That particular role, typically dominated by male-bodied folk in string bands, is pivotal. The mandolin, usually seen played by women only in its classical guise, defines a great deal of string-band topography — those shrill plucks that carry listeners over musical plateaus to mountain-top exclamations.  Continue reading 

Third Eye Statesmen

Pretend for a moment that you’re a member of an iconic music crew. You’ve released your seminal work years ago, and prevailing trends have seen the mainstream of your genre devolve from highly educated emcee orators into codeine-guzzling degenerates (here’s lookin’ at you, Wayne).  You don’t want to raise a white flag to the wackness, but you’re not about to give up on your life’s work either. What do you do? Continue reading 

Sexism on the Stage

Oregon State University presents The Feeble-Mindedness of Woman

Any of you ladies out there ever stumble upon an idea for a huge work project while you’re busy folding the never-ending pile of laundry and dinner is boiling over? Next time this happens, take a moment to appreciate being a woman in the 21st century by reflecting on the challenges that confronted Gerty Cori. A pioneer in biochemistry and the first woman to win a Nobel Prize in physiology or medicine, Cori had to think and fight for recognition and respect. Continue reading 

Welcome to the Slaughterhouse

Kurt Vonnegut biography reads like a nasty tweet

Behind every great writer hides an asshole. Dostoyevsky was a religious freak with a gambling problem. William Burroughs plinked a slug through his wife’s forehead. Faulkner guzzled a half-gallon of rye every day before noon. Shakespeare only willed his wife the spare bed. I’m far from a great writer, but I sure can be an asshole sometimes. It’s true. Maybe you should stop reading this. Continue reading 

America’s Greatest Rock Band, via Chicago

Wilco bassist discusses touring, playing and recording its best album yet

With R.E.M. having disbanded last year, it would appear that Wilco now stands pretty well unchallenged as the greatest American rock band. Since rising from the ashes of seminal post-punk country/folk/rock pioneers Uncle Tupelo in 1994, this Chicago-based band has released a series of albums that continues, with each successive drop, to challenge, confound, frustrate, mystify and amuse its fans. Continue reading 

Breathe It In

There are a lot of reasons I shouldn’t like Breathe Owl Breathe. They sound a bit like Jack Johnson meets Feist in a hookah lounge. They have all the hallmarks of easy-goin’ adult contemporary indie-folk. But there are things going on beneath the surface that set Breathe Owl Breathe apart from the “tailor-made-for-Starbucks” scene.  Continue reading 

International Sweat Fest

Like an international sweat fest of nostalgic pleasure, Dengue Fever is better suited as a warmer-upper than a cold. With a gruff, garage-rock spangle slathered in funk, this L.A.-based band welds ’60s Cambodian pop to a surfboard and floats it out to sea. Founded in 2001 after a trip to Cambodia, Ethan and Zac Holtzman met a Cambodian-native lounge singer named Chhom Nimol, a star in her home country, who could sing and write songs in Khmer. Continue reading 

A Certain Sense of Weightlessness

A talk with The Jayhawks’ Mark Olson

Like that one ramshackle, half-collapsed barn you pass on the highway year after year, the music created by veteran Minneapolis band The Jayhawks is timeless — in a fragile, verdigised, sepia-toned, windblown, authentically American melancholia sort of way. Their sweetly bittersweet sound, all honeyed harmonies and landlocked blues and melodic rustic reverie, is like a soundtrack caught gorgeously between a hymn to our better selves and an elegy to how we’ve fallen short. Continue reading