I can’t pretend to know why Hot Snakes split up a year or so back, but listening to Night Marchers and, now, Obits, it doesn’t seem likely to have been much in the way of musical differences. Obits, for those of you not quite up to speed with the complexities of US punk rock’n’roll, are the new band formed by Hot Snakes/Drive Like Jehu frontman Rick Froberg after his old bandmates, lead by John Reis, headed off to become The Night Marchers.
I suppose, after all these years, I should be able to spot when PJ Harvey is taking the piss. But sometimes, as on the new PJ Harvey & John Parish album, “A Woman A Man Walked By”, the line between bravura self-parody and slightly daft self-indulgence can be hard to identify.
A combination of deadlines and a vile cold served to shut down Wild Mercury Sound these past few days, but thanks for all your blog recommendations last week. When I get a chance, I’ll follow all your links and put together a decent blogroll. In the interim, please keep your suggestions coming.
The first thing I heard this morning when I got into the office was the news that Lux Interior of The Cramps had died. As a tip of the hat in fond farewell, here's another entry from my regular Stop Me. . . column, from 1980, when The Cramps supported The Police on the Italian leg of their first world tour.
The other day, it occurred to me that, after nearly two years of doing Wild Mercury Sound, I should put together some kind of list of other blogs I like. To that end, it’d be great if you could post your recommendations at the bottom of today’s playlist; that’d be really helpful (plug your own if you like, too).
Sorry for the spoiler in the title, but Yo La Tengo’s temporary reinvention as a bunch of garage rockers from New London, Connecticut is pretty easy to unpick. The press release suggests that the fragrantly-named “Fuckbook” is the Condo Fucks’ sixth album (the previous five all appear to have been given Matador catalogue numbers).
Something of an adventure getting into work today, and I appear to be alone at Uncut for the moment. Helping me on the yomp through the snow, however, were a couple of quietly magical records on Time-Lag that I’ve got hold of recently.
I’ve just finished a longish review of this new Bill Callahan album, “Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle”, for the next issue of Uncut, so I’ll try not to repeat myself too much here; save some adjectives, maybe, for the magazine. It is, though, one of the best records Callahan has made in what’s now a reasonably long, generally underestimated career.
This morning's sad news of John Martyn's death reminded me of a particularly colourful encounter I had with him, back in what they call the day, which I wrote about in my regular Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before column in Uncut in July 2004 and re-print below.