This article was originally published in the Night & Day section of the San Diego Union-Tribune.
Is there any alt-rock band as absurd as Weezer? After its self-titled debut was released in 1994, the members of the band were bespectacled heroes, but after the 1996 follow-up “Pinkerton,” the group plunged into voluntary obscurity — even as the commercial failure became a cult classic for a generation of emo geeks.
Recent years are even stranger. There’s a music video with the Muppets, logo-emblazoned Snuggies, an album named after a “Lost” character. It’s as if Weezer is simply a platform for a series of hyper-meta jokes that no one else is in on, especially fans who cling to their copies of “Pinkerton” and pray for a revival of frontman Rivers Cuomo’s ’90s angst.
That day will probably never come, so expect the unexpected when the band hits the Seaside Stage at the Del Mar Racetrack on Saturday.
Case in point: On the phone from New Jersey, drummer Patrick Wilson is distracted. Band mate Brian Bell tunes his guitar and subwoofers pound in the background as Weezer prepares for a collaborative show with The Flaming Lips (both bands, performing side by side, trading off between tracks). It was Weezer’s management’s idea, Wilson thinks, and it’s the day of the gig and they’re still not sure what they’re doing.
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(Source: signonsandiego.com)
This interview was originally published in the UCSD Guardian — unfortunately, the online link has since been removed.
For some of us, the bips and beeps of the Game Boy are the soundtrack to childhood. The little ditty it played as you mastered Pokémon got stuck in your head for days. And nothing could encapsulate the frustration of stacking ill-shaped boxes more than the Tetris theme. Kids once had only vinyl records and rock ‘n’ roll — we got Nintendo and infectious bleeps.
Now artists around the world are tapping into that influence, composing new melodies from forgotten gaming technologies. These artists create chiptunes — aka 8-bit, bitpop and chip music — by hacking and tweaking vintage video game systems, such as the Nintendo Game Boy and Nintendo Entertainment System, so that they work like a sequencer with four different channels.
For Sixth College junior Patrick Trinh, the genre has been a revelation. He started teaching himself chiptunes last spring and now — under stage name Space Town Savior — has already landed himself an opening gig for mash-up DJs the Hood Internet at the Loft next Tuesday, among other shows with bitpop artists around Southern California.
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This article was originally published online at signonsandiego.com
Last month Ryan Raddon — otherwise known as electronic dance music (EDM) artist Kaskade — sent an innocent tweet to his followers, inviting them to the Hollywood premiere of the documentary film “Electric Daisy Carnival Experience,” where he promised a free DJ set to fans on the street.
But there would be no party: His declaration of “ME+BIG SPEAKERS+MUSIC=BLOCK PARTY!!!” that day transformed downtown Los Angeles into a near-riot zone. The crowds outside Grauman’s Chinese Theatre grew to the thousands, culminating in a standoff between ravers and the police, who ordered the Kaskade fans to leave.
But the kids just wanted to dance.
Clearly, EDM is having its moment. When the genre first broke in the 90s — “Jock Jams,” Moby and all — many thought it was the future of pop music. But it fell back into the underground, only to emerge a decade later with Lady Gaga and deadmau5 leading the way.
Hence, this summer’s IDentity festival (headlined and curated by Kaskade) — the first traveling electronic music festival, modeled like the dance version of the Warped Tour or Ozzfest. It stops at Cricket Wireless Amphitheatre in Chula Vista Friday. (For tickets, click here. )
We caught up with Kaskade to talk about the future of EDM and how ID Fest has spread the raver gospel.
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(Source: signonsandiego.com)
This review was originally published in the UCSD Guardian — unfortunately, the online link has since been removed.
It wouldn’t be entirely out of character for Drake to show up to Sun God in a wheelchair; after all, the world was first introduced to Aubrey Drake Graham as the paralyzed ex-b-baller Jimmy on “Degrassi: The Next Generation.” Since then, the Canadian has graduated the teen-soap gig for songwriting sessions with Lil Wayne, rumored romantic exploits with Rihanna and a Grammy nomination — not a bad upgrade.
You might think the kid is hip-hop royalty already, but he hasn’t actually released a proper album: Major-label debut Thank Me Later doesn’t drop until June 15. All Drake has to prove that he’s worthy of Jay-Z and Eminem’s love is hit single “Best I Ever Had,” his spot on “Forever” and a few forgettable (if promising) mixtapes.
Last year’s So Far Gone is one such promise: Though Drake’s lyrics are often ridiculous —“I really can’t complain, everything’s kosher/ Two thumbs up, Ebert and Roeper” — they’re never boring, and his beats are always made by the best.
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This review was originally published in the UCSD Guardian — unfortunately, the online link has since been removed.
Stumbling awkwardly on the red carpet at the Grammys last January, the members of MGMT slid right into the unfortunate, disgruntled indie-band stereotype they seemed destined for since the day “Time to Pretend” began infiltrating deejay playlists. During the band’s interviews, lead singer Andrew VanWyngarden’s painful unease in the wake of the group’s sudden commercial success gave him the air of an electro-pop revival of Kurt Cobain.
And with the arrival of sophomore effort Congratulations, the band’s mole-like introversion has only gotten worse.
It’s as if MGMT decided to make the In Utero to their Nevermind. Unlike catchy debut Oracular Spectacular, the band’s latest is defiantly anti-commercial, strange and ultimately polarizing.
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This installment of my column, “Dodging the Horizon” — entitled “I Could Never Whip My Hair” — was originally published in the UCSD Guardian. You can find more of “Dodging the Horizon” here.
Like most girls, when I was 10 years old I wanted to be a star. After dragging my parents to *NSYNC and Christina Aguilera concerts, and wearing out my copies of Spice World and the “Footloose” soundtrack (don’t ask), I decided it was my turn to own the spotlight.
This dream went beyond the typical singing into the hairbrush for an audience of my favorite Barbies shtick. I trained to become a triple-threat.
It went well, kind of.
Sick of watching me attempt to tap dance around the house, my mom enrolled me in dance classes. I was pretty good, and thus began my descent into the world of competitive dance, where makeup on youngins isn’t JonBenet creepy, but a necessary component to a first-place performance.
The musical side of stardom, however, was a disaster. My East Bay Area elementary school was too poor to let us all play in the band, so those of us with musical aspirations were forced to take a test to determine our aptitude. At the tender age of nine, my dreams of rockin’ the drums or the clarinet were dashed — apparently, I wasn’t good enough.
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