MOG - Mike the Knife's Posts

Muffins Recipe for NWW

Mike the Knife — Wed, 07 May 2008 20:37:51 GMT

Taste-testing some fresh mash-ups last week, I came upon an unholy alliance. Somewhere in France, DJ Le Clown brought together “I Love My Bitch,” rapper Busta Rhymes’ cheerfully raw ode to inner-city romance, and “Echo Beach,” the bittersweet 1980 new-wave anthem by Canadian one-hit wonders Martha & the Muffins.

I decided not to stream the result, “Eko Bitch,” as the keystone of a full post because of the incessant repetition of the n-word, albeit pronounced “nigga” and used as a term of endearment. But, hearing the slinky, seductive guitar intro to “Echo Beach” put me in search of the original. And what better time to toast that song than on New Wave Wednesday?

In addition to being the only Martha & the Muffins track to have any impact in the U.S. through airplay on alternative and college radio, “Echo Beach” became a staple of new-wave dance clubs in the San Francisco Bay Area. It even provided the name of a San Fran nightclub that was a popular South-of-Market destination in the ‘80s.

Imagine going to Echo Beach on a weekend night and being on the dance-floor when the disc jockey spun “Echo Beach.” It was pandemonium.

Anyway, the song – which recounts a young office worker’s dream of escaping her stultifying job - still sounds pretty good. (Love the horns!) It’s available for a listen here. And, in a bit of perverse glee over its dated look, I’ve also attached the promotional video with singer Martha Johnson garbed like an escapee from a “Star Trek” convention. Calling Captain Kirk!

Gobbling Up Spliced Krispies

Mike the Knife — Tue, 06 May 2008 02:58:59 GMT

He said he was going to retire from the mash-up game, but masterful British DJ and producer Mark Vidler a.k.a. Go Home Productions is back to confecting his brill, genre-hopping brand of bastard pop. If it’s only for one album’s worth of mp3s (currently available for download at his website: http://www.gohomeproductions.co.uk/mp3.html), I’ll take it!

Vidler is calling this collection of 11 wacky tracks Spliced Krispies. There are exceedingly clever jams that toy with the likes of R.E.M., Billy Joel, Stone Roses, Sex Pistols, the Supremes, Queen, the Commodores, CeCe Peniston, Black Sabbath, and Luther Vandross, and a couple of insane novelties (e.g. The Beach Boys’ “Wouldn’t It Be Nice?” crossed with the jingle from a Cadbury’s Fudge ad).

Maybe the “Shine a Light” concert film goosed him, because Vidler continues his manipulation of the Rolling Stones’ discography with three cuts on Spliced Krispies featuring Stones classics linked up to very different artists. They’re actually my favorite numbers in the bunch, so I’ve attached an audio stream of the most flawless and inspired - “Rolling Confusion,” essentially mashing elements of the Stones’ cynical view of ‘60s revolution “Street Fighting Man” and their apocalyptic “Gimme Shelter” with the Temptations’ mind-expanding, socially-relevant Motown opus “Ball of Confusion.”

Since Vidler lined up video mash-ups of each piece on Spliced Krispies, I thought I’d offer up “Rolling Confusion,” plus the other two Stones-driven clips: "Mick n' Carly," mixing the Stones’ “Miss You” with Carly Simon’s “You're So Vain,” (the latter having featured Stones singer Mick Jagger on back-up vocals); and the spacey "2000 Light Years From Bolan," grafting together the Stones’ psychedelicacy “2000 Light Years from Home” and Marc Bolan & T.Rex’s glam-rock anthem “(Bang a Gong) Get It On.”

Spliced Krispies! It’s the Breakfast of Champions - any time of day or night…

"Rolling Confusion"

"Mick n' Carly"

"2000 Light Years from Bolan"

With This Mix, I Thee Wed

Mike the Knife — Sat, 03 May 2008 21:56:08 GMT

Somewhere…there’s a couple who started the growing tradition of assembling, burning and distributing mix CDs as keepsakes at weddings. So much for matchbooks as marriage mementos.

The first wedding CD that I encountered was handed out about five years ago when my longtime fellow nightclub habitué Shannon married her beau Michael. They gave out discs that featured music played during the ceremony and at the reception. Selections included gruff vocalist Tom Waits’ moving rendition of the achingly romantic “Somewhere” from the musical “West Side Story,” and, before it had been completely played out, singer-songwriter Norah Jones’ contemplative love song “Come Away with Me.” The CD cover was as simple and elegant as a wedding invitation: The names of the bride and groom and the date of the nuptials. I suppose it shouldn’t be a surprise that every time I hear Waits sing “Somewhere,” I think of Shannon and Michael.

Things have gotten a little more elaborate on the wedding CD front. Another couple that I know – Scott and Mona – recently produced a beauty to celebrate their union. Scott is a major fan of the Beatles; and Mona is a photographer and designer. For their commemorative disc, Mona took a shot of the twosome and their longhair Chihuahua, Ringo, and created a reproduction of the classic cover that graced the Fab Four’s American debut album Meet the Beatles (including font and color scheme). The inside cover of the souvenir served as a program for the wedding ceremony, while the label on the CD itself recalled the design of the old Capitol Records logo, only retooled as “S & M Records.”

Tracks on the CD ranged from ”Here, There & Everywhere,” “Something” and “Real Love” by the Beatles, “Oh My Love” by a solo John Lennon, and a cover of the Lennon-McCartney song “The Two of Us” by Aimee Mann and Michael Penn to modern folk/cabaret singer Nellie McKay’s tongue-in-cheek “I Wanna Get Married,” jazz legend Louis Armstrong’s “We Have All the Time in the World” (from the James Bond film “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service”), and cool thrush Julie London’s rendition of “Fly Me to the Moon.” On the more rockin’ tip, they threw in the Cure’s “Lovesong,” the Kinks’ “You Really Got Me,” New Model Army’s “Love Songs” and, paying tribute to the rather unique city where they fell in love, the Arctic Monkeys’ “Fake Tales of San Francisco” and the Jam’s “Strange Town.” And there’s more, including a handful of nifty hidden tracks.

I could tell that Scott was thrilled to hand out the CDs to all of us who attended the reception. As for the album itself, it was such a sweet gesture, not to mention easy on the ears. Whenever I play the CD or look at the cover, it’ll be a lovely way for me to remember my friends’ special day, and their affection for one another.

I’d say that, as traditions go, this one’s a keeper.

Crows' Feat

Mike the Knife — Thu, 01 May 2008 22:19:39 GMT

Dear Trusted MOG Buddies and Other Interested Parties,

I enjoyed the new album by folk-rockers Counting Crows – their first in years – so thoroughly that I was compelled to post a review of it (with a live clip attached) yesterday. (You can taste the opening track “1492” by clicking the button above. Could be their most rawkin’ number ever.) Unfortunately, the MOG e-mail alerts were down when I did the posting. Now that the alerts are back, I thought I’d offer up the link in case anyone’s interested in giving the entry a look and listen:

http://mog.com/Mike_the_Knife/blog_post/159395

MOGfully yours,
M the K

Crows Fly Back with a Flourish

Mike the Knife — Thu, 01 May 2008 00:22:49 GMT

Maybe there’s something to be said for recharging the old batteries. Counting Crows - the MTV -approved, invariably literate neo-folk-rock band (and favorite of sensitive collegiates everywhere) – have made one of the most vibrant, resonant, accessible, articulate albums in the group’s career, six years after their previous release.

Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings is a bountiful assortment of songs for fans of the San Francisco Bay Area-spawned band. They say, "Write what you know." Crows singer-songwriter-bandleader Adam Duritz has taken that to heart and tends to write about his life and times, light and dark, no matter how solipsistic the resulting lyrics may sound. Self-indulgent? Yep. But smartly, bracingly so. And on the musical side, the tracks are artfully composed and arranged, played with the expected expertise, filled with the sort of energy that a layoff can engender, and some of the toughest and most tender material since their 1993 debut August and Everything After.

You can make all the Sideshow Mel jokes that you want about Adam’s haystack dreadlocks, not to mention his vulnerability and pretensions. (No way is he anything like that other dreadlocked “Simpsons” character and all-around evil bastard Sideshow Bob.) Japery aside, the Crows frontman is an impassioned, charismatic and compelling singer who has synthesized the vocal styles of such rock icons as Dylan, Springsteen, Robbie Robertson, Michael Stipe and Van Morrison – and come out with an eternally boyish, unmistakably enticing and persuasive mix of whine and roses.

When Adam was about to relocate full-time to Los Angeles during the early 1990s in the wake of the Crows’ rising fortunes, he told me that he would miss the Bay Area and would never sever all of his ties there. On the other hand, he was feeling more at home in L.A. than anywhere else. “It’s an artists’ colony,” he explained. “It’s where the music industry is, and where I should be.” With all of my recent ping-ponging between San Francisco and Los Angeles for business reasons, I can greater empathize with Adam’s songs that address the push-pull he feels towards those two towns and our other mutual haunt (and entertainment-industry capitol), New York City. And there are more than a couple of these geographically-inspired expressions on Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings, which could be subtitled “An American Bohemian in Motion.”

The title Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings suggests the schism between the first half of the album which is more in-your-face, and the second half which is more introspective. The hard stuff was produced by Gil Norton (Pixies), and the soft by Brian Deck (Iron & Wine). Both approaches have their charms.

The band declares its return in earnest by opening things with "1492,” as thundering drums, grinding organ and propulsive guitar licks careen under skewed declarations of an identity fractured in the miasma and whirlwind of privilege and celebrity. Adam’s words spin into a childhood rhyme about American history, perhaps to say something about the current, desperate state of the union. Damned if the song doesn’t channel the pulse-pounding, punk-rocking drive of the Gang of 4, topped by a staccato solo from guitarist Dan Vickrey whose work throughout Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings is revelatory.

From then on, it’s treat after treat. "Hanging Tree" is a catchy, playful rocker about the stresses of the singer’s "dizzy life." "Los Angeles” bears the influence of mid- to late- '70s Rolling Stones (specifically, their country-rock ballad side), by way of the Eagles, to express a grudging acceptance of fame and success in the context of Adam's affection for the town that’s a cauldron of show biz.

My personal favorite of the collection is the sprightly, humorous "Sundays" about the bittersweet pursuit of love and its attendant dance. It features a wistful refrain (one of Adam’s specialties) and, as a coda, a lovely over-dubbed round. Then, there’s the rousing (slightly surreal) confessional rush of "Cowboys,” after the singer tumbles into confusion on "Insignificant" with its impressionistic lyrics and psychedelic rock flavor.

Flipping the switch to the gentle, folkier "Sunday morning" side, "Washington Square" is another of my pet tracks. Its acoustic-guitar-and-piano arrangement (plus a plaintive harmonica) reference the vintage Greenwich Village folk scene as lyrics take us from Lower Manhattan to Dublin to Berkeley. "On Almost Any Sunday Morning" is another pleasing folk-styled ballad with no drums - just voice, acoustic and electric guitars, and harp.

Banjo enhances "When I Dream of Michelangelo," which addresses a woman's unwillingness to commit to her lover. Drums, electric keyboards, and meatier electric guitar chords return (with an echo of Beatle-y tunefulness) on "Anyone But You," which continues Adam’s run of romantic regret. The singer won't let go of a wayward lover on "You Can't Count on Me," which is eerily reminiscent of R.E.M. if Springsteen’s pianist Roy Bittan was sitting in.

"Le Ballet d'Or" is a delicate, yearning ballad that offers more pained entreaties, revelations, and proclamations to a loved one, reaching a crescendo that’s rife with need and expressions of loyalty. Accompanied by a single guitar, Adam goes into chamber-folk mode for "On a Tuesday in Amsterdam Long Ago," a lyrical snapshot from the memory book.

They wrap with "Come Around.” The rustic tone of the intro is deceptive as the cut kicks into an organ-and-12-string-sweetened rocker with a melodious chorus that hints at the ‘60s folk-rock sound of the Byrds and Bob Dylan, and the chiming gleam of Tom Petty’s ‘70s take on the same style.

I’m not sure what the Age of the MP3 will mean to the Crows’ fortunes. The music scene has changed during their six years away. Not my problem. All I know is that Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings sounds good to me any day of the week and any time of day.

For your consideration, the band plays "You Can't Count on Me" on "The Late Show with David Letterman":

Intercontinental Monkey Mash

Mike the Knife — Wed, 23 Apr 2008 18:25:41 GMT

It was with considerable pleasure that I accepted an introduction by the inimitable Joxley (http://mog.com/Joxley/blog_post/157281) to the spiffy, gloriously orchestrated album from The Last Shadow Puppets. That opus - The Age of the Understatement – is a newly-minted collaboration between post-punk British singer-guitarists Alex Turner of the Arctic Monkeys and Miles Kane of The Rascals, along with Mercury Award-winning producer-musician James Ford. I’ll just say that, as side projects go, this one should be front and center.

If you don’t already know (and, if you’re reading this, I find that hard to believe), Jox is MOG ’s valiant rock detective, trolling the back alleys of the U.K. music scene to get the real dope on the latest pop-music hope. And he’s done it again.

When searching for a little something to celebrate Jox’s savvy (and the homecoming of peripatetic MOGgette Anna, who was equally struck by the wonder of The Age of the Understatement), I turned to the mash-making duo known as Synchronoize – two young men from Kerry, Ireland, who seem to share a few of my musical passions.

Synchronoize took the wry pump ‘n’ thump of the Arctic Monkeys’ “Fake Tales of San Francisco,” a corker off of the 2006 debut album by those rousing rock heroes from Sheffield, and they (metaphorically) traveled all the way to the West Coast of the U.S.A. to lay the track over the supple groove of “Walkin’ on the Sun” – the 1997 hit by rambunctious Northern California punk-pop purveyors Smash Mouth.

The resulting mash-up: “Walking in San Fran,” which is a little something I do on a regular basis, occasionally to this very track. Cursor on the button? Go!

Spirit in the Night

Mike the Knife — Sat, 19 Apr 2008 20:02:55 GMT

By now, most who care must have noted the news that Danny Federici, longtime keyboardist for Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band, has passed away. If you ever heard his tender, wistful accordion on Springsteen's “4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy),” he surely touched you. That was just a fraction of his contribution to the many-layered sound of the prodigious E Street Band who benefited from his rippling keyboard textures throughout Springsteen’s discography, up to and including such post-9/11 efforts as The Rising.

If I’m particularly bummed about Danny’s death, it’s partially because he was taken by a debilitating illness and at a relatively early age. But it’s also because of a brief, fondly recalled interlude that I spent with him.

I was a precocious lad in the Delaware Valley. One star-dappled night, I went to the intimate nightclub the Main Point in Bryn Mawr, PA, where the cream of folk, rock and blues artists would stop off on their way up or down. The attraction on this occasion was the chance to see the highly-touted Springsteen and his band in person. I already loved his first album, and had acquired the second, The Wild, the Innocent and the E Street Shuffle, which had just been released. Frankly, I was crazy about the new LP, which featured, among other numbers, the smashing, rollicking “Rosalita (Come Out Tonight)” – an epic, hilarious love song that careened like a souped-up ’55 Chevy barreling down Route 66. Springsteen was obviously on the rise, although saddled with the moniker "the New Dylan."

They were going to play two shows, and the first set of the night was magnificent. Springsteen was a whirlwind on the club’s tiny, crowded stage – singing with uncommon passion until he was hoarse, coaxing licks steely and sweet out of his guitar, and spinning tales between songs. In that sort of setting, sax-player Clarence Clemons was larger than larger than life. Pianist David Sancious - who shortly thereafter went on to a career in jazz and was replaced in the band by Roy Bittan - played it complex or grandiose or delicate. Vini "Mad Dog" Lopez, the band’s original (pre-Max Weinberg) drummer, simply thundered. Bassist Garry Tallent was, as ever, steady and sonorous. And Danny? Elegant and soulful on the organ, with a sound that ranged from jocular to bombastic to downright thrilling on “Rosalita.”

All too soon, it was over. Believe it or not, there were a few extra seats left over for the second show, and the house manager said that my two friends and I could have them for free if we got back in line outside.

There was a half-hour intermission, so the three of us decided to head to the pub across the street for snacks. Inside, Danny and Vini sat at the bar, drinkin’ beers. We went up and complimented them on the first set, and they invited us to hang out with them until they had to go back and play the second. They even asked if we needed tickets.

It was still early in the game for Bruce and the band, but their rep was already stellar - for good reason. Still, with all the trappings of fame beckoning, Danny and Vini were super-nice to three scruffy, nobody kids who loved music. Right then and there, I could tell that Danny was one of the good ones.

After a short break, they had to go back on stage, and we had to get back in line to see them once again. The second show was looser, wilder, and just as impressive as the first. Their take on the near-operatic “Incident on 57th Street” was magnificent. “It’s Hard to Be a Saint in the City” had us whooping with glee. And after goosing the crescendo in a set-ending “Rosalita,” Danny turned toward me and my pals and smiled and nodded at us.

Thanks for everything, man. You will be missed.

Here's a clip of Danny's last performance with the band, doing "4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)" on March 20, 2008 in Indianapolis:

Back to Schooldays

Mike the Knife — Fri, 18 Apr 2008 21:00:15 GMT

I must be eating too many lotuses. My current Los Angeles run is getting to be a blur. Some stuff is sticking, though: The weather’s been aces. The Coachella fest is the cover story on the local weekly newspaper - with a spotlight feature touting My Morning Jacket as “the Best Live Band in the World.” (And all this time I thought it was Gogol Bordello. Silly me.) The Japanese restaurants are world-class. The art galleries remain lively. And the nightlife is jumpin’.

Last night, at a bar on Santa Monica off Fairfax, Brits in L.A. (or Brits in La La) - an informal coalition of expats from the U.K., most of whom are in the entertainment field – hosted another in a series of themed parties. This one was dubbed “Skool Disco” – and the joint was chock-a-block with rowdy schoolboys and naughty schoolgirls, all somewhat older than their teens. The designated headmistress, a lanky, bespectacled oh-so-proper thirtysomething partygoer, carried a paddle and threatened punishment to any out-of-line students. The DJ spun a variety of hoary tunes from the ‘80s, including the wondrous new-wave wank of Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s “Relax,” the requisite Jacko fare (including “Thriller,” on loan from every wedding reception in creation), and, as a tribute to the Brits’ newly-adopted countrywoman, “Into the Groove” by Madonna.

Who wants a detention?

Of course, my favorite moment of the night (other than meeting and hanging out with a charming woman in school jacket and plaid skirt and suddenly realizing that she was an accomplished English actress who I’ve long admired) was when the DJ segued into Pink Floyd’s disaffected 1979 anthem “Another Brick in the Wall.” The whole crowd - from those lined up at the bar to those jockeying for space on the dance floor – raised their voices and, resplendent in their school uniforms, joined in on the chorus: “We don’t need no education! We don’t need no thought control! No dark sarcasm in the classroom! Teacher, leave those kids alone!”

Bored of education? Not me.

As soon as I got back to my L.A. digs, I broke out a pub-rock favorite by London’s own Graham Parker & The Rumour, with the great Brinsley Schwarz on guitar: “Back to Schooldays” from Parker’s mighty 1976 debut album Howlin’ Wind. It was so appropriate that I thought I’d treat you to it, too. To enroll, you need only tap the button and flow with the stream…

Where the Action Was

Mike the Knife — Sun, 13 Apr 2008 01:29:17 GMT

Celebrations, ruminations and videos at MOG were inspired by the recent induction of the mid-1960s British Invasion rockers the Dave Clark 5 into the (to my mind, superfluous and ridiculous) Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Circumstances aside, the recognition was deserved – and the thread that strung out of a DC5 post by our brother-in-MOG emscee eventually name-checked an American counterpart to the group, Paul Revere & the Raiders.

There was a period in the ‘60s when numerous young people in the U.S. considered themselves members of the original Raiders Nation. (No apologies to the smug-but-addled Al Davis and his NFL team.) I was reminded of this sitch two days ago as my plane flight from San Francisco to Los Angeles soared above the Southern California coast. (Yep. I’m back in Hell A for a couple of weeks, although I'll be leaving the day that Coachella kicks off.)

It was a clear afternoon, and looking down from above, I could clearly see Malibu Beach and, then, Santa Monica Pier. It called to mind the sun-dappled settings and incredible coolness of “Where the Action Is” - a Dick Clark-hosted pop-music showcase that was broadcast by ABC -TV on weekday afternoons from various SoCal outdoor locations between 1965 and 1967. Freddie “Boom Boom” Cannon – who was best-known for his hit “Palisades Park” and appeared on Clark’s “American Bandstand” before the show moved from my home town of Philadelphia to Hollywood – sang the theme song “Action.” Decked out in their trademark colonial garb, Paul Revere & the Raiders - featuring lead singer Mark Lindsay - would be considered the closest thing to a “Where the Action Is” house band.

I’ve seen vintage videos of the program with the Raiders performing on the beach in Santa Monica for bobbing boys in trunks and go-going girls in bikinis. That's right. Sun, surf, sand, and tri-cornered hats. It looked like a crazy dream of a beach-party movie come to life, minus Annette and Tommy Sands (unless they happened to be on the show that day).

Although spawned in the Pacific Northwest, the Raiders became identified with the Los Angeles rock scene. Their Revolutionary War costumes suggested a tongue-in-cheek American response to the British Invasion, but they were an ass-kickin’ ensemble that, in songs such as "Him or Me, What's It Gonna Be," hinted at the guitar jangle of the L.A. folk-rock to come. And (other than the bikini-clad babes), they were the best thing about WTAI .

Their ‘60s hits – including "Good Thing," "Hungry," "Just Like Me," "Ups and Downs," and "Kicks” – were monstrously hip. As emscee said, if not for the costumes, they'd be taken far more seriously these days as a pre-eminent '60s proto-garage-rock band.

Clips are hard to find. Still, I grabbed this one from some other ‘60s TV show, so you can look and listen to the Raiders lipsync a version of their cautionary tune “Kicks”:

Mash or Mish-Mash?

Mike the Knife — Wed, 09 Apr 2008 02:25:17 GMT

That’s right. Mish-mash. And I’m not drogging, as in MOGging after a few too many. There’s a question that I have to ask myself with each crazy combo of tunes that I come across: Is it a mash-up to be cherished – or just a mishap, a mish-mash, a mess?

Pop culture, blended for your consumption!

I know that a number of you out there are less than friendly to certain artists and songs that can still make for spiffy mash-ups. For instance, there’s so much enmity towards the incredibly popular British art-rock band Coldplay that I find it quite astounding. And a few of their songs have contributed to some of my all-time favorite mashes, such as Mark “Go Home Production” Vidler’s brill “Papa Was a Clock,” seamlessly mixing the Temptations’ Motown opus “Papa Was a Rollin’ Stone” with Coldplay’s plaintive “Clocks.” And I’m certain that the post-punk metallurgists in Metallica have their share of deriders – be it for their aggressive, occasionally abrasive, sometimes grandiose music, or their repressive attitude towards file-sharing fans.

But work with me here. What delights might be found in a grafting of James Hetfield’s vocal from Metallica’s ”Until It Sleeps” to the “Thin White Duke Remix” of Coldplay’s “Talk,” all courtesy of Stockholm, Sweden mash-masters Divide & Kreate? Want an answer? Press and play “Until It Talks” – and pulsate.

Better to Gather Moss

Mike the Knife — Fri, 04 Apr 2008 21:00:10 GMT

Caught “Shine a Light” the other night. It’s the latest concert documentary to feature what remains of the former “World’s Greatest Rock and Roll Band” – the Rolling Stones. Drawn from two rather intimate shows at New York City’s Beacon Theater during the ex-British Invasion icons’ recent tour to promote their umpteenth album A Bigger Bang, the film was directed by no less than Academy Award-winner (and longtime Stones fan) Martin Scorsese.

The MOG intelligentsia recently spent a couple of threads kicking around the current inflated state of ticket prices for live shows. One of the observations was that pay-per-view broadcasts or concert films featuring the superstars or the hot-acts-of-the-moment might become more prevalent - or serve as lower-cost alternatives to seeing performances in person. “U2 3D” – an immensely satisfying and visceral experience, especially when you consider its prerecorded status - was my suggested model or template for this sort of thing.

I went into the “Shine a Light” screening, having already seen “U2 3D” – for me, the new gold-standard for concert flicks. The Stones extravaganza clocks in at a little over two hours and was shot to be shown on the enormous IMAX screen. There’s no denying the technical prowess that Scorsese brought to the endeavor, and one must acknowledge the stunning amount of energy displayed by lead singer Mick Jagger, guitarist Keith Richards, and drummer Charlie Watts - the essential members of the band, all in their 60s and still getting it done. But it was a daunting experience to see these way-past-their-prime sexagenarians (pun not intended) hauling out the old tunes again for another money-grab.

Many of the songs that comprise the “Shine a Light” set list qualify as typical best-of-the Stones material - most were written and originally recorded during the band’s creative heyday, which ended in the late ‘70s. “Jumpin’ Jack Flash,” “Sympathy for the Devil,” “Brown Sugar,” “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction”…they’re justifiable classics. On the other hand, a few of the numbers in the film have rarely, if ever, been performed on tour.

I will admit that it was a treat to see Jagger delicately sing the chamber-pop ballad “As Tears Go By,” originally written in the mid-1960s as a single for his girlfriend at the time - Mod princess Marianne Faithfull. Keith’s surprisingly passionate solo turns on “You Got the Silver” and “Connection,” two other rarities in concert, were the most emotional, real moments in the program. And it was nice to see longtime sax-playing sideman Bobby Keys manning up on his classic “Brown Sugar” solo. Otherwise, guitarist-come-lately Ron Wood was serviceable, as were the rest of the hired hands, such as bass-player Darryl Jones (the replacement for missing-and-missed charter bassist Bill Wyman) and keyboardist Chuck Leavell.

The guest stars were a mixed bag: Jack White of the White Stripes and the Raconteurs was unremarkable as he sang with Jagger on “Loving Cup.” Buddy Guy’s signature blues guitar licks were more than welcome on a cover of Muddy Waters’ “Champagne and Reefer.” Christina Aguilera’s duet with Jagger on the raucous, randy rocker “Live with Me” was, amazingly, not an abomination, as she curtailed her usually excessive vocal gymnastics in the service of the number. But the twosome grinding on one another was a brutal Beauty and the Beast moment.

Truth be told, seeing Jagger and Richards and company close-up and blown up to gigantic IMAX size was more frightening than some horror films I’ve endured. The lines on Jagger’s face are so deep that a family of gypsies could be living in one of them - and no one would know. Imagine the Crypt Keeper (in a shag wig) and the Mummy (in quasi-pirate garb) fronting a Stones cover band. That’s how it seemed sometimes.

In an odd quirk, I saw the pungent dramedy “Irina Palm,” starring Ms. Faithfull, two days before watching “Shine a Light.” Over time, the sleek, chic and sexy ‘60s pin-up/breathy, disaffected chick singer of “As Tears Go By” had transformed herself into the wise, salty grand dame/rock chanteuse of the unflinchingly honest, synth-driven confessional “Broken English.” The movie features a pithy, vanity-free performance by Faithfull as a suburban grandma who agrees to masturbate men through a glory hole in a seedy London sex club to raise money for an operation that might save the life of her terminally-ill grandson.

Faithfull is seriously frumpy, undeniably aging, and painfully real on screen. By comparison, her former boyfriend - continuing to strut and preen as the leader/figurehead of the Stones – seems laughable.

For the fans and the curious, here’s the opening salvo from “Shine a Light,” “Jumpin’ Jack Flash”:

Entranced by a Piper

Mike the Knife — Wed, 02 Apr 2008 00:40:42 GMT

Remember the fable of the Pied Piper? Hypnotized all those rats and kids with his magical music, and lured them to their demise? Well, that’s not the Piper I’m talking about here. But I fear I’ve been hypnotized anyway.

If you haven’t heard of Billie Piper, you’re probably not from the U.K. or Ireland. Or you’re probably not a science-fiction fan. Or you probably don’t much care for unabashed (albeit disposable), cannily-produced, shiny-shiny, chart-pandering pop music with a touch of hip-hop and a soupcon of blue-eyed soul.

I, on the other hand, am an unapologetic Anglophile, sci-fi geek, and sometime slave to the processed beat. And I’m a guy. All of these “attributes” have turned me into a fan of the adorable, effortless sexy Ms. Piper, whose cute shop-girl looks and unpretentious charm lend her an accessibility that suggests she could live right up the road – assuming that it happened to be London’s Portobello Road – and might even smile at you if you ran into her at the grocery store.

Billie and Some Interstellar Acquaintences

A pop star in the U.K. since she was in her mid-teens, the blonde buoyant Billie was relegated to being the Britney of Britain until she started acting, and landed a plum role in the revival of the long-running BBC sci-fi series “Doctor Who.” This is where I first started taking her seriously. She was cast in the role of Rose Tyler – spunky, modern working-class gal and companion to the Doctor, a dryly-witty, ever-resourceful alien-in-human-form who travels through time and space in a remarkable vehicle that looks like a vintage police box/phone-booth. Let’s just say that she more than held her own opposite the two terrific actors who have played the Doctor in this current run of the show: first, Christopher Eccleston of the films “Shallow Grave” and “Elizabeth” and the TV series “Heroes”; then, David Tennant of the BBC mini-series “Casanova” and the Royal Shakespeare Company.

Since leaving “Doctor Who” after two seasons, she has continued to act, doing a couple of period pieces on British TV (adaptations of the books “Mansfield Park” and “The Shadow in the North”). Now in her mid-20s, she currently stars in the frank, funny and highly erotic ITV series “Secret Diary of a Call Girl,” based on the blogs of a real London sex-worker. (Be still, my pounding heart!) “Secret Diary of a Call Girl” was (pardon the expression) picked up for a second season of shows in the U.K., and will be running on Showtime in the U.S. by June.

And, after a year away, she’s due to reprise the role of Rose Tyler during climactic episodes in the upcoming season of “Doctor Who,” which begins its run on the BBC this Saturday. (Woo-hoo!)

So it’s Billie’s time, although her singing career appears to be on hold. By the way, when it comes to comparisons, I’d liken her more to Kylie Minogue (actress to singer) or Mandy Moore (singer to actress) than to Britney Spears or Christina Aguilera. (And Billie has shown no evidence of self-destructive tendencies.) Yes, her bouncy tunes are guilty pleasures. No, she doesn’t have great pipes. Still, I stand by her as a purveyor of pure pop.

Here’s a video of a seductive little number from 1999 that I continue to fancy. Though she went brunette for the clip, “Honey to the Bee” is no less sweet…

Neither Rain nor Sleet Can Stop a MOG Meet

Mike the Knife — Sat, 29 Mar 2008 22:53:19 GMT

It was drizzly last night in the City by the Bay, but it wasn’t enough to put a damper on the first San Francisco MOG Meet (not counting a little nightclub par-tay that featured a performance by members of a certain renowned New Orleans musical group).

Cheers from annieander, david hyman and 1234chainsaw.

Zeitgeist, a convivial Mission District bar with a punk-rock/biker vibe, hosted a gathering of ten dedicated MOGgers – some from the site’s Berkeley headquarters (the MOGfather himself David Hyman, Sturgell, brittanybf, T.J., and dangerdot) and others from hither, thither and yon (me, 1234chainsaw, mollifire, annieander, and Spike). It was a distinct pleasure hanging out with the lot of them.

Beer flowed like…beer. Conversation was stimulating when it could be heard over the loud (and lively) music clanging out of the Zeitgeist P.A. The weather was only a bother to me, since I travel on two wheels and was slightly encumbered by my rain gear.

brittanybf, Sturgell, dangerdot, Spike & mollifire are in the House.

I found out many valuable bits of info, including the fact that Pekka (1234chainsaw) and I both learned to read by deciphering Donald Duck comic books when we were children; that Hyman much prefers Daffy Duck to Donald; and that mollifire is an ace when it comes to the care and navigation of sound systems. I discovered that Spike is an artist who works in collage; that T.J. and I are both close to the renowned soul, blues and jazz archivist Harry D; that annieander’s son is devoted to the science-fantasy game Warhammer; and that dangerdot has been deep inside the Hollywood entertainment machine (as in, the music and film business) and survived to tell the tale.

It was revealed that Sturgell, mollifire and I are all fans of the rollicking British sci-fi TV series “Doctor Who,” and we may very well catch the start of the new season together; and that annieander and I are very concerned with the current state of public education in the U.S., and would like to actually do something about it. And it was confirmed that brittanybf and I are greatly amused by “bear culture” (and, if you scroll down her MOG page, you’ll get what’s tickling us).

Mike the Knife, Sturgell & brittanybf, front and center, with T.J. and Hyman behind.

Renowned MOGgers – including Anna, Joxley, Jonh Ingham, indiepixie, Cody B, LadyC, ROCKNROLLPIMP , Shud33 (who would have been present had she not been performing with her band in Sacramento), and many more - were invoked and toasted in their absence. And, of course, the late Crash Pryor – the MOGmeister who left this plane of being way before his time - was remembered with fondness.

MOG represents at Zeitgeist.

The rain let up, and we adjourned to the bar’s back patio for a bit - until the drink began to take its toll, and hunger set in. We said our goodbyes, and parted company. Pekka and I ambled over to Taqueria Pancho Villa for burritos, joined briefly by mollifire and dangerdot. Someone suggested that we should do this gathering thing on a regular basis. Maybe we will. Since Pekka’s relocating to England in a month, he’ll have to reconnect with the Euro-MOGgers for his next meet. No matter. We’ll see him on the posts and in the threads.

What’s the Story?

Mike the Knife — Sat, 29 Mar 2008 00:40:07 GMT

When you think about it, song lyrics are pretty much extensions of the human drive to tell stories – an inclination that goes back millennia, all the way to prehistoric man spinning yarns for the rest of the clan around the fire. But narrative songs aren’t so prevalent these days, when proclamations of love, statements of purpose, surreal ruminations, and random gibberish are the usual fare.

Sure, we’ve had “A Boy Named Sue,” “She’s Leaving Home,” “Hurricane,” “Cat’s in the Cradle,” and other anecdotal numbers that were written and recorded during the latter part of the 20th century. So where are today’s tale-spinners whose songs reflect upon or enhance the human condition or simply entertain or amuse? Too complex for modern audiences? Too much info for short-attention spans?

I’ve attached a stream of a favorite story-song to this post. Although it may not be to everyone’s taste, “I Married a Martian” is a novel, funny, disco-flavored rock tune from Ron and Russell Mael - the Los Angeles-spawned, European-acclaimed brother act that has recorded under the name Sparks since their early 1970s glam-rock days. They made waves during the new-wave era with “Cool Places,” a bouncy, synth-pop duet with Jane Wiedlin of The Go-Go’s. Ron and Russell also went through a pre-new-wave period that brought them an international hit, “The #1 Song in Heaven,” produced by Euro-disco maven Giorgio Moroder. Soon thereafter, they toughened up their sound again while retaining some of the electronic keyboards that marked their Moroder collaborations. The tongue-in-cheeky, sci-fi-themed “I Married a Martian” is from one of those later Sparks albums: 1981’s Whomp That Sucker. Check it out – and listen to the words. (The singer’s final assessment: “I married a Martian / They’re good in the movies / Dramatic potential / But they’re not so hot in real life.”)

Are there any narrative songs that strike your fancy? They’re out there, and I’m curious to know which ones, if any, you like.

Sparks' Russell and Ron: Interspecies wedlock?

Virtually Live?

Mike the Knife — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 22:36:19 GMT

In a thread that wound around the other day, our fellow MOGger Cody B (known to me as Soul Brother #2) posed an interesting question as regards the escalating cost of concert tickets. The gist was this: The expense of a single entry to a live performance is getting so ridiculously high that rock shows – once the playground of rebellious and/or downtrodden youth - will soon be the domain of only the wealthy or privileged.

This is not specific to pop music’s schedule of dino-soaring reunions, diva farewell tours and bloated festivals. You may have heard the Italian proverb “Bed is the poor man’s opera.” Well, you used to be able to substitute “baseball,” among other diversions, for “bed.” Now, access to the Mets is getting as pricey as a ticket to the Met. To quote the once-vital Rolling Stones, what can a poor boy do – other than starting his own rock and roll band?

You can hit the tiny dives and catch the stars of tomorrow on the way up, if you can spot ‘em early. MOG , with a community dedicated to seeking out quality musicians wherever they may be gestating, can help guide you there. As for the more established, mega-popular acts, I’ve got a feeling that we’re going to see more sense-immersion concert films such as the admittedly terrific “U2 3D” - and real-time pay-per-view digital broadcasts of notable bands on cable or Internet. Neither option should cost anywhere near the tariff for access to a big-time gig. Otherwise, the cash-strapped will have to put in their ear-buds, switch on their mp3s, shut their eyes, and imagine they’re in the sweaty mob on the stadium floor, having the experience of a lifetime.

Brit new-wavers ABC , led by singer Martin Fry, asked the million-dollar question back in 1984:

Mash the Funk Out of It

Mike the Knife — Sat, 22 Mar 2008 01:25:03 GMT

It’s Good Friday - not that any Friday is particularly bad. (Okay. I believe there was a Black Friday that had nothing to do with racial issues, and everything to do with financial shortfalls. Steely Dan’s pulsing doom-laden song “Black Friday” could give you an inkling about that one. Or maybe it’s that flush retail day after Thanksgiving when stores go out of the red and into the black, because of high-volume sales. Which would then be a good Friday – for the merchants.)

Anyway, religious solemnity aside, this is shaping up to be one of those really good Fridays. Sun out. Spring in the air. Holiday weekend. And, as usual, funk is streaming through the MOGiverse.

So what am I gonna do to seize the day? I think a nice, secular happy hour with the crew from the Embassy is in store. Before that plays out, how about if I drop you all a mash-up that will encapsulate my affection for top-gear R. & B. and art-rock, as well as imply my mistrust of organized religion? I need only turn to the Big Apple’s DJ Lobsterdust for the perfect track: his sly weave of “Superstitious” by soul legend Stevie Wonder and “Jenny Was a Friend of Mine” by Las Vegas prog-pop-rockers The Killers. The Killers bleach out some of Stevie’s funk, but not to the detriment of the resulting number. If it upsets your purist nature, you can always go back and listen to the original components - as is always the case with mash-ups.

Click and serve…”Jenny's Superstitious.” (She may be, but I’m not. Have a nice Easter break, everyone!)

Slightly Tarnished, But Golden

Mike the Knife — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 00:33:14 GMT

A century or so ago, George Sterling, poet laureate of San Francisco, referred to the town as his "cool gray city of love." Legendary Bay Area newspaper columnist Herb Caen used the term on many occasions, but it came to mind after listening to The Golden Age, the latest - and surprisingly lovely - album from singer-songwriter Mark Eitzel's dark-hued confessional-folk-rock band American Music Club.

As longtime San Francisco residents, Eitzel and AMC guitarist Vudi (the only members that remain in the group from its most prolific period) know and understand the city, its foggy waterfront, its shadowy alleys, and its Bohemian citizenry. Thus, despite relocating to Los Angeles prior to recording this album (the second since Eitzel revived the band name after a decade of solo projects), San Francisco is still very much in AMC 's consciousness. Two of the 13 tracks on The Golden Age name-check the unique destination that Caen also called Baghdad-by-the-Bay: “All the Lost Souls Welcome You to San Francisco” - a gentle, loping ode to the town and its loveable misfits - and the album’s delicate coda “The Grand Duchess of San Francisco.” We know where Eitzel and Vudi have left their hearts, even if they’re working with an L.A. rhythm section (bassist Sean Hoffman and drummer Steve Didelot) and living in the Basin; they remain connected to the beauty, mystery and wasted-hipster vibe of their old haunts.

The Golden Age? Eitzel may be playing the sarcasm card here. He’s never struck me as much of an optimist. But the tenor of songs such as the opening track “All My Love” - with Eitzel’s muzzy/fuzzy/sweet vocal and sonorous acoustic guitar picking and an open-hearted lyric filled with promises and promise – implies mellowing and affirmation. Wistful in tone, “The Sleeping Beauty” is about loss; it's also about acceptance. Even “The Decibels and the Little Pills” – a rambling country-flavored number that finds the singer staring into the abyss - is ultimately a statement of empowerment suggesting that we choose life over the cold alternative.

2004's Love Songs for Patriots - essentially, AMC ’s comeback album – was very much concerned with the war in Iraq, the toll it was taking, and the price that’s still being paid at home and abroad. The usually depressed and dolorous Eitzel was clearly pissed off about the state of the world, and venting. The Golden Age is more introspective and lighter than the previous album. That doesn’t mean Eitzel is going to ignore the elephant in the War Room. “The Windows on the World” – a hindsight-wise reflection on New York City and complacency, pre-9/11 - and “The Dance” - a rumination on violence and culpability that builds in intensity with a stinging Vudi solo - bring the personal and political together with incendiary results.

“The Stars” is too much draggy lamentation for my tastes, but that one misstep is offset by the honor and determination expressed in “One Step Ahead” and the honest sentiment of “Who You Are.”

Neil Young comes to mind, in the most flattering way, when Vudi rips off an incendiary lick or Eitzel confects a rustic waltz such as “I Know That's Not Really You” – like the echo from an liquored-up barn dance over the ridge. Still, no one would mistake Eitzel’s gruff voice and simmering turmoil for anyone else’s. And The Golden Age is the man at his revelatory best, working through his troubles and making peace with demons within and without – while offering a bit of hope and tunefulness in the process.

Moving the Portable Party

Mike the Knife — Sun, 16 Mar 2008 02:55:02 GMT

Hangin’ and bangin’ on a Saturday night: It’ll be the standard dinner-gallery-nightclub run with a few comrades. Not too original. A little of the same old same-old, but certainly manageable. I’m sure that some of us have clubs or floating parties that they try to attend on a frequent basis – places where the scene is always worth the trouble of going out. I know how bummed I’ve been whenever one of the reliables closes down, relocates, or dwindles away into nothingness.

A favorite, long-running San Francisco event – a monthly shindig rife with DJs, live bands and performance artists, art on the walls, massage therapists, and a great (albeit trendy) crowd of Boho regulars and parading freakazoids – is being forced to move from its customary setting with a wonderful rooftop garden, a chill-out lounge, and numerous side-rooms. (Some evil bastard made a complaint to the cops, and, well, you know the rest.) Although I’m sure the next location will have charms of its own, I already miss the usual haunt.

What’s a guy to do when they close up his favorite honky-tonk, and the patrons go elsewhere? Move on to the next one, I guess. Dwight Yoakam, singing Buck Owens, probably knows how I feel. Do you?

Brotherhood of the Traveling Mash

Mike the Knife — Tue, 11 Mar 2008 19:39:54 GMT

I’m beginning to think that this mash-up thing is catching on. After my busy February in Los Angeles, I’ve been getting back into my regular Bay Area rhythms, bio- and otherwise. And that means hitting Bootie – the recurring mash-up party that takes over the DNA Lounge in San Francisco’s SoMa district on the second Saturday of every month, and now the fourth Saturday, too!

Even though Bootie entrepreneurs/DJs/remixers Party Ben, Adrian and the Mysterious D are now bringing the gospel of the mash to L.A. on the first Saturday of the month, I was in transit to and from Hollywoodland; and thus, I missed a first-hand chance to see how they are presiding over one of the hottest club nights in Southern California. According to Adrian, Bootie L.A. (headquartered at the Echo on Sunset in Echo Park) done blew up at the top of February. “Lines down Sunset,” he said. “Couldn’t even get people from the guest list into the club. I think we need more space.” And sure enough, the following week’s L.A. Weekly’s nightlife column extolled the gig as the au courant place to be for Hollywood scenemakers and party people.

I longed for the mix-and-match madness and the generally festive vibe, so this past weekend, I hopped on my motorbike and made my way south of the slot in order to Bootie up. Local mash-master DJ Fox spun to celebrate the release of his latest collection of bootlegs; the world’s first and foremost live mash-up band Smash-Up Derby rocked the house; the upstairs lounge, recast as the club-within-a-club Electro-Bootie, hosted a West Coast edition of New York’s electronic music party Warper; the Midnight Mash-up lip-sync tune featured drag queen extraordinaire Suppositori Spelling strutting her stuff; and Adrian, D and Ben headlined, fueling a packed and raucous dance floor in the main room with an audio-visual assault that justified the fuss I’ve been making about them. Too bad that one more hour of it was lost at 2 AM when we sprung forward into daylight-savings time.

Next on the schedule is the March 22nd edition at DNA with guest spins by DJ P who was behind the seminal mix album Uneasy Listening Volume 1; the Party Scabs – C-Section and Jerk Party from Brooklyn - in the Electro-Bootie room, a Midnight Mash-up by Felicia Fellatio; and, of course, the resident Bootie crew - Adrian, D and Ben, plus Dada – throwing down throughout the night.

Since I’ve been going on about a club that thrives on the dance-oriented aspects of mash-ups, I thought it would be appropriate to stream a beat-heavy collage to inspire much rolling of the rump. Austria’s DJ Schmolli took the monumental hip-hopping new-wave hit “Rock Me Amadeus” by Falco (his fellow Austrian), glued it together with bits of Nelly (“#1”), Luniz (“I Got 5 on It”), Mozart (”Eine Kleine Nachtmusik”), Run DMC (various renowned samples), Def Leppard (“Pour Some Sugar on Me”), Eric B. & Rakim (“I Know You Got Soul”), Fatboy Slim (“Rockafella Skank”), J-Kwon (“Tipsy”), Mis-teeq (“Scandalous”), Queen (“We Will Rock You“), and – yes indeed – Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart himself (”Eine Kleine Nachtmusik”), and came up with “Mash Me Amadeus.” Talk about all over the map! And it goes a little something like, well…

Just hit the “play” button.

Knife Digs Into Grizzly Bear

Mike the Knife — Sat, 08 Mar 2008 00:38:57 GMT

You know how sometimes you listen to a highly touted band or singer, but something about the artist(s) just doesn’t click. Maybe it was after a recommendation by someone you trust - if you know what I mean, fellow MOGgers. Then, later in the game, you hear an irresistible song that you think that you’ve never heard before, and you’re so excited and delighted, and you must find out who it is. And it turns out to be something that was praised and endorsed before and that you had already dismissed.

Last night, I caught the lavishly-praised Brooklyn, NY-based quartet Grizzly Bear as they performed their dreamy, progressive folk-rock/neo-doo-wop ballad “Knife” on “The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson,” and I suddenly understood the fuss over them. I mean, hell, The New York Times judged Yellow House, the album that spawned the song, as one of the top releases of 2006. They first dropped some sounds in 2004. They’re among the new wave of thoughtful, expressive pop and rock musicians from Brooklyn that includes one of my faves, The National. So where have I been? Elsewhere, I guess.

The appearance on Ferguson’s program was a delight, with all four Grizzlies beautifully, airily weaving vocals into the mix. The melody touched me. The lyrics moved me. In a droll move, the band members all wore fake moustaches during the performance. And I was sold.

With a title like “Knife,” I couldn’t ignore the track, and I heard and enjoyed it when it was first released. But I never went back to it after the initial listen, nor did I check out Yellow House. My mistake, rectified today. It’s all beautiful stuff. Even hypnotic. Let it seduce you, if it hasn’t already…

For starters, here’s the weird, wonderful video for “Knife”:

And here's the version from "The Late Late Show":

I’m sure I’m not alone in occasionally ignoring brilliant suggestions about music I should hear. I’m just happy when the great material eventually reaches me, despite my heedlessness.

Popping In

Mike the Knife — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 02:16:13 GMT

Got back to San Francisco on Saturday night. And just in time. I was able to catch the energizing and generous (five encore songs!) headlining set by The Gutter Twins (the highly-anticipated collaboration between alt-rock singer-songwriters Greg Dulli, late of the Afghan Whigs and Twilight Singers, and Mark Lanegan of Screaming Trees and Queens of the Stone Age) at Bimbo's 365 Club in North Beach as part of this year's Noise Pop festival (the 16th already). In the aftermath of the Twins' performance, I am enthused about the album that's on its way this week.

Alas, I was too late to see Great Northern, Monotonix, and Apache, but you can read all about them and The Gutter Twins in the expectedly insightful review by that cool-and-dry-as-a-vermouth-free-martini MOGger Pekka (1234chainsaw): http://mog.com/1234chainsaw/blog_post/147592

As a matter of fact, there's little that I could add to Pekka's coverage ("smoldering," indeed), other than to express my pleasure at chatting with him in the lobby of Bimbo's as the show let out.

Yep. Knife met chainsaw, and no one got hurt.

Kind of Another Mash Note

Mike the Knife — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 23:07:54 GMT

Los Angeles can be a much smaller town than the sprawl stretching out before you when you’re up in the Hollywood Hills. Then again, that may be a consequence of the circles that you frequent. Last week, I wrote about a couple of incidents along the Hollywood nightlife trail, one of which concerned a brief Valentine’s Day bar encounter with a tall, young, comely, seemingly diffident comedienne just embarking on her career.
http://mog.com/Mike_the_Knife/blog_post/144878

Two nights ago, I emerge from the Arclight Theater on Sunset (right across the street from the L.A. branch of my favorite CD and video store Amoeba Records) after being completely underwhelmed by a screening of the new Will Ferrell comedy “Semi-Pro.” (Right. Semi-funny.) I decide to connect with a couple of friends up the block at the Cat & Fiddle – a very welcoming, only slightly boisterous quasi-English pub that attracts a friendly, arty crowd on weeknights.

While scoring a pint of Guinness, I notice a statuesque redhead across the room. It’s the reticent knockout from Valentine’s Day. She’s laughing and flirting with a couple of guys. Then, she’s heading in my direction to order a drink of her own. I reintroduce myself, and unlike our initial meeting, she’s warmer. And I realize that she has “presence.” We talk a bit, and trade details. I tell her that I mentioned her in passing on my MOG page, which appears to amuse her. I’m directed to her MySpace page to scope out a clip presenting one of her first stand-up routines. We part company, me returning to my buddies, she to her admirers.

The next day, I check her out on MySpace and watch the video. She’s good, and there’s promise of her being even better. She has something, a certain intelligence that shines amid the jangling nerves of a newcomer and the cheerful bawdiness of an attractive 21-year-old woman relishing the freedom of adulthood. It will be interesting to chart her progress.

Looking back at the original post, I noted two playlist entries from the so-called anti-Valentine’s party in the bar where I first spotted the fledgling funnygirl: Nancy Sinatra’s ‘60s female-empowerment anthem “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’” and the Rolling Stones’ illustrious, insistent, embittered rock and roll plaint “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction.” Well, guess what? DJ Santi, a clever manipulator of sound from right down the road in Anaheim, mashed those very songs together a couple of years ago and called it “Rolling Boots.” Just for fun, you can stream it here.

Oscar Gets It Right - for “Once”

Mike the Knife — Mon, 25 Feb 2008 13:02:36 GMT

Can’t say I didn’t tell him so.

In May of last year, I saw an advance screening of the enthralling, musical, romantic Irish film “Once” at the Roxie Film Center in San Francisco - with co-stars Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová in attendance. I also had the good fortune to see Hansard and Irglová play a mini-set of tunes from the movie after the screening, and the even greater fortune to speak with Glen when they were done. Among the terribly flattering things I was compelled to say to him: If there was any justice, “Falling Slowly,” the pivotal number that he and Markéta wrote and performed in “Once,” would be nominated and win an Academy Award for best song.

Call it wishful thinking. Or just give me my props, and call me Mr. Prescient.

As I wrote here (http://mog.com/Mike_the_Knife/blog_post/75381) months ago, I hoped that the voters would ignore a rule I feared might hamper a nom, allowing the song to be put into competition. If so, could it win? I doubted it. Historically, the Oscar nominating committee digs up crap that no one’s heard or remembers, and ignores the small handful of worthy or classy theme songs and soundtrack enhancers. And the winners are usually footnotes, forgotten by next year’s ceremony. Yes, there have been exceptions, such as Springsteen’s “Streets of Philadelphia,” but they are rare indeed.

So, imagine my shock to learn that “Falling Slowly” was nominated for a 2007 Academy Award. It was the best of the quintet of honorees - although I thoroughly enjoyed the score to the endearing, funny Disney fantasy “Enchanted,” which spawned three of the nominated songs. Considering the circumstances, the nomination of a composition from a low-budget, independently-produced film such as “Once” was quite an achievement. The best was yet to come.

Last night’s Oscar win for “Falling Slowly” - after a heartfelt live performance of the song by Glen and Markéta reached millions of TV viewers – was an absolute triumph of good taste and good sense over the banality that tends to govern this award. The original arrangement of “Falling Slowly” was trimmed to fit the broadcast and sweetened by the orchestral strings under the baton of conductor Bill Conti (best-known as the composer of the theme from “Rocky”). Still, Glen and Markéta cut through the glitz to deliver something real and uplifting. And their humility and graciousness upon winning was as genuine as can be.

Every so often, the Hollywood happy ending is for real. And I, for one, can’t wait for the sequel: A new album from the duo.

I don’t know how long YouTube will allow this to be available for viewing, but for now, here’s the performance of “Falling Slowly” on the Academy Awards show, with intro by Colin Farrell, the award presentation, the acceptance speech by Glen, and a subsequent statement by Markéta:

More Wicked Licks from Wilsey

Mike the Knife — Thu, 21 Feb 2008 17:36:35 GMT

Santo & Johnny – the fraternal duo best-known for the 1959 instrumental “Sleepwalk,” with its dreamy melody delivered by a lonesome, crying guitar - would be proud of James Wilsey. Or envious. All they’d have to do is listen to Wilsey’s debut solo album El Dorado to know that their legacy – and that of other monumental twang-masters such as Duane Eddy, Link Wray, James Burton, and Dick Dale - is in good fingers, er, hands.

Like few players then and now, Wilsey can make his guitar keen, wail, snap, or seduce, roping in a listener with the sheer emotive power of his licks. He was the guitarist behind the intense and atmospheric lines that gave retro-rock crooner Chris Isaak his signature sound. Ensnared by the sinuous guitar playing that marked “Wicked Game,” Isaak’s biggest hit? You can thank Wilsey, who first came to prominence as the bass player in the crucial San Francisco punk-rock group The Avengers.

Wilsey left punk and the bass behind to riff and rock on lead guitar. As a charter member of Isaak’s band Silvertone, Wilsey stood in the shadows while forging a sleek aural backdrop for the charismatic singer in the spotlight. Dissatisfied by a supporting role, he left Isaak’s ensemble and relocated to Los Angeles a number of years ago to pursue his muse. Wilsey has since played sessions, scored films, and gigged on the SoCal club scene. All the while, he’s been writing and recording his own compositions. El Dorado, a marvelous, newly-issued collection of ten glistening, guitar-driven instrumentals, is the culmination of those efforts - pure uncut Wilsey, paying homage to his forebears and influences while adding his own bend, twist and post-modern sensibility to the mix.

The elegance and sheen of his craftsmanship - he engineered and produced the album as well as composing and performing - suggest the musical equivalent of a high-end customizer’s painstaking work on a perfectly restored vintage car. The title song channels the sweep and drama of an Ennio Morricone spaghetti-western soundtrack, as does “Untamed.” “Discos Nuevos” is more in the realm of Duane Eddy’s swagger and ramble - as invigorating as a high-speed drive-by-night on a desert highway. The Link Wray connection can be divined in “The Rattler,” as deadly as a rumble in a town without pity. Echoing the supple, hypnotic rock and roll that Wilsey conjured in his Silvertone days, “San Bernardino” is tuneful and limber while hinting at danger, like a gunslinger with a bad reputation arriving in a windswept Wild West settlement.

No other contemporary guitarist in popular music is better at evoking the kind of emotional depths that “City of Broken Dolls” so succinctly expresses - its melody embodying romantic melancholy with a whiff of despair. The same goes for “Last Chance,” with sonic sweetness that seems to encode hope, devotion and an acknowledgement of love’s rigors. Wilsey’s debt to 1960s surf music, the stuff of the Pyramids, Ventures, Surfaris, T-Bones and their ilk, is audible in the big sound-wave of “Diabolic.” He closes the album with “Insomnia” – a lovely and unabashed tribute to “Sleepwalk.” While the rest of El Dorado is perfect for a ride down California’s coastal Route 1 or through an arid Southwestern landscape, “Insomnia” is soothing enough to bring on a restorative sleep at journey’s end.

To celebrate the release of the CD this week, Wilsey convened his formidable band (which includes Billy Pitman on guitar, Anthony Santaniello on bass and Derek Ritchie on drums), donned a cowboy hat and Western duds, and headlined Safari Sam’s in Hollywood on Tuesday night. An appreciative crowd filled the main floor by the time that he took the stage. Displaying extreme focus while playing and a laconic between-song air, he performed the entire album, from opening track to last.

It was a transporting experience, further enhanced by a wordless-but-eloquent three-song encore of the Roy Orbison classic “Crying”; the Carpenters’ hit “Superstar,” which was written by Leon Russell; and, lastly, a stirring, deconstructed instrumental version of “Wicked Game.” Hell of a show.

On my way down Sunset after Wilsey’s set, I stopped off at Walgreen’s for a cold (non-alcoholic) beverage to slake my midnight thirst, and – surprise! - Isaak’s “Wicked Game” was coming over the store’s P.A. system. Coincidence? Well, yeah - although, in a perfect world, it would have been a number from El Dorado.

For more about and from James Wilsey: http://www.myspace.com/jameswilsey

City of Angles Revisited

Mike the Knife — Sun, 17 Feb 2008 19:33:23 GMT

As many have said before me, Los Angeles is so much more about angles than angels. But what strange and terrible force has pulled me out the benign comfort of San Francisco and dragged me down to Southern California and, specifically, L.A. yet again? My callous mistress, Show Business.

I motor hither and yon, working and playing – sometimes simultaneously. I take meetings that masquerade as dinners, and go to parties and bars that generate more professional contacts than love connections.

A glimpse:

There’s producer/composer/arranger extraordinaire Quincy Jones - the decades of musical accomplishments etched onto his knowing, slightly weary face - sitting with a party of three at a centrally-located table in the dining room of STK , an upscale steakhouse and the latest restaurant hotspot in Hollywood. The place is filled and percolating on Friday night. It’s the official opening after a few celebrity-splashed shakedown dinners earlier in the week, when the likes of comedian Adam Sandler and “Heroes” ingénue Hayden Panettiere sampled the place, approved, and were captured on film (coming and going) by the omnipresent paparazzi - pictures posted on gossip websites within minutes. Now, a couple of the acting Arquettes are in the house. (Was that Patricia or Rosanna - or their transsexual sister Alexis? Not sure.) And a few stars of hour-long TV dramas; and, of course, Mr. Jones. The piranhas with cameras lurk in wait out on the sidewalk.

Inside, scene-makers mingle with the famous and the well-connected/well-heeled wannabes, and the sound system feeds the room a diet of ‘80s pop and rock with the likes of Tom Petty, Depeche Mode and Berlin. The buoyancy of Michael Jackson’s "The Way You Make Me Feel" from the Jacko/Quincy Jones-produced 1987 album Bad brightens the room. A slight smile slips across Quincy’s face as he surveys his surroundings and perhaps notes that a few of the beautiful people in attendance are gently grooving to a beat he forged.

24 hours earlier:

As Valentine’s Day approaches midnight, I sit with two longtime pals – a comedian and an animation director – at Birds, a very lively, very crowded bar on Franklin. The joint is hosting an anti-Valentine bash and the DJ is spinning extremely pointed selections, including Nancy Sinatra’s ‘60s female-empowerment anthem “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’” and the Rolling Stones’ illustrious, insistent, embittered rock and roll plaint “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction.” With every song, the patrons in Birds become increasingly enflamed and, contrary to the theme of the event, step up their mating dance.

Meanwhile, a cute 6-foot-plus redhead in kooky thrift-shop garb sits by herself in a booth, sips a glass of rose wine, and impassively rebuffs any guy who tries to strike up a conversation with her. She carries a Frederick’s of Hollywood shopping bag instead of a purse. When asked about it, she explains that she has just finished performing improv comedy at the Upright Citizens’ Brigade Theater a few doors down, and the bag is a prop. She’s no older than 21 or 22, and is trying to get a career in comedy up and running. “I’m more of a stand-up and sketch performer than an improviser,” she says. “But you have to network, and you have to showcase for the people making the decisions in this town, and the UCB is good for that.”

She takes a final sip of wine, stands up, and heads for the door. My comedian friend, who has enjoyed quite a successful, ongoing run in movies and on TV, is sitting nearby and sees her leave alone. She’s an eye-catching figure, to say the least. As she departs, disappointment clouds his features. He could have been her angel. Alas, a missed opportunity for both of them to work the angles. The DJ plays Kaiser Chiefs’ “Everyday I Love You Less and Less.” The lyrics fall on deaf ears attached to smiling customers determined to pick up someone before closing time.

Aperitif:

My preferred contemporary L.A. music-makers The Bird & The Bee perform a little nightlife magic in the delightfully skewed video showcasing their wry cabaret-rock number “Polite Dance Song” from the Please Clap Your Hands EP:

Supermassive Mash

Mike the Knife — Tue, 12 Feb 2008 22:36:28 GMT

Currently being swallowed by the massive black hole known as Los Angeles, so I decided to go with the flow. Soundtrack? The smokin’ mash-up “Supermassive Rainbow,” ElectroSound’s hypnotic bonding of two of my favorite tracks from the past year or so: “Gravity’s Rainbow” by Klaxons and (appropriately enough) “Supermassive Black Hole” by Muse.

Another of the savvy French mash-up producers/DJs, ElectroSound clearly sensed the kinship between this pair of contemporary British prog-rock groups that can draw upon the edginess and aggression of a punk band or the exuberant vibe of a rave at will. Tapping the Soulwax remix of the Klaxons tune and threading the Muse number through it, ElectroSound came up with a dancefloor-ready gem. It’s more than enormous or colossal. It’s supermassive!

Switch on.

Answers

Mike the Knife — Sat, 09 Feb 2008 01:28:51 GMT

Been listening to Camera Obscura’s “Lloyd, I'm Ready to Be Heartbroken,” the Glasgow, Scotland art-pop band’s lilting answer song to “Are You Ready to Be Heartbroken?” - the yearning ballad by folk-rock singer-songwriter Lloyd Cole. The Camera Obscura number is a beauty. I almost like the response better than the tune that inspired it.

The answer song isn’t a new thing. It’s been going on in R&B and blues and country music for decades. There’s been some high-profile back and forth in rock, too. One of the biggies is "Sweet Home Alabama" by Lynyrd Skynyrd, which was, in part, a reaction to Neil Young's pointed attack on racism, "Southern Man." (“Well, I hope Neil Young will remember / a southern man don’t need him around anyhow.”)

It seems like there are a boatload of rap songs that provoke battle-ready, diss-heavy callbacks by rival rappers. “Roxanne” and “The Real Roxanne” displayed this phenomenon at its most harmless, but some hip-hop answer songs have been downright vicious and may have even ignited violence between rival performers and between their posses.

I think it would be cool to assemble of mix of answer songs. I’d welcome any suggestions. And I’m sure there are plenty of rock classics that are begging for musical responses. Hell, we all need answers now and then…

On a side note, the whimsical video for “Lloyd, I'm Ready to Be Heartbroken” is always a treat. If you haven’t seen it…

Super-Duper

Mike the Knife — Wed, 06 Feb 2008 00:51:01 GMT

We’ve just seen a phenomenal, historic Super Bowl – one for the ages. (How ‘bout them Giants?!?) And, two days later, while the cities of New Orleans, Rio, Venice, and their ilk are reaching the heights of the fevered rites of Carnival, the rest of the U.S. is focused on Super Tuesday – featuring the most significant number of primaries prior to the presidential election in November. Although I hope that all registered voters in those states with primaries have done their patriotic duty and cast ballots, I doubt that any more than a small percentage bothered.

Ah, well. With all of the Super This and Super That, I remembered a Super Something that bears another listen in these perilous, info-overloaded times. There’s no better theme for today’s jarring mix of politics and hedonism than brilliant, puckish New York City composer/performer Laurie Anderson’s ground-breaking electro-ode to love, fear and disconnection in the Age of Technology, “O Superman.” Video below…

Hard to Leave the Big Easy

Mike the Knife — Sat, 02 Feb 2008 02:19:53 GMT

I’m continuing to depressurize. Trying to reintegrate right and left brains. Weaning myself off of Pimm’s cups and Ramos fizzes and Sazeracs. Occasionally shaking from gumbo withdrawal.

Of course, I already miss New Orleans, and it’s only been a couple of days since I left. I actually began to pine for the city as I pulled away from the French Quarter and headed for Louis Armstrong Airport. (And if that name ain’t a promise of good times as you arrive in town and an invitation to melancholy as you leave, I don’t know what is.)

Carnival is in full swing, dressed in the traditional green, gold and purple of Mardi Gras, and heading for its ecstatic culmination next Tuesday. (The green stands for faith, the gold for power, and the purple for justice – so decreed by the membership of the New Orleans social club the Krewe of Rex over a century ago.)

The Knife abides, as the Krewe of Sparta rides.

Showing up for the first few days of what amounts to a week and a half of increasing dementia allows one to avoid the massive crush of yahoos and loonies looking to get completely plastered and heedlessly bare body parts by the end of the celebration. At the start, the numbers are smaller and the behavior more civilized. Nonetheless, the spirit of revelry was in the air this past weekend. Yes, there were some remnants of what a couple of locals warily/bitterly called “that weather incident.” The French Market is being renovated and, the promise of renewal aside, its husk is a sad sight. The Lower Ninth Ward is still largely a mess.

But the people are still warm and welcoming. Construction is happening throughout the town. The Quarter and Magazine Street in the Garden District are pretty much back to speed. New businesses are opening – and a few storm-devastated old businesses are reopening. The restaurants – from the familiar and classic to the recently spawned – were, as expected, producing the delectable regional cuisine that has inspired watering mouths and rave reviews - nay, poetry! - for decades.

Certainly, the music - particularly at the clubs on Frenchmen Street in the Marigny – was superb and rollicking and wistful and even hopeful, just like the residents who stayed or returned, and endured.

Last Friday night, pianist Ellis Marsalis – patriarch of the renowned musical clan – had his small ensemble cooking on the standards as usual at Snug Harbor. At d.b.a. (the New Orleans branch of the New York City/East Village brew pub), the weekend schedule was top-notch and delightfully indigenous with torchy blues-rock chanteuse Ingrid Lucia doing the early evening show on Friday, followed by some rousing frenzy from the folk-rockin’ Zydepunks; jazz crooner John Boutte and band opening the Saturday bill, with a wild R&B/Tex-Mex-fueled late show from the roots-rockin’ Iguanas; and retro le jazz hot singer/cutie-pie Linnzi Zaorski playing a happy-hour set on Sunday, with the Washboard Chaz Blues Trio wrapping up the night.

There is no greater ambassador for genuine New Orleans jazz in this day and age than the terrific, tradition-wise singer-trumpeter Kermit Ruffins, who, with his band the Barbecue Swingers, done tore up the Blue Nile on Saturday night. Very few artists can turn a club into a carnival at will. Kermit is one of them. And Monday night’s jam session at Ray’s Boom Boom Room, led by drummer/DJ Bob French, was a wonderful, improv-heavy ramble through Tim Pan Alley and the Great American Songbook.

It would be a mistake to forget the fabulous band that played Saturday night’s annual costume ball hosted by a New Orleans artist of note. The group's horns-and-all cover of the Beatles’ “Got to Get You Into My Life,” done – no lie - Parliament/Funkadelic-style, almost shook the filled-to-the-rafters warehouse apart. Nor should I neglect to mention the amazing Sunday night all-45 rpm vintage-soul-and-rockabilly DJ set at the Saint bar in the Garden District. And the melodies that waft from legendary venues, hot spots and dives as you walk past or are produced by street performers that are far too accomplished to be relegated to passing the hat.

This is on top of the parades (raining beads and doubloons on fervent crowds of onlookers) by the krewes that roll through the area on the early weekend. And the yearly Krewe of Barkus dog parade through the Quarter, with the 2008 theme “Indiana Bones & the Raiders of the Lost Bark” - complete with canine fashion plates and their owners in Indy fedoras, pushing along lovingly-forged Arks of the Covenant on wheels.

Digging Indiana Bones.

My last evening in town featured an orgy of exquisitely delicious food shared with three friends Uptown at Jacques-Imo’s restaurant – cornbread muffins, stuffed shrimp, fried green tomatoes, onion rings, succulent glazed duck, blackened redfish, collard greens, and strawberry shortcake, washed down with Abita’s Mardi Gras Bock. We topped it off with nightcaps at La Crepe Nanou, where we talked music and the beauty of Southern Louisiana with Vicki and Debbi Peterson of the Bangles who were in town for a couple of shows.

Like Vicki and Debbi, I harbor an inordinate amount of love for the city of New Orleans. Call it what you will: Nola, the Big Easy, the Crescent City, the City That Care Forgot. Its socio-economic problems and precarious, post-Katrina condition notwithstanding, it’s like no other place in America - a cultural cauldron rich with history, art, music, culinary delights, and the joy of living. I encourage everyone to visit and drop a little cash there. The Jazz & Heritage Festival is coming up in the spring – and, judging from the schedule, it looks like it’s gonna be one to remember. So go. Or visit some other time. Help the regeneration of this national treasure. You will be repaid a thousand times over with peak experiences that will linger in your memory long after you return to your everyday biz.

Just to get you in the proper frame of mind, you can tap into the enduring funk-a-licious Mardi Gras Indian anthem, “Handa Wanda (Part 1)” by Bo Dollis & the Wild Magnolias, which I've attached to this post. Try not to move your ass. I dare you.

Ubiquitous.

United We Mash

Mike the Knife — Fri, 25 Jan 2008 17:12:07 GMT

Heading down to New Orleans this morning for a little Carnival frolic, so I may be, um, busy for a few days. Thoughtful fellow that I am, I’m gonna drop a pretty interesting mash-up on y’all to keep you on the groove line through the weekend.

San Francisco’s own DJ Earworm, one of the American masters of mash, wanted to give us all a memento of the past year in popular music – one to inspire us to dance our way into 2008. He actually whipped up a mix that incorporates the top 25 songs of 2007 according to Billboard's Hot 100 Chart.

Hit “play” and plug into Earworm’s “United State of Pop.” I’m not sure that I recognize all of the numbers on parade. How many do you know?

Me2 3D

Mike the Knife — Thu, 24 Jan 2008 00:57:53 GMT

Tears started to well up in my eyes as I gazed upon the big screen. Not a flood of ‘em, mind you. But there was a definite rise in the moisture level. And this was no tragic narrative playing out before me. It was a concert documentary – albeit one of a high order.

Have I succumbed to severe wussification? Has time dulled the Knife? I don’t think so. I think it was a fairly normal reaction, considering that it was an emotional peak in the three-dimensional IMAX film “U2 3D,” which is opening this week in various venues across the U.S. And who has had a more successful, long-lived career by tapping into the power and passion of rock and roll than U2 – the magnificent (and somewhat self-important) Irish band that rose to fame during the new-wave era of the early ‘80s, and never came down?

There I was, sitting in the middle of an IMAX theater in downtown San Francisco at 11:45 AM with a handful of critics and their guests, all wearing oversized 3D glasses, yet bouncing from the crowd to the stage where I was thrust right into the middle of a balls-out live performance by Bono, singing his guts out, while guitarist The Edge, bass-player Adam Clayton and drummer Larry Mullen Jr. brought considerably more than rattle and hum.

After the cameras swerve and pan through a crammed-full Latin American stadium (the main footage appeared to be from concerts in Buenos Aires, Brazil, Mexico and other stops on the 2006 leg of the Vertigo Tour), the band opens with “Vertigo” from the Grammy-winning How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb, their most recent studio album. It rips, and the crowd is immediately driven into a frenzy. A zillion mobile phones and digital cameras are raised to capture the moment – and all the arms and devices sprout like a strange forest of illuminated flowers in 3D.

The U2 guys have been at it for more than 25 years, but they’re still lean and focused, and their composing and performing skills are relatively undimmed. As ever, Bono was earnest and energetic. There’s a certain pretension to a couple of tunes (“Miss Sarajevo” comes to mind), which is either enhanced or hammered to distraction by images that flash across a very impressive, very elaborate, multi-tiered video display. But Bono knows how to work an audience and provide a sense of verity and commitment.

They run through almost an hour and a half of beloved tracks – “With or Without You,” “Beautiful Day,” “Sunday Bloody Sunday,” “New Year’s Day,” and so on - with increasing resonance. A sense of magic happening is inescapable as these grandiose anthems come rolling out.

The song that pushed me over the top? “In the Name of Love,” done before a digital frieze of Martin Luther King. They follow that with a totally thrilling version of “Where the Streets Have No Name” (my all-time of all-time U2 songs), and I’m walloped. Lump in my throat. Dampened corneas. I went all Winston Smith. I loved Big Brothers.

Was it the sense-immersion of IMAX and 3D? (By the way, the women of Buenos Aires – at least those that attended the U2 show - are a wonder to behold, and in 3D, whoa!) The technology, both sound and vision, and the expert direction (by Catherine Owens and Mark Pellington) and cinematography certainly contributed to the impact, leading me to wonder why we can’t have this sort of document of all our favorite bands. All that said, it was with (not without) U2 and their memorable songbook. And that’s the rub.

Guess who was responsible for the single most exciting rock performance that I’ve seen on television in at least 20 years? On the November 20, 2004 episode of NBC ’s “Saturday Night Live” (hosted by Luke Wilson), musical guest U2 - promoting How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb - returned for a rare (for SNL ) third song played into and over the end credits: “I Will Follow,” taken from their 1980 album debut Boy. I have never seen such spontaneous combustion erupt on my TV. And the heat was palpable. Bono and crew shook the Rockefeller Center studio, the cast and the audience to their souls. Even watching a Quicktime file of the number in a tiny window on my desktop, it’s goosebump time.

Joke about Bono the Humanitarian and the band’s wealth and fame, if you like. I think of them as a force for good and a stunningly accomplished ensemble that’s still gettin’ it done. And if you want to see what the fuss is all about, go to “U2 3D.”

In the meantime, here’s “Where the Streets Have No Name,” from the 2002 Super Bowl halftime show - a few short months after the 9/11 attacks. Call me corny. It continues to move me, five years later.

Walking to New Orleans?

Mike the Knife — Sun, 20 Jan 2008 19:55:04 GMT

I expect to be on my feet a lot in New Orleans next weekend during my annual early-Carnival weekend visit. Trekking through the French Quarter and the Marigny; strolling by the mighty Mississippi; scampering alongside parades; dancing in clubs and all-night parties; and doing a joyful second-line strut wherever I happen to be standing at any given moment. But, with all due respect to the immortal Fats Domino and his classic hit “Walking to New Orleans,” I’ll get there by airplane, thank you. Which should in no way undercut how fine I feel whenever I hear Fats - the grand high poobah of NoLa rock and roll.

When the Fat Man’s rolling piano licks and warm, drawling voice tickle my ears, I can’t help smiling and longing for his beleaguered and indefatigable hometown. In fact, I’ve been eager to once more breathe in the dank, humid, intoxicating atmosphere of the City That Care Forgot since the first king cakes were being baked for the kickoff of Carnival season on the 12th day of Christmas, January 6. That evening, which is also called Twelfth Night, marks the Feast of the Epiphany. The first of the season's king-cake parties are thrown - with people scarfing up the sweet, custard-filled treats that often hide a tiny plastic bean or baby, representing the baby Jesus. (By tradition, whoever gets the slice of cake with the baby hidden inside must throw the next king-cake party. Unless they have the great misfortune to choke on the little nipper - and die.)

Fancy balls, masquerades and parades are the rule from Twelfth Night all the way to the biggest of all blow-outs - Fat Tuesday, better known as Mardi Gras. Fat Tuesday, and the relative calm of Ash Wednesday, the subsequent 24 hours, mark the start of Lent and the 40-day run of Christian sacrifice that ends on Easter Sunday. And since the date of Easter is calculated by following the lunar cycle, it never falls on the same Sunday each year, and the date of Mardi Gras fluctuates accordingly.

This year, Mardi Gras is relatively early, falling two days after the Super Bowl. So I’m there even earlier for the first weekend of the official 12-day celebration. Believe me, I don’t mind.

By the way, if any of my Trusted MOGgers or other trustworthy citizens of the MOG -iverse have plans to be in New Orleans between Friday, January 25, and Tuesday, January 29, and want to meet for a drink or some other sort of revelry, MOG -mail me - and we’ll take it from there. In any event, you can hit the button right now and walk with Fats. Trust me. He’ll take you places.

Statue of Fats Domino in the French Quarter.

Let the Chips Fall Where They May

Mike the Knife — Thu, 17 Jan 2008 23:45:08 GMT

Garfield the cat must be choking on his lasagna. “Alvin and the Chipmunks” - a half-assed family film built around the singing teenage rodent characters created in 1958 for a series of singles by recording artist/producer Ross Bagdasarian, Sr. a.k.a. “David Seville” – is pushing towards $200 million dollars in box office receipts after about a month in release. That’s flat-out ridick. But there you have it. The Chipmunks movie, which mixes Jason Lee and other live actors with computer-animated versions of the titular creatures, is out-performing previous feature-film properties featuring various other ostensible kiddie faves such as Garfield and Underdog.

I’ll admit that I’m shocked. The movie, though innocuous, is by-and-large puerile even as it tries to be contemporary and hip. I’ve been covering popular culture – music, film, comedy, TV, and so on – for years, and some successes are inexplicable. That would include the triumphant return of what seemed to be a moribund Chipmunks franchise. Now, to capitalize on this rather stunning commercial coup, a 26-song Chipmunks compilation album - Greatest Hits: Still Squeaky After All These Years - has emerged from the vaults. Whether or not you can tolerate it depends on your threshold for shrill jibber. Mine is apparently low.

In the wake of his 1958 novelty hit “Witch Doctor,” Bagdasarian came up with the squeaky voices of brother chipmunks Alvin, Simon and Theodore by speeding up the playback of his own multi-tracked voice on tape. The furry trio was introduced on the single “The Chipmunk Song (Christmas Don't Be Late),” which featured Bagdasarian’s alter ego David Seville coercing his little animal charges to sing a seasonal song. It became a hit and a holiday perennial, and spawned a cottage industry of follow-up singles, albums and cartoon shows. Bagdasarian died in the early ‘70s. Although it seems like the last time there was anything new from the Chipmunks was “The Alvin Show,” a prime-time cartoon series that ran on American TV from 1961-1962, there have been other recordings and animated properties through the years including a couple of direct-to-video animated Chipmunks movies. Bagdasarian’s son and various associates kept the property alive – and boy, did it pay off.

Maybe this is partly about the nostalgia factor – parents taking their pre-pubescent children to see the movie about those adorable icons of yore. Speaking of nostalgia, Greatest Hits: Still Squeaky After All These Years features nothing recent, in the mode of the Chips’ truncated onscreen rendition of the Pussycat Dolls’ “Don’t Cha.” Of course, the album includes “The Chipmunk Song (Christmas Don't Be Late)” and its follow-up hit “Alvin’s Harmonica,” both of which trade on the formula of troublemaker Alvin screwing up the recording session until Seville threatens him. The same sort of dynamic crops up on other tracks – “Alvin’s Orchestra,” “Japanese Banana,” “Sing a Goofy Song,” etc. – as Alvin deliberately provokes Seville into a screaming fit by the end of the number.

There are more straightforward, supposedly cute Chipmunk interpretations of film and musical chestnuts such as “Talk to the Animals” from “Doctor Dolittle,” “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” from “Mary Poppins,” “Whistle While You Work” from “Snow White,” and “Do Re Mi” from “The Sound of Music”; and ‘60s hits including Herman’s Hermits’ “I’m Henry the VIII , I Am” and the Beatles’ “She Loves You,” “Please Please Me” and “Can’t Buy Me Love.” Yep. More than two dozen cuts - all done with those grating, high-pitched vocals.

Their ear-piercing interpretation of “America the Beautiful,” backed by a full chorus and orchestra, was the end for me. One or two songs? Mildly amusing. After a few more, I truly began to understand the horrors of water-boarding.

When I was a kid, there were few Disney cartoons that made me laugh more than the amped-up conflicts between Donald Duck (in his 1950s middle-class Everyfowl mode) and the mischievous, resourceful chipmunks Chip 'n Dale. These (mostly) tree-dwelling rodents were looked upon by Donald as nuisances of the highest order – and their battles invariably resulted in the chipmunks getting the better of an embarrassed, infuriated duck.

Despite my life-long affection for the blustery Donald (mostly due to the alternately hilarious and exciting comic books written and drawn by the immortal Carl Barks), I actually rooted for Chip 'n Dale in the ‘toons. On the other hand, I have no great affection for the threesome that came in the wake of C. & D. Alas, it looks like Alvin and company are back with a vengeance.

Would someone please call Pest Control?

Somebody Mashed Me

Mike the Knife — Mon, 14 Jan 2008 00:57:09 GMT

Over a year ago, I started posting at MOG about my interest in and affection for mash-ups (http://mog.com/Mike_the_Knife/blog_post/21475) – those strange and sometimes wonderful weddings of often unrelated songs that are tooled together by canny bootleggers and sent out into the ether to entice and incite all who can grab hold of them. I was particularly enthusiastic about the endeavors of Adrian, the Mysterious D, and Party Ben - the trio of San Francisco DJs/remixers that had established Bootie (http://bootiesf.com), the floating mash-up dance party that has spread from San Francisco to venues in Los Angeles, New York City, Paris, and Munich.

Back in October 2006, we didn’t have a way to stream tracks at MOG . Of course, we do now. Thus, I’ve been able to introduce you to some of the better mashes I’ve encountered, and I’ve been doing so on a regular basis for months. No reason to stop!

Last night at a jammy-jammed DNA Lounge, Ben took the Bootie stage with turntables and video projectors for a rare headlining performance. A delirious crowd of gyrating patrons surrounded him on the riser as he presented an hour-long set dominated by his own custom blends, which were perfectly synced to correlating video mash-ups. He ended with his tasteful meld of R & B singer Rihanna’s inescapable, au courant smash “Umbrella” and the Motown-influenced 1985 hit “Tenderness” by post-ska U.K. soul-wavers General Public. As the track played, a parade of dancers spun umbrellas at the lip of the stage. A minor spectacle - and a whole lotta fun. And you can hear “Tender Umbrella” in the comments below, if you like.

One of the other highlights of the night was Ben’s canny, now-classic jam of The Clash’s “Rock the Casbah” and The Killers’ “Somebody Told Me,” which he dubbed “Somebody Rock Me.” No need to wonder what would happen when U.K. dance-punk meets Las Vegas post-modern glam-rock. It awaits you on this very page…

MGMT Avoids Strike; Prophet Profits

Mike the Knife — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 07:39:56 GMT

Thanks, Dave. Over the past couple of nights, I’ve been jazzed to see some top-notch music on fresh installments of “The Late Show with David Letterman” - despite the ongoing Writers’ Guild strike that has been crippling the TV and film industries for weeks.

On Tuesday, I caught the Brooklyn-based, tongue-in-cheek, quasi-psychedelic prog-pop-rock ensemble MGMT who remind me of the most baroque British bands of the late ‘60s and early ‘70s, and who were first brought to my attention by Trusted MOGger and noted gap-filler Neill; and the mighty Bill Medley, one half of the classic soul duo the Righteous Brothers (“You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin',” “Unchained Melody,” etc.), who sat in with Paul Shaffer and the CBS Orchestra for the length of the episode. Clad in capes that made them look like a suburban Dungeons & Dragons club, MGMT nonetheless slayed their baroque, ridiculously catchy mix of synth-rock and sarcasm “Time to Pretend,” which opens their full-length debut Oracular Spectacular.

Then, Wednesday’s show featured Bay Area luminary Chuck Prophet and his doughty band - aided and abetted by Shaffer’s ensemble - doing a potent run-through of “Doubter of Jesus” from his current album Soap and Water.

As usual, Letterman’s bookers came up with a couple of winners.

While supporting the strike, I’m a little torn. I’d like to see the business ramp up again with new movies and episodes of favorite shows going back into production. I have a personal stake in a couple of projects, too, and I want them to get some traction. But there are issues that must be addressed, especially as regards procuring a fair writers’ royalty for streaming video and digital downloads as the entertainment business becomes more reliant on the Internet for distribution of product.

So I wait. Meanwhile, a few production companies with foresight and a sense of decency have made or are making side deals with the Guild. First among them was Letterman’s Worldwide Pants, which independently produces CBS -TV’s late-night talk-show block comprised of Dave’s program and “The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson.” They went back into production with waivers, unlike the competing (and supposedly writer-less) programs on NBC (“The Tonight Show with Jay Leno,” “Late Night with Conan O’Brien”) and ABC (“Jimmy Kimmel Live”) which are being picketed by the Guild.

Loyal to the Guild and a Letterman fan, it was no big leap to tune into “The Late Show.” I was rewarded with MGMT and Prophet. And not a scab in sight.