Tampa Calling

WMNF (88.5) has always been good about playing local artists but rarely does one top the radio station’s playlists. So it warrants mention to note that Will Quinlan, who I interviewed last month, topped the tally with his excellent Navasota album on Mon., July 21. Here’s the chart:

 WMNF 88.5 Tampa playlist, July 21, 2008

eclectic, independent and 70,000 watts

Randy Wynne PD, Flee MD, Mike B altMD  813-238-8001

ADDS IN BOLD

1)      Will Quinlan and the Diviners  - Navasota  - Self-Release (12)

2)      Hayes Carll  -Trouble In Mind – Lost Highway  (9)

3)      Alejandro Escovedo  - Real Animal  - Back Porch  (7)

4)      Old 97s -  Blame It On Gravity  -  New West  (7)

5)      Austrian Death Machine -  Total Brutal  -  Metal Blade  (7)

6)      Willie Nelson & Wynton Marsalis – Two men With the Blues – Blue Note  (6)

7)      Emmylou Harris – All I Intended To Be – Nonesuch  (6)

8)      My Morning Jacket  -  Evil Urges -  ATO  (6)

9)      Various Artists  -  Cheatin’ Heart: Tales of Lies & Love – BAAMO (6)

10)     Quiet Village  -  Silent Movie  -  IK7  (6)

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–NYC’s most badass avant rock outfit, TV on the Radio, just announced the release date of their follow-up to 2006’s fantastic Return to Cookie Mountain. The new album, Dear Science, (comma included), comes out on Interscope Sept. 22.

–On that same note, Of Montreal has also announced a fall release, Oct. 7’s Skeleton Lamping on Polyvinyl (cover art pictured vibrantly at right). The tour brings them no closer than Atlanta on Nov. 8, but it’s on a Saturday night, so …

–Two overseas bands that don’t do alot of U.S. touring bring their sounds to Atlanta on back-to-back nights — the UK’s alt-pop sextet Stereolab (Sept. 26, Variety Playhouse) and Australia’s electro-pop purveyors Cut Copy (Sept. 27, The Masquerade).

–Amy Winehouse hubbie/enabler Blake Fielder-Civil was finally sentenced yesterday to 27 months in jail for attempting to bribe witnesses in an assault trial. Winehouse was a sentencing no-show.

–Tomorrow at 2 p.m., ColorOfChange.org and MoveOn.org will be joined by hip hop star Nas at FOX Headquarters in Manhattan to deliver 620,127 petition signatures demanding that FOX “end its pattern of racist attacks against Black Americans, including presidential candidate Barack Obama and his wife Michelle.”

–The case of Janet Jackson’s “wardrobe malfunction” has been thrown out by the 3rd U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals, which said that the FCC “acted arbitrarily and capriciously” when it issued the $500,000 fine on CBS for what was an inadvertant, split-second flash of boobie.

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Who: Benji Hughes

Seven-word description: Detailed, witty narratives delivered over psychedelic electropop.

Should appeal to fans of: Beck, Flaming Lips, people with beer guts.

Isn’t he on the same label as alt-country acts like Dwight Yoakam and Steve Earle? Yes, but there’s nothing twangy about Hughes. What he does share with his labelmates, though, is a gift for lyric writing.

Breakout CD: A Love Extreme

Release date/label: July 22/New West

Listen to the track “You Stood Me Up.”

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Former Sex Pistol Johnny “Rotten” Lydon has been accused of “an unprovoked racist attack” by Bloc Party frontman Kele Okereke. The backstage brawl took place at the Summercase Festival in Barcelona. Lydon has responded by saying, “our audience… are multi-varied, all ages, all races, creeds and colours,” reports MTV UK. When you are at a festival with bands who are jealous fools, lies and confusion usually follow.”

Which, to my ears, at least, sounds a lot like “some of my best friends are black.”

Here’s the interview I did with Okereke last year. Check out the second to last paragraph where he discusses the “burly white male who does this job he hates, and his only bit of fun is starting fights with people.”

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I just stumbled across some stats that really show how CD sales have tapered off in the last decade or so:

1994: Tom Petty’s Wildflowers album went triple platinum (in excess of 3-million in sales). It reached No. 8 on the Billboard 200.

2006: Petty’s Highway Companion fell short of gold (500,000 in sales) while reaching No. 4 on the Billboard 200.

Both CDs came out when Soundscan technology — which records sales via bar codes — was available. So for the mathematically impaired, this means that Petty’s most recent disc charted four positions higher than his release a dozen years ago, but sold less than one-sixth the units.

Next time you hear about an act entering the Top 5 on the Billboard album sales chart, don’t assume that its moving a lot of copies.

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OK, I am a little confused on this one. I just received an email from a legit PR firm that reads:

Two weeks before the release of Conor Oberst’s highly anticipated solo album Conor Oberst, the album will be available for streaming in its entirety on www.conoroberst.com and www.mergerecords.com. These streams will be active from Monday July 21st.

Well, today is Mon., July 21 but neither of the websites listed above are streaming the album. ConorOberst.com, though, is streaming the songs “Danny Callahan” and “Souled Out!!” And I dig ‘em, both. They’re very roots rock while at the same time Oberst smart. More important, to me, at least, Oberst sounds like he’s getting off in that old rock ‘n’ roll kinda way. Especially on “Souled Out!!!,” where I detect a sexy swagger in the singer’s voice — and the brawny guitar riff is pure classic rock.

But what about the album streaming in its entirety? Stay tuned. I just emailed Oberst’s PR people.

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Does this mean I’m getting old? Lately, as I’ve been flipping through stations on the radio, I’ve heard a lot of songs by bands that I enjoyed as a teenager playing on classic rock station 102.5 The Bone.

“Come on, I’m only 31! This can’t be considered classic rock,” I plead to the stifling air in the car’s cabin the first time I heard The Bone play a Metallica tune.

That’s only how it started. Metallica? OK, I guess. I mean, they’ve been together since the early ’80s and burst onto the scene in ‘83 with Kill Em’ All. I guess a band that’s been around that long could be considered a “classic.” After all, it was 25 years ago. (Hard to believe, right?)

But then I was even more alarmed when I started hearing bands from the ’90s being passed off as classic rock: Stone Temple Pilots, Nirvana, and Pearl Jam, among others. I was so freaked out I almost stopped listening to the radio. But then I realized I would be listening to those same bands on CD (in my car) or on tape (at home; yes, I still have a tape collection for some reason), and it was too late to stop the “am-I-really-getting- old-enough- for-this-to-happen-to-me?” question from entering my head.

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Tampa Bay singer/songwriter Rebekah Pulley has completed a fresh full-length and it’s a beauty. Titled Back To Boogaloo, the album is a brilliant folk-rock affair marked by smart storytelling, expressive vocals, pop hooks and spot-on instrumentation. Pulley, who self-penned each number, has delivered her strongest album to date.

Co-producer/guitar virtuoso/keyboardist Steve Connelly is all over the disc, which was expertly recorded at his Zen Recording Studio in Pinellas Park. Another prominent component is the gorgeous piano and Hammond B3 contributions by Ryan Arsenault (Vodkanauts). In fact Pulley’s entire Reluctant Prophets band, including members “past, present and future” offer excellent accompaniment throughout. In addition to Connelly and Arsenault, the players are Robert Pastore (bass), Sandi Grecco (drums), Ted Lukas (guitar) and Jasmine Conrad (backing vocals).

The full-length also features a touching, twangy duet with Ronny Elliott titled “Tumbleweed.” Back to Boogaloo will be released Sept. 5; the same day WMNF 88.5 will host a CD release party for Pulley at Skipper’s Smokehouse.

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Here’s a few shots from the Mile High Music Festival in Denver, including a wind-exposed Colbie Caillat and Michael Franti of Spearhead:

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— Nicole McKeen

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Libation report: Lots of water, one beer. I’m proud of my self-control.

Today is our seventh anniversary and we are spending it at a rock festival. A fine meal and trinkets – we can do that shit anytime. But how often does something like this happen? And so for our anniversary meal, I bought my bride a Philly cheesesteak — a cheesesteak, I might add, prepared by a University of Florida graduate and served by a Florida State alum (the cook’s wife).

Today, the professor has gone to school. I teach rock’n’roll history at the University of Florida and often the students burn CD’s for me of their favorite bands. I listen and often like what I hear, but with that magnificent medium of radio in decline, I get easily depressed about ways to find new music.

Yesterday was dominated by Tom Petty and Steve Winwood. Today’s sets are by a number of younger artists, some of whom have already been around a fairly long time (Dave Matthews, near geriatric status), but a lot of these people are new, even to the college crowd that dominates this festival.

Let me tell you – some of these artists make this geezer very happy:

• Ingrid Michaelson: A wonderful, engaging young singer with a great sense of melody. Nicole turned me on to her song, “The Way I Am,” a sublime piece of music. Wonderful stage presence.
• Martin Sexton: Somewhat traditional blues, but with a softer edge. Great performance.
• Rose Hill Drive: Great hard rock. For the first time in my five decades on earth, I’m thinking about becoming a headbanger.
• Flogging Molly: Any rock act that uses Celtic themes gets to the Irish in me. Hairs on the back of my neck would have stood up but for a recent prison-camp cut.
• Rodrigo Y Gabriela: All the Latin rhythms of Santana, but none of the mysticism. Listen and decide if that’s a good or a bad thing. I say good, though I still love Carlos.
• Colbie Caillat: I’ve lived with her music for a year, thanks to Nicole. Is it so wrong to produce pleasant, melodic music? The wind has been blowing over potted plants and trash cans, so Colbie’s short-dress choice was somewhat controversial. But her song choices — including a an effervescent cover of the Jackson Five’s “I Want You Back” — were on point.

What I’ve heard today is melody. So much of the recent music I’ve heard is ponderous and dull. Today I heard a lot of joy again, and it reminds me why I like this stuff in the first place.

— William McKeen

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Libation report: I stopped hours ago, like a good citizen. However, the couple next to me produced an astonishing and pungent aroma and perhaps I am feeling its effects.

Young Wilson is a local rock journalist who appears to be 14 but has been out of college for two years already. Kid, I got socks older than you.

We ran into him in the parking lot and he has been our entertaining, helpful (two words: beer runs) and energetic Sancho Panza for the day. At the end of the evening, he and I end up side-by-side on a hillside as Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers take the stage.

No doubt Wilson — connected young music junkie that he is — can quote chapter and verse on so many of the bands here that I can even pretend to have heard of. But now, he’s ready for what he readily admits is the highlight of his day: a rock star even older than this dude standing next to him — me, of course.

The band opens with “You Wreck Me.” Wilson responds with whoops and claps, then turns to me and says, “Is this a new song? I don’t know it.”

You have much to learn, Grasshopper.

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My father used to have office stationery that struck his colleagues and patients as kind of odd. But, speaking as one of his kids, we dug it.

It had a picture of a little man, sitting in a box, looking out at the world, saying, “People are no damn good.” Say what you will about the sentiment. What I remember is that little man looking out at the world. “Who is that?” I asked my dad once. “He’s the Peoplewatcher,” he said. “And he’s watching you.”

Watching people has always been one of my favorite pastimes. What greater place to watch people than a rock festival?

Events like this make me want to sink to my knees and thank God that I am not 20 years old. I embrace my 53-ness.

There are two wonderful things about aging.:

No. 1: You know when to say when. Getting drunk and throwing up loses its appeal some time in your thirties. Trust me on this.

The No. 2:  You reach that certain age when you just don’t give a fuck. You don’t wear trendy clothes, listen to the band du jour or follow the lemming-like political path that leads, ultimately, to intercourse. (And isn’t that why we do so much of what we do?)

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I’ve attended some lame shit over the years. Poorly planned house parties, disastrous dates, a live sex show in the French Quarter that didn’t feature any actual fucking. But few events have struck me as silly as the Red Bull Flugtag spectacle that took place Saturday at the Tampa Convention Center.

By this point, I’m sure you heard about it. Thirty-six teams built would-be flying machines and ran them off a 30-foot high pier into the notoriously dirty ass Hillsborough River. One or more person piloted the aircraft  and took the plunge. Teammates typically jumped in the brown water after their apparatus for shits and giggles. I stood in the sun, cooking, cringing and losing faith in humanity, myself included.

I kept thinking of that old parental saying about if everyone else jumped off a cliff, would you? In Tampa, apparently that’s the case. Organizers expected a crowd of 50,000 to witness people place themselves in a flimsy contraption and then be willingly hurled into a body of water deemed not fit for swimming. More than 100,000 suckers, myself included, attended.

One of those participants was my coworker, London, the woman pictured working on building an aircraft out of newspaper. Good gawd. Creative Loafing entered the competition as the Bread Winners. Countless hours went into building what they billed as the Flying Cuban Sandwich. “We are closing in on the big day,” reads a message from “The Captain” posted on the Bread Winners’ website July 14. “We still have some work to do in order to make everything originally envisioned a reality, but in another evening we should be all but done.

“The pilot [London] and I spent another night getting some finishing details knocked out after work with a couple of cold beers. We had a mock assembly of our flying Cuban and it was quite a site to behold.”

The damn thing didn’t even have wings. Well, kinda, but they were about as wide as oars. From where I was perched Saturday afternoon it looked like a giant coffin and had me seriously worried that London would not emerge from it, or if she did it would be with some kinda severe spinal or brain injury. Or with a limb missing.

“You know it’s not too late to back out,” I told her about 20 minutes before she took the fall.

“I can’t,” she said, more than a hint of fear in her voice.

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