Tampa Calling

John Wesley darts into his rehearsal room at a warehouse in an industrial section of Ybor City hunting for one of his $3,000 Paul Reed Smith guitars. “Ugh,” he groans. “I thought it was in here. I guess it must be at home.”

Most guitarists fortunate enough to own a PRS might be panicked if it wasn’t within arm’s length, but not Wesley — he has eight of them, courtesy of an endorsement deal with the manufacturer.

Nice perk if you can get it.

John Wesley on stage with Porcupine Tree

John Wesley is not a rock star, but he’s one of the more successful musicians that Tampa Bay has produced. The 46-year-old guitarist/singer/songwriter flies under the local radar for the most part. That’s because his main gig — the one that affords him those gaudy axes and a salary that provides a comfortable living — is as a hired-gun guitarist for the British art-rock band Porcupine Tree.

In seven years with the group, Wesley has toured all over the U.S., Europe, Mexico, Australia and Japan. Porcupine Tree routinely plays shows to crowds in excess of 2,000 — more overseas. Wesley performs out front, stage right, covering intricate guitar parts, background vocals and a handful of solos during the band’s two-hour sets. With a split signal and special pickup, he uses his Paul Reed Smiths to play both acoustic and electric parts.

But Wesley also has other musical outlets beyond his role as sideman. “I remember we closed a tour at the Millennium Dome in London in front of several thousand people and three days later I was playing solo in a [local] restaurant in front of three people who weren’t sure they wanted me there,” he says with a chuckle. “So, it can be humbling.”

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Is Russian Prime Minister Vladimir Putin the complete hard-ass prick he seems to be? Does he occasionally like to tap his inner dancing queen? This just came over the wires:

MOSCOW – An ABBA tribute band says the Kremlin whisked it away to perform a private concert for Russian Prime Minister Vladimir Putin.

Rod Stephen, the founder of British-based group Bjorn Again, says the four-member band traveled 200 miles (320 kilometers) north of Moscow for the Jan. 22 gig on the shores of Lake Valdai.

Putin’s spokesman Dmitry Peskov denies Putin attended any such concert.

Stephen says Putin danced to ABBA hits such as “Dancing Queen” and “Waterloo,” accompanied by an unidentified woman and six men in tuxedos.

Stephen told The Associated Press Friday that Putin was heard yelling out “bravo, bravo,” and particularly enjoyed renditions of “Mamma Mia” and “Super Trouper.”

Here at CL, we’ve done our share of ragging on Ticketmaster. Over the years a few major stars have had the balls to step up and rise against the agency’s monopoly (Pearl Jam comes to mind). The latest naysayer is Bruce Springsteen, who caught wind that Ticketmaster was redirecting customers to its secondary site, TicketsNow, where “speculation” occurs, even when face-value Springsteen tickets were still available via Ticketmaster.

Check out more on Springsteen’s allegations.

Since I posted this item earlier today, Ticketmaster has responded with an “open letter of apology to Bruce Springsteen, [his manager] Jon Landau and the entire Springsteen Tour Team.”

Buddy Holly perished in a plane crash 50 years ago today. Whether that was “the day the music died” depends on point of view, but it was clearly a watershed event in rock ‘n’ roll history.

Holly’s short career was beset by bad business dealings. On Feb. 28, 1957, Holly hooked up his reel-to-reel tape recorder to the phone and made a call to Decca Records, his label at the time, inquiring about a release from his contract. He then tried to persuade an executive, unsuccessfully, to let him re-record songs that had been cut in a disastrous Nashville session and tossed in the label vaults. One of those songs was “That’ll Be the Day,” which reached No. 1 late that year.

To listen to an mp3 of the conversation, click here. To read more on the situation surrounding the call, go here.

If you want to hear three of Holly’s hits, including “That’ll Be the Day,” try here.

Brit pop chanteuse Lily Allen has a new album, It’s Not Me, It’s You, coming out Feb. 10. You can stream all 14 tracks here as of today. This pic should get you in the mood. The album has a number of songs that are sexually frank.

This just showed up in my e-mail inbox:

PickTheBand.com, the world’s first online record label where the fans run the label has partnered with ASCAP, the American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers, to present the first Pick The Band national competition to pick the best unsigned rock band in America. Registration has already begun on the PickTheBand.com website and will continue through Feb. 22. The contest itself will begin on March 2 and voting will run through March 31, with a featured performance at the ASCAP “I Create Music” Expo in April in Los Angeles as the top prize.

“Of the new models for finding talent we believe Pick The Band has a great formula and we are excited to have them involved with the ASCAP Expo,” said Randy Grimmett, ASCAP Sr. VP, Domestic Membership. “”The EXPO is the first and only national conference 100 percent dedicated to songwriting and composing. With a focus on connecting aspiring music creators, it’s the perfect opportunity to showcase Pick The Band’s winner.”

The contest has been designed to showcase bands in a variety of ways, not just through their music, to get the fans to know as much as possible about them. Registration is easy. Go to PickTheBand.com for info. You must submit the following:
•    An original music video (set to a good quality original song)
•    2 original songs in MP3 format
•    A video of a live performance (with good audio quality)
•    10-15 band photos

I’d rather step on a hundred pop tops than endure a  Jimmy Buffett show, but I hear that some people like him, so I dutifully pass this info along from LiveNation:

Jimmy Buffett and the Coral Reefer Band are back in town for one remarkable performance at Ford Amphitheatre on Saturday, April 25 as part of Jimmy Buffett’s “Summerzcool” Tour 2009.

Tickets go on-sale Saturday, February 7th at 10 a.m. There is a six ticket limit per customer.
Tickets available exclusively at www.livenation.com, (877) 598-8698 (the toll free Live Nation ticketing phone number), Ford Amphitheatre Box Office and participating Blockbuster stores Ticket prices subject to applicable fees.

I was a bit less enamored with Bruce Springsteen’s Super Bowl halftime performance than the rest of the world, but I’ll give the man his props: He understood the situation and delivered a rousing, crowd-pleasing 12-minute set. No time to ease into the show, no room for subtlety — this had to be bang-bang, here we go!.

I would never have guessed that Springsteen and his DeMille-ian cast of musicians known as the E-Street Band would start with “Tenth Avenue Freeze-out,” but I was glad they did. The R&B stomper is one of those simple tunes that gets the adrenaline pumping. The house party I attended — baby boomers all, except for their kids — was up, happy and moving.

Holding the mic sans guitar, Springsteen, pushing 60, dusted off one of his stage moves of old when he ran and slid on his knees into the camera. Ultimately, it was a crotch shot, however brief, and when Springsteen then stood and grinned into the camera, he seemed to understand how silly it was. (I’m wondering if there were parents in the Bible Belt who tsk-tsk’ed at the inappropriateness of such a spectacle.)

After the Boss’ trademark count-off, the band moved into “Born to Run,” another song that always gets the juices flowing. The tune’s theme of post-adolescent alienation mattered not. Several times Springsteen’s vocals darted patently out of tune, but that’s OK, it was pandemonium up there.

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A few days before Damon Fowler’s new, nationally released CD, Sugar Shack, came out on Jan. 27, I sat with him in the CL studio for a lengthy conversation. The 29-year-old Tampa native was enthusiastic, but realistic, about the CD, released on the San Francisco blues label Blind Pig. He also knows he has some stereotypes to overcome. Here’s a portion of the feature story that will run in next week’s issue and be up online soon:

Damon Fowler knows what you’re thinking, some of you at least:

Here comes another fresh-faced, guitar-slingin’ white boy with a new album out on a national blues label, further populating the already crowded ranks of guitar-slingin’ white boys who play real fast and real long and can’t sing worth a damn but think of themselves as real bluesmen.

Damon Fowler doesn’t blame you for thinking this, but he wants you to know: It’s not true.

“It is a trap — a white boy with a guitar,” Fowler says. “It’s terrible for me. I mean, I like some of those blues hotshot guys like Stevie Ray Vaughan, but there was only one Stevie Ray Vaughan, and now you got all these guys in ponchos boot-scootin’ and playing [Stratoscasters] and it’s all so contrived. It’s what’s wrong with the blues — that and harmonica players in purple suits who try to sing like something they’re not.”

No, really, Damon, don’t hold back.

“A lot of times that shit’s just an excuse for playing guitar. Put together a little song like “I’m lonely for my baby, I’m lonely for my baby, oh yeah. She don’t come to see me” — and then you wail [on guitar] for 10 minutes.”

“It’s not a blues record.”
That’s how Fowler, 29, succinctly describes Sugar Shack.

Click here for the full story, along with video and audio.

Damon Fowler’s CD Release show is tonight at Skipper’s Smokehouse, 8 p.m., presented by WMNF. $10 advance, $15 at the door.

Check out audio and video of Damon talking and performing on CL Sessions.

As if I needed another reminder of the rapid graying of baby boomers … Rolling Stone polled its readers, asking them to name their favorite “dance” songs (on the occasion of Lady Gaga’s “Just Dance” continuing run at the top of the singles chart).

The results were rather grim, another reminder of the growing creakiness of the mag’s readership. No knock on RS; it at least tries to be hip and contemporary. But by the looks of this list, they’re not accumulating much of a youth readership.

Not until No. 8 — Justice’s “D.A.N.C.E.” — do we get to an actual dance song. Without doing the math, all but a handful of the 15 reader selections were more than 20, 30, even 40 years old.

Most readers went with a song that had “dance” in the title —numbers by Abba, Bruce Springsteen, Van Morrison, The Beatles and Tom Petty made the survey.

The winner: Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer.”

Y’see gang, back in the olden days we had his thing called a “slow dance.”

Here’s the complete list.

It looked like a real rock concert.

Geri X held a CD release party for her new Anthems of a Mended Heart (24 Hour Service Station) last night at the State Theatre and people showed up. A decent amount of them (depending on your point of view). She and three other acts — Will Quinlan and the Diviners, The Beauvilles and Have Gun, Will Travel — put on tight, committed sets that provided an evening of strong entertainment. But the night’s real issue was not how the bands would perform, but how well the show would draw with a major local media blitz supporting it.

Two hundred and twenty-five paid ($8). Another 50-75 in comps. Total: An attendance hovering close to 300. That’s according to CL marketing director Joran Oppelt, a tireless booster of the local scene. He wasn’t devastated, but he wasn’t thrilled either. “It just seems impossible to get into the 300s and above,” he said this morning. “With all the media, I had expected more of a turnout.”

Still, he conceded, it “felt like a rock show.”

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This just in from Woody, our PR pal at LiveNation concerts:

AN EVENING WITH FLEETWOOD MAC
COMES TO ST. PETE TIMES FORUM
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 22ND
ON SALE MONDAY, JANUARY 26TH

The “Unleashed” Tour, beginning on March 1 in Pittsburgh, is an epic cross-country trek featuring 44 shows in major markets. The tour will include all of the Mac’s many greatest hits from over the course of the band’s extraordinary career. Fleetwood Mac, the multi-Grammy winning, multi-platinum Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductees are back on the road for the first time in five years following several successful solo projects.

Tickets for the Live Nation produced tour are $149.50, $79.50 and $49.50, and go on sale to the public on January 26th at LiveNation.com and Ticketmaster outlets.

This just in from Oasis’ publicists:

MySpace Music, the world’s most popular music community, is proud to announce the premiere of the new documentary from Oasis titled Dig Out Your Soul in the Streets. This insightful short film marks the first HD debut in the history of MySpace Music. The documentary was shot by The Malloys, who have directed numerous music videos for The White Stripes and are currently filming the new Zach Braff feature film 8 Track.

In the weeks leading up to the release of Dig Out Your Soul, the latest album from Oasis, the band traveled to New York City where they taught street musicians to play a number of their new songs, thus subtly leaking the album before its release. The Malloys followed Oasis and the street musicians throughout the process and created the 18-minute black-and-white documentary that is playing exclusively on MySpace Music.

The selected street musicians, came from all parts of New York City, and have a variety of different ethnic, musical and creative backgrounds. They performed Oasis’s new songs at locations throughout the city, including MTA approved subway station platforms in Grand Central, Times Square, Penn Station and Astor Place.
To view the video, click here.

I did not watch the American Idol season eight premiere. Just like I didn’t watch any of the previous premieres. When it comes to that wretched spectacle, I’m a conscientious objector. I find the show, the very idea of the show, abhorrent.

I’ve watched it, or portions of it, a handful of times over the years — and can’t escape the ubiquitous news updates that treat the program’s progress as a matter of important international concern.

My beef with Idol is not the circus atmosphere, the wacky (Abdul) or cruel (Cowell) judges, or the gimmicky device early in the season of showing the tone-deaf hacks, which I’ve always suspected are plants (I understand Idol has backed off showing those clowns some).

It’s not so much that even the good singers come from a cookie-cutter mold of safe, vaguely soul-oriented music (I read that one girl performed “Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay” during the first show).

It’s that American Idol is a creativity killer. The program has become the quickest avenue to pop stardom, and as such it has a disproportionate influence in defining American mainstream music. As they say, we reap what we sow. In this case, bland, bland, bland, same, same, same. If there were a program where singer/songwriters performed their own music in a contest format, and the judges used creativity as a criterion, I’d give it a look-see. (Who knows; there may have already been one that failed.)

Certainly some of Idol’s late-round contestants have singing chops, but I’ve never seen an ounce of originality from them. They know the drill; they follow the blueprint.

I can’t really blame Cowell and the rest for cashing in on such a lasting phenomenon. It’s really the public’s fault. The masses are allowing themselves to be manipulated and dumbed down. The rest of us, those of us with some taste, reject the show as glitzy karaoke (or watch it as camp).

Some of you may now be thinking: Oh jeez, the rantings of an elitist music critic — lighten up, dude. Fair enough, but let me add that I’ve always liked a lot of mainstream stuff, and it pains me that a big, bloated karaoke show has become the prime mover in shaping it. In the end, I firmly maintain that American Idol is a destructive, or at the very least stagnating, force in American (make that global) pop music.

Those of us with a conscience should refuse to watch. It just may help the show go away quicker.

She appeared on the Bay area scene about four years ago, an exotically pretty, shy girl with an acoustic guitar and a mysterious name:

Geri X.

She had a nebulous backstory: A Bulgarian immigrant, it was said, with some kind of trauma in her childhood. Even her age was up for debate; rumors spread that she could be as young as 15 or as old as 30 (a very young-looking 30). She wouldn’t tell. Nor would she reveal much about her past. It was as if a talented kid had been dropped into the scene by a spaceship. She played countless local gigs and was amiable enough, but remained somehow remote.

And then she was gone, or mostly gone — relocated to Wisconsin with her new boyfriend and bassist/guitarist, Greg Roteik. She returned sporadically for gigs.

Now she’s back.

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St. Pete-based singer/songwriter Geri X will release her first album on a label next week. It’s called Anthems of a Mended Heart (24 Hour Service Station), and it’s definitely worth your while. She’ll be on the cover of next week’s CL. She really opened up about her life and her past, which has long been open to speculation and rumor.

I sat with Geri X and her bassist/boyfriend Greg Roteik in the small courtyard of their home. Our interview ranged over a wide array of topics. I got on my usual rant about how the Tampa Bay music scene, while it has a lot of terrific acts, can never seem to reach out past the people who are already connected to the scene.

It’s not the musicians’ fault, in my opinion. The rank-and-file folk who live around here just aren’t dialed in to going out and seeing live music by locally based acts. The people who live three doors down from me, for instance, (whom I barely know) — I’m all but certain they’re not planning to see what’s shaking at New World this weekend.

This is a dinner-and-a-movie town, or a drop-a-hundred-on-The-Eagles town.

Geri X largely agreed with me in this matter, but she has her own way of reaching out beyond the scene. You might even say it’s novel:

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A couple of weeks ago, my brother in Seattle called and asked if I could recommend a few jazz CDs for his 20-year-old son who had expressed an interest. A starter kit, if you will.

I’ve had like requests many, many times over the years, and so it dawned on me: Why not publish one?
Here’s a 10-CD jazz primer designed to lure those curious about the genre into being, if not hooked, at least satisfied enough to continue a jazz quest. Being a jazzbo like me can be lonely these days, so the more folks I can recruit the better.

Before we get started, a few words about criteria. I didn’t attempt to cover all the bases in jazz history. The idea here is seduction through listenability, while offering a solid overview. I may love 1930s Duke Ellington, but to the uninitiated it tends to sound like music from old cartoons. Likewise, I dig Albert Ayler, but most people would hear it as squawky noise and want to plug their ears.

That said, this is no dumbed-down list. Most of the titles are recognized classics, and a few will pose a challenge, especially for those who like their music sensible and orderly.

There are many overlapping players on these discs, but I purposely limited artists to one title.

Miles Davis: Kind of Blue (Columbia/Sony, 1959)
This is always the first album I recommend to the jazz curious. The ultimate gateway drug — gorgeous, intimate and expansive at the same time. Kind of Blue is probably the most widely revered jazz record of all time, and for good reason. Simple, grabby melodic sketches give way to extended solos by one of the greatest lineups ever assembled, including Miles on trumpet, John Coltrane on tenor sax, Cannonball Adderley on alto sax and Bill Evans on piano. The music is dark and moody yet somehow comforting.

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I met Freddie Hubbard many years ago backstage at the Clearwater Jazz Holiday. A few people warned me that he could be an asshole. He was a sweetheart. Hubbard was a brassy, fiery player who performed on seminal avant-garde recordings by Ornette Coleman and John Coltrane, as well as his own, commercially-oriented albums for CTI (Red Clay). His best work was probably in the straight post-bop realm. Here’s more on the passing of a jazz titan.

The idea for WMNF’s next tribute show started with a friendly argument. “Last year, [station program director] Randy Wynne did a special on the Sixties Show making the case that 1967 was the greatest year ever in rock ’n’ roll,” says WMNF music director Lee “Flee” Courtney. “Then a week later the folks from the Sixties Show made the case that 1968 was the best year.”

The disagreement gave rise to the next installment in WMNF’s storied continuum of tribute shows – this one not honoring an artist as is most often the case, but a year.

Ten Bay area acts will perform 20-minute sets on New Year’s Eve at Skipper’s Smokehouse in a concert dubbed Rewind: The WMNF Tribute to the Music and Songs of 1968. The music ranges from the power-pop-meets-Americana of Ted Lukas and the Misled (see below) to the hard-charging rockabilly of Midnight Bowler’s League, from the trash-rock of Rancid Polecats (who will play a bubblegum show, including “Yummy, Yummy, Yummy”) to the jam-funk of Christie Lenee.

The combined set list cuts a broad swath, hitting most of the touchstone acts: The Beatles (“Revolution,” “Yer Blues”), the Rolling Stones (“Jumpin’ Jack Flash,” “Sympathy for the Devil”), Sly & the Family Stone (“Dance to the Music, “I Want to Take You Higher”), The Band (“Chest Fever,” “The Weight”), Jimi Hendrix (Crosstown Traffic,” “Voodoo Child”) and others, as well as one-offs and surprises like Tom Jones’ “Delilah,” Desmond Dekker’s “The Israelites,” The American Breed’s “Bend Me, Shape Me” and Small Faces’ “Song of a Baker.”

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Does the idea of teaching yourself Pro Tools scare the bejeezus out of you? Take a deep breath. St. Petersburg college will get you through it in a classroom setting, taught by experts. And Pro Tools is just a small part of the college’s new four-semester Music Industry/Recording Arts (MIRA) program that will be taught at the 66th Street campus in the ‘burg.

Check out the impressive program here.

MIRA is up and running for this coming semester, which begins Jan. 12, 2009. To enroll, students should contact Mark Matthews at matthews.mark@spcollege.edu or (727) 341-4364.

It probably wasn’t intentional, but Phoebe Snow’s opening song at Tampa Theatre on Wednesday night, “Standing On Shaky Ground,” was acutely autobiographical. She turned in a spirited, funky rendition of the tune, but the subtext was that Snow, in fact, is standing on shaky ground, and she’s not doing anything to conceal it.

photo: Jayson Matteucci

This coming Saturday, her daughter Valerie would’ve turned 33. But Valerie died of a sudden brain hemorrhage last March. This was Snow’s only child, who was born severely brain-injured and never was able to speak. Two people were never more in love, and Snow has not hidden her pain and desperation.

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I’m always fascinated by music copyright infringement claims. One the one hand, there are only a finite number of musical notes that can be fit together in so many ways. On the other hand, it seems odd to me that two acts could write virtually the same melody independently of each other.

The latest flap involves guitarist Joe Satriani and Coldplay. Last week, Satriani sued the British band, claiming that “substantial original portions” of his 2004 song “If I Could Fly” were used in the song “Viva La Vida.”

Coldplay has answered by saying that Satriani’s allegations are baseless. “If there are any similarities between our two pieces of music, they are entirely coincidental, and just as surprising to us as to him,” the band said in a statement.

Spin magazine has done copyright infringement aficionados a solid by putting the songs back to back on its website. I hear a very distinct similarity between the melodies, so much so that the uninitiated might think that Satriani’s “If I Could Fly” is an instrumental version of “Viva La Vida.”

You decide. Click here. and scroll to the bottom of the page to compare the songs. I’d love to hear other opinions.

The Loaf music staff, Snider and Tatangelo, will be issuing our Top 10 albums of the year later this month, but the ball is already rolling. Here are the year-end best-of lists from Time, New York and England’s The Guardian. Click on the name of each mag and it’ll take you directly to their survey.

Time
1. Lil Wayne, Tha Carter III
2. TV On The Radio, Dear Science
3. Metallica, Death Magnetic
4. Girl Talk, Feed The Animals
5. Vampire Weekend
6. Kanye West, 808s And Heartbreak
7. Santogold
8. Portishead, Third
9. Lucinda Williams, Little Honey
10. Duffy, Rockferry

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I’ve done hundreds and hundreds of interviews during my career in music journalism, and I can say without equivocation that my recent conversation with Phoebe Snow was about as intimate and confessional as I’ve ever experienced.

Snow, a singer/songwriter whose first single, the transcendent ballad “Poetry Man” peaked at No. 5 in 1975, had a shot at major stardom. But in December of that year, she gave birth to a daughter, Valerie, who was severely brain-damaged. Snow effectively shelved her career to care for her daughter, refusing to have her institutionalized.

Valerie died suddenly in March of ‘07 at age 31. This has left Snow emotionally ravaged. During our hour-long conversation, she made no effort to conceal her grief and dire emotional turmoil. Yet she was also funny and charming and good with an anecdote.

Snow, 56, has returned to performing more or less full-time, and she’s conflicted about it. Her voice is still a marvel, a full, expressive contralto that oozes soul and sensitivity, but can also blow down walls. Her current album, Live (Verve), recorded in performance at a studio in Woodstock, N.Y., shows her full range of brilliance, from the bluster of “Standing on Shaky Ground” to the sublime introspection of “Poetry Man.”

Snow will perform with her band on Wed., Dec. 10 at Tampa Theatre, 7:30 p.m. Tickets are $35.50 and $30.50.

What follows is an edited version of our conversation:

You’re back on a regular tour after so long. What’s the response been like?

We’ve been getting some lovely feedback. People tend to be surprised when they hear me in person. I was talking to someone about this just before I called you. There’s this strong perception out there that I am a folk singer, kind of quiet, understated and jazzy. They think that’s what they’re going to get in the live show and they can be very surprised.

What adjustments have you had to make now that you’re back on the road?

Funny you should ask. The travel, you know what — never been a big fan of the travel. It’s exhausting and strenuous. The minute you get on stage you get that shot of epinephren, but the down time, getting to the hotel, the airport, it’s bloody murder. I think country artists are the best at this, with their super-deluxe buses.

They just do the long runs in the bus, and have all the comforts of home. I love to sing, and I’m just getting into a conversation now: How do we refine, streamline make it more efficient. I really love singing, getting out there on stage. You’ll see.

Did you have to do any work to get your voice back in tip-top form, or is it indestructible?

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Billboard magazine, long the music industry bible, celebrated the 50-year anniversary of its Hot 100 singles chart not too long ago, and issued a compilation of the top songs and artists of the last half-century. I’m not even that much of a chart hound and I got lost in the lists for quite awhile. Billboard’s Hot 100 is based on actual sales and airplay, and therefore has been an accurate historical gauge for what’s really been popular in music over the years. Peruse the 50-year charts here.

Here’s a quick quiz before you go browsing:

1. One man (who was a member of two bands) is in the Top 11 artists. Who is it?

2. Janet Jackson and Michael Jackson both made the Top 10 artists. Which one placed higher?

3. What contemporary hard-rock band placed highest on the Hot 100 list?

4. Who placed more solo songs on the Hot 100, Paul McCartney or John Lennon?

ANSWERS IN COMMENTS. (Click on Leave a Comment” below)

This just in from Brett Steele, manager of the Bay area’s Mojo Gurus, about the band signing with the Canadian label True North:

True North Records and The Mojo Gurus announce the signing of a multi-album deal. The first album, entitled “Let’s Get Lit With…The Mojo Gurus,” will be released in March, 2009 with tour dates in the US and Canada to follow. Said Geoff Kulawick, True North’s President, “We are very excited to have The Mojo Gurus join the True North roster. The band is fantastic and will certainly fit in well with the True North brand.”

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The twin pianos — one black, one white — stationed in the St. Pete Forum conference room should’ve offered a pretty solid clue. But the rumor at the news conference was that the Forum was unveiling a Britney Spears tour date.

Instead, Tampa Bay Lightning owner Oren Koules stood at the podium just past 11 a.m. and announced that the venue would host Billy Joel and Elton John’s Face 2 Face Tour on Thurs., March 5, 7:30 p.m.

Tickets go on sale Saturday at 10 a.m. through Ticketmaster, livenation.com or the Forum box office. They range in price from $179 to $54.

The Joel/John touring collaboration, which dates back to 1994, has been called by Billboard magazine, “the most successful touring package of all time.”

This tour will follow the familiar pattern: The two titans will open shows with a series of duets on twin pianos, then each artist performs a set with his own band, after which the entire aggregation joins for a big encore.

Pretty much any time a music critic of my, um, seasoning takes a stand against something trendy, he (she) runs the risk of being labeled an old fart. But I don’t think I’m succumbing to old-fartism when I say that the rampant use of Auto-Tune in today’s pop music is a scourge that I hope ends up in the dustbin of bad fads after a few more mouse clicks.

Auto-Tune? You may know it by its previous incarnations as a Vocoder or Talkbox. It’s an audio processor developed by Antares Technologies that corrects vocal pitch, but its trademark effect is the robotic sound it can add to singing.

The main perpetrator of the scourge is T-Pain, a hack who sings, near as I can tell, everything through Auto-Tune. He’s been highly rewarded for this gimmickry with several hit albums and a bevy of guest vocal appearances on hip-hop singles. In fact, Diddy reportedly paid T-Pain a royalty to work Auto-Tune “magic” on his new recording.

If Auto-Tune was relegated to a well-compensated clown like T-Pain and a few hooks on hip-hop songs, no problem. But it’s spreading like Ebola. Kanye West uses the effect throughout his new disc 808s & Heartbreak, which means that he’s doing a fair amount of singing, which is not good. Britney Spears, Madonna, Justin Timberlake and other pop artists have used it, which suggests it’s getting more and more entrenched as mainstream practice.

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Rick Nielsen and Robin Zander perform at a post-show jam. The guitar Nielsen is playing fetched $4,000 in an auction.

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Every note, sound and lyric of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band is so indelibly imprinted in people’s heads that the thought of performing it live must be a little daunting. If that was the case last night at Ruth Eckerd Hall, Cheap Trick did not let on.

They nailed it.

The band had help. A keyboardist and second guitarist augmented the group. Behind them on a riser, 24 members of the Florida Orchestra filled out the sound, playing the string and horn parts with accuracy and feeling. Just for good measure, an Indian sitarist and tabla player came in from Miami specifically for the George Harrison-penned raga “Within You Without You.”

The evening opened with some instrumental versions of Beatles songs by the orchestra, which was followed by a brief set by Donovan. The 62-year old Irishman brandished a kelly green acoustic guitar and performed “Catch the Wind,” “Sunshine Superman” and “Lalena,” followed by heartfelt turns at the Beatles “Dear Prudence” and “Blackbird.”

I thought “Hurdy Gurdy Man” would’ve been a nice choice; it’s Donovan’s most psychedelic tune, and he could’ve employed the orchestra for interesting effect.

After an intermission, Cheap Trick and company took the stage and launched into “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” with exuberance and just the right measure of rock ferocity.

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Editor’s note: This just in from our live music hound by B.Treotch.

Despite a nip in the air and, well, it being a Wednesday night and all, fans filled Jannus Landing to catch the Bright Eyes frontman’s latest musical offering: Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley Band.

The six piece ensemble, three guitars strong, produced an eclectic set despite sound issues that left the vocal mixes a bit muddy. Somewhat surprising was the band’s use of each member’s vocals — sharing lead duties on every fourth song or so.

The guys are unquestionably solid players who held their own with vocals, but the problem was that Conor Oberst is a tour de force and without his vulnerable growl it felt as if someone jut changed the channel.

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Chris Whitley died three years ago today. He was 45. It was unexpected, even to his diehard fans, of which I am one. I remember hearing about it and thinking “OD” — he was perilously gaunt and rumors of drug abuse swirled around him — then I was strangely relieved to find out it was lung cancer. He was a heavy smoker.

Whitley was a nomadic, uncompromising singer, songwriter and guitarist who, in my view, was an unheralded genius.

Today is Chris Whitley Tribute Day on Tampa Calling and the new CL Music website. I’m hoping to make some Whitley converts. Check out CLTV for videos of the master on stage. His Dobro playing alone is bound to blow you away.

Whitley’s first album, Living With the Law (1991) was his most successful. It had a desert blues feel, built around his acoustic slide work and haunting voice. The track “Kick the Stones” made a visceral imprint on the ’91 blockbuster movie Thelma and Louise. “Big Sky Country,” “Phone Call From Leavenworth” and other songs heralded a unique new voice that was poised for stardom.

Four years passed before Whitley released a follow-up, not exactly the best strategy for career momentum — but, as it turns out, that was just Chris being Chris.

In ’95, Whitley unleashed Din of Ecstasy, built around a thick sludge of electric guitars spraying feedback and noise. His droning voice was shoved back in the mix; the hooks were laconic, the lyrics bleak and abstract.

It was a masterpiece. I was pretty much alone in that assessment. The CD was ignored by radio and the record-buying public. A major tank job. To me it was hard to figure. The post-grunge period was in full flower, and Din was a serious helping of downcast space-blues and aggro rock that made Alice in Chains sound thoroughly pedestrian. (That may have been the crux of the album’s commercial failure.)

I know exactly one other person who has the same enthusiasm for Din of Ecstasy as I — and he happens to work under the same roof: CL marketing director Joran Oppelt. For that, I am naming him co-sponsor of Chris Whitley Tribute Day.

Much to my everlasting chagrin, I never saw Whitley perform — he didn’t tour in Florida much, and never performed in Tampa Bay — but I did chat with him once, at the South By Southwest Music Conference in, I think, ’97.

It was at a Sony party at Stubbs BBQ, and Whitley skulked around the room like an outcast. As it turned out, he pretty much was. A portion of our conversation went something like this:

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If you’re a loyal reader of Tampa Calling or if you just happened by, thanks for your interest. We’ve got something very cool to announce: Creative Loafing has launched a new website specifically geared to music.

If you’re one of those itchy types, and would rather go directly to the site than read the rest of this highly informative post, click here.

For those who are still with me, this overhaul had to be done. Until now, the Music section of the CL site had been on a weekly schedule, just like the paper. That meant a lot of stories, features and info that just sorta sat there for days on end.

Now the music site is live, as in live, updated constantly with all sorts of news and info. And everything — features, interviews, record reviews, the latest Amy Winehouse debacle — is easy to find.

We have links to breaking news under This Just In at the top right, an Upcoming Concerts list updated daily with our picks for the best upcoming concerts, and all the latest posts from Tampa Calling. Reviews of the latest albums, DVDs, and books, as well as access to our massive archive, can be found on the bottom right of the page. You can watch videos on CLTV, listen to tracks and podcasts on CL Radio, and browse through pics from last night’s show at the State.

OK, here’s the most important part: We want this site to be more than user-friendly and dynamic; we’re making a big push for it to become a vibrant forum for discussion and the exchange of information and ideas. We’ve already recruited several bloggers from the local music community with a range of interests and emphases. And we want more.

If you’re interested in becoming part of our wide-ranging blog community, by all means contact us. The more voices the better. If you think it’s a cool idea but aren’t sure about committing, use the comments field on Tampa Calling to post your stuff. We’ll feature the best ones under New User Comments. Don’t be shy. We love snarky one-liners, but feel free to write longer comments as well.

Have a suggestion for the new site? Shoot us an email here

Thank you for reading to the end. NOW, you can check out the site.

Uber-cool Seattle band Fleet Foxes cut this seven-minute-plus video in an echoey abandoned room in Paris Grand Palais. Lots of natural echo, which is part of Fleet Foxes’ signature, cool a cappella vocals and then a bit of sparse instrumentation. If you’ve not yet gotten hip to Fleet Foxes, this is a nice little primer.

Fleet Foxes – A Take Away Show from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.

In the years eight years since Q-Tip dropped his last offering, Amplified, a lot has changed in hip-hop — and, to my ears, not a whole lot of it for the good.

So now Q-Tip, formerly of the progressive rap act A Tribe Called Quest, has dropped a new one, The Renaissance, and, uh, it’s some seriously good shit.

OK, I’ve only listened to two mp3s — “Trade” and “Believe” — but I’m amped to hear the rest. Look for a full review soon. In the meantime, check out the two songs, a winning mix of rap flow and silky R&B production. D’Angelo is featured on “Believe.”

Let’s say you were running for President and had the juice to recruit top-shelf pop stars to perform on your behalf.

Who would you go after?

I’ll go out on a limb and say that Marilyn Manson would probably not be one of them.

Manson ex Evan Rachel Wood claims that the Obama camp asked Manson to perform in support of the campaign.

Photo by Cindy Frey

Uh, let’s just say I don’t buy it.

There was a time, in the mid and late ’80s, when South African apartheid was a prominent theme among more socially conscious musicians. Singer Miriam Makeba, a South African artist much at the nexus of the turmoil, has died after collapsing on stage in Italy. She was 76.

Paul Simon’s 1986 album Graceland was at that point the best fusion of African and Western music; one of the main reasons for its artistic success was his use of South African musicians. Yet Simon drew criticism for breaking a cultural boycott of South Africa, even though the artists he employed were black.

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Shortly after he led his band Mofro through a spirited set at Saturday’s Sarasota Blues Fest, JJ Grey sat down with me for a pre-meet-with-fans video interview. The gregarious, and very Southern, Jacksonville-area native talked about his relationship to audiences, how gigs take shape on stage, and a bit about his favorite singer.

“She’s from Texas — they grow ‘em big down there.”

So said bluesman Bobby Rush from the stage during his closing set at Saturday’s Sarasota Blues Festival, where all political correctness was cast to the wind. He was talking about one of his three ample-figured dancers, who made intermittent appearances on stage, and took booty shaking to Richter-scale proportions.

The nearly 68-year-old Rush is a product of the Southern rhythm & blues circuit — once know as the chitlin circuit — where you had better entertain folks in nightclubs and armories (and if it’s a little blue, so be it) or they’ll run you off stage.

The Blues Fest’s overwhelmingly white audience reacted with slightly embarrassed glee as Rush showcased the dancers during the first song, each turning around to strut their, uh, cheeky talents.

The hi-jinx overshadowed the music, which came off as rather pedestrian. Rush seemed more interested in delivering a ribald spectacle than knuckling down for some well-performed, inspired music. We left before Rush and company finished.

The seasoned bluesman’s show was preceded by a performance of an entirely different stripe. JJ Grey & Mofro took the stage around 6:20 and, after getting their sea legs, delivered a soulful set of funky Southern soul for nearly 90 minutes.

The band performed quite a few tunes from their estimable current album, Orange Blossom, which is on Alligator, a blues label. Their once ultra-laidback stage vibe has become more animated, with Grey taking center stage. He has developed into a first-rate blue-eyed soul singer, whose deep Southernness has a real authentic quality.

So when he sang the bouncy “Ybor City” from the current album, and pronounced it “Ee-bo Cit-ae,” it didn’t sound like an affectation.

In all, Mofro’s set was funky and danceable, with a few choice ballads tossed in, and plenty of gospel flavor.

Directly after the set, I approached Grey, whose something of a neo-hippie cult figure, backstage. When I asked if we could do a quick video interview, he said, “Sure, whatever you need; let’s do it now.” With that, he began high-tailing it to the tour bus. We walked straight to his back-of-the-bus enclave and did a quick Q&A.

This sort of thing rarely happens. Post-concert interviews are almost always done after the artist has toweled off or showered or chilled out for awhile, then met with a few fans by the bus. And then sometimes the interview doesn’t happen at all. Grey huddled with me before he did anything else, which saved me plenty of waiting around with my thumb up my ass.

That video interview, which includes a discussion about the song “Ybor City,” will be up soon.

Remember when Radiohead released In Rainbows and told everyone to pay whatever they thought was appropriate? It subsequently came out in more standard retail formats. A little more than a year after the album’s Oct. 10, 2007 initial release, sales figures have been made available for the first time. Here are highlights from a press release distributed by Radiohead’s publicist, Nasty Little Man:

• In Rainbows has sold three million copies thus far, a figure that includes downloads from Radiohead.com, physical CDs, a deluxe 2-CD/vinyl box set, as well as sales via iTunes and other digital retailers.

• The In Rainbows deluxe edition sold 100,000 copies via Radiohead fan service W.A.S.T.E.

• Radiohead made more money prior to In Rainbows‘ January 2008 physical release than its total take on 2003’s Hail To the Thief.

• The physical release of In Rainbows entered both the US and UK charts at #1 in January, despite having been freely available since October 2007.

• In Rainbows was the first Radiohead album available on iTunes, where it went in at #1 in January, selling 30,000 in its first week.

• In Rainbows also owns the singular distinction of being the first record widely regarded as album of the year in advance of its actual physical release: By the time TBD/ATO released In Rainbows to retail on January 1, 2008, the digital version had already topped the 2007 year-end lists at NEW YORK, THE NEW YORK TIMES, ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY, NPR, TIME, PEOPLE, ROLLING STONE, BLENDER, SPIN, THE LOS ANGELES TIMES and many more.

I thought I had reached the point of no return with Kind of Blue. Having listened to the classic 1959 Miles Davis album so many times, having owned it in so many of its reissued iterations, I suspected, feared even, that I might never desire to hear it again.

What was once my go-to platter for midnight mood music had slipped considerably down the list — and for no other reason than burnout. I hardly thought that yet another reissue of Kind of Blue — this time a deluxe 50th Anniversary Edition — would rekindle my passion for it. But somehow it did.

And I didn’t even get the full deluxe box, which includes, staggeringly, the original album on CD along with several studio segments, breakdowns and false starts; a second CD that compiles recordings by the Kind of Blue ensemble from 1958, and a 17-minute, previously unreleased concert version of the lead track “So What,” recorded in 1960 (and played at a faster tempo, but not as fast as Miles would play it further on in the ’60s).

The new set also includes a riveting 55-five minute documentary DVD on the making and impact of Kind of Blue.

These three elements were what the kind folks at Sony Legacy sent me in the mail. I did not receive the 12×12-inch full color, 60-page book or the LP on 180-gram blue vinyl. I just couldn’t bring myself to plunk down the $109 retail to own the extras. (But I’m hoping that the LP comes to market in a stand-alone format at some point.)

So some of you might be wondering: What’s the big deal about Kind of Blue? Most anyone with any awareness about music has at least heard of it. Probably more non-jazz fans own it than any other jazz album. Sony touts it as the best-selling jazz album of all time, having moved more than 3-million units. Rolling Stone put it No. 12 on its rock-intensive list of the 500 Greatest Albums of all Time.

Reams of scholarly words have been spilled about the importance and appeal of Kind of Blue, and I won’t try to recap them here. Let me try to explain it through personal experience.

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I just researched the ticket prices for the Counting Crows/Maroon 5 show at the Ford Amphitheatre on Fri., Oct 3 — info I needed for my blurb in next Wednesday’s MusicWeek section — and I’m ready for a nap. Exhausted, I tell ya.

Here’s my saga:

First I went to the Ford Amphitheatre website and clicked on the concert. Easy enough. Once there, I scrolled down to several icons that said “Buy Tickets.” Each of these required me to join the Live Nation Ticket Club and fill out some info. Pass. I scrolled down a little farther to an icon that said “Ticket Info,” but it was just general stuff about the box office and such.

I tried a few other clicks. My only conclusion was that you cannot find out ticket prices on the FordAmp website without joining a club.

So I called the general phone number. After waiting awhile, I got a woman in the box office who wasn’t sure why I could not get ticket info on the website. She quoted me ticket prices over the phone, adding that buying them at the box office window was the cheapest way.

In descending order, the prices went:

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Last week, I wrote about my acquisition of a new turntable, my first since the early 1990s, and pledged to do some comparisons between CDs and LPs, which is a heated debate in the audiophile community (with most audiophiles, I’m told, favoring vinyl).

First, you should know that I am not an audiophile, nor even an aspiring audiophile. But I do want my home system to sound as good as it can within my budget. Even if you’re not all that concerned about the fidelity of your stereo system, it’s still an interesting discussion, especially since the LP is making a comeback in a boutique sort of way. Just this fall, major labels have begun to issue back titles on high-grade vinyl.

Using those titles, of course, would be the best comparison test against CDs, and the publicist at EMI Capitol tells me that a 180-gram vinyl copy of the Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds is on its way to me. Until then, we’ll use available materials.

Namely, an old standby for me: Miles Davis. I chose his tune “Eighty-One” from the 1965 album E.S.P., which features his great 1960s band: drummer Tony Williams, bassist Ron Carter, pianist Herbie Hancock and saxophonist Wayne Shorter.

I grabbed a barely-used vinyl copy from my long-ignored closet stash of LPs, and pulled out the CD. Synching the disc and record up was easy enough, but I immediately ran into a problem, which puts a major caveat into this debut listening test.

The turntable produced a seriously audible hum at substantial volume. So, uh, that’s gotta be figured out.

But onward anyway.

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Yesterday I became the proud owner of a Pro-Ject Debut III turntable. It’s the first turntable I’ve had and used since, oh, probably the early ’90s.

Why a turntable? First there’s the matter of all that vinyl I still own, about a dozen Peaches crates full. I had gotten literally dozens per week as a music writer in the ’80s until they were fully replaced by CDs. My LPs have been sitting in a closet year after year untouched. I’ve replaced most of my LPs with CDs, but not all. Labels are starting to release new titles on vinyl again, and certain specialty companies are issuing old titles on super high grade vinyl. 

Another reason: I took part in an audiophile symposium a while back, and while I would in no way classify myself as a fellow traveler with these obsessives, I did fall under their thrall a little. One of the biggest arguments in the audiophile community is the superiority (or not) of vinyl. A guy on the panel who writes for an audiophile magazine made a very persuasive case that LPs sound warmer and more authentic than their digital counterparts. I’ve been wanting to find out. 

This same writer owns a turntable that retails for – and I made him swear to this — $120,000. I failed to ask the follow-up question: Did he actually purchase it? I’m guessing he got some sort of massive price break; either that or he’s a jewel thief on the side, because audiophile magazine writers simply cannot make the kind of cash that allows them to spend six figures on one stereo component. (At least I hope not; if they do, I’m in the wrong business.) 

My Project Debut III, which I bought at Audio Visions South in Tampa, cost me about $250. It’ll do for now. I have yet to do a strict comparison between vinyl and CD, but that’ll come soon. In the meantime, a couple of quick observations: 

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Here’s a heads-up for world-music fans, or lovers of lushly melodic pop music. Milton Nascimento, 65-year-old icon of Brazilian music, will release his first album in five years, Novas Bossas, on Sept. 30 through Blue Note in the U.S.

I listened to an advance download, and the music is flat-out gorgeous. Nascimento’s ethereal voice, including his legendary falsetto, is in terrific shape. He’s joined by Paulo and Daniel Jobim (son and grandson of bossa nova pioneer Antonio Carlos Jobim).

The 14-song CD includes old and new songs, and updates the bossa nova genre. It doesn’t rely exclusively on that gentle undulating bossa beat, but mixes in samba, ballads, etc. Keep an ear out.

To my ears, Billy Joel’s artistic hot streak lasted two years, 1977 and 1978, when he released far and away his best LPs: The Stranger and 52nd Street. (For the record, I think 52nd Street wins by a nose as the top Joel album). The rest of his discs are marked by a few good songs and a handful of great ones, surrounded by average material (and early on, at least, substandard production).

Sony has seen fit to issue this 30th Anniversary Edition 31 years after the fact in a three-disc box set that includes a remaster of the original album; a previously unreleased 1977 concert from Carnegie Hall; and a DVD that includes a making-of doc and a 1978 live show culled from the BBC program The Old Grey Whistle Test.

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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.

A few years ago, I went to a Steve Winwood concert at Jannus Landing, stayed about 30 minutes, and left feeling like he was some sort of robotic construct, a Stepford musician. So last night I was in no particular hurry to get to the Forum to see him open for Tom Petty.

We arrived just as he kicked into “Higher Love.” Winwood and his band — guitar, saxophone, drums, percussion and Hammond organ — did a far more organic and funky version than the high-gloss recording. The quintet, performing in close quarters as opening acts usually do, really connected and found a cool, rolling groove.

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I first saw Tom Petty in the very early 1980s, and have probably attended seven or eight of his shows. The guy (and his band) have never let me down, never delivered anything short of a high-quality concert. And some of those concerts were nothing short of terrific. I can’t say that about many (any?) other of the hundreds of performers I’ve seen and reviewed over the years (decades).

Same thing happened last night at the St. Pete Times Forum. Petty and his five Heartbreakers delivered an enthusiastic two-hour set, exquisitely paced with moments that ranged from exalted energy to pensive reflection.

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Last night a Ruth Eckerd Hall, sitting at her piano on a stage decked out to look like a living room, songwriting legend Carole King came across as a pretty hip, sweetheart of a grandma. She pronounced proudly that she’s 66 years old.

When King exhorted everyone to sing along to the chorus of “Natural Woman,” she raved to the audience, “You guys are great!”

No we weren’t. (Although I did feel liberated crooning, “You make me feel like a natural woman.”)

After awhile, I was half expecting Carole to break out the chicken soup.

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A reader named Ron Michael took serious offense at my preview of this week’s Dave Matthews show (which ran in last week’s CL). He sent me an e-mail, but I figured I’d give him a more public say. I applaud his passion, although he’s considerably off base in some of his more personal attacks on me. At any rate, I invite you folks to weigh in as well.

Here’s what I wrote:
Jam at the Amp
By now, I realize it’s a waste of effort to point out that Dave Matthews is a substandard talent, especially in proportion to the adoration he receives from his hordes of fans.
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The gutter that runs beside the road of rock history is littered with artists who squandered their talent, who flamed out, washed up, went in the tank. The reasons are many, the most popular being some manner of self-destructiveness. Artists who were real good at that sort of thing — from Hendrix to Cobain — left this mortal coil with their legacies intact.

But that’s an old rock ’n’ roll saw.

For today’s discussion, I’m interested in a more subtle type of squandering, the type whose reasons are not always easy to pinpoint. Often times, it’s little more than running out of ideas but continuing to hang on. In the process, they’ve ruined their legacies, or at the very least put them in serious peril.

So who in rock annals are the biggest talent-squanderers, who have authored the biggest falls from artist grace? Let me nominate a few, and pick a winner. As always, feel free to weigh in.

Elton John — From vibrant singer/songwriter and firebrand showman to chubby old queen with a braying voice. Elton reached his artistic pinnacle in 1973 with Goodbye Yellow Brick Road — that’s 35 years ago for those who don’t feel like doing the math — and was basically done two years later with Rock of the Westies.
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As do many CDs by artists I’m not familiar with, Albert Hammond, Jr.’s Como Te Llama? languished on my ever-growing pile for at least a couple weeks, before the gentle urging of a publicist caused me to grab it and shove it in the car player. I’m glad I did.

Hammond, as I now know, is the rhythm guitar player for The Strokes, which didn’t predispose me to liking his music, but didn’t necessarily put me off either. As it turns out, I like Hammond’s wide-ranging take on indie-rock better than the more confined stylistic approach of The Strokes.

Como Te Llama?, Hammond’s second solo outing, is a grab-bag that includes garage-R&B, power-pop, reggae and any number of other iterations of modern rock. His sound lacks the polish of his band, but it’s more daring, and ultimately more satisfying. The disc is due out July 8.

By the way, Hammond’s father Albert is a soft-rock songwriter and performer. He charted a few times in the early ’70s, mostly notably with the Top 5 hit “It Never Rains in Southern California.”

Wade just published his Top 10 favorite CDs of ’08, so far, and I figured I’d piggy-back. But I’m not going to do 10. I’ll do that in December, but for June I’ll keep it to five. Two of the five are on Wade’s list, and I have to admit that that troubles me in some vague sort of way.

In no particular order:

• Al Green, Lay it Down (Blue Note)
The Rev’s best album of the 2000s. Producer ?uestlove lays down a seductive bed of sounds, and Al really struts his vocal chops on a series of sensuous, mostly mid-tempo songs.

• Firewater, The Golden Hour (Bloodshot)
Tod A made like a Bedouin, wandering through the Mediterranean/Middle East for three years and coming back with an exotic musical travelogue — that rocks. Full review

• Was (Not Was), Boo! (Ryko)
The R&B wackadoos return for their first album in 17 years, and pick up where they left off: Witty, irreverent lyrics, passionately sung, over organic funk and soul. Full review

• My Morning Jacket, Evil Urges (ATO/Red)
I wasn’t too familiar with MMJ before hearing this one, and it took a few listens, but now I’m completely hooked. Terrific songs that brush up, but aren’t anchored to, a variety genres. There’s rarely anything overtly obvious here. An engaging mix of feels, tempos and instrumentation. Strong vocals.

• Shelby Lynne, Just a Little Lovin’ (Lost Highway)
The fetching songstress delivers a subdued and sexy set of tunes by one of her heroes, the late Dusty Springfield. Full review

During the 27 years that I’ve been writing about music, I’ve certainly hogged my share of hookups and swag. But last weekend took the prize. Ben Eason, CL’s CEO, asked if I would come down to a swank resort in Key Largo to help out during a retreat he takes with his business society, the Florida chapter of the Young Presidents Organization.

Come on down, stay a couple nights. My task: Lead a panel Q&A with The Bangles on Saturday morning and introduce them from the stage before their concert that night.

Um, I thought (for a millisecond), I could do that.

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Don’t know about you, but I’m amped that Pearl Jam’s coming in tomorrow night. This info hit my inbox today about Pearl Jam’s expanded program for concert bootlegs. I was mailed several of the first batch a few years ago, and the quality was terrific. Looks like it’ll be even better now:

Pearl Jam will expand their bootleg program for the upcoming 2008 tour to include three different options for fans seeking to obtain bootleg recordings of the band’s live shows. High-quality digital downloads and burn-to-order CDs of the entire show will be available following each show date exclusively via Pearl Jam’s fan club, Ten Club, at www.pearljam.com. In addition, mobile bootlegs of three live tracks per show will be released following the show on V CAST Music phones and at www.pearljamconcerts.com through Verizon Wireless.
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In the late ’70s, when I was a struggling loser just out of college and my brother Kurt was still in high school, we would spend considerable time in the bedroom we shared in my parent’s St. Petersburg home.

He was a budding drummer; I was a future music critic (but didn’t know it at the time). We’d while away hours listening to music, with plenty of focus on Steely Dan. When Kurt finally mastered the Steve Gadd drum solo on the middle section of “Aja,” we rejoiced together.

So it was particularly gratifying that Kurt was in town with his family from Tennessee for a few days when Steely Dan played Ruth Eckerd Hall last night. Big brother/little brother hitting the Dan together. He’d never seen ’em. Doesn’t get much better than that.

I suppose Fagen, Becker and company could’ve disappointed, but it wasn’t likely. As it turns out, it was another entirely worthy Steely Dan show, the third in the Bay area in consecutive years, and the second straight at Ruth Eckerd (to what looked like a packed house).

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One of the great joys of working in the alternative press is that we have a certain, shall we say, latitude in the way we conduct ourselves in the office. For CL, that translates to an office-wide Friday Afternoon Dance Party with music piped from our extensive playlists through computer speakers. It also means that if I wander in first thing in the morning jonesing to hear Bobby Womack’s “A Woman’s Gotta Have It,” Garcia can pump it out into the office.

Nursing a particularly virulent hangover while driving the 25 minutes to work this morning, I was aided, mercifully, by the undulating grooves and massaging melodies of the new Al Green album, Lay it Down. This one’s produced by ?uestlove and has a lush retro-soul flavor. I’m going to review the disc in greater detail in an upcoming issue of the Loaf, but just wanted to alert y’alls — especially those of you who may be nursing virulent hangovers.

When The Masquerade in Ybor City closed a couple of years ago, it had degenerated into a scary place: dark and tomb-like, with couches that only the bravest dared sit on. If memory serves, the men’s room had a hole where a urinal had once been. You pissed in the hole. I think it’s safe to say that most of us miss the events that Masquerade brought in, but don’t much miss the place itself.

Here’s some good news: The venue has reopened — under its original name, the Ritz Theatre.

And the place is nice. Really. $2 million renovation nice.

The building has been owned by the Capitano family for a long time, and is being run by Nicole Capitano as an event facility, not a nightclub. The Ritz’s first major concert event will be Bogus Pomp on Sat., June 7. The Bay area band plays the music of Frank Zappa with the kind of expertise and zeal that’s truly remarkable.

As for the Ritz’s interior, well, old denizens of the Masquerade will hardly recognize it. It’s been opened up and is now square-shaped. The feel is lighter and brighter. There’s a new, higher stage, an in-house lighting rig. The room can be configured to include tables and chairs or open space; there are no fixed seats. The brick walls are covered by huge velour curtains for better sound quality. The bare concrete floor has been upgraded: It’s now tiled in large black-and-white checks. The two front rooms have been spiffed up and will feature full bars.

While I wouldn’t call the refurbished Ritz opulent, it has been significantly upgraded, having kept historic Ybor City style in mind.

Frank Zaccaro has booked Bogus Pomp, and plans on doing more shows. “I’m looking at national acts,” he said. “My objective is to bring in high-end blues, jazz and pop acts, maybe some classic rock acts. When Queensryche last came to Tampa Theatre they did less than a thousand people. The show was too small for Tampa Theatre, too big for a nightclub, would’ve been perfect for us.”

Zaccaro said that the revamped Ritz will hold around a thousand for concerts.

Promoters, it’s available for rental.

Arielle Stevenson went to Ministry at Jannus Landing on Wednesday night. She came back with this:

I got my first tattoo while Ministry’s “Lay Lady Lay” played in the background. So naturally I had to watch the masses of black-studded industrial metalheads cheer the now-50-year-old Al Jorgensen last night at Jannus. The iconic mic stand, cattle head, handle bars etc. were placed behind three chain-link fences.

Jorgensen’s performance was studded with the signature multimedia affects, including wild video clips that targeted the Bush administration. One showed Dick Cheney hunting. A young guy, maybe 22, was carried out by security, his freshly punched face oozing blood, proving that Ministry can still bring the mayhem.

The lineup may not be entirely original Ministry men, but guitarist Tommy Victor played some incredibly face-melting solos. Also noteworthy was bassist Tony Campos.

For the first encore, the band busted out with “N.W.O.” The crowd went wild. The second encore kicked off with a cover of ZZ Top’s “Just Got Paid” off of 2008’s Cover Up. The show ended with a Ministrized version of the Rolling Stones’ “Under My Thumb,” and sent concertgoers off with a ringing in their ears.

I have to wonder though: On Ministry’s next “final” world tour, will Jorgensen’s famous mic stand be his walker?

While 16,000 fans at the St. Pete Times Forum stood on their feet, silent, basking in Bruce Springsteen’s ballad “Racing in the Street,” I was sitting with my face in my hands, pleading for the song to end. Several times he finished that dreary chorus and I’d think “Racing” was coming to a merciful close, only for Bruce and company to creep back into another verse. “Does everything have to be an epic?” I wondered, cringing.

Just so you know: I never drank the Kool-Aid — which, I hasten to add, is not the same as being a hater. I’ve had my periods of appreciation for Springsteen, but over the years it’s more been an admiration for some of his better work than genuine fandom.

And just so you know: I’m not looking down on Brooooooce fans who commune with their hero. I have a similar relationship with a handful of other acts.

That said, the show demonstrated how redundant Springsteen’s songs are. (I’ve seen him maybe six or seven times previously, and this is the first time it hit me.) He has maybe four basic compositional conceits that he returns to again and again. (What is “Livin’ in the Future” if not “Tenth Avenue Freeze-out” 30 years on?)

So, yes, the concert got dull.

But it’s also why “The Rising” is such a great tune, Springsteen’s best in, oh, two decades. It’s a roof-raiser that sets itself apart from the others — a respite from the doldrums, if you will. The ensemble’s performance of the song Tuesday was particularly spirited.

One more complaint and I’m out: Springsteen has always favored a wall of sound, but his on-stage instrumentation of four guitarists, two keyboardists, bassist, violinist, saxophonist and drummer turned crescendos into sludge.

By and large, the Tampa Bay Blues Festival is not a place where you witness much weirdness. Smiling baby-boomers boppin’ to music under the sun and stars is pretty much the order of the day(s). But two instances last night — one good, one kinda creepy — showed a touch of the weird.

The good: James Hunter talking animatedly to the audience in a thick cockney accent (“Toim ta introduce me band”) and singing like a cross between Sam Cooke, Jackie Wilson, James Brown and Ray Charles. Hunter, sweating in the sun in a long-sleeved brown shirt, pin-striped pants and boots, is from a town 50 miles west of London; he grew up on American R&B of the late ’50s and early ’60s, to the virtual exclusion of everything else.

Hunter has channeled those sounds into his act, which includes rhumbas, funk from the Brother Ray and JB schools, ballads and pop numbers. He proved a soulful, agile vocalist, be it crooning on the Ray Noble chestnut “The Very Thought of You” yelping to the 5 Royales stomper “Baby, Don’t Do it,” or interpreting his originals that sounded as if he plucked them from a time machine.

Hunter was backed by an ace organist, supple drummer, acoustic bassist and a two-man horn section (baritone and tenor sax) that lent a welcome dimension. The horn players took a lot of soulful solos, and Hunter kicked in with urgently knotty guitar forays that at times seemed at odds with the generally relaxed flow of the rhythm section.

Hunter did a few showy moves, but they were self-conscious, more like set pieces than organic responses to the music. Still, they were funny, and Hunter’s non-stop smile signaled that he wanted everyone in on the joke.

Now to the kinda creepy: I never understood why Robert Cray has such limited stage appeal. He possesses an immediately winning tenor voice, a passel of modern blues and R&B songs, and he plays guitar in a thoughtful fashion that doesn’t rely on histrionics. He’s not a natural showman, but he’s no statue, either. Yet every time I’ve seen Cray (maybe four or five times), I feel as if I’ve taken in all he has to offer in three or four songs.

About five tunes into his set last night, it hit me: Cray’s major deficiency as a stage artist is that he has no sense of humor. Contrary to the clichés, the blues isn’t all about sadness and heartbreak; much of the music’s appeal over the decades has been based on levity, laughing in the face of hard times.  

So Cray was performing a slow blues about being cuckolded by a guy hanging around his house while he was gone. A very, very typical blues theme. Only this interloper was a “12-year-old boy.” And, let me tell ya, the tune had a pronounced ickiness.

Then it occurred to me: Buddy Guy, a bluesman with a heightened sense of humor, could have turned the song into a hoot. John Lee Hooker could’ve as well. So could myriad other artists. Robert Cray’s version just made me shudder.

To underscore his missing humor gene, Cray addressed the crowd, scolded us, really: “Please put the cameras down. Videos too.”

What, no “Hello, St. Pete?” When did bootleg Robert Cray videos and still photos become hot items in the underground market? It’s a festival, man; you gotta let shit like that go.

Anyway, as Cray was singing about a preteen boy scoring with his woman, we headed for the gates. We’d seen enough — in more ways than one.

By the way, the blues fest continues today and Sunday. Lots of good stuff on stage. Go to tampabaybluesfest.com to check out the schedule. 

    

A second take on the album, 25 years later.

When I tell people that I gave Michael Jackson’s Thriller three stars when it was originally released in December 1982, they tend to be amused — the implication being that I really blew that call. I let them have their laugh, but I’ve never backed down from my rating. Fact is, just because Thriller is widely considered to be the biggest-selling album in the history of the world does not make it a masterpiece.

A deluxe reissue of Thriller commemorating its 25th anniversary — expanded to include newly released remixes and a DVD of select videos —
provides me the opportunity to revisit my first assessment. Did I
blow it? Given the chance, will I revise my star rating?

Thriller’s songs — every one save “The Lady in My Life” and “Baby Be Mine” was a Top 10 hit — along with their videos have become so embedded in the collective psyche that it’s simply understood that they’re great. Well, I listened to the nine tunes several times over, and here’s what I concluded (this time):

Thriller is not a masterpiece, certainly not measured against landmarks of black music like Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On, Stevie Wonder’s Innervisions and Prince’s Purple Rain, to cite a few. Thriller breaks no bold stylistic ground. Most of the songs — “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’,” “Human Nature,” “P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing),” “The Lady in My Life” and “Baby Be Mine” — are pretty much boilerplate pop-R&B common to the early ’80s.

They have little to say on the lyrics front. These tunes were immaculately produced by Quincy Jones, who managed to stack layer upon layer of tracks while retaining the detail and clarity of each. No small feat. They are given a youthful verve by Jackson’s thin, androgynous voice.

Fun songs, yes, but not much else.

So what’s left? The title tune is, to these ears, an annoying novelty number. Without the accompanying short film (remember when the world stopped so TV could air the premiere?) I think “Thriller” would be widely dismissed as a trifle. “The Girl is Mine,” a duet with Paul McCartney, oozes cuteness (and is actually more likeable than I remember it), but it is what it is: a pop ditty.

Which leaves us Thriller’s two best tracks. “Beat It,” built around a rock guitar riff, was arguably innovative for its time. (I still get a, um, thrill out of Eddie Van Halen’s blazing solo.) You could also argue that its message to walk away from fights (underscored in the West Side Story-style video) could’ve resonated in an environment where gang violence was on the upswing.

And that takes us to the masterpiece within. “Billie Jean” captivates from its opening four-square drum beat. The song has a real narrative tension: A young man vehemently denies fathering a child. “Billie Jean” is not deep or perceptive, but it does deal with real-life problems. The song is more effective for its collective emotional tenor. That drumbeat becomes ominous as it chugs along, relentless. Jackson’s vocal hiccups, which would soon become an overdone conceit, add a sense of desperation. Jones builds the arrangement to a measured crescendo, the masterstroke being the descending string riff that doesn’t appear until the second chorus, right after “the kid is not my son.” The song is a piece of perfection, or close to it.

As far as extras, the DVD includes the iconic videos for “Billie Jean,” “Beat It” and “Thriller,” as well as Jackson’s galvanizing performance of “Billie Jean” on the 1983 TV special Motown 25, where he unveiled the moonwalk and blew minds the world over. The clips serve as poignant reminders of just how charismatic and likeable Michael Jackson was before he went around the bend. The remixes — featuring the likes of will.i.am, Fergie and Kanye West — are largely disposable.

So … given the opportunity, will I revise my star rating of Thriller? Yes. I’ll bump it to 3 1/2.

Just got a press release — via the U.S. Mail!, on real paper — announcing the lineup for the Tampa Bay Blues Festival. It’s a roll-call of familiar names and a few surprises (as usual). No time for commentary right now, but here’s the facts:

Friday, April 11

12:30-2 p.m. — Billy Gibson
2:30-4 p.m. — Nick Moss and the Flip Tops
4:30-6 p.m. — Lucky Peterson
6:30-8 p.m. — James Hunter
8:30-10 p.m. — Robert Cray Band

Saturday, April 12

1-2 p.m. — Trombone Shorty
2:30-4 p.m. — Tutu Jones
4:30-6 p.m. — Tab Benoit
630-8 p.m. — Walter Trout
8:30-10 p.m. — Los Lonely Boys

Sunday, April 13

12:30-2 p.m. — Tad Robinson
2:30-4 p.m. — Chris Cain
4:30-6 p.m. — Janiva Magness
6:30-8 p.m. — Rod Piazza and the Might Flyers
8:30-10 p.m. — Robben Ford

As always, the Blues Fest takes place at Vinyo Park in St. Pete. Bluesheads out there — whaddya think of the lineup?

There was quite a bit of chatter in my living room about 15 minutes before the BCS Championship Game kicked off last night. Suddenly, the TV caught my attention: A swarthy John Waters look-alike — with spiked, shoe-polish black hair — was butchering the National Anthem.

I’ve seen a lot of games, and I’ve seen a lot of National Anthems. I’ve never seen a worse rendition in a big game with a huge national audience.

The perpetrator was named Clint Maedgen. He’s a New Orleans jack-of-all-trades type who fronts a wacky cabaret-style act called the Bingo Show!. He’s been a guest singer for the Preservation Hall Jazz Band for three years, and he does his own rock material. Even sings some gospel, but not well.

I get that the organizers of the bowl game, played at the Louisiana Superdome, wanted to present the “Star-Spangled Banner” with some local flair. Better than an American Idol retread. And to that end, they had a few fellas from the Preservation Hall band backing Maedgen up. But, despite being from the Crescent City, Maedgen’s singing is not representative of its music or culture. His voice is thin and reedy, with limited range, and lacks innate soulfulness.

The crucial moment in any National Anthem performance is that “the la-and of the freeeee” part, where the singer has to really reach to hit that long, high note. Some do so with easy aplomb, others with rousing passion that prompts a cheer from the crowd, some add silly frills that annoy me. Still others reach that spot and can’t hit the note, so they go into some melismatic spazz-out or overblown wail. That’s what our boy Clint did.

Hey, he scored a good gig, but was in over his head.

I can say from second-hand experience that singing the national anthem in a stadium is some really difficult stuff. Several years ago, a newly signed pop singer, her name long forgotten by me and just about anyone else, was tapped to sing the anthem at a Monday night Bucs game. I stood next to her as she sound-checked and close by as she performed to the packed Tampa Stadium.

Forget that the anthem’s clumsy melody makes it a horribly tough tune to sing — the slap-back echo was brutal. You know when you get that echo on the phone and can barely keep the conversation together? Imagine that times 10 and upping the stakes by a thousand. As I remember, the young woman did pretty well, and without fancy mini-monitors in her ears. She did look a little shook up afterward, though.

So I won’t beat up on poor Cliff anymore.

But before I sign off, let me turn you on to my favorite rendition of the National Anthem. That would be Marvin Gaye at the 1983 NBA All-Star Game. All he did was radically overhaul, and improve, the country’s patriotic signature song by reworking the melody into his inimitable style (without disrespecting the original) and performing it over an undulating mid-tempo funk beat from a lone drum machine.

And when he hit that “land of the free” part, he sailed right through it.