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After a brutal and mesmerizing performance at the Chain Reaction, I had a chance to talk to the death/grind band from San Diego, Cattle Decapitation. Amid the closing band’s set, and the subsequent stream of leaving people, we sat on the tailgate of their truck and shot the shit about San Diego’s scene, the future of the band and music, and some other crap that you’ll only be able to find out by reading on…
It’s always interesting when a band has history. Especially when it was a reference point of a contemporary movement in music. Hey Mercedes has a history. Those who have followed the morphing of indie rock into emo, knew of an impressively creative Urbana, Illinois outfit known as Braid. While the band excelled in vision, talent and drive, they were the victims of being the cool thing about five years too soon.
Joel Petersen is going places. Besides being the bassist for Omaha indie rockers turned synth stars, The Faint, he has also gone off and started his own side project under the moniker Broken Spindles.
“This is the band I always wanted to be in.”
And no, he’s not referring to the band most of you know Phil from. He is in a new state of mind. It’s all about Superjoint Ritual right now. Just like anything else Phil has ever done, it’s full on with as little bullshit as possible. He’s still escaping the shadows of his previous work, but that only seems to fuel his current directions.
It was a fairly strange and uncommon night, for as much as I can recall of the very first time I encountered Les Savy Fav. This unusual evening took place several years ago in Southern California, when a small group of my friends suggested we go check out Ugly Casanova, as their tour would be rolling through town on such an eventful and listless evening.
The world of stand-up comedy is a bold and treacherous one at that. Take it from me, someone who’s actually been there! Well in all honesty, I’ve never actually been on-stage performing live, in front of some sauced-up crowd at a nightclub – although I have walked past the Improv and Comedy Store a few times – and Foster Brooks once vomited on my shoes. And I’m sure that must count for something?