Marillo at the Apollo. "When I was ver-r-ry young, it was Jimmy Dorsey. The sweetness of his tone. And from there, it was Charlie Parker."
My old boss would say that one of the reasons she didn't want satellite radio was because she liked traffic and weather.
The San Diego radio blues.
6:00: Our listening session kicks off about a third of the way into "Take Me Out" by Franz Ferdinand. You know, past the intro gearshift. Ah, FM radio. It's like hanging out with that friend of yours with an mp3 library of only 500 songs. My friend Danny was like that in college. Some of his staples include Whitney Houston's "My Love Is Your Love," Radiohead's "I Might Be Wrong," and at least three different Ja Rule songs.
By Conor Lastowka, Aug. 17, 2006 | Read full article
"In 1974 I talked the Catamaran into going with jazz shows six nights a week. Everybody came here. Sonny Rollins, Sarah Vaughan, Ahmad Jamal."
Conversation about the ineffable with local jazz greats.
"Well, you know, I, okay, let me see," Charles McPherson sounded more spirited than stumped.
I'd just asked a saxophone legend — Charles McPherson! — what originally attracted him to the saxophone. That was like asking the sun why it was hot. But McPherson's husky, perpetually happy-sounding voice shaded into a playful growl. "I guess we'll get into some primordial..." and then McPherson breathed in and started off —
By Geoff Bouvier, April 20, 2006 | Read full article
Lennon’s death remembered, 25 years ago this week.
Along with many vidiots my age, television was the teat that nurtured us all, and I was less weaned than most. I recall "discovering" the Beatles on a Smothers Brothers show from October 1968 (which I recently re-watched, spotting a then-unknown Steve Martin). I immediately bought any and every magazine that featured their likenesses — no small stack of reading material — and immersed myself for the first time in abject fandom (well, aside from my short-lived obsession with the Banana Splits).
By Jay Allen Sanford, Dec. 8, 2005 | Read full article
The music that tells us we’re alive.
My hand paused before the mascara reached my lashes and I inhaled deeply — it was almost time. The mounting passion in her voice, off-key yet somehow harmonizing with the piano's crescendo, jerked me to my feet. With my arms spread wide and my eyes shut tight, I belted along, "That's how much I luhuhuove you, I...would go anywhere, anywhere you go, dun dun dun DUN, if you just say you wanted me too. What moooorrroooorrre can I say?!?"
By Barbarella Fokos, Aug. 11, 2005 | Read full article
"I used to sing Connie Francis, Brenda Lee…and one night the guitar player gave me a record of Ike and Tina Turner, ‘A Fool in Love.’"
When Ginny Silva began her singing career, Tijuana’s Avenida Revolución was infamous, a raunchy place of strip clubs, where hookers and drug pushers worked in the open and where we young fellows went if we meant to get blasted and cut loose, or, if horny and shy, we preferred fantasy over real live girls. If we hoped to meet a companion who didn’t charge for her sweetness, yet probably hadn’t taken a vow of chastity — or else she wouldn’t go to Tijuana — we’d choose one of the dance clubs. Usually Mike’s Bar.
By Ken Kuhlken, Jan. 30, 2003 | Read full article
Pearl Jam at Winter's, 1991. Big record labels swooped in to sign bands out of Seattle like Pearl Jam and Soundgarden.
The roots of the San Diego music scene run deep. Musicians who began gigging around town in the mid- to late 1980s later became the bedrock of the diverse early ’90s scene, which included bands like Rocket From the Crypt, Drive Like Jehu, Inch, and Three Mile Pilot. The musicians of this generation emerged from a rough punk and hardcore climate to form more melodic, lyrically based bands that caught the attention of major labels when the frenzied buzz of grunge broke in Seattle. But the sounds of San Diego’s early ’90s bands were unique and could hardly be termed grunge.
By Daniel Ridge, Oct. 17, 2002 | Read full article