Rocket From the Crypt (John Reis, center; Pete Reichert, third from right), 1996. Originally Rocket swore it would play only backyard parties.
The Woes Of A Woman In Love — Barbarella; Notes Give Pathos to Clouds — Laura McNeal; Trouble Man — Dodie Bellamy; The Hiss Was Bylsma Himself — Matthew Lickona; My Junior High High — Jennifer Ball; An Album with a Singer — Geoff Bouvier; We Carried Each Other — Deirdre Lickona; The Psychedelic Furs' Talk Talk Talk — William Crain; Whoooooooo — Mary Montgomery; Stranded — Patrick Daugherty; Black Celebration by Depeche Mode — Drew Goodmanson; A Rage Against Monotony — John Brizzolara; Alto Workouts — Dave Good; In Love with Two Daughters — W.S. DiPiero; Joni's Hejira — Bill Hayes; Love-Drunk Kid — Rosa Colwin Jurjevics; A Summer on Desolation Row — Ken Kuhlken; Could I Start Over? — Mark Halperin; Family Music — Ernie Grimm; Forth From My Pioneer Speakers — Thomas Larson; Leontyne and Me — Jangchup Phelgyal; From "American Tourist" to "Loser" — Ollie; The Ultimate Love Song — Rachel Kempster; Loud, Shrill, Piercing, and Unpleasant — Jim Morris; I Grew Weary of Three-Chord Rock — Mary Grimm
Aug. 11, 2005 | Read full article
Ginny Silva and guitarist Carlos “Charly” Hernández Vallejo (right). "A guy that used to buy from me, he got caught, so the police had him set up the drummer in our group."
Photo by Sandy Huffaker, Jr.
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
Battalion of Saints, 1985. Guitarist Chris Smith overdosed in a bathtub, Dave Astor committed suicide, another member died of drug-related problems, and a fourth died from AIDS.
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
Queens of the Stone Age. It segues into the Queens of the Stone Age's "Go with the Flow." If FM 94.9 was trying to be a nostalgia gap-closing classic rock station, I think they'd be doing okay.
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
McPherson with student. "Maybe most of the innovators were black because the music springs from the African-American culture."
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