Devotchka in-store!

There are very few bands that have such a history at Twist and Shout. We have literally been with them since day one. And what an exhilarating ride it has been to watch. Devotchka has embarked on an artistic and commercial arc that most bands can only dream about. Their new album 100 Lovers is a magnificent creation, bringing the band to a creative peak. 100 Lovers is Devotchka’s most mature album both lyrically and in terms of the band’s wonderful sense of melody. They have gone from a quirky, indefinable band of indeterminate ethnic origin to a band capable of producing a very specific type of beauty. Their sound has coalesced around Nick Urata’s exotic vocals and their always-interesting and increasingly sophisticated instrumentation. Everything about this album is an artistic triumph, from the memorable songs to the warm production, to the absolutely amazing package on the deluxe version of the CD (only available at Twist and Shout).

As always, we were honored to host the band for another in a long line (four to be exact) of memorable in-stores. This one felt, and was different. The band brought in some of their own lighting that made for both a very special environment and inspired me to pursue this for future in-stores. What a difference it made to turn the lights off and really enhance that in-concert vibe. And the band did not disappoint. Playing four songs from 100 Lovers as well as a few others they reminded us what an overwhelmingly emotional experience it can be to see Devotchka. They have the ability to set a mood like nobody else I’ve ever seen. I went up to the loft to look down at the huge crowd at one point and the majority of them had their eyes closed with huge smiles on their faces. It was a pretty telling scene. Devotchka have the rare ability to lift their audience out of the mundane reality of everyday life and let us enter a beautiful and comforting place. Being in that place is why we work in music. It’s like a dog hanging his head out of a car window - it just feels right. The hundreds of people who came bought 184 copies of 100 Lovers on CD and another 28 on LP. It’s always nice when an artistic triumph is rewarded by a business success. Thanks to Rob Thomas and the band for their kindness. It was a great night!

Interview with Ryan Bingham

RYAN BINGHAM LIVE AT TWIST AND SHOUT TODAY 4PM!!!

If you haven’t heard him, you’re missing one of the most compelling, honest, and driving bits of American music to emerge this century. Ryan Bingham has recently moved from the smoky haze of roadhouses and bowling alleys into a much anticipated spotlight. With a shiny new Oscar and a bunch of national media attention trailing them, Bingham and his Dead Horses have been spreading their infectious, rollicking, and heart-rending west Texas style across the globe. With a new album, Junky Star, and a schedule packed with tour dates, the man with the unmistakable voice and laid back mien has been gracious and patient enough to take a few minutes from the almighty road to answer some heady questions from a literary critic.

LC:  Where did you find the airplane for the cover of Junky Star? 

RB:  We found that plane out at the airport in Chino, California.

LC:  All your albums, including Junky Star and especially Roadhouse Sun, have a pretty clear social conscience, reminiscent of songwriters like Woodie Guthrie and Johnny Cash. Was there a moment where you were really awakened to social or political issues or did that attention to inequality develop over time through your experiences crossing the country? 

RB:  It’s definitely developed over time and from traveling around the globe. It’s one thing to go on a week vacation, but it’s definitely another to wake up in different town everyday of the year. We’re exposed to so much so fast out here. To see the condition of the country and to meet all these different people first hand can be very humbling. 

LC:  On Junky Star, during some of the most desperate songs (“Yesterday’s Blues,” “Lay My Head On the Rail”), and even the ones born of murder (like “Junky Star,” “Hallelujah”), each character seems to ask for or tries to keep a memory of a “you.” That longing seems to humanize these otherwise desolate characters. If these “you”s are actually people, lost loves, friends, companions, what do these songs say about the power of human empathy? 

RB:  Writing has always been a form of therapy for me. It’s a sort of release for me that helps me get stuff of my chest that sometimes can be difficult to talk about. The songs I write are not necessarily about anything in specific. They're mostly bits and pieces of a lot of different things I’ve experienced throughout my life – some from the past and some from the present, and sometimes from the future. Sometimes I’ll write a song thinking one thing and the next day I’ll listen back to it and it will take on a whole new meaning for me. 

I’m not sure if some of the songs are so much as born of murder as they are of just life and death and the struggle in between – the struggle that every human being has to deal with in one way or another. I feel the true power of a song is its ability to translate itself into anyone’s life, where eventually it becomes the listener's song, the listener's own story. 

LC:  How does it feel to constantly be labeled “authentic”? Do you see a danger in that – especially now that you’ve set up shop in L.A? 

 RB:  I’m not too worried about labels. I mean I hear people say that I’m authentic one day and the next day they’re calling me a sellout. People like a lot of different kinds of music and I understand that the songs I write are not for everyone. Unfortunately, everything has to have a label or a genre or some bullshit tag stapled to it, mostly so that the powers that be can sell it and manipulate it. If worrying about being labeled is my worst problem today, then I’m in pretty good shape.

LC:  In other interviews you’ve stated that your musical influences are varied: “from Bob Marley to Bob Wills.” Your lyrics are also so poetic and so American in their sense of movement, attention to landscape, occupation with those left behind, I can’t help but hear echoes of Whitman, Kerouac, and even Proulx. Do you have any literary influences? 

RB:  I’m a little embarrassed to say this, but I have been a bit delinquent in the literature department. My wife has been steering me in the right direction and turning me on to the good stuff though, so I’m getting there. I just finished The Catcher in the Rye and wished I would have read that when I was about 16, but I guess it’s never too late.

LC:  A rather obscure Mexican-American writer once said that “I believe that a person is made up of a number of emotions and that the people in turn make up the place in which they live, so only through knowing the people who inhabit a place does one get to know the place itself.” Through your experience traveling the southwest, the U.S., and the world, for that matter, do you agree? How do you understand the relationship between people and place?

RB:  Well, I guess in one way or another you are what you eat. I mean, I think where you grow up and where you live definitely has a huge influence on how you think and how you feel about anything. Just ask a local fisherman in Louisiana how he feels about the BP oil spill in the gulf and then go ask the same question to an oil field worker in west Texas who really likes to eat gulf coast shrimp. 

 LC: And movement: travel and wandering are powerful experiences as well as powerful metaphors (for life, the human condition, etc.). Can you write a little about what movement means to you and how it influences your music? Would there even be a Ryan Bingham or any Dead Horses without the wandering? 

RB:  I think the rhythm of life on the move has been the heartbeat of this band from the start. For the most part I think the reason I got into any of this at all was the desire for adventure and it really had little to do with the music. The music was the tool that enabled me to travel and discover the world. It kept me out of the eight-to-five jobs and let me live life on my own terms. Whether we are searching or hiding, it’s the ultimate escape from the human race – that is until the doors open, anyway.

LC:  Finally, with four heavily makeuped, outspoken women flanking you on a designer sofa, what was it like playing your Oscar-winning ballad, “The Weary Kind,” on The View? 

RB:  It was terrifying.

Ryan Bingham and his guitar will be playing in-store at Twist and Shout Records on Friday, February 25, 2011 at 4 p.m. The Dead Horses will join him for a 9 p.m. show later that evening at the Ogden.

By: Lindsay M. Christopher

I'd Love To Turn You On - At The Movies #7 - The Juniper Tree (1990, dir. Nietzchka Keene)

I have been recommending this film to Bjork fans for well over a decade now.  This film was made in 1990, but I did not discover it until 1997.  Almost every time someone starts raving about her, I ask "Have you seen the Juniper Tree?"  Rarely has anyone said yes.  It is not so important how much of a fan you are, this movie has become a film I recommend for the film quality itself and not so much because of her. 

It is a melancholy coming of age story focusing on a 13-year old girl, Margit (Björk), who has joined up with her sister after their mother has been killed by townspeople for being a witch.  Her character mixes Christian prayer, saint songs, spells and amulets in her need to control the dangerous world around her. This is loosely based on a Brothers Grimm story that stays true to their feel and to parts of the story, but the director’s focus is on the folklore of Iceland and the persecution of witches. This is a tale of an evil stepmother, just as morbid and creepy as the original - which you have most likely never heard (I had never heard it) because it was censored from most editions for children.  Margit tries to love and protect the people around her but death may be the stronger theme in this tale.

Iceland is the true star of this film, with its ragged rocks that look like ancient majestic skylines. The contrast of textures in this movie is accentuated by being filmed in black and white. It reminds me of David Lynch in the sense that B&W used in a modern film seems to give a rich sense of contrast between light and dark.  When the subject is asking moral and ethical questions like what is good and what is evil, I think black and white becomes a subtle but meaningful touch. The filming locations are stunning; the house that the sisters flee to is one of the oldest homes in Iceland, the interior shots were from rooms in two different natural museums.  The shoes and clothes were made to be true to the period, which is set roughly in the middle ages. It was written and directed by an American woman, Nietzchka Keene, and is in English, though very rich with thick Scandinavian accents. I enjoyed the lilting quality of the spoken words, the singing and the use of songbirds throughout the film.  There are scenes on the country side that look like the most perfect summer day, where the birds fill the air and background, then there are more menacing moments when they add to the tension and fear.

There is also a sexual undertone through out this movie - just keep in mind that Bjork was actually nineteen when she played this part.  She adds an innocent childlike lightness to her character while maintaining a complex depth that leaves some things open to interpretation.  This is a must see for Bjork fans, and perhaps Sigur Ros fans. This movie is also good for people who enjoyed Antichrist or Dancer in the Dark by Lars Von Trier.  But don't be scared, this film is nowhere near as dark or depressing.

- Natasha

Several Species Of Small Furry Thoughts - The comfort of things.

I don’t know about you but I greatly cherish my days off. Not only for the respite from the grind, but also because it allows me prolonged exposure to those things that mean most: my house, pets, and the “things” which identify me. I guess it is because of the tireless media drumbeat of “the death of this that and the other thing” that has made me so aware, but in the last couple of months as I have had time off I have found a new extreme comfort in things. The other day, for instance I listened to the vinyl issue of Wanda Jackson’s fantastic new album while reading the new Ken Kesey biography Acid Christ (autographed copies are available at Tattered Cover) and then moved on to the Neil Young issue of Mojo. Later I watched a Blu-Ray of the very interesting, and somewhat disturbing film adaptation of Where The Wild Things Are. The point isn’t how lucky I am to have all this stuff (which I surely am), but that there is a unique and very human pleasure attached to the items I describe. Not just the content, but the item itself. The holding of a book or magazine, the flipping of a vinyl record to side B and then the endless reexamination of the cover art and liner notes, the smell of my old records which permeates the entire room, mixing with the wonderful odor of old adventures coming from my comic book closet. These are things that are not available with the online experience … and never will be. The warm, olfactory charm of thousands of records physically being in a room with you is a certain magic that may be lost on future generations. How sad. For me these days when I afford myself the luxury of lying on the sofa, blasting music, reading a book - it makes my life worth living in this increasingly upsetting and less beautiful world.

Another CD I have spent some time with lately, has been the deluxe reissue of 13^th Floor Elevators classic album Easter Everywhere the 1967 follow-up to their first classic album, The Psychedelic Sounds Of The 13^th Floor Elevators. I have always considered the first album this mercurial band’s best and had not really given Easter Everywhere as much attention. Big mistake! Easter Everywhere is a raw, wild freak-out album that contains some of the most authentic psychedelic music ever made. Easter Everywhere is actually a far more developed album than the first, kicking off with what could be their best song (and one of the best acid revelation lyrics ever) “Slip Inside This House” which over the course of many minutes drags the listener on a moody weird trip informed by chilling vocals, spine-tingling guitar lines and the ever-present sound of the electric jug - the thing that makes 13^th Floor Elevators so distinctive and immediately recognizable apart from their contemporaries. This album really does just drip LSD. Clearly fried themselves, the members of the band shake and quiver through songs, occasionally losing the thread (or the key they are playing in), but never leaving an almost palpable sense of mystery and dread behind. The whole album is fabulous, but the cover of Dylan’s “(It’s All Over Now) Baby Blue” stands as one of the best Bob covers ever. Roky Erickson’s spooky vocals cut right to the core of this existential masterpiece. This is a real 60’s album. The deluxe reissue is a lovely package with a great booklet and two discs that present the album in both mono and stereo and offer up a bonus track. As I let the day-glow weirdness wash over me, I relished in the fondling of, and reading the booklet. There are rare photos in the package and I stare at them until my eyes grow blurry. I put the package down, but keep my hand on it, feeling the smooth surface.

- Paul

I'd Love To Turn You on #27 - Avishai Cohen – Adama (Stretch/Concord)

Here’s a little-known geo-cultural fact for you:  Over the past twenty or so years, perhaps the principal export from the nation is Israel has not been palm dates or petroleum, but rather high-caliber modern jazz musicians.  For evidence, look no further than the multi-talented New York-based saxophonist and clarinetist Anat Cohen, West Coast piano phenom Tamir Hendelman, or John Zorn’s Radical Jewish Music series.  In fact, the bumper crop of Israeli jazz talent includes not one, but TWO Avishai Cohens: one is a fine trumpeter and brother of Anat.  The second – and our subject at hand – is a bassist-composer-bandleader, and of no relation to the aforementioned Cohens.  Bassist Avishai’s first album under his own name was appropriately titled Adama (like the First Man – clever!), and was released back in ’99 by Chick Corea’s Stretch label (distributed by the mighty Concord Music Group).  To these ears, while Avishai hasn’t yet laid an egg in the recording studio, he has approached – but has yet to exceed – the impact of his album #1…

Arriving in the States following his stint in the Israeli military, Avishai dropped Big Apple jaws as a member of Corea’s Origin group.  For his debut session as a leader, Cohen assembled the core of his band from the nucleus of the Origin group, and the years of intra-personal chemistry these young lions enjoyed become immediately apparent!  From the opening theme on, Adama is infused with myriad influences from the fertile Middle Eastern cultural tapestry.  Spanish-Moorish colorings, Turkish-sounding rhythms and time signatures, Arabic instrumentation (Amos Hoffman is a standout addition on some tracks, playing the oud, an ancient lute-like instrument), and the grand tradition of Klezmer improvisation are all in full effect here.  But the unmistakable pulse of modern American jazz provides the foundation for the program to follow.  As to Avishai Cohen the improviser, he possesses in great quantity the qualities we would demand of a jazz bassist: manual dexterity and strength, a wealth of ideas, and rhythmic propulsion are all well provided for here.  As a soloist, few of the thirty/forty-somethings on the scene can even approach Cohen in terms of his fleet fingered plucking and aggressive thwacking on the big fiddle; it’s worth noting though, that his technique is pretty damned amazing but all in the service of the greater musical whole.  If Avishai is ever tempted to show off for the sake of exhibition, he keeps the urge tightly under his thumb.  But just listen to his wild runs up and down the neck of his bass – it gives me a sympathetic chill through my spinal column every time!  A word now on Cohen the arranger: While a pair of Steves – saxophonist Wilson and trombonist Davis – are the only two horns on the date, Avishai’s slippery lines sound much larger than the sum of its instrumental parts.  It’s a big sound, boy.  Big.  These two well-oiled blowers are more than equipped to spiral about one another in tandem, weaving neat voicings and countermelodies.  In the rhythm section you’ll find two then-ascendant, now firmly-established top cats: sparkling pianist Jason Lindner (pick up any ‘90s or more recent jazz CD in this store and there’s an excellent chance he’s sitting in there somewhere) and the colorful, tuneful drums of Jeff Ballard (formerly of Joshua Redman’s groups and Brad Mehldau’s bellwether trio).  These three in the engine room, plus slick horns, some added percussion and a guest appearance by Mr. Corea himself on Fender Rhodes makes this one an intriguing jazz journey over land and sea, smelling of exotic spices and good old New York cellar jazz rooms.

I’d happily recommend this tasty little disc to the classic jazz fan looking for an accessible bridge into newer expressions, or the world music lover interested in deepening their jazz pedigree.  Thanks for reading, and I hope you’ll enjoy the music…

Signed with love, from Erik Troe.

Bobby Long 2/10/11 Wrap Up

Bobby himself mentioned how cold it was in Colorado from the stage several times. In spite of that fact about forty warm souls braved the cold for a quick 20-minute shot of a singer/songwriter you will undoubtedly hear more and more about. It is hard to describe this unassuming Englishman’s music, but he most reminds of Nick Drake. He is soft-spoken and his music has an emotional gravity that is rare today.

When we look at the relative success of an event like this compared to, say, a Widespread Panic in-store with three or four hundred people fighting to get in and every one of them buying up a storm, sometimes we wonder if it is worth it. But, as I was wondering this aloud last night, Chuck Morris (legendary promoter, band manager and Denver institution) said “shit I remember having Lyle Lovett (someone he managed for many years) at The Oxford Hotel playing for 10 people. This guy (Bobby Long) is gonna be huge and you were on the ground floor with him. This is great!” Thanks for the perspective Chuck! We will continue to bring in the up-and-comers as well as the sure things - cause that’s what we do.

-Paul Epstein

I'd Love To Turn You On: At the Movies #6 - Zabriskie Point (1970, dir. Michelangelo Antonioni)

I probably shouldn’t admit that my favorite Michelangelo Antonioni film is Zabriskie Point, lest somebody revoke my film snob card. I’d be better off sticking to his more agreed-upon masterpieces of meditative cinema, such as Red Desert, Blow-Up or L’Avventura. But I can’t help it. I’m an American. And a rock-n-roller. And Zabriskie Point was the Italian director’s rockin’ rage through the U.S.A. His answer to Easy Rider. His psychedelic contribution to a revolution that still seemed possible in 1970, when the film came out.

I have to concede that it’s kind of corny in parts, more than a little dated, like when Daria, the female lead, played by Daria Halprin (who

was married to Dennis Hopper for four years in the 70s), takes a hit of grass and says, “So anyway. So anyway ought to be the name of a place. Like a river. The So-anyway River.” Or when Mark, the male lead, played by Mark Frechette, strengthens his revolutionary resolve after a buzz-cut deli owner refuses to give him a sandwich for free. But for me this out-of-style stuff is part of what makes the film so cool. It’s like finding a perfectly outrageous hippy shirt at a thrift store.

And it is an Antonioni film—so beautiful it practically makes your eyes ache. It contains some of my favorite moments in the history of film: when Mark steals an airplane and rises above the smoggy sprawl of L.A. with the Grateful Dead’s “Dark Star” screaming on the soundtrack; a totally far-out sex scene, in which Daria and Mark’s canoodling in the desert magically blossoms into a full-blown orgy of naked hippies going at it amid clouds of dust (to the accompaniment of some lovely Jerry Garcia noodling); and the best of all, super-slow-motion shots of televisions and refrigerators stuffed with food and wardrobes full of clothes being blown to bits by explosives while Pink Floyd’s “Careful With That Ax, Eugene” blares away. It even has a boy-meets-girl scene to end them all, with Mark dive-bombing his plane toward Daria’s old beater car as she cruises across the desert. She pulls to the side of the road and gets out and he throws a red sheet down at her so she can play like a bullfighter with a flying bull.

Zabriskie Point makes a simple but profound point about social change and the revolutionary spirit that was alive at the time of its release, and that is that the most transformational force is the power of imagination. Kind of like the old adage, “Free your mind and your ass will follow,” but deeper, full of beauty and conviction. It’s a notion that never really went away, thank goodness, no matter how many guns and cans of teargas the pigs have at their command.

- Joe

I'd Love To Turn You on #26 - Aqua – Aquarium (1997 – MCA Records)

“Hiya Barbie

Hi Ken!

You wanna go for a ride?
Sure, Ken!
Jump in!”

Aqua's Aquarium is, for many, one of the defining albums of late 90's pop. From the instant (and over played) classic “Barbie Girl” to the anthem-esque “Roses are Red” or the bouncy, beat-dropping “Lollipop (Candyman)” this album is filled to the brim with classic late 90's dance production that can be considered on first listen as “cheesy,” but given the right volume setting and enough room to dance, one can enjoy this album as 90's pop at its very best!

Aqua's roots go back to 1989 when they were called Joyspeed. By 1994 they had their first record deal and were renamed as Aqua. After a failed single, and much disappointment, they were finally able to get a major record deal with Universal Denmark in 1996. By February 1997 they released their first complete album, Aquarium. The album was a huge success for the band. It made number one in the United Kingdom for four weeks, in Australia for three weeks, and even managed to make the top ten of the Billboard Top 100 - something rarely achieved at the time by European pop acts.

The best-known song on this album is, of course, “Barbie Girl.” The song's success was due not only to its melody and drum machine driven beats, but also to its controversial content. The track, while suggesting that it’s about a child's toy, offers sexual undertones such as "You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere," "You can touch, you can play," and "Kiss me here, touch me there, hanky-panky.” The association of sexuality with a toy and the blatant social commentary immediately put the band under a great deal of international criticism; so much so that Barbie manufacturer Mattel decided to file a lawsuit against Aqua in 2002 claiming that the song had “damaged the reputation of the Barbie brand.” Luckily, the lawsuit was later thrown out of court.

Aquarium, however, goes far beyond just “Barbie Girl.” The album is, for the most part, fast-paced and full of electric pop energy that only the Danish can provide. It also takes breaks for some slower, silly pop hits like “Be a Man,” a “serious” pop ballad, or “Turn Back Time,” a contemplative look at the passing of years, as only 90's pop can tell. The rest of the album, however, is full of synthesizers and drum machines, nasal, happy vocals and a sense of hyper pop energy that can only be matched by its own exaggerated, cute and at times melodramatic lyrics, that were not always what they seemed at be at first listen.

Aquarium is a classic pop album that just gets better with time. It may be the increasing level of “cheese” it collects over the years that makes it fun, or it may be that it's nice to listen to a pop album from a time when pop seemed to be a bit more simple and didn't take itself so seriously. Or maybe it's just that Aqua really knew how to make a truly amazing pop album true to the genre's characteristics. Regardless of why, this album is amazing.

If you're willing to step out of your shell for an hour and take yourself a little less seriously, try taking a listen to this album. It's sure to have you smiling, laughing and dancing around like a fool. A definite for a small dance party with friends. I dare you to grab this album, blare it in your car, or while you're cleaning your house and try not to sing along or bounce around!

- Chris Berstler

Several Species Of Small Furry Thoughts - Wanda Jackson

It is tempting to base a review of the stunning new Wanda Jackson album The Party Ain’t Over entirely on its producer and guiding spirit Jack White, but Miss Jackson herself is so compelling a figure that she actually outshines White’s light. It is also almost impossible to NOT compare this album to Van Lear Rose, the album White produced for another country legend, Loretta Lynn, in 2004. While Van Lear Rose was a sweeping, epic, ballads album, The Party Ain’t Over is a claustrophobic, jumpin’ good-time album, where the stars of the show - Miss Jackson’s incredible, cartoonish voice, and White’s revved up guitar sound - are inches from you face and everything is squeezed up tight into the middle of the sonic field stimulating that maximum excitement. Just like hits in the 50’s and early 60’s used to sound. They knew how to make that single, mono speaker in the middle of your dashboard sound like heaven back then and Jack White in his Third Man Studio really knows how to get that sound.

It’s not really correct to call Wanda Jackson country because even though her roots are clearly in that genre, she is truly the queen of rockabilly. Her first hits (in 1955) are a groundbreaking fusion of country and early rock and roll that make Elvis look like a stroll in the park. She had a gutsy vocal style and an appreciation for pulse-quickening tempos that made her a true pioneer. And, amazingly, she seems to have lost none of her fire. On The Party Ain’t Over White helps her choose a perfect program of classic and modern rockers that just light up the speakers. Kicking off with the great Johnny Kidd and The Pirates hit “Shakin’ All Over” it is clear that Jackson still has her pipes and has surrounded herself with a young kick-ass band that can really rock. Numbers like “Rip It Up,” “Nervous Breakdown,” “Rum and Coca Cola” and “Busted” really play to her obvious strengths, allowing her the comfort and room to stretch out her phrasing and make the songs her own. White’s production is so completely on the money - paying tribute to her heritage while yanking her into the present - that you have to wonder how he figured it all out. I’ve always hated when adults talk to kids like they are stupid and can’t understand what you are saying. Likewise, I have hated when young people show older, more experienced folks too much deference, denying their viability as still active members of the human race. That line is walked with such gentle precision on this album that one has to say bravo! Jack White, bravo! He gets how special this woman is, but that’s not going to stop him from turning it up to 11 and doing what he knows his fans want.

Possibly the two greatest performances on The Party Ain’t Over are covers of Bob Dylan and Amy Winehouse, respectively. On Winehouse’s “You Know I’m No Good” Jackson takes a completely modern lyric and tune and makes them feel like they were always hers. She inhabits the bittersweet lyrics and finds a ray of optimism in an otherwise bleak tune. The real masterpiece here though is her completely wild take on Dylan’s “Thunder On The Mountain” from his Modern Times album. Propelled by a punchy horn chart and White’s stinging lead guitar, the song explodes with energy and joy - things that used to regularly be part of rock music. Jackson cleverly changes Dylan’s name check of “Alicia Keys” to “Jerry Lee” in a perfect nod to her place in history. Apparently her old friend Bob Dylan was the one who suggested she do this tune, and it is an absolute stroke of genius.

The Party Ain’t Over is such an unexpected blast of pure rock fun, that it is tempting to doubt its veracity. It’s for real folks! Check this video of “Thunder On The Mountain” (below). If that doesn’t get you excited and wanting this album, better check your pulse.

-Paul Epstein

I'd Love To Turn You On - At The Movies #5 - Heaven Help Us (1985, dir. Michael Dinner)

Heaven Help Us seemed to slip by relatively unnoticed amongst the other hit movies of 1985 (Goonies, Back To the Future, Breakfast Club), but is a quality film nonetheless. The movie has a great combination of serious drama and rated R humor with a brief and semi-tragic love story, set in Brooklyn, 1965, at an all-boys Catholic school that uses corporal punishment to help enforce their strict religious teaching. A core group of five misfits find trouble often while trying to fit in, which brings hilarity and can show the harsh punishment that follows. It is directed by Michael Dinner, who is mostly known for TV work like The Wonder Years and Chicago Hope.

The cast: a young Andrew McCarthy, Mary Stuart Masterson (very cute and likable), Donald Sutherland, a great early role for Kevin Dillon (Entourage), Dana Barron (Audrey in the original National Lampoon's Vacation), Yeardley Smith (voice of Lisa Simpson), a pre-McDreamy Patrick Dempsey and even Wallace Shawn (Princess Bride) who has a great pre-dance speech about LUST! Inconceivable.

The music: some classic '60s soul from Marvin Gaye, The Four Tops, Smokey Robinson, The Temptations and the great Otis Redding doing “I've Been Loving You Too Long.” The slow dance scene goes perfectly with this song and made me really 'hear' it and give proper attention to Otis' music. A great movie overall that I find myself watching every few months.

Joel

Flaming Lips’ Freak Out 2011

For the last five years or so, my wife and I have stayed in on New Year’s Eve. But not this year. To celebrate what we hope will be an important, breakthrough year for us, Allie and I packed up the car and drove down to Oklahoma City to catch the annual Flaming Lips’ Freak Out.

The prospect of this adventure reminded me of one I took 24 years ago to Oakland to see the Grateful Dead for the first time in my life. The story’s worth repeating here because it (briefly) involves a certain high school teacher who went on to own a certain kick ass record store. I lied to my mom to get her permission to go, telling her my friend Dave was going with me. I went alone. I was 18. At the first show of the four-night stand I sat front row center in the balcony at the Henry J. Kaiser Auditorium. I kept thinking I was dropping stuff out of my pockets. So did the guy sitting next to me. But when we looked under our seats, we saw nothing. Also, my lap melted. I kept hoping to run into my teacher, but I didn’t until the last night, New Year’s Eve. I ran up to him, all skinny and out of breath, wearing a very loud button down shirt I’d made my mom buy for me on a trip to the Aurora Mall. We only talked for about 15 seconds, but I’m quite certain I succeeded in adding an unexpected and abiding level of terror to my teacher’s night. 

Anyway, the Lips’ Freak Out was an amazing trip from start to finish. From before the start, actually. It takes about six hours to drive from Kansas City to Oklahoma City. On the morning of our trip, an ice storm had passed the Flint Hills between Emporia and Wichita. The sun broke through the clouds just as Allie and I arrived there and it backlit the frozen grass, making the countryside glow. We found a classical music station with a signal that spanned the entire state. 

After checking into our hotel and eating Chinese food, we drove a long, two-lane city street into downtown Oklahoma City. As we got closer, a skyscraper emerged from dark horizon with its windows lit in the form of a cross. Then a second cross-bearing tower appeared. There was road construction everywhere, traffic beacons flashing orange light. It felt as if we were sneaking past a post-apocalypse Mount Cavalry to participate in a semi-clandestine cosmo-pagan ritual.  

We had to park a few blocks away from the concert. We walked toward what we thought was the concert venue, a hulking arena that glowed dramatically, but a security guard directed us to a squat and boxy convention hall. There were no ticket takers at the door. We entered a long hall full of people milling around, some in winter coats, some with glittery green cardboard hats. A man with a cowboy hat stood near an escalator singing and playing guitar. Doors along the left side of the hallway opened to several large ballrooms, each with a stage at the end of it. One room was full of junior-high-aged kids, another was full of black families. An easel placed outside one of the rooms held a placard that read, “Meridians New Year’s Celebration.” We caught glimpses through the doorways on the right side of the hall of a spectacular light show and we could hear the muffled throbbing of a rock and roll show. 

I can’t overemphasize how weird this was. To walk into a familiar space, a generic convention space in need of a remodel, and to find among the normal and mundane festivities a space that is completely overtaken by unbridled strangeness—my god, it was beautiful.

Inside, Allie spotted a bunny. I saw Jesus dressed in red Converse high tops. Just about every other person wore a necklace with a green strobe light amulet. We grabbed a couple of beers, found our seats, and settled in to take in the scene. The arena lights were dimmed and Miles Davis’s On the Corner was cranked on the sound system. Great big balloons bounced on the crowd in front of the stage. Giant smiling flowers and caterpillars wandered around near the sound board. On stage, men in prison jumpsuits checked wire connections and every once in a while one of the members of the Flaming Lips would come out and fiddle with an instrument. Michael Ivins thumbed a handful of low notes that shook the air and drowned out Miles. Wayne Coyne grabbed a confetti gun and shot it into the air. He tested a camera that was attached to his microphone. The half-circle screen behind the stage filled with the image of his face. He said, “Just so everybody has an idea of what’s going to happen, we’re going to come out and play until right before midnight, then we’re gonna sort of stop; we’re basking in a sort of New Year’s glow and love and we’re floating in this room together. Then we’ll come back out and play The Soft Bulletin.” 

“He’s like a pre-school teacher,” Allie said.

The arena went dark and the screen behind the stage filled with the image of a naked woman who glowed bright. She danced. A point of light emanated from her vagina and grew in size and intensity as she laid down and spread her legs toward the audience and so that the members of the band could emerge from her one after another. A clear membrane rose from the center of the stage with Coyne struggling inside, pushing against the sides of it, forcing it into the shape of a bubble. He stood and walked toward the edge of the stage, the bubble rolling under his steps like a hamster ball, and he stepped off onto the crowd. The audience’s hands glowed green under the stage lights. Allie told me she thought it looked like a sea creature.

They played “She Don’t Use Jelly,” “Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots Pt. 2,” a bunch of cuts from Embryonic. The flowers and giant bugs we’d seen earlier stood in clusters on both sides of the stage and danced. Coyne told us “There are people at home at their computers wishing they were you.” A bear picked him up and carried him around on its shoulders while he sang, and then whispered in his ear as a man and woman dressed in luminescent garments walked out onto the stage. “Mr. Bear told me these people are here to be married by the Flaming Lips,” Coyne said. The woman wore a green veil and the man had a long, white beard. “By the power vested in me as the unofficial master of my universe,” Coyne said, raising a hand like a preacher, “I hereby do proclaim that this man and woman realize they’re floating in space.” The Lips closed the set with the song the “floating in space” line comes from, during which I looked around and saw a man a few rows back dressed in a corduroy blazer with streaks of tears running down his face. A woman grabbed his hands and squeezed them tightly. 

At a few minutes before twelve, huge balloons came cascading down the risers behind the stage and onto the crowd. Coyne told us, “The balloons could not wait to come down and join the fucking party.” He said that it was time to sing a song. “We don’t know the words to this song,” he said. “But you’ve got to sing this song every New Year’s Eve. Come on.” After we all sang, countdown clock filled the screen and it ticked off sixty seconds, at the end of which I kissed Allie, and then the numbers counted upward from zero to 2011. As the numbers flashed, Allie and I thought of all the epochs of history that we could remember. At 1968 I shouted, “I was born.” At 1973, “You were born!” 2000: “We met!” 2007: “We were married!” 2011, “Happy New Year!” That moment, we later learned from someone with an iPhone, was the actual stroke of midnight. 

The Lips came back on at about 12:30 to play The Soft Bulletin, an album I’d always liked but had never loved in the way I love Yoshimi and Embryonic. In this setting, though, it was entirely new. They began with a prelude, a soft and lovely variation of the opening riff of “Race for the Prize.” Coyne told us that they could never make another album like this one because it was made during a period of extreme highs and lows and artistic exploration that can only happen once in a lifetime. Throughout the performance of the album he paused to tell tales from that time and to give insight to the songs. Before each verse in “The Spiderbite Song” he told the story behind it and professed his love to his bandmates, both of whom nearly died during the time the album was being made. When he did this the screen behind was filled with his face so we could all see his sincerity starkly. During “What is the Light?” the whole place went dark. Drops of light dripped from the ceiling and the stage filled with a galaxy of starlight that exploded outward, swirled around and collapsed into itself to form the words of the song, one word at a time.

When we got back to the hotel we found a Twilight Zone marathon on the SyFy Channel. It was still going the next morning. In the free-breakfast room by the lobby I eavesdropped on some kids who had driven down from suburban Kansas City to catch the show. A couple of them said they’d left early. The Soft Bulletin isn’t their favorite record, one of them explained. That night, when we got home, Allie and I listened to the album and it was as if I’d never heard it before. I always thought it sounded thin compared to their later works. Genius in aspiration, I thought, but played by a band not yet accomplished enough to realize their vision. But this time, on a new (for me) stereo, it revealed itself as the perfect masterpiece that it is. I thought back to the concert, remembering how it felt to hold Allie and sway with her to the music. In Oklahoma City, I kept wishing that they would release a live recording of the show, preferably on vinyl. And that would be great. But unnecessary. 

All that’s left for me to do now is to by it on LP to — as an old high school teacher of mine once said — “properly consummate the relationship.”

Several Species Of Small Furry Thoughts - Gregg Allman

Gregg Allman has always been a complicated figure. Initially under the shadow of big brother Duane, he seemed like the perennially shy, reluctant frontman. After Duane’s death, his reluctance never subsided. Within the Allman Brothers cosmology he has always allowed others - Dickie Betts, Chuck Leavell, Warren Haynes, Derek Trucks - to stand in the spotlight while he stays off to the side and anchors the band’s soul with his earthy Hammond playing and gritty vocals. His solo career has been characterized by “few and far between.” None of his solo albums have revealed the depths of Gregg’s heart to his fans. None until now! His new album, Low Country Blues finally delivers on the promise of Gregg Allman. Under the careful guidance of producer T-Bone Burnett, Gregg is surrounded by a simple and sympathetic band (highlighted by Dr. John on piano and Doyle Bramhall II and Mr. Burnett on guitars, as well as superb rhythm section Jay Bellarose on drums and Dennis Crouch on acoustic bass) and leads them through a program of blues and soul that showcases all his strengths. Allman’s vocals have always been remarkable. He is one of very few white people who can legitimately sing the blues and not sound affected. His approach is always slow and deep. He never partakes in the over-souled histrionics of his contemporaries; instead delivering songs with a laconic authority that can’t be learned. Of all his peers, Allman has always seemed like he had come the closest to the fires of Hell, and rather than brag about it, he has hidden his knowledge in the painful sincerity of his delivery. There is never any fake white-boy growl in his voice, instead, like on Amos Milburn’s “Tears Tears Tears” he merely seems to open his mouth a little wider, and like a lion his roar is natural and unaffected. 

Throughout the 11 covers and one original on this album, the listener never questions Allman’s right to this material. He tackles, Muddy Waters, B.B. King, Otis Rush, Sleepy John Estes, Skip James and others, and delivers on every single track. The best are those when T-Bone Burnett is able to capture a simple, haunting beat and let Allman’s other-worldly vocals take center stage. They succeed to greatest effect on Skip James’ “Devil Got My Woman,” Muddy’s “I Can’t Be Satisfied” and a couple of public domain numbers, “I Believe I’ll Go Back Home” and “Rollin’ Stone” which features a haunting Dobro part by Colin Linden. 

Gregg Allman has always been a natural for the enjoyable blues rock of The Allman Brothers Band, but many have suspected that below the surface their lurked a darker soul and more profound talent. Low Country Blues shows that that talent is indeed there, flowing in the same river as his heroes. He is part of the continuum of American Roots Music that he has always paid tribute to. He is home. 

I'd Love To Turn You on #25 - Al Green - The Belle Album

Over the course of ten albums in seven years, Al Green and producer Willie Mitchell turned Hi Records from a Stax-wannabe into the R&B label others tried to emulate, a reputation staked largely on Green’s recordings. Though other artists – notably Ann Peebles – were also the beneficiaries of Mitchell’s ideas, it was Green’s sensuous voice coupled with Mitchell’s lush productions and their pairing as a songwriting team that catapulted Hi to the commercial forefront. It would seem downright foolish to break up such a worthy partnership, but that’s exactly what happened at Hi for album eleven as Al’s previous three albums saw declining sales and fewer hit singles and public favor began to turn to disco, funk, and other forms of R&B, supplanting Green and Mitchell’s slow, sultry soul. Needing a shake-up, Mitchell was out and Green himself took the production reins, gathered a new band, and created his strongest album in years and very possibly his greatest album after the immortal Call Me.

Where most of Green’s albums hook you with their most up-front cuts and then over time work their way into you, this one uncharacteristically reaches out and shakes you up, an odd result when he goes largely acoustic and goes for more or less the same subtle grooves that he’d pursued for most of his career. It’s probably significant that Green had recently decided he needed a philosophical shift in his life, matched here by this musical shift. While God was never absent from Al's previous albums, here He's moved front and center thematically with Al leading the album telling Belle that it's her that he wants, "but Him that I need." From there things stay largely secular, though often tinged with the idea - especially in "Chariots of Fire" - that other realms are never far from Al's mind and even can be read into some of the other lyrics. Musically it's more assured (and varied) than Al's last few records - stronger and more consistent as a whole than anything since Call Me in fact - and in "Georgia Boy" he's found the perfect hot, hazy groove that feels all too short at seven minutes. But from the laid-back funk of “Georgia Boy” to the disco-tinged “I Feel Good” and back to the brilliant ballad “Belle” on down to the languorous “Dream” he makes one of his strongest album statements here.

Rather than signaling a commercial restart for Green, The Belle Album was his lowest charting record at Hi, “Belle” failed to chart as a single, and Green only made one more secular album, the 26-minute Truth N’ Time, before devoting himself fully to spiritual music for the better part of two decades. While he made some fascinating religious music and has since made a credible return to secular music, he has never again hit the heights of this terrific album.

Patrick Brown

Kylesa-Spiral Shadow

There's been a wealth of quality, innovative hard and heavy bands coming up from the South in recent years. Hailing from Savannah, GA, Kylesa joins the ranks of bands like Mastodon and Baroness in creating exciting new avenues for heavy rock music. Their latest album, Spiral Shadow, shows a deft mix of prog-metal, psych jams, and doomy riffs all powered by a two drummer attack. The vocal interplay between the gruff Phillip Cope and the dreamy Laura Pleasants is another unique aspect of the band's sound. The album is highlighted by the anthemic "Don't Look Back," which could end up as the metal equivalent of the Arcade Fire's "Wake Up." Kylesa is one of the strongest bands around right now and Spiral Shadow is one of 2010's top releases.
-Adam R.

I'd Love To Turn You On: At the Movies #4 - The Last Detail – (dir. Hal Ashby, 1973)

Sometime in the early 1970’s, Jack Nicholson went from being a competent character actor, specializing in edgy, creepy misfits, to being the most respected American actor of several decades. I’ve always pegged this change as falling between Five Easy Pieces and One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. The Last Detail is right in the middle of this period (1973) and it marks one of Nicholson’s most deceptively complex roles. In it, he plays a hardened Navy lifer named “Badass” Buddusky who, along with another M.P. (military police), “Mule” Mulhall (the fine actor Otis Young) must transport a young criminal (Randy Quaid) to a military prison on the other side of the country. Within the first few minutes we learn that Quaid is a guileless schnook who is being made an example of to satisfy a general’s wife. Badass and Mule begin their journey in typical military fashion, but quickly realize their job, or detail, is not just another case of following orders.

Nicholson immediately distinguishes himself in this role. He goes from explosive asshole to sensitive realist as he starts to grasp the enormity of the injustice being heaped on this poor sap he is transporting. Randy Quaid as Seaman First Class Meadows is heartbreakingly convincing. He is a troubled, stupid kid who has gotten bad breaks his whole life. He isn’t “everyman,” he is “everyscapegoat” representing all sensitive kids who ever got destroyed by the rule-spouting machine that is the military.

The beauty of The Last Detail comes in the subtle changes in Nicholson’s character, as he has to confront issues of duty, justice and ultimately his own humanity. The more time he spends with Meadows, the more he realizes the questionable morality of his actions. Pity starts to turn to empathy when the men stop in Meadows’ home- town. The three look into the home Meadows grew up in, and as they survey the squalid, sad reality of it, the scales of rank and circumstance start to fall from their eyes and the two guards see themselves in Meadows. From here, the attempts to show Meadows a good time before he goes up the river become increasingly frantic, and ultimately sadder and sadder. Nicholson insists they take him to a prostitute, and the encounter (with a young, dark-eyed Carol Kane) is painfully realistic. They encounter a group of Buddhists and end up at a party that is so tremendously uncomfortable and inappropriate that the viewer is crawling out of his skin to get out of there.

Ultimately the two guards are faced with the sad reality that this poor kid is going away to have his life ruined forever. They know he will be eaten alive at the tough Marine prison. The saddest scene comes near the end of the film as Meadows is unceremoniously taken away by Marine guards and he and Badass and Mule do not exchange a word or even so much as a look. It is a devastatingly inhumane experience. Mule and Badass leave the prison under a cloudy sky and the cruelty and futility of this “detail” is written all over their faces.

The Last Detail was originally billed as a comedy, which is hard for me to understand. Nicholson displays some classic, salty ribaldry and uses the f-word a record number of times, but there is ultimately nothing funny about this movie. It is a small, carefully drawn tale that explores the kind of slow changes in understanding that have to occur to make a difference in one’s basic humanity. One doesn’t believe that Nicholson is going to change his name to “Sweetass” Buddusky after this experience, but we feel sure that it has changed him in some fundamental way. Director Hal Ashby uses a deft hand in showing us the changes in Buddusky’s character, and it is the touching subtlety of this slow shift that makes The Last Detail such a compelling movie.

-Paul Epstein

Several Species OF Small Furry Thoughts - 2010

I’d like to say this year was somehow different from the other previous 21 years here at Twist and Shout, but honestly, it still feels about like it did in the beginning. Things have definitely changed but the basic feeling of being in a record store, turning people on to music, and validating their identities is still pretty much the same.

The changes seem like they are going on around, or in spite of us. More and more people download music. Unbelievably there has been a massive shift in the way our world consumes music. In the blink of an eye, entire generations of people have turned their backs on the advances made in sound replication in favor of storage ease. (Wow, Steve Jobs paid attention when he heard the axiom about never going broke by underestimating the gullibility of the American public.) Along with that, the social aspects so integral to listening to the music we so revered in the 60’s and 70’s have just disappeared overnight. Young people don’t listen to music together the way they used to. They can’t. The Ipod has created a self-sufficient bubble for each individual. There are devices for listening over crappy little speakers but from what I can tell, it is only adults who use these, and then wish they had never gotten rid of their turntable. For the most part, the social dynamic associated with popular music has shifted.  Does this mean that people have stopped loving music? No, it does not. In fact, I am seeing those kids who do take it seriously start to poke their heads in here again. As they become enamored of certain artists, they want to see what this “collecting” thing is all about. The artwork, feel, texture, smell and “life-force” of the actual object (CD, LP, 45 or DVD) brings an artist to life in ways that a download simply never will. To hold an LP by Muddy Waters is quite something special compared to downloading ten Muddy Waters songs.  I don’t labor under the false hope that downloads are going away - they are the future - but, as I had hoped, there is still a place for the real stuff. It is the final step in the life of a collector, no matter their age. If you love The Beatles, eventually some physical form of The Beatles is going to make its way into your life. So, the downloading of music has become a stepping-stone to collecting - as once the transistor radio was. Get a taste for it cheap or even free, then when you are ready to get serious, we’re here for you.

So what physical stuff did we sell this year? Vinyl Vinyl Vinyl. It is not a flash in the pan! It is back in a significant way. We have seen tremendous and sustained growth in the most physical of all formats. Across the board, artists and labels are starting to see the real value in offering their fans records. It illustrates my earlier point; once you have fallen for, say Godspeed You Black Emperor the reality of your love for that band can only be consummated in the soft flesh of a record. Once you hold something close and dear, it becomes so much more real. Over and over this year, I saw kids with that libidinous glow of pride as they approached the register with an LP or 7” by their favorite band. The smart bands truly get it. I would not expect Gaslight Anthem or The Black Angels or Animal Collective to ever release another album without a vinyl version. Their fans will demand it at this point. Of course, the limited nature of most vinyl issues insures that they will go up in value. Some of our biggest successes on Ebay this year have been with records that are less than five years old.

And let us not forget our old friend the CD. While it has been battered and insulted, proclaimed dead every year for the last decade and a half, it still is our biggest seller. Don’t believe the hype; the music industry still turns on the sales of the CD - period. Anyone who tells you differently is either a fool or a liar. It is still the format of choice for the vast majority of serious music listeners. It is over 60% of our sales and it still represents billions of dollars of sales to the industry. CD-wise, there was a difference this year; the biggest sellers were almost all newer acts. Sure, Eric Clapton and Neil Young both have new records that we are selling quite well, and the Elton/Leon album is something of a phenomenon, but the real winners this year at Twist are The Black Keys, Mumford and Sons, Arcade Fire, Cee-Lo Green, Ray Lamontagne, Bruno Mars, Kanye West, The National and countless other bands that have made their mark since the third Woodstock festival. In other words, that first and second graduating class of rock royalty no longer sits on the sales throne. Those artists still matter, but the young bloods matter just as much. And that is a good thing. If we are going to stay valid then the new artists need the same love and honor we give Elvis, Mick and Jimi. We have, we do, and we always shall stay excited about new music at Twist and Shout.

And then there is all the other stuff. A number of years ago when I paraphrased our friends at the great California store Salzers by saying “when people in Colorado think gift, I want them to think Twist and Shout” I didn’t know how real this idea would become. Sales of what we call our boutique regularly hover between 15-20% and this Christmas they were even bigger. I saw plenty of people who were shopping here just for the gifts - no music or movies at all. That’s just fine with us. There is a thin line between a new album and the shirt you wear while listening to it. It all adds up to who we are as individuals.

Like every recent year, people will come up to me in the coming weeks and hesitatingly ask how it went. I will be able to tell from their downturned eyes that they expect the worst answer possible. But, just like all the other years I am filled with optimism and fully believe in the mission - still and always. 

See you in the aisles,

Paul Epstein