Open Water

Superchunk are back, Ride are back again, Fugazi are kinda back, Greta does Bowie, and it’s a double-Ought shot. and if there’s anything a free-market economy has taught us, there is typically collusion.

the day after Love Day, it’s all back to relative normal. Uranium Club cough one up from the obligatory live rekkid, plus we get some South Korean surf from Say Sue Me, some lush demands from MGMT, and one very, very good tribute to the late irate Mark E. Smith. love means never having to say, “don’t p panic”

a happy early couples day to y’all — courtesy of Bat Fangs, Hookworms, Mind Spiders and the whole menagerie. Royal Trux are back (almost). Khruangbin are sellin’ out all over, so let’s pretend like this show is the only place you can really hear ‘em. oh, and turns out it’s great Carolina punk that can take down white supremacists — just ask the ISS.

why do I buy tickets to shows I’ll probably never go to? it’s a character flaw. Ty Segall played the Dirty Bird, and it’s like that high school party where everybody else was there. no matter. two days later I give you an hourlong set of equal greatness, kicked off by the man his damn self.

Mark E. Smith would not have wanted us to eulogize him, but we’ll do it anyway. his spirit is as alive in the early-‘80s experimental pop of Laughing Clowns, as it is in the acerbic attitudes of Mudhoney, Flat Worms & Razorbumps. if the transitions are a bit frought, blame it on the fact that my hearing is still on its way back from the Ty Segall show the night before.

it’s a 2-hr ’stravaganza, as the new year (finally) gets into swing w/ some new stuff (Shame, Shopping, Preoccupations, Ought), but we take great consolation in finding garage rock from the back of the 2017 garage, and use that to mortar the rest of it. oh, and Dr. Demento gets his due. we should all be so lucky.

sometimes it’s my list. sometimes it’s a list comprised of other people’s lists. nothing is original, don’tchaknow. not since everybody stole the blues and called it something else anyway. quite unlike my food, I don’t care where it comes from. long as it eventually lands on my plate. I wanna see Flat Worms play the men’s room at a rest stop in northern Cal. and Shame in a basement at some dead-end high school party. and I just want ISS to stand in the back making fun of everybody.

hey, it’s a new year. that can only mean a January that starts with scant new records, the obligatory live album, reissues, some stuff that got bumped out of last year, and even-yet-still-more King Gizzard. and trust — that’s all a very good thing.

we close out the year in grand fashion, leading with the only sensible voices this year, and ending with some minimalist post-punk. as the gods would have it. in-between is a melange of inspiration, and an assurance that it’s all gonna be ok if we just sink our nails into the dashboard, close our eyes and listen to the music. (but maybe get someone else to steer.) this is the on-hour version; if you’re a glutton (or lived the year under a rock), go for the 4-hr one you also see before you.

2 solid hours to give you the last new goods and to clear out the closet a bit, and accommodate all the good stuff that got bumped last few months. if Stephin Merritt can write 50 songs to chronicle his life in one album, I can do this.

no, really.

I had my mind blown at the METZ show, so much of the hour was woefully incoherent. let’s let the music do the talkin’, shall we??!! new stuff from Total Control, Moaning, Pope and Lars Finberg, something from GBV’s album-of-the-month club, and hey The Liminanas got some French guy to remix their Anton Newcombe track. bring back net neutrality and David Bowie. not necessarily in that order.

it’s not my fault. Jason left his file unsaved on the drive, and I did a kindness just by storing it, but then I didn’t get a waveform, and I had to call Steph (who was kind enough today to extend her pad for the station’s holiday party, and worked her ass off at the Animals show last weekend), and I had to do a full reboot after the 5:00 hour started (or thought I did anyway) but even though I knew the login for the production room computer, it’s apparently different for the studio one, and Jonathan showed up just in time during the Bee Bee Sea track, to show me where the toggle is, but by that time we were already three songs in. sometimes it just pours. new stuff from Ty, Moaning, Corridor, The Lees & Candace; vintage stuff from Fu, Felt, The Fall & the ‘Mats. the man Porter says it’s like water under bridges that have already burned. he sings it like he knows that to be true.

Chrissie Hynde said, “nobody’s perfect / not even a perfect stranger.” I like Chrissie Hynde. this week, I decide to prove her point by cocking up the music upload process, and inadvertently leaving a stray song from a show several months ago, in the middle of the program. and crediting it to a different band. while referencing the title of a song from yet another band. long story short, it’s just the one Corridor track this week. and a surprise appearance of TWIABP with their track “Dillon and Her Son.” and a very addled volunteer DJ who’s giving the listeners their full money’s worth. it’s a living.

one time at the old house, I grew so frustrated trying to install a doorknob on the hall closet, that I took the screwdriver and tore a sizable hole out of the door itself. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good. the moral of the story is supposed to be “sometimes you can’t force it.” I think it’s more to do with the sheer futility of certain tasks. Tim Heidecker does the MAGA raga, Selene Vigil & Joel Gion find some solace in solo work, we spend 12 divine minutes in 1986, and Iggy puts the final nail into Helter Ske(a)lter. Happy Thanksgiving.

what a time, what a time… in the waning days of the year, we marvel at our state of affairs w/ a rejuvenated Superchunk, a downhearted Escape-ism and a rabble-rousing L.A. Salami (while the Gizzard continue to simply see 2017 as one long street date). Buddyhead help us remember when our biggest problem was prank-calling malcontents. time it was, and what a time it was…

we salute the Bay State right from the git-go, find sleepy stuff from Curls and ass-on-fire stuff from the Gotobeds, set the wayback machine for the early ‘80s, and — yes — find time for a couple quick jabs from Castle Face … just to get yer head straight. Open Water has you on its Christmas card list — but still remembers that garbage you pulled on Halloween.

will the show ever be live again? until we find out, bask in the warm light of Parquet Courts’ Italian tourism, Baxter Dury’s pub snarl, Grooms’ Brooklyn cold wave, Gord Downie’s poetic half-life, and more. I ate a boatload of candy and confused the neighbors with my costume; what did YOU do?

Italia was great, but it’s back to a live affair, as we offer up good things in pairs: twofers from The Gotobeds & Radiator Hospital, a couple doses of mad garage rock, and a couple inspired covers. trick or treat — smell my feet.

I long to be live again. but they said ‘go’ and I went. while I was away, No Age showed back up with a slightly straighter line, Porches took a quaalude, The Wedding Present re-revisited their baby pictures, and Luna figured if they’re gonna play Mercury Rev, they might as well actually PLAY Mercury Rev. and is it safe to end ANYthing with shoegaze? we’ll find out. I shall be live again this week. no wait -- next week.