Sarah Tomlinson: Blog

I’m doing it. I’m really doing it. I’m starting a B-L-O-G. I know, I know, it’s the dirtiest four letter word in the pop culture lexicon. But it’s also the best possible way for me to get a little more of the attention I so desperately crave. Joking -- that’s what my live 24-hour Web cam is for. This is where I share my passion for music with any other likeminded souls out there trolling the Internet. (And that means you, so sign up for the feed, which will send you a note when I make a post). It’s called Duchess of Rock. It’s coming soon. And it will feature interviews, reviews, cool music, tales of debauch, and other assorted goodies. See? Some four letter words can be fun! But we knew that.

2.22.07 Two Gallants // Cold War Kids @ The El Rey Theatre

Here’s an indie rock dream bill, if ever there was one. I’ve pretty much been heads-in-the-freezer obsessed with Two Gallants since their 2004 debut, “The Throes.” Don’t even get me started on that fantasy where the three of us are hoboes who travel around, cooking over a campfire. Then they went and made me cry at SXSW last year -- at an afternoon party, no less -- with those honest, mournful love songs they do so well.

But there were no tears last night. Just rock. The Gallants played as taut and raw as always, bathed in stage light that could best be described as brothel red, which was just right for dustbowl murder ballads like “Las Cruces Jail,” and “Long Summer Day.” New song “The Hand That Held Me Down,” is another dark and lovely meditation on loss that’s more lovelorn than love song.

And quite simply, the Cold War Kids smoked it. The lads were looking new haircut sharp. And their sound was lusher than I’d heard before. Maybe they stepped it up in honor of the room’s swanky stage and chandeliers. But they didn’t play it safe, getting down as joyously as always, bounding around the stage and bouncing off each other like a litter of puppies. “Hospital Beds” achieved dance magic status when a keyed up fan could be seen waving, yes, his crutch in the air. Right on. Right on.

There were crutches at the Short Stop later on, too, even though it was supposed to be a dance party. What’s this, night of the living crutches? Sounds like a spine-tingling horror movie, right? The scary goblin guys are all on crutches, and they chase you very, very slowly. There wasn’t much dancing, although my friend Laurel played some hot rock classics from Steve Miller to Thin Lizzy. Apparently, the requests were rolling in for Prince (Sure) and REO Speedwagon. (Really?) I mean, I love (to) “Take It on the Run,” too. But, seriously, every night? These ironic rock dance parties are getting out of hand. When the once ironic becomes officially hot, we’re going to be left wearing pegged pants and OP sweats again. And, no doubt, my junior high insecurities are stored away in those puppies, potent as moth balls. Yikes! Let’s be multi-genre-ational and embrace it all!

2.22.07 The Wildbirds @ The Echo

Maybe it was all of the Bruce Springsteen and Pretenders I heard around the house growing up, but I will always love the rock, first and foremost, now and forever. Even with so many great new sounds worth getting hot to trot about, I’ll give any ol' rock band a shot, sort of like that sorry, stunted case who hits high school keggers years after graduation.

Recently, that’s meant hearing a bucket of bands weaned on the Johnny Thunders school of rock -- all bluesy guitar and snarling attitude. Some I loved (The Rock ‘n Roll Soldiers, The Black Halos). Others are long gone and forgotten, and good riddance.

But what’s that? A NEW old sound? Yes, indeed. The Wildbirds hit the stage at The Echo on Thursday night replete with an influence that’s heard too little these days: Tom Petty. The sound is a little lighter and more effervescent than the Thunders disciples, built on buoyant baselines made for dancing and infectious melodies just begging to blast from car stereos. Chockablock with mid-‘70s pop rock vim and vigor, the songs have a retro thing going on but manage to be fresh and feisty. Has the band written their “American Girl” or “Refugee” yet? Maybe not. But who has? The songs swing, the guys play their hearts out, and look fab doing it. The quartet hails from Wisconsin, but these are no cheese heads. Think long cool drinks of whiskey, all leather vests, shaggy haircuts and an ease with accessorizing. And what, really, could be more exhilarating than a band of cute, well-clad lads making their stand in the big city? See for yourself; they play the Planetary Group Skewer BBQ on 3.15 at SXSW, and their full-length debut drops in June.

2.23.07 Om @ The Echo

Generally speaking, Friday nights are not my designated time for spiritual uplift and enlightenment. But when such lofty pursuits are delivered on a maelstrom of hypnotic rock heaviness, who can argue? And Om definitely delivered during their set at the Echo last night. The duo features two former members of revered stoner rock pioneers Sleep, and expectations were high, to say the least, going into the show (“They’re the BEST band I’ve seen in FIVE years!,” my friend Zach told me during his DJ set at Cha Cha the night before). And it was epic.

All of those chants singer/bassist Al Cisneros works into his lyrics about potentiality, the expansiveness of the universe, and surpassing the limitations of the physical body must do some kind of strange magic. Because, even without being able to make out the lyrics, and just simply tracing the serpentine patterns of the music, while standing amid a capacity crowd of heavily-bearded heavy rock fans, one of whom felt moved to raise his hands into the air as if tearing the sun from the sky, (which somehow seemed to capture the mood of the music perfectly), while another wasted fan fell down to the ground, heavily, I felt good, light, happy. Om indeed. Word on the street is that Cisneros makes his living teaching chess to children. Those must be some deep kids.