In the packed, neo-Gothic Union Chapel in north London, Hugh Laurie sits onstage at a piano, introducing the solemn blues song Six Cold Feet in the Ground. His guitarist, Toronto’s Kevin Breit, starts laughing so hard at Laurie’s wisecracks that he screws up his prelude to the tune—twice.
It’s hard not to feel cheated by Amy Winehouse’s death. Not that she owed anything to her fans — apart from those who bought tickets for her shambolic concerts in recent years — but because of the unfulfilled promise, and promises, she leaves.
Benoît David was repairing a raccoon-damaged boat on the St. Lawrence River in June 2008 when he got the call that would change his life. Little did he know that the 14 years he’d spent singing in a tribute band to progressive-rock pioneers Yes had been, in a sense, one very long audition. On his cellphone was bassist Chris Squire, asking him to tour with Yes itself.
Most jazz musicians, asked about the defining concerts in their careers, will name a prestigious venue or heralded festival. For Darcy James Argue’s Grammy- and Juno-nominated big band Secret Society, old-school adulation is all very well, but the sweat, grunge and intimacy more common to indie rock has given them a vision of the future of jazz.
From the bottom of his platform boots to the top of his stovepipe hat, Bootsy Collins is one larger-than-life character. But in his dressing room at Metropolis before a Montreal Jazz Festival show, surrounded by his sparkly robes and ruffs, the bassist becomes introspective.
The recording studio is a wonderful invention, but the daily routine in its cramped confines can lead to malaise. One way for a rock band to recapture excitement is to redecorate: prog-rockers Yes, for instance, turned their studio into a barn with bales of hay and cardboard cows for their infamous opus Tales from Topographic Oceans; Talk Talk recorded their post-rock tour de force Laughing Stock by shutting out natural light, burning candles, and losing all sense of time. More adventurous bands simply leave the traditional studio behind.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year — for independent record stores, at least.
“Don’t you remember when you were young / How you wanted to ‘Don’t set the world on fire?” sings Tim McIlrath on Endgame, the new album by punk band Rise Against. It sounds like a rallying cry for a generation of rockers who have been led to believe, by blingaddled hedonists and smug reality TV judges, that popular music can’t be revolutionary.
On a postage stamp to be issued this June, Robbie Robertson peers into the distance with narrowed eyes. Depending on how you look at him, he’s either contemplative or suspicious. The dichotomy is fitting: the copious literature about his former group, the Band, depicts him alternately as visionary or cool, even a cold, careerist cat.
In the video for Hold It Against Me, the first single from her seventh album, Femme Fatale, Britney Spears looms over the ground in a gigantic wedding dress, fights a double of herself in acrobatic slow motion, shoots neon paint out of her fingertips … and checks out the dating website plentyoffish.com.