CHICAGO SHOW REPORT
"Fuzz-O" Dolman (except the second
one, by Ms. Mary Glitter)
Conn, The Eternals, Spires That In The Sunset Rise. Sunday
February 23, Empty Bottle. This was really a varied
feel-good kind of night. Gotta give props to Spires That In
The Sunset Rise, who are Chicago's premiere freak-folk band.
In fact, I don't think there's a single other band in Chicago
even remotely like 'em. One of my main gripes with not just
the Chicago scene but basically all bands everywhere is that
all of 'em, even the good ones, sound like before they even
had their first practice or wrote their first song, they decided
what 'genre' they were going to be, whether it's Garage, or
No Wave, or Dance Punk, or Tortoise-y, or Space Rock, or Alt
Country, or what the hell ever. Sure, Spires might've filled
out "freak-folk" when they got to the "state
intended genre here" blank, or they might've filled out
"all-girl Comus," but it doesn't matter because
they're just that good. Sometimes the songs start out a little
too "Oh my gosh, how wyrd we bee" but give the songs
a couple minutes to build and the music will be lurching and
swaying and jabbing in this intoxicated sexual way that is
frankly a little scary. This is the band that should've opened
for the Sun City Girls.
The Eternals were next.
Years ago I always thought Trenchmouth rocked when they came
to Lincoln, Nebraska on their many tours, but it took me two
years of living in Chicago to ever catch this, the new band
of singer Damon Locks and bassist Wayne Montana. I had heard
that now was the time to see 'em because they'd really kicked
themselves in the ass by adding new member/ringer John Herndon
on drums, and as much as Tortoise makes me yawn, the guy was
killer, funky and really aggressive. Montana is almost TOO
good at playing those perfect rubbery dub bass lines and Locks
was crooning, falsetto-ing, and dancing really well. The crowd
was dancing really well too -- possibly the most dancing I've
seen from a crowd at the Bottle.
And then the Bobby Conn
band took the stage and the show into yet another direction.
I can't say enough about the presence of Marc Ruecker on lead
guitar in this band -- he puts the APOCALYPSE in Conn's apocalypse
glam rock. Just a huge insane sound that really brings out
the Black Sabbath undertones that always lurked in Jesus Christ
Superstar. I haven't always fallen in love at Bobby Conn shows,
but this was too heavy not too. Best I've ever seen him.
couldn't find a picture of Spires That In The
Sunset Rise, but you know, this is just as good.
Name Is Rar Rar/Hair Police/Monotract/Burning Star Core/What
Now My Love. (Prodigal Son, March 22, 2003.)
So Dolman sees me at the Hair Police/Monotract/Burning Star
Core show and says, "You have to write a review of this
show, Blastitude needs girl writers, and you're a girl and
you're at the show and that way I don't have to write about
it cuz I got too much shit to do." Seriously, that's
exactly what he said, I've got it on my walkman bootleg I
made of the show.
Alright, so no problem,
here's how the night went: I missed the very first band What
Now My Love due to 1) my habitual unfashionable lateness and
2) the last time I went to a show at the Prodigal Son I got
there a half-hour after the announced time, thinking I was
being habitually unfashionably late, but still had to wait
a whole hour before music started and, like, talk to people.
So this time I made myself leave a little later but I guess
the show started more on time because there was a lot of bands.
And double oops, in that
I really wanted to see that cutie C. Spencer Yeh throw down
as Burning Star Core, but I didn't count on the Prodigal Son
being in the heart of DePaul University Village/Lincoln Fucking
Park and it being a Friday night and me having to drive around
for 30 full minutes looking for a parking spot. It really
was 30 minutes, I kept track on my dashboard clock. Can you
believe that shit? So when I finally got into the venue and
paid my money, BXC had finished. I had heard it was 7 minutes
of Spencer like standing ON his laptop, or at least standing
on a chair and, while his laptop made foreboding sounds, whispering
into a mic in that new black metal whisper style he's been
using. I think one person described it as "Spencer as
Satan" or something like that.
I was excited to see Monotract.
Saw 'em when they came through Chicago a couple years ago,
and they only played for 4 minutes so I wanted more. I was
wondering if they were even gonna have guitars this time,
'cause I'd heard that not a single guitar was used on their
new Pagu album. (They should've put "No guitars!"
in the liner notes like Queen used to put "No synthesizers!")
Well Roger and Nancy did play some guitar live, but the show
was definitely dominated by electronics, but even more dominated
by the band's "SPRING BREAK!!!" concept. Let's just
say a lot of cans of PBR were spilled. They were great, though.
Heavy and fun.
Of course not as heavy
and fun as the Hair Police, because I don't think anyone is
that heavy and fun. I was a little curious to hear them as
a trio, without that extra guitar by Matt Minter to really
fill up the huge insane-ness, but Connelly has switched from
bass to guitar and Robo's working the electronics and oscillators
heavier than ever. Either way, none of that really mattered
because the Police just broke it down 'prayer revival' style,
ending the show with a good five or ten minutes of shout-outs
to local peeps in the audience like No Doctors, Panicsville,
Pod Blatz. This mag you're reading right now even got a shout-out,
but then again so did The Bernie Mac Show. Drummer Trevor
Tremaine kept triumphantly shouting "WE DID IT!!!! WE
DID IT!!!!" It was a blast. Afterwards T.T. told me the
Hair Police philosophy: "Every show has to be like New
Year's Eve." Amen to that.
My Name Is Rar Rar, they had to follow that. They're always
a bracing blast of weirdness, but in comparison to the Hair
Police they seemed more clinical and studious and humorless
-- more quirk than soul, as Dolman would have it. They still
could've hung in there -- the first couple songs pretty much
ripped -- but they had some technical difficulties that put
the front-man in the inappropriate position of 'crowd control.'
He tried to crack wise a bit, but after the Hair Police's
prayer revival the audience wasn't really having it, and the
band didn't really recover. -- Mary Glitter
very sedate moment by Hair Police standards. Live in Oakland,
CA. Photo by Virgil
Set/Hella/Quails/Tim Kinsella. (Fireside Bowl, April 5, 2003.)
Tim Kinsella started off the night with a solo set but my
crew and I were too fashionably late and arrived during the
Quails set. Quails is an excellent band name, but they kind
of sounded like Sleater-Kinney. I don't know, I didn't try
much harder than that -- it's too easy at the Fireside to
just hang out in the Hammertime Lounge. There's not a single
comfortable spot in the whole damn main room and, if the room's
crowded, the sightlines are terrible ("oh, I think I
saw the bass player's hat!"). If the band isn't absolutely
sonically riveting it's pretty hard to not retire to the room
where the beer is served, even if the band is pretty good
it's hard not to, especially if you're jaded. (I'll be 33
in two weeks, you?) Not that any of this has too much to do
with the Quails. They weren't a bad band by any means, I just
didn't stay riveted enough to be able to say anything to you
now other than "they kind of sounded like Sleater-Kinney."
Next was Hella, who I
definitely wanted to see. I was listening to WNUR one night
a couple weeks before and the DJ played a Hella song back
to back with a track from Are You Glad To Be In America?
by James Blood Ulmer, after which he commented "I think
maybe Hella were influenced by James Blood Ulmer." This
was some good dee-jaying, because I agreed with his point
and it made me really look forward to the upcoming Hella show.
Well, the set was pretty good and they definitely seemed,
as the second-to-last band often does, to capture the 'peak
crowd interest' of the night. For the first few jams I was
fascinated, in fact. I liked the guitarist's unpretentious
'intelligent & friendly hessian' demeanor, and the way
his licks and vocabulary seemed to actually be almost straight-up
country & western (Sacramento is a hick town, right?),
with just the barest whiff of metal & fusion to ease the
music into the no wave scene. As for the drummer, well, his
technique is dazzling and blinding, and J. Hischke thinks
that he's perhaps literally the greatest drummer in the world.
Yeah, I was blown away too, but the set was too damn long
and about halfway through, the drummer's ability/need to play
his perfectly stuttering 'endless fill' patterns in lieu of
any kind of actual ROCKING OUT started to really make me nervous.
In fact, a couple weeks after the show I heard Hella on the
radio again, recognized the drummer's technique instantly,
and instinctively turned the radio off in order to stave off
a panic attack. I'm actually serious! The drummer's constant
display of anti-rock technique really does make me quite nervous.
Of course, this may be exactly his intention, and that's what
makes him No Wave, in which case, I say "Do you what
you gotta do."
Finally came the
Aislers Set. Because they employ such archaic concepts as
an "indie pop sensibility" and "a backbeat,"
none of my no wave friends had any interest in them, but my
WHPK friends did, and I did. They were great. The main girl
Amy Linton has this really cool slightly crust-punk demeanor
and she plays this big-ass 12-string electric. Then, the bass
player is just as cute as a button and they sing together
really well. Of course it doesn't sound like Phil Spector
live, it's quite a bit more punky, with the voices over the
top rubbing against it (the punkiness) sweetly. They played
a totally concise 30 minutes or so, and left the audience
wanting more but not a whole lot more (afterwards the crowd
in general seemed to have that semi-crackling 'we just saw
a good night of music' buzz).
couldn't find a picture of Hella, so here's the bassist from
The Quails. Not the Chicago show.
Parker & Joe McPhee. (Chicago Cultural Center, April 26,
2003.) Here's two names I'm sure you've heard, at
least if you're a regular reader of Cadence, The Wire, or
Opprobrium. Even though my 'free improv years' are pretty
much over, when these guys were scheduled to play a Saturday
matinee performance at the stately Chicago Cultural Center,
and the ticket price was ABSOLUTELY FREE, well, I just figured
"let's do it." Well, if I had thought that my free
improv years were "pretty much" over, this show
was the nail in the coffin: seeing
two absolute titans of the form playing together,
and, even as the runs dazzled, coming up with very little
that fired my imagination in a way it hadn't already been
fired years ago.
Maybe it's just
the duo form that I'm tired of -- it seems like every duo
performance I've seen since I moved to Chicago ends up over-using
what I call the 'tail-chasing' style, in which the musicians
just run up and down and all over all kinds of scales, and
while it can be amazing how synced up they can get all those
notes, they are still just collectively chasing their own
collective tail, which means all they're actually doing with
all those notes is sitting in one single spot and going around
in circles. For example, there was one moment at this concert
when McPhee stopped playing for a second to get some saliva
out of his horn, leaving Parker alone as he softly ground
out a single high tone. It sounded fabulous, and I thought
for sure McPhee was just going to stand there and listen for
at least three or four minutes while Parker worked on this
gloriousness, but no. In what seemed to my critical ears to
be a COMPLETE MISTAKE, as soon as he got the saliva out he
just started playing again, which almost immediately led to
more high-speed tail-chasing. It's not the duo form, it's
the tail chasing. I just reviewed the new Jack Wright &
Bob Marsh duo CD on Public Eyesore, and I thought it would
bore me too, and it didn't, because they weren't tail-chasing.
Hmm, maybe it's
that I'm tired of seeing improv music live. Maybe if I had
seen Wright & Marsh play their record live I would've
been checking my watch and looking for the door. At the Parker
& McPhee show, here I was stuck in a chair surrounded
by all these quiet and serious people staring at these two
completely unswaggering guys standing stock-still, never saying
a word to the audience, and never varying the 'chasing each
other tails' approach to high-speed high-pitched duo playing.
I just couldn't help but think, "Man, it's a beautiful
afternoon outside and my eight-day old son is at home and
I miss him," so I left and walked out into the sun and
the bustling city, and believe me, THAT'S when I felt "free."
I think the choice of venue also had a lot to do with it.
Here it is, a sunny Saturday afternoon in the spring, and
they put us all in this little theater tucked away in the
corner of a building, with no windows. The first time I saw
jazz at the Chicago Cultural Center, the band (Instant Composers
Pool) played underneath the big glorious rotunda in the middle
of the building, with huge windows on either side. That's
what this show needed -- the slow change of light, the glory
of architecture, the reminder of the magic of the four seasons.
With stoic free improvisation, something else needs to comment
on the music. I'm hoping the presenters didn't have a choice
between the theater and the rotunda, because if they did they
made the wrong one. (I actually took off my coke-bottle glasses
and watched for awhile to see if that would make things more
interesting. It was cool at first because it made Parker &
McPhee look like these two blobs of light producing all these
sounds, but even as luminous supernatural blobs they had no
Don't get me completely
wrong here, though; I believe I counted THREE moments that
were stunning. The 'chasing each other's tails' approach would
suddenly give way into a big huge duo-grind vista, or it would
suddenly pick up in intensity when you already thought it
was intense and get into a heavy-metal cat-fight at 20,000
feet above the earth's surface, you know, those kind of things.
But even those kind of things aren't anything new to a dedicated
listener of free improvisation music.
Parker demonstrates all four of his performing positions.
Stars, L.A. Drugs, Life Partners, Heathen Shame. (Fireside
Bowl, Sunday May 26.) I mainly wanted to see Heathen
Shame and Major Stars, and miss L.A. Drugs and Life Partners.
I just had a feeling the latter two were the 'trendy no wave
spazz rock' portion of the show and I wanted to see the 'un-trendy
old people who actually play guitar solos and shit' portion
of the show. The show listing made the order look like Life
Partners, then L.A. Drugs, then Heathen Shame, and then Major
Stars, so I figured perfect, I can totally chill out, put
the baby to bed, and miss the first two bands.
By 10PM the baby was
asleep and I started to think, "Hmm, the first band is
probably actually starting about now, and somehow I doubt
that Wayne and Kate are going to play back-to-back sets. Maybe
I should just go now -- something fishy about that listing."
So I walked the 4 blocks from my apartment over to the Fireside,
where a certain world-renowned 'noise/improv' musician was
standing outside. The first thing he said was, "You just
missed Heathen Shame. And they were really good." I said
"Fuck." Worse yet, I was just in time to see the
two spazz bands I wasn't in the mood for. It seemed like a
sparse crowd and the wait seemed endless, with no one seemingly
in too much of a hurry to do anything. "What are you
doing here?," I asked myself. "You're going to have
to drink like 5 beers just to get through these waits."
Well, the waits might've
seemed endless, but the bands that finally played seemed....killer!
And I'm always in the mood for killer. The show was so much
fun that I only drank 3 beers. I couldn't really describe
the music other than 'spazzy,' 'noisy', 'rockin,' 'thug-dancey,'
you know, trendy no wave, but the atmosphere was actually
exciting for once. When Life Partners were finally ready to
start their set (keyboardist and guitarist plugged in and
making farting warm-up sounds, drummer wearing a dress) quite
a few people seemed to literally appear out of the woodwork
and crowd the area of the floor where the band had set up.
The unaffectedly Lisa Loopnerish girl on keyboards sang the
first song, and then introduced "this guy who's been
following us around on tour," who came out to the mic
(even though I didn't see him for a couple more songs because
he was short and they were set up on the floor) and ended
up being the band's great frontman, a short little nerd golfer
guy with glasses, no shirt, and big furry animal pants, who
just freaked out. Watching him and Lisa Loopner, I realized
that Life Partners were perhaps the most explicit practitioners
of the Nerd Rock Music tradition since it was first brought
into the spotlight by Donald the Nut fronting Three Day Stubble,
over twenty years ago in 1980.
more, this New Nerd Singer was seriously going in and out
of the audience who had gathered, especially antagonizing
two or three certain folks. I was impressed, but after a while
figured they were a couple "plants," and sure enough
they ended up being members of L.A. Drugs. They did a few
great bits together, most notably when one of the "plants"
finally picked the New Nerd Singer up and carried him as far
away from the 'stage' as possible, depositing him on one of
the old bowling alley benches. I watched Fireside talent buyer
Brian Peterson coolly snatch the microphone out of the singer's
hands as he was carried past, which led him stumbling, in
all his shirtless & animal-pantsed glory, still in a tranced-out
freaked-out state after being dumped on the bench, blindly
and instinctively back towards the front of the 'stage', where
Brian held out the mic for him just in time for him to launch
right into the next verse. Good shit!
L.A. Drugs were next and
were musically similar with spastic guitar and keyboards and
spazz-dance beats, but they had an icier tone to the music,
thanks most apparently to their frontwoman, who kind of stalked
around in a dress and sang deadpan lyrics about, well, drugs,
and other illicit subjects. This made 2 bands in a row where
I didn't see the lead singer until 3 or 4 songs in. The drummer
ended one song by carrying his snare to the opposite end of
the audience and pounding the shit out of it, sort of like
you could imagine the coda of "T.V. Eye" being played.
It seemed like the guitarist switched to keyboards for a cover
song that brought down the house, but details are fuzzy. (I
am sure about the "brought down the house" part,
After all that came Major
Stars, who, like Nerd Rock Music, have been more or less 'together'
for 20 years themselves, and had some guts to ask all these
whippersnappers half their age to open up for them for an
entire tour. They started up their classicist heavy-groove
big sky feedback thunder, and it seemed like they were easing
into it a bit, like doing a good 10 minutes of calisthenics
before the really heavy workout. Kate Village/Biggar was aware
of this and, after the song, congenially announced into the
mic: "Sorry we're so old that we play ON the
stage. And we don't drink Pabst, we drink Rolling Rock. That's
just the punk rock life vs. the rock 'n' roll life."
See, no wave vs. free folk AGAIN! The reason she could be
so friendly about it was because she knew that when her band
got going, none of these things mattered. They're above and
beyond trends and categorizations. I suppose you could pigenhole
them as playing classic freak-out higher-bound loud/heavy
psych raga, but it only seems old and outdated and pigeonholable
for about 2 minutes, and then it was all Biggar kissing heads
with waves of melodic guitar fuzz while Wayne Rogers paced
the stage and did the same with big-sky heaven-leads. Only
one song had vocals. And, the set was 35, 40 minutes at most,
with no encore -- this is clearly a band of veterans.
This is the
Major Stars. They're much huger live.
Magas, Sightings, Lovely Little Girls. (Fireside Bowl, July
10, 2003.) Pretty hot line-up here. I was excited
to see Lovely Little Girls again, and they blew away their
last set, which had already been pretty great. They've added
some horns, every move of the set seems extremely thought
out in a very effective way, and they've gotten heavier, almost
like METAL. Scatological and goofy and, yes, "gender-fucked,"
they somehow hit at a perfect balance between pretentious-as-hell
art-faggotry and hilarious self-deprecation. And their new
bass player is the drummer from Caroliner! But don't get too
excited, he's a "fill-in."
Next up was Sightings
who I was also excited to see again, especially after digging
their new album Absolutes quite a bit. Well, shit,
they BLEW me away, and not in any way like they did when I
saw them a year ago, and not even really in an Absolutes
way either. These guys are seriously advancing. The old blast-and-rant
'punk rock' approach is almost completely gone, but they're
still very heavy and tough as nails and Mark Morgan still
sounds like he's playing a giant amplified piece of tin-foil
instead of a guitar. The differences are that Morgan's vocals
have chilled out quite a bit; now he's pretty much whispering
and moaning and sparsely chanting. Also, they're incorporating
all the usual Wire-approved influences like dub, hip hop,
tribal, and even fucking IDM, but are somehow making all these
tired poseur faves sound INCREDIBLE. The press sheet said
"Autechre inside a lawnmower" and it's TRUE. They
even reminded me of the No Neck Blues Band at times, the way
they would take a terrifying sound and then stretch and spread
it all the way out until it fucking CHANTED all by itself.
After that I needed
a break and repaired to the Hammertime Lounge. Even hearing
the pulse of Magas eventually coming from the other room didn't
drag me away from my bar stool. I've seen him a good 5 or
6 times and so had the people I was jawing with, but we all
decided to go check it out and when I got in there he was
KILLING. The crowd was big and rocking and Magas's bass was
sick and thick, right up there with Ziegenbock Kopf records.
I had to leave right
after Magas because I have a baby at home. I really, really
should have stayed and watched Numbers but I've already assumed
that they're too predeterminedly neo-retro for me. I'm not
sure if this is true because I've barely even heard their
records, only a couple minutes' worth. I apologize to all
the people who like them because they're great, but not to
those who like them because they think someone else thinks
it's the right thing for them to do.
is the Lovely Little Girls, live in Chicago, but I wasn't
at this show.
Hamburger, Canned Hamm. (Empty Bottle, July 12, 2003.) I'm
a little leery about tackling this one because Cimarron Weekend
once printed that "Some of the worst writing in the world
of music journalism occurs when someone tries to review this
shit." I'll try anyway just because seeing this shit
in the flesh is one of the biggest events of my life. First,
opening act Canned Hamm: they were NOT cynical. I'll admit
it, this is a makeup call (see my Andrew W.K. review a few
issues ago), but it's the correct call: they are splendid
entertainers. Highlights are the "Who needs a hug??"
song, when they go "Line up! Line up!," so they
can give everyone a hug. (No one does because, yes, indie
rock audiences are lame. So are politicians and cops. If you
need any other shocking information, just ask, I'm right here
for you.) Another highlight is them closing their set with
a song about the headlining act, Neil Hamburger, and while
the song is still going, Neil walks out to start his act!
Now that's entertainment: keep things moving! None of this
"37 minutes between sets and then come out and tune for
15 minutes while nursing a beer and did you notice my creative
new facial hair, well get a good look, because when I'm done
tuning I'm gonna leave the stage again for another 15 minutes
before finally starting the set" bullshit.
Well, I'm still not going
to say TOO much about Neil's act. But it was great. Sure,
the schtick is that he's a failure as a comedian, but this
is merely a camouflage for the fact that he's one of the more
creative and funny comedians working today. I've been listening
to him for a good 5 or 6 years straight (and a couple of years
that WEREN'T so straight, but we won't get into that) and
this fact is only now starting to blossom for me. I suspect
it will continue to do so until it reaches nearly overwhelming
levels of truth, because Neil's style is like that. Layers
upon layers of commentary via real jokes within anti-jokes
within dirty jokes within dumb jokes. I will share just one
short stretch of humor, coming at you in real time: "Is
it just me, or is George Bush the worst president we've ever
had? [cheers, applause, hearty agreement] Which makes
it all the stranger that his son, George W. Bush, is the BEST
president we've ever had!! No, but seriously folks, about
ole Dubya, maybe it's just me, but I thought that when a president
took office in our fine country, they made him lay his right
hand on the bible [holds up left hand] and say in
a strong clear voice, 'I do solemnly swear .. . TO LAY OFF
THE MOTHERFUCKIN' COCAINE!' No, but about Britney Spears .
. . why didn't we just drop THOSE on Iraq?? Talk about biological
weapons! Although, I guess in her case they'd be CHEMICAL
weapons." See, now read that back and tell me it isn't
funnier than 99.9% of comedians working today. Not ironically
funny, just plain funny. The records are so meta-meta-ironic,
highly and artfully constructed, but when you see him live
you realize that they're masterpieces of theater, not of documentary.
When Neil's in front of a real live crowd, people actually
laugh, because A LOT of the jokes are legitimately funny.
Sure, he got a lot of confused looks from the Jimmy Kimmel
audience, but he got a lot of belly laughs from 'em too. In
front of a real audience, he's still pathetic, but it's more
obviously a ruse, and he expertly uses it to tell a whole
bunch of funny one-and-two-liner jokes without having to resort
to such standup comedy cliches as "working the audience"
by "nailing the segues." Except that in his own
way, he does those very things better than anyone else I can
This is Neil
Hamburger as a guest on the Jimmy
Kimmel Live show (ABC). I wasn't at this show
either, but I watched it on TV.
Collective played at the Empty Bottle tonight (Sunday
August 3rd). I saw them when they toured in April of 2002
as a quartet (bonus points if you can name all four members
on that tour, answers at the end of this page), and they put
on an astounding show, so I was a little nervous when they
set up as a duo at this one. I mean, is a duo really a collective?
At least it was the original two setting up: Avey Tare and
Panda Bear. And any worries went away pretty quickly as the
two eased into their first song, both fast-strumming out a
single rough-sketch low chord on their respective guitars
and moaning/droning/throat-singing into the mic. Treated vocals
and an immediately trippy vibe made me realize that these
guys were gonna go for broke no matter how many people were
onstage with 'em . . . and even that didn't end up being the
half of it. Soon these moans broke into freaked-out unison
vocals that sounded like satanic back-masking and then sounded
like regular forward vocals about doggies and then sounded
like ancient Native American hymnals and then they'd scream
and the mics would peak and my ears would peak and it sounded
like some lowest-phi Jack Smith phantasy phreak-out. As happened
last time, songs ran together and this song blended into another
song and that song blended into a chant-fest for which they
put down the guitars and danced around like goofballs while
beating on a big floor tom. Then they finally stopped . .
. and the audience freaked out. They played more songs in
which joyful acid vibes and terrifying acid vibes have blended
like never before . . . and the audience freaked out. They
did an encore of maniacal nonsense that ended with a sudden
crystal clear line, "YOU DON'T HAVE TO GO TO COLLEGE"
. . . and the audience freaked out (and agreed). I freaked
out too and I want to own all their albums because I've been
looking for a good soundtrack to the New Psychedelia and I've
found it. (By the way, the New Psychedelia is Everything.
Everything is the New Psychedelia.)
This is the
best I could do for a live shot of the Animal Collective.
But the background
tile is the front cover of their new album, Here
Comes the Indian, on Paw
That's it! The
last page of this issue! You are now officially sad that's
it over. But you can start again, right from the top: