Evening of psych-rock sets off High Noon crowd
A trio of first-rate psych rock bands graced the High Noon Saloon last Friday, including local band Dolores, who opened for Australian outfits Doctopus and Pond.
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A trio of first-rate psych rock bands graced the High Noon Saloon last Friday, including local band Dolores, who opened for Australian outfits Doctopus and Pond.
The phrase “adult animation” may or may not have a specific connotation for you, whether you’re thinking of “American Dad!” or something… different. Whatever the case may be, the phrase “adult animation” should bring to mind, well, adult topics. And not even necessarily anything raunchy—although that is plenty adult, in the context of “adult animation”—but rather, topics that are too nuanced or too graphic or too discomforting for something termed “young person animation” I guess. Topics like diaspora and sexual politics and gigantic cocks doing pushups in a squeaking gymnasium (but more on that later).
Here I was: Terry Oliver, a man with a case. To find the Tenny Bros. “Tenny” like “Tennyson.” But as it stood, I had no leads, no starts, no clues—only four telegrams from a Finnish company with no return address and a few futile Google searches under my belt. I knew I would have to make a call on an old friend, or a new enemy depending on how you looked at it.
Oh, Halloween. More than any other holiday, Halloween haunts you, in all stages of life. Whether you’re a kid trick-or-treating or a college person trying to be creative in their costume choice, whether you’re a parent sending your children into the night or that elderly person on the corner of Elm who thinks that Werther’s Original is exactly what the children want these days, Halloween haunts you.
Terrance Olivier. But people call me Terry Oliver. My parents used to call me Terryble. Someone once called me Mango Sullivan, but that was on a lark. Probably.
Wisdom can find you when you least expect it. As I was leaving the bathroom in City Bar one evening, I saw above me an apercu of most scintillating illumination, nestled between black and purple Sharpie curlicues on one of the ceiling beams: “Love is Fake.”
Whether you know him through the standards he wrote or the scenario he inspired in “Be Kind Rewind,” Fats Waller is an American music personality to be cherished. And now Jason Moran, modern musical tornado and MacArthur fellow, has come forward with a tribute album in honor of Waller.
As a freshman, I attended a trio of shows at what is now called Shannon Hall, packed tight into the chilled and straightened annals of February and March: the Village Vanguard Jazz Orchestra (Feb. 4, 2012), Gaelic Storm (Feb. 17, 2012) and Béla Fleck and the Flecktones (March 1, 2012). Three acts so wholly dissimilar that, upon reflection, it seemed absurd that (as a student) I was afforded the opportunity to see them all under one roof. For cheap! Such an experience (in retrospect) was not to be taken lightly.
Conceived in 2007, rising from the ashes of its predecessor, Party in the Park, WSUM’s Snake on the Lake Fest showcases the student radio station’s aural acumen, bringing local talent and small touring outfits to play (for free!) for the benefit of the student body.
If you’re reading this, congratulations! You’re bona fide Badger material! Now, I’m sure you’ve got a million questions swirling around your mind about college and the future and all that business. SOAR is a good place to answer some of those questions, but come September, you’ll not only be in school, you’ll also be in a city bustling with people and life and art! Especially the third one! And to ensure you’re up to speed on every bit of music, movie, painting, theater and literary opportunity in town, The Daily Cardinal is proud to present this short guide to the Arts in Madison.
Hear ye, hear ye! For those of you enamored with cacophonic punk-styled rock, then the High Noon Saloon should be your primary destination Friday night. May 2, Cloud Nothings, alongside Fire Retarded and Protomartyr, will be bringing their mutual noisiness together under one roof, ready to blow off that aforementioned ceiling.
Gustave, “The Moveable Feast,” stood over six feet tall, a simultaneous monolith and iconoclast. He dressed well—perhaps lavishly would be a better term—with a wardrobe appropriate and commodious to his stature. Standing behind Foster, The Moveable Feast wore a sepia-tinged houndstooth jacket, wide shouldered on his barrel-like rotundity. A pine-green handkerchief, redolent of balsam, was tucked in his left breast pocket. Foster could smell it even over the smell of vegan pastrami disintegrating upward. He wore no tie; instead he wore a turtleneck whose hue matched the handkerchief. He wore black dress pants and polished leather shoes to complete the ensemble.
The exterior is painted in an array of pastels—rose, sky blue, sea foam green—and one window facing Dickinson Street reads in paint, “Evolution Arts Collective.” Inside, a series of white-walled rooms adorned with art leads to a back-room studio floored with concrete, housing a kind of scaffolding.
With a band, the name matters perhaps as much as their sound or ethos, especially for fans. It’s just plain fun to tell someone, “I’m a Radiohead fan,” or “Yeah, I listen to the Beatles” or “Mitts yeah I know about A Hell of Heaven!” Caveat lector: So far as I can tell there is no band named A Hell of Heaven; nonetheless, in my head, they would sound like Plague Vendor do in real life.
Lycidas, the synecdoche of lemons, vast grand opprobrium on wheels, even Lycidas could be depended on in a pinch. As the man in gray stepped toward the car, Klasper wrenched it into drive and sped forward over the left curb. After tooling around a bit on the sidewalk, the car hopped down and sped down the street. In the jostling, Foster had to swiftly catch his stereo cube jittering down the dashboard. He reset it and “Thick As A Brick” began anew. In the circumstances, it seemed more than a song; it seemed like a premonition, an address.
Following up 2012’s superb Attack on Memory, the latest Cloud Nothings, Here and Nowhere Else straddles a thin dimension between their previous catalog and the unknown, uncertain future. On the one hand, it’s a continuation of some of Memory’s more strident reinventions; on the other hand, it’s completely recognizable as a Cloud Nothings release.
In light of their upcoming show, The Daily Cardinal had a chat with Matt Nuernberger, electric guitarist and keyboardist for the Pigpen Theatre Company, a theater troupe-cum-folk band with origins in Pittsburgh and New York City. When The Cardinal caught up with Nurenberger, he and the other members of the band were in Austin, Texas for the South by Southwest festival, a first time experience for the whole band.
An element of serendipity underlies Rough Francis. A band of three brothers (Bobby, Julian and Urian Hackney) and their two friends (Dylan Giambatista and Steve Williams), Rough Francis came into being once the Hackney’s learned they descended from protopunk royalty.
“What now?” Foster asked in the front seat.
The history of the Pro Arte Quartet is storied, elaborate and just a bit sensational. Formed in 1911-'12, the inaugural quartet hailed from Brussels, Belgium and found their way to Madison by accident.