Sometimes there comes along a week that you wish you could rewind and do it again in a better way. Last week was one of those. Stress, tension, unhappiness, frustration all rolled into one big bad week. It’s over now, thankfully but I’m still reeling from the collateral damage it wrought: for the greater part of last week I couldn’t find time to listen to music. Of course, there was enough stuff coming my direction—via RSS feeds, my online music store accounts and a host of mp3 blogs—but I just couldn’t get down to exploring them. Up until the very end of the week when my mood was suddenly and very pleasantly lifted by a donkey’s jawbone. Read more
It’s ironical that barely a week after the 40th anniversary of Woodstock ’69, I’m writing about a band that has a dozen long-haired members, lives mostly together communally, and travels for gigs from venue to venue in a converted school-bus with the band’s name written across the sides. Ken Kesey and his Merry Pranksters redux? Flower-powered hippies straight out of Haight Ashbury of the nineteen-sixties and seventies? Or did Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros remind me of something from those heady decades but more sinister?