Music Reviews

Papa Wheelie

Papa Wheelie

Live Lycanthropy


Jason Newsted was known for making fairly heavy music in a band called Flotsam & Jetsam several years ago, themselves, a step beneath the popularized thrash metal of the time from the reigning “Big 4,” and fast forward some eighteen or twenty years later, Newsted’s about two years removed from the mighty Metallica — one of those Big 4 originals, hard to imagine as it is today — and what ya got here is a decade old keg that’s finally been tapped. Not only is he making some of the most eclectically extreme heavy music going, he’s flying all over the map here. Anyone who missed the IR8 vs. Sexoturica project released a few months ago missed out on some brutally heavy shit that threw back to yesterday’s vintage thrash scene and today’s more deathcore moments.

Papa Wheelie sounds something like a rumbling battle tank, blown speakers, and prisoners on parade… and that only goes for what’s listenable. If you are familiar with the former project, you also know that Mr. Newsted’s first job wasn’t behind the mic. His is a perfectly normal speaking voice that gurgles blood once you plug him in, and we’re talking on the far side of warbled where “death” vox are concerned, though relief can be found on two of the album’s ten tracks.

Newsted’s joined by two guys named Ledesma and Wiig, forming an impromptu trio that by their own admission, just “turn up the amps and let it rip.” Live Lycanthropy is just that, a live in the studio jam session that reaches nearly dysfunctional proportions, which only add to its sincerity. The music’s off in so many directions, with Newsted going apeshit on the guitar neck and running riffs and scales like he’d either been doing ’em all his life or never picked up a guitar before!

So what we got are ten (stay tuned) stoner, doom, and death cuts that reach back once and again to the adversarial aggression of crusty punk and hardcore, and fit no particular parameters except with respect to distortion and raw. Track five, “The Telephone Song” and its “electric funeralized” style of slo-burn takes top honors here, along with its antsy, Kyuss-like follow up “Fireface” and the punk-fueled burner, “Sink Like Stone,” that’s so damned good it’ll probably turn up on the next Mötorhead record!

Papa Wheelie was conceived to be a spur of the moment act of shred and spontaneit, recorded for a one time only jam session and apparent special gift for the eight or twelve in witness. The end result can be heard stretching the limits of audibility to its very last fibers, and if you can imagine a combination of early Clutch, Goatsnake, Soilent Green, and Hellhammer’s Apocalyptic Raids, you’ll dig the indignant dynamics presented here while waiting for the final blow to come.

Chophouse Records:

Music Reviews

Foo Fighters

Foo Fighters

One By One


One By One, the latest album from the Foo Fighters, rocks. Problem is, that is about all it does. Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s a decent enough album, maybe even a good one on some days — but it took this listener several listens and more than a couple of weeks to finally enjoy all that I was hearing. And in my mind, that’s just working too hard.

The album is chockful of rock, from start to finish. Whereas previous Foo Fighters work focused primarily on rocking your socks off, there were always the occasional moments of slowed down beauty (“Big Me,” from their debut album, for example). Grohl and company made sure to mix it up just a bit here and there, and by doing so, kept their previous albums a bit more engaging than this current effort. I do like rock — I hope I’m not too old to dislike the genre any more — but I don’t particularly care for the Puddle Of Mudd/Staind/Limp Bizkit state of things. One By One definitely stands heads and shoulders above the aforementioned bands, and for that fact alone, I’m glad they released this album — if for no other reason than to remind today’s “rock stars” what real, true, pulsing rock n’ roll is all about.

Grohl can be a talented songwriter, if not always the best lyricist, and here the surrounding players in the Foo Fighters are more than capable of handling their musical duties. But in the end, it’s all just a bit too repetitive to sustain an entire album, especially in one listen. Here’s to hoping that on their next album, Grohl remembers his Beatles and Big Star influences once and awhile – and the band goes back to changing things up a bit.

Foo Fighters:

Music Reviews

Cerro Negro

Cerro Negro

Where in the World?

Mata L’Arana

Though the rumba flamenco genre has been around for eons, most of us can’t get comparisons to The Gypsy Kings out of our heads whenever we hear the music. Admittedly unfair, it’s something that will happen to all of those who are not connoisseurs of the sound. This comparison should in no way dampen your appreciation of Cerro Negro. John Martin III, Frank Giordano, and Dusty Brough are fine musicians who understand the music well and play it even better. Where in the World? is a fine, tropical breeze of an album. The trio takes rumba flamenco to its most incredible heights, inveighing the music with their own subtle energy and eroticism. This is a late-night disc for lovers full of sensuality and verve. Brough and Giordano play their guitars with an intense sizzle while Martin is simply incandescent with the cornucopia of percussion he uses (conga, coral, goat hooves, rain sticks, you name it) to infuse the music with an organic energy that is too infectious for words. While determinedly staying away from the cheesy pyrotechnics often plaguing the Kings, Cerro Negro still offers up the same elation their predecessors elicit. Where in the World? is a fine disc to be enjoyed in those lonely moments or in those times when togetherness is paramount.

Cerro Negro:

Archikulture Digest

Number 32: February, 2003

Number 32: February, 2003

So just how many orange traffic cones are there in the world? You see them all over – around utility company vehicles, in mass groupings near job sites, and lost singles fading in rural ditches. Heck, I alone am responsible for 4 big bright ones at work. There must be at least one for everyone in America, at least, and we are still making them. Can they be recycled? Converted to educational uses? Used to block Alien abductions? Are there enough? This is really bothering me…

Joes NYC Bar – St. Paddy’s Day, 2003
Directed by Christian Kelty
Temenos Ensemble Theater, Orlando, Fla

If you’ve dropped by the Chimera known as Joe’s NYC, you know this bar not only knows everyone’s name, but their political, moral and sexual proclivities as well. Tonight’s nominal celebration revolves around the patron saint of drunks (that is, those of us whole don’t have to attend the meetings). But rather than just kill a few more nerves cells in pursuit of a Guinness Book of World Hangovers, the debate takes a serious tone – is it more dangerous to drink green beer, or to go to fight an unpopular war? Center field of the debate is aspiring Yankee Jackson (Bennet W Harrell), who sold his soul to ROTC to get through college, and now finds his million dollar rookie season might be spent a few hours north of Kuwait City, pounding the ground with the dog faces who always do the real dirty work in any conflict. Advice abounds – angst ridden local pol Alexandria (Janine Klein) pleads for the masses to get their information from any source other than the US mass media (like where? Unte Reader?) Space case Butterfly (Kimber Taylor) advises him to live in the best of all worlds and attend her Raelian papier-mâché fundraiser. And the real fight revolves not around guns vs. butter, but double anal vs. chastity as straight-laced Roxanne (Adonna Niosi) and porn queen Sunny D’Light (Cindy Pearlman) argue over the merits of watching porno films or keeping oneself pure for, oh, I don’t know, Howard Stern, I guess.

There’s a lot of posturing, and the whole “bomb ’em up to the stone age” vs. “Bush sucks, so I’m against it” debate weighs on the normally intriguing patter of Joe’s. Things start deadly slow with a poll of everyone’s favorite game, and threaten to roll over and play dead until fiery Orleans (Ali Flores) arrives, bragging of his exploit as Super Spic, half PR, half Mexican, and all habenero in a fight. Back up arrives in from of Sunny, and the saving grace of the show is a well-performed breakdown by congresswoman Alexandria. Her antiwar arguments are the least coherent I’ve heard to date, but the passion blasts through. Noteworthy in anchoring the north end of the bar David (Charles Frierman), who spends his life doing things backward, except the part about building a domino fort and knocking it down. No one can do THAT backwards, not with out powerful video editing tools.

Debate is in the eye of the beholder, and while this is far from Joe’s best show, it’s still worth a trip down to the wrong side of I-4, especially since they now have Guinness. After all, when you go to a bar, it’s really all about the beer. And easy pick ups, too, but the beer is really most important, especially right before closing time.

For more information on Joe’s, please visit

Island of Dr. Moreau
Adapted by H. G. Wells by Eric Hissom
Directed by April Dawn Gladu
Starring Richard Watson
Orlando UCF Shakespeare festival, Orlando Fla

Consider the White Man’s Burden. The Victorians salivated to the idea of civilizing the savages, but today we’ve sort of given up, never vacationing in the 3rd world and leaving cultural indoctrination to Hollywood. But poor lost Edward Prendick (Watson) falls into the middle of the whole movement, circa 1890. He’s lucky to be alive after a shipwreck, and has only one real option – accept the hospitality of the mysterious Dr. Moreau (Watson) and his assistant Montgomery (Watson, again). They’re beyond working the savage circuit, and are actively involved in upgrading the morals and educational opportunities of the animal kingdom. Though surgery, blood transfusion, and Montessori, they modify dogs and panther and Oxen to be verbal, religious, educated people, bound not by the Law of the Jungle but by a credo of human abstractions – do not walk on all 4’s, don’t eat meat, don’t chase your fellow man up a tree. Ah, if only that simple, and we could get out fellow man back here in Orlando to act that nicely…

So who are these people? Well, all of them are the infinitely mutable Richard Watson, who slips effortlessly between them in a one-man tour de force. Amazingly, there is never any ambiguity as whom he is playing or what their state of mind is. Aiding the transition is an individual prop for each persona – Moreau’s hat, a black cape for M’Ling the dog man, a bullwhip for Montgomery. Each soul is cut crisply from the dialog, and finds it’s own space on the jungle-like set. Judicious sound effects and a thunderstorm in the small space make Prendick’s journey into a madly rational experiment a personal journey for the audience as well. And lurking behind every set piece is a pair or eyes – not human, not feral, but and eerie prediction of what lies ahead for the story.

And what of the experiment? Just like colonialization, it appears to work at first. Animal sprits are suppressed, literature and law and spirituality are introduces, and a nearly stable society evolves. But as the paradigm is pushed farther and farther, cracks appear in the results. A new vaccine is introduced that buys a little time, but not enough. Eventually the colonizers must withdraw as the colonized revolt, and the veneer is completely peeled away. Only Prendick survives, and to do that he must first kill the only rational thing left on the island, the beautiful and intelligent panther woman. He lives to tell the tale, and we retreat to civilized life, have a few Fuzzy Navels, and laugh nervously. That sort of thing could NEVER happen here, could it?

For more information on UCF-Shakespeare, visit“>”>”>

Lost In Yonkers
By Neil Simon
Directed by Fran Hilgenburg
Theater Downtown, Orlando, Fla

War is Hell. It’s hell when the loan shark wants his money back after financing you wife’s cancer, and it’s hell when you’re a teen and have to live with the crankiest grandma this side of Berlin. It’s also no fun if you’re hunted by the mob, or if you’re 35 years old and can’t get a date because you not allowed to talk to anyone. Where did all this evilness come from? The Third Reich? No, it came from a bitter woman (Jan Peterson) who lost a husband and two children, and spent the rest of here life trying to make the survivors are tough as she had to be. Of course, the material she had to work with wasn’t very promising – Eddie (Mark March) is a crybaby, Louis (Harold Longway) is a low grade thug, Bella (Maria Flores) is a bit dain bramged from the scarlet fever, and Gert (Barbara Bell) is still breathing rough from gramdmaphobia. Observing this maelstrom of misery are young Arty (Kyle Burton) and Jay (Lucas Cocoran) who must do a year with grandma while dad goes off to earn enough to fend off the shark. Sure, grandma had the money and could bail him out, but that wouldn’t make him a man. Plus she’s taking it with her when she goes. What’s really scary is I think I’m related to ALL these people.

But don’t think it isn’t funny misery. When things get this bad, the only thing to do is laugh, so that’s what the audience did. Sometimes it was at the lovable tough guy Louie, who got most of the best lines. Sometimes it was at Aunt Bella, who goes the most moving speech as she appealed for the right to have her own children. Other times it was at the two boys, who survived the ordeal only to discover that while grandma wasn’t wholly evil, she was more likely to whup you with her cane and charge you for the pretzels she stole herself than tuck you in at night. Occasionally we even got a chuckle from helpless Eddie as he related the absurdities of a New York Jew wandering the Diaspora of the southern United States, and trying his best to say “Shonuf.” Someone get this boy an onion roll.

It’s not a storybook life, unless you read the brothers Grimm too often. But the entertainment value is high, from the believable folk to the stifling set decoration to the poor lost souls trying to keep their heads above water while everything around them whispers “she hates YOU, personally” Grandma DOES hate you, of course, but it’s not personal. She just hates you for your own good, and she does it because she’s completely given up on life a long time ago. You shouldn’t, give up, it’s not like you have to live with these people.

Oh, you DO have to live with them? Sorry, so do I. You have my deepest sympathy. Now get you feet of the sofa and sweep the floor. I spilled an ash try, just for you.

For more information, please visit

Sweeney Todd
By Stephen Sondheim and Hugh Wheeler
Directed by Ken McCoy
Starring Brent Turner, Heather Journell, Wesley Whatley
Stover Theater at Stetson University, Deland Fla

There’s many a good reason to wear a beard, and this show only reinforces that in my mind. Sweeny Todd (Turner) escapes from unjust transport to Botany Bay, and returns to London with a chip on his shoulder and a plan for vengeance. How he got there is a bit fuzzy, but a shipwreck was involved, as it so often is in a good Victorian Drama, and clean cut Anthony (Whatley) has pulled him for the drink and is the sort of guy who doesn’t ask pointed questions. So, Todd has set himself up with Mrs. Lovett (Journell), purveyor of the worst meat pies in town. Sweeney has a few skills of his own, like barbering, and soon he is on a path to vengeance against his nemeses, Judge Turpin (Russell Franks) and his side kick Beadle Bamford (Cameo Humes) It’s a nicked ear here and a slit throat there as he practices for his Final Solution while supplying Lovett with raw material for amazingly successful Long Pig Café. Meanwhile, Anthony has discovered the beautiful Johanna (Mail Linh Nguyen). She’s really Sweeny’s daughter, and all the malfeance surrounding him came from Turpin’s desire to capture a child. After a while, the neighbors are complaining about the smell, and the local crime rate has dropped suspiciously, so the game’s afoot. With things getting a bit tight around the Sweeny Todd Tonsorial Parlor, he kills more and more until there is no one left standing except poor forlorn Tobias (Andrew Sotomeyer) Is it a tragedy? Perhaps, but it’s also a musical, so we need a full chorus to punch out this big closing number and that means all the principles come back to life for a rousing “Ballad of Sweeny Todd.” Shakespearian in death toll, true, but a kinder gentler Titus, if you will.

Ambitious and well sung, the show only has one flaw – it’s almost impossible to hear the lyrics. Poor miking and acoustics make following the plot a challenge, and loses the skillful vocal works of Journell’s “Worst Pies in London” and “By the Sea” and Whatley’s “Kiss Me”. When the sound was weak, one had to rely on Turner’s simmering anger and Franks’ oily evilness to carry the story, which they did with aplomb. Whatley’s Anthony was earnestly nice, and Hume’s Beadle played the enforcer with skill beyond his physical size. Good looks valiantly struggle to support missing acoustics.

Sweeny Todd is one of very few serial killer musicals, a genre that is difficult to write without falling into campy sickness or general bad taste. The plot is involved by musical standards, and a few plot points are muddy. While all the evil doers eventually die, there is no strong moral message here, and if you step back from the story, there is a strong cannibalistic streak that is bit bothersome on the drive home. Despite this weird aspect to he whole show, the perfomance is excellent, and the ovation it received well deserved.

For more information on Stetson’s Stover Theater, please visit“> ” >“>

The 3 Billy Goats Gruff
By Jean Pierce and Kelly Collins-Lintz
Directed by Patrick Flick
Orlando UCF – Shakespeare Festival, Orlando Fla

These are the most self-actualized goats I’ve ever met. Not only are they beyond mere animal desires for food and drink, they have clear career paths and goals mapped out. Take Grigsby (Davis Cross). Not only is he handy with a hammer and saw, he has some elementary civil engineering skills, and wants to see the world. His two sisters are heading out as well – Grace (Kristen Michelle Walker) wants to read and write, aspiring to be an unpaid online theater critic. And Gloria (Kristi Clippard)? Why, she’s got taps installed on her little cloven tootsies, dreaming of Broadway. I think she’s a got a chance to be a pretty decent hoofer. Presiding over these ambitious ungulates is the sprit of Grandpa Gruff, who looks a bit like the giant skull Spinal Tap used to schlep around. With grass a bit thin on their end of the pasture, they whip out a respectable bridge, only to have it hijacked by the fuzzy blue Troll (Tim Williams). Why do trolls do that? It’s a deep-seated psychological issue, sort of a span fetish. Nonetheless, it’s time for these goats to organize and reclaim their structural rights, a task accomplished with enough cunning and trickery to make you believe that the goats will ALWAYS beat out the sheep.

While the goats tend towards a relentless positivism that children’s theater requires to pass muster, the costumes are clever and the whole concept of a tap dancing goat is enormously appealing. The best bits go to the heavy, as is so often the case. Williams make the job of inbred evilness look effortless, and even casually threatens to eat one of the 4 year old heckles without bringing her to tears. He’s a troll, to be sure, but a suave and debonair troll. The show is a good length for the intro class aimed at, and there are several nice bouncy songs to make the show fly. My favorite was “Dear God, give me something other than tin!” While well done and entertaining, it DOES reinforce the stereotype of can eating goats, an unfortunate hold over from less enlightened days. All in all, it’s good clean fun on a jewel bright, and a show that can draw in both adults and kids on multiple levels. Naaauugghhhhtttt bbbaaaadddd.

For more information on UCF-Shakespeare, visit“>”>”>

Blood Brothers
By Willy Russell
Directed by Dr. Karen Copp
Staring Rachel Stump, George Patages, Stephen Pugh
Seminole Community College Fine Arts Theater

Never leave new shoes on a table, it brings bad luck. Never stare at a solitary magpie, it brings sorrow. Don’t spill salt, don’t crack a looking glass. Superstition? Perhaps, or perhaps just convenient markers to explain away the tragedies of common life. Mrs. Johnstone (Stump) has 7 kids, no husband, and is lucky to get a cleaning job, lest they all starve. It seems as daddy went out the door, he left a small present, and now two more are on their way. What to do? One more she could feed, but two is a push over the wall. Her infertile and neurotic employer, Mrs. Lyons (Michelle Ramirez) offers to take on of the two and raise him as her own. Hubby is conveniently gone on a long trip, so the deception works out about as well as any musical can. The boys grow up, Mickey (Patages) to a life of dead end jobs and petty crime, Edward (Pugh) to Oxford and the posh society that runs England. Despite both mothers’ best efforts, they meet and become fast friends, only to die tragically in fulfillment of the superstition – if separated twins ever find out about each other, they both die instantly. I never heard that one either, but it wraps up the show with a nice irony.

Did I mention this was a musical? Despite the clearly defined charters, engaging and realistic plot, and completely logical denouement, all this supports a fine collection of tunes. The lead singer has a clear and beautiful voice, and was well prepared to render Russell’s excellent material particularly the theme “Marylin Monroe.” The two male leads, Pugh and Patages, did a wonderful duet “That Guy” as they reunite after the intermission, and despite uneven microphone placement, the rest of the cast did about as well.

The story is sweetly sentimental, yet not quite maudlin. While the introductory narration implies Mrs. Johnstone has a heart of stone, I see her as a woman who did everything she could to preserve her family in the face of starvation. Mrs. Lyon was the villain if anyone, taking a child then spurning her mother and deceiving her husband. The boys were both basically good, but the class system of England forces one into the dirt while the other has what passes as a decent middle class career. In other words, society made them do it. While I don’t agree with that in general, the case is made here, and the story telling supports it beautify. “Blood Brothers” is one of the best student show at SCC in recent memory, and should not be missed.

2 Little Curses and 1 Big Bless
By Peter Hurtgen, Jr.
Directed by Chad Lewis
Starring Beth Marshall, Chris Gibson, and Janine Klein
Spirit Daddy Productions at Temenos Theater

So, are you REALLY cursed just because some bad stuff happened to you? Like your house burning down in the middle of a flood? It could just be statistics, but not if you believe, like cowgirl Mimi Liebling. Seems all the women in her family are killed before 35 by the thing they love the most. Mimi sets out to break the curse, and has a vision showing here the curse removal tab in her life. She’s convinced she must find a blessed man and make a baby with him. We know most guys are a little south of blessed, but she still tries all the usual paths – dialing random numbers in the phone book, video dating, singles bars, and putting a note on the bulletin board at Winn Dixie. All fail, until she visits a psychic (Klein). Daddy (Gibson) phase in with some incomplete advice, sending Mimi to Reno. Later on mommy appears from the astral plane, and straightens her vision out – “No, you’re wrong – you need to marry a CURSED man and have a baby.” Ahhh, now I see…. well, not really, but them I’m not real hip to this metaphysical crystal rubbing stuff, but she seem happy enough, and if nothing else, it’s a good excuse to hang out with a sleazy guy.

While the story is a bit helter skelter, the acting makes up for it. All the supporting characters are supplied by the Gibson / Klein team, as they pop in and out of the minimalist backdrop changing clothes on the fly. The funniest scene comes with Gibson as Mimi’s soon-to-be boyfriend grilling the psychic with all the standard existentialist questions – “Is there free will?” – “Yes” – “AHA! I KNEW it!” You had to be there. But still, it’s a small show that flies along with no slow spots or drags, and some of the questions on stage are just as important to us as they are to the actors, so drop by and see it. Madam Psychic said you’d be here.

For more information on Temenos Shows, please visit

Written and performed by Christian Kelty
Directed by Beth Marshall
Temenos Theater, Orlando Fla

I’m still a bit put off by a naked guy wearing fur wings, but we’ll get back to that shortly. “Angel” is a one-man show (Kelty) with three loosely related parts. On the left side of the stage, Kelty reviews his life (or the life of his character) by reading his baby book and diaries of his life and decent into drug use in New York. On the right hand of the stage, Kelty presents some gripping spoken word pieces, many revolving around a modernist interpretation of nursery rhymes. In the middle is a lectern, where he relates the story of his death on the autobahn and the subsequent passage into the world of angels – a world that intersects our own very closely, with both good and bad angels protecting and attacking humans as they go about their daily lives.

These three phase are all interesting in and of themselves, with the spoken word pieces getting a smattering of finger snaps a from the hipster contingent in the front row. What I had trouble discerning is the relation between the fragments, which seemed a bit disjoint. If the character becoming an angle is the guy in New York, how did he wind up in Germany with a wife and kid? Can the Spoken Word Artist reject the existence of God, yet curse Him and engage in debate with Him? Is the nudity essential to any of the story lines, or merely gratuitous? As the piece progresses, Kelty slowly strips, but it’s not clear we are coming to the naked truth about any of these people. View “Angel” as three one man shows on the same stage, and it’s pretty cool. View it as a single show, and you may follow my hallowed footsteps, wondering if the wings tickled.

For more information on Joes, please visit

Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom
By August Wilson
Directed by Ray Hatch
Starring Mareeko Finney, Jimmy Johnson, Wiley Oscar
Peoples Theater, Orlando, Fla

It’s 1930 something, and America has discovered the Blues. Riding the crest of the wave is Ma Rainey (Finney). She’s the star, and has the smarts to act that way, while controlling with the cranky producer Sturdyvant (Butch Connor) and her wussy manager Irvin (Jim Brunner). She’s got her niece Dussie Mae (Christelsie Johnson) and Nephew Sylvester (Troy Ogun) in tow today. She has plans for Sylvester – even though he stutters, he’s going to introduce her new double entendre hit, “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom.” Meanwhile, the rest of the band hangs out in the rehearsal room and debates the role of the Black Man in America. There are many viewpoints – Cutler (Dwayne Allen) is the straw boss of the band, and he has a get along, go along attitude. Toledo (O. Levard Peoples) is the intellectual – knowledgeable about Culture, well read, and likely to end up a jazz musician if he lives long enough. Slow Drag (Oscar) wants to party, meet chicks, and have an occasional shot of whiskey to keep things smooth. The problem child is Levy (Johnson) – he’s a tortured artist, has horrible stories from his youth, and feels he has the right to acceptance in this society, not that society really agrees with him.

It’s well cast, well produced, and well acted. Both Levy and Cutler tell powerful stories of black humiliation and abuse, both shivering with anger. Niece Dussie May (Christele Johnson) drips with sex in her short red flapper dress, and of course there’s Ma Rainey herself – in control, poised, and ready to take on anyone who crosses here, which is most of the outside world. Even the sound recording studio looks authentic Chicago – someone dug up an actual steam radiator for atmosphere, no easy thing to find in central Florida.

The story is all about power. Everyone, with the exception of Irvin, has some pull over something. Ma has star power, Cutler can hire and fire (with permission), Sturdyvant can make Ma an even bigger star, and even sexy little Dussie Mae can get what she wants jut by shaking her tail feathers. In the end, everyone who has power exercises it. Some times that exercise makes things better, such as building Sylvester’s self confidence, and sometime it hurts, like shortening the careers of Levy and Toledo. Power pays no attention to race or station, it transcends. Just like the Blues.

For more information, please visit

Anti-Babe’s Meaning of Life
Not the Boss of Me Productions
Theater Downtown, Orlando, Fla

It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a room full of Robert Smith wannabees. The music was loud, smoking mandatory, and only black electrical tape protected us from the righteous wrath of Orlando’s departing queen of anti-fun. But then, I only went to the early show. As we enter the theater, we hear the sad story of two Drunken Masters, Hung So Lo and Him Cum Soon, on a quest to find the meaning of life by hitting all the clubs in O- town. They contemplate various aspects of life as we’re entertained by a writhing mass of glittery bodies partial dressed in vinyl and leather fetish gear. And what is there to contemplate after a 5th a Jack and half a case of Old Milwaukee? Lots of things – things that go thought your head while watching the waterfall clock go round and round. There’s the absolute silliness of trash talk TV, the general abuse of women by men and vice versa, and my favorite, “Hot Dripping Wax – Foreplay, or Just Dangerous?” There’s even the mandatory jab at GW, although I ‘vet never seen him in a vinyl and mesh shirt.

Is the journey worth the admission? I think so, particularly if your life doesn’t revolve around glow sticks and house music. The dancing is wild and exhilarating, audience participation is encouraged, but no throwing beer bottles, please, it cuts the cast and we are not doing THAT tonight – liability, you know. As a fashion show goes, I did see a lot of stuff Sears doesn’t carry, and I suppose you can purchase it if you desire (see the web site, it’s interesting all by itself), but none of it looked like it fit me. As a glimpse into the Orlando demimonde, it can’t be beat – lots of parking, you get home a reasonable hour, and the whole crew if very friendly. I even noticed the Betty Page girl thanking an audience member for licking her boot after the show. A polite Dom is a bit of a stretch in my mind, but then this IS theater.

For more information on Anti-Babe, visit

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum
By Burt Shevelove, Larry Gelbart, and Stephen Sondheim
Directed by Julius John
Starring Mark Shami, Brett Dault, Rick Breese
JCC, Maitland, Fla

I came, I saw, I giggled. Somewhere in the sprawling city of Rome, the scheming slave Pseudolus (Shami) see a way to freedom by delivering the hot babe Philia (Ainsley Delong) to his lisping love struck master Hero (Breese). It’s a challenge worthy of him, as Philia has been sold by procurer Lycus (Valensky Sylvain) to general Miles Gloriosus (Jeff Cohen). If only the plague would kill her just enough to get the general back to war, but not enough to make her, well, deteriorate. It’s a toughie, made more so by Hero’s dad Senex (Tom Greenman) aiming for one last fling while his wife Domina (Sara Philips) is off visiting mom somewhere in the country. A glimmer of hope lurks in Senex’s servant Hysterium (Dault), who looks pretty bad in drag, but not so bad as to be detected by a dozen people at close range with decent eyesight. Will everyone get a girl? There IS a hint in the title song “Comedy Tonight!”

The show is entertaining enough to over some the dropped cues and technical problems. The best voice comes from Sara Phillips rendering “That Dirty Old Man”, and of course the closing number sticks with you into parking lot and the shower the next morning. Pseudolus has the largest role, successfully carrying the show on the shoulders of his conniving comedy. Occasionally, a frumpy Erroneous (Aaron Tanzer) shuffles across the stage, eventually providing a Deus ex Plot Patch that forces all the right lovers to end up together, and all the frustrated ones to have a legitimate reason not to be to upset. And the sets? Some of the finest I’ve seen anywhere, with brilliant lighting that makes excellent use of the JCC space. Real Romans would have used burning pitch torches, and more people would have been killed, even in a comedy. This one is so much better.

By John Goring
Starring Heather McClendon, John Siniscalco
Cherry Street Theater, Winter Park, Fla

The great thing about Teddy Bears is they’re cuddly, soft, and you can tell them anything. They’re so much better than real bears, which have claws, hibernate, and so often have embarrassing hygiene issues. Still, it’s nice to dream, and little Jennie (McClendon) falls off to sleep dreaming that here little teddy IS real, and saves here when she fall in the woods. It’s a dream; so she got the promotion to Princess, but mommy and daddy are a little upset that she’s dating out side her species. Rudi the Bear (Siniscalco) has to go, but he’s a very positive bear and takes the whole thing quite well. The princess takes it harder, as the whole thing revolves around the preteen depiction of True Love. Mommy and Daddy (Jennifer Allen and Larry Stalling) aren’t evil or anything, so they send out Millie Maus (Emma Longster) to retrieve Rudi from the wilds of never never land, meaning all can live happily ever after.

Cute and kid friendly, this musical story can be read as recovering a lost friend, or as recovering a lost romance, depending on your readiness to deal with either. Rudi seems a friendly bear, and Jennie looks the dream princess part, although it’s a bit hard to hear her sing even in the small space of Cherry Street. There’s a nice mix of dance, song, and dialog, and the children in attendance seemed absorbed in the tale. It’s a pleasant hour or so away from the demonic Play Station, and a good chance to get the family out of the house for low impact togetherness. And remember, imagining a teddy is real is so much cheaper than owing the real thing, and easier on the furniture.

By Joe Orton
Directed by Rocky Hopson
Starring Paul Wegman, Lisa Hallsted, and Jay Becker
Mad Cow Theatre, Orlando Fla.

Aha! The game’s afoot! Someone’s nicked the cash from the local bank, cleverly burrowing into the vault via the neighboring funeral home, and inspector Truscott (Becker) poses as an officer of the local Water Board to get into the home of recently widowed Mr. McLeavy (Wegman). It’s not strictly legal, of course, but all for the greater good, as Nurse Fay (Hallsted) is setting him up to be her 7th hubby in 7 years. She specializes in wealthy men with cash about to die from plausible causes. McLeavy’s son Hal (Marinaccio) and his undertaker buddy Dennis (Don Fowler) are ready to take the body to the cemetery and the cash to Portugal, if they can just run the Water Board gauntlet. Their friendly 50/50 split is diluted when Fay catches on, and will suffer further dilution at the hands of Truscott. He’s been chasing Fay ineffectively for some time, and even the discovery of a random glass eye doesn’t put him closer to the truth. Thank goodness the Water Board can work people over and get them to confess with out the bother of a lawyer around.

It’s all very funny, and we all laughed, but there was a curious flatness to the whole performance. Hallsted never developed any chemistry with the characters peopling her world, and Fay’s come on to McLeavy seemed more like a reading than a seduction. Becker’s Truscott had a suitable oily menace, but jokes seemed locked within him, and didn’t always make it through the 4th wall to the audience. Fowler’s Dennis was most believable, with his trademark slovenly veniality perfectly fitting the role. Wegman did his usual excellent acting job, but just wasn’t enough to pull this splintered show to the heights of hilarity that one might have expected for this play with this crew.

Like most well meaning yet obsessive persons, McLeavy is just a duck sitting around waiting to take it in the wing from the slings and arrows of injustice. His extreme Catholicism acts as a problem magnet while blinding him to the skullduggery surrounding him. But, it’s the way of the world, as McLeavy ends up in the lockup after his house, inheritance and wife are taken from him. If more people acted like his fellows, it would be a sad world indeed, as the split would get so large there’d hardly be anything left to go around.

For more information on Mad Cow, please visit

By Jack Heifner

Directed by David Buchman

Starring Julia Schwartz, Megan Brown, and Jennifer Jacobsen

Take A Chance Theater Inc. at Cherry Street Theater, Winter Park Fla

The problem with High School is it seems so important at the time. Of course, the same can be said of college, adult life, and even death itself. With that in mind, we meet three ditzy cheerleaders, ready to plaster the gym with chicken wire, colored tissue paper and pep. Together, they are a complete person, with lustful Mary (Jacobsen) playing the Id to organized Kathy’s (Brown’s) ego. Worrying them all into submission is the super ego of Joanne (Schwartz), concerned with the real risk of their NOT being the most popular girls on campus in college. Well, as the heart of the Tigers’ cheerleading squad, they do all those annoying things cheerleaders do – decorate, block your view of the game, and berate all those of us cynics who see pep as what it is – an unwanted telemarketing call right in the middle of biology. As the program proceeds, they mature into similarly annoying sorority babes, pledged with keeping the Kappa Kappa Gamma’s bloodlines pure. Of course, separate personalities emerge – Mary is now a professional slut, bolstered by The Pill and a burnt bra. Joanne is keeping herself pure along with her childhood sweetie Ted, who by now must be permanently blue. Only Kathy seems lost – no clear plans, mediocre job prospects, and about done with organizing the rest of the world. What can happen next? Well, only two things as far as I see – complete dissolution of the tribe, or unification on a much higher level, with all three combining into a single person. Amazingly, Heifner makes both eventualities occur, nearly simultaneously. It’s pure Freudian bliss.

And it’s pure fun as theater. The writing is amazingly clever; the casting and direction well placed, and despite an occasional dropped line or pâté on Ritz, extremely well acted. Schwartz’s Joanne IS the ideal suburban mom with the ideal suburban family and the ideal philandering hubby. She’s crass and annoying and touchingly sincere in her struggle to hold on to girlish ideals at all costs. Jacobsen’s Mary is the exact opposite – free with her charms, completely comfortable with flouting convention, and the ideal Girl You Date But Never Show Mom. In the balance point is Brown’s Kathy, sometimes almost static on stage as her life slides to a halt – either precariously balanced on a hilltop, ready to roll in any direction, or perhaps sitting at the bottom of a valley, unable to gain momentum in any direction. You might find yourself in any of these positions, and even if you don’t, they are great fun to discuss on the ride home.


By Jean Baptiste Molière

Directed by Jim Helsinger

Starring Eric Hissom, Kate Ingram, Phillip Nolan

Orlando UCF Shakespeare Festival, Orlando, Fla

Oh, those zany French Aristocrats! Even though they live in mansions furnished with acres of sparkling breasts and the good stuff from Liberace’s estate sale, they still fall for any charlatan that tries to steal the chatelaine. Gullible Orgon (Nolan) swallows the Rasputin-like piety of greasy Tartuffe (Hissom), to the embarrasment of everyone around him. Certainment, Tartuffe prays like Jim Baker in the shower, but all for show. When not emitting piety rays, he steals the silverware and seduces Orgon’s wife Elmire (Ingram) and soils the good linen. Is he just a sponge, or does he harbor deeper animosity toward his host’s generosity? No matter, when Orgon decides to give his buxom daughter Mariane (Sara Hankins) to Tartuffe instead of the stable and good-looking Valere (Richard Width), panic breaks out in the household. People tolerate deception, until their sex life is at stake. Mariane screams like a Corman lead, but it takes the skills of Lady’s Maid Dorine (Mindy Anders) to marshal the troops and project effective counterforce. Not until Elmire offers herself as bait do they entrap Tartuffe well enough to enlighten fuddled Orgon. But it’s too late, as Tartuffe now owns the manse, and only some abrupt script writing can save the family’s honor and get everyone back in the right bed by curtain.

Well, there weren’t any slamming doors, but it’s a fine farce none the less. You’ve got all the important elements – sexy women, guys running around in their underwear with swords, and everyone get a salacious joke and a prat fall. The axis of power lines up between acidic Dorine and alkali Tartuffe, and the axis of comedy points from rubbery Hissom to ballistic Nolan. As they fight a life and death battle to maintain control in the house, the calm center of the storm is Orgon’s brother Cleante (Tad Ingram). As the only sane person on stage, his good advice is ignored, possibly due to his extremely purple costume, a costume that assumes a GREAT deal of confidence on the part of the wearer. As we move farther into the fuzz of thought that Tartuffe generates, we find stepson Damis (Timothy Williams) desperately trying to get his swash unbuckled to fight injustice while the bluish Valere confuses the already lost Mariane with his professional shyness. On the outer orbit, we find the fearsome matron of the family, Madame Pernelle (Catherine Stork). While she isn’t onstage that much, she seem capable of taking on the King himself armed only with a fan and some sort mini-albatross launcher mounted in her hair.

As with all the recent productions that cross the stage of this awkwardly named company’s boards, Tartuffe is a triumph of comedy and lighting and costuming. I’ve still yet to figure out how they got the back wall to glow that electric blue, and how they get the women to sparkle. They’re THAT good. This show shimmers with energy, and even if you don’t think too much of the under-taxed upper classes, you have to admit they ARE the most fun to tease. Even if this lot did lose the revolution.

For more information on UCF-Shakespeare, visit“>”>”>

Vertical Composition

Reflections of a Comic Book Fanboy

Reflections of a Comic Book Fanboy

Comics were such a thrill to me when I was younger. This may seem funny coming from a 21-year-old who still looks like a child, but I don’t get the magic and amazement that comics offered when I first started reading them. Comics are pretty much your escape from reality and this is much in the same sense as reading anything else that draws you in and makes you feel like you are in a different world.

I was first into ‘Archie’ comics and all the ridiculous spin-off books Archie had to offer such as ‘The New Archies’, ‘Archie’s Pals and Gals’, and ‘Betty and Veronica’. My first comic was ‘Betty and Veronica’ #13, which I took from my sister. I don’t know why I liked these so much. Maybe it was because of Archie being a complete clod and still earning the affection of two girls, or because the characters were all different and appealing. I would read them in bed because I would never go to sleep when I had to. They were great, and I always wanted Archie to be with Betty, Jughead to stop eating, and Reggie to get run over. They were my life and I would always go and buy them. Then, Superman died.

This was when I wised-up, ditched Archie and went nuts for superheroes. ‘The Death of Superman’ was so highly publicized that you couldn’t escape it. The story is still one of my favorites of all time. Superman did, in fact, die and then came back, had long hair, married Lois Lane and continued saving Metropolis. I realized there was so much more out there, and I wanted to read it all. I looked at everything I could get my hands on. ‘X-Men’ ruled my reading as well as ‘Spider-Man’. I got into ‘Batman’ and went back and forth reading anything that had to deal with someone or something that had some crazy powers.

As the books got worse and worse, I got into more independent stuff that seemed like only 10 people were fans of, or stuff that was definitely better than the whole “Good vs. Evil” scenario that is constantly played out in comics. I was growing up.

I started reading books where the characters had real emotion or where the whole point of the book was just to have fun. Some of the best books dealt with things that had no point. ‘Milk & Cheese’ was just about a couple of drunk dairy products gone bad, who created havoc, ‘Johnny the Homicidal Maniac’ was about a homicidal maniac, ‘Land of Nod’ was curiously adult and childlike at the same time, ‘Acme Novelty Library’ was so marvelously drawn that you didn’t even have to read the book to enjoy it, and when you did, it blew you out of the water. ‘Lethargic Lad’ poked fun at all the superhero books and took me back to when I read them full-time. ‘Cynicalman’ was laid out so perfectly and he was only a stick person. ‘Optic Nerve’ made you think about what was going on in the story so much that you had to go back and read it again just to see if you would come to the same conclusion twice, which you probably wouldn’t, and so on.

I enjoyed reading these books because I felt I got more for my money, and I felt I got more out of it while becoming more mature. I felt closer to these books because I felt closer to the creator. The people who made the books put more of themselves into their creation than any of the other comics I had read before. It motivated me to want to do the same exact thing.

If you are a fan of comics, check out a local comic shop or even a grocery store and see what’s going on in the crazy make-believe world you might have long ago abandoned. If you have kids, pick up a comic for them and see how they react. Take them to a comic convention, and get them in the heart of the action. You can meet artists and writers and get great deals on tons of comic-related junk.

I sadly miss those days of running to the store to get a comic and waiting a month for the next issue. I miss the joy of finding something I needed for my collection and treasuring it as if I would never let it go. A lot of it, I did let go. I don’t care who’s in the X-Men or if Spider-Man was made into a movie. I got older and left my true childhood behind.

Come on out to the Orlando Mega-Con Feb. 28th-March 2nd and say hello. I’ll be sitting around there somewhere peddling my goods. Check out for more info.

Music Reviews

The Now Sound of Brazil

The Now Sound of Brazil

Various Artists

Six Degrees

Ordem e Progreso!

This low-priced sampler contains some hot-shit tracks from some of Brazil’s coolest new artists…well, at least those whose music is released on Six Degrees Records, by way of Ziriguiboom, which is by way of Belgian label Crammed Discs. But whatever, they’re still really good tracks. This applies even if you are me and you already have most of them in their original versions, because just about all of them are either remixes or new tracks from upcoming albums. So score this quickly.

These are all examples of the way that native Brazilian musics (bossa nova, samba, various Carnival chants) work their funky magic together with technology. Zuco 103 represents with their Eurodisco hybrids (damn if that Lilian Vieira ain’t just the sexiest singer in the world); Erlon Chaves’ “Cosa Nostra,” which dates from the 1970s (and was featured on the great Samba Soul 70! comp) gets a swingin’ remix; we get two Bossacucanova tracks, which are cool as hell. This CD just cooks from stem to stern.

I’m a little worried about Six Degrees’/Ziriguiboom’s/Crammed’s relentless flogging of Suba, who died before his first album was even released up here — between this and the Tributo remix album of last year, there’s not a lot of horse left to flog — and it would be a lot better for Bebel Gilberto to actually release a new record sometime this century. But I’m a purist, and we’re cranky. Don’t listen to me: this is still a great record: fun, dancey/spacey, and chock full of that particular brand of melancholy that only people who speak Portuguese can pull off.

And there are great previews here. Cibelle, the stunning singer/songwriter who graced so many of Suba’s tracks, has a song from her upcoming album called “Dia de Yemanja,” which is all mystical and chanty and still funky, and the “Bom Sinal” track here from Celso Fonseca proves that he’s about more than just other people’s arrangements. Big score on these two, Six Degrees. Way to go. Now get your asses down to Brazil and find some dudes who we HAVEN’T heard of yet. Got that? Good.

Six Degrees Records:

Music Reviews

The United States of American Oi!

The United States of American Oi!

Various Artists


Replete with themes of working class politics, American pride (which at times tiptoes the fine line between patriotism and nationalism creating an unsettling tension) and aggro, The United States of American Oi! is woefully predictable. At times this album is outright tacky, as Niblick Hedbane proves with “America,” which tritely begins with an interpolation of “The Star-Spangled Banner”: “America, America/Even though we’re flawed, we’re still the best.” At other moments the ignorance so often associated with Oi! music is corroborated, “Watching those hippies and these dumb dykes burning our flag like they don’t care/But that to us, it wasn’t fair . . . Don’t you burn our flag, these colors will not run.” One would think Oxblood could be a little less clichéd. There are a few moments of clarity buried deep in this album. While still being proud, and a bit prosaic, United We Stand at least begins to ask somewhat intelligent (relatively speaking) questions: “What happened to my rights and liberties. . .They will try to take our rights/Well they ain’t getting shit without a fight.”

The music that lays down the fabric over which the above mentioned ideology is professed is pretty much the stereotypical Oi! sound: crisp guitars influenced by ’70s punk with hints of ’50s rockabilly and marching drum cadences. The message is repeatedly delivered by deep, raspy vocals that echo the consternation of the working class. More or less, it is testosterone fueled music to which to fight and drink. There are, however, a few exceptions. D-Caf and the Fort Knox Crew’s “Can You Dig It,” a hip hop track that avows Oi! is just as much an ideological concept as it is a specific sound. Oi The Anonymous’s “Heroes And Zeroes” offers a poignant glimpse into disillusionment of the working-class, via spoken word: “Once there stood acres of factories, but now it’s rusted metal and dirt/Once there worked proud families, now they nurture only hurt . . . None of our leaders has a plan, because none of you people give a damn for the American working man.” In the context of this album, these tracks are anomalies.

There is no doubt that the working class needs an honest voice to articulate their shared sense of frustration. Oi! music has often provided this power of sincerity and solidarity. Yet, it has often also proven divisive, failing to recognize similar struggles across racial, ethnic and gender lines. For the most part, The United States of American Oi! confutes the form’s seemingly inherent ignorance and banality through recycled themes and music structures, highlighting problems but offering no solutions.

GMM Records:

Music Reviews





I’d say just about everybody has an idea as to who the Newsboys are; they’re one of the biggest Christian pop groups, and have had a slew of hits on contemporary Christian radio stations. It’s funny how the best known Christian rock bands really aren’t that good, i.e. Creed, MXPX, but Newsboys are actually very talented and write stellar songs.

This CD takes some of Newsboys best songs and twists and turns them into all different manner of new creations. I really like the new mix of the song “Joy,” it has a really booty shakin’ beat, an awesome guitar riff, and the remix just takes an already quality song to a new level. Awesome! I also really like the version of “Beautiful Sound” on Remixed; it reminds me of the electropop duo Erasure, from their heyday of “Breath Of Life” times. I hope I don’t offend anyone by comparing Newsboys to Erasure, but the similarities are obvious (as a side note, the version of “Thrive” hear screams early Erasure!).

I think what I like best about this record is band’s ridiculously strong skill for coming up with a singable hook. Crap! These guys should be writing for some of the famous pop stars who don’t write for themselves (see Madonna, Michael Jackson, etc.); the choruses on this collection of songs are just fantastic!

Let me tell you that the remix of “Fad of the Land” is very Oasis-esque during the verse, and I thoroughly enjoyed it! I would have to say my favorite track here is the remix of “Helmet” — the beat is so sweet and is very modern sounding, and I would like to see Newsboys explore more work with beats like this. The song stands out against the others as the “best” track, as the vocals are infallible, the little blips and things sound perfect, and again, Erasure similarities abound.

Fans of Newsboys probably already own this. For people new to Newsboys, this is not the most accurate taste of what Newsboys are all about, but it is personally my favorite Newsboys CD, but that’s probably because I love Erasure. The CD is nearly 70 minutes long, so you’re getting your money’s worth. Awesome CD.


Music Reviews

Planes Mistaken For Stars

Planes Mistaken For Stars

Spearheading the Sin Movement

No Idea

Planes Mistaken For Stars is one of my top five all-time favorite bands, so this review may be a bit skewed. If you haven’t heard them before, you’re missing out on something that can not be justly or accurately described without actually hearing them. They’re kind of metalcore, kind of screamo, very violent, aggressive, powerful, and completely furious. These guys are an incredible band that just keeps getting better.

The songs on this seven-inch take the strides made on last year’s Fuck With Fire… up a few notches. The bass guitar is tremendously overdriven, sounding almost like the bass on early Misfits releases. The drummer is completely manic and plays with a bit of a sway, even if the songs are driving forward with aggression. The guitars are both full and grating, loud and destructive, and the lead vocalist has the best scream since the lead singer of Rodan.

All three songs are very violent in their delivery, in the same way that bands like Swing Kids used to perform, back in the early ’90s. On the Swing Kids theme, I kind of see Planes Mistaken For Stars as what a band like Swing Kids could have become, had they not broken up and gone on to form second rate metal bands.

I’d say my favorite song on this seven-inch is probably “Earning Ire,” because it reminds me of Ink & Dagger, which used to be one of my favorite bands. I can sense the ghost of Sean fluttering above this song; it’s done in similar style to Ink & Dagger’s pre-Fine Art… days: spooky, intense, violent, and completely intimidating.

As long as bands like Planes Mistaken For Stars are around, there will never be a death of truly chaotic and destructive music; young bands, take a note from these guys: they know they’ll never sell a butt load of records, but they don’t care, they’re playing music that they like, and that, my friends, is truly punk. Great seven-inch!

No Idea Records:

Music Reviews

Coronet Blue

Coronet Blue

Coronet Blue

Laughing Outlaw

Hard-rock power-pop from Australia by way of North Carolina, with absolutely ridiculous lyrics and a lead voice that kind of sounds like, geez, I don’t know WHO the hell John Rooney sounds like, except that Aussie critics who say “Ian Astbury” aren’t too far wrong, except that that ignores Coronet Blue’s whole early-’80s jangle-pop vibe. Okay, I’m getting ahead of myself…except to say right here in the first graf that I really like this album for some reason and I just don’t know why but it kind of roxx.

Sydneyites Rooney and Anthony Bautovich hooked up with U.S. cult hero Mitch Easter (Let’s Active, producer of early R.E.M., etc.) to make this record, but only Rooney was able to come to NC to record with Easter, who played the stinging indie-metal guitar leads. Rooney then took the tapes back to Bautovich, who helped flesh out the songs with various Aussie musicians, and then they sent it all back to Easter for mixing. Some backstory, huh?

That’s maybe why this record sounds so gloriously disjointed and deliriously misguided and so freakin’ fun with its chunky hooks. “Particular Kind of Girl” could pass for Thin Lizzy if you were drunk enough, and that’s a pretty accurate summation of the vibe (if not the sound) of Coronet Blue: pop music with Big Fat Rawk Guitars. Which is so WRONG in the year 2003 that it can only end up being ABSOLUTELY RIGHT, because these hooks could catch fish.

And then you have to throw in the whole ’80s-pop thing: the chorus of “Givin’ You All the Love” has a nice little Let’s Active chug thing happening. “Fool In Love” proves that there was always almost no difference between Cheap Trick and Green Day, and Drivin’ N’ Cryin’ rears its ugly/cute head on bonus track “The Spell.” Yeah, there are five bonus tracks, and they’re all as good as the “real” album cuts, which you would never have heard unless you were in Australia, in which case you wouldn’t be reading this because you’d be too busy looking over your shoulder to make sure that Russell Crowe wasn’t going to hit you with a brick or some shit. That dude’z crazee.

Listen: this is a silly fun record that shouldn’t resonate at all with my cynical-ass tastes, but it does. Rock and roll, baby.

Laughing Outlaw Records: