While we haven’t seen or heard too much from the great late ‘90s/early millennial rapper Cam’ron, please rest assured, dear fan of the streets, that everything continues to go swimmingly for the multi-media mogul rhyme master dude bro. (Honestly, is there any hat these badass dudes like Mr. C here don’t wear? Caterer? Florist?)
Gotta love it when a classically trained musical prodigy shucks tradition to become a totally badass DJ. OK, well, Will Wiesenfeld, known to the glow stick crowd as Baths, is perhaps the only example I can come up with to demonstrate such a phenomenon, but hopefully other electronically minded folks will follow his stunning example.
You know what grandma always used to say: “Never trust a Canadian in Japanese clothing.” Or wait, was it “always trust them…. To rock your friggin' little socks off”? It was probably the latter, especially if granny made a regular habit of grooving to Tokyo Police Club instead of Lawrence Welk.
The National is a band that, like our nation itself, embrace diversity alongside a wicked rebelliousness streak. But wait, diversity? We mean of sound, silly. Yeah, OK, it’s seven white dudes jamming together on an indie rock label, but don’t let what’s on top fool you: The National’s cred actually stretches well beyond the length of the Mississippi.
While soaking up the beats and rhymes of Quincy Matthew Hanley – better known as ScHoolboy Q – it’s not hard to draw the conclusion that Hanley may have been born a decade too late. With rapid West Coast-rapper sensibilities and a maximum dose of dynamite delivery, the Q man (he can’t be a boy forever, can he?) could have fit quite snuggly among West Side elites like Snoop, Tupac and Dre.
It’s entirely possible that Howie Day is an egotistical jerk (further reading: Day, Howie, history of arrests), but it’s hard to deny the role he’s played in putting power pop back on the musical culture map. A frequent presence on the early 2000s indie rock scene, Day has recorded and released three full-length studio albums and nearly a dozen EPs.
OK, we already know exactly what you’re thinking: “Wow. A whole festival devoted to keyboards!” That’s it, right? Only thing about the heading that gripped you? Or was it the fact that BEN FREAKIN’ FOLDS is going to be in KALA-MA-FREAKIN-ZOO, and oh hey, that’s kind of right next door, no matter where you are in West Michigan.
In case you haven't heard of her, Jillian Michaels is a lot like the real life version of Brooke Windham, Ali Larter's character from the original Legally Blonde. The difference is, Michaels didn't get to where she is by bending and snapping; rather, she's a genuine self-help, self-styled fitness guru with a sense of integrity that stretches beyond the length of a dollar sign.
The way things are going in the record industry, very few artists can still maintain a stance of true independence without also looking like total weenies/posers. The exception to this rule is Trace Bundy, a legitimately swinging solo musician who bears the notable distinction of having sold close to 100,000 albums on his personal label, Honest Ninja Music. How's that for integrity?
Um, OK, this probably isn't too much of an earth-shattering confession, but we here at Revue love a good revue. Even better if said revue includes many shirtless performers and both the words "men" and "male" in the title. (Just in case we were unsure of which junk would be waggling it up on stage.) Oh, and it looks like there's going to be magic involved. And it's ST. FREAKING PATTY'S DAY.
© 2019 Serendipity Media, LLC