Bunch of crap I wrote this week:
Mannequin Men’s grown-up punk. Good Chicago band and their upcoming album is flirting with my year-end top-10.
Soulful oddball Van Hunt finds beauty in the discarded. This record is quite stunning and totally nutso psychedelic soul. Most of the songs are about the recession and I’m a sucker for topical stuff. Anyway, he plays Sunday at the Troubadour.
Annie Clark maps St. Vincent’s next musical step. Hung with Annie for the fourth time (? — I think four) when I was on vacation in N.Y. over Labor Day. She’s one of my favorite people to interview b/c we’re both kinda awkward. I no longer prepare questions for her, and I think we spent most of the time just talking about restaurants. Saw her the following week in L.A. and she gave me permission to not write this but I did regardless. Anyway, she plays Tuesday at the Music Box.
There’s other stuff I wrote this week, too, but it’s not even good enough to link to, in my mind. So I’ll link to this old Garfunkel/Oates story because Kate Micucci has a gig Monday at the Steve Allen and she’s a wonderful human being who sometimes brings baked goods to her shows.