Concert: Fred Smith, "Texas"
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Iain Campbell Smith used to work as a diplomat for the Australian foreign service, spending his time in the islands of the South Pacific and writing music. As a songwriter, he works under his nom de plume: Fred. Here is Fred Smith's artist profile on Pandora.
The harrowing tale of Tricky's childbirth. His mother's childbirth, that is.
Frenetic, playful, propulsive, and NEW in a way that much rock is not.
A squirrelly song from Milk Man, starring Greg Saunier.
A spasm of sarcasm by the English 'gangsta folk' purveyor.
John Donne fans, roll up! Dust off the poetry volumes for this one, and look sharp.
Neo-jam band roots music about the Great White North.
New Monsoon's deep baritone takes on a tale of crime and false accusation.
How often do hear accordion in the discoteca? Kinky wants to change that.
The Prince-inspired spelling supports the case that this is a lubricated jackhammer of futuristic guitar electronica.
A heavy, Tolkien-esque rock thump about theophony and the harmony of the spheres.
Conrad Keely channels Shane MacGowan on this Irish-themed noise waltz.
A raucous, distorted, giddily optimistic song.
Noisy, epic, grand large-canvas rock.
Edgy, foul-mouthed L.A. rap that is unafraid to get its hands soiled.
If there's any chance you'd be offended, you might be offended by this one.
Headnodic's inescapable bass hook driving a surging battle cry. 
The cheeriest anti-materialist screed you've ever heard.
A thumping, intricate love song about love... that is, about loving love.
The audience at the Mezzanine went wild for Wale's raging tribute to Washington DC.
This one... goes out... to the ladies in the house...
It's infrequent that we describe a hip hop song as "pretty," but this track from The Mixtape About Nothing is just that.
The mix of Fishbone's adrenalized ska-punk with dark lyrics about domestic disputes gives "Ma and Pa" an unmistakable identity.
A gospel-inflected soul workout from Norwood Fisher, Angelo Moore and the other men of Fishbone.
A modern update on Curtis Mayfield's cautionary tale about the dangers of chemical overload.
Darkly fatalistic humor, political commentary, and sheer hip-quivering joy have rarely sat together so comfortably.
GDB's rollicking take on barrelhouse piano and early rock and roll.
The anthem of the Civil Rights movement becomes an elegiac jazz tone-poem.
Inspirations: the Big Easy, mariachi, Screamin' Jay Hawkins, and a simmering sauce.
An upbeat toetapper about a dead-end job.
One part "St. James Infirmary," one part molasses-drenched character sketch.
The first song the Mumlers ever recorded, written about a sketchy San Jose corner.
You can hear why this song became a hugely successful single, with its immediacy and physicality.
Super-fast bumblebee guitar fuels this pogo party.
Spastic energy, organs, and catchier than strep throat.
Nothing says indie pop like hand-sewn sweaters.
Delaware's finest pen an ode to Janeane Garofalo.
Not a duet with Soulja Boy Tellem, though that would be rad.
Totally improvised, and scratched from scratch. Slamming hip hop meets the off-the-cuff inventiveness of jazz.
New Mexico is more of a landing pad than Washington State, but Say Hi begs to differ.
Hayes' breathtaking, unique voice brings to mind Nina Simone and Jeff Buckley.
A powerful sigil lends an air of mystery and otherworldly mystique to this helping of Americana.
Southern charm and odd voodoo hucksterism meet in an unlikely singalong.
Great American songwriting, timeless and direct.
This time we look into the club's ability to pack dozens of acts in during a festival like CMJ.
A look at New York City's haven for challenging modern music, shot during CMJ when 
Sizzling feminist soul, fronted by shouter Jillian Iva.
A rebuke of the Hollywood lifestyle by Jillian, Becky and Kelly of Von Iva.
A rare moment of repose and shimmer for these brash women.
A Japanese-language pop song that starts sweet and gradually ratchets up the tension and aggression.
Chopped-up hip hop with intense subdivisions and manipulation.
Experimental DJ sets mashing up crunk and hip hop.
The sardonic, Dylanesque, sharp wordplay of Fred's finest.
Gorgeous vocal counterpoint, slide guitar, and a passionate lyricism seldom found in indie rock.
A Frankensteinian monster of a song -- rather, two songs fused together.
Who the plum is Dr. Vitus, and why is he sitting on my roof?
One girl, four prom dates = a recipe for ribald trouble!
'Tis a sailor's song! A sea shanty, mateys!
Never has the word "slut" sounded so strangely sweet.
A kiss-off song in the grand tradition. Don't let the door hit you on the way out, eh.
Comments
its kinda really slow, but time and speed are completely subjective matters anyway. the loosely held together singing is sorta like willy nelson's talk-singing, and atleast once per verse thers a line a really like;
otherwise, this guys really got a thing goin on for texas, and though ive never been to texas i cant understand how someone can be so passionate about texas.
Posted by: jack m. dylan at January 6, 2009 07:58 PM
Honestly, and this is not in any way meant to sound "braggy" or pompous; but, unless you're from here or you have spent time here, you really don't know what its like. its like its own country. The people are nice, the country's beautiful, and the food is good. i love it here, and after spending 4 years away in the Marines and realizing how much i missed it, now that i'm back, i never want to leave home again. you should come on down, all are welcome!!! --home in TX
Posted by: ralph at April 20, 2009 07:55 PM
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