The Dame attached to the front of her name doesn’t really have much to do with the Queen of England poinking her on the head and declaring her to be a lady, ‘cause lady’s got nothin’ to do with it. Shirley Bassey is a dame in the Sinatra sense. You know, a sweater who knows when to cool her heels and doesn’t mind kisses laced with cigarettes and scotch. A she-panther who lets you think you’re in charge even though all your friends know better. The hot dish who leaps up in front of everyone at a cocktail party and belts out a coupla numbers that have the women sucking ice and the men mouth breathing. A sweet broad who knows how to Get the Party Started. Rampant ‘50s sexism aside, someone’s gonna have to explain to me how these Welsh ...

  Comedy in music is a dicey proposition at best and in general I’m not a big fan. When I was a kid I’d laugh at Ray Stevens but I outgrew that as quickly as I was able. I thought “Basketball Jones” was funny but I then again I was young and liked silly voices. Weird Al? I get more laughs from a Toby Keith record. So why in the world would I fall in love with music from a TV show about a rap/funk acoustic duo fresh off the plane from New Zealand? Like all matters of the heart (and sense of humor, for that matter), it’s mostly unexplainable, so I love Flight of the Conchords. Full disclosure dictates I tell you that Flight of the Conchords is one of the few television shows I look forward to each week. It’s ...

  FREE! Except for a few record companies in the ‘80s who’d actually ply you with crapola to listen to their incredibly lame artists, you can’t find a better deal.  Now, to hit all the clichés up front: “there’s no free lunch” (actually I think there are, but sometimes you have to buy a beer), “just because it’s a bargain doesn’t mean it’s worth anything” (but it doesn’t mean it’s not, either) and “you get what you pay for” (no, actually you get what you can carry away… whether you pay for it or not is another matter). That was just to get the whole financial aspect of Nine Inch Nails latest, The Slip, out of the way because debating Trent Reznor’s motives for releasing it in this manner means very little. He’s done it, it’s out for everyone to experience, and that’s ...

  X by the Mexicolas is a pure example of why I miss radio so much. I’m talking real radio here, not the homogenized pabulum the broadcast monopolies push down our throats. I’m talking about that time not long ago when you could flip on any number of stations and be given the opportunity to hear something new, different, exciting. The chances of having that happen today are slightly less than those of winning the lottery. Call me lucky because I found out about Mexicolas when I happened to turn on an Indie 103 weekend show that plays imports. X is a rock record. At times it sounds like Charlie Sexton singing lead for Soundgarden and at others, as on “Big in Japan,” it could have been scooped right out of the early ‘80s and plopped down onto your ancient turntable. X is filled with ...

  '80s. Marillion. Lead singer. “Kayleigh.” Left at height of popularity. Now that I’ve got the mandatory biography of Fish out of the way I can get on with the task of sharing my thoughts on 13th Star, his latest release. Fish one of those artists I support, and enjoy, even though at times I don’t know why. His solo releases are wildly uneven. Moments of sheer lyrical brilliance are teamed with clunkers that even a constipated Sting couldn’t dream up. Sometimes his voice is commanding, genuine and warm and at other times he takes on affectations that rival Neil Diamond’s “listen to me this is important” histrionics.  He’s a Scots poet in the pure traditional sense, with all the good and bad which comes along with being such. For every Robert Burns there is a William McGonagall. I’m happy to say that ...