It’s a good time to be a music video fan with a DVD player. Seems like every time I look around, there’s a new video compilation to snatch, and for kids like me who have an ample amount of grainy little MPEGs on their computers, usually encoded by god knows who and probably obtained from a junk server of dubious legality, it’s nice to upgrade.
The present is also a wise time to release a DVD of definitive Wu-Tang Clan videos: ODB’s death has …

In 1929, Luis Bunuel directed a film called Un Chien Andalou. Perhaps you’ve heard of it: co-written with then-Surrealist artist and provocateur Salvador Dali and possessed of an infamous opening sequence that still shocks today, it was met with admiration in artistic circles but with much more widespread revulsion from the general public – though not, as is often apocryphally claimed, with the riots which would eventually greet Bunuel’s second collaboration with Dali, 1930′s L’Age d’Or. Look at the first two films by this …

Back in 2001, there was still mystery left in the Pixies. Frank Black (not, as he seems to call himself now, Charles Thompson) had only just reached the point where he could say the name of his former band out loud; he still hadn’t spoken to his ex-bandmate Kim Deal in almost a decade. Whispers of a reunion were growing louder, sure, but certainly nobody I knew was ready to believe them. And when an article appeared in Mojo that March, it was still …

Stax Records Week could not go on without Otis Redding. Granted, too many people have made the mistake of using Redding as a catch-all symbol for all of the great moments in Soul music; but at the same time, whenever that aching, smoky-sweet voice pours out of a set of speakers, anyone can understand why this mistake is so often made. Otis Redding sang with a resonant loneliness that can still capture any listener and both soothe and plummet them to emotional depths few …

The hardest thing about addressing the Raconteurs’ Broken Boy Soldiers is distancing the band from its parts. There is, of course, Little Jack Lawrence on bass. Little Jack is from both the Greenhornes and Blanche. He’s a good bassist, and he also looks a lot like he could be Jack White’s shy little brother who would never hit anyone. Then there’s Patrick Keeler, who’s also a member of the Greenhornes. And I’m just going to admit it right now, I love the Greenhornes. I …

Of all the overused, overemphasized, overrated terms in modern indie music, “honesty” must be close to the top. An unfortunate outgrowth of the 1980s’ integrity-obsessed first wave of alternative rock (in the same way that gonorrhea can be an unfortunate outgrowth of sex), “honesty” has served as many a wannabe critic’s highest standard of quality, its absence the cruelest and most demeaning of epithets.
Take a perfectly good, kick-ass rock’n’roll band, who maybe just happen to like a little semi-ironic Spandex in their stage gear, …

I’ve said it once; I’ve said it a million times – there is an art to releasing an interesting and good live album. Look at the Reigning Sound’s recent Live at Goner Records; that record is absolutely necessary for any Reigning Sound fan, as well as anyone who has wanted to get into the band. It does a fantastic job of capturing the rock and roll howl of Greg Cartwright and the high-energy sounds of the Reigning Sound in concert. But enough about one …

Yesterday, the Pea Pod staff attacked Clear Channel’s underwater fortress. Aaron took advantage of his diminutive stature by climbing into a heating duct. He crawled through the castle walls until he came upon the secret radio control room, which was filled with guardian robots. Aaron poked his head out of a ceiling vent and coated the robots with molten lead. In the uproar that followed, the rest of us Podders were able to shoot, stab, and knee-face-bash our way to …

A few weeks ago, the Sex Pistols answered their inevitable nomination to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame with what many fans trumpeted as an especially “punk” gesture: an open letter, hand-scrawled and atrociously spelled, declaring their contempt for the corporate institution and vehemently declining to appear at the ceremony. And it was pretty punk of them, insomuch as our concept of “punk” in the 21st century has been informed by mass-produced bondage pants, vague notions of “sticking it to the man” …

I remember vividly the first time I stumbled across Nardwuar the Human Serviette. It was the summer of 2002, and I, like many music listeners, was just embarking on what would be an ongoing love affair with the White Stripes. I’d bought three of their records — White Blood Cells, De Stijl and a bootleg of the 2001 Peel Sessions — watched their buzzmaking MTV Movie Awards performance, and even seen them in concert for the first time, at Chene Park in Detroit …