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The Corin Tucker Band
Tuesday, October 26
Bowery Ballroom

Better than: Quasi at SXSW 2010

Watching the Corin Tucker Band at the Bowery Ballroom is akin to seeing a favorite essayist discuss a novel (or vice versa): this may not be the body of work you want to hear this seminal figure address, but this is the only person who owns the voice that changed your life, so you make do. Gonna make an educated guess that the audience comprised of mostly women (many bespectacled), the sensitive men who love them, and Lee Ranaldo and his wife felt the same way, all here because Corin Tucker spent more than a decade as the front-lung of riot-lady rock monolith Sleater-Kinney. And while her former Ess-Kay partners, guitar goddess Carrie Brownstein and percussion monster Janet Weiss, have spent the last four years dabbling in art-comedy skits, receiving honorary writing laurels, or hammering snares for Stephen Malkmus and Quasi, this one of the went off to be a mom.

As SOTC's de facto head of internal affairs, it falls upon me to remind you that our newsroom-mates over at Fork in the Road have an eating-themed interview with recovering hesher Andrew W.K. Since the endlessly energetic Dinner With the Band guest is famous for a headbanging rager called "Party 'Til You Puke," we never wanted to know what that used to be. But it's amusing--and completely in character--that if the frantic piano-player was to open a restaurant, it'd be a mouth-flaming one with "all of the great spicy foods of the world represented." (Andrew admits he's the sort of guy who walks into an Indian restaurant and requests food made "spicy for an Indian person.")

After chatting backstage at the Village Voice Media SXSW party with Surfer Blood (who told us about their Twittering philosophy), and Pains of Being Pure at Heart (who recounted an innocently embarrassing incident involving a condom), we cornered Merge Records honchos/Superchunk leaders Mac McCaughan and Laura Ballance to probe them about their best SXSW memories, an Austin club toilet that Mac doesn't miss, and what Superchunk's last show ever would be like. But they insist that such a thing will never happen--at least deliberately. That's good news, right?

The Antlers: (center) Peter Silberman

When Brooklyn's the Antlers self-released their 10-song debut album Hospice this past spring, quick accolades from NPR and the usual Internet suspects prompted Frenchkiss to grab hold of it and give it a proper release this past Tuesday. And it's easy to see why: Hospice is a sprawling mix of brooding guitars and dense atmospheres, delicately narrated by Silberman's whispering falsetto. The back story to Hospice is just as compelling: Silberman spent a year-and-half in a kind of self-imposed isolation, processing the deeply personal, emotionally wrought events that inspired this record. And although the 23-year-old tends to avoid revealing too many specifics, "for the sake of everyone involved," Silberman does explain that Hospice "tells the story of a psychologically abusive relationship, some of which took place in a children's cancer ward. The record sort of drifts in and out of the hospital, which is true of the relationship itself. To an extent it's autobiographical, but I guess the best way to say it is that there's a few ways to lose someone. It's not always through death, even if it resembles death." All together, Hospice is a cathartic, therapeutic, mesmerizing piece of work that makes for a strikingly haunting debut.

Now that the Jimmy Fallon/Thurston Moore clothing mystery is solved, let's direct your attention to the fact that Iggy Pop actually wore a shirt for his entire appearance on Letterman last night. Mr. Pop was there to sing lead with Fatboy Slim's Brighton Port Authority project on their cover of the Monochrome Set's "Hey Frank." This song is old news by press-cycle standards, but one supposes that when a publicist can guarantee these two guys in a room, Letterman's booker just asks St. Vincent to reschedule for Thursday or something. Anyway, this version of "Hey Frank" was kind of crap, bulldozed by the Paul Shaffer Band's cheesy horns, but it's tough not to feel misty-eyed for late-night sidekicks today. Hence, it's endearing to see Iggy sidle up to Paul and pat the back of his waxy noggin--a gesture that came off as both affectionate and vaguely patronizing, a silent I wrote "The Passenger" you wrote "It's Raining Men"/ Nice to see you again. Lastly, an open question: why do punk legends like to befriend dance-music schlubs ten years too late?

So yesterday Zach was on ABC's World News Webcast and it had nothing to do with Asher Roth punching him in the face. (Next week.) Yep, our esteemed SOTC colleague made an appearance for "New Music Monday" to drop science about the Hold Steady's live album/DVD spectacular A Positive Rage. Our favorite bit of Baron-ized insight: "The Hold Steady make music about being young from the perspective of people who"--sadly dropped inflection here--"are middle-aged." Woof. Please raise a Pepto Bismol shot and enjoy the rest of this clip while we go get punched in the face for posting it. [ABC NEWS]

Andrew Kesin

Despite the headline, I will not make a phone-sex joke here

First, let me restate the utter confusion experienced this morning when the official Sonic Youth Twitter, a hilarious thing in and of itself, alerted the world to a new "audio sample" of the band's upcoming Matador release The Eternal at Newsweek.com. (Quick request: SY's ghost Twit--short url next time, please?) Naïveté perhaps, all things considered, to be surprised that a Newsweek blogger would be the one to land an "exclusive" preview, but good on Vox Pop for having the forethought to ask.

SOTC buddy Tom Breihan points out the new Dinosaur Jr. song currently streaming from Pitchfork TV. Like most of Beyond, "I Don't Wanna Go There" falls into that weird J. Mascis-invented wormhole where past present and future all sound eerily the same. What made them slackers and indifferent layabouts when they were young and fashionably disengaged alt-rock stars when they were older makes them sound pitch perfect now, too: a certain kind of constant, weary melancholy, coupled with licks for days. Also entertaining is the in-studio documentary from which this song is pulled. "I kinda take what he's playing on guitar and figure something out," says Lou Barlow, explaining his songwriting partnership with Mascis. "And Murph kind of plays more or less exactly what Jay wants."

If it's true that He Who Dies With The Most Posts Wins, Moby's in the running for first--dude has been posting on his Internet "journal" for eight years (?!!), which is somehow longer than both God or Fluxy. And so we add another one to his "about" collection, simply because it's been brought to our attention that somewhere between giving drinking advice and serenading rich people with Tim Harrington, Moby has recently been spotted sucking on a doll head for a web mini-series Cassidy Loves Moby, that's over at the Sundance microsite, along with strange costumed bug porn starring Isabella Rossellini (no joke). Both are signs that original Internet programming starring famous-ish people is officially out of control--that said, we would gladly film these all day long, every day of every year.

In the interest of some actual "news," let us take this singular opportunity to inform you about Moby's upcoming record, which we're sure you're anxiously awaiting, right along with the next Albert Hammond Jr. solo release. But wait: he's mixing it with M83 producer Ken Thomas and describes it as "a '9 a.m Sunday morning lying in bed while it's raining outside' album." Look forward to something ethereal that fits like a Snuggie, tastes like a smoothie, and squawks like Meet the Press.