Leatherface’s tough-and-gruff, Fugazi’s hyper-emotionality, and an innate Japanese ability to contort melodies into visions of blood-dripping cherry blossoms.
Part faux-ethnomusicology in-joke, part indictment of capitalist consumerism, part creepy fun-time freak-out, this album has had people scratching their heads since the mid ’70s.
Dropkick Murphys have stuck true to their Irish influence. They do a version of “The Dirty Glass,” the duet between ex-lovers, that is both comical and moving.
If I have to listen to one more “Punk Rock Sampler” as punk as Christina Aguilera and Backstreet Boys, I will rip out every hair on my head, very slowly.
Like a fleeting one night stand that is so magical you wonder if it ever happened, Lost in Translation and its soundtrack encapsulates a sense of “brief magic.”
The first installment of a series of mini-comps featuring four bands with two songs each. Boston is first, and comes through with a very strong effort.
The camera wanders like any ticket-holder, looking for the best possible combination of acts, leaving mid-song to see if anything better is going on elsewhere.