The Automatik

El Matador
January 10, 2004

“The Paleolithic Era is over! Let’s embrace the dawn of the Iron Age!”

So quoth Mr. Quintron at Saturday evening’s final show at El Matador.
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“Honesty,” a wise man once said, “is such a lonely word.” I don’t really know where I’m going with this one; I just thought it would be a clever intro to this piece.
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House of Blues
November 21, 2003

I’m one of those people who have never owned a Spiritualized or Spacemen 3 album. I couldn’t even name one of either band’s songs. I’ll give you a minute to rouse yourself from a shocked stupor.
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Brobdingnagian/Outside Records, 2000

When I love an album, I want to rant endlessly how it’s the greatest album of all time, and in some cases, that’s exactly what transpires. Only later do I look back and cringe at how I’ve smothered it in hyperbole. Yet I’ve owned Down at the Khyber for a couple of years now and my appetite for it grows with every listen. Sometimes I don’t even want to play it because it’s so great. I’m afraid that on the next listen, it will be revealed to be a Kubla Khan-esque creation of my subconscious that I’ll never be able to enjoy again.
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House of Blues
September 19, 2003

I’m looking for a song to sing
I’m looking for a friend to borrow
I’m looking for my radio
So I might find a heart to follow
-Hanson, “A Song to Sing”
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Let’s talk about a little-discussed genre of music, the “I’m on tour now but I’ll be home soon” genre, or what I like to call “Tour Trauma.” (If it is discussed somewhere, please point me in that direction.) You know the kind of song I’m talking about. Kiss’s “Beth” is sort of like that, although it’s more about band practice and not touring, but you get the idea. A good example, and a maudlin one, is Journey’s “Faithfully,” where Steve Perry sadly laments that “the road ain’t no place to start a family.” Bon Jovi’s paean to manifest rock destiny, “Wanted: Dead or Alive,” really stretched the boundaries and elevated the rock star to the same level as Billy the Kid.

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I’ve been railing against the RIAA for a long time now, and I’m tired of it. Something has got to give. The latest article I have read is perhaps the worst offender of all.
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House of Blues
September 27, 2003

Last time I saw the Super Furry Animals, they were so loud that my ears rang for two days. This time, I wisely remembered to pack earplugs. Sadly, they did not block out Grandaddy, who thankfully performed last and spared me from having to endure their entire set. It seems unbelievable to me that anyone would want to follow the phantom power of the Super Furry Animals, particularly Grandaddy, who I saw open for Elliott Smith three years ago and who didn’t impress me then.
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Self-Released, 2003

This is the first CD I’ve reviewed in a while which I didn’t actually purchase. Long gone are the zanier, zinier times, of trudging through crappy “punk” 7 inches and weird, under-produced cassette tapes. Hopefully my comments won’t cause it to be the last CD I am sent to review.
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Geffen, 2003

At their best, Rooney sound like Jellyfish, Jason Falkner, and vintage Weezer. At their worst, they’re sugary enough to give you a toothache; too much bubblegum and not enough bittersweet.
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