Upcoming at Alabama Music Box:

Jan. 27:  1st installment of ELEMENTS which will be bringing together DJ’s, B-Boy’s/Girl’s, Graph Artist, & Mc’s to help show our local community what Hip-Hop has to offer. Rock Most (ATL) will be the first headliner, joined by Mobile’s very own local heroes Mob Towne Revival and DJ Fragment.

Feb. 18: 3rd Annual M.O.O.R.E. Mardi Gras Masquerade. This event has become a part of Mardi Gras in Mobile. For the past couple of years they have brought together our local heroes, as well as many regional and national musicians. There will be several different types of music ranging from folk, jam, metal, hip-hop, & electro/dub-step. Artists to date include Catfish Alliance (Tallahassee), Ashelea Penquite,  Western Lands, Digital Organix.

Emily Hayes of ModMobilian.com/92 Zew talks to Cary Ann Hearst and Michael Trent, also known as Shovels and Rope, before their show in Mobile, AL at Alabama Music Box.

I was wrong. All it took was more reflection and exposure to admit the error of my ways, but I’ll easily do so.

As you might have read a week ago, or even a year ago, I once compared Mobile to a city I visit with regularity: Portland, Ore. I talked about their similarities and differences, what they have and haven’t borrowed from each other but now, after yet another summer respite on the banks of the Columbia, I have to change something.

Though I penned “both have dwelled in the shadows of bigger regional icons – Seattle and New Orleans – that encapsulate their respective region’s distinct cultural flair,” it’s not exactly apt. Flying into and out of New Orleans on the trip confirms it.

Portland and the Crescent City have a lot more in common with each other than with Mobile. And it’s not the crime rate or unemployment.

First of all, there’s food. The rapture with which Portlanders chase and embrace culinary delights is far closer to New Orleanians than Mobilians. Their restaurant scene has been wonderful for years now. They boast both innovation and tradition in menu, design and ambience.

They’re experiencing an explosion with their food carts, something that has taken major American cities by storm in the last five years. You can wander up to these portable eateries around town, some parked in convenient groups around courtyards, and grab a global array of cuisines of top-notch quality at working class prices.

The arts backdrop in Portland is incredibly rich, much like New Orleans, maybe more so. They seem permeated with the belief that artistic expression is as vital to life as oxygen. Shops and galleries are plentiful and the city boasts several districts that have their own festivals and gallery walks interspersed throughout the year. It ranges from grassroots labors to the refined and formal efforts.

Both are towns with an exemplary love for music. It’s more than the fact they both have public radio stations dedicated to jazz and blues – Portland’s KMHD and New Orleans’ WWOZ – or that they have several festivals a year dedicated to those forms. They seem to share bands with frequency, regardless of genre, eager to embrace anything new in that regard.

There even seems to be a stronger link building between the two towns. It’s becoming easier to find those in both cities with connections between the ‘burgs. I know a few people who are moving bock and forth with ease, establishing an infusion of perspective between them.

But most of all, their similarity comes down to attitude. The City of Roses and the Crescent City both crackle with a loosey-goosey, anything-can-happen, live-and-let-live vibe that is the essence of everything they enjoy. It feeds their reputations and potential.

Personally, that seems to be one of the biggest differences between Mobile and those towns. Whether it’s my own erroneous perception or not, there still seems to be a stuffy undercurrent to the Azalea City that has stymied its potential more than any other aspect. I know generations of Mobilians who felt squashed and boxed in here then left to find their own route in places that seemed more open to them. Sadly, most of those people were highly motivated by creative endeavor, with innovative tendencies and unique perspective.

I’m reminded of all that again when I open up the daily newspaper today and see a headline laced with easy snark about a subgroup of young Mobilians and an ongoing battle between a downtown music venue and a neighbor. While Alabama Music Box owner David Mathews may or may not be guilty of vandalizing Irvin Grodsky’s business, there seems to be an unflattering subtext to the noted and lengthy feud.

First of all, I realize from nearly 50 years of life experience, that disagreements between parties usually contain three truths: my truth, your truth, and the whole truth. Personal interpretation can be immense. There could have been fuel added to the Mathews-Grodsky conflagration from both sides or just one, we’ll never know.

But what will always give me pause is why Alabama Music Box has drawn so much neighborly ire from a couple of people. There have been music venues and bars on that block of Dauphin Street since some of Mathews’ patrons were in diapers. Some of those joints didn’t close until well after daybreak. Some boasted a nightly herd of bikers whose revving Harleys were enough to shake the mortar from the historic bricks. Even the spot where the Alabama Music Box sits has been a live music venue since the mid-‘90s.

So what gives? Why now? What element has been absent before?

My hope is that it’s not solely due to the appearance of the patrons, but I have to wonder with the things I’ve experienced and witnessed through the years. I’ve known some wonderful people in Mobile but I’ve also known just as many or more uptight, intolerant residents who would rather everyone step out of the same mold. Lord, just look at the string of vehement comments that followed Press-Register arts editor Thomas Harrison’s tattoo story on al.com this summer. It made Mobile sound about as relaxed as a Sunday with snake-handlin’ tongue-speakers.

The funniest irony of all is that the “hipster” stereotype so easily skewered by the Press-Register is hardly avant-garde. Anyone who has seen the movie career of Michael Cera and the commodification of decades of counter-cultural hallmarks can attest to that. When your 13-year-old niece and all her friends are wearing the same shoes Joey Ramone did, there’s a clue there

There’s nothing wrong with us having our own civic identity but if stuffiness is a key component of that, the amount written on that price tag equals the worth of our future.

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Testosterone hung in the air, thick as smoke. Many a dude showed up for the dude show at the Alabama Music Box. It was much anticipated by a certain segment of left-leaning music listeners, mostly dudes. I repeat, there were many dudes. It was a night of nervy thrills, cynical vibes, and catastrophic noise. Also some blasphemy.

Bands that tour through have little sway at shows like these, where the fans for such bands as Roman Gabriel Todd’s Beast Rising Up Out of the Sea are in attendance out of cult-ish devotion. This was about the local weirdos getting their kicks. All the more surprising that the opening band –Montgomery’s No– would gel so precisely with the tangled mess of noise to follow. Their music was a nasty mash of angular post-punk and abrasive industrial repetition. With such song titles as “Drowning For Dummies,” they obviously made no attempt at being cuddly. They were very precise in their forward-flung thrashing, and quite exhilarating.

Not In The Face were a much less interesting or well-integrated two-man garage band from Austin who played nondescript rock’n’roll for way too long; a courtyard band, a breather. It was loud and rocked properly, but lacked the visceral thrills of the other bands.

It was generally assumed among Beast’s constituents that they’d be playing last. “Roman Gabriel Todd” booked the show himself, and their longevity as a band in the area surely made them the most immediate draw, but fate, being the righteous dude that he is, had other plans in store for the night.

Roman Gabriel Todd’s Beast Rising Up Out Of The Sea is not for the casual music listener or anyone without an excessive habit for weirdo vibes and the aforementioned blasphemy. The last word anyone would ever use to describe them is accessible. It’s a two-man band, with Todd on the bass guitar and Benny (yes, the Super Nice Bros. Benny) on drums. It’s a wiry tangle of noise and precision, with Todd’s intense low-end assault channeling directly into Benny’s exact replication on percussion. It’s music that presses Benny’s already impressive talents to their furthest extreme. In formal genre terms, they’re a jazz and metal fusion band, channeling Frank Zappa’s bonkers arrangements directly from the pits of Hell. They may or may not have lit a crucifix afire (but they totally did).

The reason they did not play last (which was purposefully neglected earlier) was because there was royalty on hand to close the night. The first time most of Mobile saw Baron Krelve, they mystified many and won many fans, but they played for a very long time. Not the best thing to do when other bands are waiting to play. That said, it’s hard to say what other bands were playing that night. Most remember meeting The Baron.

To clarify, Baron Krelve is a band featuring individuals, but to quote Benny when asked about why The Beast was playing next-to-last: “Let The Baron Ride!” Thus, those in attendance didn’t want to interrupt their performance, and deemed them to play last and as long as they wanted. And so The Baron did. Baron Krelve are a very strong garage trio. They’re a recent illustrious addition to Mobile’s scene, and they are strictly a dude affair. They’re like the perfect vision of fourteen year olds reverently grinding out instant-classic muscle riffs matched precisely with excessively histrionic solos. Their power in relation to their size is astounding; for a three-piece they beat hard. As mentioned before, they have intense stamina. The Baron rode past the point of logic, playing well past an hour, probably past an hour and a half. They mystified many more, and The Baron’s minions grew. I heard one dude say he had a new favorite band.

With so much fashion and finesse in the recent spate of Mobile bands, it’s quite refreshing every now and again to have some unapologetic abrasion, bands that require an understanding of abstract non-song structure and an ear for irreverence and discord. As Roman Gabriel Todd committed to posterity– “Two thousand years of art history? So the fuck what?”

photo by Jane C. Daugherty

So yeah. It was your better than average show at the Alabama Music Box last Saturday night. Certain bands (or perhaps certain bands’ fans) can shift the mood of a place as flexible as the Box into a debauched frenzy. Said libertines were out in force that night in support of their Nice Bros, but we’ll get to them.

The show started late. This is something that patrons of the Music Box have been used to since the days of the Cell Block. This (IMO) directly relates to the lax non-schedules “kept” by the “venues” that were curated in Hillsdale and surrounding college houses in the early 2000’s. No one complains that it’s almost midnight when the first band starts. The later the night, the more delirious the antics.

L.F. Knighton took the stage first. They haven’t played together for very long, but they’ve got a handful of decent songs with more-than-decent hooks. A classy rock’n’roll band, for what it’s worth. They brought to mind both the Strokes and Kings of Leon among listeners at the Box. Take that for what you will.

Yip Deceiver are a two-to-three man band that share space with the of Montreal nebula. You’ll often find them opening for them. After of Montreal’s appearance at the Soul Kitchen in January, they’ve taken a liking to Mobile, AL, even mentioning the city in an interview. Since then they’ve stopped by at least twice more, including their latest show Saturday night. Their music is really glossy (read: pre-recorded in parts) and upbeat bubble indie pop, excessively high on the teen heartthrob effect. There being a twenty year cycle on nostalgia and all, isn’t it a bit late to be crafting songs that sound like New Wave on Redbull? For whatever reason, their sound inexplicably brings Saved By The Bell to mind.

All of this (even low-to-mid-profile indie band) aside, the main reason people were still showing up as late as 2am was the Super Nice Bros. Benny and Tim (now joined by long-time associate Mike) have been rockin’ blocks since they first formed in 2006 (roughly). Their shows are a non-stop erotic cabaret of ever-so-legit funk, surreal costumes, and XXX-rated lyrics. PG-rated sample: “Everbody claps ya hands!/ I don’t want any if’s or and’s, just BUTTS!”

Super Nice Bros.’ shows involve profuse sweating and a near-mindless surrender of the body into all manner of spasmic bump’n’grind. Their unique setup (read: mostly pre-recorded) allows for an absolutely flawless rhythm section. It doesn’t hurt that Benny happens to be the best drummer in Mobile (though now the band has sorta-recently transplanted to New Orleans). It’s hard to determine the greater source of their appeal: their incredible funk or their unique sense of humor. This isn’t a band to be taken seriously. It’s also one of the funnest shows you’ll ever see in Mobile.

While the other bands were alright (just aight, actually), Super Nice Bros. delivered another gratifying experience for the faithful.

photo by Jane C. Daugherty

Friday night was time well spent at the Alabama Music Box. The half-capacity crowd were treated to an unusually exciting set of bands. (What is capacity there, exactly?) The bartenders were attractive and attentive as usual (Thanks again, Roy!). Sometimes it feels as though it doesn’t matter what people show up or what bands play. Sometimes everything fits together in perfect debauched synchronicity. Maybe it was the Abita Andygator, a new favorite (and 8.00% ABV).

Regardless, the show started promptly enough, with FARGO, a local-band of veteran musicians pulling on a mutual love of post-punk and no wave abrasion. They cut a very workmanlike stance, very blue collar. No lead vocals– instead the group trades spells of yelling and occasionally shares in a group yell-along. This is their best approach. Without the presence of a lead singer there’s nothing to distract the attentive audience member from their dynamics as musicians.

Steve Marler’s guitars coat everything in a punishing and angular fuzz reminiscent of his older bands’ music as well as shoegaze noisemakers like HEALTH. Devin Istre is pretty much the sole member of the rhythm section, because Michael Clark’s tumbling Keith Moon-styled drum assault is more about pushing the rhythm than keeping it. He’s quite mesmerizing. This hazy brutality makes the moments they fall into dynamic harmony all the more rewarding. They have an album on the way, but no tour plans at the moment and a brief planned hiatus, though here’s hoping they get back out sooner rather than later.

What followed FARGO was a completely different vibe, but a show that left many in attendance totally smitten. The Motions are a group of teenagers from Columbus, MS that came with a message of total rock’n’roll evangelism. They were astonishing. If there were a sweet spot somewhere in between the Southern guitar sprawl of Drive-By Truckers and the sugary indie pop of The New Pornographers, these kids found it. Everything about this band was warm and tuneful, from the three-part harmonies, to the guitarist/singer’s sprawling leads.  They played with a conviction that only teenagers are capable of.  They were charming, affable, and adorable.  They played more than adequately, a group of young men clearly possessing a chemistry and -more remarkably- a sound. They closed with a double-header of covers, “Teenage Wasteland,” which they nailed, and “Keep on Rockin’ In The Free World,” which they also totally fucking nailed. They need to play in Mobile again. And if they do, you need to see them. Like me, with my hardened stone of an electronic heart, you will be converted.

Last up was Daikaiju, a local touring favorite, and premier kabuki mask-wearing psych-surf oddballs. It’s a performance that’s all about vibe, totally devoid of vocals or even verbal interaction. They took the stage like phantoms and proceeded to mystify and harass all in the vicinity. Anyone who walked into the Music Box while they were playing were treated to a personal assault by the wiry guitarist named only “secret-man,” dancing and playing and bumpin’ and grindin’. At one point he even played on the sidewalk. Every song was briefly concluded as the band emphatically prompted applause via pantomime.  It was a strange show. My favorite kind of show.

While the lineup offered no cohesion as far as a unifying sound for the entire night, that’s not something rightfully worth complaining about. Everyone who played did so without any undue portent. They simply played good songs well, except for Daikaiju, who were more akin to theater than a live rock band. All in all it was a proper good time.

Correction:  Apparently I’m just now learning that the song “Teenage Wasteland” is a completely different song and that The Motions played a song named “Baba O’Riley.”  I would feel stupid but it’s more The Who’s fault than anyone.

The Suzies @ AMB

Friday night began at The Blind Mule. Underhill Family Orchestra had an intimate night taking up residence upstairs. Charismatic guitarist Jimmy “Underhill” let me know that they’re about to leave on an extended tour of the Southeast, and they’re looking forward to it– I hope they do well. This show’s setup was clever: the group of songwriters took the stage in increments before converging on stage as a full band. It had a sort of indie Grand Ole Opry vibe, but with a set of songs that came off as either too forlorn, too folksy, or too earnest.

Underhill Family Orchestra is vanilla wafer indie rock music. It’s dramatic, it’s ornate, played by well-trained and able musicians, although it’s a lot like a lot of bands you’ve heard before. At cursory listen it’s easy to compare them to the orchestral pop of Arcade Fire. But, music is like a class of narcotics (one I’ve been hooked on for years), complete with a built up tolerance over time. Long time music lovers need harder, weirder, and above all more interesting shit after awhile in order to get that transcendent high– especially adventurous listeners. Most “song” songs, with verses and choruses and the like are digested too easily; my favorites are the ones that I spend years trying to figure out. Seeing a young man dressed like Oliver Twist with a moustache singing about how much he loves someone, with no accompaniment but an electric guitar, isn’t going to give me my rush. Perplexing, inventive lyrics are the only ones that deserve continued attention.

In the remainder of my time at the Mule, I had some beers, kissed some asses, watched the yuppie girls until I got a perfume headache, and thought about how there’s always been something amiss about the shows at Blind Mule (pretension, perhaps?). No matter– I just know I don’t have much tolerance for it. So I departed for AMB to see local bands The Suzies (a newer punk-ish band) and 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, who were celebrating the release of their new album.

The crowd is always rowdier at the Alabama Music Box. That’s a marked difference. There’s less art-show ambition. For whatever reason, I’m more comfortable there than any venue I’ve been to in Mobile, as long as we’re not counting the Hillsdale house-show period. I arrived just as touring band Drunk On Horseback were starting. It was indie garage music, a three piece with a punchy sound and… well, vocals. Most of the time, if a band’s sound isn’t immediately interesting, the crowd gathers in the courtyard, shootin’ the breeze to pass the time. So I waited out the touring band to see the Suzies who followed.

The Suzies have apparently only played together for a few months, but they were more enjoyable than any other band that night. At their best they sound like loud, crashing, ambient surf music, reminding me of Atlanta’s Deerhunter, a favorite “band” band of the last decade. Others seemed to respond to the sound as well, although the band’s posturing and wardrobe – once again – were an unfortunate distraction. Bands that dress like they’re ready for a magazine cover are becoming anachronistic. It’s also a disservice to the songs. It’s like painting a picture and then deciding it isn’t good enough without a gaudy, ornate frame. Costumes and ornate stage shows can be fun, but most of the songs that come from these “dress-up bands” don’t warrant the gala. This was also especially the case with the Underhill Family, whose songs betray an earnestness that the wardrobe tomfoolery undermines.

Todd of Roman Gabriel Todd’s Beast Rising Up Out Of The Sea (a favorite among the more abstract-leaning listeners) was in the courtyard, as well; they have a show coming up at AMB that’s worth looking forward to. Together, we lamented the waning amount of noise music and performances in the area. Most of the psychedelic music in town is traditional 1960’s-style wrapped in cutesy indie affectations. With the next day came the realization that the problem (the reason bands are no longer thrilling) is that if many of these groups put as much ambition into their songs as they put into their image, then the palette of local live listening choices would be much more varied, much more cerebral.

I didn’t see a lot of 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, but saw enough to know the book was better (not my joke, though it was given to me). What I heard of it was pretty fun, and in this case the shoddy costumes didn’t detract from the kitchen sink-style jamboree the band put on. As I said, I’m not inherently against bands dressing up for shows. Just don’t forget to wear your balls.

Disclaimer: Nothing I said in this article is directed at Joelle “Underhill.” You’re doing just fine exactly how you’re doin’.

photo by Jane C. Daugherty

It’s the rare thing that gets me downtown. Most “band” bands bore me. A guy straps on a guitar and struts around and sweats and emotes and it sounds like every other “band” band that gets onstage. Obviously, I’m being hyperbolic when I say that I think guitars are for old people and video games. Then again, I’m not patronizing TKO and the like because of the vapidity. I’ll come out for the big shows (of Montreal, Wilco – remind me to tell you the Tom Waits story!), and special things such as Bowie Night. I’d also make it out for Super Nice Bros about ⅗ of the time. For the most part, the internet provides most of my fodder. Why they let a hermit like me write for a culture magazine is beyond me. Take it up with them.

Now, I tell you all of this only to contradict myself: Friday night I showed up at the Music Box for the debut show of Cornelius Ultrahuman’s (aka Rob Sputin’s) new project Awesome Festival Boyfriends. Local Internet back-alleys witnessed this phenomenon go from inside joke, to five track demo, to booking at the Box within two hours. Fans of the Ultrahuman’s recent output were delighted to support. They were booked alongside comedian Walter Smiggerman, Tuscaloosa band Electric Moon, and Villain Heirs from Lafeyette.

The night started off nicely enough. Low key, especially for a Friday night, but the sparse crowd was enthusiastic. Walter Smiggerman slayed, by the way (By the way, I give way more of a shit about live comedy), employing his usual MC-style bowtie-clad schitck to offensive effect (double-dutch, anyone?). He gave us a good 15 minutes and he got pretty undivided attention and pretty great laughs. He doesn’t do much other than MCing and opening for/introducing bands, and his jokes at times are a bit scene-specific, but his sense of humor is wiry enough to transcend the vaudevillian trappings.

Enough about him, though. The main event for the cognoscenti was Awesome Festival Boyfriends. The name started as some anonymous local hippie’s Facebook comment. The demo was recorded in an hour in his bedroom. It’s Ultrahuman’s usual stoner-punk laziness, this time co-opting “New West” hip-hop slang (“Oh My God (Kitty) I Think I’m Based God,” “SWAG!”), furthering Cornelius’ idiosyncratic place in Mobile’s seedy art-fuck-art! underside. They took the stage dressed as doctors. Cornelius played guitar on his usual stool, Rudy played casio keys, the prodigal Bobby Sweatpants (formerly of Super Nice Bros.) played the drums, smoked cigarettes, and undermined the performance conceit with his non sequitur bellows.

They haphazardly blasted through a 45-minute set of originals and covers including “Boyfriend” by the Ramones, a fitting choice. They displayed a perfectly nonchalant charisma, the anti-thesis of stuffy rock swagger. Ultrahuman himself refers to it as jamming, considering the near free-association of his creative process and the slap-dash approach to the live show. It’s less about songwriting and more of a punk-rock performance art. Either that or it’s grown kids making noise and having fun, a reaction to the stuffy artiness at large.

I would have more to say about the acts to follow, but I didn’t stick around long enough for the third band, admittedly, because the second act was the embodiment of the sort of self-important, riff-douchery that repels me from rock music. Just gross. I pretty promptly departed for Gabriel’s for Gayraoke. I sang “Runnin With the Devil.” That’s for someone else to review.

Check out AFB’s The Lavender Tape EP

Mobile music heats up with Coastline Chronicles!
The brainchild of Mod Mobilian’s own Kris Skoda, Coastline Chronicles is a two-fold entity;

A free CD compilation of 22 of Mobile’s current original music acts will be available in many local businesses -pretty much everywhere- in the coming weeks
and
A yearly three-day music fest on Lower Dauphin Street. (2011 : May 12-14)     Preorder Your Tickets Now!

CD’s available at-

Downtown:

Serda’s Coffee Co
Royal St. Tattoo
Samurai J
Crescent Theater
Bebob’s
Gabriel’s
Hero’s
Haleigh’s
The Garage
Hopjacks
Lunatix & Co.
Island Thyme
Blind Mule
OK Bike Shop
Liquid
O’Daly’s
Alabama Music Box

Midtown:

92 Zew
Mellow Mushroom

West Mobile:

Bubble Lounge
Doughboy Pizza
Tattoo Zone
Industry bar
Hot Topic
Guitar Center
Satori
Mellow Mushroom
Carpe Diem

Eastern Shore:

Royal Street Tattoo
Bay Sound
Papa’s Pizza
Bentz’s Pizza
Slow Fade Tattoo
The Coffee Loft

photo : Justin Hartley
CD design : Carol Anne Solberger
model : Tori Lane

The Coastline Chronicles CD will feature:

Adam Taylor
Bay City Brass Band
Cockfight
Criminal Class USA & the Hush Hush Revolution
Edward Appleby
El Cantador
Fargo
Gregg Fells feat. Josh Ewing
James Copeland Band
Josh Bond and the Big Black Smoke
Mandown
Mob Towne Revival
Morris Minor
The Old Guard
The Port Wine Stain
Seduction Bomb
The Sunshine Factory
Super Nice Bros.
Swamp Wompus
Too Far From Amsterdam
Underhill Family Orchestra
Venom

The lineup for this year’s festival :

May 12th Alabama Music Box:

Strange Rover (DJ set)- 8:00-9:30 (before and during set up, then also between set ups and after the last band)
Too Far From Amsterdam (roughly 9:30-10:00)
Fargo (roughly 10:20- 10:50)
Edward Appleby (roughly 11:10- 11:40)
The Cimarron Club (roughly midnight- until)

May 13th Alabama Music Box

The Company Man (DJ set)- 8:00-9:30 (before and during set up, then also between set ups and after the last band)
The Handsome Scoundrels/The Old Guard (roughly 9:30 to 10:00)
Banditos (roughly 10:20-10:50)
Seduction Bomb (roughly 11:10-11:40)
Underhill Family Orchestra (roughly midnight- until)

May 14th

During the day Island Thyme:

L. F. Knighton (2:15-3:00)
The Suzies (roughly 3:15- 3:50)
Alex Joy (roughly 4:00- 4:30)
Lane Fisher (roughly 4:40-5:20)
Dave and Virginia of 20,000 Leagues (roughly 5:30-6:15)
Under the Tree (roughly 6:30-7:15)
Mandown (roughly 7:30-8:10)
Adam Taylor (roughly 8:15-9:00)

Night Alabama Music Box:

The Company Man (DJ set)- 8:00-9:30 (before and during set up, then also between set ups and after the last band)
James Copeland Band (roughly 9:30- 10)
Gregg Fells (roughly 10:10- 10:40)
Bay City Brass Band (roughly 11- 11:30)
Cockfight (roughly 11:50-12:20)
The Architects (roughly 12:40- 1:10)
Venom (roughly 1:30- 2:00)
20,000 Leagues (roughly 2:20-until)

Last Year’s Coastline Chronicles:

92 Zew trying to step up their game with Second Tuesday?

Mod Vowel has just gotten back from a sabbatical in the home land to jump right back in to all things Mobile. The first thing Mod Vowel hears about? 92 Zew getting the hot band of the moment, Underhill Family Orchestra, on board for their Second Tuesday Concert Series at The BlueGill.

Mod Vowel has to give it up to whoever nabbed this band for Second Tuesday. Too often, the bands that get the coveted hour of radio time, sound nothing like what the radio station plays. Mod Vowel thinks that even though there are things we would all like to change about the ZEW, we are lucky to have a radio station that gives a shit about local bands.

With the addition of Underhill Family Orchestra to the Second Tuesday line up, that hour of radio will sound just right up against the other artists that the ZEW plays and will hopefully be the begining of things to come for the monthly series at the BlueGill. If you want to show your support for this gig and drive home the point that they should book more bands that people in this city actually care about (instead of generic hard rock bands that seem totally out of place) show up and clap your hands. Underhill is scheduled to play April 12th. The show starts at 7pm and there is no cover so really…what excuse do you have to not be there?

Another thing that has caught Mod Vowel attention after the return to Mobile was the fact that Arts Alive is just around the corner. Mod Vowel got a sneak peak at Old Lady Hayes’s next “Hey, Have You Heard” article so I won’t blow all of it but read this very carefully : Jimmy Lee. 72 Hours. One Note. Abandoned Buildings. Amazing.

And did your hear about Alabama Music Box? Seriously, the saga with this noise crap has to stop. Mod Vowel was hanging out at the fire station the other night and could hear, clear as day, the horrible band covering The Rolling Stones and Michael Jackson at the Garage. Dauphin Street is an entertainment district. If you can’t handle it, leave. Because this bitching about venues generating revenues that crank it up to 11 is getting old. So. Old.

With that, Mod Vowel bids you good day.