Blog Posts by David Marchese

I can pretty much guarantee that this is only time you'll read a comparison between Vancouver punk rock upstarts Japandroids and New Orleans R&B producer-arranger Wardell Quezergue.

Bear with me.

Last Saturday I witnessed a searing set from Vancouver's Japandroids at the Siren music festival at Coney Island in New York City. The band, whose galvanizing Post-Nothing (Unfamiliar) is out tomorrow, combines anthemic, almost arena-rock arrangements--full of pounding drum fills and chunky guitar riffs--with a scrappy, punkish energy reminiscent of countless great bands who would never dream of playing anything bigger than a dive bar. But when guitarist Brian King and drummer David Prowse storm into the ragged picaresque of a song like "Young Hearts Spark Fire," which they did with an unbelievable amount of soul on a sun-scorched day by the beach, they made that hoary cliché come true: They felt like the only band that mattered.

Soul of a more traditional type was on display Sunday night at

My knowledge of Spencer Pratt runs neither deep nor wide. It's arguable that given the subject matter, nobody's knowledge of Spencer Pratt is particularly deep or wide. There aren't exactly a lot of intellectual depths to plumb there, folks.

But this much is clear: Pratt, who is famous for his ability to be famous (via MTV reality show The Hills and more recently, NBC's I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here), is getting into the rap game. With help from Lil Wayne and Fabolous producer Steve Morales, Heidi Montag's (better? worse?) other half is working on an album (as yet untitled) due for release by the end of the year. The first single, cleverly titled "I'm A Celebrity," is out now.

Jay-Z has nothing to worry about. Over a tinny beat, Pratt, 25, exhibits all the flow of wet cement as he raps without wit, charm, or style about money ("I get paid / I don't volunteer"), fame ("I'm on your iPhone / Taking over Blackberries / Me not famous? / Whoa that's scary"), and his ever-present haters

Last Sunday morning on Meet the Press, host David Gregory asked Presidential advisor David Axelrod whether or not Obama planned to make any public statement about Michael Jackson's death. Axelrod explained that the President had reached out to the Jackson family privately. What current pop star's death will merit discussion about an Oval Office response? Probably not Lady Gaga's.

There is much that will be missed about Michael Jackson, but the Axelrod/Gregory exchange made me think about something specific underlying our collective grief: MJ was the last pop star we will all share. He was the last one to garner so much genre-, race, and class-transcending popularity that it feels appropriate for his death to register as a tragedy of Presidential importance. We have lost a common bond.

Changes in the music industry will ensure that bond stays broken. Due to increased genre fragmentation, the proliferation of illegal downloading, and the ongoing extinction of brick-and-mortar record

I love seeing live music. On average, I probably go see bands play twice a week. (BTW, I just saw Phoenix last Friday in New York City. It was great. Super tight, super catchy, and nicely unpretentious given the band's Frenchness.) I know that catching a couple shows a week may not sound like a lot, but it's something I do far more than see movies or attend the theater or witness any other form of entertainment that requires me to leave my apartment. So I'm not being hyperbolic when I say that going to concerts is my favorite social activity. Ah, but in accordance with the laws of space and time, there are irritating yings to my otherwise pleasant concert-going yangs--things that prevent me from venturing out to rock clubs even more than I already do. Below are my four most irksome live music pet peeves. I'm sure you've got your own. Vent your spleen in the comments section!

1. The Standing Around: This just makes me sound like an old fogey, but it's true: I get tired of standing.

The sad news that Ventures guitarist Bob Bogle died last Sunday at age 75 from cancer sent me back to listen his band's twangy, catchy instrumental surf rock. For an instant aural evocation of hot rods and surfboards, check out the quartet's 1960's No. 2 hit single "Walk Don't Run" and 1968's theme from "Hawaii Five-O." Those sounds will live on well after we do.

Though Bogle's Tacoma, Washington outfit made its name at a time when rock instrumentals regularly had teens frugging by the radio, that era is long gone. Instrumentals rarely chart anymore. But even if they're no longer hits, they still get made. There have been plenty of great wordless wonders cut since the music's late '50s and early '60s heyday. So in honor of Bogle's passing, my five favorite rock instrumentals are listed below. What are yours?

1. Tortoise, "Djed"

Of the many '90s groups lumped into the "post-rock" corner of the indie world, Tortoise were the most diverse, specializing in extended atmospheric

Later this week, I'll be heading to Manchester, Tennessee for my first Bonnaroo festival. With megawatt acts like Bruce Springsteen, Phish, Nine Inch Nails, and the Beastie Boys on the bill, there's no doubt I'll see some transcendent performances. Accordingly, as I peruse the lineup it's not the superstars whose names I've penciled a question mark beside. Below are five performances that I'm mostly looking forward to-and partly dreading.

1. Grizzly Bear

Like a gentler, more hermetic Radiohead, Grizzly Bear create music of precisely calibrated, intricately assembled beauty. The Brooklyn band's sound translates fairly well to sit-down theaters and indoor rock clubs, (though I think it sounds best on record), but given their lack of muscle, I worry that all the ethereal four-part harmonies and airy orchestrations will evaporate in the giant, open-air atmosphere.

2. Merle Haggard

One of the legends of country music, the Hag has a vast catalog of classics ("Mama Tried," "Movin' On,"

Now this is more like it: so far this year, spring time in New York City has been annoyingly cold and rainy, but as I'm writing this post, the sun is streaming brightly through my window, baby birds are chirping on the sill, and children are riding bikes up and down my street. Summer, it seems, is finally on its way.

Naturally, this means a change in my listening habits. Warm weather and abundant sunshine brings with it an optimism that, to my mind, is best met with crisp guitar, easily hummable melodies, and straight ahead rhythms. So see ya later, dour mumblers and gloomy metal mavens. Nice to make your acquaintance, jangly guitar strummers and cocksure riffers!

If you also switch over to upbeat sounds during flip-flop season then I've got some recommendations. Below are three albums (one is already available, two arrive later this month) that are perfect foils for backyard barbecues, patio drinking, and whatever the hell else you like to do from June to September.

1. Firebird,

I just got back from my first visit to New Orleans. Like a lot of people, the city's musical history had been swirling around my mind for a long time. Buddy Bolden, Jelly Roll Morton, Louis Armstrong and the beginning of jazz. R&B and rock'n'roll with Fats Domino, Allen Toussaint, The Meters, Irma Thomas, The Neville Brothers, Dr. John, and so many others. Zydeco. Lil Wayne and Juvenile. The list goes on.

But despite the efforts of the folks selling Voodoo dolls and gris gris bags to convince you otherwise, New Orleans is a real place, not a fantasy. Walking along the Mississippi and seeing how little the river needs to raise for another catastrophe to happen was proof of that.

Still, New Orleans didn't disappoint. In New York, where I live, I most often encounter buskers in Subway stations and on trains. In my experience, they tend to fall into one of four categories: Mexican balladeers, Peruvian dudes playing the pan flute, and scraggly white guys with acoustic guitars caterwauling