The singer’s L.A. show was an ecstatic celebration of what it feels like to reemerge at one’s freest and freakiest.
Sunday evening proved that the fest has some cajones underneath all that tie-dye.
It was fitting that the final stop on Goldfrapp’s U.S. tour, at New York’s Roseland Ballroom, began with Cerrone’s “Supernature.”
Fronted by diminutive twin sisters Emily and Susan Hsu, Exit Clov formed, as so many groups do, from the wreckage of previous bands.
She looked a lot like Lady Kier’s little sister during her one-night stand at the Maritime Hotel’s Hiro Ballroom in New York City.
What Sleater-Kinney could not do was control the equatorial heat afflicting the city like an incurable disease.
In case her new album’s title hasn’t tipped you off yet, Pink wants you to know she’s not dead.
It’s always a bit disarming to see someone who has performed thousands of times comment candidly on his or her still-developing skill of tuning an acoustic guitar.
To enjoy the first half of Madonna’s show, without reservation, is to condone the singer’s propensity for self-congratulation.
The show reached a palpable climax with inspired renditions of three of the Walkmen’s best-known tracks.
You can tell that the brief but potent career of Jeff Buckley has impacted yet another European singer-songwriter.
Sparks is little known outside its circle of devotees, who are die-harder than Bruce Willis.
It’s fitting that Stefani should open her Harajuku Lovers Tour with Debbie Deb’s “When I Hear Music” booming from a giant tower of speakers.
The venue was filled with a mix of hardcore fans, label scouts, and curious out-of-towners.
Harvey has never struck me as an explicitly political artist, but her lyrics are vague enough to welcome multiple interpretations.
The vibe of the day was participatory citizenship, which has become a growing mantra among political bands.
The crowd was young and boisterous, and one particularly drunk teen was making yours truly look like a no-fun-having old coot.
Prince reminded the crowd of what a true talent was capable of, throwing the town’s biggest block party, a celebration of musicality.
Enter the Mother of Reinvention. Madonna would probably prefer Mother of Evolution, or even Revolution.
“Do you know the history of this building?” Nelly Furtado asked her not-quite-sold-out New York audience at Midtown Manhattan’s the Town Hall.
Automatically their appropriation of all that we hold dear about ’80s rock gives them a better shot at the suburbs than the flouncy ditties of the aforementioned bands.