Sound Stories & Interviews

After what seems like a long and relatively unremarkable year for touring acts in Bend – or more precisely touring acts not in Bend, as the case often was – 2009 draws to a close with something of a highlight. Son Volt makes a stop at The Domino Room next week, bringing one of the pioneering voices in modern alt-country to Central Oregon in the form of front man Jay Farrar. The band rolls into Bend with a new album under its belt and Farrar, a recently critically lauded collaboration with Death Cab For Cutie's Ben Gibbard.
One of two bands born out of the seminal alt-country group Uncle Tupelo, Son Volt is more a brand than a band. Farrar's muscular twang is the only constant among Son Volt's shifting membership, which Farrar sometimes seems to flip through like stations on an FM dial. Still there's a familiarity to the music that drifts between fuzz-toned Americana and straight-up lap steel tinged Appalachian country.

Here's perhaps the most rock star attribute to be deduced from a 20-minute interview with Dweezil Zappa – the dude uses an alias when checking into hotels. You just don't hear about quintessentially rock star stuff like that these days.
But even with his rock royalty lineage and '80s-'90s celebrity status, that's about where the rock staredness ends with Zappa these days. He seems more akin to a devoted musical student (or teacher) than a guitar god, or the sort of public figure he was as a “VJ” on MTV, back when MTV played music videos rather than “reality” soap operas.

On the cover of his soon-to-be released album, No Strings, Brad Jones wears black sunglasses and his emergency orange baseball cap cocked about 50 degrees off center. It's also worth noting that his shoelaces are the same DayGlo tone of his hat.
And another thing: Brad Jones is 38 years old.
But 38 isn't too old to reinvent oneself, either with an admittedly goofy stage clothing style or musically, as Jones has done with his 14-track disc of electro-pop-meets-dance-party-meets-high-tops cuts which he recorded largely on his own. It's a highly accessibly club-friendly album that might surprise some who know Jones as the keyboardist for local jam band The Mostest. As he acknowledges, there's nothing like No Strings being made in Bend, but that might not make it, or Jones as a performer, any easier to classify.

I don't typically watch Dancing with the Stars, the television program that allowed Tom DeLay to sort of dance, sort of flop his disgraced ex-minority-whip self across its well-lit and inordinately shiny stage.
But you know what? The musicianship featured by the rotating house bands on the program is pure dynamite. That's right: pure dynamite, even if you do have to listen to it while watching some bloated B-movie star or long-retired professional athlete awkwardly gyrate while wearing embarrassing get-ups. But a couple weeks ago, I heard that Tiempo Libre – the same Cuban music septet slated to hit the Tower stage on Tuesday night – would be playing on the show, I figured I would set down the remote and give a listen.

Canada's hip-hop contributions may not have been as respected, as say, the country's contribution to curling and ice hockey or its French-fry-and-gravy culinary innovations. Artists like Snow (of “Informer” infamy) have given our northern neighbors a reputation that was hard to shake. These days, however, a solid Canadian underground hip-hop scene has materialized and legitimate groups like Kardinal, Drake, Sweatshop Union and Swollen Members have helped to eradicate past indiscretions.