Your Turn Now

Why I never knew about the Yeastie Girlz until now is a mystery I’ll never know (perhaps because the late 1980s Gilman St. scene was before my time), but one thing is certain: Although they made their name briefly in 1988 with a mere single, Ovary Action, their voices are needed now more than ever. (And if not, will someone else please step up to the challenge, perhaps responding to Caitlin Flanagan’s articles? And, no, Peaches doesn’t really count.)

To get a sense of how marvelous these no-nonsense sistahz preach, check out “You Suck” (a collaboration with Consolidated), which spells out the gender divide in explicit and quite necessary detail.

Nothing Stops Kurosky

Members of the late and great local indie band Beulah are still alive and kicking, or at least reporting news from former members as it comes in. And in Miles Kurosky’s case, there are some very interesting developments. It seems that Kurosky had major reconstructive surgery on his shoulder and is unable to play his guitar let alone lift his arm in any way. But that hasn’t stopped Kurosky from composing songs a cappella while rehabilitating. Kurosky will apparently be traveling to Arizona next month to make a record, regardless of whether he can play the guitar or not. I’m hoping there’s a happy ending to this tale and that Kurosky does indeed cut an album.

RIP Link Wray

Link Wray, the father of the power chord, has died. The man who launched a million punk and metal bands through a staggeringly simple concept: top string at set fret, second to top string two frets down. Slide finger formation up and down with sharp strikes of plectrum, feed through loud Marshall amp. Repeat until you stumble upon wonderful noisy song.

Had not Wray come up with this magical concept, I would never have enjoyed so many hours in garages and basements with other like-minded goofballs as a teenager. (Some of the songs I penned during that period include “The Last of My Kind” and “The Cat Must Die.”) Thank you, Mr. Wray, for democratizing rock and roll for those of us whose grasp of pentatonic scales were shaky at best.

The Head Cheese

It’s criminal that it’s taken me this long to stumble across the covers of the appropriately named Richard Cheese. Anyone audacious enough to record a cheery lounge version of Nirvana’s “Rape Me” (“This one’s for the ladies!”) has my immediate respect. That cover (along with covers of Garbage’s “Only Happy When It Rains,” the Red Hot Chilli Peppers’ “Suck My Kiss,” and even the Dead Kennedys’ “Holiday in Cambodia”) appears on Cheese’s first album Lounge Against the Machine. It’s difficult to say whether Cheese is reacting to the doom and gloom embedded within indie pop or he’s celebrating the declasse environment of lounge. Either way, Cheese’s music is cheery, unapologetically politically incorrect and genuinely goofy — provided you can live with own ethical conscience while enjoying his music.

Dawn of the Music

This probably only means something to you if you are either obsessed with music cues or as fanatical as I am about George Romero’s masterpiece Dawn of the Dead, but these guys have tracked down all the non-Goblin incidental tracks from the movie and thrown them onto an album. (And, incidentally, this may relate in part to the next Segundo show, which should go up tonight.)