CHEAP SCENE

FOLLOW THE LEADER

2009-11-06T13:11:00.000-05:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade
Words by S. PAJOT
According to the Yacht Manifesto #1: “Yacht is a Band, Belief System, and Business conducted by Jona Bechtolt and Claire L. Evans of Marfa, Texas and Portland, Oregon, USA.” Also, Yacht “seeks to explore frontiers and to expand awareness of extraterrestrial Intelligence” and “believes in an Afterlife,” but “does not believe in ‘Heaven’ or ‘Hell.’” Moreover, the manifesto screams: “YACHT IS NOT A CULT.”

Hmm … Now, I don’t know about you, but when somebody reassures me that whatever weird shit they’re into isn’t a cult, it’s usually time to assume that the aforementioned weird shit is indeed a cult. And that goes double when the statement is made in italicized capital letters. It’s the typographic equivalent of crazy eyes.

Really though, who cares? Cult or not a cult, so long as Yacht keeps pounding out art-pop party hits — such as “See A Penny (Pick It Up)” — and giving them out for free at TeamYacht.com, this thing seems to be all about good tunes and good times. That said, if there’s so much as a single mention of castration, carving swastikas into human flesh, or Kool-Aid, I am so fucking gone.

Saturday, November 14. Electric Pickle, 2826 N. Miami Ave., Miami. Doors open at 10 p.m., and tickets cost $10 through Epoplife.com. Ages 21+ with ID. 305-456-5613; Electric Pickle at Facebook.com

BEATS ARE BORN

2009-11-04T23:11:00.001-05:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade
Words by S. PAJOT
Like some buff God-looking dude, Jon Gaiser (a.k.a. Gaiser, a.k.a. Fraktion) emerged from his bedroom studio in a blaze of blue light. The genius was naked, except for a sweaty sheet wrapped about his waist, and he stroked his beard while muttering this rote quote: “My bedroom has always been a room full of gear that happened to have a bed in the corner.” So wise, so sagacious, so weird — Gaiser had just given birth to today’s free MP3, a minimal techno baby called “New Dust.”

It had been a tough 12-month gestation period since Gaiser’s last album, 2008’s Blank Fade, but now he’s got a baby that blips and bleeps and blaps better than the rest. Not to mention, he’s also the proud father of twin 12” singles — October’s Pullpush and November’s Flashed — mothered by Richie Hawtin’s M-NUS label. And with all these newborns, it’s time for a christening in the club, so get a glimpse of the half-naked genius before he goes back to birthing little minimal masterpieces in his bedroom studio.

MP3: Gaiser - "New Dust"

With Will Renuart, Basti, and Alejandro Sab. Friday, November 20. Electric Pickle, 2826 N. Miami Ave., Miami. Doors open at 10 p.m., and tickets are $15 through ResidentAdvisor.net. Ages 21+ with ID. 305-456-5613; Electric Pickle at Facebook.com

BURN VICTIM

2009-10-31T23:59:00.004-04:00

Photo by MARTA XOCHILT PEREZ

Me: "Where the fuck's the bus?"
You: "On fire. In Liberty City."

HAPPY B-DAY, SATAN!

2009-10-30T23:59:00.002-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade
Words by S. PAJOT
By the time you reach a non-trick-or-treating age (i.e., whenever the candy-giving adults start asking for your cell number) it’s easy to get all jaded about Satan’s birthday. And why not? As a grown-up, your Halloween future sucks. No more free candy, no more shitty-awesome psycho slasher costumes, and no more petty acts of delinquent mischief. Sometimes it even seems all us over-aged fright night revelers are doomed to a lifetime of spooky-slutty bummerfests, like this weekend’s Tera-Ween, Vivid Porn Ball, and Phantom Masquerade.

But then, you look the other way and there’s luminescent pumpkins falling from the sky while local electrotech duo BFGF play pied-piper, leading a serpetine line of 29-year-old zombie children into the White Room’s party dungeons. I mean, WTF? But WTF, indeed. Go for the free candy, psycho slasher costumes, and random deliquency. But stay for the Halloween Eve hellmouth that’s gonna open up when BFGF’s Me She and Chris V set fire to the stage with evil assistance from DJs MGA, DJPJ, R3K, Dave Betamax, and Chris Video. So, c’mon, it’s time to dive back to the past when Satan’s birthday didn’t suck.

Friday, October 30. White Room, 1306 N. Miami Ave., Miami. Doors open at 10 p.m., and admission costs $5. Ages 21+ with ID. 305-995-5050; whiteroommiami.com

DEATH DANCE

2009-10-23T13:11:00.002-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade
Words by S. PAJOT
Maybe it’s bad taste to get on some kind of eulogy bender before the corpse is even cold, but the diagnosis is terminal and it’s only a matter of time … Your favorite hipster bar, PS14, is dying. So say goodbye, Miami, and make amends for all the wrongs you’ve committed against this party spot that’s done you so right on so many nights.

Then, once you’ve thoroughly cleansed your club karma, show up next Wednesday for the final installment ever of Finger Lickin', presented by scene stalwarts Iamyourvillain, Benton, and Javi. The bash is being billed as “the farewell party of all farewell parties” and it’s gonna feature a million and a half awesome activities to keep your grief-riddled mind preoccupied: a 14th Street BBQ, bike races, pool partying, ladies’ arm wrestling, a rummage sale, and the so-called “whatever jam” featuring, um, whatever. Plus, for extra credit, ride your bike to the party and get $2 beers that you can tearfully dump on the freshly dug grave of PS14.

It shall be a sad night, friends. But there’s no better way to honor a short life lived recklessly than kicking it hardcore with DJs Oly, Stravinsky & Salami Fingers, Contra, Benton & Juan, and DS, not to mention all your recently deceased celbrity friends like Wacko Jacko, Farrah, and the OxiClean guy. So come party the pain away, you’ll need it.

Wednesday, October 28. PS14, 28 NE 14th St., Miami. The party starts at 10 p.m. Ages 21+ with ID. 305-358-3600; ps14.com

TOUCH MY BRONER

2009-10-21T23:59:00.002-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade
Words by S. PAJOT
Ever wondered what screamo-lectro dudes do to unwind after a particularly strenuous hipster bikini dance party? Well, apparently, if the dudes in question are Daniel Werb and Paul Banwatt of Toronto synth-and-drum duo Woodhands, then it’s all about a nice, relaxing, man-on-man bubble bath. Why the bubbles? Why the bath? Who knows, but bro bathing must be a team-builder beyond compare ‘cause it’s helped these two sustain their partnership through cold Canadian winters and several summers’ worth of transcontinental touring.

Born in a Montreal basement before taking a southwesterly route to T.O., Woodhands has been pounding out sweaty dance floor fillers for four years. The pair’s done remixes for Peter, Bjorn & John, a questionable cover of Katy Perry’s “I Kissed a Girl,” and indie party tracks like today’s free MP3, “Dancer.” Mostly it’s the missing musical link between the knowing New Wave-y dance of Sweden’s Teddybears and the punky rage rap of Floridian faves I Set My Friends on Fire. Which sounds fun, right? Except Werb and Banwatt are weird and they “want to make you cry while you're having sex, and it'll be the best damn sex of your life. And you'll be dancing.”

So, umm, yeah … Anyone up for a bubble bath?

MP3: Woodhands - "Dancer"

Opening for Junior Boys. Saturday, October 24. The Vagabond, 30 NE 14th St., Miami. Doors open at 10 p.m., and tickets are $10 through Wantickets.com. Ages 21+ with ID. 305-379-0508; thevagabondmiami.com

CROONY CROON

2009-10-14T13:11:00.000-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT
For five years, local duo Michael John Hancock and Brian Robertson of Awesome New Republic have made hipsterized pop that sounds like some dead future from the ‘80s. They self-describe as “punk, soul, R&B,” but that hardly probes the bloggy depths of the ANR enigma. It’s way more complicated than just crossbreeding genres. In fact, Awesome New Republic is like a Pro Tools-powered tuneage collider that eats a bazillion bits of sonic matter (synthy soul, sci-fi folk, New Wave-y disco, etc.) and poops retro-futuristic fireworks for your ears.

Beginning with 2005’s Pitchfork-approved debut, ANR So Far, and continuing through the recent double-volume release of Rational Geographic, the pair have been orchestrating intricately arranged musical starbursts with nary a misstep — except, um, the soulful white boy crooning. Unfortunately, the latest Awesome New Republic album Hearts (out October 27 via Honor Roll Music) suffers from the same thing.

I mean, really, I don’t get it … Maybe the members of ANR are millennial babies with an accelerated sense of irony and I just can’t keep up. But Hancock’s vocals ape George Michael when he should be digging into Here Come the Warm Jets-era Eno or maybe even Brian Ferry circa Roxy Music. Occasionally the slick singing works, but mostly it turns catchy tracks into cloying indie-dance experiments. And so, Hearts songs such as “Dances When,” “Dark Water,” and “Last Drop” don’t quite achieve the minor masterpiece status they deserve.

Now, that said, the fourth cut from Hearts’ tracklist, “Digital World,” is one of those three-minute magical moments when the ANR machine makes a perfectly symmetrical musical poop. The pristine instrumentals are there and the vocals get dialed back a bit. It’s a dazzling little hipster sci-fi disco-pop power ballad.

MP3: Awesome New Republic - "Digital World"

With Neon Indian. Thursday, October15. RokBar, 1905 Collins Ave., Miami Beach. Show starts at midnight, and there’s no cover. Ages 21+ with ID. 305-674-4397; rokbarmiami.com

BLRATT-BLRATT

2009-10-09T23:59:00.002-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

You know, media mogul and notorious big baller Ted Turner was totally right when he said: "Sports is like a war without the killing." And that’s why our Miami Dolphins should immediately suspend their punk-bitch-porpoise-in-a helmet logo in favor of Last Rights’ Mac-10 redesign. For one, this murder weapon with eyes looks certifiably badass on T-shirts, both teal and black. And, for another, I think it sends the right message to opposing squads, basically saying: “We’ve got a sense of humor and everything … But right now you and I are mortal enemies and I’m gonna chop you in half with my super-cheap, black market machine pistol.”

Sadly though, the Dolphins aren’t doing much chopping these days, metaphorically or otherwise. With a 1-3 record, the team’s mired at the bottom of the AFC East, looking at a long and ugly season. Yet, among the hardcore, hope remains. And so, Last Rights Clothing and local hip-hoppers ¡Mayday! will be leading a last-ditch cheerleading bash at the Hotel Victor for this week’s Monday Night Football, featuring the Fins versus the New York Jets.

The game will be shown on a 30-foot projection screen while burgers, wings, and gator get the tailgate treatment. Plus, there’ll be a king’s ransom of giveaway gear, including Last Rights stuff, Flud watches, and a special top-secret something from Shoe Gallery. Then at halftime, ¡Mayday! will unleash a set of their rapid-fire rap blratt-blratt while DJ K-Razor drops hot wax throughout the night.

Oh yeah, there’ll also be full access to the Victor’s pool. But bathers beware, Last Rights is gonna let their alligator mascot loose. And no, it’s not the ra-ra varsity plush kind … We’re talking razor-sharp teeth and scales.

Monday, October 12. Hotel Victor, 1144 Ocean Dr., Miami Beach. The party starts at 8 p.m, and there’s no cover. Ages 21+ with ID. 305-428-1234; hotelvictorsouthbeach.com

GET STABBED

2009-10-07T13:11:00.002-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT
Like all purebred party animals, the adventuresome men of Miami garage psych crew Lil Daggers welcome any kind of fun, no matter how dangerous, drunk, or bizarre. They’ll play house parties. They’ll play pool parties. They’ll play satanic séances, bake sales and shit fights. From the very first Pagan fuck fests to last weekend’s killer kegger, we’ve always needed Daggers like these to keep things from getting dull.

No, really … It totally seems that the Dagger dudes have accepted a life-mission to keep the rager raging harder than a rager’s ever raged. Right now, for instance, they’re barely back from a twelve-city tour and they’ve already booked a gig with the No Brainer boys. I mean, c’mon, you would have thought a mach-speed two-week trek — flashing up the East Coast (Atlanta to DC to Brooklyn) before hooking into the Midwest (Cleveland to Detroit to Chicago) and doubling back through the near South (Lexington to Nashville to Athens, GA) — should’ve worn these guys out. But, no, them Lil Daggers be ready for another round. It’s always time to fucking party.

MP3: Lil Daggers - "Outta Your Hair"

With Satan’s Youth Ministers. Thursday, October 8. PS14, 28 NE 14th St., Miami. Show starts at 10 p.m., and there’s no cover. Ages 21+ with ID. 305-358-3600; ps14.com

BROKEN UP

2009-10-02T23:59:00.002-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

Like a hipster boy who just got dumped by his admittedly too-perfect girlfriend, White Room’s having a tough time bouncing back from its recent breakup with local queen of cool, Poplife. Especially harsh was the fact that the bitch (er, Poplife, in this case) immediately shacked up with that new, glossy motherfucker down the street (the Electric Pickle) and got right down to business having a whole bunch of pretty little party puppies.

Anyway, I … uh, White Room, rather … finally figured shit out and decided to fuck away the pain with a different party every Saturday night. Or, at least, that’s the plan until another long-term girlfriend comes around to fill the gaping hole at the heart of my … uh, White Room’s … weekly lineup.

In that spirit, tomorrow night’s gonna be a group thing. Providing the foreplay, there’ll be five Miami-based bands, including Arboles Libres, DorksMoronsGeeks, Aria Kamikaze, Saga High, and Diego Val. Then later, the truly hardcore action will come courtesy of disco punk crew Old Wives’ Tale. All in all, it should be a very satisfying one-night stand, proof even that White Room’s doing just fine without you, Poplife. Slutting it up and loving it. Sorta.

Saturday, October 3. White Room, 1306 N. Miami Ave., Miami. Doors open at 10 p.m. Ages 21+ with ID. whiteroommiami.com

THUG KLOWN

2009-09-30T23:59:00.001-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT
You’ve heard the haters’ standard bitch: “Man, the rap game these days ain’t nothin’ but a lobotomized, blinged-out, corporate pimp.” And while that’s true to a certain extent, hip-hop in the late aughts is anything but a bag of boring, homogenized bullshit. For every one-dimensional gangsta rap retread, you’ve got a Nintendo-obsessed hipster hopper, or a Tao-infused backpacker, or even some lyrically deranged, schizophrenic superstar like Lil’ Wayne. Basically, the rap world’s infested with weirdoes. Just look around …

And, for one creeping through our own backyard, meet the modestly odd Yakuillasin, a.k.a. YK.SIN, a Pasadena transplant who sounds sorta like the perpetually drunk test-tube baby of ODB, Kool Keith, and the Insane Clown Posse. Earlier this year, he gave us a 19-track opus entitled The Darker Side Of Light, featuring nuggets of certified strange such as “Count Drunkula,” “Lethal Injection,” and today’s free MP3, “Bump Datt.” Alternately hyper-violent, horny, dumb, dorky, and funny, YK.SIN keeps it street while also messing with rock riffs, sci-fi sound effects, and rubber ducky squeaks. He’s even got his own YouTube video series, Yakuillavizion, typified by this hater-baiting, nuclear apocalypse-themed episode wherein the Yak asks: “Will you witness the rebirth of hip-hop, or continue to dance in the flames?”

MP3: Yakuillasin - "Bump Datt"

PARTY PERVS

2009-09-25T13:11:00.001-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

A victim tells his story: Thanks, In Flagranti. I just checked out your new-ish album Brash & Vulgar, released back in March on Codek Records, and I have to tell you … I can’t stop dancing! Whenever I close my eyes, it’s a crazy party in my brain. There are naked ladies, mustachioed dudes, and a bear skin rug, all thump-thumping each other’s rumps to your non-ironic retro groove. Then, the waterbed bursts and there’s water flowing everywhere, but the thrusting doesn’t stop! Party time just got wetter! Hahaha!

Believe it or not, the above testimony from a deranged In Flagranti fanatic is pretty typical. The Brooklyn-based post-disco libertines, Sasha Crnobrnja and Alex Gloor, seem to have the uncanny ability to stir stange emotions and manic reactions from even the most buttoned-up, club-averse individuals. No more than a toot of that trademark In Flagranti sonic smut and those previously upstanding members of middle-class society become orgy-obsessed demons going for broke in the coke stalls of their own personal Studio 54.

Especially dangerous and dirty are decadent, moral-destroying tracks like “Pick a Trick,” “A Piece of False Morality,” and “Svelty Blonde.” At its core, this is antisocial fuck music riddled with sinister flourishes of synth-pop, deep house, indie dance, glam rock, electro-punk, and 8-bit. It’s the kind of thing that could easily turn our quaint little burg by the bay into a modern-day Sodom. So, next Saturday, when In Flagranti thump-thumps the Electric Pickle like it’s a group thing, please lock your teenage daughters in a box under your bed and chain your banker boyfriends in a closet. Only you can keep party time dry.

Presented by Poplife with a DJ set by Chairlift. Saturday, October 3. Electric Pickle, 2826 N. Miami Ave., Miami. Doors open at 10 p.m., and tickets cost $10. Ages 21+ with ID. 305-456-5613; Electric Pickle at Facebook.com

LIFE AND OTHER SHIT

2009-09-23T23:59:00.002-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT
The world is full of awful noise and sometimes one’s sanity depends upon getting just a teensy bit of quiet time. But it should never be too quiet. That’s where Sharlyn Everetsz’ unsteadily strummed guitars and whispery vocals come in handy. Hers is a singer-songwritery craft that’s better than silence. Yesterday the New Times chatted via the interweb with the enigmatic local songstress about Life, the quiet, and a couple other things.

S. Pajot: OK. So Charlie, tell me about “Save the Tears.”
Sharlyn Evertsz: That's a song that conveys a kind of angsty desire towards a lover, but ultimately you're alright.

Alright? Lyrics like “See you when I get there/Biting on your door/Loving all your women/See you while you’re crawling/Lying on the floor” make me think you might stab me while I sleep.
Amazing how one can feel when in love.

So you're capable of committing a crime of passion.
No, not at all. But I can imagine such a story and we all know they happen

Is that why you make music? To help keep yourself under control?
That would be one way to put it. Not to prevent me from killing lovers, but from being unsettled and restless.

Yeah. And even if you thought you could kill an ex, you probably wouldn't want it on the permanent record. You wouldn't tell me.
That's right.

Whoa … So back to music: Because you’re a girl with a guitar most people seem to compare your stuff to other female singer-sonwriter types. For example, some writer for the New York Times mentioned you in her story about the Miami indie scene and she said: “You might hear the echoes of Kate Bush in the strummed musings of Sharlyn Evertsz.” And Initially, when I saw you live, I thought: “Oh, she’s like early Cat Power without the alcoholism.” Are you mostly influenced by females? Or are the critics gender-profiling you?
It's only natural to associate me with female artists, which is great ‘cause I love them, but I really relate to a lot of male musicians, like Thom Yorke, Bono, Jeff Buckley, Robert Plant, Bob Dylan, Trent Reznor, Leonard Cohen, Scott Walker, Nick Drake.

Alright, screw influences … If you could punch one musician, living or dead, right in the face, who would it be?
Love punch or hate punch?

Your choice.
I’d love punch Jim Morrison for dying.

Me, I'd hate punch James Taylor. What a whiner.

MP3: Sharlyn Evertsz- "Save the Tears"

With Xela Zaid, Andrew Sansac, and others. Thursday, September 24. Poprox, 2701 Collins Ave., Miami Beach. Show starts at 9 p.m., and admission costs $5. Ages 21+ with ID. 305-744-2242; poproxmiami.com

TEEN IDLES

2009-09-18T13:11:00.001-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

The pitfalls of teen stardom are legend — sex, drugs, burnout, overexposure, the dreaded 20th birthday, or even a simple case of the incurable crazies à la Wacko Jacko. Way back in ’79, Leif Garrett hit the ‘ludes, crashed his car, and almost killed his friend while, more recently, we’ve seen Britney tumble pantyless down the wrong path too many times to bother counting. Really, it’s almost inevitable: The pop machine will eat its virgins for breakfast.

Occasionally though, there emerges a teen idol who proves wily enough to escape the lethal shark jaws of stardom. Take Kendall-native Natasha Jeannette Dueñas, a.k.a. former latin pop princess JD Natasha. After a hit album Imperfecta and three Latin Grammy noms, she suddenly decamped from EMI International, dropped the JD from her stage name, stopped singing in Spanish, and kickstarted a anglophone rock band of her very own, Fancy Me Yet. That’s extreme survivalism: Kill the pop star.

Now, tomorrow night, sneak a peek at the new Natasha when she and her bandmates — guitarist Alex and drummer Chris — slip into White Room for a set of the angular indie-pop and radio-ready modern rock off their debut disc Skip the Previews. To keep it brief, FMY look like arty new wavers on prom night and they sorta sound like it, too. The catch: Probably non-virgins. And the pop machine weeps.

Saturday, September 19. White Room, 1306 N. Miami Ave., Miami. Doors open at 10 p.m., and tickets cost $5. Ages 21+ with ID. RSVP@whiteroommiami.com; whiteroommiami.com

UNDERCOVER

2009-09-17T23:59:00.001-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT
A man of many beards and a million sunglasses, local blues rocker Uncle Scotchy is so rarely seen — truly seen — that some of you have begun to doubt his very existence. Admittedly, the guy’s an enigma wrapped in a riddle inside a nutshell buried at the center of a brick-sized 'shroom brownie ... Yet, rest assured, Scotchy isn't merely some figment of our riff-deprived collective mind. He is very real and he’s out there tearing shit up.

According to the official MySpace biography, Uncle Scotchy was “born in or around 1950, and raised in an orphanage just west of Turkey Neck Falls, Montana” where he cared for "his mentally challenged twin brother, Ezra" before meeting, wooing, and losing "Matilda Anne Magillicutty, daughter of famous horse breeder, Anus Magilligutty." From there, the wild saga goes on and on and on. Get the unedited version here.

Then, if the bio’s not enough proof, all you doubters need to download today’s free slab of digitized muzak, “Hold This” by Unk himself. It’s the sound of a one-man blues band boozing and blazing its way from living mystery to living legend, using nothing more than guitar, harmonica, "cajonbassdrum," and the human voice.

MP3: Uncle Scotchy - "Hold This"

Every Thursday. Bougainvillea’s, 7221 SW 58th Ave., Miami. Set starts at 8 p.m., and there’s no cover. Ages 21+ with ID. 305-669-8577; bougiesbar.com

GUN LOVER

2009-09-15T23:59:00.001-04:00

Photo by IAN PAJOT

EDGE BENDER

2009-09-11T21:10:00.000-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

The untimely recent demise of DIY venue Goo has left Miami’s young punks without an official clubhouse. Stepping into the void, there have been several semi-permanent and one-off party places — House of Pain and the Warehouse, for example — that ended up welcoming an orphan show or two. But, for the most part, those were quick fixes to immediate booking problems, not permanent solutions. These days, the only real, consistent presence on the all-ages scene is the Dugout, a squat little bunker out in the wilds of Doral.

That’s not to say the Dugout has straight-up inherited the crowd that populated Goo. While there has been some migration since the latter shuttered in June, the Doral spot doesn’t really trade in street punk, hardcore, and thrash as much as nu-metal-radio-punk with a suburban edge. It’s a custom brand that centers around a regular roster of local bands, many of them ganging together next Saturday — including Behold the Ruins, Great Divine, Bell Towers Fall, Powa Kord, and Fuel the Flames as well as Faithscar, Zealot, the Perfect Defect, Handgun, and Murder at First Sight. Now, show up and pay your ten bucks, but mind the underagers, meaning: “no smoking, no alcohol, no drugs, and no fights.”

Saturday, September 19. The Dugout, 7413 NW 54th St., Doral. Show starts at 6 p.m., and tickets are $10. All ages. myspace.com/thedugoutmiami

EAT THE CORPSE

2009-09-09T13:11:00.005-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT
If the current South Florida thrash scene were a rotting animal carcass, then Vultures are Wolves would be the three-headed scavenger beast sent forth from, as the band describes it, the “disgusting swamps of Miami” to clean up the mess. (Well, maybe I shouldn’t say clean up so much as devour/ digest/expel.) And, extending the metaphor, V.A.W.’s recent self-titled album — rife with bowel-destroying bass, hardcore guitar chug, growls, hell screeches, and demon-beaten drums — would be the terrifying sonic record of that bloody-faced feasting … Oh, did I mention that these guys are also very funny?

Now naturally, despite the very real danger posed by the twisted, joke-loving psychos of V.A.W., you’d like to become better acquainted with their violent metal-punk thrust, right? Well, lucky you, the New Times has made your highly inconvenient trip to Satan’s Lair CD Emporium totally unnecessary, offering up a free download of the band’s hilariously titled “The River took Dee Snider.” It’s two minutes and three seconds of hysterically smiling insanity which should be enough (perpetually looped) to satiate your hunger for dead flesh.

Huh? Still not happy? Well, god help you, but maybe it’s time to meet the unblinking freaks of V.A.W. face-to-face. Tomorrow, the band will inexplicably materialize for a Hot Topic in-store at the Falls. But that’s just a teaser for Saturday’s megalithic night of mayhem, Vulturama!, a warehouse party in honor of the aforementioned S/T record. Your only problem? There’s no exact address for the party, so you only got one way to get there … Follow these cryptic directions accompanying this convoluted, hand-drawn map and eventually you’ll reach a dark, abandoned industrial space where a party may or may not be taking place … Uh, yes, this does seem like the set-up for a real-life horror movie. But WTF? Live a little before you die.

MP3: Vultures Are Wolves - "The River Took Dee Snider"

Thursday, September 10. Hot Topic at the Falls, 8888 SW 136 St., Palmetto Bay. Show starts at 6 p.m., and admission is free. All ages. 305-256-3840; hottopic.com

With Dissever. Saturday, September 12. Vulturama at Homebase, SW 137th St. & 131st Ave., Kendall. Show starts at 9 p.m., and admission is free. Ages 21+ with ID. 305-910-7704; myspace.com/vulturesarewolves

PREHISTORIC PUNKS

2009-09-04T23:59:00.001-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

These days it has become exceedingly rare to see a show flyer that’s been produced entirely without the aid of a computer. (I mean, we as a people are so obscenely wired that it seems the next logical step should be embedding a Bluetooth into my skull and/or seamlessly interfacing my laptop with my crotch.) So whenever one of these endangered, graphite-on-paper, straight-from-the-notebook gems — that one to the left, for example — crops up, it’s a thrilling discovery, like finding the Paleolithic doodlings of some mosh-manic caveman.

All that to say, I think we’re dealing with a presumably teenaged (at heart?) designer who’s way too punk to give a shit about the inevitable, onward march of technology. And likewise, the bands on this Destroyio Records bill have got zero love for techno toys, gizmos, and doodads. Local hardcore heads the Panix, O.P.S., Brain Damage, and Baker Acted simply prefer the fast, hard, and bloody payoff of brutally primal noise. They don’t need anything more than an axe, the bass, and a set of buckets to make a scene go psycho. So yeah, just take your futuristic bullshit elsewhere. We don’t need it here in the caves.

Thursday, September 17. Churchill’s, 5501 NE 2nd Ave., Miami. Show starts at 9 p.m., and tickets are $5. Ages 21+ with ID. 305-757-1807; churchillspub.com

BORING WHITE BOY

2009-09-03T23:59:00.002-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

Stop. Collaborate and listen: Ice is back with a brand-new, um, nothing. Except, well, he's bringing his old Caucasian rap shtick to the Seminole Casino Hollywood for a free Labor Day weekend show. I mean, obviously it’s free. I wouldn’t pay to see this 41-year-old white boy sing-talk his way through the hit-laden tracklist of 1991’s To The Extreme, would you?

OK, yes, we would pay. But only if Mr. Robert Matthew Van Winkle stopped dressing like an over-the-hill Motocross rider and immediately resurrected his classic early ‘90s look. That means mounds of yellow gold bling, an infinite collection of American flag bomber jackets and windbreakers, and four vertical stripes shaved into the left eyebrow. And YES … Oh yes, the hair, so perfectly molded into a cresting dirty blonde flattop wave with that little taste of vanilla at the front.

But barring that miracle, we wouldn’t pay. So yeah, just go get your nostalgia kicks for free this weekend.

SKA SKANKS

2009-09-02T13:11:00.003-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

In the vast suburban everywheres of the North, there is a surplus of Sublime-obsessed white boys who smoke reefer as it were a bodybuilding supplement for the brain. They jam incessantly, knocking out funky pseudo-ska while backed by their great-aunt’s analog drum machine. And during band breaks, each individual member takes five to fantasize his own private version of the following paradisiacal scenario: Hot (vaguely Polynesian) chick in a bikini cradles a frosty, overflowing beer mug while wedged (waiting for her white boy) between a pair of crooked, lazy coconut trees.

Now, I can’t really say whether or not Howi, J.R., Donald, and Scott of reggae pop band Ballyhoo! were ever the kind of garage-imprisoned kids described above. But they do hail from the town of Aberdeen, Maryland (pop. 13,842) so it’s not unlikely that these dudes have: 1) gotten high; 2) attended band practice while high; and 3) tried to wet-dream their way to Hawaii.

To see what I mean, you can either witness Ballyhoo! live when they play this Saturday’s DubFest at the Hollywood ArtsPark. Or you could download today’s free track, “The Fool” from the band’s new album Cheers! on Surfdog Records. Just don’t email me with complaints if one experience or the other inexplicably awakens a weird teen urge to smoke a bowl, put on a soul patch, and sleep on the beach.

MP3: Ballyhoo! — "The Fool"

SHIT GOT SPIKED

2009-08-31T13:11:00.005-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

Yesterday evening, I found myself in a shadowy corner of the Yard House, a warehouse-style chain restaurant and beer supermarket at Merrick Park. There’s a massive selection of 50-odd pale ales, dark ales, lagers, and more. Yet it’s a garish scene, set to the nerve-squelching strains of so-called classic rock like “Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now” by Starship. So yeah … Why would a semi-professional alcoholic and part-time philosopher waste valuable drinking-slash-thinking time here?

Draft beer floats. Yes … Real, true brew and a double-scoop of frozen dairy treat, commingling in a pint glass like bold, unnatural lovers hell-bent on defying the conventions of both serious beer-drinking and traditional dessert. It’s a not-too-subtle, stiff middle finger to boring, old sassafras. And the Yard House serves up two different versions: the Lindemans Framboise and the Young’s Chocolate Stout, both with vanilla ice cream for a reasonable $6.95.

Oh, a final note: For the definitive upscale stoner meal, pair your beer float with a $9.95 order of four Béarnaise Sliders — a gourmand’s White Castle — featuring crumbling Angus beef topped with French-fried onions on a soft, starchy bun. Just like my waiter said: “There’s a big kid in all of us, huh?”

THE K-HOLE CLUB

2009-08-28T13:11:00.004-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

Ever since wandering away from the pseudo-industrial barrios of their native Uruguay almost a half-decade ago, the dark, druggy boys of Monoblock — Martin TC and Guikle — have survived and thrived by zigzagging through the secret underground tunnels that connect all international party meccas. Thus far, the techno-house experimentalists have come surface-side for big gigs at distant spots like Berlin’s Watergate, the Monza Club in Ibiza, and Brussels’ Fuse.

Finally though, next Friday, Monoblock will make the aboveground scene at our own Electric Pickle. Presented by Un_Mute, a.k.a. Benjamin Acero, the show will include support sets by local minimalists Dsan Powell, Mario Liberti, and Tuki Romero — not to mention trippy visuals by Eli Q. It’ll be so good that it’s basically mandatory.

Therefore, if you haven’t already tasted Martin and Guikle’s spaced-out, cerebral sounds, go cop your pass and your intoxicants, then meet us in the tunnel to the Pickle. When you hear that weird interstellar thunder that sounds like six separate stereos at the bottom of a hell-deep K-hole, playing Nintendo-ish blips and bleeps, thick bass thump, and whispery ghost vocals … That’s the Monoblock.

Friday, September 4. Electric Pickle, 2826 N. Miami Ave., Miami. Show starts at 10 p.m., and tickets are $15 through Wantickets.com. Ages 21+ with ID. 754-422-2917; Facebook.com/BenjaminAceroMiami

STRAIGHT FROM LA ESQUINA

2009-08-27T23:59:00.004-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

Last week, you totally blew it, missing the jumpoff for Dade County hustler Pitbull’s impending album Rebelution. (I mean really … Where is your civic pride? The guy carries the keys to our city.) You missed a backdoor taste of club bangers like “Calle Ocho,” “Hotel Room Service,” and “Krazy” — not to mention a crunktastic Lil’ Jon cameo. Plus, there were Hornitos and unitarded vogue girls and gentleman thugs in black tie. Shit was cool, low key, and classy. You know, it was a Thursday.

Anyway, you missed it all and now Pitbull’s winding down the summer, skipping from one North American metropolis to the next (Houston, Toronto, Albuquerque?) before landing in LA for an August 31 appearance on the Tonight Show with Conan O’Brien. For locals, this translates: No mo’ party, no mo’ fun. So what will you do? As usual, I got you covered. Just download the free Shut It Down Mixtape cut together by Mr. 305 himself as well as tag-team Logan de Gaulle, a.k.a. Clinton Sparks and DJ Snake. It’s 18 tracks of vocoded ghetto-lectro dance party straight from La Esquina, featuring guest spots by Kid Cudi, Sean Kingston, Kardinal Offishall, and … duh … Lil’ Jon.

MP3: Shut It Down Mixtape

ROOFTOP WINO

2009-08-26T13:11:00.003-04:00

Photo by MARTA XOCHILT PEREZ

One year ago.
Getting wasted off red.
That last night.

Before I fled south.

LUCKY BUNNY

2009-08-21T23:59:00.003-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

As a little runt in the late ‘80s, I owned a rabbit’s foot keychain. And really, didn’t everyone? Back then, lucky bunny body parts were still a genuine fixture of pop culture. Today though, the hallowed tradition of carrying a severed rodent’s leg on your person as some sort of amulet against evil mojo seems to be in serious decline. It’s a shame. And personally, I blame PETA and Bunny Lovers magazine for needlessly destroying an ancient tradition while decimating the novelty keychain industry in the process.

Sadly, there’s nothing you or I can do to restore the golden era of the rabbit’s foot, but we can improve our luck by checking out St. Louis-based twee punks Bunnygrunt when they ramble through Propaganda next Friday. Founded in 1993, the band has seen some heavy roster rotation, although guitarist Matt Harnish and drummer Karen Ried have always served as the solid core. Their sound is a little bit jangle, a little bit cute, and just the right amount of evil. Meanwhile, fellow Missouri crew Sex Robots — imagine a wasteoid Johnny Thunders jamming with an animatronic Thin Lizzy — will kick in some good vibes of their own. In short, it’ll be all the good fortune without any of the rabbit sacrifice.

Wednesday, August 26. Propaganda, 6 South J St., Lake Worth. Doors open at 8 p.m. Ages 21+ with ID. 561-547-7273; propagandalw.com

YOUR REWARD FOR SHOWING UP

2009-08-20T01:11:00.001-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 21

Words by S. PAJOT

After courageously conquering hump day, we all deserve a really freaking huge party. But for some reason, the Man refuses to acknowledge our massive midweek achievement, insisting that everyone keep grinding full-force till Friday evening. Well, we call bullshit on these arch-capitalist scare tactics, shouting: “Slackers Unite!” It’s time for dissent. It’s time for laziness. It’s time for productivity to come to a screeching halt.

So this Thursday at 10 p.m., come join the notorious No Brainer boys and the rest of us at PS14 (28 NE 14th St., Miami) when we all extol the virtue of wasting time, money, and energy in pursuit of dumb fun. The party-cum-protest brings DJs Arun, Benton, Jonathan, and Juan mixing and mismatching all kinds of wacky tuneage. It only costs $5 and given the added bonus of one-dollar Red Stripe, you’re guaranteed a beautifully stupid night of binge drinking and spastic dancing. Get dumb, drunk, hyphy, high, whatever — there’s obviously no better way to sabotage the tail end of the workweek. Call 305-358-3600 or visit ps14.com.

IGGY'S SWEATY TEES

2009-08-19T23:59:00.006-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

The final, frenzied countdown to party time has begun. In exactly three days, the Magic City’s most discerning club rats — and fanatical apparel collectors — will swarm the Awarehouse for Saturday’s Sweat X Iggy Pop T-Shirt Release. (If you haven’t yet RSVP-ed, get on the list right now. Note: You still owe $10 at the door.) The Jacuzzi Boys will be there and Awesome New Republic will be there and you’ll be there … Right?

Most importantly though, the court is gonna be commanded by everybody’s favorite transplanted Miamian, Jimmy Osterberg, the King Stooge himself. Thus, today’s offering of pirated musical plunder is a new-ish tune by the Iggster, entitled “Pain,” pulled straight from the tracklist of the ill-fated David Lynch/Dangermouse/Sparklehouse book and CD project, Dark Night of the Soul. (The thing was half-killed by evil corporate greedheads. But thankfully, the internets are always there to resurrect the casualties of capitalism.) So download away, this profound nugget of goofy genius — “I’m a mix of god and monkey!” — will undoubtedly get you started on the road to preparedness for party time with Mr. Pop.

MP3: Iggy Pop - "Pain"

Saturday, August 22. The Awarehouse, 559 NW 29th St., Miami. Event runs from 8 p.m. to midnight. Admission costs $10. All ages. 305-342-0953; sweatrecordsmiami.com

FLYER OF THE WEEK: MASTER & WIMP

2009-08-14T13:11:00.003-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

The endlessly fascinating thing about this flyer for the Obey Your Mastour kickoff party is the oddly homoerotic moment transpiring between the two humanoid creatures, struggling front and center. To be honest, I can’t fully decode the sequence or nature of whatever’s happening here … I mean, what exactly is that ‘roided-out monster jock force-feeding the vegan hardcore kid? Snot? Roofie? Miso paste? And why does the vegan — his eyes floating heavenward — appear to be enjoying this ultra-violent hug so much?

Oh well … We might never fully understand the complex dynamics of the master-to-wimp relationship, but there’s always opportunity for further research. And next Friday, don’t forget to gather that data when Miami Beach prog-poppers Jacobs Ladder draw a crowd of all kinds — moshers, muggers, and huggers — to Churchill’s for the launch of the band’s late summer tour. In the Pub’s main cave, there’ll be a huge swarm of noisemakers, including Arboles Libres, Flower Flower Yes, And Then There Was You, the Bront, and Your Best Friend. Plus, as if six bands weren’t enough, there will also be a quieter scene on the patio, featuring acoustic shows by Danielle Steele, Boy Have Heart, and Montgomery Drive. So basically, it’s gonna be a night for everyone: monster jocks and vegans, masters and wimps, you and me. The only rule … Obey.

Friday, August 21. Churchill’s, 5501 NE 2nd Ave., Miami. Doors open at 8:30 p.m. Tickets cost $8 in advance from myspace.com/jacobsladder, $10 at the door. Ages 21+ with ID. 305.757.1807; churchillspub.com

DRUG OF CHOICE

2009-08-13T23:59:00.004-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 20

Words by S. PAJOT

A very fine selection of tasty psychoactive treats.

Too often some wannabe rock star fancies himself a modern-day shaman, experimenting wildly with every available substance, both legal and not, in pursuit of sonic superpowers. So the fact that Miami indie rappers Heroes on Drugs sound very, very stoned isn’t any big thang. No, the difference here is that pied piper Patbag John and crew go about getting weirded — Red Bull? Weed? Purple syrup? — with total innocence. There’s zero new-agey motive this side of the cut. That transcendental hippie shit’s just goofy, yo.

This Thursday at 11 p.m., take a heavy bong hit of that pure H.O.D. stuff when these party boy hip-hoppers hit up Jazid (1342 Washington Ave., Miami Beach) for a cover-free set of uncomplicated anthems like “Controlled Substance,” “Hear My Song,” and “Rock Rock.” Either show up pre-emptively altered or get right with Jazid’s reduced-price alcoholic refreshments, including two-for-one Jäger shots and $3 Miller Lite. But one way or another, things are gonna get really weird in a really good way. Call 305-456-5613 or visit jazid.net.

DISHWASHERMAN AND WIFE

2009-08-13T13:11:00.005-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT
Photo by EM

No, Calahoney won’t take your dinner order, then wash the dishes. (Although, they might consider it, if you ask nice and promise to buy their album.) Truth is, Josue Cruz and Laura Askins don’t even run a restaurant. They’re a husband-and-wife duo who “teach in the winter and rock in the summer.” And so far, these Miami-based alt-folkies haven’t wasted a single second of summer vacation ‘09, releasing their second album Slow Stride before setting off on the Enjoy Your Day Job tour, an intercontinental June-July jaunt from Miami to NYC to Merry Olde England and back.

Now, home again, Calahoney’s already back in the studio, writing and recording fresh material for their upcoming third album. You can get a sneak peek of the new stuff (plus a batch of classics) when Josue, Laura, and a full band land at Tobacco Road for the Calahoney homecoming show September 11. In the meantime, download “A Smile to Wear,” the lead track off Slow Stride. It’s a slice of carefully wrought Americana in the same hushed gothic vein as Springsteen’s Nebraska and the Cowboy Junkies’ “Sweet Jane,” but with a few spoonfuls of sugar added.

MP3: Calahoney — "A Smile to Wear"

Friday, September 11. Tobacco Road, 626 S. Miami Ave., Miami. Show starts at 9 p.m., and tickets cost $10. Ages 21+ with ID. 305-374-1198; tobacco-road.com

ECSTATIC FANBOYS

2009-08-12T23:59:00.002-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

OMG! You’re so, so ecstatic. It’s crazy that you’re actually gonna be there for Mos Def’s brainy hip-hop throwdown this Saturday at the Arsht. The anticipation is enormous. It’s like pretty, little butterflies dropping happy bombs in your belly every hour on the hour. And, to be honest, you’ve been geeking so hard that you’ve totally neglected your nightlife routine, staying home alone for an unheard-of five days, just communing with the spirit of Mr. Def via old videos, underground tracks, fan-boy clippings, Be Kind Rewind, and your Ouija board.

Admittedly, it’s gotten weird. And Champion Sound is exactly the intervention you need. Tonight, the Wednesday party’s hosting the official Miami release of Mr. Def’s new album The Ecstatic. Basically, it’s win-win: You won’t suffer through any nasty hero-worshipping withdrawal, but you will get some much needed human-to-human social time. There’ll be a live show by local B-boy Butta Verses, plus additional tuneage by resident DJs Mr. Brown, Sire Esq., and A-Train. Ladies get free drinks from 10-11:30 p.m. while the brothers get $5 beer all night. And, if you show up early, you might score a supersecret gift from Universal Records. Now … All that’s the good news. The bad? Mos probably won’t make the scene. Sorry.

Wednesday, August 12. Electric Pickle, 2826 N. Miami Ave., Miami. Show starts at 10 p.m., and admission is free with RSVP to ChampionSoundMiami@Gmail.com. 305-456-5613; Facebook.com/ChampionSound

DOG DAYS

2009-08-08T01:11:00.002-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 19

Words by S. PAJOT

Born in the gangsta rap vacuum of the late ‘90s, DMX seemed to have a total lock on the pop charts. With monster club track "Party Up (Up in Here)" and a five-time platinum album, the Dog was riding real ruff in ’99. And being a true street entrepreneur, he immediately got into the crossover game, expanding his brand into movies (Exit Wounds, Cradle 2 The Grave, Romeo Must Die) and books (E.A.R.L.: The Autobiography of DMX) while still detonating Billboard killers every couple years.

But all that ended post-2006 when, after releasing the mediocre Year of the Dog … Again, DMX totally dropped off the media map. No more movies. No more books. And he only resurfaced last May, serving a 90-day prison sentence for animal cruelty, drug possession, and theft. Now, though, the Dog’s finally out of jail and back in the club. This Saturday at 11p.m., the Yonkers-bred rapper will deliver his first ever show at SoBe Live (1203 Washington Ave., Miami Beach) as part of Live Your Life Saturdays. Tickets cost $20, but ladies get complimentary admission and free drinks till midnight. Let’s pray the Dog stays saintly. Call 305-725-3353 or visit sobelive305.com.

MAXIMUM MIXTAPES

2009-08-07T23:59:00.008-04:00

Featured in the Miami New Times

Words by S. PAJOT

We should all mourn the death of the audiocassette because mixtapes change lives. Case in point: Marques Wyatt, a teen vinyl junkie from Santa Monica, California who became a world-touring house DJ/producer thanks, in part, to a few carefully compiled cassettes.

Weaned by a jazz-addled father and three funk-obsessed brothers, the little Wyatt hoarded 2000-plus records in the early '80s. One day, he flaunted his stash for friend DJ Tracy Trinh who, covetously, asked to use the collection for club gigs. In exchange, Trinh would mix tapes for his buddy’s long Cali car rides. Thus, the pact was sealed and so was Marques’ future.

Still a teen, Wyatt hit the decks hard, left the West Coast, and clubbed across NYC, absorbing the influence of legends like Frankie Knuckles and Larry Levan. Home again in 1986, Wyatt brought that New York style to the Los Angeles scene, playing and promoting a series of pivotal parties that culminated with the long-running and still-thriving house institution, Deep. Now, this Friday, catch a bit of the Wyatt party magic when Aquabooty brings the man and his classic, soul-swamped sound to Miami. It could be a mixtape-level life changer.

With Djinji Brown and Tomas Ceddia. Friday, August 7. Electric Pickle, 2826 N. Miami Ave., Miami. Doors open at 10 p.m. Tickets cost $10 before midnight, $15 after. Ages 21+ with ID. 305-456-5613; aquabooty.com

FLYER OF THE WEEK: CHRISTIAN DEATH

2009-08-07T23:59:00.004-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

It was 1979 and punk was being born-again in the glitter-flecked primordial muck of Los Angeles. Late-blooming skinheads and bands like Black Flag, the Circle Jerks, and the Germs were bashing the West Coast hardcore scene into shape, using little more than blunt force. For most fans of aggro tuneage, this latest reinvention of outrage and anarchy seemed like a perfectly acceptable next step in the evolution of antiestablishment noise. But 16-year-old Roger Alan Painter hated that shit. To him, it was a neo-nazi meathead scene driven by hillbilly violence, sexism, and stupidity. And so — outpunking the punks — Roger renamed himself Rozz Williams, converted to the brooding ways of Brit apostles such as Genesis P. Orridge, and founded now-infamous goth crew Christian Death.

Important disclaimer: The band scheduled to show up this Sunday at PS14 is not the C.D. of legend. It is not the evil, buzzing machine that created the blacker-than-black sounds of Only Theatre of Pain. Fronted by Valor Kand and Maitri, the current incarnation of Christian Death laid sole claim (after years of dispute) to the name when Rozz Williams hung himself in 1998. In fact, it’s a lineup that could be called “totally bogus.” But then again, should anyone expect a 30-year-old deathrock act to be anything but a novelty sideshow? Guess not. So just pay your way into darkness and maybe you’ll be lucky enough to hear the ghost of Roger Alan Painter puking in hell.

Sunday, August 9. PS14, 28 NE 14th St., Miami. Hosted by Notorious Nastie with DJs Dracula's Daughter, Aramis Lorie, Bloodfiend, Lady Anime, Gooddroid, Antichrist, and Andi Metro. Doors open at 8 p.m., and tickets cost $10 through planetpresale.com. Ages 21+ with ID. ps14.com

HAITIAN TWOUBADOU

2009-08-06T23:59:00.002-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 19

Words by S. PAJOT

The man has led a thousand lives and survived them all. Now 60 years old, Manno Charlemagne has been a singer-songwriter, political activist, and mayor of Port-au-Prince. Throughout the ‘80s and ‘90s, Haitian authorities incessantly harassed him for being a popular advocate of political change. He received death threats. He was abducted, jailed, and psychologically tortured by the National Palace. Twice he was forced into exile from Haiti — first by dictator Baby Doc Duvalier in 1980, then a second time by Raoul Cédras’ military junta from 1991 to 1994. And twice he returned.

Today, a decade after his short stint as the mayor of Haiti’s capital, Manno lives in South Florida where he has resumed his life as a twoubadou. Every Thursday at 8:30 p.m., the man and his band bring political chanson to Tap Tap (819 Fifth St., Miami Beach) as part of Monsieur Charlemagne’s longtime residency at Miami’s Haitian landmark. And in honor of democratic ideals, there’s never a cover charge. Call 305 672-2898 or visit taptaprestaurant.com.

FLYER OF THE WEEK: NEON DEATH WISH

2009-07-31T13:11:00.002-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

In the vaguely menacing gloam of this first dying decade of the 21st century, the people continue to party hard. It’s an obsessive, have-fun-or-die type of mindset that cannot be deterred, no matter the consequences. And to a large extent, Frenchy sensations Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo and Thomas Bangalter of Daft Punk can be held responsible, driving as they do the party zeitgeist among hardcore, indie dance kids — both superyoung and sorta old. The reason: These two dudes make music that provides one of the many missing links between the pissed-off, leather-clad punk attitude of the late ‘70s and the E-ed out electro/new rave/blog house scene of right now.

That’s also why DJ Falcon, a.k.a. Stephan Queme — part of the ever-expanding universe of Daft Punk cronies and collaborators dubbed “Daft Crew” — enjoys almost instant credibility wherever MTV2 is broadcast. And his stats are stellar, including a co-production credit on Daft Punk’s 1997 debut full-length Homework as well as a cluster of collabs with Bangalter ("Call on me," "So much love to give," and "Together") that round up his bourgeoning oeuvre. But don’t misjudge, the Falcon isn’t just a spinoff; he’s a club killer all his own. Witness the fact when he charges through SET next Saturday, alongside resident Chicco Secci. Expect the playlist to include some of his own bloggy bombs, the requisite Daft Punk, and other stuff like Simian Mobile Disco, Rye Rye, Boys Noize, etc. From there, you know what to do … Basically, have fun or die.

Friday, August 8. SET, 320 Lincoln Rd., Miami Beach. Doors open at 10 p.m., and tickets cost $40 through wantickets.com. Ages 21+ with ID. 305-531-2800; setmiami.com

STRAIGHT TO STRAIGHT EDGE

2009-07-30T13:11:00.001-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 18

Words by S. PAJOT

Now and again, it becomes absolutely necessary to revisit your teen self, resetting shit to sixteen for a minute. Things can get desperate; maybe life’s a permanent lost weekend, or maybe you’ve finally realized that becoming a millionaire is a totally bogus life goal. Either way, it’s time to dry out. And there’s no place better for getting young and clean than the Dugout (7413 NW 54th St., Doral), an all-ages punk clubhouse where the motto is: “No smoking, no alcohol, no drugs, and no fights.”

This Friday at 6 p.m., regain a bit of that youthful promise and some perspective when Miami indie-popsters — and New Times Reader’s Choice for Best Band — Radioboxer gang up with fellow locals Divided By Silence, Marks, COFW, and Boxwood. Expect a twisted mashup of garage, punk, ska, and powerpop that’ll sound like your parents’ Hi-Fi getting smashed. And if the costume still fits, break out the black Vans, black jeans, and Minor Threat tee — you’ve got sober moshing to do. Tickets cost $10 at the door. Visit myspace.com/thedugoutmiami.

FREAKOUT

2009-07-25T01:11:00.002-04:00

Photo by MARTA XOCHILT PEREZ

FLYER OF THE WEEK: GONE APESHIT

2009-07-24T13:11:00.001-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

Believe it … There are chimps living among us. And when these wild animals aren’t busy ripping the faces off unwitting citizens, they’re insidiously hard to spot. Cleverly camouflaged in people clothes with their hair cropped and parted smartly down the middle of the skull, they’re shopping in our supermarkets and they’re bowling in our bowling alleys and they’re rapidly growing their little surrogate families of misfit pets.

So now that you’ve been warned, beware this rising primate population. The average chimpanzee may wear a cloak of civility, but he moshes with the strength of ten men. And next Friday when DC fastcore crew Coke Bust arrives in the subtropics from their natural habitat in the Nation’s capital, you can count on an all-out ape uprising. There’ll be bananas in the pit. There will be shit on the walls. And if we’re all lucky, the headliners and their backup (Miami grindcore killers Shitstorm and local hardcore crusties Mehkago N.T.) will generate enough cathartic noise that these chimps won’t have to disfigure anyone at the office Tuesday morning just to keep an even keel.

Monday, August 10. House of Pain, 3240 NE 16th Terr., Miami. Show starts at 7 p.m., and admission costs $5. myspace.com/breakevenbooking

RETOX DETOX

2009-07-23T23:59:00.001-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 17

Words by S. PAJOT

Champagne, strawberries, and beautiful people — No Sugar Added is the rare club night that provides a totally organic escape from the normally toxic South Beach scene. As mastermind Gianfranco Dossena says, it’s all about reuniting house music lovers with a fresh atmosphere. And, in fact, since launching in Miami this past March during WMC, the back-to-basics concept has proven so revitalizing that Dossena will be taking his clubland detox overseas for a fall European tour with a layover in Dubai.

Don’t fret though — you can still get your taste of the pure party experience this Thursday at 11 p.m. when it hits LIV (4441 Collins Ave., Miami Beach) for a final homeland stand. Chart-killing producer and MTV Video Award winner DJ Ian Carey will be in the booth dropping heavy yet entirely untainted house beats. There will also be free strawberries, not to mention complimentary CD copies of the exclusive No Sugar Added mix — New Club Sound by Nikola — for every single detoxer in attendance. Tickets cost $20 at the door. Call 305-674-4680 or visit livnightclub.com.

FLYER OF THE WEEK: CANCER KILLER

2009-07-17T13:11:00.001-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

Sometimes a party isn't just a party. Sometimes it's Local Motion, the annual charity electro concert benefiting the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life, organized by Loscar Rodriguez, a.k.a. HenceSoLo, and presented by Lexyn Intelligence and Nocturnal.

First launched in February 2006, Local Motion has been fighting the good fight without any give, raising consciousness and encouraging activism among young club kids. That's why it was such a bummer when last year's edition of the party with a cause never actually came together. But now, thank SoLo, Local Motion is back because Loscar's dedication simply runs too deep. For him, the war against the Evil C is personal — Rodriguez has lost several family members to cancer, including his father — and he can't wait for the cure. Until then though, "Local Motion chooses to fight with music."

And — holy crap! — HenceSoLo has come fully equipped for the battlefield, backed by a lineup of 15 lethal electro artists blasting audio-visual firepower. Donating their cancer-killing talents, there will be Brice Kelly and 214 providing live PA musical support, plus DJ sets from Exzakt, UpRokk, Danny Daze, HenceSoLo himself, and FTG. Then, in a crazy bid to win the party time arms race, there'll be tag-team beat battles courtesy of Medley and Intellect, Ran-D and BassAddict, as well as Proliferation and Kounterakt — not to mention the video assault of AV8 and Iris Beatrix. So come out, get militant, and donate your cancer-killing dollars because, like Loscar says, "Local Motion is not my party ... It's OUR party!"

Friday, August 7. Nocturnal, 50 NE 11th St., Miami. Show starts at 10 p.m., and tickets are $15. 305-576-6996; nocturnalmiami.com

BIKES, BOOZE & TATTOOS

2009-07-16T01:11:00.002-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 17

Words by S. PAJOT

Looking for a party where the dress code’s no stricter than greasy jeans and a bloodstained tee? Seeking someplace you can let your inner juvenile delinquent skank away the night while wasted on moonshine and Black Beauties? Well, hell, call off the crusade because Stop, Drop ‘N’ Roll — a cover-free rockabilly bash with serious punk edge — is the spot that the rough and dirty class has made its personal playground.

Every Thursday at 10 p.m., a mob of bearded gearheads, inked-up burlesque babes, and shaved-skull Oi! boys descends upon the Electric Pickle (2826 N. Miami Ave., Miami) with dangerously mixed intentions. Guest DJs will drop weird and wild wax (i.e. Johnny Cash, the Troggs, and King Khan) while live acts, like past performers Diablo Dimes and Celine & the Hellbillies, light up the cabaret stage. And with $3 Red Stripe, there’ll be dirty dancing and messy make-outs in the restrooms. But really, can a party be called a party without spilling beer and swapping spit? Call 305-456-5613 or visit Electric Pickle at Facebook.com.

GLAM GLAM GLAM

2009-07-10T23:59:00.002-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 16

Words by S. PAJOT

I mean, doesn't everybody wanna party like a talentless celebrity zombie?

The bad news: It’s been yet another average workweek in the all-too-average blur of your increasingly average existence. The good news: It’s officially Friday and tonight you go glam. So toss on some expensive rocks and slip those feet into a pair of crystal slippers for Glamorous Life Fridays at Nikki Beach (One Ocean Dr., Miami Beach), the VIP wonderland where all your on-the-clock daydreams might finally come true.

Beginning at 11 p.m., mix with the beautiful horde of high-class types (CEOs, celebs, plastic surgeons, etc.) as it gathers seaside for dancing, decadence, and debauchery. Resident DJ Top Feeling will drop sophisticated doses of reggae, hip-hop, and house while special performers take the stage throughout the night. Admission will be $20 at the door and the champagne bar will be serving up $100 bottle specials, meaning you can get glowingly drunk without blowing the full party fund. Call 305-538-1111 or visit nikkibeach.com. And remember, the glamorous life’s not make-believe unless you admit it — or until the clock restarts Monday morning.

FLYER OF THE WEEK: CRACKING UP

2009-07-10T23:59:00.000-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

The artist known as Matthew Dear has got some serious (but not too serious) identity issues. I mean, it’s not as if his psychic split is the acid-activated, lock-myself-away-for-30-years-and-die Syd Barrett variety. It’s more that, musically, Dear is just way too complex to be merely one man. And so, like a lot of other arty weirdoes from the electro/techno/house subset, he chooses to manage the multiple, raging facets of his creative personality by assigning cute little aliases — such as False, Jabberjaw, and Audion — to one new self and the next and the next.

Now, lucky for those among us who like psychologically strange tunes, Dear will conjure the last in the above list of alternate selves — his deep techno persona Audion — when he hits Electric Pickle July 24. Expect infectiously danceable excursions into the dark depths of a shattered subconscious. Also, expect LA-slash-Miami DJ duo Jay-You and Pet Food doing their own version of the schizoid shuffle. But take heed: There are only 200 passes to this bash. (Meaning, it’s an imminent sellout.) So don’t stall, get yours and yours and yours right now.

Friday, July 24. Electric Pickle, 2826 N. Miami Ave., Miami. Show starts at 10 p.m., and tickets are $20. 305-456-5613; Electric Pickle at Facebook.com

FIGHT FOR YOUR RIGHT TO DANCE

2009-07-04T23:59:00.001-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 15

Words by S. PAJOT

There’s only one way to properly commemorate our country’s deliverance from the Kingdom of Great Britain. Dancing. Lots of it. So come join NYC Meets Miami, this weekend’s seven-event, multi-club Fourth of July bonanza organized by New York nightlife promoter Rob Diesel and featuring Big Apple-based DJs Nyse and Abrupt meeting 305-er Kaiser for a four full days of hip hop, house, and electro funk.

On Thursday night, the 96-hour marathon will kick off at B.E.D. (929 Washington Ave., Miami Beach) with an official weekend welcome party. Then the following day, the Carlton Hotel (1433 Collins Ave., Miami Beach) will host the first in a trio of pool parties scheduled for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday afternoons. Next, the after-dark action will resume with Friday night’s White party at Dream (1532 Washington Ave., Miami Beach) and Saturday’s main event at Ink (717 Washington Ave., Miami Beach) featuring special guest DJ Camilo, before, finally, the whole thing comes to a close with the festival farewell party at Hed Kandi (1200 Washington Ave., Miami Beach) on Sunday. All evening events begin at 10 p.m. Full-access VIP passes are $80 through Wantickets.com and individual events cost $35 at the door. Visit robdiesel.net or call 917.691.2345.

FLYER OF THE WEEK: THE 313 TO THE 305

2009-07-03T23:59:00.002-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

The motto is "Nothin' but the goods." And like some punch-drunk baby boxer beating a gong with bare bloody fists, the seven-week-old Champion Sound throwdown brings the noise in a big way. For proof of pure party acumen, just take a quick and dirty MySpace tour with a few members of the rapidly ballooning CS musical alumni, including hip-hop jam band Fusik, hometown funk hero DJ Le Spam, and local street trio Basic Vocab.

Now, edging toward its eighth edition, this Champ baby is growing bigger, better, and bolder. Next Wednesday July 8, pianist/vocalist/MPC master Ayro (AKA Jeremy Ellis) flies down from the 313 (Detroit, motherfucker) to the 305 for his induction into the CS Hall of Noise and Punch-Drunkeness. Showing up in support will be DJs Santiago and Maneuvers, plus party residents Mr. Brown, Sire Esq., and A-Train. To get drunk yourself, there's $5 beer all night and free well drinks for the females from 10-11:30. So yeah, go help that little big guy bang the gong.

Wednesday, July 8. Electric Pickle, 2826 N. Miami Ave., Miami. Show starts at 10 p.m., and admission is $5. 305-456-5613; Facebook.com/ChampionSound

BIKER SPEED

2009-06-27T13:11:00.004-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 11

Words by S. PAJOT

Best Reason to Stay in Miami for the Summer
Championship Cup Series Motorcycle Racing
at Homestead-Miami Speedway
1 Speedway Blvd.
Homestead 33032
305-230-5000
homesteadmiamispeedway.com

There's nothing more Floridian than cultivating a sunburn amid the stench of burning rubber and gasoline exhaust. So when the lethal days of late June finally hit, fight that self-preservation impulse to stay home alone with the A/C. Detour instead to the Speedway for a full weekend of daredevil bikers whipping around the 2.21-mile road course as part of the Championship Cup Series. Founded in 1984, the CCS is a club-level racing organization, meaning that most riders are sportsmen and hobbyists competing on their own dime. And after more than two decades of grassroots racing, their events have become recognized as training grounds for both beginners and serious pro prospects. This year the tour will make its Miami-area stop on June 27-28, with time trials Saturday and non-stop races Sunday. There will be free parking, no admission cost for kids, and $25 passes for adults. Besides that, you’re guaranteed 100-plus heat and humidity-stoked smog, but at least it’s a chance to finally achieve that high-red skin tone of the hardcore subtropics-dweller.

SIXTYSOMETHING KILOS

2009-06-27T01:11:00.001-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 14

Words by S. PAJOT

Imagine you were one of Miami’s original cocaine cowboys, a man infamous for having transported — by air, sea, and street — two billion dollars’ worth of Colombian powder into the U.S. How would you choose to celebrate your B-day? Excessively, right? Surrounded by naked ladies, loaded weapons, and a huge sampling of your own product, right? Dead wrong. And that’s why you aren’t and never will be Mickey Munday.

If you had any brains at all, you’d keep your party action clothed, unarmed, and sober. You’d organize something modest like Mickey Munday’s Birthday Bash at Tobacco Road (626 S. Miami Ave., Miami) this Saturday. You’d invite a few — or several hundred — adult friends and book a couple — or 20 — live bands. You’d start things at a decent hour, around 9 p.m., and you’d charge an affordable entry fee, say ten bucks. It’s the game’s greatest rule: Do not attract undue attention. Or, as Mr. Munday says, “Why do you want to advertise yourself? Keep it low-profile.” That’s how a true coke kingpin parties. For more details, visit tobacco-road.com or call 305-374-1198.

FLYER OF THE WEEK: FREE WINGS & FUNK

2009-06-26T23:59:00.001-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

A minute ago, still buzzing from the twin highs of payday and a certain psychotropic substance, I had the sudden realization: Green is a very good color. For a second, it seemed like a weird kind of intellectual smoke that meant precisely nothing, just floating past. Then, the rest came: Green is the color of money and green is the color of ganja. And all seemed right with the world until James Brown popped out of a fifty-dollar bill, screaming: “Go unto Mary Jane Mondays, son!!!”

I almost pooped my pants. But turns out, old J.B. was right. Yes, Mary Jane Mondays is a night for those who know the green in all its shades. And yes, it’s also a night for those who enjoy free chicken wings till midnight. But moreover — with DJs Kenny Dynamite and Fiyah Vibez dropping hot wax of the funk, classic hip-hop, reggae, and other grooveable varieties — it’s a night that is, as the Godfather himself would scream: “A taste of the real Soul ... Ya dig!!!!”

Every Monday. Jazid, 1342 Washington Ave., Miami Beach. Doors open at 10 p.m., and admission is free. Ages 21+ with ID. 305-673-9372; jazid.net

NOISE BOMB

2009-06-19T23:59:00.007-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 14

Words by S. PAJOT

The term mayday is a universal distress signal that means: “This shit’s gonna blow!” But here in the Miami, it’s become a rallying cry to party, thanks mostly to explosive hip-hop sextet, ¡Mayday!. After building their name locally, the band first garnered national props in 2006 after the video for their single “Groundhog Day,” featuring Cee-Lo of Goodie Mob and Gnarls Barkley, generated an astounding 2 million YouTube views in one day. Since then, they’ve been steadily adding to their discography with arty rap opuses On 2 Someth’n and The Thinnest Line while simultaneously holding down the home front.

If you haven’t seen them live, don’t miss MCs BernBiz and Wrekonize — along with backing crew Plex Luthor, Gianni Cash, L.T. Hopkins, and Noms — when they hit Transit Lounge (729 SW First Ave., Miami) this Friday at 11 p.m. for the release of their new EP, Technology. The first ten people in the door will score a free CD while latecomers can get a copy for five bucks. As always, there’s no cover at Transit. So come for the free party and the cheap swank, but stand back … This shit’s gonna blow! Visit transitlounge.us or call 305-377-4628.

FRIDAY NIGHT: ¡MAYDAY! AT TRANSIT

2009-06-19T23:59:00.004-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words & Photo by S. PAJOT

¡Mayday!
Friday, June 19, 2009
Transit Lounge, Miami

Better than: A photo of yourself.

Sometimes a club fills with 400 people and every single one seems to be starring in their own personal reality show. That was the scene at Transit Friday night. The entire crowd came armed with Elphs, iPhones, or Rebels, snapping self-portraits. Although, not everyone was modeling only for themselves. Flat-chested chicks flashed non-existent cleavage for random dude photo-ops while, nearby, a dozen amateur videographers shot footage of b-boys practicing secret jive handshakes. Then, there was me, taking notes on the narcissistic swarm and their general fetish for auto-documentation.

Even headliners ¡Mayday! joined the orgy of instant nostalgia, having hired a three-man HDV camera crew to capture the landmark moment of their Technology EP release party. However, there wasn’t much to tape in the run-up to the main event. From 11 p.m., DJs Sharpsound and Vega spun classic hip hop (Skee-Lo, Jay-Z, Outkast, etc.) while the assembled cross-section of downtown and Brickell types, both males and females, sucked back soda-booze mixes between posing for pics. The house momentarily came alive during a Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme song sing-along before scratch kid DJ I-Dee in a neon Gandhi t-shirt quieted things down again with a 20-minute exercise in dance-rock deconstructionism.

Another half-hour lull later and the throng had finally grown bored, sick of entertaining itself. So the rarely seen master of ceremonies took the stage and swiped the mic, totally ready to reclaim the party. But the DJ miscued, killing the rap muzak. And that’s all it took: a chant of “Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!” cutting through the crowd while the MC waved his hands helplessly.

Without hesitation though, the lights went dead and ¡Mayday! streaked onto Transit’s small corner stage like weird apocalyptic paratroopers in black bodysuits and gas masks. Harsh white stage beams sliced through total darkness, a pair of breakdancing hype-men battled shadows with flashlights, and the band pounded through a five-minute, free-beat instrumental intro. Anonymous bodies bumped me and I bumped them. Loose groups left the bar, booths emptied, and the parking lot patio became half-abandoned. Everyone flooded the warehouse-like interior, quickly clotting into a single sweaty mass, dancing where we could and pogo-ing where we couldn’t.

Suddenly, the lights returned and every member of ¡Mayday! had somehow finished a full wardrobe change. With his Rick Rubin beard and bald head, piano man Plex Luthor stood behind twin keyboards in a red tiger t-shirt. Three other band members, stripped back to their street clothes, manned a bongo rack, a second key deck, and a five-piece drum kit.

The crew's vocal duo — BernBiz in red Wayfarers and Wreckonize in a huge hoodie — materialized out of the still-dark crowd, launching into a breakneck burst of old faves that bled from “Let Go” into “On 2 Someth’n” into “The Future is Now.” There was sweat-soaked dancing, pogo-ing, and bodies bumping.

At the edge of the stage, there were the camera guys and the bloggers. Then, there were those who had turned inexplicably away from the band, pointing their Elph/iPhone/Rebel at themselves or into nowhere, using the camera flash as nothing more than a party strobe. But center stage, there was Wreckonize, stopping for a second of silence before shouting: “Who’s ready for something new?”

Critic's Notebook

Personal Bias: Off the fresh slab of ¡Mayday! material, “Junkyard Dog” is a serious stand-out.

Random Detail: The side-alley, band-and-press-only backstage area was empty, except for a couple feasting on each other’s faces. I interrupted their vicious make-out session. They sneered. And I left.

By the Way: You could go full pirate and download Technology at mayday.bandcamp.com for free. Or you could be an honest, pay-for-play fan and get it through iTunes. Either way, it’s on you.

FLYER OF THE WEEK: PSYCHONAUTIC

2009-06-19T23:59:00.003-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

As wild admirers of Johnny Cash, Karl Marx, and Pee Wee Herman, the ex-Miami and now Oakland-based outfit Kreamy ‘Lectric Santa makes a skuzzy, avant-garde sound that could be called “kinder commune rockabilly.” But that might be short-selling a crew that’s got as many facets as an LSD-25 trip in outer space. Thankfully in this age of internet accessibility, you needn’t waste time listening to some third-rate music writer struggling with the KLS conundrum. Just go here and have that mind excursion right now.

Or, if you’re the kind of capitalist pig hooked on property ownership, you could always order a limited-edition $12 vinyl or CD copy of KLS’ first full-length in 14 years, Operation Spacetime Cynderblock. Out now through Starcleaner.com, the album is a massive slab of consciousness-expanding stylistic schizophrenia. As described in an official KLS memo, you should expect: “musique concrete, psychedelic, post-punk, free jazz, free country, bubblegum, no wave, death metal, bluegrass, and other assorted crap.” Sounds good? Well, you should hear it live. But alas, there are no Dade-area shows currently scheduled. Although, keep peeped to the band’s MySpace because, if there’s any balance to the universe, KLS will return home to Churchill’s before the next lunar eclipse.

MP3 OF THE DAY: "JUNKYARD DOG"

2009-06-18T23:59:00.001-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

From the moment local hip hop crew ¡Mayday! got their first DSL hookup, these self-described “sound bombers” have proven themselves to cunning manipulators of modern internet technology. Like a half-feral band of dystopian techno-guerillas, they’ve managed to sidestep the bombed-out remains of the post-Napster music industry — YouTubing, MySpacing, and Twittering their way into the fame game.

Way back in 2006, when the interweb was still in its adolescence, ¡Mayday! bred its first online mega-hit with the video for their single “Groundhog Day,” featuring Cee-Lo of Goodie Mob and Gnarls Barkley. The four-minute clip became an early YouTube blockbuster, generating two-million views in one day. But this wasn’t just some random occurrence in the deep outer-regions of the internet. As reported by the New York Times, the overnight success of “Groundhog Day” was the result of flashflood email marketing and a brilliant high-tech ruse, masterminded by the band and its label SouthBeat Records, that covertly redirected traffic from dating and porn sites directly to the video.

Now after two albums and three years, ¡Mayday! are back to basics — YouTubing, MySpacing, and Twittering — all while confronting their blantant techno-fetishism on latest release, Technology. Show up for the album party this Friday at Transit and cop the thing. It’s a six-song EP laced with enough spiraling, spaced-out beats and hardcore sci-fi funk to entertain E.T. for eternity. The first ten people in the door will score a free CD while latecomers can get a copy for five bucks. And, of course, there’ll be a live show by the refreshed ¡Mayday! lineup of MCs BernBiz and Wrekonize, and backing crew Plex Luthor, Gianni Cash, L.T. Hopkins, and Noms. But in the meantime, peep the free track below or visit mayday.bandcamp.com to download other samples from the ¡Mayday! catalogue.

MP3: ¡Mayday! - "Junkyard Dog"

Friday, June 19. Transit, 729 SW First Ave., Miami. Doors open at 11 p.m., and admission is free. Ages 21+ with ID. 305-377-4628; transitlounge.us

RICH PEOPLE

2009-06-15T23:59:00.001-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 11

Words by S. PAJOT

Best Hidden Neighborhood
Hammock Oaks
Coral Gables 33156

Located along a lush stretch of Old Cutler Road and concealed by banyan and mangrove forest, Hammock Oaks is undeniably idyllic, if exclusive. It’s essentially a gated wonderland of big-money Miami mansions, massive freeform swimming pools, and private grass tennis courts. So indulge your inner Gatsby and loiter a little bit while walking, running, or biking through the affluent enclave. But don’t linger too long because there remain a number of awe-inspiring places where the common people can freely congregate. Start with the Fairchild Tropical Garden, featuring a fruit pavilion, palm glade, and vine pergola — plus large-scale outdoor sculptures by art stars such as Roy Lichtenstein and Dale Chihuly. Then, move north to Matheson Hammock Park, an amazing 629-acre expanse of public land. There are man-made lakes everywhere, including the park’s legendary saltwater lagoon, and the forest is so secluded in spots that civilization seems an incredibly remote idea.

BRAINY BITCHES

2009-06-15T13:11:00.004-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 11

Words by S. PAJOT

Best Place to Meet Intelligent Women
Bas Fisher Invitational Gallery
180 NE 39th St., Suite 210
Miami 33137
basfisherinvitational.com

Are you one of those rare sexual creatures who prefer brain shape to butt shape? If so, you might be what the scientific community refers to as a “Brain Admirer” or BA for short. And besides discrimination, there is one major challenge facing all BAs: Where to find big brained ladies? Sure, you could trawl the obvious spots — Mensa mixers, quiz tournaments, CAT scan clinics. But to drastically increase your chances of bagging that super-evolved female with the four-pound brain, head to The Bas Fisher Invitational Gallery where, since 2004, beautiful women with unnaturally big ideas have regularly gathered. Located in the Design District’s famed Buena Vista building, the gallery is home to Miami’s most daring contemporary art. However, resist that urge to bone up on artsy jargon. Instead, get that brainiac babe to play teacher to your eager student. After all, like all good BAs say: Sexiness is all about her brain and how she chooses to use it.

BACK TO THE SHACK

2009-06-15T13:11:00.003-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 11

Words by S. PAJOT

Best Recording Studio
The Shack North
9809 NW 80th Ave.
Hialeah 33016
305-610-4299
shacknorth.com

Operating under a self-imposed mandate to foster the South Florida indie scene, this Hialeah recording/rehearsal studio is a creative crash pad paradise. The design ethic is post-ironic thrift hipster, mixing sombreros, Xmas lights, retro sofas, and lots of blond wood. Likewise, the gear list is eclectic and old school: a 1965 Silvertone Twin 12 amp, a 1957 Harmony steel-string guitar, and a Farfisa Pianorgan, among other decidedly rad stuff. Yet more than anything, this place is all about the music-making. Literally 24 hours per day, seven days per week, any band can book a two-hour rehearsal for a fixed-rate $40, with each additional hour running fifteen bucks. (The cost of recording time, however, is variable.) So shoot your promo photos in the lounge, or rent some rare vintage equipment, or schedule your next marathon studio session because the vibe here is exceedingly amiable. Although, the Shack masters do have a couple firm rules: 1) No smoking indoors, only outside in the established safe zone; and 2) Everyone’s gotta recycle. Their motto: “Respect the place and it will respect you back. We promise.”

SATURDAY NIGHT: SPAM ALLSTARS

2009-06-15T13:11:00.001-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT — Photo by Marta Xochilt Perez

Featuring the Spam Allstars, Suenalo, and more
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Jazid, Miami Beach

Better than: Bottle service and a roomful of fake tits.

It was 9:13 p.m. and across the street on Washington Ave., a couple hundred members of the steroid and cosmetic surgery set were waiting outside one of the Beach’s so-called superclubs. No one had taken a step forward in the last hour and a half. Females in six-inch heels propped themselves on one leg, alternating left and right, like anxious flamingoes. Bored beefheads double-checked billfolds or messed with their Blackberries. And, unfortunately for everyone, the doors wouldn’t open for another 45 minutes.

Meanwhile, I was at Jazid, draining my third Red Stripe while Natalie Bretoneche and her guitarist finished another acoustic song in the grass-and-asphalt backyard garden. Posted on a nearby wall was a permit that read, “City of Miami Beach: The maximum legal occupant content for this special event is 100 persons.” However, there were only 16 audience members huddled around the tiny eight-by-eight stage. Earlier, Jacob Jeffries and Fabian Hernandez had performed for similarly small but supportive groups. So, while the party had started before sundown, it hadn’t actually started. But, at least, we weren’t stranded on the sidewalk counting our cash.

Long a refuge for the local live music community, Jazid has never had a dress code or a door charge or any other kind of exclusionary policy. Through financial difficulties, near closure, and new ownership, the club has repeatedly refused to abandon its commitment to providing a totally accessible, fully sustainable nightlife alternative. From its earliest incarnation as a jazz-only joint to the later latin funk, cumbia, and reggae version, the emphasis has always been the cultivation of a tight, dedicated scene. And this past Saturday night — despite the $30 price tag — was no different.

The crowd came late as usual. Minutes after 11 p.m., two-hundred-plus people suddenly flashmobbed the place. Twenty-year-old dread-headed beach bums encircled the bar. Cliques of mature women worked toward the center of the balloon-flooded dancefloor. Marketing pros in rolled-up shirtsleeves, slacks, and sandals claimed their seats along the walls. Everyone drank — either Heineken or Corona or a glass of red wine — and I had a fourth Red Stripe while DJ Le Spam and crew started a quick funk flood.

Over the next hour, the three-piece horn section, the shadow-shrouded percussionist, and Le Spam at his decks hardly halted. The band blasted through a non-stop set of electro latin tunes, intermittent techno interludes, and grunt-powered vocal solos. The party had started. The high point had come with Suenalo still in the wings. As midnight rolled past, Jazid entered yet another year, still defying the odds and always driving toward a simple, solid standard.

Critic's Notebook

Personal Bias: I could make my home in the club’s upstairs party loft — alongside their seemingly stoned, bronze-skinned Buddha — smoking and drinking and sunk into a worn corner of the leather sofa.

Random Detail: A group of Miami Beach apartment residents washing their clothes and drinking beer in a back-alley laundromat while catching a free outdoor show from the other side of the fence.

By the Way: This one was Jazid’s champagne birthday, turning 13 on the 13th.

HOT PORK

2009-06-14T23:59:00.000-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 11

Words by S. PAJOT

Best Pork Sandwich
Papo Llega y Pon
2928 NW 17th Ave.
Miami 33142
305-635-0137

On the northwest side of a nondescript corner in Allapattah, there is a sandwich shop with exactly zero signage. Set back 200 feet from the road and buffered from traffic by a small asphalt field, the place looks like a postapocalyptic bunker. It’s easy to drive past and even if you do see it, you wouldn’t assume that delicious lunch foods are hawked from this spot. Simple, uncomplicated pan con lechon doesn’t fit the profile. Nevertheless, Papo Llega y Pon serves one king-hell $5 pork sandwich. Drippingly delicious and spicy, cleaver-chopped roast pig is piled onto soft white bread, then finished with onion, mayo, or piquante sauce. It’s huge. But you came here to eat, right? So double-fist it, go around the corner and enter their little dining dungeon. It's about the size of holding cell; there are iron bars on the windows and nothing but a single exit. So a tip: don't let any of your fellow sandwich-eaters get behind you. These people are very hungry. Then again, so are you.

WATER SPORTS

2009-06-14T13:11:00.002-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 11

Words by S. PAJOT

Best Sportscaster
Kim Bokamper
WFOR-TV (CBS Channel 4)

Spectate and study as much as you like, but only a player truly knows the game. And Kim Bokamper — former first-round NFL draft pick and Dolphins Pro Bowl linebacker — is a man with a surplus of on-field experience. So it was simple logic that led him, following retirement, to step into a new life as a talking head. But where many ex-athletes flounder, Bokamper has consistently translated his deep understanding of pro sports into quality airtime. Throughout the '90s, he put in time as a radio host, Dolphins pre- and post-game personality, and Channel 33 football analyst before finally graduating to local TV news. Now, reporting five days each week for CBS4 in addition to Sunday Night Sports Wrap, Bokamper continues to demonstrate the kind of niche knowledge, curiosity, and range that’s needed to go one-on-one with Tony Sparano, talk mixed martial arts, or honor Dan Marino’s late father. Plus, if all that’s not enough proof, KimBo also has the expert testimony of Don King: “You the greatest sportscaster in the world!”

LOBSTER CLAW

2009-06-14T01:11:00.000-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 11

Words by S. PAJOT

Best Cheap Thrill
Lobster Zone at Mr. Moe's
3131 Commodore Plaza
Coconut Grove 33133
305-442-1114
mrmoes.com

Mere blocks from the dark heart of CocoWalk’s most touristy trappings, Mr. Moe’s is probably the last place you’d imagine fishing for your dinner. Yet there, wedged alonside the other arcade consoles, such as Galaga and Pac-Man, is a highly unconventional crane game called “The Lobster Zone.” Feed the machine two beer-soaked singles and the challenge is on. But rather than trying to pluck some plush toy from an overflowing prize pit, you’ve got exactly 60 seconds to snag one of seven live crustaceans wading in the saltwater tank. Remember though, no matter how lazy those little guys seem at first, they really come alive when that mechanical claw goes grabbing for them. So stay laser-focused because, if you succeed, Moe's kitchen will prepare your catch and serve the spread — with corn and coleslaw — at one of their winners-only picnic tables. However, if you fail on the first try, just spring for a few extra attempts. A lobster for the cost of a pint is still supercheap.

THE WATCHTOWER

2009-06-13T23:59:00.002-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 11

Words by S. PAJOT

Best Place to People-Watch
From the top of the Cape Florida
Lighthouse at Bill Baggs State Park
1200 S. Crandon Blvd.
Key Biscayne 33149
305-361-5811
floridastateparks.org/capeflorida

Sure, there are the obvious spots — a streetside café or neighborhood dive bar — when you want to observe the variegated human populations of South Florida. But looking down on earth and its inhabitants from the 95-foot Cape Florida Lighthouse is a way better perspective.

Located at the southernmost tip of Key Biscayne, the 1846 structure is the oldest still standing in Miami-Dade. Park guides provide tours of the historic tower but — unless you’re with your grandparents — avoid them. Instead, show up when the sunlight gets lazy and climb the spiral staircase all the way to the top. From there, it’s an endlessly fascinating 360-degree view of the Atlantic, Biscayne Bay, mangrove forests, and the beach. Watch little kids as they scurry over sand dunes, through green growth, and into the ocean waters. Scope teens tucked into thick brush, engaged in various forms of bad behavior. Check out families flocked inside the picnic areas, grilling hot dogs and carne asada. But bring some military-grade binoculars for a chance to glimpse the few remaining residents of Stiltsville. Or, yeah, peep those sunbathing nudists aboard the pleasure yacht anchored offshore.

PORN & TOYS

2009-06-13T13:11:00.000-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 11

Words by S. PAJOT

Best Place to Buy Sex Toys
Playthings
9250 Bird Rd.
Miami 33165
305-485-8404
playthingsmiami.com

Unlike the adult outposts of old, Playthings isn’t some sleazy shack marked with a big, red triple X. Located across the street from Bird Bowl at SW 92nd Ave., this locally owned sex shop blends seamlessly into the family-oriented strip. And once inside, you shouldn’t be surprised to find youself browsing $20 PVC underwear alongside a young mother and her screaming toddler. However, don’t assume that friendliness precludes freakiness: the huge main room features a massive selection of masturbatory devices. There’s the archaic, torpedo-shaped Colt metal dildo ($14.99), the silicone true-skin Mini Tongue ($74.99), and the Evolved lunar rabbit vibrator ($149.99) with its superthick, knobby shaft. Then, you’ve got a connoisseur's corner of flogging devices, including stainless-steel paddles and braided horse crops. But take note: the truly hardcore shit is stashed in a backroom bunker. There you’ll find a stockpile of $40 DVD and BluRay porn, from Betty Page to the entire Bang Bros catalogue. Plus, it’s where Playthings hides its biggest toys, like the Legendary 12-inch John Holmes Cock, the Boston penis enlargement pump, and lifelike cyberskin asses. Weird but awesome.

VERY BLOODY MARY

2009-06-12T23:59:00.001-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 11

Words by S. PAJOT

Best Bloody Mary
Clarke's
840 First St.
Miami Beach 33139
305-538-9885
clarkesmiamibeach.com

With truly serious cases of Sunday sickness, there’s absolutely no time for an experimental hangover cure. In these situations, the only acceptable remedy is a proven one: the ever-reliable bloody mary. And Clarke’s serves the staple right. Pulpy tomato juice spiked with vodka, seasoned with celery salt, pepper, and fresh horseradish, all poured into a tall glass over a fistful of cubed ice. There’s no unnecessary flair or surprise twists or dreaded factory-made mixes, just enough bite to blast the sinuses clear and enough body to settle an uneasy stomach. Like Clarke’s itself, the drink is a classic idea refined to the essentials. So order another, or two — it’s feasible at five bucks a round — and prep for an Irish-style midday meal. The bloody mary plus brunch is a hug for your ailing gut.

GROOVY GRANDADDY

2009-06-12T13:11:00.001-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 13

Words by S. PAJOT

The average lifespan of a Miami Beach club is a stat that seems to be continuously closing in on zero. That’s why Jazid (1342 Washington Ave., Miami Beach), only now entering its teens, can be said to have reached a grandfatherly age. The club’s longevity is a testimony to the power of their world-class jazz, funk, cumbia, and reggae acts to attract and retain a crowd. As owner Daniel Wohlstein says: “Jazid is a community and I believe this sentiment comes from the environment, the people, and the live bands that you don’t get anywhere else on South Beach.”

Come show your appreciation when the two-day celebration of Jazid’s 13th Anniversary kicks off Friday at 8 p.m. with intimate performances by fusion crews Locos Por Juana and Bachaco. Tickets for this first night cost $10 while Saturday night’s blowout carries a $30 price tag because there’ll be three times the tunes. Beginning at 7 p.m., local stars Jacob Jeffries, Fabian Hernandez, Natalie Bretoneche, and the Max Ferber Trio will play an open-air street party outside the club while heavyweights the Spam Allstars, Suenalo, Local 34, the Deco Band, and Akaka hold down the action inside. For more details, visit jazid.net or call 305-673-9372.

COCO & CHEESE

2009-06-12T01:11:00.006-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 11

Words by S. PAJOT

Best Bakery
Yiya’s Gourmet Cuban Bakery
646 NE 79th St.
Miami 33138
305-754-3337

Whenever some young, enterprising chef chooses to tamper with food basics, he or she runs the risk of popular revolt. And often, the end result is total failure; an overzealous culinary clusterfuck. But now and then, a place like Yiya’s Gourmet Cuban Bakery arrives, executing the essentials with high ambition balanced by common sense, style and unparalleled craft. Since opening early in January 2009, co-owners Delsa Bernardo and Abbie Cuellar have served an assortment of their simple yet sophisticated pastelitos filled with guava, coconut and cheese, and meat — minus the price hikes usually brought on by the word gourmet. In fact, all pastries cost between 95 cents and $1.25, including the hefty dulce de leche strudel. Add espresso or a smooth, not-too-sweet café con leche and you’ve got breakfast. Then, until 6 p.m. (AKA closing time), Delsa prepares the shop’s signature lunch specials: a $5 pan con lechón and the slightly pricier goat cheese pizza on Indian naan crust. But whatever you do, don’t rush off. This place was made for the loitering kind. Slouch down on the throne-like leather sofa, sample some free wi-fi, and enjoy the modern, sun-swamped interior. Remember though, get a loaf of homemade bread or a half-dozen buttery croissants for the road. You’ll love yourself the next morning.

13TH BIRTHDAY

2009-06-12T01:11:00.003-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

The Spam Allstars headline day two of Jazid's anniversary on Saturday, June 12

In the world of Miami Beach party spots, Jazid (1342 Washington Ave., Miami Beach) is a welcome oddity. Not only does the small speakeasy-like joint stand in stark contrast to our city’s cavernous superclubs, but it has also managed to find a more permanent public than your average hipster bait. And now, after almost a decade and a half, Jazid continues to transfix the masses with its stellar 7 days-per-week, 365 days-per-year program of world-class jazz, funk, cumbia, and reggae. Like owner Daniel Wohlstein says: “Jazid is a community and I believe this sentiment comes from the environment, the people, and the live bands that you don’t get anywhere else on South Beach.”

So whether you’re a regular or a first-timer, come out and join the two-day jam in celebration of Jazid’s 13th Anniversary.

Day 1: Friday, June 12
To open the weekend, things are starting slow and easy. The party is scheduled to kick off at 8 p.m. with DJs dropping hot wax of the hip-hop and dance variety in the upstairs lounge. A couple hours later, the opening band, six-member Venezuela-via-Colombia-via-Jamaica group Bachaco, will hit the stage for a marathon set of their dancehall-meets-cumbia club-killers. Then around midnight, Grammy-nominated fusion crew Locos Por Juana will usher in the morning hours with their sun-drenched latin reggae sound. Tickets for this first night cost only $10. Plus, ladies get free champagne till 1 a.m.

Day 2: Saturday, June 13
The second night is the main event and it carries a $30 price tag because there’ll be three times the tunes. Doors open at 6 p.m. for pre-party drinks and the usual hip-hop/dance DJ routine. Then, beginning at 7 p.m., local acts Jacob Jeffries, Fabian Hernandez, Natalie Bretoneche, and the Max Ferber Trio will play a block party outside the club while latin popsters Local 34 hold down the evening action inside. After dark, headliners and hometown heavyweights the Spam Allstars will assume full control of the anniversary vibe with an hour and a half of zero bullshit rumba funk. And finally, as if six bands weren’t enough, reggae-heads Araka and afro-descarga stars Suenalo take it all deep into Sunday with sixty-minute sets of their own.

For tickets and more information, visit jazid.net or call 305-673-9372.

FIST-THICK SANDWICH

2009-06-11T23:59:00.003-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 11

Words by S. PAJOT

Best Deli
New York New York
9017 SW 107th Ave.
Kendall 33176
305-595-8000

Tucked away in a stucco maze of interlocking stipmalls, it takes some searching to locate New York New York. But once found, this delicatessen hides nothing about itself. From the massive mural of a pre-9/11 NYC skyline to the minireplica Statue of Liberty standing sentry over the salad bar, the whole setup is a half-hokey homage to classic Manhattan. Yet unlike most concept-heavy spots, the food here is incredibly solid. Open seven days per week from sunrise to 11 p.m., there are no bad choices at this deli. Start with the all-day breakfast staples: a straightforward two egg platter, cream cheese and lox on a warm bagel, or the mashed potato omelette. Then for lunch, suck back a $5.95 bowl of Matzo ball soup before tackling a fist-thick sandwich of fatty brisket, pastrami, or corned beef slammed between two slices of grilled rye. Finally at dinnertime, go with the kosher franks on a bed of beans. And obviously, dessert should be nothing but a big wedge of cherry cheesecake. It’s all here, including $1.65 unlimited coffee to keep you awake while catching up on the day’s NY Times and joking loudly with friends till close.

BLACK COFFEE

2009-06-11T01:11:00.000-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 24, No. 11

Words by S. PAJOT

Best Coffeehouse
Ankarr
9710 N. Kendall Dr.
Kendall 33176
305-279-0810

In a city swamped with antiseptically lit cafeterias and overcrowded cafecito counters, it’s a luxury to find both the ambiance and space in which to lounge comfortably while feeding your caffeine habit. For that reason, the discovery of a quaint European-style café such as Ankarr should be considered nothing less than a major coup for the serious java drinker. With its cream-tiled Italian villa interior and trompe l’oeil scenic wallpaintings, this rustic coffeehouse is the perfect place to restart your energy-sapped ass. Just take a seat — inside or out — and start with the following five-dollar combo: one square of homemade tiramisu and a double shot of rich, revivifying espresso. Or, if you prefer the milky stuff, go for a tall mug of smooth cappuccino that’s topped with a mound of nutmeg-dusted whipped cream. There’s even wine and a selection of signature sandwiches — chicken, prosciutto, and Spanish sausage — for those times when the need for something savory takes over. But whatever your choice, be sure to visit early. Ankarr caters mostly to retirees and daytime workers, closing no later than 7 p.m. during the week.

WEDNESDAY NIGHT: NEW YORK DOLLS

2009-06-10T23:59:00.000-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT — Photo by MARTA XOCHILT PEREZ

New York Dolls
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Culture Room, Ft. Lauderdale

Better than: A half-authentic tribute act.

Maybe I’m a natural-born negative creep. Or maybe my inner lonely planet boy has been shocked out of his bubble a few too many times by the cruel, harsh realities of our post-punk cash-grab cabaret age. But whichever way you choose to psychoanalyze my skepticism, the truth is I went to the Dolls midweek show fully expecting to watch one of my musical heroes, frontman David Johansen, battling symptoms of senile rockstar breakdown. Well, I was wrong.

At precisely 10:30 p.m., the room went dark and a neon-red New York Dolls logo began to glow ugly and menacing on the projection screen behind the stage while a snippet of random opera blasted through the waiting, roiling crowd. The band, minus Johansen and Sylvain Sylvain, strode out in silent darkness. They took their positions; a trio of Central Casting filler with the axe man in Johnny Thunders doppelganger gear. There was a pause, then a blast of drums as the OGs came out.

Sylvain bounced onstage, short and stocky in plaid and black. But behind him, Johansen crept from the darkness in a series of slo-mo, almost underwater movements as if he had just emerged from some kind of cryogenic deep freeze. I was worried. He seemed too pale, brittle. But he also looked cool in pimped-out 70s street punk clothes: sheer leopard-print blouse, low-rise bellbottom nut-huggers, cream-colored disco cowboy boots. And with a perverse croak of “When I say I’m in love, you best believe I’m in love … L-U-V,” Johansen and the band opened with a crisp yet dirty version of the 1973 classic “Looking for a Kiss,” followed quickly by three tracks of post-reunion material — “‘Cause I Sez So,” “We’re All in Love,” and “Dance Like a Monkey.”

It was somewhere in the midst of the fourth song that Johansen started showing positive signs of slow thaw. He swiveled his hips. He jangled his man-junk. He orchestrated crowd reaction with a pair of crooked index fingers and a weird little grin. And when Sylvain saluted him as “the original monkey man,” Johansen responded with thirty seconds of fiendish simian screeches and scatting over jags of glam-punk noise. Then, the Dolls drove through a solid middle section heavy with new stuff (“Nobody Got No Bizness,” “Gotta Get Away from Tommy,” and “My World”) before diving into old faves such as “Trash” and “Pills” to finish just minutes from midnight.

But the crowd wasn’t ready to let go. I wasn’t ready to let go. And we screamed and chanted until Johansen, Sylvain, and crew stalked back out for their encore, a majestically meandering, ten-minute take of “Personality Crisis” that was, to quote the man on the mic, “a mind excursion to the center of infinity.” Everyone — the black six-foot go-go girl tranny to my right, the matching mom-and-daughter duo behind me, the dads in Who tour t-shirts and sandals surrounding the stage, and my doubting ass — got a good, deep psychic glimpse of the freak side. And it was good.

Critic's Notebook

Personal Bias: As far as sixty-something punks, Iggy outdoes them all. Even without the broken bottles and peanut butter, he remains insane.

Random Detail: A four-foot-tall androgynous dynamo who, bald-headed and dressed in an all-white undershirt-and-jeans combo with a black silk tie knotted around the throat, danced wildly through the crowd for two solid hours while effortlessly double-fisting cigarettes and mixed drinks. She/he was wondrous.

By the Way: Last month, the Dolls released their latest album ‘Cause I Sez So. It’s not exactly the Second Coming. But they want your money and they deserve your money.

FLYER OF THE WEEK: PUNKS NOT DEAD

2009-06-05T23:59:00.003-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

You’ve spent weeks alone indoors, cultivating the kind of sun-neglected sickliness that, in certain circles, passes for goth authenticity. And now, it’s finally time to take your proud pale ass into the streets. But don’t worry. No one’s talking daytime hours. Just join your fellow doomed and Vitamin-D deficient for next week’s special “Punks Not Dead” edition of Black Sheep Bar’s Wednesday night party, Mausoleum.

The show will start at 9 p.m., almost an hour after dark, with creep crews Boy Prostitute, Kill That Rooster, and the Swingers Chef Club doing their evil best to resurrect punk’s brittle corpse. Then, as per usual, post-midnight screams will be soundtracked to gothic, industrial, new wave, electro and EBM by resident DJ Dracula’s Daughter. Plus, with no cover and two-for-one drinks all night, you’re getting a deal so good that only Satan could’ve brokered it.

Wednesday, June 10. Black Sheep Bar, 721 N. Lincoln Lane, Miami Beach. Doors open at 8 p.m., and admission is free. Ages 21+ with ID. 305-531-7700; myspace.com/blacksheepmiami

SATURDAY NIGHT: SNEAKER PIMPS

2009-06-02T23:59:00.001-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words & Photo by S. PAJOT

Sneaker Pimps
Live Performances by the Cool Kids and Clipse
Saturday, May 30, 2009
The Moore Building, Miami

Better than: A backpack full of factory-fresh, limited edition kicks.

Outside the Moore Building, footwear fetishists of all kinds tip-toed past rain- and flyer-flooded gutters, queuing up at the corner of NE 2nd Ave. and 40th Street for the Miami edition of Sneaker Pimps. There were Lil Wayne wannabes, Asian hip-hop heads, and hardcore skate dudes à la Suicidal Tendencies. Somewhat surprisingly though, the waiting all-ages crowd also included a ton of female fan types: Lil Mamas and Kid Sisters and a clutch of M.I.A. look-alikes.

Inside, the scene was a full-on youth marketing bumrush. The whole shoe exhibition thing (rare, vintage, and artist-modified Converse, Nike, PF Flyers, and Adidas behind Cuidado yellow tape) played like mere background. Instead, kids from five to 50 years old kept busy at the Xbox 360 gaming station or trawling the Sneaker Pimps table for branded New Era caps, tees, and bejeweled grills. Shorties snatched free skull stickers, Onitsuka Tiger toy keychains, and other sneaker-related swank from the Tokidoki corner. And upstairs, the independent merch shop—featuring Da Bottom Clothing, Superkix, Female Sneaker Fiend, etc.—was mobbed thicker than the black market.

At 10:12 p.m., after an extended warm-up set by Miami’s own DJ Keen One, opening act the Cool Kids took the stage, flanked by a pair of flatscreens broadcasting a Verizon-sponsored text stream of irrelevant shit like “Luke knows kicks! LOL!” and “Hi!” And needless to say, it took a few songs for the Chicago-slash-Detroit duo to finally draw peeps from their shopping. But once the crowd found the front of the stage, MCs Mikey Rocks and Chuck Inglish tag-teamed the room with a 45-minute set of their retro-style rap faves, including “Gold Links” and “Popcorn.” Before they left, sing-alongs started up, hand-signs were tossed, and spliffs got sparked.

Then picking up a half-hour before midnight, Virginian heavyweights and headliners the Clipse came full-force with the real street shit. As always, brothers (the genetic kind) Malice and Pusha T brought vicious flow, fast brutal beats, and thugged-out gangsta tales to the fore. Manically stalking the stage, they criss-crossed left to right and back between verses, plugging the air with mimicked glock-blasts and hyping the crowd with overtures to the 305. Their set sampled widely from 2002’s Lord Willin' and 2006’s Hell Hath No Fury while giving a few glimpses of their long-brewing, upcoming release Till the Casket Drops. Added to that, there was a walk-on appearance from Philly-based rapper and Re-Up Gang member Ad-Liva and the parting words: “It’s curfew!”

Critic's Notebook

Personal Bias: Vans authentics and street-shredded Converse.

Random Detail: Seconds after changing his shoes, some wasted teen took a wide-stance curbside, poked his pecker past the fly, and dribbled urine all over his brand-new, white Nikes.

By the Way: Piss on your kicks? Fat Joe’s got the solution.

SWASTIKA SPINOUT

2009-05-30T23:59:00.002-04:00

Featured in the Miami New Times

Words by S. PAJOT
Photo by BEN THACKER

Hailing from Baltimore, Maryland, Surf Nazis on Ecstasy are a thrash-punk trio who—despite their name—are neither beach bums, nor fascists. And they definitely don’t do raves. By their own word: “We’re not artsy. We’re not Nazis. We only play all-ages shows.” It’s an operational ethic that regularly brings them to crusty punk squats, suburban basements, and burned-out warehouses. But this Saturday, the crew lands at Miami’s DIY all-ages venue Goo for an on-the-books show, with backup from local punks Eztorbo and Hellmass.

Already through the first half of an East Coast run hyping the imminent release of the band’s new self-released EP, Surf Nazis have mastered—both live and on record—a sound that’s the musical equivalent of madness, death, and disaster. Yet even so, these three dudes remain immune to the sort of stylistic limitations that kneejerk critics often pin on thrash acts. Thanks to recently added strains of Sabbath, the Melvins, and Sunn O))), the trademark Surf Nazi style has become an uncanny and forever-mutating thing, shifting on a razor’s edge — from no wave to sludge rock to hardcore — without ever sacrificing an ounce of aggression.

Saturday, May 30. Goo, 150 NW 54th St., Miami. Show starts at 8 p.m., and tickets cost $5. Myspace.com/goomiami

FLYER OF THE WEEK: CITRUS CIRCUIT TOUR

2009-05-29T01:11:00.003-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

Prior to the advent of astro-drink Tang and its Saturday morning twin Sunny D, Florida was the undisputed Bordeaux of the breakfast drink game. These days though, our prime regional product isn’t O.J. alone. We’ve been forced by circumstance (AKA evil, artificial orange drinks) to diversify into such things as cultivating the Sunshine State’s deep-rooted musical culture. Hence, the five-city Citrus Circuit tour.

The juicy, oversized brainfruit of Lauris Vidal is a late June musical showcase with a mission statement to “revive state pride.” Performers will include homegrown folk, roots, southern, and alt. country bands such as The Takers, Have Gun Will Travel and Truckstop Coffee, as well as organizer Vidal himself. The bands will carpool and trade gear, making a string of stops in their individual hometowns of Daytona Beach, Miami, Lake Worth, Tampa, and Orlando. For a full rundown of the tour dates, plus band bios, check out the press release here.

Thursday, June 25. Tobacco Road, 626 S. Miami Ave., Miami. Show starts at 8 p.m., and admission is $8. 305-374-1198; tobacco-road.com

AN EPIC FORCE OF NATURE

2009-04-17T23:59:00.003-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

Like a quartet of massive underwater explosions, the next four nights of REV Miami’s 420 Fest carry enough combined payload (80 bands total!) that a tsunami of awesome noise looks inevitable. And after Thursday’s pre-festival Kickoff Party at Black Sheep Bar—superpacked with local weirdos such as Oceanaire, Dyslexic Postcards, Xela Zaid—anyone still on the beach needs to immediately seek higher ground or risk being swept away like so much flotsam. But our bit of reckless advice: surf out to sea and revel in the enormity of this fast-rising monster wave because, wherever you hide, sea change is coming ashore.

Day 1: Tonight—Friday, April 17
In a failed attempt to start slow, 420’s Indie Edition at White Room (1306 N. Miami Ave., Miami) will showcase twenty-seven bands swamping the stage. And even though the party gets going around 8:30 p.m.—meaning right now—you could head out at an ultra-leisurely pace and still catch MadMartigan, Astari Nite, Ex Norwegian, Call It Radar, Fireside Social, Killer Moon, plus a plunder-load more.

Day 2: Saturday, April 18
With 305-area rappers Garcia, Omniscient, and Lex One—among others—tossing off rhymes and detonating booty-blasting basslines, the Hip-Hop Edition is 420’s only clubbanger. So show up to Black Sheep Bar (721 N. Lincoln Lane, Miami Beach) at 8 p.m. and make sure to get your fill of the street shit. It could all be ocean floor by festival’s end …

Day 3: Sunday, April 19
In a nod to the forefathers of evil tunage, the Metal & Punk Edition takes over the Sunday Sabbath at PS14 (28 NE 14th St., Miami) as soon as the sun goes down. From 9 p.m. until the next morning, descend into a dark watery grave alongside Hate Machine, Dissever, Vultures are Wolves, Murderous Ambition, Paralysis, and hordes more.

Day 4: Monday, April 20
The 420 Fest returns for a second consecutive and final night at PS14 with their BBQ Smokeout! Starting at 8:30 p.m., a cluster of reggae bands—Coppa Stone, Spread the Dub, Anderson Council, and Don Sha—will try to maintain a relaxed vibe on the back patio. But danger reigns on the main stage with high-octane shows by ArtOfficial, King Bee, and Boy Prostitute. So now can you feel that tsunami cresting?

FALL OUT BOY BANNED!!!

2009-04-17T01:11:00.002-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT

Nothing adds megawatts of hype to a South Florida appearance by tabloid twink Pete Wentz like a last minute Boca ban. Initially, he and his fellow Fall Out Boys were planning to publicly flash their musical junk from the stage at Mizner Park. But now, their pop-punk exhibitionism has been relocated to the Pompano Beach Amphitheatre (1806 NE 6th St., Pompano Beach) with the City of Boca Raton stating: “There have been known disturbances associated with one of the bands, Fall Out Boy. We anticipate that the concert will generate security challenges.”

Other than the venue switch though, the details remains the same. Showtime is still this Tuesday, April 21st at 6:30 p.m. and all previously purchased passes will be honored at the door. Individual tickets ($38.50) as well as four-packs ($99) continue to be available through Livenation (livenation.com). And the full roster of scheduled guests — Metro Station, All Time Low, Cobra Starship, and Hey Monday — will appear as planned, followed by Pete and crew spanking their stuff for a roiling mob of tweens and overage Tiger Beat junkies. Wow … Is anyone else’s leg hair standing on end? Maybe these guys are dangerous.

ABOVEGROUND UNDERGROUND

2009-04-09T23:59:00.000-04:00

Featured on the Miami New Times blog, Crossfade

Words by S. PAJOT — Photo by MARTA XOCHILT PEREZ

Show up half-wasted at 2 a.m. and you might miss Poprox entirely. Reason being, the Beach’s newest rock bar belongs to a breed of boutique clubs that puts a premium on being small, exclusive, and difficult to locate.

In fact, the advertised street address (2701 Collins Ave., Miami Beach) is no more than an approximation. Your inebriated ass could wander this dead stretch for fifteen minutes and never find the place, unless—while dodging the feral cats and aging burnouts that stalk the sidewalks—you mistakenly stumble down the service side of the Triton Tower block. Only there, near the end of 27th—beside a condo trash dock and swamped in a fuchsia haze—will you discover the club’s backalley entrance.

But note: the whole clandestine thing’s just an underground front. Inside Poprox reveals itself to be an expensive aboveground enterprise, drenched in 80s gloss rock appeal. There’s a massive mirror-encircled bar, accented with candy-colored light boxes, and 14-foot ceilings done up in faux-vintage tin panels, and gratuitous chunks of chainlink fencing. Then, you’ve got the glo-paint graffiti murals by Crome, punctuated with the faces of random pop icons like Sid Vicious, Wacko Jacko, Bowie, and Madonna—but no Darby Crash. And so, despite the main cave being a long narrow space focused on a small stage pinned to the back wall, this place is no gritty garage joint.

Poprox is open 9 p.m. to 5 a.m., seven days per week. Drinks start at seven dollars and domestic beers are four bucks. Weekly events include Battle of the Bands on Mondays, and Industria Sundays. For more, visit poproxmiami.com.

LAST DANCE

2009-04-05T23:59:00.005-04:00

Featured in the Miami New Times

Words by S. PAJOT

Discovered during a walk-on rendition of Donna Summer’s “Last Dance” at a local club, Sandra Tola was a young mother without any real ambition as a singer. Nevertheless, she soon found herself recruited into 1980s dance-pop trio Exposé. The group enjoyed quick success, signing to Arista Records, touring in support of Miami Sound Machine, and releasing a series of high-charting tracks—including “Point of No Return.” But, by mid-decade, the original lineup of Exposé had crumbled. And so, Sandra launched a solo career, finally becoming Sandeé while scoring a string of freestyle club hits that kept her performing into the 1990s and beyond.

Then, a few years ago, Sandeé became ill. Over time, her health worsened, serious complications developed, and she suffered a fatal heart attack on December 15th 2008. The loss was devastating, especially to Sandeé’s beloved granddaughter, Genesis. In response, former Exposé manager Scot Haslett has organized a benefit for Sandeé with all proceeds going to a college fund set up for Genesis. The memorial event will be hosted by Tito Puente, Jr., and among those taking part are Company B, Gioia Bruno, and Exposé creator Lewis A. Martineé.

Sunday, April 5. Super Wheels Skating Center, 12265 SW 112th St., Kendall. Show starts at 8 p.m., general admission is $20 and VIP tickets cost $25.305-275-7466; Myspace.com/scothaslett

SHITTY COMIC

2009-04-02T13:11:00.000-04:00

Featured in the Miami New Times

Words by S. PAJOT

Like a fratboy who’s ten years too old and twenty pounds too heavy, Kyle Cease peddles Ritalin-addled, stream-of-consciousness comedy that touches on subjects as varied as septuagenarian nudists, original Nintendo, and the sexual exploits of the Pillsbury doughboy. His rambling, giggle-laced delivery is similar to that of fellow thirty-something goofball Dane Cook, but Cease’s comic persona is lewder, more manic, and thus funnier. And though he has done some acting for TV and movies, the Seattle native’s natural craft is standup. There alone in the spotlight, Cease skitters around in a costume of sloppy jeans and a baseball cap, telling jokes, adlibbing, and ruthlessly heckling the audience. It’s a fast-forward performance style, punctuated with expletives and characterized by weird segues from broken sentences into punchlines. To illustrate, there’s this Cease-brand quip: “I grew up with my mother, Bambi … But her name’s not Bambi. We just call her that ‘cause she’s a stripper and her mom was killed by a hunter.” Naturally, these kinds of scattershot hysterics sometimes lapse into stagey shtick. But, for the most part, Cease proves himself a solid practitioner of tricky meta-raunch, finding laughs in the gaps between one overly complex gag and the next.

Thursday, April 2 to Sunday, April 5. Miami Improv, 3390 Mary St., Coconut Grove; 305-441-8200; miamiimprov.com

BLOOD ON THE DANCE FLOOR

2009-03-28T23:59:00.005-04:00

Featured on Miami New Times website

Words by S. PAJOT

What do you know about LA Riots? The answer: Not enough. Sure, get guessing with whatever topical TV facts are dug deep into your brains — Rodney King, racial profiling, $1 billion in damages. But, trick is, today’s subject matter isn’t 1992’s six-day frenzy of looting, arson and murder. No, it’s all about a different LA Riots, the Cali-based remix team of Jo’b and Daniel LeDisko.

Since partnering up in 2007, these two mixology masterminds have been in very high demand, giving the official cut-up treatment to tracks by Heartsrevolution, Kid Sister and Justice. And from the very first blip, their trademark stuttering vocal edits and super-crunchy basslines have been setting fire to the minds of blog-watchers worldwide. Now, LA Riots are in Miami for Winter Music Conference, making a flurry of live appearances, including a slot at the Ultra Festival. But this Saturday is absolutely mandatory. Be there when LA Riots set a block party blaze — alongside Canadian compadres-in-crime MSTRKFT — for the exclusive Undocumented Management party at Louis.

Saturday, March 28. Louis Bar-Lounge, 2325 Collins Ave., Miami. Doors open at 10 p.m., and tickets cost $5. Ages 21+ with ID. 305-531-4600; louismiami.com

DIRTY DICK GETS CLEAN

2009-03-19T13:11:00.004-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 23, No. 50

Words by S. PAJOT

For kamikaze comedians, there’s a split-second just before impact when the laugh track gets so crazy that it sounds like someone’s screaming. Too often — in cases such as Lenny Bruce, John Belushi or Sam Kinison — there’s no time left to bail. But, now and again, some drugged-out joker miraculously survives. And, last summer, that lucky exception was 42-year old man-child Andy Dick.

After more than a decade packed with DUIs, indecent exposure and public urination, Dick’s laugh-scream moment came during his booze- and Xanax-fueled freakout of July 2008. By most accounts, he hit rock bottom somewhere near Murieta, Calif., getting arrested for—among other things — tearing the tank top off a teenage girl. Then, following a plea deal in October, the comic was equipped with an alcohol-monitoring anklet; a drink means jail.

Now, fresh off a stint with VH1’s reality show Sober House, a rehabilitated Mr. Dick is touring his one-man show about “the trials and tribulations of addiction.” But even clean, there’s bound to be raunch, so check it out at the Miami Improv (3390 Mary St., Coconut Grove), beginning Thursday at 8:30 p.m. General admission is $21.40. And, ironically, the Improv’s sticking to its mandatory two-drink minimum. For tickets, call 305-441-8200 or visit miamiimprov.com.

THE TIME TO SELF-MEDICATE HAS COME

2009-03-18T23:59:00.003-04:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 23, No. 50

Words by S. PAJOT

The midweek mystery flu is not uncommon. So if you’ve been battling cold chills while coughing up blood and suffering less than stellar erections, resist that premature urge to rush for the emergency room. Trust us, you haven’t contracted some deadly jungle disease requiring immediate medical care or total quarantine. It’s just a routine case of the Wednesdays and the sure cure is a booze-based Dominican elixir, otherwise known as Mamajuana.

First concocted by the Taino Indians, the legendary drink is a medicinal brew of honey, herbs, roots, rum, and wine that can reputedly cure any ailment. And now, all Miamians—sick or not—can get a shot of the stuff at MamaJuana Café (225 Altara Ave., Coral Gables), the new sister branch of the original New York operation owned by Victor Osorio and Carlos Saint-Hilaire. Plus—aside from the restaurant’s eponymous magic juice—the Café offers other custom over-the-counter cocktails as well as a menu of Nuevo Latin dishes prescribed by Chef Ricardo Cardona. So shake off the work-a-day ills, gather some strength and get your dinner reservation by dialing 305-443-0505 or visiting mamajuanacafefl.com.

TGIF (FOR MURDER)

2009-03-13T23:59:00.000-04:00

Words & Photo by S. PAJOT

Everyone knows … If the Devil’s got a day, it’s Halloween. But there’s also that roving, semi-annual celebration of all things evil—Friday the 13th, AKA Today. It’s that time of year when Satan sneaks out of hibernation to snack on virgin blood, beastial sex & rancid tacos. Or whatever it takes to kill his hunger until October 31st …

Now, normally I’d be palling around with the horned one, shotgunning beers and bumming smokes & swigs of JD while traveling back through time to a Dimmu Borgir show in the millennial cusp year of 1999 … Or enjoying the midnight showing of a mushroom-enhanced murder movie in the dark pissy interior of some dead cinema … BUT this year I’m way too broke. (The Devil charges steep admission and my soul’s already sold.)

So to substitute, I triple-locked myself in a closet, crawled into a K-hole with a plan to self-flagellate to the sounds of the themed Rhino comp, New Wave Halloween. But like all novelty mixtapes, the thing’s padded with so-so fun stuff—Rocky Horror’s Time Warp, B-52’s Devil In My Car & the Ramones’ Pet Sematary—plus a few total turds like Ministry’s Everyday is Halloween, Oingo Boingo’s Dead Man’s Party & Dave Edmunds’ Creature From The Black Lagoon. My solution: Cut the shit, leaving a soundtrack for that serene feeling of surfing with Satan atop a mass wave of burning bodies wrapped in factory-fresh punk costumes.

Download:
NO WAVE HALLOWEEN (XX Reedit)
1. Halloween by Dead Kennedys
2. Halloween by Dream Syndicate
3. Halloween by Sonic Youth
4. Halloween by The Misfits
5. Theme From Halloween by MX-80 Sound
666. Halloween by Mudhoney

DO NOT PARTY ON A DIET

2009-03-06T23:59:00.004-05:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 23, No. 49

Words by S. PAJOT

The weekend is a sacred fun zone and no bummers whatsoever will be accepted. Therefore, the following things are unconditionally outlawed: 1) Glowstick fists; 2) drunken emo rants about your Ex; and 3) dudes in rhinestone dragon tees. Oh, and another note: The idea of carb counting—or counting of any kind—from end-of-work Friday through Monday morning is maybe the biggest bring-down of all time. So please, ditch your diet on Sugar Free Fridays because the titular thing about moderation is a total joke.

Beginning at 10 p.m., get with the glucose-loaded fun junkies who invade White Room (1306 N. Miami Ave., Miami) the last day of each office week. Drinks are four bucks, but only until midnight. Meantime, four-dollar shot specials stay that way. And all the while, DJs MGA and SPINNZINN take charge of your bummer-free buzz and the overall, greater good of the Party. Get your sugar high for free by RSVP-ing to party@whiteroommiami.com. For a full report on the sacred fun zone, check out whiteroommiami.com.

AHOY, SPECTATORS!

2009-03-05T13:11:00.001-05:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 23, No. 49

Words by S. PAJOT

There’s nothing more addictive than the rush of being aboard a world-class racing vessel heeled over at high speed. For true sailing freaks, it’s the kind of buzz that’s categorically better than sex. Sadly though, big-time boating costs more than a 10-pound bag of natural black pearls. So if you—like us—are a would-be sailor rather than the real thing, come claim your spot on-shore for this weekend’s 2009 Acura Miami Grand Prix.

The annual 10-race regatta begins Thursday and runs through March 8, as boats from four classes—IRCs 1 & 2, Farr 40 and Melges 32—chase each other through the ocean off Miami Beach. Daily races will be run from 10:30 a.m. to 4 p.m. with post-sailing socials at the Miami Beach Marina (300 Alton Rd., Miami Beach), and an event-ending prize ceremony on Monday evening. Now show up, master the bowline knot and start saving for a second-hand sloop of your own—it just might trigger your transformation from spectator to sportsman. Visit premiere-racing.com for more details, plus race week coverage and results.

FUNNY ISN'T ENOUGH

2009-02-28T01:11:00.000-05:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 23, No. 48

Words by S. PAJOT

Under constant threat from snarky bloggers and
24-hour tabloid TV, the average celebrity
lifespan has been cut from 15 minutes to mere nanoseconds. The result: a terrorized star population with a total mania for “EXPANDING THE BRAND!” And the wired world should probably just surrender, because diversification isn’t only for stockbrokers and Diddy; it has become the default strategy for A- through Z-list celebrity survival.

Take Steve Harvey—talk-radio host, relationship author, fancy-dress designer, personal shopper and brown-juice drinker—the guy’s got 50 fall-back careers. But the question looms: Who really needs romantic advice from a twice-divorced King
of Comedy? (Judging from his book sales ... All mankind.) Now though, we can be thankful that it’s finally time to pay the man to tell jokes. So claim a couple laughs when Steve Harvey’s Tear Your Mouth Out tour smacks up the James L. Knight Center (400 SE 2nd Ave., Miami) at 7 p.m. The show comes in two sizes: $40.50 and $47.50. For tickets, call 800-745-3000 or visit ticketmaster.com.

THE PIMP SLAP OF MIDWEEK PARTIES

2009-02-25T13:11:00.003-05:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 23, No. 47

Words by S. PAJOT

Mr. Iceberg Slim (AKA Robert Beck) posing with a trippy portrait of Charlie Manson

Sick of sleazy opulence? Worn down by the strains of sweet talk and looking pretty? Now and again, the pleasures of the game can suck the swagger from any player. Even pimp legend Iceberg Slim sometimes felt “teased, tormented and brutalized.” In these cases, slap therapy must be applied immediately. And there’s no sweeter dose than Grand Groove, upstairs at Jazid (1342 Washington Ave., Miami Beach) the last Wednesday of every month.

From 11 p.m. to 4 a.m., it’s a 21-and-older correction session with DJs Sire Esq., Sharpsound, and Mr. Brown dropping quality funk, hip hop, broken beat, and more. Bonuses include special guest DJ Neville C of Washington, D.C.’s Som Records, plus a live downstairs set by Latin Grammy-nominated Xperimento. And even for the stone-broke, there’s no excuse to stay home. Free cover and four-dollar shot specials are standard. For more, call the club at 305-673-9372 or check out myspace.com/thegrandgroove.

INTERFAITH PRAYER, ICE-SKATING, LEATHER FETISH?

2009-02-22T13:11:00.001-05:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 23, No. 47

Words by S. PAJOT

In 1994, Winter Party Festival started as a
one-off charity blowout benefiting the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) community. Now, a decade and a half later, the yearly bash
has become a massive weeklong frenzy of 10,000 international guests flash-mobbing 25 events split between Miami, the Beach and Fort Lauderdale.

The 2009 edition begins this Sunday with the LGBT Family Picnic at TopeeKeegee Yugnee Park, Pavilion #8 (3300 N. Park Rd., Hollywood) from noon to 4PM. Running through March 2, the Fest also features stuff like sunrise yoga and spa days, before peaking with 6,000 dancers storming the sands of South Beach for the 16th annual Winter Party Beach Party. But, best thing: Two-thirds of all festival proceeds go to Miami-Dade charities, with the rest providing much-needed cash to national initiatives. So pay your way—from $10 to $500—into fun times for a good cause. Visit winterparty.com for individual tickets, festival passes and a full rundown of events.

BEWARE THE MIDSEASON JINX

2009-02-21T13:11:00.001-05:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 23, No. 47

Words by S. PAJOT

Too short—and split up by the NBA’s annual All-Star weekend—February is a terrible time for basketball. It’s a 28-day full moon, pitted with slump and spontaneous team combustion. For proof, check
out the Miami Heat.

Before the month even began, our team had lost two of three. And the skid only got steeper. There was another blown game. Then a trip to Philly, where the Heat got a harsh 94-to-84 hazing from Eastern Conference enemies the Philadelphia 76ers. It was
a defeat that virtually evened the two teams in the standings. So now, two weeks later, the inevitable Miami-Sixers rematch is upon us. And the hometown Heat need you at American Airlines Arena (610 Biscayne Blvd., Miami) to help break February’s curse, get revenge against Philly, and resume our climb through the playoff tree. The game begins
at 3:30PM. Score seats—$10 to $375—by calling
800-745-3000 or visiting ticketmaster.com.

LIBRARY LIST #2

2009-02-19T13:11:00.006-05:00

-Fight Scenes by Greg Bottoms (Book)

***************************************************
-The Anti-Matter Anthology: A 1990s Post-Punk & Hardcore Reader by Norman Brannon (Book)

***************************************************
-The Peyote Cult by Weston La Barre (Book)

***************************************************
-Rock & Roll Street Art by Victor Burleigh (Book)

***************************************************
-Best of See It Now, Edward R. Murrow (DVD)

***************************************************
-Lady Vanishes, Dir. Alfred Hitchcock (DVD)

***************************************************
-Strangers on a Train, Dir. Alfred Hitchcock (DVD)

BROADWAY TRASH

2009-02-18T23:59:00.002-05:00

Words by S. PAJOT

Finally checked out the Rocky Horror Show CD that I pirated from the Miami Library’s collection … And HOLY FUCKING SHIT does it suck. The only bearable moment from the full tracklist is “Time Warp.” Mind you, I’ve never seen the movie version of this thing, nor heard the original soundtrack. So I’ll check that out and maybe my opinion will soften. But so far: Z minus 1000000000.

SHITTY SUNDAYZ

2009-02-15T23:59:00.009-05:00

Words by S. PAJOT

Dandy douchebag D-Wade & athlete Mike Beasley

I watched the NBA All-Star game today and the thing was an embarrassing millionaire circle jerk. The first quarter was entertaining. The score was close. And there were quick exchanges back and forth. You can never expect tight, tough defense in these games.

But then the motherfuckers just straight-up quit trying. Especially, the East. Even Dr. J called the bitches out on their bullshit when he was interviewed in the fourth quarter. And when it seemed sad beyond shit, these losers start some gay freestyle dunk contest with a full two minutes left on the clock … I mean, the game was way out of hand at this point with the West winning by like 30. But HAVE SOME CLASS, you Kanye clone cocksuckers. Sport is war, not pop music.

BEER & CANNIBALS

2009-02-14T15:00:00.001-05:00

High Lifes at 3PM. And some Screaming Jay Hawkins.

FIGHT, KILL OR DIE

2009-02-12T13:11:00.001-05:00

Featured in Miami New Times, Vol. 23, No. 46

Words by S. PAJOT

Huge hair, ludicrous nicknames and scripted trash talk have become the strange trademarks of boxing in America. For haters, these are the signs of decline. Meanwhile, for fans raised on pro wrestling and tabloids, today’s game is a perfect mix of prizefighting and freak show. It’s a rift that can be traced straight to Don King. Yet these days, the Hall of Famer is all about healing divisions. Or, as he puts it: “My magic lies
in my people ties.”

So now, King has put together a three-point
plan for peaceful coexistence. Step 1: Present
Don King's St. Valentine's Day Massacre at the BankAtlantic Center, 1 Panther Pkwy., in Sunrise. Step 2: Plan a killer fight card featuring the
WBO-IBF lightweight champ, Jacksonville’s Nate
"Galaxxy Warrior" Campbell trading knuckles with top challenger Ali Funeka, plus Ricardo "El Matador" Mayorga vs. Alfredo Angulo. Step 3: Provide a special two-for-one deal on all tickets from $25 to $200—except some Golden Circle seats. Doors open at 5:30PM. To avoid scalpers, call
800-745-3000 or visit ticketmaster.com.

LIBRARY LIST #1

2009-02-11T23:59:00.005-05:00

How To Cook Everything Vegetarian
by Mark Bittman (Book for Marta)
***************************************************
Southern Journey, Volume 1:
Folk Recordings by Alan Lomax (CD)
***************************************************
The Rocky Horror Show (CD)
***************************************************
Music For 18 Musicians
by Steve Reich (CD)
***************************************************
Music from Hitchcock’s Vertigo
by Bernard Herrmann (CD)
***************************************************
New Birth Inc. Funk Comp (CD)
***************************************************
The Original Singles Collection
by Hank Williams (CD)
***************************************************
New Wave Halloween Comp (CD)
***************************************************
Re/Search #15: Incredibly Strange
Music, Vol. II (Book)
***************************************************
V/Search #2: Zines!, Vol. II (Book)
***************************************************
This Reporter, Edward R. Murrow (DVD)

PUBLIC INTOXICATION

2009-02-11T23:11:00.008-05:00

Words & Photo by S. PAJOT

Sitting at a picnic table in Brickell park, smoking Marlboros and watching homeless dudes sleep in the sun … A young latin mother’s wheeling her daughter through the shade. For a second, she looks at me with worry. Maybe afraid or maybe thinking I’m too young to be one of these street guys. She doesn’t say anything. But she notices my freshly shaved skull and recently washed clothes. And I guess she’s figured me out. I’m just some punk w/ cigarettes & a beer, passing through the park. Not living here.

Then, outside the gate, there’s three quiet cop cars, no sirens. And six or something officers exit the vehicles, huddling together on the sidewalk. I finish my cigarette and crush it into the sand under the table. There are hundreds of bottlecaps buried down there. And a few condoms, syringes minus spike, cigarette butts like mine … I hear some fast Spanish behind me. It’s an old Cuban woman giving the cops shit. But I don’t speak the language so who the fuck knows what’s happening? Maybe dealing with some sort of domestic situation? The cops don’t do anything. And the Cuban woman just walks away pissed and through the park gate. Two unleashed poodles follow her, chasing each other in cicles.

I open my Budweiser tall boy. It’s tucked in a brown bag. Take a few gulps. But I notice the Cuban woman staring my way as pissed as she was with the pigs. She fucks around with the dozen rings choking her fat fingers. She licks her teeth without parting lips. I ignore her. And I drink my beer, watching the dogs running like retards or the young latin mother or the homeless dudes. But the Cuban’s still staring at me. I smile and she starts walking back toward the cops. I finish the Bud in a long steady sip, toss the can in the trash, leave the park on my way to the Metromover. The cops eye me. The Cuban, too. I wave.

ROUTINE CLEANSING

2009-02-11T22:41:00.005-05:00

Photos by S. PAJOT

NO MORE KNIVES?

2009-02-04T23:59:00.004-05:00

Usually, the word “PEACE” doesn’t make it into my vocabulary. (It’s gay and smells like Yoko Ono.) But after exchanging emails with one of the dudes from www.bloodoftheyoung.com … I guess I’ve been convinced that our minds and lives came into cosmic alignment, producing spooky levels of COINCIDENCE.

Anyway, in the interest of full disclosure, the back-and-forth follows.

**************************************************

S. Pajot to blood
1:28AM (59 minutes ago)

Dudes,

I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. But if you stole the title "BLOOD OF THE YOUNG" from me, it's not appreciated.

You recently featured photos by a friend of mine, Jamie Campbell. His blog is linked to mine. Where this post from November 2008 appears.

Now, maybe your discovery of both the Campbell thing and the title are coincidences. But it seems unlikely. I've been using the title in private since 2005. Then only a few months after I post online about it, your site shows up.

Also, there's a semi-negative mention of your site here.

Last thing, if you stole BLOOD OF THE YOUNG from me. Don't borrow anything else.

**************************************************

Blood of the Young Zine to seanpajot
1:57AM (30 minutes ago)

hey sean!
i'm sorry to hear about this whole name mix-up, as it is actually just a coincidence, so i'm glad youre about giving people the benefit of the doubt.
jamie campbell is a friend of a friend, which is how i found out about his work, i didnt even see your blog until i read this email with the link to it.
as for the name - i've been doing graphic design work for a few years under the name Young Blood Creative, so it kind of came up as an offshoot of that. i'd been holding on to 'blood of the young' as a name for something for a while now too. we didnt try to "hijack" anything of yours (we didnt even know you existed), it seems we just beat you to the punch on getting a project going with it.
i did know about blood of the young records, though. turns out i used to own some of their releases, haha.
anyways, sorry to get you all riled up about this, i know how much getting your ideas stolen can suck. we're about appreciating and getting people exposure for their hard work and their ideas, not about stealing them for ourselves.

no hard feelings?

reilly

**************************************************

S. Pajot to blood
2:08AM (19 minutes ago)

Sure. "No hard feelings." And I didn't know you existed either until Jamie posted a link to you.

Now, for the most part, I like what you guys are doing. But wanted to be sure that it was some fluke. I've had titles/ideas/whatever stolen from me in the past. (Art schools are havens for thieves.) So I guess I'm being vigilant ...

Like I said on my blog, I'm dropping the title. Thanks for the reply.

Sean

PLAGUE OF PLAGIARISTS

2009-01-28T01:11:00.001-05:00

A couple of years ago, I laughed in the face of a dude who refused to publicize his ideas online for fear of them getting poached. He was a kooky art kid, thoroughly convinced of his own genius and I thought he was full of shit. Well, the asshole was me, not him. Cause now, I got copied. And I’d have been better off buying the paranoia and burying my best phrases like nuclear waste, deep beneath a fucking mountain.

Story being, I posted a blog & track titled BLOOD OF THE YOUNG back in November 2008. The song itself is 3 yrs old. Meanwhile, my music video concept is a product of the past year. Anyway, I co-named the track/video/project with plans for vast vistas of inspired fucked-upedness. But a new zine launched this month—www.bloodoftheyoung.com—has hijacked my dream title, anally raping it into nightmare.

Anyway, I Googled the combo of words, hoping to turn up another older reference. Turns out, I unknowingly plagiarized Minneapolis label Blood Of The Young Records … So, basically, I’m shitting myself for nothing, thievery being the premium artform of this century. Whatever … I'm trashing the title.

Fuck us all. We’re fakes.

BLEACH BEACH BBQ

2009-01-25T23:59:00.000-05:00

Words by S. PAJOT
Photos by Marta Xochilt Perez

My Sunday routine has become football, newspapers and beer. Then, maybe, something half-interesting to help waste whatever’s left of the day. But, more often than not, with the weeks flipping past like free porn sites, I’m getting deep into boredom, self-pity & aimless rage. (Plus I think I’m suffering from mild depression/bad skin brought on by Vitamin D deficiency.)

So, this week, I got some sun. There was a BBQ at Crandon Park put together by Marta’s cousins. And it felt very healthy to eat a pound-plus of meat. In the end, the only thing missing was an outlet for violence. A problem that could’ve been solved by an attack on the family of iguanas living in the public restrooms. But lizard-slaying is banned on all state property.

NET RESULT: I burned the Aryan skin off my skull. I sweated out some nasty neurotoxins. And I watched teradactyl-sized vultures pick the bones of dead desiccated animals. Looks like a forecast for something.