Ryan Adams knows sour love. Throughout his stint as Whiskeytown's lead singer, his debut album, Heartbreaker, and now with his sophomore effort, Gold, Adams continues his renowned tradition of chronicling bad relationships with great songs.
I wish to point out some flaws in Craig Butler's logic in his October 10 column about pacifism.
I think there are two types of singer/songwriters - the down on their luck, rough around the edges and sometimes experimental ilk of Bob Dylan, Tom Waits and Kris Kristofferson, and then at the other extreme, the almost giddy optimism of crooners like John Denver and James Taylor.
The Southwest Film Center will present two films this weekend by Hamburg, Germany-based, experimental director and artist Peter Sempel - a renowned documenter of the musicians, artists, filmmakers and poets of the European punk scene.
Silver linings, bursts of light, continually sought but infrequently found, bring hope and enlightenment to the heart when all is thought to be lost. Last Wednesday I found one, tucked quietly away amongst the fifth floor corridors of the Ambilatory Care Center at UNM Hospital.
Red Earth is one of those local bands that just can't be categorized. The eight ethnically-varied members of the band - with a few lineup changes - have been mixing up their politically-charged bouillabaisse of funk, reggae, ska, punk and metal for about five years.
Few actors can make a one-hour monologue bearable, much less a pleasure. Jill Battson is a delightful exception to this rule. Battson's original monologue, "486-8474 Or: How I Learned to Live With Obsession," is nothing short of brilliant. Add to this Battson's heartfelt performance, and one has theater at its best.