Mike Oliva and I agree — Batman is cool, but The Joker is simply badass, with his dark sense of humor and creepy, wide smile. There’s something intriguing about his slick, sarcastic ways, and, hell, there’s no forgetting that horrific laugh.    

Lucky score — found a wicked parking spot on Court, and I wandered over to Below Zero for Brooklyn’s Bear Hands. Standing in front of the bar’s enormous red “Z” on the wall, singer Dylan Rau also played bass and keys. Backed by two guitars and drums, Rau’s voice had a strong Post-Punk, New Wave edge that shone with the band’s catchy, circular rhythm. He was charismatic, big-eyed, and easy on the eyes. There was a good reason that neon-heavy Below Zero became packed very quickly. This band was not one to miss, in my book. I wonder how Bear Hands felt about the disco balls inside? I bet there was some lovin’ going on there.  



Started the night off with a bang, bang — Jagjaguwar Records’ Okkervil River at Grammer’s. The tent was packed — so packed that it was hard to weave to the front — but I was sneaky. From Austin, Texas, and labeled Folk Pop, Okkervil didn’t disappoint. Will Sheff, frontman with a beard and black-rimmed glasses, busted out a clear, deep, penetrating voice. Between the strings, bass, guitar, tambourine, keys and more, this band built a series of startling crescendos, while still allowing for some playful guitar solos. The music would surge to rise, then dive, pulling off a true independent spirit that was uplifting, but mixed with the bass vocals, there was yet another layer of complexity that made it artistic and multifaceted. This band has truly grown and tightened over time, becoming mature, and they’ve carefully molded the tunes into a creative shape, while maintaining a structure worth following.  

Everything was easy — parking, finding venues, moving from place to place. Easy street. Even the weather was easy — not too hot, not too cold, not even crisp yet. Clouds just hung out in the sky, slightly alive, so gray. Steel. 

When I literally jumped out of the car in front of SCPA, excited strange people started offering me donuts. I didn’t take one, but I considered it. Fuck, that was stupid, I should have. Free damn donut. “Glazed!” they yelled, “Glazed!” Shout out to hot Dot, the lady in pink with the donut tray.
Welcome to the randomness that is sometimes called Midpoint. Bring it on.

  

Murray Stall, drummer for new Alternative/Progressive rockers The Desert Gun, greets me in the glow. Tall, thin and always talking or moving, Stall wears skinny jeans and, on his left arm, a large tattoo peeks out from his shirt. A passionate type with a ton of energy, he started music at 14.  

Madison Bowl in Oakley is stuck in another time — orange booths, dimly lit bar, pinball machines, a jukebox, the smell of stale smoke. Ah, the yellowish ambience. Murray Stall, drummer for new Alternative/Progressive rockers The Desert Gun, greets me in the glow. Tall, thin and always talking or moving, Stall wears skinny jeans and, on his left arm, a large tattoo peeks out from his shirt. A passionate type with a ton of energy, he started music at 14.  

A sense of Yin/Yang between the two is what makes Shiny and the Spoon’s music so clever. Like Johnny and June Carter Cash, they have a natural chemistry that makes their Folk/Pop sound an easily blended creation, with smooth harmonies, catchy melodies and a subtle style that’s their own unique merry-go-round.  

A sense of Yin/Yang between the two is what makes Shiny and the Spoon’s music so clever. Like Johnny and June Carter Cash, they have a natural chemistry that makes their Folk/Pop sound an easily blended creation, with smooth harmonies, catchy melodies and a subtle style that’s their own unique merry-go-round.  

It’s a lazy, scorching Sunday in Northside. At Sidewinder Café, out back, the pet bunny takes a dirt bath in the shade, trying to cool down. Musicians, strangeness, sweat and cut-off jeans shorts are all around. Back inside, Nick Mitchell, singer and synth player for eccentric newcomers Revenge Piñata, leans against a brick wall and prepares to tell me about his latest band project and its debut release.  

Several weeks ago, distracted and sweating, I was daydreaming down at Newport on the Levee; the thick air nearly cooked me. Imagining movie scenes, I took it all in: the shapes, the colors, the smells and the way the sun had reddened strangers’ shoulders and cheeks. That weekend I was selling raffle tickets at a booth for the Freestore Foodbank. Since the crowd was slow, and the food stands smelled nasty, I wandered away, seeking action.