By Mabel Suen
By Kris Wernowsky
By Daniel Hill
By Allison Babka
By Joseph Hess
By Allison Babka
By Joseph Hess
By Daniel Hill
The ageless DJ Flex Boogie is the right guy to find if you are longing to spend the night grooving to a smooth, boogie-licious set. He's also the proper person to seek out to get down and dive into deep house and look to him for the nü-breaks, too (or, well, practically everything else). He's just that good! When he's not spreading the love at Urban Lounge, the fab Flex gets to work putting up mixes on MySpace for your downloading pleasure. Plus, he's even been a volunteer-DJ at a Girl Scout fashion show presh! (AS)
Pin-Up Bowl, 12 a.m.
Best Eclectic/ Uncategorizable
Ghost IceAnybody can make a racket. It takes a special set of ears to weave dissonance, clang and harshtronic into a cataclysmic stream of sound that unfolds with the meter and florid beauty of epic poetry, while still pinning your eyes to the back of your skull with brutal force. Ghost Ice cross-pollinates the woofer and the tweeter in just such a manner, giving rise to nocturnal gardens of radiation and shaking acres of tumultuous skree. Rather than stripping bare the bones of the earth and leaving leaden-hearted survivors, Ghost Ice's howls serve as tenebrous lattices for the souls of the haunted dead. On these scything branes of audial force, a new world is built, high above the detritus of the last epoch. Ghost Ice is the destroyer, architect, hero and recorder of this genesis, first and last in the new mythology. Paul Friswold
In answer to your question: Yes, the Conformists' new album, Three Hundred, is the band doing its own version of a soundtrack for that half-naked Spartan grope-fest movie of the same name. Except instead of Persians, the enemy is complacency. And instead of Spartans, the Conformists have cast themselves as hunger artists. And instead of swinging swords, the Conformists are wielding questions: How much is want? How slow is too quiet? When is a guitar not a vainglorious assault on the senses, but rather an instrument for determining the calculus of desire? Somewhere in the thorny underbrush where intelligence, radical self-deception and foolish rock & roll rub thighs, the Conformists wage their ongoing war against...well, mostly themselves. But what a spectacle. (PF)
Eric Hall describes himself as a producer, performer, improviser, DJ and installation artist. Unsurprisingly, elements of all these titles reveal themselves in his music. Using field recordings, percussive metals and various electronic devices, Hall coaxes ambient sheets of sound from various sources, and the results are both soothing and unnerving. His drones and tones mutate and overlap, creating dissonance and percussive patterns that linger for a while before flittering away. While Hall's been involved in many projects over the years (most notably the experimental music collective Grandpa's Ghost), his own recordings contain multitudes of styles, from ethereal arias to gritty dirges and everything in between. Christian Schaeffer Halo Bar, 12:30 a.m.
This collective lands somewhere between a psych-rock house party and a religious cult, an imprecise balance that the band has cultivated for more than a decade. Celebrated for its skin-baring, anything-goes live shows and endless stream of boutique CD releases, Skarekrau Radio continues to redefine noise-rock and serve as a template of off-kilter creativity for this city's knob-twiddlers. This year's The One Eyed Swine Is Queen found Skarekrau Radio touching on twisted folk, ambient dub, two-chord punk and screeching minimalism, among other sounds. What comes next is anyone's guess. (CS)
Superfun Yeah Yeah Rocketship
Corey Goodman packs no shortage of energy, humor and weirdness into his one-man electro-spaz show. As the captain and sole crew member of Superfun Yeah Yeah Rocketship, Goodman has delighted (and confounded) crowds in senior-citizen centers and indie-rock clubs with his mix of jokey raps, cheesy drum-machine beats and rave-ready keyboards. With a manic, elastic voice and boundless energy and enthusiasm, Goodman has done the rare trick of turning shtick into substance. (CS)
To witness the Dogtown Allstars perform is to observe the power of the groove, that vital (if elusive) musical element. Luckily, the Allstars possess buckets of funky, high-stepping grooves, many of which are propelled by Nathan Hershey and his spitting, crackling organ. Adam Wilke's guitar figures favor a more jazz-oriented approach, while Andy Coco and Drew Weiss hold down the rhythm section with funky, bubbly grace. The Dogtown Allstars may not have invented the groove, but they carry it on expertly. (CS)
Delmar Restaurant & Lounge, 8 p.m.
Somewhere between smooth jazz, disco and the Star Wars cantina house band, the sound of Lamar Harris' trombone, trumpet and tuba funk is like nothing else in St. Louis if not planet Earth. Manipulating all manners of electronic effects and hip-hop hip-beats, he makes horns speak in strange tongues, click and bleat like bent circuits, and yet somehow express the improvisational spirit of heroes like Miles Davis and Gil Scott-Heron. (RK)
Brandt's, 10 p.m.
If you're going to do the corporate cover-band thing, you might as well go all the way. Arvell Keithley isn't just a frontman he's an industry. His bands frequent gala events and weddings, from Boeing to Busch, offering up note-perfect simulacra of the Four Tops; Earth, Wind and Fire; the Gap Band and Elvis Presley. A rousing master of ceremony, with a surprisingly supple voice, he's done more to get white people dancing than all the Jell-O shots and Jägermeister in St. Louis combined. (RK)