Cavil at Rest: Love congas all. Photo: Adrienne
Los Feliz quintet Airborne Toxic Event play the kind of peppy, downcast rock I always seem to hear during my infrequent visits to Urban Outfitters. This sort of Strokes/Arctic Monkeys/Bloc Party steez goes in one ear and out the other without leaving much of an impact on your correspondent. I wish ATE well, but they're definitely not my bag, although the fine young things in the surprisingly large Monday night crowd, uh, ate it up. Within a year,
God, I hate the stupid fucking Grammy Awards, an annual music industry wank-off that I've seriously been railing against ever since I was 12 -- in 1980, the year wus-pop icon Christopher Cross swept all the big awards, beating out classic recordings like Pink Floyd's The Wall (which somehow flew under the radar of crotchity Grammy voters to score an Album of the Year nomination) and the Clash's London Calling (which wasn't nominated for a single damned thing. The Clash were finally given an hono
