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
Beth StirnamanIt's Monday morning and another Street Scene is officially in the books. And while it's important to note that this parking lot extravaganza of fog-filled stages, oddly eclectic line-ups, mind-altering drugs and festival food has reached it's 25th year, it's also worth mentioning that I'm no longer a stranger to this two-day Coachella by the sea. Although for anyone that was there, the temps this weekend were actually fit for a desert, or maybe Satan's ass crack. But harsh heat
Long Beach has a lot of bands, but none of them exemplify pure rock 'n' roll as well as D-Strutters. The group--singer/guitarist Joe Roads, guitarist George Velvet, bassist Tony and drummer Heath--leave all pretense behind for a straight-ahead bombastic blast like the Stones would be writing if they weren't 90 years old. If you don't know them, now you do, because here's an interview with Roads. If you can't catch D-Strutters Friday at the Slide Bar, you're in luck because they're also
