Instead of asking fans to mourn, Jack is encouraging everyone to celebrate the man who gave generations of rock and metal fans music.
The post The Anniversary of Ozzy Osbourne’s Death Comes With a Request From His Son appeared first on Audio Ink Radio.
Those who thought LOVE became a thing of the past when Arthur Lee passed away two decades ago don’t seem to really know the American band’s history and aren’t aware that one of the ensemble’s founding members, Johnny Echols, is … Continue reading
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Release me from this curse- let my blood flow
As above, we will meet below
Casting a midnight shadow, Bleached Cross opens up their latest single, Blood Moon, with guitars that seem to hang above the song like pale fire, while the drums advance at a funereal pace and the synthesizers spread a cold, metallic glow. The final preview of Wrath, due July 24 through New Morality Zine, finds the Chicago band stretching dark wave toward blackened grandeur without losing the pull of a huge chorus. Every part leans toward catastrophe, yet the song keeps one hand firmly around a love story.
Lyrically, the song traverses fallen kingdoms, fields of impaled bodies, and a private apocalypse populated by obedient demons. Its vampiric imagery carries a conspicuous echo of Francis Ford Coppola’s Bram Stoker’s Dracula: a bereaved lover who feels betrayed by God, moves through the remains of Vlad the Impaler’s cruelty, hungers for blood beneath a crimson moon, and vows to find the beloved in any lifetime. The connection lies more closely with Coppola’s romantic reinvention than with Stoker’s original novel, as grief becomes damnation and desire reaches across centuries in search of reunion.
Blood, sacrifice, and eternal return crowd the verses, but Bleached Cross never allows the imagery to collapse into decorative horror. The violence springs from devotion warped beyond reason. Love has outlived the beloved, leaving behind something feral, blasphemous, and prepared to cross any border that death tries to enforce.
“This song is about eternal love, devotion, and the idea of fate bonding people together even beyond death, as love is the one thing death is unable to take away from the living,” says the band. “The ending implies the taking of someone else’s life to ease their suffering, knowing fate will bind you together again in the next life, but it can also be interpreted as killing yourself to be with someone who has passed…both ideas come up in other songs on the album.”
That final ambiguity cuts straight through the song’s gothic romance. Mercy and murder begin to resemble one another; suicide appears as both surrender and reunion. The guitars climb in patient layers, the rhythm section keeps the procession moving, and the synthesizers thicken the air until the closing passage surges outward in a blast of melody and ruin.
The song’s last ascent offers no clean resolution. Instead, Bleached Cross leave the listener inside the vow itself, where love survives by becoming monstrous enough to follow the dead through every kingdom, lifetime, grave, and promised return. Like Dracula mistaking damnation for fidelity, the song makes eternal love inseparable from the curse that sustains it.
Listen below:
Formed remotely in 2019 by Zak and Alex, Bleached Cross grew from a file-sharing project between Chicago and San Diego into a full live band. Their early demos, split with Shamewave, 2022 self-titled LP, and 2024 collaboration with The True Faith gradually fused post-punk, industrial music, blackened hardcore, and noise rock into a severe but flexible language. Blood Moon shows the band handling that language with new confidence.
Recorded with Andy Nelson at Bricktop Recording during 2025, Wrath circles grief, guilt, death, and redemption across ten tracks. Here, those concerns become a feverish vampiric romance, full of crimson mountains, impaled bodies, infernal vows, and impossible loyalty.
Listen to Blood Moon below, and order Wrath here.
Next month, Bleached Cross will team up with Milwaukee screamo band snag for a tour across the U.S. that begins August 4 in Indianapolis, IN, at Healer.
August Tour Dates:
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The post “Release Me From This Curse” — Love Never Dies in Bleached Cross’ Vampiric Single “Blood Moon” appeared first on Post-Punk.com.
If you’d been hanging out in Los Angeles any time in the summer of 1966, there would have been a high chance of stumbling across Arthur Lee. He might have been wearing just one shoe, or swimming trunks; he’d almost certainly be peering over a pair of psychedelic sunglasses. But then Lee could do what the hell he wanted. Barely 21 years old, he was the undisputed King Of The Sunset Strip: the most arrogant, brown-eyed, handsome man in Hollyweird. Lee and his band, Love, were helping usher in a whole new era of Californian music.
Sure, there were more commercially successful bands: The Byrds already had a run of hit singles and a European tour under their buckskin jackets by early ’66, and Brian Wilson was taking the Beach Boys to new creative heights even as his psyche crumbled under the weight of it all. But neither had such a charismatic, striking frontman as Lee. A singer and multi-instrumentalist, he was a lightning rod for the denizens of the burgeoning West Coast underground. “He cut an imposing figure,” says Jimmy Greenspoon, a future member of Love’s LA contemporaries Three Dog Night. “He had a mesmerising presence, a Pied Piper who would lead Love’s audience to a different form of consciousness.”
Love were the unsung heroes of the musical Big Bang that took place in 1966, although they have long been overshadowed by bands such as the Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane and especially one-time acolytes The Doors. If Love are remembered today, it’s for their third album, 1967’s Forever Changes, a masterpiece of baroque psychedelia. But a year before that, they blew a hurricane through Los Angeles. And Arthur Lee was at the eye of the storm.
In the sun-bleached Los Angeles of the 1960s, Lee stood out from his peers. An only child, he was born in Memphis to a white jazz musician father and a mother with both African-American and Native-American roots. He was unambiguous about ethnicity. “I’ve been black my whole life,” he said in the 70s. By the time he was five, his parents had divorced and he’d moved with his mother, Agnes, to the historic West Adams district of Los Angeles.
As a swaggering teenager brimming with attitude, his musical tastes encompassed Nat King Cole and Johnny Mathis to The Beatles, The Who and the Rolling Stones (he once compared himself to Mick Jagger – “a black American imitating a white Englishman imitating a black American”). One big influence close to home were The Byrds, who he first saw at Hollywood club Ciro’s in 1964. “I heard Mr Tambourine Man, and didn’t have to hear any more,” he later recalled. “I’d been writing things like that for a long time, but they didn’t fit the shows I was doing. Now here was something not quite dance music but definitely folk rock.”
Lee’s early attempts at music were naïve. As Arthur Lee And The LAGs (the acronym stood for ‘Los Angeles Group’, in the same way that Booker T’s MG’s was a shortening of ‘Memphis Group’) he recorded a single, the Booker T-inspired instrumental The Ninth Wave, for Capitol Records.
Lee wasn’t just keeping songs for himself. In 1964 he wrote My Diary for R&B singer Rosa Lee Brooks. Searching for musicians to play on the session, he enlisted a little-known guitarist from Seattle called James Marshall Hendrix, who had recently been playing with the Isley Brothers. “I wanted someone who could sound like Curtis Mayfield,” he later said of Hendrix.
The pair had a mutual respect, but also an uneasy relationship. Lee would claim that the guitarist took some of his cues from him. “Jimi’s brother told me Hendrix took a look at my first album and said: ‘I think I’ll try it this way’. He stole my dress attire, and I don’t appreciate that shit. But then I can’t play the guitar like him at all.”
That might have been true, but then Lee could sure write great songs, some of which he gifted to other LA acts. They included Everybody Jerk and Slow Jerk, recorded in 1964 by Ronnie & The Pomona Casuals on the back of the Jerk dance craze, and I Been Trying, cut by Little Ray the following year.
Other songs he kept for himself. Most notable was Luci Baines, a Latino-influenced garage rock call-out-the-dance stomp modelled on the Isley Brothers’ Twist And Shout and named after the daughter of then-US Vice President, Lyndon B Johnson. The track was recorded by Arthur’s latest band, the American Four – Lee plus his childhood friend from Memphis, guitarist Johnny Echols, and John Fleckenstein and John Jacobson, a pair of schoolfriends they met in Hollywood. Luci Baines was the first time anyone had captured Lee’s maniacal vocal and adrenalised, proto-punky thrash. He had finally found his own voice.
The American Four rehearsed in Arthur’s mum’s garage, before launching themselves on the burgeoning LA club circuit in late 1964, playing anything from chintzy nightclubs to seedy backrooms. Lee’s volatile temperament and take-no-shit approach was evident early on. During a break between sets at one show, a fist-fight broke out between Lee and Fleckenstein in the parking lot. “Fleck was a football star at Hollywood High School,” John Jacobson recalled, “but Arthur put him down in two punches.”
In April 1965, the American Four took up residency at Brave New World, a gay bar on Melrose Avenue. Gradually, the existing clientele drifted away, replaced by a straight crowd. At the same time, the American Four changed their name to the Grass Roots, inspired partly by Message To The Grass Roots, an album by black American activist Malcolm X, as well as being a nod to their drug of choice.
Over the next few months, musicians drifted in and out of the Grass Roots. One was guitarist Bobby Beausoleil – ‘Bummer Bob’ to his bandmates – who joined when Lee decided he wanted to focus on singing and banging a tambourine. When Lee was unable to pay his wages, Beausoleil was fired. He subsequently fell in with Charles Manson’s ‘Family’, and is currently serving a life sentence for stabbing a schoolteacher to death in 1969.
Beausoleil’s replacement would prove to be much more significant to the band. Bryan MacLean was a hip LA musician and scenester. Born to wealthy Hollywood stock, he’d befriended Jack Nicholson, dated Liza Minnelli and wangled a job as David Crosby’s gofer on a recent Byrds tour, before unsuccessfully auditioning for a role in The Monkees. MacLean’s red-blond hair and Wasp-y good looks were matched by his musical talents. Cannily, one of the reasons Arthur hired him was because of his connections to the Byrds’ crowd – including their groupies – who he could draw to his band’s shows.
There was just one obstacle. Another, more successful LA band were using the Grass Roots moniker, forcing a seething Lee to change the name of his own band. In Bryan MacLean and Johnny Echols’s version, they passed a billboard advertising Luv Brasseries on Melrose Avenue. When Johnny informed Bryan that Arthur used to work there, they decided to present the name to the singer, albeit in a more traditional spelling. And so, in August 1965, the Grass Roots became Love.
For all his talent, Lee – and Love – could easily have been overlooked had Jac Holzman, president of New York’s Elektra Records, not decided to take a trip to the West Coast in late 1965. Having missed out on the Lovin’ Spoonful, and tiring of the Big Apple’s tourist-trap folk scene, Holzman flew to LA in search of something new. Browsing local listings for ideas, he was drawn to a show by Love at Bido Lito’s Club, a claustrophobic brick enclave in a cul-de-sac known as Cosmo Alley. Holzman was instantly sold.
“I saw Arthur on stage,” Holzman says today, “and I knew this was ‘my band’ and that I was going to do whatever it took to sign Love. If the hairs on the back of my neck go up, I pay close attention. Bido Lito’s was a scene from Dante’s Inferno: bodies crushing into each other; silken-clad girls with ironed blonde hair. Love were cranking out [covers of] Hey Joe and My Little Red Book, a song by Bacharach & David in the Woody Allen movie What’s New Pussycat? – hip but straight. And here was Arthur Lee going at it with manic intensity.”
Love didn’t have management or a booking agent, which allowed Holzman to deal directly with Lee. When he offered the band a deal with his label, there was little reluctance from Lee. Within a few weeks, Elektra had rushed them into Sunset Sound Studio to record their debut album, with Holzman producing his first rock record alongside trusted accomplice Mark Abramson and 21-year-old engineer Bruce Botnick. The latter was amazed that the band completed the task. “Arthur was stoned twenty-four hours a day,” he later recalled.
Most of the songs that made up the album were already in Love’s live set, including the MacLean-written Softly To Me. “We were just getting the hang of it when we made the album,” MacLean said.
As well as Lee, Echols and MacLean, playing on the Love album were ex-Surfaris bassist Ken Forssi and Swiss-born drummer Alban ‘Snoopy’ Pfisterer. The latter replaced Don Conka, who had been sacked after spiralling into heroin addiction. Conka was the subject of Signed DC, a detailed account of a user every bit as harrowing as the Velvet Underground’s Heroin, which it preceded by six months.
The Velvets themselves were early Love fans – their guitarist Sterling Morrison remembered his band’s attempts to cover Love’s raucous version of My Little Red Book, trying to unravel the rhythm and failing miserably. The rest of the Love album bridged the worlds of Californian folk rock, proto-garage rock and the first glimmerings of psychedelia, even if it didn’t quite scale the same heights as The Byrds.
Featuring a distinctive logo designed by Elektra’s Bill Harvey, the cover of Love showed the band in the grounds of The Castle, the red-brick mansion in LA’s Beachwood Canyon once owned by horror star Bela Lugosi. Love had taken up unofficial residence in The Castle, squatting there in early 1966. They would be visited by friends and fellow musicians including Jim Morrison, Nico, John Phillips of the Mamas And The Papas and the Rolling Stones’ Brian Jones.
“Enter The Castle at your own risk,” Lee recalled. “The doors were always open. There was no violence in The Castle though, no guns. The bands never fought each other. Oh, but one day I was leaning off my balcony and Bryan MacLean wandered up to Jim Morrison by the pool and Jim slapped him round the face. Funniest thing I ever seen.”
Holed up in their own Xanadu, Lee and Love would ingest copious LSD and then hit town to bask in starlight. Their reputation was spreading, their profile growing as they were moving up the LA food chain. “It was crazy because we’d been living in a cheap motel room, but now we had cars and were dating Playboy bunnies,” says Johnny Echols. “Anything you imagine happening at the Playboy Mansion happened at The Castle. The Castle was a Love Inn where local musicians would socialise and party.”
Despite the wanton air of hedonism in which he was immersed, Lee handled Love’s finances. “I wasn’t materialistic,” he told me, “I just didn’t trust the others with the money.” Not that he himself was hugely reliable.
“He wanted a five-thousand-dollar advance for the record,” says Herb Cohen, who managed the band briefly. “So Love arranged to meet Holzman at the bank. Jac cashed the cheque and counted out the five-thousand dollars in fifty-dollar bills, after which Arthur tells the other guys ‘Wait at the hotel. I have to get something.’ Arthur returns a few hours later and shows them a two-door Gullwing Mercedes, telling them that this was for the band and their equipment. No one says a word. Then he hands each guy a hundred dollars – all that’s left of the advance.”
“Arthur had a curious sense of cubic capacity,” says Holzman. “That car was just big enough for him, his girlfriend and his brand new harmonica.”
Lee got a dose of reality when Love came out in March 1966, and it only made No.57 on the Billboard chart. My Little Red Book, released as their first single, didn’t do much better.
It was on stage where Love truly ruled. Michael Stuart, drummer with local LA outfit the Sons Of Adam and a future member of Love, saw plenty of shows where Lee lorded it over his group.
“Arthur was decked out in his multicoloured sunglasses, combat boot – one only – and scowl, banging the hell out of his tambourine,” he recalls. “John Echols had a lead-guitar style like no other: loud and frantic, soft and melodic. Jazz, rock, classical and flamenco… he could do it all. Played a double-necked Mosrite twelve-string and six-string – equally accomplished on either neck. Bryan MacLean, eyes closed, head tilted to his chest, appeared to be asleep while he played.”
Despite the apparent air of bliss, there were strains between Lee and MacLean. Jealous of the attention his bandmate was getting from the girls, Lee would openly criticise his playing. MacLean’s mother, Elizabeth McKee, witnessed this friction at one gig in mid-1966. “I had never seen Love live, and I went to the Whisky,” she remembered. “I got right under Bryan’s nose, and Arthur was saying to him: ‘Don’t play, you’re out of tune!’ Bryan kept his eyes straight ahead, kept playing and ignored him.”
That summer, Love left LA to show the San Francisco hippies how it was done. They played three shows at the Avalon Ballroom’s Hupmobile-8 in May, with Captain Beefheart and Janis Joplin watching from the wings. In July they headlined the Independence Ball over the Grateful Dead at the Calliope Warehouse in San Francisco, and topped the bill over Big Brother And The Holding Company at the Avalon Ballroom again. In August they astounded the Fillmore auditorium, before returning to LA for a series of Whisky A Go Go shows – including matinees – with The Doors as special guests.
Doors drummer John Densmore was an early fan of Love and of Lee’s. “I was a jazz snob running round Hollywood,” he says. “I stumbled in and here’s this group who are mixed racially, deafeningly loud, wearing ridiculously tight pants and fringe jackets. My mind was blown. They looked amazing and they were brilliant on stage.”
Love’s breakthrough finally came with the single 7 & 7 Is, which reached No.33 in the US in July 1966, giving both Love and their label, Elektra, their first hit. Sonically, it was breakneck punk 10 years before punk, but the inspiration was purely lysergic. Drummer ‘Snoopy’ Pfisterer described the single as “acid-flash imagery – me and Arthur took a lot of LSD together in that period”. They would need 40 takes to get it right, something that caused tension. “Arthur told me exactly how he wanted to play it,” said Snoopy. “Because of that he thinks he played it! The only take you hear is mine.”
By the time Love entered RCA Studio B in September 1966 to record their second album, Da Capo, Pfisterer had been moved from drums to organ and harpsichord – an indication of Lee’s ever-increasing ambition. Aware of Jim Morrison’s ambition “to be as big as Love”, Lee pulled out all the stops.
Da Capo was a tripped-out masterpiece. Or at least side one was. Gloriously psychedelic and melodically ornate, with Latin American overtones demo’d on his black Gibson acoustic, Lee exchanged the occasional morass of the debut for six pristine, classic pop songs: Stephanie Knows Who (about a girl caught in a love triangle between Lee and MacLean); MacLean’s Orange Skies, ¡Que Vida!, 7 & 7 Is, The Castle (a wanderlust musing on returning to mother, or going to Mexico) and the gorgeous She Comes In Colors. Integrating session man Tjay Cantrelli’s flute and Snoopy’s harpsichord, Lee wrote the latter about his acid fuck buddy Annette Ferrell. It was later ‘borrowed’ by the Stones on She’s A Rainbow.
Side two was taken up entirely by the 19-minute wig-out Revelation (aka John Lee Hooker). Do Love fans ever play this? Not so often. “Oh, that long song,” Bryan mused. “It was a shame. We should have had more songs. But we didn’t.” Echols, who steered Revelation, disagreed. “An underrated song. The live version is really cool, one of the first true fusion jams which allowed the musicians to stretch out, and take solos. It was meant to be live in the studio, with the audience from Bido Lito’s dancing as we played.”
Pfisterer’s replacement on drums, Michael Stuart, remembered the stop-start nature of recording the track. “We took regular breaks to smoke Arthur’s blond Afghan,” he said. Lee’s own interest in Revelation was minimal.
Halfway through a four-album deal, the sales figures were depressing: Da Capo made No.80. Chances were blown. After appearing on teen TV shows Hullabaloo and American Bandstand in spring ’66, lip-synching to My Little Red Book and the bittersweet A Message To Pretty, Love were ostracised because they had blanked presenter Dick Clark (“Hey, I hear you guys live in a castle?” Silence. “We must visit – for a second”).
They bamboozled the press with a couldn’t-give-a-shit stance, including the influential KRLA Beat, whose reporter they insulted when she visited The Castle and heard Bryan having sex in another room. He claimed he was too ill to be interviewed. “The new album will be prettier sounding… easier to listen to,” Lee told her. Unaware her subjects were tripping, the writer concluded: “Only when a group really reaches the top can their careers withstand what they may suffer from being continually rude and uncaring to fans and reporters alike. In my opinion, Love will soon be on many blacklists in the music industry, rather than ‘In My Little Red Book’, where they want so badly to belong.”
Love’s biggest problem, however, was Lee’s refusal to tour outside California. Holzman implored him to bring Love to New York, but Lee wouldn’t budge. “He was jealous of The Doors’ success”, says Holzman. “But he wouldn’t travel far from his perch in LA.” Ever enigmatic, Lee had his reasons. On ¡Que Vida! (meaning ‘a wonderful life’) he sang: ‘With nickels and dimes, you soon will have a dollar/Am I in your time, I see no need to swallow/Or catch a plane to travel, my mind’s not made of gravel.’
Photographer Guy Webster took the back cover image for Da Capo. “I took individual group member shots against a white background, with Arthur Lee in prime position,” he recalls. “I doubt if they were in my studio for an hour. Arthur shook my hand and said: ‘Do what you want with the cover, I really don’t care.’ He was nonchalant, to say the least.” So much so that the front cover of Da Capo is a virtual re-enactment of its predecessor.
Love ended 1966 with three nights at the Fillmore, headlining over Moby Grape, showcasing all of Da Capo. But things were shifting. Buffalo Springfield had landed, and Jim Morrison had given Lee a tape of The Doors’ forthcoming debut album. Radio was playing the Beach Boys’ Good Vibrations. But Lee foresaw only bad things. Ken Forssi and Johnny Echols were heading towards heroin addiction. Lee left The Castle and moved to Mulholland Drive, where Forssi would shoot up. “Then we’d look down over the city, Arthur staring and wondering about the ambulances and the sirens,” recalled Forssi.
Lee’s mind was already elsewhere. As Da Capo ebbed away, he began constructing his masterpiece, Forever Changes, which would emerge more than a year later – a lifetime in the late 60s. That album would fare even worse than Love and Da Capo, but it would be garlanded belatedly as one of the great albums of the era.
Love split in the early 70s, after a final album, False Start, most notable for featuring Lee’s old buddy Jimi Hendrix playing guitar on one track. Lee embarked on an erratic solo career that wasn’t helped by his struggles with drugs; he was jailed for 12 years in 1996 under California’s ‘three strikes’ law for negligent discharge of a firearm (he served five years). When he was diagnosed with the myeloid leukaemia that would eventually kill him in 2006, a group of celebrity fans, including Robert Plant, Ian Hunter and Ryan Adams, banded together for a tribute concert to raise money for his medical bills. His flame might have burned bright for a brief length of time, but it left an indelible mark on everything that followed.
“We opened the gate for The Doors, Buffalo Springfield and all the groups that followed,” Lee once said. “We were the beginning, the ones who spread the scene to San Francisco. We were only a small spark on the Sunset Strip at first, but we became a wildfire.”
Wacken Open Air 2026 is sold out! All 85.000 tickets for the 35th edition of the festival taking place from July 29 to August 1 have been sold. “We’re delighted to celebrate this anniversary with such a huge crowd,” says W:O:A founder and promoter Thomas Jensen. “Preparations here in the North are continuing at full […]
Every era that seemed ready to leave Cher behind instead handed her another stage. She entered the 1960s beside Sonny Bono, became a solo chart force and television star, rebuilt herself as an Academy Award-winning actress, returned to rock radio in the 1980s, and then altered the sound of dance-pop with “Believe.” Her A-to-Z song history is therefore less a straight line than a sequence of reinventions, stretching from folk-rock and story songs to disco, power ballads, movie music, ABBA interpretations, holiday recordings, and late-career collaborations. The entertainment industry has never seen another force quite like Cher. With an unmistakable
The post Complete List Of Cher Songs From A to Z appeared first on ClassicRockHistory.com.
Last seen during the summer of 2023–24 performing their landmark 1995 album Ill At Ease in full, The Mark Of Cain return this October for ZED 51 and a run of headline shows celebrating the 25th anniversary of their heavy rock masterpiece, This Is This. “‘This is This’ was an oft-used quote we used from […]DEAN BIRKHEIMER | Go Venue Magazine
If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to attend a rock concert inside an air fryer, and you were at The Astro Amphitheater on Monday July 20th, 2026, then you know exactly what it would feel like.
It was 100 degrees in La Vista. Not “feels like” 100. Honest to goodness, melt your sneakers, make you question your life choices, 100 degrees.
Thankfully, Brooks Madon, a.k.a. Eddie 9V (pronounced Eddie 9 Volt) hit the stage looking completely unbothered by the sun, proving that either he possesses superhuman powers or he’s legally classified as a reptile. Granted the temp did drop to a chilly 94 degrees. His blend of Southern soul, blues, funk, and swagger immediately won over the crowd. His guitar work was effortless, his band made up of Lane Kelly, Chad Mason, and David Green were impossibly tight, and their sound had enough grit to make a Nebraska dirt road envious. Every song seemed to shout “LET’S BOOGIE”, but the weather emphatically screamed back, “LET’S SEE WHO PASSES OUT FIRST.” By the end of his set, everyone was drenched in sweat, brought on, not only by the blistering temps, but by the dancing his music encouraged. Eddie 9V’s album Saratoga is available now, but keep an eye/ear open for the November release of Down Here. There are lyrics on that album that read like this: “It won’t be long now, til I’m blowin’ up”. Man, you got that right!!
Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney of The Black Keys walked onstage with the confidence of men who have apparently signed a peace treaty with the sun. The temperature plummeted to 91as they ripped into hit after hit with a bravado that’s made them one of rock’s most dependable live acts. Their blues-drenched riffs sounded massive under the open sky, even if that sky seemed personally offended by everyone’s existence. The crowd sang every word, proving that dehydration can’t stop people from yelling the chorus to “Lonely Boy.” In fact, judging by the sweat pouring off everyone, the audience probably lost ten pounds collectively before the encore. To The Black Keys‘ credit, they never let the weather slow them down. Auerbach’s guitar cut through the sizzling air while Patrick Carney pounded the drums with the determination of a man trying to summon rain through sheer force. Classics like “Gold on the Ceiling,” and “Howlin’ for You,” sounded as raw and gritty as ever. New songs off their latest LP Peaches were amazing and a joy to hear. That new album can be found here, Peaches. By the encore, everyone looked like they had been slow-roasted. The Black Keys finished strong, and somehow the audience found enough energy to sing every word, proving that rock ‘n’ roll can survive anything.
The Astro Amphitheater delivered great sound and an electric atmosphere, but Mother Nature insisted on being the night’s loudest opening act. The sun refused to leave the stage, roasting concertgoers from every conceivable angle. Yet somehow, nobody seemed to care. There’s something wonderfully ridiculous about thousands of people in shorts and skirts willingly standing in triple-digit heat because great live music is worth a little suffering. Or a lot of suffering. By night’s end, Eddie 9V had earned plenty of new fans, The Black Keys reminded everyone why they remain one of the best rock bands on the road. This is a show I would definitely attend again, I would ask for just one thing though…I’d like to request that the opening act be a cloud.
EDDIE 9V SET LIST
Down Here – Halo – Yella Alligator – Can I Sleep in Your Backyard – Blowing Up – Dog Me Around – 3AM in Chicago – Whole Lot Coming For You
BLACK KEYS SET LIST
Next Girl – Just Couldn’t Tie Me Down – Fever – You Got to Lose – Have Love Will Travel – Lo/Hi – Where There’s Smoke, There’s Fire – Weight of Love – I Got Mine – Howlin’ for You – Gold on the Ceiling – Wild Child – Everlasting Light – Tighten Up – She Does it Right – She’s Long Gone – Little Black Submarine – Lonely Boy
[See image gallery at www.govenuemagazine.com] All images © Dean Birkheimer
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The post Mother Nature Brought the 100 Degree Day, But The Black Keys Turned Up The Heat appeared first on Go Venue Magazine.
Boy Harsher have announced Get Mean, their first new album since the 2022 film and soundtrack The Runner. Due September 18 via Atlantic Records, the twelve-track album follows Jae Matthews and Augustus Muller through the breakup of their romantic relationship, a period of familial loss and creative uncertainty, and the difficult decision to continue Boy Harsher together.
Alongside the announcement, the duo have unveiled “Hard Beat,” a lean, driving darkwave track accompanied by a Boy Harsher-directed video about surveillance, deviance, desire, and trauma. Where June’s “Jeans” introduced their return through wiry new wave guitar and western detail, “Hard Beat” bears down on the machinery that first made Boy Harsher such a commanding presence in clubs: a catchy bass-synth figure, an unrelenting kick drum, and Matthews’ voice cutting through the track like cold air rushing through an open car window.
One cannot help but hear a trace of Depeche Mode’s “Behind the Wheel” in its fusion of movement, erotic surrender, and mechanical repetition. Boy Harsher pushes that feeling toward a harder, more body-driven strain of darkwave, with the bass carrying the physical weight while Matthews slips between confession, invitation, and command. The highway becomes both an escape route and a place where control can abruptly change hands.
Directed by Boy Harsher with cinematography from Owen Smith-Clark, the video draws from Helmut Newton’s 1995 “High and Mighty” feature and the sexually charged queer punk cinema of Gregg Araki. It opens inside a windowless room lined with yellowed tiles, where an old CRT television displays Angel Zinovieff seated in a wheelchair. The image soon cuts from the monitor to Zinovieff herself, dressed in black with one leg held inside an elaborate metal brace. Rods and clamps run along her fishnet-covered limb, turning an orthopedic device into something between medical apparatus, restraint, and severe fetishwear.
The camera studies the brace in close-up before moving to the controls of a vintage Cadillac tearing along a nearly deserted highway at night. Metal joints, pedals, switches, leather gloves, and the car’s gear selector enter into a visual correspondence with the hardware fastened around Zinovieff’s leg. The human body and the automobile appear as related machines, each capable of movement while remaining subject to whoever controls its mechanisms.
Inside the Cadillac, Cheeky Ma and Mo Stark play the two “freaky deviants” hurtling through the blue-black night. The driver smokes, laughs, paws at the dashboard, and turns a handheld MiniDV camcorder on the other occupants, its mounted light firing directly into their faces. At moments, the camcorder is raised with the casual recklessness of someone filming a party while driving; elsewhere, its bright eye takes on the invasive force of an interrogation lamp. Rings, lacquered nails, facial piercings, glossy fabric, and black leather crowd the frame as passing streetlights sweep across the interior.
Jae Matthews occupies the backseat beneath a black funeral veil. Red and green light divide her face behind the netting as she sings directly toward the lens, sometimes alone and sometimes pressed close against another veiled figure. The mesh softens and fractures their features, lending the encounters an uneasy intimacy: a kiss, a threat, and an identification photograph can seem separated by only a few frames. Matthews remains a passenger, yet her fixed gaze and repeated appeals to “make it real” steadily pull the car’s disorder around her.
The highway is continually fed back into the tiled room through the CRT monitor. At first, the television shows Zinovieff in her wheelchair; it later carries the empty road, faces from the Cadillac, and camcorder images stamped with a red recording indicator and apparent geographic coordinates. Those transfers make it increasingly difficult to determine who is watching whom. The people in the Cadillac document each other, the closed-circuit system observes the room, and the video finally points its cameras outward at the audience.
Under choreography by performance artist Monica Mirabile of FLUCT, Zinovieff’s physical restraint develops into a violent, increasingly expansive dance. She folds at the waist, whips her hair, claws at her clothing, arches backward, and strikes the tiled walls with open palms. Her movements carry the strain of a body fighting both its enclosure and the device attached to it. The editing cuts these gestures against the Cadillac’s acceleration, collapsing stillness and speed into the same state of agitation.
Blue highway footage, sickly green tiles, sudden red washes, and overexposed camcorder glare keep the two locations visually connected. As the song intensifies, the cuts become faster and the images less stable: veiled faces double against one another, the driver leans toward the camera with a feral grin, Zinovieff’s hair lashes across her face, and the road stretches ahead without revealing a destination. Near the end, the Cadillac is viewed from outside, with its occupants compressed behind the windshield and Matthews’ veiled face visible within the moving vehicle. The car continues through the darkness as though escape itself has become another form of confinement.
The video also sharpens the track’s resemblance to Depeche Mode’s “Behind the Wheel.” Anton Corbijn’s film famously presents Dave Gahan with an injured leg and crutches before a woman assumes control of the journey. “Hard Beat” rearranges that imagery around Zinovieff’s brace, the vintage Cadillac, female control, and the unstable line between passenger and captive. Those shared elements—bodily injury, roadway travel, erotic power, and surrendered agency—make the connection unusually specific, while Boy Harsher drives the idea into a harder and more openly confrontational setting.
The MiniDV camcorder establishes another suggestive post-punk reference. Its repeated appearance in “Hard Beat,” together with Nathaniel Jerome’s promotional portrait of Gus Muller pointing a camcorder directly at the viewer while Matthews stands behind him, immediately recalls the artwork and promotional campaign for New Order’s 2001 album Get Ready. Photographed by Jürgen Teller under Peter Saville’s art direction, that campaign similarly placed a handheld camera between its subject and audience. With Boy Harsher calling their album Get Mean, another clipped two-word imperative beginning with “Get,” the parallel feels likely intentional, even though the duo have not explicitly confirmed it. Here, New Order’s invitation to be prepared becomes Boy Harsher’s warning to toughen up.
Watch the video for Hard Beat below:
Get Mean began during a period when the continuation of Boy Harsher was far from assured. In early 2024, after years of international touring, increasingly ambitious collaborations, and projects that moved between music and film, Matthews and Muller ended their relationship. The separation followed personal turmoil, family loss, and a creative block that left the prospect of another album feeling remote.
The situation confronted the pair with questions that reached beyond the ordinary mechanics of making another record:
What happens when a band that’s been forged in intimacy, cloaked in the sonic textures of darkly swooning electronics, and dedicated to plumbing the complex and contradictory depths of romantic feeling falls apart? What’s left after grief takes everything? What does a breakup album look like for a band as singular as Boy Harsher?
Writing resumed when Matthews took to the road, moving through West Texas, the Pacific Northwest, South Florida, and points between. That unsettled geography became part of the album itself. Described as Boy Harsher’s “road album,” Get Mean was recorded across eight locations in the United States, Mexico, and Italy, gathering cellphone voice notes, environmental fragments, and changing emotional states along the way.
Matthews describes the album as:
“what I had to give during the most extreme period of my life.”
Across its twelve tracks, the familiar coldwave propulsion of Boy Harsher meets detuned pads, squelching synth leads, pedal-steel bends, New Romantic guitar, percussive jokes, and unadorned recordings captured on a phone. Those additions allow grief and exhaustion to coexist with flirtation, humor, and the possibility of beginning again. The record follows the collapse of one form of intimacy while testing whether another—the creative bond between Matthews and Muller—can survive it.
Get Mean arrives September 18 via Atlantic Records. Pre-order and pre-save the album here.
Matthews and Muller formed Boy Harsher in 2014 after meeting while studying film in Savannah. Their first EP, Lesser Man, began as a small cassette release before the track “Pain” spread widely online. The duo followed it with Yr Body Is Nothing in 2016, the Country Girl EP in 2017, and Careful in 2019. Their filmmaking background came fully into view with The Runner, the 2022 horror film and accompanying soundtrack that they wrote, produced, directed, and scored.
Their cinematic work continues with The Lonely Woman, their forthcoming feature-length horror thriller starring Chloë Sevigny, FKA twigs, Sturgill Simpson, Will Oldham, and Jake Weary. Boy Harsher are directing the film and providing its score.
Following the release of Get Mean, Boy Harsher will begin an extensive North American headline tour before continuing through Europe and the United Kingdom. The itinerary includes sold-out two-night runs in Chicago and Portland, a sold-out Los Angeles appearance at the Hollywood Palladium, and a London headline show at the Roundhouse.
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