As per usual, there’s a lot of rad shit going on tonight in the D (and elsewhere), from Javelins playing for FREE at the WAB (early show, doors are at 7:30), to another mothafuckin’ FREE show starring one of the most badass noise-pop bands to ever exist ever — Parts and Labor — at PJ’s Lager House.

Free is cool and all, but let’s not forget that sometimes it actually feels good to pay 5 bucks to see a show — especially when said show is being delivered by Knoxville, Tennessee’s Royal Bangs (that five spot, hopefully, will go straight to them). Maybe you saw them open for the Black Keys not too long ago at the Royal Oak Music Theatre? No? That show was too expensive? You liked them better when they played at the Lager House?

Either way, 5 bucks isn’t too much to ask, considering how goddamn excellent Royal Bangs are, and how addictive their new album We Breed Champions (out on Black Keys drummer Pat Carney’s Audio Eagle label) is. If you’re not familiar, think Broken Social Scene-esque progressive pop with a dose of Warp Records-ish electronica, rounded out with a sudsy beer-rock vibe ala the Replacements and Crazyhorse. We know, it sounds like it totally isn’t going to work, but it totally does. It’s loose, it’s adventurous, and it’s hooky in all the right spots.

Don’t take our word for it, though. Watch some clips, and decide for yourself. Total weirdos Benny Stoofy opens the night. — Ryan Allen

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8HE9OQ4FnkQ

“Take On Me” — literally. — Ryan Allen

– Elle Sawa

p.s. did anyone get pics of this show? send some our way…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zc4FXHunHMw

Last week, I had the privilege of seeing the Beach Boys’ Brian Wilson live in concert. He played some wonderful stuff (the cuts from Pet Sounds being my personal favorite), and of course, the classic surfin/sunin/funin/lovin/doo-run-runnin hits of their early years (not a personal favorite). While it was all pretty amazing, I couldn’t help but think of this David Lee Roth video the entire time Wilson and his band trudged through “California Girls” — mostly because I watched a insane amount of MTV as a kid, and because this particular video freaked me out for a number of reason: gigantic boobs, a cast of maniac-looking extras, Diamond Dave’s chest hair, etc. Fasten your seatbelts, sign post up a head…a zousy zousy bop, diddly bop! — Ryan Allen

We made it out to Girl Talk on Tuesday but found ourselves having a sweaty make-out session with some chick from Waterford in the balcony through most of the set so we don’t really have a solid review of the show. But one dude did sent this in (he actually commented but did so on an earlier Girl Talk show review from last year). Sounds like he would’ve rather hung out with me and my gal in the balcony…

From “Matt”:

“This show sucked! Kidtronic sounded like a bunch of 15 year olds screaming into their dad’s microphone about being wasted and having fun. They sucked. The Death Set was the best act all night. Kinda a Sum 41 with an electronic back. This was the only band that had instruments. They were fast and keep my head moving. They were OK. Girl Talk sucked the worse. I barly recognized anything that was played. The genius of Greg’s style is the multiple samples that keeps you rattling off the original artist one after the other. That was absent all night. The set consist of “boom, boom, boom” for a minute long, one random sample, back to ‘Boom, Boom, Boom.’ He was completely unprepared and seemed totally lost all night. I was thoroghly disappointed.”

Were you there? Do you agree? Are you that chick from Waterford?

Pics: Bianca Garza

Monday night shows in the D are tough. Combine that with a shitty economy and chilly temps and you get a quarter-filled Stick regardless of a stellar lineup. Didn’t matter though; each act swung for the fences but we couldn’t help but wonder what this would’ve been like in the cozy confines of the Garden Bowl. The evening started out with Ann Arbor’s Charlie Slick and co. playing a glittery, confetti-filled set, warming up the crowd and perhaps pissing off the people at the Magic Stick who have to sweep after shows. Best Fwends left me talking with a bit of a speech impediment, not only because of their name but because I got smacked in the mouth with an inflatable gargoyle. They reminded me of Champions of Breakfast, minus the ridiculous outfits and with a surprising punk energy to make me tilt my head to the side and say, “hmmm, interesting.” More like Champions of Brunch. I may have danced a little, too. Brooklyn-based Matt and Kim (Detour faves, can you tell?) were phenomenal, so much so that I forgot that I paid $600 for new tires a few hours prior and got hit in the face with a giant gargoyle. Kim’s infectious smile and Matt’s nerdy stage banter didn’t hurt either.

– Elle Sawa

Pics: Sam Doyle

Pics: Bianca Garza

Song = Awesomeness. Video = Meh. You decide…

– Harry Caul

ALL SMILES

MATT FOCHT BAND

Pics: Bianca Garza

Finally. The Detroit answer to the Baltimore Round Robin. Only it’s all acoustic. And the artists are playing on a stage, not in “the round.” Whatevs. It’s definitely the place to be tonight and Jay will be dressed up as Dan Deacon doing shots of whatever you hand him. Beware, this is what happens after the fifth shot of Apple Pucker…

MP3: “Weekend”

Not really famous for straying the course, Car Alarm is an album that you would expect to come from Chicago’s the Sea and Cake. If you’re into the band, then odds are you know exactly what to expect, and you will dig it. And why wouldn’t you? All the key elements have been assembled for a typically great Sea and Cake record: Sam Prekop’s smooth, breathy vocals, Eric Claridge’s impressive and tight bass playing, John McEntire’s jazzy and precise drumming and the jangly guitars of Prekop and Archer Prewitt. Like all their records, it is a combination of indie rock, pop, jazz and tropicalia. It is the obvious next step the band could have taken after 2007’s awesomely poppy Everybody, with a very subtle return to some of the electronic sounds of the previous few records (check “Weekend” for some oscillating keyboard work that makes us yearn for some of the blippity-bloop jams from 1997’s The Fawn).

After almost 16 years worth of stellar, reliable releases, Car Alarm mostly sticks to the same strategy the band always has. But, we’re huge fans, so we couldn’t care less. Never change, boys. — Aaron Quillen

http://www.vimeo.com/2158978

Child Bite, “Barracuda Mouth” (Suburban Sprawl Music, 2008)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kxlXChuX0AI

Happy Halloween!

– The Detour Crew

MP3: “I Hate My Friends”

If somebody slipped us this new Sebastien Grainger and the Mountains album with a homemade cover on it saying “New Killers Album Inside!,” we’d probably totally believe it upon first listen to lead track “Love Can Be So Mean.” It’s all there: the synthy undertones, the double-time on the hi-hat drumming, the BIG TIME guitar riffs, the overwrought, dramatic singing. All that’s missing are some lines about Las Vegas casinos and a jacket with bird feathers on the lapel.

Thing is, we’ve heard some of the new Killers album. And, you know, it’s not that bad or whatever (although that “are we human, or are we dancers” line is pretty awful), but, it’s still the Killers: a band so un-punk and prissy that it’s almost impossible to like them past the guilty-pleasure point.

Thing also is, we know Sebastien Grainger. He was in Death From Above 1979, the drums-and-bass duo that took punk’s “fuck it” attitude and applied it to the skuzzier elements of classic rock and dance music with wild success on 2004’s I’m a Woman, You’re A Machine. So even though the new solo work by Grainger and his Mountains share a similar fascination with the Boss and Bowie — as do the Killers — the former drummer-cum-rock-and-roll-troubadour has his foot rooted in enough of punk rock’s history to ever come off as squeaky clean as Flowers and crew. Plus, we don’t think he’d ever wear a jacket with bird feathers on the lapel (he much prefers suspenders and a v-neck t-shirt).

So now that we’ve got that out of the way, on to the jams — and jams they are. Unlike his former-bandmate Jesse Keeler’s MSTRKRFT remix/electro project, Grainger mostly ditches the dance element that seemed to characterize some of DFA 1979’s better moments in favor of even more classic rock riffs, glammy struts, and soaring, power pop melodies. Second track, “Who Do We Care For?” gives us tight, streamlined, fuzzed out riffs that fans of Queens of the Stone Age and Eagles of Death Metal would go wild for, all 70s-rock grit and muscle flexed between a hooky chorus. Similarly, “By Cover Of the Night (Fire Fight)” balances heavy, low-end guitar grime with some nice ELO-esque synth work, coming off like a modern version of mid-tempo hits by Boston, Bachman Tuner Overdrive, or Blue Oyster Cult (the three B’s of the 1970s). Elsewhere, “I Hate My Friends” — still fuzzy and over-driven — minces choppy guitar chords that simultaneously give props to the Who, Cheap Trick, and Big Star, before delving into a chorus that is reminiscent of Grainger’s Canadian contemporaries like Broken Social Scene, Stars, or Metric. Other standouts on the album include the restrained, Bowie-underwater ballad of “(Are There Ways) To Come Home?”, and the arena-rock sized “American Names” — with it’s “Born in the USA” keyboards and fist-in-the-air rhythmic pulse. And, just in case we forgot Grainger knew how to rock the dance-floor just as well as he’s proven he can rock the barroom, he delivers an album ending, shit-hot funk jam in “Renegade Silence” — ripe with a “Beat It”-style drum intro, and synth work swiped from either Morris Day and the Time or The Chronic (you get the drift, either way).

Which ever way you look at it — a heavy, 70s-inspired rock record, a poppy, singer/songwriter side-step, or just a hodgepodge of any and all of Grainger’s influences — one thing is for sure: it comes from an honest place…something the Killers could never cop to. — Ryan Allen

MP3: “Nothing Ever Happened”

It’s bizarre to review an album that has been leaked for what seems like an eternity now, and one that has been available on iTunes, even, for at least a few months. But when you craft something as monumental and mesmerizing as Deerhunter’s Microcastle, it’s hard to just ignore it as if it’s old news.

Certainly, by now, we’re all pretty familiar with Deerhunter’s story: Lead singer and resident minor-celebrity Bradford Cox is a lanky, humorous, effeminate, outspoken, blog-addicted, songwriting machine. Besides his well-received output with Deerhunter (including the much hyped Cryptograms and Fluorescent Grey EP), he has pumped out loads of stuff under his own Atlas Sound moniker, including the material released on last year’s Let The Blind Lead Those Who Can See But Cannot Feel, and the musical treats he consistently posts on his increasing popular blog. To say homeboy is busy is quite the understatement, and it seems as if Cox’s entire being is completely obsessed with the idea of ingesting, composing, and then releasing music.

So it’s no surprise that Cox became irate when he mistakenly allowed Microcastle to leak last August, which caused him to post a raging assault on his blog, calling whoever downloaded and shared the music “fucked” and pondering how he can’t understand how they could go on living (it has since been taken down, though you can read his apology here). Strong words, sure, but can you blame the guy? Anybody who has been paying attention to Deerhunter’s trajectory knows that Cox is as passionate as they come about making music.

Thankfully, Microcastle has been officially released, and the passion that Cox and the rest of Deerhunter have for their craft has been fabulously injected into the album’s very core. Tingling with shoegaze-y sentiments, awash with 60s-pop shimmer, ripe with moments of indie-pop magic, and much more direct and accessible than Cryptograms, Microcastle sounds and feels like the kind of experience that the hype surrounding the band sometimes failed to actually merit. In other words, Microcastle actually delivers the goods through and through, instead of simply hinting at greatness in the ways that Crypto-jams like “Strange Lights” and “Hazel St.” did.  Cox always has always talked the talk, but Microcastle actually walks it as well.

On opener “Cover Me,” the band get to walking the walk right away, with a blast of down-tempo beats and big, open chords that echo the kind of impact of some of Ride’s best work, as well as remind us of Detroit’s very own Javelins at times. Rising from the intro’s ashes, “Agoraphobia” — sung by guitarist Lockett Pundt — recounts a story of being buried alive amongst gentle, ringing guitar lines and understated, tempered drums. “Never Stops” picks up the pace a bit, with one of Cox’s strongest melodies mingling with rim-shot drumming and swirling guitar squalls that recall, of course, My Bloody Valentine. “Little Kids” capitalizes on impressive use of Motown-inspired influences, with reverberated guitar lines sitting alongside xylophone pings that bring to mind the Crystal’s “Then He Kissed Me”. “Microcastle” signifies the beginning of a four-song suite that is placed in the center of the album; one that includes the ghostly “Calvary Scars,” the Eno-esque collage of “Green Jacket,” and the wind-chimey “Activa.” It’s a bit much to get through, but once you do, “Nothing Ever Happened” rewards you with it’s immediate bassline, spiky post-punk guitar parts, and one of the most addictive song outros you’ll hear all year. With that, the album finishes strong, with the bluesy, Brian Jonestown Massacre-esque “Saved By Old Times,” the hazy, wobbling “Neither Of Us, Uncertainly,” and the restrained beginning, turned violent climax of “Twilight At Carbon Lake.”

To call the album mature is simply too easy; and mature is often times a secret code word for boring — something Microcastle hardly is. Instead, we’ll go with “advanced,” as Mircocastle seems to be the next logical step for a band that has all the right moves, but occassionally slipped up in their attempts to make them. Hype, blogs, premature leaks, physical strangeness, sexual orientation, influences, multiple covers, and outrageous rants aside, with Microcastle, Deerhunter has finally followed through in giving people something substantial to talk about — how fucking great they are. — Ryan Allen

Pics: Sam Doyle

29 Baltimore acts breezed into the MOCAD a couple of weeks ago and blew minds. The Baltimore Round Robin, a weirdo carnival of noise, punk and performance art, was by far one of the coolest, most unique events to hit Detroit in some time. We’re still having night terrors that feature Blue Leader driving us to school on that tour bus ala Freddy in Nightmare on Elm Street 2. Here’s a video snippet of the event complete with some background on the history of the tour from Wham City Godfather Dan Deacon. Check out those jam burgers whipped up by the hands of Ms. Jana Hunter. Yumsville.

Special thanks to Demonbabies for our badass intro and Beard of Bees for the use of “D.B. Cooper.”

Remember when everyone was ready to bury the Lager House? New ownership took over, ripped up the carpet, cleaned the bathrooms and everyone fucking freaked out. Rumors swirled that it would turn into a blues bar, a pay to play venue, etc. Bands bitched, bloggers stoked the fire and promoters talked shit from afar. Feels like a year ago. To commemorate a full year of putting up with the haters, PJ and his crew have put together a garage-soaked weekend of rawk. And you’re invited. Email: info@detour-mag.com to get you and a friend on the guest list for both nights. First come, first served.

Friday’s Lineup: The Fondas (pictured), The Pizazz and The Dial Tones

Saturday’s Lineup: Cut In The Hill Gang (featuring Johnny Walker from The Soledad Brothers), The Muldoons, Danny Kroha and Dooley Wilson

For more info: http://www.myspace.com/lagerhouse

MP3: “Id Engager”

Kevin Barnes must be a terribly difficult man to love. He laid out his case with last year’s psych pop masterpiece Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer?, a record that explored an extraordinarily dark period in his life including nervous breakdowns, suicidal tendencies, chemical imbalance, freaking out after his daughter’s birth and a period of bleak self-isolation in Norway. With Skeletal Lamping, Barnes continues his confessional trend by attempting to let listeners into the darkest corners of his mind. The results are jarringly erratic, emotionally unbalanced and impossible to predict –- which is to say Skeletal Lamping could go by the alternate title, A Tour Through the Mind of a Sexually Deviant, Bi-Polar Individual: The Musical. Yes, it is a harder album to digest than Hissing Fauna, as each track morphs several times making them feel more like medleys than individual songs, but despite the emotional and musical roller coaster, the high points are brilliant and addictive. Skeletal Lamping occasionally veers into rehashed or less memorable musical territory, but like Waiting For Guffman’s Mayor Welsch says about the weather in Blaine, Missouri, just wait five minutes and it’ll change. And with the hard work Of Montreal put into Skeletal Lamping, they really have gotten it down to three or four minutes. So for a disturbingly revealing yet good time, crawl into the mind of Kevin Barnes — and make sure you bring some Zoloft along just in case things get too manic-depressive up in there. — Laura Witkowski