Multi-disc Stooges boxes aren’t exactly commonplace, not even in the bootleg world which makes the authorized 6-CD Heavy Liquid all the more important a release. It’s not quite the Raw Power equivalent of Rhino’s Fun House box, 1970: The Complete Fun House Sessions, but as a look via studio tracks, rehearsals and concert recordings at the group’s 1972-74 era, it’s a fairly comprehensive, compelling overview.
Hardcore fans will already have a good chunk of the performance material, of course, but there’s enough unreleased stuff to keep collectors happy. Disc 1 taps studio multitracks (recorded July 1972 at London’s Olympic Studios, they were only recently rediscovered) to offer up such goodies as Money, Louie Louie, an instrumental version of Gimme Some Skin and 13 takes of I Got A Right (shades of the Fun House box). Discs 2 and 3 are live rehearsals from the spring of 1973; the former catches the band at Ypsilanti’s Morgan Sound Studios courtesy a newly-unearthed quarter-inch tape reel containing 10 songs, and the latter has the Stooges on a Detroit stage preparing for the Raw Power tour with pianist Bob Scheff (not to miss: then-new compositions such as riff-piledriver Head On, the slinky Johanna and bawdy boogie Born in a Trailer). Discs 4-6 present assorted live shows including a complete gig from Los Angeles’ Whiskey A-Go-Go (Oct. 1973) and a partial one from New York’s Max’s Kansas City (July 1973), all in varying sound quality.
The packaging is outstanding, a hinged box housing individual mini-LP sleeves and a pair of booklets, one featuring extensive liner notes penned by Creem’s Brian Bowe (a MT contributor) and Robert Matheu and the other a Stooges photo essay from the man who shot the original, iconic, RP LP cover, Mick Rock. Approved by the band, Heavy Liquid is, like, heavy, man. Fred Mills
Just Say Sire: The Sire Records Story
Just Say Sire: The Sire Records Story is ultimately a music geek gift. Sure, the obsessives on your list will already own nearly everything on its three discs and one DVD this box is about highlights of an era, not unreleased gems. But there’s value in the set’s patchwork, in seeing and hearing how the mechanical rhythms, spindly synths and fingers-crossed sexuality in Tom Tom Club’s Genius of Love, Telex’s Moskow Diskow, and Laid Back’s White Horse correspond to the blare of the Ramones (Blitzkrieg Bop), My Bloody Valentine (Soon) and the Dead Boys (Sonic Reducer), not to mention Ice-T’s O.G. Original Gangster or Ride with Leave Them All Behind. Just Say Sire offers music fanatics a pointillistic history of the sounds that groomed today’s fetishized genre landscape. It has its punk rock, synth-pop, college rock and shoegazer, plus 20 videos on the DVD (Aphex Twin’s horrific Come to Daddy, anyone?) and a glut of history, testimonial and anecdotal fun in the bathroom-ready booklet. There aren’t enough out-and-out hits here to entice the casual fan, besides the occasional new wave reference. Just Say Sire is a box about a label, but it’s really about the mythology that floats around that history, and that’s something only music nerds care about. Johnny Loftus
Jelly Roll Morton
The Complete Library of Congress Recordings
In a year of noteworthy box sets, Rounder’s Jelly Roll Morton is arguably the most important, a remarkable blend of folklore, performance, and oral and academic history. Presenting a series of interviews and performances recorded by folk music historian Alan Lomax at the Washington, D.C., Coolidge Auditorium in 1938, Jelly Roll Morton is a jaw-dropping set, eight discs’ worth of words and music tracing the history of jazz through the eyes of one of the genre’s innovators. Working in a small government office with a minimal budget, Lomax asked Morton, at that point a largely forgotten figure of the New Orleans jazz and ragtime scene, to tell the story of jazz’s early years. Fueled by whiskey and his own frustration at having been passed over in the history books, Morton proceeded to lay it down, playing illustrative songs and passages on the Library of Congress’ piano as he talked about the birth of what was, in his view, the only purely American musical genre, and himself the father of it. Originally recorded to aluminum disc (each track runs roughly four minutes, the length of a side), Morton’s exquisite music and garrulous rants have been digitally restored, and the results are by turns awe-inspiring and hilarious, as when he tells cautionary tales about the unscrupulous practices of early jazz publishers, or treats Lomax to a gleefully filthy rendition of The Dirty Dozen. Besides the music, the piano-shaped package contains a full transcription of the interviews and Lomax’s 1950 book on Morton, Mister Jelly Roll. Eric Waggoner
The Essential Sonny Rollins: The RCA Years
In the media blitz that surrounded Sonny Rollins’ 75th birthday and concert tour last fall, two albums invariably garnered ink. There was his new one, Without a Song: The 9/11 Concert, with its post-tragedy resonance. But curiosity about 1962’s The Bridge seemed insatiable and who could resist the backstory? One of the top jazz artists of his time dropped out of sight and rethought his music while using New York’s Williamsburg Bridge as his private studio, then returned to the scene three years later with a triumphal and aptly titled disc.
But that disc was just the beginning of five exciting, expansive years before Rollins again retreated from the scene. Through the 1950s, Rollins developed his individual way of probing and prodding and rising beyond the harmonies and melodies of his themes (check the recently reissued The Best of Sonny Rollins on Prestige for a good introduction to that decade). In the ’60s, there was new fluidity to his groups as he tinkered and experimented with formats and accompanists and continued to stretch out in their midst
After the fleet interplay with guitarist Jim Hall on The Bridge, there was a far looser group featuring trumpeter Don Cherry, who defined the cutting edge circa 1962, and a studio meeting with pianist Paul Bley and Coleman Hawkins, the man who virtually invented the tenor saxophone as a jazz ax in the ’30s. There were jams over Latin percussion, forays into calypso (including a vocal chorus on Don’t Stop the Carnival) and sessions with Herbie Hancock and Ron Carter of Miles Davis’ classic quintet. And all that was within the space of two years, sampled on two discs here.
Here’s hoping that Impulse, where Rollins moved next, sees fit to do justice to Rollins’ 1965-67 successes with a similar anthology. Until then, this helps to bridge the gap. W. Kim Heron
A Musical History
Given the Band’s spotty history with box sets and career-spanning compilations, A Musical History is a particular joy. Five fat discs chart the group’s development from a tight R&B backup combo into one of the most significant bands in rock history; a separate DVD collects nine live performances, ranging from filmed practices at Robbie Robertson’s Woodstock studio to a trio of strong appearances on SNL in 1976. Like every other significant Band compilation, A Musical History was shepherded by Robbie Robertson, and Rob Bowman’s liner notes are perhaps a bit too faithful to the somewhat tiresome larger-than-life mythology Robertson’s been pushing since The Last Waltz. But for the first time, a Band compilation charts the entire course of the group, including the best material from career low points like Cahoots and Islands, and there can be no quibbling with the quality of the music here. The first disc alone is worth the cover charge, taking us from the group’s early Hawks singles through Bob Dylan’s infamous 1966 tour, and finishing up with the Basement Tapes sessions, offering a virtual primer in the development of contemporary rock and Americana. Throw in the gorgeous packaging hardcover binding, rich paper stock, rare and riotous photographs of one of the hardest-working and -playing groups in rock music and A Musical History feels like just that: a long-overdue archival project, and the career capstone the Band always deserved. Eric Waggoner
Try For the Sun: The Journey of Donovan
Though nothing from the hurdy-gurdy man’s relatively fallow 1976-93 period is represented on this 3-CD/1-DVD set, all the groovy stuff from the mid-’60s through the mid-’70s is included, along with the obligatory demos, live cuts and unreleased material. Also present is Please Don’t Bend, a lovely Celtic-flavored ballad from his Rick Rubin-produced 1994 comeback, Sutras, plus two tunes of 2003-04 vintage. The DVD, an unreleased 1970 documentary, is mainly for hardcore fans in need of scenes of Donovan and his entourage on a yacht zipping around the Greek coastline.
Yet there was always something precious about this floweriest of all the flower children. He had a solid folk background yet fellow artists such as Dylan (in the film Don’t Look Back) dismissed him as slight. And despite delivering some timeless psychedelic anthems (Hurdy Gurdy Man, The Fat Angel, Season of the Witch and that great veiled ode to cunnilingus, Sunshine Superman), he seemed congenitally drawn to the twee and incomprehensible I defy anyone to parse the ditty There is a Mountain for meaning. Talk about precious, the box even comes (beautifully) wrapped in purple velvet! In his recent autobiography The Hurdy Gurdy Man, Donovan recounts a fair amount of ’60s misadventures, none-too-subtly suggesting that he was quite the satyr. Pussy-hound or simply a pussy? You be the judge. Fred Mills
One Kiss Can Lead to Another: Girl Group Sounds Lost and Found
One kiss can lead to another romantic, right? Well, sometimes. Plenty of these songs offer sweet dreams of true love and going steady. But the set’s titular sentiment has a flipside, and it’s a nightmare of heartbreak, revenge and Studebakers skidding off hairpin turns. Rhino’s latest wonder of packaging and licensing tells both sides now. Intuitive, captivating and, above all, entertaining, One Kiss Can Lead to Another wraps classic film drama in the insight of an award-winning documentary, and becomes the definitive statement on an overlooked and generalized pop music era. Favorites like the Ronettes, Supremes, Chiffons and Shirelles join a never-ending litany of Best Names Ever, from the Whyte Boots and Hollywood Jills to the Luv’d Ones and, simply, the Cake. For every nicety like Wanna Make Him Mine or Steady Boyfriend there’s a cold-blooded converse I’m Gonna Destroy that Boy or Keep Your Hands Off My Baby and the angst, consequence and outright violence end up outweighing the sweetness and light. Its hatbox and makeup case packaging is perfect, and the liner notes are thoughtful and detailed. More than 120 songs, One Kiss reveals the incredible variations in the familiar girl-group template, and we finally hear the true, real girl voices that rang out above all that manufacturing, production and professional songwriting. The empty pop divas of today should be so lucky. Johnny Loftus
The Tragically Hip
Universal Music Canada
Props to the Tragically Hip for completely avoiding self-congratulation and fellating critical testimonials (hey!) inside Hipeponymous, their first-ever box set. Instead, its pages are a gorgeous patchwork tapestry of collagist art, Gordon Downie poetry and pasted-in scrapbook material. That’s the way it should be. After all, 35 of Hipe’s 37 songs were handpicked by one of rock’s most dedicated fanbases. Whatever would have been written about the Tragically Hip, these loyalists would have already known. And besides, the set’s audio portion is also available separately. Hipeponymous’ extensive artwork makes it unique a special gift for your own Hip fanatic and its accompanying DVD material is nothing to dismiss, either. Disc one’s Night in Toronto is a complete concert recording, while the second disc is laced with rich visual content that includes original vignettes, a lengthy film and music videos. All of this for an Ontario band who’ve steadily blended treble with erudition for over 20 years. The Tragically Hip are rock stars many times over in Canada, and enjoy a sturdy foothold in the United States. Hipeonymous is definitely their thank-you to the diehards. But it can also be your introduction to a band that sings about Falstaff with as much passion as they do Bobby Orr. Johnny Loftus
Good to See You Again, Alice Cooper DVD
As a little kid high on AM radio, I wandered into an Alice Cooper concert. It scared the shit out of me. It was sweltering that summer night at Minneapolis’ Met Center in 1975, and as Cooper’s voice soared through the rafters, thousands of introverts like me just unleashed. The show’s impact and spectacle formed this kid’s understanding of rock ’n’ roll. It had that power to change. Welcome to my nightmare, indeed.
The palpable tension between Alice Cooper’s theater and his saucer-eyed audience was painful and beautiful; they feared everything he represented, yet they writhed in the palm of his hand. In booze-drenched decadence and (intelligent) depravity, the man successfully incited anger and adoration. And this from-the-vaults gem documents the Alice Cooper Band’s 1973 monumental Billion Dollar Babies tour, which, at that point, was the world’s highest-grossing rock ’n’ roll show.
Good to See You Again, Alice Cooper, which enjoyed a brief theater run back in the day, is now cleaned-up and remastered with extra footage, interviews and 5.1 surround sound. Comedy vignettes between the songs featuring the band Cooper, Neil Smith, Dennis Dunaway, Glen Buxton, Michael Bruce acting (sort of) with character actor Fred Smoot are engaging, especially if you’re a militant Cooper enthusiast and understand his staggering sense of humor. Remember, by 1973 Cooper had already smoked weed with Hendrix, kicked it with Warhol, and seen the lights of Los Angeles through the bottom of a glass with Jim Morrison. Good to See You depicts the moment when the Alice Cooper Group was the best rock ’n’ roll band on earth, scaring the hell out of parents and community leaders in the process. This is essential viewing.
Besides, who, aside from the Coop, could have tailored a debauched persona, part Bela Lugosi and part Mae West and pulled it off, during the Nixon era? The lady is a tramp. Robin Johnson
Dreams Come True (Hi - I Love You Right Heartily Here)
Spiritual in song and sensational in print, with a troubled past and a penchant for narcotics, Judee Sill was an enigmatic addition to the Laurel Canyon scene (Los Angeles’ post-hippie folk-rock panoply in the ’70s that included Joni Mitchell, Jackson Browne and the Eagles). She released two underappreciated albums on Asylum Records before dropping from sight and eventually dying of a coke and codeine overdose in 1979 at the age of 35. Now, perhaps trading in on freak-folk’s recent popularity with the kids, San Francisco’s Water Records has rereleased her two existing albums: Judee Sill (1972) and Heart Food (1973). The label also put out a comp of unreleased songs, entitled Dreams Come True (Hi - I Love You Right Heartily Here), which contains material that was slated to appear on her never-completed third album. Mixed by professed Sill-devotee Jim O’Rourke, the two-disc set also boasts demos, live performances, and a 72-page oral history called Journal where friends and lovers add layers to her already storied past.
The Sill mythology reportedly begins with an arrest for armed robbery at 16, a subsequent stint in reform school, and a heroin habit she fed with prostitution. Her music, however, stands in stark contrast to her gritty teen-delinquency. Ethereal and remarkably innocent seeming, her songs are structured in what she once described as magnified four-part choral style, and are awash with strings, horns and beautifully layered vocals as well as the requisite folk-chick acoustic guitar. Several numbers are replete with Christian imagery, although she dabbled in theosophy and Rosicrucianism. (Her Graham Nash-produced debut single was Jesus Was a Crossmaker.) Pastoral without being hokey and cryptic but intelligent, Sill is a worthy addition to the pantheon of beautifully damaged folk icons. Monica Price
London 1966/1967 DVD
directed by Peter Whitehead
In 1966, Pink Floyd was still largely unknown, save for the swinging art, film and fashion set that found the group at London’s tiny UFO Club. Among those who knew first was Peter Whitehead, a painter turned filmmaker who befriended Floyd guitarist Syd Barrett (to whom the film is dedicated) at art college in Cambridge, England.
Originally released under the more engaging title, Tonight We All Make Love in London, Whitehead’s vision of what he called the dark shadow of pop forms the basis of this DVD. During the (too brief) 30-minute feature, the Floyd contributes two long, druggy space jams: the classic Interstellar Overdrive and an improvisational throwaway called Nick’s Boogie. There is no reason to seek out this DVD just for those, however. And band members are not interviewed, and no mention is given to the demise of Barrett, the group’s madcap leader who soon after flipped into LSD-induced psychosis.
No, the real fun comes from viewing footage of middle-class social revolutionaries shaking their coiffed hair to music with no regular drumbeat or melody. Watch them hop around and swirl hypnotically in sport jackets and turtleneck sweaters in scenes from the 14 Hour Technicolor Dream, the historic primordial London rave held in 1967. The extras seal the deal. Interviews with Mick Jagger, Michael Caine, David Hockney and Julie Christie then four of the world’s biggest stars complete this journey into pop art society’s vortex with serious introspection cut with cool Brit sass and nonsense. Walter Wasacz
The Complete Village Vanguard Recordings, 1961
Pianist Bill Evans spent years working toward a vaguely defined goal, an airy, luminous approach to the piano trio, loose but only gently abstract, influenced by French impressionism, sure, yet swingingly American. The group featuring bassist Scott Lafaro and drummer Paul Motian had been to the studio twice in the preceding 18 months when producer Orrin Keepnews hastily arranged to roll tape for three sets at New York’s Village Vanguard (a far more unusual proposition then than now) in hopes that they’d finally grasped what they’d be reaching for — and in fear that they might not hold it for long. He was right on both counts.
The gig became a legend, and the discs classics. Virtually every note has been released in one collection or another over the years, but this is the ultimate reissue, with all the tunes in original order, reproductions of the timing and title notes that Keepnews scrawled at the time, introductions from the stage, the sound of the room and the crowd made palpable in the mix. You are there, and may want to chat between tunes with the couple at Table 3.
And the only previously unreleased track is presented here, a take of LaFaro’s "Gloria’s Steps," includes a couple seconds of dead air lost to a glitch at the time, an odd symbol for the cult of the completist. —W. Kim Heron
The Frank Sinatra Show DVD
High Hopes — With Dean Martin and Bing Crosby
There’s no question about Frank Sinatra. But one question here is whether or not you’re the type of die-hard fan who’ll devour anything he’s produced or would rather enjoy the wealth of more polished material released over the years. It’s fun to see the Chairman of the Board performing with Dean Martin, Bing Crosby and Mitzi Gaynor in this forum — shameless Timex ads and all. Frank and Dino’s friendship is palpable, as is the post-vaudvillian origin of the artists, while dialog between Crosby, Martin and Sinatra flows easily; apparently these guys had done just a few gigs prior to this October 1958 TV broadcast. Of course, there’s truckloads of charisma and self-effacing swagger, and the humor is often dated, sometimes distasteful, yet out of these smooth lips it’s forgivable. Standout songs, "It Was Just One Of Those Things," "Angel Eyes," and "The Lady Is A Tramp" represent Sinatra’s nightclub style, featuring pianist Bill Miller leading a five-piece band. Nelson Riddle’sorchestral contributions to the show are fine, though it’s Miller’s smaller combo that really shines. This segment of the program shows Frank at his finest, well worth the coin for any fan of The Voice. Robin Johnson
Thelonious Monk Quartet with John Coltrane
Thelonious Monk Quartet with John Coltrane at Carnegie Hall
Sadly, in 1957, no one had the ability or foresight to roll tape during John Coltrane’s historic months with the Thelonious Monk Quartet at the Five Spot. It was a period during which Coltrane — on a hiatus from his high-profile spot with the Miles Davis group — interned with "a supreme architect of music," as he referred to Monk. It was a period when the architect was finally getting the steady work and acclaim long due him. And other than three tantalizing studio tracks, there was no audio record. Or so it was long thought.
In 1993 a low-to-no-fi cassette recording of a club gig was released by Blue Note to universal acclaim. And now, out of the blue, we have this contemporaneous Carnegie Hall concert of the same group preserved by the Voice of America (and only recently discovered at the Library of Congress). These are truncated performances (mostly five minutes and under) compared to the way they stretched out at the Five Spot, but offsetting the foreshortened solos, we have the opportunity to hear 10 compositions, including an amazing Monk-Trane duet on "Monk’s Mood," a boisterous "Evidence," "Bye-Ya" as a sort of musical jungle gym and a "Sweet and Lovely" that shifts into a razzle-dazzle double-time.
And if Monk and Trane are the solo stars, the non-soloing bassist Ahmed Abdul-Malik and drummer Shadow Wilson constantly remind the listener that for music this sharp, everyone on stage has to be in on the dance. W. Kim Heron
Seven Year Ache
King’s Record Shop
The Very Best Of
To kick off their Rosanne "daughter-of-Johnny" Cash remastered/expanded reissues program, Legacy opted not to take the chronological route; presumably still to come are a pair of ’70s releases, two from the mid-’80s and 1993’s superb The Wheel.
With 1981’s Seven Year Ache (with two bonus tracks) Cash, along with producer/husband Rodney Crowell, had begun rewriting some of Nashville’s rules, bringing a distinctive rock flavor (the hard-twanging "Rainin’) to Music Row while serving notice of a major singing/songwriting talent’s arrival (see Cash’s oft-covered title track). The album is marred in places, however, by sappy keyboards and a shiny/sibilant production job that screams "snorting blow in the ’80s."
Far better is 1987’s King’s Record Shop (with three bonuses), which followed Cash’s 1984 too-slick flirtation with pop Rhythm & Romance and contains some of her most rocking recordings ever, among them Eliza Gilkyson’s defiant femme anthem "Rosie Strikes Back" and Cash’s swaggering, Tom Petty-like "Somewhere Sometime." It also contains one of Crowell’s more enduring weepers, "I Don’t Have To Crawl," which Emmylou Harris also covered.
Next came 1990’s Interiors (plus four bonus songs), a vividly downcast chronicle of Cash and Crowell’s crumbling marriage (think: Blood On the Tracks, Shoot Out the Lights). It expertly fuses spare, luminous balladry ("Dance With the Tiger"; the violin-flecked "Land of Nightmares") and edgy folk-rock ("On the Inside"), and despite it being a commercial disappointment for Cash, the album has stood the test of time perhaps the best of all three.
Your essential purchase, however, is the 16-song The Very Best Of. A more focused listen than 1995’s hits/rarities Retrospective, it also includes several post-CBS tracks (notably "September When It Comes," an astonishing duet between Rosanne and her dad, from 2003’s Rules of Travel). Fred Mills
The Partridge Family
The Complete First Season
Sony Home Video
Finally, with the DVD release of this historic series’ first season, the Pete Best saga of original Partridge Family drummer Jeremy Gelbwaks gets some well-needed closure. After years of rumored sibling rivalry because fans thought Jeremy was "the cute one," Shirley Partridge fesses on camera that the reason he was drummed out of the family was that he wasn’t a good enough actor to handle his obligatory one line and shrug per week. But he was one helluva drummer. While the other Partridges were trying their darnedest to look like they were actually playing their instruments — Keith peeling off a Django Reinhardt licks on the guitar every scene he was obliged to hang out in the living room, Danny fingering every fret on the bass when all the song required was a plodding thump in E, Tracy hitting that tambourine with all the studiousness of a kid who was told she better not lose that spelling bee or else — Jeremy could simulate Hal Blaine paradiddles without breaking a sweat or even landing his sticks anywhere near a skin. Never let ‘em see ya sweat. Jeremy forever, Brian never!Other points of interest on this must-own four-disc set (one just for music), a tell-all documentary on the people who really sang their c’mon-get-happy hearts out on those records, a caustic commentary by Danny Bonaduce on the episode where he follows record executives in a men’s room, doesn’t offer a blow job and still winds up with a record deal, the thrilling episode where the family’s bus breaks down in a Detroit ghetto (actually a Screen Gems soundstage with a firehouse) and the group helps save Richard Pryor and Lou Gossett Jr’s nightclub by staging a block party. It’s here that Keith Partridge utters the immortal brainstorm "I’ve got this Afro thing." This turns out to be a tune the family dutifully performs at said block party that’s got all the rhythm of "Knock Three Times" but seems to appease every militant Gil Scott-Heron lookalike the casting director could rassle up. Then there’s notorious show number eight "I Stink I Love You" where a skunk sneaks onto the Partridges’ tour bus and Shirley has to borrow a skimpy cigarette girl’s outfit, reacquainting us with her gorgeous Elmer Gantry gams from back in her evil hooker days. This is jiggle TV before it was invented, with future players making cameos, like a pre-botox, pre-Lee Majors Farrah Fawcett and stunning Jaclyn Smith back when she probably did buy her clothes from Kmart. So enjoy the Partridges before the shark-jumping drugs and anorexia set in, before that icky kid name Ricky started coming over, before Keith proclaimed he was actually David Cassidy and exposed his pubic hair in Rolling Stone, forcing the family to seek employment doing the voices for the horrible animated series Partridge Family 2200 AD (one cringe-inducing episode also included here). Sure it’s been hip to dump on the Partridges for decades, but anyone who uses the same red velvet and ruffles tailor as the early Kinks and drives a Merry Pranksters bus at least know their rock history, which is more than you can say for the Brady Six. Serene Dominic
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The Bellrays are known for their intense live shows, and while watching them on your TV is a cheap substitute for a poorly lit, smoky club, this DVD does manage to capture their blistering fusion of punk and R&B. Culled from an evening in London, this is mostly comprised of material from 2003’s The Red, White and Black and five extra songs. Even if the material were lackluster, there would still be something to be said about singer Lisa Kekaula (who’s been belting it out for the DKT/MC5), whose throaty, aggressive voice is a chip off the old Tina Turner block. She manages to keep banal onstage banter to a minimum, outside of the occasional call for response from the audience members. Instead, the band makes sure the jams are kicked at all times. The maximum roc ’n’ soul of "Sister Disaster" and "Voodoo Train" shows the band has enough raw power to light Detroit, while "Making Up for Lost Time" reveals a softer, ’60s pop side. While the 18-minute interview included is as dull as a plastic butter knife, the band’s explosive set is worth the price of admission. Luke Allen Hackney