Received a press release from the American Lighting Association: “Three Ways to Cut Your Energy Bill.” To lightly gloss its contents:
1. Use compact fluorescent bulbs instead of incandescents.
2. Use ceiling fans instead of air conditioners.
3. Use lighting controls.

In the spirit of the paranoia greeting the impending Hurricane Irene, here’s a light revision:
1. There’s mercury in them incandescents. Don’t let ‘em smash in the wind.
2. Ceiling fans only work if your ceiling hasn’t blown down.
3. Lighting controls don’t work when the power’s down.

Which is the truest way to cut your energy bill. Have no energy to cut.

The Moseses are gathering no moss, rolling through the reeds of the local rawk circuit by turning up in every city park that will have them.
They’re a jam band. That means any festival will welcome them.
Still, the band’s salvation and growing popularity are making some other acts worry. It’s a small scene. Who’s NOT getting those gigs? Who’s still stuck in the swamps?
We know three good bands, for instance, who got closed out of Downtown Hoopla VIII next weekend at the Moose Society. These bands blame The Moseses.
The Moseses take big steps now, grabbing double-length sets and installing their side projects as support acts.
Instead of grumbling, the uninvited acts have formed the Fat Cow Festival, a less civic and more rural gathering out in the fields near The Shaking Quakers’ farm. (No registration required this time; appropriate permits have been given. No alcohol is allowed, but neither is it allowed at the Hoopla.) The Fat Cow faction is even cooking up their own jamhappy supergroup, dubbed Lunar Bull, which is promising to play at least four hours straight.

We’ll see who has the upper hand after this: the entertainers or the organizers. With The Moseses ruling the city fests and Fat Cow over the bridge in the boonies, we imagine a showdown at the river.

Beth L. & Dan at the Bullfinch… Former Latter Former (who really should change their name, but then they’ll be Formerly Former Latter) at Hamilton’s with Sin Cred… Taha 20 at D’ollaire’s with opening act TBA…

A guy called out of a window in the Admin building and offered me a desk job.

Chimaira, The Age of Hell
Hard to get past the title of this one. Do they mean the physical of Hell, as computed by theologians or John Milton or whoever measures the ages of such things? Nope, turns out that, according to the album-opening title tune, “This is the Age of Hell.” If that’s the case, this is worthy multi-styled metal accompaniment to the era, with the obligatory growly vocals but some intriguing, cryptic interludes and impressive guitar work. These seasoned all-purpose headbangers operate at all speeds and blessedly have more impatience than a lot of their listeners are likely to, changing up their songs frequently and holding your interest for ages. Ages of Hell, that is.

Mabel engineered this cake. I baked it and Sally helped Mabel frost it.
A flat rectangle foundation with a high (loaf pan) center, studded with cupcake watchtowers. It is an impenetrable fortress of cake. We covered it with candles as a belated birthday cake for Kathleen (on whose actual birthday we had ice cream in New London). When lit, it looked like the sacking of Rome.

Hopefully the image won’t portend hurricane-encumbered Connecticut this weekend.

We clocked Ugly D saying the f-word at least 400 times within a 20-minute set.
How is this possible? We checked, and he is not a longshoreman.
Also, the f-word in this case is “For.” Ugly D’s songs does more tributes to his “numbas” (aka homies) than he has homies. He shouts out for his enemies, for people in the news, for people he’s prayering for. And when he can’t think of anyone, he’ll just go “For, for, for, for…”
Better than “Six six six,” we guess. (Unless you’re a demonic metal band. And Ugly D isn’t that either. We checked.)

This is for Jimmy Metro, for Little Mac Dougal
This is Workshop Stats
This is for Threw Apples
For my numbas

Guy talks funny. Funny adds up. We like ‘im.

The Asphodels and 136 Syllables at the Bullfinch… CIA Dope Calypso at Hamilton’s (They were just Dope Calypso, but Hamilton’s ban on drug references in band names applied so they went looking for a noun to which “dope” could be a qualifier. Nice way to get into Hamilton’s—and get a government file started on you). First Party opens; with a name like First Party, do you think they’ll ever get to close a show?… Cosmopolitan Greetings and Father Death Blues, the dreary Eastern Ballad tour stops at D’ollaire’s…

The other rakers call me “Cloudhead.”

Jason Reeves, The Lovesick.
A little too in love with its own production, this is still a more whimsical and laid-back exercise than you might expect from a guy who wrote several hit singles for Colbie Caillat (who guests on the slow-building “No Lies”). “Simple Song” isn’t simple at all—it’s gushing with frills—but “Alone” sounds appropriately calm and distant. The album ends with the string-laden “Truth,” one of those theatrical pop numbers that crescendos with confessions and cellos. Easy to understand how this album came to be made this way, but would love to hear how Jason Reeves sounds with an acoustic guitar in a living room.

“I’d heard that Pete Townshend’s stutter in “My Generation” came from leapers, some weirdass British speed.”
(Clumsy description. Townshend did indeed write the stutter into the song, but Roger Daltrey gave it voice.)

“Joey [Kramer] was one of the reasons why I wrote the song “Big Ten Inch Record.” I guess it was always wishful thinking.”
(Wishful thinking might explain why Tyler thinks he wrote a song written and released by Bull Moose Jackson in 1952.)

Overheard at the Bullfinch:
“People looking past me. That’s what I like best. You know, when you go to a waterfront town, there’s always people on the docks just staring off in the distance? But you know they’re thinking about something? That’s what I like to see at my shows. Someone looking PAST me. Grooving. Feeling the breeze, you know?”

Smart pop from the incestuous The Thurbers, The Ferbers and The Peril Men at the Bullfinch. You’ll find them all hanging around together before the show, learning each other’s songs and singing each other’s praises… Howie’s House Band and Hard-Boiled Egg Fad at Hamilton’s. What the H?.. Wickaboxet at D’ollaires. We’ll say that again, very slowly. Wick. A. Box. Et…