Robert Baird
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Robert Baird
Robert Baird Jun 12, 2006 1 comments
James Brown at B.B. Kings in New York on Friday night. Big semi-crazed shows, what they used to call revues, like the one Brown brought to town are fast becoming a lost art. The band featured three horns, three drummers, four female backup singers called Bittersweet (two black, two white) and four guitar players all of whom were killer and all of whom played in widely diverse styles.
Robert Baird
Robert Baird Jun 08, 2006 4 comments
The Chicks' victory is nearly complete.
Robert Baird
Robert Baird Jun 06, 2006 4 comments
Much as I hate to admit it, the experience of going into a record store, particularly a big glorious mom and pop indie store, is fast becoming a thing of the past.
Robert Baird
Robert Baird Jun 05, 2006 0 comments
The measure of a champion is how he performs under pressure and on Saturday night at HE 2006, Dr. John (Mac Rebennack), despite a nasty running head cold, gave us some vintage Mac.
Robert Baird
Robert Baird Jun 05, 2006 0 comments
Robert Baird
Robert Baird Jun 04, 2006 2 comments
I often joke that when I expire and migrate to the lower rings of hell, I'll find nothing else in my eternity than white blues bands playing "Mustang Sally" over and over and over again. But now I may have found another possibility for the soundtrack to my infernal reward.
Robert Baird
Robert Baird Jun 03, 2006 0 comments
So there I was, part of a motley crew of HE 2006 attendees and fellow travelers, groovin' with deejays Ming and FS and their four turntable assault at the Friday night rave that ended day one of HE 2006. Unfortunately, no one else was there.
Robert Baird
Robert Baird May 25, 2006 1 comments
Call me an elitist but I fail to see the attraction—for viewers—in the whole American Idol phenomena. Of course, television has made millions from televising talent shows over the years so I guess it's just me that's out of step.
Robert Baird
Robert Baird May 24, 2006 1 comments
Back before music fans morphed into gaming fans, before lip synching became the rage, before utter horseshit like American Idol was even a wet dream, there were thriving clubs and committed music freak club owners like Clifford Antone.
Robert Baird
Robert Baird May 16, 2006 2 comments
Being addicted, or even just a fan of The New York Times means you have to suss out the necessary assumptions and become expert at translating what's really going on there. Even overlooking the woeful sports section and regular incidents of pathetic pandering—a recent travel piece by Robert Kennedy Jr. comes to mind—the institutional psychoses and attitude, subtle as they may be, that the paper infuses, again ever so delicately, into everything is quite amazing.
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